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eddieandbird · 1 month

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How Romantic—

You’re Corroded Coffin’s tour manager and you wake up realizing you drunkenly got married to Eddie the night before.

Part 2 | Part 3

tags/warnings: fluff | 2.7k words | f!reader | rockstar!Eddie | alcohol ment

———

Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary when you opened your eyes this morning. Your head was pounding, but you expected that after Corroded Coffin’s first show in Las Vegas. You went to rub the sleep out from your eyes but you winced in pain as you felt a small object scratch the corner of your eye.

“Ow! What the hell?” You hissed. You sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp.

A diamond ring sat on the third knuckle of your left hand, the sight causing you to flinch like it were a spider crawling up your leg.

“Eddie?” You shoved your sleeping client beside you. “Eddie, I think we did something really stupid last night,”

“What? Of course, we did! We’re rockstars, idiot,” He grumbled, rolling his shoulders to shake off your hand.

He attempted to roll over and fall back asleep, but this wasn’t a situation you could press the snooze button on. In a panic you pulled him up by his long hair, forcing him to sit up beside you.

“Hey!—“

“Eddie, shut up,” You said sternly, interrupting his whining. “Let me see your hands,”

You fumbled around to get a hold of them, light scratches exchanged between the both of you as you slapped each other like bickering children. Somehow you were able to catch his wrist, bringing his left hand closer to the light.

As you feared, he wore a gold band on his ring finger, with white diamonds that glistened, mocking you.

“Holy shit, no, no, no-” You cursed under your breath when you wanted to scream, but the ever-present headache prevented you from raising your voice.

Eddie flinched as you tugged at him, then chuckled when he caught the sight of his own ring.

“Looks like we got a matching set,” He said casually.

His expression didn’t change, leaving you utterly dumbfounded. You could tell he was not understanding the gravity of the situation at all.

“A matching set?— Eddie this isn’t some cute friendship bracelet thing!” You shook your head then forced his hand closer to his face like it could get him to understand.

Eddie wasn’t stupid by any means, but boy did he struggle to get the point sometimes. You knew to cut him some slack considering he was hungover just like you. However, you didn’t think you had to spell this all out for him.

Another moment passed before his eyes opened up fully. “Oh… OH!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah, oh,” You sighed, relieved and irritated.

He studied his hand for a moment, tilting it in the light as he observed the jewels embedded into the gold.

“Oh wow, this is-” He mumbled to himself, his voice getting lost in a trail of thoughts.

He then went silent for a moment before suddenly grabbing your hand harshly, and yanking it into the light. “I bet yours is nicer, let me see,” He grumbled, his tone sounding almost jealous. It did nothing but work you up even more. You were unfortunately going to have to spell it out for him.

You flailed out of bed, ripping off the robe that hung on the lampshade, and covered yourself. The bewildered glare you gave Eddie only caused him to look more confused. You sighed and rubbed your aching head.

“I can’t believe I’m even explaining this to you right now,” You mumbled to yourself. You put your hands together and pointed the form at him. “Eddie, I think we got married last night,”

You hoped and prayed he would give you a different look, one that didn’t make you believe he didn’t even know his own name.

“You think? Or you know?” He countered, raising his eyebrows at you. “These rings could mean nothing, we just have to make sure,”

His expression was far more casual than it should’ve been. You didn’t know how much longer you would be able to stay patient, he was making your blood boil. He was treating this as if you were scolding him for showing up late to the gig.

As much as you wanted him to prove your theory wrong, you feared it wasn’t likely. Your eyes scanned the trashed hotel room for any other sign. To your dismay, there was a white dress tossed to the side of the bathroom. Disgust and regret painted your face as you lifted it. It was covered in red wine and smelled even worse.

“I think I found my wedding dress,” You gagged, holding it up to show Eddie.

You groaned as you just as quickly threw it back down on the floor.

Eddie’s smile wavered as he saw the state of your wedding dress. He suddenly looked nauseous as he observed the wine stains and messy wrinkles.

“We must’ve been super wasted last night,” He thought back to the night before, his mind desperately trying to recall any other details. “I can’t remember a damn thing after the first hour or so,” He said, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Yeah, no kidding,”

You examined the dress again from where you stood and bits and pieces of last night suddenly came back to you. The cheap rhinestones on it formed a pattern that haunted you.

The sight took you back to when Eddie and you stumbled downtown, giggling as you tried to keep each other upright. With one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady, he used the other to point out the ridiculously lit chapel you were passing by. A window peered into a showroom with a plethora of wedding dresses.

You let out a low whistle with your finger pointed at the glass. “Jeez what a dress, huh? Have you ever seen anything more gaudy?” You elbowed Eddie in the chest playfully.

You were too amused to see that he hardly gave that stupid dress more than one glance. He was too captivated by the way you looked underneath the twinkling lights.

“I dunno. I bet you’d make it look good,” Eddie slurred back, raising his eyebrows to fight his half-lidded eyes. His sudden suggestive tone took you aback. He was always crass and liked to push buttons, but never had he been this forward with you. You felt a strange flutter in the pit of your stomach that you had every intention of ignoring.

“Alright, buddy, I gotta get you back to the hotel. You’re too far gone if you’re imagining your manager in a wedding dress,” You hiccupped, trying to pry Eddie away from the chapel windows, but he was sturdy like a wall. You yelped as he pulled you by the wrist back into him.

“I think you should go in and try it on,” He whispered, his lips grazing your ear.

Shivers went down your spine, traveling down your body and convincing you it was a good idea. The sloshing liquor in your gut and the rasp of his voice was a dangerous combination. It created a switch inside your head that drained you of your professionalism, leaving only traits that would make you the woman of Eddie’s dreams. This included the boldness to slip your hand into his and say “Aw… Fuck it, why not? Let’s see how stupid it looks,”

Eddie hastily led you into the chapel, walking through the doorway and into the showroom full of gowns. The two of you were greeted by a bored employee who couldn’t look less interested in her job, but somehow had the energy to sneer at the both of you. You only took it as a sign that you should try on the stupid dress if only to spite that miserable lady at the front desk.

Just as you were joking about before, you took the gown that sat in the window and brought it with you to the fitting room. It was way too ornate and flashy for your taste, but you had the itch to try it on to humor Eddie’s curiosity. One outfit change later and you came out, propped up against the doorframe with a hand on your hip. Despite your slightly pained expression, you glittered beautifully in the dress.

“Okay I’m pretty sure this thing is a size too small because I can hardly breathe, but here it is. Happy now, Munson?” You gave an ironic smile.

You expected Eddie to laugh along with you, maybe even make a few digs at how awful the get-up was, but he didn’t. Instead, he stared at you slack-jawed. You had brought an entire galaxy to his hazy eyes. His pupils dilated with desire as he took a few sudden strides toward you.

“There is no way you’re actually making that dress look good,” He muttered in disbelief, pawing at your hips.

Eddie dragged his fingertips along your jawline, gently pushing your hair behind the shoulders. He took a step back to admire the skin around your neck that he just exposed. Your silhouette was being squeezed into the fabric and hardly left anything to the imagination. There was really no stopping Eddie now. With an uncoordinated tug, your body was pressed to his.

“What are you doing?” You asked him like he was a toddler getting caught stealing sweets from the kitchen. Delirious giggles rang out of you as half-heartedly pushed him.

“Taking my bride to the altar, duh,” Eddie leaned in, his lips tickling the nape of your neck. He spoke in that false innocent tone that you knew was laced with devious intentions. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of his feather-like touches.

“You’re gonna marry me, right, princess?” His silky voice was incredibly inviting in the state you were in.

“I um- well m-” You stuttered. You could hardly stand straight, let alone answer his question properly. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, that’s what I thought. C’mon, sweetheart, you’re mine now,” He triumphantly laughed.

The receptionist’s eyes widened in complete shock as Eddie suddenly picked you up off the floor. He began walking back out the door, carrying you like a damsel in distress. Your giggling, mixed with the employee’s confused protesting was the only noise heard through the room.

Eddie barreled down the aisle of the chapel. He laughed with misplaced enthusiasm as you both stumbled closer and closer toward the pastor waiting at the end of the aisle.

You couldn’t bear to remember anything beyond that. A full-body shiver came over you as you snapped out of the memory of the night before. You couldn’t hear anything for a moment over the pounding of your heart in your ears. Your mind couldn’t wrap around Eddie and you sharing a moment so intimate and unfortunately so permanent.

“Oh, right… that’s what happened,” His voice pulled your attention back to him.

As he laid his eyes upon the dress, it repeated the events to him in his mind. He was tempted to brag about how steady he kept you in his arms even while he wasted, but he bit his tongue, knowing you’d probably snap at him again.

As the realization hit Eddie, he felt overwhelmed with emotion. Part of him couldn’t believe that the both of him had gotten married so recklessly, but another part felt a strange fluttering in his chest.

“Yeah, how romantic,” You groaned, limping to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face.

Eddie followed after you, leaning against the bathroom door frame.

“You um- You’re not thinking of breaking all this off right?” he asked timidly.

As if this morning couldn’t get any more insane, of course, he had to ask you that. You shot a glare in the mirror reflection for a moment before whipping around with your arms folded.

“Munson… What the hell are you saying?” Although the message was harsh, your tone had no bite to it. You sounded much more confused than upset at this moment. You didn’t want to believe that he was genuinely considering remaining married to you.

“Hear me out,” He set his hands out, gesturing you to stop whatever angry rant you wished to go on. “Maybe this doesn’t have to be the worst thing that could happen to us,”

“What do you mean?”

“I doubt that we weren’t spotted in that chapel. If we’re lucky we have until the afternoon before we see headlines about Corroded Coffin’s main guitarist and his manager getting hitched in Vegas,” He scrunched his nose and shook a hand through his tangled hair.

There goes your deer-in-headlights look again. “God, I really am an idiot! How did I not think of that? I-”

Eddie pressed a finger to your lips, promptly shutting you up. “Yeah, yeah, you’re the tortured manager of our band, we get it. But hey, just stay with me,” He dismissed your spiral before it could even happen. He swept you up similar to how he did last night, but this time to sit you down on the bathroom counter.

“What if we just stayed married for a little while?” He pursed his lips and shrugged. “Think about it. All that press Corroded Coffin would get over something like this. We’d be a household name! It’s kind of genius,” With his hands caging you into your spot on the counter, he smiled proudly at you as he explained what he had in mind.

He could see your mind racing behind your eyes, clearly contemplating the logistics of getting media attention out of this. He leaned closer to you, keeping you to the counter. He placed his hands on either side of your thighs.

“I know you hate the attention,” He continued softly, looking at you with puppy dog eyes. “But this is a good idea. We have to capitalize on our screw-up... For the band of course.”

A choked exhale escaped you before you set your head in your hands for a moment. Your mind drew up a montage of all the disapproving faces you’d have to explain this to, all the uncomfortable interviews you’d have to speak in, and all the death threats made by Corroded Coffin’s fans to you.

“Do I really have a choice in all this?” You mumbled through the spaces in between your fingers.

Eddie flashed a wry smile. “I guess not,” he teasingly held up his ring finger as if he was flipping you off. “Bottom line, when we walk out of this hotel, we are officially husband and wife. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want this to make the rest of the tour miserable. So you can either mope around the bus for the next two months and have more rumors spread in your absence, or you can hold your head up high and make a spectacle of our marriage for the sake of the band,”

Eddie’s grin grew wider as he saw the exhaustion creeping onto your face. He knew exactly how much you hated the attention, but he also knew that you cared just as much about the success of Corroded Coffin. He leaned closer to you, his body now almost completely pressed against yours.

“I don’t like either of those options, just throw me off the balcony and be done with it,” You dramatically huffed and smacked your head on his shoulder. He snorted at your reaction.

“Oh come on, sweetheart,” he taunted, his fingers gripping your thighs in a tight but affectionate grip. “Where’s that infamous strength of yours, huh? What happened to the badass manager that keeps us in line?”

You gave him the weakest glare you had yet. He was right about one thing: you cared about Corroded Coffin more than anything else. It was time to step up and do what you had to for them, for Eddie.

“Alright!” You blurted out. “Fine, let’s do this, but as soon as tour is over, we get a quiet divorce and we move on like nothing ever happened,”

“Yeah, totally, for sure,” Eddie nodded his head half-convincingly, then lightly smacked your leg with approval. He was beaming, looking forward to all the fun he was about to have with you. “Alright, get all dolled up for brunch, I’m starving. It’s time for your grand debut, Mrs. Munson,”

“Hey, I never agreed on changing my name!” you whined, pushing Eddie off of you to get down from the counter.

Eddie chuckled as you suddenly stood up from the counter.

“Well get used to it, because I’m going to keep calling you that,” he teased. “You’re officially stuck with me now, Mrs. Munson,”

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fluff

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ichorai · 2 months

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i'm not made by design ; part two ; jaime lannister.

part one.

pairing ; jaime lannister x stark!reader (she/her pronouns)

synopsis ; wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

words ; 9.0k

themes ; heavy angst, action, fluff, (actual) enemies to lovers, slowburn

warnings / includes ; war/murder/injury, this part covers a few events from a feast for crows, politicking, mentions of incest/rape, foul language, animal cruelty, a lot of generally terrible things going on but what else can you expect from asoiaf, lots of dreams, jaime is a morally grey delight in this part yes, they are being HAUNTED by each other!

a/n ; wow, it's been a long time coming! ok i know this part is quite short and doesn't yet get to where you guys probably want to be, but tumblr has a max limit of 1k text blocks per post now (boo everyone throw tomatoes) so i'll be posting the rest of the story in smaller chunks! expect the third part to be coming soon, and i promise part three will start off exactly where you guys want it to be :) also if any of you can spot any sort of parallels in this part i will kiss you on the Mouth .

main masterlist. read on ao3!

The wintry breeze tousled the two young Stark girls’ hair, whispering frost into their ears. The horse the two were riding whickered as it galloped through the snow. Lyanna was exclaiming something, something lost to the wind, and you only held all the tighter to her from behind.

“Lyanna, I want to get off!” you yelled, tugging at the furs draped over her. “Lyanna, let me off!”

Your older sister laughed some more. Not wickedly, but more out of fond amusement. She slowed the horse down to a languid canter, then to a trot, and led the stallion towards the shade of a tree. There was snow blanketing the branches and the grass which crunched beneath her weight as she swung down. She looked up at you with her large grey eyes, crinkled at the corners as she grinned boyishly. “Were you frightened?”

You held your arms out for your sister to help you down. Only at eight years of age, you were still of short stature, and Lyanna had picked a rather tall horse. She had always been a voracious rider, even more so than all your brothers.

“I wasn’t frightened,” you indignantly replied as she wrapped her arms about your waist and pulled you down onto the ground.

“Right.” She began to stroke the stallion’s mane, his hooves pawing at the snow. “Do you not trust me, then? Did you think I would ride us right off the edge of a cliff?”

“No,” you replied, scuffing your boots against the snow. “I don’t like riding from behind. I can’t see anything from back there.”

There was a moment of silence before Lyanna reached over to ruffle your hair—an action that both she and Benjen often did. Eddard and Brandon often spared you from such irritations, but being the youngest of the family, you were always doted on and hovered over and babied.

“I don’t trust you riding a horse as big as this, so I suppose we can walk back. It’s not too far.”

“Why can’t I just sit in front of you?”

Your sister stuck her tongue out at you. “We’ve got something in common, you know. What makes you think I like sitting behind?” When you glowered at her, she went on, “Let’s get a move on. Ned will complain that I’m stealing you away—especially since he’s just returned. He misses you. Your letters grow briefer and briefer, he tells me.”

You were none too happy about trudging through the snow, but you voiced no complaint and walked alongside your sister, who tugged at the horse’s reins to follow along.

“He’s always going back and forth,” you said, a small frown marring your features. “I wish he would just stay home. The Eyrie couldn’t possibly compare to Winterfell.”

“You know him.” Lyanna’s dark hair was speckled with snowflakes as she turned to you. “Studious and dutiful as ever.” Her voice went an octave deeper and she pulled a mockingly somber expression in a startling resemblance to Ned. You let out a small laugh at that.

“Last time he visited, you were betrothed,” you said, your voice shrinking to a whisper.

The amusement died away from her eyes, turning stony. “Yes. Though I doubt it will be a fruitful union.”

There were a few more seconds of silence as you considered her words, not entirely sure why she would think so. Robert was loud and robust the few times you’ve met him, but you knew little else of Ned’s friend.

“Do you think he’ll bring a wedding proposal for me this time?”

Lyanna’s features contorted with surprise. “Why? Do you want to be married?”

Your cheeks flushed with heat, despite the frost settling over your skin. “Well—if Father says I have to, then I will.”

“I didn’t ask about Father,” replied Lyanna. It was hard for her to believe that you were only eight sometimes. You always tried to act older than you actually were. “I asked about you.”

Winterfell grew larger and larger as the two of you drew nearer to the castle gates. Home.

“I don’t think I’d mind getting married,” you told your sister, eyes downcast and brows pulled together in thought. “As long as I get to stay in Winterfell. I never want to leave.”

Lyanna smiled, all teeth and cheek. “Wouldn’t that be a dream?” she sighed.

The rest of the short journey was made in relative silence, and you left your sister and the tall stallion by the stables (not without her ruffling your hair one last time), and you dashed up to the castle chambers where you knew Ned would be.

He carried no proposals, only a few books he thought you would enjoy and a warm hug.

You awoke with a startled gasp, kicking at the thin blanket that laid over your form. It took you several moments to realize where you were. A boat. Rocking steadily, back and forth and back and forth. You rubbed at your sleepy eyes whilst drawing your knees up to your chest, still blinking away remnants of your dream.

Lyanna. Ned. Still young, still practically children.

One of the tongueless little birds stood in the doorway. It was an ominous sight. Her eyes were large and unblinking, glinting like glass balls within her small head. In her hands was a wooden bowl, full of what looked to be a poultice of sorts. She drew nearer, and the heavy scent of honey and flowers reached your nose.

“What is it?” you asked the child, a coil of pity winding in the pit of your stomach. You knew they couldn’t respond—Varys had stolen not only their youth, but their voices, too. “Is this food?”

A foreign delicacy of sorts, maybe? An Essosi dessert you weren’t familiar with, perhaps. It looked quite unappetizing, though you knew you had no room to complain.

The girl shook her head, then pointed to your hair, which was pulled back into a braid. You understood from just that, and nodded your thanks while accepting the bowl from her. This was hair dye, made from a blend of flowers and other substances you couldn’t name. You supposed it was a necessary precaution—you had an unmistakable Northern look to you, and would surely stick out like a sore thumb here down South. Dyeing your hair and cutting it short would help to somewhat conceal your identity. Short enough, and perhaps you could even be mistaken for a man, at least at a first quick glance.

The little girl left a dagger and a small, rusty, hand-held mirror by your legs and disappeared from your cabin in complete silence, as if she was never there in the first place. They were like ghosts, this crew of children. Everything was so quiet all the time, with only your thoughts and the ocean waves to accompany you.

You unbraided your hair and shook it loose. Hair carried memories. Memories of Catelyn showing you how hair was done in the Riverlands, memories of Benjen tugging at your hair to tease you, memories of Jaime commenting on how your hair was a lovely shade of animal waste. That had been grumpily remarked earlier on, when you and Brienne were escorting him to King’s Landing. Before Locke and Roose Bolton and… Robb.

You propped up the rust-spotted mirror against the wall and scooped up the dagger. The reflection that met you was only barely recognizable. You looked so tired. With a resigned sigh, you began to slice off your hair with the sharp blade. Handfuls fell to the ground. You sliced and sliced until your head felt light and your neck was bare. It’s never been this short before. If Benjen were here, you knew he would surely laugh at you. Brandon would comment that he never knew he had another brother.

Yes, you thought. I can surely pass as a man if I wanted to. Though you certainly shared many features with your sister, you hadn’t the wild beauty Lyanna had. No, you were far plainer than her, colder and sharper than she was. Nothing worthy to note—though your father, quiet as a man he was, once told you that you looked the most like your mother out of all your siblings. That had made you feel more beautiful than anything.

Plain was good, though. Plain meant no eyes would be drawn to you.

You weren’t too sure what color your hair would turn with this dye. You lathered the thick paste over your newly-cut strands, massaging it into your scalp. Your nose twitched from the strong odor—not entirely unpleasant, but also wasn’t a delight breathing in.

As you rinsed your hands of the dye, your skin was left with a slight copperish stain. You stared at the color with sad eyes—would your hair turn out red like Cat’s? Like all your nephews and Sansa?

And, like a fool, you wondered if Jaime would like short, red hair. He wouldn’t care much, you found yourself thinking, perhaps wishfully so. Did you want him to care?

Two children brought you food—rations of dried meat and crusty bread. You wolfed half of it down and handed them the other half. Though they couldn’t speak, the children made for pleasant company. Or perhaps you were just lonely. It was hard to tell.

After eating, you rinsed out the hair dye and wrung the water out with a cloth over the edge of the ship. The cloth came away stained bright red. You retreated back into the cabin to look at the mirror.

