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harryslittlefreakk · 7 months ago

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favourite crime 2

summary: harry whisks y/n away for a romantic weekend, but when feelings and questions turn into actions, their relationship only gets more complicated

warnings: smut (protected sex, oral f receiving, choking, spanking, cockwarming) angst, mentions of cheating, forbidden love, age gap

wordcount: 7.3k

a/n: thank you SO much for all the love and feedback on the first part 🙈 i can’t cope. SORRY this took so long to post. please let me know if you enjoyed this one!!! love you <3

(as always it’s not proofread yet so proceed with caution)

special mention to this series’ biggest fan, my homegirl @harryscumcloth who has helped me with this a million times AND may have beat me if this wasn’t posted sooner <3

favourite crime masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

You were nestled in the corner of a quiet pub, worlds away from anyone who might recognise you or Harry, yet still almost jumping out of your skin when anyone met your eye. The armchair you were curled up in was rugged and worn, the padding molded to the shape of every person that had been there before you. Although not the venue you’d pick for a steamy weekend break, the B&B was cozy and welcoming, and somehow it felt even more romantic than a five-star sex hotel. The gentle murmur of distant conversations and the clinking of glasses pulled your attention away from your drink, your eyes scanning across the room until they landed on Harry’s.

Warm bulbs cast a dim glow over his face, the knit of his brows subtle as he stared at you, though he was clearly somewhere else. He’d been going crazy since he last saw you, the memories of the way he made you fall apart at the forefront of his mind. It fuelled a fire within him that his own fears kept putting out. He was burning then frozen, burning then frozen, over and over again.

You were young and needed to date properly, not be someone’s secret. And he couldn’t be your secret, wouldn’t allow himself to darken you with a warped and forbidden affair. But he couldn’t think of anything but you, the way your walls gripped at his fingers, the look in your eyes as he kissed you, the pink of your cheeks after you came. He was totally infatuated with you, yet he knew this was as far as anything could go.

You watched him for a while, waiting for him to speak up. The drive had been mostly quiet, neither of you knowing exactly how to express what you were thinking. Until Bonnie Raitt’s I Cant Make You Love Me came on the radio and two hands shot out to change the station. Harry’s eyes met yours for a second as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, a soft chuckle slipping out. He guided your hand to his thigh, his touch hovering until your thumb started to caress the fabric of his trousers.

“No sad songs in my car,” he teased, eyes fixed on the road. “Put one of your playlists on.”

You picked up your phone, momentarily feeling stupid and young as you scrolled through your Spotify. You had no idea what music Harry liked, and you weren’t about to embarrass yourself by displaying a horrific taste in music. He’d somehow noticed your internal panic, rolling his eyes in jest. “Just put on your on repeat. I wanna see what music you like,” he grinned.

You scrolled through your Spotify with a furrowed brow, your indecisive fingers hovering over the screen. a smirk playing on his lips, watched her struggle. "We’ll be there before you pick something.”

"It's important, Harry. I have to find a playlist that doesn’t have High School Musical in."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "For real?”

"Yes! What's wrong with that?" you laughed, pulling your hand away from his leg.

"Well, for a start," Harry began, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “You’re not twelve.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn't help but giggle. "Hey, at least I have variety. You probably listen to dad rock and indie songs that you think will make girls fancy you.”

"Touché," he said, holding up a hand in surrender. "But at least I don’t have the music taste of a pre-teen.”

You rolled your eyes, finally settling on a song. As the first notes played, Harry groaned exaggeratedly. “Just because you have High School Musical in your playlist, doesn’t mean you should play it.”

You grinned, holding up your phone as a mock microphone. "Come on, admit it. You love it."

Harry shook his head, unable to keep a straight face. "You're impossible."

“You’re staring at me,” Harry said finally, pulling you from your daydream.

“You’ve been staring at me since we sat down,” you laughed. “I only looked just now.”

Harry smiled softly, patting his lap in a signal for you to cosy up to him. You stood up, quietly moving around the table, your eyes never leaving Harry.

He opened his arms as you approached, taking a hold of your hand as you settled onto his lap, curling up against him. Harry's arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, his thoughts momentarily forgotten. The comfort of the embrace was immediate, a perfect fit that seemed to melt away the distance that had separated you moments before.

You listened to the steady beat of his heart as Harry pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back.

“I know what you’re thinking, Harry,” you whispered, glancing down at your drink before meeting his gaze. His anguish was written all over his face, his confusion and indecisiveness seeping into the lines on his tanned skin. He leaned back into the seat, shifting you slightly so that he could see you clearly.

“What am I thinking, bunny?” he asked, his knuckles caressing your cheek.

“You’re thinking… that it’s for the best that nothing happens between us, but you still want it to.” You didn’t want to have the conversation so soon, but it was clearly troubling you both. Harry stayed silent, his dark eyes trained on your face as you fiddled with your straw.

“And you think this weekend should be the end of it,” you added, face hardening as you said it. He made a quiet murmur of agreement, brows knitting as if hearing the words out loud caused physical pain.

“I’ll follow your lead, H. If this is as far as we go, then I say we make it the best weekend ever,” you grinned, hoping that a twinkle cut through the sadness you could feel clouding your eyes.

Harry scanned your face for a second, searching for any sign of hesitance. But you were settled on your choice, your strong gaze giving him no indication of any deeper feelings. He pulled you closer to him after a moment, satisfied that you were on the same team.

To agree on the premature death of your relationship was a gut wrenching feeling, in the most peculiar way. You barely knew Harry outside of his time as your professor, and now you were wondering if he would end up as your one great love, the one big regret you’d have when you’re old and grey, or if he’d be the one who ruined you. You were almost certain it was the former, but it wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders as you settled into his lap, with one final scan around the pub in case it was suddenly full of people you knew. Harry’s hand pressed against your cheek, turning your head until you faced him. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, his lips parted just enough for you to see the white of his teeth as he stared at you.

It was the closest you’d been since you found yourself on his lap at the lake. Friday was your study day, your only lecture taught by a different professor, and you’d lost track of time and missed your grading session with Harry. The last you’d seen of him was as he drove away after dropping you home, your panties still dripping from the orgasm he’d given you.

The heat radiating off the wall of muscle grazing your chest had you burning up, your cheeks flushing a bright red under his gaze.

You’d noticed that he always looked at you as if he were undressing you in his mind, but now that he’d seen your body, his eyes bored deeper. So deep that it was almost as if he thought he could get you naked with just one look. But with the way he was looking at you then, it could have been a real possibility.

Harry’s lips ghosted across yours, dragging across your cheek until they settled at your ear. “We should go and check out our room,” he whispered, his voice huskier than it had been previously. His free hand tightened around your waist as he spoke, sending shivers down your spine.

You slid off his lap, leaving your barely touched drink on the table as you headed for the stairs. Harry was close behind you the whole way, his hands finding your hips as you started to climb.

You barely made it through the door before he was pulling you to him, his core pressed tight to your back. You could feel everything, every dip and curve of muscle, every twitch of his cock. Harry’s ringed hands gripped and clawed at your clothes with an urgency that sent a chill through your body.

You let him push you towards the bed, turning to face him when your calves hit the frame. He slid a hand up your shirt without a second thought; the sting of his nails, the warmth of his touch, the drool wetting his bottom lip as he stared at you open-mouthed. It was enough to make your knees buckle beneath you, your body suddenly not strong enough to withstand the energy and desire that coursed through you.

In that moment you realised that Harry was addictive. There was an energy that flowed through him, a frantic buzz of electricity shooting through your bloodstream at the mere thought of him. His touch, his voice, his presence left you with a high that you never want to come down from - a dangerous game to play. You knew you couldn’t have him, and the idea of the fall terrified you. But while thoughts of him were clouding your mind, the what ifs and what thens, he was with you, in front of you, tugging your t-shirt over your head.

You pulled your maxi skirt down, stepping out of it and throwing it somewhere off to the side. Harry backed away from you, his hands falling limply to his sides as his gaze dropped down to your panties. It was his first time seeing you properly, and he wanted to take in everything. The curve of your hips, the freckle on your thigh, the scarring of what once was a belly button piercing. His eyes trailed higher, to the fullness of your breasts, the blush of your nipples, the way your hair rested on your shoulders.

“So fucking pretty, kitten,” he whispered, reaching out to pull you towards him. His hand gripped your wrist firmly as he closed the distance between you. With a swift, fluid motion, Harry pushed you against the wall, the cool surface a shock against the heat radiating from his body. The impact took your breath away, but before you could fully process the sensation, his lips were on yours, fierce and demanding. The world around you blurred into insignificance, your whole being succumbing to the urgency and passion of Harry’s tongue as it moved against yours. His feet nudged between yours, his erection pressing into your parted thighs.

He pulled away after a minute, his fingers tangled in your hair. You were panting, gasping for breath as his lips moved down your neck. “Tell me what you need from me,” he murmured, nipping at the skin between hot kisses.

“Anything, everything,” you whispered, your voice breathy, a ghost of itself. Harry pulled away from you, straightening up so he could look you in the eye. His fingers trailed across your jawline, his normally mossy eyes now like coal as they moved over your face.

“Don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he said, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as his hand roamed your skin, tracing the curves and contours of your hips and waistline.

“Give me everything, H,” you moaned, reaching out to touch him as the anticipation became too much to handle. His hand left your face, fingers tangling between yours as he blocked you from touching him, holding your hand at your side as he dropped to his knees in front of you.

You widened your legs for Harry without a second thought, grip tightening on his hand as he pressed wet kisses to your inner thighs.

“Been dreaming about this,” he drawled, his breath dancing lightly across the inside of your thigh. You were powerless, frozen in place by your need as he curled his fingertips around the lace of your thong, kisses and nips following as he tugged it down your thighs.

He let go of your hand as soon as you were exposed, moving to lift both of your feet with a gentle touch, one after the other. You kicked your panties somewhere across the room, pushing your shoulders back into the wall as his nose nudged into your thigh, opening you wider for him.

Your breath was caught in your throat, blood pounding in your ears as you looked down at Harry, watching as he rested back on his heels and took in every part of you. He stared like he wanted to commit it to memory, like this was what he needed to see when he closed his eyes. He draped your leg over his shoulder, licking a hot stripe from your knee to your core.

And then suddenly, without any warning, his fingertips trailed through your entrance, collecting your slick. Your head fell back against the brick as he took his fingers between parted lips, his cheeks hollowing as he suckled on your juices. The whimper that you let out was obscene, he was obscene, worshipping your pussy as if it was everything to him.

When he was satisfied, Harry’s tongue traced the line that his fingers had made, licking into you so tenderly yet driven by desire. He was eating you like he’d been starved, like your pussy was the prey he’d been hunting. Your knees buckled as his nose grazed your clit, your weight shifting slightly as you dropped deeper onto his mouth. You could feel his smirk against your entrance, his moan vibrating through your core as you gasped and panted. But you were playing into his hands, giving him the reactions he so desperately wanted.

His deep groan fluttered through you as your hands twisted into his curls, the sharp sting of your nails just enough to spur him on. He repeated the same movement, over and over, his focus alternating between your entrance and your clit, his fingers wrapped around your thigh, tips digging in just enough that you expected bruises by the morning. The thought of it made you ache, the idea of his touch marking you, making you his, was enough to have your body trembling over him.

Your heel dug into Harry’s back, your motivation somewhere between steadying yourself and pulling him closer, your fingers tangling tighter into his curls. And when he looked up at you, his eyes locking onto your face as his lips moved towards your clit, his fingers sliding into your entrance, you were wrapped around his finger, indebted to him, owned by him from that moment onwards.

“Look at me,” he demanded, the soft touches of his lips against your nerves leaving you whining and rocking against his mouth. When you didn’t pull your head down fast enough, a splayed hand slammed against the curve of your ass. You cried out, tugging on his hair as your eyes met his, your eyelids heavy.

“Good girl,” Harry whispered, his soft lips wrapping back around your clit. Every muscle in your body seemed to tense at once, your entire body buzzing as he worked his fingers inside of you, his free hand rubbing at the mark his slap was sure to have left. It was too much, the pleasure defeating you as you started to fall apart, crying out his name as you came.

Harry waited a minute, kissing across your mound and your inner thighs, before slipping your leg from his shoulder. He got back to his feet slowly, his hands trailing the outside of your body as if he might need to catch you. Your heart was hammering in your throat, the flashes of sweetness and purity in Harry’s actions somehow making the moment even dirtier.

As soon as he was level with you again, confident that you can support yourself, his lips were back on yours. Hungrier, more desperate than before. He pulled you into him, his cock twitching as you bite down on his bottom lip, his hands splayed across your back. You weren’t sure you’d ever been so overwhelmed with desire and need, and you weren’t sure you ever would be again.

“Y’so fucking perfect,” Harry murmured against your mouth, turning you around and pushing you onto the bed. “Do you know how it’s been for me?” he asked, tugging his tshirt over his head. “Watching you in class, seeing you flounce around in those little skirts knowing what’s underneath. Knowing that pussy is waiting for me?”

You shook your head, moving your legs just slightly so he had a better view of you. “Such a tease,” he continued, voice so low you could barely make out his words. You were aching all over, physically pained by the lack of touch, your walls throbbing with impatience. He was taking too long, too many seconds wasted by fiddling with the button on his slacks.

“Please, Harry,” you whimpered, reaching out to help him undress. “You don’t like waiting?” he scoffed, finally stepping out of his trousers. The outline of his cock is all you can focus on, your lips parting as you stare at him. “I need you to tuck me,” you whined, massaging both of your breasts in an attempt to take the edge off.

He walked around the bed to the nightstand, eyes never leaving your body. “All fours,” he demanded, plucking a condom from his wallet.

You followed his orders, turning onto your knees and pressing your chest flat to the bed. His eyes bore into your core as he rolls the condom over his cock, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” he whispered, coming up behind you and tracing the curve of your hips with splayed hands.

He pushes himself against your folds, his tip nudging against your clit with every move. You rock your hips back into him, whining until he lines himself up with your entrance.

Your head dropped to the mattress as he finally pushed himself into you, groaning as your walls pulsated around his width. He was big. Bigger than you’d imagined, bigger than you’d ever had. You could feel him everywhere. Your head dropped to the mattress as he finally pushed himself into you, groaning as your walls pulsated around his cock. He was big. Bigger than you’d imagined, bigger than you’d ever had. You could feel him everywhere, his tip pressed against your g-spot, his girth splitting you apart.

You gripped the bedsheets with shaky hands, your knuckles white as Harry pulls back.

“Perfect fucking cunt,” he drawled his fingertips digging into your waist. He glanced down, eyes dark as he watches his cock pushing back into you, the condom coated in your slick.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t focus on anything except moving your hips back to meet his thrusts. His cock was everywhere, filling every inch of you as his hands roamed your ass, each thrust more powerful than the last. “More, Harry, *please*,” you begged, rocking your hips into him so hard that the slap of skin on skin echoed around the room.

“Still need more, huh?” Harry cooed, his voice so low it was almost sinister. You nodded, whimpering as he slammed back into you.

He gathered your hair into a ponytail, twisting it around your fingers and tugging until your back was flush with his chest. His hand snaked around to your throat, squeezing lightly as he tilted your head back to look at him.

“Such a good little slut,” he drawled, watching as you trailed a hand down to your clit, knees weak as you rubbed circles against the sensitive nerves.

Harry leaned down a little, sinking his teeth into the flesh next to his hand. You couldn’t keep from crying out, writhing in his grasp. You’d never felt so much before. His cock fucking into you, his grip on your throat, the pull of your skin between his teeth, your fingers at your clit. It was like you were experiencing everything at its fullest, your senses heightened as your body went into overdrive. You didn’t have time to register your orgasm until you were in the thick of it, rolling your body against your palm, choking out a scream of Harry’s name.

He eased his grip on your throat, letting you drop down onto the mattress as you rode through your high. He pulled out of you, rolling onto the centre of the bed with a groan.

You climbed on top of him, lining his length up with your entrance and slipping him back inside of you. Your head rolled back on your shoulders as you felt him from a new angle, your hands resting against his tattooed torso.

“So fucking big, H,” you whined, circling your hips as if it would make any difference to the way you were bursting at the seams, stuffed full of his cock.

His hands found your hips as you started to inch yourself off him, your eyebrows furrowed as you try to get used to his size.

“Taking me so well, kitten,” Harry murmured, his eyes glazed over as he watches you ride him, your ass slapping against his groin as you start to bounce on him.

He cupped the back of your neck with one hand, pulling you closer to him. You planted your hands on either side of his head, grinning against his mouth as he kissed you, the taste of your slick still lingering on his tongue. Your body was practically aglow with energy, tingling from your head to your toes as he reached around to slam a hand against your ass. Each smack of his palm is punctuated with your loud cry, falling into time with the squelch of your juices to form an obscene chorus. It’s an entirely depraved, overwhelmingly dirty sound, especially for the early afternoon.

