#i don’t feel like tagging everyone in this so

[simpjaes]

renaissance man (p. js)

Taking note of the strangers you see day to day isn’t something you’d normally do. The only reason today is different is because the guy who made small talk as he rang you up for your intimate items was the same guy who showed up catering for your family reunion.  or the one where jay is a dildo salesman, a caterer, a self-titled mechanic, and also your ride home. he is not an expert in any of his jobs, but he sure is an expert in wit and well, other things.

minors dni!! | pls reblog to show your support!

WORDCOUNT― 14.6k

PAIRING― park jongseong x afab reader 

CONTENT― fluffy comfort smut, strangers to lovers like immediately, you buy a monster sized dildo, blatant talking of masturbation and toys, smut, cliche blooming an attachment to someone after (1) fuckening. 

!!ATTENTION!!― read this before? that’s because I run two blogs and like to re-vamp fics i’ve previously written for other groups! [@/ncteez is likely where you’ve read it from. THAT IS ME!!!] 

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― it’s kind of fluffy im so sorry i just have feelings for him, average cock size jay!!!![i am not of this belief, i think his cock is fat and huge], he is very much a service top, making out, hand holding, caressing, grinding, finger fucking, titty worship,  unprotected sex, sweet talking as a form of dirty talk, missionary bc i refuse to pretend he wouldn’t want that, back scratches (sexual)

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Never have you been put in the position to make small talk about the sex toys you place on a counter to purchase. Then again, you guess it’s part of the job description that most people ignore or aren’t privy to actually doing. 

Never have you been informed of the wide variety of lubricants, additional toy-cleaners, or the bigger and smaller alternatives to your chosen toy. You don’t show discomfort though, because it’s not uncomfortable. Sex is normal, masturbation is more normal, and the man in front of you appears to be normal too.

“There’s twelve different color variants if you prefer something less fleshy.” The man says, standing at the counter with some sort of a permanent pout on his lips. 

“I’m fine, if you could just ring me up now I can get out of your hair.” You respond, glancing at the time on your phone and wondering how you got stuck with the only employee who actually does his job here.

“Are you sure you don’t want any lubricant?” The man adds, gazing at the size of your toy and then looking you up and down as if you clearly wouldn’t be able to handle your chosen toy without help.

The man with no name tag appears to be blissfully unaware of his invasiveness with that question as you tilt your head with a raised brow. Shocked at the very question, it’s actually quite laughable that he’s so monotone with the offensive comment. You imagine he’s done this for so long that he must be a manager trying to get the day over with, going through the steps in a bored mood with little to no regard as to how he must sound to strangers buying their first or twentieth dildo. 

With your assumption that he doesn’t exactly care about the level of wet your vagina is when you use this toy, you respond. “I think I know my body well enough and I already have lube, but thanks.”

He nods, not even sparing you much of a glance before giving you a total and bagging your item.

Now, despite Jay’s lack of interest toward the purchase of toys, he finds it comical that he’s grown numb to the very fact that he knows what everyone in this town’s kinks are after they step out of the shop’s door. Someone’s gotta do this job and keep those secrets…he likes to think he fits the bill perfectly. 

Lively as he may be outside of this shop, each job comes with a personality and this one calls for one of disinterest in your product but interest in the sale. He’s not one to lie to himself though, many times a pretty girl has marched in and bought toys far bigger than any man and he does tend to let his mind wander about it from time to time. When he first started this job, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, he found it hard to navigate a single sale without a flush of tints crossing his cheeks and ears. Now, he’s become a veteran at keeping his dick locked in place if he were to feel some type of way about a purchase and the one purchasing. 

Shy as he was when he started, it’s all lost now as he handles dicks and dongs, pocket pussies and anal plugs, even whips and chains. 

Shy. That’s definitely a word and surprisingly one that can describe him when he’s not on schedule within these walls of alien dicks and lime flavored lube to match the grotesque green color. At his other job, because he works two, he takes the praise of being the charming yet timid man who shows up with pans of food for events. 

The guests seem to love him and many times during weddings and company parties he has been offered phone numbers or asked for one simply because he appears to be that of a friendly face with a kind sense of being. Someone you’d wanna bring home to mom, some might say. 

It’s a stark contrast of jobs, and somehow he’s managed to dodge knowing many of the people coming into his night job to shop for ways to fuck themselves. The rare time it had happened, he was thankful to have another person in the shop to ring them up. Keeping up with two jobs is hard, and keeping up with two personalities is even harder.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You hadn't thought of that guy from the sex shop even once until he showed his face at your family reunion. 

He noticed you before you managed to realize it was him though. Stealing looks in your direction as you chat with little cousins and elder aunts and uncles, mostly to double check in his brain if you’re really the girl who showed up and nonchalantly bought the newest dildo in stock. The fleshy colored one with rotating beads and a g-spot stimulator button. You know, the really fucking huge one. 

 Upon meeting his eye again for the first time, he could tell it really is you, simply because of the way you furrow your brow as you recognize him. 

Jay couldn’t help but smirk. He knew that eventually someone at an event would recognize him as their local sex-shop manager, he’s actually shocked it doesn’t happen more often. At least it’s you though, a woman who looks near his age and clearly has a very healthy relationship with her sexuality. So much so that you weren’t shy or nervous in buying the toy from him. Because it’s honestly pretty common to see someone nervous or uncomfortable while buying items far less telling than the one you bought.

His smirk doesn’t go unnoticed by you before you look away from him and focus your attention back to your family and by the time he’s prepared the food and is standing aside to explain what ingredients the dishes have, you’re walking up with your empty plate and an awkward glance. 

He follows you down the line of dishes, seemingly more interested in you than anyone else. You could argue it’s just an attempt to make you feel embarrassed, or perhaps even an attempt to ask you not to snitch on where else he works to make his money. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” You ask, a knowing look telling him that you’re already very aware of that ‘somewhere’ you know him from. 

His pursed lips and snide hidden laugh at you is one thing, but the way he whispers to you over a pan of potato casserole is another. 

“I think you know who I am.” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back again with a flicker of a crooked grin. 

You leave it at that, looking him in the eye curiously and for some reason, smiling back at the strange second encounter with a man who appears to have a name tag now.

“Thanks, Jay. See you around.” 

Heading away from the tables of food and toward the table that contains all of your favorite cousins, you are immediately bombarded with a raised brow from one of them. Ah, nosy. 

“What was that about?” One of them leans over to ask, glancing at the man who is still overseeing the table of food and maintaining perfect temperatures. She doesn’t quite catch the way Jay’s eyes flicker back to you, over and over again, repeatedly. 

“Huh? He was just telling me what was in the potatoes.” 

She takes your answer as truth without issue, and the conversation falls away and into something else. College life, job life, family life. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Okay so, you’re trying to hear yourself out here. Are you somehow curious and interested in speaking with Jay? Yeah. Do you know why? Also yes. For one, he just sold you a fucking interesting sex toy last weekend in the most uncomfortable way possible, and now he’s here at your family reunion to remind you of what you do in your apartment when you’re alone. 

His personality seems different this time too. He wasn’t monotone, he was snide with you about knowing who you are. He probably thinks its funny that he ended up at your family reunion over any other event.

So yeah, maybe you find yourself going up to the table for seconds even though you’re no longer hungry. Maybe you definitely wait until no one else is at the table and he appears to be tidying up the space and wiping up spills before speaking to him again. 

“Just how many jobs do you have?” You ask in a sarcastic tone when you reach him, the table between the two of you creating a comfortable distance to poke and prod.

He jumps only slightly at your presence because he didn’t notice you walking up. The brief break he’s taken from stealing glances so he could actually do his jobs appears to be the time you feel the need to finally approach. Still, he’s smiling again, looking at you up and down. 

“Plenty. How much lube do you have left?” He answers before shooting back his own question and getting right to the point. 

You freeze in shock at his question, reminding yourself that his monotone voice from the late dildo purchase is no more and he now comes across as vibrant and charming to you. You check him out for a moment, taking mental notes of what may not or may not be to like about him. You can’t tell if it’s good news or bad news that you’re not finding anything to raise any red flags. 

He’s bold, confidence, charming, clearly has a decent work ethic– 

“I can’t imagine you have much left, that thing was a fucking monster. We have tons in stock if you wanna–” He pauses to cover his mouth, forgetting that he’s supposed to be timid and gentle during his day job. He’s not supposed to be himself.

You find yourself laughing though, leaning over the table and holding out your empty plate. Mostly just to get in closer to him without alerting your family of a new future husband or something. 

“Why are you so interested in my ‘fucking monster”’ dildos anyway?” You narrow your eyes. 

He pauses, easing up at the way you’re just as cheeky and playful as he is, despite being surrounded by your family. It’s mildly inappropriate, but it’s making his shift go by quickly. You’re making his shift enjoyable today, so he continues. 

“I think anyone would be interested, with all things considered.” He checks you out again with a brief pause, knowing the size of that dildo you bought by heart, and fully aware that it probably ripped you in half if you really managed to put that thing anywhere inside of you. “Correction, they should be worried.” 

“You’re different from before,” you comment, both of you now blatantly staring down each other. “I like this version of you more.” 

Something inside of him feels giddy at that. Not to be cliche but he wonders if this is what it’s like to instantly have a crush on someone. Again, he’s not one to lie to himself. You’re pretty and you appear to be confident. Confident enough to take time from your family reunion to have a discussion about your plastic cock intake anyway.

“Maybe I’ll see you again sometime then.” He puts a hand forward, inviting you to shake it but you simply stare it down instead.  

“Yeah, maybe you will.” You smile, slapping his hand as if you’re low fiving him before swirling around and walking away thinking hard about the fact that…yeah, he might actually see you sooner than he thinks. 

Honestly, maybe within the next day or two because he was kind of right to ask about how much lube you have left, but it’s not like you’d answer that truthfully if at all. You might be running out after just two uses. He was right again about it being a fucking monster, because well, yeah. Maybe you’ll pop in and shop for bulk lube instead of rejecting his up-sale this time. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Unfortunately for you upon the reunion coming to an end, you get into your car and of course it doesn’t start. You drop your head to the steering wheel in a sigh and annoyed grunt.

The last thing you need is your father driving you home because he will lecture you about your car and how it’s got to be some fault of your own for it to not start. And you know, yeah maybe it was your fault. Why were your lights turned on during a sunny Sunday afternoon? Fuck if you know. Why were they left on for the entire nine hours you’ve been here at your parent’s house? You refuse to answer your own question.

And just as you go to accept your defeat, preparing to head back inside and take the walk of shame ten minutes after saying your goodbyes, a savior appears. 

That savior is none other than Jay,  walking up with his stiff button down shirt partially unbuttoned, hair now disheveled as he must have ruffled it up after the day of work. He watched you from his catering van for just a few minutes before finally getting out to offer his expertise. 

“The battery is dead.” He smiles, slapping both palms on your hood and leaning to look at you through the windshield. 

“Smart man, can you un-dead my battery before my dad comes out?”

Jay shakes his head apologetically. 

“I already checked the van for the cables, could be a write up on my part for not checking before leaving. We are supposed to have all sorts of shit to prevent breakdowns on a job. Not today though, apparently.” He scratches the back of his neck as he walks to your opened car door. 

“If you can hang tight for like ten minutes I can swing by after dropping the van off.”

Your eyes plead with him. You’d prefer this, yes. If he’s willing to help, you’re willing to accept.

“You sure I’m not too out of the way for you to do that?”

He shakes his head nonchalantly, waving you off as he leans into your car to pull your keys out of the ignition. He smells like food, obviously he does, but there’s a scent of something else on him that’s far more attractive. The dull scent of cologne that matches him all too well. 

“Don’t try to turn it on anymore if you don’t want your dad coming out.” He laughs. “I’m sure he would help you but if you’d rather I help you, I am more than happy to do it.”

He’s teasing. His little crush pushes him to want to help you, but he’s gonna play it off as casually as possible. 

“I’ll hang out here. My dad would lecture the fuck out of me.”

Jay nods, backing away and heading back to his van to fulfill his offer.

On another note, you’re shocked that your father didn’t hear the commotion, and even more shocked that he didn’t step outside once since the reunion ended. He must have been tired, and you know him, he sleeps like a rock and probably already hit the sack without even cleaning up the yard.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Oh, it’s dead dead.” Jay looks at you apologetically, peeking his head out from the side of your hood and through your window. 

“Define dead dead.” You comment, taking your keys out of the ignition with a huff. 

“Like, you need a new battery. This one is done for.”

You sigh loudly, knowing that now you’ll have to go ask your parents for a ride home. Knowing that your dad is going to add more to his lectures with each day your car is sitting in this driveway. This is so fucking annoying. At least you work from home though, so it’s not like you’re gonna lose your job over this or anything. 

Jay unhooks the cables and turns off his car, then stands there and watches you for a moment. You look frustrated and annoyed, and it’s very much like him to offer more help. 

Of course it is. 

“Would it be too forward to ask if you need a ride home?” 

You look at him confused, tilting your head and studying his body language much like before. You’re not one to decline someone making your life a little bit easier, and he is interesting to talk to. You nod slowly, then pause.

“You’ve worked all day, don’t waste your off-time helping me out.”

“I’m already wasting my off time on you though, might as well let me drive you home too?”

You stare at him. 

“Okay.”

The awkward silence sets in shortly after you seat yourself in his car. You fill that silence with small sarcastic comments about said car though, and soon it becomes easy to be in the space with him.

“Where did this sticker come from?” You ask, poking your finger into a sticker with its edges rolled from the summer heat, probably.

“Ex girlfriend, I couldn’t get it off without it leaving a residue so I’m just letting the sun do its job and melt it off.”

“Oh, harsh.” You laugh, wanting to prod further. “Why’d you break up?”

Jay pauses, you can tell by the way his foot lets up from the gas momentarily that he wasn’t expecting you to ask that. Then again, he’s said some weird shit to you too, so you figure it’s not an end-all question. 

“Was that too forward to ask?” 

“Not at all, just wasn’t expecting it,” He shakes his head with a small smile, nearly reaching his hand from the wheel to pat your leg in reassurance. He holds back, wondering why the fuck that urge felt so normal for him to do. “It’s been like a year, so I’m over it and stuff. She just thought I worked too much and didn’t spend enough time with her.”

“Ouch, even harsher.” You smile in reassurance to him, also feeling it normal to want to do that for some reason. “Her loss, I mean, discounted dildos and food? Huge loss.”

He laughs at your comments, briefly looking over at you once he stops at a red light. Your eyes are shining with life, with interest even. At that moment, he feels something between the two of you. Which is quite strange considering this is your first time officially meeting him outside of his working hours. He can’t help the way his face softens though, it happens against his will, honestly, it does. 

“You’re kind of cute,” You blurt, breaking eye contact with him and shifting in your seat. “and fun to hang out with.” 

“Hang out?” He laughs at you, eyes now adjusting back to the road and lowering his speed just to have a bit more time with you. “This is hardly a hang-out, but if you’re interested, I’m more than willing to check my schedule to see when I’m free next.”

You feel confidence raise up in your chest, bubbling to be free in the form of a question likely too bold to actually consider.

“You’re free right now…right?” You comment quietly, glancing at him. 

“Hm?” He asks, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and feeling your eyes on him. He heard you, but he wouldn’t mind hearing you repeat it.

“I said, you’re free right now.” You repeat, this time with more confidence. “Would it be too forward to ask if –”

“Nothing is too forward to ask, I literally sold you a dildo.” 

You pause in shock, all thoughts leaving your head.

“Damn, alright,” You laugh, feeling kind of warm inside at how his forwardness matches your own. “If you’re free right now, we could hang out right now.” 

How lucky for both of you. He’s actually not catering tomorrow and only has to be at work at the good ol’ sex shop in the evening. 

“Alright,” He nods, glancing over to you. “Kind of fucked up we are hanging out after I met your entire family and still haven’t gotten a name from you yet though, wouldn’t you think?” 

Oh fuck, he’s right. 

“I’m sure you heard the kids yelling it all day. Don’t be dramatic.”

He laughs, already in love with the idea of spending more time with you. 

And you hear him echo your name, asking where it is that you’d like to go. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

If your parents were to ask why you’re walking through your apartment building with the caterer following behind you, you’d have no excuse. Then again, as an adult, you don’t think you need one. It’s strange despite how open and casual you are with making friends though, because you never just invite strangers to your place for friendship. At least, not without hanging out a few times first. 

You guess it’s not super awkward because it’s true that he already knows things about you that your family doesn’t. Such as, the things you penetrate yourself with when you’re alone. It’s a major ice breaker, and something that makes the friendship with him come easy even after barely talking to the guy.

The few words you have shared have been easy and fun, so it’s only natural that if your instinct is to want to be around him a little longer, you’d invite him in right? You weren’t really expecting him to accept your answer to his question. 

“Where to then?” 

You thought for a moment when he asked that. You don’t go to clubs or bars anymore, most places would have been closing within the hour, and it’s not like you didn’t eat to peak fullness during the family reunion so having a late dinner with him was out of the question too. You answered him so easily, and he accepted in a way that seemed just as natural to him. 

“We could just hang out at my place, I’ve got plenty of streaming services, a gaming system, and wine.”

“Sounds good.” 

It was so easy to become friends with him, and now with him following you up to your apartment, the typical awkwardness that should come with this type of thing isn’t swarming your mind at all. He’s even making small talk about the building itself after parking in your parking spot. 

“This building is way nicer than mine, you got a door code and everything just to get in.”

“Wasn’t always like this. Being a single woman in a city like this calls for safety measures though.”

A little box in his head checks out. He didn’t even have to ask if you’re single, because he already assumed you were with the way you so easily invited him over. And in all fairness, you’ve been trying to find a reason to slip in your relationship status to him. 

By the time you get to your door with him, he’s polite when he walks in and takes off his shoes. Polite in the way he looks around and studies your space, even polite in the way he walks into the living room and invites himself onto your couch and grabs your remote. 

“I was going to say make yourself comfortable but–”

“Well, would you prefer I sit on your floor?” He shoots back with a sarcastic tone in his voice. “Would you prefer I start digging through your cabinets for snacks? Would you prefer–”

“You’re so much more talkative when I’m not trying to buy something from you.” You comment with a laugh, dipping into the kitchen for two glasses and that cheap bottle of wine. 

“Speaking of, do you actually use that thing and like it? I mean, I see some weird purchases but that specific one is super popular with the fetish groups.”

For the first time, you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You should have known that the sex toy would be a point of conversation, considering the first time you ever met was buying it. 

“Yes, I use it. I’m surprised you find it shocking considering it’s literally your job to know what people like in terms of getting off.”

He smiles at that, because you’re damn right he knows. Most of the time he would prefer not to know, but he always did wonder if, on the off chance, he ended up hooking up with a customer he’d have some prior knowledge of how they like it based on toys alone. 

“You know, normally people don’t buy toys on a Monday at nine in the morning.” 

“I buy toys at nine in the morning on a Monday,” You chuckle, carrying the two glasses and wine into the living room and plopping down next to him. “Why does that matter? I’m sure you make your quotas even on the slow days considering how hard you were trying to up-sell me.”

He shrugs as he watches you pour him a glass. 

“It’s easy to up-sell when you know people’s kinks after a few purchases. I do that to everyone just to gauge what they need so if they come back I can make more offers.”

“A true salesman.” You laugh with a pitied voice. “What would you say my kink is?”

He studies you, looking you up and down without shame and thinking hard about your single purchase. 

“Well, considering that specific item is, again, usually looked at by a specific type of person or couple, I’d say–”

“Wrong.” You interrupt before he even tries to make a guess. “I don’t have a kink, I just have a really high sex drive.”

You take a sip at his silence of being beaten to the punch, and then he takes his own thoughtful sip. 

“Okay then, What do you think my kink is?” He asks slyly, cup still against his lips as he sips again. 

“Wha–” You narrow your eyes at him, trying not to stare at him for too long because goddamn is he handsome. “Hell if I know, you probably don’t even have sex after being in a hyper-sexualized space like that for hours on end.”

“Wrong.” He pokes his tongue into his cheek and looks away from you with another casual chuckle.

“Are you telling me you have a pocket pussy or like, a buttplug or something?”

“Three pocket pussies, actually.”

You don’t know why you’re shocked. For some reason his sex toys becoming the focus makes you feel more shy than your own being the focus. 

“I bet you named them.”

“Pocket 1, Pocket 2, and Jessica.”

“Jessica?” You raise a brow despite the sarcastic banter, wondering if maybe that’s based on his ex girlfriend or something. 

He nods in a matter-of-fact tone with a proud smile. 

You feel comfortable around him, never having a friend who openly talks to you about these things without any type of awkwardness. It’s the fact that he’s a man too. Usually they think with their dicks and he seems to have no qualms in admitting that it’s something he may do from time to time too. 

You imagine he needs this type of personality to work such a job though, being casual about sex can be so difficult for your average joe because for some reason, it is embarrassing. It’s hard to talk about even to sex-shop employees. You like to think he’s probably someone who makes others feel comfortable about their sexual habits though, because you feel comfortable. 

“I’m lying by the way.” He cuts through your thoughts, “I only have two.” 

You nod energetically with a laugh. 

“Variety is good.” You continue, not mentioning the array of toys you have stashed away. 

“Yeah, I think experimenting with different things is good. I only really liked the two I kept though, I guess.”

“And yet, you’re shocked about my single dildo purchase without knowing of my other items of interest? I could have just been trying something new too, y’know.”

Another sip of wine, and another glance away from him because you were looking a little too fondly at that little scar on his nose, the birth mark on his neck, the way his lips crease when he swallows his drink and– yeah, you definitely glance away.

“No one buys that as a first time experience.” He comments, tapping the cup against his lips and looking at you.

You’re a little stunned by him, never having met a man so open to speaking like this, with a woman he barely knows no less. 

“Okay, enough about my dildo. I actually have a question about something you might have in stock but I’ve kind of been too embarrassed to ask until now.”

He nods, his personality shifting only slightly into that as the manager of the sex-shop.

“Oh? Embarrassed? Since when?” He jokes at first. “What is it then?”

“Do you guys have like,” you pause, unsure of why you’re even trying to ask. Again, it’s not like masturbation is embarrassing, nor is the purchasing of toys. Asking for a specific item is a bit too intimate to you though, seeing as how you usually just buy those things online. “Okay hear me out.”

“Tentacles? Furry buttplugs with tails attached? Bondage rope? Paddles?”

“No…” You pause at his spewing of different types of toys. “I know you have all of that.”

He pauses, studying the way you make yourself a bit smaller compared to just minutes before.

“Do you guys have sex dolls for women? You know, like, just a doll with a very normal dick?”

Jay fucking snorts. How mundane. 

Unfortunately for you though, Nope. 

“Nah, the owner tries to cater more towards men and fetish stuff. We’ve got fem tantaly dolls and all sorts of blow up dolls but he’s never brought in just like, a torso with a cock, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You shrug. 

“Guess sticking it to the wall is all I can do for now then. But like,” You pause, realizing that you’re actually going into detail at this point, which might be a little uncomfortable for him? Maybe? “It’s really annoying to have it sticking to the floor, and you’re like, riding it and it just pops off and stabs your thigh slipping out mid-orgasm.”

He snorts again, that pretty smile you’ve seen time and time again echoing the most attractive laugh you think you’ve heard in a long time. This time, his smile doesn’t fade as the seconds pass, no. He’s unable to stop laughing at the image of whatever orgasm instilled the frustration in you to even mention that happening. He tries to stifle his laughter with the last sip of his wine before choking it down and pushing his glass at you for more. 

“Noted,” He snorts, nodding his head and almost hiding his face from you. “I’ll tell the boss we need male sex dolls so the women don’t get dick-stabbed where they don’t need it mid orgasm.”

You glare. 

“Wait, no, because it actually hurts.” You frown at him. “I just wish your shop catered a little more to women who just wanna ride a dick without the dangers of riding said dick.” 

“Maybe you should slow down next time so the full force of your–” He pauses, realizing how sexual the image in his head is of you right now. “Um…” He trails off uncomfortably, unintentionally adjusting himself in his jeans by spreading his legs slightly against your couch. 

“Okay, wait. I’m sorry, is this conversation too much right now?” You ask, looking him up and down and giving him a new glass of wine. “You’re blushing.”

He tries to play it off. 

“As if you could make me blush.” He laughs at you, downing half of his glass in one go. “To make up for our lack of product though, and if you don’t tell anyone, I’ll give you a discount on your next purchase just for embarrassing yourself telling me that.”

“Oh, I was supposed to be embarrassed?” You counter, knowing that all you need to do is point out that he got flustered to shut him up. You opt not to because still, the two of you barely know each other. Instead, you opt to laugh along with him, letting your gaze fall back to studying all of those features he has that you didn’t quite notice before.

While you did notice he was handsome before, it’s not like you paid that thought any mind. There are a lot of handsome men out and about after all. It only starts to matter when they allow you to get close enough to appreciate it more. Not to mention, in your experience at various sex shops, most employees of them are mundane and nonchalant. Some are strange old men, or cool old women. Jay though? Jay.

Hmm…how to explain him?

With his messy hair that covers his eyes every time he whips his head toward you in a laugh, with his sharp jawed smile and pretty eyes. The little marks and celestial kisses against his skin that shows you of a life he’s been living. He feels…warm. Like everything about him looks comforting, smells comforting, sounds comforting. And now, even compared to when you met him at the shop, even at the reunion just this afternoon…he’s so much more handsome in this moment. 

Learning his personality, hearing his voice say your name, having him take the time to not only help you but befriend you? 

His shoulders are broad, and he’s just… you don’t even know how to explain to yourself the attraction you have toward him at this moment. Handsome is one thing, and you would have continued calling him that if it weren’t for the fact that he’s laughing with you on your couch about a ruined orgasm. 

“You know, Jay,” You start, looking into your glass and swirling the liquid inside, then you look up again and make eye contact. “I’m really not usually this forward but like,”

His brain stops for a moment at the serious tone in your voice, his expression softens and you can tell he’s listening. 

“I know masturbation and stuff is normal, and like, you see and talk about these things all the time but I never really talk about it to other people, they always get weird about it.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. I can’t say this is the most normal hang out I've ever had. Usually we talk about our favorite movies or books or something.”

You wave him off. 

“Yeah, that’s a good point. We could talk about our favorite movies but I find myself, um–” You stop for a second. 

“Is talking about it making you realize that it’s uncomfortable?” 

“No, the opposite actually.” You laugh, now actually feeling embarrassed. “I keep thinking about you mentioning the other things you’ve bought and experimented with.”

“Oh? You’re curious?” He laughs, now feeling a bit shy himself because he’s pretty sure that’s you asking him to put images in your head. “I mean I could go into detail but it actually might be too-telling right now.”

You nod, unsure of why you even suggested.

“Maybe next time?” You change the subject with a smile, one that does seem slightly disappointed. 

“There’s a next time?” He smiles, setting his glass down on your table and shifting toward you.

“I don’t see why not? I’m having fun, plus you offered me a discount.”

He nods, looking around the room and checking the time. 

“I should probably head out then? We’ve both had a long day.” 

You nod back to him, feeling a bit sad. 

“When are you free next?” You ask, grabbing your phone in a way that seems a bit too excited. “Can you give me your number?”

He obliges, exchanging phone numbers and promising to contact you with his next free day or night to hang out. Just as he goes to leave though, for some reason both of you feel as though the satisfaction of this hang out wasn’t reaching full potential. 

“Hey, um,” He stops before he puts his shoes back on. “Would it be too forward to say I’m not tired and wouldn’t mind–”

“Staying for a bit longer?” You finish his sentence for him, patting the couch as if that was also on your mind.

He doesn’t even respond, and instead makes his way back onto the couch where the cushion is still warm, unable to help the fluttering feeling in his chest.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It's almost two in the morning by the time he offers to leave again, and yet, he stays at your clear disappointment of the offer. Another hour later, the two of you are sitting contently and pretending to watch some shitty tv show in comfortable silence. 

“We should say something.” He blurts, mid episode.

“What do you mean?”

He turns toward you. 

“We should talk about this.” He motions at the space between the two of you. 

You’re silent while you try to build up the confidence to meet him half-way again. 

“You can correct me if you’re not interested but I actually really would like it if you kissed me or something.” He adds as you continue to process what he seems to be getting at.

You’re taken aback by his forwardness for some reason, and instantly you knew he didn’t communicate this earlier for your own sake. Thankfully, you’ve tried to make it easy for him to read you and he ate it up like his favorite meal. The content feeling between the two of you was buzzing up to this point. Very loudly in your brain where you were thinking of how to kiss him before the night is up. Even as just a “thank you” if he were to turn away from it. 

“Oh yeah?” You ask, tilting your head and seeing him scoot closer. “Kiss you, or something?”

He nods his head, looking at you without much issue and searching for a reaction. 

“Are you interested in me like that, in any way?” He asks, looking for confirmation.

“Oh, most definitely.”

The smile that spreads across his face is one that you can argue will be unforgettable. It’s an expression you hope to bring to every person in your life, one that seems to express nothing but relief, excitement, and maybe even a hint of bashfulness.

“You thought I'd invite you inside without being interested?” You smile at him, feeling a little bit fuzzy in the head at the admittance. 

“I thought you were just being nice, or like, just interested in friendship,” He rambles on, stopping himself short to give more context to that statement. “I mean, it would be fine if this was all for friendship and I'm happy with that too but I can admit to coming into your apartment with maybe, uh, a small crush.” 

“I can admit to inviting you in with a small crush, maybe.” 

“Maybe.”

“Are we being too forward?” You ask, emphasizing the repetitive way that word seems to appear. “Even though you’re in my apartment at an ungodly hour and both of us are giving any and every excuse to keep you here?”

He smiles this time in a way that appears to be self-soothing, and you can imagine you are too. It’s always nerve-wracking to walk on eggshells with another person, the threat of wondering if you'll fall alone or fall with them into a new version of partnership. 

You don’t think about the lack of knowing him past a purchase, a quick conversation at a family reunion, or the past several hours he’s huddled up with you on this couch. You simply don’t think it’s strange at this point. After all, you’ve met people online and invited them over without much more than a name, age, and quick conversation about what they want sexually. How is this worse? How is this strange? 

“You’re right. Maybe we should stop being so polite when the reality of it is that I’ve been imagining what you’ve done with that toy since the day you bought it.” 

Okay, maybe that was too forward but all is lost now as your image of him changes drastically within the mere seconds it took him to say that, not in a bad way either. Again, of course he’s comfortable admitting it, the dude stares at dicks and holes all day. But now he’s staring at you, and talking directly to you.

Your silence makes him shift a bit, shaking his head apologetically. 

“Found the boundary, got it.” He shames himself with a timid voice, looking away from you and back to the tv with a hint of embarrassment. “I’m not lying though.” He adds after a few more minutes of your silence.

“Not much of a boundary if I admit that I was blatantly asking you earlier what you’ve done to experiment with your toys.”

“Aha! So I was right in thinking you were straight up asking for mind-porn of me?!” He feels instantly comfortable again, turning his entire body toward you as he folds up one of his legs to sit on with a little bounce. 

“Maybe, but what do you mean you’ve been imagining since I bought it? You barely made eye contact with me that day.”

“Oh, I was checking you out the whole time you shopped. Imagine my face when I knew exactly what toy you were reaching for.”

You shove him by the shoulder with a laugh, realizing that this is the first bodily contact you’ve ever had with him, but he actually leans into your shove rather than out of it. Meaning, he barely budges. 

“If I looked you in the eye at the register, you would have thought I was some pervert.” 

“You are a pervert. You said it had, what? Twelve other colors?” 

He shrugs with a pained smile at how cringe he must have sounded to you. 

“You seemed more like a sparkly pink girl rather than a normal flesh tone girl. Then again, this was before I knew you were looking for a literal male sex doll for super normal pretend-sex.”

You shove him again, your laugh coming out more forced now at the way he jokes with you. Once again, he doesn’t budge. In fact, he’s leaning in closer. 

“Now hold on, you didn’t mention anything about one having glitter in it.” You joke, wiggling your brows. 

“You trying to fuck a man or a magic unicorn?” He laughs yet again, all of it coming out more forced as the two of you drag out information just to hear the dirty words in a voice you’re only just realizing you like far too much. 

“A man.” You dead-pan, this time not laughing, looking him dead in the eye and trying to pretend you don’t notice how close the two of you have gotten. “Why else would I go for more human skin tones?”

“Fuck if I know, I haven’t met a single man who has vibration settings or rolling beads though.” 

You snort. 

“Shame…but also, why do you think I’m on the hunt for the most mundane sex toy a woman can buy now? The rolling beads almost had me passing out.” 

“Was it too much?” He asks seriously, hoping to god it was. 

“A little bit, yeah.”

“I can imagine you want something to feel real after that.”

For some reason, his words hit you straight in the gut. Your stomach drops as your attraction heightens, and suddenly you’re just staring at him as you respond. 

“I can imagine so, yeah.” 

He stares back, almost no space between the two of you as the banter only brought you both mentally and physically as close as possible without becoming twisted together. 

“When was the last time you felt something real?” He asks against his better judgment, wondering if you’re on the same page with him. Wondering if all this banter was leading to somewhere or nowhere. Because he could have sworn admitting to wanting you to kiss him, and you’ve yet to do so. 

“A month and a half.” You respond dryly, suddenly needing something to drink. 

He glances down at your neck when you swallow around your words, then stares at your lips before breathing in a sigh. One that was supposed to relieve the tension in this moment, but only building it more because he knows you see him do it. He knows you see him wet his bottom lip too.

“Are you going to kiss me, or are you planning to wait another month and a half to get what you want?” He continues on his streak of boldness as if to distract you from noticing the sexual tension, feeling his heart skip beats at the intensity of the moment. 

“It’s not like we have anything better to do.” You start, leaning in and still looking straight into his eyes.

“Are you suggesting that I’m boring?” He narrows his eyes as he feels your breath against his lips, still sweet from the wine that did close to nothing in terms of altering the brain. The two of you are totally planted into reality, if anything, a little drunk on the other. 

“Not at all.” You adjust your words from earlier, there, hovering just over his lips. “I’m just saying that nothing is more interesting than kissing you right now.”

Oh, the fluttering in his belly is so fucking intense right now. No eighteen inch alien tentacle dildo on a shelf could scare him as much as you do at this moment. Intimidatingly outspoken and aware of your wants and needs. His eyelashes flutter just like his stomach does, closing them slowly until he can feel your lips on his. 

Your stomach, on the other hand, has been doing flips since the first instance he admitted to wanting to stay. All of the tension, all of the comfortable silence, all of the glances, the smiles, the laughing, all of it was leading up to this. The moment your lips hit his, they feel much like you imagined they would. 

Soft, plush, warm. The thin lipped grins he’s given you all day now laying flat against your own lips, no longer grinning, now just wanting. And he’s gentle, so fucking gentle with it. Never has a man asked you to kiss him. Usually they close the gap to try and swoon you. It appears you’re both being swooned by each other at the moment though, and his soft kiss only pulls back momentarily before he leans forward, closer.

The third touch, save for you shoving him, his lips on yours, and now…his hand on your cheek. Caressing so gently as he deepens the kiss with ease. The heat rises up and through your skin at the simple touch. You think he must feel it with the way he chuckles into the kiss and starts peppering them against your lips over and over again. A split second between each lay of his lips, and then another solid kiss. One where you finally start moving yours too.

It’s slow and languid in the way he kisses you like this, barely even darting his tongue out but focusing more on your cheek against his palm. He can feel your jaw move as you kiss and can’t help but love what’s happening, and when you’re the one to lick against his lower lip, he falls in so easily. 

That little movement from you, that little feeling of your tongue experimentally prodding his lips open releases the last bit of tension holding him back. He pulls back to look at you and you’re not backing down even slightly. 

“Does this feel more real for you?” He asks in a snide way, swiping your bottom lip with his thumb of the glistening saliva before tilting his head with a smile. 