It was a shock to see your hair resemble Catelyn’s. It was darker than hers had been, but the auburn, orange-red sheen to your head was unmistakable. You looked like a Tully! You nearly laughed with amazement, but any sort of joy was short-lived, and you lapsed into more silence.

You laid on the rickety bed, thinking of Winterfell and your now-scattered family. Robb and Ned and Cat and the younglings Bran and Rickon might have been taken from you, but… you still had family left. Sansa and Arya could very well be scattered somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms, alive and breathing. Jon, at the Wall, as well. At least, you hoped. It’d been so long since your time sending letters to the young boy. Was he hurt that you stopped sending them so suddenly?

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you drew your knees to your chest, willing yourself into a restless slumber.

Days came and went. The little children were growing more agitated, fluttering about the boat with wide eyes and quick feet. They tossed nets overboard into the water—masquerading the boat as a fishing vessel, you assumed. There were many ships out and about Blackwater Bay. Some carried banners of houses loyal to the crown, and others were bannerless. Pirates or fishermen, you couldn’t tell.

So far, all other ships have passed by quietly. But the risk grew with each day. You knew Tywin and Cersei would likely order more fleets to be sent after you, Sansa, and Tyrion. The chances of you being found on water would grow each day—and you couldn’t risk becoming a prisoner again. Jaime wouldn’t be able to help you escape a second time, not with Cersei around.

At least on foot… you had somewhere to run. Being on sea left you nothing but water for miles on end.

And so you told the silent children to let you off at the nearest fishing port. Some part of you wondered if they would object, but they stared at you with round, moon eyes and nodded. You didn’t know whether to thank or damn Varys.

The ship docked in the dead of night, half a mile from Duskendale. One of the little children handed you a map and tapped at where they’d leave you. A pouch full of food rations, more dye, and other necessities was left on your cot. You thanked the child endlessly, who seemed not to hear your gratitude and scuttled away. You grabbed the pouch, the dagger, the bow and quiver full of arrows Varys had presumably left you, and slipped into a large cloak.

Land felt like it was lurching beneath your feet once you stepped onto the pier. Your body was used to the swaying motions of the waters, and would take some time to adjust. You gingerly shook one of your booted feet. The children watched you disembark on wobbly legs, but you dared not wave back at them.

Despite it being nighttime, the docks were busier than ever. Fishermen and merchants littered all over the shore, some selling products and entertainment and others working hard to gather more to sell before day broke. You steeled yourself with a deep breath, and made your way through the busy crowd.

You began trekking your way North towards the Eyrie, the hood of your cloak pulled over your short, red hair.

It took nearly three weeks for you to reach the Crossroads. Nightfall was nearing when you strode in front of the inn, the sky a mirage of bleeding reds from the setting sun and moody greys from the rainclouds. The air smelled of mud and rusted metal. It was certainly no grand castle, but a modest bed was better than sleeping on the cold dirt you’ve been curled up on the past several days. There was a young girl and a dark-haired boy by the front that looked somewhat like your memory of Robert Baratheon twenty-some years ago. At first, the boy denied your request for shelter, but reluctantly clammed up once you offered him some gold, worth more than it ever could in times of war. The two let you pass with not a word more.

Greeting you inside was a ruckus of loud children. Parentless, you realized, as there were none to be seen within the inn’s walls. An inn full of orphans, you thought with a touch of sadness. In that regard you supposed you shared a similarity with all of them.

Just as you slipped onto one of the creaking wooden stools to momentarily rest your weary feet, you overheard a voice. A familiar voice. Low and raspy and unmistakably—

Brienne, you thought, wide-eyed. But she wasn’t alone. A young boy was by her side, yes, that was Podrick, and an older man—a knight, by the looks of his armor, and an even older septon with grey hair and a hunched back. What a queer party Brienne was leading. She was supping on porridge and salted cod.

The impulsive part of you wanted to call out for her and rush to her side, ask if she had found any sign of Sansa, or if she had made any progress on her quest. Instead, you drew in a deep breath, and stood from your stool to take a seat across from Podrick whilst Brienne was busy speaking to the knight. The young squire made a half-gasping, half-choking noise once his eyes raised from the cup he was draining to your cold eyes, recognizing you immediately. You discreetly lifted a finger to your lips to silence him. His eyes went moon-round and he nodded once.

Brienne ignored the knight’s constant jabbering about lips and marriage and castles full of children, and turned to look at her squire in mild concern of him choking on a fish bone. But her eyes landed on you, and her mouth dropped open.

She was very near to bowing her head and saying, “My lady.” But she didn’t, knowing it would draw far too much attention, and stared at you with utter confusion plain over her features.

“Hello,” you said to her. “It has been a while, Brienne.”

“Do you know each other?” the knight bumped in. He spooned some porridge into his mouth.

“Brienne and I were childhood friends on Tarth,” you lied. “I was the son of a cook. A nobody in truth, but Brienne was kind enough to befriend me.”

Brienne was no good at lying, you knew this, but she nodded along to your story.

The knight looked you over. “A little runt boy and a grand beast of a girl. The two of you must have been a sight.”

You could only offer him half a shrug at that.

“What brings you here?” Brienne carefully asked you.

“Someone helped me leave,” you responded with equal caution. Avoiding the knight’s curious eyes, you leaned closer to Brienne. “Is there a place for us to speak with fewer naked children milling about?”

Being around Varys’ little birds for long enough taught you that children were oft smarter than they looked. Somewhere to your right, you saw one of the little orphan boys stick a nut inside his nostril.

Brienne nodded and led you just outside, away from prying ears and eyes. There, you told her everything. From Tyrion’s trial, to Oberyn’s death, to Cersei demanding you to be locked up or killed (whichever suited her taste that day), to Jaime helping you escape, to the birds on the boat, to your journey here. In turn, Brienne told you of her lengthy journey and what she had found on the way. Mostly nothing, lots of war and skirmishes. Sandor Clegane was dead, but Arya had been with him soon before that… not Sansa. The thought of Arya somewhere out there alive, sparked dangerous hope within your chest.

“Varys says Sansa is in the Eyrie, masquerading as Baelish’s bastard daughter.” The thought revolted you. “But I do wonder if the Eyrie is a trap of sorts. I cannot trust Varys. He certainly is no friend of the Lannisters, but neither is he their enemy. For all I know, he may be conspiring with dragons and grumpkins.”

“Sansa would be safe with her Aunt Lysa there, right?” Brienne asked, though even she sounded doubtful of her own question.

“I can’t quite say,” you said, brows furrowed. “Lysa is an unpredictable woman. Frightened and secluded is never a good combination of characteristics. Even so, I doubt Sansa would make her way home up North without being intercepted. It wouldn’t hurt to check the Vale first.”

Brienne nodded solemnly. “We can make our way first thing in the morning. For now, you must rest, my lady. You must be exhausted.”

The sudden reminder of the limitations of your body made your knees wobble. The past few days had you running on little else than adrenaline, fear, and meager portions of salted foods.

“I missed you, Brienne,” you whispered, looking up at her. “I fear trusted friends are few and far in between in these times.” Not that you ever had many friends to begin with. Everyone had always been so afraid of you—something Brienne could relate to.

The term friend dusted pink over Brienne’s large, crooked nose and broad, freckled cheekbones. She was certainly not pretty, not by a long shot, but that was of no matter to you. She was the most beautiful blessing you could have possibly encountered—your chances of survival and finding Sansa were far better with Brienne by your side.

“I missed you, as well,” Brienne managed to choke out after many moments of stunned silence. She had never been good with niceties. “Podrick has been company enough, but the boy is young and easily frightened.”

“I’m frightened, too,” you admitted. “One would be a fool not to be, with enemies at every turn. Young, however, is a trait I have long outgrown.”

Brienne looked up at the night sky. “Youth was a curse on me. I always looked older than I was.”

“Me, as well,” you mused with a thoughtful hum. Memories of the lords and ladies living at Winterfell’s court whispering behind your back… sending you strange looks of distant pity… veering far out of your way in fear of you… it weighed heavy on you, especially in your younger years. “My anger has aged me a decade, I think.”

Before Brienne could respond, there came a commotion of noise. Men on horses, their hooves schlocking through mud and puddles. Instinctively, you drew the cowl of your hood up over your head. They are armed, these men, you thought with grim unease. And there were many of them, just above half a dozen. Far too many for you and Brienne to take alone.

Brienne drew in a sharp breath at the sight of them and unsheathed Oathkeeper. She stepped in front of you before you could even begin to react. The biggest man of the party was so hefty that his beaten horse buckled and shook beneath the sheer force of his weight. His pale face was torn and wept with pus and blood. But Brienne’s eyes were drawn to his snarling helm—with its dull metal nose and sharp teeth of steel. It was the Hound’s property but the man wearing it was certainly no Hound.

The sky grew darker and the storm clouds thundered up above. The young girl that had greeted you into the inn had slammed the door open, now holding a crossbow. Whatever she was screaming was lost to the rain and thunder.

“Loose a quarrel at me and I’ll shove that crossbow up your cunt and fuck you with it. Then I’ll pop your fucking eyes out and make you eat them,” raged the man, his voice nearly as loud as the booming in the sky. Your chest rose and fell in silence as you slowly reached behind you to unsling your bow.

“Leave her be,” called out Brienne, drawing their attention. “If you want to rape someone, try me.”

The outlaws laughed and chortled at that. One japed about fucking horses before fucking her. The rest of their words were unintelligible to you as you focused on drawing an arrow without pulling too much attention to yourself. It proved to be a difficult task when there were seven pairs of eyes trained on Brienne, and, consequently, you, as well.

Brienne said something you couldn’t catch, leaving the man with the helm fuming. He charged forward through the mud. Brienne shuffled away from you—she needed the man to come to her, but not to get too close to you. You were her priority now.

A song of steel screeched through the rain-torn wind as their swords clashed. Brienne managed to cut through the rags of his tunic and slash a gaping hole in his cheap chainmail just before she just barely evaded his swinging axe. The man was screaming expletives at her—whore, bitch, freak.

You nocked the arrow with not a second thought.

Then the drawstring was split in two and you were left with a useless bow. One of the outlaws had made his way to you whilst you were concentrating on the man with the helm—and broke your favored weapon.

“Shhh,” he crooned as he laid the cold, wet blade of the knife he used to cut your bow against your throat. “Enjoy and watch the show, boy.” He must have thought you were one of the orphans that lived here—and not much of a threat, considering he pulled the knife away from you and made a show of pointing it towards Brienne and her attacker. “It’s not every day you see a woman like her battle a man like him.”

You nodded, playing along. You still had the dagger you used to cut your hair tucked against your hip. It was a touch too dull for your liking, but it would have to do for now. You had no other choice. With the man’s eyes drawn back to their messy duel, you drew its blade and drove it forth, straight into throat. His arms flailed for a second before clawing at your face and chest. Pain bloomed over your skin. If you were bleeding, you couldn’t feel it—not with all the rain pouring over you. You savagely tore the dagger out from his throat and drove it through his chest again and again and again. From your peripheral vision, you could see Brienne parry over and over, stab this way and that—and finally skewer her longsword straight through him until its pointy end protruded out his back.

You continued stabbing the man until he fell to the ground in a limp, bloodied heap. Even then you didn’t stop—straddling his waist and bringing the dagger down in furious strokes. It occurred to you that the other men would be upon Brienne a second too late—when you swung around, she was swarmed by the rest of them.

“Eddard!” she called, immediately halting you in your assault on the long-dead outlaw. It took you a moment to realize that she was addressing you, not wanting to call out your actual name. “Run! Run, now!”

Two of the outlaws were coming towards you.

“Brienne!” you yelled just as one of them sliced a cut through her shoulder she couldn’t properly roll away from. The rest of your protests caught in your throat when you watched one of them—one with wild eyes that had irises too small and teeth filed sharp—dive forward onto Brienne, sending her crashing to the ground. He bit a chunk of her face right off.

More men surrounded her. Punching, kicking, and slicing at your friend. No, you couldn’t see her anymore, where is she? Get up, Brienne, get up…

“GO!” you could hear her muffled voice scream. “NED, GO!”

No, no, no…

But if you stayed, you would be dead, as well. One of the outlaws made a grab for you, but you danced back. If not for the two slipping on the watery mud the very next second, you would have been dead.

With your heart beating in your throat, you turned on your heel and fled.

What was a kingsguard without his king? Jaime hadn’t been happy to be sent off to the Riverlands again—his place was beside Tommen. The boy-king with a golden crown sitting atop his golden curls. Cersei had insisted on him leaving, however. She’d grown more restless, more paranoid, more snappy since their father’s death. Lancel, his fool of a cousin, was now a religious fanatic who seemed to be intent on fasting until he passed from starvation, and had confessed his sins of lying with Cersei. Apparently he was not the only one. The Kettleblack brothers, the court fools, and hells, even serving girls, if word of mouth was to be trusted.

He felt a fool for ever loving her. And now she had kicked him out of the castle and away from his duty like one would a dirty mongrel.

Let her run the kingdom to ruin. See if I care.

Jaime wearily pulled at his face. That was the problem—he did care, and he knew he did. Cersei on the throne would mean little good for anybody. Not for his little brother, not for Brienne, not for you. He hoped you were safe, wherever you were.

The knight with one hand had had a long day, even though it was not yet nightfall. He had spoken to the Blackfish, Brynden Tully, in hopes of making some sort of negotiation. Perhaps goad him into a duel of single-combat and spare everyone of the grueling boredom that came with a slow siege. Expectedly, the wind-beaten lord took none of the bait and retreated back into his castle. Then, he had a short, but explosive council meeting with a few of the riverlords. They squabbled over each other like mindless birds over a piece of half-baked bread. Jaime couldn’t help but wonder what his father would do in his shoes, but was quick to relinquish such a thought. Tywin Lannister would never be in this position in the first place. And he was dead, which was perhaps the more important bit. After the council, he paid a visit to Ryman Frey, who was preoccupied fucking some whore who called herself a Queen. He had the big oaf dismissed for wasting so much time and resources, then named his son, Edwyn, command of the siege. He ordered young Edwyn to tell his great-grandsire, Walder Frey, to release all the prisoners for the crown. There was no undoing the Red Wedding, but he could, at the very least, attempt to rectify the troubles it left in its wake.

And now—now Jaime had one more person to visit.

It was his aunt, Genna Lannister, who had urged Jaime to do something about the sullen man with the noose loosely wrapped around his throat. In his state, he posed no danger physically. As a symbol, however, Edmure Tully, was a great danger to the cause. His cause? Jaime wasn’t entirely sure what he was fighting for anymore. It certainly didn’t feel like he was protecting Tommen from all these leagues away from him. His golden hand felt so very heavy strapped onto his stump—why did he still bother carrying it around?

Ilyn Payne made quick work of cutting Edmure Tully down from the wooden gallows he was perched upon. His hair, scraggly and red, hung in limp clumps over his dirtied, bloody face. Eyes deep blue, heavy with exhaustion. Jaime couldn’t help but think of Robb Stark at the sight of him. Gods, they looked alike.

Jaime had Edmure pulled through the tents and mass of Freys and other rivermen alike. One japed about a fish on a leash. A young man holding an instrument was amongst the throng of stares, and he ordered the singer to follow, and the lad obediently did. Onto a ferry they went, where the vessel would carry them to Tumblestone.

“Why?” Edmure has croaked, gripping weakly onto Jaime’s arm.

“Consider it a wedding gift,” Jaime replied.

The Tully eyed him warily. “A wedding gift?”

“I’ve heard your wife is pretty. She’d have to be, for the two of you to be abed whilst your sister and king were being murdered.” Jaime gave him a wry look.

“I never knew. There were musicians outside the bedchamber, I couldn’t…”

“I’m sure Lady Roslin made for a grand distraction, as well.”

At the crass insinuation, however truthful, Edmure frowned and pulled away from the knight. “They made her do it. She had little say in the matter. Roslin never wanted any of it to happen. She wept the entire night, but I thought…”

“You thought it was your rampant manhood that swayed her to tears? It’s a sight any woman would weep to, I’m sure.”

Edmure hung his head. “She is carrying my child.”

Your child or your death? Jaime thought, but tastefully decided not to say it out loud. Not yet. Instead, he asked, “Your king-nephew, Robb. Did he ever speak of his aunt before his end?”

Edmure lifted his gaze to the kingslayer at that. “The Bitter Wolf?” He thought for a moment, eyes distant. “No. She was hardly ever brought up. Robb didn’t like to speak of her. Not after her betrayal with your freedom. If he did speak of her, it would’ve been with Catelyn.”

“Who is now dead,” Jaime dryly said.

“Yes,” Edmured replied, letting his gaze drift down to the waters.

“Much help you are.”

“Where is she now? The Bitter Wolf.”

Jaime saw no point in lying to him. “I don’t know.”

The rest of the ferry trip was spent in silence.

Once at his pavilion, Jaime dismissed Ilyn, but kept the singer around. He ordered the servants there to boil bathwater for the honored guest, and had clean garments brought to him, along with warm food and sweet wine. Edmure still couldn’t quite comprehend why exactly Jaime Lannister was being so courteous, but couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of cleanliness. He clambered into the tub and started scrubbing the grime off his skin.

Jaime pulled up a chair to sit beside him. “After you’re clean and your belly is full, you will be escorted to Riverrun. What happens after that is up to you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Jaime. “Your uncle is old. Valiant, admittedly, but his best years are behind him. He has no wife to grieve for him, nor children to succeed him. A good death is the most the Blackfish can wish for. You, however, have many years remaining to you. You are the rightful heir to House Tully, not him. Your uncle serves you, by law. Riverrun’s fate is in your hands.”

Edmure blinked at him. “I don’t…”

“Understand, I presume? All that time with a rope around your neck must have strangled you of all your wits.” Jaime was growing impatient. “You must yield the castle. Yield, and nobody dies. The smallfolk will be allowed to leave in peace, or they may serve Lord Emmon and his lady-wife, my aunt. Ser Brynden will be allowed to take the black and join the Night’s Watch, with as many of the garrison that choose to join. You, as well. The Wall is in dire need of more hands, I’ve heard. If that is not to your tastes, you may go to Casterly Rock as my captive and enjoy all the comforts and courtesy that befits a hostage of your rank. Your wife may join you. If your sire is a boy, he will serve House Lannister as a squire. Once he comes of age, he is welcome to earn his knighthood, along with some lands I will bestow upon him. If Roslin bears you a daughter, she will be well dowered until she is old enough to wed a fitting lord. You may be granted parole, even, once the war is done. All this only if you yield the castle.”

The water steamed and sloshed in the tub as Edmure gingerly shifted about. “And if I will not yield?”

The servants and squires were all listening. The singer watched the two speak with wide eyes. No matter. Let them all hear it.

“You’ve seen our numbers, Edmure. The ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my cousin will bridge your moat and break your gate. Blood will spill. Hundreds will die, most being your own people. Your former bannermen will be the first wave of attackers, so you will start your day by killing fathers, brothers, and sons of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys, and there are plenty of them to spare. My westermen will be the third once your archers are exhausted of arrows and your knights so weary their blades will no longer lift from the ground. The castle will fall, and all inside will be put to the sword. Your livestock will be butchered. Your river will rot with corpses. Your godswood will fall. Your keeps and inventories will burn.” Jaime swallowed as he said the next words. It was true that he did not actually mean to do it, but a threat was a threat, and words are wind. “Your wife may have the child before any of this. You’ll want the babe, I presume. I can send him to you once he’s born. With a trebuchet.”

There came a lengthy silence. Edmure was still in the bath. All the servants and squires stared in horror.

Genna had told him earlier that he was not his father’s son. Tyrion was more Tywin’s than he could ever dream to be. Would her mind change if she had heard his speech? Was this what Tywin would have done?

��I could climb out of this tub and kill you right as you are, Kingslayer,” said Edmure, once he finally regained his wits about him.

“You could try,” Jaime calmly replied. The man made no move, so Jaime pushed himself back to his feet. “Enjoy your food. Singer, play for our guest while he eats. You know the song, I trust.”

“The one about rain? Yes, my lord, I know it.”

Edmure’s head swiveled between the singer and Jaime. “No. I don’t want him. Get him away from me.” The tub water sloshed some more.

“Why, it’s just a song, Lord Tully,” said Jaime, feigning innocence. “His voice couldn’t be that bad.”

The knight left his pavilion with the beginnings of Rains of Castamere playing faintly behind him.

The inns you came across the road were growing sparse. Many had been torched, ransacked, abandoned, or torn down. War left much of the Riverlands in ruins. Though you were none too happy about the state of the lands, pillaged, empty villages meant there would be fewer people loitering about, which was all the better for you.

You had managed to outrun the outlaws through the cover of the storm and ruins. It was only when the rain cleared away did you let yourself sit down and silently cry for Brienne. None deserved a fate like that. She was so undeniably good, more honorable than any other man you’ve ever met—and yet her face was torn apart and now she was dead.

Eventually, you made it out of the Riverlands and began to travel along the high road up to the Eyrie. It was the safest option to get there—the mountains were hardly on the table to walk through on your own, considering it was likely running amok with clansmen and thieves of all sorts. Even on the high road, the terrain was far more mountainous than the relatively-level grounds of the riverlands, and the incline noticeably steeper. You were traveling at a much slower pace than before, growing ragged and tired with shorter distances.

