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blueywrites · 1 year

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I Will Wait

a soulmate!fakemarriage!au with rockstar!eddie and personalassistant!reader (also featuring ronance)

cowritten by @abibliophobiaa, @blue-mossbird, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, and @fracturedarkness

18+ only for mature themes and eventual sexual content. fem!reader, alcohol consumption

three (15.3k) | next | masterlist | AO3 | 🎵 shmackin' tunes

in this universe, there is no upside down, the year is 1995, and corroded coffin = nine inch nails. enjoy! 🐝

The next few months are an absolute whirlwind. Corroded Coffin was in the last legs of producing their new album when you were hired, meaning the period of time when they were gearing up for the debut was just getting started. Photoshoots, interviews, preparing press releases, scheduling future appearances, and a million other things all seemed to be happening at once.

In addition to being the middleman between Eddie and the powers that be, which mostly consisted of Steve sending you constant emails of new appointments, you also were quick to learn some of the other expectations that comes along with being a PA for a celebrity. Mainly: house work.

At first you had thought they were fucking with you when Eddie mentioned that he needed you to come to his brownstone in the morning to do his laundry. As it turns out, he was both completely serious and incredibly amused with your ignorance of all the things you had technically signed up to do for him by taking this position. So you found yourself letting yourself into the Munson brownstone in Greenwich Village a few times a week to do menial tasks for your client.

Today, you’d walked in around 10am, much to Eddie’s displeasure, and were greeted with a bag full of laundry thrown at your feet. “Good morning to you too, Eddie,” you offer, albeit a bit dryly as you place your pocketbook on one of the stools at the kitchen island. “Did the maid I hired not get around to laundry this week?”

“Fired her.” Eddie sounds way too chipper for this time of day, and you can only guess it’s because of his smug smile as he forces you into doing things you’ve tried to work around. “Kept looking at my underwear weird; thought she was gonna sell it or something.”

Not believing it for a second, you still give him a tight smile. “I’m sure. I’ll work on finding another maid to clean the brownstone. Again.”

“You do that!” He calls over his shoulder as he walks further into the bright and airy kitchen. In his black sweatpants and bleach-stained tank top, he looks completely at odds with his own home. It sometimes makes you wonder if his wife, Robin, picked everything out or if they had just gotten a designer to come in and make it like a show home. The first floor is beautifully decorated but stale, like no one actually lives there. It gets a bit more personal as you ascend but it still seems strange to have a home feel so disconnected. “Oh—” he looks back over as you lift the bag of laundry into your arms with a huff, “I have a pair of silk boxers in there that need to be hand washed, so don’t even think about putting them in the machine. And, uh… don’t worry about the stains.”

Oh, how you wish you could smack the cheeky grin off his face sometimes. You mumble an acknowledgement as you carry the bag through the first floor and past the kitchen, passing through an open door frame that leads into the laundry/mud room. Sorting lights and darks, despite the very intense lack of white articles that need to be cleaned, you start shoving black fabric after black fabric into the top load washing machine. When the tips of your fingers brush silk, your teeth clench tight together as you clutch it in your fist and throw it towards the deep sink a few feet away.

Once the machine is started, you walk back over to where the bundle of black silk now rests at the bottom of the plastic basin. Upon first examination, there are no suspicious ‘stains’ to be seen, but you still don’t trust it. Pinching one of the hems between your fingernails, you lift it up to eye level to inspect further, wanting to know exactly what you’re getting into before you get started.

The french door behind you pulls open with a stream of sunlight and a brush of floral perfumed air. Still holding the offending garment between your fingertips, you spin toward where Robin has just entered the mud room, a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose and a book in her hand. “Uh…” Her hand slowly drops from the door handle, a smile stretching across her face as her eyebrows raise. “Whatcha doin’?”

Embarrassment wells up to warm your face, which you assume was Eddie’s goal all along, while you give Robin a tense smile. “Eddie fired the maid again. Said his silk underwear needed to be ‘hand-washed’.”

Robin’s sigh is one of long-suffering acceptance as she crosses over to you, grabs the boxers, and throws them into the running washing machine. “He’s fucking with you; you know how he is.” The sunglasses are pushed up into her hair so she can fix you with her blue-eyed stare. “You can just… push back a little. Don’t let him walk all over you.”

“It’s my job to—”

“Your job is not to just do whatever the fuck he tells you to do. Like, hiring the maid was a good move. He probably would’ve had you over here everyday dusting his little trophies if you hadn’t outsmarted him.” Her smile is warm, almost like she’s proud. “Your job is to make sure he can do his job. That’s all.”

Since meeting Robin 3 months ago, she has been nothing but sweet and kind to you. Despite being your client’s wife, she very often put herself in your corner, facing off against some of Eddie’s more unreasonable requests. While you don’t necessarily need her intervention, it still is nice to have sometimes. Her reassurance has your tension easing, a deep breath expanding your lungs in slight relief. “Thank you, Robin.”

“No prob,” she taps the cover of her paperback against your bicep as she moves past you and out into the kitchen. “Eddie!”

You follow her through the entry just in time to see Eddie spinning toward her shout, an open gallon of milk in his hand and a white stain on his upper lip. “Hey Rob, what’s the move?”

“God, Munson, you’re so fucking gross.” She pushes his shoulder out of her way to reach into the fridge and pull out a decanter of orange juice. “Remind me to never drink the milk in this house again.”

He sets the jug on the kitchen island and leans on his elbow to keep himself in her sideview, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. “And you married me anyway.”

“Don’t remind me,” she groans, although it betrays a certain level of amusement with her husband as she places her palm on his forehead and pushes him away again. Watching the easy interaction of their back and forth, always acting more like best friends than a more formal married couple, has a pang twisting in your chest. You can only hope for such an easy and comfortable relationship with your soulmate one day.

Two days later, you’re once again standing in the Munson brownstone in the early hours of the morning. Or, Eddie’s version of early, which happens to be anytime before noon. You hadn’t had time to find another cleaning service yet so you were elbows deep in the sink in their kitchen, bright yellow silicon gloves protecting your hands from the hot, soapy water as you washed bowls and coffee cups.

Eddie appears at the bottom of the stairs, yawning loudly as he stretches his arms skyward, shirt lifting to show a peek at the ink beneath. You pay him no mind as you continue your methodical cleaning of ceramics, keeping your eyes down even when he walks right up beside you and leans on the counter. Fully content to ignore him until your task is done, you can’t help but startle away when his fingertips ghost against your temple, pushing the hair back.

“What are you doing?” You finally glance over at him, your voice pitching up a bit in surprise. His smile is mischievous, eyes shining in the light, leaning over further to rest his chin on his fist.

“Oh, I was just fixing it for you. Your hands are wet and soapy.”

Exhaling through your nose, you go back to focusing on scrubbing the burnt eggs from the bottom of a frying pan. Over the last month or so, Eddie has gone from barely tolerating your existence and trying to make your life miserable, to being very pleased with your existence so he can continue to push the envelope on making your life miserable. It has become more and more like a game for him – testing the boundaries on what you will tolerate. Both what you will do for him and how much he can flirt with you until you get terse.

After a moment of awkward silence, at least on your end, you move to break the tension. “We should go over your schedule for today.”

He gives an exaggerated sigh, turning to lean both arms back on the counter beside you. “If we have to.”

“Your stylist asked you to be on site by 10am so they would have time to get you ready before the photographers arrived.” You’re barely halfway through your sentence before Eddie is groaning, sinking a bit lower onto his elbows. Mustering a flat look, you turn your head in his direction. “Why are you pouting?”

“I forgot the fucking photoshoot was today.” A ringless hand comes up to rub at the side of his face, still a bit swollen from sleep. “The only thing worse is those stupid press interviews.”

You turn back to the soap filled bowl in your gloved hands to hide your smile. “Good thing that’s not today. The interview is later this week.” Eddie’s reaction is instantaneous and dramatic – he moans in outrage as he slides all the way down to the floor beside you, leaning over to lightly hit his forehead against the side of your outer thigh over and over.

“I swear, it’s like you hate me,” his voice is muffled from below, face directed down. “You hate me when I have been nothing but nice to you.”

An amused snort leaves you against your will at the idea. His head whips back to look up at you in surprise and you barely manage to school your expression in time. “It’s not personal, Eddie. I’m just doing my job.”

“Speaking of your job,” he picks himself up off the floor in a less-than-graceful fashion, his sweatpants running much lower as he rises. You keep your eyes in the sink as you wipe down the last coffee mug left and pretend you aren’t seeing him adjust the fabric around his groin. “I need you to walk my lizard today.”

Halfway through removing the stopper from the sink to drain the used water, you freeze with your forearm still in the slowly lowering water. “Excuse me?”

He’s leaning on his elbow again, a smug smile on his face as he watches your reactions. “My lizard. You know, the one upstairs?” You make a noise of acknowledgement that you know what lizard he’s referring to. “He needs to be walked once a week. Specifically on sunny days. Normally around noon when the sun is highest, so he gets the most of the heat, y’know?”

You feel your eyebrows drawing together in confusion, trying to think back to what you know about lizards. Which, admittedly, is not much. Still, needing to walk a lizard sounds incorrect. You’ve never seen someone walking around with their lizard on a leash. You’re about to start to question him more when you catch sight of his expression. He has his lips drawn in between his teeth, his eyes pinched tight as he tries not to laugh. “... You’re fucking with me.” The laugh escapes as a bark, his palm slapping down on the counter beside you as it echoes out into the high ceilings of the brownstone. “You almost fell for it too!”

Bristling in annoyance and just a little bit of embarrassment, you take a deep breath and hang the damp gloves over the edge of the now-empty sink to dry. “I think it’s time for you to get ready to leave.”

His mirth dies down fast, his head rolling back to sigh at the ceiling. “But, and here’s the thing right, I really don’t want to go.” You make another noncommittal noise, not looking to encourage his antics right now. Neck rolling toward you, that cheeky grin that you’ve come to loathe is back. “Beg me and I’ll do it.”

Another exhale out of your nose to remain calm, you weigh your options. If you beg, you are playing into his games and encouraging antics like this. But, you also get the result you want faster. If you refuse, you are technically standing your ground, but could end up with a bigger fight to try to get him ready and out the door in time. Deciding to play his game, you give him the flattest expression you’re capable of. “Will you please get ready to leave for your photoshoot?”

This time the sigh he lets out is satisfied, his shoulders falling and eyes closing in what looks like relief. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re accompanied by a lazy smile. “Love when you say please.” He taps the tip of your nose, shocking you still, as he turns back toward the stairs. “I’ll be ready in no time!”

He is not ready in no time.

You’re standing at the bottom of the stairs at 10:10am and have still not seen head nor tail of Eddie since he traipsed back up. The car outside has already honked twice, letting you know it’s waiting, but you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Eddie, we’re already late!” Your voice echoes through the multi-floor space, definitely loud enough for him to hear, but you get no response. Patience running thin, you raise your voice again. “Eddie!”

You finally hear him reply, voice far off. “I got stuck in my pants, maybe you should come up and help me!”

Pressing your fingertips to your brow bone hard enough to pull the skin of your eyelid, you call back, “If you’re struggling to put your own pants on, I should probably call a medical professional.”

The soles of now-familiar boots appear at the top of the tall staircase, your eyes trailing up their occupant as he begins to slowly lumber his way down the stairs. He’s in his usual attire. Scuffed Doc Martens, a pair of black jeans stretched tight over his endless thighs, leather jacket fitted against his frame, those chunky rings adorning his fingers. Around his neck he wears multiple silver chains of varying sizes, dipping low into the collar of his shirt. “Y’know you could stand to be a little more fun.”

You remain firm, arms crossed as you wait for him to hit the final step. “I don’t think I understand your version of fun.” He blows a raspberry in your direction as he crosses the foyer to start shoving things into the already-tight pockets of his jeans. “We’re already late, and that means we are just delaying further when we can get to your preferred portion of the day at the studio.”

He meets your eyes through the mirror before him. Both of you showing an attempt at nonchalance. “I swear, sometimes when you talk it’s like a fly buzzing around my head and I just,” he swats once, “can’t,” twice, “get it,” three times, “to stop.”

“Maybe you should get better aim,” you offer coolly as you cross behind him to hold open the front door, hoping to get him to finally walk through it. “Or, better yet, you should consider actually listening to me instead of letting it go in one ear and out the other.”

“But it's like a buzzing little bee in my ear. Gets so annoying whenever you’re droning on and on about responsibilities and my to do list and shit.” He walks past you as he continues his rant, bouncing down the small set of stairs leading to street level. You’ve just turned back from locking the door when he whirls on you. “Maybe if you wore something a little more easy on the eyes, I’d be able to focus more on what comes out of your mouth.”

When you grit your teeth, his grin only grows, backing up towards the black sedan waiting for you both. Your voice is a thinly veiled warning when you start to say, “Eddie –”

“Careful, little Bee,” he opens the door, lifting a boot to rest on the frame. “If you get too aggressive, you’ll lose your stinger for good.” Then he falls into the darkened car, leaving the door open and sliding across so you can get in next to him. With no other option, you stomp down your frustration and climb in after him.

You’re not sure what to expect as the car pulls up in front of an abandoned warehouse out on Long Island. At first glance, it’s a dilapidated looking hole in the wall. From where you’re sitting, you can see the rusted metal roofing, the smashed in windows, exposed beams standing erect to hold up the exterior of the building. You knew the team intended for a grungier, broken down scene to represent the lyrics of the band’s latest album portraying a man’s downfall; however, you hardly anticipated something such as this in the seemingly middle of nowhere.

Eddie’s knee spreads further right from where he sits next to you, jean-clad thigh brushing yours ever so softly. Your head shifts to take him in, gaze trailing instantaneously to where you’re connected, stamping down the feeling that wells up and lingers behind your ribs with every fleeting moment such as this. His amber eyes are shrouded behind a pair of sunglasses today, tattooed hand nearest to you sprawled over his bent kneecap. There’s a thought burgeoning in his gaze, ever present before he ever even opens his mouth to speak out his reluctant drawl of, “Guess it’s now or never.”

The two of you slide out the car in unison on opposite sides of the respective vehicle, winding around the exterior and meeting to join in the center of the uneven, grassy ground. His lip quirks upward as he takes in the sight of you like a newborn doe on heels that insist on sinking into the ground, head tipping your way in the only acknowledgement of your presence you’ll likely receive. Inside, you’re immediately greeted by rusted over conveyor belts in the center of the room. There are steel beam stairs leading to an upper deck overlooking the central portion of the interior. To your left is the wall least eaten away by rust throughout the years, silver metal spanning from floor to ceiling, with endless lights positioned around the edges of the parameters to illuminate the set.

Your head tips to Eddie, standing there disinterested as ever, head tipping up to the sky, visible through the broken up ceiling. Like this, you can see every dark wave of hair that dances along the leather of his jacket, the ridges on the column of his pale throat, the tattoos that creep up high along the neckline of his collar, hinting at intricate detailing beneath. And then that left hand settles over the bridge of his sunglasses and pushes them upward, the glint of his wedding ring catching in your field of view, and you set your gaze on the glowing set before you as you edge closer to your destination.

The room itself is bustling. People shift and mill about the warehouse, carrying various pallets and crates in hand and positioning them strategically around the room in order to create impactful angles for the intended photos. Workers chat amongst themselves with cameras draped around their necks, clipboards in hand as they mark down a list of tasks you’re not privy to. Once nearer to the group, a woman comes barreling over in a flurry of movement. She’s gorgeous. Deep russet skin, dark hair styled to perfection, a tape measure over her shoulder, and a pair of leather pants curled over a forearm. You catch the glint of her artful gold hoops in either of her ears and the bright makeup covering her eyelids. You admire the rips in her jeans and the fabric of her oversized hoodie as she tuts audibly and glares Eddie’s way. You assume this isn’t the first time Eddie’s run behind schedule, try as you might to get him there as close to on time as possible.

“You’re late!” She admonishes, hand dropping to a popped out hip. For the first time since you’ve been working for Eddie, you catch the slight drop in his steely facade. It’s barely noticeable, just the slightest downturn of his lips, but you capture it all the same, knowing this woman intimidates him in a way no one else seems capable of doing so. She turns to you then, flashing you a megawatt smile. “Erica. Erica Sinclair. I’m Corroded Coffin’s stylist. I’m sure you tried your very best to get him here on time, but you see Edward wouldn’t be Edward if he wasn’t late to everything.”

“Fashionably late, Sinclair.” She glances him up and down, clearly unimpressed by his excuse, and curls a hand around his shoulder.

“Says the man who would wear the same ugly ass Hellfire shirt to every fitting when I first started working with you all. It’s a miracle by my own doing that you know how to dress yourself now. Come on, the team is already paying for your lateness,” she says, and without another word your way, she ushers him to a trailer standing just outside of the warehouse, where you anticipate the rest of the band to be readying for their photoshoot within.

You’re left to stand in the back of the warehouse, trying to keep out of the way of those working around you. With a low sigh, you wander over to the furthest wall covered in sheet metal and broken in windows, looking out into the grassy landscape. A bird flits on by, drawing your attention, just as a voice sounds from behind you. Jolting, you whirl on the heel and spot none other than Steve himself, and beside him, a man you’ve yet to meet before.

The man’s bearded face is twisted in a scowl as he shouts into his brick of a cell phone. He’s gesticulating wildly, dark curls bouncing with every angry movement. You can only catch snippets of his impassioned rant, but you’ve gathered enough to know that he does not suffer fools gladly.

Steve stands awkwardly beside the man, wincing on occasion at his booming voice. The scene is not entirely inviting, but you have no choice but to approach when Steve’s gaze catches yours. His face lights up in recognition, and he waves his hand to beckon you near. As you approach, Steve steps forward and briefly pats your upper back in greeting.

“Glad to see you made it! I want to introduce you to our band manager, Murray Bauman.” Steve motions you over with a warm smile until another shrill taunt from the man in question has him flinching away. “But let’s just give him a minute, shall we?” You agree politely and turn with Steve to observe Murray closing out his phone conversation.

“I don’t care how busy you are, get it done TODAY!” Murray’s barking demand echoes throughout the warehouse, and you stare as he rips the phone from his ear and takes out his frustrations by repeatedly smashing the end call button. He lets out an annoyed breath before pushing his wireframe glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“Fair warning, he can be… bold.” Steve whispers this warning for your ears only. Just another hothead for the collection, you snort to yourself. You deal with Eddie Munson on a daily basis. How much worse could Murray Bauman be? Steve walks ahead of you to serve as the bridge during introductions. Before Steve can offer an explanation, Murray’s annoyed face takes in your approach with suspicion.

“Who are you? Harrington, why are you bringing this person to bother me?” Murray interrogates you immediately. He regards you skeptically, assessing whether you are worth his time or attention.

“Murray, this is the assistant I was telling you about,” Steve explains, offering your name as he beckons you forward. “You know, the one who is currently working with Eddie.”

“You mean the one you forced me to hire?”

Steve casts a furtive glance your way before his gaze whips back to Murray, the stare holding weight as he replies, “She’s lasted four months, Murray.”

Murray looks back flatly as Steve tries to impress some knowledge upon him with a combination of wide hazel eyes and bushy brows. Behind his wireframe glasses, Murray squints. “Four months?” He replies skeptically, and Steve nods slowly.

“Four months,” he enunciates slowly, and you watch the men communicate through shifting facial expressions: Steve’s eyes implore Murray to be civil, while Murray appears exasperated by the prospect of niceties. Eventually, Murray lets out a groan before forcing his face into a perfunctory smile.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Murray offers, insincerity lacing his every word. His dark eyes cut to Steve as if to ask - happy now? All at once, his mask crumbles and he returns to his brash self. “Do me a favor, yeah? Keep Munson in line. I’d prefer to not clean up any more of his messes.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” you reply. “It’s very nice to mee–”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Murray sounds appalled, disgust written all over his face. His question makes you stutter to a stop. You look down at your outfit and see nothing untoward - white blouse, black cardigan, plaid pleated skirt, dark tights, and chunky heels. It’s simple and professional. It’s safe. Or so you thought. Confused, you look back up to see that Murray isn’t making eye contact with you. Instead, he’s glaring at something or someone behind you. That’s when you register the sound of heavy boots thudding your way. You turn to see who has inspired such a visceral reaction from Murray, but instinctively you know who you’ll find.

Eddie.

He strides toward you with Erica by his side. She looks proud of her work, and you can’t blame her. Eddie looks… well, he looks hot. To put it bluntly. Erica has given Eddie a monochrome look that’s enhanced by different textures and accessories. His black suit is striking with its satin lapels and tailored fit. The suit jacket is unbuttoned, revealing the pièce de résistance - a mesh top that leaves little to the imagination.

“You look ridiculous! Where’s the rest of your shirt?” Murray’s question is directed at Eddie, but his scowl is aimed straight at Erica. Any other person would have withered under the intensity of his glower, but Erica seems emboldened by it.

“Where’s the rest of your hair?!” Erica counters without a moment's hesitation, arms crossed in defiance. “Leave the dressing to the experts. Seriously, Murray. You look like a sad, middle-aged hack going through a divorce.”

“Oh, spare me, Sinclair.”

Erica and Murray’s jibes muddle with Steve’s pleas to stop, eventually fading into background noise as you observe the man standing before you.

You have to hand it to Erica - it’s a daring look. The mesh hugs Eddie’s torso in a way that flatters his lithe frame and provides just enough of a glimpse of his tattoos to captivate any onlooker. His pale skin is heavily decorated in ink, and you can’t help but try deciphering what you’re seeing through the mesh. Eddie’s collection of tattoos seems to pay homage to his love of music and fantasy. On his left side, you spy an unusual string instrument with the word bard etched underneath. Just below that, you see artwork of a dagger with a blade made of uniquely shaped dice. By his right ribcage, Eddie has a tattoo of a mighty dragon with wings poised for flight. The dragon’s claws seemingly tear into the supple skin of Eddie’s toned abdomen. You follow the dragon’s scales down, down, down until its tail disappears beneath Eddie’s suit trousers - along with a little patch of sparse hair below his navel.

I wonder where that tattoo ends. The thought jolts you back to reality. This is your client— your very married client— whose wife has been nothing but kind to you. The guilt and shame overwhelm you.

You become very aware that you’re still ogling Eddie’s body, and your eyes race upwards to find a more appropriate location to settle. Unfortunately, your retreat to safety is foiled by the glimmer of metal you spot by Eddie’s nipples. You feel flustered by the sudden warmth blossoming within you. Eddie Munson has his nipples pierced. You had been too distracted by his tapestry of tattoos to notice them at first, but now you’ll never be able to forget that the piercings exist. Great going, you think to yourself, you try to avoid staring at your client's happy trail only to stare at his nipple piercings instead. Well done, very professional.

To your horror, Eddie has caught you staring. He sports a look of faux disappointment with his plump lips pushed into a pout. His tattooed hand points to his face, and he teases, “Tsk, tsk, little Bee. My eyes are up here.”

Your mind races to find a suitable excuse for your staring, or better yet, a way to deny it happened in the first place. Eddie is looking at you like he’s a spider that has caught you in his web, and you break eye contact to save some face. It ends up being the wrong decision because your mortification only deepens when you realize that Murray and Steve have witnessed Eddie’s accusation. Erica has long since departed after her verbal sparring match with Murray. Without her there to act as the target for his irritation, Murray is now laser-focused on you and Eddie. “Hmm… that’s interesting,” he observes, his head tilting to the side in curiosity.

“What’s interesting?” Steve asks.

“Keep up, Harrington,” Murray offers no explanation and instead dodges Steve’s question with a dismissive wave of his hand. Steve places his hands on his hips looking utterly bewildered. He goes to speak again, but Murray beats him to the punch. “So, Munson… I hear that your assistant has lasted four months working with you. Is that right?”

Murray’s inquiry has an instant effect on Eddie’s body language. His playful pouting has dissipated, and his stance now appears guarded. He crosses his arms over his chest— over the distracting nipple piercings, thank god— as he eyes his band manager cautiously. “... why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason at all. Just curious,” Murray replies nonchalantly. “You must be getting along.” You don’t know Murray well at all. However, you do know Eddie well enough to take his weariness as a signal that things could soon become uncomfortable.

“I haven’t scared her off, yet. If that’s what you mean,” Eddie scoffs. “But don’t worry, I’m still working on it.” It’s a classic Eddie move - making a joke of something to avoid showing any hint of being rattled. He throws a coquettish grin in your direction, which does not go unnoticed by Murray. Steve looks uneasy, as if this conversation will upset whatever balance you’ve struck with Eddie.

“I sure hope she isn’t stroking your ego too much.” Murray’s tone is blasé, but his implication is clear. “And you better not be giving her a mouthful.” Steve can no longer stand idly by now that he has finally caught onto what Murray found so intriguing. He swoops in to intervene by physically placing himself between Eddie and Murray.

“Well this has been fantastic,” Steve forces a laugh out and runs a shaky hand through his brown locks. “Murray, let’s continue that chat about merch, yeah?” He is practically vibrating with nervous energy as he tries encouraging Murray to move.

Allowing himself to be led away, Murray offers a farewell over his shoulder, “Good luck, kid. If you need anything, anything at all, do not contact me. Bother Harrington instead.” At the mention of his name, Steve turns briefly to mouth I’m sorry as the pair exit.

Mind spinning off kilter from everything that occurred in the last few minutes, you turn yourself back toward Eddie for a sense of stability. Since when is Eddie something constant in your life? You find a very tense-looking man. The muscles in his jaw are pulled tight as he glares at the spot once occupied by Murray. The moment ends quickly as if he can feel your eyes on him. Eddie annoyingly seems to have gained a sixth sense for knowing when you’re staring. His crossed arms fall along with the seriousness of his expression, hands tucking into his front pockets. The action only causes his pants to inch lower and, for a split second, your eyes are instinctively drawn to the patch of skin now on show.

My eyes are up here.

The echo in your brain rings out and has your glance jumping back up in horror. Eddie watches every movement and his lips pull between his teeth again, the same face he made this morning when he was trying not to laugh. All you can offer in defense is rolling your shoulders back to look taller and making your gaze sharper, daring him to say something. He lifts his hands in surrender, his lips popping out into a self-satisfied smile as he turns on his heel and saunters back toward the set, whistling all the while. You begrudgingly follow after him.

Eddie’s pace is unhurried as he drags his feet in a clear display of apathy. You spot the rest of the band gathered around a petite woman speaking animatedly and pointing to various spots on the set. She’s captivating with her high cheekbones, loose brunette waves, and eyes like the ocean. Those eyes narrow upon seeing Eddie’s dawdling.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” she chides. “We’ve been waiting on you. Hurry it up.”

“Hello to you, too, Wheeler. I didn’t realize you were so excited to see me. I’d hate to disappoint a fan,” Eddie teases with a roguish grin wide across his face. Much to your surprise, he picks up his pace and joins the others in listening to Nancy— whose first name you learn indirectly, thanks to Eddie’s habit of calling everyone by their last names— detail the aim of today’s photoshoot. She explains that the media team will be experimenting with several looks in order to use the photos for both album promotion and touring purposes.

Eddie turns to you as Nancy begins guiding the others to their spots on set. “Enjoy the show. You sure seemed to earlier.” He winks and turns on his heel to join the others.

Deny! Deflect! Do something!

“I was only admiring Erica’s work! It had nothing to do with you.” You can see Eddie’s shoulders shaking with laughter, and you know he’s not convinced. To be fair, you haven’t convinced yourself either. It sounds weak even to your ears, like a last-ditch effort to save your dignity. Feeling defeated, you slump over to the chairs lining the wall where you can watch the photoshoot concealed behind the photography equipment.

Two hours pass and the band is still preoccupied with taking pictures. You watch as they’re pushed and pulled into different poses and settings. The process feels overall repetitive, but Nancy does her best to keep energy levels high. She directs the photographers to get solo shots, which leads to hilarious chaos as the band hypes each other up behind the camera. “Yeah, Harry! Rock out with your Cox out!”

Despite the momentary amusement, you find yourself mostly bored watching from the sidelines. You’re both surprised and grateful when you see a familiar face enter the set. Robin peers around at the flurry of activity before making her way over to you.

“Finally some good company,” you breathe out in relief. Robin is delightful to be around, and you mean it when you share your appreciation for her presence. She gives you a sympathetic look before taking a seat beside you.

“These things can take forever,” she commiserates. “But Nancy will keep them on track. Don’t worry. They’re lucky to have her. She’s brilliant.” Her husky voice sounds especially warm with adoration.

Just as Robin said, Nancy is brilliant in her precise and methodical approach. She directs the crew in adjusting the lights and backdrops with ease. Her critical eye allows her to observe each shot and offer valuable posing guidance. It’s impressive to watch someone be so in her element.

You and Robin sit together and make small talk until there’s a break for a set and wardrobe change. Robin excuses herself and makes her way over to Nancy. You notice Nancy’s focused demeanor melt into one of warmth upon Robin's approach, and the sight of their friendly affection for one another brings a smile to your face. Quite honestly, it makes you miss your friends; you’ve been so busy since starting this job that you haven’t found much time to see them.

Eddie walks past the pair on his way to meet Erica, briefling nodding at his wife in acknowledgement. He stops abruptly and looks around at the crowded set before swiveling back to face them.

“Hey Wheeler, did Robin tell you she’s getting new headshots done for her upcoming play?” he asks. “Do you mind giving her some pointers while we break?”

Nancy brightens at the suggestion, “That’s a great idea. I’d be happy to help!”

“Why don’t you two go somewhere private? I don’t want all these people leering at my sexy wife when she’s posing.” Eddie winks at Robin, who whispers a quiet ‘thank you’ before leaving with Nancy. You’re touched by what you’ve just witnessed. Eddie is actually a supportive and loving husband. The longing hits you unexpectedly. When will it be my turn? Soulmate, where are you?

It’s exhausting to pine for someone you haven’t met yet. You have all of this love to give without a person to receive it and reciprocate. It feels aimless, like being adrift in the dark ocean with no light to guide you home. You’re too lost in your yearning to notice that Eddie has returned and is standing beside your chair.

“Everything okay, Bee?” The question physically jolts you from surprise. You wait for the inevitable teasing from Eddie about catching you off guard. Instead, you look up to find Eddie eyeing you closely. Whatever he sees in you in that moment must cause him concern. His brow is furrowed, and there’s an unexpected tenderness in his gaze.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I got distracted by my thoughts.”

“Well, that’s no good. What did I tell you this morning about having more fun?” Eddie hold his hand out for you to take, and he gently coaxes you to stand. His calloused hands feel rough against your gentleness, but you find it comforting. Once upright, he drops your hand and offers out his arm out as a replacement. “Come on, I’ve got just the idea to break you out of your shell.”

