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luvergirl777 · 1 year

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For Science | S. Reid

Plot: Spence asks you to teach him the one thing he doesn’t know, and can’t exactly learn on his own. Your best friend since college finally wants to better understand female anatomy, specifically how to please it.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Best Friend Reader

Contents: Smut, New York, a lot of dumb banter between them, etc. BAU team! Love confessions. Spencer is dumb, but so is the reader lol.

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Reid wasn’t hard to read for you, you’d known the boy since he was 18 and working towards his doctorate. Granted, you were also 18 and just beginning your bachelor's, but that’s besides the point. He’s recently joined the BAU, and if what he tells you is true, he’s doing pretty well for himself. (Reid is terrible at telling lies to you, you call them out every time.) Hailed “boy genius,” and “pretty boy” by his coworkers. Spencer almost cried with you agreeing with both nicknames, even going as far as to pick up pretty boy for your own use.

Since you know Spencer so well, you know immediately that his inviting you to New York with his team is odd. There’s something he’s not telling you, it’s clear throughout his entire demeanor, but you don’t push him too much. If it were just a normal vacation, Spence would’ve planned it all out weeks ahead of time. What you guys would do, where you would go, how long you’d spend in one area, the best restaurants in the local area, the least busy times to go sightseeing. He’d have it down to a minute-by-minute playbook in his head, not a second difference. So when you ask, “What’re we gonna do there?”

And he replies, “I dunno, New York City things?”

It’s immediate red flags, sirens, and wailing in your head. Skeptically, you agreed nonetheless. Packed your bags, got on the plane, dealt with awkward introductions and banter between you and Morgan over the use of pretty boy, and lastly learned Hotch is more intimidating than Spencer lets on when telling you stories. After a suffocating plane ride sitting across a table from Hotch, you finally feel like you can breathe when you and Reid enter the rental. A cute little apartment-style rental with an open layout, cute décor, and very healthy plants in the window. Sitting down with cold water from the fridge, leaning back on the comfortable couch, you really feel like you’re living the New York City life.

“I need you to teach me how to please a woman.” It’s fast and rushed, Spencer, spewing out his words before he has a chance to rethink them, maybe bite his tongue for the entire trip.

Your water is spitting out, a couple of drops landing on your chest and the rest in your hand. You’re lurching up in a coughing fit in no time, setting the bottle down as you struggle to clear your windpipes. “You want me to what?!” Looking over at him, Spencer is just about as nervous as when he first asked if you consider the two of you friends. Nervously playing with his hands, shifting from side to side on his feet, diverting his eye contact away from you. He readjusts his clothes, a signature button-up, tie, and cardigan over it with basic dress pants. His feet are clad with his signature black and white converse, forcing you to remember how young he actually is. Loosening his tie, he swallows hard. There’s no hint that he’s joking, no tug at the corner of his lips after he tells a joke that normally doesn’t land right.

“I’m not joking.” Yeah, no shit Spencer. “There’s this girl, okay! I’ve been reluctant to tell you because I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. She’s beautiful, Lila is her name. On a mission once, she said she really liked me. And we kissed and cuddled, and uhm, grinded, but that's it! I didn’t want to go too far because I was nervous!”

“You’re seeing her while we’re on our trip, huh?” You’re in disbelief. You can’t exactly say you’re surprised, as you knew Spencer was hiding something when he invited you onto the trip in the first place. However, this isn’t the secret, withheld information you were expecting. He nods his head, read like a book and he knows it. He offers you a: tonight, actually through his embarrassment. “Ugh, fine. FOR SCIENCE, only for science. Whattya wanna know? I know you probably have some sort of plan.”

“Yes, yes. For science, only.” His grin is shit-eating, you know him so well. He pretends to think, recalling all of the questions he’s memorized in that brain of his. “What feels the best for women? I took multiple anatomy courses in college, so of course, I know where the labia majora is, and the minora, and the clitoris, urethra, vulva, vagina, G-spot is. I read that most guys are too rough, or they rub the wrong areas such as the labia minora. I also know that some women can come from internal stimulation, but not all are able to or it’s being done wrong. What feels good, and what pressure feels good for women? How do I get her excited, too, you know? In movies, when they begin kissing they rush and throw their clothes all over the floor and leave a trail to the bedroom-”

“Okay, that’s enough.” You interrupt before he gets going too much and talks you into a coma. “Being good at things, especially with sex, comes from experience and knowing what she likes and doesn’t like. Everyone is different. Morgan likes to be flirted with and what about you? Do you like it when girls hit on you and pull on your tie?”

“No.” Spencer gives you a definite answer.

“See? Everyone is different. What does she do when you’re together? Maybe that can give you some insight that you missed, because as smart as you are, you’re bad at reading signals.” Spencer knows you’re right, moving to sit next to you on the couch.

“She likes to be close, skin-to-skin contact I suppose. Which usually spurs from-”

“Spence.” You interrupt him.

“Right, right. She likes when I hold her head in my hands, and gently hold the back of her neck. She really, really likes to kiss my neck and jaw. Doesn’t really like being rough with me, at least. Maybe it’s because I’m not super strong, afraid she’ll uhh, break me, ha.” He jokes, earning a small smile from you as you nod, acknowledging the small joke. “I just don’t know when to move on, I don’t want to move too quickly and scare her or hurt her.”

You can’t help but sigh, throwing your head back softly. “You have to read her cues, Spence. Watch how she reacts to you, what sounds she makes, what sounds she doesn’t make.”

“So I go off her cues? Body language, micro expressions, I can do that! I’m pretty good at that!” Spencer smiles hard, nodding his head. “So we kiss, hold each other close, heavy petting, and just go from there. I want to please her first, though. Make her have an orgasm first before we move on with anything.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Huh?” He’s dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth. His eyes blow wide, brows immediately raising with them. It feels as though his mouth has run dry. Spencer fixes his hair, nervous, as he pushes some curls back behind his ears.

“To show you, unless you and uhm, Lila are official. Then forget I asked. I just figured it’s easier to show you than it would be to try and explain with words.” You shrug, trying to play it cool and not die from embarrassment in front of him. Spencer has a blush spread across his face as he nods, eventually making its way up to his ears. Leaning in, you gently press your lips against his, hands quickly finding their way to his hair. It’s awkward at first, Spencer not knowing how to respond as his hand meets the side of your face. “Relax into it, Spence.” You coax, placing your hand over his, encouraging him to relax it and slowly form it to the contours of your jaw.

He does, lips becoming much softer as they slide against your own. Your fingers find their way into his hair, gently pulling at the nape of his neck, forcing his head to tilt back. A small groan slips past his lips before he has a chance to stop it. “That's it, Spence. See, you gently do something, and see how they react to it. If they don’t like it, don’t do it again. If they do, now you know.” You give him more advice, teaching him.

“If I want something, and they’re not making a move to do it, how do I ask?” Spencer asks, voice weak and soft as he mumbles against your lips. “Without being too pushy, I mean?”

“You just ask nicely.” You shrug, “Try it.”

“Can you, uh, can you sit on my lap? If you’re comfortable with that.” Spencer asks shyly, avoiding your eye contact. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, swinging your leg over and seating yourself. His brows push together, creating a small crease in between his eyebrows. He’s cute like this, pretty with his hair tucked behind his ears. Your chest press together, Reid’s hands hesitantly resting on your hips and back as he pulls you closer. You lean into it, pushing your chest into his own with a small hum.

“You want to keep going?” You ask softly, one hand resting on the side of his head as the other re-tucks his hair behind an ear. Your lips meet once more, this time more needy and desperate as they slide against one another. “You can ask her if she wants to keep going, too, as I did just now.” You mumble into his mouth before reconnecting your lips.

“This okay?” Spencer asks softly, hands sliding underneath your shirt. His cold hands meet your warm skin, goosebumps created in their wake. Your tongue catches in your mouth, unable to talk as you nod to answer his question. He hikes your shirt up, easily slipping it over your head and placing it gently on the couch next to the both of you. Such a Spencer Reid thing, you briefly think as you peck his lips once more. Placing your own hands underneath his cardigan, you wait for his nod before removing it, moving to the buttons on his top. Spencer's chest heaves, nerves setting in.

“This okay?”

“More than okay. Amazing, actually. Splendid perhaps.” You can’t help but giggle, softly kissing him as you finish unbuttoning his top. “Skin to skin now, I’d recite whatever fact you were about to say earlier but I didn’t let you finish.” You giggle, pressing your cleavage against him. Reid smiles, a fond feeling in his chest that he can’t quite place. “Pretty boy.” You beam hard, the image of Spencer underneath you, flushed pink, slender fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips, lips bright red from kissing.

“Please...don't.” Reid almost whimpers underneath you, hips jerking up into your own. “Do you want…want to continue?” It almost isn’t a question, a rhetoric one maybe.

“Of course, Spence.” You hum softly, holding onto his shoulders and slowly leaning down. Spencer follows without a hitch, slipping in between your legs as your thighs wrap around his waist. His hips gently grind into yours, testing the waters with you. He easily draws out a small whine from you, encouraging him to continue. Grinding slightly harder, you whine louder. He’s picking up your advice quickly and learning quickly. “You can… take off my pants.” You mumble, now your turn to blush underneath his gaze. He does, once again setting them neatly on the table beside the couch.

“I don’t want to hurt you, how do I make sure you’re ready?” He asks, ready to learn once more as his hands rest on your hips. “I know kissing is an arousing action, but there’s more, right? Kissing on your jaw, neck, chest, hips, and erm. Uhm, erm, oral sex?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” You mumble to him, shrugging softly. “We can just kiss and grind if you’re more comfortable with that.”

“No, no! I want to. I mean, I want to learn from you. I just don't want to make you uncomfortable.” Reid is quick to explain, fingertips digging slightly into the skin underneath them. “Please…can I?” It’s needy, whimpering as he holds your hips.

Taking one of his hands, you gently place it onto your chest, watching as his mind absolutely melts as he holds it in his palms. You nod softly, encouraging him to continue. “Fuck.” Spencer whines, leaning over at his hips as his lips connect with your jaw. His lips are hot against your skin, leaving light marks in their wake as he makes his way to your chest. Your soft moans spur him on, every now and then he lets out a content sigh at your pleasure. Spencer's fingers slink around your back, easily popping open the clasp.

“That easy, really? Are you sure you need my advice, Reid?” You accuse, smiling softly.

“It’s a simple clasp, gimme a break.” Spencer draws, making you laugh. He easily shuts you up as his lips meet your chest, sucking softly and nipping on the sensitive flesh. A small yelp escapes before you can hold it back, Spencer licking over the bite to soothe the pain. It feels good, better than you thought it would. Encouraged, and slightly more confident, he continues his trail down your stomach. “This alright?” He asks, hooking one index finger underneath the side of your panties.

“Yes, Spence. More than okay.” You nod, watching the nerves flash across his face. “Hey, I’ll tell you if you do something wrong, not wrong. Something I don't like, I suppose. Just so you can get an idea of what to do.”

“I know you will.” Spencer smiles up at you, finally sinking down to his stomach in front of you. The sight alone makes your breath hitch, catch deep in your lungs somewhere. Maybe if you were luckier you could’ve got him before Lila did, confesses to him before he actually got serious with her. Shoving it aside, for now, you focus on the pretty boy currently between your legs. Slowly, as if he’s afraid you’ll jump away, he pulls down your panties. Spencer bites softly into the inner sides of your thighs, leaving dark marks in his wake. Whimpering, it takes everything in you not to beg for him to continue.

“You’ll be nice to me, right Spence? No teasing?” You whimper, allowing your hands to slide down to meet the back of his head, curls slipping through your fingers. There’s a glint in his eyes that you almost miss, pupils blown wide as he peers up at you. “Pretty boy will be nice, hm?”

“To you? Always.” Spencer smiles, licking along your core experimentally. He watches your reactions closely, finding what you like and what you don't. He finds what feels right for him too, and finds what gives both of you the most satisfaction. Reid can’t help but grind into the couch beneath him, involuntarily groaning into your clit as his tongue flicks across it.

“Fuck…fuck Spence. You’re better at this, than you let on.” You whimper, voice catching in your throat as you speak. Spencer is better at this than you thought, eating you out as if he hadn’t had a meal for months. Sucking, slurping, and groaning into you as if he had just crossed a desert and you were the first oasis he’d come across. His jaw flexes with each movement, brows pressing together in concentration. You’re not expecting him to take initiative, sliding a slender finger easily into you. You gasp, pulling harder on his hair, closer to your core.

“You’re so whiny, whimpering underneath my touch,” Spencer speaks, more of a tease rather than a statement of fact that he’s so accustomed to. This also catches you off guard, so used to him stating facts. You can’t stop whining as he slides another finger inside of you, curling and hitting all of the right spots. Maybe the anatomy classes are paying off. He works out his speed in no time, pressure, timing, roughness, everything with watching your reactions. “Like this, hm? Like me touching you like this?”

“Yes, Spence. Like it a lot.” You pant, clenching hard around his fingers as he hits all the right spots, never removing his mouth from you either. “Are you, are you gonna let me cum?”

“Fuck, I want nothing more,” Spencer mumbles, continuing with his actions.

“Just a bit more, yeah? Almost there.” You encourage him, teetering on the edge as you focus on the feeling. Glancing down, the sight alone sends you over the edge. Pretty face buried in between your thighs, eyes peering up at you with need, hips involuntarily grinding into the cushions underneath him. You cum hard, moaning his name loudly as you do. Spencer continues until you physically can’t take it, thighs threatening to sandwich his head in between them from how sensitive you were. “Fuck me.” You mumble, hands reaching to pull him over you.

Your lips meet roughly, almost crashing into each other as they connect. You can taste yourself on his lips, moaning softly into his mouth from how dirty it was. “Do you have condoms?”

“Yea-Yeah, in my bag.” Spencer nods over to his bag that sits in the kitchen island, sat aside when you both got in. You basically scramble from underneath him, on a mission to retrieve them.

“You gotta lot of shit in here.” You giggle, rummaging through the contents before finding them. With a satisfied grin, you walk back and present your findings. “Can we continue, Spence?” You're back on his lap, hovering slightly above his lap so you don’t ruin his fancy dress pants. He nods faster than his brain can fully comprehends your words, which is quick. With a small smile, your lips softly reconnect as your fingertips meet his waistband. You easily pull a soft gasp from him, focused on feeling your way around as you unbutton and unzip them. “Lift your hips a bit.”

He follows without question, allowing you to slip them down so they rest on his thighs. Finally, you’re able to seat yourself on his lap, both of you moaning from the much needed friction. Your hips move on their own, humping slowly against his own as you melt into the kiss. “Here, let me.” Spencer mumbles against your lips, hand softly brushing yours as he takes the condom from you. Pulling back, you slide down a bit to allow him access to his boxers. Watching with wide eyes and a salivating mouth, Spencer easily slides his boxers down his hips, tearing the condom open with his teeth.

“You know, you’re not actually supposed to do that because it can rip a hole in-“ You begin, almost mirroring how Spencer goes on his rants.

“Shhh,” Spencer grins at you, “You’re starting to sound a lot like me.” The grin is shiteating, making your cheeks blush pink. Once the condom is on, he’s pulling you against him once more, fingertips roughing digging into the soft flesh of your hips. “I'll let you lead, princess.” Spencer speaks softly, making you quite literally ache.

Slotting your lips together, you allow yourself to grind down onto his cock, getting a feel. Reid whimpers underneath you, sliding between your folds with a wet sound accompanying it. “I’m gonna start now, yeah?” You ask, mind feeling fuzzy with the close proximity. Reaching down, you pump his cock a couple of times before lining yourself up, slowly beginning to slide down onto him. You could cum from Spencer’s whines and whimpers alone, face scrunched up tightly as he bites down on his lower lip. Once you’re fully seated, you allow yourself to reach forward, tangling your fingers in his hair as you kiss him. “Do you like this, pretty boy?” You coo at him, allowing yourself to slowly slide up and down his cock.

“Mmmm, maybe, maybe not.” Spencer whines as you fully slide back, seating yourself once more in one swift roll of your hips.

“What’s the probability of that answer being maybe?”

“Pretty fuckin high.”

It hurts, the way his cock batters your walls, filling you so deep it feels like he’s in your stomach. Hurts how his fingers dig into your hips, helping you move up and down the length of his cock. Hurts how pretty he is underneath you, chests pressed together, lips brushing everyone and then as you moan into each other’s mouths, hair slowly becoming untucked. Hurts how he’s going to do this with another girl within the next week.

“I’m close, Spence.” You mumble, involuntarily clenching around him as you catch his gaze. You press your chest more into him, tug on his hair slightly harder. “Please let me come, please.” You whine, finally breaking eye contact as your head falls into his shoulder. He picks up the slack as your thighs start to slow, legs exhausted from moving. He snaps up into you easily, forcing moans to slip past your lips that you try to muffle into his shoulder. “Bit more, just a bit.” You whine, thighs beginning to shake from how bad you need it. You have to pry one of his hands from your skin, gently guiding it to you clit. Thanking all the gods, Spencer understands immediately.

“C'mon princess, let it go. Cum around me, cum for pretty boy.” He coaxes, lips brushing along your ear as he speaks. And you do, immediately, catching you off guard as you shove your face into the crook of his neck. You want so badly to sink your teeth into him, bite the soft skin underneath you but you don’t for respect of his previous engagements. “Gonna cum, okay?” Spencer asks, waiting for you to nod before allowing himself to. His hips thrust up into you sloppily, both hands once again digging into your hips to help guide down.

“Please Spence, cum in me.” His hips drive up into you, grinding hard as he does. Spencer’s hands squeeze your hips so hard you’d be surprised if there weren’t bruises, making you whine. “Fucking hell, pretty boy.” You groan, finally catching your breathe as you pull yourself from his neck. It’s a sight to see, Spencer’s face so prettily fucked out underneath you. You kiss him, much more tender and soft than you have before, more loving than desperate this time.

“Thank you…for teaching me.” Spencer speaks, awkwardness cutting through the air from his words.

“Oh, of course. Any time.” You fake a grin, slowly beginning to move off of his lap. Your legs hurt as they support your body weight, legs still shaking slightly. You’re shifting through the clothes that are in various places, jokingly tossing Spencer his whenever you come across them. Spencer’s climbing to his feet soon after, buttoning his pants back up. “Also, don’t forget aftercare. Some girls love it, some don’t, so just play it by ear.” You give your last bit of advice, shrugging slightly.

“Right, do you want to do that or?” Spencer asks, words coming out more awkward and dismissive than he meant to.

“Nah, it’s alright. I'll be fine without it.” You smile, beginning to get re-clothed. “I’m probably going to take a shower and pick a room, you get the leftovers. I call first dibs.” You stick your tongue out at him as you make your way to the hall, on your way to find the better room and claim it with your belongings.

“What?! That’s totally not fair, I invited you on the trip!”

“Finders keepers!” You laugh, slipping into the larger, nicer room of the two and immediately looking to door behind you. Your heart breaks with the awkwardness between you that you’re trying to cower up, breaks more than he’s getting ready in the other room to go on his date. You’re just getting out of the shower when there’s a series of small knocks on your door.

“Hey,” Spencer stands on the other side, eyes accidentally looking you up and down in your towel. “I just wanted to let you know I’m heading out, you can order takeout if you’d like. I’ll leave my card on the coffee table in the living room for whenever you’d like.” He’s thinking hard about something, you can tell as he seems distracted as he’s talking to you. You’ve already gotten over the Lila thing, telling yourself that it’s not your business in the first place.

“Thanks Spence, have fun on your date!” You smirk, reaching out of your door to jokingly punch his chest “Knock ’er dead.” He only offers a half hearted laugh, nodding before turning and making his way back down the hall. Odd, but not so odd you’d openly question him. Maybe he’s just nervous before his date? You brush it aside, continuing on with your little night routine that’s otherwise unaffected by todays festivities.

You make your way to the living room after Spencer leaves, order takeout, put on a show while you wait, do a face mask, the whole 9 yards. Your peaceful night is interrupted as the front door opens, scaring you half to death as you jump to the other side of the couch. “Spencer?! What are you doing home, YOU SCARED ME!!” You scold, clutching your chest. He doesn’t answer, just immediately pulls you in to him, kissing you as if he’s starved. “Hold on, hold on?” You ask, pushing his shoulders slightly away. “Did the date not go well?” You ask.

“There was no date, we met up and I told her I didn’t want to continue seeing her.” Reid answers in the most matter of fact tone possible, making you laugh. “She told me I’m a dick and stormed off.” He shrugs, diving back in to kiss you.

“Okay, but why? Am I missing something?” You once again break the kiss, Spencer looking at you as if you were the dumbest person alive.

“Because I think I love someone more.” He kisses you again.

“ME?!”

“Geez, finally you get it.”

Your poor takeout grows cold on the doorstep, hours ticking by. Spencer’s determined to understand how to please a woman, in all positions, ways, methods, and modes possible. “For science,” Of course.

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sweatervest-obsessed · 5 months

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Spencer Blurb!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 500

A/N: I am in the trenches with finals rn so I needed something positive to think about as well as a distraction from what I should be doing.

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“I’m starting to realize why people commit murder.” You grumbled to yourself.

Honestly, you were a sight to see. You had claimed the living room of your apartment with Spencer and books were everywhere. Your laptop was front and center and papers were scattered about as if a storm had come through.

Spencer peeked his head out of your bedroom, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry, what.”

The frustrated sigh that left your lips almost knocked the curiosity right out of him.

“It’s just…”

Spencer had met you in the Boston Public Library, where you had been writing a paper for one of your classes, and you couldn’t find the statistics you needed. Enter Lover Boy with all your answers. He was only nineteen, completing his third Bachelors over at MIT and you were a sophomore over at Harvard, studying psychology. You were slated to graduate a whole year early, but it wasn’t your intellect that drew Spencer to you, it was your charm, the way you spoke your mind.

You said anything and everything to him, and he wanted to listen to every single thing you said. You started dating six months later. You ended up following him down to DC a little while after that, and supported him while he completed his first Doctorate. You loved living with him, even when his life got hectic, even when he decided he wanted to go fight crime for a living.

So when six years later, you’re working on your Ph.D at Georgetown, and you said you understood why people murdered others, Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to keep listening.