On the third day on the narrow pathway towards the Bloody Gate, you came across two men on a cart. Merchants, perhaps. You spied the stacked wine casks in the back of the cart, wondering if they were empty. Surely they must be, you thought. The Vale is not likely to make any wine of their own, not with mountains as sheer as theirs.

As their cart slowly rolled by, being pulled by braying donkeys, you overheard one of the men say, “A singer, it’s said!”

“A singer?” the other merchant echoed.

“Yes, a singer! They say he shoved Lady Arryn right off a mountain.”

Lady Arryn? Your ears perked up at that. Did they mean Lysa?

He glanced at his companion dubiously. “I heard she threw herself out the door once she confessed her love to him.”

“That’s nonsense, have you seen the way she grips that sickly whelp of hers? She would never throw herself to her death whilst little Robin lives.”

That confirmed it. Lysa is dead?

“If I had a son like that, I’d do the very same,” he grumbled.

“Wait! Good sers!” you exclaimed, turning back to hurry after the cart. The donkeys whined protest as they were pulled to a slow stop. They both glanced back at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Sers?” The one with mousy brown hair piped up with a laugh lodged in his throat. “We are no knights.”

“Apologies, it’s a habit now, I fear. I simply wanted to know—” You stopped in your tracks. “What were you saying about Lady Arryn?”

“She’s dead, she is,” the older of the two merchants told you. His nose was crooked in three different places. “Out the Moon Door—or off the mountain—she flew.”

You stared at them for a moment, trying to gauge whether they were being serious or not. Tall tales such as this were not uncommon amongst the lowborn. “And who now rules in her stead?”

“Little Lord Robin is young still—”

“And far too sickly!”

“—Until he comes of age, Lord Petyr Baelish is Lord of the Vale.”

Littlefinger. The realization dawned on you with great unease as you recalled his infatuation with your good-sister and his alliances with the crown. Lannister crowns. This was no good… no good at all…

“Thank you,” you told the merchants. “That’s good to know.”

“Where are you off to?” said the younger one.

“Runestone,” you lied. “I have family there.”

That seemed to appease them well enough. The one with brown hair waved farewell as he set the donkeys back into motion. You silently thanked the Gods for coming across decent men. You watched the cart of wine caskets descend down the path.

Now what? You could hardly stroll straight into the Vale now—not with the threat of Littlefinger handing you right back into Cersei’s mad hands. Should you even trust these rumors, though? Perhaps the septon at the Bloody Gate could clarify the situation for you. Surely he would tell you the truth. But getting there would take weeks, and you certainly didn’t have that sort of time. If word of Littlefinger’s rule in the Eyrie was true, you would be wasting even more time doubling back to escape. And if he heard of your presence in the Vale there was no telling what he would do… have you locked up and sent to Cersei in a cage?

But what about Sansa? Your heart shattered at the thought of leaving her alone at the Eyrie with Baelish. You had to be smart about this. Even if Sansa was in the Vale, and if you managed to get to her, and if you could whisk her out of the castle undetected, there was nowhere for the two of you to go that would be safe. Sansa wouldn’t last a fortnight out in the wilderness. Gods forbid, but perhaps it was best for her to stay in the Eyrie until you managed to find a stronghold that would keep her safe and protected.

Then again, she could just as likely be elsewhere in Westeros. Arya, too. Gods, you wished Brienne was with you. You could still see the blood spurting from her face, her screams cracking through the thunderous air.

Damn you, Jaime. You should have come with me, you said to yourself, knowing it was a foolish chain of thought. He wouldn’t be much help, anyway. All he did when we traveled together was complain and find new ways to irritate me.

You lingered on the path for a few more moments. Then, you frustratedly gestured to nobody, made a noise of displeasure, and turned to follow after the wine merchants.

Back to the Riverlands you went.

Riverrun was now taken, but at a great cost. Brynden the Blackfish had escaped. All thanks to Jaime’s carelessness and Edmure’s wit. This would never have happened if Tywin was around, Jaime couldn’t help but lament. It was no wonder his aunt Genna told him he was nothing like his father.

He was a fool, and his father knew it.

After a series of threats to both Edmure and his wife, the Tully lord managed to sullenly tell him what he knew of the Blackfish’s whereabouts. Which, to Jaime’s dismay, was very little.

“He swam away,” Edmure had told him. He had the very same blue eyes as Catelyn did, as well as Robb. The very same look of loathing in them, as well. There was a time when you looked at him like that. “The Water Gate’s portcullis was raised. Not enough to be noticed, only three feet or so. My uncle is a strong swimmer. He pulled himself beneath the spikes and I can only assume the current helped him from there.”

Damn it all.

Jaime had hounds and hunters on the prowl for the Blackfish, but he had little hope of catching him. And Edmure was to be heading west the following morning. Jaime was glad to be rid of him, though he worried that the man would slip through the guards he would be traveling with. The knight wasn’t too keen on hunting for the Tully a third time.

News of Ryman Frey’s death was brought to him by young Edwyn, the former’s son. Hanged, apparently, by a band of outlaws nearby Fairmarket, which was boldly close by. Thoros, or Dondarrion, or this mysterious Stoneheart woman. There was little to do about the matter now—Jaime ordered more guards posted and that was that.

That night, he practiced his shoddy, left-handed swordsmanship with the silent Ilyn Payne. He managed to last a grand total of three hours before giving into his cramping muscles’ begs for a rest. Afterwards, he poured the both of them cups full of Hoster Tully’s wine, and told Payne of how he used to kiss his sister when they were children. It was innocent at first, until it wasn’t. It felt nice being able to freely tell someone of everything knowing he couldn’t possibly relay such information to anybody else—Payne’s lack of a tongue ironically made Jaime chattier than ever.

“Tyrion once told me that whores oft avoid kissing their patrons. They’ll fuck you until your legs fall off, he said, but they keep their lips far from yours. It’s what separates work from real romance. I wonder if my sister ever kissed Kettleblack.” Jaime thought for a long moment. “I kissed the Bitter Wolf.”

Payne spared him no reaction.

“She was crying.” Jaime took a sip of wine, leaving out the fact that he had shed a tear or two. “Not because of the kiss, though. I hope not, at least. I’m not that bad of a kisser. Cersei never cried when we kissed.” Though, after he said that, he realized basing his assumptions around Cersei wasn’t a particularly smart thing to do. You and Cersei were many leagues apart from one another.

Payne drained his cup and gestured for Jaime to refill it.

As he did, Jaime went on. “If not for Tyrion’s reckless call for a trial by combat, I would have married her. The Bitter Wolf. We would be at Casterly Rock, and Tyrion would be at the Wall, and my father would still be alive, and my son would sit the Iron Throne, and all would be well. Or not. Cersei would make matters difficult. I doubt Y/N would be pleased about her predicament, either, come to think of it.”

He decided to change the subject back to Kettleblack when Payne’s silence stretched for a little while longer.

“It would be ill-fitting to slay mine own Sworn Brother. I should geld him and send him to the Wall—make up for Tyrion’s loss in some way. He’s been to the Wall, perhaps he had no taste for returning. It’s bloody cold there, I’ve heard. Of course, if I were to lay a hand on Osmund, there would be his brothers to consider, as well. Brothers can be dangerous. Aegon the Unworthy had Ser Terrence Toyne dismembered into pieces after finding him abed with his mistress, and forced her to watch. Toyne’s brothers tried to kill the King for it, though their plans were ultimately foiled by the Dragonknight. It’s written in the White Book. All of it, including every knightly deed and chivalrous act. It doesn’t tell me what to do with Cersei, though.”

Ilyn dragged a finger across his scarred throat.

“No,” Jaime said. “Tommen has already lost a brother, and the man he thinks is his father. If his mother were to die by my hand, he would hate me for it. I’m sure his sweet little wife would use that hatred to her benefit, as well.”

An ugly smile stretched at Ilyn’s thin lips. Jaime misliked the crude gleam in his eye.

“You talk too much,” Jaime told the mute.

The next night, Jaime found himself in Hoster Tully’s solar, looking over a map, wondering where the Blackfish could have gone. Many of his hunters had returned that morning, torn and bleeding. Direwolves, they had told him. A monstrous pack with a large she-wolf leading them. He wondered if that could have been the wolf that had mauled Joffrey what had felt like a lifetime ago.

In consequence, Jaime couldn’t help but wonder about you. Did the direwolves like you at all? He strained his mind to remember, but couldn’t seem to recall. It confused him when his chest constricted at the thought of forgetting you.

The war was practically won. Dragonstone was taken, and Storm’s End would be very soon. Stannis was welcome to the cold fruits of the Wall—if Roose Bolton hadn’t already destroyed him. And the Riverlands were successfully taken without Jaime ever having to raise a sword against neither Stark nor Tully. All in all, he was to be content.

But where did that place you? Once everything calmed down, what would happen to you? To Sansa, who surely deserved no harm that would come to her? She was just a young girl and you… you were far from the paragon of innocence, to be certain, but surely he could have Tommen pardon you for any of your crimes. Your crimes being allegiance to your own nephew, which Jaime could hardly fault you for.

Then again, Cersei was the problem. There was no chance she would sit idly by and let you live. Once he returned to King’s Landing, he had to find a way to whisk Tommen from her crutches before he would turn as corrupt as Joffrey. A new council full of abled men would be in order, as well.

More and more days passed. Jaime had the entire Tully garrison safely released from their keep, which displeased his Aunt Genna greatly, but Jaime was intent on letting them go. There was little harm they could do when they were scattered, weaponless, and hungry.

He dreamed of Cersei most nights. Of her golden hair, which then molded into golden hands. In his dreams, he always had two hands. Sometimes touching her, stroking her, holding her—dreamy memories of old. Sometimes he was strangling her, which he certainly had never done before.

Other nights he dreamed of Brienne. Her big, brutish face red with rage and exhaustion. She would swing Oathkeeper at his neck and he awoke just before his head rolled off his shoulders.

Some of the nights, however scarce they were, were far more precious. He dreamt of you, your hair freckled with snow, your eyes alight as you watched children play beneath you. He was in Winterfell, he realized, and with a shocked start looked back down at the children. His? No. They were your nieces and nephews, of course. Their faces were a blur, but their red hair was unmistakable. Save for the littlest girl and the bastard boy. Snow, Jaime remembered.

“We should have one,” your dream-self said to him, so serious that Jaime wondered if it was actually you standing there in front of him. “A little wolf-lion.”

Did Jaime want that? Would they have golden hair like his? Like Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen? But how could he have another child when he was never a father to the ones he already had? It felt wrong to even consider it. Dishonorable. Any romantic notion of a normal life with you was quickly dashed.

“I know we can’t,” you continued on before he could respond. “They’re all dead.” You gestured down to the Starklings. “And I’ll be joining them soon. But it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

“No—” he said, reaching out to you, but you had already faded into a blur.

Not all of his dreams with you were as bleak. Once he was abed with you, and another time he was bound by rope as you pointed an arrow at his forehead while he cackled maniacally.

A week after releasing the last of the garrison, Jaime woke up with a start after dreaming about a cloaked figure that looked eerily similar to Cersei, though he knew it wasn’t her. His mother spoke soft riddles, where Cersei would bark harsh insults. He couldn’t quite tell which he favored. He threw the covers off him with his stump.

The room was frigid. The hearth’s warmth had waned away and the windows had been left pushed open when he fell asleep. In the darkness, Jaime made his way to close the shutters, but his foot touched against a wetness on the ground. Blood had been his first thought, but blood would not be so cold. Rain, perhaps, but he would have heard the sound of pattering coming from outside.

Jaime drew the damp curtains apart, letting the moonlight stream through. Moonlight and snow. Down below, the yard was spotting with white, growing thicker and thicker in the minutes he watched. After a moment, he even began to see his breath misting in front of him.

Winter is here, he thought. Marching south, and our granaries are half empty.

He watched the snow fall, and stood there thinking of you. It irked him that you haunted his every thought. Nonetheless, he hoped you were warm, wherever you were. If he was as fanatically religious as his dear coz Lancel, he would have even prayed for your safety.

When morning dawned, Riverrun’s maester came to pay him a visit. He was pallid-faced and shaking.

“I know,” Jaime said, glancing at the bound letter in the old man’s quivering hands. “The Citadel has sent a white raven. Winter has come.”

“No, my lord,” said Maester Vyman. “The bird came from King’s Landing. Forgive me, I took the liberty to open it, I did not know it was meant for your eyes…”

Jaime took the letter and sat by the window to read. It was Qyburn’s hurried hand, but he knew it to be Cersei’s fevered words.

Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.

“Does my lord wish to answer?” asked Vyman, hovering by the door.

A snowflake landed on the letter. He was reminded of the snowflakes in your hair, in his dream. It was quick to melt, blurring the inked words and streaking down the paper.

Jaime rolled the paper back as tight as he could with his one hand, and handed it back to the maester. “No,” he said. “Put this in the fire.”

#jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister fanfiction #jaime lannister fluff #jaime lannister angst #jaime lannister fic #jaime lannister x you #jaime lannister x stark!reader #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #jaime lannister

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usedtobecooler · 2 years

Note

okay but what about virgin eddie being eager to please and the reader showing him the ropes and he’s just naturally so good at it :( i need it :(

oh anon what are you doing to me!

part one // part two // part three // part four

Pairing | Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), fingering f receiving, cumming in pants, corruption kink, reader really likes that eddie is a virgin, car sex, dubious content (i think? reader rubs up against him without consent?), dirty talk, lots of eddie being called pretty and handsome!!

Word Count | 2.8K

A/N | i really took this and ran with it, god damn!! virgin!eddie just does things to me the boy is SO corruptible. i need help, jesus and a nap after this.

You sort of knew he was at least inexperienced from the get go. You'd met working at the local record store and doing the late shifts together. You never missed the way he'd get so flustered any time you'd pay him a compliment.

'Eddie you look so nice today', 'wow Eddie you should wear your hair up more often it looks good', or when you'd greet him with a 'hey handsome' or 'hey pretty boy' and he'd stumble over his words and go beet red. You could tell he didn't really get chicks, it was obvious by the way that all he could talk about on Monday mornings were his D&D campaigns that he played with literal sophomores.

Twenty year olds who barely skim by to graduate after their third year repeat of senior year didn't get babes. He knew that, you knew that. But you were so attracted to him anyway, you got a sick thrill out of how easy it was to panic him and make him blush.

You gave Eddie a ride home from work every night, the trailer park was a fair few miles from the shop and his van went bust a few months prior so it was sat like an antique with grass growing around it just outside his front door. Wayne made a point of complaining about it a lot when you were in earshot.

'Either fix the damn thing or get the piece of crap towed away. I know we live in a trailer park but we sure as shit ain't tramps.'

So yeah. He wasn't necessarily a lady killer but he was just so pretty to look at and it made your stomach do funny jumps. He was so passionate too, he could talk for hours about his guitar or Lord of the Rings and he remembered every little detail. Soaked in everything you'd ever say and remember it for next time.

So sue you. You liked Eddie 'the freak' Munson who was just the sweetest, prettiest boy you'd ever met. And you needed to corrupt him.

You were subtle to begin with. When you'd shuffle by him in the store you'd make sure to get as close to him as possible as if the space was just too tight for anymore room. You'd lay a hand on his waist to brush past, lightly dance your fingers on his shoulder. 'Whoops, sorry' you'd say when your ass would brush past his dick, you'd pretend not to notice his flustered look and his stumbling words.

It all came to a head on one Saturday night as you were driving Eddie home. Dio's Holy Diver playing as background noise. You bonded over your love of the same bands too, you'd occasionally catch his eyes go all gooey when you'd talk about Metallica. You couldn't help but notice the ways his eyes would wander over your chest, where a band shirt would usually be sitting. The way he'd look at your legs in your fishnets and tight skirts. Stutter when you'd catch him and give him a wink.

But anyway, this particular Saturday you'd asked if he wanted to go to a fast food joint for some burgers before going home. You were, admittedly, starving after bailing on lunch in favour of helping Eddie with the new shipment of vinyl that had came in.

Eddie was a gentleman, offering to pay for the burgers since you'd been driving him home and who were you to refuse a free meal. He took them to go so you could drive to a place somewhere quiet and eat in silence.

You drove up to a spot you went to occasionally when you needed some time to sit and relax on your own. It was essentially an old junk yard full of shitty banger cars but nobody ever came out here and it was nice for watching the stars on a clear night.

You eat your burgers mostly in silence, both of you chomping down like you hadn't eaten in days. You're sat in a silky leopard print skirt, fishnets all torn around your inner thighs from them rubbing together all day. You sit really unladylike, legs open and comfortable.

You catch Eddie peaking again.

"Eddie, sweetheart, its only a pair of thighs." You say quietly, breaking the comfortable silence in favour of embarrassing him, "You see them everyday."

Eddie flusters a little, mouth still full of burger but he stops chewing and goes bright red, floundering for words, "S-sorry, uh, fuck I can't help but look. Your tights are all torn." He points out, motioning towards the large holes.

"Babe, you can't honestly tell me that's the reason you were looking," You say, balling up your fast food paper and tossing it in the back without looking, "you're trying to catch a glimpse of my princess parts."

A laugh bubbles out of your mouth at the use of those words, only using them to tease Eddie and his seemingly virginal ways. Worried if you call it a pussy he'll open the door and flee.

"Uh, eh, I wouldn't know much about that," Eddie cringes at his own words, he can't even look at you and it's just so endearing, "I can't say I've ever seen one."

You gawp a little bit. Taken aback by his confession.

"What do you mean, Eddie?" You ask, the teasing way in your voice only coming out just a smidge now, "You've never...?"

"God, don't make me say it, sweetheart," Eddie grimaces, tossing the last of his burger on the dashboard, hunger long forgotten at the embarrassing conversation, "I'm a twenty year old virgin. Laugh all you want, you should."

"I'm not gonna laugh," You say, all too quickly, "I just can't believe no girl, or guy maybe, has ever pinned you down and just ridden the shit out of you. You're really hot, Eddie. I mean, really hot."

Eddie's cheeks flush so dark they're almost purple and suddenly he's shuffling awkwardly in his seat next to you, like he's trying to cover himself from you.

"Hey pretty boy," Your voice is barely above a whisper now, you lean over and tug at his arm to get him to turn to you again, "I find that kinda... hot."

Eddie scoffs at that but lets you move his arm, your fingers beginning to dance down it, edging closer to his wrist, "Yeah, right. You don't have to lie to me I know it's ridiculous. Who the fuck is still a virgin at this age unless it's by choice?"

"Means you're all kinds of corruptible, handsome." You're not teasing anymore, bringing your hand further down to drag your fingers over his knuckles, "Makes me kinda hot and bothered."

"Oh, oh right," Eddie sucks in a breath and shudders, Jesus Christ this guy has no game and it's so fucking cute you're about to burst. Your cunt is twitching already just thinking about ruining him.

"Maybe I could show you the ropes? Y'know? How to touch a girl an' get her going?" You suggest, and you can see the goosebumps littering Eddie's arms, "Obviously so that when you find a girl you really like you can wow her."

A strangled little noise caught between a whimper and a sigh escapes Eddie's lips, his head thumps back against the headrest on his seat, displaying his gorgeous expanse of neck, the veins protruding in ways you can't ignore. Admittedly, he's already got you going without even having to touch you, and you know now that you're fucked.

"You gotta say yes or no, handsome. Just so I know you're into this and I'm not adding two plus two and getting five," Your voice is gentle as you finally grip hold of Eddie's wrist gently, dragging it over to rest on your inner thigh. His fingers flex on the skin, gripping ever so slightly, making you exhale a shaky little moan.

"I, uh, I would like to. But I'm gonna be shit, no point denying it," Eddie barks out a little sarcastic laugh, his brows furrowing together.

"Oh, honey," You giggle, "you're a guitar player. Those fingers already know what to do without me having to show them. I'll just tell you what to do, where to press, how fast I like it, how hard. Can you listen to me and do that?"

You chance a glance down at his crotch and can see the thick outline of his cock straining against the zipper of his jeans. Your mouth practically starts salivating, already eager to know just exactly how it looks. In your daydreams it was big, but looking now in the dim light at his concealed erection, it was obvious just how big it truly was.

You get up from your seat, shuffling a little so you can swing a leg over and perch yourself in Eddie's lap, gasping a little when you sink down just enough to rub your cunt along his hardness. Eddie bites down on his lip, a strangled, breathy moan leaving him.

"This okay?" You ask, just to make sure, and he's nodding so fast he could get whiplash. You take ahold of Eddie's right hand again, sliding it under your skirt to let his palm rest lightly over your pussy, letting him feel the heat and the damp patch that's formed in your cotton panties so quickly, "You've done this to me already and you haven't even touched me yet."

"Really? Shit," Eddie looks up at you with wide brown eyes, like a deer caught in headlights. He's so eager, letting his fingers run over your clothed folds, dipping a finger in between experimentally and smiling a little when you moan, "Can I, uh, can I move your panties out of the way?"