The two of you walk side by side comfortably, and Eddie guides you to where the band and Nancy have reconvened. The guys are looking up at one of the warehouse walls in deep observation. You squint your eyes, searching for something on the wall that might be drawing their attention. Having no success, you look back to the band and realize they’re each holding something. Are those spray paint cans? Your ears perk up at the sound of rattling as Gareth shakes the can he’s holding. Yeah, definitely spray paint. You send a quizzical look Eddie’s way.

“Murray thought we needed some more edgy photos. He suggested we graffiti the wall for the next set,” he explains. “Wheeler was all worried about it, but… Murray knows best.” He mutters the last part bitterly, shaking his head with distaste. “He might actually be right about this, though.” Eddie steps forward, breaking your linked arms, and snags two spray paint cans from the ground. He holds one out to you, his face alight with mischief.

You look around self consciously, noting that Steve and Murray are both within view. You fidget nervously and contemplate whether you can let your hair down while on the job. No one else appears to be partaking; only the band members have been given spray paint. “Are you sure about this? I think it’s just meant for you all.”

Eddie throws his head back with an exaggerated groan. “Come on! Live a little.” He snaps out of his dramatics when he hears the sound of hissing fill the air from the spray paint cans in use. Gareth, Jeff, and Harry have already begun doodling on the wall without him. “See?! We’re missing out on the fun because you’re overthinking.”

He extends the can out to you once more, gently nudging you to partake. He grins widely when you take the simple black paint from him reluctantly. You can do this. Show him you’re not always so uptight.

You slowly approach the wall and think about what to paint. You need to show him that you can have fun and keep up with his jokes. The idea comes to you easily, and you get to work on your masterpiece. It’s a simple piece that only takes a few minutes for you to prepare. .

Eddie is intently focused on drawing a large, crimson devil’s face, and you need to wave to get his attention. When his eyes meet yours, you point to your painting and await his reaction. Previously blank, the wall now sports the image of a humble bumblebee. The bee has two basic stripes, fluttering wings, and most importantly - a stinger. Eddie’s warning from this morning is fresh on your mind. If you get too aggressive, you’ll lose your stinger for good.

Your artistic choice has the intended effect, and Eddie lets out a hearty laugh. He smiles at you, and those brown eyes crinkle at the corners with joy. He looks proud, and it stirs something unexpected inside of you. You find that you like pleasing him.

“Atta girl.”

You suppress a shiver that the hum of his voice conjures despite the flippancy of his words.

That photoshoot, though chaotic in and of itself, somehow ended up becoming the calm before the storm for you. A demarcation point beyond which your days became filled with the relentless pursuit of planning a multi-month tour for a moderately famous industrial metal band. Days that had previously been spent ushering Eddie around to meetings with some semblance of timeliness and bringing him snacks when he gets cranky are now consumed by filling a thickening manilla envelope with neat documents, each marked with your precise handwriting as you plan and record each aspect of the trip logistics: contacting venues as per Steve’s direction, managing their hospitality riders, tracking expenses and budgeting for food and accommodations, as well as other minutiae that, frankly, has begun to make that vein throbbing in your neck a near constant companion by the end of the workday. The hours feel long, longer than they do when you’re trying to wrangle Eddie; though the days aren’t physically taxing as you spend them holed up at a desk fitted snugly into the closet you’d reorganized, they are mentally exhausting as those dates, dollar amounts, and contact names begin to tangle up in your head. You spill them out onto your trusty desk calendar, collecting them there as you stretch the strands and detangle them in order to begin weaving together Corroded Coffin’s first tour. It’s a feat you take no small measure of pride in.

Thankfully, during the weeks you spent taming this beast of a task, Eddie and the guys had been occupied almost entirely with rendering the final mix of their album. They’d worked closely with Argyle in refining the balance and levels of instruments and ambient sounds that would create the dirty industrial feel they were seeking with this upcoming release. You’d popped out of your stuffy little closet occasionally to check on them, though they didn’t seem to need much beyond being fed. Eddie, in particular, seemed quite consumed by a desire to see the vision brought to life, and was as serious and engaged as you’d ever seen him with a chair pulled up next to Argyle. That’s where you’d almost always see him when you emerged— long fingers idly twisting chunky rings, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed while he listened carefully and assisted in tweaking such small changes that you hardly could tell the difference with your unpracticed ear. He had a beeper to page you, but through your months of working with him, you’d begun to anticipate what he needs to sustain him daily in this routine— a hot to-go cup of black coffee first thing in the morning; at least half a box of cigarettes in the pocket of his leather jacket, on call for a smoke break; a salty snack around his lull time of four in the afternoon, which you rotate to keep him from getting bored; and next-to-no interruptions except a quick meeting of your gazes a few times a day in case it reminds him to ask you for something.

And now, finally, as late August adorns the New York streets with haze rising from the asphalt and paints sidewalks with the frantic bustle of summer tourists, your strands of dates and locations and prices and contact names have now been woven together to form a complete tapestry: Accommodations for Corroded Coffin’s ‘95-’96 Album Tour. All the knotted muscles in your shoulders, the bloodshot eyes, the late nights and early mornings had been worth it to get to this point— the point at which the final picture of what exactly that tour would entail has been tied off into neat and tidy knots of thorough efficiency. You stretch your arms above your head and your spine pops with relief; despite the fatigue you feel fuzzing between your eyebrows, you push back your chair almost cheerily and pull the headphones from your ears, prepared pop from the closet and join the men whose tour you’ve just planned.

When you emerge, you expect to see them all in some approximation of the same position as usual— Argyle and Eddie sat in front of the mixing board, Harry hovering close behind, and Gareth and Jeff either mucking about in the studio or sprawled on the couches in the corner where they call out their contributions. Instead, you’re surprised by the presence of an unexpected figure, who acts as the nexus point around which the rest of the band hovers. He’s got his hands stuffed under his armpits and his hip jutted out, one loafer tapping against the floor, though behind his wire-rimmed spectacles he looks less irritated than the last time you’d seen him. I suppose having the tour booked and the album finished would put any band manager in a decent mood, you think, eager to join the throng of smiling men who gather around him.

“What’s on the menu? Anything good? ” Gareth is asking as you walk up.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is free food not good enough for you? You eat Smarties in Yoohoo as breakfast cereal. Get a grip,” Murray snipes, and laughter rumbles through the group.

“Oh!” All eyes turn to you at your little sound of surprise. “What promo event are you discussing? Did Steve plan something? I don’t remember seeing it on my weekly agenda notes from him.”

There is a beat of uncharacteristic silence from everyone before Jeff speaks— not quite tripping over himself, but with an extra edge of enthusiasm you don’t typically hear in his voice. “No, no,” he assures you quickly. “You didn’t miss anything. It’s a celebration for finishing the album, not a promo event. Just a get together Murray planned for us tomorrow.” He lifts his brows, eyes warm and sincere, if not a little too wide. “You gonna be there?”

That familiar feeling in your chest— that subtle deflating that sinks into your stomach, reminding you of cafeteria tables lacking in saved space and friends reminiscing over shared experiences you hadn’t even been aware of— weighs you down inside as you look into Jeff’s kind face. It stings, the knowledge that you hadn’t quite been forgotten or excluded, but only just— only because you’d emerged from your makeshift office and wandered into the conversation at just the right moment. Had you not, you would have been none the wiser, and it makes Jeff’s question— ‘You gonna be there?’ — feel awkwardly like you’ve invited yourself.

Still, you choose to save face. “Oh, gotcha!” you say, turning to Murray. “Where is it?”

The neutrality in Murray’s expression in place of his typical sardonic scowl almost makes you feel worse. “My place. You been to the Upper West Side?” You nod. “You can show up anytime after seven. I’ll have Harrington shoot you the address, kid.”

You brace yourself against this second blow— being called ‘kid’ as if you really are just Eddie’s babysitter, as if you hadn’t just single-handedly coordinated an entire tour’s-worth of hotels and restaurants and activities— and smile. “Thank you,” you say, avoiding the dark brown eyes of one curly-haired menace.

Because if there’s pity there, too— pity like the kind you felt in Jeff’s too-wide smile or Murray’s soft nod— you think you might just burst into hot, utterly humiliating tears.

On Friday night, it takes some time for you to dress and even longer for you to resolve to actually attend the celebration party. That last-minute invite has rocked your sense of self, manifesting most clearly in the lack of clarity regarding your outfit. Clothes are strewn across your typically-orderly room like a cyclone of indecision has torn through it, and what you’ve chosen feels barely adequate: silver jewelry, simple mary janes, and a black silk blouse that flows like water against your skin, tucked loosely into the waistband of your bootcut blue jeans. You’d settled on the blouse chiefly because of the color, as if with some subconscious desire to blend in with the men you work with so that maybe next time they won’t forget about you.

After a good nights rest unencumbered by that looming task still hanging over your head— since you’d finally completed it, to your relief— and some consideration, you’d reasoned that the reason for your late invitation was probably not malicious. And when you’d checked your email to see that, not even twenty minutes after your conversation with Murray had Steve emailed and sent you details and the address, it essentially confirmed it. Sure, it certainly still stung knowing that you hadn’t been thought of from the get-go, but you chalked it up to your newness and the fact that you’d been cloistered in your ‘office’ so often lately.

You’d concluded the mistake was likely innocent, and as you stand outside the front door to Murray’s apartment hesitating to knock, you find yourself desperately hoping you’re right, and that you haven’t made a mistake by coming after all. This job is already so different from any you’d had before— nowhere else had you spent so much time intimately intertwined with the details of your employer’s life outside of a professional context. Spending time at Eddie’s apartment to wash his dishes, coordinate his meals, take him to his appointments, fetch him the things he needs… look after him… it all feels more domestic than professional, though in this role, really, those things are one in the same. It blurs the lines and leaves you strangely yearning for inclusion, leaves you feeling more vulnerable, as you finally press your index to the doorbell, than you’d honestly prefer.

A flash of panic hits you as you hear the approach of footsteps beyond the door. You prepare yourself for the sight of Murray’s face half-twitched into a reluctantly-polite smile as the rest of the men stare at you from their seats, drinks dangling from their hands as their eyes turn quickly from you and back to one another.

But when the door swings open, you’re instead greeted with the sight of Gareth’s poofy brown bangs and pink cheeks as he smiles so widely at the sight of you you’re sure his face must ache from it. “She made it!” he exclaims into your face, breath puffing loose and acrid with alcohol as he hooks an arm around your shoulder to pull you inside amidst a rousing chorus of elongated ‘ay’s from the rest of the band.

Your apprehension dissolves like seafoam as he pulls you eagerly inside.

The interior of Murray’s apartment feels as though you’ve walked into a time capsule. You aren’t sure whether the mid-century modern theme is because Murray is partial to the style or because he hasn’t bothered updating the furnishings since the seventies, but judging by his half-unbuttoned ‘party’ shirt striped with deep brown and cream— displaying no little amount of bushy chest hair within which a gold chain is nestled— you figure it’s probably the latter. You look around with interest at the furnishings, intrigued by the design’s ability to feel both high end and also warm, quite a contrast from the modern crispness many favor nowadays. Gareth doesn’t give you much time to sight-see as he leads you towards the party’s epicenter in the living room, though you do notice that the walls are a bold burnt orange, accented by geometric wallpaper and bookshelves filled with vintage books and knick-knacks likely gathered on Murray’s travels. As you pad over the shag carpet in your mary janes, your gaze is drawn to the men crowded on the low-slung sofa around a sleek, glass-top coffee table. The air is hazy with smoke, which wafts from a cigar resting in a crystal ashtray near Murray’s elbow, and the record-player in the corner is crackling with jazz— Miles Davis, if your memory serves you correctly.

All-in-all, it’s nothing what you expected Corroded Coffin’s album-completion party to look like, down to the way they all perk as Gareth leaves you to hover near the side of the couch while he plops back down in his spot on the floor. It’s all the familiar faces you would expect, and no one else. Murray, Steve and Argyle sit on low-profile armchairs pulled up beside the coffee table where cards and poker chips clearly indicate they’re in the middle of a game; Jeff and Gareth are seated together on the floor, and they lift their drink glasses to you when your eyes pass over them; and finally, Harry and Eddie are on the couch, knees spread wide and comfortable as they slouch, though they straighten at your approach. The mens’ greetings become a cacophony of friendly voices you can’t possibly discern as they overlap happily, and you accept them with somewhat shy nods but a pleased smile. Harry immediately shifts over towards the couch’s arm, and when he notices, Eddie does the same, narrowing his knees and shuffling over to the opposite side to make room for you.

It’s a clear invitation, one that makes warmth bloom in your chest as you step carefully over Harry’s shoes to sink onto the low velvet couch between them.

“Did you find the place okay?” Steve asks, and you meet his hazel eyes as you reply,

“Yes, thanks. Actually, my aunt lives—” You find a cup suddenly thrust into your fingers, and you close them hastily around textured glass, glancing down at the amber liquid inside. “What is this?”

“Whiskey, my dude,” Argyle replies, settling back into his chair with a lopsided grin. “Bottoms up.”

You stare at it for a moment skeptically, already balking from the burn in your throat. But, like sharks in the water, they sense your hesitation; as if with one mind, the guys lean forward to goad you with some light ribbing, flashing brows, and wide grins. All except Murray, that is, who seems more impatient to get back to the poker game as he grouses and sighs impatiently.

In the end, it’s Eddie’s elbow in your side and his brown eyes catching yours that do it— his gestures are loose with alcohol, and yet more gentle than you typically see him. “C’mon, little Bee.” He smiles, and something catches in your throat as it brightens his flushed face. “Time to get buzzed.”

Your head tosses back of its own accord as you laugh, tickled by the pun; when you look at him again, Eddie looks inordinately pleased with himself. “All right,” you concede; the guys cheer as Murray shakes his head. And though it burns just as much as you knew it would, when you clink that glass down against the coffee table, coughing slightly as Harry claps you jovially on the back, all you feel is warm. Warmth in your belly, warmth against your sides where Harry and Eddie sit beside you, warmth in your cheeks as you settle back against the cushions and look around at the friendly faces that surround you.

Now that you’ve been christened with your first drink, the group turns back to the game of poker your arrival had interrupted. You watch with interest as they take up their hands again, hiding your giggle behind your hand as Gareth dramatically flops backward in a sprawl on the floor when he loses to Jeff, who rakes the pile of chips in the center gleefully and dramatically into his corner of the table. “I put thirty dollars on that hand; come on, man,” Gareth whines, but Jeff pays him no mind nor offers any mercy.

“D’you know how to play?” Eddie asks you, and you shake your head.

“We can teach you,” Harry offers.

“Oh, I’m fine watching—” You begin to protest but it’s cut off almost as quickly with a sharp movement from Eddie, who snatches a handful of chips from his pile into his broad fist, heedless of the way some bounce to the shaggy carpet below. You’d felt warm in your belly, at your sides, and in your cheeks, but more than anything else, you feel that warmth in your heart as Eddie presses some of his poker chips into your open palm.

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to play,” he says matter-of-factly. “Just have some fun.”

You smile at him, a gentle curve of your lips to match the way he pats your wrist before lurching forward to pick up his fallen chips and receive his next hand.

Throughout the games of poker you play, you find yourself both having the fun Eddie had instructed you to and simultaneously watching him, marveling at the way the haze and jazz and laughs and velvet couch have… softened him, almost. He's clearly drunk— more than a little glassy-eyed, with flushed cheeks and loose, heedless swinging of his wild curls and his limbs as he celebrates victories and laments losses— but it’s accompanied by more easy smiles and cackling laughs than you’ve heard from him in the last few months combined. He’s full of life tonight, but without as much biting edge. And you can’t help but think that to see him like this, so relaxed, so happy…

It’s nice. Nice in a way that makes that feeling bloom again— the one you’d been feeling more often since the photoshoot. You shake it quickly away.

His joy fuels the others, you notice. You suppose it makes sense; Eddie’s boisterousness and overwhelming energy tends to dictate the tides despite others’ attempts to direct situations otherwise. And as the night wares on, that easy looseness eventually devolves to become a bit more wild. Of course, it doesn’t take much for some of the others to follow suit.

Somewhere between the umpteenth hand of poker and your third round of drinks, Argyle wanders into Murray’s kitchen and helps himself to the bottle of champagne chilling in an icebucket, most likely prepared by Steve— you can’t see Murray bothering with that. Steve perks up when he comes back over, rubbing his hands on his trousers and rising as he reaches to take it from Argyle.

“Thanks, Arg,” he says, but his gratitude ends up being a little hasty. Because rather than passing the bottle into his waiting hand, Argyle instead begins to shake it with a jerky flail of his arm, forcing Steve to retract his fingers, who huffs affrontedly. “I was gonna say something,” he protests, and while the exasperation is easy to read there, it’s overshadowed as Eddie leaps suddenly off the couch, crouching slightly, face alight with mischief as he circles Argyle on the rug. Once Eddie’s up, everyone follows suit— Jeff and Gareth scramble to join him, and you and Harry follow close behind, your hands clasping your elbows as you eye the proceedings with cautious amusement.

“Yeah, yeah, Steve, we all know what you’re gonna say,” Eddie drawls, but the wide smile on his face takes the edge off the sarcasm. “‘What an incredible accomplishment, we’ve worked so hard, the culmination of many months of effort—’ blah, blah, fuckin’ blah.” Eddie cackles as he flings his arm out to smack Steve companionably in the stomach, making his PR manager stumble slightly due to the accidental force behind the gesture. “Allow me.”

Eddie flourishes and bows dramatically, his wild curls splaying around his shoulders as he jerks his head up to address the group— his face is flushed, pink rather than pale, with a vein popping on his forehead, and you can’t help but shake your head in reluctant, wry amusement as he declares, “Fuck bitches, get money, make metal, and raise fucking hell, boys!”

And with that— without any forewarning, really, besides a slanted smirk— Argyle pops the cork from the champagne bottle, spraying Eddie directly in the face with it.

You don’t know why you wouldn’t have expected it, but you stiffen with a little jerk as Murray roars, “Fuckin’— dammit, Argyle, not on the goddamn rug—!”

His ire is quickly overtaken by joy that fills the room as Jeff and Gareth jump towards the spray, mouths open wide in wait; ever obliging, Argyle coats their faces, too, directing most of the alcohol into their mouths but playfully directing it toward you and Harry too. You squeal and giggle as fizzy drops coat you lightly, turning into Harry’s broad shoulder for protection as the spray gradually weakens until it’s nothing but a dribble dropping to the shag.

In the ensuing silence, Steve looks at Murray sympathetically. “I’ll bill him for the carpet cleaning,” he promises, wringing his hands until Murray’s face calms from apoplectic to merely deeply aggravated.

You’re briefly worried he may pop an aneurysm until Argyle— the only one of you still bone dry— distracts everyone by pulling something casually from his pocket. “Oh, brochachos. Almost forgot. I got this advance copy of the album finished last night.”

The boys explode in a flurry of potent outrage and glee. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell us sooner?!” Jeff shouts, and you’re taken aback to see the most even-keeled member of Corroded Coffin shake his producer by the shoulders.

“Relax, dude,” Argyle drawls. “S’not fully mastered yet, but it’s close enough.”

And when the needle scratches to a halt on the record player, replacing smooth, dulcet jazz with the rhythmic drum beat of what you know is the boys’ favorite song on the album: ‘Closer.’

It also happens to be one of the best tracks to dance to, and the boys take advantage of that, though their movements— mostly just flailing limbs as they jump and headbang— are really just some crude approximation of dancing. Yet that doesn’t detract from the glee of the moment as, at some point you get pulled in, too, finding yourself in the middle of it all— laughing and swinging your head and shouting along with them. “I wanna fuck you like an animal!” you scream, chest effusive with bubbling joy as Eddie doubles over in wild, joyful laughter at the crudeness of the lyrics shouted in your alcohol-hoarsened voice. You find yourself swung by hands, twirled under arms, spinning and sing-shouting until your throat goes scratchy and your head a little fuzzy from all the activity.

As the song ends, Eddie steadies you with a hand on your shoulder, and you smile up at him appreciatively but are surprised when he doesn’t remove his hand. Instead, he tips his head, jerking it toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he says, and you see his lips move but barely hear his words underneath the booming of the next track, which echoes so loudly it nearly rattles the knick-knacks on Murray’s shelves.

You trail after your employer as he leads you to the kitchen, sloppily filling an empty glass with water from the sink and handing it to you without any explanation. The intuitiveness of the gesture surprises you, as does the way he hovers nearby while you take tiny sips to soothe your parched throat.

Eddie leans a hip against the counter, stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his dark jeans and looking you over appraisingly. It’s the first time you’ve really gazed at him all night, and as he appraises you, you don’t feel that instinctual need to hide, the impulse dulled by the warmth buzzing in your veins. Instead, you just appraise him back, eyes trailing over the silver of his handcuff belt buckle, the chain at his hip, the soft, faded black of his band t-shirt, your eyes lingering where he’s clearly torn the sleeves off, evident by dangling threads that tickle the alabaster of his pale biceps. His curls are frizzier than before, still damp and sticking to his neck from the champagne, and his plush lips are pinker than they typically are— shiny and wet as he licks across them with a swipe of his tongue.

You feel a distinct stirring deep in your belly and wrench your gaze from his mouth to his eyes, face heating as you anticipate a smirk and a crude remark, or perhaps a pointed comment about your wandering gaze. Yet Eddie’s face is calm, almost a little hesitant as he opens his mouth to speak— seemingly entirely consumed by what he wants to say. “So, you know we’re going on tour,” he says matter-of-factly, and you can’t help but snort at the ridiculousness of it.

“I think I’ve gathered that. I mean, I’ve only been working out your accommodations for said tour for the past few weeks now,” you retort with a little smirk, and his lips curl in a lopsided grin at your sass. You anticipate a rebuttal, but Eddie continues without comment.

“Well, I know it might come as a shock that I’d be admitting this, but, ah…” He scratches the corner of his lips with one dark-painted fingernail, mouth stretched wide before he continues abruptly, “things have been running a little smoother since you came around. ‘Specially once you got the hang of washing my silky drawers right.”

Your growing pleasure at the praise flattens along with your expression at that final comment, though it eases when he smiles at you, crooked but wide, as eager as you’ve ever seen his smile be. “So,” he says with an air of dramatic finality, “how’s about you take that laundry service on the road?”

In what is almost more to goad him than in genuine disgust, you wrinkle your nose, and your chest warms again when he chuckles huskily, knocking you with his elbow lightly again. "What I'm try’na say is... you wanna come on tour with us?"

When you think back to the way this party began for you— with a split second of awkward silence and a hastily extended invitation, clearly late-to-come— you hadn’t anticipated the way it would end up. In that moment at the studio, you couldn’t imagine being welcomed in so readily, sprayed with champagne, twirled underneath their arms, and cared for with poker chips and glasses of water. You hadn’t thought you’d be here, standing with Eddie Munson in his manager’s kitchen, being invited by him personally to go on tour with the band.

It’s confirmation that you do have a place amongst them, and it’s also exactly why you took this job in the first place— the opportunity to explore beyond the limits of your current world.

"Yes,” you reply, and you can’t help it when your voice comes out honey sweet. “I'd really like that."

"Well, good,” Eddie huffs good-humoredly, “‘cause you kinda have to whether you like it or not. But I'm glad I don't have to twist your arm after all."

You nod, and something small— small and tenuous, trickling like briny water— flows between you and Eddie as you gaze at one another. "Well... thank you," you say, your voice soft and almost shy as you look up at him.

Eddie blinks, looking a little taken aback by the gratefulness in your expression. Quickly, his eyes jump from yours to track around the room as he says distractedly, "Sure, little Bee— Hey, Murray!” His hoarse voice rises in a shout as he skirts around you, trailing out of the kitchen as he calls wolfishy, “Where's your top shelf shit? I wanna get fuckin' blasted tonight."

You watch him lope off toward the living room again without sparing you another glance. Quickly, you drain your water glass, leaving it in the sink and wandering back into the fray until you find yourself elbow to elbow with Steve.

“So—” Your eyes find hazel as Steve regards you with a friendly, knowing smile. “You ready for that travel I promised you?”

Another wild cackle— one that, after tonight, threatens to haunt you in your sleep— draws both of your gazes. For a moment, you and Steve watch as Eddie sneaks up behind an unsuspecting Gareth, grappling him around the neck and tugging him into a headlock as the other man sputters and kicks at him. All at once, they seem to you much younger than their years, and it makes you consider the question.

Are you ready for the travel Steve promised you— travel where wrangling these unruly rockstars, and one in particular, is about to become even more of your daily existence?

You find, as Eddie shoves Gareth into Jeff and licks across his bottom teeth with a manic grin when the two recover and face him, readying themselves to retaliate, that you have no damn idea whether you’re ready or not.

Dear Soulmate…

The early morning of the first day on tour, your feet carry you around the familiar walls of your apartment, taking in the comforting sights you’ve woken up to for the past year. Angela watches from the kitchen island, eyes full of unshed tears, an unspoken awareness settling over the room. Your life has changed since becoming Eddie’s assistant. It’s a reality you’ve accepted for some weeks now, but it feels real now—more than it ever has before. Because now you’ll be traveling on tour with the band, with him, moving across state lines you’ve never roamed. It’s a world of endless opportunity ahead, new sights to see, places to explore. It dawns on you that your home in New York City will be a far and distant memory for the next months you’ll be following Corroded Coffin around the country.

I’m leaving on tour with Eddie and the band today. Isn’t that crazy? I’ve never been this far from home – traveling was just never something I had time to do. I was always so focused on school, on trying to make my parents proud, on trying to be perfect. And now, I’ll be traveling with a metal band across the country! I never thought this is where I’d end up, but I’m trying to learn to embrace the unexpected (it’s so scary though!). I definitely didn’t expect Eddie to be the one inviting me. Although, he acted like he really had no choice in the matter, it’s still strange.

Angela helps roll your multiple suitcases out into the main living area, mouth a wobbly line as you push them over onto their side and make sure you have everything you need one final time. Heels and other shoes, boots and sneakers in one duffel bag, each one a proper pair, freshly wiped down for any imperfection or defects. Another bag holds all your toiletries, makeup products, and hair tools should you ever need them. You unzip your suitcases next, peering in at various tights, dark skirts, dark colored sweaters, dark wash jeans for your off days.

Eddie is… well, we’re still working on our relationship. I think most of the time he feels like I’m annoying him on purpose, but I’m really just trying to do my job. He’s not used to being on a schedule, which is a little wild to me because that’s all I’ve ever known. And maybe that’s what makes him push me away so much. His wife says I need to push back a bit, but I’m worried about keeping my job… I think I’ve grown to like working for him.

Angela walks you down to the street, helping roll one of your bags down and onto the pavement. Cars and taxis speed by in a kaleidoscope of color, but your eyes latch solely on the rolled down window of the car sitting on the curb’s edge.

Eddie’s thre with a cigarette held loosely between his fingers, those dark sunglasses of his shrouding his eyes, tattooed arm on display in the bright sun of the morning. An inky tapestry of intricate detail, etched with countless stories and meanings he’ll never divulge. In the front is Hopper, his usual bored demeanor in place as he opens the driver's side door and walks around to join you and your roommate. The back trunk of the vehicle pops open with a small beep, your heart hammering away as the heftier man helps hoist your things into the back and latches the car back into place.

“Ready?” Eddie calls from the car.

You’re on the clock, sure, but you still remind yourself to quench the desire to raise your middle finger in a vulgar gesture, annoyance writhing in your gut. Instead, you focus your tangle of nerves on the girl standing before you on the street, with her shiny blonde hair and mournful expression on her face. She takes a slow step forward, arms coming to curl around your shoulders. There’s a suddenness of the realization you won’t see her until you return to New York for the holiday season. For the last year you’ve woken to the comfort of the four walls of your bedroom, the warmth of your apartment, and your friendship with Angela.

“Go crush it,” she says, smoothing a palm up and down your spine, head close to your ear. “Take all the pictures. Try and enjoy yourself. New York will be here when you get back. I’ll be expecting as many phone calls as possible, and postcards of all the places you travel to! I want to hear about it all.”

He’s challenging, and yeah he calls me Bee (which I am STILL certain is short for Bitch despite his reassurances otherwise) but the work genuinely feels rewarding. Also, I am really enjoying getting to know the other guys in the band. They’re not friends, no, but they’re kind enough. And who knows? Maybe Eddie will come around. We don’t need to be friends, but I would like it if one day we could become colleagues, at the very least.

Eddie regards you with little interest, still unchanging in his distaste for any time before 12pm, as you clamber into the back of the car with him. He does not shift whatsoever to accommodate your presence, only haphazardly flicks his cigarette onto the concrete below and dips his head at Angela. The blushing blonde raises her hand in a nervous wave, an uneasy smile crawling across her features as he glances along her frame, telling her to have a nice rest of her day. It’s almost comical, though no laughter bubbles up from you, the easy kindness he shows her way; meanwhile, he regards you most days as though you’re no more than a pest when he’s not relentlessly flirting with you. Hot and cold, dependent on his mood on any given day. A bee to be swatted away. You suppose it’s understandable—knowing your mere presence is a reminder of the mistakes he’s made in the public eye. Huffing audibly in your mild upset, your fingers lift to wiggle in the air to wave goodbye to her as Hopper slides the tinted windows up to keep the air conditioned temperature within the vehicle, obscuring her from view.

I wonder about what you’re doing a lot these days. It’s summertime, the season of endless possibilities. Are you traveling? Maybe you’re on a beach somewhere tropical. Maybe you’re celebrating some good news. Or, maybe you’ve taken up a new hobby. Angela and I tried hot yoga last week (never again), so I suggest you stay away from that one. To be honest, and maybe it sounds silly, I just think about you a lot. With everything changing, it seems like knowing you’re out there is one thing I can rely on. Even if I haven’t met you yet.

Your fingers drop and curl around your notebook tucked within your pocketbook for safekeeping, trailing along the pages littered with words meant for the one person in the universe who will understand you better than anyone. It brings you comfort as Hopper peels away from the road and into the bustle of New York City traffic.

Outside, taxis speed in and out of lanes, regardless of bodies surging forward in intersections, heedless in pursuit of their destinations. The car jerks and thumps over numerous manholes and metal grates around street corners, Hopper’s fingers reaching across the center console to raise the volume on the radio.

One of Corroded Coffin’s songs is playing through the elaborate speaker system. There’s a spark of pride that springs to life within you. It’s not one of the newer, to be released singles—no; but there’s a sense of excitement for them, knowing how hard they’ve worked to get where they are, especially because you’ve witnessed the effort they put into their craft first hand.