You very nearly roll your eyes at him for that. And by very nearly, you do roll your eyes at him and can’t help but smile yet again. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” He says, palm still against your cheek, tips of his fingers toying with the baby hairs on your hair-line. “because I can imagine that the toy couldn’t ki-”

You shoot forward to kiss him again, only just realizing how awkward the positioning is considering neither of you were probably expecting more than a first kiss. 

He laughs into it, knowing you were silencing him of something that could arguably be the most cringe-worthy thing he can say after kissing you. His laughs start to stifle though, as you press forward and somehow manage to have his back against the seat of the couch and you planting yourself on top of him. 

“Can you shut up about the toy now? I thought we got past that,” You argue as you pull back, your cheek already missing the feeling of his palm against it. “You can’t just act like this and then say some dumb shit like that.”

You’re joking, he knows it. If anything, you’re complimenting him right now and he eats it the fuck up as he stares up at you. 

“Was I wrong though?” 

You take a moment to look at him, realizing that this is the man who you just kissed. With his hair a mess and fanned out on the cushions, strands falling in front of his eyes, but mostly swept back and exposing the entirety of his forehead to you. 

You reach forward and brush a strand from his eyes. 

“Actually, say whatever you want.” You correct yourself and manage to ignore his question.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” He half-chuckles as he brings his hands up to sit against your waist, hoping you don’t pull out of the intimate position the two of you are in. 

“I don’t know, I was just looking at you and thought it would be stupid for me to try to argue with you right now.”

“Why’s that?” He prods for more compliments, feeling himself twitch at the way you look hovering over him. 

“Are you trying to argue right now?” You tilt your head, adjusting yourself now to sit directly on his thighs and lay forward, both hands cushioning your chin on his chest as you straddle him. 

“Would it be so wrong to admit that you’re fun when you argue with me?” 

You can feel him breathe under you, nearly rocking you further and further into whatever headspace Jay seems to put you in. It’s too comfortable, and it almost feels as though you’ve been with him for years now. You barely know him, yet you’re lying on him as if you got married two years ago. Insane how this works. How the heart works, or the brain, or whatever drives the arousal you’re feeling right now. 

“Will you argue if I ask to show you my room?” You start, lifting back up and away from his chest, now scooting forward a bit. You don’t dare sit on it yet, but you very much would like to if he were to suggest not moving at all from this couch. “My bed.”

He stutters and quickly quiets his excited words, replacing his voice with a nod and a sharp inhale.

“Hah! Telling me to argue and instantly buckling the second I mention my bed.” You laugh, pulling yourself up and sauntering out of his view.

He stares at the ceiling for a moment, in a daze over just how much he likes you. He wonders, would you be shocked to know he hasn’t had sex in much longer compared to you? One and a half months for you? That’s nothing to him. He’s been besties with his right hand for at least six months by now. Trust him when he says that it truly was difficult to not turn into a hormonal idiot when he saw you in the shop that day. 

Finally, he shakes himself out of the spaced out horny brain staring at your ceiling and stands to his feet. He’s quick to adjust the bulge in his jeans, uncomfortably shaking his leg before looking toward where you walked off to.

“Um.” He stops, realizing you were watching him, looking directly at the spot he just adjusted. “I mean,” He tries to start again, adjusting again as he feels it slowly move out from its tucked place. “Listen,”

“No, I get it.” You say, snickering at his embarrassment as if he somehow doesn’t know you were suggesting at least some foreplay by moving to your room.

“Of course you do,” He drops his head, now blatantly shoving his hands down his pants to adjust before looking back up and taking a step forward. “You’re the one who sat on me like that.”

“Please, I didn’t even sit on it.” 

“Didn’t need to.” He shrugs, now coming up to you and waiting for you to guide him through your space and into your room. 

Once the two of you get there, him not even attempting to hide that he is very aroused at this moment, you’re very quick to turn and face him once he comes inside. 

“We are on the same page, right?” You ask, looking at his lips and the way they still look so kissable. 

“As far as I know, with all things considered.” He responds, looking down at himself and how pathetic he must seem in getting so aroused by nothing more than a kiss and a position change. 

You smile, reaching for his hand and watching him tumble forward to you. Now standing mere inches in front of you. 

“Do you want to see it?” You ask, a cheeky smirk on your face as you turn away from him and run to your bedside table. 

He has no idea what the fuck you’re referring to until he sees it. There, in all of its non-human glory. Jay ticks his tongue, curiously straining his neck out to peek at what else is in your drawer as he walks closer. 

You make no attempt to close the drawer and instead pull out another one, and another one, another one.

“If you keep pulling out toys I’ll start to think you were lying in saying you wanted to feel something more, um–”

“Real?” You say, turning from your presented line-up of toys to look at him. 

He nods, gazing over the toys, four dildos all far bigger than he is. 

“I can admit that men can’t vibrate, nor do they have those little rotating beats but,” You chuckle at the conversation, scooping the toys up quicker than you laid them out and tossing them back into the drawer. “They’re not warm, or attached to someone that can kiss me. They’re also not witty.”

You study his expression.

“They don’t make me laugh before getting me off.” You continue, wondering if you may actually be too forward about this now. 

He’s rendered a bit speechless, which is rare for him in any given situation. He always has a quick response, not at this moment though as he looks at you. He wonders if you pity that obvious act of self-doubt upon seeing your toys. 

“They’re not attached to you.” You add, this time stifling your chuckle, because it’s a pretty funny conversation if you look at it from the outside but you can imagine he must be feeling some type of way to be so quiet.

He thinks hard about it, knowing damn well where this was leading and pushing for it himself. Hearing you now though, so confidently say these things, all doubt erases from his mind. 

“Before we do anything,” he starts, his shaky voice coming out more confident as he continues. “Is this just a hook-up to you or are you feeling the way I’m feeling right now?”

You look at him with a question in your eyes. He was kind of shocked that you didn’t finish for him this time, actually. 

“Like, you know if we do this, I’m going to be calling to take you out to dinner at some point unless you say you don’t want me to, right?”

You hadn’t thought of anything past him since you’ve gotten here. You didn’t think about anything more than hanging out with him, and now, kissing him, and maybe you know, feeling him. For some reason though, despite the lack of sex you’ve had lately, him saying that only arouses you more. It’s been so long since you’ve intended to sleep with someone and have them want to stick around after. Some of the people you’ve been with didn’t even ask for your number. Is this what adult relationships are actually like? 

“As in, you’d want to see where this goes in the–”

“Future, yes. I’m not just going to fuck you and pretend I didn’t when I see you again.”

Shockingly, that’s a first for you and you like the feeling it gives you. Plus, him implying that he’s about to, or very willing to, fuck you sends a wave of fondness through you.

“Alright. Let’s not call it a hook up then.” You say, the playful arousal from before stifling out at the idea of being intimate with someone who is making you aware that you’ll see him again, now being replaced with…feelings? Arousal with feelings?

“What should we call it?” 

“A date?” You say back immediately, sitting on your bed and finally closing your bedside drawer. 

“Oh, you fuck on the first date?” 

You laugh at how quickly his wit comes back, especially with the way he crowds up and stands in front of you. 

“With you? Looks like it.” You smile wide for him, feeling the tension bleed away and replace itself again with the arousal of him standing and looking down at you. 

“How did we not meet earlier?” He asks, leaning down a bit as if to kiss you.

“Fuck if I know, I bought all of those toys at your shop.”

“Ah, right. Nine in the morning on a Monday. I don’t usually work mornings.”

“Guess I got lucky last time then.”

“I guess you did.” He adds like a period to a sentence, finally kissing you again and making no effort to hide the fact that he’s attempting to lay you down much like you did to him before. 

You let him, falling back on your bed and feeling him nudge your legs to spread. Again, you let him, feeling your heart begin to race with excitement in the way he kisses you now versus how he did it earlier. 

There is clear intent behind it this time, as he positions himself between your legs. Your heart only races faster when one of his hands slides down your arm and he tangles his fingers with yours. It’s all very intimate to be coming from a man you officially met today, but you really do feel lucky. 

Lucky that he works two jobs, lucky that your family throws lame ass reunions every five years, lucky that you left your headlights on during a sunny sunday afternoon, lucky that your battery died. 

It’s so normal already to smile into the kiss and feel giddy inside. Never have you smiled into a kiss save for laughing when a leg cramp happens mid-fuck. You can’t believe how much you’ve smiled and laughed today, and you can’t believe he’s making you react this way just by holding your fucking hand and kissing you this way. 

He laughs when you react though, probably feeling at ease on your bed with you under him, squeezing your fingers tightly each time he licks against your tongue. And when he pulls back to breathe, you just look at him and the way his hair hangs in front of his eyes. He looks so pretty at this angle, even when he’s moving slowly, even when his other hand remains planted beside your head to hold his weight from falling onto you. 

It’s not been since highschool that you’ve laid with someone simply making out, fully clothed, giggling. You’re unsure of how he’s pulled this out of you, because usually when a man is on top of you, you’re already trying to get his clothes off. But this? This is something that you want to last. You want it to be slower than a usual fuck, because you like when he’s here with you. Whether on top of you or not, there was a reason he’s stayed this late already and you already know it wasn’t solely to fuck you.

“Did you expect to be on top of me someday?” You ask between kisses, and he takes that as an invitation to laugh against your neck and tickle your cheek with his messy hair. 

“Expect it? No,” He starts, leaving a kiss just under your ear before lowering his lips to the collar of your shirt and kissing there too. “Hoped I could, though.” 

Your heart swells up at that. You realized he must have meant it when he admitted to having a small crush on you. Only now do you realize that the curiosity that brought you back up to the food-table during the reunion may have been the start of a crush on your end too. 

You don’t say anything more after that and instead fall into the feeling of his lips kissing along your collar. For some reason the sensation of his lips pushing the fabric out of the way so he can kiss new exposed skin makes you feel incredibly wanted. Maybe it’s the pace, or maybe it’s just because you really really like him, and want him to want you. 

“Do you want to take it off?” You ask after a few more of his kisses, wanting to control yourself but also very much wanting to feel his lips everywhere else too. 

You can feel him nod in the form of his hair tickling your cheek more. But he doesn’t move from that spot at first, continuing to kiss you the same way and in the same places. You let him, up until he finally sighs and pulls back. 

Looking at him now, even compared to a few moments ago, he looks even more pretty. His eyes are now soft, you can almost see the lines from where he’s smiled for you all day. His lips, looking more kissable than they did the past two times you thought they looked as kissable as they ever could. His eyebrows, showing no signs of tension but permanently arched in a way that makes him appear constantly moody. 

You’re staring and you’re not intending to hide it. Even as he lifts your shirt from your waist and starts to pull it up. You barely budge as you stare, and stare, until you can’t because he’s trying to pull your shirt over your head.

“If you’d stop staring for two seconds maybe I could get this off of you–” He smiles knowingly, finally pulling it off when you arch your back and then prop yourself up slightly with your hands. “There.”

He sighs when he says it, going silent and almost frozen at the image of your nearly-naked torso. You watch him stare now, a smirk forming all too quickly.

“Now look who’s staring.” You chuckle, noting that his eyes still don’t leave the newly exposed skin or the fabric of your bra.

“Yeah, I am.” He admits, wetting his lower lip again and then flicking his eyes to you. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Suddenly, that eye contact makes you feel shy. You’re more naked than he is, despite mostly being dressed still.

“You know,” you start, avoiding his intense eye contact just to get the words out. “If we just take all of our clothes off now, it would probably be easier.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle at you but nods, already lifting his shirt off and going for his zipper and button.

“There’s no rush, but if you’d prefer we do,” He scoots back and away from you, standing to his feet to shove his jeans down his legs. “I don’t mind.”

You watch him undress and lose all ability to act on your own for a solid thirty seconds before you finally start panic-shimming the rest of your clothing off. Save for bra and panties, and he, now standing there clad in only a pair of form-fitting briefs. 

You’re glad he isn’t as shy as you at this moment though, or rather, he appears to be entirely infatuated with your body and doesn’t look away from it for even a moment to feel embarrassed himself at standing on the side of your bed nearly nude. 

“No rush?” You ask, when he finally trails his eyes up to you and takes his position between your legs from earlier. Except now, you can see his biceps and the way they flex, now, you can feel the immense amount of warmth radiating from him. Now, his hair is even more of a mess.

“I can try,” He says quietly, balancing on one hand and lowering his lips to yours once more, trying to ignore how dangerously close his length is to bumping against your core. “No promises now, though.”

You smirk, wondering where he lost his self control within that short span of time where you got undressed. He cuts your chuckle off mid-way though, now kissing you again and moving his hand up and down your waist. It tickles and causes goosebumps to form all over you, to the point that you can’t help but sigh into his kiss. 

He continues, still holding his hips back from grinding against you, kissing you as good as he can until trailing back to your neck again. 

It’s not until you run your fingers through his hair that he sighs himself. That relief and heavenly feeling of your fingers scraping the back of his neck— such a simple touch can literally send him straight to hell at this point and he wouldn’t care a single bit as long as it’s from you and your hands. 

He lowers himself more, just to prevent his hips from intruding into this moment only to lock his lips onto the mound of your breast, other hand lowering so he can lay down and push your bra to the side a bit. 

The cold air that hits your nipple is short-lived when you feel him immediately suck it into his mouth with a deep breath. You continue to scratch through his hair, now using your other hand to nearly hug his head in place as you feel the sensations shoot straight between your legs. Each flick of his tongue sends signals to your brain to go! go! go! But much like him, you hold back, even though your legs still manage to squeeze his body between yours in an attempt to find the friction he isn’t yet offering. 

He continues this for a few minutes, and then works his fingers under the bra on the other side of your chest before switching his lips to that one. Perking them up so perfectly that he can graze his teeth against either nipple and feel your legs react to it. All of it is turning him on beyond belief, it’s dangerously attractive to him now too, to know that you have several toys that could have already gotten you off by now, but you choose this. You choose his lips playing with your tits, and your legs doing an amazing job of showing him your lack of control. After all, toys can’t give you the foreplay that he can.

His lips continue their work, up until he’s trailing further and further down, making your sighs hitch higher and higher in pitch. He kisses your waist, just above your belly button, then just below your belly button before leaning back.

There, he looks directly at the seat of your panties and smiles at the wet spot there. He plants a kiss right in the center of your mess  before climbing back up and caressing your cheek again. 

“You’re wet.” He comments in a huskier voice than he normally uses, balancing yet again on his other arm.

Goddamn, if this is how he sounds when he’s with a girl then you feel more lucky than before. You can’t imagine the amount of women who have fallen completely in love with this guy. And, before you can actually respond to him with another cheeky comment, his hand on your cheek disappears and is instantly between your legs, cupping you there and even scooting you up the bed with the force of how he grabs you.

You hitch out a sigh and look at him with a smile.

“Obviously.” You say back, rolling your eyes playfully before unintentionally bucking your hips into the pressure his palm offers against your clit. 

“Cute too.” He adds, lifting his palm to run his fingers up the wet spot on your panties before pressing in slightly. 

You can feel the fabric stick to you uncomfortably, but it still feels so fucking good. Any amount of touching from him feels good, if you’re being honest. 

“And you’re teasing me.” You argue, looking away from his smirk as he plays with the wet fabric against his fingers. 

“Just ask. I’m not teasing you if you're not telling me what you want.” 

You shoot your eyes back to him, a mixture of curiosity and shock in your eyes. It’s true though, you are a little shocked. Most men really just do what they want, and so do you. Never have you been asked what you want. 

Your eyes trail down as far as they can, what his hand is doing is mostly hidden between your legs but you focus entirely on the way his arms flex as his fingers travel up and down your panties. 

“You want me to ask?” You question, hips bucking up again unintentionally. 

“Not so much ask, but like, tell me what you want.”

He nods to himself as he says it, licking his bottom lip and pressing the fabric of your panties in yet again. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to do what he wants right now though, definitely not. He just figures you know your body far better than he does, and he’d rather not make assumptions and embarrass himself when you could just ask him or better, guide him. Who is he to assume you want his fingers right now anyway?

“I’ve never…” You start, swallowing your words as your brain goes back to focusing on his fingers momentarily. “I haven’t–”

He knows what you’re trying to say, so he attempts to make it a bit easier for you. 

“Do you want me to pull your panties to the side?” 

You sigh with a nod, looking at him and allowing him to guide you through telling him what you want.

“Do you want me to touch you?” 

You nod again, pushing your head back against the mattress out of frustration that you, for some reason, can’t find the words to just tell him yourself. 

He listens to your body though, more than your weak nods and frustrated sighs. The way your legs shake when he asks, the way you react to the air hitting your folds when he does push your panties to the side. He can’t bear to look down yet though, because he knows for a fact that if he were to pull back and look at you in full, he’d no longer be asking you what you want. He’d be embarrassing for sure. 

You can feel his fingers now sliding through your folds though, bare pussy out and on display but not yet being looked at, only being felt. And arguably, all you can do right now is feel too, as he leans forward to kiss you in this silent moment. 

His fingers continue to explore as he kisses you, collecting all of your arousal and swirling it around your clit before sliding back down and prodding at your entrance. You make a sound at that, kissing him a little harder than before when he lets out a hum.

“Hm?” He hums against your lips, and you nod to him. 

There, he dips a finger in only slightly. Your arms reach around his neck at the feeling and pull him closer to you. To the point that you can feel him struggle to angle his hands right to slide in deeper, but you pay no mind to it. At least not until you kiss the fucking daylights out of him.

That, you do. Kissing him with full-force and making a show of how turned on you are for him. He feels it, with or without your kiss bruising him. The wetness on the tip of his finger only becomes wetter, and when you release your grip around his neck, he still doesn’t leave the kiss.

He goes back to gently kissing you, focusing more on his fingers than what his tongue is doing. He slides that same finger in all the way now, feeling your walls clench almost instantly and beg for more. Chuckling at the feeling, he fucks his finger into you experimentally before pulling them out and adjusting two fingers at your entrance. 

“Hm?” He hums again, and you nod again.

So, two fingers slide in and you’re releasing a soft moan against his lips. Already out of breath from focusing so hard on how he feels when he touches you. Your lips fall slack just to catch that lost breath, and he doesn’t argue, going right back to that spot on your neck to kiss as he picks up rhythm with his fingers. Effectively fucking you open with them as you cling to him.

You hate to say you didn’t pay much attention to his hands until now. Having not noticed how deep just those two digits reach inside of you, and good fucking lord does he know how to use them too. Curling them up at just the right moment to have your legs shaking. 

Never have your legs fucking shook for a man. This only happens with the g-spot stimulating toys. God, you open your eyes to look at the ceiling in thought, and it has you wondering if he even knows he’s doing it. 

“Keep doing that–” you urge him, and he hums at you finally at least trying to tell him what you want. 

He finally lifts from your neck to look at you, now placing his weight back on that one free arm that had been toying with the ends of your hair this entire time, and he’s fucking floored. Even if he pictured you before with those toys, none of those images came close to this. And it’s just his fingers? No where near the size of your toys, no where near as expensive, or warm…or alive.

Oh. You want to feel someone who wants you. 

“I’ll do anything you want.” He says, doing exactly as you asked except a little faster, still hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly that you’re moaning out now. 

He tunes in entirely to the sounds you’re making, the faces you’re making, and the way your pussy clenches around just those two fingers. He is aching at this point, pulling back from hovering over you to sit now between your legs, fingers still keeping pace, and sliding his other hand down his briefs. 

You don’t notice at first, too enthralled by the feeling of his curling fingers inside of you, but when you do–

“God,” You moan, rolling your eyes at the image of him out of breath, both hands working to pleasure both of you. “Come here.”

He listens, already pulling his hand away from himself but keeping his fingers in you, in a daze as he takes his original position of hovering over you.

“No, I mean, come here.” You say, looking at him as you reach between your bodies and pull his fingers out of you, then reach to grab between his legs. 

He immediately moans at the feeling, his hips pressing harshly into your grip with a whine as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes just to feel it. 

“Pull it out.” You continue, slowly becoming more and more comfortable telling him what you want. 

Just watching him do what you ask is insanely hot. The way he pulls his cock out seems so natural to him, you suddenly imagine what he must look like all alone while getting himself off. Thankfully though, he’s not all alone right now, he’s with you, and you intend to be getting him off. 

You look at him, between his legs, and then back at him once more before grabbing it again and practically pulling his hips to you by the cock. He groans all the same at it though, and only holds his breath when he feels your legs spread further and essentially press his cock between your folds and hold it there from the head. 

“Grind.” You say, still holding your hand in place to keep the pressure against him, which also puts pressure against your clit when he does grind up.

You both shiver at it, and he still looks down at you, fucking smiling through his sighs of relief regarding the new sensations you’re offering. 

“You’re actually fucking perfect.” He compliments, fucking his hips up and coating his cock with the dripping of your needy cunt. 

Out of everything he’s ever said to you up to this point, out of everything he’s fucking done to you, that’s the one thing that has you spiralling into a world of fire. It makes you feel so warm, especially with the head of his cock bumping your clit. He has barely gotten any friction and he is still calling you perfect? Sign you the fuck up, forever, actually. 

“Don’t be stupid,” You start, waving him off between moans and gripping his shoulders.

He grinds up harder at your words though, now propping himself up on his elbows and grabbing your face on both sides. 

“You, don’t be stupid.” He says clearly, pointing his thrusts directly at your clit and moaning only slightly as he looks at you.

You swear, at that moment he could see your entire life. Everything about you. Everything you love and hate. The way he doesn’t look through you but at you? 

“You’re actually insane.” You laugh, crumbling to his pointed gaze and thrusts, your legs automatically shooting up to wrap around his waist. 

He seems proud of being called insane right now. Mostly because he can come up with at least fifty reasons as to why this is anything but insanity, but he remains quiet at the feeling of your legs squeezing around him. 

Such a girl was looking for mundane sex toys to have normal sex with? Lucky you, this is his fucking favorite. Plain ‘ol missionary? Check. Legs squeezing around him, almost pulling him in? Check. Looking directly at the face of the person he wants to make feel good? Check. 

You barely notice his lack of control by this point, the closeness alone feels like you’re already having sex but you realize you’re entirely empty still. This is fine though, until it’s not.

When does it not become fine? When his confident moans turn to soft sighs, and you notice his arms shaking a bit to hold his weight above you, and when his eyes go dead staring at you. You can tell he’s focused entirely on the feeling between the two of you, doing nothing more than aggressive yet…weak grinds? 

“Jay,” You say, slightly out of breath. 

“Hm?” He responds half-heartedly, releasing his weight from one elbow and dropping his head between your neck and shoulder.

“Fuck me.”

It’s like you can feel the switch in his head go from losing sanity to gaining it back in an instant at those words. He felt like he was pleasuring himself against you for so long, with so much friction between your hand and his abdomen constantly pressing into it. He could have gotten off from this, if you wanted him to anyway. It would have been an intense orgasm after working up for so long too, but now? 

He doesn’t even say anything, he doesn’t even move his head from between your neck and shoulder. Instead, you feel him expertly adjust his hips and press in without much trouble. He finds exactly where he belongs so fucking fast that is has you spinning and clenching immediately. 

“Shit,” He drones out with a long sigh, slowly sinking his cock into you. “You’re throbbing.” 

You chuckle, because yeah. You definitely are, but so is he. You can feel his thick length spreading you open inch by inch, until he’s fully planted into you and twitching. Then he doesn’t move again.

“This alone could do me in,” He chuckles against your neck, breathing in a deep sigh and attaching his teeth to your lower ear lobe. “Honestly, I can't believe I didn’t already cum  just from having my fingers in you.”

You’re both flattered and shocked by this comment, before you can even think to respond he’s talking again.

“You’re so tight, so wet.” He soothes himself through the feeling of your walls clenching around him by explaining how good your pussy feels, not yet wanting to move and just wanting to feel what your body does to him on its own. “It’s so hard not to move right now.”

“Please,” You manage to get out, struggling to focus on just one thing with the way he’s talking and the way he sits so perfectly inside of you. “Please, move.”

And he does, instantly. Pulling out and sliding back in so easily that the slapping sound is muted entirely by the matching moan you both release. You can feel his voice vibrating against your neck, and you can imagine he might be able to feel yours through your pulsing walls, because it feels like every sound, touch, and sensation is sent straight there for him to enjoy. 

It doesn’t stop either. Both of you shamelessly moaning at the feeling of him snapping his hips into you at perfect speed, with a perfect voice, and a perfect hand moving up to grip your chest. 

He’s practically blanketing you with his body, your legs holding him in this spot, his hair still finding a way to tickle your cheek with each thrust in. It’s so fucking much. It’s so good, and so…comfortable.

You’re comfortable. So comfortable you don’t even feel the need to rub your clit, you don’t want to chase the orgasm, you just want to feel him. And apparently, he’s still on the same page with you. 

When he lifts his head, kissing the bottom of your chin and then your lower lip, still the two of you are groaning at each deep thrust in, but he manages to talk through it, somehow.

“Don’t stop,” he says, despite you barely doing anything. “Keep doing that.” He continues as his thrusts pick up pace. 

Only now do you realize that you were doing something. Without noticing, your hands were nearly tearing his back apart. Not literally, but your nails may have dug in a few times. Normally, once you notice doing that, you would stop because normally men don’t want the trace of another woman on him. Jay though, he’s in love with the idea that you’ll leave a mark. 

Obsessed with the sting of it, really, loving the idea of going to his night-job tomorrow and staring at all of the toys that don’t offer you a back to hold onto like this. 

You do as he asks much like he does for you, gripping him so tightly that your nails have no choice but to leave half-moon shapes on his skin. Each thrust drags your fingers up, down, up down, and with each thrust it somehow feels deeper, harder, hotter.

When he releases your chest from his other hand and puts it back to your cheek, caressing much like he has each time he’s focused on kissing you, you think you’re a fucking goner. 

As expected, he kisses you at that moment and thrusts once, hard, before holding himself there.

“I’m really close,” He whispers apologetically between kisses, “tell me how to get you there with me.”

You smile when he kisses you again instead of letting you answer, but you fall into it much like he does and you opt to grab that hand on your cheek and guide it to your clit. 

Instantly, he’s rubbing harsh and sloppy circles around it, and you reward him for the perfect work of his fingers yet again with your fingernails digging into his back. He softly moans at that, and you swallow it up all too easily. 

Tensing your muscles, his fingers on your clit work you up so quickly that you barely warn him of your oncoming orgasm, even as his cock sits leaking and heavy inside of you. You don’t even know how to tell him, all you can do is frantically moan out shortly.

“I’m–” 

Instantly his hips are back at work, barely even thrusting but instead remaining buried into you for the most part. He pulls out an inch and slams back in, wanting your orgasm to get him off more than his own movements. And fuck, it does.

The way you clench when you reach your high, slack lips against his own, he releases at what he could argue is the best possible time. Your tenses muscles work him up perfectly, gently massaging his cock as he releases in full without too much overstimulation. 

And you. You have never gotten off with a man staying mostly still inside of you. Actually, you’ve only gotten off that way with toys because nothing beats getting off while completely full. Jay really is something, or, someone. 

The two of you release together, and his lips fall slack just like yours do. The kissing turned to that of desperate, orgasm-fogged moans into the other’s mouth. For some reason, it was incredibly hot to you that you both reacted that way. So insanely drunk on the other that nothing felt embarrassing.

Even the way his fingers moved on your clit through your orgasm, he somehow knew when to go and when to stop. 

Even now, as your orgasm tapers off, you are so blissfully aware that you want to immediately fall asleep even with him inside of you. Jay is polite though, and gently pulls out with a small apology of the mess. 

When he looks at you, looking so sleepy under him, maybe it translates to him too and he instantly yawns but tries to be strong for both of you.

“We should clean up.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

There wasn’t even a question in your head when he slept over that night. He didn’t even hint at leaving. Nor did he hint the morning after as you groggily opened your computer for your daily work. 

He did hint that he would miss you when he eventually had to go to his own house and get ready for an evening at the sex-shop. He also hinted a few times at feeling like, when he looked at you, you weren’t a brand new person in his life. Part of you wonders if that’s because maybe you want to be permanent in his life from now on.

Later that night, he came back. Bright eyes and a stinging back.

For some reason, you feel it’s safe to say that neither of you can stand being apart for too long. So yeah, maybe this is what a normal relationship is like. If, you know, you were in a relationship with him.

Ironically enough, only a few days later that relationship is established in the form of a new car battery and a bottle of lube that he bought for you. 

Not that you need it. (The lube.)

[thestrongestkikufuku]

a business proposal, p. 7

» series masterlist - ⟡⋆˙

» contents - ⟡⋆˙ fluff, slight angst, au, satoru gojo x f!reader, ceo!gojo, mentions of drinking and alcohol, reader being drunk and hungover, mentions of violence (nothing too explicit), reader going through some shit, gojo being a bit petty

» word count - ⟡⋆˙ 5.5k

» notes - ⟡⋆˙ hi everyone!! i'm so sorry this took so long to post, i actually started writing this pretty late into the day and it's currently 3 am as i write this 😭 this one was pretty fun to write but also quite challenging because i was unsure on how to continue, but here we are!! i now added a series masterlist link, making it easier for me to add for each part so please check that out and save it if you want to keep updated!! :) i also want to take the time to thank the people who ask to be in the taglist, i realize that answering every single request can be quite repetitive, but i can assure you all that i see them and it makes me so incredibly happy to know that you want to be tagged and eagerly wait for next part!! thank you so much for reading and i hope you all enjoy part 7 of this series! :)<3 once again, feel free to leave a comment or a private message to be added in the taglist. happy reading! (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

» m.list - ⟡⋆˙

“Wait? What do you mean my ideas got rejected?!” you exclaimed, trailing your stressed coworker around the office area. “The superiors seemed happy with it— they… They approved of it! God, I fought tooth and nail to make it all perfect!”

“I don’t know, [name], it seems like they must’ve changed their mind.” Your coworker replied, their voice tinged with exhaustion and empathy.

“But why? Why did Mr. Nakamura reject it—”

“It wasn’t Mr. Nakamura’s decision, [name].”

“Then who was in charge?”

“It was Mr. Gojo.”

You stopped in your tracks, disbelief washing over you like a cold wave. The office noise faded into a low and muted background noise as you tried to process what you’d just heard.

“Mr… Mr. Gojo? But... Why would he even be involved in this?” You asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, trying to make sense of the situation.

Your coworker shrugged, a deep sigh escaping their lips. “I guess your proposal caught his attention. Apparently he’s been taking a more hands-on approach lately.”

“I— b-but how can he reject it when it got approved in the first place?!” You stammered, frustration and confusion mingling in your mind. You could practically feel your heartbeat in your temples, each thud amplifying your stress.

“I don’t know. Maybe he saw something the others didn’t,” your coworker said softly. They stopped walking and turned to face you fully. “Look, this project is a big deal for him and the company, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he's being extra picky this time. You know how he is, he’s got insanely high expectations.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat, the unfairness of it all nearly overwhelming.

“R-Right,” you nodded solemnly, averting your gaze from your coworker, who seemed even more saddened on your behalf. “I get it. Thank you.”

Feeling defeated, you trudged back to your office and slumped into your chair. Sadness and frustration weighed heavily on your shoulders. All the effort, the all-nighters, all seemed to unravel with Gojo’s unexpected rejection.

Instinctively, your hand reached for your phone. Your thumb hovered over ‘Archaeopteryx’, the name staring back at you, evoking memories of a time when he had assured you that you could call anytime, especially when you felt down.

His words had been comforting then, a reassurance that despite the facade, there was a personal connection you could rely on. But now, staring at his name on your phone, uncertainty crept in. Would he still honor that promise, even after everything that had happened? Would calling him now make any difference? 

After a brief hesitation, you decided to dial. The phone rang once, twice, and then after a while it went straight to voicemail. Your heart sank as the automated message played, confirming that he wasn’t available to take your call. Or perhaps he didn’t want to answer?

Disappointment washed over you, mixed with a sense of abandonment. It seemed that even his offer of support had its limits, perhaps now more than ever. You hung up the phone slowly, staring at it for a moment before setting it down with a sigh.

The silence in your office felt oppressive now, the weight of the rejection from earlier crushing down on you again. You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes and trying to steady your breathing. It was clear that you were truly on your own at this moment.

—

“This guy is unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at your computer screen. “He rejected me again?!”

This was the fourth time that your marketing proposal had been turned down, each rejection more baffling than the last. The email included very vague reasons that made little sense to you, leaving you frustrated and questioning your abilities. It was becoming a frustrating pattern: every innovative idea you pitched seemed to hit the wall, despite initial enthusiasm from your colleagues and even higher-ups. 

With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your temples, trying to fend off the pounding headache that threatened to overwhelm you. Maybe it wasn’t just about your ideas; maybe there was something deeper at play, something you couldn’t quite grasp.

As you stared at the screen, thoughts raced through your mind. Was it politics? Personal bias? Or were you simply not seeing something crucial?

“He thinks he’s so high and mighty behind a screen, but he can’t even say this to my face,” you muttered, frustration bubbling within you. “So stupid, annoying, arrogant, piece of sh—”

Your words come to a stop as you read the rejection mail once more, feeling the sting of the impersonal dismissal. It wasn’t just about the idea anymore; it was about respect and fairness.

As you sat there, contemplating your next move, a feeling of determination began to settle in. You wouldn’t let this latest setback define your efforts or your worth.

Taking a deep breath, you closed the email and stood up from your desk. The familiar buzz of the office around you seemed distant as you focused on your resolve. Walking purposefully towards the door, you knew what needed to be done. It was time to confront this head-on, to seek clarity and demand the respect you deserved.

As you fidget nervously inside the elevator, your heart beats with anticipation. The soft hum of the elevator’s motor is the only sound in the confined space, amplifying the silence that envelops you. Each passing second feels like an eternity as the numbers above the door light up, counting down your descent into uncertainty.

Your mind races, trying to think of a plan. How should you approach him? What should you say? The weight of indecision presses upon you like a physical force, making it hard to breathe.

Suddenly the elevator doors slid open, and there he was, standing right outside. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you locked eyes with Gojo, his presence unexpected and intimidating. Panic surged through you, making your palms clammy and the thoughts in your mind scramble. This wasn’t how you had planned it. You weren’t ready to confront him like this.

For a brief moment, time seemed to freeze. Gojo’s expression was unreadable, his eyes assessing you with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. You struggled to find your voice, to formulate the words you had rehearsed so many times in your head.

Without a word, he stepped into the elevator beside you.

The air between you was charged with unspoken tension as the doors closed. You glanced at him, trying to read his expression, while he avoided meeting your eyes directly. It was clear neither of you had anticipated this sudden awkward proximity.

After a few moments of silence that felt longer than they were, you gathered your courage and blurted out, “what’s wrong with my ideas that you had to reject them four times?!”

“It’s not quite hitting the mark,” he replied casually, his gaze focused on the doors in front of him. “I want it to be perfect. You can do better.”

His nonchalant demeanor caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless. The implication sank in slowly — he wasn’t just dismissing your ideas, he was challenging you to improve them until they met his exacting standards.

“But I’ve put everything into it,” you protested, your voice wavering slightly. “I’ve revised it multiple times based on the feedback—”

“And I want you to redo it until it’s to my liking.”

“To your liking?!” You exclaimed, surprising him, “you listen here, I did everything by the book. The supervisors liked it, my colleagues liked it—everyone except you. So what is the issue?!”

Gojo remained silent, his expression unreadable. The tension between you grew more evident, the air thick with unspoken words, it was almost suffocating. Frustration bubbled up inside you, and without thinking, you reached out and tugged on his arm to turn him around, shocking both him and yourself with the boldness of your action.

He blinked in surprise, his gaze finally meeting yours, eyes wide in surprise.

“Answer me,” you insisted, your voice tinged with irritation and a hint of vulnerability. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you aggravate me!” He finally exclaimed, his tone coming out sharper than he intended.

The word hung in the air between you, shock rippling through you— not just from the unexpectedness of his blunt response, but from the raw honesty that lay beneath it.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the atmosphere grew thicker and heavier, almost suffocating. You were suddenly aware of the closeness between you, the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of his presence. His proximity was almost intoxicating, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart race. You could feel his breath softly brushing against your lips, so close yet not touching. His eyes flickered down to your lips almost imperceptibly, a fleeting moment that spoke volumes.