"Go for it, handsome. Get a good feel." You're back to smirking again, but not for long when Eddie hooks two fingers into the elastic of your panties and pull them to the side, exposing your puffy little cunt to the cold air. You gasp when two hot fingers rub between your lips, catching on your clit just barely, "Okay, can you find where my clit is?"

Eddie nods eagerly, running his fingers back up and pressing on that little hard bundle of nerves, his cock twitching at the feeling of your slick in between his fingers, "There, right?" He asks, just to make sure, but it's obvious by the way you bite your lip and whine.

"Yes there, fuck, Eddie if you do good for me this really isn't gonna last long," You admit, throwing your head back a little, "just rub me there in small circles, I like it fast."

Eddie's fingers start to almost expertly rub you in circular motions, his calloused fingertips catching and dragging your clit in the most delicious way. You turn into a whining mess quite quickly, especially when his free hand comes up to grab at the meat of your thigh to hold you in place.

"God, handsome, you're really good at this, uh," You choke on your own tongue when he speeds up a little, "wanna use that free hand and slip your fingers in me?"

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, glossy eyes dancing a little, "you sure?"

You nod excitedly, knees buckling a little when you feel his hand come up under your skirt, the pads of two fingers swirling around your entrance. You can't believe he's never done this before, you half expected him to not even know where your hole was never mind anything else. He looks into your eyes, raising his brows a little in a silent question and you nod again.

Eddie sinks his fingers in all the way to the hilt immediately and it makes you gasp, the breach unexpected but certainly not unpleasant. A nice stretch, the cold of his thick rings on the rim of your cunt making you shiver, "Pump them in and out of me and try to find a, Jesus, a rhythm that matches your fingers on my clit."

"Does this feel good?" Eddie asks, and it's clearly meant to be in earnest but it sends hot flushes all up your spine, his long fingers beginning to pump in and out of you slowly.

"God, yeah, yeah it does, Eddie." You whine, hips having a mind of their own and helping him with the process, helping his fingers sink in and out, "Crook them a lil, you'll find a soft spot, kinda feels like a sponge."

Eddie's brows furrow together, his fingers starting to falter both inside of you and on your clit as he tries to find a rhythm. It comes back to him quickly, both of his fingers sunk deep in your cunt crooking ever so slightly and finding your gspot almost immediately.

You choke out a moan that sounds wet, like you're about to cry, "Fuck, right there, handsome. Keep doing that, m'gonna cum."

His fingers are heavenly dancing inside of you. His assault on your clit is hard and fast and soon enough you're so wet that you can feel it running out of you, probably slicking Eddie's hand, wrist and arm with creamy slick, "How does it feel for you, Eddie?"

You're looking at each other and the lust is apparent in Eddie's face, the way his brown doe eyes are hazily watching you, "Feels so good. Your pussy feels like heaven on my fingers, you're so tight."

"Fuck, dirty talking already are we?" You almost squeal, a hot flush taking over your whole body as you chase your orgasm, "Love hearing dirty words coming from your mouth about me, keep going."

Eddie leans forward, hot mouth kissing and sucking wetly at your tits, your collarbones, your neck, "Y'like that? Like my fingers in you? You're whining like a little slut."

You fucking lose it at being called a slut, the mixture of his hands, his mouth and the obscene slicking sounds coming from your cunt have your legs buckling, your stomach twisting as you reach your high, cumming so hard that your pussy constricts and grips at Eddie's fingers tightly, a loud moan slipping from your mouth, hands automatically coming up to grip at his curls as your hips fuck back and forth, riding out your orgasm.

You're sensitive, shivering a little as Eddie rubs you through the last of it, so you rest a gentle hand on his wrist to let him know to stop. He stops immediately, long fingers sliding out of your cunt slowly as not to startle you.

"Was - was that okay?" He asks, looking at you again with those gorgeous, stupid doe eyes, the nervousness back and apparent in his voice. You're all orgasm stupid, barely able to keep your eyes open, so you lean forward and smash your lips onto his, greedily lapping your way into his mouth with your tongue as a way of confirming it was good.

Eddie's big hands come to encircle around your waist, deepening the kiss. So, okay, he's not the best kisser just yet but you can show him that too. It's sloppy and wet and everything you need right this second.

Your hips begin to rub along the length of Eddie's still painfully hard cock straining in his pants, you put down enough weight to grind perfectly against him, your sensitive clit loving the friction of the thick denim running against it.

"Wha-" Eddie pulls away from your lips, confusion on his face turning to ecstasy, a moan escaping him. Fuck, he's so loud it's making you flutter.

"Was gonna try an' get a hand on your cock but that can be for another day," You hum, hips still gliding back and forth roughly, "wanna see you cum in your pants, though."

"Fuck, sweetheart, you have no idea what you're - uh, god - what you're doing to me," Eddie's whimpering, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, matting down his fringe, "m'gonna cum, shit, shit, I'm cumming."

You watch every bit of it, the way the veins in his neck pop, his eyes squeezing shut as he vibrates against you, fingers squeezing you so hard it'll bruise. Fuck, he's so pretty you want to die, you can't believe you're the first person to make him cum and you didn't even have to lay a hand on him.

When Eddie eventually opens his eyes, the blush is back on his cheeks, as if he's mortified by what he just did, "Damn, twenty years old and I just came in my pants like a teenager."

"It was hot, pretty boy," you sigh, leaning down to peck his lips, "I'll get a hand on you soon though, I need that thick cock everywhere on me."

He whines at that, hips bucking up of their own accord, "Fuck, you dunno what you're doing to me, sweetheart."

"Corrupting you, Eds. And you're gonna love every fucking minute."

#ha fuck i cant stop imagining corrupting virgin!eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female!reader #stranger things #my fanfic #mine #smut #x reader #fem reader #stranger things imagine #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn smut #virgin!eddie #virgin!eddie munson

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letsgetbigger · 4 months

Text

Broken Leg

Part one

It was the third week of the university course, and the campus was buzzing with life and activity. Alex and David, dorm roommates, had hit it off from the start. They attended the same classes, shared meals in the cafeteria, and spent hours together in the gym. Alex was blond and he had an athletic body. What stood out the most about his physique was his perky butt. Despite his shyness, he enjoyed David's company. David, darker-haired and more muscular, exuded confidence and had a dominant presence that Alex found intoxicating. Both were very handsome but still virgins.

One afternoon, David returned from the library loaded with books and notes, only to find Alex in bed with a cast on his leg.

"What happened?" he asked, putting his things aside and approaching him.

Alex sighed, clearly annoyed.

"I had a stupid fall on the stairs. I broke my leg, and the doctor said I should avoid putting weight on it for an entire month."

David frowned.

"Wow. Does it hurt a lot?"

"Yes, but they gave me something for the pain. The worst part is I can't move well, and I don't know how I'll attend classes."

David sat on the edge of Alex's bed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry about that. I'll share my notes with you so you won't fall behind."

"Thanks."

"And forget about going to the cafeteria. I'll bring you takeout."

Alex looked at him with gratitude.

"What would I do without you?"

David stood up, his expression firm.

"I'm here to help. We'll get through this together."

With that promise, David set out to take care of Alex over the following weeks.

On his first day as a nurse, David woke up early to attend classes, leaving Alex sleeping in the room. He returned a few hours later with fast food in a bag from a campus restaurant.

"I brought you something to eat," he said, placing the bag on a tray over Alex's bed. "I'm heading to the cafeteria now and then to the gym. I'll fetch your dinner tonight."

"Thanks."

Hungry, Alex glanced at his food and quickly devoured it: a burger, fries, and a milkshake. He felt a bit guilty about consuming so many calories, but hunger and boredom made him ignore those thoughts.

Each day followed a similar pattern. And the evenings became their time together. David would go out for dinner, and they would settle in Alex's bed to watch movies and series on the laptop. They shared laughs and conversations. David often watched Alex eat, noticing small changes in his body. His toned muscles started to soften, and a small layer of fat accumulated around his waist and thighs. Alex also noticed the changes. Initially, he felt uncomfortable and embarrassed, though there was something intriguing about it all.

One night, while enjoying a movie together, Alex looked at David.

"I think I've gained some weight," he murmured.

David nodded.

"Yeah, I've noticed. But you're fine, Alex."

David's words made Alex blush and awakened something inside him.

As the days passed, both found themselves thinking more and more about Alex's weight gain. The night before removing the cast, they were in bed, watching a movie. David let his hand rest on Alex's abdomen, feeling the soft curve that had formed. Alex tensed at first but then relaxed, allowing David's hand to stay there.

"I didn't know I'd like this so much," Alex admitted quietly, looking at David with bright eyes.

David smiled, his thumb gently caressing Alex's skin.

"Me neither."

They shared a look filled with meaning. The sexual tension was palpable. David, with his hand still on Alex's soft abdomen, decided to take the first step. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Alex's. Alex responded to the kiss, first shyly and then with growing fervor. When they separated, they were breathing heavily.

"Your physical change turns me on, Alex," David confessed.

Alex gulped.

"It turns me on too," he admitted quietly. "And the fact that you're the one who brought me all that food, that you're partly responsible for my change... arouses me a lot."

Alex's words encouraged David. With a mischievous smile, he took off Alex's shirt, exposing his chest and belly. Alex did the same, undressing David with trembling but determined hands. Alex's pecs, once firm, showed a slight layer of fat, and his nipples were more prominent. His belly had lost definition and appeared softly rounded. David's hands moved down to Alex's pants, unbuttoning and pulling them down. Alex mimicked David. They were left in tight briefs, the fabric clearly outlining their painful hard-ons. With a mix of desire and curiosity, David slid Alex's briefs down, freeing his penis. He then revealed his own. They studied each other for a moment, absorbing the sight of one another, before David took the initiative.

"You look incredible," he murmured, his hand sliding over Alex's abdomen.

His voice was thick with desire. He began to work Alex's cock with slow, firm movements. Alex closed his eyes and let out a moan. Each stroke increased the pleasure.

"David," Alex gasped, "I'm going to... oh... God..."

David increased the pace of his hand while attending to his own erection with equal intensity.

"Let go, Alex," David whispered, his eyes locked on his roommate's.

With a final moan, Alex climaxed. He came in David's hand, who soon reached his own orgasm and collapsed beside him. They knew they had just crossed a line, one they weren't willing to step back from. Their lives had changed forever, and they were eager to explore what the future held.

The next morning, a Saturday, Alex left the doctor's office feeling relieved and excited. After weeks with a cast, he could finally move with more freedom. He had put on sweatpants, since all his jeans were too tight. Opening the dorm door, he found David waiting with a big smile and food temptingly spread out on one of the desks.

"Welcome back to freedom, Alex!" David exclaimed, stepping in for a hug. "I thought we should celebrate in style."

Alex smiled, feeling a special warmth inside.

"Thanks, David. Wow, that's a lot of food."

They sat on the bed, and David started serving him generous portions on a tray. Alex, excited, devoured each bite while David watched with satisfaction. As Alex ate, David couldn't help but comment on the changes in Alex's body.

"You've gained a lot, especially in your butt," he said with a naughty look. "It's gotten bigger and rounder. I love it."

Alex felt his cheeks blush, but couldn't deny he liked David's attention.

"Yeah, these sweatpants are one of the few things that fit," he admitted between bites.

"And not just in your butt," David continued, running his hand over Alex's abdomen. "Your belly has grown too."

After a good while of chewing, swallowing, and drinking, Alex was full and satisfied. But David had more plans for him.

"I want to give you something else, as a reward for eating everything," he said seductively.

David knelt in front of Alex and began to pull down his pants, exposing his tight briefs.

"Wow, these look so snug, Alex," he murmured before freeing Alex's semi-erection and starting to pleasure him with his mouth.

Alex's moans filled the room as David worked skillfully. When Alex reached orgasm, his newly gained fat jiggled. David got up, licking his lips, and leaned in to kiss Alex.

"I want to see you grow more. Would you like that?"

Alex, still feeling waves of pleasure, nodded. David smiled with satisfaction.

Part two

Another month passed, during which David dedicated himself to feeding Alex with great care. Every evening, after dinner at the cafeteria, he made sure his roommate’s belly was well filled. Alex eagerly devoured everything, enjoying both the junk food they bought from local restaurants and the numerous baked goods.

One Sunday afternoon, after a particularly heavy lunch, Alex found himself alone in front of the bathroom mirror. He was only wearing briefs, which now didn't really fit. He turned to see his reflection from different angles. His belly had grown noticeably, rounding out and projecting over the elastic waistband of his underwear. His thighs had thickened, and his love handles bulged out at the sides. But the most striking change was his butt: it had become even bigger and rounder, completely filling the back of his underwear and stretching the fabric almost to its limit. David entered the room at that moment with a box of donuts in hand. Seeing Alex admiring himself in the mirror, a smile of pride and desire appeared on his face.

“Look at you,” David said, approaching and running his hands over Alex’s hips to squeeze the fat with adoration. “You’re so fat...”

Alex shivered at David’s touch and his words.

“It’s your fault,” murmured with excitement.

David moved closer, pressing his body against Alex’s. “I know,” he whispered in his ear before offering him a donut. “Eat.”

Alex took the donut and bit into it, enjoying the sweet taste and the feeling of being fed. As Alex ate, David set the box on the sink, unbuttoned his pants, and lowered his underwear, revealing his immediate erection. Without taking his eyes off Alex’s reflection in the mirror, he slid his tight briefs down with difficulty, exposing his plump cheeks.

“This ass needs to be fucked,” David said, rubbing the sticky tip of his cock between the voluptuous cheeks.

As Alex continued to eat the donuts David gave him, David penetrated him very slowly, their moans mixing with the sounds of Alex chewing. Each thrust was a reminder of how much he had changed, how his body had transformed. David kept whispering in his ear how fat he was. Alex, completely surrendered, felt waves of pleasure through his body. His belly bounced slightly with each movement, and his hard nipples rubbed against the mirror. He finished the last donut just as he reached climax, his cries echoing in the bathroom. David kept moving, prolonging the pleasure for both of them, before finally coming. He stayed inside Alex for a few moments, breathing heavily.

“I want to see you even fatter,” he said.

Alex, still feeling David’s cock inside him and the donuts in his stomach, nodded. “Yes. Make me fatter.”

The next day, Alex and David decided they wouldn’t go to class. The desire to spend the day together enjoying their intimacy and Alex’s body transformation was too strong. David woke up early and went out to buy a large amount of food. He returned to the dorm with several bags full of fast food, cake, and sodas. Alex, still in bed, watched with curious and eager eyes as David placed the food on the desk. The aroma of burgers, fries, pizzas, and desserts made his stomach growl with hunger. David approached the bed with a slice of pizza in hand and held it in front of Alex’s lips.

“Today, we’re going to make sure that fat keeps piling on,” he said with a seductive smile.

Alex opened his mouth and bit into the pizza, tasting the greasy cheese. While Alex ate, David sat beside him, caressing his rounded belly. It wobbled when he shook it. On the other hand, his love handles were so irresistible that David couldn’t stop touching them either.

“You’re so fat, Alex. I love how all this jiggly fat moves,” David said in a low, desire-filled voice.

His hands roamed over every roll, every fold, admiring how Alex’s body had transformed. Alex, with his mouth full, could only moan with pleasure. David’s touch and words of admiration made him feel incredibly sexy. He continued devouring slice after slice, all of them offered by his roommate. David leaned in and began kissing Alex’s belly.

“Will you get even fatter for me?” he asked, looking up to meet Alex’s eyes.

“Yes,” Alex replied, his voice trembling with excitement.

David smiled and pulled down Alex’s pre-cum-soaked underwear, revealing his member. As he finished the pizza, David began to jerk him off slowly, his hands moving skillfully. Alex shivered with pleasure, feeling his body become increasingly sensitive to David’s fingers. His belly bounced slightly with each stroke, as did his nipples. David watched Alex with fascination. He couldn’t resist any longer. He turned Alex over and positioned himself behind him, lowering his own pants and underwear.

“I’m going to fuck you, Alex. And while I do, I want you to eat this burger,” he said, bringing it close to his mouth.

Alex grunted in agreement. David slid his cock into Alex with one hand and pushed the burger towards his mouth with the other, making him eat while he thrust. They quickly reached climax.

The first exams finally came to an end, and the accumulated stress from weeks of studying dissipated. One day, David had the idea to buy a scale. He returned to the dorm with a smile. Alex, who had spent the last few months enjoying the food David fed him, was lying in bed, engrossed in a series.

“Alex, come here,” David called with a mischievous grin on his lips.

Alex got up with some effort, his body clearly more voluminous and heavy. He approached David, who placed the scale in the center of the room.

“It’s time to see how much you’ve grown,” David said, his voice filled with anticipation.

Alex stepped on the scale, and they both watched as the numbers stabilized.

“209 pounds,” David read aloud. “Damn, you’ve gained 55 pounds.”

Alex looked at David and noticed his crotch. Without saying a word, he knelt in front of him, lowered his pants, and started sucking his cock. David moaned, his hands burying in Alex’s hair as he took him deeply into his mouth. The sight of a fatter Alex, dedicated to pleasuring him, drove him wild.

“Yes, Alex, keep going,” he said, trembling with pleasure.

Alex sucked him fervently, enjoying the power he had to arouse David. David’s cock was rock hard, and every moan he made encouraged Alex to continue. David couldn’t hold back any longer. He lifted Alex and pushed him onto the bed.

“What an ass,” David whispered, lowering his extremely tight briefs and giving him a smack.

He entered him slowly, savoring every second.

“You’ve gotten so fat for me...” he said as he began to move.

Alex moaned, feeling the pressure and pleasure mix in his body.

“Yes, David, and I love being like this for you,” he responded, moving in sync with David’s thrusts.

David increased the pace, his hands firmly gripping Alex’s love handles.

“You’re so sexy, so... obese,” he murmured.

They both reached orgasm simultaneously, their bodies shaking in unison. After coming, David collapsed on top of Alex, panting and sweaty. A few seconds later, he rolled off and lay next to him.

“David,” Alex began, turning to look him in the eyes, “I have something to confess. I want both of us to get fat. I’d like to see you with some extra pounds.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You’re into fat, it’s obvious. Don’t you wonder what it would feel like on your own body?”

“Well, I am curious, yes.”

“I think we should start this Christmas break. We’ll stay here on campus, and we can spend it eating and enjoying ourselves.”

David smiled, his face lighting up with the same excitement Alex felt.

“We can give it a go.”

They looked at each other with a mix of love and lust, knowing that the path they had chosen together would be full of pleasure and discoveries. And so, with a new determination, they prepared for the next chapter of their shared story, ready to see how far they could go.

Part three

Christmas vacation was coming to an end, and for Alex and David, those days had been a complete transformation. Not just in their bodies, but in their relationship. Ever since Alex had confessed his desire for both of them to gain weight together, they had dedicated every moment to fulfilling it. Every morning, they ordered huge breakfasts for delivery: piles of pancakes covered in butter and maple syrup, sausages, eggs, and calorie-rich milkshakes. At noon, they took turns going out for fast food, which consisted of burgers, pizzas, and huge servings of fries. And dinner was always a feast, with endless desserts. They ate, laughed, and shared caresses as their bodies expanded day by day.

The result of those weeks of indulgence was undeniable. Alex, who had started with a chubby body, had gained even more weight. His belly now spilled over the waistband of his pants, soft and rounded. His thighs rubbed against each other. And his naturally perky butt now projected with additional volume, making it very prominent. David, on the other hand, had begun his transformation with a more muscular body. But the constant intake of food and the temporary abandonment of the gym had added pounds in a distributed manner. His navel, deep as it was, got lost in a belly that was beginning to round out. His large nipples seemed more prominent under the soft fabric of his tight shirts, and his hips and thighs had acquired a layer of fat that gave him a more voluptuous contour. His butt, always firm, now had a softness that made it jiggle slightly when he moved.

It was a Sunday afternoon when they decided to face the results of their dedication. They looked at each other, their eyes full of complicity and desire, and headed to the scale. Alex went first.

“231 pounds,” David announced triumphantly. “You’ve gained another 22 pounds this vacation.”

Alex smiled, feeling pride and excitement. He stepped off the scale and gestured for David to take his place. David stepped up and waited for the numbers to stabilize.

“201 pounds,” read Alex. “You’ve gained almost 44 pounds. How is that possible?”

Without a word, they removed their underwear, which was uncomfortably tight around their waists and butts.

“I love how you look,” murmured David, approaching Alex and sliding a hand over his belly.

“And I love how you’ve gotten,” Alex responded, his hands running down David’s sides.

They celebrated with a kiss what they had created together and David led Alex to the bed.

“I’m going to give you all the pleasure you deserve,” David whispered. “Every pound you’ve gained is because of me, and that drives me crazy.”

His lips kissed Alex’s neck while his fingers played with his nipples. Alex moaned, his hands finding David’s nipples, pinching them gently and enjoying the reaction it provoked.

“And every pound you’ve gained is because of me,” Alex replied.

David smiled, embracing Alex, whose cock was hard and dripping.

“Let’s eat a bit more,” David suggested, reaching for a chocolate cake cut into generous slices that he had left on his desk the day before. “I want to watch you devour this while I fuck you.”