“Just what.” He walked over and sat down next to you, taking into account the four cups of coffee, three mugs of tea, a banana, two empty Panera bags, and a myriad of gum wrappers. “When’s the last time you left the apartment?”

“Like a week ago, when I wasn’t trying to finish my fucking draft of my dissertation. I don’t know how the fuck you did this Spence.”

Spencer kissed your head and took your hand. “Why don’t you go to the library or something. Get out of here for a bit. Go on a walk.”

“I’d go to the library if you came with me.” You smirked a little bit as you fixed his tie, causing his cheeks to blush at the memories you were reminding him off.

“Thats–that’s not what I meant.”

“That’s why I suggested it.” You kissed his cheek, and looked back at your laptop, the moment of joy on your face disappearing. “Can’t you take the day off Spence?”

He started to shake his head, but then saw just how exhausted and overworked you were. “I—give me a minute.”

Spencer kissed your head and went into the bedroom, where you heard him make a call to Hotch, claiming he needed the sick day.

You smiled and started to clean up your space, excited to spend the day away from your work, and with your favorite person.

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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

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Eddie x Fem!reader

master list

summary: feelings burst. Fluffy. Fluffy fluffy. Eddie helps reader when she finds herself in a bind.

warnings: no minors gtfo- eventual smut in the series.

W.C: 11.8k 🫣

A/N: per usual thank you the my beta readers @sweetsweetjellybean

Clunk

Clunk clunk humm

You were already late for work this morning and now this? Must be a fucking Monday. This must be that bitch karma’s payback for you talking shit about Eddie’s van the other night when he backed it up to the garage to unload some shit he salvaged from the junkyard.

“You would think that since you’re a mechanic, you could tune up that piece of shit so it isn’t so fucking loud.”

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, unloading another arm load of car parts from the back of the van to the middle of the garage, “don’t dog on the shaggin’ wagon, you know how much ass I get in this thing?”

The unspoken agreement you had with Eddie the other night after spilling your guts about your past, gave you more patience towards him than ever before. Instead of finding him repulsive, you two were almost friends.

“No I don’t and also I don’t care.” you say taking a bite of a ham sandwich.

“More than a public toilet seat,” Eddie boasts, “Ladies love it, feel like I’m Shaggy or something.”

More like his other four-legged snack-loving friend.

“I really hope you use a rubber, don’t wanna extend the Munson blood line anymore than you have to,” you bite back.

“Oh sweetheart, I always wrap it with the groupies, especially watching Jas bounce from Gareth, to Big D to Walt all in one night.”

“Well look at you, Mr. Perfect bill of health.”

Eddie smiles widely a stupid grin plastered on his face, “I’m so good at the doctors they even give me a sticker. ”

Now here you are, stranded at the gas station east of town, past Merrill’s pumpkin patch. Losing all faith in your sanity, you slam your hand into the steering wheel one more time. Your chunky boots clunk across the pavement as you pull the door towards you, a dingy brass bell dings overhead, alerting the gas station attendant that someone has entered the store.

“Back again?” the balding creep with the greasy combover presses. His coke bottle thick glasses full of breakfast pizza slime from his fingers from pushing them up on in place after sliding down the oils on his nose. A brown paper bag with orange spray paint sitting next to it sat on the counter, and a tinge of orange around his mouth.

With no time for small talk or shooting the shit with the local bachelors of Hawkins, you simply need to borrow the phone and call… fuck. You didn’t want to have to call Boom’s, but the other shops didn’t open yet, and you didn’t know any of them. The decision was made.

“I need to use the phone,” you say laying your hands on the counter.

“No can do, this is a business line,” he spits, bits of his barely chewed breakfast falling from his over stuffed mouth.

Irritated beyond belief you say through gritted teeth, “What? My car broke down, I need to have it towed.”

Showing no sympathy, the combover greaseball says, “That sucks, don’t it,” a throaty chuckle erupts from him. Clearly the man got off from making next to little effort in helping someone.

“Listen,” you say peering over the counter to read the slobs name tag, “Ralph— you’re going to give me the goddamn phone so I can get my car towed, or I’m going to tell your boss about your little huffing habit. Got it?”

His cheeks crimson at your threat, “…what’s the number?”

After dialing it wrong three times, Ralph’s oversized fingers and his altered mind getting hung up on where the 4 was on the dusty rotary phone, you hastily reach across the counter and grab it and the Hawkins phone book. Flipping through the worn yellow pages, finding the number yourself and slotting your fingers in the appropriate places to get the number correct, it finally starts ringing.

Angrily tapping your foot, the serenade of dial tone ringing loud in your ear.

“Boom’s” a bored voice says, after ehat seems like hours of waiting.

“Hey, — is Eddie there?”

A scoff is heard from the other end of the phone, followed by an annoyed voice, “Why who wants to know?”

You don’t have time for childish games with whoever this fucking prick is. “Jesus Christ what is it with assholes today? Is he there or no?”

“I don’t know, you stupid bitch— why don’t you tell me if Eddie is here or—”

A scuffle is heard as the phone falls to the ground.

“What the fuck did I tell you? Huh? I’ll drop your ass just name the time and place mother fuck— hello?”

“Eddie?” You ask exhaustedly.

“Tooty? Oh shit, you miss me so much you’re making calls to my work?”

“E—” you begin, frustration rising.

“Or did you call to gossip? Ooooh, tell me all about the salon drama, is it that blonde again, damn just slap her already I know you want to.”

“Ed—!”

“Shit if you’re worried about going to jail I’ll come bail y—”

“Edward Joseph Munson!”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, “Did you just use my full name? I only hear that when I’m in trouble with Wayne.”

“Will you listen to me?! I need help. I’m at the gas station east of town and my car won’t start.”

“What? What happened?” Eddie asks, his joking tone immediately fading to concern.

“I have no idea, but I’m already late for work—can you come pick me up?”

“Usually this is where a please would be.”

“Eddie!”

“Ooh even begging?”

“Goddamnit,” you say under your breath, “Eddie will you please, come get me?”

“That a girl, see that wasn’t so hard. So where are you?”

Eddie rolls up in an old orange and white tow truck, head banging with a cigarette hanging limply from his bottom lip. “So what happened?”

“Well I drove here, got gas, and then it just wouldn’t start.”

“Damn, I wonder if your starter is out.”

“Great, so what the hell does that mean?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it is that or not, but if it’s not that— it means that your car is probably going to need more work than it’s worth, but I won’t know until I get it in the shop.”

“Son of a bitch.” you curse, covering your face with your hands and tipping your head back up to the sky. Could this fucking day get any worse?

After buying the house last year, your savings were completely wiped out, the last few months you had been pinching pennies trying to build it back up

“I’ll tow it, but I don’t think Boom has any loaners right now,” Eddie explains, “but since I’m such a kind, handsome, good roommate….”

You roll your eyes.

“I’ll bring you to work.”

Shock evident on your face, “You sure?”

“I mean its either that or the city bus, and last I checked—Hawkins doesn’t have one.”

Eddie agrees to give you a ride until your car is fixed on one condition, the band gets to use the garage for practices again. Too tired to fight with him, you give in.

He backs the truck up, moving the steering wheel with one hand the other hanging out of the window, his tongue poked out through his lips. He jumps down from the truck and maneuvers the wheel lift into place by your front tires.

The muscles in his forearms jut out, tattoos dancing with each movement and covered in a thin sheet of sweat as he grabs the chains from the flatbed and hooks them along your front tires, securing them into place. Your car is lifted slightly giving enough clearance to be able to tow.

“Ready?”

Bouncing along side Eddie in the tow truck you sigh heavily, “fuck, I hate Mondays.”

“Okay, Garfield,” Eddie chuckles, turning down the radio and glancing towards you, a cigarette balanced between his teeth, “could always be worse,” he digs into his front pocket for his pack of cigarettes and hands them to you.

You smile weakly and take the pack from him, plucking a tanned filter from the pack and shoving it between your lips. Before you can even say that your lighter is in the car, he’s leaning over. A scratched zippo with a fading design on it, in his hand already flicked open, the flame threatening to go out with the help of the lazy breeze through the open driver’s side window. It’s the same lighter he’s had since you first bummed a cigarette from him when you were thirteen.

Leaning towards him you put the cigarette into the flame, inhaling deep— the cowboy killers burning the pinky tissue of your lungs. He flicks the lighter closed with a metallic snap and smiles out of the corner of his mouth at you. Suddenly your lungs aren’t the only thing burning.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to avoid the skips in your stomach, “I usually prefer menthols, but I guess, these’ll do,”

“Always gotta bust my balls dontchya?” Eddie laughs, a stream of smoke billowing out from his nose. “Hey, uh— I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but that gas station is rated 5 stars on the creepiest place in town.”

You glare your eyes at him, absolutely not having it, “they have cheap gas.”

“There’s a reason for that, and every drug dealer in town sells out of there,” Eddie scolds.

“You would know,” you say in a hateful tone.

“You’re right,” Eddie protests, looking at you earnestly, “I would know— it’s not a good place to be— no matter what time of day, so stay away from it.”

You knew he was trying to look out for you, and from what Steve said, — he blamed himself for the things Chad did to you. But it was never his fault, he didn’t know just like most of Hawkins didn’t. You lived with the Wheeler’s and not even they noticed until you walked home that night. You decide to let it be. For once in your life agreeing to what he had to say.

“Alright,”

Boom’s was on the opposite side of town, the rest of the drive you listened to Eddie hum along to the radio and snuck a peek at him playing air guitar. Despite him being so foul, and a royal pain in the ass, he was actually a decent human being.

No other men in their twenties could help you through your panic attack, aside from Steve. But Eddie? He was different from Steve in ways that you couldn’t grasp. You didn’t find yourself staring at Steve. Even if you had been swimming with him on more occasions than you can count. Sure he was good looking, but you never once understood why the girls at the pool practically flocked to him. Eddie hardly ever wore a shirt around you and your stomach ached each time you saw his broad shoulders and tattoos. Steve was like a brother to you, he scolded you and gave you advice, all with his hands permanently attached to his hips. A mother hen among his friends. Eddie teased and taunted you, his irritating behavior and the way he chewed his food, the way his hair was everywhere in the bathroom, the way his hair looked when he was fresh out of the shower, a towel slung on his hips. The way his hips made a ‘V’, small trail of hair from his belly button to his waistband. Fuck.

Is it hot in here?

What the hell were you doing?

There’s no way.

No fucking way.

Nope, not today.

Not ever.

…

But what if?

Eddie couldn’t understand what was going on with you in the passenger seat. Instead of bitching at him like normal, you were staring out the window. Looking as if you were fighting a storm in your cute little head. Maybe you were reliving the past. Silently suffering through something that he should have been there to stop. But judging from your reflection against the dirty window, you didn’t seem to be crying.

After that night, Eddie was putting in more effort to make sure you felt safe. He gave you distance. Avoided the bathroom in the morning, and stopped making dick jokes altogether. He still joked around, still acted like an idiot— but his perverted meter was dipped into the green zone, the safety net.

He meant what he said, you didn’t have to be afraid with him around. And he would do whatever he could to prove that to you. So when you called Boom’s earlier and asked for help— he dropped everything to make the trek across town to pick you up. Especially when you told him the gas station you were at. Known for being the skeeziest one in town, he worried about you being there alone.

Seeing the tow truck pull into the parking lot, Sean and Aaron had their noses pressed against the glass, the cheap flimsy blinds hung crooked over their heads.

“Damn,” Aaron exclaims, “you were right, that is her.”

“Told you, Munson hasn’t shut up about her since he moved in. Wonder if Chad knows where she’s been hiding.”

Eddie parks the tow truck and you both climb out. He gives you the keys to his van and tells you he’d be right back. Walking into the shop with a whistle on his tongue, he goes into Boom’s office. He’s sitting at a worn down wooden desk. Papers, and receipts clutter space where a framed family picture might be. A steaming styrofoam cup of coffee in Boom’s left hand suggested he stopped at the donut mart, and a dozen of glazed holes from heaven would be sitting in the break room, their sweetness tantalizing the crew all day.

Eddie raps his knuckles against the yellowed paint by the door frame.

‘Yep,” Boom chirps without looking up, reading the daily arrest records in the Hawkins Post.

“Hey, I brought Tooty’s Escort back, I’m going to bring her to work quick and when I get back I’ll move it.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Boom gripes, not looking up from the paper, sipping the coffee slowly.

“Dunno, I’ll take a look at it— “ Eddie shifts his weight from one foot to another, “I was wondering if I could maybe work on it after hours, or on the weekends.”

Boom considers what Eddie is saying, “off the clock?”

“Yeah, or maybe I could take some of my tools home? Work on it there?”

Boom thinks for a while, taking a sip of his coffee. His pudgy finger hovering near the name “William Hargrove” mulling over if he knew him. He finally looks up, “Whatever you wanna do, Eddie, you’ve got keys—I trust you.” Boom offers, “just don’t let those other two jackasses know what you’re doing and who for— that’s all they’ve been yappin’ about since you left this morning.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “I’m just helping out a friend, don’t know why they give a fuck.”

“Personally, I don’t give a shit— but you’re my best mechanic, and those other two are on their last strike with me. One more time I read their name in this paper and they’re both out of here, and when that time comes— I’m sure they’ll be lookin’ for someone to blame.”

The familiar scent of stale weed and a spilled rotting beer in the back of the van flood your nose. Even though his van was a dirty pile of shit and it stunk like hell, you’re thankful for Eddie taking time out of his day to help you.

He could have easily told you to fuck off, hung up on you the minute you called. But he didn’t. He kept good on his word even when he didn’t have to. He doesn’t owe you anything and yet here he was, proving to you again, that he could be someone to rely on. You peer at him through your lashes, falling deep into a spell of fondness. He was always clean shaven, showing off his babyish features. If you didn’t know his age you wouldn’t guess he was over twenty two, his youthful pale skin a glow like the moon across a lake at midnight. The deep browns of his eyes squint in the bright sun, his dark eyelashes almost kissing his cheeks. His thick ringed fingers tapping on the steering wheel as ‘Holy Diver’ plays gently in the background. The bob of his Adam's apple jutting out as he swallows and takes a drag from a cigarette.

You barely recognize your own voice when you say barely above a whisper, “thank you, by the way— not just for today but for the other night,” your fingers go back to the same nervous habit, twiddling the end of your cream lettuce hem shirt.

“Of course,” he says, a look of shock on his face, “I know I like to give you shit, but I wouldn’t leave you stranded somewhere.” He looks over at you lazily and smiles. The kind of smile associated with cool guys on tv, the kind of smile that’s crooked and truly only on one side of the face. And for the first time, you smile too, letting the warmth radiate through your body, venturing into places that you have to readjust your crossed legs to avoid entirely.

Pulling into the backlot of the salon, where you and Nancy smoke cigarettes and read trash magazines, you jump out thanking him again, the creak of the door slamming back into the frame as you wave goodbye.

“What time?” Eddie yelled after you, silently admiring the way the sun catches your face, highlighting your features, the slight breeze catching your hair, he can’t help the smile that dances on his lips. “What time are you off work?”

Walking back to him, he’s leaning his head back on the head rest, an arm hanging out of the window, a stupid grin on his face.

“My last client is at five and it’s just a cut, so probably six o’clock, why?” A creep of jittery shock threatens your nerves, fluttering your stomach and sending waves of fluster through your body.

“Thought I’d pick you up, unless you wanna walk home?” He smirks, tracing the small paint chip near where his fingers set on the door.

Biting your lip and moving back on your heels you make your way back to the door, “Okay.”

“Alright, I’ll be back at six.”

“Six” you repeat, turning on your heel and walking into the salon.

Eddie has thought about you all day, the cards of life and the hand you were dealt were shitty. But he was happy he was around to help in any little way he could. He thought maybe he was crazy, seeing shit when you smiled at him, a sort of shyness in the way you flirted by dipping your head into your shoulder almost giddy at him picking you up.

But that couldn’t be.

The rest of your day was monotonous. Shampoo sets, perms, cuts, rinse and repeat. The long haired metalhead hardly left your mind. When it’s just you and Josie left in the salon after your last appointment, it’s 5:30. She sits down, exhaling loudly. Her long dark braids trailing to her waist, cascade down the length of the chair as she leans back.

“Broke down again? Girl, you need a car that actually works.” Her hot pink fingernails dip into a bag of skittles, popping them into her mouth.

“I know,” you sigh, throwing yourself into your salon chair, “hopefully in the next few months I’ll have enough saved to get myself a new one.”

“So how did you get here? If we had someone else in the salon today I would have came and picked you up,” her mouth puckered into a sucking expression as she pops another skittle into her mouth.

“My roommate… he works at Boom’s so he towed it there and then brought me to work,” you express nonchalantly.

“Ooh the rich one who you used to work with?”

“Steve?” You say with a laugh, “No, Eddie Munson.”

“Eddie Munson? Why does that name sound so familiar? Ohh the infamous Hawkins bad boy, my cousins used to run around with him, some club or somethin’ ”

“Yeah, that's him, he’s turned himself around quite a bit since high school though.” The annoying need to defend him is obvious in your tone.

Josie’s eyes go wide, “Wait—“ she says, pointing a pink nail at you, “he had a girlfriend. He’s living with you? Shit, you’re a brave one.”

Heat creeps to your cheeks, the thought of Eddie having a secret girlfriend that you didn’t know about was almost torture on your soul, “no, no girlfriend… that I’m aware of at least.”

Speak of the devil and he will be present.

Opening the door with the sun waning behind him, peeking an orangy-yellow glow through his unruly curls, stood Eddie. His coveralls are full of motor oil and brake fluid. Black grease is smeared across his face, and his hands. Bandana still snug around his head.

“Oh shit,” Eddie blurts, eyes scanning around the room, bouncing from your face to Josie’s. Clearly uncomfortable in such a clean establishment. “Sorry, I’m uhh, a little early.”

Josie’s eyebrows are turned up in shock, her mouth slightly agape. “Damn, you’re the roommate!?”

Before she can embarrass you any further you blurt, “Josie, this is Eddie,” holding out a hand and pointing, introducing him to her, “Eddie this is my boss and the owner of the salon, Josie.”

Eddie waves with his fingers, “so you’re the one lookin’ after our girl here, the mechanic?” Josie asks.

“Uhh, yeah that’s me.” he puts a hand on the back of his neck and rubs it slow

Josie stands and walks towards you, a clicking of her heels and munching on her candy as she grabs your hand and drags you upwards, dragging you to the back of the salon.

Eddie looks around the room. The salon is decorated in light washes of pink and green and flowers decorate almost every surface, White painted baskets hang from the ceiling holding fake flowers. The salon chairs are black as are the mats under them. Green sinks in the back and cabinets overhead. Two mirrors on each wall and station with a name and family pictures decorate them. Eddie can’t help but notice that where you were sitting, there are only three pictures. A photo of you and Nancy looking like it was taken last summer, you’re holding up the keys to the blue ranch style house he now calls home. Another picture is of you Robin and Steve, in green Family Video Vests in front of the counter. You and Robin are both pulling one of Steve’s ears and he’s making a monkey face. The last picture is of you and Eyeball as kids, a portrait more than likely taken at a JC Penney’s.

“Don’t forget to lock up, okay? Enjoy your day off tomorrow. Eddie, be good to her!” Josie calls from the back, the heavy metal door slamming as she leaves for the night, a smile painted on her lips, shaking her head.

You walk back towards Eddie, he’s sitting in your chair, poking around at all of the different brushes and curling irons that were on your station. Your tired eyes scan him and find him in the mirror. “What is all this shit?”

“My tools to style, cut and color people’s hair.”

You’re standing behind him. You hesitantly grab one of his curls in between your fingers, noting how silky and smooth his hair is despite the split ends. “You could probably use a trim, Eddie. When was the last time you had your hair cut?”

“You think these curls have been in a salon? Please! I cut it myself thank you,”

“I can tell,” you mutter under your breath, going full hog and untying his sweaty bandana and tossing it onto the counter. “Come on, let’s go wash your hair, and then I’m gonna give you a trim.”

“You’re not cutting my hair.” Eddie protests, arms crossed and resisting.

“Your ends are dead, if you don’t take care of it now, it’ll keep going further up and then you’ll have to shave your head.”

Eddie practically trips standing up quickly. “Those are fighting words.”

“Do you really think I’d do that?” You ask in a bored tone.

“Actually no, but— okay fine! Only because you went to some fancy school.”

Eddie stomps over to the sink and sits down with a plop in the smooth cushioned black chair. You follow behind him and place your apron back around your neck, tightening it around your back. You lean his chair back telling him to lift his head from the headrest as you gather his curls into the basin.

Turning on the water and testing the temperature on your wrist, like a mother testing a bottle making sure it isn’t too hot for a baby, you gently put the spray into the ends of Eddie’s hair, gently working the spray up the length of his head to his scalp.

“Is the water okay?”

“Ow, holy shit!” Eddie yelps, his body flopping around like a fish out of water. You immediately turn the faucet the other way, apologizing profusely until you realize Eddie is shaking with laughter.

“Oh fuck, … you…” more laughing as he chokes out his words, “should have seen your face.” He mimics your face and bursts into a fit of giggles, you aren’t sure how long he would have kept it up if you didn’t put the hose directly into his face and throw a towel at him.

“Wipe that grin off your face or I’ll wax your eyebrows.” You spit at him, letting out a small laugh.

Mumbling from under the towel is faint but you swear you hear the word bikini.

Eddie finished cleaning his face and lays his head back into the sink again, you don’t ask this time but immediately start wetting his hair. “So,” he says, closing his eyes, so water won’t get in them, “I think I figured out what is wrong with your car.”

“Oh really? Is it going to be an easy fix?”

Not wanting to admit to you that he was working on your car for free or that he would borrow as many tools as he had to to get your car fixed, he settles for a half truth.

“Shouldn’t be too bad, gotta get some parts ordered for it.”

You let out a groan, “oh God— how much are they?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I just said, don’t worry about it, now treat me like one of your clients and tell me all the hot gossip in your life.”

Taking three giant pumps from the white shampoo bottle in the cabinet, you gently massage it into his scalp. Letting the cool smooth pearlescent liquid suds up. His hair feels like brown ropes of silk in your hands. All the years of having your hands in someone else’s hair were nothing compared to the odd feeling of lightly working the suds into Eddie’s mane. Baby soft. Luxurious in ways that contradicted the metalhead image he wore so well like a coat of armor.