Eddie seems unphased by his own voice on the radio — as if it’s a normal occurrence for him, and you suppose it is. While you’re still adjusting to your new life following alongside a public figure, he’s had some time to become acclimated. He’s experienced sold out concerts, screaming fans singing along to his songs, crowds surging forward to try and get closer to Corroded Coffin. He’s been on the receiving end of good and bad press that paints him in a caricature of himself; one that’s larger than life and not entirely accurate.

And you’re once again reminded you’re here with him because you’re his assistant when his thigh accidentally brushes yours as the car jolts over a particularly large bump, skin burning at the point of contact, seated beside him in the quiet space around you, watching as the city blurs behind your eyes.

“Remind me of what you have planned for the day,” he drawls, and you’re grateful his stare is presently focused on looking out his window and not on your face. He doesn’t capture the deep inhale, nor does he catch the slight gathering of tears on your lashes that you swat away with the pads of your fingers, brought upon by the suddenness of your change in scenery and leaving Angela.

It's as easy as breathing after that. With his cold, quiet words a distraction from the sadness swirling in your gut, you swiftly breeze through the mental list you woke with. You remind him you’ll arrive on schedule at six, where you’ll get on the tour bus around seven after having a meeting and breakfast with Murray and the rest of the band. After that it’s a two and a half hour drive into Philly. It gives you all enough time to get situated once in the city and for the band to relax a bit to get into the proper headspace before getting ready for their soundcheck in preparation for the first concert scheduled later in the evening.

You tamper down and try to hide the thrill of excitement that buzzes in your veins at the prospect of seeing the guys all perform together. It’s been one thing watching them in the studio for the months they’ve been working on the album, and another all together to see the culmination of all their hard work come to fruition. However, it also brings up a new bout of anxieties over what exactly will be required of you while on the road. Thus far you’ve run errands and kept Eddie on schedule for meetings, interviews, photoshoots and other appearances. Following him across state lines and watching him on the stage, however, seems like a new, daunting task you’re hoping to tackle head on.

“Ever been to the exotic Philadelphia?” Your head jerks as the words break through the silence, those dark eyebrows of his furrowing in confusion when your mouth opens and closes, no words falling freely from your lips. “I’ll take that as a no.”

You swallow thickly, pushing aside the indignation that burns and builds at his words. His inked fingers reach up to grasp the sunglasses perched on his nose, sliding them down slowly to fold them away beside his thigh. You’re no stranger to Eddie’s features at this point. Those amber eyes of his, emotive and magnetic, immediately capture your attention. You regard him carefully, just as he is you, his gaze trailing your features in a slow perusal. When you finally speak, it’s a soft utterance of, “I haven’t really ventured too far out of New York.”

He chuckles gleefully, mouth drawn upward enough where your eyes catch on the dimple in his cheek. He’d be prettier, you think, if he scowled less. Like this he’s vibrant and bright, and appears much younger than his twenty nine years. For a moment you wonder what he was like before all the fame, before the party lifestyle, before the allure of the industry sunk its greedy teeth into him and spat him right back out. His head shifts toward the streets, and your eyes drop down to your lap, fingers toying with a frayed edge on your pocketbook. You hear him then, voice a husk of, “Looks like it’s time for my little worker bee to finally leave the hive.”

My first stop is Philadelphia. I’ll definitely be sure to take a bunch of pictures to share with you someday! I’d like to try and draw a bit too while I'm gone, but who knows. I haven’t really had much time for that lately with the new job. If I create anything worth keeping, I’ll definitely save it so I can show it to you.

You offer him an easy smile, returning your gaze to the world outside the vehicle, exhaling deeply when Hopper pulls up into a parking garage. He mutters briefly that he needs to go check on the tour bus and leaves the two of you to your own devices. You can hear the echoes of voices closer to the tour bus, whoops and calls from the other band members reach your ears through the softly parted window as they catch sight of Eddie’s vehicle. Vaguely, you even catch the utterance of your name in the midst, teasing in nature, urging the two of you outside.

Before you can even say a word, Eddie’s opening his passenger side door and getting out of the car, leaving you behind with your things. Exhaling deeply, you move to open your own side and nearly fall out when the man in question tugs the door open and extends a hand in your direction. There’s a brief clash of stares while your eyes drift from his to his palm, uncertain as to what he’s doing.

Unamused, Eddie huffs out, reluctantly explaining, “So you don’t bust your ass like you did your first day working for me.” His eyes drop to your largely inconvenient heels. You’d only worn them because you weren’t sure what one would wear before heading off on a concert tour. Noting your apprehension, he continues, “Bee, I’m not going to pull my hand away at the last second. I can be a gentleman, you know?”

You snort, wrinkling your nose. “I didn’t doubt it.” It’s not the fullness of truth, but you suppose for your client, it’s better to abstain from telling him that most days he is quite determinately, or at least it seems that way, driving you to the brink of hysteria. It’s probably also best to not remind him how not very long ago, before you hired him another maid you insisted he keep this time, he would make you clean his brownstone top to bottom. A task that also included tending to his clothing and highly suspect underwear on more than one occasion.

Deciding to appease him, you envelop his palm within your own and allow him to help you down onto the concrete below. Your feet wobble a bit from the drop, but he’s there with a gentle hand at your bicep to steady you, before the moment fizzles and he pulls away all together. You walk side by side, though not together, to join the rest of the band where they stand in an excited huddle around the tour bus.

Even the vehicle itself is larger than you anticipated. It looms above you, imposing and impressive, signifying the success the group has seen in the time they’ve been in the media spotlight. You have little opportunity to think about it, however, because the boys greet you with warm welcomes and hellos, trading their normal handshakes they’ve given you for hugs. A recent development, brought about merely by spending as much time with them over the months as you have. Jeff in particular lingers a little longer just as Murray calls the band into a circle for a meeting, muttering a “Happy you’re here,” before rejoining with the rest of his band mates.

You’re not left alone long in that parking garage, luckily enough. Steve’s there to urge you off to the side when he pulls up in his car. He’s a little worse for wear, acknowledging his lateness with a wave to the guys and a pleading look shot your way. He requests you follow him, putting yourself out of earshot from the rest of the men. For a brief moment, you worry you’ve done something to muddle your position. Stomach dropping at the thought you might have unintentionally said the wrong thing to Eddie, a vendor — maybe even Robin, but that fear is quelled immediately when Steve clears his throat, his hand coming to cup around the back of his neck, kneading the muscle beneath his fingertips.

“Look, you’re doing great. I’ve told you more times than I can count on two hands how grateful I am you’re here and everything, but I need you to know that the Eddie you’ve seen thus far is nothing like Eddie on tour. He’s — ”

Your mouth opens briefly to ask what his meaning is behind the clear warning, just as Eddie appears out of the blue and claps Steve on the shoulder, chuckling brightly as he asks, “Ready to go, Bee?” He looks to you imploringly, and you haltingly meet his stare before shifting back to Steve’s kind features. He tips his head, dismissing you, and you join at Eddie’s side, following him in the direction of the vehicle. Murray shoots Eddie a stern look as the two of you walk along by, your eyes darting to the Corroded Coffin logo stretched across the entirety of the exterior. “Here is your home for the next few months.”

You’re uncertain as to what you might expect. You’ve never been on a tour bus before. The closest thing you can attribute it to is a coach bus for a school field trip back in your early education days. What greets you as Eddie turns back to extend a hand once more and assist you in climbing up onto the first step is greater than anything your mind might have conjured.

He’s not kidding by his assessment that the bus will quite literally be your home for the duration of the tour. At the head of the impressive vehicle belies Hopper’s station, full of buttons and displays you’ve never seen before, and a dashboard with a hanging Corroded Coffin logo dangling from his rear view mirror. The burly man raises his hand in a wave as you and Eddie pass, heading into the lounge area that follows immediately. Your eyes are drawn to dark red couches, like that of a red wine, with black pillows strewn about. Nestled in front of the couch is a table pressed against the corner wall, new magazines displaying photos of the band and a headline that details the upcoming tour.

Deeper into the vehicle is the adjoining kitchen, all in the same color scheme of dark black furniture, with red and silver accented bits. Eddie shows you around the space, opening the fridge for emphasis, showing you how to use the different amenities, before moving on down to point out the bathroom. Lastly, you’re brought into the bedrooms. Or rather, one spacious room lined with bunk beds on either side of the bus.

“Normally I like being on top, but when it comes to sleeping I prefer the bottom." Eddie says suggestively, gesturing to the bed on his right. Your head shifts his way, taking in the little alcove he’ll be sleeping in for the night. He waves his hand to your left, smirking. “That’ll be yours. In case of an emergency.”

“In case of an emergency,” you repeat slowly, placing your pocketbook down on your assigned bed as you settle down beside it, positioned specifically across from Eddie’s in the event he requires you for anything. You quickly reach inside and jot down a few sentences in the unfinished letter, affixing a bright floral sticker to one of the corners.

I have to go. We’re about to leave, but I just wanted to let you know what I’m up to. I’ll talk to you soon. Wouldn’t it be fun if we met in Philly?

As you shut your notebook, you realize you never heard the rest of Steve’s harrowing warning. I need you to know that the Eddie you’ve seen thus far is nothing like Eddie on tour. Your eyes narrow in piqued curiosity as you take in Eddie, that now familiar lanky form of his flopping down against his own mattress. He nods his head in your direction and you wave back numbly.

You hear it then. That soft howling in the distance, a creeping sense of something looming with no name to place on it.

You offer him a soft smile, and he throws a pillow over his head, settling down to nap.

Steve’s warning is suddenly very far away from your mind.

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vampiretendencies · 1 year

Text

come out and haunt me, i know you want me — jj maybank࿐

summary; putting words in jj’s mouth after an unexpected pregnancy has you uneasy about the future of your relationship along with a gnawing emptiness of what jj will think. warnings; pregnancy, one mention of throwing up, suggestive, talks of sex, fluff, all of my characters are always aged up but they had to be in school for this so i set them in high school, as seniors, making them 18. this takes place somewhat in season 3, except JJ’s house never got the eviction notice and they went back to school. also mention of luke. did it this way cause i felt like i was i need of a new setting other the chateau (rip it will be missed :/) pairing; jj maybank x fem!pregnant!reader authors note; decided to put this one out, as i have gotten a lot of requests about dad!jj and i’m giving them a separate masterlist of their own. i figured they needed to be in order lol. so i guess in a way this can be considered the first of dad!jj series. cred to gif owner !

You’re spiraling over the life forming inside of you and JJ—oddly enough is fretting about his class project final. Something that would usually be of no concern to JJ, but he actually wants to pass senior year.

Building an ancient, time-consuming model of some old landscape and having an actual child were two completely different things. From opposite worlds and of varying natures.

Spontaneous cravings all the way down to a late period.

It’s instinct really, to skip school and confirm your suspicions— though, it’s pretty much certain. JJ caught on half way throughout the school day, so wrapped up in this project that he hadn’t noticed you slipping away. Sneaking out of the exit door after throwing up rancid lunch. If he was aware, there’s not a doubt that he would have followed. He was the one that showed you that escape route from the hell site on a monday long ago when school was too much to bare— that was when the two were freshmen, for now they are seniors carrying the weight of the future on their shoulders, including the plus one in your belly.

You’d sobbed profusely into your knees, they were pulled all the way up to your chest on that tiled floor. The detrimental pregnancy test, with two lines, is sat atop JJ’s bathroom counter, taunting you in a manner of ‘now you have to face me.’ Debating whether or not to take this as life altering or life shattering. You knew JJ like every crevice in the palm of his hand, but you could never be set on his reaction for something like this. Always prominent in his ways about 'being in this for the long run', could having a baby change that?

You had to tell him, there was no other way around it. For it's always been a do tell promise that nothing goes unsaid in the relationship.

"What the fuck am I gonna' do?" Is all that curses past your lips repeatedly through choked tears.

The tears are not for the tiny being inside you; its fear. The fear of the unknown, or the uncertainty. So young, so much ahead. A small sliver of a thought that maybe you'd have to do this alone.

Your heart almost falls to the heals of your feet at the doors opening and closing, and the throwing down of book bags. Shakily pressing your finger to the phone that's beside you, the time reading 2:30 PM, meaning school was over and you'd have to get your act together to face JJ. Whom, had left you several missed calls and text messages concerning your whereabouts. Even so, it would be of no surprise to JJ that you were here; basically, here every day and home when you had to be, that's how the story goes. It's imaginable that you'll be sticking around as often as you'd be able to, because telling your parents would indefinitely make them disown you. Having a baby with the Luke Maybank's son and the towns 'well-known kleptomaniac' wouldn't exactly be music to their ears. The only positive in that picture is that Luke's not around, you and JJ have been slumming it in his childhood home since. You'd helped him fix it up so that it would be 'livable', and he adored that someone would cherish him that much to do such things. He'll have another form of adoration, soon enough though.

"JJ, a beer is not gonna' help you get this shit done."

You could hear John B mumble at JJ, and as it would to most curiosity strikes. Taking in the push and pull of the standard refrigerator, not far away, the bathroom, kitchen, and living room all but feet away from each other. Easy access to eavesdrop and hear whatever words were to slither out of someone's mouth. God, you swore the walls were bound to cave in and topple atop of you. You picture John B's mouth agape and disgusted at JJ's lack of focus.

"Get's my brain goin', y'know."

His voice that you'd usually get giddy everywhere from hearing, is now taunting you; making your insides turn to mush. Quick to your feet, you clamp your ear to the chipped door whilst fixing your disheveled hair in the mirror, by tucking it behind your ear and wiping away the salty tears with pad of your thumb. Something JJ would do impulsively. As well as, the little pink and white stick that's knocking the breath from your lungs and tucking it in the back pocket of your printed shorts.

"You ready to start?" John B sighs exasperatedly. Aware that his best friend is never prepared for anything. You aren't sure of what they are 'starting' but you can't help but wonder if JJ's caught on, if he's noticed the tendencies you've acquired since becoming pregnant. Already being hesitant on telling him of the stick you peed on, or that this is going to dictate the course of the rest of his life. Is the new formation of hormones within you causing you to twist words or is it plain truth?

One could only hope.

"M'not even ready yet, need to do so much stuff before I'm ready."

It stings; like multiple daggers had been chided at your heart or a million bee's attacking. This only makes since that he's referring to not wanting to be a father, right? What else could he possibly not be ready for? It's assuming, it's jumping to conclusions, but right now it makes a hell of a lot more sense than anything else. JJ's capable of eons of things, being stuck with you and a baby for the rest of his life may not be in his peripheral. He's confirming it right now, you just heard it with your own two ears.

Unbeknownst to you it was a about a damn silly school project and that he would've stretched time and space to keep his profound little family in one piece. If only he'd known. If only you'd told him.

There were no supplies, no class instructions, to justify that it was only a monumental historic copy for Mr. Sunn's class. Just conversation.

You physically can't allow the words to come out of your mouth, for it will be in the form of word vomit after his resonating and everlasting statement. You can't face him, no, not about the life he helped form. Too soon, and too much. Selfishly, he's not ready but you want to hang onto him a little longer. With JJ is where you reside, and you desire to bury the love he's giving you and harvest it deep down; enough for two. He's not prepared, and all you're hearing is this is this the end of all you've ever known.

World record for misunderstandings.

John B was on the verge of speaking, yet he doesn't when the bathroom door creeks open. You appear in frame, a shell of the person you were moments ago, unevident that you'd shed enough tears for a small river. The hiding is beginning, you decide to swallow it down and keep it there. Dreaming up all the ways you'd have to conceal as huge a secret as this.

Trepidation; of JJ, and for yourself and the baby; blistering, mirroring that of an open scar.

"Is that my girl?!"

You're met with John B sprawled out on the vacant leather couch, another thing Luke destroyed alike with JJ. And, JJ's practically jumping from the recliner and swarming you in a hug that makes you form a half enticing grin whilst smothering you into his large chest. His sleeveless arms bulking in size at this gesture.

"Great, now we really aren't gonna' get anything done," John B grabs at his temples in annoyance. The partnered project supposed to be the focus of today. Conscious of the fact that anytime you are around JJ loses all logic because you become the center of attention. As if half his brain flies out the window he's so invested in you, rather than anything else. He gives up on any aspiration that this replica will be finished. You still saunter on about what exactly they 'have to get done', but they are almost always up to something. JJ's out of context words were what gave need be, and you were fixed on that.

"What happened today? Been thinkin' about you like crazy."

"Nurse sent me home."

You fib so harshly that is burns past your lips, the lie is so loud you're amazed he didn't see through it. You mumble into his chest has him releasing you, only to cup your cheeks in a squishing manner. He’s disastrously anguished to maul you with affection, but he decided to spare John B the show.

"Everything alright?"

And he tries to read your wandering eyes, but still taut eye contact is there so he thinks nothing of it. It is when you won't look at him that he's concerned, however you still do.

An 'act normal' practically engraved in your thoughts. When you really want to break away from his hold and run for the hills.

"Just a bad lunch."

"Yeah, that school meatloaf'll get you, baby."

Blonde fluffed out tresses catch glance and your mixed up mind is pondering on what color hair the baby will have. Will the small child be a constant reminder that their dad 'wasn't ready?" Stood together in the open space of his connecting hallway, you'll look back on this in utter agony.

"She told me to rest."

You mutter it softly whilst JJ has a stupid lovesick grin plastered on his face, peering down at you like you are his lifeline. And you're peering up at him, with a small glint and awareness that he'd be gone with the wind when you reveal the surreptitious unknown.

"Want me to come with you? I'll have this wrapped up in like ... five minutes," he's eager that you'll say yes, mustering a middle finger at John B who is sighing in vexation. What he would give to pass senior year, John B fully know's he'll have to beg Pope to do this for the both of them.

It's an immediate no, he's 'not ready', therefore a cuddle is the last thing that needs to happen. Maybe if you wouldn't have eavesdropped you could've just lived in ignorance bliss.

Though it was never the truth.

"No!," you somewhat interject, keeping the cause of all this in mind. "No J, m'really tired, finish what you were doing yeah?"

His grin immediately falls to a pout, he can't force you if you won't let him. Instead he says nothing, shaking his head 'yes' with knitted eyebrows. Pulling your cupped cheeks in closer to feather multiple light pecks to your hairline, each one more eternal that the last.

With recollection that you'd be gulping down this hard to swallow pill on your own.

Coping; all you can manage to do.

Between punching multiple hard to find holes in your bedroom walls and covering them up with posters to gut-wrenching, pillow-screaming whimpers.

How does one ever truly 'get ready' for bringing a new life into this sought out world?

You'd been wallowing in the despair of having to be both a mother and a father, with JJ saying such things— it's nearly certain he'll be out of the picture.

Alike with you, avoiding him on any given occasion.

Saturdays were date night and he consistently topped the last date, because even if schedules weren't aligning throughout the week he'd have that day to make it up to you, how ever he saw fit.

You ditched.

Texting something about, 'parents are on my ass, can't come tonght.'

On all occasions you found a way despite your parents thoughts, so JJ's suspicion is growing like immovable fire.

With that being said, a day later, he was secure in providing you with a loving semi-guilt trip, along the lines of 'if you don't come over tonight you are confirming that you don't love me anymore,' with a dauting smiley face.

Such a baby, unfortunate that he's not prepared for one because they would've gotten along just fine.

The reasoning behind why you are hopelessly distant from JJ in his twin sized bed. He's grumbling and mumbling after you pushed him away with a 'm'too hot right now.' Blankets thrown about in such a dimly lit room, his vivdly colored TV played a miscellaneous movie whilst his bedside table lamp joined in with its yellow toned rays.

His arms behind his head, colliding with the headboard in such a sensous way, shirtless figure scanning yours in yearning. Jesus, he just wanted to delve into your skin.

How could he ever resist you.

If he can't consume you with his fondling embrace, he will caress what's in reach.

Touching hard on his thoughts, whilst the likelihood of raising a baby on your own is arising in yours.

It's roaring loudly, along with the reality that you hid it from him.

What would've been the right thing to do?

A wash of panic prods, with JJ's lingering touch now against your skin. His digits dance like clockwork, ghosting your inner thigh. Before you can even retch out a 'stop' he's beneath the material of your old Bait Shop t-shirt that he lended you. Palming the skin expertly, and while he's at it he inches closer with his breath thick against your ear. Your mouth ran dry, lying still and flat in awkwardness, prying your focus on the random film. The small twin bed not giving you enough time or space to come up with another excuse.

"Missed you so much."

His voice is raspy against your ear, igniting every filament of your body that belonged to him. The hold he had on you, sickening and you are conversant with what's about to leave his mouth.

The more he keeps circling, and clinging to the small mound of your stomach, the more his mind goes blank. It had this particular bludge to it and he can writhe it beneath his fingertips. Horror fills your irises, whilst a bewildering form of fascination filled his.

There's no right way to ask as woman if their stomach has gotten bigger or if they've been eating more. That's like asking to get beat with a bat. You just don't.

JJ has foraged every unreachable portion that molds you and that ... that wasn't there.

That undeniable little Goddamn baby bump wasn’t there.

He’s studied you inside and out, and that just wasn’t there.

It’s freshly shaped and growing with glee.

His repeated motions are coming to a halt and they pause directly in the middle. Feeling for what he deemed this to be.

What the fuck? It runs rampant in his mind— not negatively he just doesn’t know what to think, how to say it, or how to not come off as a complete dick by asking what he’s about to ask.

“Your belly is more round than usual.”

Merely thought out, and not too harsh. Just stating the obvious at the rounded baby bump that’s colliding with his calloused ring-clad fingers. The entirety of his large hand sprawled out in separated fingers. He sits straight up, hairs on the nape of his neck screeched outwardly.

“M’ a bit bloated.”

You don’t take his words to heart as it’s obviously not from that. You smile, lying through your teeth once again. And JJ senses it, this is as pregnant a stomach if he’s ever touched one. His hands fall backward, beaming down at you in longing that you’ll change your answer.

“Bloated baby? That’s— that’s not … bloated.”

There’s no interest in continuing on with this facade he’s felt it, he’s not a complete idiot. What informed John B of chants wickedly and is beckoning you not tell him. You’ve found you way back to his room with reason, so what’s the use in hiding it anymore. The bump would’ve become more noticeable anyway, you couldn’t have gotten away with it forever.

“M’pregnant J.”

You are seated upward now, facing him whilst reaching for his large hands to take them into your smaller ones. Shared hands, facing eachother in criss crossed stances on that same old twin mattress. He shakes his head back in forth in disbelief— how is this real?

“W-what?! When did you find out? How?— shit. I mean I know how … there was the time in the bathroom at the Wreck … and that one time in the twinkie … and-and let’s not forget about the time in the kitchen-“

“J, that’s not important right now, focus.”

You remind in interruption, nagging off his antics about the shared sexual rendezvous. The only only thing … the only fucking thing JJ feels right now is sheer euphoria at the moment he gets to meet the little baby.

Always envisioning of being a father and giving his children all the love he had stored away from the beckoning of Luke. The love he got from his father was convenient love, and after every fight his dreams of the future family he could have grew tenfold.

“We’re having a fuckin’ baby?!”

The fact the you didn’t tell him beforehand is in the back of his mind, but he’s overlooking it in sheer elation. Joy for what’s to come. For even that promise to tell each other everything is not enough to ruin this moment for him.

“Yes, J.”

“Let me see!”

He’s anxiously lifting the bottom of the shirt up, revealing a plump baby bump purging outwordly. And a toothy shit eating grin is plastered on his sweet lips, awe is evident and he’s stricken with amazement. You couldn’t have asked for a better reaction, a better lover. Breezing past the part of him not being ready, because clearly you read into things too deeply if this is his truthful response. And it is, it’s so genuine you feel it in your bones. As he’s colliding his hands with your stomach once more, and connecting his lips with yours in celebration. Molding and mixing them together with ease, an effortless depiction of besot.

If only he could frame this and let it drift on for eternity.

“Carrying our baby so perfect, pretty girl.”

Letting this little heavenscent angel inside of you be a reminder that misunderstandings are a bitch.

#jj maybank #outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank angst #obx3 #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank x kiara carrera #jj maybank x kook!reader #jj maybank headcanons #jj maybank smut #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagines

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spdrwdw · 4 months

Note

can u write something abt miguel and the reader being childhood best friends but they grew apart and then met again years later and get together?

Of course! I have been planning on making a series based on my childhood friend headcanons

Art By Shuploc

Pairing: Miguel x F!Reader

Warnings: None, no use of y/n. Warnings will change throughout the series. Each part will have their own warnings

Summary: You and Miguel were childhood bestfriends. You two did everything together, one never without the other. That is, until you both headed off your separate ways. Now, you move back to New York and bump into him. Will your old friendship with him continue? Will you get any closure? Also, who is this Spider-Man you keep running into?

A/N: So I am finally getting around to writing my childhood Miguel fic/series! I don't have a set number of parts this will be. Nor do I have a timeline of when I'm getting each part out as I am also going to be working on requests. But, I will put up a post for when I have a new part coming out a few days prior. This is going to take place in the future when you and Miguel are older. There may be flashbacks and I will be using my headcanons as inspo. POV will change from Miguel and reader. This is the prologue, giving us a little snippet of reader and Miguel when they were teens.

Word Count: 829

☆ Prologue ☆

Masterlist, WWWY Masterlist , part 1

☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.

"Hey, remember when we used to play pirates over at the jungle gym?" Miguel asked you as you both swung on the swings of your childhood playground.

You smiled and nodded your head, your mind drifting off to the wonderful memories of when you were both kids, playing with the other neighborhood kids.

“Of course I do. I was only the best thing ever!” You laughed as you continued to swing.

“The slides were our ship and the monkey bars were the only way to get to and from land. It was great, honestly,” you reminisced.

The sun was beginning to set, and Miguel couldn’t help but to stare at you for a moment as the sunlight caught your profile. And Miguel was in complete awe. They way the sun seemed to just glisten your skin, giving you such an angelic glow that he suddenly felt unworthy of. It made his stomach turn a bit.

He had been harboring feelings for you for quite some time, and he knew that if he didn’t confess them to you now, he knew he never would.

“Hey..I know this is gonna sound crazy, but, I want to tell you something,” Miguel started, suddenly feeling very nervous.

You looked over at him, a smile on your fine. “Hmm? What is it?”

God, that smile. It made his heart skip a beat every single time. He could stare at it forever. He wanted to.

So badly.

And yet…

“N-nevermind. It’s nothing,” he shook his head.

You raised a brow at him. “You sure, Miggy?”

Damn, that nickname. Only those closest to him were allowed to call him that. However, hearing you saying it tugged at his heart a certain way.

“Y-yeah. I’m sure,” he assured you, looking down at his feet as he continued to swing. The fact that the swing was able to hold him was a miracle. He had a huge growth spurt in high school that he stuck out like a sore thumb. Many thought that he was a basketball player with how tall he was. However, he was too bulky to be playing basketball, so he took on football instead. Not something he was planning on continuing on with. His passion was science.

“It feels so surreal, doesn’t it? In a few months, we’ll be going off to college. You better text me, Miguel,” you told him, a pout in your face as you looked over at him.

“Me oyes?”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Miguel chuckled, nodding his head. Of course he would keep contact with you.

He then looked back down as he stilled himself on the swing. He really needed to tell you before it was too late. It was already too late. You two were headings off to different universities. You’d only see each other during holidays and summer break. But, it could still work out, right?

Well, he’d have to tell you first.

And he was already chickening out.

You two had been through so much together. Had done so many things together. You were his best friend and he was yours. Since kindergarten, you two were inseparable. You were both each other’s first in..a lot of things. You had your first kiss with him. You were his first crush, and you both lost your virginity to each other. That..that was an experience.

Miguel didn’t want to say goodbye. He didn’t want to let you go. But, such was life, right? Plus, you both promised to keep in touch.

And you both were good about keeping promises.

Or so Miguel thought.

“Come on, Miggy. We should start heading back home. It’s getting late. And we need to be up early for tomorrow,” you told him as you let your feet touch the ground, putting your swing to a stop before getting off.

Miguel followed suit with a nod of his head, swinging himself as high as he could before jumping off, landing on his feet with a thud.

“You’re gonna mess up your knees,” you tsked at him, shaking your head as you began to make your way along the dirt path that led to the neighborhood sidewalk.

“Eh, I’ll be okay,” Miguel chuckled as he waved you off.

You both walked side by side, hands teasingly brushing against each other. Fingers threatening to intertwine. You looked up at him, and he was already glancing down at you. You never spoke about your relationship. What were you two, exactly? It wasn’t just friendship anymore. But, neither of you managed to bring it up. You wondered what his thoughts were.

Miguel walked you up the steps to your house, standing in front of you, hands stuffed in his pockets as he shuffled a bit.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told you.

“See you tomorrow, Miguel,” you replied with a smile just before Miguel leaned into you, capturingyour lips in a kiss.

Possibly what would be the last kiss you’d ever receive from him.

☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x you

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thenerdykneazle · 6 months

Text

Marry You

Summary: Garreth proclaims to anyone and everyone, including you, that he is going to marry you one day – despite the fact that you haven’t even agreed to court him (not that he's asked). Set during 5th year. It was supposed to be a bunch of short drabbles. One of them got out of hand (oops).

Garreth Weasley x Gryffindor F!MC

A/N: I added Garreth to DADA b/c in the game he only has like 2 classes with MC. It’s a crime that they didn’t give him the same schedule as Leander, honestly. You know those idiots would be besties and take all the same classes.

Warnings: none, pure fluff for a change, pining, *slight* Seb bashing if you squint but really he's just his moody self

Word Count: 6330

To Imelda

Garreth was elated when you handed him the fwooper feather. “Brilliant! This is going to take a moment to brew. You should get back to brewing your Edurus Potion, and I’ll tell you when this concoction’s finished.”

“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” you replied before leaving to work on your own potion. Garreth watched you walk away with stars in his eyes.

Imelda came up beside him. “Causing trouble again, Weasley?” she asked.

Garreth jumped at the girl suddenly so close to him. “Just getting started. I think I’ve got a partner in crime now,” he said.

“Oh?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Dragging that new fifth-year into your schemes, are you?”

He gave her a cheeky smile. “I may be dragging her into my schemes, but I’d let her drag me anywhere,” he said.

Imelda scrunched up her face in disgust at the mushy proclamation. “Ugh! Down boy,” she said. “You’ve only just met the poor girl.”

He sighed dreamily as he watched you work across the room. You seemed to have a knack for potions like he did. “Maybe, but I’m gonna marry her one day,” he said, imaging a future running a shop in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley with you.

Imelda rolled her eyes at the dramatic boy. “Whatever you say, Gryffindor,” she said before walking off.