Alex turned around, his breath quickening with anticipation. As David slowly penetrated him, he began eating the slices, one after another, each bite filling him with both food and pleasure. His moans filled the room as David moved inside him, whispering, 'You’re so obese' and 'I love your fat ass.' Alex asked David to eat some cake too, and David obeyed. They finished the whole thing quickly. When they climaxed, David collapsed on Alex, both covered in crumbs.

“Let’s keep this up,” Alex murmured, his voice barely audible. “Let’s get even fatter.”

David nodded, kissing Alex’s forehead.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, waking Alex and David. They stretched in their beds, feeling the additional weight of their bodies after a holiday of indulgence. They looked at each other and laughed, knowing they would have to face the reality of their new sizes today.

“We should try on our school clothes before classes resume,” David said, getting out of bed. “I doubt anything other than a couple of big t-shirts and sweatpants will fit.”

Alex felt a mix of nervousness and excitement at the thought of how his clothes would fit his new curves. They started searching through their closets. David was the first to try on a shirt. It was one of his favorites, black, which used to fit him perfectly. Now, as he slid it over his torso, the fabric stretched noticeably over his belly, and his bulging nipples were more prominent than ever.

“It looks ridiculous on me,” David said, looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and then at Alex.

Alex couldn’t help but bite his lower lip at such a display of David’s weight gain.

“You look like a cow! Let me try,” he said, pulling out some stretchy jeans.

He pulled them up over his wide thighs with difficulty.

“Ugh! I can’t button them,” he commented, turning to see the fabric stretching dangerously over his hips.

David watched as Alex’s unbuttoned pants didn’t cover his butt, accentuating its new roundness.

“You’re the cow. Those seams are going to burst any moment,” David teased.

They continued trying on different clothes, laughing and making erotic comments. It was clear they needed new clothes.

They left their dorm dressed poorly and walked to the nearest store. Every step made their bodies move enticingly: their bellies jiggled slightly, and their butts swayed sensually.

They returned to their dorm having acquired several large pieces of clothing, including underwear, turned on by the sights in the changing rooms.

“Today, I realized how truly fat we are,” David said, touching Alex’s belly and feeling the softness under his fingers.

“I know,” Alex said, grabbing David’s tits.

The room filled with whispers, caresses, and moans, every movement a promise of pleasure.

The first day of classes after the holidays went by somewhat normally for Alex and David. They got up early, dressed in their new clothes, and attended classes. Everyone commented on how much weight they had gained over Christmas, but they just shrugged. After the morning classes, they headed to the cafeteria for lunch. Even though the food was healthy, they ate way too much.

They lay down in their beds back in their dorm room.

“Should we go back to the gym?” Alex asked, though without much conviction.

David looked at him and smiled.

“I’d rather order a pizza and keep enjoying this,” he said, slapping his own belly.

Alex laughed and nodded.

“That sounds better. But pizza? We just ate.”

They decided to play a little prank. They put on the smallest underwear they had, ones they hadn’t thrown away on purpose. The elastic waistband dug into their flesh and shamelessly showed their ass cracks.

“Let’s see the pizza guy's reaction,” David said, adjusting his underwear and admiring his reflection in the mirror.

Soon the doorbell rang. David opened the door, revealing his barely covered body in his briefs. Alex approached as well, both of them shamelessly showing off. The pizza guy stood there, mouth open, unable to avoid staring at their exposed roundness.

“Here... here’s your pizza,” he said in a trembling voice, handing over the boxes.

“Thanks,” Alex said, taking the pizza and turning around.

They burst into laughter as they closed the door.

“He looked at us like we were monsters!” David said.

“That was incredible!” Alex added.

They took off their underwear, sat on Alex’s bed, opened the box, and started devouring the pizza. Every bite was a mix of pleasure and lust.

“Look how fat you are,” David mumbled.

“And what about you? Fat pig,” Alex responded.

Desire grew between them, and as they continued chewing, they touched and masturbated each other. The insults about their obesity took them to new levels of excitement. They were trapped in a cycle of pleasure and fatness, and both knew there was no going back.

Final part

After months of classes, spring break, final exams, much indulgence, and endless sessions of pleasure, the school year was almost over. Alex and David woke up one morning feeling the weight of their bodies, the result of their voracious appetite and constant desire to gain weight.

David opened his eyes first, his hand brushing the expanse of his belly before getting out of bed. His body moved with noticeable effort. The lard on his abdomen spilled over in several folds. His large, dark nipples stood out on his soft chest, surrounded by a mass of flesh that jiggled with every movement. His arms, once firm and toned, were now thick and full. He looked down at his legs. His thighs had widened considerably, and his calves were filled with fat. The most unexpected change was his butt. His glutes had expanded enormously, each fat and rounded cheek bouncing slightly as he walked. His hips had also widened, giving him a more voluptuous shape.

“Alex, are you awake? Let’s weigh ourselves, fatso. It’s time,” David mumbled sleepily.

Alex got out of bed. His body wasn’t far behind in changes. His abs, once firm and defined, had disappeared under a thick layer of fat. His belly hung over the waistband of his XL briefs, creating a roundness that swayed with every movement. His nipples were also larger. As for his arms, they were surrounded by a layer of fat that gave them a soft appearance. His thighs had grown considerably, as had his calves, and his glutes, once firm and perky, were now even bigger and rounder than David’s, a tempting sight with every step he took.

They headed together to the scale. David stepped on first, watching the numbers rapidly rise until they stopped at 326 pounds.

“Holy crap! 326 pounds,” he said with a mix of amazement and excitement.

Then it was Alex’s turn. He stepped on the scale. The numbers climbed until they stopped at 313 pounds.

“313 pounds,” Alex said proudly and worriedly.

David approached Alex to caress his enormous butt, his hands sinking into the soft, overflowing flesh. He squeezed the cheeks lightly, making them jiggle like jelly. Alex's hands roamed David’s soft belly to feel every inch of fat. Then his fingers played with David’s salami-sized nipples, which instantly hardened. They looked at each other intensely. It had totally gotten out of hand. What would their families say when they saw them in the summer?

“David, I love you.”

“I love you too, Alex.”

#gay gainer #gaining weight on purpose #gainer stories #gaining kink #gaining fat #gainer fiction

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mypoisonedvine · 1 year

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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 (part one) | neil lewis x reader

title comes from the song you already know by bombay bicycle club

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you've been best friends with neil basically your entire life, and secretly in love with him almost as long. will you ever find the courage to tell him the truth?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 10k

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut, angst, pining/unrequited love - 18+ only

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | alcohol consumption, 'kid' as a petname, reader being kind of a femcel, jonathan being kind of mvp??

Neil had asked you to make sure the Thriller section was alphabetized; sometimes you thought he was just giving you tasks to look busy, but then again, you could probably use it since the employees of Gumshoe Video never looked very busy. You spent most of the day on the couches, watching whatever old bizarre gem Neil put on— sometimes you thought he only had employees other than himself so that he could pay people to sit here and watch this stuff with him.

But, the point is, you were sorting tapes. Because everyone needs their VHS thriller movies to be in perfect alphabetical order.

There actually was a customer in the store, for once, so it was better not to be on the couch anyhow. You hadn’t really noticed him when he came in, but as he wandered around the shelves, he seemed to drift towards you.

You tried to ignore him when he stopped right beside you— and kneeling to look at the lowest shelf, he towered over you— but when you stood up he got your attention.

"Need any help, sweetheart?" he asked, leaning in a little too close. "I'm kind of a movie buff."

He had a frat guy kind of look about him— polo, boat shoes, quaffed blonde hair. He could be good-looking, you thought, if he didn’t dress like a discount Abercrombie model… and if he didn’t hit on random women at the video store. "I actually work here," you corrected, barely looking up from your task. This is why we need uniforms instead of just dressing up to promote specials…

"Oh, really?" he smirked. "What made you wanna work in a place like this?"

"My best friend owns the place," you explained, "and I'm, you know… kind of a movie buff."

"Right," he said, not seeming convinced. "You like Kubrick?"

You rolled your eyes so hard you almost choked: Wow, what a deep cut. But you kept a straight-ish face when you looked at him. "Yeah, he's pretty good. Don't care for how he treats his actors, but he was certainly a visionary."

"What are your top five favorite Kubrick movies?"

You knew this guy was a tool, but you were still a bit shocked that he actually had the gall to quiz you. "Excuse me?" you scoffed incredulously.

"Can you even name five?" he asked, looking horribly proud of himself, and you straightened up as you glared at him.

"You're heterosexual, right?" you asked him, getting a confused nod. "Can you name five women you've made come?"

Neil watched the guy storm out, Lucien cringed a bit from behind the register— and Jonathan, not seeming as if he had been paying attention at all, kept laying across the couch and tossing a ball up in the air to catch and throw again.

“Okay, that’s gotta be the third this week,” Lucien groaned. “What are you saying to these guys?”

“Nothing worse than what they’re saying to me,” you assured with a frustrated, sarcastic smile.

“Listen, don’t get me wrong,” Neil began, “that guy totally deserved it— but maybe, you know… work on your demeanor with customers?”

“Wow,” you scoffed as you crossed your arms, “do you think I should smile more, too?”

“Wha— no!” Neil denied.

“Yes,” Lucien said at the same time, though he changed his answer with an awkward cough and mumble when you both shot him a look. “No, no— you’re good— you smile too much, even…”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Neil promised. “But I think half the guys that come here are just coming here to see you! Nobody even rents movies anymore.” He groaned a little, dropping his shoulders defeatedly. “Can’t you… tell them you’ll go out with them if they rent something?”

“What?!” you squeaked. “No!”

“Sales would double,” Lucien nodded.

“No,” you said again. “I’m not letting you pimp me out to sell tapes, Neil.”

“I just mean— maybe you don’t really go out with them,” he suggested. “Just… allude to the fact that you’re only interested in guys who…”

He trailed off as he searched around the shelves for a bit, smiling when he snagged a copy of The Maltese Falcon.

“— in guys who like The Maltese Falcon,” he grinned, “you know— for example. Then they rent it to impress you and we make a few bucks.”

“I am only interested in guys who like The Maltese Falcon,” you frowned, snatching the tape away and shoving it back on the shelf. “But that’s not the point.”

“Maybe you have to be more straightforward, you know,” Jonathan butted in as he sat up, “guys are dumb.”

“Yeah!” Neil agreed a little too easily.

“Just say something about how a massive VHS collection turns you on,” Lucien suggested, and you glared at him.

“Jesus!” you protested, but Neil tried to soothe you a bit.

"C'mon, kid, can't you just… flirt a little? Get our sales up?"

He'd started calling you kid since you two watched Casablanca together— which was especially stupid as you were both twelve at the time. At first you complained because he shouldn't be calling you kid with you both being kids; then you complained because neither of you were kids; and then you gave up. You still punched Lucien for trying to call you that once… you only barely let Neil get away with it anyways.

But you let Neil get away with a lot. It was a side effect of being secretly, but massively, in love with him.

It had been an issue since middle school— that was when the two of you became such good friends. Technically, you’d known each other since first grade (where you had shared your crayons, a true test of friendship at the time), and you’d sort of had a crush on him as early as elementary school (mainly because he was the only boy you could stand at the time), but it all kicked into high gear in seventh grade. That was when you became inseparable, when you got in trouble together, when you stayed up all night watching movies, when you went through all of life’s ups and downs together: you even went to prom together, platonically of course.

As for your feelings, you’d managed to hide them this long and still be his best friend, even when it sometimes felt like letting him stomp all over your heart without even trying. Honestly, the only thing harder than being in love with Neil was trying not to be in love with Neil: you adored his sense of humor, his generosity, his sensitivity— and he’d been there for you through the things you couldn’t have imagined surviving alone. That kinda stuff bonds you to somebody… and when that somebody has the most gorgeous eyes you’ve ever seen, it’s hard not to fall in love.

“Maybe I would flirt if I knew how,” you offered. “But I’m not exactly, you know, flirty.”

“How hard could it be?” Jonathan interjected. “Just, you know—”

You stared in quiet disbelief as Jonathan attempted to push his chest together with his arms. It wasn’t quite working, of course, and the rest of you watched on as he fumbled around trying to force some cleavage. “You look like an idiot,” you finally informed him after letting him do it for a minute.

“But is he wrong?” Lucien wondered.

“So, what, you guys really think that if I just went up to customers and—” you pushed your breasts together with your arms, accentuating them significantly in your tank top.

“That would work,” all three men asserted in unison before you could even finish.

“I fucking hate you guys,” you grumbled under your breath as you walked to the back, deciding to take your break in Neil’s office until these guys got their act together.

You never stayed gone for long, though— as idiotic as they could be, your friends were certainly charming. They won you back with a promise to let you pick what tape to put on, and the four of you ended up laying on the couches watching Roman Holiday.

When the movie was almost over, you rested your head on Neil’s shoulder; you guys did stuff like that, it was normal for you, but it always made your heart skip anyways.

This time, you were all hanging out at Jonathan’s primary workplace: the club. In fact, it was a much larger crowd than just you and the guys— plenty of your local friends and loyal supporters of Gumshoe Video, all sitting around a big table while someone’s mediocre cover band took the stage.

"So, uh, me and Denise broke up," Neil said suddenly, going back in for another swig of beer right after.

The others offered their mild shock and half-hearted condolences, but you knew it was going to happen— he'd told you before he did it. You tried to tell him that paying off a waiter to spill water on her was a weird way to prove what he already knew, but you couldn't disagree with his conclusion. She was definitely difficult, and shockingly judgemental for someone who managed to date a video store owner for this long.

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine,” he promised, “I don’t think anybody’s too surprised, right?”

There was an awkward hesitation among the group as they wondered if they should lie, or just fess up now that he was obviously accurate. You broke the silence to suggest someone go get another round of drinks for the table, and even though that was pretty much a one-man job, nearly everyone agreed and quickly shuffled off— leaving just you, Neil, and Lucien.

“I guess tonight’s your chance to meet somebody new, don’t you think?” Lucien suggested. “Get over Denise, you know.”

“I think I’m already over Denise,” Neil decided.

“And if I told you that girl back there,” Lucien returned, pointing with the hand still holding his drink, “has been looking over here at you for the past ten minutes?”

You glanced where Lucien was pointing as well, seeing a girl in a denim mini skirt and massive hoop earrings settle her eyes on Neil before looking away quickly with a lip-gloss lacquered smile.

“I think I need some help getting over Denise,” Neil agreed suddenly, patting Lucien on the back before he left the table.

You wanted to pout, but you were used to this— he was good-looking, he got a lot of attention from women in places like this… it usually didn’t work out for him, though. Certainly not never, probably more often than most guys, but… definitely not every time.

You tried not to look over too much, you didn’t want to get caught spying or, even worse, looking a little jealous— but you noticed that every time you looked over at them, Neil was talking. That was his problem, see: he never fucking shuts up. Guys, girls, anybody who will listen— if you admit to not knowing about his favorite fifty-year-old spaghetti western or the most recent pre-Code horror comedy he watched, he’ll gladly blab to you about it for ages. The first time you glanced at them, you saw her giving him doe eyes, laughing at something he said— and the last time, those eyes had glazed over and her laugh seemed more nervous and confused; you smirked to yourself. He’s still Neil…

“So, um,” you struck up a conversation with Lucien, “what about you? Anybody here catching your eye?”

“That’s actually the perfect descriptor of my type,” he replied. “Anybody.”

You snorted. “Then you should go, you know, talk to anybody?”

He shrugged and frowned a bit, and it was a simple movement but you understood completely.

The band started to play a new song, something upbeat and energetic, and you smiled. “Wanna dance with me?”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m drunk enough for that—” Lucien began to protest, but a minute later you were dragging him up by the stage. Neither of you were actually any good at dancing, mainly you were just kind of jumping and flailing around together, but it was fun and that was the point.

Eventually, more of your friends wandered in to join you; when the song ended, everyone clapped and cheered, the band bowing in gratitude. You only stole one more look over at Neil and his conversation partner, watching her interrupt his rant with a hand on his shoulder: your throat felt a little dry. You just hoped what she was saying was more like hey, my friends are leaving, I’ve gotta go and not hey, wanna come over to my place so you can keep explaining German expressionism to me?

Your heart dropped when he reached for her— what if he kissed her now? What if he wrapped her up under his arm and they walked out together? What if you had to spend the whole night thinking about him having sex with her?

“Hey, we should ask them if they know any Strokes songs!” Lucien suggested, tugging on your arm to get your attention, but your mind was elsewhere.

“Uh huh, yeah,” you mumbled blankly, and he frowned at you.

“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to look for what you were seeing; but Neil wasn’t reaching for her, he was lifting his hand to wave goodbye as she left. You beamed, even though you did feel a little bad when you saw Neil’s shoulders sink— it’s not that you wanted him to be alone forever, you were just relieved that you might have a few more moments to breathe before he got with somebody again.

“Nothing, sorry,” you answered Lucien, giving him your attention again. “What’d you say?”

“We should ask the band if they—”

And immediately, Lucien lost your focus as you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at Neil again— he was already looking at you, seeing you all on the dancefloor. You waved for him to join you, and he smiled as he made his way towards the stage. A new song began, even louder than the last, and you could blame that for not hearing Lucien’s question for the second time in a row.

Although he danced with you all for a few moments, Neil draped his arms over your and Lucien’s shoulders, nearly yelling to be heard over the music.

“You guys are coming over tonight for a movie, right?” he presumed. “Jonathan’s working ‘til late so he’s out, but—”

“Sorry, I’ve gotta be up early,” Lucien explained, “my brother and his wife are visiting, remember? We’re getting brunch and—”

“Whatever, party pooper,” Neil frowned, before suddenly smiling at you. “Guess it’s just me and you, huh, kid?”

You tried not to sigh too noticeably through your smile. “Yeah, me and you…” you agreed.

As you groggily blinked your eyes open, you found Neil staring at you, his face uncomfortably close to yours, with a big smile. “Mornin’, kid,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

You yelped and nearly jumped out of your skin while he laughed. “Jesus Christ, Neil!” you shouted, kicking off the blanket on you— and then you began to process where you were and why. “God,” you groaned as you held your head in your hands, while Neil kept laughing at you, “did I fall asleep on the couch again?”

It was sort of a rhetorical question— obviously you had, it would be much stranger if you woke up on the video store couch without having fallen asleep there. “Yeah,” he said, standing up and sighing a bit, “but you didn’t miss that much of the movie.”

“What happened at the end?” you asked, stretching your legs and snatching the blanket off the floor to fold up; Neil must have put it on you after you dozed off.

“No, we can finish it later,” he decided, walking up to the register, and you groaned.

“Seriously? Not even falling asleep gets me out of finishing The Man Who Laughs?”

He smiled a little as he started prepping the store for open. “Nope,” he said proudly, popping his lips on the p sound.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it,” you assured, getting up and trying to ignore the soreness in your back from sleeping on a ratty old sofa all night— you remembered helping Neil carry this thing from where he found it on the side of the road. Considering you knew where it came from, it was a wonder you ever sat on it, let alone slept on it… but this happened relatively often. Sometimes it almost felt like you slept easier here or at Neil’s apartment than your own.

You stood up and stretched your arms, sparing a glance over at him.

“Can I run home and change?” you asked, and he frowned.

“We open in ten minutes,” he noticed, “you won’t be back in time.”

“Yes, and who will serve the clamoring crowds that await our open outside?” you rolled your eyes, gesturing out the storefront to the abandoned sidewalk. “You can handle it on your own.”

“Just go to my place,” he shrugged, “it’s closer. And I think you left some jeans there anyway.”

Right— you’d borrowed a pair of his sweats to get comfy for a movie night, and forgot to take the jeans back when you left. You yourself had one of Neil’s short-sleeve button-ups at your place, when you’d both changed there for a costume party, but you let him believe it was just lost… it was too late to tell him now that you had it, ‘cause then he might ask why you kept it so long and then he might, somehow, deduce that you had been cuddling it at night from time to time…

“Right, okay,” you nodded, “but I still need a shirt.”

“Just borrow one of mine,” he said, like it was no big deal at all and didn’t make your heart skip.

For a second you wondered if you should protest— if he was still dating Denise, you probably would’ve said something. But you decided not to say anything, in case he changed his mind; you nearly bolted out of the store and down the two blocks to his apartment.

Your jeans were on the dresser, draped haphazardly in their same just-peeled-off shape you must have left them in last week. You grumbled to yourself a little about how he could’ve folded them for you so they wouldn’t be wrinkled… but then again, all his jeans were wrinkled, so he clearly didn’t know any better.

And now the fun part: picking a shirt. You smiled to yourself as you opened the drawer, perusing through t-shirts with old movie posters and semi-witty slogans… cute, sure, but those were pretty similar to what you already wore.

But the button-downs? Those were quintessential Neil, and you'd be wasting an opportunity if you didn't put one of those on.

You felt a little giddy as you opened the next drawer down and found them all folded. The first one you saw had light blue and white stripes, so you snatched it up and slipped it on.

The fit was definitely off, but you let yourself indulge in a fantasy for a moment: waking up here, in Neil's bed… in Neil's arms. You'd slip on his shirt while you went to find some breakfast, and he'd hum something about how pretty you look in his clothes, and you'd end up tangled in the sheets again not too much later.