But as Harry gripped your hips and held you steady, fucking up into you with the power and force of a machine gun firing, you really don’t care at all about anything going on around you. In that moment, it’s you and Harry against the world. That’s the final thought you had before your walls clamped around his cock, whimpering into his mouth as your third orgasm of the day started to tear through your body. Harry’s thrusts got sloppier, his hips jolting as he came, your pussy milking him of all he had. Your hips rocked as he panted into your mouth, rubbing at the welts starting to rise on your skin.

You waited for his heart rate to lower before easing off of him, pulling the condom from his length as you kneeled beside him. Harry watched as you tied the end, dropping it haphazardly near the bin before flopping down next to him, chest still heaving.

You stared at the ceiling, stars still lingering in your vision. It wasn’t fair. Harry wasn’t the kind of man you were meant to have a fling with, he was the white picket fence and babies man. You knew that questioning him and begging would only make you look younger and sillier in his eyes, but the lingering vulnerability had your words slipping out before you could hold yourself back.

“I don’t want this weekend to be all we have,” you whispered, rolling over to look at Harry.

“I don’t either, princess,” he murmured, propping himself up on his elbow. His free hand pushed the stray hairs from your face, his touch never far from you. “But at this point in your life, do you really want to sneak around for a few years?”

You stared at him in silence for a moment, your bottom lip jutting out as you realised how impossible any kind of relationship would be.

“I don’t like it anymore than you do. But if I have you, I want to be able to show you off. You’re too good to be any man’s secret.”

You groaned, throwing your hands over your face. How could someone make you feel so wanted even as they let you down?

“You know I’m right,” Harry teased. You could almost hear the arrogant smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. You rolled onto your back, letting your arms drop limply at your sides. “No,” you grumbled.

“I am,” Harry continued, climbing over you and planting his hands on either side of your head. “Now are you gonna carry on sulking, or are we going to enjoy ourselves?”

The injustice melted away as you stared up at him, his toothy grin spreading as your face softened. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pushing your hips up until they met his core. “Show me what I’ll be missing,” you whispered, the tug on your heartstrings overpowered by your need.

—

The shower, desk, window seat, sink, every surface possible had all been used by the time the sun went down that evening. You were exhausted, every inch of your body throbbing. Harry could see it in the way your face screwed up just a little every time you moved, his hands never ceasing as they rubbed over your sides.

He glanced down at you, a soft smile curving his lips. You were somewhere between simply too content to open your eyes and full-on knocked out as he slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the you. He padded softly across the room, kicking away discarded items of clothing as he made his way to the bathroom, the cool tiles a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed.

The tub had barely started filling up before you appeared in the doorway, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“Hi, kitten,” Harry grinned, pulling you in for a hug.

You hated how easy and normal everything felt as you wrapped your arms around his back, your head falling between his pecs as if this was where you were meant to be.

“What you doing?”

“I was rough with you today, and I feel bad,” he shrugged. “And you seem like the kind of girl who likes a bath.”

“I’ve had a really nice day,” you sighed, your voice muffled against his t-shirt. You really had, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that he’d fucked you the way you’d always dreamed of. It wasn’t right that he’d been the Troy to your Gabriella. It wasn’t right that he was taking the time to care for you. It wasn’t right that this was the way your story would end.

But you pushed those feelings down as Harry kissed the top of your head, his thumb rubbing circles on your lower back. “Good. Me too.”

You stepped away from him as he reached around to shut the water off. “What are you supposed to do while I have a bath?”

“I don’t know. Fall to my knees and cry until you’re back,” Harry shrugged, tangling his fingers with yours and pulling your arms around his neck.

You dodged his kiss with a laugh, shaking your head as you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t even think about asking me to join you. That is the smallest bathtub I’ve ever seen,” Harry teased.

“Then just stay here with me,” you ask, grinning when he agreed. He pulled your hands to his mouth, kissing each of your knuckles one by one.

“Just give me a minute,” he told you, letting go of you as he backed out of the bathroom.

You stepped into the bath when Harry left, listening out for a clue as to what he suddenly needed to do. All you heard was the main door closing behind him, and his quick steps down the hallway.

He padded back into the bathroom a few minutes later with a flute of champagne in either hand. “Nice touch,” you grinned, washing the bubbles from your hand as he passed one of the glasses to you with a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“Can’t fault a man for trying,” Harry smiled, closing the toilet so he could sit next to you.

You pushed the bubbles around the surface of the bath for a second, watching as they popped and sparkled.

“Take your top off,” you giggled, turning to Harry with a bright grin.

He eyed you suspiciously as you glared back at him, your smile never faltering. “I’m naked, H. In the bath. What exactly are you expecting me to do right now?”

He shrugged, tugging his t-shirt over his head after a pause and balling it between his fists.

“I never knew you had so many tattoos. Didn’t really get to see them earlier,” you told him, eyes trailing across each one. You’d caught glimpses of them before, but you hadn’t expected his torso and arms to be littered in so much ink.

“Can’t really show them at work,” Harry shrugged, glancing down at his inked torso.

“I like the moth,” you mused, though your eyes were glued to the ferns poking out from the waistband of his pants. “Which one’s your favourite?”

He looked over himself, twisting his arms around so he could get a view of each tattoo. “These two, I think,” he answered finally, pointing to the A and G on his shoulders. “For my mum and sister.”

“You don’t have the right build for an English professor,” you stated, not entirely expecting to voice that aloud.

“No?” Harry laughed, his eyes back on you as you sipped your champagne. You shook your head, cheeks a little flushed as you realised you’d have to explain yourself.

“English professors are grey. Or beige. They’re old and withered and smell like dusty libraries,” you told him. “You’re…”

“Not like that, I hope,” Harry finished for you, his dimples carved deep into his cheeks as he grinned.

“Not at all. I think every single student has a crush on you,” you smirked. “Did you always want to be a teacher?”

Harry shook his head, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “Didn’t even consider it until I was about to graduate.”

“I have no idea what I’m going to do after,” you confessed, nose crinkling as you thought about it. “None of the jobs available really appeal to me. I might have to marry rich.”

Harry let out a loud laugh as you giggled. “Don’t look at me. I have about £5 left to my name after paying my bills.”

You settled into an almost uncomfortable silence, both seemingly realising how close you’d gotten to inadvertently discussing marriage.

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked finally, cutting through any tension at risk of building up.

“A little,” you replied, tilting your head as you look at him.

“Want me to go get something?”

You nodded, setting your empty glass down as Harry leans over, planting a gentle kiss on your lips. Your eyes widened when he turned away, tugging his t-shirt back over his head.

It was all too domesticated, too natural. You were acting like an established couple, not two people who would go their separate ways after leaving the hotel room. But despite knowing that, every touch and every kiss had you melting into Harry a little more.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts and distract yourself before you concocted a reality in which you could live happily ever after with Harry by your side.

You decided to preoccupy yourself with getting cleaned up as soon as you heard the door swing shut, scrubbing your body and any leftover makeup from your face.

You stepped out the bath, wrapping yourself in the one clean towel neither of you had ruined, when your phone buzzed from the windowsill.

courtney: hows it going? you ok ? X

y/n: had more orgasms today than I’ve had in my life.

courtney: 🍆? 😉

y/n: tell you everything later. Love u xx

You threw your phone in the general direction of the bed, smirking to yourself. You knew you shouldn’t tell Courtney everything, but Harry must’ve known that was a given before he fucked you the way he had.

Your reflection caught your eye in the mirror as you hung the towel back up, the girl staring back at you glowing. You hated that this was the happiest you’d been in a long time, and you hated knowing that all of that would be stripped away not even twenty four hours later. But you’d already told yourself time and time again not to dwell on it now, promising yourself as much sadness as you needed the second you got home. You had a funny feeling that Illicit Affairs might be the only song you’d listen to for a few weeks.

It was only as you stared at yourself that you noticed the familiar discomfort that came with wearing your contacts for too long. Your eyes were begging for relief, but you felt suddenly shy about wearing your glasses in front of Harry. He’d definitely seen you wearing them before, but you could never be sure how much he’d noticed you before.

You sighed, blinking a few times before plucking both lenses from your eyes and dropping them into the bin.

It was only as you padded towards the bed that you realised that your ‘good’ glasses were in your bag. With your clean clothes. In the backseat of Harry’s car. You found your purse, pulling out your spare glasses with a groan. They were your huge, thick, never-wear-in-front-of-anyone-else, emergency pair. Definitely not the pair you wanted Harry to see you in.

You ran your fingers along the arm with a grumble, pushing them onto your nose. Any glasses were better than Harry coming back to find you naked and blind. Perching on the edge of the bed, you messaged Harry to remind him to bring the bags up when he got back to the room.

It was only a few minutes later that you heard his keycard in the door and he came to your rescue, with two pizza boxes balanced in his hand and both bags slung over his shoulders.

“This is a nice surprise,” he grinned, setting the pizzas and bags down next to you. You folded your arms over your chest, tilting your head away from him slightly.

“My clothes and good glasses are in my bag,” you mumbled, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“And why is that a bad thing?” he asked, kicking his shoes off before sitting down next to you. His palm found your cheek, turning your head back towards him. “You are naked and adorable. I wouldn’t have bothered with the bags if I’d known.”

“You are incredible. I have no idea what happened with your generation’s self esteem. Seriously,” Harry told you, holding your head up with two fingers under your chin.

He studied your face for a minute before pushing you down, knocking the pizzas out of the way with a muttered “oops.”

Harry angled himself slightly above you, cupping your face in both hands. He pressed tender kisses to your forehead, nose and the corners of your lips, before moving down your neck, kissing along your throat and collarbone.

His mouth continued down, his lips wrapping around your nipple as his hand found the other breast, giving them both some attention before swapping. And then he followed that same trail upwards, pausing to kiss and nibble at your ear.

“Think you’re the most beautiful girl in world,” he whispered, suckling on the skin just below your ear. “You are to me.”

You turned your head until your nose brushed against his, eyes soft as you stare back at him.

“What do you need, princess?” Harry asked, his voice low as you fumbled with his belt buckle.

“Just want to be close to you, H,” you whispered, clawing at his slacks with impatience.

He pushed your hair out of your eyes before standing to remove his clothes, stroking his cock a few times as it sprung out of his boxers. His eyes were on you as he touched himself, a sight you knew would flash behind your eyes every time you reached into your panties.

“Come here,” he told you, moving backwards on the bed until his back met the headboard.

You climbed onto his lap, any tension in your body melting away as you settled over his cock. “We used all the condoms earlier,” Harry whispered, wrapping a hand around your waist to pull you closer to him.

“Doesn’t matter,” you replied. “Just needed to feel you.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, rubbing circles around the dimples on your lower back. You nodded, running your fingers through his curls. “Lift up a second, kitten,” he whispered, holding his free hand under the curve of your ass as you raised your hips.

He lined himself up with your entrance, biting down on his lower lip as he eased you back down, feeling you for the first time with no barrier.

You let out a moan you didn’t even know you’d been holding, the sensation of him deep inside you, filling you up, exactly what you’d needed.

“Better now, princess?” Harry cooed, running his hand along your hips. You nodded, reaching for the pizza box. “Better.”

—

“I’m away for the next two days,” Harry told you, tangling his fingers with yours. “Got a teaching conference.”

“Do you think it’ll be hard to go back to normal?” you asked, totally disregarding what he’d said.

“Yes,” Harry answered, without so much as skipping a beat. “But I think it will only be so difficult because we have to keep seeing each other.”

You let out a dejected sigh, running your thumb across the back of his hand. “Yeah.”

“So you should spend the next two days practicing some self restraint,” Harry teased, looking over at you with that same, goofy, familiar grin.

“You are the serial toucher,” you laughed, tugging your hand away from his to swat at his chest.

“You just touched me.”

“I hit you.”

Harry snatched your hand back, chuckling before you settled into silence. Your gaze shifted to the view outside your window, familiar buildings and street signs coming into view as you drove closer to home. You weren’t ready to carry on with the life you had before Harry, his presence making everything somehow brighter.

“What’s your girlfriend doing tonight?” he asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Ask your roommate. She’s probably at yours,” you smirked.

“She’s always at mine,” Harry groaned. “Do you want to pick her up before I drop you home? I assume you’ll need to gossip,” he teased.

You shook your head softly, eyes dropping to where your hands sat intertwined. “No, it’s okay. I’ll see her tomorrow.”

You had a date with a book, a pint of ice cream and a potential cry lined up for when you got home. You weren’t ready to share your weekend with Courtney, needing to keep it sacred just a while longer. It was the only thing you had that was only yours and Harry’s for now.

—

You approached Harry’s office door, reaching for the doorknob with a tentative hand. You shouldn’t have been there and you knew it, but with a question from his earlier lecture and a burning desire to just see him, you pushed the door open.

You barely knew how to act around him after your weekend. He hadn’t met your eye in class, purposely avoiding your gaze when he passed you in the hall. You’d waited two days to speak to him, which was nothing. But it was two days of drafting and deleting nonsense texts, trying to come up with excuses to see Courtney at his in case he was there, pulling on his t-shirt before you touched yourself so it would feel like he was with you. You were completely, utterly addicted to him.

Harry’s eyes lit up the moment turned around and saw you, a genuine smile spreading across his face. The room had felt different without you, the monotony of grading and the cold glow of his laptop screen somehow duller and more lifeless than he remembered.

He gestured towards the empty seat, dropping the pile of books he was carrying onto the desk. “I won’t be long,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “Just had a question about today’s lecture.”

Harry leaned against the wooden edge of his desk, watching you as you flipped through your notes. He couldn’t help noticing how much warmth you brought into his office, how relieved he was to be alone with you.

“How are you?” he asked finally, cutting through the silence.

“M’okay. Just trying to actually focus on my degree now,” you smiled, heart pounding as you eased into conversation. “Decided to tutor a couple of other students.”

“Your professor would be proud,” Harry grinned, running a hand through his curls. You returned his smile, your notebook falling to your side as you edged just a few inches closer. The tension felt thick, too many unspoken words to fit into one short conversation. But Harry's gaze was soft as he looked over you, an intensity behind his eyes that made your heart pound against your ribcage. You could see the cogs turning in his head, an internal battle between desire and restraint.

You were thankful for the dimmed lights as a blush crept up your cheeks, stepping closer to Harry as if an invisible force pushed you towards him. Your fingertips brushed his knee, your lips parting slightly as you stared up at him.

You’d somehow expected him to change, to see him today and he wasn’t the same man you’d left behind. But he was no different than the man who’d fucked you, who’d cared for you so tenderly.

In a moment of weakness, Harry leaned in, his hand tangling into your hair as his lips found yours. It was gentle yet urgent, filled with all the emotions he had been holding back. You pulled him closer, your notes forgotten as they dropped to the floor, your fingers wrapping around his collar. For a few fleeting seconds, you were almost transported back in time, reality shifting into a parallel where this was natural and normal.

But Harry suddenly pulled away, his breath ragged, his expression conflicted. "We can't," he whispered, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. "I'm sorry, kitten.”

Your heart ached at the loss of his touch, leaning forward to chase his kiss. But Harry’s hand fell from you as he took a step back, his eyes glued to the floor.

The silence that followed was heavy, loaded with everything left unsaid. Harry turned away, leaving you standing there, the warmth of his kiss still lingering on your lips, and the cold realization of his withdrawal settling in.

Your heart plummeted as Harry's words echoed in your ears. You trailed a finger along your lower lip, trying to soothe the sting of rejection. You felt exposed, your mind racing with self-doubt, wondering if you had misread everything. If you had been foolish to think there was something more.

You backed away from Harry, tears of hurt and embarrassment stinging at your eyes. He was silent, frozen as he watched you walk away. The second the door closed behind you, his gaze dropped to your notes on the ground, his fist slamming into the desk behind him.

—

Harry slumped over the breakfast bar, his head in his hands. It wasn’t supposed to have gone this way, and he thought he knew better. He had decided to stay away from you, and he’d broken that promise to himself. He was supposed to keep his distance. You were nothing short of irresistible to him, and he knew the second he was alone with you he’d cross boundaries. And that was exactly what he’d done.

“Just talk to her,” Courtney told him from across the kitchen. Trapped in his inner turmoil, he hadn’t even noticed her in the room.

“Remember I’m still your professor,” Harry grumbled, eyes still focused on the grainy marble under him.

She shookher head, groaning as she swiped the untouched slice of toast from his plate. He lifted his head to look at her, hoping his expression would convey how little he wanted to get into a conversation about you. Courtney raised her eyebrows as she backed out of the room, eyes still on Harry. “You’re not the only one who’s in a strop, you know.”