When his potion sparked out wild fireworks, he caught your eye in the chaos. You looked thoroughly amused, and he couldn’t help but feel that the potion had been a resounding success if it got you to smile that way. He did feel a bit guilty that he had gotten you in hot water with Sharp, but the ex-auror didn’t seem too fussed about things.

To Sebastian

Garreth was enamoured when you knocked Sebastian on his ass. Again. You were all duelling in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and Professor Hecat seemed to enjoy seeing the Slytherin knocked down a peg as much as Leander did since she paired you and Sebastian together a second time. Garreth cheered even louder than Leander for you, and you gave the dorky pair a little salute.

Personally, though, Garreth had never had an issue with his fellow freckled classmate. He was friendly, had a good sense of humour, and enjoyed helping other students with their studies – or, at least, he used to before his sister was cursed. They had even teamed up on a prank here and there over the years. So, when Garreth saw the way the brunet looked at you, he had one thought as he smirked to himself: Game on.

You helped Sebastian back to his feet. “Nice job,” he said. “All your extra practice is paying off.”

You shrugged. “I suppose so,” you agreed. “You’ve been improving, as well, though.”

“I’d like a fair fight sometime. Get to use all my tricks,” he said. “Though, I could show you one or two beforehand if you’d like.”

You smiled slightly. “I might be interested,” you replied.

“I’ll be in touch, then,” Sebastian said with a smirk. He brushed himself off as he walked back to Ominis.

You walked back to your fellow Gryffindors. “Godric himself would be proud,” Leander said as Garreth gave you a congratulatory hug.

From across the room, Sebastian eyed the redhead as he embraced you. Garreth caught him watching and sent him a wink and a cheeky grin.

“That was bloody brilliant!” Garreth said as he let go of you.

“Thanks,” you said, beaming at him.

Leander resisted the urge to roll his eyes as his curly-haired friend seemed to dominate your attention and vice versa. He busied himself talking to Andrew. You and Garreth started talking about your recent encounter with a kneazle den out in the forest, barely noticing your friend’s absence. Soon, though, Professor Hecat stole you away to talk about an extra assignment.

Garreth took the opportunity to saunter over to the Slytherins. “You put up a good fight,” he said to Sebastian.

“Thanks,” he replied before cutting to the chase. “So, you and MC seem pretty cozy.” Sebastian had always been the jealous type.

“I should hope so,” Garreth replied. “I am going to marry her, after all.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at that. Weasleys were a known pure-blood family, but most of them weren’t those kinds of pure-bloods that had their children pledged to suitors from a young age.

Ominis gave the Gryffindor a pitying expression, though Garreth didn’t notice as Sebastian spoke up at the same time. “Didn’t realize your family was into that sort of thing. Arranged betrothals and whatnot,” he said.

“Oh, no, we’ll marry for love,” Garreth said confidently.

“Wait, so are you even engaged?” Ominis asked.

Garreth laughed. “No, of course not! We’re fifteen,” he replied. “Well, I’ll be sixteen next month.”

“So, are you courting?” Sebastian asked.

“Not yet,” Garreth said simply.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at the ginger. “So, what you’re saying is, you have no actual claim to her,” he said.

Garreth shrugged, looking unbothered. “I may not have any official title yet, but I wanted to give you fair warning not to fall too hard for her.”

Sebastian laughed. “Yeah, thanks, mate,” he said sarcastically. “What makes you so certain she’d choose you, anyway?”

Garreth smirked at him. “I just am.”

He let that be his final word, as he saw you walking away from Professor Hecat. Sebastian just gaped at the overconfident boy as he left. “Gryffindors,” he grumbled.

“You do realize that includes MC,” Ominis pointed out.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut it.”

To Leander

Garreth overheard you telling Professor Shah that you didn’t have a telescope. He was disappointed when she paired you with Amit before he could offer. He felt a pang of jealousy when Amit offered his old telescope to you. He tried to refocus on the stargazing he was supposed to be doing. Leander was struggling to find Sirius. He helped his best friend before they hurried downstairs, seeking the warmth of the castle.

On the way down, he overheard Amit asking you to go out to an astronomy table with him. The small pang of jealousy he felt earlier bloomed into anguish. Was Amit really trying to earn your affections? He expected to have to compete with Sallow, but he felt bad at the idea of stealing you away from the good-natured Ravenclaw. Not bad enough to back off, of course, but still.

He and Leander walked all the way back to the Gryffindor common room. Garreth flopped into an armchair with a huff.

Leander raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s got you so worked up?” he asked.

“Amit’s trying to flirt with my future wife,” Garreth grumbled.

“Oh, not this again,” Leander muttered to himself.

“Yes, this again,” Garreth replied firmly. “I’m serious, Lee. She’s the one.”

Leander just shook his head in amusement. “Yes, you’ve made that very clear,” he said. “And why is it you think Amit is trying to steal her affections?”

“You didn’t hear him?” Garreth practically yelled. He jumped to his feet and started pacing. “First, he was all, ‘Oh, let me adjust the telescope for you.’ Then he just gave her his old telescope. And then, he invited her out exploring the grounds to go find an astronomy table.”

“He might as well have proposed right then,” Leander replied nonchalantly, still reclining lazily on the couch and biting back a smirk.

“I know! I–” Garreth started, but he paused, spinning around to face Leander. He glared at the taller boy. “You’re mocking me.”

Leander let the smile break onto his face. “A bit,” he admitted. “Gar, Amit is just friendly. He’d give an Ashwinder the shirt off his back if they said they were cold. You’re reading too much into it.”

“Am I?” Garreth asked seriously, putting a hand on his hip as he eyed his friend.

“Yes,” Leander replied equally seriously. “And, with all due respect to your undying love, you barely know MC. What if you’re not compatible? What if she wants to move to Peru or something when she graduates? What if she doesn’t want kids?”

Garreth shrugged. “I don’t need kids,” he said.

Leander rolled his eyes. “Have you met your family?” he asked. “And you practically knocked me into the Black Lake jumping into my arms when you got the owl saying your brother and his wife are having a baby.”

Garreth blushed at the memory. “Okay, but they’re out snuggling up in the cold to go look at the stars,” he whined.

“Your brother and his pregnant wife?” Leander asked.

Garreth let out a frustrated groan. “No, MC and Amit! Keep up, Lee! There’s no chance he’s not trying to woo her in such a romantic setting. They’ll probably be out all night, knowing MC. They’ll cozy up as they watch the sunrise and kiss just as the sun peaks out over the horizon.”

“Ah, you’re back to the whole Amit thing,” Leander observed.

“He’s probably got his arms around her right now to ‘help’ her focus the telescope,” Garreth said. “Maybe I should go out there and–”

Garreth fell silent at the sound of the portrait creaking open. He was glad he did when he saw you stepping into the common room. “You’re home early!” he said. He had meant to say it in a cool, casual tone but ended up shouting it in excitement, instead.

“Am I?” you asked, giving him a confused look. “I didn’t know I had an appointment.”

“Well, I just heard Amit invite you out stargazing and figured you’d be gone a while,” Garreth blurted out. Leander smacked a hand over his face as he shook his head at his moronic friend.

“Oh,” you said. You shrugged. “The table was just on the castle wall. It didn’t take long to find.”

“Do you want kids?” Garreth asked, stunning both you and Leander.

You looked at him with wide eyes. “Right now?” you asked. “Because I’ll have to pass, thanks.”

Garreth’s face flamed with embarrassment. “Merlin, no, that’s not what I…Not now, just…in the future. Possibly. I mean, do you like kids?” he corrected.

“Oh. Yeah, one day. I love kids,” you replied.

“Great!” he said before he could stop himself. “Because, um, my brother is having a baby soon, and I’ll have to do a lot of babysitting. I might need a hand, and Lee here is useless with kids, so…”

Leander glared at him, and Garreth just gave him an apologetic smile.

“That sounds fun!” you replied.

Garreth’s eyes lit up. “Brilliant! I’ll reach out if I need assistance, then,” he said with a dopey grin.

“Sounds good,” you said as you made your way toward the stairs up to the girls’ dormitories. “Good night, you two.”

They both wished you a good night. Once your back was turned, Garreth smiled wildly at Leander and mouthed ‘I told you’ rather aggressively at him. Leander just rolled his eyes.

To Poppy

Garreth sprinted down the corridors to reach the faculty tower. He took the stairs up it three at a time, grabbing the handrail to whip sharply around the landings. His legs were on fire by the time he reached the infirmary. He was too out of breath to form a proper sentence when he’d met Nurse Blainey at the entrance.

“Where…How…MC?” he managed between pants as his lungs heaved to get the oxygen his body so desperately needed.

“She’s okay, so just take a moment–” she said, holding up her hands to try to get the boy to pause and catch his breath.

“I need to see her. Please,” he urged.

He looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment, and the mediwitch took pity on the boy. She led him to your bedside. “She’s stable but hasn’t woken up yet. I gave her a sedative so I could change the dressing over a rather painful wound on her leg. It should heal completely in time, though,” she explained as she walked him over.

She held the curtain around your bed back, so Garreth could step inside of it. He gasped when he saw the cuts and bruises on your face and arms. The rest of you was hidden under the blanket, and he could only imagine how much worse it got. Poppy was sitting in a chair on the far side of the bed. Garreth sat down opposite her, pulling the chair closer to the bed while turning it around so he could face the head of the it. He held your hand gently in both of his.

You were a force to be reckoned with, but right now you looked so…fragile.

“What happened?” he rasped, looking over to Poppy.

“We…It happened so fast,” she said, head bowed in shame. “We were fighting a camp of poachers, and a manticore sprang out of their tent. It had a collar of goblin metal they used to control it. It attached her, scratching her, and biting her leg.” She dropped her face into her hands. “Merlin, her scream.” Poppy winced at the memory.

“A manticore?” Garreth repeated in disbelief. “Godric’s heart, I’m glad it didn’t sting her!”

“It almost did, but I cast depulso and knocked it off of her,” she said. “I just wish I’d reacted sooner.”

“Hey,” Garreth said gently as he held a hand out to her across the bed. She sheepishly took it as she finally raised her eyes to look at him. “You saved her life. I can’t thank you enough for that.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and smiled gently at her.

“O-oh. Are you two…? I mean, I didn’t realize you were more than friends,” she said, pulling her hand out of his grasp and linking it with the other one in her lap. She trained her gaze on her hands rather than the boy sat across from her.

“We’re not. Not yet, anyway,” Garreth said as he looked at you with a fond smile on his face. He turned back to Poppy with a devilish grin. “Make no mistake, though, I’m gonna make her my wife one day.”

“Wow. That’s, um, wonderful,” she said, giving him a pained smile.

Garreth chuckled. “I know everyone thinks I’m crazy for saying it, but I really do believe it. She’s captured my heart and soul, this one,” he said.

“She’s a lucky girl,” Poppy said sincerely.

“I hope so,” Garreth replied with a grateful smile. He looked back at you. “I know she hasn’t been here very long, but I don’t know what I’d do if I ever really lost her. I’d have to find a new supplier for all my potion ingredients and everything!” He spoke sincerely until the last sentence.

You let out a groan as you rubbed your head with the hand Garreth wasn’t holding. “I think I’m gonna have to close shop for a week or two,” you croaked out.

Garreth chuckled. “All the cute things I said, and you wake up for that part?” he teased.

You gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Gar,” you said. “I’ll try to time it better next time.”

The sincerity in your voice nearly broke his heart. He reached a hand up to stroke your cheek. “Hey, no, I was just joking,” he said sweetly. “But there better not be a ‘next time,’ and I’m very serious about that. No more close calls like this.”

You nodded your head slowly. Your eyes were half closed. “That sounds good to me,” you said.

He managed a small smile. He’d been a nervous wreck when he heard you were in the infirmary with serious injuries. It was a relief just to talk to you. “Get some rest now, okay? We’ll be here,” he said.

“M’kay,” you agreed with a soft sigh. Your eyes were already closing again, heavy with exhaustion.

Garreth stroked the back of your hand as he carefully watched the bruises on your face fade. It was slow – barely noticeable as it happened – but after a few hours the dark, angry purple marks had shrunk with the remaining areas turned faded hues of yellow and green. He delicately brushed the hair back from your face. Your cuts were now thin lines of new flesh, pink and tender-looking. Garreth traced some of the lines on your arm carefully with his left index finger. His right hand continued to hold yours.

Curfew came before you roused again. Nurse Blainey came to dismiss the students still by your bedside. Poppy stood to leave, but Garreth requested to stay.

“I assure your she’s in capable hands, Mr. Weasley,” the mediwitch said. “I’m afraid visiting hours are over for today. You may come back when they begin tomorrow. After breakfast.”

He had skipped dinner, though he didn’t know how Nurse Blainey had known. The meal had just begun when he got the news of your injury.

Garreth trudged out alongside Poppy. “I’m glad she has someone who cares so deeply for her,” the mousy girl said as they left the hospital wing. “She’s my best friend – and only friend, really – and I want her to be happy.”

Garreth nodded with a pensive look on his face. “Thank you, Poppy,” he said. “I’m glad she’s got you to watch her back out there.”

She gave him a tight smile and a nod. She still felt responsible.

They parted once they left the faculty tower, heading to their separate common rooms. Garreth had a fitful night sleep before getting out of bed before the sun was up. He ate a rushed breakfast before returning to the hospital wing. You were sat up in the bed, eating your own breakfast from a tray set over your lap. You smiled when you saw him approaching.

“If it isn’t my favourite customer,” you said with a smirk.

Garreth rolled his eyes playfully. “How is it that was the only thing you got from my visit yesterday?” he asked.

You chuckled. “I was heavily medicated,” you replied with a shrug. You shifted to sit toward the left side of the bed, grimacing as you pulled your right leg over.

Garreth lunged forward to help when he saw your pained expression, but it was gone in an instant. You patted the newly open spot on the bed next to you. He carefully sat down, keeping an eye on your leg so he didn’t bump it.

“So, what else did you say when you came to visit?” you asked. “I have it on good authority it was quite cute.”

Garreth’s cheeks flushed. “Just, um, that I was very relieved you were okay and wouldn’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Yes, well, it would put a damper on our marriage if I was dead before it began,” you joked.

Garreth just gave you a shy smile.

You had known for a while how Garreth liked to tell people he was going to marry you one day. You thought it was funny and would join in on the joke from time to time. You took it as a compliment. He usually tied it to some praise of your skill, whether in combat, on a broom, or brewing potions. He had a flare for the dramatic, so you didn’t read too much into it. You’d heard him tell Leander he could kiss him when the taller boy had bought him a set of rare potion ingredients for his birthday.

Garreth was warm and affectionate, but he didn’t show signs that there was real weight to his jests. There were no intense stares or lingering touches like there were with a certain Slytherin. He was affectionate with you but not in an intimate way. He would give big bear hugs and would sometimes grab your wrist to drag you somewhere exciting. However, he never rested his hand on your lower back as he led you somewhere nor held your hand. Well, last night was an exception. You were fairly certain that when you had awoken last night, he had been holding your right hand, while Poppy had held your left.

Poppy. You two had become fast friends. She was the reason you wouldn’t entertain his affections even if you had thought them genuine. She had quite the crush on the kind-hearted ginger. She’d fallen for him shortly after you introduced them. She gushed about him constantly. You could never hurt her like it would if you started courting Garreth. She would be devastated.

“How are you feeling?” Garreth asked. His brow was furrowed with worry.

“As well as can be expected. The bastard took a nice chunk out of my calf,” you explained. “Human face but wicked sharp teeth, apparently.”

He looked at you with sad eyes. “Nurse Blainey said you’d recover fully. It that still true?”

You nodded. “Far as I know.”

“Good.” He bit his cheek as his hands fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. He put on a brave face before looking back at you. “And until you’re 100%, I’ll be by your side. Whatever you need.”

You couldn’t help but smile. He really was the sweetest boy you’d ever met. “I think I’ll be more than taken care of between you and Poppy,” you said fondly. “Speaking of, it’s cute that you two stayed with me together last night.”

Garreth gave you a puzzled look. “Cute?” he asked.

You gave a noncommittal shrug and forced your smile to broaden into a playful grin. “Yeah, I mean, I think it’s sweet. You two are just cute together.”

Garreth was really baffled now. Together? he thought. He and Poppy had hardly been ‘together.’ They sat on opposite sides of your bed, tending to you. Did you think he fancied Poppy? He was confused how you could. He thought he’d been rather obvious in his affections for you, while always trying to be respectful.

“Oh,” was all he managed to say.

You couldn’t tell if he didn’t like Poppy back or was just being shy about his feelings. So, you decided to probe a bit. “Have you ever thought about asking her out?” you said, attempting nonchalance.

“Erm, no. I can’t say I have,” he replied honestly. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He didn’t claim to know much about girls, but he was fairly certain they didn’t try to set up boys they fancied with their friends. “Do you…think I should?”

You blinked rapidly. You didn’t know what you thought. He and Poppy seemed a good fit. They were both so bubbly. You couldn’t imagine they’d be anything but happy together. But the imagine made you curiously sombre. “Well…” you started, unsure how you would finish the sentence.

Nurse Blainey pulled back the curtain. She scowled at Garreth sitting in your bed.

“Mr. Weasley,” she said sternly. “If you could step out, I need to examine my patient.”

He quickly did as told. Blainey changed your bandages on your leg, and he could tell two things from the stifled noises you made. The first was that you were in more pain than you let on. The second was that you were trying to hide it for his sake. That was only further confirmed when Blainey let him back in. You were smiling wide, but your knuckles blanched with how hard you were gripping the sheets.

“Has she had anything for pain today?” Garreth asked the mediwitch timidly.

“No, she’s refused the pain potion since she woke up,” Nurse Blainey replied.

He shot you a stern look. “She’s obviously in pain.”

She arched a brow at him. “She’s perfectly capable of requesting the potion herself.”

“I don’t like the potion. It makes me feel foggy,” you told him.

“So?” Garreth asked, a bit irritated by your stubbornness. “You’re recovering. And it’s Sunday. You should be resting, anyway.”

He looked to Blainey for support. “Are you in pain, dear?” she asked you kindly.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you replied genially, though you gave Garreth a hard glare.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you grit your teeth any harder, you’ll shatter them,” he argued. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I don’t want to sleep all day. I’d rather be able to hang out with you,” you said.

“Well, I don’t want to see you suffer!” he shot back, his voice cracking. He winced at his own volume.

“Mr. Weasley!” Nurse Blainey hissed. “I will not tolerate you yelling at my patient.”

“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. He sank into the chair beside you, not wanting to draw further ire from Blainey by getting back in your bed. “Please, MC. I don’t like seeing you in pain. I’ll read to you or something while you rest.”

“You wouldn’t be bored?” you asked.

He rolled his eyes as a slight smirk came to his lips. “With you around? Never,” he replied.

“Could I maybe just do a half dose?” you said to Nurse Blainey. “My leg is starting to ache pretty badly.”

Garreth resisted the urge to insist you take a full dose. It was a start, at least.

The mediwitch nodded and fetched the potion.

“Thank you,” he murmured after you downed the liquid.

“Thank you,” you replied. “I should’ve taken it sooner. I was…being stubborn.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, you have a habit of that,” he teased.

You gave him a playful glare.

The sounds of hurried footsteps announced the arrival of a certain two Slytherins. “MC!” Sebastian said. “I just heard what happened. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Blainey said I should make a full recovery.”

Garreth saw you wince as Sebastian wrapped you in a big hug. “Be careful!” the Gryffindor hissed.

Sebastian ignored him. He held your face in both of his hands when he pulled back. For a brief, terrifying moment, Garreth thought the Slytherin was about to kiss you. “No more taking on poachers alone,” the brunette ordered.

“I wasn’t alone,” you argued.

Sebastian side-eyed Garreth before looking back at you. “You still didn’t have proper help. You need to tell me when you’re going to do something dangerous,” he said, still holding your face. “Promise me.”

“Poppy is proper help,” you said defensively. “We’ve been fine every other time. Fought dozens of poachers. The manticore just caught us by surprise. I don’t need you to babysit me, Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s hands dropped to his sides. “You were with Poppy?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Well, I can still help keep you safe. Obviously these poachers are getting more dangerous animals,” he said. “Let me help you.”

“You can’t come running off with us every time. You’ve got Anne to think about. You should stay focused on helping her,” you argued.

Sebastian tensed. “Then stay and help me,” he asked.

You chewed your lip “I…I can’t just stop. Anne’s got you, but no one is stopping these poachers. Poppy and I are the only ones saving those creatures.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “So, you care more about those beasts than Anne?” he growled.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” you insisted.

Sebastian scowled. “That seems like it’s exactly what you’re saying.” Without another word, he stormed out of the hospital wing.

“Sebastian!” Ominis called after him. He sighed when his friend didn’t stop. He rested a hand on your shoulder. “Feel better, MC.”

Ominis pressed a kiss to the top of your head before leaving, as well.

Garreth was seething until he saw the tears slipping down your cheeks and grief gripped him. “Hey,” he said gently, sliding into the bed next to you. He wrapped his arms around you in a gentle embrace. “He’s being an idiot. He’s probably just scared. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

You shook your head. “No, he did. He’s always getting upset with us about not doing more for Anne.” You sighed. “I mean, we’ve tried. I just…I don’t know what else to do.”

Garreth was shocked at the treatment from your supposed friend. He had half a mind to track the Slytherin down and try to shake some sense into him. But he knew it was better to stay with you, so he did. You leaned into him as the potion’s effects took hold and the drowsiness set in.

Garreth stayed with you the whole day. Poppy came by later that morning. Leander brought him lunch and a book to read to you. Natty and the other Gryffindors came to visit you in the afternoon. Even Imelda stopped by before dinner. Sebastian came back and apologized late in the evening. He seemed less than pleased to see Garreth cuddled up to you, but he didn’t comment on it.

Garreth helped rush visits along when you would start to get tired and drift off. Blainey was in and out of the curtained-off space throughout the day. She kicked Garreth out when she needed to do dressing changes. She didn’t say anything about Garreth sitting with you in your bed, though. Nor did she kick him out when you both fell asleep to him reading the book Leander had brought.

Blainey released you the next day. Garreth thought it was too soon, but you were eager to get out. He convinced the teachers to let him follow your schedule so he could carry your things for you.

“I could’ve levitated them,” you said.

“You shouldn’t exert your magic, either,” he argued. “Besides, I told you I’d be by your side until you’re all better.”

You blushed at the thought. You had always hoped to find a way to spend more time with him. This wasn’t exactly how you would have chosen to go about it, but you would take it.

To You

The manticore incident had brought you and Garreth closer than ever. Shortly after, Poppy told you she no longer had a crush on the outgoing Gryffindor. No longer holding yourself back, your own feelings for him bloomed. Frustratingly, you felt that you constantly got mixed signals from him. He still had a running joke where he would assert to others that he would marry you one day. However, he never asked you out. Though, on rare occasions, he did hold your hand – grabbing it to drag you off to see his newest brew or to comfort you when you were upset.

Unbeknownst to you, Garreth’s own feelings had grown similarly. He was head over heels for you. But he was scared. The stronger his feelings became, the more terrified he felt that you wouldn’t return them. Leander had to practically shake sense into him that he had better ask you out before someone else did. The taller boy even threatened to ask you out himself if Garreth didn’t soon. The threat almost started a brawl between the best friends until Leander explained that he wasn’t actually interested in you – just trying to motivate Garreth to get his head out of his arse.

So, Garreth came up with a plan. He went to Honeydukes on the next Hogsmeade trip, buying all your favourite sweets. He even added a bottle of his newly-perfected Fizzing Whizzbeer that you’d raved about after trying. He arranged it all in a decorative box and tied a nice ribbon around it.

He brought it to you at dinner. He hadn’t even sat down when he handed it over.

“Thank you,” you said, surprised and a bit confused as you took the present. You were elated, if a bit puzzled, when you saw the contents. “What’s all this for?”

Garreth cleared his throat. “Well, everyone knows we’re going to be married one day. And, mark my words, we will be,” he started. You rolled your eyes at his theatrics but couldn’t help smiling. Everyone else just nodded along, having heard his proclamation many times. Natty was the only one who looked shocked by the news.

“They are betrothed?” she whispered to Leander.

He rolled his eyes. “No, but it’s a long story,” he replied.

She just shrugged.

“So, I figured it was about time I started the formal process. I’d like to court you, MC, if you’ll have me,” Garreth said. He looked exceptionally nervous.

You set the box down on the bench before springing to your feet. You threw your arms around Garreth’s neck. “Of course!” you said.

“Really?” Garreth asked, dumbstruck.

“Definitely!” you assured him.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up as he spun around. “Brilliant! Will you go to dinner with me this Saturday?”

You beamed at him as your feet returned to solid ground. “That sounds lovely.”

Natty gave Leander a confused look. “I thought they started courting months ago,” she said.

“Yeah, you would think, wouldn’t you?” he replied with a chuckle.

To Your Dad

Garreth shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously. He checked his hair in the glass of the tavern window for the eight time. It wasn’t the first time he was meeting your father. They first met three years ago when Garreth visited you over the summer between fifth and sixth years. When the door to the establishment opened and he spotted the familiar broad shoulders and greying hair, Garreth immediately stood up.

“Garreth, my boy, good to see you,” your father greeted genially.

Garreth shook his hand. “You, as well, sir,” he said. “I’m glad you were able to meet today.”

“So, what brings you out to my neck of the woods?” your father asked as he took his seat.

Garreth could feel the heat rising in his collar, and your dad had to hold back a smile. He had strong suspicions on why the young man had reached out.

“Well, sir, I wanted to discuss some things with you about the future,” he said. “Of course, I asked you to join me for dinner. I don’t want to get too bogged down in the details on empty stomachs.”

“Oh, nonsense,” your father replied, waving him off. “Let’s hear these plans.”

“Right,” Garreth said, a bit shellshocked. “Well, sir, I’ve just finished my apprenticeship with J. Pippin. I took a job with a potioneering company in London, where I intend to stay until I’ve saved enough to start my own shop. I’ve just purchased a home in Marylebone, where I hope to settle down, you see.”

“London’s a far way from Plymouth,” your father interjected gravely, unable to help himself.

Garreth swallowed thickly. “It is,” he agreed. “Though, it’s within floo range.”

“Quite right,” your dad agreed with a slight smile. “Sorry to interrupt, lad. You were saying about settling down.”

“Your daughter and I have been discussing our plans. We’d quite like to settle down together. That is to say, we intend to marry–”

“Do you, now?” you father interjected again. His brow was arched.

Garreth nodded, steeling his nerves. “I haven’t proposed yet, of course,” he continued, and your father visibly relaxed. “But, like I said, we’ve discussed it, and I feel quite certain she would say yes. I wanted to meet today to ask for your blessing.”

Your father smiled. “Yes, I thought that might be the case,” he said. “My daughter, my only child, is quite an exceptional young woman, as you’re aware.”

“I am,” Garreth agreed as worry began to set in.

“Not just for her rare magic. She has many talents. And she’s quite driven.” He levelled Garreth with a rather frighteningly intense gaze. “I have very high standards for the man with whom she endeavours to spend her life.”

“Of course, sir,” Garreth said, trying not to feel crestfallen.

“I dare say she’ll need a man of equal ambition to keep up with her,” he said. “Though, he must still put his family first. I would never condemn her to a marriage with someone less than madly in love with her. And, indeed, I would do everything I could to prevent such an unfit union. I assure you, I am not an adversary to be taken lightly.”

Garreth had prepared himself for the possibility that your father would not give his blessing, but he had not foreseen him actively trying to prevent your marriage.

“I don’t think any man fully capable of deserving my daughter, though I am aware that I am biased on the matter,” your dad continued without giving Garreth a chance to speak. “However, I don’t think I could have hand-picked a better partner for her than she has chosen for herself.”

“I’m sure I can’t fault you for feeling that way, sir. I–” Garreth broke off as the meaning of the sternly spoken words sunk in. He gaped at your father briefly before collecting himself.

A grin broke out on the older man’s face. “I’d be honoured to have you in the family, son.”

Garreth stood, shaking your father’s hand again. He pulled his future son-in-law into a hug. “Thank you, sir. I know it’ll mean a lot to MC to have your blessing,” Garreth said.

Your dad clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Well, it means a lot to me that you care for her so deeply,” he replied. “You’re a good man, Garreth. Even if you were a bit of a scamp at school.” He winked.

Garreth’s cheeks flushed. “Yes, well, I’ve come to have a certain respect for the rules these days.”

Your dad chuckled. “That’s good to hear,” he said. “I got into my fair share of trouble at Hogwarts back in my day. And I know my daughter took after me.”

Garreth laughed. “She certainly has an adventurous spirit.”

Your dad shared some stories about the hijinks he’d gotten up to in school as they shared a meal. Garreth was glad he’d gotten the asking done before eating, as his stomach settled considerably. He couldn’t wait to tell you that your dad gave his blessing. More than that, he couldn’t wait to propose. But, most of all, he couldn’t wait to finally make you his wife like he swore he would years ago.

#garreth weasley #hogwarts legacy #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley x f!mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #garreth weasley fanfic #garreth weasley fanfiction

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luveline · 10 months

Note

Hello! I’m usually a silent reader but OMG the zombie au 😭😭 this series hits me right in the heart, but honestly everything you post is amazing!! You’re such a talented writer that your words create feelings, not just images, and they’re the most comforting, relatable, and heart wrenching all at once. No pressure, but I would love to see more of r’s recovery from her cuts! Maybe something happens when the survivors are moving that causes Steve to be extra worried? Thanks SO much either way!!

thank you so much 😭 I hope this is okay!! sry it took me ages. steve zombie au —steve looks after you again !!

You haven't been able to tell Steve why you're covered practically head to toe in little cuts beyond what you remember. Days now since the attack on The College, you vaguely remember an impact, which might explain your poor memory. Someone or something had hit you down, and when you woke it was in a pool of crushed glass, darkness like velvet enveloping the sky.

"I don't know how you did it," he says, sitting between your legs, unperturbed by your state of undress.

You're wearing a pair of mens boxers as shorts to grant him access to your sliced thighs without feeling naked. The worst stretches across your left thigh, stitched closed and weeping miserably. It's a horror —the cut isn't bad but the infection is, and if it doesn't get better, there's going to be a problem.

"Desperate to get back to you," you say. You're not lying, but you say it like a joke.

Steve laughs and rubs your one unscathed knee gently.

"My poor love," he says under his breath, focusing on your stitches. He cleans around them with a damp strip of cloth poorly shorn.