“I...” you started, uncertain of how to respond, your heart pounding in your chest.

He leaned closer, as if drawn by an invisible force, his intent clear yet unspoken. The world around you faded into the background, leaving only the charged moment between the two of you. His lips hovered tantalizingly close, the moment hanging in suspended anticipation.

Before he could make a move, the elevator’s chime shattered the moment, startling you both as you stepped back. The doors slid open with a mechanical whirr, flooding the confined space with bustling noises from the outside world.

Gojo hesitated, his eyes still locked with yours, a mix of emotions flickering across his face. Then, with a subtle shake of his head, he stepped out of the elevator without another word, leaving you standing there, stunned and unsure how to process what had just happened.

—

“WHAT?!” Rin’s voice was almost ear shattering as she leaned over the table in shock, “HE KISSED YOU?!”

“He didn’t kiss me—” You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose, “he just got really close, that’s all. But I’m pretty sure he was going to, like, kill me.”

Rin squinted at you, trying to focus through the haze of alcohol. “Wait, wait, wait. He got close... Like this close?” She mimicked leaning in dramatically, almost tipping over in the process.

“Yes, exactly like that.” You said, trying not to laugh at Rin’s exaggerated demonstration.

“Oh my god,” Rin gasped dramatically, slumping back in her chair. “And then what happened?”

“Nothing. The elevator arrived at the lobby, and he left.” You explained, your voice tinged with disappointment.

Rin pouted sympathetically. “That’s so unfair! Why does he have to be so mysterious?”

You shrugged, swirling the remnants of your drink in its glass. “I wish I knew.”

Rin suddenly perked up, eyes brightening mischievously. “Well, you know what you have to do, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, curious despite yourself. “What?”

“Make him chase you,” Rin declared with a tipsy grin. “Make him fall in love with you, HARD.”

You let out a small snort. “That’s highly inappropriate, Rin, he’s my boss,” you muttered as you took a swift chug of your drink. “Besides, I don’t think I want to do anything with him after the fake relationship thing. He’s always so… Demanding. And what if he finds out about the whole fake identity stuff? That’s just going to make things even worse. And his grandfather wouldn’t approve anyway.”

Rin waved her hand dismissively, nearly knocking over her own glass. “Pfft, who cares about that? It’s all about the drama, the tension! Trust me, if he got all up and personal with you, there’s obviously something there.”

“You watch way too many dramas, Rin,” you sighed, feeling a mixture of amusement and exasperation at her persistent encouragement. “Besides, I’m not sure it’s that simple. He’s… Complicated.”

“Complicated is just another word for interesting,” Rin countered with a wry grin. “Come on, you know you want to stir things up a bit. Life’s too short to be boring.”

—

Later that night, Gojo found himself at his apartment, sifting through stacks of paperwork and emails. He pulled up the latest marketing proposal from you, intending to give it another thorough review before making his decision. Each sentence he read seemed to blur together as his thoughts strayed to the memory of your encounter earlier.

Just as he was about to compose an email to provide feedback, likely more revisions, his phone rang. Confusion etched on his features as he saw your name flash insistently on his screen. It was late, and he couldn’t fathom why you would be calling at this hour.

He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Hello?”

“Hey,” came your voice, slightly slurred and unmistakably tipsy. “Where… Are you?”

Confusion turned to concern as Gojo tried to process your words. “Miss [name]—Miss Mei, are you drunk?” 

“Aah…” There’s a long pause from your end of the line before you start giggling. “Maybe a little? I went out to drink with… Rin.”

“Is she with you right now?” Gojo asked calmly, though his voice tinged with concern.

“No, no… She left a while ago. Her dad… Picked her up…” You sighed softly, “I just wanted to stay for a bit longer, you know… Drink my problems away.”

Gojo sighed heavily, his concern deepening “where are you? I can get a ride for you.” 

“I’m… Outside this bar.”

“Right,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dealing with this situation was going to be complicated. “Do you know which one?”

“Uhhh…” The sound of you shuffling about as you look around could be heard. “Happy-go-lucky bar.”

Gojo’s brows quirked up at your words. “That’s very close to where I work.”

“Hehe, I know,” you giggled again before continuing, your voice lowering in concern. “Anyway, can you help me? These guys won’t leave me alone and—”

“Come on sweetheart, live a little! Just get one more drink with us.” 

Gojo’s heart skipped a beat, his worry escalating as he heard the voices in the background. 

“Satoru, can you—”

“Listen to me carefully. Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you, alright?”

There was no answer from your end, only silence. The call ended abruptly, leaving him with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Without hesitation, he quickly grabbed his jacket and keys, his mind racing with worry and the need to reach you as soon as possible. The short drive to the bar felt like an eternity, filled with concern and a growing sense of urgency to ensure your safety.

As Gojo arrived at the bar, his heart raced with a mixture of relief and concern. Spotting you outside, he saw two men circling you, their intentions unclear but their demeanor showed clear aggressiveness. Gojo immediately parked his car and hurried over.

He approached swiftly as he harshly pulled the men away from you. They stumbled back, clearly startled and angered by his interference. You looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise and a hint of fear.

“Hey, who the hell do you think you are!?” One of the men slurred, his voice thick with alcohol and aggression.

Gojo’s expression hardened as one lunged at him. With lightning reflexes, he delivered a punishing blow to the man’s jaw, rendering him unconscious in an instant.

The sudden display of force left you stunned, frozen in place as you watched Gojo effortlessly handle the threat. The remaining man hesitated, clearly taken aback by Gojo’s ferocity.

“Get lost.” Gojo commanded sharply.

 The man stumbled back, fear now evident in his eyes, before turning and hastily running away.

Breathing heavily, Gojo turned back to you, his expression softening as soon as he saw you.

“Are you alright?” His voice trembles slightly, his hand reaching out as if to grab your face but then hesitating, pulling back.

You nodded dumbly, still processing what just happened. “I... I think so.”

“Come on, let’s get you home.” Gojo said gently, guiding you towards his car with a protective arm around your shoulders. 

The drive back was filled with a heavy silence, thick with tension that seemed to suffocate the air around them. You sat beside Gojo, your head spinning, not just from the remnants of alcohol in your system but also from the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded.

Gojo focused on the road ahead, his jaw tightened. The occasional streetlight cast fleeting shadows across his face, highlighting the tension that gripped his features. He stole a glance at you now and then, concern etched deeply in his face.

Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. 

You wanted to say something, to break the suffocating silence, but words eluded you. How could you articulate the mix of gratitude and confusion swirling inside you? You can’t even make sense of the situation right now, let alone understand your feelings towards Gojo. 

As the car rolled to a stop in front of your apartment building, Gojo turned off the engine but made no move to get out. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white with tension. You hesitated, unsure of how to break the silence that enveloped you both.

“Satoru…” you started tentatively.

He turned to look at you fully, his expression softening slightly at the sound of your voice. “Yeah?”

“I... Thank you,” you managed, your words stumbling out awkwardly. “For... For coming when you did.”

His gaze held yours for a moment, the tension in his features slowly fading away.

“I couldn’t let anything happen to you,” Gojo replied quietly, his voice tinged with sincerity. “I just... I couldn’t.”

You hummed in response, averting your gaze from his.

“This… This is a dream, right?” You asked softly.

“What?” 

“If… If this isn’t a dream,” you pause for a moment, hiccuping silently, “there’s no way you would come running to take care of me… Like this.”

Gojo’s expression softened, but beneath it, a hint of disappointment flickered as he processed your words. It was a moment of quiet introspection for him, realizing how distant he might have seemed before this moment.

But before he could dwell on it further, an unexpected giggle escaped your lips.

“What’s so funny?” Gojo asked, surprised by the sudden shift in mood.

You shook your head, the laughter bubbling up despite the seriousness of the situation. “I... I can’t believe I'm doing this.”

His confusion deepened. “Doing what?”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “My name... It’s not really Mei. It’s…” Your voice faltered, nerves and alcohol blurring the edges of your thoughts. “It’s [name].”

Gojo’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. Of course, he had known your real name for a long time now, but hearing it from you, especially in this vulnerable moment, caught him off guard.

“I know,” he said softly, his tone gentle and understanding. “It's okay.”

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise in your cheeks. “I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine, [name],” he interjected smoothly, his voice gentle yet reassuring. “You’re drunk, you should go get some rest.” 

You nodded slowly, grateful for his understanding despite the awkwardness of the moment. “Yeah... I think I should.”

Opening the car door, you stepped out into the cool night air, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside you. As you stood there, unsure of what to say next, Gojo spoke again, his voice breaking through the quiet.

“Take care of yourself, [name].”

“You too… Satoru.”

—

The next morning, sunlight filtering through your bedroom window stirred you awake. You groaned softly, your head throbbing with the unmistakable aftermath of drinking too much alcohol. Blinking against the light, you reached for your phone on the bedside table.

As you scrolled through your notifications, a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach. There it was—a call log from last night, and Gojo’s name stood out among the list.

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized you had been on a call with him, but the details were fuzzy, lost in the haze of alcohol and confusion. Did something happen? Did you say something embarrassing or inappropriate?

Fear and uncertainty gripped you, and for a moment, you debated whether to call him back, to ask for clarification. But then doubt crept in—what if he didn’t answer? 

With a heavy sigh, you set your phone back down, burying your face in your hands. The hangover was pounding behind your eyes, intensifying with each passing minute. You needed a distraction, something to take your mind off the whirlwind of thoughts.

Just then, a gentle knock on your bedroom door startled you. Before you could respond, your father peeked in, a concerned expression softening his features. He held a tray with breakfast—a plate with fruits and toast.

“Hey there,” he greeted softly, stepping into the room. “How are you feeling?”

You forced a weak smile. “I'm okay, dad. Just have a really bad headache.”

He nodded sympathetically, placing the tray on your bedside table. “You need to be more careful next time,” he chided gently, concern evident in his voice. “You’re lucky your friend dropped you off last night.”

Confusion clouded your mind as your brows furrowed slightly. “Huh? But Rin went home before me.”

“No, no, it wasn’t Rin, it was someone else. I haven’t met them before but it looked like they had white hair.”

The blood drained from your face as a cold realization washed over you.

“White hair…” You whispered, barely able to comprehend what you were hearing.

Could it really have been him? Satoru Gojo?

Your father looked at you, concern deepening at your sudden change in demeanor. “Is everything okay, [name]?”

You stared at him, trying to process the implications of what he had just said. “S-Sorry... Did you say... White hair?”

He nodded slowly, his brow furrowing with worry. “Yes, that’s what I saw.”

“Oh my god…”

Panic surged through you, electrifying every nerve in your body. Your mind raced, tumbling through fragments of the previous night. Disbelief clawed at your chest, making it hard to breathe. How could this have happened? How could you have let your guard down so easily?

Your father’s voice seemed distant, muffled, as he called for you. “[name], are you sure you’re alright? You look pale.”

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of shock that threatened to overwhelm you. 

“I... I need to lie down.” The words felt foreign, detached from the whirlwind of terror swirling inside you. You forced yourself to maintain composure, to not let the full extent of your fear show.

The pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place with a sickening clarity. Your thoughts flashed to the abrupt end to your fake relationship arrangement, where he had terminated it so suddenly, without any warning or explanation. 

And then there was the elevator ride a few days ago, where Gojo had suddenly blurted out that you aggravated him. At the time, you had brushed it off as one of his usual quirks, his tendency for dramatic declarations. But now, the memory took on a new, horrifying significance. His words echoed in your mind, laced with a bitterness that you hadn’t fully understood until now. “You aggravate me,” he had said, his eyes dark with an emotion you couldn’t place then.

It all made sense now.

The realization hit you like a physical blow, leaving you reeling. How could you have missed it? The signs were there, subtle but unmistakable. The way his demeanor suddenly shifted around you, the unspoken tension that had simmered just beneath the surface of your interactions. He wasn’t just annoyed by you; he felt deeply hurt by your deception.

You could almost see it now, the moment he must have pieced it all together. The realization dawning in his eyes, the sting of betrayal as he understood who you really were. The thought of Gojo, usually so composed and in control, grappling with that kind of hurt was almost too much to bear.

Your father’s voice brought you back to the present. “Do you need anything else, [name]?”

You shook your head, forcing another weak smile. “No, dad, I think I just need some time to um... Rest.” Your voice sounded distant, even to your own ears.

As he left the room again, you allowed the tears to fall, silent but heavy with the weight of your predicament. You had always known that going through with this lie was risky, but you had never anticipated it would come crashing down like this.

The following days were a mix of anxiety and avoidance. You called into work, claiming to be sick, and spent the hours in a restless limbo. The thought of bumping into Gojo made you feel physically ill. Every time your phone buzzed with a message or an email notification, your heart raced, fearing it might be him. The weight of your deception pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe.

The days turned into a week, each one more unbearable than the last. The four walls of your room felt like a prison, closing in on you. You couldn’t escape the gnawing dread that filled your thoughts. Every time you considered going back to work, the image of Gojo’s hurt and betrayed eyes would surface, and you’d feel a fresh wave of nausea.

You couldn’t bear it any longer. The anxiety, the fear, the guilt—it was all too much. You had to put a stop to this, to free yourself from this torment. The decision, once made, brought a strange sense of relief, mixed with sadness.

Sitting at your desk, you opened your laptop and began drafting your resignation letter. Each word felt like a tiny release of the burden you’d been carrying. You kept it professional, citing personal reasons and the need for a fresh start. Once you were done you took a deep breath and hit send. The email whisked away your resignation into the digital ether, hoping that Gojo would accept it and move on. 

—

You found yourself curled up on your bed late at night, trying to lose yourself in the comforting familiarity of your favorite show. The flickering images and familiar characters offered a brief respite from the turmoil in your mind. You hugged a pillow to your chest, seeking comfort in its softness.

Suddenly, your phone rang, shattering the fragile peace. The sound jolted you, sending a surge of panic through your veins. You glanced at the screen, seeing the ‘Archaeopteryx’ flashing insistently. Your heart raced, your breath hitching in your throat. You watched as it rang, paralyzed by fear and indecision, until it finally stopped.

The silence that followed was both relieving and tormenting. You let out a shaky breath, but the feeling of dread lingered. A part of you wished you had answered, to confront the inevitable, to maybe find some closure. But the thought of hearing his voice, of facing his anger and hurt, was too overwhelming.

The phone rang again, breaking the silence once more. You stared at it, your hands trembling. The impulse to ignore it was strong, but so was the need to face what you had been avoiding. Summoning all your courage, you hesitantly picked up the phone and answered.

“H-Hello?” 

There was a brief silence on the other end, and then Gojo’s familiar voice came through, calm yet tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite figure out. “[name],” he began tentatively.

Your breath caught in your throat, and a wave of panic washed over you. The sound of your real name, spoken so softly, sent you over the edge. It was one thing to know he had uncovered your secret, but hearing him use your true name made it all too real. Your heart pounded, and you felt dizzy, struggling to maintain your composure.

“I’m outside.” Gojo continued, his voice steady yet carrying a hint of urgency.

“W-What—”

“I need to talk to you,” he interrupted smoothly. “So please, just… Come out.”

“Satoru, I don’t think that’s a good idea—” you began, desperately attempting to find a way out.

“I won’t leave until you come out.” He declared firmly, cutting you off before you could finish, leaving no room for argument. 

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Okay... I-I’ll be right there.”

You hung up and took a moment to steady yourself. Your hands were shaking, and your heart felt like it was about to burst from your chest. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, trying to muster the strength to face him, despite the redness and puffiness that had surrounded your eyes. 

With a deep breath, you made your way out of the apartment complex and stepped out into the cool night air. There he was, standing a few feet away, his tall figure illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. 

“Hey.” He said softly, his soft gaze watching you intently.

“Hi.” You murmured, your voice trembling.

There was a brief moment of silence, heavy with unspoken words and emotions. You both stood there, uncertain of where to begin, each waiting for the other to break the tense stillness.

“How long have you known—”

“You really think you can just send your resignation letter and move on?” Gojo interrupted abruptly.

“H-Huh?” you stammered, taken aback by his unexpected question.

He stepped closer. “You think you can just walk away from this, after everything?”

Your heart sank as his words sank in. You hadn’t anticipated this—his directness, his raw honesty. The resignation letter had felt like a necessary step, a way to distance yourself from the pain and uncertainty. But standing here, face to face with him, you realized it wasn’t that simple.

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought... I thought it would be best.”

Gojo shook his head slightly, a mix of frustration and sadness crossing his features. “Running away won’t solve anything,” he said firmly. “Besides, firing you would be truly idiotic seeing how you are one of our most talented employees.”

You let out a small, bitter laugh. “Really? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

“No, that’s not it, [name],” he said firmly, taking another step closer to you. His eyes bore into yours with intensity. “I’ve missed having you around. And it’s not just about work. It’s about... Everything else.” He admitted quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of regret.

He paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words to convey the weight of his thoughts. 

“You have this... Presence,” he continued, his voice softening with admiration. “It’s like the room lights up when you enter, and suddenly everything feels more alive. After you’ve been gone, it’s like the color has drained from everything. Everything just feels quieter and dull.”

Gojo swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing. “I’ve found myself looking around, expecting to see you, to hear your voice chiming in with ideas or sharing a joke. And when you’re not here, it’s like...” His voice trailed off briefly, his gaze falling to the ground. “It’s like something is missing.”

The sincerity in his words touched you deeply, stirring a warmth in your chest despite the heaviness of the situation. His gaze held yours, unwavering and filled with a mixture of affection and vulnerability.

“I… I don’t understand.” You managed to say, your mind racing to catch up with the implications of his words.

He took a deep breath, looking into your eyes once more, closing the gap between you until you could feel the warmth of his presence. 

“I’ve been trying to ignore it, to deny it,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible over the gentle hum of the city around you. “But I can’t deny how I feel anymore.”

You stood in stunned silence, holding your breath at the raw honesty of his words, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“I care about you,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “More than I should, more than I’ve been willing to admit. And I have been in agony these past weeks. Throughout the times where we had to pretend, where I thought what I felt was part of the act. But now I know it’s real.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, his words resonating within you in a way that stirred emotions you hadn’t fully acknowledged before.

“Satoru—”

“I have feelings for you, [name],” he interrupted softly, his voice trembling slightly. “And I cannot keep pretending that I don’t.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched on, charged with unspoken emotions. You searched his eyes, seeing a mix of hope and nervousness reflected back at you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. This was so much—more than you had ever expected, more than you felt prepared to handle. You struggled to process it all, to reconcile his confession with the tangled mess of feelings within you.

“I understand that it’s sudden,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. “And I won’t rush you. So take your time to think things over and let me know.”

His words lingered in the air, laden with profound meaning. Gojo’s patience and understanding only made your decision harder. You wanted to say something, to find the right words to convey the turmoil in your heart, but clarity remained elusive.

“I will wait for you, [name],” he continued softly, his gaze unwavering. “No matter how long it takes.”

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[meazalykov]

the younger morgan

bayern munich frauen x lena oberdorf x USWNT!bayern!reader

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six

I had just finished unpacking the last of my boxes, and my new apartment in munich felt like home. for once I can breathe and take into my new surroundings. my move to bayern wasn’t confirmed yet, but everyone knew that I wasn’t with san diego anymore due to the post I made to Instagram last night, with the permission of wave, bayern munich and my agent maggie.

(pretend this is you and you are in the photos below)

y/n.morgan

(tagged: y/n.morgan & alexmorgan)

(tagged: y/n.morgan & emilyvanegmond10)

liked by alexmorgan13, stanwaygeorgia, and 59,482 others

y/n.morgan Dear San Diego Wave,

Thank you for one of the most special moments of my life. No amount of words can express the amount of love I have for you all. To my teammates, coaches, staff, and even to my sister thank you for your support during my first year of professional ball. All of the love on and off the pitch means more to me than you'll ever know. To the fans, thank you for your unrelenting support for SD Wave and never failing to make home games feel special. I am so grateful for the memories and friendships I've made here.

I have come to the part of my journey where I can say that I am proud of myself on and off of the pitch, and I am happy for what's yet to come. I cannot wait to see what this next chapter holds.

Go Wave! 🌊

-(initial)M17

comments

alexmorgan13 My favorite girl. I'm so proud. You should be excited for what's next. I love you 🩵

malpugh 🙌

wosofan78 OMG THE BAYERN RUMORS ARE TRUE??

naomi_girma you are so amazing ❤️

bayernfrauenluvr Welcome to Munich 🇩🇪

womenssportsgirl Stanway x Morgan linkup will be deadly omg

random563829 oh shitttt

chelsfemten I wish you went to Chelsea 😣

----

as I sat on my ivory sectional sofa watching netflix, my phone vibrated on my coffee table twice. out of confusion, since I don’t have any plans for another few days, I reached my arm over to grab my phone. 

georgia S: each room will have two people since the whole squad is coming lolll everyone will figure out who their roommates are once we get there

georgia S: everyone else cannot wait to meet you! 

when I chose bayern munich as my next club, i reached out to my only friend who plays at the club. georgia stanway. we had connected through social media almost a year ago because we have a few mutuals in the football community. she was excited and offered to help me transition into the club comfortably. as a start, I suddenly found myself going on a trip with them to ibiza in three days.

georgia had mentioned the Ibiza trip the same afternoon i landed in germany. I met her in person for the first time at a cafe along with giulia gwinn.

they’re sweet girls and we clicked right away, spending the entire evening together just walking around the bavarian city. As we were in a clothing store looking around at random pieces, giulia mentioned how everyone thought the trip would be a fantastic way to welcome me and a few other new girls onto the team and bond as a team before the new season kicked off.

i’ve never been to Ibiza in my life. alex used to spend her early 20s partying there from what I remember as a child. if Ibiza was like anything I've seen from social media– with its sun-drenched beaches, and vibrant nightlife– it seemed like the perfect setting for new friends.

I could hardly wait to meet my new teammates in a more relaxed and fun environment. the pitch could be intense.

while I had yet to officially step onto the pitch with the girls, I felt a connection with georgia and giulia-- I hope the same goes with the other girls on the team.

i’ve already signed a four-year contract with Bayern, and did the media stuff– but the media crew told me that they wouldn’t announce it online until June 27th. it's 16 days until then so I might have to be lowkey with the Ibiza stuff. it depends on what Maggie might suggest.

Y/n M: That's fine! 

Y/n M: I cannot wait to meet the rest of the team too! I am so excited :D

as I responded back to georgia before putting my phone back onto the coffee table, I walked around my neatly arranged apartment.

in my head, i knew I had made the right decision. after leaving San Diego, i felt free.

I know the comparisons with my sister will never end but at least I can be my own person at a club where my sister (barely) has influence.

I walk into my bedroom and pull out my pink suitcase, the same suitcase I traveled with a week before moving here. i started to overpack my bags, as per usual, with bikinis, linen clothing, and gym clothes because I know I'll go on runs there.

we are staying on the party island for a full week so I am excited— and nervous.

will the girls like me? is bayern the experience i've been looking for?

the language barrier won't be a problem since Giulia told me that many of the girls speak fluent english, but I will make an effort to learn the german language throughout my four years here too.

---

three days later– the car ride through the roads of ibiza was a relief after the plane ride that seemed to last forever. I sat in the back seat of the van with giulia, sydney, and sam, while georgia was up front, chatting loudly with klara. 

the mediterranean sun cast a warm glow over everything. its ten in the morning so nothing is going on so far. though, i could feel the excitement bubbling up inside me. it was hard to believe i was finally here, on this beautiful island, ready to bond with my new teammates in a new club!

"so, y/nnn," sydney turned around in her seat to look at me, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as i raised my eyebrows at her, "how has germany been to you so far?"

i thought for a moment, “honestly, its been good. i haven’t done much so far but i did see georgia and giulia on my first day in munich"

sydney nodded, her blonde hair catching the sunlight through her window seat. "thats fun! are you ready for the new season?"

all of the girls have been asking me questions since we took off on the plane to ibiza, i don’t mind it. i’ve been asking them questions as well. i’m new so they’re (rightfully) curious about me and my life. 

"yes i'm looking forward to it," i said, nodding my head as my mind was clouded with images of myself wearing the red kits. "i’ve heard so much great things about bayern– its going to be exciting to play here for the first time"

“however- i am looking forward to the olympics first.” i smirked at sydney who rolled her eyes playfully. 

germany and the united states will face each other in the group stage, which is something that was briefly mentioned on the plane. 

“same here.” sydney said as her left arm nudged my right. 

“when we crush you, we will be the first to comfort you– don’t worry.” klara laughed from the passenger seat. my jaw dropped playfully as i placed my hand on her shoulder, “you wish!” 

“game on, number 17!” klara laughs. 

giulia chimes in, ignoring the playful jokes between me and the other two germans in the car "y/n we’re excited to have you at bayern. ibiza will be so much fun i promise– we do these trips every summer. also, georgia's been telling us about how you two have been friends for a while now.” 

“we have!” i say as i look at georgia’s eyes through her rearview mirror. 

"we met through instagram, actually," the english girl explained, glancing back at me. 

sam laughed. "oh really?? i never knew that!” 

“yeah– you gotta love social media.” 

as we continued our drive, the conversation flowed easily. they asked about my sister, my favorite hobbies, and what I was looking forward to most in ibiza. it felt so natural, something i appreciated deep down. 

eventually, we pulled up to the airbnb, a stunning villa nestled among palm trees with a view of the sparkling sea in the back. 

my heart raced with excitement and a touch of nervousness as everyone got out of the van and grabbed their luggage from the trunk. the rest of the girls from bayern were already in the airbnb, lounging around the pool and enjoying the sunshine while they waited for us. 

as the five of us approached, the girls who had arrived earlier ran out of the front door to greet us. i hung back slightly as the other girls greeted their friends. my social anxiety has gotten better in the last few years, but meeting new people still made me shy.

a girl whos a bit shorter than me– saw me and with a warm smile, was the first to approach me. she hugged me and my arms wrapped around her body too. 

"heyyy, you must be y/n. i’m ines," she said, extending her hand. she had a french accent and a nice smile. "i’ve been waiting to meet you finally!"

"hiiii, it's great to meet you," i replied, pulling away from her body with a warm smile on my face.

the rest of the team came outside from the villa and followed suit. 

after everyone was inside of the villa, ii was starting to feel more at ease when I noticed a girl I hadn’t seen before. she was taller than me with nice brown hair– she had a striking aura to her and an air of confidence that drew me in.

she stood beside lea, who nodded her head towards me. 

"heyyy," she said, her voice smooth and inviting. she walked closer to me as i sat my luggage beside the couch. i’ll take it upstairs later.  "i don't think we've met yet. i am lena."

"hi," i replied, feeling a slight blush rise to my cheeks. "i'm y/n.” 

lena nodded, a playful smile on her lips as she noticed my stiff look. "you don’t have to be shy with me, i just transferred from another club too."

we stood there, the world around us fading slightly as i looked her up and down quickly. she wore black shorts and a lavender colored t-shirt. god– her presence was magnetic, and I found myself genuinely attracted to her.

"looks like we'll have to stick together then," i said, trying to sound casual as i held my hands to the front of my body.

"for sure," lena replied, her eyes brightened.

our interaction was interrupted by the rest of the team, who had clearly noticed our little exchange. anybody around the both of you could see the chemistry. there were knowing smiles that the girls gave each other, which i pretended to ignore as georgia walked to me.

"alright, lovebirds, let’s get you settled in," georgia teased, pulling me away gently as i grabbed my luggage from the side of the couch. "y/n and I are sharing a room upstairs."

as you walked away– lena checked you out. you wore a black tube top along with 501 levi shorts.

lea noticed lena’s looks, and nudged her shoulder playfully. 

“you like her?” lea smirked. 

“she's so beautiful– are they together?” lena knitted her eyebrows together as she saw you walk up the stairs, blushing at something while georgia laughed. 

“no they aren’t. they’ve been friends for a while and she’s single. you should try to get to know her!” sydney chimed into the conversation, seeing lena smile at the confirmation of you being single. 

as i walked into georgia and i’s shared bedroom– my eyes widened. there were two queen sized beds. there are two sets of doors as well. i walked towards the white one which opened to a white spacious bathroom. the other doors had glass windows which lead out to the balcony, where you could see a beach with clear blue water. 

georgia and i started unpacking in a few moments of silence– before she spoke up.

"so, lena, huh?" georgia said with a grin, glancing at me. 

as we headed up the stairs away from lena earlier, she already teased me about it. i ignored her– but i don’t think georgia will take nothing as an answer.

i giggled, feeling a bit flustered as i organized my things in the suitcase. "yeah– she seems nice. its nice to meet someone who's also new to the team."

"uh-huh, sure," georgia said, winking as she walked into the bathroom. 

“what is that supposed to mean?” i called out as my face had a look of confusion. 

"i don’t know– but just remember, we’re here to bond with everyone. don’t get too distracted by her sexy looks."

i rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. i stood up from sitting on the floor as i threw myself onto georgia’s bed. "don't worry, i’m here to bond with the entireeeee team. lena’s just–a bonus!"

georgia laughed. inside of my head, the girl from earlier wouldn’t leave my mind. 

maybe this trip got better, before it even started.

----

hours later laying on my beach towel, i watched most of the other girls in the water as i tanned on the sand. the gentle waves were lapping at the shore and the laughter of the girls was in my hearing. 

it was surreal to think that just a few weeks ago, i was anxiously packing my bags in california, wondering what my new life in germany would be like. now, here I am in spain, on a stunning beach, feeling like i already fit in with my new team.

my brown tote bag took my attention and i quickly pulled out my digital camera. photography had always been a passion of mine, a perfect hobby outside of soccer. 

seeing most of the girls out in the water, i started snapping photos of them. 

their carefree smiles, the silly handstands that pernille started doing under the water with her legs poking out the surface, sam giving sydney a piggy back ride, tainara splashing water on georgia– everyone looked so happy.

there were girls on the sand eating snacks, checking their phones, playing volleyball with their feet, and laying peacefully getting a tan. i took pictures of them too. 

"do you want me to take a picture of you?” a voice said behind me after i snapped a picture of madga with her body buried in the sand– except for her head– thanks to ana and lea. 

i turned around and it was lena. she wore a nice black swimsuit that showed her abs. i had abs too, thanks to soccer, but hers just complimented her so well. 

there was something about her that I couldn't get out of my mind, but i ignored those thoughts as i clutched my camera tightly to my body.

"oh no thank you, it's fine, really," I replied, a bit shy. standing in my red swimsuit, i gave her a faint smile as before she shook her head at me. 

"nonsense," lena insisted with a grin, reaching for the camera as she slowly took it out of my hands. "you need to be in some of these pictures too."

lena took a few steps back with the camera, instructing me on acting casual, making me laugh in the process. 

i laid in the sand and grabbed my book, pretending to read as lena stood. she stopped taking pictures for a few seconds and told me to sit up. confused, i raised my eyebrows before she gave me a random white hat– belonging to lea– to wear on my head. 

after a few more shots, she handed the camera back to me.

"see? not so bad," she said, laying back down on a towel– belonging to georgia– next to mine.

"thank you, lena. you're a pretty good photographer," i said, feeling a bit more at ease as i looked through the pictures on the screen of my camera.

"anytime," she replied, her smile softening. "how did you get into photography? we all have a photographer who plays on the german national team as well."

“wait– are you referring to laura?” 

“you know laura?” lena asked. 

“yes i do! she knows a few of my friends that went to penn state with her. we exchanged jerseys back when the united states played you guys in miami. we took pictures together after that game” i said. 

“oh i remember that!” lena says. 

“you were there?!” i asked. lena’s jaw drops in offense– playfully of course– at my question. 

“yes! you don’t remember the small confrontation we had?” lena asks. my eyebrows knit together in confusion. for a few second, my mind goes blink at trying to remember. 

“you nearly scored but i side tackled you by the box. you didn’t like it so you tackled me a few minutes afterwards when i had the ball in midfield.” lena says, helping me recall the memory. 

my eyes widened as i remembered that moment, but i never connected it to lena. 

“you’re number 6 oberdorf?! oh i was very annoyed by that!” i say. lena and i laugh before we looked out at some of the girls who were getting out of the water. 

“anyways, i got my first camera from my sister when i was 12. she can be blamed for why i own many cameras now.” i say. 

“alex?” lena asked. 

“yes. alex was going to the world cup in 2015 and she got me a camera the year before. during that world cup I always took pictures of her from my spot. she let me take pictures of her with the trophy afterwards. it was one of the first moments that made me fall in love with something outside of football.” i say. lena smiled at me as I looked over at her. 

“wooo hooo!!!” i heard georgia yell out as she runs back in the sand from the water. as i placed my digital camera back into my tote bag, i suddenly felt a light amount of water splash on my body. 

my jaw drops as i see georgia laugh. from the looks of her very wet hair, she whipped her hair forward so all of the water hit my body. 

“stop it!” i giggled as i stood up from my towel and started running away from the soaked girls. 

“get her!!” sam laughed as i got chased through the sand by sydney, sam, klara, lena, and georgia. 

(pretend this is you in the picture below)

y/n.morgan

liked by alexmorgan13, lenaoberdorf, and 37,931 others

y/n.morgan ibiza ibiza 🐚

comments

alexmorgan13 No invitation? 🥲

y/n.morgan sorry sister ❤️

malpugh 😍

stanwaygeorgia at least you got the pictures before you got thrown into the water 😊

y/n.morgan thanks to you and obi 😞

lenaoberdorf a good photographer must've taken these pictures for you 😁

y/n.morgan yes they've done a great job!!

sydneylohmann 🙌🌊

leaschuller is that my hat?

stanwaygeorgia yes 🧢

wosofans7 ALL OF THE BAYERN GIRLS IN THE COMMENTS?

wavesnwsl THIS POST I THINK I FAINTED

wosonews most of the bayern girls are in ibiza too, looks like y/n's transfer is basically confirmed

~view all 2,711 comments~

part three here

<3

[jemiswumbo]

you be tails, i’ll be sonic (18+)

twitch streamer!luke x reader

part one

authors note: hi hi i’m back with a highly requested part two!! i loved making the graphics for this chapter lol. hope you all enjoy!!!

title is from you be tails, i’ll be sonic by a day to remember. lyrics have no relation to the fanfic, but it IS an absolute banger. anthem. bop. classic.

tags/warnings: smau elements. nsfw elements - MDNI. not proofread. use of y/n.

Over on the desk, Luke’s phone would not stop vibrating.

For the last hour, you’d managed to ignore it, as you were too preoccupied by Luke fucking you with no remorse. Now, as you lay spent and naked and cuddled together until the blankets, the sound was driving you insane.

“Luke,” you whined, burying your face into the crook of his neck (which was now littered with red and purple hickies). “Please shut your phone off.”

Luke chuckled beside you, running a hand through your messy hair. “I will in a minute, I’ll probably have to tweet an explanation for why I shut off my stream so suddenly.”

“Okay. That’s fair,” You decided. Luke leaned over and stretched out his arm, grasping the phone from his desk. He snuggled back in beside you and you watched as he scrolled through a flood of notifications.

The first app he opened was discord, where his gamer friends were chatting in their private server about Luke’s random disconnection.

“Thank god one of my friends was able to figure it out.” Luke murmured, causing you to giggling. Annabeth was, by far, the smartest of the group. Most days it seemed like she was the only one with a working brain cell. You and her got along great, as you worked to keep the boys and thalia in check. They loved to cause a scene or do some dumb shit no matter where they went. It was tons of fun and always entertaining, but also nerve wracking. If they ever caused too big of a scene, someone could takes pictures or videos, upload them… as some of the most popular twitch streamers, everyone would be recognized instantly.

Except for you.

You (by choice) remained out of the spotlight. You loved Luke dearly and desperately wanted to make your relationship public, but the thought of having hundreds of thousands of eyes watching you, loving you, hating you…. it was scary. And you weren’t delusional — you knew, one day, you’d have to step into the public eye. You just didn’t know when you’d be ready.