“You’re also in my house,” he called after her, running a hand through his hair.

You hadn’t told Courtney about that afternoon yet. Harry knew Courtney was feisty before she became his second roommate, and he was certain that she’d make no attempt to hide her feelings towards him if she knew how he’d rejected you. Either you were too embarrassed to even mention it, or there was still a chance for Harry to turn things around. He may have been a man in a pit of despair, but he chose to take it as a sign.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his keys and left. He didn’t even know what his plan was, or what he was signing himself up for by going to see you. But twenty minutes later he was pulling up outside your apartment, hoping you’d be home and praying you would be willing to hear him out.

Your windows were open and a light was on, so he was over the first hurdle.

He was almost at your doorstep when he heard it. The little uncertain giggles that exploded into laughter. It was his favourite sound, and until then, he’d foolishly assumed it was reserved for him. But there was someone else in your flat, someone else making you laugh the way he did.

He backed away from the door, leaning up against his car to try and get a glimpse of who was inside. He couldn’t see anyone, even craning his neck and stretching onto his tiptoes was hopeless. He turned around, clenching his fists as his jaw tightened. He was about to get back into his car when he heard the second voice, a husky male voice. He couldn’t hear what he said, but he didn’t need to. There was another man in your room, another man making you laugh the way he had. And you were happy. Not backing away from him in tears, with hurt and embarrassment written all over your face.

This wasn’t him. He wasn’t the man who got cheated on, but you weren’t cheating on him. He’d ended it. You weren’t his, and you had every right to be with someone else. But that didn’t make it feel any better.

He should never have put you in a position where you could be anyone else’s. His mind was racing, thoughts of you tangled up in your bedsheets with him, that voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear, hands that didn’t belong to him trailing over the bruises Harry had left on your skin.

“Fuck,” he shouted, his fist flying out to make contact with his wing mirror. He should have just fucking kissed you properly. He should’ve found a way to make it work, but he hadn’t. He was a coward, pushing you into the arms of another man just so he could protect his fucking reputation.

He was half prepared to march back to your door, to charge in and reclaim what he’d lost. But he knew he wasn’t acting or thinking like someone you’d want around, so he got back into his car and left, heading for nowhere.

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gigisimsonmars · 2 years ago

Text

Reunions

Jake Seresin x F!Reader. This is my first fic, so please be nice! Dedicated to @sebsxphia - so proud of you! Thanks to @gretagerwigsmuse for reading this over. Tagging a few people who might be interested: @blue-aconite @anniesocsandgeneralstore @wildbornsiren @seresinhangmanjake @callsignvalley @theharddeck

Warnings: pregnancy scare, situationships, anxiety.

You stand on your tip-toes, peering around the heads of the people in front of you on the dock, trying to get a glimpse of the gangway. Jake will be in his camo uniform, blending into the crowd of sailors walking off the carrier. The sun is so bright, the wind blowing the sea air off the water and mixing with the smells of the crowd around you. You feel a little nauseous. You haven’t seen him in three months.

An excited little girl knocks into you, hopping up and down, tugging on her father’s hand. “Mommy! Can you see Mommy?” Her father is smiling, even as the lines of exhaustion from the past few months carve down his cheeks. “She’s almost here, baby.” You stare a little too long. The noise of the crowd, the pressure of the bodies around you, the light, it’s all pressing down on you. You’re a little lightheaded. You look again at the gangway but can’t pick Jake out.

You’re staring at a family reunion, parents clutching their gangly son – do they really let kids join this young? He looks sixteen – when Jake finds you.

He looks perfect, bronzed by the sun, sea glass eyes full of light. He asked you to come get him, and he emailed you every week while he was away and called twice, and he calls you sweetheart -

“Sweetheart, you okay?” He’s been speaking. You should have been listening. You missed his first words to you.

“I-,” the words aren’t coming. Jake looks at you a moment, carefully.

“Too much noise?” he asks gently, so gently that it’s out of place in this boisterous scene. You nod, still unable to call up your voice.

“C’mon, let’s blow this popsicle stand.” He slings his arm around your waist and leads you back to the parking lot. Opens the passenger door for you, closes it gently. Slings his seabag into the trunk and comes around, settles into the driver’s seat.

You fold your hands tightly in your lap, braced against your stomach. It’s an old habit, to make yourself smaller. You haven’t been this tense around him since he drove you home after your fifth date.

Jake starts the car. The radio station you had on starts to play. He glances over at you as the old Garth Brooks song fills the car. You started listening to music like this with him, and kept listening when he left you. You’re pretty sure that George Strait will be in your Spotify Top 5 list this year.

The two of you head back to your place. Jake’s has been shut up for weeks, though you’ve been keeping an eye on it. He likes yours better anyway. You have soft pillows and pretty art posters on the walls, and a spice rack that you actually use. He complains that your couch isn’t big enough for a six foot naval aviator and his girl (your stomach flips again remembering when he said that), but you’ve managed okay.

Jake pulls into the apartment parking lot. There’s always a spot open for golden boy somehow, even though you usually have to circle around a couple of times and park in the back. He gets out, gets his bag, opens your door and takes your hand. You walk into the building together, take off your shoes together, bumping into each other in the small entryway to your place. You go into the living room and sit on the couch. You still haven’t spoken.

Jake joins you after he goes to the bathroom. He must have splashed water on his face, you can see the droplets on his collar. He’s tense now, too, you can tell.

“I thought I was pregnant.”

The words fall like a stone into water. His eyes widen, and drop to your flat stomach. Your hands are braced there again. You’d only been seeing him for two months before he left.

“I wasn’t – I’ve never skipped a period before, so I thought maybe – but it was probably just stress.” Stress from work, stress from family, stress from your maybe-boyfriend going to sea for three months, whatever.

But that week when you thought maybe? You’d thought about children as a hazy, dreamy someday. But this was real. You could have really had a baby – a sweet-faced baby with a round tummy and big green eyes. You could have made room in your apartment, changed your work schedule, spent Saturday mornings at the library story hour instead of sleeping off Friday night. You could have had a baby with a man who didn’t love you and probably didn’t even want to be a father.

Jake sucks in a deep breath, then exhales. “Sweetheart…” he clearly doesn’t know what to say. You’ve dropped this on him with no warning.

You stand up, pace into the kitchen. You consciously tidied up your breakfast dishes this morning even though you usually leave them for after dinner. Jake is fastidious. You run the sponge over the stovetop instead. You can never get all the grease off. Jake can.

You hear him get up and follow you. He’s leaning against the doorframe, you know without looking. You’re throwing off mixed signals, you know that. You’re not angry at him. You want him to touch you again. But you’re afraid of what he’s going to say next. If he says that the two of you weren’t serious, that it was a good thing, that he likes you a lot but he’s not cut out for fatherhood, you will either chuck the sponge straight at his head or splinter all over your kitchen floor.

“Would it have been so bad?”

What.

You spin around and gawk at him.

“I mean, we’ve only been seeing each other for a few months, but I thought you wanted kids?”

What.

“I know we’ve never talked about it but it was pretty obvious when you were playing with Payback’s kid.”

Payback’s kid is adorable. She has the entire Dagger Squad wrapped around her finger. You’re pretty sure that she has never been put down the whole time she’s been in North Island. Right before everyone deployed you all had a picnic on the beach. She was wearing the tiniest sunhat you had ever seen and punched Fanboy with her tiny baby fist when he stopped her from eating sand.

“I – what?”

Jake shifts uncomfortably. You’ve never seen him like this. He’s always so confident and smooth, whether he’s sliding up beside you at the bar or opening a car door for you or carrying you to his bedroom or kissing you goodbye and whispering for you to meet him on the dock when he gets back.

“We would have figured it out.” The light through your window dapples across his face. It must be windy, you can see the branches of the tree moving from their shadows.

You literally had never considered the conversation going this way.

“Unless you didn’t – unless I’m not the one – then I guess –”

“You are.” You didn’t even realize that your mouth had started forming the words until they were out. “I didn’t – we’ve never talked about kids, or exclusivity or anything. I didn’t want to assume…” You know that your eyes are big and hopeful and watery.

Jake’s face relaxed the second you started speaking. He crosses the kitchen to you, takes the sponge from you gently and tosses it in the sink. Blindly you grope for a dishcloth to dry your hands before they come to rest lightly on his shoulders.

“Sweetheart, it’s been you since I dropped you off on your doorstep after our first date.”

Oh. Now you’re crying.

He kisses your cheeks, kisses the tears away, then lightly sets his mouth to yours. It’s the first time in three months. You’ve missed him so, so much. The week you thought you were carrying his child you’d curled yourself around your belly every night, thinking that there was a piece of him in there. It had hurt so much more than you had expected when the test came back negative.

Jake finally pulls away, looks at you with such tenderness.

“You want a baby?”

You nod, shakily. It still feels risky to admit it. Five months together, three of those apart, isn’t long at all.

“You’d better come with me to Texas for Thanksgiving then. My dad says he’ll give me my grandma’s ring whenever I’m ready, but he wants to meet you first.”

You suck in a breath. He’s told his family about you?

“Sweetheart, I like to think I’m pretty good at reading you, but I need to hear the words.”

You tip up your chin a bit. “Oh, was that a proposal?”

He grins down at you, eyes flashing.

“Oh, you’ll know when I propose, sweetheart.”

Your smile matches his.

“I guess you also know what I’ll say, then.”

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #gigiwrites

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silentscrying · 3 months ago

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🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track three: something about a beat

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, hopeless stupid pining, alcohol, mentions of deceased parent, maki is Fed Up, anxiety, unbearably cute dogs. || sfw. 9k words.

“OKAY, IT’S UP,” Nobara says, grinning at you over her laptop. You’re sprawled across the living room at Takuma’s place, surrounded by a random combination of your band and his while others are in classes. After spending last night mixing the single, Takuma helped Nobara set up an artist profile for the band, and now your music is available on streaming services. Just like that.

“That’s so weird,” you say, grinning as you pull up Spotify on your phone. Next Fix by Cursed Technique. Strange to see your face on there, a photo taken of all of you by some freshman when you last performed at The Fix. Nobara sends the link in your group chat, and Toge responds within seconds.

freak no. 1: FAME freak no. 1: FORTUNE freak no. 1: wait it’s not opening freak no. 1: nvm i’m just stupid

“Does he ever pay attention in class?” Nobara mutters. Maki snorts.

Yuta is also in class, but that means he’s locked in, all his devices on Do Not Disturb. You don’t think Toge’s turned DND on a single time in his life.

“I’m going to Kinji’s!” Kirara shouts from the front entryway, and Yuji leaps to his feet and disappears down the hall, barreling back out of his room seconds later.

“Wait! Can you give this to Panda while you’re there?” He hands her a drive, and Kirara rolls her eyes and takes it.

“You need to slow down every once in a while,” she says, ruffling Yuji’s hair. “Okay, bye. I’ll be back in a few hours.” The dogs follow her to the door and return the living room when she’s gone, curling up on either side of Megumi, who’s busy writing some paper in the corner.

“What was that?” Nobara asks.

“Demo drive for the radio station,” Takuma says. “Panda plays our stuff sometimes. I bet he’d play yours, too.”

“That’d be sick,” Nobara says approvingly. She turns to bother Megumi, poking at him until he takes his headphones off and talks to her, and Yuji strolls into the room and flops down directly on the floor.

“Comfy?” you ask, poking him with a socked foot.

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Ah, look what you did, Kugisaki,” Megumi says, and you look up to see Shiro trotting toward you with her tail wagging, having abandoned her post at her owner’s side.

“That was not my fault! You’re the one who moved.”

“Because you kept poking me!”

You immediately slide off the couch onto the floor, letting Shiro sit in your lap. “Um, excuse me,” Takuma says, offended. You crane your neck to look up at him behind you on the couch. His face is lit up by his computer as he works on a string of code he tried (and failed) to explain to you, and there’s laughter in his eyes despite the affronted tone of his voice.

“Favorite,” you inform him with a wide, cheeky smile. He very maturely sticks his tongue out at you.

“Toge message,” Nobara informs you all, reading off her phone. “He says omg we have four listeners do you think they’re writing slutty fanfiction about us already.” She glances at you. “Petition to remove him from the chat—oh, look, he started sending the wolf memes again.”

Hanging out like this has become natural so quickly you almost forget you haven’t been friends with Shibuya Incident for ages. You feel almost as much at home in the tapestry-covered living room here as you do in the plant-filled kitchen of your own house down the street.

Maki checks her watch, sighing. “We should get going soon. The guys will be back in half an hour.” Then you have rehearsal, even though you’re not one of the three bands performing tomorrow night. When you do take the stage next week, you want to be ready.

Nobara is trying to read Megumi’s texts over his shoulder, which isn’t working out well for her, and he tells Maki, “Yes, please, take your invasive little gremlin home.” He puts his hand right on Nobara’s face and pushes her away, and she screeches and tries to tackle him, but he’s already sitting in a beanbag chair in the corner, so it doesn’t really do much except make Kuro jump on top of them both.

You glance up at Takuma again, still stroking Shiro’s fur while the others start to stand, ready to head home. “You rehearsing today too?”

“I’d hope so,” he shrugs.

“Yes, dipshit, in two hours. If you ever read the group chat,” Megumi says.

Takuma doesn’t seem fazed by Megumi’s irritation and just shrugs. “We have a new song for tomorrow.”

“You didn’t tell me!” You poke at his knee in retribution for his secrecy. “I wanna hear it!”

“You will,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

“Skipper, help, I don’t wanna walk our gremlin home by myself,” Maki calls from the door, and you reluctantly pat Shiro on the head and stand. She follows you to the entryway and sniffs at you while you cram your feet into your sneakers.

“Maki Zenin.” Nobara turns up her nose and crosses her arms over her chest. “If you hated me so much, why didn’t you just say so?”

“Bye!” Yuji shouts from the living room, and you all call out varying goodbyes and noncommittal sounds before making your way out the door and down the block, the afternoon air chilly against your cheeks.

Nobara waits all of ten seconds before spinning around and walking backward, grinning at you mischievously. “I bet Ino wrote a song about you.”

“Oh my god. Shut up,” you laugh. “He didn’t.” You can’t imagine you’ve given him all that much to work with. What would he write, that you like coffee and drums and Megumi’s dogs?

“Why else wouldn’t he show you? Don’t you guys text each other song lyrics like the little romantic fucks you are?” Your face is flaming, and you’re suddenly very grateful for the cool of the wind against your skin. The idea of him writing a song about you plants something weird in your gut—not something bad, just something unexpected and warm and blooming.

You try not to show it and your friends see right through you, Nobara turning back to skip up the drive with a satisfied grin and Maki rolling her eyes at the both of you.

“I’m gonna write a song, too,” Nobara declares, unlocking the door and pushing her way inside. “Skipper and Ino, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S—”

This time, you and Maki speak in tandem. “Shut up!”

—

“There’s a joke here,” Gojo says, tapping both of his index fingers together while he thinks. “About being a drummer and a journalist. Something about a beat.”

You laugh, jotting another note on the lined paper of your small spiral notebook. “I hate to tell you, but I’ve heard that one before.”

You’re not sure features qualifies as a specific beat, more of a broad category, but your staff isn’t nearly large enough to assign people to smaller specialties. Plus, it’s a college publication, designed for experimentation and growth. Nobody wants to be boxed in yet. That’ll come later, out in the monotony of the real world, and you’ll be confined to some hyperspecific beat like neighborhood crime or high school basketball.

“No!” Gojo cries, dragging his hands down his face like it’s the end of the world. “I can’t believe somebody plagiarized me before I even said it.”

“That’s not how that works,” Utahime cuts in dryly, sliding three shots across the counter to the waiting group of sophomores and then effortlessly throwing together another cocktail.

Gojo leans toward you, shadowing out your notes, and stage-whispers, “You see what I have to put up with?”

You do, actually, see what Utahime has to put up with. She long ago put down a line of blue painter’s tape to divide her side of the bar from Gojo’s, and she preaches frequently that there will be dire consequences if he crosses it.

Of course, he crosses it at every opportunity, and here he is, still.

It’s also just how the two bartenders split up the work, the customers, and you write that down too, that it’s an effective division of labor. “Don’t read my notes,” you tell Gojo as he squints at your writing upside down. “It’ll wreck the journalistic integrity.” He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout that reminds you violently of Toge, who’s taking photos of Utahime as she works.

You glance over to the stage, where Angel is performing the last number of her set, a bouncy, belty song that you recognize from a video she posted earlier this week. The crowd loves it, dancing around and singing along, but still, you think she’ll have a tougher time making it through as the only solo artist remaining in the competition.

You whoop and cheer as she hits her last note, holding it for an ungodly amount of time, and Gojo eventually has to abandon his teasing to do his job. When Toge thinks he’s got enough photos, the two of you slip back into the crowd, Panda commentating on the change of artist as you catch up to your friends.