He moves up with a new strip to clean the top ones. You could do it yourself, but his fussing is nice. Relaxed against a pile of bed rolls, your arms crossed to avoid touching your stomach, which is also blanketed in cuts, you wince as Steve grows closer.

"Can we take a break?" you ask.

"Yeah." He puts down the bowl of linen strips and screws the lid back on the isopropyl. "Sorry, honey. I know it sucks. You've dealt with it all so well–"

"Steve, you say this to me with a sprained knee."

"It's not less true," he says, easing down with a boyish groan beside you.

He turns to you as you turn to him, actual dirt on his cheek, stubbly and waxy in the dusk. You rub at the spot of dirt unhappily. He lets you touch him without complaint.

"Sorry I'm a mess."

"As long as you come back to me," he says. "I don't really care how much of a mess you are."

"Don't, baby." You rub your face into his shoulder, feeling the muscle of his bicep under your palm. You don't want him to be nice to you like that, not while your skin is stinging like this and you're still feeling hopelessly terrified of the uncertain future again.

"I gotta. I'm playing the romantic, doting love interest in our book."

"What book?"

"One I'm gonna write. Me and you and Robin at the end of the world," Steve says, dropping his head on yours.

"Who's gonna read the book?" you ask quietly.

"Everyone. When the world gets back on its feet again and the next generation wants to know what it was like, they'll have a great answer. Boy falls in love with girl destined to be constantly injured and reluctantly taken care of."

"Ah, but I'm not reluctant," you say.

"I can do your other leg?"

"No," you whine.

"That's reluctance."

You sit together for a while.

"You have to let me finish," he says firmly.

"I know… just. I love you," you say quietly. It's hard to explain it, but sitting with him as you are in the corner of a crowded room, it doesn't matter where you are, because you're with him. All these cuts and bruises don't mean a thing.

"I love you, too." He wraps his arm around your shoulders. You wish you could see his face, but this is nice.

"Do you ever worry we say it too much?"

"No." He turns his face into the top of your head. "This is the right amount. But you can definitely tell me again, if you're worried."

You thumb along a scabbed cut. "I love you. Thanks for taking care of me."

"You're welcome. And you can make it up to me. I want a neck massage, you know, where you dig into my literal bones and–" he imitates a cracking sound.

"I don't know why you like it so much."

"Cos it's you doing it. Deal?"

You sigh. Somehow, you feel as though you might have taken the short end of the stick. "Deal."

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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sporadicthingcollection · 7 months

Text

Smash or Pass: Part 1/4 (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: It's the last stop before the Grand Line and you slink away for a quiet evening. The universe, however, decides to clown on you. Sequel to Kiss, Marry, Kill. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Semi-explicit. Warnings: Alcohol, death threats, implied threat of sexual assault. Word Count: ~3.1k.

Mama told me what I should know

"Too much candy's gonna rot your soul

If she loves you, let her go'

Cause love only gets you down!"

---

PART 1: In which you are threatened with a knife, a gun, and a good time.

You thought the night would be fine. You thought no one in this bar would bother you. You thought you’d have a little nightcap or three and head back to the ship. You thought you’d have one last night to spend on your own before sharing a small space with five other people for the foreseeable future.

But nothing worked out as you’d hoped.

As soon as you got comfy at a table in the corner, a horde of rough-looking sailors descended and lit up the place. Loud. Rowdy. Obnoxious.

Ugh. At least they’re not Marines. You can lay low. Sink deep in your chair and focus on your drink.

Gazing into the scrying beer glass, you let your mind wander among the swirls. Thoughts ebb and flow.

Like how you need to remember to get more sutures before you cast off. Or how heavy your fingers feel under all the jewelry. How naked your ring fingers look with no adornment. Your family would be nagging you to get married by now. They’d like Sanji.

But they wouldn’t like that stupid, stupid clown.

He’s been on your mind a lot lately. You hate it. But how could he not be? Made you an offer you had to refuse. You tell yourself it wouldn’t have worked out. Where was he last month when you were looking for an escape? You hope you never see him again.

…but if you did see him again, you wouldn’t complain. He’d probably sidle up to you and say something like—

“Well, hello, gorgeous."

Yeah, that's exactly what he would say.

Wait. That was loud. That wasn’t your thoughts. It can’t be. You turn.

Buggy the Clown grins at you. “Fancy meeting you here, Miss Sawbones."

You dive to the floor as he pulls a knife from his sleeve and throws it at you, sinking up to the handle in the wall. You clamber to your feet, put on your best snarl, and raise your fists.

All eyes are on you and Buggy as you size him up. The clink of chains and scrape of drawn swords sounds all around you. You’re not sure who your allies are, but you’re grateful for the support.

Especially because there’s just as many goons behind Buggy. He looks as surprised as you feel. His stance softens as he glances around. You could get a punch in while his guard is down—

“Hey!”

A gravelly voice splits the very air of the room. Like a child caught in the cookie jar, you freeze. You’re in big trouble.

Buggy freezes too. His shoulders hunch and his eyes go wide. He glances at you, and then to the side. You look in the same direction.

Standing behind the bar is a stout woman in an apron. A cigar dangles from her lips and she wields a wicked glare. Along with a very, very large shotgun.

She points at a big sign hung above the shelves. NO FiTiN IN DaH baR in big red letters on weathered wooden planks.

“‘No fittin’…?'” Buggy mutters.

“If you’re gonna kill each other,” the matron says, “do it outside.”

Due to a sudden lapse in self-preservation, you speak up. “He started it—“

Everyone jumps as she fires into the ceiling. “And I’m ending it. Get along or get out.”

You glance at Buggy. He glances back. You can see the whites of his eyes, even from all the way over here. Slowly, he replaces his knives back into his jacket.

You lower your fists, feeling awful sheepish.

The bar matron nods. “Back to your drinks, all of you,” she says.

You can’t help but feel a little embarrassed as the crowd disperses. You can read. You’re very literate. How’d you miss that?

“Guess we both need glasses,” Buggy says right next to your ear.

You jump and nearly swing on him again, but you pull the punch. You have no interest in being shot tonight. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Getting a drink, same as you. Last stop before the Grand Line.” His voice dips low and he leans in close. “And last chance I’ll likely get to cut you and your little captain’s throats.”

You scowl. “Over my dead body,” you growl.

“That’s the idea.” The matron clears her throat loudly. He flinches and pulls back, but the glare remains. “Once you leave, babe— snnckt!” He draws his finger across his throat and his head rolls off his shoulders and into his arms. You yelp and he cackles as he puts it back.

Well, now you’re in it. This wouldn’t have happened if you stayed on the ship, you dumb lush. You could have just drank with Zoro. Or shot the shit with Usopp while he shot at shit. Or let Sanji hit on you while you sharpened his knives. Literally anything would have been better than this.

But here you are. Time to get yourself out of it. Somehow.

"Well, I’m not going anywhere," you tell Buggy. You sit back down at your table. "So get comfy, clown."

He places his hat on the table and plops into the seat across from you. He snatches up the mug -- your mug -- and takes a long, long, long pull. He tips his head all the way back, throat bobbing with every swallow.

You try and fail to drag your eyes away. You like sharp throats.

When it's drained, he slams it back down on the table. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and how he doesn't smudge his makeup, you'll never know.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He kicks up his boots onto the table. “So what’re we drinkin’? Rum? Ale? Whiskey? Bet you’re a rum kinda gal.”

This is gonna be a night.

---

One bottle in. You glower at him and he smiles back, eyes twinkling in the dim light.

Second bottle. The sun is fully down. He’s started chattering about nothing and everything. Rage roils inside you.

Third bottle. The room slowly spins. He’s still talking. You might leave just so you can strangle him.

Fourth bottle. You flip him the bird. He just giggles.

Fifth bottle. You mix it up a bit and order some shots. The matron brings the glasses and leaves the bottle.

“Hey, the good shit.” Buggy pours two glasses and raises one. “Cheers.”

Something bubbles up in your chest. The urge to speak. You’re gonna say something stupid. You just know it. And you’re just lubricated enough that it slides through.

You raise your glass. “Another day, another bender. No retreat, no surrender.” You toss it back and it scorches your throat on its way down.

Your head is so full of cotton that it takes you a moment to notice the laughter. Strong. Sharp. Bellyful. Contagious. You like that laugh. You’d like to hear more of it.

And then you realize it’s coming from Buggy. He has his head tossed back and his eyes scrunched and he’s letting out the most glorious laughter you’ve ever heard.

Before you can be properly disgusted with yourself, he recovers. “I got one.” He pours another pair of shots and slides one to you. “Here’s to our wives and girlfriends. May they never meet.”

Two more shots tossed back and two more glasses slammed on the table. It’s all going right to your head and the more it does, the more you’re enjoying yourself.

“Everyone knows that one,” you say. You pour. “One drink is good, two at the most. Three I’m under the table, four I’m under the host.”

His eyebrows shoot up, lips pursed into a circle. Then he laughs again. “Workin’ blue tonight! Alright!” Two more shots poured. “It ain’t the length, it ain’t the size, it’s how often I can make it rise.”

You weren’t expecting that and you almost spit the shot out. You hack and sputter as it goes down the wrong pipe, but you recover.

Though now you’re thinking about Buggy’s dick. You should probably stop that. You wonder if it’s small and that’s why he is how he is.

“Y’alright, babe?” He takes a pull right from the bottle and spills some on his chin and shirt. He’s sauced too. Small comfort.

One more comes to mind. You reach across and snatch the bottle. “Now he lays me down to screw.” You pour one shot. “I pray this clown knows what to do.” You pour the other. “If he should cum before I end…” You raise yours. “I swear to God I’ll fuck his friend!”

He stares at you a moment, grinless, just long enough for you to worry. And then it returns with a howling cackle. He slams his glass into yours hard enough to slosh some whiskey out and you both shoot it back.

You stare at each other, giggling like hyenas. Some part of you knows this is ridiculous. You’re getting smashed with a guy who tried to kill you and your friends. Who was just ready to kill you. Who is plotting to slit your throat right when you’re not expecting it.

You just laugh harder. What’s your life come to?

You come back down to see him staring at you, head resting on his hand. "You laugh cute."

“Nuh-uh.” You take a swig from the whiskey bottle. “I laugh like a News Coo.”

“News Coos are adorable!” He snatches the bottle back and takes a pull. “We switchin’ back to rum after this one? Or do we wanna get avden— abvench— adventurous?”

A good question. "Let's go nuts."

"My kinda woman!" He slams the table to catch the matron's attention. "Bring us something strong!"

---

Bottle six is gin. Neither of you like it and you both down the whole thing. Bottle seven, you're back to ale.

On eight, you wonder if the throat-cutting threat was a ruse and he's really just going to give you alcohol poisoning.

At least it's a fun way to go.

"So there I am," Buggy says, "looking at the giant hole in the hull where the cannon once was, holding a cannonball like this--" He jumps to his feet, pops his head off, and clutches it to his chest like it weighs fifty pounds. "--when the first mate himself walks in."

Your jaw drops. "What'd you do?"

"Only thing I could do.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Threw the cannonball at him!"

He lobs his head to you. You squeal in surprise, just barely managing to catch him before you fall out of your chair. The giggles flow from you like water from a spigot.

He grins as you look at him. "Gotcha," he says with a wink.

Maybe it's the booze. Maybe it's the surprise. Your cheeks heat up all the same. You throw the head back and clamber to your feet.

A moment of clarity hits you as you sit back down. "Why are we drinking together? You wanna kill me."

"It's not that weird. Best drinkin' buddies I ever had tried to kill me. When I tried to skip out on the tab, but... y'know." He takes a gulp from his mug. "’Sides, I like you."

"Why?"

“Barber. Cute laugh. Helluva haymaker." Another swig. “You'd do better with me than that group of losers."

"I am not joining your crew."

He watches the ale swirl in his mug, tracing the rim with his fingers. His lips purse and he glances everywhere but your face.

You try to wait for him to speak, but music catches your attention before he can reply. A lively tune, one perfect for dancing. It looks like some of the pirates pulled out instruments and are entertaining their fellows.

"Aw, I love this song," you chirp. “Luffy’s right, we gotta get us a musician already.”

A chain of dancers sails past. You wish you could hop in, but you’ve got two left feet in ill-fitting high heels when you’re sober on a good day.

Buggy watches you watch them. “Go cut a rug. I’ll watch your shit.”

You shake your head a little too hard and the universe spins. “No way. Can’t dance worth a damn.”

“I’ll give you a hand.” His left hand detaches with a little flourish. “Or two.” Off goes the other one. “Or all of me, if you want.”

“Then who’s gonna watch my shit?”

He blinks, then sits back. “Whatever. I gotta piss anyways,” he mutters. He tries to stand, only for his feet to slip out from under him. “Can I get a hand?”

“Alright, but I’m not helping you aim.” You’re less sober than he is, but you’re drunk enough to try. Hauling yourself to your feet, you offer your hand. He takes it, pulling himself upwards.

And then you see the smile on his face. In a burst of coordination, he pulls you into the throng of people.

Oooooh no. No. No no no. He whirls you around, making your head spin. You step on someone’s foot. “I. Cannot. Dance.”

“Can’t?” He lifts you up, moves you to the side, and places you down again. “Or won’t?”

“Both!”

“Bullshit. Hand here.” He plants your hand on his shoulder and places his own on your—

You slap the smile off his face. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your point. He accepts it.

“Sorry, thought you were shorter,” he mutters. He puts his hand on your waist. Even through his glove, you can feel his warmth. “Stand on my feet.”

“I’m not a child!” You try to pull away, only to collide with a very large man and get knocked back into Buggy. You’re trapped. No way out but to dance.

You know what? Fine. You stand on his feet — making sure to stamp his toes good — and glower at him. “What’s next?”

The smile returns. “Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

You clutch him as tight as you dare. And thank God you do, because soon you’re spinning like a top.

He guides you over and under, side to side, forward and back. And you don’t trip once. Neither of you do. You don’t even feel nauseous. How is he doing this? Is he magic? Is he just that good?

You glance down. Detached from his ankles, his feet support yours as they scoot around. The rest of him glides through the air, guiding you among the other dancers.

It might as well be magic.

"Light off your feet!" you say.

Buggy's chest thrums with a chuckle. Your stomach jumps into your throat as he drops you into a dip just long enough for him to wink at you. "Ain't I clever?"

He pulls you back up and your stomach slides into your boots. The dance continues.

Whirling, twirling, ducking, weaving, bouncing, bobbing… Is this what a dolphin feels like, swirled around by ocean currents? Or a kite, floating on the breeze? Or a princess swept off her feet by a dashing scoundrel?

Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you ponder what your life has come to. A pirate, dancing on the feet of a clown who tried to kill you and your friends. Who then stole several kisses from you and made your heart flutter and got really drunk with you and now you're a little in lo--

No. Don't say it. If you don't say it, it won't come true. Unless it's the other way around?

It is the other way around. If you say it, you'll jinx it and it won't happen. So you admit it to yourself: you're smitten with this psychotic jackass.

The laughter bubbles forth and it just won't stop. You don't want it to stop. You never want this to stop. This feeling, this dance, this fit of hysterics.

But it must, as all things do. With one final fiddle run, the music stops and everyone applauds. You would join them, but you’re too busy holding onto Buggy for dear life, catching your breath and trying to stop the room from spinning.

“Can’t dance, huh?”

He’s as breathless as you, mouth parted as he takes breaths deep enough to shake his shoulders. Sweat glistens on his face. Glows, even. A few shimmering strands of hair have slipped from his bandanna and stick to his forehead.

What little breath you’ve recovered vanishes from your lungs. Your heart flutters — no, it flaps, like a gull fighting a gust.

You wanna kiss him, but that last shred of self-restraint stops you. “Let’s go again,” you say instead.

His face lights up. “Lemme-- Lemme get rid of this.“

His forearms slip out of his coat and fly to his shoulders, catching his coat as he shrugs out of it. They zip over toward your table. Pretty slick, you admit to yourself.

And then it gets caught on a chair. The arms yank and yank, but it’s snagged good. You giggle.

“C’mon, you piece of…!” He huffs. He pecks your cheek. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He scrambles over to the snag, tripping on every table and chair along the way.

And then you realize he kissed you. Your spine goes rigid.

A tap on your shoulder knocks you out of your stun and you turn. You half-expect it to be one of his hands, but a rather large pirate is there.

“My captain fancies you,” he rumbles. He nods at a smug-looking blond with the worst come-hither face you’ve ever seen. “He would like the pleasure of your company.”

Nnnnno, you think. “Nnnnno,” you say. Buggy has freed his coat and is draining the rest of the bottle you’d abandoned. “Already spoken for.”

The man’s hand engulfs your shoulder and pulls you around. “It wasn’t a request.”

The blond snakes his arm around your trunk, his hand going to your breast. You try to pull away, but the goon’s grip is like iron.

A sharp whistle makes everyone turn. Buggy stands there, arms behind his back. His expression is neutral, but you see his clenched jaw and the bulging tendon in his neck.

“And where are you going with my leading lady?” He’s got the showman voice on. “Our number isn’t over.”

The captain smiles. “I’ll return her once we’ve had our fun,” he says.

He takes a few meandering steps towards them. “Look, gentlemen: we can play this as a tragedy or a comedy. Your choice.”

The goon straightens up. He cracks his knuckles with a chorus of pops. The captain draws a rapier. You’re not sure how well a Chop Chop man handles being stabbed.

Buggy glances between the two of them, nonplussed. “Comedy it is.”

Two disembodied hands slam a bottle over each man’s head. Shards of glass and drops of rum fly everywhere. The pirates’ grips go slack, and you jump away as they hit the floor with dull thuds.

Chaos erupts.

---

⬅⬅⬅ | To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | To the Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x reader #kiss marry kill #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece live action #fan fiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #emberly writes #smash or pass #the curious courtship of buggy the clown

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dancewithdeath11 · 8 months

Text

When Hangman Met Dolly

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, beefing, sexual themes (no sex tho), some angst but not really, happy ending! Why am doing this to myself, trying second person POV this time around, bit proof read-but also not really.

Word Count: 10.5K

(sorry I wanted to get as many plot points as I could)

2010

Jeez… This blows. You huff, kicking at the pavement as you lean against the truck that you were planning on commuting to Pensacola in. It was a good fourteen hour drive from Annapolis where you attended the Naval Academy. And– unfortunately –where your junior-turning-senior roommate met her “future pilot”, Jake Seresin. They encountered each other at a bar and he swept her off her feet a few months ago. Unfortunately, you and Jake just graduated.

Which means that you are well on your way out of there to where you’ve coincidentally both been stationed in Pensacola, Florida. She swears up and down he is the love of her life. But you could tell. He’s cocky and self assured, like most of the men that graduate from the Naval Academy. He is gonna end up calling her within the next week and break her heart, telling her that long distance is too hard or something and that it’ll be for the best.

Glancing up from your beaten shoes you find them eating eachothers faces, her face shining with tears. Murmuring soft promises to each other, an upside down smile on her naive features as he swears to call her all the time. Reaching into the driver's side window, you press the horn for a long moment. Effectively breaking them out of whatever trance, but you add one more for good measure with a smirk. “We’re behind schedule.” You call, making your roommate- well, ex-roommate, whine as she hugs Jake again.

Jake presses more kisses to her lips making you roll your eyes as you climb into the car and make sure to slam the drivers door harder than necessary. It takes a minute but Jake eventually joins you in the car. Your roommates head popping into Jake's window one last time.

“I’m going to miss you so much…” She swoons, raising a manicured hand to wipe away her tears.

“Me too, baby. I’ll call you when we get down there.” He hums and you have to actively try not rolling your eyes. You reach up and shift the truck into drive, slowly starting to roll forward as she frantically spews out her feelings to Jake, endless I love you’s and call me every day’s. He returns them half-assedly…if that’s even a word? Either way he managed to deliver them that way.

Eventually you roll onto the main road, leaving her on the sidewalk. You hummed as you finally reached the high-way, speeding up to merge with the traffic. “So, what’s the plan, sweetheart?” Jake broke the silence first, reaching to fiddle with the old radio.

You eyed him for a brief moment before focusing on the road again. “We will be driving through the night. I’ve set up a plan so that we get equal time’s driving and have also looked up stops along the high-way so that we can shift.” You explained proudly, always taking pride in your way to plan ahead of things. But he only scoffed and rolled his eyes at you. “What?”

“Driving schedules? Looking up stops on the high-way? I mean-”

“It’s a fourteen hour drive, Seresin!” You cut him off with a scoff of your own. Was he really this dense? A single person driving for seven hours is dangerous, so pushing ten or fourteen is just plain stupid.

“That’s a given, honey.” He nods with a laugh.

“Then surely as a fellow member of the Navy you can see the ethics in having a driving plan for such a long drive!” A pout sets on your lips, brows drawn so tightly together in frustration that there’s a distinguishable crease there even if you’re only in your early 20’s.

He throws his hands up in surrender with a nod. Silently giving in, you’re both now basking in a semi-awkward silence. Shit…

Reaching over you flick on the radio. Last thing you were listening to was Dolly Parton. An old cassette you got from your mom to go with your old truck. Taking a deep breath you listen for a moment before reaching up and rolling back the cassette to start from the beginning. After letting it go again, the beat of “9 to 5” filled in the silence of the truck cab. You only lasted a minute before you started singing along under your breath. Hitting every note with ease after listening to this cassette so many times throughout the years. Eventually, a few songs later, Jake opened up his big mouth again.

You could see him shift his whole body to look at you from where he sat. “You sound beautiful. Almost as good as ol’ Dolly herself.” He drawled, and you could practically hear him smirking as he waited for your reaction. Instead of giving him the reaction he wanted, you just hummed before the chorus came on again and you sang along. A chuckle came from him before he shook his head and shifted back to where he was before.

========

Shaking your head, Jake laughs in disbelief. “No way are you going for Victor over Rick! You’re choosing a passionless, sex-less relationship? You’re choosing that over the best sex of your life? Because he owns a bar in Casablanca and that’s all he does?” He pulls into the diner parking lot and puts the truck into park. The two of you stop to look at each other as you think it over for a moment.

“Yeah. Yeah! It’s a matter of sensibility. Victor is the stable choice, and any other woman would say the same.” A smile crept its way onto your lips. Being with Jake was so easy, and he was genuinely a funny guy. Too bad he’s going with your girlfriend right now, you can see the charm she was talking about.

“Oh…I see! I get it now!” He nods, licking his lips as he pushes open his door. Hopping out and slamming it just as I’m getting out as well.

“What? What are you saying?”

“No, just forget about it.” He shrugged as both of you walked up to the small roadside restaurant. It was cute, but clearly busy. You silently hope that you’ll get in smoothly and get back on the road as soon as possible.

Frowning you follow him closely up the steps. “No, I wanna know!” He paused as he was pulling open the door.

“If you’re picking the boring relationship over the best sex of your life. Then that just means that you haven't had good sex.” He shrugged and walked inside, “Two, please.” The waitress nods and directs us to a table.

But you could not believe that he would say something like that so blatantly. “Excuse me, for the record, I have had plenty of good sex.” You scoff out, without thinking. The once bustling diner fell silent for a moment. Their eyes trained on you in confusion causing you to flush with embarrassment. Taking a deep breath you look down, avoiding their gazes as you go take a seat with Jake.

“Okay, then who have you had all this–incredible–sex with?” His brows raise as he puts his hands on the table expectantly.

Your mouth opens to respond without thinking only to shut again. Brows furrowing as you cross your arms and lean back, “I don’t have to tell you, that’s private.” He hums and nods. For some reason that response rubs you wrong. Like he’s telling you straight to your face that he doesn’t believe you. “Barry, Barry Stevenson.” You nod, thinking back to the last romp you had. Was it great, no…But it was still something.

“Barry? No.” Jake stated as he leaned back in his seat. “No, you did not have great sex with a Barry.”

What is with this guy?

“And why not? Who are you to say something like that?”

“It’s all in the name,” He rubs his chin, “Barry is not the name of a guy who is good at sex. Barry can help you with your finances. But he isn’t good at sex. I mean, come on! ‘Give it to me, Barry.’ ‘Ride me, Barry.’” With his brows raised, a smirk comes onto his thin lips. Cocky as ever as he shrugs his shoulders. Head tilted back, a sigh leaves your lips. I still have another eight hours with this guy…You think to yourself. Luckily the moment is saved as a waitress comes over asking for our order. “Yeah, I’ll have a number three, thanks.”

“Uhmm, can I have a cheeseburger? Everything on it. And can you please put the pickles on the side, and no tomatoes. Then I’d like a blackberry pie, heated up with ice cream on the side, not on top. And if you have chocolate can I have that instead of vanilla? Then whipped cream on top, but only if it's real. If it’s from the can, I don’t want it. Please and thank you…” You glanced up at the waitress again, she gave a slightly confused look before nodding and writing it down.

A small chuckle left her as she got ready to leave. “Whatever you say,” She said to me as she pocketed her notepad. Then she spared a look to Jake, “You, mister, got yourself a handful.” She laughed, making him laugh along as she left.

“Okay…” He laughed before turning serious again and looked back at you. “What the heck was that?”

Your brows creased together, “What?”

“The on the side and only ifs or whatever!” He shook his head as he vaguely gestured behind him. Towards where the waitress had disappeared. “You took a solid minute to order a burger and pie.” The blonde tapped at his watch with a disbelieving smile on his face.

Shaking your head a smile forms on your lips. His natural charm and teasing getting to you after having driven for hours with him. Now on your designated break to get dinner. You roll your eyes and start up a different topic. You filled in the good fifteen minutes of waiting for our burgers with talk about places you’ve looked for in Pensacola due to the rumors of the current bunks being horrible and constantly in need of maintenance. Going into detail about your favorite place you’ve found on a new house listing website you stumbled upon. But eventually the food came and you ate it up as quickly as you could. Wanting to get back on the road as soon as possible. Jake just huffed as you encouraged him to eat a little faster than his single fry at a time without even touching his sandwich yet.

You picked up the bill when it came around, and Jake munched on his sandwich. So you took the time to calculate what percent of the tip you owed alongside your meal. Humming in satisfaction as you grabbed the dollars from your purse and laid aside the tip.

“Y’know, you’re actually very attractive.”

“Oh…” You swallow, “Thank you?”

“Stella never told me how attractive you were.”

You what now?

“A-Are you flirting with me right now?” You scoffed as you looked up at him like he was nuts.

“I’m just saying you’re extremely good looking.” He offered a sly smile that had a hidden meaning behind it, you didn’t want to look too far into. Rolling your eyes at him you stood up and collected your things. “Hey- what’d I say!” The man laughed as he quickly pulled out his assumed amount of cash and slapped it on the table before following you out to the truck. Half a sandwich clutched in his hand as he ate it while he walked.

Pausing at the end of the steps you turned and pointed to him, “You’re dating my friend! And now you’re coming on me!” A groan leaves you as you spin back around and go to the truck.

“Listen-” He jogs up to the driver's side of the truck. Going around the back of the truck to avoid him, you end up on the passenger's side. “You can’t deny that you are very attractive-”

You cut him short again, “You’re dating Stella right now! You are in a relationship. Can’t we just be friends?” Pulling open the passenger’s door and tossing your purse in carelessly.

“Friends?” He gets into the driver's seat. You follow suit and get into the truck.

“Yes. Just friends.”

“Nope.”

Another scoff leaves you as he puts the truck into reverse, starting his shift behind the wheel. “What do you mean, nope? Men and women can be friends, y’know? It’s 2010, catch up with the times.” You gesture with your hand in exasperation. Men can be so complicated at times.

“No, they can’t, Darlin’.” Pursing your lips you glare over at him. Leaving you hanging with no further elaboration. And he knows this pisses you off ever so slightly. He learned this early on in the trip. You can’t stand not knowing.

In a monotone, sarcastic way you bite the bait. “Oh please, elaborate…” A deep sigh leaves you as you wait for whatever stupid guy excuse he’s gonna give.

He hums in appreciation as he spares a glance your way. “I mean this in the plainest way possible, and this is not me coming on you in any way, shape or form. But men and women can’t be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.” Jake finished, plain and simple, as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole goddamn world.

“No, no! You’re wrong, I have plenty of male friends.” You state, as if proving him wrong with those words alone. A small smile on your features as you think you’ve gotten him beat.

But he was quick to argue. “Okay. Maybe one or two are okay. But as I said before, you’re attractive. They may be your friend, but they will never be a real friend because they most likely want to have sex with you. The second you let your guard down- let’s see… you have a gnarly break up? After you tell them, do you ever notice how they’re always there?” He lets that linger for a moment. And you let it sink in. No…that can’t be right, right? This jackass can’t possibly be right. “Exactly.”

A thought comes to mind, “So if a guy thinks a girl is unattractive, then they can be friends. Because he doesn’t want to have sex with her then, right?” You counter.

“Nope…pretty much want to nail them too.” Jake nods with his bottom lip jutted out in thought. A frustrated huff escapes your lips. Slouching in your seat as you mull this over. Thinking of all the times you thought a guy who was just your friend seemed a little too chummy.

“So we can’t just be friends?” You ponder to him. This causes a brief silence to ensue as he now takes a moment to think about it.

He shook his head, “Nope. Not really, anyways.”

“That’s too bad,” You exclaim, taking in a deep breath before releasing it in a sigh. “You were gonna be the only person I knew in Pensacola.” Looking over you take in his side profile. He didn’t look half bad, only downside is that massive ego that is bigger than Texas. Makes sense, he’s a strong Texan man anyways. Coming right from the heart of Austin, Texas. A fact he has bragged about so many times when he came over to pick up Stella.

“Yeah…That’s too bad. Because I am a delight to be around.” He smirks as he looks over at you. It was so cocky and on brand of him, you couldn’t help but suppress a grin before turning away to look out of the window. Watching the dark landscape zipping past.

========

“Well, this is it! See you around, and have a nice life if I don’t…” You smiled brightly as you stood on the curb out front of the barracks that Jake is meant to stay in.

It was unfortunate, but you couldn’t help but find it a bit funny that a guy like Jake Seresin is being reduced to the confines of having a bunk buddy. However, you doubt that’ll stop him from bringing a girl back. Jake hummed as he swung his bag over his shoulder. Far less than what you’d brought to fill in your potential home off base. The chance of running into Jake dropping significantly from just living off base in a bungalow rather than having another roommate for who knows how long. You were itching to find the right place and live alone for once. “Yeah…Yeah, I’ll see around Dolly.” He gives a little finger salute before turning on his heels to walk into the bustling barracks.

“Dolly?” You laughed as you covered the sun with your hand, trying to catch another glimpse at the future aviator as he walked further away still.

He turned and continued a slow pace backwards. “Yeah! Cause you sound just like her.” He winked before spinning back around and giving a dramatic wave over his shoulder without looking. As if telling you not to say anything more. That he was going to have the last word.