Luke wrapped up the Discord conversation with his friends and switched over to Twitter, where tons of his fans were talking about his disconnection. You took a deep breath to clear your head, and read some of the tweets on his phone screen.

“Your fans are so goofy,” You said, pressing a kiss to Luke’s cheek. “So… what’s the move? Wifi crashed? Rage quit? Oh my god, what if you confirm Boner Theory?!”

“Jesus, never in my life,” Luke groaned. “I’ll just say it was my wifi. Unless….”

Your eyes widened. You sat up, not caring that the bed sheet fell to your lap, exposing your naked chest. Your heartbeat was definitely exceeding a normal BPM reading. “Baby.. I love you. So much. And I would love to be public. I would love to be your date to the Streamer Awards, and support you at Twitch Con, and cheer you on during your Fortnite tournaments…. But I just don’t think I’m ready.”

“Hey, hey,” Luke sat up, too, enveloping you in his strong, muscled arms and squeezing you tight. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask. But you know I respect your choices and would never pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I know,” You sighed, relishing in the warm embrace, and the feeling of your bare chest pressed against his. You swore he could feel how fast your heart was racing. “But also, you can’t say we’re dating now. Boner Theory is a thing, babe. Surely, at least one of your fans would connect the dots.”

Luke laughed and pulled away from the hug, taking a moment to press and long and loving kiss to your head. He smiled at you, his brown eyes sparkling. “You’re so perfect, you know that?”

You shoved him away. “Okay. Tweet something, so we can go watch a movie and smoke and have more sex.”

“Okay, okay,” Luke said, kissing you again and sending some half assed tweet out to his fans. He shut off his phone and grinned. “Let’s order take out, too.”

*************************************

A few weeks later…

*************************************

It was, officially, your one year anniversary of dating Luke Castellan.

You were beyond happy, and over the moon excited for the special dinner you had both planned for the evening. Luke had surprised you with reservations to your all time favourite restaurant. You were going to surprise him afterwards with a brand new lingerie set. It was going to be perfect.

The only, only thing that was making you nervous was the fact that you’d decided today was the day.

You were going to tell Luke, tonight at dinner, that you were ready to go public.

After the whole Boner Theory ordeal, you’d spent countless nights and hours debating your previous decision to keep your relationship private. You knew it was going to have to happen eventually. You also didn’t mind his fan girls; but deep down you got giddy over the thought of showing them all he was taken and he was yours. It would feel so good. And you wouldn’t have to stay out of photos when you hung out with Luke, Percy, Annabeth, Grover, and Thalia. You could go to events with him. You could come up behind him while he was streaming to drop off a coffee or food or kiss his cheek without worrying about it.

There were cons, of course. Most of the debating revolved around the cons, and whether or not it was truly worth it. After all these weeks, you decided it was worth it. You were one hundred percent ready.

You spent the few hours before dinner having an everything shower, doing your best makeup, curling your hair, and choosing an outfit. It helped keep your mind occupied and the stress at bay.

Around 7pm, Luke texted saying he was outside of your apartment. You grabbed your purse and slid on a pair of black heels before racing out the door.

Luke’s car was not hard to miss. He had chosen to pick you up in his bright red McLaren, since it was a super special occasion. He typically never took it out of his garage as it was insanely expensive and just downright beautiful.

You gave him a little twirl on your walk over to the passenger seat, not missing the impressed grin he flashed at your from inside. You hopped in the car and didn’t hesitate to lean over and place a kiss to his lips. He presented you a huge bouquet of fresh, dark red roses. You gasped and clutched the bouquet in your arms, kissing his cheek and expressing your gratitude.

“You look stunning,” Luke said, eyeing you up, clearly in awe. You laughed and blushed, enjoying the praise. “Seriously. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” You retorted, besrt racing at the sight of his gorgeous features. He was dressed up, wearing a sharp grey suit with a dark with a black button up beneath. He was so good looking, you simply swooned just from his smile alone. The smell of the roses made you feel like you were on cloud nine.

The drive to the restaurant was quick. The waiter showed you to your table, which was secluded in the back corner and shrouded by a wall and some pretty plants. The lights were dimmed and candles were lit. Luke ordered an expensive bottle of wine, which you both shared and sipped on while waiting for the food to arrive. It was now or never.

“Okay, baby,” You started, dabbing your napkin to your lips. “I’ve thought long and hard about this. But I think I’m ready to go public with our relationship.”

Across the table, Luke’s eyes widened and he spluttered, mid sip. He coughed into the back of his hand and you bit your lip nervously, waiting for his response.

“Are you sure, angel?” Luke asked, reaching out to take your hand in his. He rubbed his thumb against your skin in comfort. “Once we go public we can never go back. My fans will know who you are.”

“I know,” You said, firmly. You offered him a warm smile. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. And I’m ready. Definitely, totally ready.”

“Well in that case, I’ve had an Instagram post drafted for like, the last three months. I can finally post it!” Luke said, picking his phone up from the corner of the table.

You smacked his arm in playful angry, failing to suppress the smile making it way to your cheeks. “You are so dumb. They better be cute pictures, at least.”

“They are, I swear!” Luke laughed. “Cute caption, too. You promise you’re okay with me posting it?”

“Yes, Luke. I promise.” You took his hand again, letting out a shaky breath and trying to muster some courage. “I know it’s only been a year of dating, but I can whole heartedly say you are my best friend in the whole world. I love you. I truly do see us being together forever. So I want to make it public now, on our terms.”

“I love you, too, baby.” Luke said with an attractive grin. You blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear shyly, whilst he set up his Instagram post. After a few silent moments, he flashed you a triumphant thumbs up. “There, it’s posted. I tagged you, too.”

You ignored the buzzing of your own phone, choosing to flip it to silent mode. “Happy Anniversary, my love.”

Luke smiled at you, once again taking your hand in his. With utmost sincerity and his heart of gold, he replied, “Happy Anniversary to you too, angel.”

a/n: thank you all for reading, hope you enjoy!! again this is not proofread. part 3 with the streamer awards??? 👀👀

taglist: @augustiscoquette

[jeankluv]

I told you so- Utahime Iori

summary: You and Utahime had a fleeting love affair when you were young, but tired of Utahime not being brave enough to admit your love or show it in public, you decided to leave. 10 years later you meet again and seeing her again only confirms that you are still in love with her.

paring: Utahime x fem!reader

tags: +18, angst, explicit smut content, oral sex, scissoring, mentions of gojohime(?), mentions of arranged marriages, mentions of satosugu, happy ending, no use of y/n, all characters are in their late 20s early 30s

words: 3k

notes: before pride month ended I needed to post this. I love Utahime sooooo much and I came up with this idea but I didn’t know if I should post it or not because there are not a lot of Utahime fics/one shots but I decided to give it a try. So everyone please enjoy. Also I still recovering, after hurting my shoulder but gladly it’s not my dominant arm so it’s fine 🤗

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

You looked at her, trying to hold your breath and trying not to jump, but you were one second away from breaking down. But you couldn’t scream at her, not her.

“Listen.” Utahime spoke, holding the sheets against her chest.

“I get it.” You murmured. “For you this means nothing.”

“No!” Utahime shouted. “That’s not what…”

“Listen ‘Hime, I know you don’t want us to go out as a couple. I know for you it will be hard.” You turned around and grabbed your clothes. “But I can’t… I can’t keep going like this. I don’t want to call it off but we can’t keep going like that.” You looked at her. “I don’t want to be your secret.”

“Please just…” She tried to grab your hand.

“Utahime I think this is the best way.” You said, holding back your tears. Gathering courage, you looked into her eyes. “But Utahime, you can kiss a hundred boys in bars but I know you won’t be able to stop this feeling.” You said talking about what you felt whenever you were together. “So, good luck babe.”

You left the room, putting on the dress that you had taken off with so much haste and anxiety last night. You had gone from ecstasy, from the heat of each other, from the wet kisses of both of them and your bodies knowing each other perfectly to waking up that morning, facing the feelings you had had since high school, so that Utahime would tell you that your “love” could not get past those walls.

You knew that Utahime repressed those feelings out of fear, fear of many things. Fear of her family, of what they will say, fear of the looks. But you wanted to protect her, you wanted her to feel proud to walk with you down the street while you held your hands and showed your love. But that didn't seem to have worked and you were already too exhausted to continue fighting.

With giant steps you left the apartment without looking back. That day you not only lost the love of your life, but also one of your best friends and that destroyed your heart.

10 years later

Shoko had invited you to eat after you called her to tell her that you had returned to the city, now you were both happily eating in one of the many restaurants in the city.

“I missed this.” You said.

Shoko nodded with a smile. “Me too, it’s been so long. You left for college and have been out for how long?”

“10 years this year.” You shrugged.

“God.” Shoko gasped. “A lot of things have happened and changed since then.” She shook her head. “You probably don’t know, since you both fought but Utahime got married.”

You pursed your lips. "Oh really?" You faked a smile. "I'm happy for her."

Shoko never knew about your affair and you doubt Utahime would have told her. Even though it had been 10 years since you and Utahime had met, you couldn't deny that you were still completely in love with her. Of course in those 10 years you had had a partner, but none had ever filled you up like Utahime had done.

“You could fix whatever happened between you.” Shoko said, bringing you back to reality.

You shook your head. “I don't think it's possible.”

She sighed. “You really are the same.” She said in a whisper. “Anyways, are you coming to the party?”

You smiled. “Of course Shoko.”

The day of Shoko's party arrived and you opted for a tight dress, which highlighted your figure. Meeting the guests, you walked around the place with a smile, most of them were new faces that you didn't know, but there was the occasional face that seemed familiar to you and that had probably been a classmate of yours in high school, but you honestly didn't remember them.

After a while you went out to the balcony, looking for some air and tranquility away from all the noise of people.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes when you heard the balcony door open, your moment of peace over faster than you would have liked.

But then your name sounded behind you and you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest. Her sweet voice still sounded the same as it did ten years ago. With your heart in your throat you turned slowly, meeting those brown eyes. Utahime was in front of you 10 years later and she looked beautiful, if that were possible. Your heart began to beat strongly in your heart and you felt like you had no words left. You were still too in love with her.

“You are here.” She whispered.

You swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I… I came a few days ago and Shoko invited me.” You tried to put a smile on your face.

She nodded. “That’s great.”

It could have been 10 or 20 years but you knew her too well to know that her voice sounded hurt and that she was about to cry. You wanted to walk up to her and wrap her in your arms, but you couldn't, you shouldn't. It was then that your eyes landed on the ring resting on Utahime's left hand and a knot formed in your stomach.

“Shoko told me you got married.” You forced a smile. “I’m happy to hear that.”

Utahime looked at you. “Are you?” She whispered.

You swallowed and looked down. “Of course.”

“I know you are lying.” She said.

“And what do you want me to say Utahime?” You looked at her. “That I’m still in love with you? Well yes I am and seeing you standing here right in front of me and seeing how my whole body and soul reacts it’s only proof of that.”

You saw how Utahime’s chest rose and how her eyes looked at you with intensity. Your name being just a whisper on her lips she took a step forward. But soon enough she was interrupted by a male voice.

“Utahime, you are here.” The tall guy entered the balcony. “I was looking for you like crazy.”

You looked at the guy and then back at Utahime, you assumed it was her husband. Biting your lip, you coughed and the man stared at you.

“Oh, hi I didn’t see you there.” He smiled.

“No problem.” You shook your head with a smile.

“Satoru.” Utahime finally spoke. “She is a friend of mine.” She introduced you.

“Oh nice to meet you, I’m Utahime’s husband.” He greeted you with a smile and you felt a punch in the face as those words came from his mouth.

“Nice to meet you.” You faked your smile. “Now if you excuse me I need to leave.” You said passing by.

Without turning to look at her, you walked as fast as your feet could allow you, feeling how that knot in your stomach was getting bigger and bigger. Your gaze searched for Shoko and you saw her animatedly chatting with more people. Walking over to her, you grabbed her arm.

“I’m leaving.” You whispered to her ear.

“Already?” She said with a sad look.

“Yeah, tomorrow I have some stuff to do and I don’t want to oversleep.” You lied. “I will call you okay?” Shoko nodded and you walked out of that party.

Feeling how your heart was still pounding and at the same trying holding not to break up from that love.

Utahime Iori pov

Utahime rolled over once again on the bed. She hadn't been able to sleep since she and Satoru had arrived at the apartment. Sitting on the bed she clutched her head and sighed heavily.

Utahime rarely regretted things, but there was one thing he had been regretting for 10 years. And it had been not stopping when you walked out the door of her apartment that day. Because when you told her that that feeling that you loved and shared would never be repeated even if she kissed a hundred boys... oh how right you were.

I should have stopped you, told you that I loved you and that I would face anything for you. But Utahime was a coward and now she resented it.

Getting out of bed, she looked at the side of the bed and saw it empty, something that didn't surprise her in the least. She left the room and to her surprise she ran into him there.

“You are already back?” She whispered.

“I told you it was not going to take long.” He said back.

“Satoru you know, that I don’t mind if you spend the whole night with him.” Utahime crossed her arms and walked to the refrigerator.

“I know but since we are married.”

“You know our marriage is fake.” She said. “You don’t love me and I don’t love you.” Satoru looked at her. “Romantically, you know I do care for you.”

“Good.”

“You were a pain on my ass but now you are almost like my best friend.”

“Almost?” He said offended, Utahime rolled her eyes. “It was her?” Satoru then suddenly asked.

Utahime froze and nodded after a few seconds. “Yes…” She said with a thin voice.

“Utahime…” Satoru sighed and approached her. “You know we can always end all this show.”

“But our families…” She whispered.

Satoru laughed. “We are both CEOs of our families companies, we are not kids like back then.” Utahime looked at him. “I know you are not happy and we will never be happy in this fake marriage, we work well but there will never be that love between us. And you know that.” Utahime closed her eyes. “I saw how you looked at her and I have seen that look before.”

“Where?” She asked.

“It was the same look Suguru had when I told him I needed to marry you.” He sighed. “A gaze of logging mixed with a feeling of losing something dear to you.”

Utahime stifled a sigh and looked at Satoru. “I wanted to go after her.” She said with glassy eyes. “Tell her that I love her and love her then too. I wanted to go… but I'm a coward.”

“Don’t say that.” Satoru said. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have lost Suguru, it was thanks to you that I didn't give up and I don't know how many years may have passed for you but you still love her and…”

“She also told me that she still loved me.”

Satoru smiled. “So what are you waiting for, go get her.”

“Satoru, I don't even know where she is.”

“Call Shoko.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“It's 4 in the morning!” She protested.

“Come on try it.” He said. “How romantic would it be if you showed up at her door at 4 in the morning, confessed your love, and the two of you melted into a passionate kiss?”

“God you are unbearable.” Utahime rolled her eyes and dialed Shoko's number. “Shoko! Hello… yes I'm sorry but it's urgent.” She said with her heart fluttering. “I need you to give me an address.”

Your POV

A knock on your apartment door made you wake up. It was still dark outside and the clock on your phone didn't read past 4:30 in the morning. In silence you approached the door and looked through the camera to see who was the person who was knocking on your door with so much force. Your lips dried when you saw the figure on the other side. Taking a moment to breathe, you pinched your cheek, making sure you were awake.

With a trembling hand, you grabbed the knob and pulled it open. “Uta…”

“I love you.” Utahime said before you could ask anything. “I have always have. And I was a cowardly idiot for not stopping you that day. For letting you go.”

You looked at her and had to mentally remind yourself that she was real and that she was there. “No, you…” You shook your head.

Utahime said your name again and you looked at her. “I love you, I love you too much and… I don't want, I don't want to lose you, not again.”

“You are married.” You told her, shaking.

She shook her head. “It's not real. Satoru and I got married for our families but we don't love each other, we've never been together, we were just pretending.” She looked at you with her big brown eyes, which you were too weak for.

“But… your family.”

“I don’t care about them.” She said. “I only care about you, about us.”

You closed your eyes and held your breath. “I love you too.” You whispered.

Utahime walked towards you and cupped your face. “Let’s start over, let’s do it the right way, okay?” She smiled, the both of you were crying. “Satoru and I will go to the lawyer tomorrow to start with everything for the divorce.”

You nodded, whipping away her tears. “I missed you so much.”

Utahime smiled and knocked both of your lips in an urgent kiss, which mixed with the tears that you loved had shed. With clumsy steps you closed the front door and leaned Utahime against it, working your way into her neck, biting it and leaving it full of wet kisses while Utahime's soft moans delighted your ears.

Breaking away from her, you grabbed her hand and led her to your room. The dream you had a few minutes ago was completely gone and had been replaced by the urgency and desire to make love to the beautiful woman in front of you. You got rid of your pajamas and Utahime got rid of her clothes, leaving you both completely naked. Utahime lay down on the bed with a smile and you began to kiss her, first her lips, then her collarbone and then her breasts.

”You've only gotten more beautiful with time.” You whispered against her skin.

“Look who spoke.” Utahime said as she stifled a moan. “When I saw you in that tight black dress, I only had obscene thoughts.” She whispered.

“Oh yeah? Like what princess?” You said with a smile.

“I wanted to get down on my knees and devour you completely and have everyone hear you scream my name.” She said mischievously with a smile on her face.

“Well, it's a shame, because I'm going to be the one who devours you.” You said lifting her legs and placing them on each of your sides. “I hope my neighbors find out how good I make you feel tonight.”

You kissed her lower lips getting a moan in response from her and her hands on your hair, with your tongue you dug her hunt searching for her weak spot. She moaned your name, while she gasped with pleasure and writhed between your sheets while your tongue fucked her.

You looked at her through your eyelashes and smiled when you saw her, all red and full of pleasure. Her mouth was slightly opened and your name was constantly repeated.

You pushed your tongue into her faster, making sure to taste every part of her and making her feel in heaven.

“Oh fuck!” Utahime moaned, arching her back. “I missed you so much!”

With those words you began to suck her clit causing Utahime's moans to only increase. You wanted to taste her again, you wanted to have her like this forever, for her to be only yours.

Her walls tightened around you, she was close you could feel it, you knew her too well. Her moans became increasingly high-pitched and the atmosphere in the room became increasingly hot. With a loud moan she came, her head falling back, seeking to catch her breath.

You turned your head away from her and licked your lips tasting her with a smile.

“That was…” She said with a cracked voice.

“I know.” You smirked, sitting on the bed you grabbed Utahime by the hip and sat her down as well. “You don't think I'm done, do you?”

"I did not expect it." She answered.

Getting into position, you began scissoring, grinding harder and harder against each other. You both started to kiss while the room filled with noises of your moans and the sound of that old bed.

Grinding faster with each passing moment you felt how your body was starting to tremble. You ground your hips into Utahime's as your intimacies collided, sending shockwaves through your sweaty, desire-filled bodies. Grinding your pussies together for a little longer, you both came with a long, agonizing moan that filled the room, which then fell completely silent. Only your labored breaths were audible.

You grabbed Utahime's hips and laid her down, wrapping your arms around her. You felt her pulse and her warmth invading your body and her smell of flowers hit your nose.

Utahime turned to look at you and smiled. “Thank you for not giving up on us.”

You shook your head with a smile being drawn on your face. “I could never give up on us.”

Utahime chuckled softly and your grip tightened around her. “I love you.” She whispered.

“Me too.” You whispered, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“I feel like I'm forgetting something.” Utahime whispered.

“I'm sure it doesn't matter, now let's sleep.” She hummed in response.

And so with your bodies intertwined with each other and feeling your warmth and your heart pumping, you fell into a deep sleep.

———

Extra scene

“It’s been 30 minutes, you think she was able to talk with her?” He said. “Or maybe should I go and check that she is not there crying in the hallway?”

A sighed came from the other side of the line. “Satoru… they are probably having makeup sex.”

“Oh.” Satoru gasped. “You think so Suguru? Oh that will be awesome! There could be two weddings soon.”

“Two weddings?”

“Of course, you and me and them.”

“I don’t see a ring on my finger Satoru.”

Satoru turned the car on and started driving. “Well Suguru, give me 10 minutes and I will be on one knee asking you to marry me, if you want me to be on both knees to do other things we also can.”

Suguru chuckled. “I will be waiting.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[redrose10]

Yoongi x Female Reader. Soulmate AU

Summary: There’s no one on this planet you hate more than your coworker/secret crush Min Yoongi. He’s an arrogant, rude, womanizer who gets under your skin every single shift and you can’t wait for your day to be over so you can get away from him. Unfortunately when Jimin, your caseworker from The Ministry of Adoration, shows up offering you both a raspberry jam filled cookie, things take a surprising turn for the worst and you can no longer get away.

Warnings: Swearing, hints of smut (nothing graphic or really detailed), a little angst, Yoongi gets around, small hint to homophobia, mentions a guy not taking no for an answer. Might get updated later

Tag list: @kam9404 @yoongisducky @farfromsugafanfic @welcometomyworld13 @viankiss @ktownshizzle @bear8585

(I think I got everyone. If I missed someone I’m sorry and please let me know.)

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Chapter 3- Tea and Tteok-bokki

Word Count: 3,702

When you woke up the next morning you felt a little guilty for being so harsh towards Yoongi the night before. Maybe you did overreact a little because why did you care that you weren’t his ideal type? Even though you had a massive crush on him and you technically were soulmates you still had a deep seated hatred for him or so you thought.

You also woke up and regretted asking Han out and thought about canceling, but then realized maybe it would be good for you to actually go out, meet other people. Especially since Yoongi clearly wasn’t interested.

A knock at your door caught your attention and got you up out of your still semi induced sleep state.

Waking Yoongi was harder than you expected, but you finally got him up and followed behind him as he opened the door.

A smiling Jimin greeted you both. “Here have some breakfast. I got you some bagel sandwiches and two green teas. I thought you might be sick of coffee.”, he said handing over the packages.

He let himself in and took a seat before clapping his hands together, “So I think we need to have a little meeting because you two are one week down and have made zero progress from what I can see. If anything you went backwards.”

“We know.”, you both nodded.

“So then why am I hearing about hook ups with blondes in lingerie, and club girls, and why is Y/N going on a date with some other guy?”

“Wait how do you know all of that?”, you asked.

“I know everything.” Jimin replied.

“Okay but ho-“

“E V E R Y T H I N G”

You had to admit seeing this side of Jimin was a little intimidating. He was normally bubbly and smilly, but he was completely serious at the moment making you realize just how alarming this whole situation was.

He popped a donut hole in his mouth before continuing, “So what is the plan? How do we get you two to actually start trying to make this work?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll make it happen.”, Yoongi nodded.

“Good because I don’t want to have to make another early morning visit over here to voice my frustrations. I am not a nice person before 8am.”

“Yeah I’ll say.”, Yoongi replied while you nodded feeling like a scolded child.

“Y/N can I have a few minutes alone with Yoongi please?”, Jimin asked. You looked around confused as to where he wanted you to go since you couldn’t walk that far away from them.

Spotting your solution you grabbed a pair of headphones off of the table showing them to Jimin for approval which he nodded for so you placed them on your head and began streaming some music to drown out their conversation.

Once he was sure you couldn’t hear anything he turned his attention to Yoongi, “So how did you manage to mess up last night? I thought you were supposed to bring another date to the wedding to make Y/N jealous? Why didn’t it work?”

Yoongi nervously scratched the back of his neck, “Well I ended up not asking the other girl and just taking Y/N as my date instead.”

“And why exactly did you do that? That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted her to be my date for the night. I didn’t want to take anyone else. I wasn’t sure she’d even get jealous if I did anyways.”

“Okay then… so how did things end so badly that she asked another guy out?”, Jimin asked frustration evident in his voice.

“Everything was going great and then she overheard my cousin talking about how she isn’t the type of girl I usually go for and then I don’t know what happened. She just stormed off and has barely spoken to me since.”

Jimin sat with his elbows on his knees looking between the two of you before bringing his fingers up to rub his temples, “How did I end up assigned to a case with the two biggest idiots ever?”

“Excuse me. Who the fuck do you thin-“. Yoongi began, but Jimin cut him off.

“Let me spell this out for you as simply as I can. Everything was going just great between you two yesterday. Then Y/N got upset with you when she overheard your cousin saying that SHE wasn’t YOUR ideal type.“

Yoongi nodded his head, “Yeah I don’t get it either.”

“Oh my god. You two are starting make me rethink my career choice.”, Jimin huffed.

Then he continued, “Y/N got upset when she heard she wasn’t your ideal type…meaning you wouldn’t be interested in her.”

Jimin watched closely expecting Yoongi to come to the same conclusion, but instead he just sat there in silence sipping on his tea.

“I am not paid nearly enough for this.”, Jimin sighed.

He sat forward a little to pull Yoongi attention in, “Yoongi, firstly I want to start by saying that you’re lucky you are so attractive because of it wasn’t for your looks I don’t know what you’d bring to the table. Secondly, Y/N likes you. You big doofus.”

Yoongi continued to stare at the floor until Jimin’s words finally clicked.

“She likes me?!”

“YES! Why else would she be soooo upset thinking that you would never like her back.”

“So then I should just kiss her!”, he exclaimed.

But Jimin shook his head, “Not exactly. You both need to come to terms with your feelings and the kiss needs to be mutual. You can’t just ambush her.”

“Why are there so many fucking rules?”, Yoongi groaned.

“Don’t know. I didn’t make ‘em, I just enforce ‘em.”, Jimin replied popping another donut in his mouth.

“So what do we do now?”

“Well you and Y/N have two weeks to figure it out. Let’s hope her date goes poorly and maybe you could try actually being pleasant to her. Maybe try and woo her.”

Yoongi chuckled, “I’ve never had to woo anyone before. I don’t woo.”

“Trust me, I noticed.”, Jimin rolled his eyes.

“Maybe try some flowers just because. Tell her to her face that she looks pretty instead of drooling over her when she’s not looking. Maybe compliment her in public. Take her on an actual date. Try to hold her hand. You know…relationship things.”

Yoongi pondered for a moment, “Okay I’ll try.”

“Good boy! That’s what I like to hear.”

Jimin caught your attention signaling for you to remove the headphones which you happily obliged.

He grabbed his things and began walking towards the door before spinning around, “Okay both of you promise me that you’re actually going to try and make this work.”

You nodded your head while you heard Yoongi scoff next to you earning him an elbow to the ribs before he finally nodded as well earning a smile smile Jimin.

The following days Yoongi was uncharacteristically nice to you. Like sickenly sweet, lovey dovey nice to the point you offered to take him to the hospital because you were worried he somehow had a head injury even though you knew he hadn’t even come close to hitting his head at any point.

On Monday you woke up to a giant bouquet of roses being delivered to your front door with a card from him. He even sprung for a little teddy bear to be included. You thought it was super sweet, but really weird. Especially when you thanked him and he turned the same color as the roses.

On Tuesday he took you to your favorite lunch spot. He encouraged you to order whatever and how much you wanted and paid for all of it without even a snarky remark. Afterwards he also stopped for ice cream and a walk through the park.

Wednesday was a terrible day weather wise so the two of you stayed in and watched tv. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him consistently move his hand ever so slightly closer to yours his fingers twitching before he’d end up pulling away. He did this close to twenty times before letting out a long sigh and resigning to crossing his arms on this chest as you finished up the next episode. You knew it was odd, but didn’t want to start an argument by asking.

Now it was Thursday and the two of you were working a double shift together.

It was super busy thanks to the hot weather and a buy one get one half off promotion going on.

You had just finished up with a customer when you heard Yoongi clear his throat next to you.

“Can I help you?”, you asked amused.

He remained silent staring out the window while fidgeting with the end of his apron, a nervous habit of his that you had noticed a long time ago.

“Umm well I uh I’m…”

“Are you having a stroke?”, you giggled

“Just forget it.”, he whispered before turning away from you.

“No I’m sorry.”, you said grabbing his arm.

“What did you want to tell me?”

He took a deep breath, “I just wanted to tell you that youlookreallyprettytoday.”

“I’m sorry Yoongi I couldn’t understand that.”

“Why is this so hard?”, he mumbled before turning to face you, “Y/N, I think you look really pretty today.”

Your eyes widened in shocked. The Min Yoongi giving you a compliment without being provoked? And in public like this?

“Oh yeah I’m sure I look great after sweating and being soaked in coffee and sugar for the last 8 hours.”, you chuckled.

You expected him to laugh or even make a sarcastic remark, but he just nodded, “Yeah I do think you look pretty like this.”

“Oh oh okay, well thank you.”, you whispered feeling your cheeks heat up both in embarrassment and confusion.

You went to try and give a compliment back when you heard someone say your name grabbing your attention.

“Oh hi Han”, you forced a smile.

“Hi Y/N, ready for our date tomorrow?”

“Oh of course! Can’t wait.”, you exclaimed a little too excitedly.

You heard Yoongi snort next to you causing you and Han to both look in his direction. Han visibly tensed up once he noticed how close Yoongi actually was which you had to admit made you smirk a little.

“What can I get for you?”, you asked trying to get Han out of the cafe.

“Umm what do you suggest? Like if Y/N was going to order a drink using her pretty little mouth what would she have?”

This time it was Yoongi’s turn to tense up before turning to Han, “She’d have a large cup of fucking order something or get the fuck out.”

Han stepped back in surprise. You were no stranger to seeing Yoongi or one of the other guys put Han in his place, but something about the way he snapped back at him this time really stirred up some feelings in you.

Wanting to just make the sale and move on with your day you continued, “I’d probably just get a black coffee and add some hazelnut creamer. I’m pretty easy like that.”

“Mmhhhmm I hope so.”, Han replied as you quickly finished up at the register wanting out of the situation. You had missed the way Yoongi gripped the counter until his knuckles turned white thanks to Hans little comment.

You handed him his drink and as he was leaving he turned to you, “So we’ll meet at 6pm? At that Italian place I told you about?” You nodded as he turned and happily walked out the door.

“Seriously you’re still gonna go out with that creep?”, Yoongi suddenly spoke making you jump a little.

“Yes. I like him. Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”, you asked secretly hoping he’d give you a good reason not to go.

“Yes because I love you and I want you to stay home with me forever.”, he said internally, but outwardly he just shrugged, “I don’t know. Do whatever you want. You’re an adult.”

You simply nodded while trying to ignore the way the atmosphere shifted between you two and how Yoongi suddenly became cold and callous towards you. He remained that way for the rest of the shift as well as at home.

The next day you woke up determined to enjoy your date. Maybe Han came off kind of creepy and forward, but you were hoping he was just an awkward idiot who was actually a sweet guy.

Yoongi sulked on the bed as he watched you go through your closet. He couldn’t believe he was going to have to sit there alone at a restaurant while the love of his life goes on a date next to him.

“Okay pink or purple?”, you asked holding up two different dress options.

“I don’t care. Whatever you want.”, he spat back.

You licked your lips in annoyance before deciding on the pink one.

Once at the restaurant and after a very awkward conversation of having to explain to the hostess that Yoongi had to have a seat as close to you as possible, but still at a different table you were sat across from Han. You felt overdressed once you realized he had shown up in jeans and a dirty tshirt. He didn’t even bother to shower or comb his hair. You were appalled at his lack of effort.

He was going on and on about some video game that you’d never even heard of and your mind drifted over to Yoongi.

You snuck a peak and saw him reading through the menu while he sipped on his drink. Even though he was sat alone he wore a crisp navy blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up that he paired with a dark wash jean. His hair was lightly styled and you knew he smelled amazing because you couldn’t stop thinking about it as his cologne filled the air of the car on the drive over.

“Will the Mrs. be joining you this evening?”, you heard the waitress ask him.

He smiled, “No dining solo tonight.”

“Oh that’s too bad. I bet she’ll be so devastated that she missed out on a date night with you.”

You rolled your eyes at the waitresses clear attempt to flirt while confirming whether or not Yoongi actually had someone.

You saw him smirk before he replied, “There actually isn’t anyone. But uh maybe that could change tonight.”

The waitresses cheeks turned pink as she scurried over to the next table. You felt a wave of jealousy and a maybe a little hurt wash over you. You were no stranger to watching Yoongi flirt, but for some reason that time it really struck a cord with you. You were also currently on a date with another man so you had no idea why that little interaction made you feel such a way and you felt a little guilty for feeling so because if you could go out with someone else then so could Yoongi.

You turned your attention back to Han for a while before you decided you need a break and pulled out your phone sending a text to Yoongi,

You: I need to go to the bathroom.

Demon Kitty: Okay? Here’s a cookie 🍪

You: 🙄

You: As much as I would love to, I can’t go without you. So please get up and I’ll follow right after.

Demon Kitty: But my dinner should be here any minute 🥺

You were about to reply when Yoongi stood up and slowly started walking towards the restrooms.

“I’ll be right back. I have to use the restroom.”, you let Han know before you stood up waiting for a group of women clearly from a bachelorette party to pass you before quickly catching up to Yoongi who had hid himself off to the side to wait for you.

Yoongi was as close up to the bathroom door as he could be while you quickly tried to do your business.

“Hurry up Y/N! I’m pretty sure this old woman is about to call the police on me.”, he hissed through the door.

“Sorry sorry, this dress is a pain.”, you said opening the door.

“Yeah well I did tell you to wear sweatpants remember?”

“I’m not wearing sweatpants on a dat-“

Yoongi suddenly stopped in front of you causing you to crash into his back, “What the hell Yoongi?”

Quickly he turned around, “Uhh let’s go home.”

You shook your head, “No I want to go back to my date.”

“Please Y/N, let’s just go.”

“What has gotten into you?”

“Diarrhea. I knew that calamari tasted weird.”

“Eww tmi. But let me at least go grab my sweater.”

“No need. I’ll buy you a new one.”, he said trying to pull you away.

You managed to slip out of his grip though and when you looked around the corner you saw Han sitting at the table making out with one of the women from the bachelorette party. Your mouth went dry as you watched the two of them going at it.

Yoongi cleared his throat and motioned for you follow him which you did. Once back in the comfort of his vehicle he looked you over.

“Are you okay? I know you liked him.”, he softly spoke.

He wasn’t expecting you to chuckled, but you couldn’t help it, “Honestly I didn’t even really like him. I just wanted to prove that I wasn’t some stuck up prude, but I guess I won’t even get that chance.”

Yoongi watched you as you fidgeted with your fingers while staring out of the window. He really hoped it wasn’t his worlds that made you feel like you needed to prove that. Even though deep down he knew they were.

He started up the car and began driving.

“Where are you going?”, you asked realizing he wasn’t going home.

“You’ll see.”

Not long after he parked at one of the local night markets that was packed with various street vendors selling goods.

“Neither of us ate dinner so I figured we could get some food before going home.”, he said.

You nodded, “Sounds nice.”

You both talked for what felt like hours as you walked around the market stopping at various stalls. You really got to know a lot about each other that neither of you ever bothered to do before.

You were getting full, but agreed that you couldn’t leave without getting an order of tteokbokki.

You had begun to stare off into the night sky when you heard Yoongi clear his throat. You looked over finding him holding out a single piece of tteokbokki, “A tteokbokki for your thoughts.”, he smiled.

You laughed before taking the toothpick and popping the cake in your mouth.

“What’s wrong with me Yoongi?”, you asked after swallowing it down.

His eyebrows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I asked out Han because I thought he would be an easy hookup, but that clearly didn’t work out. Even someone like him didn’t want me. Jae didn’t want me. My two boyfriends before that didn’t want me. Even my own soulmate doesn’t want me.”

Yoongi could feel his heart shattering. Gently he grabbed your chin turning you to face him, “Y/N, please don’t ever feel like that. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You’re smart, funny, a hard worker. You’re beautiful. All those guys are big fucking idiots.”

“You were include in that group you know?”, you giggled.

“Yeah and I’m the biggest idiot of them all.”, he laughed back.

You felt like your heart was going to explode. You weren’t completely sure, but a part of you felt like this was his way of admitting that he loved you. You wanted to confess and say something to confirm it, but there was that little part of you that was worried you were misreading everything.

As you were having an internal debate about whether or not to confess Yoongi leaned in ever so slightly. Everything in his body was telling him to move closer, confess his love for you and then gently pull your face to him so that he can lean in and kiss you like he’s always wanted to. Then take you back home and show you all the ways that you were perfect to him.