“And now, here’s your alt rock duo, your boys, the Kamos,” he says as you come to a stop beside Yuta. “Give it up!”

Nobara very loudly gives it up.

“Hi.” Yuta nudges you. “How’s the reporting going?”

“Good.” Noritoshi and Choso settle in on stage, tuning their guitar and bass and making girls swoon in the front row but somehow remaining entirely oblivious to it. “You’re not going home tomorrow, right?”

Yuta shakes his head. This weekend is fall break, which just means that there were no classes today. You spent the first day of your three-day weekend cramming for midterms.

Toge’s heading out after this and Nobara will leave early in the morning, but Maki and Yuta will be here for the weekend. You wonder about Takuma and his band, but you can’t ask right now—they’re all backstage, waiting to go on after the Kamos.

The boys in question, when they’re not doing covers, have incredibly nonsensical song names that have little to nothing to do with their lyrics. The first track of theirs you ever heard was called Song About the Time My Dog Got Lost for Three Hours.

“Okay,” Choso says after their cover of a song by The Smiths. “This one’s called Please Don’t Tell Your Mom I Was At Your House Past Curfew.”

He and Noritoshi then proceed to play the most upbeat, energizing alt rock shit you’ve ever heard. You love these guys, and the crowd does too, the way they don’t take themselves too seriously but they’re genuinely talented. But it’s making you nervous for Takuma and his band, because only one group goes on tonight. Only one.

No, you think, shrugging it off. They got this.

When Shibuya Incident finally walks on stage, the ensuing roar of applause before they even do anything eases whatever worries you might have had. They were slotted at the end of tonight’s set for a reason. Everyone loves them.

Without prelude, they launch into a song you recognize from their EP, a fast-paced track with a pretty simple chord progression that gets entirely flipped on its head in the bridge. You let Yuta spin you around as you dance with the rest of the crowd, the lights and sound washing over you. Yuji’s in his element, Kirara is fucking killing it, and Megumi—as always—is the rock the band stands on, unerring tempo and steady presence keeping everyone on track.

After the song finishes with a crazy riff from Kirara, and the crowd takes a minute to freak out and then slowly wind down, Takuma grabs the mic to address the audience.

“Hi again,” he says, scanning the clusters of people from his place on the low stage. His gaze lands on you and your friends, and he smiles a little wider. “That was Godspeed. We’re gonna slow it down a bit for our next song. It’s a new one. We’re calling it Curious.”

Nobara practically launches herself over Toge to get to you and shake you by the shoulders. “What did I say?” she hisses.

“Oh my god,” you say, shoving her off. “They haven’t even started yet.” But you look back at Takuma to find he hasn’t stopped looking at you.

To your surprise, the instrumentals don’t start first. Most of Shibuya Incident’s music opens with a riff or a fill or at least four bars of introduction. But this time, Takuma leans into the mic and starts singing, just a low “ooooh,” and the rest of the band comes in one by one—Megumi, then Kirara, then Yuji. Kirara’s harmonizing on a higher note, and the effect is a slow, dissonant build that makes you lock in, all anticipation.

Then Takuma tugs the mic from the stand and sings,“I see your eyes, curious, curious, you wanna know why the sky’s so goddamn blue. I hear your voice, curious, curious, you’re asking me if I’d ever fall for you.”

And as you listen, Nobara’s smile just gets wider and wider, and Takuma keeps making fleeting eye contact with you, and you realize abruptly that she was right.

This song is about you.

Takuma’s said it to you before, in passing, how he likes the way you look at the world—through a journalist’s lens, curious about how everything works, always searching for unseen answers.

“Wish I could see my life like you do,” he and Kirara sing in unison. “Wish I could walk the streets each night… wonderin’ if the full moon sees you, but I just keep lookin’, lookin’ down at the time.”

You’re transfixed, just like the first night you saw Takuma perform live, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the stage if you tried. Someone should write a story about him, you think. This man could be on the cover of Rolling Stone and you wouldn’t question it.

God, you’re so far gone, aren’t you?

When the set is over, the last song finishing with a long, drawn-out chord, Takuma thanks the crowd and hands the mic off to Panda to take over. As the band disappears one by one into the backstage area, he lays out the voting process.

“The voting period will last ten minutes, assuming no technical difficulties,” he says. “QR codes, as usual, are posted around the bar. If you’re a competitor, you can’t vote. Make sure you’re logged into your .edu accounts or you won’t be able to access the form…”

Your fingers are tapping nervously at your thighs, the crowd around you already glued to their phone screens. The band isn’t back out on the floor yet—Panda will call all three artists up at the end of the voting period and announce the finalist live.

Sweat is starting to pool in the palms of your clammy hands, and you wipe it on your jeans, anxious. To you, there’s no question. But it’s not up to you.

“Relax,” Yuta says, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “It won’t even be close, Skip.”

After the longest ten minutes of your life, Hana Kurusu, the Kamos, and Shibuya Incident join Panda back on stage, a dramatic spotlight bouncing between each artist as Panda draws out the announcement. “And the artist from tonight moving on to the finals in two weeks is…”

“Just say it,” Maki huffs beside you, and Yuta chuckles and nudges her with a shoulder. She tries to hide the slight upturn of her lips, but that’s not going to slide past you.

You’ll tease her later. For now—

“Shibuya Incident!”

The reaction is explosive, both on the floor and the stage. Yuji practically leaps onto Kirara’s back, and Takuma’s face goes slack in surprise before a shy smile works its way across his spotlit features, Megumi being his nonchalant, unaffected self in the midst of it all. Nobara is screaming, and you’re yelling at the top of your lungs, Toge whooping and snapping photos as the Kamos and Hana crowd the band, congratulating them on the victory.

Takuma looks out into the crowd again and you wave, smiling unabashedly, so fucking proud and excited and thinking maybe, maybe, if you make it too, you’ll be facing off against each other, and wouldn’t that be something?

Maybe you shouldn’t be so thrilled. He’s the competition, after all.

But if he wins for going up there and singing curious, curious with his eyes locked on yours, you suppose it wouldn’t be all that bad.

—

Most of Saturday passes in a barrage of classwork and inconsistent, snacky meals in between, the diet of a harried college student, ramen and chips and whatever actual food Yuta leaves for you in the fridge. He’s back from work by three, and Maki wraps up her own work around the same time you do, late afternoon creeping into evening. The three of you are curled up in the living room, the TV on while Yuta and Maki try to pretend they’re not looking at each other.

You need to get them alone.

you: are you busy takuma: not at all takuma: what’s up? you: mind if i crash your house?

You glance up and swear Yuta has somehow, in the last two seconds, moved closer to Maki on the couch.

you: i think yuta and maki need some ~ALONE TIME~ takuma: TEA takuma: sorry kirara told me to stop saying that in response to everything that happens ever takuma: it’s fun tho

“I’m going to Takuma’s,” you announce, and Maki raises a brow at you.

“Again?”

“Sue me for having friends.”

Yuta’s brows crease a bit at the word friends, but he doesn’t comment. With a furtive glance back, you grab your shoes and slip out the door, successfully leaving Maki and Yuta alone in the house for an indeterminate amount of time.

Please, you think. One of them has to make a fucking move soon.

Takuma answers the door before you can knock. “Hey.”

“No pups today?” you ask as you step past him into the entryway, kicking off your shoes.

“Sadly,” Takuma says. “Fushiguro took ‘em with him, wherever he went. Ah, man. Did you only come over for them?” His tone is teasing as he closes the front door behind you, trading the October cold for the warmth of the house. “Afraid I’m a letdown.”

“Takuma,” you scold at his self-deprecation. “You’re basically an excited puppy yourself, so—”

“Hey!” he squawks, and then thinks about it and tilts his head, conceding. “Fine. Maybe. Yeah, okay.”

“What have you been up to?” you ask as the two of you make your way to the living room.

“Procrastination. Guitar instead of homework, mostly. You?”

“Same,” you sigh. “Well, not the guitar part. But I should have been way further ahead on my homework by now.” You shrug. You’ll get it done; you always do.

You settle in easily on the couch, and the two of you boot up the Wii and play a few rounds of Mario Kart because someone left the disc in. And when you’ve both beaten each other enough times to lose count, Takuma mentions something about your single and you realize you haven’t checked the stats.

“You can see more on a computer,” he says, and you follow him up to his room, where he cedes control of the device to you. You pull up the artist profile and grin at the steady upward climb of listeners. It’s not a ton, but this only went up on Thursday.

“We haven’t even done anything to promote this,” you admit, spinning in Takuma’s desk chair to face him. “I don’t even know how people are finding it.”

He immediately looks down, which means he knows something. You nudge him with your foot. “What? What does that face mean? Takuma.”

“I maybe gave Panda a drive of the mix,” he shrugs, talking fast like the meaning of the words might elude you if he mumbles enough. “And he maybe played it at the radio station earlier today. Several times.”

A wave of affection crashes into you so fast that you jump up and throw your arms around him without thinking, laughing into his shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that!” You pull back, grinning. “That was really sweet. Thank you. Seriously.”

“Ah, it was nothin’.” He reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck, a gesture you’ve come to recognize as self-conscious.

“Not nothing,” you say softly. He smiles.

After a moment, he glances at the window and seems to come to a decision. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey yourself.”

“Wanna go out on the roof?”

You blink, processing the words, instinctively looking to his window. You’ve never really realized it before, but it opens out onto a flat expanse of shingles, a perfect lookout right outside Takuma’s bedroom.

Your grin is answer enough, and he unlatches the window and pulls it open. He glances back at you, up and down, and you feel yourself blush before you realize he’s taking in what you’re wearing. He grabs a thick jacket from the closet and tosses it to you, then shrugs one on himself and leads the way, gripping the window frame with one hand and pulling himself outside. After a moment of consideration, he reaches back in and grabs his acoustic guitar by the neck from its place against the wall, pulling it out with him.

When the window shuts behind you, you’re immediately grateful for the protection of the extra layer. Even with your hands balled in the sleeves of your hoodie, it’s chilly out here.

You’re surprised by how much of the campus you can see spread out in the distance. It’s early evening, but the days are getting shorter, the sun a misleading blaze of heat in the otherwise cold hour.

“This,” you say, “is fucking awesome.”

“Right? I called dibs on the room as soon as we toured. For this.” He grins, leaning back on his palms, legs spread out in front of him. You lie back on the roof, letting the cool surface seep through your hood, staring up at the sky.

“So Maki and Yuta,” he says, shaking his head fondly. “Are they finally a thing?”

“I don’t know, but if they’re gonna do anything about it, it’s not gonna be while anyone else is home.” You shrug, or at least do whatever approximation of shrugging you can when you’re bundled in a bulky hoodie and jacket and lying on a roof.

Honestly, Yuta and Maki are some of your favorite people on this planet, and you can’t imagine anyone else who really deserves them. They’re the de facto mom and dad of your group—as in, Yuta is the band mom and Maki’s the gruff father who won’t admit his affection for the pet he didn’t want to get but ended up loving anyway.

“Man, I’m glad I wasn’t around when Kirara and Hakari were in their pining phase,” Takuma chuckles. He pulls his legs in, sitting cross-legged, and picks up the guitar, idly tuning it as he speaks. “Then there’s Itadori, probably picks up girls everywhere he goes and has never once realized it.”

“What about Megumi?” You let your head loll to the side, looking at Takuma with the guitar settled in his lap.

“Fushiguro? I don’t know, man, he doesn’t tell us anything. He has like, resting yearning face. I’ve got no idea. I don’t even know where he is right now, just that he’s supposed to be back really late.”

“That means the dogs will be back?” you say hopefully.

Takuma shakes his head, strumming another chord, and another, fingers moving deftly across the frets. “I’m not enough for you, huh?”

“I said no such thing.”

He plucks out a happy little melody on the guitar, looking at you. “Wanna learn?”

You sit up, your hood falling back off your head in the process. “Really?”

In answer, he hands you the guitar, scooting closer to you to show you where to place your fingers. You’ve been around your bandmates enough to know the basics, but you let him teach you anyway, giggling a little when he guides you through a three-chord progression and says, “Damn, you’re a natural.”

He leans back and stares at the sky, listening to you play. Eventually you add a few other basic chords into the mix, varying your strumming patterns, already feeling the strain in your fingertips from the unfamiliar press of the strings.

“So,” you say, still idly messing around on a G chord. Takuma props himself up on his elbows, looking over at you. “What was the incident in Shibuya? Have you been to Shibuya?”

He snorts. “Nope. Honestly, it was more to make people ask the question. You know in the Marvel movies, how Hawkeye and Black Widow are always talking about Budapest?”

“And nobody knows what the hell happened there,” you say, laughing. “Ah. I see.”

“I’ve never even been to Japan,” Takuma admits. “Fushiguro has, though. Maybe he had an incident in Shibuya. Who knows?”

G, C, D. D, C, G. You play the chords over and over, strumming softly, slowly, letting your finger catch on each of the strings, then five of them, then four.

“This is a really nice guitar.”

“Yeah.” There’s a beat of silence that makes you glance up, weighted differently than the usual pauses in conversation. Takuma is sitting up now, knees pulled loosely to his chest. “Was my dad’s.”

“He taught you to play,” you remember aloud, recalling your conversation in the coffee shop. But now you’re hung up on that word: was. Part of you doesn’t want to ask, but part of you feels like his words are a sort of quiet invitation, like he wants to tell you, but doesn’t want to force it. “I… is he…?”

“He died when I was twelve,” Takuma admits, eyes fixed on the sky. “Uh, car accident. It was stupid, some issue with the other guy’s car. Couldn’t stop it.” You’ve never heard his voice like this before, taut, oddly thin. Carefully, gently, you set the guitar on the roof beside you, watching him.

“Were you…”

“In the car?” Takuma sniffs. “Ah. Yeah.”

“Oh,” you breathe, and that’s what it is, more of a breath than a word. “I—Takuma…”

When he laughs, there’s no humor in it. It’s a hollow kind of chuckle, one that says everything he can’t. “It’s why I learned to skate, actually,” he says quietly, not meeting your eyes. “I’d get everywhere that way. I didn’t—want to drive, I guess. Got my license late and everything. I think people thought I was just a slacker.”

Whatever words you might scrounge up feel inadequate for a grief this large. You don’t want to pity him, and you don’t want to dismiss him, and that’s always the problem with hard conversations, isn’t it? What a line to walk.

“You’re not a slacker,” you say eventually, and he raises a brow at you. “I mean, maybe you procrastinate coding projects to a worrying extent, but you always get it done.” You smile thinly. “You don’t give up in any way that matters, Takuma. I like that about you.”

He chuckles. “Nanami said something like that, once.” His eyes go far-away again, just for a second. “He’s kind of the closest thing… like… I don’t know. I’ve known Nanami for a really long time. He was my dad’s friend. And I guess he sort of became a father figure, after…”

He shrugs. “It’s probably a big part of why I decided to go here. That, and it’s not too far from my mom’s. I don’t know that she’d have been thrilled if I went somewhere farther.”

“You’re not home,” you say carefully, a question but not question. “For break?”

“She’s on a business trip,” he says. “So not much point. But I’ll see her at Christmas, at least.”

For a while the silence stretches out comfortably between you, like a weighted blanket. You can’t ignore it, but it isn’t unwelcome. At some point you scooted closer to him, and now you sit side by side, only the layers of your jackets separating you.

“Thank you for telling me,” you say eventually, soft, unwilling to break the quiet. He nods.

“You didn’t go home either,” he points out, an unspoken question in the spaces between words. “Is it just ‘cause you’re from so far away, or…”

“Yeah. A Friday off didn’t feel like enough of a break to warrant a flight back.” But that’s not all of it. His silence tells you he knows it, too. He’s been so candid with you all night. You can share this part of yourself, you decide.

There’s something about Takuma, anyway, that makes you want to tell him things. You want to know him, and you want him to know you—you now, here, at school, but also you there, home, in the past.

“I haven’t been home since July,” you admit, hugging your knees to your chest, mirroring him. “My town is… small. I liked it when I was little. But the older I got the more I started to feel, just—I don’t know, stifled?”

Your hometown used to feel huge, like you could explore it forever on your Razor scooter and never find all its secrets. But you grew, and the town didn’t grow with you, and suddenly you were standing outside your high school realizing you knew every corner of the self-proclaimed suburban city, every street and coffee shop and alley. You’ve always been curious. And at some point, there wasn’t anything left in that place for you to be curious about.

“I love my home. I love my parents. It’s just… I needed to get out. I don’t think they ever really understood that.”

It’s easier to admit things when you’re looking straight ahead like this, out over the lines and curves of buildings, picking out street lamps, watching a few stray cars make their way around slow corners.