2013

The task was easy, relatively. Being freshly stationed in Oak Harbor, Washington was nice. It was a good base, and you needed a change of pace anyways. Especially from where you were stationed as a mechanical engineer on a next gen fighter jet. The job itself wasn’t half bad, it was just out of your element.

But here, you were right where you belonged. Working on something familiar…

Only issue…it was like moving schools. You were the new kid. A feeling you always dreaded when coming around to a new base. So as you approach mess, you hope and pray you’ll recognize someone. Either a face from when you were showed around or-

“Hey! Are you that new engineer? For the EA-18G’s?” A woman called. Looking over, you’re met with a stunning woman, still clad in her flight suit. Her hair is a mess and she’s looking at you expectantly.

Blinking a few times you nodded, a smile curling onto her lips making you smile in return. “Yeah! Yeah, that’s me.” You offer her your hand to shake. She quickly wipes off her palm on her pant leg before reciprocating the gesture. Giving a firm handshake before she nods towards the free seat beside her. “Thanks…”

Taking a seat, you pull out your home packed lunch. Having never grown out of living by yourself after getting that first taste of freedom.So you would regularly take advantage of the small kitchen, making lunch in whichever apartment you were renting out for the duration of being stationed wherever you were. “Lieutenant Natasha Trace, but my callsign is Phoenix.” The woman offered. So you smiled and gave her your name in return. But just as you finished you spotted a tall blonde you were not expecting to see. He looked away in such a suspicious way that he must’ve been looking at you before you spotted him. Natasha must’ve noticed the way your face filled with disbelief as she quickly glanced over her shoulder. Coming back to meet your gaze as she rose a brow in confusion. “What? Recognize someone?”

“You can’t be serious…” You muttered under your breath as Jake glanced your way, meeting your gaze. You quickly look back at Natasha. “Yeah, yeah. Something like that.” You squeak as you try to hide your face. Resting your thumb to your temple and leaning your elbow on the table. Your fingers shadowing your face from the bright lights. Doing relatively nothing to hide you since Jake had already locked on.

Even if he’s fast in a jet, he is slow to recognize a face. On his end he was taking a minute. When he glanced back your way to get a second look and met your surprised gaze it clicked for him. A smirk creeped onto his thin lips as he turned to put down his things next to his friend Coyote.

“Who is it?” She asked, genuine curiosity filling her face.

Taking a deep breath, you leaned in closer, “Okay, so after graduating from the academy three or so years ago, I had to get my truck down to Pensacola. My roommate's boyfriend was also being stationed there, so my roommate begged me to give him a ride down. Worst fourteen hours of my life.” You groaned at the memory.

“That’s horrible, why would your roommate do that to you?” Natasha chuckled and you shrugged in exasperation.

“Yeah, and then he tried to flirt with me, but of course, he was still with my friend. So I told him off about it and offered that we can be friends instead. Because he was still a great guy: funny, charismatic, all that stuff. But he said that we can’t. So I asked him why. He said that men and women can’t be friends because the sex part always gets in the way. Or something like that…? Either way, I’ve never had a good male friend ever since.” You finish your hushed rant, looking up to try and find him but not finding him there. Great, you think, maybe he left? Just about to spill more about the man to your new friend, hoping that he won’t come over.

But the dream of him not coming over was crushed as he approached with purpose. Like he knew exactly what he was walking into. Like he knew it was him that was being talked about, and took it as an ego boost. “Dolly–I’ll be damned–it is you.” He hummed as he clicked his tongue, his hands falling on his slim hips.

He’d definitely gotten broader over the years. His face is still stupidly perfect, other than the fine smile lines coming in. Why does such a handsome man have to have such a cocky, egotistical, arrogant, jackass attached to it?

“Jake. Still alive?” You rebutted with a slight glare.

He just laughed it off and crossed his arms over his chest, “Alive and better than ever.”

All while you and Jake were staring each other down, Natasha was watching this all unfold. “Hangman? This is who you got stuck with for fourteen hours? I’m so sorry.” The brunette said, ignoring the blonde standing there like it was her job. It was clear to you that she and Jake most likely know each other pretty well. Have probably flown together on a few dozen hops together depending on how long they’ve been stationed here together. “Also, why did you call her Dolly? That isn’t her name.” Natasha finally directed her attention to Jake. It was a form of confusion for her, but it also doubled as her defending you. Which was sweet since you literally just met her.

“Because she sings a lot of Dolly Parton, sounds just like her in my opinion. She probably played that Dolly Parton cassette twice over during our little road trip.” The pilot smirked as he took a seat from another table and placed it almost between you and Natasha. “Figured the nickname suited her.” He nodded as you rolled your eyes, cheeks flushing at the memory of playing the whole cassette more than once.

The blonde looks at you, but it isn’t in an expectant kind of way. It was like he was studying you. Trying to get a read on how much his comment affected you. But that wasn’t actually what he was doing. Jake was just taking you in. Seeing that you still had that line between your brows when you looked at him like he was crazy. That you still had worry lines on your forehead from being an overachieving worker, much like himself. He looked away from your face and towards the table where a nicely laid out home-packed meal was. Still the same, Jake thought to himself. Taking in how you separated certain things from your sandwich and had your little snacks bagged to keep them from getting condensation on them from your cold drink you probably put in the freezer last night to keep it cooler throughout the day.

“But how’ve you been Dolly?” Jake asked, sincerely and with interest.

You were slightly caught off guard with his sudden interest in how you were doing. “I’m good…Just got transferred here this past weekend.” A small smile creeping onto your lips as you fiddle with the hem of your pants. “How about you, Hangman?” You return the question with a small smirk, using his newly discovered callsign.

“Good…I’ve been good.” He hums before tapping his hand on the table, “Uhmm, how’s, uhhh…” The man hesitated. Clearly trying to remember someone. It clicked, making you almost laugh in his face.

“Stella?”

“Yeah! Stella Rogers.”

“Roberts.”

“Right, that’s what I said. How has she been?” Jake asked with a raised brow.

You gazed right back at him, an unimpressed look settling on your features. Lifting your shoulders in a shrug, truthfully responding to him, “I wouldn’t know, I haven’t talked to her in a few years.”

Jake hummed again as he nodded. A common response for him. “You guys used to be really tight, what happened there?”

Another shrug from you. “Stuff happens. We just drifted apart.”

Poor Phoenix had to sit through the tension after your words. Neither of you know what to say next. Sparing a glance to the woman just past Jake, you try to communicate that you don’t know what to say. That you were a little lost and needed an out. She took in a deep breath and nodded, getting up with a screech of her chair. “C’mon, I’ll show you what was wrong with my jet.” She said, matter of factly.

Quickly you pack up your lunch that remained untouched from when you unpacked it only ten minutes before, “Yeah! I’m sure I can get it fixed in no time.” You smile and get up, turning to Jake with a smile. “See you around, I guess.”

“That’s gonna be a hard one.” Your brows furrowed in confusion at his muttered words.

Pausing as you tilt your head, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, I’m getting transferred out this weekend.”

“Oh…” That’s only three days from now. This was a mere chance meeting. How ironic is that?

“Maybe we could go out to dinner tonight? As friends.” He added quickly at the end. As if he recalled his whole men and women can’t be friends thing from three years ago. But you just shook your head.

“No, uhm, I’m going out with my boyfriend, Ross, tonight…” You admit, and he hums with a smile. Muttering a small good for you. “Well, if I don’t see you around base…have a nice life.”

“Yeah…You too, Dolly.”

2016

“Alright, and this is the head mechanic for the Dagger Squad. Callsign, Dolly. She’s the best, and I asked for her personally with what limited power I have over this mission.” You heard the familiar voice call. Smirking as you turned around and were faced with more than one familiar face. Sighing out as you lock eyes with a particular set of green eyes.

“Dolly!” Phoenix called out with a smile, “You didn’t tell me you were Stateside!” The woman laughed as she jogged over to you. The rest of the squad follow suit in order to properly meet you.

With a bashful grin you hugged her when she made it over, the both of you managing to keep in contact after being stationed in Washington. “It’s good to see you too, Phe…” You hummed as the two of you swayed a little. Pulling back you moved onto the other familiar faces. “Rooster, good to see you again.” You pat the man's arm as you pass him up to go and hug Bob. One of your closest male friends that you’ve managed to keep in touch with. He’s always been respectful, but not straight out avoidant. “Bobby!”

“Hi!” He chuckles as he takes you into his arms. Funny enough, you were just stationed in Lemoore with him, before you were transferred here. Only a few days before him, actually. He presses a soft peck to your hair as you squeeze his waist. “We only saw each other a few days ago, y’know?” He says matter-of-factly.

Shaking your head again, you just chuckle. “Well, I thought I’d never see you again. Except for Christmas, because you promised. Actually, your mother promised.” You hummed as you patted his arm as you pulled away. It was quite a funny story that was kept between the two of you. Pulling away, you nod to Maverick with a smile. Having already had your bout of excitement with seeing him again when you first arrived in San Diego.

You exchange some pleasantries with the other Dagger pilots before you’re met with Jake. Gazing up at him with a sigh as you approach him. “So, you’re still alive, Hangman?” You remember saying something along those lines last time you encountered him.

Clearly, he remembers too. A small chuckle leaving him as he takes you in once again. Just like he did last time. To Jake, you looked better than ever. The same…but somehow better. Almost as if you haven’t aged a day since he last saw you. Only thing that’s really changed is your hair. But it’s hard to tell, your hair being in some kind of up-do you most likely did out of frustration of it being in your way while working. Your cheek has a smear of some kind of fluid, probably grease, that he also took note of on the back of your hand. He smirks, “Yeah, alive and better than ever, Dolly.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I see the callsign stuck.”

You chuckled lightly, nodding to him as you put your hands on your hips. “Yeah…I made the mistake of going to Karaoke night.”

He nods, about to open his mouth to talk about something else when the squad was being called to the next area. “Say, let’s catch a drink at the Hard Deck. You can bring your boyfriend, uhm, R-Ray…?” Jake stumbled over the name, causing me to chuckle lightly.

“Ross?”

“Right, that’s what I said. I just want to catch up…promise.” He offered again. Walking backwards to try and stay with his group. Coyote laughing at his friend.

“Ross and I broke up a bit ago…But, sure. Drinks would be nice. My shift ends at eighteen hundred.” You said as you watched him continue to shuffle along slower than his group.

“Great! Great, meet me there at twenty-one-hundred?” You nod to his words and he smirks. Waving to you before he takes off in a light jog to catch up with his group.

========

“So basically, we broke up because we wanted two completely different things.” You frown into your drink, shaking your head as you recall your last conversation with your ex only a month ago. “We always used to say that we were so lucky we never moved as fast as our friends. Our friends that got married in a year, or our newer friends who had seven year olds. Because, you know what they say about kids…that it totally kills your sex life. At least, that's what all of my friends with kids tell me- well, my one friend. My friend Lucy…She said it so casually like it was such a widely known thing.” You sighed and shook your head.

“Yeah, I think I can see that…” Jake said, making me nod along with his words.

“But the main thing was that we always said to each other that we were so lucky. So lucky that we didn’t have kids to tie us down. To stop us from flying t-to Greece for a week on a whim, or having sex on the kitchen floor!” A soft laugh leaves the both of you, taking a long drink from your drink before you speak again. “The problem was that we never did that. No spontaneous trips…no kitchen sex. And when we talked it out and we established that we wanted different things, and called it off. A-and I’m not even sad about it. Four years of my life, gone, and I’m totally fine.” You nodded almost too much, as if trying to convince yourself that you were over your ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, you seem totally healthy right now.” Jake nods with a small smile on his face. The Hard Deck is bustling with life. Not as many khakis tonight as you’d expect for a Navy bar. But I knew that there were maybe one or two members of the Dagger squad here, besides Jake. Then some random Top Gun students, navy staff, and what you can only assume as usual locals.

For some reason it hit you all at once that Jake has been the one asking questions all night. That he didn’t seem to mind listening to you rant about your ex-boyfriend. He was listening, like a good friend and never prompted himself. “God- Jake, I’m so sorry. I haven’t been asking you any questions! How’s the love life on your end?” You asked quickly, setting your drink down and situating yourself to be more alert. To make it look like you were actively listening to him.

The pilot puffed his cheeks out and shook his head a little. “Man, I was in a relationship too until recently. She was apparently, uhm, cheating on me. Said she doesn’t think she ever loved me…It- It was rough.” He said with an awkward cough. As if trying to cover up the fact that he was in a relationship like that. One sided that ended in betrayal.

“God- Jake, so sorry to hear about that. That must’ve been rough…” Reaching out, you place your hand over his in a comforting kind of way. Offering a soft smile when he looks up to meet my gaze. “If you ever need to talk, I’m willing to listen.”

His eyes narrowed at me, “Are we becoming friends right now?” Jake asked in a hesitant voice.

That made you think for a moment. Recalling his words from before. But it was also sweet. He seemed genuine while asking. And you could feel it too. “Yeah, I think we are..”

========

“What do you mean you’re just friends with Dolly?” Rooster inquired while he sat with Jake. The two of them have decided to go to the batting cages for the day for fun.

It’d been a rough few weeks and now they were being offered a permanent position at Top Gun. After Jake saved Mav and Rooster the day of the Uranium Mission, the two pilots decided to let by-gones be by-gones and became friends. Both of them found out they played a little baseball in high school and decided to hit up the cages on a free weekend.

Eventually, Dolly became a topic for the pair of aviators. “Yeah? What’s wrong with that? It’s…nice.” Jake shrugged while taking a sip of beer as they took a break from batting in the San Diego heat.

“It’s nice? Are you shitting me!” Rooster scoffed a laugh, “You’ve got such a babe hanging off your arm on the daily at work. And you’re just shooting the shit? Having movie-takeout-nights at each other's places, and you’re not together or hooking up?” The mustached man took off his sunglasses as if to accentuate a point. But Jake just nodded along.

Jake really saw nothing wrong with it. He knew what he said almost six years ago to Dolly. It became a laughing point now for the two of them. But other than that he saw not a single thing wrong with their relationship. “I’m not shitting you, this is probably the first female friend I’ve had in my whole life that I don’t want to have sex with. I feel like I’m growing as a person. I can talk to her about things and get another opinion on them that I normally wouldn’t hear.” Jake smirks to his friend. But he only gets a brow raise in response. As if it wasn’t as great a feat as he made it out to be. “Oh! Come off of it Rooster! Name one female friend you’ve had that you didn’t want to nail at some point!” The blonde barked out a laugh.

Rooster tried to sputter out a response, slightly embarrassed by Jake’s brashness in such a public setting. However, it occurred to Rooster that he always had that thought. Fleeting at best before finding out they were in a relationship or weren’t interested in him. At that, Rooster pouted and slouched in his seat.

“Exactly.”

July, 2017

Jake was lounging on the couch, watching a random program on his TV when he got the call. He let his phone ring for a moment on the coffee table before he caught the name on his screen. A small smile turned up his lips when he picked it up. “Hey Dolly, why are you calling so late?”

“I’m so-sorry for calling so late. C-Can you come over? Please?” Your voice came out hiccupped and weak. Clearly upset by something and in desperate need of comfort. It made Jake immediately more alert, but he played it off.

“Yeah, I can come over.” He was already slipping on his shoes and grabbing his keys.

“Tha-thanks-”

A quick drive later and Jake was knocking on your door. Impatiently staring at the wood as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Some shuffling was heard on the other side of the door before it opened to reveal your blotchy face and tearful eyes. “Hey Dolly…” He muttered softly as he let himself inside. Closing the door softly as he looks down on you with a small smile. “What is it?” Jake asked as he placed a hand on your lower back and guided you to your kitchen. It was a simple move but it made you feel so much better. Distracting you until you remembered why you called Jake over.

“He’s getting married- can you believe that!” You laughed wetly. A sob breaking past your wobbly lips as more tears spilled down your cheeks. “I need tissues…” Jake was currently moving around your kitchen collecting the makings for tea. In particular chamomile and ginger tea. Something you’d always have when you’re sick.

Jake's brows furrowed in confusion. He grabbed a random box of tissues from the counter and set them in front of you. “Who’s getting married?”

You had the audacity to scoff as him, “Ross!”

That was a name Jake hadn’t heard in a minute. But after you raised your brows at him expectantly, awaiting his reaction, that’s when he remembered. “Oh-” That was good enough for you to talk again.

“Can you believe that! H-He just called and said that he was getting married! To some secretary he met three months ago!” You blubbered, Jake quickly moving to comfort you. Setting down whatever he’d collected to take you into his strong arms. “He didn’t not want to get married- the truth was that he just didn’t want to marry me.. He didn’t love me.”

“If you could take him back right now, would you?”

You shook your head as you took a tissue and wiped your face again. Frowning deeply as you stared blankly at the table. “No…it’s just-” Another hiccup, “Why didn't he want to marry me?” You replied shortly as you got up and walked towards your room. Your fluffy baby pink robe swaying along with you as you rushed to your sanctuary. Jake was quick to trail after you. Watching with a small smile as you threw yourself onto your bed dramatically. Curling up with all of your fluffy blankets and cushy pillows. “What’s wrong with me?” Jake crawled onto the bed and laid down facing you. Gently brush some hair from your forehead.

“Nothing.” Jake murmured.

“I’m difficult.”

“You’re challenging.” He countered affectionately.

“I’m too structured and I’m completely closed off.”

“In a good way.”

You sat up in a huff. He followed with a soft touch before you turned to him with a pout. “Can you hold me? Pl-please…?”

Without another word he pulls you into a soft hug that has you hiding your face in his neck. He smelled like peppermint and cinnamon. A smell you’d come to love and find comfort in while hanging out with Jake over the past year. Talking about everything and nothing on those quiet nights where you had nothing better to do. Or the nights when the Hard Deck was so crowded it forced you two closer together than friends would normally stand. On those nights his hand would find your waist to keep you from falling if a sailor vying to the bar accidentally knocked into you.

He tried to pull back but you didn’t want him to leave just yet. You wanted to be with him a little longer. For him to pull you against him tighter. So, when he pulled back enough for you to see his face, you whined pitifully. Hands going to his shoulders to keep him from going too far. “Just a little longer?” You whispered hopefully.

He hummed and pressed a soft peck to your lips before pulling you into his chest again. The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes before he pulled back again. “You feelin’ better?” Jake asked softly. You only murmured some response that you weren’t even really paying attention to as you kept stealing glances at his lips. Blinking rapidly as you realized what you were doing and looking back up to his soft green eyes. Only for him to look right back at you. No doubt as if to say that he saw you looking at him like that.

That’s when he pressed another soft kiss to your lips.

It was longer, not as fleeting as the one before that could’ve been passed off as friendly. This one had something behind it. Whether that was built up sexual tension or love was debatable for both parties. One kiss turned into two…then four, then…

========

“Mmmm…” You shifted in the bed, rolling over with a smile as you slowly woke up. Only to be startled out of that blissful morning state with the clank of a buckle and the rustling of clothes. Sitting up with your white sheets clutched to your chest you found Jake getting dressed. “Where are you going?”

Jake looked up from where he was putting on his jacket. “I gotta go home, get changed, then go to work. And you have to get up and also go to work soon.” He grunted out as he slipped on his shoes. You pouted over so slightly as your brows drew up in a silent mix of frustration and confusion. Why did this piss you off? Why are you feeling pissed off? It’s a reasonable excuse to leave- “Let's go out to dinner tonight, seven work for you?”

Looking up you are met with Jake standing right next to the bed. Looking down on you expectantly. “Y-Yeah…Seven works.”

“Great..” He muttered as he leaned down and pressed a quick peck to your hair before turning to leave again. “I’ll text you the details later today.” And with that he was gone. The two of you were quick to call up one of the dagger squad members. Conveniently enough, those members happened to like their gym mornings. So what Hangman and Dolly did last night became the topic of the gym between Phoenix, Rooster, Bob, and Coyote.

=========

Your anxiety was through the roof as you tried to debate on what to do. Honestly, you didn’t know how you felt about Jake. He was nice and funny, and the last person I wanted to talk to at the end of the day. But you guys were friends. You couldn’t let one night ruin your friendship…

So you decided you would say it first. All while you were getting ready for dinner that night after work you kept rehearsing the words in your head. It was somehow worse that you didn’t see anyone throughout the day either. Being stuck in an office where you barely got any work done as all you could do was think about Jake.

When you were safely at home and getting ready you kept saying the words to yourself. The words that you would say to Jake.

It was a mistake.

As soon as the waitress left you practically blurted, “It was a mistake.”

An uneasy smile on your red lips as you wring your hands in your lap anxiously. Hoping and praying that he would just let it lie. He nodded, “Thank god- Yeah, it was a mistake.” He chuckled wearily and took a sip of his wine.

“Yeah, a complete mistake.” Just as you finished, you took another sip of wine. Soon enough silence fell over the table. People chattering besides and around you. However, the silence that fell over your table was almost uncomfortable. A feeling you haven’t felt for a while with Jake. The two of you are saved by the delivery of your appetizers salads. Quietly you eat, eventually catching eachothers eyes in small fleeting moments.

“That’s what I like about us. It’s just so nice to have a meal and not talk.” Jake suddenly said before stuffing more salad in his face.

========

August, 2017

It was a beautiful ceremony and now an astonishing reception for Penny and Mavericks' wedding. Right now Penny and Mav were having their first dance. It was slow and to some older song they used to jam to when they were in their younger years.

The ceremony took place on the beach out back of the Hard Deck, simple but so on brand. Then they moved half inside, half outside for the reception after. Everyone helped out when asked to help decorate the Navy bar for the reception.

You were so happy for them.

But you also couldn’t help but feel down in the dumps. Having felt so lonely lately. Actively avoiding Jake aside from work encounters that wouldn’t exactly count. After…that night you only hung out alone one other time and it killed you so much that you decided to either make an excuse to get out of the next ones or invite someone along. Apparently Jake had the same idea. Only having us together on group outings and sticking with Rooster or Coyote most of the time. All while you sidled up with Phoenix and Bob just the same.

So imagine your surprise when Jake comes around.

“Beautiful ceremony.” He said with a small smile. You only hum in response, making his smile fall as he steps in front of me. Not giving me the option to look away without being outright mean. Something you didn’t like doing. Something Jake knew and was now taking advantage of. So you met his piercing green eyes with a heated glare. “What’s up with you, I thought we agreed it was a mistake. You’re still acting like I kicked your puppy or something.” Jake asked with a little too much amusement than you would’ve appreciated.

You scoffed and turned away from him. Not wanting to get into it in the middle of the reception. Turning back to look at him only to find him just where you left him. So you waved him along before spinning on your heels and weaving through the crowd towards the parking lot. Pushing your way outside, you ended up pacing for a moment before Jake came outside. “What are you insinuating, Jake?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m saying that you’re avoiding me. What happened, we agreed it was a mistake, I don’t see why you’re dragging this out.” Jake shrugged.

“What- It just happened!”

“Three weeks ago!” A low groan emanated from you as you tried to keep back your frustration with the subject. “You know how one year to humans is like seven years to a dog?” He asked, his hand coming up to his face. Forefinger and thumb rubbing along his chin in thought.

Your brows pinched together at his words. “And who’s the dog in this situation?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You need me to paint a picture for you?” He threw back cockily.

“Me? I’m- I’m the dog!”

“Yes! Why can’t you just get over it!”

Hot tears welled up in your eyes as you snapped right back at him, “You wanna act like what happened didn’t mean anything!”

“I’m not saying it didn’t mean anything. I’m saying, why does it have to mean everything?”

“Because it does.” The build up of tears fell over. Streaking down your flushed cheeks as you stared up at him in disbelief.

“What-” He puffed a soft laugh, “What was I supposed to do? You were looking up at me with those sad puppy eyes, asking me to hold you a little longer-”

“What! So it’s my fault, you had sex with me, because- what? You felt sorry for me!” You raised your voice at him. Flushed with anger as you put together what he was saying.

“Dolly-”

Without thinking you slapped him. “Fuck you!” You stormed back inside to go say goodbye to the new couple and take your leave. What is up with him? You thought it was more than that. That what happened would mean more. But apparently to him, it was just a pity fuck. Wiping your tears as you walked you made your way over to your things. Grabbing your phone out of your purse, using the camera to fix yourself before you slung your bag over your shoulder. Ready to go say goodbye to Penny and Mav.

“Dolly, please-” Jake appeared by your side again.

“Hangman-”

“-And we’d like to thank Hangman for saving Rooster and I merely a year ago. Then of course our head engineer, Dolly. A vital part of our team from the ground. Both of which have been such a help over the past six months with the wedding. Going above and beyond to calm both Penny and I down whenever we got stressed over the wedding. Of course, so have the rest of the Dagger squad. But damn it. Hangman and Dolly as a team- downright unstoppable. So thanks to the both of you as well.” The two of you paused as heads turned your way. Smiles being flashed your way as you and Jake stood dumbfounded at the sudden thank you from Maverick.

Sucking it up, you plant a smile on your face. Nodding and waving shyly before you glance up at Jake. Seeing him already doing the same.

Shit…

========

October, 2017

“-on the line. Call me, call me any, anytime! Call me, I’ll arrive. When you’re ready we can share-”

He’d been singing over the answering machine for a solid minute or so while you got ready. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence now. He’s been ringing your phone off the line after he’d found out you silenced his calls and muted his messages. You couldn’t bring yourself to block his number, on your cell nor the landline. Just in case he really needed to get a hold of you. But right now it’s looking a lot like this. So you caved. “Jake.”

There's a small fumbling on the other line. “Dolly?”

With a deep sigh you ran your fingers through your hair, leaning back against the counter as you held the phone to your ear. “What do you want, Hangman?” You used his callsign. Showing that you really weren’t in the mood. A habit you had before, and one you can’t seem to shake.

“N-Nothing… Just,” He cleared his throat nervously. “Sorry I wasn’t expecting you to pick up…Just- H-How’ve you been?” The pilot managed to get out after a moment of stuttering. Something that is foreign to Jake. And something that’s foreign to you as well, he never seemed to stutter.

“I’ve been okay.”

“Good…that’s good. Umm- so I was thinking that we could maybe go out to dinner…?” He asked with a slight waver in his voice.

You missed him, but you still felt hurt. “Not tonight, I’m just about to head out.”

“Oh- where are you going?”

Shaking your head you sighed at him. “I’m late. Goodnight, Hangman.” You said blandly before hanging up on him. Quickly leaving your apartment to go meet up with Phoenix and Bob.

=========

Hangman was currently taking his time. Taking too long to get ready for the Navy Ball he didn’t even want to attend right now. By the time he would get there it would only be an hour before they started to kick everyone out.

He kept thinking about you.

What went wrong? Why did he say what he said? He cared about you. He cared about you so much it hurt. It hurt that night when he slept with you because right after he felt like he betrayed your trust. He didn’t know if you wanted it right then because you were just hurt by the news of Ross’ wedding. It almost hurt more when he was already halfway out the door when you asked where he was going the morning after. You sounded so heartbroken over him leaving that he wanted to crawl right back into bed with you.

He hurried up his motions to get ready. Knowing that you were at the ball was his only solace as he jammed his socked feet into his dress shoes.

You on the other hand were drained. Your dress felt too tight, the music wasn’t helping your headache. The man droning on in front of you doing nothing to help the headache. You honestly weren’t paying attention to him. Did that make you feel bad, yes. But you were too tired to care.

Suddenly he was laughing and you took a moment to process this before you joined him. Throwing your head back in one of your more believable fake laughs.

You quickly tried to think of an excuse to get away from this guy. Your eyes locked onto a Dagger squad member and you did your best to look surprised. “Sorry, I haven’t seen this person in forever! I’ll see ya later.” You rushed, brushing past the man with a roll of your eyes as you walked over to Fanboy. “Save me.” You whispered quickly.

“What?”

And that was how you ended up dancing with Fanboy for a while before you both retreated to the bar to complain about the choice of music that was blasting through the hall. “Y’know what, I might ditch. I’m so tired…” You drew out as you gave Fanboy a look that told him that you weren’t kidding.

Apparently Penny was on the other side of you. “Oh, c’mon. Have another dance or two. I know Mav has been wanting to dance with you.” She piped up, making you feel bad. Looking back at her you offer an apologetic smile.

“I don’t know, Pen…”

“Just wait, five more minutes. I’m sure he’ll be back around.” She pleaded softly, making your brows furrow as you really contemplated if you should or not. You’re head pounded, completely overwhelmed by the music and people around. If another admiral's wife asked where your husband was you’d lose your shit. Regretfully, you nod. Turning back to Fanboy to pass the time since the two of you were in a discussion about the Star Wars trilogies.

Maverick did come around eventually, his smile brightening ten fold as he saw you. He passed by and greeted Penny with a peck. Tracking the man expectantly, you watched as Penny leaned in to whisper to him quickly. Without a doubt about how you were about to leave.

“Dolly, c’mon. One last dance then I’ll give you a one way ticket out of here. What do you think?” Maverick said as he approached me. Offering me his arm with his ever so friendly grin. Giving the warm feeling a father would as you smiled back. A genuine smile for the first time all night. You let him sweep you into the crowd. A slower song playing allows you and Mav to just sway and talk softly to each other. “Are you okay, Kiddo? You seem down…” He asked.

You sighed and shook your head slowly. “I-I don’t know…” You mumbled before you rested your cheek on his shoulder.

He was silent for another beat before talking again, “Is it because something happened between you and Hangman?” You were quick to pull back and blink up at him in shock. He quietly laughed at my reaction. “There was some hot gossip a few months ago. After that…the two of you seemed distant. Then you seemed to not talk to each other at all after the wedding. Some people said you had a fight.”

Tears filled your eyes before you confirmed with a slow nod. “Yeah…Yeah- we fought.”

A small smile came onto his aged features before he pecked your forehead. “Do you miss him?” Another nod, “Then why didn’t you two try to talk it out?”

“That’s what we did at the wedding…That’s why we stopped talking.” You wiped away your tears as you smiled still. “I don’t know what to do Mav…” Your voice wavered, full of emotion as you looked to the older man for some guidance. Just like you always have since you first met him all those years ago.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Your head whips over to the ever haunting voice. Seeing Jake with red cheeks and his hair windswept. Suddenly Maverick lets you go. “Be my guest.”

“Mav-”

“Dolly.” He responded, it was firm but also playful. A smirk on his lips as he looks to you before sending a slight glare to Hangman before he walks away.

“Dolly…” Looking back up you watch as Hangman stands there. His hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, he was aching to touch you. “C-Can I have this dance with you?” He offered a trembling hand. You looked at how it shook before you looked back up to see Jake pleading silently with his eyes. “Please?”