He leaned in a little closer waiting to see if you’d back away and when you didn’t he took that as his sign.

“This is really hard to say even though it shouldn’t be so I’m just going to come out and say it.”

Your heart felt like it was beating a million beats per second and Yoongi was starting to worry that he really did get poisoned by some bad calamari judging by how his stomach felt like it was doing flips.

He managed to push through though and continued, “Y/N, I know I don’t really act like it, but I really do lo-“

“There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you.”, a high pitched voice exclaimed next to you.

“Rose? What are you doing here?”, Yoongi asked looking very confused.

“You told me to meet you here silly!”

Yoongi remained silent.

Rose pulled out her phone, “Yeah see here. You texted me yesterday at 9:07pm. Wanna meet up? It’s been a while. Need you baby. And then I said of course my little suga cookie. And then you said great. Meet me at the main night market at 8:30. Wear something easy to take off.“

Yoongi was speechless as you stared at him in disbelief.

“So here I am! Just like you asked.” Rose continued oblivious to the situation.

You swallowed the lump in your throat the best that you could. Apparently you had 100% completely misread the situation.

“Soooo are we going to head to the car or where did you want to do this?”, she asked excitedly.

Yoongi cleared his throat, “Um Rose I’m sorry but I actually think that maybe we shouldn’t continu-“

You cut him off, “Continue this here. He means continue this here. Come on. I know a place you both can go.”

You stood up and tossed the rest of your garbage in the trash. Rose happily followed after you while a confused Yoongi was forced to trail behind feeling like the biggest idiot in the world, a feeling he was getting quite used to.

[matthewtkachuk]

last night (blame it on the vodka)

They say drunk words are sober thoughts, so what are drunken confessions of love?

pairing: matthew tkachuk x reader

warnings: a pinch of angst, swearing, alcohol (and its after effects - aka a fat hangover and a twinge of regret)

word count: 3k

a/n: matthew tkachuk is a stanley cup champion!!!! you know i had to do it to ya. ps this idea was formed a million years ago (pre trade) therefore I have simply plucked Cowboys from downtown Calgary to downtown Miami deal with it. big ups to @wyattjohnston for the edit and for outsourcing my geography queries. title and inspo from the song by the same name by lucy spraggan. enjoy my loves and let me know what you think <3

You’re never drinking again. 

It’s a mantra you repeat all morning, from the minute you’re dragged back into consciousness by the sound of construction down on the street, to when you finally pull from bed to dramatically slam the window shut, to the one-two-three-four times you end up with your knees on the bathroom mat and your head in the toilet. 

You’re far too old to be drinking like that on a nearly empty stomach, far too old to be drinking like that regardless. Okay, maybe that’s a tad dramatic, being a mostly single twenty something year old in downtown Miami. Mostly single in that every time you drank, your painfully unrequited crush on probably the one guy in all of Florida you couldn’t pull came out with a vengeance. 

Looking at your phone and all the unread texts you groan, realizing that the little girl who used to write ‘Mrs. Matty Tkachuk’ in all of her diaries came out in full force last night. 

Hyping yourself up, you type out and forward the message ‘What the hell did I do last night?’ to everyone you remember being out with you. Everyone, that is, except Matty himself. 

Brielle: Last night you told him you loved him 

It’s not atypical for you to be out on a Friday night, a group of your closest girlfriends at your side. Neither is it uncommon for the night to begin with the three of you taking thirst traps for the ‘gram before taking shots as the Uber pulls up. 

Cowboys is a favorite place, certainly not for the high class atmosphere or clientele—of which you’ll find neither. But who doesn’t love to let loose in an environment where the city boys of Miami don Stetsons and large belt buckles? And okay, maybe you’re a bit of a gambler—though, with money or love as the currency depends on the night. 

Tonight you’re pressing your luck, drinking enough to dull the edge and to keep you from overreacting to Matt’s response to the aforementioned Insta story. It’s a simple message, a string of fire emojis, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t refresh the app until his username appeared as ‘Seen’ under the story. 

You don’t want to think it means anything when he shows up with a couple of his boys an hour into dancing with the girls. Cowboys is a popular place, evidenced by the crowded dance floor and the complete lack of personal space. So what Brielle was wearing a cowboy hat in one of the pictures and so what everyone and their mother knew this bar was your favorite place to spend Friday nights and so what you’d even tagged the place in a boomerang of your shot glasses five minutes after arriving. 

It didn’t mean anything—doesn’t mean anything. 

That thought doesn’t stop you from abandoning your friends the second you see the all too familiar head of curls.

“Hi Matty,” you greet, stumbling into him and sliding your hand around his waist. He feels solid beneath your fingertips, warm and secure and everything you’ve ever wanted. His resulting grin could build and topple empires, you think. 

But then reality all comes crashing down again as he slides his arm around your shoulders in turn, squeezing gently as he replies, “Hey, Kid.”

It’s the gentle reminder you’ll never be anything more than the annoying girl next door who used to follow him and Brady around like they were the greatest thing in the world. 

If he notices the way you deflate, he doesn’t say a word, though his hand rubs comfortingly at your shoulder for a moment until you can’t stand it anymore and go back to your friends and their sympathetic faces. 

The thing about you when you drink is the filter comes off. Normally you play your cards close to your chest, making it very hard for others to know your emotions. But a little vodka and you’re suddenly ready to face your feelings head on. 

It starts off innocently enough, an over exaggerated ‘I love you!’ when he brings you a drink without you having to ask. But then Georgia is all but holding you down to prevent you from running after him and professing your love. She doesn’t succeed, what with you running into his arms midway through the night anyway. 

He has that same grin on his face as you tell him how much you love him, and though he doesn’t mean it the way you do, he tells you that he loves you too just the same. 

Though you haven’t eaten in at least twelve hours, the thought of food makes your already upset stomach turn some more, and so you settle for making a cup of tea to get some fluids back in you. 

Not quite ready to face the music in terms of what your alcohol fueled self did last night, you ignore the unread messages to flip through some Insta stories. There’s cute pics and videos of you and your girls, you screen shot your favorites and tap away until you pause on a boomerang of Georgia and Brielle. It’s cute enough if you ignore the small stain by Bri’s collar where she’d lost some of the second tequila shot. Oh, and you looking up at Matthew with the most pathetic lovesick look on your face in the background. 

It unsettles your stomach further, and so you abandon all plans of tea—turning off your kettle and grabbing the water bottle you’d prepped for yourself before you left last night and taking up residence on the couch. 

Putting on a random movie from your childhood on Disney+, you lay back and cover yourself with your favorite quilt. Another wave of nausea washes over you, and so you prop yourself up with a few extra pillows and fall asleep sitting up. 

It mustn’t be more than half an hour of uninterrupted sleep before you’re pulled out of it by the incessant buzzing of your phone. It’s a set of four pictures of you on Matt’s lap and another incriminating tidbit from the night before. 

Georgia: Last night you told him you need him

“Shut up Sammy,” you glare, angrily poking his chest with your index finger. You’re grateful for the uncharacteristic change in nail shape at your last manicure, the stiletto tip serving as a makeshift weapon that actually makes him wince before laughing in your face. 

Truthfully, you’re not sure how the night got to this point—you and your girls hanging around a table with Matty and his boys. You’re not complaining though, not with how your bare legs pressed to Matty’s jeans or how his arm rests above your shoulders, fingertips brushing your skin now and then. 

Matt can spot a fight coming from a mile away, well versed in the language that is your rage from the countless years he was the source of it, pulling on your pigtails and breaking your barbies. 

“That’s not my name,” Sam rolls his eyes, rubbing his chest and stealing a swig of your beer. “Lightweight.”

He’s referring to your drunken state and the fact that Matt himself had to drag you to the table with the promise of a Bud Light if, and only if, you drank an entire glass of water. Narrowing your eyes, you begin to lunge at him again, stopped only by the force of Matt pulling you onto his lap and wrapping an arm around your waist, one hand resting on your stomach and the other on your bare knee. 

The effects of being wrapped up in him are almost instantaneous. Your rage quickly simmers, your body relaxes and you all but sink into the embrace. You quiet then, content to let the rest of the table do the talking for the moment while you memorize the feel of his arms. 

It’s a nervous habit to fiddle with the small charm around your neck, something you do unconsciously, not even noticing until it’s somehow come undone in your grasp. 

“Matty, I need you,” you whisper against the side of his face, watching his eyes darken and the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He opens his mouth to speak but you interrupt with your fist coming at his face with your necklace clenched tightly within. 

He visibly relaxes, motioning for you to lean forward and swiping your hair to the side.You grab the strands of your hair after he takes the necklace from you, shivering as his cold hands drag across your skin. 

Georgia is shaking her head at you from across the table, having clearly read your lips and witnessed the little moment. You just smile and shrug at her before pressing a chaste kiss to the skin of Matt’s jaw. “Thank you.”

You’re pretty sure you’re dying. By the grace of some higher power, you haven’t seen the inside of your bathroom in a hot minute. Yes, you’ve finally moved past stage one of your hangover, however you’re not out of the woods yet. You’re dying a slow death on the couch—feeling yourself dip more and more into dangerous dehydration levels despite the giant water bottle on your coffee table that had been a gag gift from Matt last Christmas. 

Truthfully, the room is still a little spinny and your stomach still a little unsettled, but perhaps the worst of it all is the splitting headache and the sore throat. Both ailments make sense, you’re a yeller when you drink and you’re certain last night was no exception—even if the memories are slow to return to you. 

It’s not aggression, not really. It’s more that your body can’t contain all the emotions that you so carefully hide in your day to day life, and without the control that sobriety brings, you’re wont to let them all spill out. 

And really, you can’t linger on the what ifs too long, so you settle back in for another nap as an attempt to sleep off the symptoms of your poorly thought out night out with another movie playing as background noise. 

Elizabeth has just rejected Darcy when your phone lights up three times. 

sam: let’s just say you’re screwed if you ever wake up in vegas

you: fuck off sammy

sam: still not my name, lightweight 

sam: at least I didn’t propose last night 

“You know, Sammy,” you slur, no longer angry but keeping up the nickname in hopes that the table will think you are and Matty will let you stay in his arms. “You’re very lucky Liz agreed to marry you because other than the hockey thing you really have no redeeming qualities.”

“At least someone wanted to marry me,” he retorts not unkindly. 

“Matty would marry me,” you state confidently, tilting your head back to look up at the man beneath you. “Wouldn’t you, Matty?”

“Gonna have to get down on one knee, Kid,” Matty laughs, shaking your body slightly from where it leans against him. The dopiest smile crosses your face at the sound and you know you’re being far too obvious but you can’t help it. Matty laughing is your favorite sound, and happiness looks so good on him. There’s nothing you hate more than seeing him sad or upset. Nothing except dirty, sticky bar floors, which makes your next actions even more comical. 

Pulling from his arms for the first time in what feels like an eternity—not that you were complaining—you jump from the table and dramatically flop down to one knee. 

“Matthew—M-Matty,” you hiccup, keenly aware of the dozens of eyes on you and yet utterly uncaring of any of them except the icy blue you stare into now. “You’re my b-best friend. Marry me?”

The look he gives you is fond if frigid, not at all the passionate love declaration you were hoping for. Pouting deeply, you don’t move to pull up from the floor. “Is that a no?”

“It’s a ‘not right now’,” he answers, getting up himself and pulling you up by your armpits. You wrap around him like a vine, not even protesting as he leads you to the bar to grab another glass of water and some appetizers for the table. 

God, you really regret asking about last night. Maybe it was better to live in beautiful, blissful ignorance — if you never remembered all the embarrassing behavior did it really happen? 

Unfortunately your vibrating phone simply refuses to let that happen. 

brielle: and you totally ate shit on the pavement leaving the bar last night 

That certainly explains the dull ache of your biceps, having caught the weight of you alongside breaking your fall. Luckily that appears to be the extent of the damage, given you can wiggle all of your fingers and toes and no other part of your body stings. 

Just your ego is bruised. 

“Why would we go home?” you ask, gesturing wildly at the emptying bar around you as though it were still the hopping venue of an hour ago. 

“Cause the bar staff would like to go home too,” Brielle explains kindly. 

“So we go to the next bar? I’m sure there’s somewhere still open, it’s only midnight!” 

Matty’s arm is heavy and warm and secure as it wraps around your shoulder to guide you to the exit. “I’ve already called us an Uber.”

You preen at the mention of an ‘us’ between you and Matt, suddenly docile and calm, allowing him to guide you outside. 

Far too preoccupied with the weight of him, you miss the broken piece of sidewalk and subsequently toe pick the crack, ending up face down on the pavement. 

Matt is quick, pulling you to your feet with ease and examining your face and upper body for damage. “You alright?”

“If I say no, will you kiss it better?” you crack back, only half joking. 

Shaking his head at your antics, he guides you into the waiting car before sliding in beside you. 

You’re quite content to lean your head on his shoulder the whole drive home, arm curled around his before letting him lead you to your bed.

A joke about inviting him into your bed doesn’t leave your lips, momentarily mesmerized by the gentle way he tucks you in, the soft press of his lips to your forehead. 

Could it possibly get worse, you wonder. 

Matty: let me up?

He’s got a key for emergencies, and although you usually appreciate that he doesn’t misuse it, in this case you almost wish he would let himself in. 

It would give you some extra time to compose yourself and—to be quite honest—you do yet harbor a little fear that getting vertical might have you running for the bathroom once again. 

Neither of those things happen—he doesn’t let himself in and you don’t throw up on your way to the door. You make quick work of the lock before opening the door to reveal Matthew looking as well rested as you’ve ever seen him. 

The contrast between the two of you is likely a stark difference, but his face doesn’t give anything away if he’s thinking it too. 

His first words to you are simple, full of care and compassion. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a bus that then backed right over me again,” you answer truthfully. 

His responding giggle makes your insides feel warm and you can only hope you don’t have the tell tale lovesick look on your face. There’s a moment of quiet contemplation—his chest visibly puffs up and then deflates as he takes a steeling breath. 

“You said some things last night,” he says and you feel your blood run ice cold in your veins. 

You attempt to deflect. “I say a lot of things, Matty. Especially when I’ve gotten into the Tito’s.”

He shakes his head and takes a step towards you. “Last night you said you loved me.”

“Of course I love you, you’re my best friend.” It’s not a lie, not completely anyway. You love him. He’s your best friend. So what if that love you have for him is something a little bit more than friendship? 

He shakes his head again, little ringlets of curls shaking with the motion. “Didn’t sound friendly. You said you needed me.” His voice is rough, tone something heavy. 

“To fix my necklace, Matty. What are you doing?” Your voice in response is a little wild—short clipped sentences spoken in quick succession.  

He appears frustrated. Not necessarily at you, you don’t think, but it’s clear on his face.  “That’s not—You said you wanted to marry me, got down on one knee even. 

“I was drunk, it’s not that deep.” 

He takes the remaining steps toward you, crowding your space and boxing you in with his arms. Yet you know with one word he would back off if you asked. 

You don’t ask. 

“But what if it is? What if I said that I love you too, that I need you too? That the only person who I’ve ever thought about marrying was you?”

“Matty, what are you doing?” you ask lowly, heart pounding so loud you fear he might hear it. 

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” he murmurs and leans in until your lips barely touch. 

It's the invitation you feel you’ve waited a lifetime for. No amount of doubt or hesitation or uncertainty is going to stop you from wrapping yourself around him and deepening the kiss. 

It’s soft and sweet—two decades of buildup, of a beautiful friendship turned something more. It’s you and Matty the way it was always supposed to be—the way it was always going to end up. 

[elodieunderglass]

Hello!! For the ‘people over 30’ ask meme, may I ask for 35, 42, 56, 65??? :D feel free to tag me in other replies if you’ve already answered them! 🙌💯

35. Aisle at the grocery store you never bother walking down?

I try not to go to the grocery store, I plan everything out and get the groceries delivered at home a few nights a week. I think the least visited is the “soda” aisle though.

42. What's an unjustifiably expensive appliance that you really want?

I don’t like unjustifiably expensive things and end up not using them. I feel a lot of guilt about a beautiful spinning wheel that Dr Glass found and gave me that I haven’t repaired/used. I’m the sort of person who OUGHT to have a stand mixer though!!

56. Favorite low-effort meal that you make?

Probably pasta carbonara! I do it with lardons! Sometimes shallots. Everyone’s favourite meal around here. Ought to go make some right now

65. Anything you're procrastinating on right now?

I have to……. Send emails…. I’m being so brave about it

[hotnbloodied]

Hiyaaaa can I request a stalker yan x enabling gn reader🪼could it be smut if possible

I went a little haywire with this one, I hope it meets your expectations dear~

(PLEASE BE EXTRA CAUTIOUS OF TAGS FOR THIS ONE!!!)

I'm still not too sure about how to feel about writing smut (I'm actually not a big fan of it) but as long as everyone enjoys it thank you ^^

-˚ʚ♡ɞ˚HB˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Stalker!Yan X Pushover!Reader (!!SMUT!!)

!Warning! This post contains yandere themes and topics that may be uncomfortable to people who are sensitive to the topic, read at your own discretion. I do not support or encourage these destructive behaviors in real life.

CW: not proof read, yous/yours used, gn reader, SEX, sloppy lewd writing, implied stalking, saliva, yandere behaviors, delusional thoughts, dub-con, obsessive behavior (LMK if I'm missing anything.)

!!READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!! MINORS DNI!!

(PLEASE BE EXTRA CAUTIOUS OF TAGS FOR THIS ONE!!!)

It all started with a simple act of helping him pick up the paperwork that you accidentally knocked out of his hands. No one had helped him before, much less make conversation with him due to how he looks and holds himself. Perpetual hunch, unkempt hair, deep dark eye bags and a slight stutter. This guy was a mess, but the company kept him because his work ethic is near perfection. Back to the papers you were helping him pick up, you offered to carry half with him to where he needed to go and he offered to treat you to lunch, “i-it’s the least I can do for helping me,” he reasons. You couldn’t turn down, “well, if you’re sure, I am getting pretty hungry since it’s lunch time already,” you reason.

Though, you didn’t expect him to get so chatty during lunch. It felt like he was asking your ear off with questions. “How’s work been for you?” “How is your family?” “Do you have any hobbies?” “Favorite shows? Movies?” Admittedly, you couldn’t wait for lunch to be over but even when you wanted to say goodbye, to get back to work, he asks for your phone number. Wanting to just go already you hurriedly gave it to him.

Little did you know that he would be texting you everyday, perhaps even every hour. Not wanting to be rude you responded when you could. Soon you were seeing him outside of work, not willingly but whenever you would be trying to run errands or even just out and about. Grocery shopping? He suddenly appeared and offered to push your cart and even load your bags into your car. At the mall? He just so happened to be needing to get a birthday gift for a family member so why don’t he shop around with you, even though when you were leaving he walked you to your car with his hands empty. Just taking a walk in the park? What a coincidence, he loves this park! A walk is better with someone else right? You didn’t bring up how weirdly coincidental it was that he happened to be wherever you were, you didn’t want to deal with confrontation. Which led you to the state of you and his relationship as it is these days.

He started hanging out with you in your apartment, he had one day asked if he could come over to your place to hang out for the weekend. “We could hang out and watch a movie, I’ll even make dinner for us. Unless you want to come over to my place?” You weakly try to give the excuse that your apartment is a mess but he even offers to clean it and you didn’t really want to go over to his place so you agreed to hang out with him at yours.

True to his word, he cleans your apartment but it wasn’t even that dirty in the first place since it was just an excuse. He goes on to make dinner, it was exactly to your taste like he knew and even cleans up afterward. When it came to the movie it was whatever looked good on the streaming service, you’ve been wanting to watch a certain movie that was recently released so he agreed to it too. Not too long into the movie you notice him moving closer to you, your heart rate raises with each proceeding inch until finally your shoulders are touching. Even if you wanted to scoot away, you were already on the edge of your couch. In a fluid motion he rests his arm on your shoulders causing you to look at him. He looks you in the eyes and leans in for a kiss. You instinctively used your hands to stop him from leaning closer and he looked at you with wide eyes.

“Do you not want this?” He asks with a bit of hurt in his voice. Flustered, you replied, “I just think it’s too soon for this.” He smiles and takes your hands in his, “it’s okay, we’re just having a little fun after all. No strings attached.” Something about the last statement didn’t feel right but you don’t say anything so he takes it as you agreeing with him and leans in for a kiss again. You close your eyes as your lips connect and you can feel him sigh as he continuously pecks kisses on your lips. Soon after you feel something wet probing at your lips and it surprises you enough to open them. His tongue invades your mouth and you feel his grasp on your body tighten as he explores your mouth with his tongue.

Breaking from the kiss only for air, it doesn’t stop him from tasting you like he was a thirsty man and you were an oasis in the desert. His tongue rolls over your cheeks and jawline working down to your neck leaving you covered in saliva. He sucks and licks the sensitive skin of your jugular making heat form in your lower regions. He nudges to take off your top and you allow him a full view of your chest. He wastes no time and continues to suck on your collarbone area, the whole thing feels weird and warm and slimy but you didn’t want to stop him since you believe it was too late for that. Suddenly you feel your nipples get pinched and you jerk backwards. “You’re so cute, and so sensitive just for me,” he coos. He continues to suck and play with your nipples until your brain seems to go fuzzy from the pleasure and all that’s escaping your lips are sounds of moans, whines and whimpers. He chuckles, “you’ve been grinding against me for a while, do you want it?” Did you? You didn’t even notice until he said so. “Let’s go ahead and get these off okay?” He nudges at your pants now and he watches as you slowly take them off.

He gulps at your completely nude form now, “you’re everything I dreamed off and more.” You flushed at his words. Before you could say anything he went down on you causing you to yelp. He licked and sucked and slurped like his life depended on it. He almost got you to cum but stopped much to your dismay. “No need to pout darling, we’ll be coming undone together.” It was his turn to undress, his member stood proudly over your entrance. Something in you knew deep down that if you let him go the whole way that there would be no turning back even if he said no strings attached, but another part of you just doesn’t care. He turns you around and slowly enters you from behind and you gasp as you grip your sofa cushions from the intrusion. It doesn’t take long for the speed to pick up and he’s pounding you into your sofa making an absolute mess of you. Soon the both of you climax and he’s covering your back with his seed.

You’re too exhausted to move but that’s okay! He already knows where you keep your towels so he goes and gets some to clean you up. After doing so, he guides your arm over his shoulder and leads you to your bedroom. You fall asleep, too tired to stay awake. “You’re more ethereal in person when you’re sleeping than a screen could ever capture,” he kisses your forehead before drifting off to sleep himself, with you finally in his grasp.

[jovieinramshackle]

"First a magical school, now a deserted tropical island. What's next on the list, outer space?"

•Groovification: Honestly…I’m much more entertained than distressed, it’s not like it’s my first time being summoned into an unfamiliar place.

•Set Home Screen: The breeze is so nice.

•Home Idle 1: I like my long hair, but man, it is not helping me manage this heat. The back of my neck feels like a waterfall! I imagine being furry like you isn’t any more pleasant. 

•Home Idle 2: I actually haven’t been to the beach before, I simply didn’t have the time for it…well, that’s what I was always told at least. 

•Home Idle 3: All these different shells are just beautiful, don’t you think? We should collect some to bring back, we could decorate our room in Ramshackle with them. 

•Home, after login: I wonder why we are the ones who got the matching shirts. I guess even this random magic knows we come as one package deal. 

•Home Idle Groovification: Being around the campfire with everyone, singing, dancing, eating, drinking…I haven’t felt like this before…It’s a nice feeling, don’t you think? 

•Home Tap 1: Surfing was so cool, and Floyd’s pointers were really useful!  It's a bit funny since he’s never done it before too, but that’s Flody for you, always the fast learner if he’s in the right mood. 

•Home Tap 2: Stitch is such an adorable little bastard, smart too, and he’s practically glued on me. Hey, what’s that look for? Come on, no need to get jealous. 

•Home Tap 3: Jovie has been trying to slack off during our whole time here…until Floyd unpromptedly dumps work on her, of course. And despite her whining, they still complete the tasks effectively.

•Home Tap 4: It’s so funny seeing Azul and Riddle try to dance, their moves are so stiff it physically hurts me. *chuckles* I guess I should be nice and show them a few moves. 

•Home Tap 5: *groans* Stupid Ace, throwing me into the water like that while I was asleep, the saltwater even went inside my nose! Mark my words, I will get back at him.

•Home Tap Groovification: *laughs* Oh, I’m having so much fun here, I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much! I hope we won’t need to say goodbye forever to this place, I’d love to come back here with the others again.

IT'S BEACH TIME WHOAHOOO!!! This was surprisingly quick to make, yeah I kept the shading and design very simple but still, I generally draw really slowly. Oh well, whatever! Here's Jess in tropical wear!

(Full with and without the shirt)

tagging: @ramshacklerumble @thehollowwriter @summerspook @scint1llat3 @skriblee-ksk

@cyanide-latte @twistedwonderlandshenanigans (lmk if you wanna be added)

[delicatebarness]

winters widow | chapter ii

Summary: A small gesture of concern from Lord James suggests a possible change in the dynamic.

Warning: Arranged Marriage. Emotional Distress.

Word Count: 1390

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A/N: I was going to post this earlier but everyone asked for Cry Baby so you're getting both. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Winter’s Widow: @lanabuckybarnes | @sapphirebarnes | @sebastians-love |Let me know if you want to be tagged specifically for this series.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick

The following days were as cold and unforgiving as the walls of Winter’s Reach. Every morning, you’d wake early, hoping to catch a slight glimpse of Bucky and perhaps try to engage in conversation. He remained elusive, seen only from a distance. His stern demeanor and closed-off nature seemed impenetrable as he trained in the yard or discussed with his men. 

Soughting ways to familiarize yourself with your new home, you were determined not to be deterred. The Reach staff had initially been distant, yet they gradually warmed to your kind and gentle nature. Taking it upon yourself to learn the names of the servants, you wanted to understand the daily workings of the House. And, bring a touch of warmth to the cold stone. 

Wandering through the dimly lit corridors, one evening, you found yourself drawn to the library. Towering shelves filled with ancient tomes and scrolls in the vast room, a fire crackled in the hearth which cast warm glows over the worn furniture. You marveled at the wealth of knowledge contained within these walls as your fingers ran along the spines of the books.

Lost in thought, you didn’t hear the heavy door open behind you. It wasn’t until a shadow fell across the floor, startling you, that you turned. Bucky stood in the doorway, his expression was hard, annoyance etched in his features. 

“My Lord–” 

“What are you doing in here?” his sharp tone cut you off as he demanded.

You took a step back, his hostility wasn’t surprising. “I was admiring the collection. It’s a beautiful room.” 

His gaze trailed down to your hands as a particular old book lays in them. “This isn’t a tour you're on,” he snapped. “You don’t belong here, meddling with things you don’t understand.” 

“I’m sorry,” your voice was soft as you tried to keep it steady. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I thought–”

“You thought wrong,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “This place is filled with history you know nothing about. It is not your place.” 

You swallowed hard, trying not to look up at his looming figure. “I’m just trying to understand, connect with you in some way.” 

Bucky scoffed, tension evident in his posture. “This isn’t some fairy tale, Lady Romanoff. You’re here because of duty, nothing more, no happily ever after.” 

His words cut deep, a dagger twisting in the pit of your stomach. Yet, you refused to back down. “Fairy tales are all I know, Lord James. I know this isn’t one of them. Yet, we’re both here, and we have to make the best of it. I am willing to try, even if you are not.” 

For a moment, you could have sworn his expression softened as you finally met his gaze. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. But his walls built back up just as quickly. “Do what you want,” he said curtly. “But don’t expect any warmth from me.”

The chill that settled in your bones as he turned and left, leaving you standing alone in the library, made the fire suddenly feel insufficient. Sighing, you gently placed the book back on the shelf. 

You resolved to continue your efforts to make Winter’s Reach feel like home. Focus on exploring the grounds once more, familiarizing yourself with lands that now surround you, covered in frost and snow. 

Walking through the courtyard, you saw Bucky training with his men. His movements, precise and powerful, halted you. They reflected his years of discipline and experience. You admired him, and his skill. 

Granting him space, you turned your attention to the stables, where your horse was being kept along with the Reach’s. 

The stable master greeted you warmly. “Lady Romanoff, it’s a pleasure to see you here,” he said with a genuine smile weathering his face. 

“Thank you,” you replied, returning his smile. “I thought I might get to see Honeybreeze, it could do her good to ride around the Reach.” 

The man nodded, gesturing toward your beautiful, chestnut mere. “Here she is, gentle and sure-footed, perfect for riding.” 

As you patted Honeybreeze’s neck, the sound of approaching footsteps caught your attention. Another unreadable expression greeted you as you turned, coming face to face with Bucky. He paused when he saw your smaller frame, irritation etched his face in an instant. 

“Taking up riding now, are we?” he asked, his tone clipped. 

You met his gaze, refusing to let his hostility deter you. “I’ve always rode, my lord. I thought it would be a good way for us both,” you gestured toward your horse, stroking your hand down her mane. “To familiarize ourselves with Winter’s Reach.” 

His eyes narrowed, however, they weren’t aimed at you. His gaze moved toward the stable master. “Make sure the lady is properly equipped for her ride,” he ordered the man before turning back to you. “The terrain can be treacherous, especially for outsiders. Be careful.” 

“I will,” you replied softly, you tried to keep your voice steady, not to show the pain his words caused. “Thank you for your concern.” 

“It’s not concern,” he scoffed, once more. The sound filled the air between you with bitterness. “Just practicality. We don’t need any unnecessary accidents.”

With that, he left you again. The stable master gave you a sympathetic look as he handed you the reins. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said quietly. “But, my lord wasn’t always like this. The war changed him.” 

You nodded, “I understand, thank you.” 

Mounting Honeybreeze, you guided her out of the stables, making your way toward the open fields surrounding Winter’s Reach. The air was crisp, and the expansive landscapes offered a sense of freedom. A brief moment of peace, away from the tension within Reach’s walls. 

Thoughts of your future husband returned to your mind as you rode. Despite his harsh exterior, you couldn’t help but wonder who the man was beneath the black and gold armor. 

Hours passed as you explored, and the cold air bit at your cheeks. Finally returning to the stables, dusk had almost settled over Winter’s Reach. Dismounting the horse, you handed her reins back to the waiting stable master. Thanking him, he nodded appreciatively and led your horse away, leaving you standing alone. 

Your mind reflected on the day's events as you made your way back toward the Reach. The hostility and bitterness from Bucky had been palpable, but you couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. It was clear the way had left its mark on him, you wondered what had happened to transform him into the hardened man you were to marry. 

As you approached the entrance, you were surprised by Bucky standing there, waiting. His usual stern expression across his face. However, there was a hint of something softer in his eyes. 

“Did you enjoy your ride?” his voice gruff. 

You nodded, taken aback by his question. “I did, my lord. The land around your home is beautiful.” 

Looking away, his jaw tightened. “The Reach has its own kind of beauty,” he admitted.

“I would love to understand more of it,” you spoke softly. “And, to understand my future husband.” 

Bucky’s expression hardened again, his gaze meeting yours as a flicker of something else– perhaps vulnerability passed over his eyes. “There’s not much to understand. I’m a soldier, nothing more.” 

“I don’t believe that,” you replied gently, offering a small smile. “I think there’s more to you, more than you want to show.” 

For a second, he looked as though he might argue. Then, he sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Maybe… if so, it’s buried deep.” 

You took a small step closer, daring to place your hand gently on his arm. “I’m willing to find it if you’ll let me.” 

He glanced down at your hand on his arm, another unreadable look passed through his eyes. Then, he stepped back, offering you a small nod. “Just… be careful,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I will, my lord,” you promised, watching him walk away. For the first time, you felt like you had hope as you saw a glimpse of the man beneath the armor. 

Taking a deep breath, you continued on your way through The Reach, feeling a renewed sense of determination. You silently vowed to break through his defenses and uncover a heart worth loving and understanding. 

---

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[bizaar]

Endless Summer ✧

Part 3: Band on the Run

Cruel Summer Masterlist

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pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader

warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), horny-loser!reader, brief descriptions of sexual fantasies, swearing, and so much pining

word count: 19k

a/n: we're back baybeee! also, if anyone knows the original creator of the gif below, please let me know so I can tag them, I've had these on my laptop for over a year and I've lost all my credits!!

In the three hours it has been since you got home from school, the floor of your bedroom has become almost totally obscured by what is essentially every article of clothing you own. You’d made the mess in a frantic attempt at putting together an outfit out of thin air because you don’t actually own anything cool enough for how you’re planning to spend your night.

You’re supposed to be babysitting, just like every other Tuesday night you’ve spent since you were thirteen years old, but this week, for the first time in history, you did everything in your power to get out of that duty. You’d pulled out all the stops to convince everyone that, despite the perfect health of your earlier day, you’d somehow managed to contract a sudden onset, highly contagious illness sometime between fifth-period chemistry and now (one you intend on making a swift and miraculous recovery from) and for the safety of everyone around you, you should not be disturbed under any circumstances.

You blame it on how you’d spent four hours out in the cold, taking Dustin and his friends around to trick-or-treat last night, though all that does is get your mother on your case about how she “told you to wear a coat”, but would you listen? No.  

 It took almost a full hour of debate, all the tricks you’d ever seen employed in movies to fake sickness, and what you like to think of as an Oscar-worthy performance on your part, but your parents eventually gave in and called across the street to deliver the news. Part of you feels like it was only because they didn’t want to argue with you anymore, but in any case you got what you wanted.  

Dustin was going to the Wheelers, your parents were going to their weekly Tuesday night extracurriculars, and (unbeknownst to everyone else) you were going to see a band play at the Hideout.

Though not just any band.

The only reason you’ve gone to such lengths to get out of all your previous plans is because you’ve been personally invited to go and see Corroded Coffin play — Eddie’s band. 

Of course, you didn't know that at the time of the initial invitation, which came through Gareth, just as the school bell was finishing its cacophonous ringing to signify the end of fifth-period chemistry. 

“Hey, so, what are you doing tonight?” he asked, leaning less than casually on his elbow to peer down the length of his nose at you.  

You remember thinking that the way he was twisting at the waist looked terribly uncomfortable, but you were only half conscious of anything going on around you as you began the arduous task of orienting yourself toward your original plans for the night.  

“Homework.” You replied in an absent monotone, trying for the millionth time not to get sucked back into the memory of the lunch period spent “swapping eyes” with Eddie Munson. 

It’s been five days since then, but who’s counting?

Certainly not you and all the assignments piling up in your locker, waiting on the promise of “later” you’ve been making since the moment you finally managed to drag yourself out of those woods.

You were vaguely aware of Gareth answering with some kind of a droll response – which was entirely on brand for the likes of him – but you hardly heard him say it.

 You had a lot of other things on your mind, all of which seemed much more important than divulging your wholly uninteresting after-school plans to your lab partner.

Tonight, you’ll be sitting at the Henderson’s kitchen table doing all your overdue assignments while your prepubescent charge plays Atari, nothing more, nothing less. 

Talk about a rip-roaring good time, right? 

Still, it beats the “casual hangout” in Steve Harrington’s backyard Carol had tried to coerce you into attending under threat of major bodily harm. Not that being forced to sit around a pool in early November, fifth wheeling while everyone around you sucks face doesn’t sound like just the most fun a girl could have, but you told Carol the same thing you told Gareth about your plans for that night – you’ve got to do your homework, and it’s not even a lie. 

Normally, you like to think you’re a much better student, and while you’re not entirely sure that line of thinking is warranted (as is evidenced by your last report card, which saw you pulling straight C’s) you know for a fact that any and all thoughts of academia flew right out the window the moment Eddie put himself in the seat across from you in the lunchroom. 

And aren’t you so incandescently glad he did? 

It is a sentiment your teachers do not share. That morning (the first day back after a long weekend spent miserably pining) you’d even received the dreaded summons from your guidance counselor, who sat you down and asked if “everything was fine at home”. 