“Is it what you wanted it to be?” he asks quietly. “Here, I mean.” He nods out to the vast stretch of campus, spread across the city. So many corners you’ve been here years and haven’t found them all.

Campus is weird on break, you muse, looking out over the darkness. A whole parallel world for you to explore, the shadowed version of the place. A video game map on single-player, a dead server. Hardly any lights on in the windows, no kids out on the street. Like a ghost town. But it still doesn’t feel empty to you. There’s so much promise in it.

“Yeah,” you answer after a moment, soft. “Yeah, I think it is.”

A ghost town that isn’t lonely, somehow. You could write a song about it, you think. Friends with all the dead in my ghost town. The phrase plays itself out in your head, and it sounds like something moodier than your band usually goes for. It sounds like Shibuya Incident.

You wonder if this is what it means to be in a relationship—not a romantic one, necessarily, but a friendship, or any kind of bond between two creative people. If it’s this, the sharing of intellectual property with another person to the extent that their voice and yours start to blend.

It’s in the way Nobara can finish your sentences when you’re throwing out potential verses, scrambling for rhymes. How Toge and Yuta can anticipate each other’s movements, match chord progressions without talking about them. How Maki slips into your tempo seamlessly, every single time.

And now your lyrics sound like something his band would play. Maybe Takuma’s songwriting will start sounding like yours, too.

You don’t think you’d mind.

“Can I tell you something?” Takuma murmurs after a moment, sounding hesitant.

You rest a cheek on your knees, hands clasped together in front of your shins, facing him. “Mhm.”

“That song last night,” he whispers, and he’s not looking at you, just staring out at the rapidly darkening campus. “It was about you. And how you—I don’t know, the way you look at things. Like they’re always so full of potential. I wish I could do that. You just see things and want to know more. I like… watching you, being curious.” He pauses for a beat and then quickly adds, “Not in like, a creepy way! Just—I don’t know.”

A chuckle slips through your lips against your will, the darkness hopefully hiding the color in your cheeks. Maybe you can blame it on the cold. “Watching?” you ask, teasing. “I can’t imagine I’m all that intriguing. There’s a lot of cool people around here, y’know.”

“Skip,” he murmurs, and now his eyes are locked on yours. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

Every nerve in your body is hyperaware of his proximity, and his hand reaches up to cup your jaw, the touch ghosting over you, barely there, hesitant. A nonverbal question. Is this okay?

You lean into the warmth, letting his breath wash over you, mingling with your own in the space between your lips, smaller and smaller and smaller.

He’s watching you, closely, giving you a chance to pull away. So many words exchanged tonight, but you don’t need any for this.

You don’t pull away.

It’s slow at first, and soft, and hesitant. The shingles dig into the heel of your hand as you lean forward on one arm, a grainy feeling on your fingertips, in the grooved imprints left by the guitar strings. You find your free hand moving up to his shoulder, pushing, guiding him down until his back is pressed against the roof and you’re over him, lips locked with his. You look at him, and he’s so full of potential. You want to know everything about him, you want to know how he works, you want to ask questions. And you do, with your tongue along the seam of his lips, and your hand tangled in his hair, and his breath mixing with yours in the air. It’s near full dark now, feeling later than it really is, evening in autumn.

You’re not cold anymore.

He deepens the kiss, body coming up to meet yours, and you feel like maybe this roof is the top of the whole world, because how could you ever feel higher than this?

“Takuma,” you murmur, and you kiss him again, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this way before, but you’ll do maybe anything in the world to feel this way again.

And then a sharp, deep sound makes you jump, scrambling to sit up on the shingles, breathing heavy from the kiss and the noise. Did that come from inside or out?

“What—”

“Oh, crap,” Takuma groans, pulling open the window. “Someone’s home.” He looks back at you, cheeks flushed from the cold or the kiss or both, looking a little helpless, a little apologetic, and you can’t help the small laugh that bursts from you at the absurdity of the situation. You feel like a teenager getting caught by your parents.

“We should…” He nods toward the window. You hand him the guitar, then crawl back over to the window and slip inside after him, the warmth a stark relief from the temperature you’ve gotten so used to. Your heart is a jackhammer, rapidly pecking away at the once-stable structure of yourself.

You kissed him.

You kissed Takuma.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out with still-cold hands.

utah: [1 Image Attachment] utah: dinner?

Admittedly, the pasta does look amazing, and your stomach grumbles as if on cue.

“I should go,” you say awkwardly, holding up the phone for Takuma to see.

“Uh, yeah, uh—for sure, no problem, I should go see what’s up down there anyway,” he says after a beat of hesitation. “I’ll see you, uh…?”

“Around?” you finish, laughing slightly.

“Yeah,” he echoes with an amused half-smile as you make your way down the stairs. “Around.”

—

You’re freaking out.

It’s 4:31 on Monday afternoon, you’ve been listening to the same song on repeat for an hour, and you’re freaking the fuck out.

After Saturday night, you didn’t talk about it. You kissed him on the roof and your heart turned into a hummingbird and you were warm all over, and then the front door slammed and you nearly jumped out of your skin, and Megumi was back early and Takuma had no idea why, and you pet the dogs and then slipped out, wanting to give them their space.

And you haven’t talked about it. You haven’t had time. Sunday was a mess of cramming for midterms and your housemates returning from break and you threw yourself into your studies and tried not to remember, but now…

The stupid fucking switch in the back of your brain has flipped itself on and you can’t turn it off, all worry and criticism and hypothetical worst-case scenarios and you’re giving too much too fast, Skipper, you know better than this!

How many people in your tiny town fell in love young and grew to resent each other? How many of your high school friends grew up with divorced parents? How many breakups have you seen in your two and a half years at this university, how many tears and shouting matches in public halls, how many friend groups falling apart because two people fell in and out of love?

The thing is, you know you’re panicking about nothing. Takuma hasn’t asked anything of you. It was just a kiss. He is not your boyfriend. This is not a contract.

But if you talk about it, it could be, and you don’t understand why that scares you so much. Do you have commitment issues? What the fuck is your problem?

You probably wouldn’t have a problem at all, if you’d just had the time Saturday night to figure out what the kiss meant. But now that a whole day has passed and you haven’t seen him and you don’t know for sure, your mind keeps wandering down paths it should have stayed away from.

What if it’s a friends with benefits situation and you’ve just read too much into it? Maybe this is all he wants, making out, spending late nights together getting physical. Maybe that’s all. A heated makeout session on a roof doesn’t mean he feels the way you do. And do you even know how you feel? Fucking hell.

It’s the anxiety talking, the more logical part of you says, the part that sounds an awful lot like Maki. Your friends aren’t around to tell you how stupid you’re being, so the only texts you and Takuma have sent since Saturday night are playlists and song lyrics skirting around whatever truths you’re trying and failing to articulate.

Do I Wanna Know floats from the speaker on your desk, your phone next to your head on the bed, facedown and dormant. Do I wanna know if this feeling goes both ways?

Your door slams open and you jump up, whirling around to find Maki with her arms crossed, leaning on the frame. “Alright,” she says. “That’s the tenth time I’ve heard that godforsaken song. What the fuck is up with you?”

When you don’t respond, she steps inside and closes the door behind her, pauses the music, and then makes herself comfortable on the edge of your bed. “Talk to me,” she says. “You’re driving yourself crazy.” The words stall in your throat, useless, stagnant things as you avoid her knowing stare, instead staring at the popcorn ceiling until it blurs.

Maki sighs and shifts entirely onto the bed, turning herself to face you.

“I didn’t know you were home,” you say lamely.

“You’re driving me crazy, Skip,” she tries, and she knows you so fucking well, because the guilt trip is exactly what dislodges all those words built up in the back of your mouth—she breaks the dam and you spill your soul onto the quilted comforter, rambling, a rush of truths and things you thought you’d hidden from yourself but you can’t anymore. And she just listens, not looking away once.

You tell her everything: that you know you catch feelings fast, too fast. That despite your bleeding heart, you haven’t really been in a long-term relationship since high school. That you think of the future, of all the places you want to go, all the things you want to do, and there’s no guy in those dreams, and the thought of restructuring the life you’ve planned out for yourself around a boy who might be temporary is too much to even fathom. That—

“I kissed him,” you say breathlessly, bordering on hysterical, and you feel so stupid, this worked up over something so small, something that should be good. “I kissed him and now it feels real and now I’m freaking out.”

“I can see that,” Maki says calmly. “Let me ask you something. What is the worst thing that could happen, if you date him and it doesn’t last?”

“I…” You chew on your bottom lip, mind spinning through every bad outcome. “He could end up hating me, Maki. I could get some crazy job and have to leave, or he would come with me and leave his whole life behind and then he’d grow to resent me and we’d just be in some kind of hellish limbo until one of us snapped. Or he could—he could leave me, or we could try long distance and he could fall in love with somebody else, or I could, or—or—”

You flounder for a second, realizing your biggest worry is the one most immediate, the one most central to your life as it exists right now.

You’ve been sitting here thinking about big-picture things that are so far out, trying to make the feeling curdling in your gut feel like a valid reaction to a major life event. But that’s not what this is.

You’re just really, stupidly, pathetically scared that Takuma kissed you and didn’t mean it.

“Or—I guess that’s not the issue. Not really,” you admit quietly, not looking at Maki. She probably already knows. She has a way of knowing exactly what’s bothering you and just asking the right questions, getting you to talk yourself out of whatever hole your anxious mind has dug.

“I—it was just a kiss. What if he doesn’t want something serious right now, and I like him this way and he just wants something casual? I can’t do casual, Maki,” you say, raking a hand through your hair. “And it could fuck up this thing we have going. Yuji and Toge get along so well, and Nobara and the boys and Kirara, and Megumi’s your cousin, and I don’t wanna cause some weird, awkward rift, you know what I mean?”

Because it’s been so good, getting to know them. You don’t want to fuck up the dynamic just because you caught feelings too fast.

Maki leans back against your wall, humming as she thinks this over. “Okay. First of all, take a step back. Do you actually think you and Ino dating or not dating or whatever would mean I stop talking to my cousin? Or Nobara to the guys?” She raises a brow at you, unimpressed. “Seriously. I love you, Skipper, but you do not have that much power. These relationships existed before you knew Ino. Yuji is incapable of having conflict with anybody. And Toge doesn’t give a fuck about awkward relationship drama, he just wants to play Smash.”

As she speaks, you can feel your heart settling back into its home in your chest. Maki always knows what to say. Always.

“Second: Let me put it this way.” She levels you with a serious look. “You are so worked up about all these incredibly hypothetical situations. If you shut this down now, if you don’t act on what happened on Saturday, you’re still going to be worked up about hypotheticals. They’ll just be different ones. I know you, Skipper, you’re gonna drown yourself in what ifs. So you have to pick the lesser evil. There’s an unknown factor either way. Which one is gonna be worse?”

You groan, faceplanting into your bedspread. In the process, your forehead must hit play on your phone, because all of a sudden Arctic Monkeys blasts through the JBL again and Maki is grabbing your phone and saying, “Absolutely not. Nope. We are done with that.”

You look up at her helplessly. “Do I wanna know?” you choke out, half-laughing. “Because if I’m taking this out of proportion, if he doesn’t feel this way and I’m just another girl he kissed—”

“You’re not,” she says firmly. “Are you kidding me? Skip. That boy kisses the ground you walk on.” She shakes her head, some mix of fondness of exasperation flashing across her face. “You already know. The question isn’t if he likes you, or if you like him. It’s whether you’re gonna let it play out or shut it down before it has a chance to.”

Your door slams open, and Nobara strolls in and puts her hands on her hips. She glares at Maki and then at you.

“Please tell me I’m wrong,” she says, and you know you’re in for it, “but I believe you both had significant relationship developments this weekend and didn’t immediately call me? What the fuck? Spill.”

Abruptly, you feel like the worst friend in the world. Not necessarily because you haven’t filled Nobara in—she hasn’t been home—but because Maki is flushing pink, and you left her alone with Yuta on purpose, and it’s Monday, and you haven’t even asked what happened.

You look at Nobara. “Close the door.”

She does, but she doesn’t sit down, choosing instead to pace the room as she speaks. “Exhibit A: the plants have name tags and the handwriting is not Yuta’s. Exhibit B: I just came from down the street and Ino is acting weird as fuck.”

You sit straight up, suddenly on high alert. “Weird how? Did he say anything?”

“No. Like, the entire time. That’s the weird as fuck part.”

You turn to Maki, trying to read her. “Okay, what happened with Yuta? Was it when I left? Because if I wasn’t obvious enough—“

“You were very obvious, thank you,” Maki says, her blush deepening. “Uh, we made dinner. As you know.”

“It was good.”

Maki is pointedly looking everywhere but at you and Nobara, gaze darting from the ceiling to the bedspread to the door, as if she might escape the conversation. You hadn’t even noticed the plant name tags. That’s maybe the most sappy gesture that’s ever come from Maki Zenin.

“Mm. Yeah. Uh,” she says, eloquently. “We might have kissed. We might be… together.”

“Maki!” you and Nobara both scream, which results in Toge nearly breaking down your bedroom door five seconds later.

“What?” he demands. He clocks Maki’s bright red face and grins widely. “Aha! Yes. Good.”

“Wh—”

“Yuta won’t look me in the eyes, so I figured. You wanted to tell us all at once?”

Maki nods sheepishly.

“Too late!” Toge says cheerfully. “And he’s not home. So we can take this quality girls’ time to—”

“You are a man.”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me,” Toge tells Nobara, hand over his heart.

She swats at him in response and flops onto your floor, and Toge drops down beside her, you and Maki leaning over the edge of your bed to see them both.

"I ate your love pasta," you tell Maki, and she groans.

"This is why I don't tell you people things."

After the appropriate appoint of freaking out about Maki and Yuta (of course I knew, I always know, Nobara says), they make you go through the whole of Saturday night in detail.

You leave out the part about Takuma’s dad. That doesn’t feel like your story to tell.

When you get to I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Nobara blinks at you, and the innocent expression on her face means whatever she’s about to say is anything but. “So he told you you’re not like other girls?”

“Oh my god,” you groan, dragging your hands down your face.

“Oh, shit, Skipper!” Toge nearly shouts from the floor. “We have to go, like, two minutes ago.”

“Shit!” You scramble off the bed, shoving your laptop into your bag and weaving around Nobara, who has made no move to get off the floor. You and Toge have your usual Monday night class time to do field reporting, and you’re meeting up with Geto and Utahime.

The front door clicks open and closed, and you grin at Maki, who goes red. Yuta’s home. God, you wish you could stay for this.

“Hi, Yuta! Bye, Yuta!” you call on the way out the door, patting him on the head, and Toge follows suit with a much more aggressive motion that messes up Yuta’s hair.

“Oh, hi! Um. Bye?” Yuta’s startled laugh follows you out the door, and then you’re on your way.

You’re always on your way back to The Fix, eventually.

—

Utahime, notably a happier person in general when Gojo’s not around, lets Toge into the back to get some photos of the storeroom. That leaves you alone with Geto, back on the same stool as last time, phone on the counter as you watch him work, talking as he goes.

“Finished inventory,” he says, typing something rapidly on his laptop, “and now it’s budgeting. And yeah, that’s about what it looks like on the day to day. What else did you want to know?”

Geto is remarkably easy to talk to. He’s soft-spoken and articulate, a good listener, and you find yourself forgetting it’s an interview after a while, lost in conversation. You learn that he studied business in school, so opening an establishment like this wasn’t much of a stretch. He handles the finances and hiring, and he’s the one working with Panda on the Battle of the Bands. Gojo and Utahime bartend, Nanami is security, and Shoko handles everything else. It’s a small team, he says, but they work.

“I wanted to be able to be home for the girls when they were growing up, and this wound up being a great way to do that, schedule-wise,” he tells you. “And now they’re here, which is great. I wouldn’t say I ever saw myself opening a bar, back in college, but now that I’m here and Shoko and I have been running the place for a while, I’m not sure where else I ever could’ve ended up, y’know?”

You nod, head propped in your hand with your elbow on the counter. “So is this the dream? The endgame?” you ask. “Think you’ll stay a while?”

“Well,” he says, closing the laptop, “I think it comes down to doing something because you love it, not because other people love that you do it. Though right now, both of those things are true, which is fortunate for me." He leans on the bar counter, head tilted as he considers his words.

"If the work makes you happy, if the people there make you feel the same way, I think that’s worth hanging on to," he says. "If I ever stop loving the work, I suppose I’ll move on. I don’t see that happening, really, but if it does, I’ll roll with it. Whatever comes after.”

“That makes sense.” You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Man, I wish the career thing was that clear-cut now. I know I have time, but it’s weird to think about.”

“Would you ever go further than this with the band, you think?” he asks, seeming genuinely curious. “Or is the journalism thing pretty much what your heart’s set on?”