Sighing to yourself, you buttoned the last button, leaving the two at the top undone so you didn't look too formal, and headed back to the store for opening.

Neil stared at you for a second when you walked in— at the shirt, specifically. You waited for him to say something, but he didn't. "What, should I not wear this one?" you asked, looking down at it as well, and he shook his head.

"No, no, it's fine— sorry," he mumbled, "just start sorting out last night's returns, please."

You definitely got a much stronger reaction from Jonathan, as soon as he walked in the door.

(Why was he here when he wasn't even working today? Who knows— he was just always here somehow.)

“Hey! You look even more like a lesbian than usual,” Jonathan greeted with a peppy fake-smile as he approached you, and you smirked a bit.

“Don’t blame me, it’s his shirt,” you nodded towards Neil.

“See, I told you you dress like a— wait,” Jonathan stopped mid-insult, looking back at you, then at Neil again, then at you; he pointed his fingers at each of you, crossing them back and forth. “Did… you two…?”

You narrowed your eyes, waiting for him to explain what he meant.

“Did you guys hook up?!” Jonathan accused, wide-eyed.

You felt your face getting warm, and you stammered out your denial; Neil started waving his hands in disagreement as well, but Jonathan was already on a roll.

“Oh my god!” he yelped. “The one time I miss movie night here and it gets freaky! Should’ve known better than to leave you two lovebirds alone—”

“Jonathan, we didn’t—” you choked.

“It’s not— it wasn’t—” Neil butted in. “She just borrowed my shirt! ‘Cause she— because—”

“I mean, we’ve kinda all been waiting for this to happen— but I never really thought it would,” Jonathan steamrolled along. “Well, yeah, I guess I thought it would, I just—”

“Wait wait wait, what?” Neil shook his head, stepping up closer to the two of you. “What does that mean?”

Finally, he seemed to get Jonathan’s attention, who began to nervously backtrack as both of you stared at him. “W-well, I just mean—” he started.

“And who’s ‘we all’?” Neil noticed. “This isn’t just you, thinking this?”

“I… I mean,” Jonathan scoffed, “you know— just, just some people… we thought that maybe… that since you two are so close, that you might—”

“Wow,” Neil chuckled, crossing his arms in disappointment. “You know, that’s so reductive. For a bunch of progressive, free-thinking hipsters—” he waved his hands as he said it in a mocking way— “you’re really just, like… like… you know, not! ‘Cause apparently men and women can’t really be friends?”

“No, come on, not like that,” Jonathan denied, “of course we can—”

“I mean, you’re her friend, you’re both single,” Neil noticed, gesturing between the two of you, “why don’t you two, just, you know… hook up!”

You cringed a little as Jonathan tugged at his collar nervously. “Well, I—”

“Come on, why not?” Neil went on, smiling at the suggestion even though he was clearly unamused. “I mean, she’s nice, she’s pretty, she’s got a vagina— why don’t you hit on her?”

“Hey, come on, Neil,” Jonathan sighed, “I’m well aware she’s got a vagina—”

“So what’s the problem?” Neil insisted. “Clearly you can’t just be friends with someone with a vagina—”

“I would really prefer if we didn’t talk about my vagina anymore,” you mumbled nervously.

“— how come you never hit on her, Jonny?” Neil pressed, backing him into a corner metaphorically— but also somewhat literally, he was leaning in and Jonathan was pressing his back more and more against the shelves.

“You really want me to answer that?” Jonathan replied, almost threatening. That made you furrow your brow a bit. It seemed like a rhetorical question, Neil trying to prove a point, but you didn’t expect Jonathan to have a literal answer.

“Yeah, sure,” Neil decided, “enlighten us.”

Neil glanced at you, like you were just as gung-ho about this interrogation, but you were feeling a little sick. You understood the spirit of Neil’s argument— and technically, you agreed with him— but it still stung to see him so incensed at the suggestion of you two together. You were trying not to take it personally, it wasn’t like he was disgusted by you or anything… he even said just now that you were pretty, and he’d told you that before, but… it still bothered you a little, for reasons you couldn’t quite describe and that you were sure were illogical.

“I never hit on her,” Jonathan answered, lowering his voice, “because I… I figured it would piss you off.”

That seemed to surprise you both, maybe for different reasons; you bit your lip to suppress a smile. Did Jonathan really think Neil was that protective over you? “Why would it piss me off?” Neil wondered, but he sounded a little defensive— defensive in a caught-red-handed sort of way.

“I… I don’t know,” Jonathan shrugged. “That’s just the vibe I got, okay? That she’s sorta… off-limits.”

Neil hesitated. “Well… she’s not,” he decided. “You’re grown-ups. Whatever you wanna do is none of my business— as long as you’re not being, you know, creepy or an asshole.”

“Of course,” Jonathan agreed, most of the tension settling as Neil backed up a step.

“Okay, well, ask her out then,” Neil instructed firmly.

“I didn’t say I wanted to!” Jonathan sputtered.

“Neil, Jesus!” you complained simultaneously, and he seemed to relent, shrugging as he walked back to the register.

“Sorry, sorry,” he dismissed, “just letting you know it’s… fine with me!”

You rolled your eyes a bit and looked back at Jonathan. “Sorry,” you offered him quietly, “he’s… I don’t know. He gets weird about that.”

“Oh really?” Jonathan scoffed sarcastically. “Didn’t notice.”

“The real reason you shouldn’t be hitting on me is because we’re coworkers, by the way,” you reminded him.

“Hey, I only work here part-time,” Jonathan noticed, “so I think that means it’s cool as long as we only go out part-time.”

You snorted, but he seemed to get nervous.

“You know I’m kidding, right?” he added quickly, and you nodded with a laugh.

"You know, I was thinking— we don't have many events at the store these days,” Neil mumbled around a bite of pretzel, watching you play your turn at Skee Ball. Normally he would put coins in the machine beside yours and try to beat your score, but the other machine was out of order and you decided to take a relay race approach. “What if we did, like, I don’t know… maybe a double feature for a couple bucks?”

“Neil, we show movies every night,” you sighed, “and we invite everybody, and ninety-nine percent of the time it’s just some combination of me, you, Jonathan, and Lucien.”

“Yeah, but this time we could do movies that more people like— a little easier to watch,” he suggested, “something that would get new people in the store.”

“New people don’t wanna sit on a musty old couch with strangers,” you reminded him, and he nodded as he chewed and swallowed his next bite.

“You’re right,” he agreed, holding the pretzel out towards you. “Wanna bite?”

You were trying to get through your skee balls pretty quick, so you just leaned your head over and chomped down on the end of one of the twists while he held it for you. You hummed in appreciation— it was pretty good, fresher than the last one you guys got here.

Visits to the arcade used to be your thing, back in high school (aside from watching movies, but that was a given). Then you slowed down with the trips, feeling a little old and out of place surrounded by kids— but the problem was, this place wasn’t filled with kids anymore. It hadn’t changed much at all since you were both in high school, and that was exactly the issue: it was old, run-down, a bit grimey… kids weren’t coming to arcades anymore anyways, they were all on the Internet apparently. So, while you and Neil sort of appreciated having the place to yourself, it also broke your heart knowing your old haunt couldn’t hold itself together forever… you two visited not just to recapture some old childhood joys, but to try to do your part to keep the business afloat.

You pretended to like being here— because you really did want to support the place, and Neil wanted to keep coming back— but it actually made you pretty fucking sad. Surrounded by all the neon, the noisy pinball machines, the Dig Dug machine that had a fifty-fifty chance of stealing your quarters, the photobooth (you still had some strips from that thing pinned to your wall, some so old that they’d faded from the sunlight that came in your window each day); it all felt sort of eerie now. You would’ve never known all those years ago how little this place would change, even though you never expected it to— you would’ve never known how little anything would change. Neil was still by your side, but still so far away… if you could talk to that fourteen-year-old girl now, you would warn her that no amount of time spent running around this place and playing Street Fighter was going to make Neil love her, or you.

But here you were anyways. “Woo!” you cheered when your final score came through: 50,765. “Beat that!”

Neil set the pretzel down on the bar-height table (on a pile of napkins, don’t worry, neither of you trusted those tables that much) and brushed the salt off his hands with a scoff. “Oh please, I can beat that with my eyes closed,” he assured as you crossed your arms.

As he put his quarters in and stepped up to the game, you smiled wide. “Alright, if you say so.”

You came up behind him and covered his eyes with your hands, making him jump and then laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Just keeping you honest,” you giggled, holding on tight even when he tried to move his head around so that he could see.

He did his best, usually struggling to even find where the balls were coming down more than rolling them decently— but after the first three went in the gutter without even scoring, you knew he didn’t stand a chance. He did score a few times, but when the buzzer went off and he lifted your hands from his eyes, he laughed at the pitiful 1,150 on the board.

“Ohh, that’s too bad,” you winced, “guess you’re just full of it.”

Still holding your hands away from his face, he spun around and twirled under your arms like you were dancing for a moment; it ended with him face-to-face with you, swinging your hands back and forth a bit to force you to twist with him slightly. “Wanna play Street Fighter next?” he suggested quickly. “I know I can beat you at that.”

The giddy joy of the moment dropped and shattered; if you thought about it too much, you probably could’ve cried right then. As pathetic, yet oddly aesthetically pleasing, as it would be to cry in an arcade, you swallowed down the emotion and smiled back at him. “Yeah, okay,” you agreed.

You’d been a little antsy all day— Neil seemed to notice, asking a couple times if you were okay, but you just nodded and shrugged it off. He had a sense for when you were lying; but that’s the thing, you weren’t lying, really. You just weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t sure if you should say anything. And yet, you felt a little guilty not telling him everything that was going on with you— not just guilty, but plain weird. Because you usually did tell him everything— except, you know, the thing— but you didn’t know if you should talk about this. Not that you couldn’t— but should you?

So you were sort of gnawing on your lip most of the day, keeping yourself busy with tallying late fees behind the desk, trying to keep conversation light and meaningless: thankfully, in that regard, Jonathan and Lucien made it pretty easy.

“Okay: fuck, marry, kill,” Jonathan began, “Dracula, the Mummy, and the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”

“Dude, I can’t answer that,” Lucien refused.

“Okay, then Neil, what would you do?” Jonathan changed his target.

“Um, well,” Neil pondered, “I think I’d have to kill Dracula— spare the world from that evil, you know— and I guess I’d marry the Mummy—”

“Freud would like to have a word,” Lucien butted in.

“And I’d fuck the Creature from the Black Lagoon,” he concluded, “out of morbid curiosity.”

You snorted, but didn’t look up from your clipboard. “You come up with one that Lucien will do,” Jonathan challenged Neil.

“Alright, uhh, let’s see…” Neil stalled as he thought, looking up at the ceiling and stroking his chin dramatically. “Fuck, marry, kill: Sarah Connor, Ripley, and Trinity from Matrix.”

“Okay, see, that’s a real challenge,” Lucien affirmed. “If I marry Trinity, do I have to live in the post-apocalyptic wasteland or can she live here?”

“You’d have to live in the Matrix,” Jonathan announced, like it was obvious.

“Hm,” Lucien pondered, “do I know it’s a false reality? Does she know?”

“She knows, you don’t,” Neil decided.

“Is she gonna tell me? What if she has another guy on the side in the real world?”

“Okay, you’re overthinking this,” Jonathan groaned.

“And is this the Sarah Connor that’s already had John? ‘Cause if not, I can’t kill her, or the human revolution stands no chance— but if she has him, I can’t marry her, ‘cause I’m not ready to be a stepfather—”

“You’re useless,” Jonathan informed him flatly.

“Well, it’s easy then,” you offered, still tallying fees on the printed table. “You fuck Connor, marry Ripley and kill Trinity.”

“Yeah, I guess that works,” Lucien shrugged.

“If you’re so good at this game, you should play,” Jonathan decided. You looked up from your work for once, finding Lucien looking excited at the idea and Neil looking a little nervous but intrigued.

“I’ve got one for you,” Lucien decided, looking concerningly smug. “Fuck, marry, kill: the three of us.”

Jonathan let out a giddy ‘ooh’ and Neil raised his eyebrows. “Oh— I don’t know— that’s too weird,” you shook your head, “it’s different, you’re real—”

“Wait, wait,” Neil interrupted, “now I wanna know.”

You froze for a second, wondering if you should double down on not participating, or if you should tell him the first thing that popped in your head: am I allowed to do all three to you?

Instead, you set the clipboard down and crossed your legs, and the men seemed to straighten up as they prepared for your answer. “Alright,” you said, looking at them for a lingering moment before sighing. “I think I’d fuck Jonathan, and then kill myself.”

“Yes,” Jonathan hissed, shaking his fist triumphantly.

“Dude, really?” Lucien snapped at him. “That didn’t sound like a compliment to me.”

“Don’t care, I stopped listening after ‘fuck Jonathan’,” he replied. “Alright, Neil, you’re gonna have to make good on that ‘she’s not off-limits’ promise you made to me—”

But Neil wasn’t listening to Jonathan, he was still looking at you. “Wait— you wouldn’t marry me?” Neil interrupted, putting a hand on the desk and leaning in a bit closer— he looked half-amused and half-offended, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Um…” you started to wonder how to defend yourself from that. What did he expect you to say? Yes, I’d marry you, I’ve actually been planning our wedding since junior year.

“Hold on,” Lucien stopped you, “if she fucks you and marries you, that means I’m getting killed!”

“Yeah, so?” Jonathan smirked.

“What, you don’t think I’m marriage material?” Neil laughed… but he didn’t seem like he was really joking, per se. He didn’t seem serious either, of course, but you decided to take his question seriously since he’d dared to ask it twice.

“Well,” you mumbled, “no. I don’t.”

Then he seemed a bit more serious, adjusting his posture a bit. “Why not?”

“I mean… you’re my best friend,” you reminded him, “but… you’re not reliable.”

He nodded, pursing his lips together.

“You’re not ready for marriage,” you continued. “I mean, I think you’re just as sure of that as I am.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And honestly? You’re a great friend and all, but… if you were my husband, I don’t think I could really… you know, trust you…”

The silence seemed a little heavy— all the men were sort of frozen for a second, you wondered if you should wave your arm around to make sure time hadn’t stopped. But they did move, Neil first in fact, as he stopped leaning on the counter and nodded a little.

“I’m just surprised that you didn’t fuck Dracula,” Jonathan said to Neil in an attempt to cut the tension, “considering your massive man-crush on Bela Lugosi.”

“Hey, that reminds me, tonight’s movie is Bela Lugosi Meets a Brooklyn Gorilla,” Neil announced, apparently shaking off whatever odd energy he’d picked up just before, “you in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jonathan nodded, “should I bring drinks?”

“Uhh, yeah, why not?” Neil agreed.

“Is a six-pack enough?”

"Uh, maybe…” Neil considered, turning over his shoulder to look at you. “Kid, how many beers are you gonna want?”

You swallowed nervously. “Um, I… well, I’m not coming. I’ve got a date, actually.”

Of course it was just assumed that you would be there; you felt a little guilty admitting you wouldn’t, to the point that you almost considered just skipping said date and staying to avoid the awkwardness.

“Hey, great!” Jonathan said proudly, throwing his arms out wide.

“A date, huh?” Neil noticed, looking happily surprised. “Sorry, I— I didn’t know— you didn’t say anything—”

“No, it’s cool,” you shook your head, “it’s kind of a last minute thing… you know how they’re showing Rope at the Palace tonight? I met this, um, this guy the other day and we got to talking, and I asked him if he’d wanna come with me.”

“Rope, wow, that’s a great first date movie,” Neil nodded approvingly, “that sounds perfect.”

“Yeah— he hasn’t seen it, actually,” you admitted, smiling nervously, “so I guess how much he likes it will kinda be a good judge of if he’s worth going out again, right?”

Jonathan nodded approvingly, but Neil seemed skeptical. "Well, the showing isn't until nine— you can at least hang out until the movie starts, right?"

"I've gotta get home and get changed!" you explained

"You can't wear that to a date?" Lucien wondered.

"No!" you scoffed, looking down at your ripped jeans and Dracula t-shirt. "Besides, I have this whole plan of what I'm gonna wear— remember when we did Bonnie and Clyde for Halloween?"

Neil was Bonnie and you were Clyde, in fact; he looked shockingly good in that blood-red lipstick, you tried to convince him to wear it again but he insisted it was a one-night-only situation.

"I figure if I wear my Clyde suit, I'll look kinda like James Stewart!"

"You're doing drag on a first date?" Lucien pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, lighten up, I'm just dressing up for the movie— I'll still, you know, try to look pretty," you assured. "What, I don't look good in a suit? 'Cause I got a lot of compliments on Halloween—"

"No, hey, go for it," Jonathan decided, "it's festive!"

"I think it's cool," Neil agreed. "Have fun, alright? And if he creeps you out or something, call the store number and I'll come get you."

"I'm not really worried about—"

"You know? Just call the store when you get home," Neil decided, "so I'll know you didn't get murdered."

"Dude, chill," you groaned. "We're going to the movies, not, I don't know… hiking off-trail in the middle of the night."

You never agreed to call, but you did him one better: you ended up coming back to the video store afterwards, a bit over two hours later. Of course, the guys were still on the couch— apparently the movie was over but they were watching anime (undoubtedly something Jonathan had brought as a palate cleanser after the movie).

They all looked over at you when you came in the front door and the little bell rang; they seemed excited to see you, and presumably to interrogate you about the date. You sighed, knowing you couldn't have expected anything else, but you'd come here hoping they'd let you watch something with them so you could stop thinking about the date.

“How’d it go, hot stuff?” Jonathan purred, and you rolled your eyes as Lucien wolf-whistled.

“Oh yeah, it was awesome, best first date ever— I’m at his place having sex with him right now,” you frowned as you tossed your purse down onto the couch, and Lucien chuckled while Neil looked a little defeated.

“Not that great, huh?” Neil noticed.

“Was he a creep?” Jonathan assumed.

“Did he think the movie was bad?” Lucien pressed.

“No, no, he was great,” you sighed, “he loved the movie. We talked about it for a bit afterwards and he seemed to really understand it.”

“Okay! That’s good, right?” Jonathan said optimistically.

“Yeah— so good that I asked him when we could do this again,” you recalled, “and he said that he didn’t wanna lead me on and he wasn’t interested in seeing me.”

“What?!” Jonathan yelped, while Neil winced a little.

“He said I was really cool and funny and easy to talk to,” you explained, “but that he didn’t feel any chemistry.”

“Chemistry?” Lucien repeated, confused.

“He means he’s not attracted to me,” you clarified.

“What?” Jonathan scoffed again. “Why not?”

“I don’t know!” you whined, but you did know. “I think I’m just, like, friend material. I’m just ‘one of the guys’, you know? Not somebody you actually wanna be with.”

“But isn’t that what every guy wants? To date somebody who’s just ‘one of the guys’?” Lucien noticed, and then paused when everyone gave him an inquisitive look. “That sounded way less gay in my head. You get what I mean, right?”

“As much as I would love to never let you live that down,” Jonathan smirked, “you’re not wrong— like, a chick who can hang. That’s the best.”

“Well, here I am! Hanging!” you snapped. “Where’s my harem of suitors just desperate to date one of the guys?!”

“I mean, you are wearing a suit…” Neil noticed, getting a little defensive when you groaned and dropped your head back. “No, no, you look cool! I mean, you look really great. I’m not sure what he wasn’t seeing.”

"Maybe he's got a girlfriend!" Jonathan suggested. "And he was gonna cheat but he chickened out."

"Maybe he's intimidated by strong women," Lucien added, sounding more like he was quoting a Cosmo than actually thinking that.

"Respectfully, guys aren't that complicated," you assured. "If he wanted me, he would. He doesn't. It's not that deep."

Neil looked away when you said that.

"Well, come take a seat on the losers couch," Jonathan offered, but Neil sitting next to him frowned.

"You think I'm a loser?" Neil protested.

"No, I was talking about that couch," Jonathan said as he pointed to the other one which Lucien was on.

"I'm not even offended," Lucien decided, patting the spot next to him. "I'd rather be a loser with you than a winner with anybody else."

You smiled and plopped down next to him, pulling your legs up on the old sofa and finding the best angle to see the TV from. "Okay, catch me up," you requested, bracing for the barrage of borderline nonsensical exposition about whatever obscure anime Jonathan was forcing on the group this time.

Since the store closed at eight on Tuesdays, you and Neil decided to go out for a late dinner after locking up— the nearest place you usually walked to was a little hole-in-the-wall dishing out Thai fusion, and even though there were open tables inside, you took your paper boxes outside to eat together on a bench.

You each sat up on it with your legs crossed, facing each other, while he poked at his fried rice with his fork and you stirred your noodles with the chopsticks.

“The Palace is still doing their Hitchcock screenings on Sundays,” you recalled, “I think the next one is Rear Window. We could make Lucien man the store and go see it together?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” he smiled. “But we gotta sneak in the candy, that place is getting so overpriced…”

“Well, that’s a given,” you laughed. “When I went on my date there I had Sour Patch Kids in my bag, but I was kinda craving Reese’s by the time the movie started..."