Why? You’d wanted to ask – because you were seen slinking off to the woods with Eddie Munson or because he wasn’t in school the next day and you haven’t turned in a single assignment since? You might remind them that with the long weekend, there are only technically two days of work missing, but you know they don’t want to hear that because this isn’t really about the homework.  

This is about you following Eddie out into the woods.

How are you supposed to think about things like formulas and essays when you can still see him gazing back at you from across the picnic bench every time you close your eyes? With that dreamy look on his face? 

And more to the point, how are you meant to explain to an adult that everything is fine, it’s only just you haven’t seen him in nearly a week and, not to be dramatic or hideously cliche, but you can’t seem to eat, sleep, or concentrate on anything so banal as homework when you’re fairly certain he was getting ready to kiss you out in those woods before the bell rang?

You’re not positive that’s where things were headed, but you’re pretty damn sure, and it's enough to get your girlish libido ringing the warning bells of your imminent demise with every day that passes out of Eddie’s presence. 

No, you can’t explain that to an educational professional or Carol, or anyone else without raising some serious alarms. Because you’re not even supposed to be talking to Eddie Munson, let alone sneaking off to the woods to become as completely captivated by him as you are. 

And he didn’t even kiss you… 

God, how you wish he would have just kissed you, especially after the way he seemed to make himself scarce the moment you took your eyes off him. 

You’d put quite a lot of time and energy after you got home that Thursday evening into wondering what it would have taken to get Eddie to lean over that table, and quite a bit more into wondering whether you ought to have bucked up and done it yourself. 

Not that it mattered, because he didn’t kiss you and you didn’t kiss him, and there you remain, unkissed and suddenly the topic of everyone’s conversation.

Because on top of everything else, there is that side of it. 

Like somehow a spell had been broken that afternoon you followed Eddie out of the lunchroom, everybody and their mother is suddenly keenly interested in you. People who have never given you the time of day suddenly know your name, and they want to know all the intimate details of what you did with Eddie Munson out in the woods, or rather, what he did to you. 

You probably should have known that was coming.

Still, you hate to indulge them with any kind of answer, even if it happens to be a big fat nothing. They only want to know so they can wrinkle their noses and sneer and shout about how “fucking nasty” that is — shacking up with the Freak King — just like Carol did in the lunchroom the day before all your dreams came true. 

You would spare yourself that humiliation if you could, but more than that, you’re struck by how you don’t want them talking about Eddie that way. 

You have become inordinately fond of him since that afternoon, more than you already were, and in a very specific way. Somehow, you can’t help but feel that, even though your conversation lasted less than twenty minutes altogether, you understand each other now.

You’re simpatico.

You might even venture to say that you’re almost friends. 

Strange how a little quiet intimacy was all you needed to curb the rabid edge of your obsession. Eddie is still all you think about, but in a decidedly calmer way, because he thinks you’re nice and approachable, and you think the same about him.

Still, in the five agonizing days it’s been since that big fat nothing happened, the questions have not stopped. Part of you wants to give them an answer if only to shut them up, but somehow you don’t think “he captivated me” is going to satisfy the people’s ravenous appetite for gossip. 

You’re certain everyone has already made up their mind about what they think happened, anyway. In the food chain of high school social constructs, it doesn’t matter what did or didn’t happen, it only matters what people say happened. and you’re absolutely certain that you’re going to hear all about it sooner or later.

You realize now that’s probably why Carol was so desperate to get you to come out and fifth wheel tonight when she knows you have to babysit. She keeps telling you that you owe her because you didn’t go to Tina’s Halloween party, but somehow you’re not convinced she was that upset to have missed you.

Maybe it’s just that she doesn’t trust you not to lie to her about where you’re going to be and who you’ll be with, who will see you with them, and how that will come back to reflect on her. Guilty by association is the law of the land at Hawkins High, after all.

With all that weighing heavy on your mind, you ignored any further questions Gareth had about your after-school plans and shoved your books into your bag, ready to submit yourself to the quiet death of study hall. 

Ugh… study hall… you’d rather eat glass. Then again, you’d also rather not have to spend your summer watching the sweat beading on Mrs. O’Donnell’s upper lip in summer school, so down the hall you went, headed against the flow of traffic in the busy hallway.

Somehow, it feels like overt symbolism bashing you over the head – you’ve always hated a cliché.  

Lucky for you and your impending academic doom, Gareth was not so easily deterred and scrambled to follow you out the door.

“Why don’t you come out tonight instead?” He asked innocently, like it was the most casual thing in the world and he wasn’t struggling to keep pace with you as all your classmates shoved past.

The question hit you square in the back, punching your lungs flat and wrenching you out of your thoughts with enough force to make your head spin.

“Excuse me?” You gasped, pulling to a stop and whipping around so suddenly that Gareth, who you hadn’t realized was skirting along at your elbow, nearly took a blow to the solar plexus in his attempt to keep up. 

Your insides clenched and forced your heart up into your throat, but before you had the time to decide whether or not Gareth had just asked you out, his eyes went comically wide, and he began to backpedal as if his life depended upon it. 

Then again, it might have, if what he said was true and word got back around to Eddie.

“Not like a date!” He yelped, throwing his hands up and showing you his palms in a way that flooded you with a strange and instant relief, “Just as friends—”

Oh, thank God for that. 

You could barely wrap your head around the concept that Eddie feels any sort of intimate way about you —and you’re still not entirely convinced about that — but to suddenly learn that you are the object of two affections? That’s too much revelation for one week, and you can only thank that dim lucky star that so infrequently passes you over that it had been nothing but a misunderstanding. 

Not like a date, Gareth said, Just as friends, and you’re fine with that.

From there, he had your full attention as he went on to explain that his band was doing a set down at the Hideout, and he was extending you a personal invitation to come and see them play. You had no idea Gareth was in a band, though that was perhaps stupid on your part based solely on the boy’s appearance – of course, Gareth is in a band, and of course, that band’s name is Corroded Coffin (which you’re only slightly ashamed about giggle-snorting over when he told you) Between that and the location, your gut reaction was to refuse. 

Gareth is great, especially when he’s playing the herald to all your hopes and dreams, and especially when he isn’t asking you out, but no.

Absolutely not. 

You would not be going to see Corroded Coffin tonight.

Lucky for you, you’ve had the perfect excuse to get out of anything and everything that sounds like a colossal bore since you were thirteen years old, and you were all too happy to trot it out.

“Oh man, I wish I could,” you began, trying to mask the faintest hint of smug satisfaction in your tone with an apologetic scrunch of your features, “...but I’m babysitting tonight.”

And you would have been content for the conversation to end there, but you didn’t count on Gareth having an ace in the hole, one he was all too happy to knock you upside the head with and send your brains splattering all over the crusty school linoleum.

“Aw, really? Damn, that’s a bummer,” he hummed, “I know Eddie would’ve been stoked to see you.” 

Your heart skipped a beat and you had to fight to stop yourself from seizing Gareth by the front of his shirt.

If you had, you would have shaken him like a ragdoll and demanded he tell you everything he knows. Instead, you did your best to remain calm as you stared back at him and the look of smug self-satisfaction he suddenly had plastered across his face.  

For some reason, it made you think of the message you’d promised to take back out of the woods last week.

“Tell the smug bastard to mind his own business,” Eddie said, and you didn’t, because Gareth never asked you how it went. He just gave you a sly smug look, the same one he was currently giving you right there in the hallway five days later. 

“Oh,” You said, feeling about as casual as a heart attack, “Is Eddie going to be there?” 

Your voice hitched and wavered as you did your best to casually skip over his name. You were cool, calm, collected, and definitely not internally shrieking with the sudden potential of a “part two” of last Thursday…

The potent spike of desperation that thought sent rocketing through your midsection was enough to drive color bleeding up into your cheeks and a cold sweat beading across your brow.

It is a reaction you are certain Gareth was not unwise to as he continued without missing a beat. 

“Yeah, he’s our frontman,” He explained, knowing full well what he was doing dropping that kind of information, “Technically it’s his band – he started it back when he was in Middle School or something,” 

Well, put me in a fucking chokehold why don’t you? Something inside of you screamed to have had such a treasure trove of lore opened up to you.

Like the blessed hand of deus-ex-machina — cheap bitch that she is — opportunity comes a-knocking.

A personal invitation has been extended to you and you’ve never been more anxious, because you? 

At a rock show? 

At the Hideout? 

Who the hell do you think you are? You’ve never been to a concert – which is not an astounding statement to make in and of itself considering your inclination toward introversion – so you have no idea what to expect.

There are a great many things you’ve never done. For instance: you’ve never lied to your parents to get out of babysitting, so you can sneak off and go to a rock concert in a dingy dive bar you’re not legally old enough to get into, to see a boy you are strictly forbidden from speaking to.  

You’ve got no business being involved with any of that and as the school day came to a close and the final pieces of your plan steadily fell into place, you had to ask yourself whether you were seriously going to go to such lengths, just to see Eddie?

The answer was a resounding yes. 

You’re going to see Corroded Coffin perform tonight if it kills you.

As you stand there looking back at yourself in the mirror, dressed in the fifth outfit you’ve tried on in as many minutes, you begin to wonder if it might just do that.  

Your parents have been gone less than five minutes, and you’re already getting cold feet.

Yet another thing you’ve never done is try to approximate dressing to impress someone, let alone the boy you regularly spend your nights and mornings fantasizing over with all the ravenous fervor of a pack of hungry wolves.

You have no idea where to start. 

What are you supposed to wear to a rock show in a dingy dive bar? Jeans and a band-tee, maybe? And if so, what kind of jeans, and which band-tee?

It occurs to you that you ought to try and match the vibe of the band, but you have no idea whether they skew toward Credence Clearwater Revival or Judas Priest. 

Then again, with a name like Corroded Coffin, you can’t help but feel it is probably the latter, but you’ve been wrong before. 

So, maybe jeans and a t-shirt is too casual and you ought to try something a little more risqué. 

Maybe a little denim skirt and the pair of ripped nylons you haven’t gotten around to throwing out… or is that too risqué? How exactly does one strike the right balance between sultry and slutty without outright screaming “I want to feel you in my guts?”

You remember then how you once skimmed an article in Cosmopolitan Magazine about the prospective power of underwear, so you go digging through your top dresser drawer and are very quickly dismayed to find that you don’t have a hidden stash of lacy panties carefully concealed beneath your days-of-the-week underwear. 

Of course, the fact that you’re even considering what kind of underwear you ought to be wearing tonight on the very far-off chance that someone is going to see them is enough to send you into a fit of hot-faced embarrassment. 

No, not just anyone – the fact that you’re considering the far-off chance that Eddie Munson is going to see what kind of underwear you’re wearing is almost enough to give you heart palpitations. 

Christ on a fucking bike.  

And then just like that, you’re imagining how gentle he’d be. 

Laying you back on a tufted leather couch as he kneels before you and reaches up with long, dexterous fingers to unbutton your jeans — should you wear jeans tonight? — and carefully, oh so gently, peels them down your legs at an agonizing pace while puffs of warm breath fan the bare skin at the top of your thighs. 

Then again maybe not, maybe he’ll be fast and rough with you. Maybe he’ll manhandle you and throw you around like a doll, and you’ll like it.

Crowding you against the cold brick of a wall and holding you there, his body pressed flush against your back as stone bites your palms and the side of your face. You gasp when he tears at the back seam of your skirt — oh, okay so you are wearing the skirt — ripping both it and your nylons in half, exposing you to the cold air and the hard strike of his palm as he brings it down on the tender skin of your— 

You’re blushing so violently that you have to go to your hall bath and splash cold water on your face. Even after you’ve calmed enough to wander back to the black hole of mess that is your bedroom, you still have no idea what to wear. 

It’s times like this that you curse Carol for shirking her duties as your best friend. Between the two of you, she’s the expert at dressing to attract male attention, she ought to be here helping you with something like this. 

But she’s not here, she’s sitting out at the pool at Steve Harrington’s playing tonsil hockey with Tommy. That’s where you ought to be, too – sitting at the pool, trying to look anywhere but at them, going at it.

That’s where you belong, in Carol’s shadow or perched on the plush sofa at the Henderson’s with your knees up and Speed Racer reruns steadily turning your brain into soup.

It occurs to you that you might be a bad person, or at least a very selfish one – if you’re going to skip out on Dustin like this, you might as well do it to hang out with your friends, not to try and carve out a brand-new cherry-flavored personality for yourself in a crowd you don’t belong to.

You’re not equipped for something like this. You have no business with rock shows and dive bars and people like Eddie Munson – you’re just a boring, midwestern babysitter from a town no one has ever heard of, and you would do well to remember that there is no changing lanes in a place like Hawkins. 

You’re just about ready to admit defeat and march yourself across the street with your tail tucked firmly between your legs when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. 

Plain-Jane, boring little you, with the same haircut you’ve always had, same silhouette, same clothes, same as it ever was, and suddenly you can’t stop thinking about what Eddie said to you out in the woods…

“You’re not what I expected…” He’d said, twisting the rings on his thick fingers and looking at you so wistfully, in a way you’d convinced yourself was full of hope and an expectation you desperately wanted to meet.

You still want it. You want so badly to be the girl he expects to see at the show tonight, not some trussed-up idealized version of what you imagine might impress him. 

He likes you for you, after all, just the way you are, and it’s enough to stoke the fires of your courage, even if it doesn’t help you decide between the jeans and the skirt. 

By the time you finally throw something on that you’re halfway happy with, you’ve spent too much time wondering about hypotheticals and outfits and whether– in the event of an intimate collision – you would actually like to be spanked. Before you know it, you’re running late. 

You’ve almost convinced yourself that it’s fashionably so as you snatch up your keys, fly out of the house, and down your front steps. All the coolest people are fashionably late … at least that’s what Cosmopolitan Magazine says.

It’s only a short jaunt down Cornwallis to the Hideout, and when you get there, there is a semi-shitty Chevrolet van parked crooked across two spaces with the back doors flung open wide. 

It’s vaguely familiar, the way all vans of its type are, though perhaps you only think you’ve seen it before because of the posse of boys meandering around it, moving gear between the vehicle and the curb. 

Your headlights briefly illuminate the familiar faces of the group before passing them over as you pull into the first parking spot you see.

There is Gareth, of course, alongside Adam and Jeff, who you only actually know by reputation and the quick debriefing of the band he’d given you earlier that afternoon, but you cannot help but notice that there is conspicuously no sign of Eddie among them. 

You try not to be too immediately disappointed by that as you kill the engine and unbuckle your seatbelt.

Oh, will you relax already? A voice chides you from somewhere in the back of your mind. Just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not here.

Across the tiny lot, Gareth drops the end of the amp he’s got propped between himself and Adam (you think) and skips over to meet you as you steal one final look at yourself in the inset mirror of your sun visor.

You’re not a natural when it comes to applying makeup — yet another thing you could have used Carol’s help with tonight — but you did your best to look presentable.

You imagine if there is anything glaringly clownish about the way you look, it will be easily obscured by the dark and dingy atmosphere of the venue. Bar. Whatever.  

And then the crisp November evening air comes rushing in to flash freeze you with goosebumps as Gareth opens your driver's side door and stands practically bouncing on his toes with excitement. 

You brace yourself against the cold and suddenly cannot imagine trying to endure sitting out at the Harrington’s pool on a night like this. 

“You made it!” Gareth cries as you slide out of your trusty little Toyota Corolla and it strikes you with just how nice it is to have someone glad to see you show up for once. 

Your friends are typically less enthusiastic about that. 

Still, you don’t want to appear overly eager, so you can’t help but try and mask it by pulling a face – you’d told him you’d be there, after all. 

“Was that ever in doubt?” You ask, shouldering your bag.

You shut the door and twist your keys in the lock before quickly stashing them. 

“Well, you never know.” Gareth says, shrugging, “People get busy.” 

Yeah, and people also bend over backward to get out of prior obligations to keep their word. 

And then, you find yourself wondering if it’s totally weird that you jumped through so many hoops just to make sure you could keep yours. 

Lying to your parents, lying to Mrs. Henderson, lying to Carol (who called you ten minutes before you left and demanded once more that you come out before cursing you when you declined again).

Somehow you can’t help but get the sense that if anyone knew, if anyone could have been a fly on the wall of your life this afternoon, you might come across as desperate, especially considering you could take or leave the band. 

You’d gone through all that effort just to see Eddie, who so far as you can tell is not even here.

Shit — you’re starting to wonder if tonight is going to be a huge bummer when Gareth brings you back. 

“Come over and meet the guys,” he says eagerly with a hand at your elbow to guide you across the darkened pavement. 

Every step leads you closer to the van, to the band, to the impending night, and you find yourself second-guessing your outfit for the umpteenth time that day. You wonder if you’re underdressed, and whether you should have cowboyed up and opted for the skirt, which you’d decided was a bit much for the occasion.

Was it the skirt or the fantasy that went with it? 

The world may never know.

“Guys!” Gareth calls once you get within distance, “You know–” when he says your name, their heads snap to tandem attention in a way that reminds you of meerkats.

It might have been funny if it wasn’t for the way they stand there gawping at you, eyes big as dinner plates and out on stalks. 

The silence that hangs between you is deafening, and standing there under such intense scrutiny you can’t help but feel suddenly like you’ve made a terrible mistake.

You twist your fingers out of nervous habit and shift from foot to foot, wondering if you’re allowed to be here, or whether Gareth remembered to mention that he’d invited you out tonight.

“Well, say something, for Christ’s sake,” Gareth says through his teeth. 

“Oh, r-right… hi–” Jeff stammers, tripping over your name like it’s a hot coal sitting on his tongue.

Adam is not so smooth.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, like he absolutely cannot fathom that you, of all people would coincidentally be here at the same time as them, and certainly not for their benefit. 

It makes you feel frighteningly out of place and you have to force yourself to put down roots to stop yourself from turning right around and going back to your car. 

Before Gareth can finish telling him to shut the fuck up, a figure appears from the shadowy depths of the van and your lungs go flat. 

Lo and behold — Eddie Munson, in the flesh. 

Just the sight of him makes every part of your brain light up like a cathedral and chant his name as if it were singing Hallelujah. 

Eddie Eddie Eddie!

He’s halfway through some tirade and stumbling over a thick black cord that he has somehow become hopelessly tangled in.

“Hey – you assholes are doing a lot of standing around and yapping for–” he is saying before he looks up, sees you, and cuts himself off with a startled yelp of your name.

Despite the semi-comical octave to which he speaks your name, your insides flood with warmth as he practically falls out of the van. He skips over, dragging what you quickly come to realize is a microphone with him in his simultaneous attempt to free himself and close the distance between you.

It goes about as well as anyone could expect.

Before you know it, you’re standing toe to toe in the span of a heartbeat, and like a balm to your worries, you forget that you were ever nervous about being here tonight. You forget the awkwardness of Gareth’s friends, your stress over your outfit, and the lengths you went to be here, because here he is, staring back at you like everything else has melted away. 

All is once again right in the world. 

“Hi!” He says, quickly wiping his grimy hands down the front of the ridiculously tight jeans he’s wearing, the ones you’re desperately trying not to notice or wonder just how he’d managed to get into. 

“Hi, Eddie,” You purr, feeling the muscles in your cheeks already beginning to pull for how wide you’re smiling at him. 

Eddie Eddie Eddie. 

Had you been looking, you might have noticed the way the rest of the band was watching you, exchanging looks of varying degrees, throwing elbows and shushing each other, but you’re not looking, not at anything but the beautiful boy standing before you. 

His hair is wild, like always, but tonight Eddie’s got what looks like dark kohl liner smudged messily around his eyes and half rubbed off, like he’d tried something new and immediately second guessed it. It’s so incredibly endearing that it makes your heart throb in the stupid cupid fashion you’ve been chasing ever since that Thursday in the woods. 

Your veins flood with ecstasy and just like that, you’ve got the fix you’ve been itching for all week. 

With his tight jeans, the thick studded belt bursting out of its loops, all his chains and rings, steel-toed boots, and the faded band tee cropped at the waist and shoulders you can see him wearing underneath his jacket, he looks like something off the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine.

He’s dressed like the guy who would push you up against the wall and rip your skirt off, and you’ve never felt more like a stupid girl with a silly little crush than you do now.

It might almost be intimidating if it weren’t for the way that he’s looking right back at you, as if you hung the moon and the stars and were personally responsible for the shining magic of the cosmos. 

Like the guy who would take his time unbuttoning your jeans. 

You look at him, and he looks right back at you, and you feel something begin to flutter in the space behind your lungs — something warm and frantic, like the beating of a tiny bird’s wings. 

Right now, standing in this parking lot, you could be the only two people in the world, and you’d be just fine with it. 

And then, there is a cough, a conspicuously cleared throat, and the spell is broken.

Eddie shakes his head, like waking from a trance and simultaneously pulling you from yours. 

“What - uh- what are you doing here?” He asks – it hits you like a fist to the gut. “Not that it isn’t great to see you… it’s just— I didn't expect to see you.”

Oh.

You can feel the corners of your mouth twitch where your smile begins to falter. 

“I came to see your show,” You say quietly, fighting a losing battle against the tide of your nerves as they come rushing back in with enough force to sweep you under.

Eddie’s dark ringed eyes go wide and his mouth falls open, and you feel a cold lump drop into the pit of your stomach with a hollow thump. 

“You did?” he gasps, voice lilting up into that comical octave again, “Really?”

Oh, great. So, nobody knew you were coming.

For as mortifying as that is, it doesn’t sting half as badly as the disappointment battering you over how you’d spent your afternoon thinking Eddie was as excited to see you as you were to see him.

He didn’t even know you were coming — stupid Gareth. 

Suddenly, your subconscious is whispering horrible things to you: maybe he doesn’t like you as much as he’d originally let on. Maybe that moment you shared out in the woods was all in your head, maybe you’d misread the signs and he was just being nice for the sake of the loser virgin, tripping over herself to try and win the affections of the local drug dealer.

It makes you feel particularly stupid about how you’d sat there at a soggy picnic bench out in the woods, desperately waiting for Eddie to kiss you – why the fuck would he kiss you? He doesn’t even know you.   

You can’t even touch how embarrassed you are about how much time you’d spent fantasizing about him undressing you. 

Christ, you’re pathetic. But you’re also here, and you ought to at least try to make an effort to appear like you’re not the socially inept loser everybody seems to think you are.

“Oh, y-yeah… I mean, it’s no big deal.” you fumble to explain, gesturing vaguely like it’s going to help smooth over the growing awkwardness of this moment

Maybe if you keep talking, nobody will get the chance to say anything that sounds too much like a rejection.  

You give your best approximation of a casual shrug and continue.

“Gareth invited me.” You say, and somehow it feels oddly accusatory, “He said it was cool… unless…”

Uncertainty makes you strangely brave, brave enough to lean into the awkwardness of the moment at least – if there’s one thing you’ve learned after years of being Carol’s punching bag, it’s that if you can’t beat the joke, join in.

“…Unless?” Eddie prompts.

You furrow your brow.

“Unless he conveniently failed to mention that I was coming?”

Of course, the moment your gaze snaps over to regard him with a harsh, unforgiving glare is when Gareth conveniently decides it’s time to get back to hauling gear.

With a fistful of each of their shirts, he drags the others away, spouting some bullshit about “call times” and “sound check” and leaves you standing there with Eddie in the chasm of the awkward silence fighting tooth and nail to settle snugly between you.

You refuse to give it the satisfaction as you watch them retreat, and you make a displeased sound.

Bastard coward sons of bitches. A pox on all their houses.

“Well,” you start, “This is awkward, I don’t mind saying…” 

Once the rest of the band has circled around to disappear beyond the far side of the van, you begin to feel the faintest hint of that same warmth from the woods settling over you, and you take a chance to lean into Eddie’s space. 

“Hey, listen,” you say dropping your tone, “It was great seeing you — really, it was … but if it’s totally weird that I’m here I can take off—”

“Oh, no!” Eddie says a tad too loud. His voice rings out and echoes across the empty spaces before he reigns his enthusiasm in, “No – it’s not weird! You should totally stay!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, for sure. You should definitely stay, right guys?” You look just in time to see a nondescript door set into a wall of the bar slamming shut, leaving the two of you alone in the cold, “…Whatever, forget those assholes — I’m glad you’re here.” 

And there you go grinning your face off again.

“You are?”

“Yeah, are you kidding? It’s awesome to see you. Also, nobody’s ever actually come to see us play, so that makes you the closest thing to a fan we’ve got.” 

“Oh, good.” You say. 

“Great.” 

“Excellent.” 

“Fan-tastic.” He says, stretching the word lyrically and moving to shut the back doors of the van with a hard THUNK, “Only you gotta do something for me if you’re gonna stick around,”

You move quickly to fall into step as Eddie starts toward the side door set in between a stack of pallets and a dumpster. The same one the others had only just slipped through. 

“What’s that?” You ask, doing your best to pretend that you don’t smell the toxic waste that is bar trash permeating the air.  

He yanks the door open and reveals the murky interior of the Hideout, waiting just beyond like the portal to another world. 

The smell of wet trash is quickly overwhelmed by the strong tang of smoke and alcohol, hitting you in a wave of thick, roiling air. You grit your teeth as it washes over you, accompanied by the tinny din of a Jimmy Buffett song playing over the jukebox.

“You have to promise you’re gonna cheer super loud to balance out all the booing,” he says, holding the door open for you, “We aren’t exactly what you’d call popular with the local wildlife.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from telling him that Gareth already warned you of that during his earlier sales pitch. 

Something along the lines of “we’re terrible, please come see us play,” had been uttered as a backdrop to your giggling over learning the name of the band, back when it was only a silly anecdote and you knew nothing of the gravity of the invitation. 

You banish the thought to the back of your mind and bite down harder on your cheek to try and distract from the way you can feel your heart beating against your ribs as Eddie’s hand comes up to hover at the small of your back, ushering you inside. 

“I can do that.” You say with a quick nod.

“Perfect – after you, M’lady.” 

You almost don’t remember to be worried about getting into the bar when Eddie guides you over the threshold with a short, sweeping gesture. 

The side door deposits you at the far end of the bar, and despite only the slightest change in atmosphere, it takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the neon signage and overhead bulbs.

All your fears of bouncers and fake IDs dissipate when you arrive and there is no one waiting to card you on the other side. 

You do your best to breathe as subtle a sigh of relief as you can, because you made it, you’re in, whatever that means for the rest of your night.  

The Hideout is a full-on hick dive, as much as you expected. Booth seating, pool tables, and the vaguest suggestion of a bandstand in the far back corner next to the jukebox where you finally see Gareth and the others again. They’re busying themselves with the task of setting up amps and instruments beneath a slapdash Corroded Coffin banner hung crookedly over the drumkit. 

It’s clearly homemade and looks very much like it has been spray painted, black over red on a stained white bed sheet. It’s incredibly tacky in the most endearing way.

The bar is not too terribly full for seven-forty-five on a Tuesday night, though in taking in the faces of the blue-collar working-class patrons, the general d��cor, and the type of music shuffling through the jukebox as the track turns over to play Loretta Lynn, you can’t help but feel that this is not really their crowd.

Not really your crowd, you tell yourself, not that you have the experience to know such a thing. 

If you thought you felt out of place before, standing among the band, the feeling is amplified tenfold as you begin to notice the way half a dozen people have turned around to gawp curiously at you. 

Of course, it doesn’t occur to you that the reason they’re staring is that you’re standing there tucked in against Eddie Munson, who you also had not realized was standing so close to you.

You erupt into a fever of goosebumps as you rock back on your heels and feel the contours of his chest graze your shoulder blades. Eddie’s hand comes up to grip you kindly by the shoulder as he guides you further into the dingy building and starts to give you the rundown. 

You do your best to focus on his words to keep yourself grounded, trying to assure yourself that you’re allowed to be here. 

If he’s not nervous, you’re not nervous.

“We’re gonna go on soonish,” he says, depositing you at an empty barstool, separated from where a handful of patrons sit nursing their drinks, “– we’ll probably play for like half an hour, maybe longer depending on how many songs they let us play.”

“How many songs do they usually let you play?” You ask, having to project your voice to be heard over the din of the bar.

You do your best to hop up onto the stool in a way that is cool and elegant as you have almost perfected with your squat metal seat back in Mr. Kapz’s class. This one is taller than you’d estimated, however, and you immediately find yourself struggling to get up over the lip of the polished wood.

Eddie, ever the gentleman, doesn’t hesitate to help you up and steady you. 

“Three or four,” He hums without missing a beat. “Our record is six, but that was only one time, so I wouldn’t hold my breath for that many with this crowd. Also, don’t be surprised if they pull the plug on us — like, literally kill the power.”

“You’re kidding…”

“It’s no big deal, it’s just something they like to do in this fine establishment.”

He says it like it's funny, but suddenly you can’t help but think back to Gareth’s plea that you come and watch them play. For the first time since he’d invited you that afternoon, you are suddenly struck wondering just what you have really gotten yourself into – you have no idea what kind of music they play, whether they’re halfway decent or as terrible as Gareth let on.

You have to work to remind yourself that, regardless of the quality of Corroded Coffin, you’re here to support your friends. 

Which is only really half true – you’re here for Eddie.

You’re watching him closely when another body appears at his side and claps a loud, forceful hand down on his shoulder. Your heart spasms in tandem with the way Eddie jumps under the sudden contact, and you brace yourself for whatever is coming as his head whips around to address his assailant. 

Then, much to your patent relief, his features light up and his face splits into a wide grin. 

“Oh, hey! Wayne!” He yelps with a rush of boyish excitement, “What’re you doing here? Are you gonna watch us play?”

The man – evidently Wayne – wheezes out a chuckle that is a little too sarcastic to be kind before answering, speaking in a thick Appalachian drawl that is bizarrely out of place in this town. 

“I get enough of y’all’s music at home, thanks very much. Just sayin’ hi on my way out,” he rasps, squeezing Eddie’s shoulder with an unmistakable affection before turning his bright blue eyes on you, “Who’s yer friend?”

Eddie makes quick introductions, and once names have been traded back and forth, Wayne touches the brim of his faded ballcap. 

“Pleased to meet you,”

“Oh – sure. I mean, likewise,” you stammer, stiffening your spine to keep yourself from wilting under the intensity of the man’s gaze.

It’s almost intrusive, and makes you feel like you need to go home and put on another layer of clothing just to keep him from seeing your deepest, darkest, inner most thoughts and feelings. 

X-ray specs got nothing on this man’s penatrative gaze, and when it's just about enough to send you crawling out of your skin, then there goes Eddie saving your life again.

“Isn’t it bad luck to wear a hat indoors?” He asks with a mischievous smirk.

Wayne catches him expertly by the wrist as he reaches for the hat, like he’s a certified expert at avoiding such a motion, and guides Eddie’s ring-bedecked digits safely away from his headwear.

“Bad luck to put a hat on a bed.” Wayne corrects, “Bad luck to open an umbrella indoors.”

Eddie snorts as he takes his hand back and nudges you with his elbow, gentlemanly letting you in on the joke. 

“Wayne’s a nut for that kinda stuff.” He says, gesturing to the older man with no small amount of humor, like it’s simply the goofiest thing anyone has ever heard. “Real superstitious,”

It doesn’t feel mean, so much as a deep set rapport built over a lifetime of back and forth like this. 

Wayne makes a thick, gravelly sound in the back of his throat which you recognize as the beginning rattle of a smoker’s cough. 

“Least I know where the bad luck’s comin’ from when it shows up,” The man hums, “Anyways. What time are y’all goin’ on?”

“In a few minutes. Why?”

In lieu of answering, Wayne just hums again, thoughtfully so this time. Then that bright gaze slides back over to you.  

“They got earplugs behind the bar if you ask for ‘em,” Wayne says with a clipped gesture, “Just so’s you know.” 

“Hey—!” Eddie begins with all the moody indignance of a child.

Wayne cuts him off with raised hands, begging no offense. 

“Just tryin’ to be neighborly in case yer friend don’t know what she’s gettin’ into,” He stresses, “Y’ever heard these fellers play?” 

“Uh, well— no, actually, I—” you start,

Wayne’s brows jump. 

“Like skinnin’ a cat,” 

It sends you right back to the incident in the quad the week before, to what Eddie had said about Carol’s screeching tirade, and suddenly the look Wayne is giving you is so familiar it’s almost eerie.

You realize with a start that it’s the exact same look Eddie gave you out in the quad.

The resemblance is uncanny. The joke, however, does not land.

“Well, it was nice seeing you, Wayne,” Eddie fumes, clapping the man on the shoulder in a stilted mirror image of the way he’d done a moment before and maneuvering him past you.

If you didn’t know better, you might have said that the faintest flush of color had bled into Eddie’s cheeks, but you tell yourself you don’t as he pushes Wayne past you and attempts to maneuver him out. 

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” 

Wayne stops short then, turns, and gives Eddie a very stern look, thrusting a finger up at him in a way that feels oddly paternal as he warns him with a low utterance of, “Hey now,”.

You know that look well enough from having seen it on your father. It means “watch your tone”, and it does the job it’s meant to.

You watch as Eddie puts his hands up and retreats a step, and the tension dissipates before it’s even had the chance to settle. 

 Suddenly, they’re friends again and your brain is crawling out of your skull with curiosity over who this man is to Eddie – what a strange dynamic they have, decidedly charged with something but clearly softened by a kind of underlying affection.

Almost like family – exactly like family, you realize. 

If you didn’t know better, you might almost guess that this man was Eddie’s father, but of course that couldn’t be true, because you know exactly where Al Munson is meant to be, and it’s not here at the Hideout.  

After a quick back and forth that you only catch bits and pieces of, Wayne gives you one last parting look, brows jumping.

“I’m serious about them earplugs.” He says, then claps Eddie on the back as he takes his leave. “See you at home, Bud,”

“Yeah, okay… later.” He mutters – he gestures after the man once he’s gone, “My uncle.” Eddie explains, and suddenly everything makes a little more sense.

You just had the pleasure of meeting the elusive other Munson, who you’d heard talk of around town, but whose reputation (or lack thereof) has been vastly overshadowed by the likes of his brother and nephew.   

“He seems nice.” You offer for lack of anything better to say. 

“Yeah, he thinks he’s real funny with those earplugs – weird seeing him here though, he usually drinks out at The Attic on — hey, what’s the matter?” Eddie asks suddenly, brows creeping toward one another to form a deep crease of concern between them, “You’re not scared are you?” 

You swallow hard and try not to stare at him, suddenly backed in a multicolor glow as the stage lights come on, leaving him looking like some kind of ethereal rock god. 

“No.” You lie. 

Eddie grins at you like he knows you’re fibbing, and he reaches up to touch your arm. 

You do your best to suppress a shiver under the way he gently squeezes you there.

“Hey, you showing up like this? Biggest thing anybody’s ever done for me. Y’think I’d let anything happen to you after that?”

He barely gives you time to read into the sentiment before something over your head draws his attention and the moment ends. 

“Anyway, you’re perfectly safe. Laverne here’s gonna look after you,” He gestures to the space behind you, “Right Laverne?” 

You turn to see the woman behind the bar that he is speaking to, face split into that big, winning smile of his — a little sleazier than it was a moment before — and are suddenly struck by the knowledge that this is the second person Eddie has introduced you to in this place in less than two minutes. 

You catch yourself wondering just how much time he spends skulking around this bar as a tall, middle-aged woman with a big cloud of frizzy hair dyed a red so deep it’s nearly purple comes into view.

Laverne — the bartender, evidently.

She’s got a blown-out tattoo on her bicep that you think must have been a snake at one point in time, and her massive, freckled breasts are just about spilling out of the top of her too-tight tank top, stretching the name of the bar until it’s almost illegible. She looks entirely too rock and roll for this place, like some kind of a transplant from a seedy biker joint on the Sunset Strip.

By the way she’s glaring at Eddie, you can tell that she is immune to his attempts at charm.

“I don’t pay you to stand around flirting.” Laverne drawls, jerking her thumb over her shoulder toward what you can only imagine is the back of house, “An’ you left a whole pile’a dishes stacked up back there when you ran out to put yer makeup on.”