You’ve thought about it. Drumming makes you feel alive like very few other things do, but you love writing, reporting, meeting people and telling their stories. You want to go for editor-in-chief next year when Tsumiki graduates, but the reality is that you won’t have so much time for the band if you get the job. And you love your band.

Not that it’ll be the same, anyway, without Maki and Yuta. That’s something you don’t love to think about.

“I don’t know,” you confess, sheepishly realizing you’re still recording, that you’re supposed to be the one asking the questions. “I don’t think… that the band is ever necessarily going to be a professional thing. Maki and Yuta have all these big career plans. And it’s like, how much do I invest in that now, knowing it’s not… forever? When the journalism thing, the career, might be? I don’t know.”

“You know, I don’t think it matters all that much whether it’s forever,” Geto shrugs. “If it gave you what you needed at the time, wouldn’t it be worth it?”

He glances up at you, taking in the lines of your face, the tapping of your fingers against your other arm. You kind of feel like he sees something you don’t.

“Here’s some unsolicited advice, kid. On the record. Maybe life is short, maybe not. But regardless, your heart is not a finite thing.” His eyes are soft but not sad, serious but with a sort of levity that’s wise and not regretful. You think, idly, that you would find it very hard not to trust him. “If you’ve got something, love it while you have it.”

Something tells you he’s not talking about the band anymore. Or maybe that’s just you, looking for answers where there aren’t any.

“Thanks, Geto,” you say, turning off the recording. “This has been really helpful.”

Your heart is not a finite thing. And you think you’ve made up your mind.

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jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32 @gojodickbig @stargazing-with-choso @anonymity-222

a/n: what is this? setup for the megumi spinoff i'm writing after this? oo (sorry he was a cockblock it was for the plot, this one AND his, hehe)

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eddiexmunsonlover · 7 months ago

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One Step Away From You (Chapter 12)

BSF!Eddie Munson x PlusSize!GF!Reader

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Chapter Summary: With your feelings for each other out in the open, Eddie makes up for missed opportunities. WC: 4.7k Warnings: MDNI. Just tooth rotting fluff with a touch of spice. Series taglist: @eddie-is-a-god @siriusmaraudeers @amandahobblepot @littlexdeaths

Sunday, February 16th, 1986

Few people are stirring in the early morning hours on a Sunday. The dark blue sky turning shades lighter by the minute at the crack of dawn. What would be the start of most people’s day is the end of Uncle Wayne’s. Enjoying a cigarette after a long shift at the plant while driving down the abandoned streets of Hawkins, the local country radio station playing through the speakers of his beat-up old truck.

The trailer is dead quiet upon arrival, per usual when he gets home from work. Only the sound of soft, muffled snores drifting into the living room from behind the closed door of Eddie’s room.

After a quick tv dinner to fill his stomach, Wayne settles onto the couch with a hot cup of coffee as he watches the morning news. His typical after-work routine before settling into the fold up bed in the living room for a couple hours of sleep.

He spares a glance down the hall to Eddie’s door, wondering what time the boy finally fell asleep. Finding numerous beer bottles filling the trash can over the last few weeks when he gets home. Wayne could tell he was having a hard time; he hadn’t seen you around as much, Eddie hadn’t mentioned you as much. Hell, Eddie hadn’t been talking as much at all in the spare opportunities the two had together given Wayne’s night work schedule. Wayne tried his best to not interfere, not to overstep and lecture his nephew. He’s an adult now after all.

When it came to his nephew’s best friend that he’d been hiding feelings for for years, Wayne just couldn’t help himself but make little comments here and there. Whenever Eddie would mention you or after Wayne would get to see you, he’d turn to his nephew with a hand on his shoulder.

You better make a move before it’s too late, son.

Don’t be a fool and let a good woman slip through your fingers.

He hopes one of these days the boy will listen to him.

It’s about 10am and Wayne’s only gotten an hour of sleep before the phone begins ringing off the hook. His eyes flutter open halfway through the incessant ringing, but it ceases before he can bother getting up. As his eyes close to go back to sleep, the ringing starts again. With a grumble, Wayne shuffles his way to the phone.

“Munson residence”

His brows furrow at the unfamiliar voice coming through the phone before his eyes turn down the hall.

Knuckles rap against Eddie’s door.

“Son, you’ve got a phone call.” Wayne calls out, listening for movement on the other side of the door. The sound of snores falter, tired groans filling the breaks between them.

He usually wouldn’t overstep the boundary of letting himself into Eddie’s room, but on the verge of impatience from being woken up, he doesn’t think about it.

“Eddie, you-” his speech falters at the sight before him.

Oftentimes you two would fall asleep together, heads slumped together or on each other’s shoulder, but this is different.

Eddie and you lay in his bed in a close embrace, arms snaked around each other and your head on his chest.

“Hmph?” Eddie mumbles half- asleep, head slowly turning to the intrusion with squinting eyes. Eyes that widen after a few quick blinks, recognizing the figure standing in his doorway, feeling like he was just caught sneaking a girl in.

Wayne fights the smirk from creeping onto his lips, looking away with a shake of his head.

“Someone’s on the phone for you.”

With a turn of his heel, he walks back down the hallway, no longer fighting the smile from plastering itself on his face.

The boy finally did it.

Eddie looks down at your peaceful sleeping face on his chest, reality setting in that last night was actually real. He smiles, letting his fingers gently move your hair. With a sigh, he regretfully begins removing his body from yours as slowly as he can to not wake you. Rubbing his eyes as he stumbles down the hallway to the telephone resting on the kitchen counter.

“Hello?”

It’s strikingly clear the call has woken Eddie from his sleep, but Steve couldn’t care less.

“Munson, what the hell? I’ve been calling all morning!”

“Uhhh yeah, I was asleep” Eddie glances at the clock hanging on the living room wall, 10:20am. Steve just scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“So?” he asks expectantly.

He’d been waiting for a call from Eddie or even you last night. Hoping for good news from Eddie, dreading an angry phone call from you. But the phone at the Harrington house has remained silent all night and all morning. Robin’s tried to convince him that’s good news, but with his patience wearing thin he’s decided it’s time to find out for himself.

“Sooooo?” Eddie prolongs absentmindedly, still out of it from his sleep being abruptly interrupted.

“Jesus Chr- the plan, Eddie?! What happened last night?”

“Ohhhh, yeah” he chuckles lightly, memories of last night shooting through the fog in his mind. “It uh- it worked.”

“It-it worked?” Steve turns to Robin, staring at him wide-eyed and hanging onto every word. “It worked!”

They have their own mini celebration, bouncing up and down and high fiving each other.

“Ahh, well of course it did. I came up with it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at the ego and smugness coming through Steve’s voice. Despite it, he has to give him credit.

“Yeah yeah yeah, the great Steve Harrington”

“Yeah and don’t you forget it. You owe me, Munson. Now come on, give me the details!”

Eddie’s in the middle of a groan when the phone is snatched from his hand, eyes falling to you standing next to him out of nowhere. Still groggy but determination in your eyes and actions.

“Harrington.”

The smile on Steve’s face falls.

“O-Oh heyyy there, buddy. Uh-” He tries his best to fake a laugh and light hearted tone, knowing all too well it’s pointless.

“First off… thank you. Really, I mean it. It’s the push I needed. And second off, I’m beating your ass the next time I see you, pretty boy.”

The laugh he gives this time is genuine.

“I wouldn’t expect any less. Sorry for waking you two lovebirds up.”

“Goodbye, haircut!”

In a second, the phone is back on the receiver. Eddie gives you a playful questioning look.

“Pretty boy, huh?”

“Don’t worry, you’re prettier.” You stand there smiling brightly at each other, warm hands clasping together.

The sound of a throat clearing breaks the two of you from your trance, Eddie stepping aside to reveal Uncle Wayne sitting on the edge of his bed, watching the whole interaction.

“I’m so sorry if the call woke you up, Uncle Wayne.” You proclaim wholeheartedly, guilt seeping in at the sight of the tired lines in his face. But he only gives you a warm smile.

“S’all right, darlin.” As you and Eddie turn to leave him to it, he speaks up again. “And may I say… it’s about damn time.”

You and Eddie share a knowing, shy smile at each other and to Wayne.

“Goodnight, Uncle Wayne!” you bid despite the sunlight peeking through the dark curtains of the living room before making your way back into Eddie’s bedroom.

“You know, we still have time for another hour of sleep before I gotta get ready for work.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, sweetheart.” You laugh watching him literally jump into the bed, shimmying under the covers before looking at you expectantly, patting the spot next to him. “Get your ass in here”

You crawl over him to take your spot, quickly resuming your previous position. Both sighing when you’re back in your cozy, tight embrace.

Despite the interruption, both of you can say it’s the best sleep you’ve had in your lives.

Monday, February 17th, 1986

“So you’re off tonight, right?”

Eddie’s soft voice breaks through the other conversations transpiring at the Hellfire table. You look up from your lunch to his chocolate eyes boring into yours.

“Yeah?”

“No plans with Steve and Robin, or your mom?” You chuckle softly and shake your head. Feeling silly looking back on your actions, excuses you made to avoid Eddie and your feelings for him, now knowing he shared those same feelings the whole time.

“No plans, why?”

“Oh nothing, just curious.” He shrugs, diverting his gaze back to the bag of pretzels in his best attempt at appearing nonchalant. An attempt that fails as your eyes narrow.

“What are you up to, Eds?”

“Me? Up to something? Psh, never.” He feigns offense with wide eyes. A facade that quickly cracks with a smile when your gaze doesn’t falter. With a playful roll of his eyes, he leans closer to you.

“I’ve got some deals to run after school but, I just wanna spend some time with you tonight.” He admits, hand reaching out to take yours in his, thumb gently caressing the knuckles of your fingers. You don’t bother to stifle the smile that creeps onto your lips and blush onto your cheeks.

“Okay”

“Okay? Be ready at 6 o’clock then.”

“Ahh, picking me up to take me to an undisclosed location again?”

“You’ll like it just as much as you did last time” he reassures with a cheeky smile and wink.

“Alright, 6 o’clock.”

“And uh if you don’t mind me asking, can you wear that one dark red sweater of yours? You know, the one with that v neckline?” Your brows shoot up at the request. Despite your inkling suspicions, you push him for your own satisfaction.

“Oh, you like that one, huh? Why that sweater in particular?”

“Well I… I have my reasons.” He throws you one of his devilish smiles, sporting a blush of his own. Flashes of memories of you in the sweater play in his mind, v neck revealing the alluring soft skin of your chest and neck, not to mention the glimpses of cleavage that he’s stolen peeks of every chance he gets.

The two of you are in your own little world, oblivious to your friends around you. Your flirtatious banter and touches on full display.

The sounds of obnoxious lip smacking pulls your attention from one another. Turning to see the younger boys pouting their lips and making kissing noises at the sight.

“Oh, Eddie mwuah mwuah mwuah I love you so much!” Dustin teases.

“Oh Y/N you’re so beautiful!” Lucas adds in, the trio breaking out into snickers as the older boys simply look down at the table, attempting to hide their amused grins.

A pretzel goes flying, hitting Dustin right between the eyes.

“Ow!”

“What are you, 5?!” You laugh out, shaking your head at their antics.

“They’re just jealous.” Eddie proclaims to you, hand squeezing around yours.

“Jealous of what? I have a girlfriend!” Dustin exclaims in confusion.

“Oh, that’s right. Suzie, is it? And uh- where is she again?”

“Utah…”

“Uh huh. Well, I guess I’ll believe her when I see her.” He throws the boy a smug wink, quieting their laughter before resuming his lunch snack, your hand remaining in his.

You hear a knock echo from the front door down the hall and to your bedroom where you’ve been getting ready for Eddie’s arrival. With a glance at the clock on the bedside table, he’s right on time.

Upon opening the front door, you’re greeted with the sight of Eddie, standing there with a shy boyish smile. Only instead of his usual Hellfire or band tee, he sports a black button up shirt, top two buttons left undone, paired with his usual leather jacket but missing his patched vest. In his hand he holds a small bouquet of red roses, extended towards you. You’re left speechless at the sight.

“I know I’m about 3 days late, but I couldn’t let the opportunity to give you a proper Valentine’s Day celebration pass by, even if it’s a little belated” he gives a nervous chuckle, handing the roses over to you. Besides the movement of taking the bouquet into your hands, you remain still and speechless, eyes studying the petals.

The first time you’ve ever gotten a real bouquet of flowers… from the first boy who’s ever given you any kind of flower, daisies picked from the wooded fields you’d explore as kids.

With a shaky breath you hold the bouquet to your chest, watery eyes looking up to meet his.

“Eddie… this is so sweet, thank you. They’re beautiful.”

He takes a step closer, satisfied he’s done well as he looks between the roses and you.

“Well, not as beautiful as you but they’re close enough.” He laughs as you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance at his cheesiness despite the smile pulling at your lips.

“Come on, I’ve got plenty more in store for you tonight.” He alludes, stepping to your side with his arm outstretched for your own to wrap around. Shutting the door behind you, you oblige him. Linking elbows as he escorts you to the van, helping you into the passenger seat before heading toward an unknown destination.

“You’re really not gonna tell me where you’re taking me?”

“Um, that kind of defeats the purpose of a surprise, sweetheart.”

You give an exaggerated huff, turning your attention to the glimmer of lights adorning Hawkins Main Street coming up in the distance.

“Don’t worry, you’ll love it. I promise.”

He offers with a smile that emphasizes his dimples while a hand reaches out to squeeze your thigh. Fingers gently digging into the meaty fat there. After the squeeze his hand remains, lingering there. Radiating warmth through the fabric of your tights, his thumb slowly rubbing back and forth. A gesture that shoots right to your core only a few inches above where his hand rests, internally fighting the urge to squeeze your thighs shut in an obvious attempt to stifle your reaction.

You instead distract yourself with the passing buildings and shops, trying to guess the mystery destination he’s taking you to on your ‘belated Valentine’s Day celebration’.

His hand only leaves your thigh to shift the van into park, right in front of Vito’s. An Italian spot that is arguably your favorite restaurant in town. You look to him with a grin.

“You know me too well.”

Exiting the van, he takes your hand in his, fingers quickly interlocking as you walk to the front doors. Doors that he holds open for you, the gentleman he is.

Upon being greeted by the host, Eddie tells him of a reservation for two, one he’d made after you departed from his bed for work on Sunday. Your less than joyful previous Valentine’s Days weighing on his mind.

The host leads you through tables of families and couples enjoying their meals to a booth toward the back of the room. Sliding into your seats opposing each other, you settle into the familiarity of the place. Moody red walls dimly lit with single fixtures fitted at each wooden table. Nothing in the place has changed over the years you’ve been a patron, and it’s perfect. Much like your date, whose tongue peeks out from between his lips while looking over the menu. You hold back a giggle, looking over your own menu, pondering your options.

“What’re you getting?” You ask, peeking up at him.

“Hmm, I think I’m gonna go for the lasagna.” He declares, setting the paper down on the table.

“Oh? I’ve never tried theirs before. Is it good?”

“I guess we’ll find out. I’ve only been here once before, with you and your mom like, what? 5 years ago? From what I remember the spaghetti was good.” He chuckles, making you smile as you think back on the memory.

It’d been during one of Al’s stunts, nowhere to be found for weeks leaving Eddie under Wayne’s care once again. While he’d been working day shifts at the time, Wayne had an overnight shift he couldn’t switch. Your mom happily offered to watch over Eddie for the night, another sleepover for the two of you. You could never forget his wide-eyed skittish look in the restaurant, a look that didn’t fade till his mouth was full of noodles and spaghetti sauce. At that point in his life, going out to eat at restaurants wasn’t a commonplace activity, nothing outside of cheap diners or drive throughs. To be fair, it wasn’t a frequent activity of yours either, only reserved for nights like that one when your mom had gotten paid and your Dad was somewhere drunk in a bar.

Now look at the two of you.

Still poor, but working your asses off for your own money and future. And on occasion to spend spoiling your loved ones, like tonight.

When the warm plates of food arrive at the table, neither of you waste time digging in.

“So how is it?” You ask after a few bites.

“Pretty good.” He mumbles, finishing the food in his mouth. “Not as good as the one you and your mom make. WHICH, might I add, Wayne has been dying to have again for years now.”

“Riiight, just Uncle Wayne huh?” You smirk at his attempt to use his uncle as a pawn to get what he wants.

Not bothering with a comeback, his fork reaches across the table, stealing some ziti off your plate and funneling it into his mouth with a smile.

“Hey!”

“What? Didn’t you ever learn that sharing is caring? Mmm, that’s good.”

“If there wouldn’t be witnesses I’d throw this at you” you threaten playfully, brandishing a breadstick.