You weren’t the only one admiring the way his hair felt in your hands.

Eddie is fighting hard not to melt into a puddle right there in Josie’s salon. Your hands were like magic against his scalp, your nails lightly scratching small circles against his skull. He was sure he’d fall asleep if he kept his eyes closed for any longer. It was the closest thing he could compare to what heaven would be like. Hints of tropical coconut mixed with crushed pineapple filled the air. He didn’t even realize you were talking until he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of your mouth moving over him. Your face was concentrating on the story that you were telling, but it fell on deaf ears. He was in a trance. The scrape of your nails against his head was almost pornographic to him. The way your eyes were trained on the job at hand. The way your lips parted and moved as you told the story. The animated look in your eyes, sparkling with each slow blink, your eyelashes teasing him.

He had never noticed the features of your face before. Usually if he was this close you were staring up at him and pointing one of those glorious fingernails into his chest, yelling at him— eyebrows pulled in, your face set in a scowl. But now here you were, scratching an itch he didn’t know he had. Filling a void he wasn’t aware was missing. He could die right now and he wouldn’t even know it. It was almost orgasmic the way you were making him feel, all with just simply washing his hair.

He caught himself before you could notice it. He crossed his legs and willed himself to think of anything else. Shutting his eyes and imagining the least sexy thing he could think of. Not wanting to ruin the moment between you both and make you never want to trust him again because he had got an accidental semi while staring at you while you were wrist deep in shampoo, scrubbing his scalp like a woman in the 1800s washing clothes on a board in the creek bed.

Nobody had ever washed his hair before, that he could remember at least. He never wanted it to end.

“…but that’s crazy right? Like she’s a psycho!” The hazy fog of lust finally left Eddie’s mind, his other four senses returning. Looking at your face and seeing that you were hurt by the story you had explained, and ashamed that he wasn’t even listening, he agreed, not even knowing if he should.

“What a bitch.”

You giggled, smiling down at him. Finally realizing you had been scrubbing his hair for almost five minutes, lost in the story. A stupid distraction to force yourself away from the feeling of the silk length of his hair, the way it felt in your fingers. Not wanting to let it slip away. You gather it all in one hand and grab the hose with the other, starting at the crown of his forehead, you rinse the suds from his hair.

Bubbles circle the basin. Disappearing down the drain along with the same shared feelings of lust and yearning. Shoved down deep away from the surface, hidden beneath hardened surfaces, shielded away from the inner depths of the softening heart.

You ended up cutting half an inch from Eddie’s curls, careful to not lose yourself in his hair again, almost cutting yourself in the process. Hee watched with wide sad brown eyes with each snip. “It’s like I’m watching you cut parts of my soul away.”

You roll your eyes, “It’ll grow back, and when it does it’ll be healthier and longer.”

His bangs were the next to be trimmed, not even half an inch taken off. You place a leave-in conditioner spray to keep his curls soft and to help with the tangles. Knowing full well that Eddie didn’t even own a hair brush.

When you finish and are sweeping up his curls, Eddie stands shaking his head like a dog and running his fingers through it. “Alright, I’ll admit, it does feel better.”

Since the agreement was made for the band to practice every other day of the week in the garage, Eddie had been bringing you to work, and picking you up. On days the band wouldn’t be practicing, when he dropped you at home, he would leave immediately after, sometimes not showing up again until midnight. Coming home tired as all hell, and just like you had done weeks before, a Tupperware of food with instructions on how to warm it up taped to the lid, would be waiting for him in the fridge, each and every time.

There was no more yelling from you when the three members of Corroded Coffin showed up. There were also no more beer cans or greasy food wrappers on the ground either. Instead a trash can sat in the corner, and Eddie paid for pizza after you ordered it.

Actually the band was pretty good. You would never tell him that, that would simply go to his head. And with the ego he already had, he didn’t need another boost of confidence, leave that for the groupies. So every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday night the band got together, playing covers from their beloved 80’s metal Gods and sometimes original songs they would write. All of them thankful that you let them practice in the garage, Big D picking you up into a bear hug and swinging you around like a rag doll.

“Jesus Christ, D, this is why the ladies run from you, you’re too aggressive, put her down!” Eddie barks. A pang of burning in his chest at the sight of you in someone else’s arms.

Big D sets you down and apologizes, “sorry Toots, and hey speaking of ladies, whatever happened with you and those hotter than hell twins?”

“Oh shit, Gareth hollered, “Fuck dude they were all over him, surprised he’s even able to walk with the way they were strung around him like cats in heat. You usually can’t wait to tell us about it, bragging until the next gig about it at least.”

“That’s cause he probably didn’t do shit, too chicken shit to handle them.”

Your stomach flips, so it wasn’t something you remembered wrong, there were two girls that Eddie had brought home that night. A strange feeling of angst washes over you, coating your mind with uncertainty mixed with inadequacy. Your cheeks warm, embarrassed by the way you are feeling. Excusing yourself to go order the pizza, you don’t see the way Eddie dismisses the guys, blowing them off with a “why don’t we keep our sexcapades to ourselves.” Or the way he throws a full beer at Big D.

After ordering the Corroded Coffin special, two large pepperonis, two large sweet and swine, and an extra large order of cheesy breadsticks— you go into the cupboard and bring out several bags of chips and five paper plates. Your favorite, sour cream and onion, and Eddie’s favorite, cool ranch Doritos. You let your mind wander. Thinking about him with those two girls. Realizing this is probably where he went at night after he dropped you off.

No need to feel like that when he was just your roommate, you shake the jealousy from your head. Just Eddie. Barely a friend. Yet he was still going out of his way to take you to work every day, till doing the chores you both shared. You let the silly feelings drop, carrying the chips and plates to the garage, shutting the door behind you. Pulling up your usual lawn chair, listen to the band play and finish painting your toenails.

When the boys end the song, they start again on the conversation they had started before playing, “dude I’m not dressing up as KISS again this year,” Jeff whines to Gareth “took me forever to get that white paint off my face. And don’t even get me started on the eyeliner.”

A spray of beer soaks the ground as Eddie spits it out, laughing hysterically about the memory of watching Jeff struggle lining his eyes like Paul Stanley. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “yeah I agree, I’m not painting your ugly mugs again this year, what else are you thinkin’?”

“We could all be different villains from scary movies. Freddy, Jason, Michael Myers’s, and Pinhead.” Big D suggests, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Nah, no chicks wanna fuck something scary. I don’t know about you— but I tried all of last Halloween to get some tail and no girl would even look my way with all that clown paint on.” Gareth huffs twirling his drum sticks in his fingers.

“What about you Tooty?” Eddie asks earnestly, “Do you and Robin go bar hoppin’ on Halloween or do you usually stay home like an old lady knitting sweaters and handing out black licorice and molding fruit?”

Making a face at him, you paint the last coat of polish on your toe nail. “Actually, Nancy and I usually throw a party. Costume contests, kegs, beer pong… we kinda go all out.”

Eddie picks his jaw up from the floor, scoffing, “no way— Nancy Wheeler and you, throwing a rager on Halloween? I don’t buy it.”

“Call Steve and ask him, he’s the reigning Cherry Lane Halloween costume contest winner for two years running.” You say with a smirk on your lips, stretching your legs and crossing them at your ankles, the pretty maroon polish catching the dim light in the garage. “You guys are more than welcome to come, obviously it’s on Halloween night, and the only stipulation is to bring a good costume, and $5 for the keg.”

Eddie moves his tongue over his teeth, twisting his body to look at his band mates, all three of them shrugging and nodding. “Yeah, we’ll be here,

“Yeah, if you think you’re up for it. Sure.” You say nonchalantly.

The smell of mildew and damp carpet currently being air dried with a fan stung your nose. The soggy basement and the crumbling foundation of Sally’s Secondhand in downtown Hawkins was a hidden gem and only open in the afternoons on Mondays and Wednesdays, but they had decent prices and good quality items when you were in a pinch if you could learn to breathe through your mouth for the time you were there.

“So how’s the roomie situation going?” Nancy asks, holding up a hand mixer with two mixing parts and a wooden handle labeled for .10¢. You had scored gold when you found a gently used, practically brand new waffle iron. It was wedged between two cook books for only $2. The same one Karen Wheeler had used on Sunday mornings. You were hunting for discounted Halloween decorations still not sure on what you were going to dress as and Halloween was this Saturday, Nancy was searching for spare camera parts for Jonathan and a toy cowboy hat for her costume that she wouldn’t tell you about.

Putting a masking taped bundle of forks into the blue plastic grocery basket, your forks magically kept disappearing everytime Eddie brought leftovers to work, you let out a sigh, “It’s going okay, better than it was in the beginning. He’s fixing my car up and I cut his hair a few weeks ago. I um.. also told him about Chad.”

Nancy stops dead in her tracks, blue eyes wide, her small mouth agape, “wh-what?!” Nancy was shocked at the news, you nonchalantly delivered like saying ‘fine’ when some asked how you were. She knew how frightening that situation was for you, it was scary for her too. Seeing someone she loved and cared about hurt in ways she couldn’t even fathom.

“We ran into him while getting groceries—like a month ago. I had a full blown panic attack, and Eddie, he helped me through it.” You go into detail explaining everything that had happened. Leaving out the part of you being comforted by Eddie and the gentle way his thick hands caressed you while you sobbed into him like a child who lost their cat.

Nancy's face goes from shock and softens into content, “wow, honestly didn’t think he had a caring bone in his body, he always seemed like such an asshole.”

“I mean he still is, don’t get me wrong— I don’t think he’s giving donations to the local churches or anything, but he seems a little more reserved, if you will,” you say, adding a floral embroidered set of towels for every day of the week to your basket.

“Hmm,” Nancy says with raised eyebrows, and nodding her head, a silent confirmation of approval. Always looking up to Nancy, almost as if she was your real life sister, you admired her. She was always put together, whether you were shopping during the week or at home, she was stylish in a way that said, I will run the world, and have dinner on the table at 6. Her white huarache sandals matched her high waisted pink pastel shorts and white button sleeveless blouse. Effortlessly stunning.

Moving along the aisles you and Nancy both finger through the clothing racks. Pulling out neon prints and a pair Madonna—esque white lace gloves, they probably belonged to that muppet singing idiot, Tammy Thompson. Chuckling at how fashion trends in high school were borderline ridiculous. a denim vest in your size with safety pins on each hem gave you an idea for your costume. Finding everything you needed you were ecstatic to put it all together.

The carpet squashed beneath your feet the further you got into the store. The back room held vhs’s, records, tapes, and books. The records were in a milk carton next to a shelf of adult themed books. The fading sharpie written sign reading “Adult fiction for Women 25 cents” posted bold along the top of the shelf. Nancy discreetly placed, “Thursday and the Lady” by Patricia Matthews into her basket, covering it with matching salt and pepper shakers, a crimson tinge to her rouged cheeks.

Diving into the records you flip them towards you as you lazily scan through them. Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, Thriller by Michael Jackson, Abbey Road by the Beatles, Kind of Blue by Miles Davis, stuck to the back of it was a small single, Ode to Billie Joe by Bobbie Gentry. It had been years since you heard it, tucking it into your basket, Nancy clears her throat nervously, the blush evident in her cheeks, “I’m ready if you are.”

The Saturday of Halloween the salon was closed, giving you Robin and Steve plenty of time to decorate for the party tonight. Eddie was working but was scheduled to get off around 5, just in time to come home and get his secret costume on.

Orange pumpkin printed garbage bags filled with autumn foliage lined the streets of Cherry Lane. Toilet paper streamers were in Mr. Derry’s tree, a prank the seniors of Hawkins High did to him every year, including egging his front door. Vinyl witches hung from doorknobs. Plastic ghosts holding jack-o-lanterns littered lawns. Fake strings of cotton resembling cobwebs with bendy plastic spider thrown around like glitter, lay atop shrubs. Orange lights were wrapped around the trees in your front yard, flimsy ghosts made of white sheets were hung from the branches. It was a child’s Halloween paradise.

“Higher, no lower, well now you’re just doing it wrong.” Steve was in charge of Robin who was in charge of decorations. The beer pong tournament would be in the basement, every strand of Christmas lights you could find were lighting the ceiling, table set up and cups in place. The tournament bracket started with Mike and El playing against Jeff and his girlfriend Ash. The kegs would be delivered later. Buckets ready for ice sitting on the deck. Robin and Steve were still arguing over who had the better costume last year. Twisting black and orange streamers together and hanging them in the doorway to the bathroom.

In the kitchen, you’re finishing up the Jell-O shots, small clear dishes full of cherry red jello made with everclear. A bitter threat to anyone brave enough to eat them. The spinach and artichoke dip is prepped in the fridge, along with 10 packages of crescent rolls, 5 packages of hotdogs, the fruit cut and ready to be put into Steve’s horrendous Jungle Juice that you would actively be avoiding. Nancy and Jonathan were bringing pinwheels and rotel dip. Dustin and Susie are in charge of bringing candy. It’s going to be a blast.

“Be right back,” Robin and Steve call out as they leave to go get their costumes. Putting the finishing touches on your costume your hand shakes with nervousness while swiping mascara on your lashes, the pre party jitters wracking your nerves. The ring of the doorbell startles you. The obnoxious ringing should be a dead giveaway but you don’t recognize it until the door is wide open and you’re face to face with Jesus Christ himself and three nuns. Or as you knew them, Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Big D.

You aren’t sure whose mouth is hanging open more. Yours or Eddie’s. Eddie is wearing a long sleeved cream colored gown, complete with a crimson sash. His usual black leather boots on his feet and a crucifix in his hand.

Eddie is the first to laugh, hands held out like he’s blessing the house before he enters it. “Aww sweetheart, you really are my #1 fan aren’t you?”

You are dressed as the most annoying on the planet, pain in the ass, voted most perverted of all of Hawkins: Eddie. When shopping with Nancy you found the vest, adding a few hand sewn patches and the best replica of Eddie’s DIO patch on the back, even shoving a pack of reds into the pocket, it looked pretty good. A twin of the aforementioned jackass. Borrowing Nancy’s cheap leather jacket when she went as Sandy from Grease last year, and putting holes into a pair of jeans and washing them as many times as you could to fray the edges, it was perfect. Complete with a horrible curly wig that you thought was a life dog upon seeing it.

“I was going for scary and scary annoying,” you shrug, “think I nailed it.”

“As hilarious and surprisingly accurate your costume is, the real winner for the party is going to be us” He gestured to him and the nuns. “figured I’d go as something that everyone says I need more of and you recognize the boys right? They’re dressed as your friends from work.”

The kegs finally show up and Eddie blesses the delivery man before he leaves. Fully throwing himself into character. Dustin and Susie are the first to arrive, dressed as Mrs. Doubtfire and Sally Ride, the first woman astronaut to go into space.

Dustin laughs so hard he cries at your costume. “Oh my God please you have to say, ‘forced conformity, it’s what’s killing the kids!’ Please Tooty Holy shit!”

Mimicking Eddie perfectly you saunter away and scream about society and how good Metallica is.

“Oh haha, so funny Tooty,” Eddie pouts, holding a beer funnel in his hands, “come on Henderson let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”

The backyard is sprayed with foamy beer as Dustin very much can not put his money where his mouth is. Gareth’s up next, chugging like a champion and doing a lap around the backyard like he won a trophy. Eddie and Jeff shotgun beer, Eddie winning by a mile. Laughing and putting his hands in a praying gesture to bless Jeff for his shortcomings.

The rest of the party goers show up, Nancy is dressed like Annie Oakley wielding a fake shotgun and a straw cowboy hat and a long brown dress with fringe hanging from the shoulders. Jonathan and his long haired friend Argyle arrive behind Nancy dressed as Sonny & Cher. Argyle had given up the fast moving life in California once a Surfer Boys pizza arrived in Hawkins. He delivered to the house so much during the nights that Corroded Coffin was practicing that he had your order prepped and ready to go by the time you had called it in. He’d show up so blitzed out of his mind that he’d forget he was at work, sharing his different strains of weed with all the Corroded Coffin boys.

Robin and Steve are in the kitchen, ladling jungle juice into empty cups. The duo dressed as Thelma and Louise, Robin wearing a black muscle shirt and sunglasses, and Steve wore a white tank top with a neckerchief. Both talking in horrible southern accents.

Eddie is standing next to Argyle in the living room both holding almost empty cups of the forbidden jungle juice, deep in conversation about something called Purple Palm Tree Delight, but knowing them, it had nothing to do with a lavender paradise. You reach around Eddie to grab a pinwheel, taking a bite when Argyle, clearly stoned, goes wide eyed leaning into Eddie his eyes still transfixed on you he whisper yells.

“Yo, I swear to God, I just saw two of you.”

“Argyle it’s me, Tooty.” You explain standing next in front of them trying not to laugh. “This is the real Eddie, I’m just dressed like him for Halloween.”

Argyle leans forward and whispers into your ear, “Yeah okay man that’s what the aliens would say before they clone us and take over.”

He leans back and takes two big steps backwards, eyes wide in a horrified daze, before disappearing down into the basement.

“Don’t think I’ve ever said this before, but that guy smokes way too much.” Eddie chuckles, downing the rest of his jungle juice and eating the fruit at the bottom of the cup.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warn him watching with your own gut twisting as the sweet juices of strawberry slither down his chin and down the slope of his neck.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, smacking his lips, “I’m twenty six years old, I can handle my liquor.”

“Okay,” you reply, “just so you know, the fruit soaks up all the alcohol and Steve presoaks it all in everclear the night before. Last time he ate all the fruit he spent an hour in the bathroom crying about his love life or lack thereof. And besides, we have to play in the pong tournament in a half hour.”

“We?” Eddie asks, lips turned up and a slight blush to his cheeks, “I didn’t sign up for beer pong.” His dark eyes pour into yours.

Heat creeps up your neck as you reach for a Jell-O shot cracking the lid off and circling the dish with your finger before sucking it into your mouth.

“I signed you up,” you say, reaching for another Jell-O shot, “everyone had a partner but Argyle and Will, so I paired you with Argyle, and I’m with Will,” you slide your finger around the Jell-O dish and suck the cherry gelatin into your mouth, savoring the bitter bite to your tongue before you crush it between your teeth.

“You better bring your A game Munson,” you say, taking a step into him and poking him in the chest, “because I don’t lose.”

Eddie isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol that’s making him feel this way or you but suddenly he can’t stop blushing, laying the charm on thicker than peanut butter, “oh really?” he asks intrigued, “Well babe, I don’t think you know this but I’m the Forest Hills Trailer Park Pong Champion for eight summers in a row, so technically,” he’s leaning forward now, whispering low to get his point across. Your breath hitches in your throat, you can feel the tickle of his lips against your ear, his hair is brushing against your face, the faint smell of motor oil stuck in his curls, “I never lose either.”

He pulls back and your eyes lock. The heat flooding your cheeks burn, the ache in your stomach travels south and pulses with want. You can’t deny it to yourself, even dressed as Jesus Christ, Eddie is the best looking guy you’ve laid eyes on, and you were melting at the way his dark eyes gazed into yours, a smirk placed on his lips as he brushes his tongue over his bottom lip to catch the remnants of the horrific fruit juice. His eyes never leave yours as he takes the Jell-O shot dish you’re holding and sets it behind him on the table. The tension could be cut with a knife, thick and heavily hanging in the space between you both. Eddie opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by El screaming for Mike to get to the backyard instead of puking in the kitchen sink. Her Alice in Wonderland wig askew on her head and holding Mike’s mad hatter hat between her hands.

Running to open the sliding door you get it open just in time for Mike to projectile vomit off the deck.

“Christ, what did he eat?” Eddie asks from behind you, “damn Mike you’re such a pussy!”

“His dumbass didn’t eat all day and when he got here he decided that Jell-O and fruit would be a good option.” El says, rubbing his back as he pukes again and again, “I don’t feel bad for you Mike!”

Wiping his mouth on his forest green jacket sleeve, he murmurs, “Babe, I’m fine, seriously, a few pieces of bread and I’ll be in tip top sh—“ puke splatters wetly against the grass again.

You grab El’s hand and squeeze, “let me know if you need anything, okay?” She nods and smiles sweetly.

“C’mon,” Eddie says behind you, “let’s go so I can kick your ass in beer pong.”

You turn your head, half facing him, “game on, Munson.”

The sharpie bracket on poster board continued moving forward thanks to Steve’s basketball knowledge. Jeff and Ash beat Mike and El, Nancy and Jonathan beat out Gareth and Big D in a very close came both opponents having one cup left. Steve and Robin were beat out in the first round by Dustin and Susie, something King Steve would never be living down. Nex on the bracket to play would be you and Will playing Argyle and Eddie. Honestly it should be a piece of cake, a walk in the park. Will wasn’t the most athletic but last year him and Jonathan got second place against you and Nancy so the odds were pretty high. One thing you were absolutely certain of was that you would not be losing to Jesus and Cher tonight.

The basement is packed with everyone besides the ill Mike and faithful El. Argyle and a pink lensed Will are in the corner smoking a fat blunt the sequin jacket he’s wearing sparkles through the haze of smoke and the catches the lights. You haven’t seen him since Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding. But he’s letting his hair grow out, finally letting the bowl cut Joyce insisted on him having all throughout middle school and high school go. Steve has Dustin in a headlock for teasing him about winning against Mr. Hawkins High basketball star of 1985.

“Ya know for once, I was actually good, like really good, Steve overthrew the last cup and it was game over once Susie got the ball. She’s strangely amazing at beer pong. Probably found the mathematical equation from the distance of the table and her elbow to the solo cups.” Robin rambles on, only stopping to get her breath. “How are you? I haven’t seen you all night. Killer costume by the way, if you can’t beat ‘em be ‘em right?”

Robin and her absolute no filter mouth, always make you laugh, linking your arm with hers, “I really like your and Steve’s take on best friends driving off a cliff together to evade police.”

“JESUS CHRIST!” someone yells from upstairs.

Not missing a beat, Eddie can be heard returning the exclamation. “You rang?”

Rolling your eyes and looking his way, you laugh when you see him, holding up his arms in praise.