Eddie’s grin wavers under the impromptu lecture and you can’t help but feel your insides squirm on his behalf.

“Gee, Laverne, I never knew you liked me so much,” he tries, but she is not done. 

“Don’t you think for one second I’m gonna cover yer ass so’s you can cut out early an’ go diddle yourself or whatever it is you do on your own time. When yer here, yer on my time, an’ I don’t appreciate my time bein’ wasted,  so, who d’you reckon is gonna do them dishes, Junior?”

All the sleazy charm ekes right out of him and you watch as Eddie goes white as a sheet. 

“Green around the gills” is what a distant relative of yours would have called the look on his face, and you can’t say you disagree.  

You have to resist the urge to reach out and put a steadying hand on him, purely on babysitting instinct, because if you didn’t know any better – which you don’t – you’d think he was about to keel over, and it’s almost startling.

Based on his schooltime bravado, part of you imagines Eddie would be made of stronger stuff in the face of such ire, but you’re quickly beginning to understand that the Eddie you know from school is not an accurate depiction of the man behind the mask. Then again, you’re not certain you know anyone who would be able to stand there and take a dressing down like that, so maybe Eddie is made of that elusive “stronger stuff” after all.

Suddenly, you can’t help but imagine what would have happened in the alternate universe where Carol found herself here with you, standing in his place. You’d like to see her try running her mouth then, face to face with the likes of Madam Hideout. 

Back in the real world, Eddie casts a wary gaze in your direction before answering the woman who you have quickly come to realize is his boss. 

“I’ll do ‘em after,” he mumbles, suddenly much less an ethereal rock god and more a sullen child.

The muscle in Laverne’s jaw flexes as she grits her teeth, and you can suddenly see her right at home standing behind a great oak bar in a saloon, eyes shaded in a big Stetson, spitting a fat gob of dark, rotten chaw to the sawdust floor as she chews through her thick Texan drawl. 

“They shoulda been done b’fore you punched out.” She spits in the tobacco-less, non-Old West version of herself. 

“I’ll do them after, Laverne.” Eddie insists, sliding back into the boyish indignance from before. 

She rolls her eyes and stalks off, muttering something unintelligibly rude as she goes, and an indiscernible emotion wells painfully in your chest. It is deeply offended on Eddie’s behalf, whatever it is, and moves you to want to protect him, though you don’t know how you would manage to do that. 

You don’t typically feel this way about anyone over the age of twelve, and don’t know whether to try and pick a fight with Laverne or to drag Eddie out to the parking lot where you’ll be safe from the ire of rude bartenders – that’s what you would have done with Dustin had you encountered a bully somewhere out in the wild, but somehow you can’t imagine either scenario going over well with Eddie swapped for Dustin. 

The lack of options leaves you paralyzed, and by the time Eddie is talking again, you’ve gone and said nothing in his defense. 

The indignant emotion deflates and leaves you feeling cold and guilty.

“Yeah, that Laverne…” he says, “She’s a real peach.”

You watch the woman saunter to lean over the end of the bar furthest from you, and once you are almost certain she is out of earshot, you lean in close.   

“Do you work here?” You ask in a stage whisper, if only to be heard over the din of the music and murmuring conversations. 

Eddie’s gaze snaps back down to you and you watch as he grows suddenly and strangely shy. You can see his guard cautiously slipping into place as he reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck and offers you a lopsided shrug. 

“Few nights a week, yeah.” He admits, almost like he’s embarrassed to have been caught in the conundrum of playing a set in the place where he works, “Pays the bills, y’know?” 

You wonder how much of the interaction with Wayne followed directly by the one with Laverne is coloring this moment, and you’re mortified to have put him in this situation.

If you weren’t here, he would be up on the bandstand with the rest of the guys instead of looking after you, and both interactions may very well have been avoided entirely. Suddenly, you’re desperate to take responsibility for your presence and put him at ease. 

“That’s cool.” You tell him, and for once, it is exactly the right thing to say.  

Eddie immediately brightens. 

“You think so?” He asks.

You nod, because if you’re not nervous, then he doesn’t have to be, right? Suddenly, this interaction feels a lot like babysitting, and you take no small amount of comfort in the familiarity of it, even if Eddie is most certainly the one babysitting you here at the bar. 

“Totally! You’re basically getting paid to play a gig every week – do you know how many bands would kill for that?” 

Eddie’s face splits up into that big, toothy grin.

“Yeah, exactly!” He starts before second-guessing his tone and attempting to reign in his enthusiasm, “I mean – hey, it’s not Saturday night at the Garden, but a gig’s a gig. At least until we can get the band off the ground and get a record–” 

Over the rumble of the bar, you hear somebody shouting from the direction of the bandstand – Jeff, you think. His voice is laced with annoyance as if this is the third or fourth time he’s called Eddie, and he is quickly losing his patience.

“MUNSON!” He shouts, “LET’S GO!”

Eddie twists at the sound of his name and you watch as he pulls a face, almost like he’d forgotten there was a greater purpose to being here other than standing around chatting you up at the bar.

“Whoopsie – guess that’s my cue.” He says, shrugging out of his jacket as he turns back to you, “Hold on to this for me, will you?”

Your heart rockets up into your throat and you hope that Eddie can’t see how your fingers are trembling as you accept his jacket and hold it against you.

You clench your teeth to keep something cheesy from floating up past your lips like you’ll guard it with your life.  

You think you must be making a face, then, one Eddie mistakes for anxiety as he gives you a soft look and his voice turns gentle. 

“You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” He assures you, “You’re with the band, remember? Fan numero uno.”

He raises a finger to emphasize the notion, and you nod, watching him turn and trying to beat back the spike of fear that surges in you when he leaves you sitting at the bar. 

He’s fine if you’re fine, and you’re fine if he’s fine, but only so long as you’re enveloped in the safety blanket of his presence – but you remind yourself that you’re a big girl.

If you can lie to everyone you know and sneak out of the house to slip into a bar to see a band, you can sit alone in a room full of strangers for a few minutes before the band starts to play. 

And yet, sitting there, watching Eddie move into the crowd, you’re suddenly struck with the sensation of how stridently you don’t want to be left alone in this place where you so clearly don’t belong. But you don’t have to be so overt about it, so you shout at Eddie’s back in the far-off hope that it will make him turn around and look at you once more. 

“Y’know, you keep saying that,” you start, “But I haven’t even heard you play!”

He turns on his heel and shoots you full of holes with that big, goofy grin of his. 

“Oh man, you’re gonna love us!” He calls back, and you can’t help but snort out an undainty laughter. 

“That’s not what Gareth said!” 

Eddie pulls a face and cups a hand at his ear like he didn’t hear you before throwing a shrug and disappearing into the throng of people milling about the pool tables. 

You take great comfort in the fact that for as cool as you think he is, you are starting to understand that he is an incredible dork. That makes things so much easier, especially with how you want so desperately for him to like you as much as you like him. 

And you like him so, so much. 

Too much – it doesn’t feel like just a schoolyard crush anymore, not since the moment you shared out in the woods, and again back in the parking lot, and just now, here at the bar.

Sitting here, with a big dopey look on your face and hearts in your eyes, you think you could very easily fall for Eddie as you watch him jump up onto the bandstand and exchange an indiscernible something with Gareth, grinning wolfishly as he does.  

You’re almost too busy sifting for gems through the last five minutes of conversation to realize what you just told yourself – you think you could fall pretty hard for Eddie Munson.

The thought startles you enough that you have to move to try and escape the way it makes you feel, twisting on the stool to face the bar. You sit there, letting the din of the environment wash over you in sickly waves of overstimulation, and you remind yourself of what Gareth originally assured you about this outing. 

Not like a date. He said. Just as friends. 

In the wake of your most recent revelation, the idea stings just a little bit more than you are prepared to endure.

Then, there is the abrasive sound of a throat being cleared. It’s only then that you look up and find yourself face-to-face with Madam Hideout herself.

Laverne gives you a hard side eye from where she stands at the tap directly to your right, pouring a tall pint of foamy beer.

If you’re blushing, you hope she can’t tell under the deep, colored lighting.

You try to smile at her, but it’s little more than a flattening of your lips as your mouth stretches horizontally, and somehow you know it isn’t coming across as polite as you’d intended. She doesn’t reciprocate.

Behind you, an amp flares with staticky feedback that makes your hair stand on end as someone plugs in a guitar. 

The sound of a dozen disgruntled barflies rumbles through the room as the band finishes setting up, and you find yourself witness to a sudden mass exodus. You twist in your seat again and watch as at least half of the patrons very quickly make their way out into the parking lot, following Wayne Munson’s lead after the fact.

By the time the herd has been thinned, the room is not empty by any means, but you can suddenly see the bandstand at the far end of the room where you couldn’t before. It gives you the perfect vantage of Eddie.

Corroded Coffin has similarly noticed how the room has cleared out, much to their own varying degrees of chagrin. Eddie is fumbling with the strap on his guitar, adjusting the length as he scans the room with a furrowed brow – then, as he finds you, right where he left you, his face splits into that same wide grin.

Suddenly shy under the cast of his attention, you gesture to the state of the room – get a load of these guys – and give an overexaggerated shrug. He responds in kind by sticking his tongue out at you and you feel your insides go tight and squirmy.

You don’t even realize how you’ve been grinning back at him until your face starts to hurt, and as quickly as the spotlight finds you, it’s gone again when Jeff leans over to say something to Eddie, snatching his attention away and leaving you sitting there alone on your stool again.

Brimming with what you would argue is too many feelings to process all at once, you reach around to grip the bar and spin yourself in a tight circle, hoping that maybe a little gravity will help sort out those big scary emotions.

“Quit that spinnin’.” Laverne snaps. “I ain’t moppin’ your little brains up off this floor if you fall.”

“Sorry.” You say immediately, bracing yourself on the bar to stop from going around once more – tragically, it leaves you facing her and the apparent disdain she holds for you, simply by way of association.

You avert your gaze.

Somewhere, you can hear the theme to Cheers playing distantly over the muted rumbling of half a dozen conversations.

…sometimes you wanna go, where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came… 

Some less than others. 

When you work up the courage to chance a look, you find that Laverne is still staring daggers at you. More than that, a cursory glance reveals that most of the people still sitting down the length of the bar are stealing curious looks at you. 

You can feel your throat going dry under the attention of so many strange eyes. It’s not that you’re necessarily an inherently shy person, only that without Eddie to bolster you, the feeling of being somewhere you clearly do not belong is attempting to crush you flat.

You do your best to make yourself as small as humanly possible as the beginning of a beat gets thumped out on the drum set before abruptly stopping.

Soundcheck.

Your mouth is suddenly full of cobwebs, and you muster your courage to steal one more look at Laverne, whose eyes you can still feel burning holes into the top of your skull. 

You peek up at her, hoping her ire will have eased, as if miraculously in the last thirty-seconds you’d done something to earn her respect.

No dice.

“Do you think I could get a coke?” You ask, cringing inwardly as your voice wavers and cracks.

You don’t really want the overpriced, watered-down soda she’s bound to give you, but you’re willing to do anything to distract from how much you stick out among the half-drunk onlookers pressing their faces in on you like kids at the zoo.

Thank God for the shield of Eddie’s jacket, you are once again so thankful you’d foregone the tight little skirt and boots combo.

Laverne gives you a hard look, and you feel a twinge of sudden bravery begin worming its way through your midsection. This time, you stare back at her. 

Then, she throws a dish towel over her shoulder as she makes her way to you, chunky Doc Marten’s thumping hard on the spongy mat behind the bar.

As uncomfortable as you are to be sitting there under her gaze, some nagging part of you at the back of your tongue meets the annoyed twinge steadily rising in you, and together, they wish she would climb down out of your ass already.  

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she pulls the trigger on the soda nozzle and fills a dark red, textured glass to the brim – no ice.

She sets the drink on the bar in front of you with a hard thump and you watch the foam leap up over the brim of the cup and spill down the side before dissipating with a soft hissing. 

Laverne pops a straw into the cup and somehow it feels like an insult, like something Carol would have done. 

You’re supposed to inhale, Dummy! pared down to a simple gesture with that same patent disdain. 

Still, you’re nothing if not fatally imbued with unflinching manners, and the words are tumbling out over your lips before you can stop them.

“Thank you,” you mumble, and the nagging little voice on the back of your tongue cries out at your treachery. 

Laverne grunts out a response and quirks a thin, penciled brow at you. 

It takes her forever to speak, and you wish the band would just start playing already so that you would have an excuse to turn your back to her.

“The Chief’s been known to frequent this place,” she begins, and in a brief moment of deep confusion, all you can do is stare at her, waiting for her to clarify, “Of Police.”

You have no idea what to do with that information.

“Oh,” you say dumbly, “You don’t say,”

She nods.

“Might even be inclined to call him a regular customer,” 

Somehow, you can’t help but get the sense that it’s less a statement of fact than it is a threat, and if that is the case, you can’t deny that it’s more or less effective.

The last thing you need right now is to find yourself sitting, wilting under the gaze of Chief Hopper while he reads you the riot act and lists in detail everything you’ve ever done to make you such a terrible person — faking sickness and sneaking out to go and see a boy you’re sweet on in a bar you’re not old enough to be sitting in when by all rights you should be sitting on the Henderson’s couch watching He-Man.  

For lack of a better response, you twist idly on your chair, nice and slow so Laverne can see you do it and come all the way back around to the other side.

The phrase, “if looks could kill” passes through your mind for a brief, yet terrifying second – something in the back of your mind is inexorably calm as it assures you that you haven’t done anything wrong. 

You’re supposed to be here. You’re with the band, no matter how anyone may happen to feel about that.

Leaning over the bar and taking a long, innocent sip from your straw, you make a show of swallowing, smack your lips, and shrug. 

 “Funny. I don’t see him.”  

In spite of all your affected cool, you feel your guts twinge with anxiety when Laverne levels you with a hard look and crosses her thick, tattooed arms over her generous bosom. Suddenly you’re half worried you’re about to be “bounced” or whatever the official term for being forcibly ejected from a bar is – one more for the list in your long night of firsts. 

Then, in a shocking turn of events, the corner of the woman’s lip twitches in the faintest hint of a smile, violently suppressed, of course. 

You’re oddly pleased, in the way only a goody-two-shoes like yourself can be under the attention of anyone who could even remotely be perceived as a figure of authority. 

“How old are you?” Laverne demands.

Just like that, the twinge blossoms to a nagging feeling of angry defiance, lurking far in the back of your throat. 

Stupid question. You think, biting the inside of your cheek, because it’s not like you’d tried to order a beer. 

“Forty-five.” You say, matter-of-factly, suddenly unable to adjust your tone as you remember how rudely she’d spoken to Eddie before.    

She holds you in that hard, deadpan gaze.

“That’s funny,” She sniffs, “Bet your rock star boyfriend thinks you’re real funny too.” She hurls it at you like a slur and your heart spasms and lurches up into your throat.

“Oh, he’s not my—” but the bartender is already walking away, so you clamp your mouth shut and hum out your annoyance.

You swallow hard.

Boyfriend.

The word clangs around in your ribcage, and you wonder if that’s what people assume when they see you and Eddie together. 

Just like that, you’re feeling breathless again.

No wonder your teachers are all so freaked out – you don’t get the time to worry about that before Eddie’s voice cuts through the room and strikes you square in the back. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight–” he says smoothly into the microphone, “Before we start the show, we’d just like to say one thing…” 

You turn in your seat and find yourself immediately locked in his gaze. Even across the room, it sends a chill up your spine and goosebumps flashing across the expanse of your body. 

You’re gripped in the feeling that suddenly, you’re the only two people in this room, that no matter what happens next, it will be for your eyes only, and you’ll cherish that to the end of time. 

Eddie leans in, grips the microphone and looks you dead in the eye.

“This one goes out to all the ladies.”

Oh. Nevermind. 

“Oh, my God,” You say under your breath. 

Boo. Hiss. 

He’s so uncool, you can’t stand how much you like him. 

The strike of sticks on cymbals masks the agonized groan that rumbles throughout the bar and with the first few hard chords, the show begins. 

Corroded Coffin is not the greatest band in the world, but they’re also far from the worst.

It was an over-exaggeration on Gareth’s part to say that they’re terrible; they can carry a tune, they’re mostly on key and in sync, and that’s more than you can say you expected from how you’d been prepared.

You find that they mostly play covers of metal songs – the likes of Judas Priest and Black Sabbath – which garners a general disinterest from the bar, save for one sloppy drunk biker who just about loses his mind when they go into a crunchy rendition of War Pigs. 

You’re certainly losing your mind and falling a little bit harder than you’d expected you would be when you woke up that morning.

Eddie Munson in front of a cafeteria audience is one thing, but Eddie Munson on stage, a real-life honest-to-God stage is another animal entirely. As far as you are concerned, he was born and bred for the stage, and you’re enraptured, watching him move under the lights. The way he grips the neck of his guitar as he teases a melody out of the taught strings and growls into the microphone settles in your bones in a way you know is going to linger for months if not years to come.

It is mesmerizing in the most intoxicating way. If you thought tearing your eyes from him at school was difficult, you’re fairly certain you don’t blink from the start of their set to their less-than-grand finish.

They play a whopping five songs before someone unceremoniously kills the power, just as Eddie had prophesized.

“Bummer.” You hear someone groan out of the dark from the direction of the stage.

Luckily, it’s a total blackout to the whole bar, and not just the stage, saving the band any overt embarrassment in the face of their less-than-adoring public.

Your ears are ringing in the sudden absence of sound and the darkness lingers only a moment before the power comes back on again.

Loggins and Messina are back on the jukebox in an instant, the patrons turn back to their drinks, and just like that, your introduction to Corroded Coffin is cut short, one song shy of their record. 

With the lights on and free from the cloying miasma that can only come from standing in the crowd at a rock show, you manage to claw your way back to your senses enough to remember your parking lot promise.

You surprise even yourself by erupting into a cacophony of thunderous applause, whooping, and hollering just like any self respecting number one fan would do. Then again, if you’re being completely honest, and if the drunk biker hollering unevenly doesn’t put up too much of a fight, you might happily accept the title.

It doesn’t take much effort to shoulder your way through the meager crowd, particularly with the way it is steadily thinning. Evidently, the end to the show was enough to call for an end to the night for a good number of people here at the Hideout.  

You cross the room in a hop, skip, and a jump that deposits you at the foot of the bandstand, where you stand craning your head back nearly to the point of pain just to look up at the object of your affection. 

You hold Eddie’s jacket clutched reverently against your chest and imagine your steadily beating heart imbuing it with all kinds of emotion — super-charging it with what Huey Lewis and the News is now telling you must be the power of love. 

“You didn’t tell me you were good!” You cry, and are almost immediately chagrined.

You’re half deaf from the set and even through your screaming ears, you know you must be shouting. Worse than that is how you would dare to say something so incredibly awkward.

Why can’t you be cool for once in your stupid life?

Eddie is positively slick with sweat, pushing his hair back from his face and grinning again as he comes down to your level.

He drops into a squat you’re half surprised he can manage with just how tight his jeans are — the other half of you is too busy noticing how now that he’s down here, you’re almost nose to nose. 

You try not to stare at his jeans, or the sweat dripping down from his hairline to grace the curve of his cheekbones and drip off the sharp line of his jaw. His shirt has gone semi-translucent and is clinging to his chest like a lover as you force yourself to meet his honey-warm gaze. 

“You guys are great.” You try again, hoping it comes out sounding a little cooler this time around.

No such luck. 

“Yeah? Well, what’d you expect, Sweetheart?” Eddie drawls, showing you his teeth in a way that makes your insides go tight — he tilts his head over to press his ear to his shoulder, “They don’t let just anyone up on this stage, you know.”

“Yes, they do.” Jeff counters from somewhere behind him, and you watch Eddie’s brows come down in aggravation, “Remember when they let that guy do forty minutes of close-up magic?”

Somewhere, very far away, Gareth is shrugging his shoulders from where he still sits, comfortably perched behind his drumkit.

“That guy wasn’t half bad.” he posits, much to the chagrin of his bandmates.

“That dude was wearing a cape.” Eddie scoffs.

“And you’re saying you wouldn’t?” Jeff snorts.

You’re too caught up in the way your heart is beating itself senseless against your ribs to hear the back and forth continue between them because Eddie called you Sweetheart.

Normally, you like to think such a pet name would leave you roiling in disgust, but nothing about the way you feel about Eddie is normal. 

And you’re not being any shade of normal about this. Forget whatever bullshit it says on your birth certificate, forget all the little pet names anyone has ever given you — Eddie Munson reached down and christened you Sweetheart, and as far as you’re concerned, that’s your name now. 

You feel like your head is going to crack open and burst with electric light as the name rattles around and around in your skull until it finds a tight little corner to wedge itself into and stay forever. 

Sweetheart, Sweetheart, Sweetheart.

Sweetheart and Eddie.

Sweetheart Munson. 

It’s so goddamn saccharine you’re almost surprised when your teeth don’t come tumbling out of your head. 

As you get lost further down the road of delusional fancy, the band’s bickering carries on without you. 

“I dunno… d’you guys think we should invest in capes?” Adam posits, and it’s almost enough to send Eddie into apoplectic shock.

“Corroded Coffin does not wear capes!” He snarls, and an intrusive little voice can’t help but beg to differ, because to you, Corroded Coffin sounds exactly like the type of band who would come out on stage wearing capes. 

“At least he had style.” Gareth huffs, “And the crowd liked him a whole lot better than they like us, maybe we can learn something from Magical Marve.” 

“Jesus Christ, you guys — you’re blowing it in front of our number one fan!” Eddie gestures to you as he says it and you blush bright red, suddenly terrified that you’ve been caught with hearts in your eyes as the rest of the band’s attention snaps over to you — their apparent number one fan. 

In a few years, when you would read Misery, you would spend a full week brimming with resentment that Stephen King would dare to suggest that it could be anything but a term of endearment. But that was a thought for the future, and only because he wasn’t there to see Eddie Munson dub you Sweetheart. 

Right here and now, you are just happy to be included. Because it’s like Eddie said before, you're with the band… who is still bickering as they go about the quick and dirty business of breaking down their equipment. 

It takes a solid twenty minutes, even with you fumbling to try and help anyway you can. Your vision goes briefly spotty when Eddie hands you his guitar and asks you to “hold her a sec”, briefly — accidentally — hooking his pinky finger with yours in the exchange. A promise of something yet untold — his jacket, his guitar, anything he gives you, you’ll guard with your life. 

It sounds just as stupid as you feared when you can’t stop yourself from saying it this time, but the way he laughs eases the sting of your embarrassment, if only a little. 

When everything is more or less put away, moods have not yet recovered from the previous moment’s tiff, but Gareth is never one to be deterred. 

“Come on, you guys. Why the long faces? That’s the longest set we’ve played in a while!” he says, nudging you with his elbow, “I’d say that’s reason enough to celebrate.”

It’s perhaps the first suggestion that night which isn’t immediately met with a dissenting chorus of booing and hissing. 

“Yeah, what do you say, fellas?” Jeff throws a neighborly arm over Eddie’s shoulder and gives him a shake for good measure, “The Palace’ll still be open for a few hours, how’s about we order a couple pizzas, get a six pack and go for a few rounds of Dragon’s Lair? Quarters are on me.” 

It sounds about as fun as any average Tuesday with Dustin and his friends, not nearly as special as anything you would do to celebrate such a monumental night as this, but being the guest here, you defer to the group. You look to their leader to gauge the appropriate reaction to Jeff’s suggestion, and you notice with a start that he does not share his friend’s enthusiasm. 

Call it babysitter’s intuition, but you seem to be the only one who has noticed that Eddie’s mood has taken a sudden and immediate nosedive into the creaky laminate flooring.

Everyone else is too busy listening to Gareth get his feathers ruffled over the plan to notice Eddie’s exchanged look with Laverne, still tucked in at the back of the bar with her arms crossed. 

You watch all of this happen with the privilege of blessed invisibility, preserving both the excitement of the moment and Eddie’s dignity as a decision is quietly made.

He’s not going. 

Your heart sinks. 

“Oh, so you’re just gonna oh-so-graciously offer to pay for the cheapest part of that plan?” Gareth snaps.

Jeff fishes a ring of keys from the front pocket of his jeans and jingles it in the other boy’s face.

If Eddie’s not going, you don’t want to go either, but you don’t dare embarrass yourself by saying that out loud, so you keep your mouth shut.

“I’m also gonna drive. You can be a cheap prick too when you get your license, Freshman.” Jeff says with no small amount of smugness, “What d’you say, Eddie? You in?”

He does his best to approximate an apologetic smile, then shakes his head, sweat damp curls bouncing as he does. 

“Not tonight, I’ve got some stuff I gotta finish up here.”

He does his best not to look directly at you as he says it, but you’re starting to learn that if there is one thing Eddie has a hard time doing, it’s not looking at you. You aren’t sure how to process that information and for a brief yet terrifying moment, it swells inside you to the point of pain. 

“You sure?” Gareth presses, glancing less than subtly between you and stretching his words past the point of pain, “Big night. Worth celebrating.”

You level him with an unimpressed look. 

Real smooth Gareth, why not just spell it out for him?

Still, you suppose you have to give him Brownie points for trying because you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for him. 

Eddie is already retreating when he gives his final answer, waving you off in a way that feels almost painfully casual. 

“Yeah, no, you guys go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.”

You watch him go, and he watches you watching him. You can’t tell for certain, but it feels almost as if something significant is passing you by, a moment you’ll never be able to get back if you don’t snatch it out of the air before it’s gone.

It fills you with a stinging burst of panic, especially when Eddie turns and lets you out of his sight. 

You came here tonight to see him. You’re only here for him. 

You’re almost shocked to hear your name being spoken then, and when you snap back over to reality, Jeff and Gareth are looking expectantly at you — Adam, who could evidently not care less who comes or stays, is already halfway to the door.

They had him at pizzas and a six-pack.

“—how ‘bout it?”

You blink back at them stupidly.

“Me?”

Jeff shrugs. 

“Sure, it’s like the man said, you’re our biggest fan, you ought to share in the glory too.” 

Strange how you had assumed that invitation would not be extended to you, stranger still is how you’re suddenly considering it.

Pizza and beer at the arcade is not the worst way you’ve ever spent a Tuesday night, but there is something nagging at you, stopping you from immediately accepting. It’s that same feeling as before, opportunity slipping past you and an incredibly powerful pull asking you whether you ought to stay as you turn back to watch Laverne step aside to make room for Eddie as he rounds the bar. 

Stay? At a bar?

Where you have been so summarily informed that the chief of police is likely to pop up at any moment like a cheap jump scare in a bad horror movie?

It’s certainly not the worst idea you’ve ever had. 

It’s not even the worst idea you’ve had all day. 

“I think…” you start, “Actually, I think I’m gonna pass… it’s been a lot of excitement ...and my curfew is coming up soon.”

It’s not expressly untrue, but you feel a sharp pang of regret when Jeff shrugs and so willingly accepts your polite decline.

Part of you wishes that they would have fought a little harder to get you to come out – even Carol won’t take no for an answer the first time around – but that part of you is very quickly whipped back into shape.

You’re not here to hang out with Adam and Jeff and Gareth. 

“Suit yourself,” he says flippantly, then claps Gareth on the back, “C’mon G.” 

He doesn’t follow right away. Gareth, never one to miss a quiet exchange, remains, giving you a pointed look.

“What’s up?” He asks quietly, “You good?” 

You wait for Jeff to get out of earshot, then lean in.

“...Do you think I should stay?” You ask.

Gareth’s brows furrow in a confusion that you can only imagine must be the mirrored echo of your own previous thoughts. You can almost hear him warning you that Chief Hopper hangs around here, and then something like realization flashes across his features as he glances past you. 

You follow his gaze over to where Eddie is disappearing into the back, tying a dingy apron around his waist. 

“Yes,” He says quickly, with a wide stretch of his mouth, “I think that’s exactly what you should do.”

“You do?”

“Yes, absolutely – you stay, and I’ll see you tomorrow,”

You watch Gareth disappear out the front doors and linger a moment beneath the multi-colored lights.

The jukebox has since flipped over to play Dusty Springfield, and she is warning you that being good isn’t always easy, no matter how hard you try, and it gives you courage enough to slink back to the bar, where your soda sits long empty.

“You’re not getting a refill, so don’t even ask.” Laverne snaps, startling you. 

“I just wanted to pay for it.” 

She makes a gruff sound in the hollow of her throat and begins wiping down the bar. 

“It’s paid for.” She says reluctantly.

Before you can ask what that could possibly mean, she continues. 

“So, I reckon you’re stayin’ behind.” It’s not exactly a question, so you don’t feel pressed to answer, and when you don’t, she hefts a tub of dishes up onto the flattop. “Why don’t you take this back to Junior, since you’re so keen on hangin’ around. Save me the trip.”  

You look from Laverne to the dishes, and back again, feeling the wheels of your brain creaking under the duress of trying to see the invisible pitfall ahead of you. 

“...Am I allowed to do that?” you finally manage to ask, and for half a moment Laverne stares back at you like it was the dumbest thing she's ever heard anyone say. 

“I don’t give a shit” She finally huffs, “You do what you want, I’m goin’ out for a smoke.” 

She’s gone out the side door in a flash, and it takes you far too long to work out the pieces – Eddie paid for your drink, and she’s giving you an excuse to go back and see him. 

Boy, are you dense sometimes. 

Still, you can’t help but wonder if it’s all some clunky ploy to get you thrown out of the bar. You also can’t help but wonder who is going to watch the bar while Laverne is gone, but you decide that isn’t your problem as you seize the plastic tub and heft it down to brace against your hip. 

When you slip behind the bar and into the back, Eddie’s standing at the sink, elbow deep in suds and glaring at them like they’d personally wronged him. 

You linger in the doorway, selfishly taking in as much of this candid moment as you can steal, and scrounging around for what is left of your courage. 

“Hiya.” You say, once you find your voice. 

It startles him bad enough to send him leaping back from the sink. 

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says, stumbling over your name in a way that makes your insides go tight, “I – uh – I thought you left with the guys.”

“Nope.”

“What are you–?”

You tilt the dishtub toward him and jostle it in a way that is less tantalizing than you mean for it to be with the way the dishware shifts dangerously.

“Special delivery.”

Eddie’s brows come down over his eyes and his shoulders sag.  

“...Oh, great. Thanks,” he says, then gestures to the metal surface piled high with dishes. “Just put ‘em wherever you can.” 

The task is daunting. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen as many dishes in your life – it’s going to take him hours to get through them.

You tentatively shove the plastic bin in where you can fit it, careful not to disturb the topsyturvy stacking method that has been employed here, and linger idly as Eddie wipes his soapy hands on his jeans. 

A measured silence settles  between you, through which you can still hear the muted sounds of the bar trilling distantly on.  

“What happened?” Eddie finally asks, “How come you didn’t go with the guys?”

“Oh, well…” you start, electing to fib a little rather than do something so embarrassing as tell him the only reason you’re here tonight, “You know, as thrilling as sitting around in a parking lot drinking cheap beer sounds, I figured somebody ought to stay behind and keep you company. And I figured since you bought me a drink and all, it ought to be me.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. 

“Lucky me.” 

You try not to let the biting sarcasm of the response dig its teeth in as you continue. 

“...That was sneaky, by the way. You didn’t have to do that.”

Eddie shrugs, and rests a hand on the curved metal lip of the three-basin sink.  

“Least I could do for our biggest fan.”  

He sounds less enthusiastic about that this time around and it is enough to make your stomach clench.

“...You guys were great, by the way.” You try again, for lack of anything better to say.

Eddie shakes his head. 

“Nah, we weren’t. We were actually pretty rough, I’m surprised they let us play as long as they did … but thanks for making the effort, though.” 

“Well… you were great.” You press, folding your hands behind your back and taking a step closer, “I mean, you were pretty much the best part of the show.”

Distantly, you see his eyebrows jump beneath the sweaty fringe drying tacky to his forehead. The corner of his mouth twitches. 

“You keep stroking my ego like that and I’m gonna have to buy you dinner to go with that drink,” Eddie warns you, and something inside of you shrieks with unabashed hormonal joy.

You cannot think of anything more tantalizing than that … except for maybe one of your two fantasies from earlier in the evening, but neither of those scenarios is on the table for tonight.

At least, you’re fairly certain they aren’t. 

You thank your lucky stars he’s so fixated on washing dishes that he can’t see the way you turn bright crimson.

“I’m serious. You were great, Eddie.” 

It’s enough to finally make him look at you again.

“You think so?”

And of course, now that you have his attention, you can’t help but go embarrassing yourself. 

“Yeah, absolutely. You’re a goddamn rockstar…” 

He grins. 

“D’you kiss your mother with that mouth, Sailor?”

You curl your lips in past your teeth on instinct and drop your gaze to your sneakers as the suggestion sends you hurtling back to the picnic bench in the woods behind school. 

You’re so sure Eddie was going to kiss you out there – you watched his eyes go heavy and lidded as his gaze slid down to your lips. You saw the shift in his posture, the oh-so-subtle way he tilted forward, curling his hands into fists, moist pink tongue darting out to wet the plush spread of his lips. 

He’s not looking at you like that now, and it’s the worst goddamn thing in the world. You have to force yourself to think of something – anything else to stop it from completely destroying you as you stand there, listening to Eddie washing the dishes. 

Oddly, there is only one thing that comes to mind. 

“...Can I ask you a question?”

The lewd soapy sounds of suds on ceramic sends a chill up your spine. 

“Sure, hit me.” 

“Before you went on, when we were standing at the bar... why did Laverne call you Junior?” You ask, and the question seems to catch him off guard, so you elaborate to fill the awkward silence before it can settle between you, “She did it again just outside when she told me to bring these back to you… I was just wondering about it…”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away, and you’re just about ready to tell him to forget it by the time he opens his mouth to speak.

“Ah… hmm,” he hesitates, “… it’s a … it’s a little inside joke some folks around town like to roll out.” Eddie explains, then after a beat of silence, he gestures vaguely, “Munson Junior.”

“...Oh.” You say lamely – the subtext is not lost on you, and suddenly you’re sorry you asked.  

A heavy silence settled between you, and then Eddie clears his throat in the prelude to what you'd feared was coming all night long.

“Hey, listen … it was real nice of you to stay behind…”

Uh oh. Here comes that dreaded rejection. 

It was nice of you to stay but it’s actually super weird that you’re here at all and you should probably go home before you embarrass yourself more than you already have. 

You do your best to stamp that line of thinking out before it can settle and elect to fold your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels and doing your utmost to look carefree. 

“But…?”

You don’t care if he’s about to ask you to leave, but you hope to any God out there listening that he doesn’t. 

“But… you should probably head out.” Eddie sighs.

Okay, so you lied. You care so much, and you can feel the corners of your mouth tremble as your smile begins to waver. 

Eddie continues.  

“This is gonna take a while, Sweetheart… and I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than stand around watching me play in dish water.” 

Sweetheart. The nickname fills you with foolish courage, and suddenly you’re taking another step closer. 

“Not really,” You admit, “I actually cancelled some plans to be here tonight…” 

He breathes a halfhearted laugh out through his nose.

“Betcha wish you hadn’t.”  

Oh, how wrong he is. If only he knew just how far you’d gone to make sure you could be here tonight.

“...Can I help?” You ask tentatively, forcing yourself not to look away when Eddie’s gaze snaps up and he clocks your sudden proximity with a soft, strangled sound in the hollow of his throat.

You pretend not to hear it for both your sake, “...it’ll speed things up. And... and then you can buy me dinner, right?”

You watch him stare back at you and can practically see the cogs turning in his brain, as if he absolutely cannot fathom the request you’d just made of him. When he continues to fail to answer, you try again.

“Here, let me help.” 

You reach for the rumpled dish rag, but Eddie catches your hand.

Your lungs spasm and go flat and for the brief moment you exist under his touch, you forget how to breathe. 

He shakes his head and tries to lead you away from the sink, releasing you entirely too soon for your liking. 