Wordlessly, you took his hand. Stepping closer, but also keeping a fair distance as you placed your other hand on his shoulder. He cradled your hand in his, his other finding your waist. “Took so long, I thought you wouldn’t show.” You deadpanned as you danced to another slow song. Staring over his shoulder as you refused to meet his gaze. This song was somehow slower than the last.

“I was doing some thinking, and the thing is I love you.” He said all in one breath.

Now that got you to look at him. He didn’t stutter, he wasn’t nervous or lying.

“What?” You gaped in shock.

“I love you.” Jake whispered. To you but almost to himself as well.

Taking in a shaky breath as you licked your lips. Feeling your mouth go dry as you struggle to find the words. “How do you expect me to respond to this?”

“How about you love me too?” He gazed down at you in the most lovesick way you’d ever seen. Never have you seen this with any of his past girlfriends he’s had over the past year or so…

Your heart rate picks up and you exhale sharply. Feeling an urge to run and try and process this all in the comfort of your plush bed. “How about I’m leaving.” You pull away from him and brush past him towards the exit. Brushing past people with small excuse me’s and sorry’s.

“Doesn’t what I just said mean anything to you?” Jake was trailing after you as close as he could without stepping on your dress. You whipped around in the crowded floor to face him.

“I’m sorry, Jake. I know you’re lonely, I’ve been just as lonely. But after everything that happened you can’t just show up here, say sorry, and expect everything to be okay. It doesn’t work that way.” You said in a raised voice. It was part out of desperation to get away, and because of the still bustling party going on around the two of you.

“How does it work then?”

“I don’t know, but not like this.” You shook your head at him. Turning to leave again but he grabbed your wrist gently to prevent you from turning away.

“How about like this? I love that you get cold when it's seventy one degrees out, I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich, I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts, I love that after I spend a day with you I can still smell your perfume on my clothes and I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” He finished with a huff. Shaking his head as he offered a small smile. Waiting patiently for you as you stared at him like he was nuts, that signature little furrow in your brow making that crinkle appear.

Tears welled in your eyes as you scoffed a laugh, “God- That is just like you Hangman. You say things like that and you make it impossible for me to hate you…I hate you. I really hate you.” You let out a small sob as you reached up and wiped your tears again. He smiled slightly before taking your face softly in his large hands.

You smiled as you grasped his wrists to keep him right where he was. “Love you too…” He whispered before pressing his lips to yours. It was a slow but sensual kiss. Filled with nothing but love. It felt like fireworks on New Years Eve. Your chest felt warm and fuzzy as your stomach flipped. Jake had similar feelings. To the both of you, everything was finally right in the world…

Kissing in a crowded room, but the two of you didn’t know any better.

Note: Sorry I’m so late with this, I literally drove six hrs home from college that weekend on a whim so I got loaded with homework early in the week. But here it is now. Plz have mercy on me, this is only a random thing I’ve been wanting to do. I didn’t stick to the plot of When Harry Met Sally too much, but it’s also blindingly obvious. First plotted story that isn’t just smut lol…

Apologies if it's ass

#hangman x you #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #tgm fanfiction #fanfic #literallywhydididothistomyself?

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nastybuckybarnes · 1 year

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Hold My Beer

Pairing: Brief Rumlow X Reader, Biker!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Your old best friend is tired of seeing you in the arms of another. Especially one who doesn’t treat you right. So he’s gonna do something about that.

Warnings: Language, violence (minor), infidelity, breaking up, allusions to smut, biker!bucky,

Word Count: 1.1k

A/n: 100% inspired by the Aaron Pritchett song lol. This is kinda short but it’s something I wanna just kinda toss into the void lol. I do think I’ll be writing more for this particular AU!Bucky in the future, I’m just waiting for some inspiration to strike.

Kinda short so no tags lol my bad. Love you all so much❤️❤️❤️

~*~

Steel blue eyes are zeroed in on a couple by the bar.

His focus is on the man.

More specifically, the way he’s practically ignoring the beautiful woman by his side.

“You good, Buck?” Steve asks from beside him, nudging his friend lightly with his elbow.

The brunet hums, his brows drawing together as he watches the man at the bar ogle different woman, while his girl sits with a frown on her pretty face.

“Yeah, m’fine. I just... gimme one second,” he murmurs, pushing to his feet and walking away from his booth, beer still held tightly in his grasp.

The blond watches his friend as he approaches the couple at the bar, beyond confused.

This particular couple has been in the brunet’s bar a couple times, the man causing trouble more often than not, and it’s no secret that he’s less than faithful to his woman.

To you.

You sit beside your boyfriend, brows pulled together as you watch him eye a woman across the bar.

It hurts your pride to have him do this in front of you, but he’s already had a few drinks and you know better than to try and argue with him when he’s been drinking.

“Hey, could you hold my beer for a sec, buddy?” A voice asks.

You blink yourself out of your thoughts and look up at the man standing before yourself and Brock, brows rising to your hairline.

None other than Bucky Barnes stands before you.

Solid six feet and five inches of thick muscle towers over your boyfriend, and you can’t help the grin that threatens to pull at your lips.

Brock’s always hated Bucky, and you can’t really blame him.

Your bestfriend-turned stranger is attractive enough to get a nun to sin, and he’s never been shy when it comes to flirting with you. Especially after seeing you cry over the piece of shit sitting next to you.

Bucky’s hatred for Brock Rumlow isn’t hidden at all, and he doesn’t care who knows. You’re too good a woman to be treated the way he treats you, and Bucky’s determined to make you realize that.

He's got a tame beard covering the lower half of his face and his eyes are the warmest icy blue you’ve ever seen, mischief glowing in them. Light freckles dust across his cheeks like stars in the night sky, and his lips are pink and plump.

You follow his gaze to your boyfriend, and Brock looks just as confused as you feel.

“I uh... why? What do you want?” He asks while slowly reaching out to hold Bucky’s beer.

“’Cause your woman needs a kiss, and a boy like you ain’t gonna satisfy her.” With that, Bucky leans in and presses his lips against yours.

He’s kissed you many times before, and you’ve always brushed it off as him being a touchy friend, though you know it’s more than that.

And this is proof.

Because this isn’t a kiss you give your friend.

You sit still for a long moment, shock freezing you before you peck Bucky back and tug away, terrified at what Brock’s reaction’s going to be and warm inside at the intense feeling of Bucky’s lips on yours.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?!” Brock shouts, moving to hop off the barstool only to be held in place by one of Bucky’s thick tattooed arms.

He shoves the smaller man back in his seat and levels him with a glare.

“You’d better not drop my fuckin’ beer,” he whispers dangerously, his true biker roots coming out on display.

Brock grinds his teeth together and turns his steely glare on you.

“You see? You ask why I hate when you would see him! It's cause I know you’re a slut who can’t control herself.”

His words bite a little, but they don’t hurt nearly as much as Bucky’s fist connecting with his face.

The bar goes quiet as Brock grabs at his nose, glaring at the biker.

“See, you’ve made a few mistakes here tonight. The first was showing your face. The second, was not paying enough attention to your girl. The third, was disrespecting your girl when she deserves the world. And the fourth...” Bucky leans down, his eyes hard and full of hatred, “you spilled my beer.”

You’ve been with Brock Rumlow for an embarrassing amount of time, and never have you ever seen him look so tiny and terrified.

“Now, you’re gonna hold my beer and watch my jacket while I take your girl up dancing, and then you’re gonna head on home and you’re gonna clear your shit outta her apartment, you’re gonna delete yourself from her life, and you’re never gonna even think about going near her again, or else it’ll be me you’re dealing with, got it?”

Brock opens his mouth to snark back, but a glance around the bar at all the bikers wearing jackets that match Bucky's has him keeping his mouth shut.

“Alright, good talk. Thanks man!” Bucky calls, grabbing your hand and tugging you off of your stool.

You stumble after him, still in shock at the exchange that just occurred.

“Buck, what the Hell was that?!” You demand, flattening your palms against his chest when he pulls you against him.

“I’ve sat and watched that prick treat you like garbage for two and a half years, (Y/n). I’m not doing it anymore. You deserve so much better and I'm tired of pretending that I’m okay seeing you with him.”

You blink up at him in shock and shake your head, “Bucky, you can’t just end my relationship like that. Brock and I need to talk about things.”

He scoffs and wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you closer and kissing your forehead.

“I just did, sweetheart. You’re gonna come to my place tonight, we’re gonna talk and drink and maybe get a little... friendly, just like we used to, and then tomorrow I’m gonna bring you back to your apartment and if that asshole hasn't cleaned all of his shit out, there’s gonna be Hell to pay.”

You take a deep breath and look over your shoulder to where Brock is sitting. Steve’s by his side, arms crossed over his chest and a grin on his handsome face when he catches your gaze.

“C’mon, baby. You gonna dance with me like we used to or do you wanna go straight to my place and have me bend you over the counter and eat that pretty pussy like the good old days?”

A shiver races down your spine, shaking the guilt from your stomach as you look up into his ever-blue eyes.

“I... we can go to your place,” you whisper, smiling shyly when he grins triumphantly.

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips while one of his hands trails down to your ass, grabbing a handful of it then letting go only to smack it roughly.

“That’s my girl.”

#bucky x reader #biker!bucky x reader #biker!bucky #biker!Steve #biker!Steve x reader #biker au #biker bucky x reader #biker bucky au #biker!bucky au #Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky x reader biker au

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tightjeansjavi · 8 months

Text

blue jeans n’Texas dreams | part 15

“I love you, and that’s all I really know”

A/N: another chapter in the books! I don’t want to spoil too much of what happens, so I guess you’re just gonna have to read and find out ;)

~word count: 8.3k~

Pairing | Joel Miller x horseback riding instructor f!reader

Summary: Joel and Tommy have a serious conversation, you and Joel talk things out and discuss the future of your relationship.

Warnings: smut, protected piv, dom/sub vibes, Joel is a whimpering mess, verbal consent, teasing, edging, denial of orgasm, sub! Joel, oral (f receiving) sex in public (on a bathroom sink) angst, panic attacks, discussion of relationship trauma, emotions, forgiveness, accountability, fluff, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is clover because you’re Joel’s lucky charm, (+18) minors dni!

main masterlist series masterlist playlist

Tommy Miller had only seen his brother have a serious meltdown on one other occasion; the night Joel came home to find his wife had up and left him and Sarah. The younger Miller brother almost didn’t know how to initially react when he found Joel crouched down against the side of his truck with his face buried deep into his hands.

“Joel?..” Tommy hesitantly asked as he crouched down in front of his older brother. “Hey man, what’s goin’ on? Do you wanna sit out here and let the skeeters get us, or do you want to sit in your truck?”

Joel wordlessly pulled himself up to his feet, refusing to make eye contact with his brother out of shame. Once Tommy unlocked the door, Joel quickly climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind him.

Tommy took a moment for himself to mentally figure out exactly how he was going to approach this extremely tender situation. On the one hand, he understood why his brother was freaking out over the news he received from you. On the other, Tommy knew that he was going to have to knock some sense into Joel before he would have the chance to really spiral.

“Alright, before we get down into the nitty gritty stuff, you—didn’t just go and break up with her did you? Cus’ if ya did I’m gonna have no choice but to smack you upside the head.” Tommy asked as he pulled the driver's side door shut.

“I didn’t break up with her.” Joel murmured with his back facing the center console and his arms crossed over his chest in a protective stance.

“Well, ain’t that a relief.” Tommy responded with an exasperated sigh.

“At least..I don’t think I did. Oh god, did I? I just told her I needed some space to breathe and that we can talk when I’m ready. Does—does she think that we broke up? Fuck. I look like such an asshole right now! What the hell was I thinking?!”

“Woah woah woah. Easy there cowboy. Let’s not go and get ourselves all worked up, okay? Joel..can you look at me please? C’mon brother. I just wanna help you out here, but I can’t do that if your ugly mug is facin’ the other way.”

Joel grumbled out a response as he pushed himself as far into the corner of the seat that his broad frame would allow him to.

“Joel, c’mon. Ain’t gonna get much talkin’ done if you’re gonna be a little shit.” He gently placed his hand along his shoulder giving it a soft reassuring squeeze.

“I’m just terrified that this is all becoming too fuckin’ much for me to handle Tommy.” Joel responded with a deep sigh as he reluctantly faced his brother finally.

“..your relationship with Clover is becoming too much for you to handle? Brother, just this mornin’ you were goin’ on about how you want to marry her and that you want me to be the best man at your wedding.”

“Yeah and jus’ under 24 hours ago we confessed our feelings and had sex for the first time. Then this mornin’ we went at it like fuckin’ rabbits, and I brought up the marriage thing again. Then I find out that Sarah called Clover mom, and for fuck sakes Tommy, can’t I just feel for a minute?”

“Yeah, Ryder told me about how Sarah called Clover mom. So that’s what you’re really all freaked out about. Ain’t it?”

“Yeah.” Joel responded flatly.

“Alright well, how ‘bout you start off by tellin’ me what about this is freaking you out? I can make some educated guesses, but I’d rather you tell me.”

Joel responded with a huff as he sank back against the passenger seat, looking up at the weathered fabric ceiling. “Tommy, you and I both know that this is the first woman to get close to my daughter since—y’know. Not only that, but this changes the entire dynamic of our relationship.”

“How so?”

Joel looked over at his brother as if he had suddenly sprouted five heads. “How so? Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I have to now think about the idea of co-parenting with someone after raising Sarah primarily on my own? How about the fact that I have to think about finances, and living with a romantic partner? How about—”

Tommy cut him off almost immediately. “Now hold on just a minute here. You’re makin’ it sound like this is some terrible thing that has happened. Co-parenting? Clover moving in? Shared finances? Brother, these are all good and exciting things to think about.”

“Tommy, what if this is just movin’ too fuckin’ fast for me to keep up with? I’m scared that these inevitable changes are going to ruin the relationship I have with her. What if down the line she ends up not wanting to be Sarah’s step-mom? What if we break up and things get ugly? Tommy, I can’t go through that shit all over again. I can’t come home to another fuckin’ empty house with no explanation. I can’t have my heart fuckin’ ripped out of my chest again, because—because I love so fuckin’ hard.” Joel spoke exasperatedly as he vigorously wiped the tears that were beginning to stream down his face. His voice cracked, and his throat felt raw as he finally broke down into heavy sobs that had his entire body trembling.

Tommy was immediately reaching for his brother over the center console. He did his best to wrap Joel up in the tightest hug possible from the angle he was at. His heart was snapping in half right down the middle as he did his best to try and bring him back down to earth.

“Joel, hey..hey, big brother..Joel, it’s okay. You listen to me alright? It’s okay. I know you love so fuckin’ hard, and you don’t want your heart to end up broken and I can’t blame you for that, I really can’t. But now I need’ya to listen to me real good now. That woman upstairs? She loves you. She loves you and your daughter unconditionally. She’s a dime a dozen, and I have never seen you light up so much around someone before. Your eyes fuckin’ twinkle man. They twinkle! Relationships are hard. They’re scary, and complicated and easy to get caught up in. Change is hard too, but you’re one of the strongest fuckin’ people I know. You’re my big brother, for fuck sakes. You’re the person I’ve looked up to since we were little shits.” Tommy was holding back his own tears from falling as he held onto his brother tightly.

“What I’m tryin’ to say is that you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about with that one. She loves you, and you love her. She’s the best damn thing to happen to ya other than when Sarah was born. I don’t believe in all that soulmate mumbo jumbo crap, but y’all? Y’all got somethin’ fuckin’ real. Like that shit out of those cheesy romance movies that Sarah loves to watch. Besides, if y’all did break up? Man, I think I’d stop believing in love entirely.”

Joel was holding onto his brother equally as tight. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he didn’t have the privilege of having a brother that was so supportive of him. Tommy just always knew exactly what to say when it came to situations like these. “Tommy..” Joel began to utter softly, “I don’t have a goddamn clue what I would do without ya.”

“Oh, you shut the hell up. I will not be sheddin’ any tears tonight! Don’t go and sayin’ sappy shit like that or else I will cry Joel.” Tommy playfully threatened him as he slowly pulled back from the hug.

Both Miller brothers sat in silence for a few minutes, sans the crickets chirping their nighttime tune, and the occasional soft hoot of an owl in one of the pine trees surrounding the property.

“Tommy?..” Joel softly asked as he broke through the silence. “D’ya think..I should go in there and talk this out with her tonight? I–don’t want her goin’ to bed thinkin’ that we’ve broken up, or for her to think that i’m upset with her cus’ i’m not..and I just think maybe I should–” He was cut off by Tommy literally holding his hand up in the air to signal him to stop talking.

“No. I don’t think you should go and talk to her tonight. Now, before you go and get your panties all in a twist, lemme explain my reasoning. I know this pretty much goes against your nature..but you gotta give her some space tonight. Y’all just dropped the love bomb on each other yesterday, and then proceeded to fuck like bunnies for half the mornin.’ Not only that, but she’s probably g’nna spend the night with Ryder and have some girl time. Y’know pillow fights and scissorin’ each other. Girly stuff.”

“Tommy, I don’t think they’re fuckin’ scissorin’ each other. D’ya ever think with that pea sized brain of yours?” Joel responded with a light snicker.

“Will ya let me finish? Sheesh. As I was sayin’, I think that tonight you go in there and spend some time with your kiddo. G’on n’hug her real tight. Read her and El a bedtime story and then tomorrow morning, you and Clover can talk. You’ve put yourself through enough emotional turmoil today, big brother. Tomorrow is a new day, and I don’t need you thinkin’ yourself into a hole, alright? This is your Clover we’re talkin’ about here. Not Sarah’s mom, not any of the other women you’ve been with. You ain’t gotta stress, alright?”

Joel nodded his head begrudgingly because deep down he knew his brother was right. Talking to you tonight was not going to make the situation better. Tomorrow was a new day, and he just had to trust his gut feeling that everything was going to be okay.

“You’re right.” Joel muttered under his breath.

“What was that? I, Tommy Miller, is right about somethin’ for a change?” He had the biggest grin on his face as Joel reached over and lightly punched him in his bicep.

“Yeah, y’heard me. Don’t go and let it get to that already massive head of yours.” Joel teasingly warned him.

“Pshh.” Tommy replied with a scoff, “I would never.”

“Mhm. I ain’t too sure about that.”

When Ryder found you in the upstairs bathroom, her heart sank at the sight of you pruning up in the tub. Your knees were pulled up to your chest with your cheek resting against your kneecap. The water was room temperature at this point, but you didn’t have the heart, nor care to move. Maybe you might have been acting a tad dramatic, but even if that were to be true, there was no denying the present pain you were feeling in your heart.

“Oh, babe..That bad, huh?” Ryder softly spoke as she went to sit down on the edge of the tub.

“I just..I thought he would be happy..” Your voice was barely above a whisper as a stray tear rolled down your cheek.

“Honey, I'm sure he is. Guys can just be..well, weird sometimes. I’m sure Tommy successfully knocked some sense into his head, and then you guys will be able to talk it through tomorrow, okay?”

You let out a deep sigh as you lifted your chin to the side so you could briefly make eye contact with your best friend. “Do you..think i’m overreacting about this right now? Everything was fine until I told him about Sarah calling me mom this afternoon and then it was like something suddenly flipped in him. I was already nervous to bring it up to him because I know that it is a big deal, but I didn’t think it would..freak him out that much.”

“Clove, you’re not overreacting about this at all. I think it’s completely valid that you’re upset over how he reacted to the news. I would have felt the same way if I was in your position. From what Tommy has told me, Joel hasn’t had it easy in the romance department, and you’re his..first real girlfriend since Sarah’s mom left. I’m sure he is excited to take this next step with you, but I can also understand why he was feeling a little overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, he hasn’t had it easy, and the last thing I wanted to do was stress him out over this. I think what’s hurting me the most is he was so focused on the logistic changes, and not the sentimental value? I don’t know if that makes sense, but he immediately brought up the fact that I would have to move in, and us co-parenting and finances..it just took away from the moment y’know?”

Ryder gently reaches for your hand that is now resting along the side of the smooth porcelain tub. She interlocks her fingers through yours and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Clove, I completely understand where you’re coming from. If Tommy and I were in that situation, and he acted like that? I would be pretty hurt by it as well. Your feelings, and his feelings are valid. It’s all gonna work out baby. I promise. Now, let’s get you out of this tub and into some comfy pj’s and then you and I can snuggle all night? How’s that sound?”

You squeeze her hand back gently with a small smile tugging on the corner of your lips as you gaze up at your best friend lovingly. “You wanna snuggle all night with me? Just like old times?”

“Baby, of course I do. I can even ask Tommy if he can make us some tea?” She gently lets go of your hand and grabs a towel just as you're standing up from the tub. You’re shivering slightly from the slight chill in the air and being in lukewarm water for too long as she wraps the fluffy towel around your body.

“That sounds perfect.”

When Joel and Tommy return to the house Tommy could sense that his brother is torn about waiting to talk to you until tomorrow morning. The younger Miller shakes his head disapprovingly. Joel mutters under his breath as he saunters down the hall instead. He knows Tommy is right, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to be stubborn about it.

He stops just outside Ellie and Sarah’s door that is half open. He can hear Ellie telling yet another ghost story from her book. Their girlish giggles are infectious as a warm smile graces his face. He knocks softly before gently pushing the door open.

“Daaad.” Sarah giggles as she playfully tosses her pillow at him. “What are you doing here? El was just getting to the best part!”

He catches the pillow with a soft chuckle. “Well, I was thinking maybe I could read to you girls tonight?”

“What about Clover?” Sarah softly asks as a frown slowly spreads across her face.

“Oh, she’s spendin’ some time with Ryder tonight. They need their girly time together y’know?”

Sarah and Ellie both look unconvinced by his answer, but agree nonetheless.

Ellie tosses him her book from the top bunk and he catches it with ease.

“You kids gonna make this old man climb all the way up there?” He muses with a gentle grin.

Both girls look at each other before giggling. “It’s not that high up, and you aren’t that old!”

Joel lets out an annoyed huff as he shakes his head. “Little shits. You’re lucky I love ya both so much.” He murmurs as he slowly climbs up the bunk stairs. “Move over and make some room.” He curses under his death when his head accidentally bonks into the ceiling of the top bunk.

When he finally gets situated, Ellie and Sarah are already snuggling up on either side of his shoulders as he opens up to the chapter Ellie left off on and begins to softly read. At some point, both girls doze off, and so does he with the book open and resting flat against his chest.

You’re the first to emerge from your bedroom the following morning. It’s half past 5 a.m when you throw on one of Joel’s sweatshirts and grab your book and pen before heading downstairs. Your footsteps are quiet as you don’t want to accidentally wake anyone up. You make yourself a fresh pot of coffee and head down to the dock. The lake is still with a gentle cloak of fog dusting across the surface as you sink down along the edge of the dock. Your legs loosely dangle above the surface as you languidly swing your legs back and forth. You scribble something down in your book as you finish up on the page you left off on. Your mind is at peace as you allow yourself to leave the present world and transport yourself into a fictional one.

It was around 7:30 when Joel had somehow climbed out of the top bunk without disturbing Sarah and Ellie. He bonked his head yet again as he quietly descended down the bunk steps. He rubs the sleep from his eyes as he trudges down the hallway and into the kitchen. Tommy is up and leaning against the counter as he glanced out the kitchen window where he has a clear view of where you’ve been sitting for what he can infer has been a couple of hours.

Joel spots your sitting Silhouette at the end of the dock as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “Mornin’ Tommy. How long has..she been out there?”

“Mornin’ brother. Not sure. She was out there when I got up, so maybe for a couple hours?” Tommy responds with a shrug as he takes another sip of his coffee. “Y’gonna go out there and talk things out?”

Joel sighs as he sinks back against the otherside of the counter. “Yeah, I’m plannin’ on it. Kinda nervous if I’m bein’ honest. I don’t even know where to start..” he trails off with a deep frown painted on his lips.

“Good. You should be nervous. Being nervous means that you give a shit. If you walked up to her all confident n’shit, she wouldn’t appreciate it.”

Joel couldn’t help but chuckle at his brother's words. He was absolutely right. You would not appreciate him going in and acting like he didn’t fuck up last night. “Yeah, she wouldn’t appreciate that. I will say after you and I talked last night, I definitely feel a lot better than I did before.”

“I’m glad I was at least able to calm you down. I know it was really upsetting for you, but I’m relieved that you’ve come to your senses. You just gotta be raw and honest and talk it out. Let her know you’re sorry and that you want to work things out.” He reached over and gently gave Joel’s shoulder a squeeze. “Get on out there and make up with your girl, lover boy.”

Joel playfully pushed him away with a roll of his eyes. “Alright. Alright. I’m goin’ now.” He took another nervous sip of his coffee before he left the kitchen and slipped out past the porch door. His palms were sweaty as he slowly walked down the dock, and it felt like his heart was about to fall right out of his ass. He swallowed his pride as he slowly sank down along the dock next to you. He held the mug between his thighs as his feet dangled above the surface of the lake.

“What’re you readin?’” He softly asked you as he glanced over in your direction. He watched the way your eyes skimmed over the page you were currently reading. He was trying to detect any emotion on your face, but you were doing a pretty damn good job of hiding anything that you were presently feeling.

“Game of Thrones.” You curtly responded before gently closing the book between your fingers to hold the page down. “Book number three, A Storm of Swords.”

“I’ve only read the first one.” He admitted softly as he nervously adjusted his posture. He could already feel sweat beading up along the back of his neck and below his hairline.

Relax. Relax, Joel. You just need to let her know that you’re sorry.

“Do you believe in soulmates, Joel?” Your question was unexpected for both you, and him, but after reading about how deeply devoted Oberyn Martell was to his soulmate and lover, Ellaria Sand, you couldn’t help but ask if Joel believed in soulmates like you did.

“I think I do. Well, at least in some capacity I do. I think there’s definitely a person out there for everyone. I’ve uh—never researched the topic or anything like that.” He cleared his throat as he rested his one hand between your two bodies. “Why do you ask?”

“Oberyn Martell was devoted to his soulmate and lover, Ellaria Sand, who could produce him no legitimate heirs as she was born a bastard. Despite this, she blessed him with several daughters. Oberyn's demise is caused by his desire to avenge his sister Elia Martell who is brutally murdered by ser Gregor Clegane. Ellaria is desperate to change her lover's mind as she fears for his life, and he refuses to listen. Driven by his lust for revenge, he grows cocky during the duel and is murdered in front of Ellaria by The Mountain.”

Joel can feel his stomach churn with unease as he tries to piece together why you felt it was necessary to disclose this information to him. You could tell that he was deep in thought by the way his brows furrowed and his eyes shifted to the calm lake below. “Clove, what does this have to do with yours and I’s relationship?”

“I’m telling you their tragic story because it’s relevant to what we’re presently going through, Joel. If Oberyn would have listened to Ellaria’s concerns, he would still be alive. If they had come to a mutual agreement, he would have ultimately realized that his lust for revenge would be in vain. While this takes place in a fantasy realm, and we live in the real world, I just want us to..be able to communicate our feelings on a mutual ground. I want you to feel like you’re being heard, but I also want to feel the same for myself.”

Joel let out a soft breath as his shoulders relaxed and slumped forward. He nodded his head in agreement, letting you know that he was fully listening and understanding what you were explaining to him. “I understand. I want that as well..and I know that a relationship is not a one-way street. I don’t want our relationship to be like that. I want it to be a two-way street where we both are able to discuss and communicate our issues.”

You both fell silent for a moment before Joel grew enough courage to finally say what he needed to say. He turned his body so he was fully facing you. “Clover, I am deeply sorry for how I treated you last night. I let my emotions get the best of me and I know it hurt your feelings. I know that you were excited, and nervous to tell me that Sarah called you mom, and I’m sorry that..my reaction was different than what you were expecting. There are a lot of things I wish I had said differently last night, and I know you and I share our own forms of relationship baggage and trauma. I was focusing on the fact that everything in our relationship will inevitably change, and I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t ready for these changes or able to handle them. The last thing I wanted to do was make you feel like I wasn’t hearing you. That I wasn’t respecting the fact that you do have your shit together, and that you want to be more involved in my daughter's life. Truthfully? I was scared. I am scared. I’m scared because..I have gotten so used to raising my daughter on my own that I never thought of the prospect of settling down with a partner who I would co-parent with. I was so focused on the logistic changes that it clouded my underwhelming joy that Sarah loves you just as much as I do. That you have been more of a mother figure to her than her own mother has.” He felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he waited for your response.

“Joel, I know that you’re scared. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t scared either. This is a huge step for me, as it is for you. You are the first man that I have ever thought about seriously settling down with. I know there are inevitable changes that are intimidating on the surface, but Joel, I want this life with you. I want all these changes. I want to move in with you. I want to get married and co-parent with you. Change is always going to be scary. It’s inevitably scary, but we can’t let our fears rule us. We can’t let them control our emotions and cause us to lash out at the ones we love most. Joel, we have all the time in the world. We can take these steps as slow, or as fast as we want. We can do everything at our own pace, our own comfort levels. If you’re not ready for me to move in just yet, that’s OK. I’m never going to shame you for your feelings, okay? Yeah, last night should have gone differently, but I need to apologize as well.” Your eyes locked on his as you slowly reached for his hand and interlocked your fingers through his and rested it along your lap gently.

“You’re..scared too? I didn’t know that you were. Well, that honestly makes me feel a lot better..but darlin,’ I want this life with you too. Even if it’s done in an unconventional way. It’s our relationship, and we can make it work however we want. I do need some time working through the idea of you moving in. Maybe to start we could do a couple sleepovers during the week? Just so Sarah can get used to you being in the house more. Maybe on the nights you sleep over, you can drive her to school and I can pick her up in the afternoon? Or vice versa? I know you usually have to be at the barn early, so we can plan a schedule out that works for the both of us. You’re right about change inevitably being scary. It’s scary as fuck honestly. I’ve struggled to not let my emotions rule me for years and I know that I have a lot I need to work on. I think our relationship has a strong foundation, and I wanna build up on that and make it stronger. Clover, you have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He reassured you.

“Of course I’m scared. Joel, I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t a little scared of the next steps in our relationship. I totally understand that you need some time with the idea of me moving in. We don’t have to jump the gun on any of this, but I think your idea to do sleepovers would definitely be a good way to start transitioning. We can work all those details out after this trip. I do however need to apologize because I reacted to some of the things that you said last night in a triggering manner. Joel, I know you didn’t call me baby to..take advantage of the situation and try and manipulate me, but past partners have used pet names on me during arguments to gain the upperhand. I know that’s not what you were doing, but I still reacted in the way as if you were doing that. Not only that, but I also acted like you were insinuating that I didn’t want to take this next step with you. I was pretty much putting words into your mouth and that wasn’t okay for me to do at all. For that, I am sorry. I’m working through my own issues and triggers everyday, but that doesn’t give me the right to take it out on you.”