Robin’s voice bringing you back to the conversation, “Epic right? Steve thought we could be conjoined twins but then decided against it when he figured there was a small chance he could possibly get lucky tonight when that black haired girl at his job kept hinting that she wanted a date with him.”

“What!” you shout, “He never told me this!”

Robin rolls her eyes and takes another drink from her too foamy beer, “he’s nervous, I think he really likes her but doesn’t wanna fuck it up like he does everything else.”

Steve deserved to be happy and to have someone love him. He was always making sure everyone else was okay, you smile at the thought of him with a girlfriend.

“So,” Robin presses, wiggling her eyebrows, “Eddie looks good tonight,” a wicked smile dances wildly on her lips.

“I’m not at all buzzed enough to have this conversation,” you say, taking a peak at Eddie through your eyelashes, he was laughing loudly at something Steve had said, head thrown back, exposing his neck.

Will joins your side, reeking of weed and heavy musk cologne. “Tooty!” He squeals, wrapping you into a tight hug, “the house looks so fucking good I can’t believe it, also I heard that you’re living with Eddie? I’m going to need all the details!”

“It’s so good to see you, look at your hair!” You say holding his arms. Will threads a hand through his hair and laughs a little.

“Thanks, it’s new but it’s kinda growing on me, now, spill it. Tell me everything.”

“Next game!” Nancy announces, advancing her and Jonathan to the next bracket. “Argyle/ Eddie vs Tooty/ Will.”

Will grabs your hand and drags you to the beer pong table, “after?” He asks and you nod your head.

Eddie and Argyle are standing on one end, you and Will on the other. The cups are arranged into a triangle and filled with the warming pitcher of keg beer.

“You ready to go down groveling, sweetheart?” Eddie sings from across the table, eyes squinting when he leans on the edge of the table smiling at you.

Your stomach flutters, taking a long swig of Will’s jungle juice, staring Eddie down as you gulp the vile liquor and fruit punch combo down, “You ready to get your ass kicked, Munson?”

“Woo! That’s balls back ba-by,” you sneer, hooting and hollering as Eddie begrudgingly tosses the balls back your way. It was almost as if Argyle and Will weren’t even there, this game was between you and Eddie. You were definitely buzzed, between the warm beer and the Jell-O shots you had eaten you were feeling good.

When you miss the first cup, Eddie makes devil horns at you and howls at the moon like an idiot. You sink the next cup, earning a high-five from Will, and a sly grin from Eddie as he removes the cup and chugs the warm beer. He’s secretly excited that you’re so happy, letting loose, in your element, surrounded by your loving friends. You glowing with a sense of freedom. In that moment when your eyes caught his, he knew he was in trouble, you were wrapped around his finger and he didn’t think of hardly anything else, but you, your beautiful smile, the way your hair caught each light you were under. He was in deep, and for right now, he was perfectly and utterly okay with that.

It’s Argyle’s turn and he surprisingly sinks both cups, being awarded with balls back, as you and Will each take a cup and drink the suds down. Trying to distract him, you whip off your Eddie- esque wig and toss it towards Eddie, shaking your hair out like a wild woman.

Unphased by your antics he does it again and you groan. Four in a row? This guy was half asleep the entire game and all of a sudden he’s an athlete? They only have 1 cup left. Tension rises and the room goes to silence at Steve’s request. Argyle sinks it. Eddie erupts into cheers grabbing Argyle by the shoulders and jumping up and down.

“Redemption attempt!” Steve shouts, giving Will the ball. Will takes it with nervous fingers, blowing the ball to dry it slightly as you chug the last cup. He only has two cups to make. Will tosses the ball and the room goes silent, it feels like it’s in slow motion, or maybe that’s the alcohol. The ball soars through the air, bouncing against the rim of the cup lapping up the foamy beer, before it falls off and teeters off onto the table.

Argyle raises both hands in the air, “VICTORY!” the room erupts with cheers. Will apologizes profusely but you hug him tight, telling him you were happy he was your partner.

“Next game is Jonathan/Nancy vs Jeff/ Ash starting in 20 mins!” Steve hollers. The basement clears out as people go upstairs to use the bathroom and refill their drinks.

You expect Eddie to be gloating, cocky beyond belief. But he’s the opposite, coming up to you slowly, head bowed, upper teeth practically biting his lower lip in half.

“Good game sweetheart,” he says barely above a whisper, “not gonna lie, I really thought you guys were gonna win.”

Holding your chin high, face only inches from his, the brown pools of colored whiskey stare into your eyes. Placing a hand on his chest, the alcohol gives you enough of a push to cross the line. The thin gauzy material of the gown he’s wearing is sticky with sweat and warm from the heat radiating from his body. “Told myself I wouldn’t lose to Cher and Jesus tonight.”

Eddie let’s out a throaty laugh, “can’t believe he pulled that off, he didn’t make a cup all game.”

“Guess you get to continue wearing that tarnished crown, speaking of wardrobe… where the hell did you get this outfit?”

“You know that church across from the police station?”

“The one with the Jesus statue inside?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows and gives you a knowing glance, waiting for you to catch on.

“No way! Eddie! You broke into a church and stole an outfit off of a statue?”

“Amen,” Eddie says roaring with laughter, “ahh c’mon you can’t tell me it wasn’t a genius idea.”

Rolling your eyes, “I wouldn’t exactly call it genius, but funny? Yes.”

He laughs again, “not everyday I get a compliment from myself,” he says eyeing your costume, “you do make a pretty cute Eddie Munson if I say so myself.” he wasn’t even thinking anything of it, just blurted it right out.

Flirting came easy to him almost as a second nature, he was never nervous around women, usually finding the game of sex not just something he was good at but conquered with ease. But this, here, with you? Was a slippery slope. A different game for him entirely. He was a pawn amongst you and you were the queen, striking down whoever came near, holding all the power.

Your cheeks heat from his compliment, blood rushing through your body and warming your skin, he holds your hand to your chest, stroking your fingers with his thumbs.

A thousand bolts of lightening ignite you, he smells like smoke, ashy and burning, the cheap keg beer on his breath as he smiles softly at you.

“Tooty!” Steve calls from the top step, clinging onto it for dear life, “are you down there?!”

You’re the first one to break away, pulling your hand from his grasp, threading them together at the last minute, finger tips clinging to each other like velcro. The flames between you both extinguished fast, no oxygen left in the room to keep it going.

Getting to the bottom step and turning, you give him one last glance and a small smile, before trotting up the stairs to Steve.

Eddie opens the patio door to find Gareth and Big D blowing smoke into the sky and talking about the best DIO song.

“Shit man, where have you been? Didn’t your game end like 15 minutes ago?”

Eddie thinks of a lie quick, “Taking a piss why you wanna watch?”

“That’s weird,” Big D questions, “cause Gareth just came out of the bathroom unless there’s a magic bathroom you haven’t told us about.”

“What are you guardian of the toilet?” Eddie says slotting a cigarette between his teeth and flicking his zippo open.

“I mean he’s got a point,” Gareth interjects, “where have you been tonight, turning water into wine? Or are you healing the blind?”

“Cool it, Whoopi,” Eddie bites, “the fuck does it matter where I was or wasn’t?”

“You’ve changed dude. Used to be a ladies man, different chick every night. Smoking and drinking all night watching the sunrise. Fuck man you were hell on wheels. Then all of a sudden you move in here and you’re acting like the Pope, fixing up her car off the clock, bringing her to and from work, you’re like her fucking babysitter.” Gareth exclaims.

“Fuck off man, she’s Eyeball’s sister, and I’m just looking out for her.” Eddie grits through his teeth.

“Or,” Big D suggests, “you like her, I mean you still haven’t even told us about the twins— and you stare at her like she’s about to combust at any moment.”

“Yeah and what do you two know about anything?” Eddie spits.

“Clearly not shit, but you’re all fucking riled up about a girl you don’t like.” Gareth flicks his cigarette and goes inside, Big D following.

The door opens again, “listen man, I’m not in the mood for your stupid fucking advice.” Eddie groans, turning to see Steve standing at the door, an empty pitcher in his hand. “Shit, sorry, thought you were Gareth.”

“Nope kept my habit at home,” Steve says with a chuckle, setting the pitcher on the edge of the deck, “nice party, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “ya know when Tooty first told me that her and Nancy threw a party every year I didn’t believe it, turns out I was wrong about her, seems to be a theme of mine lately.”

“She doesn’t let a lot of people in, but once you’re here, it means she trusts you, respects you.” Steve explains.

Eddie smiles softly, ashing his cigarette.

“She cares about you, ya know? She might not want to admit it— may even be scared to admit it to herself, but she likes you.”

Eddie gives him a look. Sure you were nicer to him, not threatening to kick him out anymore. You had let the band practice in the garage, even staying out there to hear them play. But that didn’t mean anything did it?

“How many times do you think she’s cut my hair?” Steve inquires, leaning next to the railing on the deck beside Eddie.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly, “a dozen?”

Steve chuckles, “Never, not once, never even offered. You think she made elaborate meals for Nancy when they lived together? Wrong— she barely touched the stove. You move in and she’s changed, for the better. It’s like she’s coming back to life, and the only common thing in that equation, is you.”

Eddie mulls this over, could Steve be right? “I don’t know man.”

“I may not be Mr. Relationship but I do know Tooty, and you’ve softened her edges. Tamed that frightful girl we all love and adore. She’s got walls up, keeping people out, but not around you, not anymore.”

Eddie hangs his head, his heart bursting with sad euphoric bliss. He couldn’t go about this like any other conquest. And with you it would never be how it was with the other women. Faceless broads in mini skirts, praising him, doing whatever he wanted them to. He never saw you in that way. Holding you on a pedestal about the rest. He hadn’t been in a relationship in years. One too many times of being cheated on was enough for him. But you were hurt too, more so than he was. He was still licking his wounds with anything willing and able. You? You were a shell of yourself. He couldn’t act on this like he would with anyone else. He cared about you too damn much to make you feel like you couldn’t trust him again.

“And I know you care about her. Everytime I look at you you’re staring at her like a sad little puppy.”

Eddie looks up then, looking at Steve like he held all the answers to life’s questions. He turns and leans against the deck, elbows on the railing just how Steve was facing the house.

“Yeah, you’re right, I do care about her, more than anything. So what do I do?” He asks Steve.

Steve shrugs, letting out a loud sigh, “keep doing what you’re doing, she knows you care about her, just don’t disappear on her.”

Eddie turns his head from Steve and catches sight of you through the patio doors. He can see you taking a Jell-O shot with El, Robin and Nancy. A sleeping lump of clothes on the kitchen table with black hair must be Mike. You light up the room as you laugh when Robin makes a repulsive expression after taking her Jell-O shot. He can’t hear your full laugh, it’s faint through the glass. But, he doesn’t need to hear it to know the sound—having heard it more and more the last few weeks, the way you throw your head back when something is really funny, sometimes covering your mouth. He’s certain he’s never seen anyone more angelic in his life. Like you have sucked all the air from the room, even dressed in a sheer mockery of him, you’re radiating a glow that makes his heart swell. He has never cared about anyone the way that he does for you.

Seeing him through the doors standing next to Steve, he has a smirk on his face. A sudden rush of shyness creeps up your neck and you turn away from him, but you reciprocate his actions, smiling at him. A small gesture that melts him on the spot.

Eyes trained on you but still talking to Steve, Eddie beams, “I’m not going anywhere.”

A/n: see you in volume vii

Hope you all enjoyed this. There were some little hidden Easter eggs in this chapter, go to my askbox if you found them 💕

readmore eat my ass or this line you decide, whore.

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#eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie x y/n #stranger things season 4 #stranger things #eddie munson smut

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sunshine-theseus · 5 months

Text

Photo Roulette | Chloe Kelly x Reader

Words: 1.6k Summary: Media day has Chloe finally revealing her relationship. Warnings: Angst, fluff, suggestive themes (I know degrees like PhDs take super long but for the sake of this story please either pretend they don’t, or that she is super smart and managed to cut the time in like half.) Requested by - @charligrantismygirlfriend

After graduating from Oxford with a bachelor’s degree and PhD in Cellular and Molecular Biochemistry, I made the move to Manchester as a clinical biochemist. Falling in love with a professional footballer was not on my list of things to do when I moved, but when a new work colleague insisted I take their extra ticket to a “derby match” as they called it, I took the chance to broaden my non-existent Manchester social circle.

And somehow, I caught the eye of the blonde forward. The number 9 jersey found it’s way into my hand with a signature and phone number and by 7pm that night, I had a date set up.

We went on a few before Chloe and I made anything official. And with making it official, came a set list of rules regarding our relationship and her work, number one was that it didn’t exist to fans. Well, it did, but no one would know who the mystery girl was. It was a tough rule to follow, it meant whenever we hung out, we had to be hyperaware of our levels of affection and what we discussed. Dates had to be at home or in a very secluded corner of a high-end restaurant with a name no one knows how to pronounce, because that means no one there would care who we are.

I was, and forever will be grateful that those places weren’t an issue for us. Both with rather lucrative professions, my starting salary slowly increasing the longer I stay, and her’s naturally growing with the popularity of the game. It also meant it was easier for us to find a more private area to buy a house, 1 ½ years without a single issue of fans knocking on the door or press waiting for some big news story to break. The perfect paradise.

No one knew who the famous Chloe Kelly is dating and had no way of finding out. Until media day.

“Have fun! I won’t be finished at the lab until late, so maybe we’ll get takeaway for dinner?” I kiss Chloe goodbye as I pick up my keys and bag from beside the door.

“For sure! Have a good day staring at cells. At least it’s not jail cells.” I chuckle and make my way out.

My day is in fact consumed with studying pathogens within blood and other bodily fluid. It’s nearly 6pm when Filipa taps me on the shoulder, breaking my concentration and reintroducing me to my surroundings. She helps me pack everything away, we say our farewells and I head home, picking up a vegetarian pizza on the way.

“How was media day?” I ask, plopping down on the couch next to Chloe, who rests her arm around my shoulders.

“Bloody weird as usual. I did this “go through your phone” thing, but it was all good fun. I did some mini games with Yui as well. She wants us to come over for dinner again sometime.”

“Absolutely. I miss her oh my god.” I take a bite of the pizza and rest my head on her shoulder, images on the telly flashing in front of us, neither one paying attention.

“How was your day at the lab Dr Spencer Reid?”

“You’ve been watching Criminal Minds again?”

“Mhm.”

“Spencer and I are two different types of doctors.”

“Mmhm.”

“I mean we both have the honorifics but his is like, not the same. Well it is but… never mind.” I can see Chloe’s lip twitch upward as I try to explain and lightly nudge her.

“I love listening to you get defensive about your title. You deserve it more than anyone in the world.” Her lips press gently to my hairline, then to my cheek, and finally land on my own lips.

“Plus, I love calling you doctor, it’s kind of hot.” My face flushes and I smack her arm.

“Behave!”

“Sorry… doctor.” To make it brief, the night didn’t end there. It ended much, much later, with both of us panting, the cotton sheets covering her soft skin while I splash my face with water in the ensuite.

~~~~~

I don’t give the results of Chloe’s media day another thought for a very long time. Until a month later when Fillipa, in similar fashion to the day of filming said content, breaks me from my work and places her phone on the desk in front of me.

I give her a rather confused look, but she just points to the screen and presses play.

“Well, the next part of Unlocked is one of my favourite bits; Photo Roulette.” The guy who sits next to Chloe explains the rules.

“Fillipa what is this?”

“Just keep watching.” I watch as Chloe scrolls through the thousands of photos stored on her phone, until he tells her to stop.

Her finger lands on a photo, one that no one can see yet, and she lets out a hearty laugh.

“’S it a good one?” he claps his hands together and waits to see the results. There are a few moments of silence before Chloe explains the picture, showing it to the host.

“It’s a picture of my girlfriend, Y/n. I was trying to teach her football and she comes out in this goofy old kit of mine that’s like 4 sizes too big for either of us, socks rolled all the way up with a huge grin on her face.” The smile that shines on Chloe’s face as she recounts that day makes it hard for me to feel the anger boiling in the pit of my stomach. The picture shows up on screen, taking up the whole space, and now the secret is revealed to everyone who we worked so hard to hide it from.

“Is this the secret girlfriend you’ve been hiding the identity of for over 2 years? You finally decided it’s time.” He lets out a laugh after the comment, but I can see the recognition in her eyes and the smile fades from her face. She doesn’t say anything.

It takes me 32 minutes on average, to drive home. On any other day. But when I get into the car, I have to decide whether I should take significantly longer, or cut the time in half, to confront my girlfriend with my findings.

I arrive home at 5:21. With the combination of leaving work a few minutes early, and the somehow blessed lack of traffic, it’s nearly 15 minutes earlier than usual.

“You’re home early!” a cheerful shout echoes down the hall, blissfully unaware of the rage bubbling beneath my skin.

“Just thought I’d get home before the fans tracked me down and swarmed me.” I seethe through my teeth as I kick off my shoes and make my way toward our bedroom.

“What d’you mean?” it’s almost precious, the confused look and the head tilt that greets me.

“Well now that everyone knows who I am, I didn’t want to risk being seen.” I see the moment of realisation.

“Oh fuck I completely forgot! I didn’t mean to I swear. I’m so sorry it just slipped out.”

“How do you slip up like that Chlo? That was our one agreement, our one rule. Fans would not know. God I’ve seen how cruel people are to player’s partners, I’ve seen couples break up because of fans. Chloe what the fuck!” I fall forward onto the bed and scream into the pillows.

“Well you never asked how I feel about having to hide my girlfriend from everyone! I get you want privacy and security of fans not knowing but I want to be able to celebrate with you after wins, or just rest in your arms after a loss, without worrying if someone will see. I want to be able to take you to big games and pull you onto the pitch and kiss you in front of everyone and show them how much I love you. It’s not fair that I have to pretend you mean nothing!” A tear leaks from my eye, and I soon start to sob. My shoulders shake and I can feel the puddle of tears get soaked up by the pillow.

I feel the dip of the bed beside me and Chloe’s arm wraps around me while her lips press light kisses against my back.

“I’m sorry. I want to be there for you too. Show the world I love you. I’m just scared. I’ve never really been seen by people outside of academics. I’m scared to just… be seen.” I roll over and pull Chloe down to rest her head against my chest, running my hands through her hair, untangling the small knots.

“I will love you no matter what. If you decide to continue keeping it private or if you, break up with me.”

“Chloe I will not fucking break up with you. I think- I think I want people to know. I want to love you properly.” Her head tilts up and I lean down, pressing a kiss to her lips.

~~~~~

“Chloe Kelly takes a shot… AND IT GOES IN. SHE SCORES THE WINNER IN THE 92ND MINUTE!!” I yell from the friends and family section as Chloe practices shots in front of me.

She turns dramatically toward me with a glare on her face, but I poke out my tongue and she breaks out into a smile. She makes the short jog over to me and pulls me into a kiss. A rather passionate one if you want to be specific. I grab her by the shirt and pull her close, kissing her harder as people around us jokingly cheer.

“See you after the game baby.” she pecks my lips once more before running back to her teammates who clap her on the back and tease her.

“That’s my girlfriend!” I scream and point, and the same people laugh along with me.

Thank god for media day.

#woso x reader #womens soccer #woso #wsl #chloe kelly #chloe kelly x reader #woso fanfics

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tadpolesinyourshoes · 6 days

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more od my stardew brain rot for the masses. I present:

My headcannons after life after marriage with the SDV bachelor/ettes:

Its kinda long, sorry and I also apologize for typos or if its incoherent. I'm no writer

Harvey:

You thoughy he worried avout your health BEFORE you got together, oh boy oh boy. He's alaays asking how you feel, bringing you snacks amd water while you work the farm. He cleans you up after the mines (while he lectures you about the dangers). He likes the domestic moments. The days it rains and you stay inside together with warm cups of coffee, snuggled up in the bed. Hes a classica kind of guy. He leaves roses on the table and brings you breakfast in bed. Since hes a doctor, you're both awake early. Every morning is filled with sleepy kisses and coffee. He never leaves the house without a kiss and a 'see you later'.

Shane:

This man is ANXIOUS. Hes a bundle of self doubt and insecurity. He spends his hours thinking how great you are and how itd a matter of time until you leave him. Reassure him, please. He absolutely loves every minute you're with him. Hes acrually a surprisingly good cook. He also is so good with kids. He definitely wants kids after seeing you with Jas. Hes not big on saying how he feels, but he's working on it. Instead he helps out here and there, feeding the chickens (he actually loves doing that), cleaning the house, cooking a meal when you get home late. Little touches when you're alone. His leg agaisnt yours, his hand gently in your hair while you sleep. He loves you more than anything (except the chickens. Knoe your place.)

Elliot:

He is down SO BAD. Carries a picture of the two of you everywhere. He shows you off whenever he has the chance. Hes just so proud of his sweetheart. He cooks well, but he hates cooking so you two agree to split the chores. You're his muse ans you best believe he makes it known. He leaves you poems; post-it notes on the mirror, on a napkin on the counter, written on the bavk of th grocery list, a torn out notebook page in your coat pocket. He loves when you do his hair. If you don't know how, he teaches you. On slow days on the farm, you leave the front door open for some air and you can hear him playing piano.

Alex:

His love language is tackling you (physical touch). You walk through the door and hes hugging you, kissing your cheeks, picking you up and taking you to bed. He can't cook, but he can bake. Evelyn taught him and he treasures the skill. For every anniversary, no matter how small, he makes a treat. He loves helping you around the farm because its an excuse to walk around shirtless and flex for you. He also has a weirdly green thumb. The crops wont sprout and the season is almost over? Send Alex to water them. The next moening you have a bounty like no other.

Sam:

He has ADHD so he does that peguin pebbling thing where he finds random objects and brings them to you because 'this reminded me of you.' He can't cook. For the love of yoba don't let him cook unless you want to remodel your kitchen. He still tries to be sweet though. Hes not a morning person, but when you wake up early he stumbled put of bed, hair messy, eyes closed and follows you like a sad puppy. Hes so clingy. Like SO clingy. Personal space. Gone. He talks to you through the bathroom door, holds you while you sleep, wants to be next to you all the time. He also loves your animals, especially the chickens. He has one favorite, but he won't say it (he might hurt the others feelings). Sometimes you come back from town and hes sitting outside on the porch talking to the chickens, who look strangely invested.