“No, you don’t have to do that.” he says, and for half a moment you’re afraid that nothing you say is going to convince him to let you stay. 

Then again, it’s not exactly like you’re asking for his permission. 

“I know…” You hum, feeling your tongue go fat in your mouth and taking another step toward him, “But I want to.”

Eddie doesn’t retreat from your advance, but he calls your bluff with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow.

“You wanna waste your night doing dishes in the back of a bar?” he deadpans.

Of course you do. 

You want to tell him that you want to do every trivial task under the sun if it means you get to do it with him. You’d happily sit and watch paint dry if Eddie was going to be there with you, but somehow you’re not certain that is going to do anything to make you sound cool and attractive.  

“Sure, why not?” you shrug, rolling your sleeves up as far past your elbows as they will go and sidling up so you’re standing nearly hip to hip.

Your heart is hammering behind your ribs when you dare to steal a cautious, casual glance up at him, “I don’t have anything better to do right now.” 

Eddie stares back at you, brows furrowed quizzically before he shakes his head, mutters something unintelligible to himself, then reaches into a milk crate sitting beneath the sink that you hadn’t noticed until he fishes out a pair of oversized yellow dish gloves and hands them to you. 

“Yeah, okay – since you’ve got nothing better to do – put these on. We don’t want those fingers going prune.”  

It takes you much longer to get through the dishes than you anticipated when you originally offered your services.

Two hours later, your sweater is soaked down the front, you’ve got suds in your sleeves, and you can smell the faintest hint of budding mildew wafting off of you, but you finish the dishes in half the time you imagine it would have taken Eddie to do them on his own. 

When you’re done, you bid Laverne a cheerful farewell, one she does not acknowledge, and you leave the bar together. 

Eddie has been talking animatedly about a hundred different subjects the whole time, though the last five minutes of conversation have been allotted to his guitar – which he tells you is an N.J. Warlock series, and you have no idea what that means.

You don’t mind though, you’ve been listening quietly without interjection because your newest revelation is just how much you like to listen to Eddie talk when he gets going. Not the heated preaching you’ve witnessed a hundred times in the lunchroom, but an excitable deep dive into something he is clearly very passionate about. 

In your deepest flights of fancy, you imagine him talking to someone about you like this, and as you cross the parking lot and arrive at the back of his van, it makes your insides flutter with a girlish excitement.  

Unfortunately, he mistakes your silence over the past few minutes for disinterest and grows sheepish.

“...Anyway, I didn’t mean to talk your ear off like that,” Eddie says, rolling his shoulders. “When I get going it’s hard to shut me up sometimes … sorry.” 

You shake your head.

“No, not at all! I didn’t want to interrupt your flow, I just don’t really know anything about guitars.”

A look of patent relief flashes across Eddie’s face and is very quickly replaced with something sly as he pops open the back doors to the van. Inside sits half a dozen pieces of Gareth’s drum kit, two amps, and a sleek, black, rectangular case.

Eddie rests a hand on the hood of the case with a thump and you watch his gaze slide over to you. 

“You wanna meet her?” he asks. 

You don’t respond right away, if only because you don’t know who he could possibly mean, here in this deserted parking lot, but he doesn’t give you the opportunity to linger in the limbo of that unknowing. 

He pops open the hinges and flips the lid up, revealing the angular crimson body of the guitar. Eddie lifts the instrument carefully from its crushed velvet bed and presents it to you with all the reverence of a lover. 

You reach out tentatively to trace the smooth resin of her body with your finger pads and suddenly the moment feels supercharged with something heavy. The air is thick with it, whatever it is, and it settles in your lungs with a cloying film. You can’t be certain as to why, but you can suddenly feel your heart beating in your stomach.

“This is Sweetheart,” Eddie says, voice dripping with an admiration that makes your insides clench.

The heady atmosphere dissipates almost immediately, and you drop your hand back to your side to try and mask the way it makes you flinch to hear him call the guitar that.

Sweetheart?! No, it most certainly is not. 

You’re Sweetheart. That’s your name now, remember? He only went and gave you the goddamn thing, now here he is telling you it’s just some random term of endearment he slaps on anything shiny and new that happens to catch his eye?

Fucking lame. 

“Oh. Wow. It’s pretty.” You force yourself to say, because it’s not untrue, even if you are suddenly gripped in a ridiculous burning jealousy over his relationship toward an instrument. “Really pretty.” 

And then Eddie pulls a face of sheer and total mock offense.

“Hey now,” he warns you gently, “Show a little respect for the love of my life here, will ya?” 

You glance up at him and for half a moment aren't entirely sure you’re in the mood to meet him there. But it’s stupid to be jealous of an inanimate object. That would be like finding out Eddie was jealous of your vibrator or something stupid … which also suggests he’s fucking his guitar, so no, maybe it’s not like that at all.

Still, the thought manifests an image, which immediately sears itself into your frontal lobe and sends the blood rushing to your head so quickly you’re half surprised it doesn’t pop.

“...she’s pretty?” you hum, feeling suddenly like you’re about to faint. 

Eddie gives you a satisfied smile – one you don’t see for how your vision has briefly gone spotty – and nods. 

“Damn right she is," he says, laying her back in her case and snapping the lid shut.

If you’d been looking, and not feeling a stupid sense of satisfaction to see her get so summarily shut away, you would have seen Eddie go suddenly shy as his eyes slide over to peek at you from his peripheral.

“...Second prettiest girl in the room tonight.”

It hits you like a slap in the face and is oddly grounding. Your vision clears, your ears stop roaring, and just like that everything goes back to normal. Just you and Eddie standing in an empty parking lot with the echo of his attempt at a smooth line lingering between you. 

Your mouth falls open and you choke on a loud bark of startled laughter. 

Ha! Take that, Sweetheart.

Eddie wrinkles his nose and pulls a face like he immediately wishes he could take it back, not knowing that you’d strike him dead before he would even dare. He’s a total fucking dork, and that’s yours now. There will be no takebacks. Not now, not ever.  

“Damn,” he mutters, squeezing an eye shut and reaching up to scratch at his brow, “That was super fucking corny, wasn’t it? Not my best effort – sorry.” 

You press your lips together in a tight seal in a desperate attempt to keep a hideously giddy sound of animalistic joy from bleating up out of you, and you shake your head. 

“That’s okay.” You start, dismissing the thick layer of cheese with a flippant wave, “I’m sure Laverne would be flattered to hear you say that about her.” 

It takes him a moment to catch on, but when he does he snorts and rolls his eyes, mumbling something under his breath about Laverne. He doesn’t correct you, and you let the moment die with dignity because you know what matters.

Eddie Munson thinks you’re pretty, and that will forever be etched on the front of your brain, whether he likes it or not. 

“So,” Eddie begins, shutting the van up again and leaning back against the door. He fishes a rumpled pack of camels from his jacket pocket, and you elect not to say anything about that, “It’s a little late for dinner… but how would you feel about a midnight snack?”

You know the muscles in your face are going to be sore in the morning for how widely you’ve been grinning back at him all night, and you nod, hoping you don’t look too overeager, but also not giving a damn if you do. 

“What did you have in mind?”

He pops a cigarette between his teeth and goes looking for his lighter.  

“Let’s see. I think Fosters might still be open. You could get a milkshake, chili dog, banana split, – whatever your heart desires, Sweet Thing. Your wish is my command.” 

The thought of riding out to Foster’s Freeze on the far end of town with Eddie Munson is tantalizing in the best possible way. You’re beaming as you bring your wrist up to glance at your watch and try to visualize what you can stomach so late.

All thoughts of your growling stomach sail right out of your head as your heart rockets up into your throat before dropping into a free fall because it’s nearly midnight. 

“Jesus Christ!” You gasp, head snapping up to share your horrified look with the class. 

Eddie blinks back at you.

“Nope, just me–” 

“Can I see your watch?” You’re taking hold of his wrist and pulling it up to stare into the digital face of his Casio before he can answer, “Oh, God – it’s so late.”

“What’s the matter, you turning into a pumpkin or something?” He teases, lighting his cigarette with his free hand.

“My curfew was like half an hour ago,” You say quickly, dropping his wrist and nearly upending your bag in the frantic search for your keys.  

“Oh… shit,” Eddie mumbles, “Well, d’you need a ride? I’ll get you home lickety-split–” 

You elect to ignore any intended innuendo there in lieu of your mounting panic.

“No, thanks, I’ve got my car – listen, I really gotta go,” You say, “But let’s do a raincheck, okay?” 

You don’t wait for him to answer before you turn and bolt for your car shouting back to him as you go.  

“I mean it, Munson! You owe me that midnight snack!” 

You’re fumbling with your keys in the lock and whipping your door open with a harsh creak before you remember yourself and spin on your heel.  

“Oh— Eddie, wait!” He’s circled around to the driver’s side and is standing on the runner, already half way up into his seat when his head snaps up, and you grow suddenly shy, “Thank you for this, it was – I mean, you’re – I had fun tonight. More fun than I would have had sitting at home, anyway.” 

He gives you a strange look.  

“...you really mean that, don’t you?” He asks after a moment, “Truly. Dishes and all?”

You nod, and you watch him shaking his head in a way you imagine must be accompanied by a good-humored chuckle as he takes a final drag on his cigarette and tosses it.    

“Well, bless you for saying so.” He says, “Let’s do it again sometime.”

“Absolutely. I’ll do the dishes with you anytime.” Oh my God, why the fuck did you just say that? You’re cheesy and boring and stupid – just a stupid girl with a stupid crush. 

And Eddie is laughing. 

“Get home safe, Sweetheart.” he calls, “Wear your seatbelt.”

“Yeah, you too… goodnight, Eddie.”  

Despite the traded goodbyes, you both linger a moment longer, looking back at one another halfway into your respective cars and so reluctant to part despite the ticking time bomb hurtling toward you at breakneck speed.

You need to get home, and yet…?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Eddie calls, and you feel yourself flush. 

“It’s just… you know … what Shakespeare said…”

Across the lot, he steps down from the van and nods. 

“Sure. Good ol’ Willy Shakes.” and when you don’t elaborate, he gently prompts you, “What’s Shakespeare say, Sweetness?”

The saccharine twist on your new nickname has a lump forming in your throat, one you almost don’t get the words around as it swells and threatens to strangle you.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow.” you sigh. 

It’s perhaps the uncoolest thing you’ve said all night, and you don’t even have the good sense to be embarrassed about it, because it’s also the truest thing you’ve said all night, and suddenly your heart is pounding in your chest.

You really, really have to go, but you don’t want to. 

Eddie crosses his arms and leans back against the van.

“Yeah… it sure is.” 

The silence endures, and as the seconds tick by, you continue to fail to tear yourself away. The last time you left him like this, you didn’t see him again for five days, and after tonight you’re not sure you can survive another five days without Eddie in your life.

Maybe you can stand to miss your curfew. Maybe your parents won’t notice your car is gone and won’t come to check in on you. Maybe you can sneak in after midnight or stay out all night … maybe you can just stand here saying goodnight over and over until the sun comes up and never have to get to the parting part. 

“Go home, Sweetheart.” Eddie says then, “I don’t wanna get you in trouble.” 

The sentiment causes the lump in your throat to swell, and you have to force yourself to breathe out slowly to ease the pressure it puts on you.

You watch him climb up into the van and feel your heart thumping again. One of you had to go first, you suppose. Last time it was you, this time it’s only fair it’s him. 

“Bye Eddie.” You call, and when you still fail to get into your car, he heaves a long-suffering sigh, which is a little too fond to be just that.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” He asks, “It’s like I told you – lickety split.”  

Don’t make a promise you can’t keep. You want to warn him, but all you can manage is a smile.

Then you slide in behind the wheel of your car and shut the door behind you. You linger a moment longer and when you feel that lump threatening to return – one you quickly realize is the prelude to melancholy – you can’t help but steal one last look out your window, back at the van.

Eddie is still there, and better still, he seems to have had the same thought as you, because when you look, there he is looking at you again.

It fills you with a bright and warming sense of satisfaction. It's not so easy to tear yourself away, is it?

Then, as if to answer, Eddie waves.

You grin, return the gesture, and start your cars at the same time. It only takes a short dosey-do around each other to exit the parking lot side by side. You turn left, he turns right, and you watch in your rearview mirror until his taillights fade into the dark.

Yeah, you think you might have fallen pretty hard tonight, and you’re going to have a very hard time getting up again.

[eggyrocks]

wrong-h.iwaizumi

things feel wrong in their head, so everything’s wrong outside of it, too. except for him.

tags: iwaizumi x gender neutral reader, hurt/comfort warnings: ooc iwa, anxiety attacks, spiraling/out of control thoughts, vague mental health issues, vague mentions of trauma word count: 783 an: tbh honest u guys i’ve been going through a really rough time emotionally and i wrote this for comfort. this is basically a self-insert it’s so self-indulgent and for that im sorry. i just needed to write something comforting. i wrote this entire thing with tears in my eyes. pls be nice to me.

Things feel wrong in their head. It’s hard to place it. This source of discontentment, this feeling that breeds in their chest and spreads out to every limb. The feeling of rottenness, a heavy pressure that everything good has slipped and shifted, molding and decaying and becoming something spoiled. Everything’s wrong. Their eyes burn and breath feels short and everything happening inside of them just feels stupid and pathetic and wrong.

It’s easy to spiral, once it starts. Once one thing is out of step, once one thing hiccups. It’s easy for it to become everything. There isn’t any getting rid of it; it just grows and multiples as their thoughts become too fast to hold onto. They curl tighter into themselves, trying to become smaller and smaller.

Their breathing comes out in broken shudders and the harder they try to stop it, the worse it comes out. The tears are wet and fat and uncontrollable, rolling down their neck and getting caught in their collarbones. They keep trying to stop it. It won’t stop.

And it’s like they can feel themselves floating away from themselves, becoming disconnected from their body. Disconnected from themselves. They are disjointed and disassembled and the speed of the intake of their breath increases.

And then there are arms around their shoulders.

Warm and strong and steady. Iwaizumi is careful. Careful and considerate and he knows what he’s doing when he gently pulls them into his lap, cradling them against their chest. He places a kiss on the top of their head, and lets his lips linger when he says, “Can you slow down for me, please?”

Their breath hitches, and they swallow. It’s hard, at first, trying to get control of the air that flows in and out of their lungs. They hiccup. Iwaizumi exaggerates his own breathing, his shoulders rising dramatically with each intake, and falling slowly at the exhale. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t have to. Eventually, with their head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, they subconsciously start to follow.

“Everything feels wrong,” they eventually admit, tears still straining the notes in their voice. Iwaizumi rubs circles on the small of their back with his thumb. “I don’t even feel like a person. I feel like a joke. I feel like everything that’s ever happened to me is a joke, and I’m just not in on it. I feel like it happened for no reason and-“

“Hey,” Iwaizumi cuts them off, softly and sweetly. “Keep it slow. Don’t get caught up.”

They pause. It takes them a minute of monitoring their breathing. They sniffle. They dig their fingernails into their palm and they use the warmth of Iwaizumi’s arms around them to ground themself. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Keep going, just take your time.”

They nod. They inhale, and exhale. “I just feel so different from everyone around me. So different I can’t help but feel like I’m just tolerated.” Another pause. Another deep inhalation. “I feel out of step with everything around me. And I think the things that have happened to me ruined me. They made me into a person I don’t like.”

The words settle, sinking into the air around them. And it makes their chest feel lighter to spit them out, but now the air is oddly suffocating, as if they’ve absorbed the rot.

“I don’t think the things that happened to you have ruined you,” Iwaizumi says eventually. They can feel his breath as he speaks. “I don’t think you’re capable of being ruined. I think that the things that happened changed you, I think they’ve been unfair and I think sometimes they’ve been cruel. But they haven’t ruined you.”

They nuzzle against his chest, biting down on their lip in hopes that it’ll slow down the flow of tears.

“A lot of what goes on in your head, it’s just happening in your head. And I know that doesn’t make it easier, but I can help you pick out what’s real and what’s not. I can remind you of how loved you are.”

Slowly, their arms snake around Iwaizumi’s neck, and bury their face in the crook of his neck, trying, in whatever way they can, to hold him closer. “I just feel stupid. I’m sorry you have to take care of me.”

He chuckles lowly. “I don’t ever do anything I don’t want to do,” he assures them. “And taking care of you is something I always want to do.”

For a second, they stopped. But tears prick at their eyes again. This time, meaning something different. “And that’s real? It’s real that you love me?”

“It’s real,” Iwaizumi confirms. “Of course it’s real.”

an: well if everyone hates this at least it made me feel better

[klaus-littlestwolf]

(Sorry it too so long. I wanted it to just be a cute little fic between the Doctor and his Omega companion however I’m considering a Part 2 of her next heat with his…assistance…)

Tag-List: @avalyaaa @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

She hadn’t meant for him to find out.

She had told him that she wasn’t feeling well and to just let her rest for a few days, of course the Doctor being who he is didn’t complain and often came to the door to check on her and offer to bring her various drinks, foods, and medications to make her feel better. However she knew nothing would, she had missed her suppressants by a day (time in the TARDIS being difficult to track) and her heat had come almost instantly.

Thankfully all of the rooms (if not just Y/n’s thanks to the sentient TARDIS) seemed to be scent proofed so he didn’t know anything. Until of course she stole his coat…

‘Y/n! Have you seen my coat? I thought I left it hanging on one of the round things but it’s not-‘ he cut himself off as he opened her door and was overwhelmed by a heavy, delectable scent like nothing he had ever smelled before. It smelled like a combination of lilacs and raspberries and he was obsessed with it, freezing his steps as he looked up to see his friend in a makeshift nest that was clearly thrown together in a hurry (though it still looked quite comfortable) clutching his coat to her chest as she slept.

Suddenly it all made sense.

He had seen her taking medication many times before, though she always just said it was for a headache. Sometimes her scent was…off…in a way he could never explain (though he wasn’t complaining), and he had an overwhelming need to scent the girl every time she was around any other Alpha. The Doctor brushed it all off as he had never felt like that before but it seemed that somewhere deep down he had known she was an Omega. But why hadn’t she just told him?

He stepped closer, her scent becoming stronger and stronger with each step but he controlled himself as he knelt down (being sure not to disturb her nest in any way) and felt her head. She was on fire and he knew she needed him, he couldn’t leave her, he wouldn’t! He needs to care for his Omega…his? He didn’t know where that came from but it felt right.

He quickly jumped back up and landed the TARDIS back in Y/n’s modern time, shutting the door behind him and shopping for everything she could possibly need.

He came back an hour later with his arms full and walked back to her room, seeing that she was awake as he came in. ‘What are you-‘

‘It’s okay! I know, and it’s alright darling, you don’t have to hide it from me.’ He plugged in a little mini fridge that he had gotten and filled it with water and a few snacks before handing her a large basket full of as many different kinds of chocolate as he could find. ‘I got you some blankets as well, I wasn’t sure what fabrics you did and didn’t like, I know Omegas are picky about their nesting…things.’ He sat just outside of the nest and handed her different blankets, most were a no but she accepted 4 of them and he counted that as a win. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me Y/n? I could have helped you.’

‘I thought you wouldn’t let me come with you…’ she admitted and the Doctor instantly moved to wipe her tears away. ‘Everyone always treats me like I’m small and delicate, and like I’m stupid. I thought you would just believe I was a liability and I wasn’t worth your time…’

‘Y/n! That’s ridiculous! You are worth everything, you are perfect, and you know I only pick the best kind of people to join me. I do not care what you are and if you need a few days off every month, I will help you.’ Her cheeks grew red as he said this and he instantly stuttered out an explanation. ‘I mean I’ll get you what you need and all…’

‘What if I need you?’ Y/n asked and his eyes grew wide, though he quickly shook himself out of it.

‘Well then…I would say that I will take care of you now and need your consent before your next heat, I cannot in good conscience do anything right now-‘

‘But I’m telling you that you can-‘

‘Y/n, you’ve been suffering for 2 days, you are not in your right mind. You can’t promise me that you would not regret it when the pain is gone. If you want my help from now on…I would love to take care of you, my Gods you smell fantastic…that word is still strange on the tongue…but for right now let’s get some food into you and I’ll get you something that will help you sleep peacefully.’ With that promise she agreed and he hesitantly leaned closer and kissed her lips quickly before running out to get her favorite meal and coming back with something to help her sleep.

The Doctor spent the next few days taking care of Y/n, who eventually allowed him into her nest to snuggle her.

He spent every heat from then on with her in her nest, having marked her their first night together during that next month. The Doctor never believed he could actually have a mate and be happy in any of his lifetimes, but he was quite happy just this once to be proven wrong.

Misc. Masterlist

[harrywavycurly]

Southern Charm Part 8: How in Tarnation

Masterlist: here

CW: None

Tag List: @wedontknowherorhimorthem

A/N: Harry is full on in love but you just need him to say something because you don’t handle silence very well, enjoy✨

Harry was bending down to pick up a jar of raspberry jam when he felt something ram into his ankle causing him to lose his balance resulting in him bumping his head on the very same shelf he had just grabbed his jam from. He heard someone let out a very loud and in his opinion semi-dramatic gasp as he rubbed his head with his hand that wasn’t holding the jar and stood up straight. But before he could do anything he heard the sound of feet rushing over to him and then he felt hands on his back urging him to turn around so they could asses the damage they’d just caused.

“Oh my goodness I am so sorry.” Harry felt his whole body tense up as your voice hit his ears. “I swear I’ve never in my whole life even bumped into someone else’s buggy before and here I am just rammin into you like you’re a damn bumper car.” Your accent is thick as your words are rushed together while your eyes scan his face, Harry’s hand drops from his head making your eyes go wide. “Oh sweet baby Jesus lord have mercy.” Harry panics at your words as you half mumble them under your breath, he starts thinking maybe you recognize him but his fear is soon swept away as you reach up on your tiptoes so you can cup his cheeks with your hands and he instantly leans into your touch. You gently pull his face down towards you in an attempt to help you get a better look at where his head made contact with the shelf and you let out a huff when you see a small red bump.

“I’m-” he tries to introduce himself but you’re quick to cut him off.

“How did this happen?” Harry has to fight the urge to laugh at your question because to him it’s pretty obvious how it happened, but he’s still in shock that you’re actually standing right in front of him with your hands on his face so he just stays silent. “I hit you in the ankle how in tarnation did you manage to somehow hit your head?” He actually chuckles at your words this time but when you let go of his face he immediately feels the corners of his mouth drop into a frown at the loss of contact. “I’m first aid certified so just let me get a good look.” You take a step back from him and motion with your hands for him to sit down making him raise an eyebrow. “I need you to sit please since you’re just a smidge taller than me.” You explain with a sweet smile and Harry doesn’t hesitate as he plops down on the floor sitting cross legged and placing his hands and jar of jam in his lap.

“Lord okay let’s see can you tell me your name? I’m just trying to see if you have a concussion or something.” Harry knows he should say something but when he opens his mouth you just roll your eyes and shake your head and let out an annoyed groan at yourself. “I don’t know your name so how the hell would I be able to tell you if it’s right or not? Okay uh can you tell me the day of the week? That’s the same for everyone so I’ll be able to tell if you knocked yourself into yesterday or not.” You’re staring down at him with a warm smile on your face but you do have a slight hint of concern in your voice and he knows he should absolutely say something to help ease your mind but he just can’t seem to make his mouth move to form actual words.

“Oh maybe you don’t talk? That’s okay I’ll do enough of that for the both of us because I just don’t handle silence well and I’m sorry again for rammin my buggy into you like that but maybe if you have to go to the hospital or something my insurance will cover it? Is this considered a collision? I don’t know but you’re not bleeding so that’s always a good sign.” You take a step closer to him so you can get a better look at the bump on his head and he can’t help but take in how your accent seems to get thicker and thicker the more you ramble on, as does the speed of your words as they fly out of your mouth.

Harry finds it oddly amusing that when he’s sat on the floor his head comes up to your tummy, he doesn’t know why he wasn’t expecting you to be so small since your personality seems larger than life. He knows he needs to say something so you know who he is and also to help you relax because he can see a wrinkle of worry between your eyebrows. But for the life of him he just can’t seem to find the words so he just sits there and allows himself the opportunity to take in your appearance. You look like you just got off work because you’re wearing a shirt that has the name of a preschool on it and your hair is in a messy bun giving him a good view of the starfish earrings you’re wearing and he can’t help but smile at the sight of them because he knows you probably picked them to go with the theme of your class for the month. He’s never thought someone looked as adorable as you do in this very moment.

“Oh raspberry is a good choice.” Your voice brings his eyes back to yours and interrupts his thoughts as he follows your gaze to the jar in his hands. “I’m gonna feel around your little bump and I’m sorry if it hurts but I’m just checking for some things and don’t ask me what I’m checking for I’ll just know it if I feel it.” Harry just nods as your fingers gently press around his forehead. “Is that a mermaid on your forearm?” Harry looks down at his arm and then back up at you and he can’t help but feel his heartbeat quicken when he sees you smiling down at him. “I like mermaids too and oddly enough I’m a teacher and this month is all about-”

“Life at the beach.” He feels your fingers fall from his forehead as your eyes widen a bit as he finally finds himself able to speak to you. “Hi love.” He adds and his voice is lower than normal due to still partially being in shock but he watches as your eyes scan his face and then quickly roam his body as you take a small step backwards and he can practically see it all begin to click for you as your face lights up as you smile at him.

“Harry?” He just nods his head as you let out a laugh and he’s glad he’s already sitting because the sight of you standing in front of him laughing with your hand on your chest would’ve probably made him drop to the ground anyway because he was right, you do look absolutely beautiful when you laugh. “Well honeybuns if this ain’t fate then I don’t know what is.” Your hands fall to your hips as you just continue to smile at him.

“Do you think I’m concussed?” He asks making you roll your eyes at him while taking a step towards him so you can kneel down and it’s not until your eye level with him that he feels like he just got the wind knocked out of him because it’s not until then that he gets the full effect of your stare and he’s once again thankful for his spot on the floor.

“You’re fine sugar plum.” Is all you say before you stand back up and offer him your hand to help him up. “I don’t bite.” You tease as you wiggle your fingers at him until he finally reaches out and grabs your hand, taking a mental note of how small but soft it feels in his.

“If this is any indication of how you drive love then I think it’s safer if we just walk everywhere in the future.” You laugh as you help him stand up, but he doesn’t drop your hand and he doesn’t feel you trying to pull it away from him so he just continues to hold it.

“I mean honey who manages to hit their head from getting rammed in the ankle? That takes a special kinda talent and then there’s the whole bending down without checking your surroundings which is just proper grocery store manners.” Your eyes are taking in his appearance as you speak and Harry swears he’s never felt more self conscious in his entire life, he’s second guessing his choice of outfit which is just a casual pair of jeans and one of his worn out Rolling Stones shirt since he wanted to be comfortable in the studio which is where he was at a mere half hour ago.

“So that kinda makes this whole thing your fault sugar so this really doesn’t have anything to do with how I drive a buggy or a vehicle.” You add as your eyes stop when they meet his as you look up at him with a smirk and playful glint in your eyes before shooting him a little wink and he knows this is going to be the moment looking back that he tells people is when he fell in love with you but he just shakes his head in an attempt to bring him back to the moment at hand as he looks down at you.

“I forget that everything always comes back to being my fault.” He admits as he feels you pull your hand away from his so you can turn and walk back over to your cart.

“Oh honeybuns admitting to being forgetful is such a gentlemanly thing to do.” Even though he knows you’re teasing him he feels his cheeks get warm at your statement as you place your hands on the cart and raise an eyebrow at him. “Well come on sugar plum I’m not done with my list yet.” You walk past him after tossing a jar of the same raspberry jam he had in his hand into your cart. “I might need to borrow your height on the cereal aisle.” And with that he quickly catches up to you before you make it to the end of the aisle so he can walk behind you and he can’t help the grin that spreads over his face because not only are you actually real but you’re currently leading him around a supermarket, and if he’s being honest he can’t even really feel the pain in his ankle or head anymore.

[foreverjustaplace]

The Bear, Season 3 PREDICTIONS

OKAY! So with The Bear premiering slightly earlier now, I wanted to go ahead and get my predictions (and maybe some delusional wishes) out on here because I just saw the still where Syd and Carmy are drinking tea after Carmy gets out of the fridge and I definitely had Syd being there when he got out of the walk-in. I never did get my fanfic out before the new season (although who knows. There’s still time!) so I hope I’ll still be in the headspace to finish it after I see the new episodes!

I would LOVE to see everyone’s predictions, too, so add them in the comments or create a post and tag me!

My Predictions:

Let’s start with Sydcarmy first. Oh, hell. This season is going to be one that drags us through all of the emotions. It’s already giving angst galore from all of the promos. A lot of us are worried about this ship, but I have to believe that while Storer may have not initially been on the sydcarmy train, we have a believer in Calo and loves love. We’ll be okay but it’s not going to always be pretty. We’re about to go through it, 100%, but I think the arduous emotional jouney will be worth it in the end (the end perhaps not being this season…). 

As mentioned, I predicted to myself that Syd would be waiting for Carmy when he finally is freed the walk-in refrigerator before I saw the image. To add to this, I believe this will be a very tense moment. Syd is incredibly disappointed with Carmy, but we’re going to get a hellava moment between the two in the very first episode. This moment is going to show just how deep Syd’s love (and I actually do mean in the friendship sense here) runs for Carmy. Despite Carmy already fucking up by not get the fridge fixed, we will get to see Syd give Carmy more grace than he deserves. But she is going to be skeptical as hell of him. He is going to seemingly change overnight and ignore all healthy ways of coping and go straight into this maniacal version of himself. 

They are about to put us through a Sydcarmy fight for the ages after Carmy does his whole partnership shit. But when I tell you this is going to remind us of the most dramatic romances we read on our Kindles, I mean it. Imagine this trope as one of those whole ass agreement list things that one or both of the romance leads (in a friends to lovers, especially) have. The agreement is done when the friends have an insane, amazing friendship and there’s more there, obviously, but they’re afraid to admit it. Sometimes they truly don’t even know that they like each other! In the case of Carmy, he is so avoidant of all of his feelings, he doesn’t even allow himself to think he likes her in this way. And even if he does recognize it, he certainly doesn’t know how to properly channel that into a romantic relationship with Sydney but he is 100% cognizant of the fact that he doesn’t want to lose her. That he CANNOT lose her. This agreement is done under the guide of a professional work agreement, but what he is proposing sounds more initamiate this just a work agreement. I honestly think it’s going to be jarring because on one hand Carmy believes this will lead to a star, but on the other hand what he’s trying to do starts to look and sound more like a non-platonic relationship.  

There is going to be a DREAM sequence that will make sydcarmy shippers happy. I just have this feeling or maybe this is me in delululand. Look. There were one too many damn dream sequence jokes for me to not take it seriously. I’m always a big believer that dream sequences should go big or go home; in fact, I’m trying to go through all of the dream sequences I’ve watched before in my head right now. I can’t think of one that did not involve kissing OR the wake-up-right-before-they-kiss moment at least. Think back to last month’s Polin (Bridgerton). I hope we get the kiss but I’ll even take the latter. BUT I’m going to go big and say that this may not even be a all heated and sexy dream. Um. What if it’s a Sydcarmy wedding!!!  

Syd and Carmy will sit next to each other at the funeral. There will be some comforting hand holding that is going to put us in a chokehold. I think Syd cries and Carmy comforts her. 

Ya know how Carmy helped Claire move whatever the hell furniture last season? Yeah, we’re gonna see a parallel of the moving thing when he helps Syd. We’re gonna get a Sydcarmy moment inside Sydney’s apartment and they’re going to talk about the future. This will be a great scene and will be use in all the future edits for sureee. Fantasyland me wants Carmy to say some shit like, “Syd, I don’t even know why you didn’t just move in with me?” “Carmy, use your head. You have one bedroom ? ? ?” “I would’ve taken the couch, nbd.”

Carmy sees Syd’s tattoos. I hope!! Perhaps this is in the dream sequence? Or maybe they have an actual conversation. Carmy tells Syd what one of his tattoos means. She does the same. But, forreal, this is a headcanon for me. 

To end the season, Syd and Carmy forreal do something that makes it hard to deny they are 100% in the platonic love category. They kiss and there is a conversation that rivals the under the table scene. Richie is the one who helps them get to this point. 

Sydney makes the decision to step away from Carmy a bit. Does she go to Ever? God, I hope not. But I think her health problems are going to be crazier (PLEASE STORER do not make her sick!!! I beg you!) and she can’t deal with Carmy’s shit any longer. I honestly think we’re going to see the season span months and the angst will be rough. Hopefully it’s one of those, “Three Months Later” things so we don’t actually have to see it. LOL Just get me to the end. 

Carmy is about to piss everyone off. I think we’re going to see Tina, Natalie, Richie, Sweeps, even Pete get into it with him. 

There will be a good number of flashbacks this season:

*Mikey in his last few months, weeks, and/or days leading up to his death 

*But also we’ll see some fun, sweet memories involving Mikey. Moments with Richie, Nat, and Carmy.

*Carmy as a chef before The Beef/The Bear. I’m so looking forward to these! 

*We are finally going to see Syd’s mom in flashbacks! 

Emanuael and Carmy meet. Syd’s dad will not like Carmy. He’s not gonna be impressed at all. They are going to talk and Carmy is going to do everything in his power to convince Emanuel he will be better for Syd and that she’s everything to him. Emanuel is going to give him some advice to win over Sydney. 

Richie is going to start dating and at least semi-successful. I think his redemption arc is still happening and specifically related to his relationships. Not gonna lie, I do actually like the idea of Jess and Richie and so I’m going to keep that in the mix and say Richie is the one who sets up Syd with the Ever guy. Richie will attend Tiff and Frank’s wedding. 

Syd and Marcus grow so much closer. Syd is going to serve as a supporting, loving friend to Marcus. They’re going to bond over the dead mom club. It’s going to be wonderful to see their friendship.

Donna is there for Nat. Perhaps she goes into labor and Donna is there to ease her nerves. It’s a wild moment for sure but a pretty poignant one. 

Luca. Dude. I don’t even know. I LOVE his character. I want him to, like, I’d love for him and Marcus to hook up. That would be the absolute best. Hell, I’d really love for Luca to be Sydney and starting flirting with her and with get to see jealous!Carmy! (PLEASE!) but I’ll settle for some flashback scenes. I guessss. Perhaps Luca comes help out at The Bear? I’d love that.

I’ve seen a lot of people say that The Bear will struggle greatly and close. I cannot deal with this LOL. I don’t want this to happen so I’m not going to predict it, but I think there will be some struggling. 

Tina’s story is gonna be emotional. Her journey into the kitchen is going to be one that happens because she desperately needs a job. We’re going to see her with Luis’ father. We are going to see her with Mikey. We’re going to see that she has always been bright and so capable. 

Claire. Man. I don’t like that she is even in this season, but I appreciate a great story and don’t think we can fully wrap this whole thing up if the walk-in fridge breakup was it. Fak is starting to get on my last nerves with his matchmaking shit lol but I think we will see Claire in at least a slightly different and enhanced light. Chris Storer is intentional in everything he does and I don’t believe for one second this doctor can be so surface level. Carmy may have this guilt eating him up and his trauma keeping him from  wanting anything good, but ultimately Carmy doesn’t actually want her. She’s meant to represent this nice person and serve merely as (physical) relief. But I don’t even know. I don’t think she and Carmy are endgame at all. I want Claire to tell Fak to stop his nonsense. I want her to understand her worth and not go back to Carmy after he said all of this shit about her (and not just because I love Sydcarmy but because I’m for the girlies knowing their worth!). 

What I would really love to happen is Claire cursing Carmy tf out. I’d love for Claire and Syd to have a one-on-one conversation and Sydney says something that exposes how she feels about Carmy to Claire. Awkwardness ensues. 

Okay. Damn. I started typing and I couldn’t stop. It was as if I was ten years old again and typing my predictions for the upcoming Harry Potter book. Dang. Take me back to those days! Those prediction threads were unreal. Tell me your predictions!