"That guy sounded like an ass, by the way," Neil announced with a frown.

"Oh, no, it's fine," you dismissed. "He was really nice, even when he blew me off, and I… I guess I wasn’t really expecting it to go anywhere, anyways.”

“Really?” Neil scoffed. “Then why’d you ask him out?”

Just in case. “I… I guess I’m trying to put myself out there more?”

“Huh? You’re trying to put out more?” Neil joked.

You rolled your eyes and unfolded your legs to kick him playfully. “You know what I mean,” you groaned.

“Yeah, yeah,” he admitted, “and I support it. It’s sort of insane that you’re still single.”

“Wow, thanks for the pep talk,” you rolled your eyes before shoving a thick swirl of spicy-sweet noodles in your mouth.

“No! I mean, like, I can’t believe you’re single,” he clarified, and you smiled somewhat awkwardly while chewing your mouthful. “You’re smart and fun and cool and pretty—”

Thanks to the food in your mouth, you didn’t have to worry about coming up with a way to respond to that, so you just shrugged.

“Seriously!” he insisted. “I mean, guys hit on you at the store— I wish somebody who actually deserved your attention would walk in that place.”

The guy I want is already there every day. Swallowing, you finally got a chance to talk to him again. “Thanks,” you sighed, “it’s fine, though. I mean, I’ve been single this long— I think I’ll survive.”

“Keep waiting for the right one, okay?” he encouraged, and your heart swelled.

“I will,” you promised, sounding more wistful than you meant to.

After a brief lull in the conversation, he cleared his throat and continued. “Hey, um, while we’re on the topic of Sunday, about the whole fuck-marry-kill thing—”

“I’m sorry,” you offered right away, “I shouldn’t have answered that. I wasn’t being serious, obviously.”

“No, I wanted to apologize,” he returned, “I shouldn’t have pressed you on your answer. It was funny. And it wasn’t like you could say you were gonna kill one of us.”

You snorted. “Yeah, that one was probably the worst of the three.”

“But I shouldn’t have asked you about what you would’ve done to me,” he shook his head, “I was making it weird. So, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assured. “Did you really expect me to say I would marry you?”

“No,” he admitted, “I thought you’d say you’d fuck me, marry Lucien and kill Jonathan.”

“What?” you scoffed, though you were still smiling. “Why?”

“Well, Lucien would definitely make the best husband of the three of us,” he explained, “and Jonathan was the only one who wouldn’t have gotten butthurt about you saying you’d kill him. He probably would’ve just asked you to give him a nice send-off, y’know…”

You nodded in agreement, wondering if he was going to address the obviously missing third piece of all this… he sure was staring down into his empty fried rice container with intense focus…

“And, you know, as for me,” he began sort of thinly, “I, um… I guess I just figured, you know, you’re the most comfortable with me.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “obviously, but maybe that would make it worse? Like, at least with Jonathan, I know that if we ever did hook up or something, it probably wouldn’t mess up our friendship. ‘Cause we’re friendly and all, but it’s not so serious. But with you…”

“Uh huh, well, that’s why it’s good it’s just a game,” Neil finished for you, chucking his trash in the nearest can. “Don’t have to worry about any of that stuff. Least of all you and I being married. Talk about a disaster.”

You choked on your throat. “Yeah. No kidding…”

“Well, anyways,” he sighed, standing up from the bench and stretching for a moment, “wanna come over and see if the game’s still on?”

“Oh, um, I’m just gonna go back to my place,” you decided, throwing away the last couple bites of your food on account of your suddenly-lost appetite. “Kinda thinking I should get my sleep schedule in order.”

“That’s good,” he nodded, “I respect that. Have a good night, then, kid.”

“Yeah, you too,” you breathed, waving as he turned and walked off into the night, tucking his hands into his jean pockets.

You looked down at your lap, taking a deep breath and shutting your eyes for a second. Did he have to be so sweet just to cut you down like that? Could he have even known how it would hurt you to say that?

It’s not even like he was wrong, but you were dying to ask him why he was so sure that you and him together would be so bad. What was wrong with you that he still couldn’t see you that way?

Not interested in this repetitive thought cycle anymore, and being very familiar with where it leads, you got up and started to walk down the street. You didn’t turn to go to your apartment, though; you kept going until you heard live music— scratchy, whiny guitars and throbbing bass drums— seeping out of the club. You just needed to be somewhere familiar that wasn’t the video store or home; and, this place conveniently also had liquor.

You slipped inside— hit by a wave of sound as you entered— and took a seat at the bar, half-listening to the band that was playing, pretending to be focused at all on what was going on in the outside world rather than just spiraling into your own thoughts inside your head.

“Hey,” Jonathan nodded at you from the other side of the bar, and you nodded back. He instantly started looking for Neil— of course he would— and you deflated a bit. “You here alone?” he noticed.

“Yeah,” you shrugged.

“Wow,” he smirked, “it’s like when Peter Pan’s shadow escaped.”

You should’ve probably been offended by that, but it wasn’t worth denying— and you were more interested in getting liquored up than justifying that you did, in fact, have a life outside of Neil.

And, actually, Peter Pan was a pretty good way to describe Neil, too. Fear of commitment, leader of freaks and outcasts, daydreamer… all he needed was some green tights. “What are you drinking tonight?” Jonathan finally asked.

“What pairs well with feeling completely unattractive and unlovable?” you sighed.

“Well, that would be my drink of choice: whiskey,” he smiled, setting a bottle down in front of you. “I’ll do a shot with you.”

He poured you both a shot, and you timed it to shoot it back together; he, obviously, took it better than you, and you cringed from the acidic flavor. "Jesus, people really drink this on purpose?" you grumbled.

"Yeah, give it a few minutes," he assured, "it's gonna numb all those stupid emotions."

"I don't have a few minutes," you sighed, "do you have anything more fast-acting?"

"Yeah— a second shot," he joked, but you nodded in agreement. "Okay, shit, you're not messing around tonight."

"Nope," you agreed, watching him pour just one shot this time. "You're not doing it with me?"

"I need to pace myself, I'm here 'til two," he explained.

He slid it to you and you contemplated it for a moment, before forcing yourself to get it down as quickly as possible to avoid the burn. You still grimaced, but recovered quickly.

"Is it working yet?" he wondered.

"I guess," you answered half-heartedly.

“Well, you could always gush to the bartender about all your problems?” he offered, but you just shrugged it off. “Come on, you wouldn’t be the first tonight. And since I know you, I might actually be able to help.”

“I don’t think you can help with this one,” you assured. “This problem has been going on longer than you’ve been around.”

“Oh?” he pressed. “Let me guess… boy troubles?”

“Isn’t it always?” you scoffed, irritated that he saw through you that quickly— apparently your reputation of being horrible with men preceded you.

“But this is just one boy,” he presumed. “One boy who… conspicuously isn’t here tonight…”

“Is it that obvious?” you wondered with a whine, dropping your head in your hand.

“Well, if you weren’t having any issues with him, you’d be with him,” Jonathan guessed— and it wasn’t bad logic.

“But, like, does everyone know?” you wondered. “Does everyone but him know that I’m in love with him? Oh god, Jonathan, you don’t think he knows, do you?”

“Wait— love?” he repeated, and you swallowed thickly as you realized the whiskey had already gotten you to say too much. “You… you’re…”

“Okay, so I guess not everyone knows,” you mumbled.

“No, yeah, I think you managed to keep that under wraps,” he assured with a nod, eyes getting wider. “Sheesh. No, I had no clue. Now it’s even weirder that you guys aren’t together.”

“Well, he doesn’t love me,” you explained flatly.

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, god no— I mean, he tells me he loves me,” you corrected, “but he doesn’t mean— we just say that, you know, like at the end of phone calls or when one of us is sad. It’s not, like… we never meant it that way.”

“Right, okay,” Jonathan nodded as he wiped a glass— the way bartenders do when they’re listening to people— but he didn’t seem to understand entirely. “So, you’re not his type?”

“I don’t think I know what his type is,” you scoffed. “I haven’t really noticed a pattern, have you?”

“You’d have to have a few more data points to really draw any connection between them,” Jonathan laughed.

“Yeah, fair,” you smiled, “he’s only had… I don’t know, maybe four girlfriends since I’ve known him? One in high school, for a month— then Eva, they weren’t even really serious, just dating for a while. And then, uh—”

“Tanisha,” he remembered.

“Right! I liked her,” you hummed.

“What happened to her again?” he wondered.

“Got back with her ex,” you recalled.

“Wow, that blows,” Jonathan sighed.

“She told me before she told him,” you admitted. “She wanted me to tell him for her, actually, but I… I couldn’t do that to him. But I came over right after, you know, and we ate ice cream from the tub and watched movies ‘til we fell asleep.”

Jonathan made a sort of face, one you couldn’t quite interpret, and you tilted your head as he seemed to mumble to himself.

“What?” you wondered.

“Nothing, it’s just… he’s kind of an idiot,” Jonathan decided. “I don’t think he gets how lucky he is.”

You wrinkled your brows together, laughing a bit. “What do you mean?”

“Look, I’m not saying he’s, like, legally obligated to fall in love with you just because you guys get along so well,” he clarified, “even if that’s what Neil accused me of thinking— I really do think it’s fine for men and women to just be friends.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m just saying… like, how do you have someone who cares about you that much, and you end up dating fucking Denise for almost a year?!”

“Well, nobody knows how he ended up with Denise,” you coughed. “That was a fucking disaster.”

“I mean, not to be crass, but, uh,” he stumbled a little over his words, “I’m surprised that you coming over after that breakup didn’t turn into a rebound, at least.”

“After eating that much ice cream?” you laughed. “That would’ve been awful.”

“But really, though,” he insisted. “I have a hard time believing the thought didn’t even cross his mind…”

“I can’t really be sure that it didn’t,” you admitted, “I’m just saying, nothing happened.”

“I guess he’s just known you too long to go for it with you,” Jonathan shrugged.

“It’s not just that— you know Neil, he’s kind of an adrenaline junkie,” you rolled your eyes, “or at least he thinks he is. He wants adventure, I guess— and he always talks about us doing spontaneous stuff but it never happens— and I’m just too familiar. Too comfortable.”

“Yeah, he does kinda have something against stability,” Jonathan agreed, “do you think it’s a divorced parents thing?”

“I don’t know, I stopped analyzing that a long time ago,” you groaned, “and I told myself I would stop trying to be what I thought he wanted, but I think I keep doing it.”

“Well, I know you know him better than anybody,” Jonathan countered, “but I know guys, and that guy… there’s no way he thinks of you as just a friend.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because he was fucking lying when he said it wouldn’t piss him off if we hooked up,” he insisted.

“You really won’t let that go, will you?” you grinned.

“Did you see his face? He couldn’t get the image out of his head!” Jonathan assured confidently. “And then that whole ‘fuck marry kill’ thing— he started getting nervous, I think.”

“Nervous about what?”

“That something could really happen with us!”

“You really think he would care?” you frowned.

“I swear to— to Ash Williams,” he decided, “that if I walked into that fucking video store, and told him that you and I did whiskey shots and you came back to my place and we did the horizontal tango, he would beat me to death with the register.”

“You swear on Ash Williams?” you repeated with a smirk, knowing that meant more than swearing on any deity would mean.

“Him and his chainsaw hand,” Jonathan assured, putting a hand over his heart to add to the bit, and you giggled.

“Well, I don’t think Neil can pick up the register,” you decided.

“In that case, you let me know the next time you wanna get back at him for something,” he offered with a wink, and you smiled at him sympathetically.

“I know you’re trying to be nice,” you sighed, “but you don’t have to do that.”

“Hey, come on,” he frowned, “I know you’ve got this I’m insecure I’m a weirdo nobody notices me thing, but you can’t actually think it would be some kind of charity work for me to sleep with you—”

“No, I don’t mean that,” you sighed, “I know I could get laid if I wanted to—”

“But you don’t wanna get laid,” he finished for you, “you wanna be loved.”

You sighed again, even harder. “Yeah,” you nodded.

“I know,” he agreed. “And you know I love you, but—”

“But not like that,” you took your turn finishing his sentence.

His only reply was raising the bottle of whiskey with a sideways smile, a silent offer to pour another shot— for both of you this time.

“Yes, please,” you hummed, watching him fill the miniature glasses with a sigh.

part 2

#neil lewis x reader #neil lewis smut #watching the detectives #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #you know... eventually #but you have to get to part two for that lol

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bluesidez · 6 months

Text

GymRat!Miguel Part 2

content warning: mentions of food because big boys gotta eat, there’s a ref photo for an outfit in here that is unfortunately NOT a plus-size girl 😞 (I couldn’t find a big girl wearing an outfit like that for the life of me, but let’s use our imagination), 18+ towards the end so MDNI!

word count: 1.7k (not very drabble-like, ik) kinda proofread

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

GymRat!Miguel who wakes up when his 6 am alarm rings, eyes tired and bleary. His roommate is sound asleep, thank god, and Miguel is just staring at the ceiling for a good 10 minutes before he decides to move. He has an 8 am and he needs some type of breakfast before he heads to class.

GymRat!Miguel who uses the college cafeteria to his full advantage. He made sure that his dad’s money went to the highest meal plan. One free meal plan a day and a loaded campus card for everything else. He stacks his plate high with everything the cafeteria is offering today. Sausages, eggs, 2 bananas, a blueberry muffin, and a protein shake he brought from his room.

GymRat!Miguel who made friends with one of the cafeteria ladies, Ms. Beatrice, by the third week of school. She noticed how much he visited the cafeteria and always snuck him an extra treat from the kitchen when she saw him.

“I missed you last Tuesday!” she says, squeezing his shoulder when she walks up to his table. She slides a wrapped egg sandwich across the table. “I was saving some extra cookies for you, but you were nowhere to be found.”

Miguel thanks her, happy to have something light for later, “Ah, I was stuck in the library doing a group project. Sorry about that, Ms. Beatrice.”

“As long as you’re getting your education, I don’t mind,” she says, hands on her hips. “Don’t go out there skipping class now, ok?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Miguel says, waving her goodbye. His mom would kill him if that ever happened. Not that he would tell her, she just had a sixth sense for his “fuck-ups.”

GymRat!Miguel who makes it to his class fifteen minutes early to arrange his part of his desk to his liking. Sometimes he feels so embarrassed when he needs to grab something in the middle of class, his ears hyperfocusing on every little noise he makes in quiet, crowded areas. He always makes sure to get out his laptop, a pen, a pencil, a highlighter, a notebook, some white-out, and a water jug. He prefers to be over-prepared.

GymRat!Miguel who’s feeling anxious when the sorority girls pass by his table, giggling and twirling their hair. They attempt to make conversation with him, speaking ill of the professor. He just nods along for the sake of being a gentleman. He thought the professor’s Millennial attempts at Gen Z jokes were kind of funny, albeit very 2010. He didn’t have the heart to tell them he actually enjoyed the lectures.

GymRat!Miguel who’s never been more excited for a lecture to start in his life. He didn’t know many more “wow”’s snd “that’s crazy”’s he had left in him. The noise of the ice hitting their plastic coffee cups as they struggled to get every drop out was starting to grate against his ears. He missed you and your sticker-covered water bottle. He looked over at his jug and smiled when he saw the ‘Game Over’ sticker you gifted him before the last lab. You noticed his joystick keychain and felt that his water bottle was empty.

GymRat!Miguel who declines the girls’ offer to join them on a morning jog after. He liked to work out in solitude and morning jogs with them would mean conversation. He would also have to be extra conscious about what he wore. No older lady walking her dog needed to spot him jogging with shorts that were too short for his own good and a tank top cut so deep that it was like string on his chest.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to head to the library in between class to kill time. He figured he can see if there are any science fiction he can check out to read in his free time. As he walks there, he opens Instagram to scroll. No, he has not been checking the app since this morning to see if you let him in, he’s not a freak. He stops walking when he checks his notifs to see that you accepted his follow request. He wastes no time to click your page again and is bombarded with tons of photos.

GymRat!Miguel who has to close the app immediately when he sees your first photo. It's a picture of you outside of a restaurant in a knitted two-piece. The top is open just a bit to see your chest and the long skirt is low enough to see a part of your stomach peeking through. Your smile is radiant and the caption is something about congratulating someone. You look delectable and Miguel can’t afford to run back to his dorm to let his mind wander over it right now.

GymRat!Miguel who gets another notification as he steps into his dorm room after his last class of the day and sees that you’ve liked and commented on his most recent post. It’s a mirror picture of him flexing his arm after his last work out. His shorts are riding high on his thighs and the curve of his ass is very noticeable. Gabriel had blew up his phone with voice memos of him cackling after he posted it.

“Looking good!! 🫣 Get those gains Miguel! 💪🏾”

Miguel runs a victory lap in his dorm room, thankful that his roommate wouldn’t be back until that night. He’s jumping and punching the air excitedly as if he were a boxer. If he wasn’t fearful of busting his ass, he’d do a backflip. Take that, Gabri.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to go back to your account, running on the hype of that one compliment from you. He stares at that first photo again, still mesmerized as if he didn’t see it earlier. He gives a like and starts typing.

“Wow…”

No, that’s corny.

“Loving the blue…”

Is he a frat guy?

“You look stunning”

Was that too much? He decides to add on a heart eyes emoji, afraid he might be coming on too strong.

GymRat!Miguel who goes a little further down your page. There’s a photo of you in a crochet cover up, your swimsuit peaking through the material. He groans as he slides to the next picture and the top of your cover up is off and it’s just a view of your back with your bikini string wrapped around it. Your lower half is in the water and if he can imagine it just enough, he can feel himself right behind you, taking in the view of your ass against him.

He’s hard. Again.

He decides to just let everything hang while he has the dorm to himself. His boxers are to his ankles as he sits on the bed, back against the wall. He keeps staring at your swimsuit pictures. Your breasts pushed together while you lean over the boat. Your hips swaying in a clip of you dancing with your friends. Your stomach on display as you lay in the sand, ready for him to squeeze.

He grit his teeth as he played the clips over and over again, his hand moving fast to bring him his relief. He closed his eyes and imagined he was there, watching you swaying before him. He would join you, grab your hips and let you guide him in the dance. He felt faint as he let go, voice shouting and white splattered across his shirt and fist.

He breathes fast, trying to calm down. He decides to like the photo dump and comment some aimless beach emojis under the post. It was the least he could do after using it to get off. How embarrassing.

GymRat!Miguel who jumps when his phone dings again. He was prepping to go to the gym when your response comes flying to his phone. His heart picks up when he sees you replied to his comment.

“That is so sweet of you to say! 🥺 Thank you 🥰”

He doesn’t know if you took it as a friendly gesture or a sign that he wanted you. Either way, he’s over the moon. There’s a pep in his step as he blasts Super Shy in his ears on the way to the gym. He had a new motivation to push harder in his sets.

GymRat!Miguel who tacks on 10 extra pounds during his arm workout. The guys in the gym are eyeing him in wonder and horror as he uses the 70lb weights for tricep extensions. He thinks of seeing you in lab later that week and decides to do some hip thrusts.

He can never be over-prepared.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to take a picture at the end of his work out to post on his story. He’s sweating, hair dripping towards the ends, his chest glistening. The angle is awkward as he moves the camera below him and flexes an arm for the picture. The story was meant for one girl and one girl only, so he didn’t really care how silly it looked to others.

GymRat!Miguel who almost fist pumps on the walk home when you like his story and leave a reply. He checks the private messages, grin on his face before he even reads what you have to say.

“Looks like you had a nice workout. I might have to join you next time and get some tips 🤔”

Miguel swiped the app up and texted Gabriel:

“Don’t ever question my game again”

"? Wtf are you talking about"

Miguel opened up his messages with you again and replied to text him whenever and he’d be happy to help.

GymRat!Miguel who winds down for the night, scrolling on his phone before he closes his eyes. Of course you posted a story and of course he pressed it within record speed.

It was a photo of you laying down all bundled up with a cute ‘good night’ gif moving across the bottom. You had on a spaghetti strap tank top and if your blanket wasn’t in the way, he’s sure he would see more than that.

You looked soft, adorable, kissable.

He liked the story and responded back a “good night” and closed his phone. He wanted you to visit him in his dreams once more.

dividers by: @gigittamic 🩵

a/n: tumblr mobile kept deleting full paragraphs of my draft. not happy about that because I kept losing my flow. 😒 it happened like THREE TIMES 😭

Thanks for reading! Like, comment, reblog, and tell me how you feel! 🩵

Wanna be added to the taglist for GymRat!Miguel? Comment and let me know. 🤗 (PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO. This series has been and will get even more NSFW!)

taglist: @ghost-lantern 🫶🏾🥺

#love lab drabbles 💊#GymRat!Miguel 💪🏾#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #plus size reader #spiderman 2099 au #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara au #miguel o’hara x plussize!reader #miguel o’hara x chubby reader #miguel o’hara x chubby!reader #miguel x fem!reader

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marcsburnerphone · 7 months

Text

And they were roomates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: that captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: some awkward moments, kissing

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7!!!! - part 8

———————

“Look how content he looks, his eyebrows aren’t doing that scowl thing.” Gaz whispers to the boys beside him.