Sebastian:

He loves you so much, but he hates that everyone KNOWS he loves you. You gush about the sweet things he does to your friends and he goes bright red in the ears. The townsfolk ask about you so he tries to avoid having to talk to them. When you're alone though, he's the total opposite. Hes quiet, sure, but he does whatever he can to help you out. A kiss on your cheek before he goes to water the crops for you. Makes you a cup of coffee after work. When he was little, robin taught him how to carve and widdle. He makes you cute wooden figures, usually modeled after your animals. He takes you to the city for weekend date nights. He asks you to go on rides just to feel your arms around him.

Leah:

She treats you like the most beautiful painting shes ever layed her eyes on. When you're sitting with her on the beach, she'll paint dancing swirls up your arms to your hands. (Maybe you get it tattooed one day and she cries). All the paintings in your house are made by her. Much like Elliott, youre her muse. She makes you sit so she can paint you or practice sketching. But she can never get enough of you. When you lay together, she meticulously traces the shapes of your body. Your hands, your nose, your hips. Everything about you is perfect to her.

Emily:

She's a free, creative person. She wakes you up late at night to look at the stars and dance by the river. Shes been making a quilt out of scrap fabric for your bed. She tries to tesch you how to sew it so you cam be a part of it. She helps you with the crops and picks fresh vegetables when theh grow so she can make you beautiful dinners. She loves to cook for you because you always have something good to say about it. She could be on food network, you swear it. Every day when she gets ready, right after putting on her lipstick, she kisses your cheek to leave a little mark. You leave it there while you do your chores.

Penny:

Penny is naturally an early bird. She wakes up each morning with you. You two share a few minutes of quiet before stsrting coffee. You take turns making breakfast. Penny is so used to keeping the house up by herself after living with Pam, so being with you is a breath of fresh air. But she still likes to help you out. So before going to teach the kids, she helps out in the garden. You pass by in town while shes walking the kids home. You join them on their walk and Jas starts asking you for that princess story again. As you tell it, you see Penny's cheeks go pink. Its only the story of how you met. But to you it felt like a fairy tale. You walk home with your wife every day, sharing stories of your day while settling down on the porch.

Abigail:

Shes high energy. She heard about it, she wants to try it. Take her to the city to a nigt club and she'll dance circles with you all night. She makes you matching bracelets and you never dare to take it off. When you go down to the mines, she wants to come with. She doesn't fear them, but that scares you. You have to convince her to stay with the farm every time. But you always bring her a beautiful gemstone back. You think the amythest brings out her eyes. Shes a decent cook, actually. Contrary to what Sam and Sebastion may say. Her recipes are odd, but somehow, they always work out. Shes not a morning person, she won't get up even if you shake her. But somehow she knows if you forget to give her a kiss on your way out the door.

Haley:

She takes a million pictures of you. She loves to. You hide your face, she tells you how much she likes your smile. You're working on the farm and hear the shutter click. She likes the ways your arms look when you roll up your sleeves. After a long day in town, you bring her flowers. Shes always waiting up for you. She likes to slow dance in the living room and hear about your adventures from the day. She tells Alex about how great you are. Everytime you walk by and catch her off gaurd, she fixes her hair so she 'looks nice'. You just kiss her and tell her she looks nice all the time.

Maru:

She loves to help you out on thr farm. Just not... conventionally. She is her father's daughter, so shes always making you new inventions to make the farm run smoother. Better fertilizer, fresh feed thst produces better eggs, though she was banned from tending the animald after one of her feeds turned your chickens eggs bright pink. She loves to walk around town with you, always with your hand in hers. She's not a cook, but she still tries to learn from you. Shes learning, but she mostly just likes getting to be near you while you cook.

#sdv #stardew valley #stardew valley headcanons #headcannons #sdv harvey #stardew valley elliott #sam stardew valley #sebastian stardew valley #sdv shane #abigail stardew valley #maru stardew valley #penny stardew valley #leah stardew valley #emily stardew valley

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millie-multifics · 3 months

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Proverbial Dark Clouds • Part 3

Major John Egan x Reader

A woman finally snuck her way into the heart of eligible bachelor Major John Egan, he is all too soon reminded of why he fended off love for so long.

Warnings: Angst. Themes of war, death and violence. Heart break. Spoilers to episodes 1-4. A little bit of steam but nothing graphic.

Word Count: ~2.7k

Final part of Proverbial Dark Clouds. Thank you so much for reading!

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2

x x x

Every moment they were stuck in the Algerian sand, Bucky kept his eyes on the sky, hoping that maybe a straggling plane would come along. The sun and sand were hot, most of the men had stripped to their underclothes hoping for some relief, many thinking about their lost comrades and the prospect of an ice-cold beer.

The only thing on Bucky’s mind was you. He could picture you sitting along with the boys in the sand, hounding them about sunburns and heat sickness but you would be as undressed as your modesty would allow with sweat dripping down your brow- so in love with the fact that you both had made it through alive.

It had all been a blur, the past two weeks or so for John. Being a leader amongst his men meant he couldn’t allow himself to be effected by the disappearance of you and his friends, he couldn’t lay his pain on the shoulders of his men. It had become a morning routine to visit the infirmary. The visits had started as a daily occurrence until Buck had caught on to his pre-breakfast disappearances, but he still stopped by when he could sneak away from Gale’s watchful eye. He’d stand near the doorway, expecting you to walk by, beautiful as ever even with blood spattered on your uniform. You never did.

You quickly learned that the base was always abuzz before and following a mission. While the pilots rested as much as their minds would let them the night before, all the other personnel were preparing to bring the men home as successful and safe as possible. For you it meant one more checkup for any soldiers who were cleared to leave the infirmary, preparing a general medical kit for each plane and hundreds of smaller medical kits for each soldier, a precaution should they need to bail out of the plane.

“Is there a man you fancy on this mission?” Doctor Williams asked, earning a confused frown as you shook your head. “If you keep pacing you will wear a hole in the middle of my floor.”

To put it lightly, you were bored. All of the patients had been tended to, every other task that the doctor had requested you complete was finished and you were full of trapped energy as your body overcompensated for your lack of sleep.

“They should be arriving anytime now, put on a jumpsuit and meet them in the field.” The doctor suggested, glancing up from his paperwork as you continued to pace.

“Am I permitted to do that?”

The man shrugged, just as tired as you. “Well, I’m permitting it. It would be more of a hassle to replace this floor if you wear a divet in it.”

You watched as the planes landed one by one. Most of the men had small treatable wounds until one particular plane caught your eye. The crew worked together to lower a bloodied man from inside, the rest of the medical team quickly rushed toward them with a stretcher. You followed, working to roll up the sleeves on your jumpsuit, ready to get your hands bloodied if need be.

“What’s his name?” You asked, your feet following along with the stretcher as you moved the injured soldiers jacket away from his wound.

“Duval.”

The familiar voice had you glancing over your shoulder as the men loaded the stretcher into the truck. Those gray eyes had been ingrained in your thoughts for the past week. Recognition dawned on his features, and what you could only decipher to be distaste flashed across his face. You had been someone he was not expecting to see again, after all, England had an array of American bases and neither of you had specified your destination during your previous encounter.

“Alright Duval, let’s get you fixed up.”

After helping Doctor Williams assess and treat Duval, you had been placed in charge of treating the men with smaller, more superficial wounds. Since most of the men had smaller wounds requiring only proper cleaning, bandaging and maybe a few stitches the lineup at your station was quite lengthy. Needless to say, your lack of sleep had you on edge and when the final man sat in the chair across from you, you couldn’t help but sigh.

“Don’t sound so sad to see me, sweetheart.”

“I heard you’re the one who treated Duval on the plane?” Your fingers gently gripped his chin to turn his head to the perfect angle for proper light.

“Impressed?”

“Confused.” You dipped the clean cloth into the bowl of water, “You could treat a wound like that but not take a shower to wash this blood off your face?”

“And miss my chance to be patched up by you?” He teased, but you could see it in his eyes, the nervousness he tried to hide. With your time in the medical field you had learned to read people through their eyes and body language, an important part of your job was to detect when people were in discomfort or pain.

“Earlier, you looked at me like I was a ghost or something.”

“I was just surprised is all.” He winced from the sting as you dabbed the dried blood from his hairline, “You this heavy-handed with every soldier?”

You scoffed, “The man before you did not flinch when I put 6 stitches in his brow.”

“Are you calling me weak?” John playfully leaned away from your touch “Maybe I am weak, weak in the knees for you.”

“Do these lines usually work for you?” Your fingers paused their work, your eyes jumping from inspecting his wound to the mischievous glint in his gray eyes.

“That depends. Will you agree to have a drink with me?”

“You are infuriatingly charming, Major.”

“Please, call me John.”

He had been tense lately, slipping closer and closer to the edge. It had become clear to Buck at Dye’s 25th Mission celebration that his friend was in dire need of a break. He sent John to London for the weekend, hoping that it would ease some of the tension in his shoulders and cast away the dark cloud that hung over his head. John felt the hotel was too quiet, escaping to a local pub for some noise and a beer and when a beautiful woman had approached him to share a drink he had tried to entertain her, maybe that would help him forget about you, but when she had gone to powder her nose he had slipped out undetected.

Sometimes John had trouble sleeping before missions, he would still be tossing and turning when a runner was sent to wake them up for their briefing. Now, he had trouble sleeping every night. Nearly two months had passed since you had disappeared, still nobody had any answers of what exactly had happened, either you had died a gruesome death or become a prisoner of war. The dark truth was John wasn’t sure which one he would prefer, resting at peace like the angel you were or trapped, possibly facing cruel acts of violence every day.

When exhaustion took over and sleep was impossible to avoid, he dreamt of you. Always so beautiful, always so you- those nights caused a deep ache to spread through his chest. He almost felt silly for the whole thing, you two had not been together long but he had been so captivated by your whole being. For so long he had sworn off love, not because he did not want it, but because he was certain that he would never experience it.

You smoothed down the soft skirt of your dress, no longer accustomed to wearing such a luxury item. The dress had been gifted to you by another nurse upon hearing through the grapevine that you had a date with the handsome Major. Unbeknownst to you, that Major was the “grapevine”.

A fast moving jeep suddenly stopped in front of your billet, the sound of it skidding along the gravel road pulled your attention away from the small crease along the dresses hem. The handsome Major stepped out of the jeep, his smile grew as he took in your form. There was a glint in his eye as he approached, gently brining your the back of your hand to his lips to lay a gentle greeting kiss.

“Your carriage awaits.”

You inspected the jeep and the patiently waiting solider in the drivers seat. “Have you ordered that man to chauffeur us around this evening? Or is he doing this with his own free will?”

“Half and half,” John shrugged, leading you toward the vehicle, “But that is because I have a plan.”

“A plan?”

The Major hummed as he opened the passenger door of the Jeep, “Do you happen to know how to ride a bicycle?”

Your chauffeur dropped you off at your destination and quickly drove off into the sunset, presumably back to Thorpe Abbott before anyone realized he was gone. John led you into a quaint pub, his familiarity with the other patrons and bartender told you that he had visited it often since arriving in England. He led you to a table in the corner, leaving you by yourself momentarily while he went to get drinks.

“It feels like you are sitting a whole world away,” He gripped the edge of your chair, pulling it closer to the corner of the square table, “Much better.”

“So, what are the components of this master plan?”

“My crew is set to arrive tomorrow, if all is according to plan. Bicycles are hard to come by at Thorpe Abbott right now and I sure as hell could use one, trying to get one for a friend of mine too.” His breath brushed your face as he leaned closer, keen on hiding the next phase of his plan from any nosy patrons. “He always said that drinking leads to gambling, and where would a better place be than here?”

You gasped, feigning shock. “Major, I hope you are not planning to swindle some poor locals for their bicycles?”

“If all goes according to plan.” His charming smile returned, “But of course that is simply only a singular component of my plan, enjoying a beer and the company of a compelling lady are my highlights.”

You spent your evening tucked away in the corner, John coaxing stories from you about your past, eager to learn more about you. You were both so enthralled that neither of you had noticed your bodies slowly gravitating closer as the night went on. You were sitting on the same side of the table now, shoulder to shoulder, feet tangled together and hands lingering merely an inch apart on the table top.

“It’s getting late.” John glanced at his watch, turning his wrist to show you the face of the timepiece.

You sighed, not wanting the evening to end. “Time flies when you are having fun.”

“That it does.” He finally stopped playing coy, boldly taking your soft hand into his rough one. You felt a chill run through you as his thumb swiped over the back of your hand. “I should put in a little work on acquiring those bicycles, then get you back to base.”

You waited patiently, unsure of what his gambling entailed. What you had not expected was for John to bet another man could hit a bullseye, the target though being an apple resting on top of Johns very own head.

“John, as a medical professional I must advise you against this.” You spoke over the rowdy patrons in the pub “There has to be another way for you to acquire a bicycle, you’ll lose an eye.”

“No I won’t, I trust Tommy.” He assured, the additional beer and adrenaline now running through his blood stream providing him with extra confidence. “Now he wins this, I get both those bikes.”

“Yeah, you’re on yank.”

“And I get a kiss.” John sent you a wink as he stepped in front of the dart board. “Alright, Tommy, not my eyes. Not my eyes, Tommy. All right?”

He placed the apple on top of his head and covered his eyes with his hand, letting a big breath out. “Alright Tommy, whenever you’re ready.”

You held your breath, pulling at the skin on your fingers to keep yourself from covering your eyes as well. The possible outcomes filtered through your mind, puncture wound of the face or hand, loss of an eye; both would not have great outcomes for any pilot. You had to close your eyes as Tommy took aim.

Gasps echoed through the pub as the dart pierced skin, luckily for sake of most peoples it was the skin of the apple.

“Tommy!”

John brushed past you to hug Tommy for their victory, before circling back to pull your body into his arms. You were too shocked with the contact to return it before he retreated for one more celebrity cheer with the other patrons who had witnessed the unbelievable sight.

You gripped your dress in your hand while trying to maintain grip on the bicycles handlebar, not wanting your dress to get caught in the wheel. Only a minute after you had departed the pub, the clouds opened up and the down pour started. You had laughed in disbelief at first, just your luck to be caught in the rain on a night like this.

“Nothing but blue skies do I see,

Not in England though,

Got shitty weather and blue skies, smiling at me.”

John sung at the top of his lungs as he weaved along the road in front of you, making the most of the poor weather with his clever lyrics and self-identified singing ability.

The bikes were abandoned in the rain on the walkway to your small cabin. Against all the rules, you had invited the Major to step inside to escape the rain to say goodnight. He stood in the threshold, his confident demeanor dwindling as a near awkwardness hung by the threshold.

You were grateful that the other ladies in your cabin had been granted weekend passes, you couldn’t imagine this moment if you had five other women watching this moment like it was the next best movie.

“I enjoyed tonight.” You found a shirt abandoned on your bunk, using it to quickly dry the water droplets running down your scalp. “Despite you nearly blinding yourself for a bet.”

“Actually, I do recall the bet including a kiss.”

His words hung in the space between you. You dropped the shirt onto your bunk as he took slow steps forward, almost unsure if you were open to fulfilling the wager.

“You’re right, I think it did.” The words sounded like a whisper coming from your lips, nearly being drowned out by the sound of the heavy rain beating against the tin roof above your heads. You slowly stepped forward, closing the space between your bodies until your finger tips brushed.

“This alright, sweetheart?” His warm breath fanned your face as he asked. Your nod causing your nose to briefly rub along his before your lips connected in a slow kiss. Your hands found his hips as his snaked around to the back of your head, slowly increasing the pressure of the kiss as your body relaxed against his. The kiss had unleashed an array of feelings that continued to smolder throughout the night.

His short trip to London had done nothing to help ease the spreading darkness of his mind- 30 bombers lost.

The headline in the newspaper and his phone call to Thorpe Abbott was all he needed to solidify the fantasy he had of what he must do moving forward in this war. The only way he would make it through without losing the rest of his sanity was to find you, and now Gale with the other missing men.

The heart breaking truth was you had never made it out of your reverie, the last words gracing your thoughts was your Majors sweet whisper.

“My pleasure, sweetheart.”

x x x

@canyousmelltheflowers @mads-weasley @groovin2beats @major-john-bucky-egan @finelinetimothee @surazim @orphancains @danny-boy27 @eugenedream

#major john egan #mota fanfic #masters of the air #mota #major john egan x reader #john egan x reader #john egan #callum turner #john bucky egan

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sailor-aviator · 5 months

Text

Two Worlds

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: From a young age, the animal kingdom had fascinated you, and maybe that's why you chose to pursue that passion. You quickly became a force within the field, becoming the leading expert on ape social structures, which is how you found yourself on an expedition into the African jungles searching for a troop of gorillas. What you weren't expecting, however, was to run into the local wild man on one of your excursions... (Tarzan!AU)

Trigger Warnings: Talk of murder, Talk of infant abandonment, Jake and Javy being idiots. Think that covers it.

Word Count: 3k

Series Masterlist || Moodboard 1 || Moodboard 2 || Moodboard 3 || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Tag List

The camp was situated in the middle of the dense jungle, various large tents surrounding the edges of the clearing with a couple of makeshift huts standing on the far side. It wasn’t a grand research facility by any means, but you still found yourself excited as you climbed out of the jeep, Jake and Bob not far behind you.

“Ice and Mav are somewhere around here,” Bob muttered, rounding the back of the jeep to grab your luggage.

“Ice and Mav?” You asked him, taking one of your suitcases from him and setting it on the ground.

“Oh, yeah,” he smiled bashfully. “That’s what they go by. Some old college names, I guess. Dr. Kazansky goes by ‘Ice,’ and Dr. Mitchell prefers it if people call him ‘Mav’ or ‘Maverick.’”

“Noted,” you grinned. Bob handed off the last of the luggage to Jake, leading the two of you towards the camp. Each tent seemed to house different equipment, and you could see the various scientific instruments as you passed by.

“We like to keep the work separate from the play,” Bob explained as the equipment tents gave way to what looked like living quarters. One of the tent flaps pulled back, revealing a handsome man with dark skin and hair cropped short. His eyes lit up at the sight of your little group, and a smile tugged on his lips.

“Oh, I guess they just invited anybody to come and work here, huh?” He joked, stepping out and walking up to you. You let out a laugh as you rolled your eyes playfully, quickly wrapping the man up in your arms.

“It’s good to see you too, Javy,” you laughed, pulling away so that he could wrap Jake in a matching hug.

“It’s good to see you, man. How long’s it been?” Jake asked, clasping him on the shoulder as the two broke apart.

“Been at least a year this August. Mike’s wedding, remember?”

“That’s right! Man, that bachelor party was-”

“If you two are finished,” you drawled, crossing your arms and giving them a pointed look. “I’d like to continue with the tour and find out which tent is mine.”

They both gave you sheepish looks before Bob gestured for you to follow. He led you to a smaller grouping of tents that surrounded a fire pit, various pots with pleasant aromas sitting atop the grill as they steamed and bubbled. You spotted two men sitting at one of the tables, and their heads perked up when they noticed you. One was all warmth, his dark hair cut short and blue eyes sparkling as he rose to greet you. The other was more stoic, his own eyes holding a sense of curiosity as they took your group in.

“We weren’t expecting you so soon,” the dark-haired man greeted, shaking your hand before moving to Jake. “Dinner isn’t quite ready.”

“No worries,” Jake shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Boots and I had a late lunch.”

“Boots?” The man questioned, turning a bemused smile towards you. You rolled your eyes and shot Jake a glare before giving him your name.

“I’m the primatologist,” you explained, earning a knowing nod from the man. “And are you Dr. Mitchell or Dr. Kazansky?”

“Well, I’m not technically a doctor,” the man laughed. “But I’m Pete Mitchell. You can just call me Mav or Maverick.”

“Not technically a doctor?” Jake asked, an eyebrow raised as he regarded Maverick.

“I think a lot of people just assume I’ve earned one since I follow Ice over here around everywhere,” Maverick smiled, nodding his head over at Dr. Kazansky. “But I never completed a doctorate or anything. That’s all him.”

“We keep him around to fix the generators and various other gadgets,” Dr. Kazansky chuckled, moving to stand. His grip was firm as he shook your hand, and you got the sense that he was the more reasonable and logical of the two. “We won’t keep you though. Bob, why don’t you show Boots here to her tent and Javy can help Jake get situated. You two must be tired after all that traveling.”

“That would be great, actually,” you smiled, already following after Bob towards the opposite side of the clearing. Another large tent stood a little ways away from everything, but not too far to where it would be a problem if anything were to happen, which you certainly hoped it wouldn’t.

“We figured you’d want some privacy,” Bob explained when you gave him a questioning look, drawing back one of the tent flaps to step inside. You followed suit, gazing around at the open space. A simple twin bed was pushed against the far wall, just sturdy enough to be considered permanent, or at least serve as a long-term accommodation. A desk was pushed on the opposite side of the tent, a simple shelf standing next to it, and you could see the wires running out of the tent to connect with the generator that sat closer towards the rest of the camp.

“I know it’s not much,” Bob said, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked over at you, “but we tried to make it a little nicer for you.”

“It’s wonderful, Bob, really,” you smiled, moving further into the tent to put your luggage down. “It’s more than enough for me. I’m touched you all thought to go this far.”

“It was Ice’s idea, actually,” he admitted. You nodded, making a mental note to thank the older researcher.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Bob hummed, giving you a small wave as he exited the tent, securing the flap open behind him. You made quick work of rolling up the blinds to the makeshift windows of your tent, allowing for the natural lighting to filter in through the mesh screens. You found several tubs for you to place your things in, quickly unpacking and placing them under your bed.

A strange feeling overcame you, like eyes on the back of your neck, and you looked around to see if one of the others had crept up behind you while you weren’t paying attention. You frowned when you saw no one, stepping closer towards the exit as you peered into the jungle. You didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything there. You quickly pulled the flap shut. Whatever was out there would at least have to try and get at you now.

The sun had set, the fire casting a warm glow of orange around the camp as the generators powered the various lamps surrounding the outskirts of the camp. Maverick was dishing out what looked to be some kind of curry mixture onto different plates, handing you one as you joined everyone near the fire pit.

“It’s not much,” he started, “but I wouldn’t say I’m the worst cook.”