“And waste a perfectly good breadstick? Tsk.” He quickly picks it from your hand, taking a bite while shaking his head in disappointment. “Not good at sharing AND wasteful.”

You scoff out an incredulous laugh, grinning at his antics.

“You’re lucky I like you.” You state simply, snatching your breadstick back from his fingers and taking a bite. An act he smiles proudly at.

“Mmm, and find me very pretty if I recall correctly.”

“The prettiest… and most annoying”

“Ugh. You hurt me, princess.” He scoffs in disbelief, hand on his heart before the dramatics fade. “Don’t lie, you love the way I tease you.”

With a lick of his lips and a wicked glimmer in his eyes, you want nothing more than to lean over the table and encapture his lips with your own, if it wouldn’t catch the attention of the whole restaurant in the midst.

“Hmm. Whatever you need to tell yourself, pretty boy.” You assert, gesturing with your eyebrows while taking another bite of your food. He looks back down at his plate with a chuckle and pink cheeks, scooping up another bite of lasagna.

With empty plates and enraptured in your typical banter, Eddie declines dessert from your server, requesting the bill. When it arrives on the table, he picks it up before you can reach to take a look. Fishing the wallet out of his jeans.

“Eddie. Let me help, please?”

“You can take me out another time sweetheart but this one’s on me.” He returns unwaveringly, handing the bill and cash over to the server when they pass by your table again.

You try to fight the feeling of guilt knowing the bill couldn’t have been cheap. Eddie knew it wouldn’t be, but you deserve to be spoiled and taken care of, and that’s exactly why he picked up some extra deals after school to do just that for you.

“Just let me take care of you, alright?” His voice is light and airy, just like his touch when he reaches across the table for your hand.

It’s something you’ll have to get used to. Letting others do for you without worrying of paying them back, being indebted to them. Letting others do for you without expecting anything in return, only wanting to make you happy. As you look across the table to his smiling face and love filled eyes, it’s something you’ll try to get used to for him.

When he opens the passenger door for you to climb in, you turn back to him, planting a soft kiss on his lips with your hands snaking around his waist.

“Thank you for dinner, Eds.”

His fingers slide into your hair, pulling your face back to his for another kiss.

“S’no problem, sweetheart. But that’s not all I’ve got planned for you.”

He gestures toward the van with his head, following his lead you climb into your seat. Heading back out onto the Hawkins streets to another unknown.

An unknown that turns into a very familiar destination, Wayne’s trailer.

“Is this the part where you seduce me after a nice romantic dinner?” You eye him suspiciously with a playful grin.

“My intentions are purely innocent, I swear.” He laughs before hopping out of the van, pulling you with him up the steps and to the front door. His eyes never leave your face as you step into the trailer, closing the door behind you.

Your gaze first lands on the red heart shaped balloon hanging next to the loveseat, then to the coffee table, covered in drinks and Valentine’s themed snacks and candies, including a heart shaped box of chocolates. A new, unlit candle sitting in the middle, next to a VHS tape of Sixteen Candles.

“You…you did all this for me?”

“Of course I did” arms wrap around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Wanted to make you feel special, treat you the way you deserve to be treated now that I finally can.”

Your hands fall on top of his, resting on your stomach.

“Sixteen Candles, huh? Did you become a fan of rom-coms while I was gone?” You joke, trying to laugh away the tears threatening to fill your eyes.

“Nooooo BUT a little birdie told me it’s your favorite rom-com. I mean, we can always watch My Bloody Valentine but I figured-”

“No no, it’s perfect. Plus, I want the satisfaction of watching you like it more than you think you will.”

“Hmph, we’ll see about that.” He takes your hand in his, pulling you toward your spot on the couch. Within a minute the candle is lit, tape in the VCR, and lights turned off in the cozy trailer.

Touch no longer confined to shoulder-to-shoulder contact, his arm falls behind your head, pulling you into his side that you gladly snuggle against under a crocheted blanket.

Film halfway through and chocolate candies ransacked, a lingering guilt sits in your stomach.

“You know, I wish I’d have known you were doing this, I would’ve gotten you something too.” Your soft gaze turns up to him, looking down at you with a smile as the hand wrapped around you rubs your side.

“Y/N… just having you here with me like this, finally as my girlfriend, getting to do the things with you I’ve always wanted to, like taking you out on a real date… that’s the only gift I need.”

“Eddie…” you protest, hand pressing against his chest.

“I mean it. You don’t need to worry about returning the favor, you are enough.”

Silence falls between you, staring into each other's eyes as your faces inch closer and closer until your lips collide. His hand moves to your back as your fingers slide into his hair. Lips moving together in a slow dance until you tug his curls ever so slightly, pulling a soft, stifled moan from his mouth. If your eyes weren’t closed, they’d be rolling to the back of your head at the sound. Your mouths press harder against each other as heat fills you, the kiss growing more passionate while holding your bodies tightly against each other. A gasping moan of your own escaping at the sensation of Eddie’s tongue gliding along your bottom lip, begging for entry. You happily oblige with your own tongue leisurely swirling around his.

Movie long forgotten playing in the background as you’re immersed in a heated exchange, tongues exploring each other's mouths, dancing together. Your leg is thrown atop his, and it takes everything in you not to grind your core against his thigh. Pathetic whimpers mixing in with the sounds of wet kisses filling your ears. Your hand falls from his hair to let your fingers trail down his long neck. You feel like your entire body is vibrating, throbbing between your legs, nearly in disbelief at how his touch, mouth and tongue meeting yours has gotten you so worked up so quickly.

It’s everything you imagined making out with Eddie would be and more. You don’t know how much more you can take, how much self restraint you have left, quickly fading the more you lose yourself in your body’s urges. You know taking it any farther would be too much, too quick, too soon, but you know you’re teetering on the edge of not giving a damn.

As much as you hate the loss of sensation when his lips part from yours, you’re thankful he seems to have more self control than you do as he pulls back. Heavily panting while looking into each other’s blown out eyes.

“Christ woman, you don’t know how crazy you make me.” He drawls between attempts to catch his breath, eyes falling shut and sweaty forehead pressing against yours. You smile, willing your heart to slow as it beats out of your chest. Eyes falling to his newest item of clothing, bare chest exposed from the loosened top buttons, your fingers trail along the edge of the fabric there.

“I can say the same for you. And might I add, you look very good in this shirt.”

He bites back a groan from the compliment, fused with the sultry tone of your voice. Eyes fluttering open to look down at his shirt, your hand on his exposed chest.

“Yeah? You think so?”

Biting your bottom lip, you respond with a nod as his brown eyes meet yours again.

“Guess I’ll have to wear it more often for you then, yeah?”

With a shy grin and another shake of your head, your lips meet again. Much like how your earlier kiss began, it’s slow and passionate, letting the heat cool and your breaths even out. Neither of you can help it, after years of keeping yourselves shut in a box of friendship, all the passion and desire kept within pours out through your lips in the few occasions you’ve had alone since that night at the lake a few short days ago. The once locked door is now wide open, blown off its hinges and you’re struggling not to run out at full speed.

“I think rom-coms might be my favorite now” Eddie mutters against your lips, cracking a smile when you burst into giggles, playfully slapping his chest.

Your head soon finds its place back on his chest as the two of you bring your attention back to the movie, almost nearing its end. Chunks of plot points missed while lost in each other's lips. Having seen the film many times, you don’t care and have a pretty good feeling Eddie doesn’t either.

When the end credits roll, a glance at the clock on the wall tells you it’s time for you to get back home. It is still a school night, after all.

If Eddie had it his way, he’d never sleep alone again another day in his life. You becoming a permanent fixture in his bed. Now that he knows what it’s like to sleep in your embrace, he doesn’t want to go a day without it. Despite that desire, he doesn’t want to push things too fast and hard right out the gate, even if everything in his body and heart tells him to. Staying safe on the side of self restraint, he regretfully walks you across the street to your front door.

“Thank you for tonight, for everything. It was perfect.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart”

Bouquet of roses in hand, you part with a sweet, gentle kiss.

“Goodnight, beautiful”

“Goodnight, Eds”

With the roses finding their home in a vase on the kitchen counter, you nestle yourself into bed for the night with Henny. Replaying the date with Eddie in your mind as your eyelids close, you feel like you’re on top of the world.

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x plussize!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #bestfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #bf!eddie munson #bsf!eddie munson #one step away from you

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leonstoenailunderhisbed · 10 months ago

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Leon’s music taste headcanon

So I’ve been thinking about Leon and his music taste. We don’t really know much about what listens to except for the radio playing when he drove to the gas station in RE2R.

I headcanon his playing looking something like old school rock, guns and roses maybe that type of thing. But I think he’d also not mind mainstream music, he’d probably find a song that has a guitar riff in the bridge super interesting.

Anyways, here are a few songs I think would definitely be in his playlist (if he has one)

I think he’d definitely like Zombie by The Cranberries, probably because the song probably reminds him of all the stuff he’s seen. Leon is a sensible guy (do not argue with me) he hates what his job entails. He definitely has a connection to this song and probably agrees with the message it comes with it.

You can’t tell me Leon doesn’t listen to nickelback- it was so popular back in the day. He probably also listened it when his girl broke up with him.

I refuse to believe he didn’t go emo for a while. Again, I headcanon him as someone who went through the motions when his gf broke up with him or when something bad happened to him. You know when you’ve had those days where everything just sucked and you felt overwhelmed? Yeah, he goes through those too.

I actually have no real reason why I think he listens to this song, or even the band lmao, I think for him it’s just one of those random songs Spotify added that he was too lazy to remove from his playlist.

Once again, this is my headcanon😭 I literally had this random thought when I was driving to school lmao

#Spotify #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #id leon kennedy #resident evil leon #leon #re4 leon #leon kennedy headcanons #di leon #re leon #re2r leon #re4r leon #re6 leon #death island leon #leon kennedy angst

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yuurivoice · 4 months ago

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I remember a while ago, you answered an ask about Kendrick, something casual n stuff. I was wondering if there were any other rappers you enjoy, or rap/hip-hop songs in general?

Oh...oh buddy.

Yeah, so where do I even get started?

My introduction to hip hop and r&b was thanks to the pop radio station in Nashville (rip 102.5 THE PARTY) back in the late 90's and early 2000s. I have vivid memories of their Friday night DJ who would broadcast from a live venue simultaneously and there were standouts like Missy Elliott, Ludacris, Destiny's Child, Nelly, Usher...I'm forgetting tons of folks but you know the vibe. Then my Brazilian step bros helped get me locked in even more.

In my teens, growing up in the South it was Three Six Mafia, Lil Wayne, Jeezy. Goddamn a lot of Jeezy in my circle of friends lol

Eventually I was left to my own devices and found my own taste. Which is...? Eclectic because I find a song or artist I like and listen to them until I burn out and forget I ever liked them. 🥲

Really enjoy Weeknd, Kendrick, Cole (in the dog house currently bc what are those phobic ass cancel me bars?), Meg, JID, Run the Jewels, uhhhhhhhh...I am forgetting so many people. I only recently got Spotify and started trying to build playlists, so I've gotta go rummaging around my brain for all the music I've forgotten I liked over the years.

I got to travel a lot when I was younger, and had the added bonus of immediate non-white family in my life so I had significantly more exposure to diverse taste than if my old man and mom were the only ones influencing me. So I got to experience West coast vibes, and various regions of the South while primarily getting my music from what was hot on the radio at the time. Plus that was peakkkk MTV pop culture era, Cribs was my shit.

This also means that inevitably I really fucked with nu metal. I unironically think the only thing I crush at karaoke is Limp Bizkit. 🥲 Keep rollin I guess.

This is my brief intro to YuuriVoice's interest in hip hop. Thank you for asking! 🙏

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suhnandmoon · 4 months ago

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now playing :･ﾟ

series playlists

finally made a new spotify account to make these playlists. for sillies! mostly just songs that remind me of the fic, songs i was listening to while making it, or songs i think the characters would listen to (cough cough imagine dragons for jake....)

dance with me, baby - here

dwmb is my baby. these are pretty much all songs on heeseungs playlist

series completed—!

stupid for you - here

this whole fic is just a waterparks au soooo. this is mostly songs the radio station prob played

series completed—!

meet me in elwynn - here

MY FAVORITE all of these songs are so me. and soooo mmie heeseung

series completed—!

starlight - here

the only serious one and the only one thats probably listenable

series completed—!

beat it! - here

actually my favorite out of them all. listen in order

series ongoing—!

#sunny side up—!#dance with me baby #stupid for you #meet me in elwynn #starlight

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galway-girlatwork · 2 months ago

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Airwaves

Fandom: The Last of Us-AU-No outbreak.

Rating: Mature-There is SO much fluff. It's a love story wrapped in music. I don't care how cheesy anyone thinks it is. I needed fluff after all the angst I write. Every song in the story has a link to Spotify.

Central Characters: Joel, Tommy, Sarah, Ellie and Maggie (Original Female Character)

Central Relationship: Joel and Maggie

Word Count: 4,301

AO3

Please do not copy my work. If you liked it, please re-blog and tag me. Please do not steal the mood board, it was a gift and stealing is just WRONG. I do not give permission to copy, translate, or post my work to any other platform.

This was inspired by the brain rot I constantly have and an awesome mood board by Aly, @iamasaddie, who prayed for me and the enormous amount of WIP’s I have. Thanks Aly.

Music Inspiration:

Silent Lucidity- Queensrÿche

Airwaves

The radio crackled to life as Joel turned the dial in his truck, the familiar voice of Maggie, the local DJ, filled the cab, smooth, warm, and full of energy, a hint of mischief that always made him smile, even after the longest of days.

“Alright, folks, this next one’s a request from Joel for his two little rock stars, Sarah and Ellie. Here’s Dancing in the Moonlight by King Harvest. Keep dancing, girls!”

Chuckling, shaking his head wondering how Maggie had a way of making every request sound like it came straight from her heart. Sarah, his ten-year-old, loved dancing in the living room, twirling Ellie along until they both collapsed on the couch in giggles and Maggie played the perfect soundtrack to their evenings, even if she didn’t know it.

Pulling into the driveway, he parked next to Tommy’s old truck, waiting for a commercial before getting out. When he opened the front door, the scent of fresh pizza wafted out, the girls running to greet him.

“Dad! Did you hear? Maggie played our song!” Sarah beamed, dark curls bouncing.

“I heard. Y’all thank Uncle Tommy for bringing dinner?” Joel asked, setting his stuff on the kitchen counter.

Ellie, only eight, grinned wide. “Thanks, Uncle Tommy!”

Giving his brother a nod of gratitude before the girls pulled him to the couch, pizza boxes were opened and plates handed out, the radio played softly in the background when Maggie’s voice returned after the song, this time with a track she had picked.

“This one’s for Joel. He said to surprise him, so I went with one of my all-time favorites, Crazy on You by Heart. Enjoy!”

Joel froze for a moment, before leaning back, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “She’s got good taste.” Later that night, the girls tucked into bed, house quiet, Joel sat on the worn recliner in the living room. The faint hum of the radio was his only companion as he sipped on a cold beer. Maggie’s voice came through again, and this time it was softer, more personal.

“Alright, night owls, I’ve got a couple more songs before we wrap things up. But first, I wanna give a shout-out to one of my regulars. Joel, I know you’re listening. Thanks for trusting me to pick a song for you tonight. Here’s hoping it hit the mark.”

His heart did a funny little flip, something that hadn’t happened in a long time. He shook his head, muttering to himself. “You’re ridiculous, Miller.” Still, he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face.

The next day at work, Tommy caught him humming Crazy on You while laying down beams for a new deck.

“You got somethin’ stuck in your head, or you finally thinkin’ about joining a band?” Tommy teased, leaning on a post.

Joel rolled his eyes. “Not joinin’ a band, just... Maggie played it last night. She’s got good taste.”

Tommy smirked. “Ah, Maggie. Ya know ya talk about her more than ya talk about anyone else. When you gonna do somethin’ about it?”

He shot him a warning look. “Do what? She doesn’t even know me.”

“She knows your voice,” Tommy pointed out. “And from what you’ve said, sounds like she likes hearin’ it.”

“Whatever.” But he didn’t argue. By now, his nightly calls to the station were as much a part of his routine as putting the girls to bed.

That evening, after finishing dinner and a board game with Sarah and Ellie, Joel sat down with the phone in hand, the girls in their pajamas, curled up on the couch, waiting for him to make the call.

“Hi, Maggie. It’s Joel,” he said when she picked up. Her voice was just as warm off the air as it was on.

“Hey Joel! What can I do for you tonight? Got another request for the girls?”

“Actually, yeah. Sarah’s been hummin’ Brown Eyed Girl all week. Think you can fit it in?”

“For you? Always,” Maggie replied, and he swore he could hear the smile in her voice. “And what about you, Joel? What’s your request?”