Ghost does a peek over to see the sight but out of all of them he knows best how light of a sleeper John can be, so one look and he quickly he backs up.

“Take a picture.” soap says menacingly.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Ghost says.

Of course Gaz listens to the trouble maker, whipping his phone out of his pocket. The first two photos he takes are from a safe distance but as he goes to take the third he gets closer, too close. The shutter sound accidentally goes off although the ringer is on silent.

It doesn't wake you up no, but the captain's eyes shoot open, the first thing they land on is a phone in his face and he huffs an angry breath. He doesn't make a move nor let out a word in fear of waking you but the look he gives the guys standing behind the couch is deadly enough. They slowly step back and once they're at a safe distance they scurry down the hall.

At some point during the night you ended up completely on top of him. He lays there annoyed with the immature men who woke him up but absolutely thrilled that he can consciously enjoy this moment. Your head placed in the crook of his neck as you huff small breaths, your weight on top of him is almost everything he’s ever needed in this life. The way your hair wafts that familiar light floral scent is captivating. If he died right now he’d be at peace.

“John?” it startles him from his thoughts.

“Yes doll.”

“You're so comfortable.” you whisper into his neck. He laughs while running a comforting hand over your back.

“Did you hear those idiots out here not too long ago?” he asks softly.

“Nope.” you say placing a hand on his chest to lift yourself up into a sitting position. He admires the way your eyes are slightly puffy from sleep, the way your shirt wrinkled in random places. He wants to pull you back down into him, wants to ask for five more minutes. Then he smiles cause he knows one day he’ll be able to.

“Stop staring at me.” You say softly looking away from him.

“Can I take you out tonight?” you turn back to him at that. Rubbing your eyes and smiling.

“Like on a date?”

“Yes, will you grant me your presence for dinner?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah.” you try to look away and hide the blush that creeps up on your face. He breathes again, he hadn’t known he wasn’t till you answered.

“Okay, em be ready by 6 then.” He inquires.

“Okay well I feel like I can’t just sit here now so I’m gonna go get in the shower.” You stand up nervously. He nods at you trying to hide behind a stoic expression just how giddy he feels inside. He watches you until you disappear around the corner before getting up.

————

“So you asked her out?” John and the boys sit outside, there’s a cigar between John’s lips and the rest of them puff on a cigarette.

“I did.”

“You had to threaten her to say yes, didn't you captain” Ghost jokes with a gruff laugh.

“Yer no one to talk.” Soap says in defense of his captain.

“You can’t even say you’re right.” Ghost quips back making Gaz burst out in a chuckle while John just stares at them with a straight face.

“I’m nervous.” John admits.

“Wow, she makes you nervous. That’s hard to do.” Soap says.

“Of what?” Gaz asks, ignoring soap.

“I feel like I shouldn’t, like she should be with someone younger, someone with a less demanding job.” They all hum not really knowing exactly how to comfort him.

“She seems like the kind of woman that has already thought those things through.” Gaz says.

“I’m sure she has.” He replies.

“Not to fret then, unless you’re the one with the problem.”

“My only problem is that you're all still here.” He laughs before toking his cigar.

“Yeah right you love our company.” Gaz replies.

—————

By the time you're out of the shower and have dressed casually for the day John’s friends are bidding you a goodbye, ghost kindly thanks you for sharing your home with them and gives you another soft handshake.

“Once again thankyou for letting me sleep in your bed, I appreciate it.” Gaz says with a small hug before walking out.

“Lass if he doesn’t treat you right you know who to call.” Soap says jokingly.

“If you don’t leave my home right now, soldier, you won’t be leaving at all.” John says seriously, waiting to shut the door. You just laugh leaning looking up at him and hint of humor in his eyes.

“All jokes, all jokes.” He yells out as he walks to the car they all crammed into. Once they pull away John shuts the door looking over to you.

“Their fun.” You say.

“More fun than I am?”

“Yeah.” He’s surprised by your answer but at the same time not at all. Your smirk is growing into a smile as your damp hair falls over your shoulders.

“Really?” He drags out the word, giving you an opportunity to change your answer.

“Mhmm.” You say shrugging your shoulders.

“C’mere.” You laugh as he grabs at your waist throwing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

“Okay no they're not, I promise they're not.” You laugh, his fingers digging into your sides as he walks towards your room.

“Say you swear.” You kick your feet trying your best to make him let you go, but this seems to be light work for him, as if he doesn’t even feel it.

“I swear.” You laugh harder as he throws you softly onto your bed. He climbs right above your waist hovering so he doesn’t kill you with his weight.

“I don’t believe it.”

“I swear I really do.” He lets up, watching you try to catch your breath as he brushes the stray hairs from your face.

“By the way no drinking tonight, none.” You say.

“Why?”

“Cause the last time we went out together and drank only one of us made it out with their mind in the right place.” He laughs in memory leaning down close, close enough that if you moved up an inch your lips would touch.

“Trust me my mind hasn’t been in the right place since I’ve met you.” He brushes his lips against yours and immerses himself in that addicting shock of adrenaline it gives him every time.

“Oh, where’s it been then?” No answer, he just leans further into you until your lips connect softly. It’s a simple kiss and it's as electric as always but isn’t enough for you this time. You slightly open your needy lips and he happily takes the hint, swiping his tongue on your bottom lip to see if he’s right on what you’re offering, sure enough he is.

It’s slow and sensual in the beginning, and it’s actually driving him fucking insane. The taste of you is captivating in itself, the soft rhythm he sets and its consistency is melting the world around you. but the soft whine you made when he lifted your head a bit to accommodate the distance between you was the cherry on top. It’s a battle of dominance and clashing of teeth from then on. Your hands went from gently being placed on his face to being intertwined at the back of his neck and he can’t get enough. He wants more and more and more. His hands are on your waist, your face, running through your hair. He breaks from your mouth to kiss down your jaw impatient yet savoring every moment.

“John, we can't.” He knows you can’t, not that he would, he's too gentlemanly for that, you on the other hand are dancing on the line of control. Although he's desperate and impatient for you he’s also in dire need to keep you therefore no risks.

“I know, doll.” He says into the soft spot right below your ear. When he pulls away from you the look in your eyes can make any man fall to his knees. The swell of your puffy lips and the bit of saliva on your neck with your hair strewn in different places. It’s a sight to see.

You smile, completely and hopelessly falling for him, desperate so desperate that if he had kissed you one more time you wouldn’t have stopped it from going further.

“Ready in about two hours then?”

“Yeah.”

————

You get ready while listening to music, anything to calm the damn nerves in your entire body. You've had dinner with John before, you even live together, but this is completely different.

You dress nicely this time, warm yes, but nicely. Knowing John will either carry you or walk with you gives you leeway to nice outfits. A mini skirt with tights underneath, doc martens, fuzzy crew neck that almost goes over the skirt. You do your hair, light makeup.

You’re putting on your final touches, jewelry wise, when John appears in your bedroom doorway.

“Mmm dolled up for who exactly?” He gives you a long, obvious one up.

“Well I don’t know who I’ll meet, you know?”

“I know many things, dolls but not that one.”

“Well you don’t look so bad yourself.” You laugh, but really he always looks delicious.

“Can you actually help me with this?” You say holding up a gold necklace. He walks up to you, thick fingers grabbing at the dainty jewelry. You turn around moving your hair out of the way as he drapes it around your neck. He misses the clasp a couple times but when he finally gets it he lets out a satisfied grunt. You move to put your hair back but before you can you feel the wisp of his breath on your neck as his lips meet the soft skin of your shoulder humming softly. He turns you around planting one more on your lips.

“You really do look delectable.”

“Yeah yeah.” Your hands run over his scruff.

“Ready to go?” He asks, encasing the hand on his cheek.

“Yeah.”

-----------

im so sorry for the wait for this one, although its my shortest chapter yet I did put my heart into it. Being a sophmore in college isnt for the weak and im the weak.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated<3

@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppixie @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic @Dreams-of-qian-qian @spngingerbread21 @thepumpkinqueen93 @copiasratscheese @youdontknowe @spyderdoll @angels-gonna-play @viisgrave @lieutenantlashfaz @sunndust @beckythecatqueen-blog @aoioozora @o-birdseed-o @mothmothmothmothmothmoth @ihateuguys @oversensitivitea @spicyspicyliving

#angst #captain price x female reader #john price #barry sloane #captain john price #john price x reader #task force 141 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #cod mw3

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theostrophywife · 3 months

Text

SWEET TOOTH

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🤍 pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: so american by olivia rodrigo.

🤍 author’s note: just a cute and fluffy little piece because enzo gives off major boyfriend vibes.

It was a well-known fact that Lorenzo Berkshire had a terrible sweet tooth.

So well known that his mates often hid their stash of sweets from him. Not that it deterred Enzo. If anything, he saw it as a challenge of sorts.

As Lorenzo ransacked his roommate’s belongings, it should’ve occurred to him that Regulus was far too clever to leave his candy in plain sight, but his attention was focused solely on stuffing as many chocolate frogs into his mouth before his surly friend returned. In his haste, Enzo failed to notice the strange metallic taste until practically inhaling his third frog.

Still, he figured that it was probably fine. How much damage could a chocolate frog do anyways?

Unfortunately for Lorenzo, that pesky little question would be answered soon enough.

After carefully rearranging Reggie’s things, Enzo happily skipped off to breakfast. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he spotted you in the Great Hall. With a murderous expression, you swiped a chocolate croissant out of Mattheo’s reach and glared at the curly headed boy.

“Make one more move towards my food and I’ll snap your arm like a twig, Riddle.”

Theo snickered and draped an arm over your shoulder. “Come on, bella. Mattheo just wants a taste.” The twat wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “And so do I.”

You flicked his arm off and rolled your eyes. “For the last time, I’d rather gouge my eyes out, Theodore. You’d think you’d be sick of rejection and embarrassment by now.”

Nott merely smirked. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Could’ve woken up in mine instead, if you stopped playing hard to get.”

“Keep pissing me off and you’ll wake up to a bed full of cockroaches.”

Mattheo cackled before ruffling your hair. “Turn that frown upside down, Y/N. Guys don’t like a grump.”

“I do,” Enzo blurted before he could think better of it. “I think Y/N’s cute when she’s mean. Especially to you two idiots.”

Theo and Mattheo gaped, their gazes pinballing from you to Enzo. They were no doubt expecting you to smack your best friend upside the head, but instead you shrugged and bit back a smile.

“Really?” Theo remarked incredulously. “You’re letting that slide? You threatened to tie my tongue into a bow the last time I called you cute.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Yeah, well, Berkshire doesn’t annoy me as much as you do.”

Enzo beamed as he slid into the seat beside you. “Wow, I feel special.”

Clearly, he was well aware of the sweet spot you had for him. Though you’d never admit it. Just like he’d never admit his long standing pathetic little crush he had on you. Except, he did sort of slip up just now, which he unfortunately would continue to do for the rest of the day.

Lorenzo couldn’t help it. The compliments he normally kept to himself just kept spilling out of him.

When you were studying in the library during free period, he found himself speaking thoughts that he usually saved for his inner monologue. “I like the way you scrunch your nose when you read. It’s adorable.”

Surprised, you peered up at him from your book. His words were rewarded by an uncharacteristically shy smile. It was enough to make him momentarily forget his lack of control over his mouth.

Later in History of Magic, Lorenzo stared at you instead of focusing on completing the assignment in front of him. You tapped his nose with the end of your quill playfully.

“You alright there, Enz?”

“You’re so beautiful, it’s distracting. I can’t even focus on my notes.”

You flushed in response and Enzo found that he rather liked making you flustered for a change. Maybe a case of loose lips wasn't so bad after all.

During lunch, Lorenzo glared at Draco as the blonde asked you a question about the Draught of the Living Dead potion.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, cousin?” Draco asked after a moment.

Enzo continued glaring at him and inched closer to you, draping a protective arm around your shoulder. “Look at Y/N like that again and I’ll turn you into a ferret myself.”

The other boys snickered while Draco backed away from you. His brief stint as a rodent clearly traumatized him enough to balk at the threat. You turned away from the recounting of the infamous fourth year incident and faced Enzo.

“Are you feeling alright, Enz? You’ve been acting strange all day.”

Come to think of it, Lorenzo did feel a bit different. Unfiltered, unadulterated, and perhaps a tad bit unhinged. Oddly enough, it was freeing in a strange sort of way.

“I’m fine. I’m just saying what I’ve been thinking all along. Usually, I’m too scared to speak my thoughts out loud, but I’m not now.” Enzo scrunched his nose. “Also, the chocolate frogs I stole from Reg tasted kind of funny.”

Before he knew it, you were marching right into the boy’s dormitory with him in tow. He shuffled hurriedly behind you as you yanked open the door to his dorm. Regulus lounged at his desk, flipping through the pages of his book and not bothering to look up as the two of you barged in.

“Learned your lesson yet, Berkshire?”

You frowned as you snatched the book out of Reggie’s hands and threw it over your shoulder. “What the hell did you do to him, Regulus?”

Regulus shrugged nonchalantly. “Slipped a bit of Veritaserum in my chocolate frogs because I knew the little weasel had been secretly stealing them behind my back.”

“Hey!” Enzo exclaimed. “That’s rude.”

“Is that why he’s acting so strange?”

The youngest Black leveled an amused glance at you. “Define strange.”

“Well, he’s been complimenting me all day. He even threatened to turn Draco into a ferret for looking at me. It’s like he has no filter at all.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point. Veritaserum makes you tell the truth.”

You paused, taking in his words. “So everything Enzo said today…” Enzo smiled brightly as you glanced warily at him. “He means it?”

Regulus nodded in confirmation. “Mhm, I’m afraid young Lorenzo has a little crush on you.”

“Hello?” Enzo exclaimed. “I’m literally right here.” He turned to face you. “Also yes, I do have a crush on you. I have for ages. I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t noticed. I’m not that great at hiding it.” Your jaw dropped as he pivoted back to Regulus. “You’re a twat for dosing my candy, Reg.”

“Your candy?” Regulus huffed. “I bought that with my hard earned money.”

“You mean your allowance that mummy and daddy sends you every month? Please, Reg, you have more galleons and candy than you know what to do with. Honestly, it’s a bit selfish not to share.”

Before you could put a stop to it, Regulus launched himself at Enzo. The boys wrestled, smacking and taunting each other like toddlers. With a frustrated sigh, you pried the two of them apart.

“You two are honestly ridiculous.”

Enzo pushed Regulus off of him and brushed off the front of his shirt. “Yes, but hopefully you find it cute and endearing, right? Well, me. Not Reg. I don’t really think you’re into the whole tortured poet thing he’s got going on.”

Regulus glared at his friend. “Rude!”

Enzo shrugged. “What? It’s true. Don’t worry, it works for some people. I think that redhead in Gryffindor likes you, but you’ve got to stop being so goddamn oblivious. She obviously wants you to break her back like a glow stick.”

“Lorenzo!”

You smacked your best friend on the arm for his rather candid commentary, but it was half-hearted. You were too busy trying not to burst into laughter given the fact that he was completely correct. Said redhead definitely had a thing for Regulus.

“I’m just stating facts. Anyways, if he didn’t want to hear it, he shouldn’t have dosed me.”

You tugged Regulus by his tie. “You did this to him. Now you’re going to help me get this under control. Do you understand?”

Regulus sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

For the remainder of the day, you kept a close eye on Enzo. Though you and Regulus were both babysitting him, your best friend didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed rather thrilled with spending the rest of the day by your side. Truth be told, you didn’t mind either despite the fact that you had to pull Enzo out of a sticky situation more than once.

As you watched him during quidditch practice, you nearly fell out of the stands when Lorenzo cocked his head at his captain and narrowed his eyes. “Flint, why is your head shaped like that?”

It was by sheer luck that Regulus swooped in to save the day and promptly dragged him off to perform drills at the far end of the field. At the end of practice, you thought it would be safe to lounge in the common room, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Enzo snuggled to your side, his slightly damp hair tickling your neck. The familiar scent of citrus and cedar distracted you momentarily as he stared at Tom. The older Riddle was currently hustling Theo through a game of chess.

“Tom, even though you scare me, I still think you’re hotter than Mattheo. Just don’t tell him I said that.”

The entire room fell into a hush as Tom directed his smoldering gaze towards Enzo. You tensed beside him, fingers curled protectively around his arm.

Finally, Tom spoke. “It’ll be our little secret, Berkshire.”

“Salazar save us all.”

When dinner rolled around, your fight or flight response was completely shot. Thanks to Enzo’s current condition, you were on constant alert.

By now, the boys were perfectly aware of his inability to lie and the twats found his predicament particularly hilarious. All except Mattheo, whose ego had taken a hit after Theo told him all about Enzo’s confession to Tom.

“I can’t believe you think Tom is hotter than me,” Mattheo grumbled. “That’s just completely mental.”

Theo pinched his cheek. “Don’t worry, Matty. I’ll always think you’re hotter.”

“How can you two flirt at a time like this?’ You sighed exasperatedly. “One of your best friends is under a truth spell and all you care about is being the hot brother?” Mattheo protested, but you held a hand up to halt whatever stupid remark he was itching to say. “Where is Regulus? I should wring his stupid neck for putting poor Enzo through this.”

“I think he’s talking to that Gryffindor,” Theo said with an eyebrow wiggle. “Finally. Maybe dosing Berkshire wasn’t so bad if it gets Regulus laid.”

As if on cue, Enzo snapped his fingers in front of Draco’s face. “Cousin, you really need to lay off the bleach. I think it’s seeping into your bloody brain. You’ve been staring at Granger so intently that it’s starting to freak her out.”

The boys snickered as Draco snapped out of his trance. Before the blonde could reprimand his cousin, you stood up and grabbed Enzo’s hand. Your best friend grinned as he linked your fingers through yours.

“Oh, we’re holding hands. This is nice,” Enzo shuffled to his feet as you tugged him out of his seat. He didn’t seem to mind being dragged out of the Great Hall. “Hey, have I ever told you that your eyes remind me of the sunset? You’re pretty. I really want to kiss you.”

You pointedly ignored the kissy faces Mattheo and Theo were making. “We’re leaving. Let’s go, Enz.”

Enzo waved to your friends and grinned. “I hope we make out.”

The boys snickered as you turned beet red. “Lorenzo!”

“Yes, dear, coming!”

With the promise of an impromptu movie night, you managed to coax Enzo back to his dorm. He shuffled in your lap, nuzzling into your touch as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Reg says the serum should wear off in an hour, so you just have to hold off until then.”

“Oh,” Enzo said with a tinge of disappointment. “That’s a bummer. It’s kind of nice just saying whatever was on my mind.”

“Enz, you told Theo he smelled like day old lasagna and then you hit on Tom. Tom!”

Enzo’s honey eyes blinked up at you. “What? He’s hot. You’re telling me you wouldn’t hit on him too?”

You shook your head. “Psychopathic maniacs aren’t really my type.”

“What’s your type then?” You fell silent for a beat before Enzo nudged your elbow with his nose. “C’mon, it’s only fair. I’ve been making a fool out of myself all day. Grant me this one, love.”

You sighed, knowing that you’d cave to his puppy dog eyes. “I do have a crush on this one guy.”

“What’s his name? Enzo asked as he sat upright. “His house? His dorm number? I might ask Tom to hunt him down for me.” You glared at him in response, causing him to raise his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Blame the serum.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “To answer your very nosy questions, he goes by a nickname, he’s in Slytherin, and we’re currently in his dorm.”

“Oh my god. The emo act worked on you, too?” Enzo smacked his forehead in distress. “For fuck’s sake!”

“It’s you, you idiot. I like you.”

Enzo beamed. “Thank Godric! This is the happiest day of my life.” He bounced as he talked, eyes shining brightly. . “Do you want to go on a date with me? We could go to Hogsmeade. Wait, no. That’s not good enough. Let’s go to London. Or Paris. Fuck it, I’ll borrow Malfoy’s jet.”

You giggled at how ridiculously adorable this boy was. “Enz, slow down! First of all, I’d love to go on a date with you. Hogsmeade is perfectly fine, but we should probably wait until you’re back to normal.”

Enzo sighed. “Fine. I suppose I can wait. But you’re staying to cuddle, right?” He flashed those honey eyes at you again, perfectly aware that you couldn’t resist him even if you tried. To add to his plea, Enzo jutted his bottom lip into a pout. “Please?”

“Sure, Enz.”

With a triumphant grin, Enzo pulled you against him. He leaned forward to kiss your cheek, making you melt. As you continued watching the movie, you couldn’t help but revel in the affection Enzo showered you with. He was a great cuddler and he smelled nice and oh gods you really, really liked him.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Enzo murmured against your ear. “Mostly because I can’t, but I definitely have a boner right now.”

“Lorenzo!”

You burst into a fit of giggles, which caused Enzo to laugh as well. He only snuggled closer, burying his face into your neck. “Sorry that I find you super hot and pretty and cute. Honestly, I’m the victim in this situation.”

You smacked his arm. “Oh my god, just shut up and cuddle.”

Enzo grinned as he wrapped his arms around you. “Yes, honey.”

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