You took a tentative bite, an explosion of flavor bursting on your tongue as you chewed.

“This is really good, Mav!” You exclaimed, shoveling another spoonful into your mouth.

“And that’s the other reason we keep him around,” Ice joked from his spot at the table. You chuckled as Jake plopped down next to you, bumping your shoulder with his.

“How’s your tent?” He asked, a smirk on his face as he took a bite of his food, humming pleasantly at the taste.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged, taking a sip of the water Bob handed you before taking his own seat across the fire. “It’s cozy. What about yours?”

“I’m bunking with Javy and Bob,” he replied, casting you a sly grin. “But if you’re lookin’ for a roommate-”

“Absolutely not,” you snorted. Jake sighed, a look of fake hurt on his face as you rolled your eyes.

“You would really make all three of us sleep in the same tent while you get one all to yourself?” He asked you, mirth shining in his green eyes.

You tapped your chin, pretending to think about your answer.

“Yes,” you nodded. “Yes, I would. Besides, you’d probably just stink up the place.”

Jake let out an indignant squawk as Bob and Javy laughed at him. Bob cast a look over at Mav who was placing the lid back on the pot.

“Are you going to leave any out for Bradley?”

“Who’s Bradley?” You asked, looking between the two men. Mav sat down across from Ice, letting out a sigh as he relaxed into the chair.

“Bradley,” Javy grinned, waggling his eyebrows at you, “is the wild man who lives in the jungle.”

“Be serious,” you scoffed, scowling at him.

“It’s true!” He exclaimed, looking at Bob for assistance. “He comes by the camp sometimes! Think I’ve seen him maybe five times since being here?”

“He’s around a lot more than you think,” Mav smirked, eyes cast towards the foliage of the jungle. “Those are just the times he’s let you see him.”

“Is he dangerous?” You asked, shifting a little closer towards Jake, but all the men shook their heads.

“Nah,” Javy sniffed. “He’s just a loner. Comes by when he wants food or needs stitched up.”

“Why doesn’t he just stay here?” Jake asked. Mav and Ice shared an uneasy look as a moment of silence passed over the camp.

“Because he doesn’t exactly feel comfortable around humans,” Ice offered, and you frowned.

“I don’t understand,” you said. “I thought he was a man?”

“He is,” Bob answered. “He just didn’t grow up around people.”

Maverick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “About twenty-seven years ago, our friends Carole and Nick Bradshaw-”

“The famous primatologists?” You asked, your eyes lighting up in recognition at the names. The two had been trailblazers in the field, their focus being on gorilla social structures. Their deaths had hit the community hard, and their work had been largely abandoned until you picked up where they left off a couple of years ago. It was one of the reasons you had been invited to the camp.

“Yes,” Maverick nodded, giving you a sad smile. “This was their camp originally. They lived and worked here for years, studying the local troops of gorillas. But, as I’m sure you know, poachers came after one of the troops, and the two died in the struggle.”

You had heard about the tragic story of their passing, but the looks on Tom and Mav’s faces sent a pang of sympathy through you.

“What very few people knew, though,” Ice frowned, “was that they had a son. He was only a few months old when they died, and everyone thought that he had died with them.”

“That’s terrible,” you gasped, your hands covering your mouth in shock.

“It was,” Maverick nodded. “But, he didn’t die with his parents like everyone thought.”

“What do you mean?” Jake questioned. “How does a baby survive out here on its own?”

“It doesn’t without help,” Ice stated, waiting for the two of you to catch on.

“Bradley was taken in by the troop of gorillas,” Mav provided when the two of you cast confused looks at them. “They raised him as one of their own. We had no idea he was out here until we reopened the camp ten years ago. We caught him going through one of the tents one day.”

“How do you know that it’s him?” Jake asked. “How do you know it’s Bradley?”

“Because he’s the spitting image of his father,” Maverick answered, earning a hum from Ice.

“I don’t know,” he drawled, scratching his chin. “Carole’s in there too somewhere.”

“So why didn’t he stay?” You questioned. “Why doesn’t he stay with you?”

“He never seemed all that interested,” Mav shrugged. “He’s curious about us, yes, but he doesn’t seem to want to leave the troop behind. He comes and goes as he pleases, and we let him.”

“We teach him what we can, of course,” Ice offered. “He’s a fairly quick learner, and he seems eager to learn when he is here. He shouldn’t give you any problems if he shows up.”

You turned to Maverick. “You said that he’s around more often than we think?”

“I did,” he nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, because,” you hesitated, “I thought I felt someone or something watching me earlier. I didn’t see anything, but the feeling was still there.”

“It was probably him,” Mav nodded, giving you a gentle smile. “The two of you are new, and he’s just gotten used to Javy being around. It’s no wonder he might have been watching.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” you smiled.

“I’m sure he won’t take too long to make an appearance,” Mav continued. “I give it a week before he comes slinking out from behind one of those trees.”

A week had passed and still no sign of the wild man. All of you had developed a comfortable rhythm in the camp. Ice would disappear into one of the tents, Bob trailing after him as they started pouring over the notes on the group of baboons that took up residence nearby. Maverick would go around camp fiddling with the different gadgets sitting around camp. Javy would set off first thing in the morning towards the colony of termites deep within the jungle, and Jake would hike out with him, bringing back plant samples by around midday. You, on the other hand, were stuck at the camp.

“It’s probably best you don’t go out searching for the gorillas by yourself,” Maverick had said. “They’re a hard group to find, and Bradley is very protective of them. He probably wouldn’t let you anywhere near them right now.”

So you were stuck at the camp, trying to find odd chores and jobs to keep you occupied so you felt at least somewhat useful. You had started with trying to help Maverick with his tinkering, but that had quickly become a no as you had little to no understanding of mechanics. You weren’t much help to Ice and Bob, barely able to keep up with their conversations despite your extensive knowledge of primates. You despised the way the termites crawled all over you when Javy went out to observe them, and Jake…well, Jake was Jake.

So you busied yourself with cooking meals and doing laundry, slowly acclimating to the heat and humidity of the jungle. You quickly exchanged your pants and shirts for shorts and tank tops, the combination giving you a slight reprieve from the oppressive combination that kept you constantly covered in a layer of sweat.

The feeling of being watched came and went, slowly becoming a near constant as the days went on.

It was the second day that you realized some of your belongings had been moved. You had set your laundry on your bed, folded into neat piles as you stepped out to go and check on the food for dinner. When you came back, the clothes were scattered on your bed, thrown haphazardly across the sheets.

The seventh day, you walked in to find your shampoo opened, a small puddle of the floral smelling liquid on your desk. You had pursed your lips, but cleaned it up wordlessly, making sure to tuck it securely back under your bed. Your cheeks had warmed the next morning, despite the heat, when you found a bundle of flowers placed neatly outside your tent. You had smiled, gingerly picking up the flowers and carrying them towards the camp where the others were already gathered.

“What are these?” Jake asked, coming up to inspect the flowers. You tugged them back when he reached out to grab one, a scowl on your face as you swatted at him.

“Hands off,” you snapped, skirting around him and towards the table.

“Where’d you get them?” He asked unperturbed, plopping down next to you on the bench.

“They were outside my tent this morning,” you replied, barely catching the look Ice and Mav gave one another. “Aren’t they pretty?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “They’re fire lilies.”

“You just found them outside your tent?” Maverick asked, eyeing the flowers in your hand.

“Uh huh,” you chirped. “I think I’m going to keep them on my desk.”

“Bradley seems to have taken a liking to you,” Ice said carefully. “He brought Javy a rhinoceros beetle when he first got here.”

“I didn’t know it was there until I crawled into bed and it bit me,” Javy frowned, shaking his head at the memory. You bit back a laugh, hiding your face in the palm of your hand.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to get the flowers?” Jake asked with a frown. “I mean, I’m the one here who’s studying plants.”

“Are you jealous?” You teased, earning a scowl from the blond. “He probably brought them for me because of my shampoo.”

“What do you mean?” Bob asked.

“I came back to my tent yesterday to find my shampoo sitting on my desk. It looked like someone had squeezed some of it out,” you explained with a shrug. “It smells like flowers, so maybe he thought I would like the flowers.”

“Interesting,” Maverick hummed, studying you. You shifted under his gaze, deciding to busy yourself with fixing a plate of food. Once you had settled back onto the bench, Jake turned to you.

“Do you wanna come with me to the waterfall tomorrow? I was going to go collect some samples of the algae growing there.”

You thought over his proposal. On one hand, you were bored to tears just sitting around the camp, waiting for any chance you could get to go try and catch a glimpse of the gorilla troop. On the other hand, you’d be stuck with Jake, and the man could be a tad controlling when in his element.

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded, deciding that dealing with a hyper-focused Jake was better than nothing. He grinned, tossing a piece of banana into his mouth.

“Great! We’ll leave bright and early!”

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eoieopda · 11 months

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meet me at the bar (ksj)

You're supposed to be staring down the barrel of the last — and most important — examination of your life, but you only have eyes for your study buddy.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x AFAB!Reader Type: One Shot | Fluff w/ Smut | 18+ — Minors DNI Word Count: 7.5k AU: Law school, study-buddies, best friends to lovers, highly educated idiots in love CW: Bad jokes, Latin, fingering (v), unprotected sex (p in v), Seokjinnie hits it from the back. A/N: My inaugural Seokjin smut is dedicated to my donsaeng-in-law (see what I did there?) @yoongiphoria, who is now embarking on this stupid, stupid gatekeeping journey IRL. Best of luck, my lil love. I'll be waiting for you on the other side of the war! MJ FIGHTING ~ Big ups to my other lil love, M, for beta reading 💕 I posted an epilogue drabble on 7/26/23. Also: This is written based on my experience in the American legal (educational) system. I was, frankly, too lazy to study up on South Korean law for a fanfic, lol. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

You are not spiraling.

You are a paragon of health and wellness, you tell yourself as you gulp down a mug of coffee that is still far too hot, like you’ll die without it.

More bitter than the taste on your tongue is the realization that you might die with it — your third cup in fewer hours. As far as you can tell, though, it’s a win-win situation: You’ll either generate enough anxious energy to finalize your property law flashcards, or you’ll drop dead before you have to review them.

And you won’t have to take that exam…

And you won’t have to pay off your student debt…

Besides, you figure, the stomach ulcer you’re likely inflicting on yourself will be infinitely less painful than dragging your under-caffeinated corpse through yet another day of studying. Another eight, consecutive hours spent forcing forgotten subjects back into your maxed-out brain.

It’s worth it, you repeat to yourself, though this gauntlet has turned out to be a full-time job that steals, rather than pays. You can faint on top of the finish line, so long as some part of you crosses it.

You should be used to it by now, running a marathon at a dead sprint. That’s all you’ve ever done — push yourself. You attended your first day of preschool and never stopped, never took a breath. Through elementary, middle, and high school; then for four years of university. Going, going, going.

Stumbling through that eighteenth lap around the track, you kept going because — well, being a student was all you’d ever been. That’s your toxic trait, you’ve since discovered. Your concept of self is rooted exclusively within the context of a classroom.

You didn’t know it at the time, but your decision to take the Law School Admission Test — or the HellSAT, as you’ve come to call it — might have been the start of a quarter-life crisis. But you didn’t stop there. No, you took that score and ran with it. Slapped it onto every application as a desperate plea for acceptance.

When you received your admission letter, you were a bright-eyed twenty-two-year-old with a bachelor’s degree and a vaguely defined dream.

Call it naïveté or call it gravitas, there wasn’t a doubt in your smooth little brain that law school was the logical next step to take. That being intelligent and hard-working made you well-equipped for the challenge that came with pursuing a Juris Doctor. After all, you’d spent nineteen years delaying gratification — what difference would three more make?

Within the first hour of your orientation, you — a professional student — had already learned something new: You were a masochist and, frankly, somewhat of an idiot.

Thankfully, you weren’t alone.

Sitting — dissociating, more like — at a nearby table was a lanky boy you’d first noticed on your tour of the law building. His glassy-eyed stare was aimed somewhere in the middle-distance, and even though his slightly agape mouth said nothing, it communicated everything. He was the only other person in that atrium who looked the way you felt: scared shitless and riddled with buyer’s remorse. A can crushed under the boot of self-doubt.

It was the first time you and your wobbly knees went running in his direction, but it wouldn’t be the last.

He was so deep in a daze at that moment that he didn’t notice the way you threw yourself into the open chair next to him, didn’t look up at the scrape of wooden legs against the granite floor beneath them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you announced your presence with words, however.

It was less of an introduction — the way people in a society tend to greet each other for the first time, ever — and more of a twister. Words whipped through the air at a dangerously high velocity, no syllable ending before you started on the next. Just one breath, a few consonants, and a pair of dark eyebrows shooting up to cower behind his bangs.

“Was — was that Korean?” He asked when you finally ran out of wind.

Judging by the way his wide eyes softened, you knew he wasn’t making fun of you. You’d simply scrambled his brain so thoroughly that you’d transcended the known limits of language.

More of a question than an answer, you peeped, “I think so. Maybe?” You wavered with a sigh. “I’m no longer confident that I know any of the things I thought I knew, though. So, um, don’t quote me on that.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. I didn’t catch enough of whatever that was —” He gestured vaguely. “— To even attempt to quote you.”

Within seconds and without knowing, he’d disarmed the bomb ticking away in your gut. He must’ve sensed it, too, because his face lit up so completely that you had to look away. One glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows confirmed that the sun hadn’t reappeared at that time of night.

That rush of warmth you felt then — that absolutely insane brightness — was powered exclusively by the grin taking up the entirety of his face. If that megawatt smile alone hadn’t rerouted your oncoming anxiety attack, the distinct, squeaking laugh that erupted out of his chest would’ve done the job.

You doubled over, either under the weight of your own giggling or with the relief you felt in finding someone equally lost. Eyes swimming with mirth, you wiped wetness from your cheekbone and snorted. “Was that a windshield wiper?”

“No, that was embarrassing.”

The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks went some dizzy shade of pink.

He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck with one hand and held the other out to shake yours.

“And I’m Kim Seokjin.”

Now, when the door of your apartment flies open without warning, it’s that same savior standing on your threshold. That designation may be melodramatic, but if that brown paper bag contains what you suspect it does, it’s deserved.

Seokjin, patron saint of breakfast sandwiches, flops down on the couch that stretches along the opposite side of your coffee table. From where you sit on the floor — hunched over your notes like a hobgoblin — you reach out your expectant arms and make grabby hands in the space between you.

You see mischief flash in his eyes, but only for a second. In the next, he’s pretending like he doesn’t see you; doesn’t hear your petulant little whines. He extends long legs out over the cushions, clutches the bag to his chest, and lets his head roll back to rest on the couch’s arm.

“Wanna know what I did today instead of practice essays?” He asks, eyes unfocused on the ceiling above.

All you actually want is whatever that smell is. You can’t stop staring at the bag of food in his hands. If you try hard enough, maybe you can summon some sort of psychic energy, make it levitate towards you.

He doesn’t wait for your response. “The math.”

“Huh?”

You frown; and as you do, you reluctantly shift your gaze from Seokjin’s hands to his face. He isn’t looking your way, but you can tell he’s grimacing based solely on the way his jaw twitches. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ground his teeth to dust over the past three years, given how often he makes that face.

In an attempt to ease the tension in his posture, you tease, “Didn’t we go to law school because we can’t do math?”

He cracks an unwilling smile. A tiny one, but a smile nonetheless. Without turning his head, he extends his arm out in your direction. In the split second it takes for yours to spring forward like a snake, that blessed bag dangles; the scent of sausage, egg, and cheese wafts through the air and restores your will to live. Clutching your prize, halfway to feral, you tear into it without hesitation.

As you bite off more than you can chew, Seokjin prepares his rant with a sigh, “So, consider this.”

“Mmphf,” you advise through a mouthful of greasy bliss.

“Bar exam prep takes eight weeks, right? If we’re only counting business days, that’s forty — forty days, for a minimum of eight hours each.”

He becomes more restless, the more he talks. Heated, he sits bolt upright and turns wild-eyed to you.

Oh, he’s gone full-tilt insane.

“Three-hundred-and-twenty hours, then. And if you think about that in terms of our clerk wages —” He slaps his hands down on his thighs for emphasis. “— at 2,625 won per hour —”

Then, he points to you, as if the increasing volume of his voice wasn’t already holding you hostage.

“— we’ve sacrificed nearly two million won in income, just by studying for this fucking test.”

You swallow down the last bite of your sandwich, which you downright hoovered while Seokjin took the path of most resistance. After clearing your throat, your interjection overlaps with his next point:

“Seokjinnie, why didn’t you just double our monthly —”

“That’s after we paid ninety million in tuition, hundreds of thousands on study materials and registration fees —”

You cut him off. “Is this your way of asking me to Venmo you for breakfast?”

He freezes, caught fully off-guard. Shocked eyes widen like you’re the ridiculous one. “Of course not!”

He waves you off like his thoughtful gesture is no big deal. Then, like he’s tired himself out, he sinks back onto your couch. From his back, he grumbles with crossed arms, “‘M just sayin’ that I’m tired of this shit.”

You can’t help but giggle at the pathetic pout working down the corners of his mouth. “Felt,” you agree, though it feels a little bit like a lie.

Truth be told, you feel more awake now than you did ten minutes ago, and you can’t attribute it to the coffee — not when the evidence so clearly indicates otherwise.

Over the course of three years, you’ve built up quite the case against yourself. You’ve made the following findings of fact:

Whenever he pops up, Seokjin brings your mood up with him. Even now, as he marinates in anguish on your couch, his presence gives you a reason not to beat yourself unconscious with the four-kilogram prep book that sits beside you on the rug. Makes you hate your circumstances a little less, if only because you share them with him.

And, for a rapidly deflating balloon, you have to concede that Seokjin looks stunning this morning.

Unlike you and your day-three hair, he somehow had the energy to wash his. The mid-sections of some strands are still damp; the parts that aren’t frame his face in fluffy waves. His shampoo is something fruity mixed with something crisp — grapefruit and mint, maybe? — and it floods your senses, causing question marks to replace any coherent thoughts you might otherwise have. You’d be lying again if you said you didn’t want to find out for sure how soft those tresses really are.

The verdict?

Well, the jury’s still out, but you know you’re guilty.

If being down this bad for your best friend isn’t a criminal offense, it should be.

You shake your head to clear it. To smother the flame licking up the inside of your belly, you grab the certified mood killer off the coffee table and hold it up in front of you. Surely, the cure for a sexual tension headache is an eight-centimeter stack of color-coded, neon index cards covered in information you shouldn’t need to memorize in the first place.

“Exam’s in one week,” you say with a shiver.

Seokjin rolls onto his side to look forlornly at you. You are not looking at his bare hip bone, which appears where the hem of his shirt shifts from the waistband of his joggers. Nope.

You continue the search for the point you’re trying to make. “I can barely spell mortgage, let alone explain what the fuck to do with one.”

“Don’t think I know what land even is at this point,” he sighs. Dejected, he lets his arm go limp. It spills off the edge of the cushion and dangles until his knuckles brush against the rug. “What is this property you speak of?”

Biting back a grin is impossible, so you press your lips together instead. Just like that — just by Seokjin being Seokjin — the hellscape you willingly walked into gets a little brighter. Maybe, you think, you can do this.

You look down for a moment to shuffle up the cards you spent the better part of two days preparing. As you stare down at the staggering amount of knowledge you might be tested on, you can feel the crease returning between your eyebrows. Your grimace is back, too, like a reflex.

If you make it through this experience without premature wrinkles, you’ll be shocked.

There’s shifting on the couch ahead, but you don’t look up until Seokjin breezes, “From this angle, it almost looks like you’re smiling.”

His arm is no longer dangling off the edge of the couch. His entire upper body is. Knees now hinged over the backrest for balance, he’s upside-down and smirking impishly at you.

He has to know you’re in love with him, right? How could he expect you not to be?

You clear your throat and arch a single eyebrow as a challenge. “What is the rule against perpetuities, Seokjinnie?”

Like you, he can recite it in full at a machine-gun rate of fire. It’s been beaten so far into your heads that you might utter it on your deathbeds, with your last gasping breaths.

“No interest in land is good unless it must vest, if at all, not later than twenty-one years after some life in being at the creation of the interest,” he responds with a smug smile. “Easy.”

It’s your turn to smirk.

“Great. Now, what does any of that mean?”

Without missing a beat, he fires back, “Does anyone know?”

“Absolutely not. Next question!”

Having had the same day, every day, for seven weeks straight, Seokjin is struggling. He’s spent hundreds of hours on the same routine, feeling beaten down and burnt out, all the while. It goes like this:

Every morning, he wakes up and goes for a run in a feeble attempt to feel something other than dread. After that, he eats a lackluster breakfast, and then he promptly chains himself to his desk. When he finally gives himself permission to get up again, it’s dark out; and he’s too brain dead to check the hundred or so notifications that amassed on his phone during his fugue state.

Scratch that. There’s one person he responds to, no matter what. As far as everyone else is concerned, though, he’s a ghost.

Today is the first day out of the last fifty-five where Seokjin doesn’t feel like his brain is being hydraulically pressed. For the first time in too long, he fell into an old routine; one he’s missed. It started with a shower — and honestly, that was overdue — then, he swung by the café he’s frequented over the past three years. There, he made his usual order.

One iced americano, and one sausage-egg-and-cheese croissant with extra hot sauce.

Before he walked back up the block, he downed the former, but he didn’t touch the latter. The latter wasn’t for him, anyways. None of the breakfast sandwiches he ever stops for are.

The subsequent hours looked semi-similar to the three-hundred-and-twenty he’s already devoted to studying. Well, sort of. To be clear, the subject matter still sucks, and he’s still angry that he has to touch it at all, but he isn’t waiting for the sweet release of death in the same way he has been all summer.

This might have something to do with the fact that, for the first time in nearly sixty days, he’s not on his own.

More than that, he’s with you.

Having switched away from covenants, easements, and servitudes, he feels a slightly less stupid. Contract law is a little more straightforward and a little less caked in colonialism. Unfortunately, after six hours of burning all his brain cells on shit like liens, Seokjin has begun his descent into madness.

The worms are digging in, he can’t focus, and neither of you can stop — fucking — laughing.