Joel gave your hand a reassuring squeeze as he gently swiped his thumb back and forth across the top of your hand in a soothing motion. “Clover, I completely understand why you reacted the way that you did. It was an inappropriate time for me to call you baby, and your reaction was valid. Honestly? I probably would have felt the same way if you called me baby or something when I was already getting caught up in my own emotions. I’m sorry that past partners used it in a malicious context. I would never ever do that to you, but now I understand why you were triggered.” He took a deep breath as he squeezed your hand once more. “We both made some mistakes last night, and we’re both holding ourselves accountable. I love you, and I am willing to do anything I can to make this work. Do you forgive me?”

“Joel, I know you would never do that to me. After you left the bathroom I thought about everything that was said, and how I chose to react. There’s so many things I would have done differently, but I also love you, and I am willing to do anything I can to make this work as well. Of course I forgive you. I know you were coming from an emotional state of mind and you held no malicious intent. We’re going to work through this together, okay? You and me.”

“You and me.” He confirmed as he scooted closer to you so your thighs were touching. His head tilted down as he rested his chin along the crook of your shoulder, nuzzling his face affectionately against your skin as his arm gently draped along your lower back so that you could lean up against him if you chose to. “Now, can you tell me more about this infamous Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand?” He mused in curiosity as he pressed a feather light kiss to the base of your neck.

“Well, he is very handsome. Might even be handsomer than you are.” You teasingly responded as you gently leaned back against the weight of his arm.

“Is that so? Well, I highly doubt that.” He teased back.

“They call him the red viper, and he has the nicest cock in all of Westeros. Men and women of all shapes, sizes, and colors beg to spend a night in his chambers.”

“Now you’re just fibbin’ darlin.’ Nicest cock in all of Westeros? Lemme see where it says that.” He’s grinning against your skin as he reaches for the book. Before he can grasp it, you're gently grabbing his chin and kissing him sweetly.

You and Joel spend all morning out on the dock until it feels like your skin is baking under the rays and you are left with no choice but to retreat back inside away from the powerful rays.

More egg jokes are cracked as everyone enjoys a late brunch at the kitchen table, and Tommy and Ryder silently decide that you and Joel deserve some privacy in the house to ‘properly’ make up.

Joel is visibly apprehensive as you take his hand and lead him up the stairs. His heart is thrumming wildly in his chest as he glances behind him momentarily. You already reassured him that Tommy and Ryder were going to take the kids out on the lake for a couple of hours so you and Joel could work things out in total privacy. There was an edge of tipping into the unknown when you practically dragged him to the bedroom. You talked things out and were able to reach a mutual understanding of one another but now?…he wasn’t sure what was about to happen.

“You’re not in trouble, Joel.” You reassured him shamelessly.

“Kinda makin’ it seem like I am.” He murmured as you dropped his hand and made yourself comfortable along the edge of the mattress, smoothing the comforter down with your hands.

“Take your cock out and get on your knees Joel.” It wasn’t a request, it was a demand and you watched as your Texas tall glass of water blinked thrice. It was as if his brain was rewiring in a panic because you had never spoken to him in such a demanding tone. He secretly liked it.

“You want me to do what?” He asked in disbelief. Eyes in an innocent almost doe-like gaze.

“You heard me, Miller. Take your cock out and get on your knees. Now.” You raise your eyebrow in his direction challengingly.

His mouth has seemingly gone dry as he blubbers like a fish. He’s obedient however as he’s already reaching for his cotton shorts and pushing them down his thighs. His cheeks are flushed beet red as he can already feel his cock twitch in his briefs.

“Take it out, Joel.” You cross one leg over the other as you wait impatiently.

He lets out a visible puff of air as he grabs the hem of his boxer briefs and tugs them down his legs, kicking them off to the side. His cock springs free and you can’t help but smirk at how hard he already is.

“On your knees. C’mon and be a good boy for me baby.”

He sinks down to his knees like an obedient dog on a leash. His ears pathetically perk up to the sound of you using a pet name instead of his birth name.

“Good boy.” You praise him as you curl your fingers in a come hither motion in the air “Now, crawl to me.”

If he wasn’t so disgustingly in love with you, he probably would have scoffed at your demand and mutter out a ‘fuck no I ain’t doin’ that.’ He wanted to be a good boy for you, so he placed his palms down along the plush carpet and crawled to you.

You were already removing your sleep shorts and panties by the time he had reached you. You leaned over and grasped his chin between your fingers and tilted his head upwards so he was looking up at you. “I’m going to tell you how this is going to go, okay? You really hurt my feelings. I forgive you, and I love you, but I’m going to punish you in a way that is still enjoyable for both of us. If you wish to tap out, I will obviously respect that and won’t push you if you’re not comfortable.”

Joel’s pupils are blown out wide as he gazes up at you. “You ain’t gonna whip me..are ya? That’s uh—that’s where I draw the line.” He nervously asks as his cock shamelessly twitches between his thighs.

You can’t help but giggle as you shake your head, stroking your thumb across his cheekbone gently. “No baby. I’m not going to whip you. I’m going to play with myself and you get to watch. You can’t touch me, but you can touch yourself only in the way I tell you to do so. Most importantly? You can’t cum.”

Joel can’t help the pathetic whimper that slips past his lips as he leans into your soft touch as if he’s been deprived of affection and he’s desperate for it. “Fuck. That’s hot. I can’t touch you at all?”

“No. You can’t touch me at all, but you can get as close to my pussy as you’d like.”

His eyes roll back into his skull as his heavy cock twitches once more between his thighs. “Okay.” He murmurs in agreement.

You give his cheek a gentle loving tap as you lean down and steal a quick kiss. “Good boy.” You release his face gently before spreading your thighs open along the mattress. You reach behind you for one of the pillows and tuck it under your back so he has a better view of just how wet you are.

His mouth falls open when you lick your fingers before dragging them down between your thighs. He’s pathetically mesmerized by the way you shamelessly begin to play with yourself. He scoots himself as close to the edge of the mattress, locked in a trance as he rests his cheek along the comforter right between your thighs. His eyes are glazed over in utter, lustful, pathetic stupidity. They’re glued to the spot between your legs as drool begins to drip down the corner of his mouth and dribble down his chin. He’s yearning for a fucking taste and you’ve barely started to touch yourself. “ya know for such a big hearted lil lady you sure can be fuckin’ mean” he murmurs, whimpering at the sight of you glistening in arousal.

“I know, baby. You just have to be a good boy, and then I’ll reward you.”

He licks his lips as he slowly gazes up at you from between your thighs. He lets out a frustrated puff of air as he rubs his cock against the side of the mattress for some form of relief. “Can I touch myself, please baby?” He whimpers desperately.

“Yes, you can, baby. I want you to slowly wrap your hand around yourself first.” You request as you rub your clit in slow circles, lips parting open as your thighs fall open further.

Your Texas tall glass of water obeys as he slowly wraps his hand around the base of his cock. He’s so hard in his hand, it’s nearly painful.

“Good boy. Now, slowly twist your wrist. You can squeeze a little, but not too much.”

He pathetically whines as he slowly begins to pump and twist his wrist around his length. His face is so close to your pussy. So close that he can nearly taste you on his tongue.

“Don’t even think about it.” You tut as his tongue darts out for a quick taste. “Don’t be a bad boy.”

He breathes out a heavy puff of air through his flared nostrils and it fans your core deliciously as your fingers dip down and gather up your wetness. He lets out a shuddered breath when two of your digits slip inside your warmth. The squelching sound your pussy makes is nearly too much for him to handle as his freehand fists at the comforter, knuckles stark white as he continues to pathetically jerk himself off. His knees ache, his back aches, but he doesn’t care. He’s never been so fucking humiliated and turned on at the same time in his life.

“Please. Please let me taste you. Baby, please. I’m so sorry. I’ll never—never hurt your feelings again. Your pussy needs me darlin.’ She’s weepin’ for me. You’re killin’ me slowly ov’here. Please. I’m fuckin’ beggin’ you.”

He’s a blubbering mess as tears begin to roll down his cheeks. His words stumble out of his parted lips like word vomit. “Please. Please. Please. Clover, baby. This is fuckin’ torture.”

His pleas only seem to spur you forward before you’re ultimately giving in. You slip your fingers out slowly before tangling them in his scalp. He wastes no time to wrap his lips around your clit, sucking greedily as he murmurs ‘thank you baby.’ Over and over again with a mouthful of your pussy.

It’s late afternoon when Tommy, Ryder, and the girls come back from being on the lake for the majority of the day. The girls are visibly exhausted as they head to their room for a quick nap while the adults play a round of poker at the kitchen table. You and Joel are glowing from the inside out as you play footsie under the table like a couple of teenagers.

By 7pm everyone is piled up in Joel’s truck to head out for an excursion. He already told Tommy earlier in the week that it would be fun for everyone to go out for a sunset trail ride, so he found the nearest ranch to the lakehouse, and booked it without a second thought. It was a short 20 minute drive to the ranch and as soon as you passed by a field of horses grazing peacefully, you looked over at your boyfriend with a smile that lit up like a damn Christmas tree.

“How did I know that this little excursion that you have planned was going to involve horses? How did I know?” You asked with a grin. He replied with a little shrug of his shoulders and sheepish grin. “Jus’ figured we’d all enjoy a lil’ sunset trail ride before hittin’ the town for some good ole dancin.’”

Ellie and Sarah, who were smushed in the middle seats between Tommy and Ryder, both looked at each other before whispering in unison, “Yep. They’re soo twitterpated.”

Joel and Tommy looked like proper cowboys in their white tees and blue jeans that did absolute wonders for their thighs and ass. They both were sporting their cowboy hats as well. Man, you were gonna climb your Texas tall glass of water later like a damn tree. Once your horses were saddled up, you and Joel took the lead at the front as your horses calmly walked side by side along the marked trail. You held onto the reins with one hand while the other was outstretched towards Joel. He interlocked his pinky with yours as he looked over at you. “Did I ever tell ya that the sunset really brings out the color of your eyes? Man, are you jus’ stunnin.’” He’s grinning from ear to ear as you feel cheeks begin to get hot from his comment.

“Hmm..I believe you have. At least a dozen times at this point, baby. Have I ever told you just how fantastic your ass looks in a pair of blue jeans? You’re looking like an absolute snack this evening, honey.” You shoot him a playful wink.

He playfully fans his face with his freehand. His eyes squint under the soft glow of the fading sun as he chuckles. “Nah. I think this is the first time you’ve ever given’ me a compliment like that darlin.’ Does my ass really look that good? Snack worthy? Well, lil’ lady, that’s a mighty fine compliment. I am deeply flattered.”

“Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert worthy baby. I will be taking a little nibble on it later tonight.”

He blushes a deep shade of red as he looks away from you bashfully. It’s a good thing the kids are far back enough that they can’t detect yours and Joel’s disgusting flirting. “Jus’ a nibble?” He looks back over at you with the tips of his cheek still as red as a fire hydrant.”

“More like a bite than a nibble”

“Atta girl.”

The sunset is absolutely stunning. The sky is painted in a brilliant hue of pinks, purples, and oranges. The colors fade together like a watercolor painting. You and Joel are still holding pinkies when Ryder takes her camera out from her bag. She snaps a picture of the two of you looking over at one another lovingly.

The ride back to the ranch is equally peaceful and you make it back just before the sun has completely disappeared from the sky. Sarah and Ellie insist on giving their horses a well deserved carrot and brush down. The ranch owner ends up taking a group picture of the six of you and your horses.

You’ve never actually attended a proper ‘hoedown’ till now and boy, did you wish that you’d gone before. The barn where the dance was held was properly lit up with twinkling fairy lights along the wooden ceilings and panels, and a disco ball glittered brightly in the middle of the dance floor. Every attendee was dressed in some form of country attire to fit the theme. There was a bar area and food station, and the girls immediately filled up on kiddy-cocktails paired with burger and fries.

When the music started Joel wasted no time to pull you up from your seat so you could dance together. You’re both out of breath by the fifth song but man, you’re having so much fun you can’t even feel the ache in your feet or your heart pounding out of your chest. You're both filled with bright smiles and echoing laughter as a new country singer named ‘Blanco Brown’ takes the stage and performs his new song called ‘The Git Up.’ It's got all the classic country flare with a pop vibe mixed in. There’s even a choreographed dance to go along with it. Joel nearly eats shit on the last couple of spins but you’re right there to keep him steady as he twirls you around.

Even Ellie and Sarah are swinging each other around in a circle.

There’s not one frown in sight. Just smiles, laughter, and good music.

At some point you and Joel disappeared into the bathroom. He was smart enough to lock the door behind him so no one would interrupt. Your infectious giggles quickly turned into moans as he took you up against one of the bathroom sinks. Your own cowboy hat nearly falls off your head from how hard he is thrusting into you while you’re gripping onto either side of the sink for dear life. His freehand that isn’t presently grasping your hip, is gently placed over your mouth to block out your high pitched moans. “Gotta be quiet, baby. Or else we’re gonna get caught red handed. You didn’t think that I was actually gonna let you get away with your little game earlier, did ya?”

All you can do is shake your head as you cry out against his palm.

He’s a total gentleman after fucking you, so it comes as no surprise when he uses a wad of toliet paper to gently clean up the mess between your thighs before he fixes your dress for you. He kisses your lips sweetly as he wraps his arm around your shoulders and you reach up to interlock your fingers as you exit the restroom.

“Did you just—” Tommy raises a brow in yours and Joel’s direction as you approach the table he and Ryder are sitting at.

“Fuck in the women’s bathroom?” Joel finishes the question for him. “Absolutely not. That would be downright un-American, brother.” His subtle wink says otherwise.

It’s a little before eleven when you all arrive home. Everyone is doing their own thing as the energy from dancing all night begins to wind down. Joel finds Ellie out on the wrap around porch with one of Joel’s guitars resting across her lap. She’s messing with the strings when he sinks down alongside her on the outdoor couch. “Y’need some help, kiddo?” He can hear you and Sarah through the open window near the kitchen, mumbling about how stupidly difficult this puzzle is, and why won’t these pieces just fit? He can’t help the smile that washes over his face knowing that everything was going to be alright after all.

“Oh, hey Joel. Yeah..would you mind? I’m just not very good at this.” Ellie responds softly with a defeated sigh.

“El, that ain’t true. Y’jus’ need a bit of practice is all.” He murmurs softly.

The younger girl lets out a soft huff as she looks over at him. “Can you teach me then? I don’t even know where to start.”

“Course I can, kiddo. I’d love to teach you.” Joel wraps his arm around her in a gentle squeeze

Ellie’s eyes softly light up as she leans into his comforting touch, resting her head against his shoulder. Joel loves Ellie as if she were his own, and in some ways she is. He knew that her life at home wasn’t the best, but he didn’t know the full extent of her situation. What he did know is that he cared for her, and he’d be there for her no matter what. By the end of the night Ellie had learned a few chords and how to properly tune the strings on a guitar. Joel loved every second of being able to teach her.

After the girls were tucked in and Joel was finally back in bed with you, he found himself being the big spoon as he wrapped his body around yours.

“Whad’ya think about adoptin?’” He softly asks as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your head.

“Is this hypothetical or something that you’re seriously thinking about?” You respond softly as gently grab his hands and bring them up to your lips, kissing his knuckles affectionately.

“Hypothetical..but it could be serious. It’s jus’ that Ellie’s folks are hardly ever around. She’s pratically fendin’ for herself, and it ain’t right. She’s just a kid.” He murmurs as he buries his face into your neck.

“Do you love her like she’s your own?”

“I do.” He softly confirms as he inhales your natural scent through his nose, followed by a soft exhale.

“Then I say..we should look into it.” You press another gentle kiss to his knuckles as you snuggle further back into his warm grip.

“Okay, you and me?”

“You and me baby.”

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strangermarvelss · 2 years

Text

second best- e.m

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cunningham!Female!Reader

Summary: with chrissy now off to college with her boyfriend, jason, eddie turns to you and wants to begin a relationship, making you feel a certain way about being his second choice.

Warnings: angsty angst, second choice, more unrequited love(ik shocking coming from me), eddie being dumb

Request?: Yes

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: i got the most amazing request to do like a little women type of thing between chrissy, eddie, and chrissy’s sister inspired by the jo, laurie, and amy relationship and i thought it was absolutely brilliant, so here it is! also i’ve aged chrissy up to about 19 and reader is 18, while eddie is 20 :) enjoy! -sava

part one | part two | part three

The sun was shining high in the August air, the heat mixed with all the physical activity you and your family had been doing making you exhausted. Taking a break, you watch from the front porch as Chrissy and your parents close the trunk to Jason’s car, packed to the brim with her things and ready to join her on her college journey. Jason talks with your parents a bit as you watch Chrissy begin to cry. You weren’t ready to not have your big sister in your life every day, hours away cheering from some collegiate team as she pretends to study for a future career. You knew your sister, but maybe college would be different. Regardless, it was still a sad day for the Cunningham household.

Jason and Chrissy applied to the same colleges, and he had head up weeks ago to bond with his basketball teammates and sign the lease agreement on their apartment, that way your parents wouldn’t have to make the journey with Chrissy on the road to go help set things up. Their plan was to fly out tomorrow to help the both of them unpack the rest of their things and get them as settled as possible before coming back home to you. You didn’t want to go if you were going to be honest, saving yourself some pain if you just say goodbye now. Plus, you wanted your parents to be able to spend some time with their first born and favorite child before she left the nest.

Chrissy starts walking up to you and you rise to your feet, looking down as she meets you on the porch of your childhood home. She nudges you in the stomach and you look up at her, tears in her eyes with her mascara running a bit. You feel your lip quivering and quickly pull her into a hug, your grip on her strong and crying into her shoulder as she does the same.

“I’m gonna miss you, you know,” you tell her. She pulls back from your hug and wipes her nose and tears on her sleeve, flashing you a smile.

“I’m gonna miss you too. You can come visit anytime you want, we’ll have a spare room and a couch,” she tells you. You smile at her and she wraps her arm around your shoulder as you head towards Jason’s car. Down the road, you hear the booming of loud music carry down your street, the all familiar van that belonged to Eddie Munson, the town outcast…the man who stole your heart.

You’ve had a crush on Eddie for the longest time, ever since your freshman year at Hawkins High. He was a junior and led the Hellfire club, which was never your particular interest but you thought about joining it to get closer to the metalhead. You found yourself attending his gigs at the Hideout every Tuesday, cheering on his band from the very small crowd. The feelings you felt towards him were deep, always smiling in his presence and adoring his little quirks and his eccentric theatrics.

The only problem with being in love with the Eddie Munson was that he did not reciprocate your feelings. His eyes were set on another member of the Cunningham family. Your sister, Chrissy.

He let it slip to you one night when you two were quite drunk that he’s had a thing for Chrissy since middle school, adoring her tooth-filled smile and strawberry blonde ponytail, being able to spot her from a mile away and always lighting up when she walked in the room. To say it hurt was an understatement, as you’ve always been compared to your sister in every aspect of your life. You both had struggled with your weight as children, with Chrissy being able to lose it faster than you did, and boy did she make that known to you.

You weren’t a cheerleader like Chrissy, settling for joining the newspaper, debate club, and Hellfire rather than trying to force yourself into the jock crowd like your sister. Sure, they would try to let you in and welcome you to the best of their abilities if you chose to go that route in your high school career, but you decided the life of academia mixed with fun was more your speed. AP classes, state-wide competitions, hell, you thought about running for class president, but decided against it when Nancy Wheeler offered you the spot as lead editor for the school paper. But that achievement was overshadowed when you walked through the door after Chrissy beat you home, announcing her full-ride cheer scholarship to an amazing school hours away.

The love you felt for Chrissy was real, truly. You both would spend a lot of time with one another when you weren’t focussed on your extra circulars and personal lives. But there would always be that small part of you that would never be able to truly be separate from her. Both your parents comparing you to her, and you expected it more than ever as you enter your senior year.

With a slam of his van door, Eddie walks out with a small box in his hand, a smile smeared on his face as he approaches the two of you.

“Well hello Cunninghams,” he greets you. Blushing, you wave at him and break away from Chrissy, going in for the first hug. The cigarette smell and cheap beer linger on him from the night before, soothing your nerves a bit with his signature Eddie scent. You pull back and go closer to Chrissy, trying to continue the facade of keeping your feelings to yourself and yourself only. You watch as he turns to Chrissy, his smile widening as they go in for a hug.

“I got you something,” Eddie tells her, holding out his arm. Her eyes brighten and she takes the box.

“What is it?” She asks.

“It’s a surprise, so don’t open it around anyone, okay? Especially that dickhead of a boy-“

“You want something, freak?” You turn and see Jason standing there a few feet away. Eddie backs up a few steps, not wanting to start anything.

“Relax Jason, you know we’re friends,” Chrissy tells him, walking closer to him and wrapping her arms around his torso. You were never a fan of Jason, your feelings for Eddie aside. He was rude to everyone who was different from him, except you, only because you’re related to his girlfriend. Chrissy was protective of you and he knew that, so he always put on his best behavior in front of you and your parents. But you saw the way he treated the rest of the Hellfire members at school and basically anyone who wasn’t a jock or sort-of popular. It made your blood boil having to interact with this two-face prick, but you knew Chrissy really liked him for some reason, so swallowing your pride for the sake of her happiness was something you could manage.

Watching Chrissy place Eddie’s gift in the car, you turn to him and nudge him in the stomach, pulling him back from whatever reality he fixated on as he stared at Chrissy. He looks down at you and smiles, using your shoulder to prop himself up. The height difference between the two of you killed you every time, and he made sure to poke fun at it any chance he got.

“Are we still on for tomorrow, movie night at your place?” You ask him.

“Of course sweetheart. I’m running to Family Video to pick up the goods later, and to talk to Harrington about something.”

“Good. Not sure how I feel about staying home late at night alone since Mom and Dad will be up with Chrissy. They’ve never left me alone before,” you explain to him.

“Well you’re 18 now, so that just means they trust you more. Plus with your sister with you a majority of the time, you’ve never really had to stay by yourself,” he tells you, offering some reassurance.

“That’s true I suppose. Guess it’s something I’m going to have to start getting used to.”

You look up at him and your eyes make contact for a brief moment, allowing the air working its way out to hitch in your throat. Those big brown eyes were always a weakness of yours, it was your favorite quality about him, other than his nurturing side.

“We should probably get going, Chris,” Jason says loud enough for everyone to hear. You break away from Eddie and watch as Chrissy makes her rounds of goodbye between some friends that had been there already and you and your family. You give her a squeeze and feel your tears brim your eyes once more. Pulling away, she makes her way to Eddie, a sad expression on his face as his towering figure envelops her in a hug. Your smile twitches for a moment, seeing how sad Eddie was to say goodbye, still not having told her how he really felt, but also because of all the emotions you knew he was bottling up inside continued to make the hopes of ever being with him grow less and less.

Hoping in the passenger seat, Chrissy turns and waves at everyone as Jason starts the car, rolling down the road of your neighborhood and driving off into the distance, off to start their newest chapter. With a sigh, you turn back to Eddie, who still has a mopey look on his face.

“I should probably get going myself. Promised Henderson I’d hang out with him today at the arcade,” he tells you, his hands digging into the front pockets of his ripped up black jeans as he relaxes his shoulders. You flash him a small smile, internally basking in how good he looked when he seemed a bit more relaxed.

“Okay Eds, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” You ask. He simply nods and scurries off to his van, starting the engine and the booming sound of Metallica flooding your street. You wave at him as he speeds off, waiting to wipe the smile off your face until after you’ve spun around and close the front door of your house behind you.

Knocking on the door to his trailer, you swing back and forth on the tips of your converse covered toes, swinging the six pack you picked up on the way a bit, but not too much. You were wearing a knee length black dress with long flowing sleeves, wanting to feel a bit pretty during your errands you ran earlier after dropping your parents off at the airport. Picking up some groceries for the days you’d be alone, running the Family Video to say hi to Steve and Robin and pick a movie to watch, in case Eddie picked something you ended up not liking, and a few more places around town, you thought why not look good doing so?

The noise of tumbling around from inside Eddie’s trailer concerns you a bit, before being met face to face with your favorite metalhead as he swung open the door. His hair was disheveled and a bottle of beer rested in his hands.

“Welcome back to my castle,” he slightly slurs out, his form scooting slightly to make room for you to pass through the threshold.

“Looks like you started without me,” you say, taking in his surroundings. A few empty beer bottles were scattered around his kitchen and living room and papers were thrown around everywhere.

“If it helps, some are from last night,” he hiccups, carefully working his way back to the couch and plopping himself down. You let out a small sigh, placing your six pack down and grabbing a bottle for yourself after fishing out a few of the movies you rented earlier.

“I know you went to Family Video yesterday, but I brought back up movies just in case,” you tell him, waving around the tapes and placing them on the coffee table, seating yourself next to him. You watch him run his hand through his hair as his face scrunches.

“Oh nooo. I forgot to go, I’m sorry Y/N,” he whines out. You chuckle and place your hand on his knee for reassurance.

“Relax, Eds. That’s why I always come prepared,” you say, rising from your spot. You go through the tapes and pick one, crouching by his television set and popping it into the VCR.

“You’re the best, you know that? Like the best best, ever,” he lets out, his voice all happy and cheerful, making you laugh to yourself. Turning back, you sit back down and pop open your beer and bringing the glass bottle to your lips as you chug some of the malty concoction.

About two hours into your movie night, the two of you just put in your second film and you were one and a half bottles of beer in, while Eddie was working on finishing his third since you’ve been there. He had a buzz for sure, but he has a high tolerance, but in regards for alcohol and weed. Your head rests against his very broad shoulder, as it usually does when you’ve been drinking during your movie nights.

Beneath you, you feel Eddie shift a bit, turning to look his way and seeing his eyes on you, face mere inches from yours. You give him a small smile and turn your attention back to the movie, before feeling his ring clad fingers brush against the warmth of your cheek, turning your head back to him. You watch his eyes move from your own down to your lips, slowly inching closer to you until his lips were latched to yours. Your inebriated was causing you to just sit there, allowing his lips to move against yours. The alcohol was strong on his breath, but his lips were soft and now tasted like your cherry lip gloss. You felt like you couldn’t process what was happening for a moment.

Until you felt Eddie lean further into the kiss, his actions becoming a bit rougher and more intense. That’s when it hit you that this was actually happening.

“Eddie, what the hell?” You ask, pulling away from him as you scoot away from him on the couch. The buzz you were feeling moments before quickly dissipates as you look to Eddie with confusion written across your features. His face scrunches in confusion, matching your own as he leans up on his elbows to look at you.

“What do you mean? I was kissing you. You know what that is, right?” He asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes, silly. I just…where’s this coming from?” You ask.

“Why does it matter? Can’t I just kiss you?” He leans towards you again, but you put your hand out against his chest to stop him.

“Stop, please. I’m just confused. You’ve always had a thing for Chrissy,” you explain, your heart banging against your chest. Sure, you have dreamed about this situation countless times, but never did you think it’d happen so out of the blue. Where was this coming from?

“Well she’s gone with Jason, so what does that matter?” He huffs out, his arms slinging up as he speaks. You could feel your heart slowing cracking at the sight of him so upset at the mention of your sister. He still liked her, it was totally obvious. Some small part of you was beginning to think he never would stop. So why was he trying to kiss you?

“I know, but-“

“Look, do you not want this, Y/N? I’m putting myself out there and you’re just dodging around it,” he asks, turning his entire body towards you to gauge a reaction from you. Playing with your hands in your lap, your eyes make friends with the couch beneath you, not wanting to look up and see Eddie’s disappointed look.

“You don’t get it,” you whisper.

“What was that? I can’t hear you.”

“I said you don’t get it,” you tell him louder, rising off the couch and walking a few feet away from him, beginning to pace around his living room. “I have been second best to Chrissy my entire life. I’m not a good enough daughter, not a good enough popular student, hell there’s a lot more. So you sitting here and trying to get with me after years of pining after Chrissy is physically hurting me Eddie. I’m not going to be the girl you settle for because you can’t have her,” you explain to him, your arms failing about as you try to get through to him. His face is emotionless as you speak, the gears turning in his head trying to form a coherent thought due to his drunken state.

“It hurts even more knowing that I’ve been in love with you for years,” you let out softly.

“Wait what?” He whispers, standing on his own feet and trying to come closer to you. You take a few steps back, not knowing if you could trust yourself if you got too close to Eddie. You were vulnerable and putting your heart on the line, plus you have alcohol in your system, causing all inhibitions sober you would normaly have go flying out the window.

“Don’t act like you’ve never noticed the way I’ve look at you. I’m sure the Hellfire boys will know exactly what I’m talking about. Hell, I feel like I’m so bad at hiding my true feelings about you that even Chrissy herself knows!” you scream. You didn’t know what you were saying, the words just pouring from your lips as you spoke.

“Chrissy, I mean Y/N shit. Please let’s just sit down and-“

Are you fucking serious? You scoff at the mention of your sister’s name, your heart dropping into your stomach as you turn from him, swallowing the sob that so badly wanted to escape pass your lips.

“You know what? I don’t think I want to be here right now. I need some time away from you Eddie, I can’t talk or even think about this anymore right now,” you tell him, gathering your things and stuffing them in the small bag you carried with you.

“You were the one who said you didn’t want to be alone tonight,” Eddie points out. He had a point, but you couldn’t have seen this happening tonight, so given the circumstances, you’d overcome that barrier sooner rather than later. You continue gathering your things, ejected the movie from the VCR and shoving it in your bag then slinging it over your shoulder.

“I think I’ll manage,” you spit out, your voice filled with venom. You see Eddie frown out of the corner of your eye, fighting the urge to lunge at you and hold you tight in his arms in an attempt to keep you from leaving. But even he knew you were hard headed and stubborn, having your mind made up and not thinking otherwise.

“Y-you’ve been drinking, Y/N, you can’t drive like this, I won’t let you,” he says, moving slightly closer to you. He runs his fingers through his hair hurriedly, brushing his bangs back as a sign that he was getting overwhelmingly nervous. You turn back to look at him, the tears in your eyes on the brink of falling.

“Then I’ll walk. Goodbye Eddie,” you say, taking a few steps towards the door and passing through it while slamming it behind you in one fell swoop, leaving Eddie stunned by your confession and your actions. What the hell just happened?

i hope y’all enjoyed! comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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