He hesitated, eyes closing for a second, “Surprise me again. You’ve got good taste.”

Laughing softly. “You’re giving me a lot of trust here. Alright, Joel. Tune in. This one’s just for you.”

After hanging up, Joel sat back with the girls, waiting for the song. When Maggie came on, her words carried a little extra something tonight.

“This next one is a classic, but it’s also got a bit of soul. Joel, I think you’ll like it. Here’s Bad Company.”

Joel closed his eyes again as the first chords played, letting the music wash over him. He knew that it was probably all for show, she was a DJ and that is what she did, right? Make everyone feel like she was talking to just them. Yea he was losin it.

Over the following weeks, his nightly calls became a cherished ritual for her. She found herself looking forward to hearing his voice, intrigued by the man who clearly adored his daughters and had a deep appreciation for music. She began teasing him on-air, voice playful as she introduced his requests.

“Alright, everyone, you know the drill. This goes out to my regular caller, Joel. He called earlier for his girls and asked for another surprise song so here’s Silent Lucidity by Queensryche.”

Joel listened with a faint smile, not noticing the looks he was getting from the girls.

“She likes you, Dad,” Sarah declared as they listened together.

Shaking his head as Sarah climbed up on the couch, settling down next to him. “She’s just doin her job and bein friendly.”

Ellie, who’d always been the more serious of the two, shook her head. “Dad she always sounds happy when she talks about you.”

He couldn’t deny how Maggie’s attention made him feel. Her laughter, her playful comments, and the music she chose—it all felt personal, like she’d found a way to reach into his life and he knew it was the craziest thought he could have had as he got the girls ready for bed.

For Maggie, Joel was becoming more than just a regular caller. She’d started to wonder about the man behind the voice. Was he as ruggedly kind as he sounded? What did he look like when he smiled? The mystery only made their nightly interactions more interesting, knowing the single dad with two girls who loved music just as much as he did.

One evening, Joel called the station as usual but this time, she had a surprise for him. “Hey, Joel,” she said warmly. “I’ve got something different for you tonight.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” he asked, curious.

“Well,” she began, a hint of shyness in her tone, “the station’s hosting a live event this Saturday at Grady’s Bar downtown. I’m doing a set, and chatting with folks. If you’re around, maybe you can swing by.”

He froze, phone pressed tightly to his ear, not expecting this. “Uh... yeah, maybe. Um I can see if I can get someone to watch the girls.”

Smiling on the other end of the line she doodled on a notepad, wondering what the fuck she was thinking. She’d never asked any listener, personally, to come to an event. “No pressure. But if you do come, it’d be nice to finally meet you. Gotta go but the last song of the night, it’s for you. Night Joel.”

Hanging up, sliding the headphones back on, she took a deep breath. “All right everyone, my times up tonight, you’ve got Crystal coming up to get you through the witching hour but this last song for tonight goes out to Joel and his girls. Be safe out there. Here’s a little Patty Griffin to get you through.”

When Saturday rolled around, Joel found himself nervously adjusting his shirt in the mirror. Tommy had offered to babysit, smirking as he shoved Joel out the door with a teasing smile. Grady’s Bar was lively, the music loud but not overwhelming. When he walked in, he noticed Maggie’s booth was set up in the corner, records spread out in neat stacks, noticing she wore a vintage Doors t-shirt and jeans, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She was not what he was expecting, realizing that it was her voice that captivated him, not what she could look like. He hesitated for a moment before walking over. “Maggie?”

He wasn’t what she’d expected but in the best way. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a quiet confidence and beautiful brown eyes. When he smiled, it was lopsided and a little shy, feeling her heart skip a beat, possibly two. “Joel?”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Yea. You seem busy.”

“Never too busy for my favorite caller,” Maggie teased, motioning for him to sit. “Order anything you want to drink, it’s on me.”

Joel shook his head, smiling. “Naw you ain’t gotta do that.” When the waitress came by, he let Maggie order first, before letting the server know he’d have a Shiner Bock. They talked for hours, Maggie occasionally ducking away to adjust a track or chat with other attendees, but always returning to him. They shared stories about work, favorite songs, and by the end of the night, he felt like he’d known her forever. As he stood to leave, Maggie slipped a CD into his hands, a copy of Queensryche.

“For your collection,” she said softly. “And maybe... a reason to call me tomorrow.”

Grinning, tucking the CD into his jacket pocket. “You don’t need to give me a reason. I’ll be callin in tomorrow.” Leaving the bar that night with the CD now on the seat next to him, what got him the most was the way Maggie had smiled at him—as if she’d been waiting for him all along. He couldn’t shake the warmth he felt just sitting with her, her laughter, and the way her eyes lit up when they talked about music.

Back home, Tommy smirked as Joel walked in, his good mood evident.

“So? How’d it go?”

Setting the CD on the counter, avoiding his brother’s gaze. “Went fine. We talked. She’s nice.”

Tommy barked a laugh. “Nice? That’s all you’ve got? Come on, Joel, don’t play dumb. You like her.”

Joel shrugged, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Yeah, I do.”

Over the next few weeks, their nightly calls became something more. Maggie would stay on the line a little longer before playing his requests, asking about his day or teasing him about the girls. He found himself opening up in a way he hadn’t in years, telling her stories about Sarah’s fierce independence or Ellie’s knack for making him laugh.

“Sounds like they keep you on your toes. You’re a good dad, Joel,” Maggie said one night, voice soft over the line. “Girls are lucky to have you.”

Feeling a lump in his throat, not expecting to get compliments like that but hearing it from Maggie meant more than he could explain. “Thanks,” he murmured. “That means a lot.”

Meanwhile, Maggie found herself looking forward to Joel’s calls more than anything else in her day. There was something grounding about him, the way he spoke, steady and calm, with just enough humor to make her laugh. She could picture him easily now, the rough edges of his hands, the warmth in his eyes, the way his smile crinkled at the corners, the scruff of his beard.

“Evening listeners, that last song was a request from April and I hope it got her and her friends in the mood for her birthday dinner. Happy Birthday April. Alright, everyone, it’s time for another live event. This Sunday, we’re doing an outdoor set at Centennial Park. There’ll be music, food trucks, and lots of great company. Bring the family, and come say hi!”

“Dad, we have to go!” Sarah said, practically bouncing. “Maggie’s gonna be there!”

“Yeah! We wanna meet her!” Ellie chimed in; her eyes bright.

He hesitated when he heard the broadcast. Taking the girls to a public event wasn’t something he did often. But Sarah and Ellie, having overheard the announcement, were already buzzing with excitement. Sighing, knowing he couldn’t say no. “Alright, alright. We’ll go.”

That Sunday, the park was bustling with activity, her booth set up near the stage, where live music would happen throughout the day, she’d just started a song, the oversized headphones slung around her neck. Looking up, she spotted Joel almost immediately, grin widening when she saw Sarah and Ellie at his side. “You made it!” she called, waving them over.

The girls ran ahead, their excitement bubbling over, he hung back just a little, watching as she crouched down to their level, introducing herself, asking them about their favorite songs, before handing them huge bubble wands, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Maggie was even better with the kids than he’d imagined—patient, funny, and genuinely interested in what they had to say.

When she stood, he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly not sure what to think of the whole situation. “Thanks for inviting us. The girls were real excited.”

“I’m glad you came. It’s nice to finally meet the girls who have such a large love for music. You know they’re just like you described.” She knew in that instant that it was all over for her. She was falling so hard for him, she didn’t know what the next step was, having been out of the dating scene for years.

For the rest of the afternoon, they lingered near her booth, the girls dancing to the music while they talked, stuffing themselves with corn dogs, funnel cake and lemonade. By the time the event wound down, she realized she didn’t want the day to end.

As they were leaving, she slipped a small piece of paper into his hand. “Call me,” she said with a smile. “Outside the station.”

Joel looked down at the number scribbled in Maggie’s neat handwriting, heart thudding in his chest. “I will,” he promised.

As sat on the back porch, the girls passed out on the couch after crashing from adrenaline and sugar levels bottoming out, he thumbed the piece of paper before he called her. It would be just them, no music in the background, no audience listening in.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually call,” she teased when she picked up.

Chuckling softly. “Thought about waitin’ a day, but found I couldn’t.”

“Glad you couldn’t,” almost sure her smile was audible. “So, how are Sarah and Ellie? They seemed like they had a blast today.”

“Talked about you the whole way home,” Joel said. “Already askin if we can listen to your show tomorrow night but today caught up the minute we hit the road. Both sleepin now.”

“They’re sweet kids, Joel. You’ve done a good job with them.”

“Thanks. Been hard bein a single dad.”

The conversation stretched long into the night, covering everything from childhood memories to favorite concerts. By the time they hung up, he realized he hadn’t felt this comfortable or this hopeful in years.

A week later, he finally worked up the nerve to ask her out during one of their late-night conversations. “Hey I was wonderin if you wanted to have dinner this Friday, say 6? I know this diner, they got good food, good music.”

“Love to. Meet you there?”

“Alright. See you then.”

When Friday rolled around, he was more nervous than he wanted to admit to anyone including Tommy, who agreed to watch the girls again but making sure he gave Joel a teasing pat on the back as he left.

“Don’t mess up, big brother.”

The diner was cozy, not yet packed with other couples doing the Friday night date thing, a jukebox in the corner and a menu full of comfort food. She was already there, leg bouncing when he arrived. It took her an hour to decide what to wear, going with a faded jean jacket over a simple dress, smiling when she saw him.

“You clean up nice,” she said, standing to greet him.

Joel grinned. “You look great, too.” Sliding back into the booth, the conversation began flowing as she teased him about his preference for older music, while he learned she loved not only the older music but the newer, more eclectic stuff she played.

When the jukebox came to life, Maggie raised an eyebrow, small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “Silent Lucidity?”

“Recently become a favorite.”

By the end of the night, she couldn’t stop smiling. As they walked to their cars, she leaned against hers, hands tucked into her pockets, night air a little heavy with humidity. She couldn’t help but replay the moments over dinner and the way her chest felt tight every time he smiled at her. “This was fun, Joel. I’d like to do it again.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft. “I’d like that too.” Moving towards her, rough callused hands cupped both of her cheeks, tilting her head back, a beat of silence, a moment between them, noticing her eyes briefly dropping to his mouth, the action giving him unspoken permission as hands moved to gently rest on the swell of her hips. Leaning in, lips capturing hers, tender at first, cautious as though he would wake up and it was all just a figment of imagination.

She responded instantly, lips moving against his as she pulled her hands free, fingers now curling into his jacket to pull him even closer, deepening the kiss, confidence growing as she leaned into him, feeling a hand slide up to cradle the back of her head while his thumb brushed over her hip bone. When they finally broke apart, breaths mingling in the night air, cheeks flushed, she looked up at him, noticing the way he stared into her eyes, his name a breathless whisper.

Resting his forehead lightly against hers, he closed his eyes, wanting to remember how sweet she tasted. His hand was still at her neck, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let her go. "I’d like to do that again."

Leaning up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Then you better call me tomorrow."

“I will.”

Over the next few months, the connection between them deepened, finding small ways to fit into each other’s lives. She joined Joel and the girls for dinner, bringing all different kinds of CD’s for music nights, while he sometimes surprised her at the station with coffee during late shifts. She adored Sarah and Ellie, who often dragged her into vicious games of Monopoly, Go Fish and Uno, in which they were absolutely lethal. The trio was quickly becoming a fixture in her life.

They were sitting on her couch after having a movie date at her place, sharing a bowl of popcorn while the credits played in the background. Glancing up at him, before resting her head resting on his shoulder.

“You ever think about what’s next?” she asked.

Joel tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, then said, “This. Us. I know it’s still new, but... I care about you, Joel and the girls.”

Setting the bowl down, he turned to face her. “Maggie, don’t you know how special you are to me? To all of us? I, we, care about you too, more than I’ve been good at sayin’.”

Breath came out in a deep sigh, relief settling in, “I just needed to know.”

Leaning in, he kissed her, slow and deliberate and when he ended it, her forehead against his. “I can’t imagine anyone else I’d want in my life right now but you.”

Her presence in his life quickly became something he couldn’t imagine going without. She blended seamlessly into his little family, not just as someone he cared about but as a meaningful person in the girls’ lives.

He came home from work one Saturday, finding the three of them in the kitchen baking. Flour was everywhere, Ellie’s lips held chocolate at the corners while Sarah was methodically measuring sugar under Maggie’s supervision. Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, he watched chaos unfold.

“You’re really brave takin’ this on,” he said, smirking as Ellie tried to sneak a spoonful of dough.

Laughing, cheeks slightly pink from the warmth of the oven, she shrugged her shoulders. “Figured it was time to show the girls I can do more than play music.”

Stepping close, brushing a streak of flour off her cheek. “I think you’re doin’ just fine.”

Smiling up at him, is when it slammed full force into her body and soul. She was in love with Joel Miller. She wasn’t sure what to do with this feeling that blossomed deep within the confines of her chest, the words never spoken by either of them. Distracted by thoughts, she wasn’t paying attention to the surroundings until Ellie screamed cookies, that she swore out loud pulling a burnt tray of cookies from the oven. “Sorry girls. Good thing I brought enough stuff for us to make up for it.”

He knew in that instant that something wasn’t right. She never swore in front of the girls, even though he knew she had the mouth of a truck driver, hearing her road rage more than once while they were on the phone. She looked distracted, defeated, shoulders slumping just a little, like her heart was no longer in the moment. He didn’t say anything until later that night, after the girls were in bed. “Hey, you okay? You’ve been off since this afternoon.”

“Yea, I’m fine. Just tired I guess. I gotta head to the station. Got the graveyard tonight.” Kissing his cheek, she grabbed her purse and practically ran out the door. It wasn’t until she was sitting at the station, queuing up the next five tracks that she felt like she could breathe normally. “All right all you night owls, I am taking us all the way back to 1961 with a classic by Elvis. So, grab that special someone, hold them close in silent lucidity and tell em how you feel.” As the first few notes of “Can’t Help Falling In Love” came through her headphones, she slipped them off, biting her nails, wondering if Joel was listening since it was past midnight.

Sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, he listened to her, voice lower than normal, sounding almost wounded as she went through her set. It was just after midnight when her voice filled his room, talking about Elvis and the song from the CD she’d given him. That’s when it clicked for him. Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he dialed her number, not the station, waiting for her to pick up.

“Hey, didn’t think you’d be awake.”

“Wanted to listen for a little while before I went to sleep. Maggie, the song you’re playin and the reference…”

“I love you Joel. I don’t know when or how but it just…I realized it this afternoon at the house. I love you. Been in love with you and…”

“Maggie take a breath…I love you too. Think I have been since you played that first song for the girls. Look I know you’re busy at work but I want to talk. Can you come by the house tomorrow?”

“Yea.”

“Play our song?”

“Of course.”

“Wait how do you know what song I’m talking about?”

“Trust me, I just do. Night Joel.” Hanging up, she knew she had to have had the stupidest grin on her face and she didn’t give a flying fuck. She didn’t care if their relationship was cliché and cheesy. She fell in love with him, he fell in love with her and maybe, just maybe there could be a future there. “Well thanks to all my listeners for letting me go down memory lane with that one. Next up is Silent Lucidity by Queensrÿche and then I’ve got a little classic rock comin your way with Boston, The Stones, Aerosmith and Black Sabbath. Stay safe out there.”

A year later, he surprised her with a somewhat quiet dinner at the house. He’d cooked, which involved grilling, all of them sitting at the table, the girls going a mile a minute. Chaos ensued afterwards, with a movie, popcorn scattered everywhere, Maggie offering to clean up while he put the girls to bed. When he came down the stairs, he took her hand in his, leading her out into the backyard, where the record player was set up in the backyard under strands of lights Tommy had helped him hang.

“Joel this is beautiful.”

“Thought I’d do somethin nice.”

Swaying to the music, laughter filling the space between them as they talked, fingers laced together, she kissed the span of skin showing at the base of his throat. “I love you.”

“Maggie,” he began, voice steady but full of emotion, “you walked into my life when I didn’t even know how much I needed you. You’ve made me and the girls so happy. I can’t imagine any of this without you. Marry me?”

Whoa. Wait. What? Pulling away from him, she looked up at him, eyes searching his. “Are you serious?” Watching as he fumbled to pull a ring from the pocket of his jeans.

“Yes, I’m serious Maggie May, marry me.”

“Yes, Joel, yes and yes.”

Just then both girls burst out from behind the sliding door, giggling as they tackled both of them in a hug, all of them now laying in the grass, laughing, both of them knowing it was going to be a chaotic mess until their dying days.

#joel miller #sarah miller #ellie williams #tommy miller #the last of us au #no outbreak!joel miller #original female character #ao3 writer #music #pedro pascal

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