“I’ll give you a hint,” you giggle, shifting in your spot on the neighboring cushion. You give his knee a pat that feels a tiny bit patronizing, but that makes his pulse race, nonetheless. “It’s a Latin term.”

He snorts so loudly that you do a double-take, just to make sure it wasn’t a sneeze. You both stare at one another for a beat, then comes the eruption.

“It’s all Latin!” He roars.

To muffle the way he’s wheezing, Seokjin slaps his hands over his face. It’s already tear-stained from his abject failure to keep his shit together. At least he can attempt to hide how red he knows it is.

Your laugh comes straight from your belly. You double over completely when his comes out in squeaks, hand reaching out to squeeze his forearm. It used to bother him, the sound he made when he truly loses it, but it doesn’t any more.

How could it, when it makes you cling to him like that?

Wiping at your cheeks, you take a deep breath, then sigh, “Does it help if I give you the translation?”

He doubts it because you just pinched your bottom lip between your teeth, and now, his mind is blank.

Really, it’s a fucking miracle he graduated at all with you around. You and that face you make when you concentrate have always made it impossible for him to do so. It’s why he wasn’t paying attention in class when this shit was taught in the first place, he realizes now.

To cool himself down, Seokjin grabs the Camelbak bottle off the coffee table, realizes too late it’s yours and not his — oh, well — and shoves the straw into his mouth. He nods once, firmly, and sucks in as much water as he can.

It all sprays back out of his mouth when you say:

“Naked promise.”

He had always wondered what his life would look like if it ever flashed before his eyes. Now, he knows. It’s not a montage of his finest moments, the most recent of which would not have made the cut. All he sees is you, wide-eyed, glancing between him and the wet spot that’s now soaking through your sweatshirt.

You press your lips together, probably to keep from laughing in his face. It’s a valiant effort on your part and a kind gesture, but honestly, he doesn’t deserve it. His fingers twitch as he clutches the bottle, wanting nothing more than to dump the remaining water on his face. He embarrasses himself more often than not, but this stings his cheeks like a sunburn.

“I am —” he raises his hands, flustered, “So sorry. I don’t remember waking up in a sitcom this morning, but I, uhhh, clearly did.”

When you stand up, you’re grinning. And not in that scary way you do when you’re about to retaliate for some prank he’s pulled. No, that look on your face is genuine amusement.

Thank god.

You shrug as you cross your arms over your torso and grip the hem of your sweatshirt with both hands. “All good, Seokjinnie,” you laugh. “This needed to be washed, anyway. You see that coffee stain?”

No.

No, he does not see that coffee stain because the tank top underneath your sweatshirt is clinging to the wet spot as you tug the top layer up your stomach. He feels bad for staring — really, he does — but fuck, your skin looks soft. Like, so soft that he has to grip his water bottle to keep a grip on himself.

Eventually, your tank top separates from your sweatshirt. It falls back down to where it belongs, to Seokjin’s dismay, and the sweatshirt keeps going.

“Nudum pactum,” you remind him as you pull the drenched hoodie over your head. Playfully, you toss it at him. It smacks against his chest, splays out over his lap.

Once more with feeling: thank god.

You sink back down beside him on the couch, and he can’t help but notice that you’re the tiniest bit closer than you were before. It’s innocent, just your bare knee bumping his shin as you re-cross your legs. Still, it leaves his tingling through the fabric of his joggers when you don’t move away.

The silence surges as it settles, crinkling like static in his ears. He almost doesn’t hear you when you ask him again: “What’s it mean?”

Uhhhh.

“It means —”

Unfortunately for him, the water he just forcibly ejected from his mouth didn’t help him. His throat is dry now, and he sounds strangled, he’s sure. The way you’re watching him so intently doesn’t help one fucking bit, either.

Are you doing that on purpose?

You nudge him physically this time, knuckles connecting gently and playfully with his leg. He wonders if you can hear his heart hammering against the wall of his chest in all of this quiet. You might, he figures, especially when you tuck your hair behind your ear.

Instinctively, his eyes flick down to the length of your neck. Without a curtain of hair in the way, it’s even more exposed skin that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with. Making matters worse for him, you tilt your head to the side expectantly. His breath catches when he tears his gaze away, back up, and sees the way you’re looking at him now.

You are absolutely — without a goddamn doubt — doing this on purpose.

If that’s the game you want to play, Seokjin can play it, too. He turns away from you to set the bottle back down on the coaster he took it from. As he does, he finally answers your question — the nonchalance he’s faking even sounds convincing.

“It’s an unenforceable promise,” he replies casually. “One with insufficient consideration.”

He rights himself in his seat, stretches a bit further backwards until he’s resting comfortably against the arm of the couch. You hide it well, but there’s a hint of a pout on your lips when you clock the newfound distance.

Check, he smirks to himself, your move.

A flash of pink slips out. Your tongue wetting those lips before you prompt him more quietly than before, “And consideration is…?”

He slips up, makes the mistake of noticing the rise and fall of your chest as you take measured breaths. So, he sees, you’re buzzing with anticipation, too. He wonders if it’s him that’s having that effect on you, or the circumstances.

For all he knows, it could be pent up steam that you need to release. Stress weighing down your body that you want to get off.

Fuck, he wants to get you off.

He swallows thickly. “Can’t get something for nothing. There has to be an exchange, otherwise it’s meaningless.”

You say nothing, so he keeps talking.

“Quid pro quo, essentially,” Seokjin adds. He chuckles slightly when he realizes. “See? Told you. It’s all fucking Latin.”

The corner of your mouth twitches at his joke, but you don’t make a sound. The hand that previously pushed against his leg inches closer, just barely. It’s such a small shift that you don’t seem to realize that you’re moving it.

Maybe you feel that pull, too; the one he’s been fighting since you barged into his life without warning.

Maybe the consideration has been there from the start; a promise for a promise. I’ll jump if you do. Because it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? Since orientation.

Pulling all-nighters in the library, developing matching caffeine dependencies, getting sick too often from the strain of it all.

You and him.

Laughing quietly in the back of lectures, cold sweats through cold calls, bitching about unpaid internships while you spend indisposable income at the bar down the block without acknowledging the irony.

There are only two real differences between this night and that first one, he notes.

Now, Seokjin isn’t questioning every decision he’s ever made that led him to this point. He’s not scared shitless, not really. Not when you’re around.

You cut through the silence with a sigh that’s barely more than an exhale, so breathy that your voice dissipates as soon as it hits the air.

“Seokjin.”

He could probably hear a pin if you dropped one — can hear everything you don’t say. It’s all packed tight inside that utterance of his name like gunpowder, locked and loaded.

So, who shoots first?

You shift again. Now, when you speak, it’s deliberate and in a language he can parse.

“Tell me you want me, too.”

Bang!

His body answers for him, pushes off from where he leans until he can get his knees underneath him. He’s waited three years to kiss you, but he can delay gratification for the brief time it takes to overtake you. Pinned with his palms bearing weight on either side of your head, you wind up caged in and breathless beneath him. His right knee occupies the space between your spread thighs.

Again, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far with you around.

He hums, beyond pleased with the position he finds himself in. “Maybe. Tell me if I got the answer right.”

“Oh my god.” You toss your head back to the extent that you can, which admittedly isn’t far. Your frustration rolls off you in waves, heat palpable. “I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“Sounds admissible to me,” he teases further. He flexes an eyebrow. “Isn’t that an exception to the prohibition of hearsay evidence? Speaks to motive, I think.”

Seokjin has no idea why he’s riling himself up like this. If he could shut up — just this once — he could be kissing you by now. You seem to be aware of that fact, too, because you grip his shirt so desperately, one right move might tear it.

You huff out a laugh despite the circumstances, “This friendship is over, by the way, in case that’s not clear.”

That tiny smile on your face spreads to his. Not over, he knows, just modified. Amplified, finally. Knowing that, he continues to push his luck.

“Can I make one more joke?”

“So over!” You emphasize with a wail.

He takes a second to center himself before hitting you with award-winning drama, sincerity dipped in the kind of humor he never misses out on with you:

“You have adversely possessed my heart.”

Your jaw drops at how stupid that line was, but you reign it in just in time for his lips to crash into yours.

It almost knocks the wind out of him, the way the pieces fall with force into place. They slot together easily, just like you do. With fingers clinging, the weight of his body molding overtop of yours.

You kiss him until he forgets what life tasted like without your tongue licking into him, your little moans melting in his mouth — until you break apart, gasping for air. Panting, you ask, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting on you?”

He doesn’t, no, not at all. Thankfully, you take his stunned silence for what it’s worth. After relinquishing your grip on his shirt, you bring your hands up to cup his face gently in your palms.

With you touching him like this, he has no option but to stare down at you. Bit redundant, he thinks, since his focus has always been locked right here, right on you, by choice. Given that, it’s a little funny that he managed to miss every signal you’ve apparently sent him. But really, it doesn’t necessarily surprise him to hear that he’s even dumber than he thought.

You kiss him slowly this time, briefly, before nipping affectionately at his bottom lip. It drives him exactly as crazy as you want it to; makes his cock twitch inside his joggers, makes his brain foggy with a potent combination of fondness and filth.

Do you have any idea how many times he’s thought about this? He’s genuinely wondering because even he doesn’t know. He’s lost count of all the times he’s watched you nibble on your own lip and wished it was his instead. A million or more, if he has to guess.

Seeming to sense the way you've scrambled his brain, you nudge the tip of his nose with yours and giggle.

Seokjin can’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Thought of a good one,” you answer. Your smirk does his head in. The contrasting, goofy wiggle of your eyebrows squeezes his heart. “Better than yours, I think.”

He kisses you quick and hums, “Oh?”

You nod.

The suspense is killing him. So is the way your clothed cunt grinds ever so slightly against his thigh.

Fuck.

He wants you, he wants you, he wants you.

“You gonna make me come, Seokjin, or do I have to wait for you to file a subpoena?”

You may have to seek a refund for the prep course you paid for.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve learned best through application. You could read the same chapter, over and over, and not absorb a word. The same was true with lectures, even more so when they’re pre-recorded rambles by the weirdest adjunct professors known to man. Sure, you may eventually memorize concepts this way, but they don’t sink in deeply enough to stay. You can’t use them in any way that helps you.

To no one’s surprise, no part of your civil procedure lecture sticks until it falls into your lap.

Strike that.

Until Seokjin loses his balance in trying to take his pants off, and falls onto your floor with a yelp.

A moment or two passes while you stare at each other in shock, but that dissolves quickly. And so do both of you, right into another fit of laughter that makes your shoulders shake. Then, you jump to your feet and hold your hands out to him.

Seokjin accepts them, though he doesn’t rely on them at all when he stands back up. He seems more than content just to hold onto you, whether or not he needs you to keep him steady. You have no complaints, for once in your life.

Shaking his head, he chuckles, “Venue change?”

“I think —” You hum and kiss the column of his throat. He swallows hard enough that you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. So sensitive. “This is what they call forum non conveniens.”

He’s having none of that, and you don’t necessarily blame him. As it turns out, the shoe isn’t terribly comfortable when it’s on the other foot.

You’re lifted without warning, bent over his shoulder, and hauled off in the direction of your bedroom before you can even squeak in protest. You drop like a bag of dirt — albeit a beloved bag of dirt — onto your mattress once he reaches it; his lips are on yours to swallow the gasp before it can leave your mouth.

As eager as his mouth are his hands, roaming down the curve of your waist and over your hips. With fistfuls of the pajama shorts you hadn’t bothered to change out of, his head dips down under your jaw. The warmth of his breath is quickly replaced by that of his tongue, flicking a short, languid line along your neck.

“Want you so fucking bad,” he breathes. A shiver shoots straight down your spine and you keen, head crashing gracelessly back against the pillows. “Just like this.”

And he means it — you can feel how true it is with him settled between your spread legs. He presses his hips forward to meet your clothed cunt, cock teasing you through four goddamn layers’ worth of fabric.

His lips flutter against your earlobe just seconds before his teeth graze your flesh. He continues, voice vibrating through his chest to yours, “All the time.”

You outright whimper when he grinds against you a second time. Halfway to crazy, you knot your fingers in his hair and wrap your legs around his back in a silent plea for friction. So hungry for him that it aches.

“Seokjin, need — oh, god.”

You lose your train of thought the second his hand slides into the gap between your bodies. Long fingers slip below the waistband of your shorts and panties, too. He doesn’t stop there. Not with fingertips whispering over the mound of your cunt, not until he finds you wet and wanting.

So wet that you can hear it when the pad of his index finger runs along your slit.

His mouth curves against your neck, prompting you to shift your head on the pillow. You tilt your neck just enough to meet his eyes.

To your surprise, he’s not smirking. Not even close. If anything, he looks awestruck. Like he’s finally realizing what he does to you, how your body reacts to him. From the looks of it, that discovery is flipping his whole damn world upside down.

For once, Seokjin doesn’t crack a joke and neither do you. It’s quiet, save for your tiny gasping breaths and the ripple of his fingertip swirling over your clit. Even the moan building in your chest gets the memo. It disappears somewhere in your throat when — fucking finally — that middle finger penetrates you.

And god, he sounds so wrecked when he finally speaks.

“Tried to imagine it a thousand times, you know,” he murmurs.

You clench around his finger as it curls upwards, shiver when he starts to stroke the sensitive spot along your front wall. His thumb picks up where his middle finger left off, pressing against your clit in a way that makes you mewl.

Seokjin only stops talking to kiss you deep and leave you dizzy. It’s too brief. If asked, you’d never be able to quantify what amount of time is enough, but you know that wasn’t, so you pout.

Ignoring your little whines, he continues with a hum, “How perfect you’d feel, if I ever got this lucky.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

You laugh as you say it, but you’re dead serious: “If you keep talking to me like that, you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Marry me, why don’t you? Beautiful bastard.

“Threat or promise?”

He adds a second finger; and suddenly, you’re not laughing anymore. No, the strangled sound you make while you grind against his palm isn’t funny at all, but you can’t care about that now. Your focus is stuck on remembering how to breathe. In, out. On the stars blinking behind your eyelids when they give up and flutter shut.

He works you open for him like he’s already attuned, like it’s the fiftieth time he’s finger-fucked you and not the very first. And, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing how little time it takes for him to pull you apart at the seams.

No one has ever made you cum with such little effort. You’re scared to learn what it’s like when he tries.

You catch the triumphant gleam in his eye in the split second before you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He’s earned it, you suppose, so you’ll let him relish the personal record he’s managed to set on his first time out. You might even let him brag about it, so long as he continues to make you tremble like this.

“Shit,” he chuckles low near your ear.

If he sounds muffled, it’s because you’re still waiting for your system to reboot. He knows this, knows how fucking sensitive you are, and slides his fingers out of you as slowly as possible. Still, those aftershocks throttle you; the unintentional stimulation makes you jolt.

“Yes,” you nod helplessly, squeezing your eyes and jaw shut simultaneously. “Shit is right. Perfect analysis, no notes.”

A chaste kiss is placed on your temple. It’s petal soft and subak sweet, but it functions like a defibrillator. Within a split second, he’s revived you. Eyes now open again, you exhume your face from where you buried it and blink up at him. Warm brown eyes light up when you reappear.

He’s so fucking beautiful that you almost want to avert your eyes. Key word: almost. You’ll drink in the sight of him until you drown, you think.

Seokjin looks concerned. With a shy smile, he checks in: “You okay? We can stop right now if you’re not.”

You don’t know who they are, but you know that they don’t make them like him anymore. Which is a fucking bummer for the rest of the world — just not for you. This one is all yours.

“You quitting on me, Kim?” You let your knee fall inwards to nudge his side, and you pretend not to notice how boneless you still feel. “Didn’t wait all this time to tap out early, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, nonetheless. His warm palm massages the outside of your thigh affectionately, if only for a moment. Then, he pats his fingertips against the same spot. “Shorts off, champ.”

You follow his instructions and move to shimmy out of them, but not before snorting, “Champ?”

“Fine. Old sport?” He offers with a shit-eating grin. Your shirt smacks him in the face once you peel it off and chuck it at him. He pouts. “Hey!”

“Thanks, I hate it.”

He tugs his shirt over his head, launches it over his shoulder without looking. Your unabashed stare immediately clocks the slight hint of his abdominal muscles. Lean, but not sharply contoured in a way that looks painful to touch. Soft. Perfect, even.

What lab were you engineered in?

“For someone with so many opinions, you don’t offer many suggestions.” He shoots you a pointed look while he unties the knot at his waistband drawstring. “What’s your proposal?”

You’d love to bite back at him. Really, you would, but he pulls his boxers down alongside his joggers, and every meaningful thought you’ve ever had goes flying out the fucking window. All that’s left is I want you, I want you, I want you.

Automatically, you reach out with a tentative hand, craving nothing more than to feel his velvet length in your hand. To your surprise, he stops you. He catches your hand in his, lifts it to his lips, and brushes a kiss over your knuckles.

“Rain check, baby,” Seokjin smiles against your skin. There it is. That’s the one. “Need to fuck you, posthaste, or I’ll simply pass away.”

You open your mouth to comment; he breezes right past you. He points to the mattress, then to the wall to your left. “On your side, love.”

That works, too.

“Face away from me.”

Never in your life have you moved so fast, all but throwing yourself down where he told you to. As you land with a slight bounce, you mouth to yourself, Posthaste? Nerd.

A second slips by, then Seokjin slips into the space behind you. His lips tickle the back of your neck when he kisses the base of it, causing you to gasp yet again. Maybe that’s just how you breathe when he’s around — like you don’t know how.

His hand drifts down the length of your side, passing over the doughy flesh of your ass. He gives it a squeeze for good measure — because of course he does — but he doesn’t linger, not now.

That hand continues until you feel his fingertips scratch affectionately at the back of your right thigh. He doesn’t need to ask; you lift your leg, allowing your knee to hinge overtop of his hand. Now that his hands are occupied, you offer yours to assist.

This time, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your fingers around his length. And fuck, there’s so much of it. Part of you wants to ask where the hell he thinks he’s going to fit all of it, but you’re not a quitter, so you keep your mouth shut.

Seokjin shivers under your touch, breath catching in his throat so blatantly that you can hear it right behind your ear.

“Hmmm,” you tease, squeezing the crown gently as you circle your wrist. “Does that work for you, champ?”

His forehead drops against your shoulder. The groan you force out of him is twice as long as necessary, followed by an unwilling laugh. “You’re right, okay? You’re fucking right. It’s awful. Just so fucking bad.”

Your thumb swipes over his leaking tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum waiting for you there. You’re relentless. “Sure you don’t like old sport better? Huh, buddy?”

“Baby,” he warns. There isn’t much heat to it, but it burns white hot in your core anyway.

The stretch of his cock does, too, when you finally stop fucking with him and start letting him fuck you. The breath he holds as he enters you slowly is let out in a shuddered groan when he bottoms out. Perfectly full and fully incapable of teasing him further, you simply melt back against his chest.

He’s careful to start, testing the waters and refusing to push you too far, too fast. You want more, though, you always have. Greedy, you rock your hips back against him to force him deeper into your weeping hole. He takes the hint, fingertips pressing bruises into the underside of your knee as he picks up his pace — and you’re far too blissed to care.

He pistons into you eagerly, deliberate. His hips clap against the flesh of your ass, but the sting of it all can’t compete with the way he splits you open. Makes you reach back to cling to any part of him you can get your hands on, claim whatever you find for keeps. Buried to the hilt, and somehow, he’s still not close enough.

You’re close, if your fluttering walls have anything to say about it. You’re babbling, too, so lost in pleasure that you can only repeat — over and over — how fucking perfect he is. How perfect for you he is.

Seokjin peppers kisses down the curve of your shoulder as he thrusts. It’s the only real indication you have that he’s at a loss for words, too; that he’s compensating for the quiet. He kisses you with an open mouth, teeth grazing the space he finds, leaves a mess on your sweat-slicked skin.

“Fuck,” he grunts. You mewl. “Can’t stop thinking about —”

“Just like that, please.”

“— how many times I could’ve —”

You wail, “Shit, Seokjin, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

The staccato strokes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. Not when he kisses the back of your neck again, and not when he murmurs directly in your ear, “— had you like this, if I’d said something years ago.”

Please, please, please.

It’s all you can say, again and again, as if he isn’t already giving you everything you want before you even ask for it. Responding to every movement you make, fucking into you with precision so that each vein of his cock brings friction where you crave it. Fucking you through your orgasm when it catches you in a riptide and sends you reeling.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice is soothing despite the recklessness of his thrusts. “So good for me. So fucking good.”

You’re still gushing when he snaps his hips forward and stills, cock twitching as he lets himself go inside of you. Still trembling when his head droops forward to nuzzle against your shoulder blade, and when you feel his breathing begin to slow in tandem with yours.

Once he pulls himself out of you, a few moments pass in fucked-out silence. It’s comfortable, if you ignore the mess between your thighs — and you do, for now. Your brain is too busy to waste time on that.

You’re exhausted and bordering on delirious when you say it, but that doesn’t make it any less true:

“I might love you, probably.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t move either, which makes you wonder if he’s fallen asleep with his face smushed into your bare back. But you feel the tiniest exhale through his nose; the kind of laugh you get from him when he’s too tired to be any louder.

His reply is muffled, lips still pressed against your skin, but you hear it perfectly.

For the record, he probably loves you, too.

Epilogue, posted 7/26/23.

final a/n: i have a follow-up drabble planned for these two! stay tuned 🥰

likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

tagging: @borahae-k @i-purple-buff-bunni @pamzn @myimaginationsrunningwild @nonbinary-demonbrat @jihopesjoint @cyanide-mustard @xjoonchildx @bbyorchid @persphonesorchid @quarter-life-crisis2 @zelchena @withluvjm @firesighgirl @whatthefsposts @iadelicacy @chimmisbae @cowboylikeyoongi @sailoryooons @axialitae @ugh-yoongi @minholykingofkorea @kookstempo @gimmethatagustd @Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhintothevoid

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doomsday-dj · 3 days

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Yo. Bestie. Do you have any Rizzles author recommendations for me??

You have cruelly seduced me into this teeny-tiny-weeny fandom and now I have galloped my way through (almost) all of your brilliant body of work I am cast adrift and quickly finding out that "sort by kudos" simply does not bring up the goods here...

Help a gay out?

Oh fuck yeah, bestie. Yes. Do I ever!! I am about to WEAR OUT the link function. But before the recommendations: aw shucks and thank you and all that. Your comments this week have been a highlight. I'm sorry to have dragged you into this but hopefully this post makes up for it! I've been dabbling in some other fandoms lately, ones with a LOT of fics, and there's a lot of great writers out there, but I have to say that especially relative to how many fics there are, there's an outrageous amount of good writers who have written Rizzles.

Okay! So disclaimer that I’ve had a really ungodly amount of coffee today so if this is a little on the “un” side of hinged then I apologize. I am definitely gonna be REAL effusive. I was silly and shy about leaving comments and kudos when I first got on AO3 and now I make up for those crimes by being unabashedly keen.

I have gone and sorted by kudos (and, sidenote, discovered that I'm in the top 30????) and before I get to the under-appreciated bangers, I will say that plenty of my faves feature in the first two pages of sort by kudos (though their most kudosed work is almost never my fave one). Here I’m thinking of coolbyrne, @julieverne, DanteBeatrice77. All of these authors are awesome.

Also, amongst the highly kudosed works, Attachment by @performativezippers is a classic for in the fandom for good reason (and their Bachelor AU is a romp) and law of the lever by sharkfights is one of my favourites all time.

As for the other stuff, what do you WANT out of your fic, bestie?

You want the feelings? You want the beautifully written feelings? @ladyriot has got feelings FOR DAYS. If you want some one shots that will take you apart and put you back together, you’ve come to the right place. Good feelings, angsty feelings, all the feelings you need. My favourite is Let Our Hands Tell the Story but I recommend all of them. Mostly it's one shots but the one complete multi-chapter fic, Transference, is CRIMINALLY UNDERRATED. Less than 200 kudos?! Fuck all the way off. I don’t know if it’s because it’s an AU or if it’s because of the doctor/patient element but unless that’s a trigger, I promise you it it’s handled very artfully and also it’s fucking fiction and no patient’s rights were violated in the making of this fic. Oh and put your ink on my skin 'til it comes off on me is both devastating and stupid hot.

Haven’t had enough feelings?? Take your insufficiently battered heart over to @sideadde’s work. I especially like Who Needs Two Kidneys When Another Heart Can Be Had? and Immersion Therapy.

You want a big meaty casefic you can sink your teeth into?? Domini_porter’s CMYK is so goddamn good. The smutty chapters in this one are just...chef's kiss. Among my favourites all time. I am also entirely obsessed with their Victorian AU, which deserves more attention. Also if you want some crack-your-chest-open-and-pull-out-your-guts angst go alllll the way back to their first fics on AO3.

OH. @kurtsvonneslut too. I think and you cooled my mind that burned with longing is probably my favourite post-finale type fic, bit of an AU with some major canon changes. They also have an excellent picking-up-from-the-Jane-and-Maura-season-2/3-break-up casefic, A Crime of Passion, and they wrote a devastating exploration of PTSD that just...oooof.

God, I could really just keep going and going. And this is just on AO3!!! I feel like I could do a whole part two of this that's just flagging all the best stuff that's back on ff.net. I might have to because this is already really long. But I'm stopping for now. Thanks for the BEST ASK.

*dramatic stage whisper* psssst do you want smut? I feel like I could also do a whole post on smut alone. Maybe later.

Note: I’ve tagged authors if their tumblr name is the same as their ao3 name, because I assume they’re okay with being found. If any of you would like to be untagged from the post just DM me and I’ll do that lickety split.

#rizzoli and isles #rizzles #rizzles fanfic #rizzoli and isles fanfiction #ask doomsday #love nothing more than talking fanfic #DM or ask me for recommendations ANY TIME

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gunsandspaceships · 15 days

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Many degrees of Doctor Stark

It is widely known that 616 Tony has several doctorates. The number varies from 3 to 7, but it doesn't really matter whether he is 300 or 700% Doctor. He is one. And he doesn’t use his title 99.999% of the time.

Ok, but what about the MCU?

It is never mentioned whether Tony has a PhD or even a master's degree. Kinda weird. Both the absence of mentions and lack of degrees, since Tony is so smart and productive.

Let’s check, maybe he actually has some.

Here we have a file from a deleted scene from The Avengers (2012):

As we can see, the work is sloppy – there are inaccuracies in his hair color (it’s not black, it’s brown), and the fact that he speaks French was not included. Can we rely on this paper? Let’s not 100%, but we can still use things that don't contradict the movies.

The fact that he received his BS in Engineering from MIT does not contradict this, so we can mark it as valid. He started in 1984 when he was 14 years old and graduated in 1987 when he was 17.

We see no further education in the file. But we know something that this file doesn’t. We watched the movies.

Remember, in Civil War at 0:13:25, in the scene where Tony sees his parents for the last time, Maria tells Howard, “Be nice, dear, he’s been studying abroad”. Tony is 21 here, this is December 16, 1991. Looks like he is on winter break.

But wait… Didn’t he graduate in 1987 and stop then? Well, Maria tells us he continued.

Between 17 and 21 there are 4 years. What could he have done in these 4 years? A lot, right? He is smart and productive, we know that. A master’s degree usually takes 2 years. Tony could earn it in 1. 1 or 2, we still have 2-3 years that we need to fill with some kind of studying. I doubt he just went back and got another bachelor's or master's. That said, he was working on his PhD.

We don't know where. “Abroad” is a very broad concept. Maybe he went to Europe to study at Oxford? We do not know. Perhaps he stayed at MIT and just went somewhere else for the fall semester. We do not know. But he did go somewhere for (most probably) a PhD.

The question is: did he finish it?

Well, his parents died in Dec 1991, and we know from the first Iron Man (0:04:50) that Stane was the interim president of Stark Industries from that date until 1992. Most likely, Tony became CEO before his birthday, that is, May 29, which corresponds to the stated age of 21. He had a few months between.

We don’t know where he was in his degree at that time. But we know he is smart and productive. He doesn’t need 4 years to write a dissertation.

So, there are 2 options:

1) He did not complete his doctorate and devoted himself entirely to the company;

2) He completed it in the few months he had and then took over the company.

Here’s the evidence for the second option:

“Confusing matters more, a recently deleted LinkedIn profile for Tony Stark indicated he received doctorates in engineering physics and artificial intelligence.”

Source: https://alum.mit.edu/slice/who-iron-man

Given all the information and analysis we have, as well as a little logic, we can conclude that Tony has a Ph.D. Even two. He had time to do them. Why doesn't he use his title? Well, maybe for the same reason 616 Tony doesn’t? He doesn’t usually brag. Check out this post if you have any doubts about my statement.

Here are some additional hints:

He gave lectures at scientific conferences (IM1 and IM3 - Bern 1999).

His scientific expertise was not limited to engineering and his company's affairs (all the movies, but specifically I can point you to IM3– the scene with Maya Hansen and her Extremis-enhanced plants in Bern).

“He must have graduated after 1990, because the '90 Brass rat was the first one with the skyline on the edge.” MIT alumni commentary https://alum.mit.edu/slice/who-iron-man

Conclusion (actual): call him Doctor Stark, guys, he deserves it. Despite his modesty about his scientific achievements, Dr Stark has a couple of master's degrees and at least two PhD degrees in the MCU - in engineering physics and artificial intelligence.

#tony stark #iron man #marvel #mcu #the avengers #iron man 3 #captain america civil war #doctor stark

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violetsandshrikes · 2 months

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Notable Women In Zoology: Dr. Letitia Eva Takyibea Obeng

Dr. Obeng (1925-2023) was the first Ghanaian woman to obtain a degree in zoology, and the first to be awarded a doctorate. She is described as "the grandmother of female scientists in Ghana".

Her other notable accomplishments include:

A Bachelor of Science in Zoology and Botany (1952), a Master of Science in Parasitology (1962) and a PhD in Tropical Medicine (1964) where she studied the black fly and its relevance to river blindness

Post university, she lectured at the University College of Science and Technology (now known as Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology, KNUST) from 1952 to 1959

In 1952, Dr. Obeng became the first female scientist at KNUST

After her husband's death in 19659, she moved to the the Council for Scientific and Industrial Research (CSIR)

IN 1964, she established the Institute of Aquatic Biology within CSIR to research the huge manmade Volta Lake in Ghana and its inland water system

Dr. Obeng was the first scientist to be employed by the National Research Council of Ghana

In 1965, Dr Obeng became a fellow of the Ghana Academy of Arts and Sciences. In 2006, she became the first female president of the Academy

In 1972, Dr. Obeng delivered the Caroline Haslett Memorial Lecture to the Royal Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce, titled “Nation Building and the African Woman”

In 1972, she was an invited participant in the United Nations Human Environment Conference in Stockholm

In 1974, she began work as the Officer in the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP), and in 1989, she became the Director of the UNEP Regional Office for Africa, and the UNEP's Representative to Africa

From 1992 to 1993, Obeng was a Distinguished International Visitor fellow at Radcliff College

In 1997, she received the CSIR Award for Distinguished Career and Service to Science and Technology, the first woman to receive such an award

The CSIR Laboratory (known as The Letitia Obeng Block) was named after her in 1997 as well

She received Ghana's highest national award, Order of the Star of Ghana in 2006

In 2017, she received an honorary Doctor of Science degree from KNUST

She was also the author of numerous publications and works. Two meant for the public were Parasites, the Sly and Sneaky Enemies inside You (1997) and -Anthology of a Lifetime (2019)

#Letitia Obeng #international women's day #zoology

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unicorncornflakes · 6 months

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Summer Isles - Modern!Aemond x Reader | Chapter 2

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: After two years in the Summer Isles, Aemond returns from his international stay during his doctorate ready to be with the girl he left Westeros for.

Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Emotional Hurt/ Comfort/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: Not at this moment, maybe later :P This is the best I can write these days, sorry :(

General Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know): @thedamewithabook @bluevxnus @hiddencurator @tempt-ress @watercolorskyy @tsujifreya @qyburnsghost

Tag-List for this series (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know): @snh96 @thetrueblackheart @zenka69 @darkenchantress

Author´s note: Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 3.4K

Aemond returned to pay for a cigarette without having barely taken a couple of drags. It was the third cigarette that he put out discouraged at that party. He knew that some of Aegon's friends were trying to be nice, asking him how his time in the Summer Isles had been... trying to be nice, most of them, not all.

He had been terribly grateful for their attitude to all those who had ignored him. It was the best they could do. Especially when Aemond had tried, without much success, to smoke a quiet cigarette on the huge terrace of Aegon's new bachelor pad. Because that's what it was. It even had a swimming pool. The damn terrace had a pool that he was sure Aegon wouldn't use with just you.

He looked at the cigarette crushed against one of the flower pots on the terrace and leaned against the wall without much encouragement. He assumed you were supposed to be with Aegon. He hadn't seen you again all night and he regretted taking the first flight. He had only done it to impress you, as if that act of love could erase the fact that he hadn't texted to you in two years. He had been a terrible friend all that time. He had also been the friend in love and scorned.

“There is a terrace in Aegon's room too. I know how much it bothers you that you can't have a cigarette when you're stressed.” Helaena approached her brother and leaned against the same wall, looking at the sky. “I don't think it's going to take much longer for the fireworks to appear. After them, you can go home without looking rude” his sister smiled sweetly. Aemond prepared to enter the house again and go to Aegon's room, the same one that you would share with him that same night. “But, I know you're not here to see the fireworks.” Helaena looked back ahead, just after giving her brother a sideways glance.

“Hmm,” was all Aemond sighed as he walked back into the house. There he saw Aegon lying on a couch with a couple of his friends. There was not a single trace of you. Aemond had thought you would be at the party with him. Unnoticed, he tried to look for you with his one eye, but all he could find were drunk or high people. Maybe... you were in the bathroom, why wouldn't you be with your boyfriend on a night like that?

Aemond walked the entire hallway in silence. He took a cigarette from the barely opened package as he walked through it. All full of quite contemporary paintings. He thought his brother had finally learned to value that kind of thing, or surely it had been you. The one-eyed man knew that it was better to contribute for the second option. Aegon wasn't all that refined about that sort of thing, but you were. You always had been, that's why he had always thought you were the perfect girl for him.

He went to reach for the doorknob to Aegon's room when he heard barking inside. They were powerful, a big dog. “Shhh, Sunfyre, now, now. Stop” He heard your voice and Aemond flung open the door, almost worried that something was happening to you.

As soon as he opened the door, he found you on a pile of coats on top of Aegon's bed. A young Doberman puppy was jumping on top of you. Licking your face. He must have been almost a year old, but the youth of a young dog still shone in his eyes. He was almost as big as you and the dog could only wag his stump of a tail as he watched Aemond open the door. He ran towards the Targaryen.

“No, please, don't let him escape,” you squealed in amusement at Aemond and he only stopped you with a quick movement of his leg, closing the door behind him. "Thank you. I don't even want to think about having to chase him around the party again” you smiled as you grabbed the dog's leather collar and Aemond's heart just melted.

I'm in love with you. It was the only thing that was going through his mind, what he wanted to scream at you.

You continued grabbing the dog and locked him in the bathroom, leaving him jumping on the glass door of the bathroom. “He's always scared by fireworks,” you tried to smile while the dog filled the glass of the bathroom door with fog and drool. You sighed tiredly and looked at Aemond with a sweet half smile. “He destroyed your cigarette,” you laughed, pointing to the destroyed cigarette in his hand just as he had stopped the dog and he could only sigh as he took another one out of the package. “How come you're not at the party?” you told him as you turned and walked out the door to the small terrace of the bedroom. You simply sat down in one of the two chairs there and were grateful to stretch out while you loosened all the bones and muscles in your body after a long day of work.

“I need a quiet smoke” was all he told you as he took the zippo out of his front pocket and sat down next to you in the other chair. He took a couple of drags while the flame of that Zippo continued to feed the cigarette fire.

“You still have it,” you stated. It was not a question, but a statement. He handed you the old Zippo as he blew out the smoke from the last puff again. You bit your lower lip, suppressing a satisfied smile. That meant so much to you. You were amazed that Aemond still maintained something like that.

“Well, I have modified it slightly,” he confessed to you as you passed by the Targaryen shield engraved on one of the sides of the lighter. Your perfect fingers caressed him with great care while Aemond smiled pleased. “It was your father's fault that he started smoking. The least I could do was keep the lighter he gave me.”

“Yeah, sure, blame my dad for starting smoking,” you laughed. He resists you, precious, and Aemond felt his entire heart melt. How could you be so perfect? “He only left you the lighter because you had forgotten it at home,” you rolled your eyes in amusement, remembering that night in your own adolescence.

“And because of him that night I didn't stop smoking. If it hadn't been for that saint, that poor young man wouldn't have smoked a single cigarette that night."

A couple of days later, he had tried to return the lighter to your father. He never confessed it to you, but the man just looked at him with sympathy as he cleaned his hands after fixing one of Daemon's many cars. His personal mechanic, that was what his uncle had called him, and how he still was even in those days, although he was already close to retirement age. “Keep it, boy,” he smiled as he opened a beer during work hours in his workshop and offered it to Aemond, who rejected it with a polite wave of his hand. “I have many lighters. One more, one less, it's not going to make a difference,” he responded with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Yeah, but it's a Zippo,” Aemond said, almost embarrassed, when he offered it to him again. He knew they weren't cheap. Your family didn't have as much money as his. They would never have it. With his weekly allowance, he could buy four Zippos and still have money left over to take you out to dinner. Your father smiled tiredly and looked right at the entrance to the workshop. You were sitting on the sidewalk, watching the bikes, yours and Aemond's. Although your father knew that you were not a stupid girl. You had sent Aemond to return the lighter because you just wanted to know one thing.

“I liked the way she looked at you,” your father whispered in a knowing tone. Aemond looked at him strangely when he said those words and your father pointed his head at you. “I liked the way she looked at you when you wore it. Keep it,” he asked again as he returned to work. “But don't tell your uncle that I gave it to you,” he said as he crouched down to get under a car again. “It was a gift from him,” he added, but Aemond was no longer listening to anything your father said.

His heart was just pounding. He was then 17 years old. He was a couple of months older than you and couldn't believe your father's words. How had you looked at it? How? He couldn't stop turning that fantasy over in his head. And if… and if, were you interested in him too? As much as he was for you?

Your father heard him running in your direction and came out from under the car. He saw you both go together, pedaling. He knew that that afternoon you had agreed to see an exhibition at the cultural center of that small city. He took another sip of his beer. Fresh always came in better, but he couldn't stop looking at you.

That was the kind of boy he wanted for you. A boy with ambitions, studious, educated, who was looking to have a future. Aemond Targaryen was everything your father wanted for you, even though he had taken up smoking. We all had our flaws, but Aemond was perfect in your father's eyes and he had always found it cute how your cheeks would blush when you talked about him.

"How is he?" he asked you after a comfortable silence. You looked at him as if you didn't know what you were talking about. “Your father, I mean.”

"Oh, good. Great. Working hard, as always” you smiled at him as you leaned back in your chair. The truth was that your father had been terribly angry because Aegon had been late to his birthday party. You knew that he didn't like him, that neither of them really liked each other, but your father had tried to break the ice that existed in their icy relationship by finally inviting him to his birthday party. Aegon had shown up three hours later, relaxed and with a smile from ear to ear, as if provoking was always with him. Your father had asked you not to invite him to anything related to the family again. That was something you hadn't discussed with Aegon. You knew how it was going to be with your boyfriend and you knew that he would say again that all that was because he wasn't Aemond. Jealousy rarely came to the fore, but it always did in Aegon's relationship with your father. That was stupid. Your father didn't care who you dated, or so you thought.

“I should go see him to check the belt on the Mustang,” Aemond smiled at you and you smiled back shyly. Yes, that was just what your father needed to despise Aegon even more, knowing that Aemond was back. “Why aren’t you at the party?” He asked you sincerely while you curled up, taking off your shoes on the lounge chair that you considered your place on that small terrace.

“The truth is that I ended up terribly tired today,” you said without much encouragement, as if all your good humor had vanished, as if you didn't have to pretend that you were fine. That was Aemond's great magic. You didn't have to pretend. Sometimes it was stressful how much you pretended to be in Aegon's presence, as if his always carefree nature led you to it, as if you had to hide what you really felt for the sake of the relationship. “And I don't want to have to put up with Aegon's 'friends',” you confessed, as if not a single day had passed since you had last seen him. Because those were the great friendships, the ones that no matter how much time passed, you always spoke as if you had seen each other the day before.

“Yes, I thought I saw Cass Baratheon at the party,” Aemond laughed, taking a drag and you narrowed your eyes tired, but amused.

“I can't stand her. I've tried, but I can't stand it” you waved your arms and Aemond smiled.

“Don't worry, I can't stand Maris,” he responded with a shrug. He still remembered how she had laughed at his lack of manliness after the fight with Luke in their last year of high school.

"They are unbearable. Daddy’s girls” you replied, looking back up at the night sky and Aemond couldn’t stop looking at you. You were still as beautiful as when you were gone. Just as perfect. That conversation reminded him of the old days, when you were still nothing more than two kids who talked about the absurd things that happened to you in class.

Silence settled between you again. You were too tired to notice, but Aemond hadn't stopped looking at you for a single moment. He imagined that this was how he wanted to spend the rest of his days. With you. After a hard day of work, the two of them together. He saw you pass your hand over your cervical spine, grimacing painfully, but you stretched again. He finished his cigarette and in an irresponsible act threw it over the terrace. “Aemond!” You scolded him, almost amused, and he sat next to you in that armchair.

You never said anything, but the proximity of his body, in such an intimate context, made you feel slightly uncomfortable. But, it only made you feel that way, because you were dating Aegon and yet you were liking Aemond's proximity. You crossed your legs trying to find a new position in that chair and he just placed you against him. “Stand up straight,” he whispered to you and all the hair on your body stood up.

“Really, it's not necessary…” everything you were going to say died in a pleasant moan that escaped your lips as Aemond began to massage your neck. “Fuck…” you whispered under your breath and Aemond smiled again.

“I'm glad it wasn't necessary,” he responded while massaging a cervical spine that was terribly burdened by the stress accumulated over weeks. You continued to make little moans of pleasure which Aemond found adorable. That's what you needed, to be taken care of, to be pampered... and Aemond was back to do it. He had done a lot of reflecting during those two rather lonely years on the Summer Isles.

He saw the strap of your bra and slowly added it, as if he were trying to make you enjoy it. He licked his lips. He was going to kiss your bare shoulders first, then continue down your neck, and finally end up on your mouth. “Thank you for the massage. It was very good” you replied as you turned to look at him again, while you raised the strap of your bra back to your shoulders.

“Yes, it was good” he pursed his lips and looked at the ground again. He had to have been an asshole who had stayed silent while he imagined him kissing the neck of the girl of his dreams. “(Y/N), I…” he started saying. That was the moment. He couldn't put it off any longer. He did not want to. You were both alone at that party. It was like old times. Completely the same. What was stopping you from being together? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Aemond thought about Aegon, but he ignored you at best. He had thrown that party without thinking that you might be tired.

“Helaena told me that you have gotten a job at the University of King's Landing” you changed the subject and you could only see the disappointment on his face. You weren't prepared for what he wanted to confess. You weren't a stupid girl. But, Aemond had had his chance many years ago. He had only broken your heart by starting to date Alys, who was then your best friend, and after breaking up with her he, had run away to the summer islands, where he had not written you a single message, not once. You could tell what was going through his mind. You knew him well, or at least you had known him well before he went on that international stay that had lengthened the unspeakable. You didn't know if you were ready to hear I love you from his lips. Maybe you'd never be again. “I'm very happy that you are achieving everything you set out to do,” you smiled sincerely, because you were really happy that he was achieving what he had set out to do.

“Yes, it's a good position,” he whispered, as he took out a cigarette and lit it again. “I think that in three years I will be able to direct the History department,” he responded while settling down next to you in that chair that was clearly for only one person. You knew he was only saying that to impress you. Aemond's way of flirting had always been that, but you were with Aegon. You had chosen him two years ago. Just like Aemond had chosen Alys.

He grabbed your legs and lifted them onto his lap. Why had he had to choose Alys? Why? You would have been a great couple. You couldn't deny the chemistry that had always existed between the two of you. That simple conversation had reactivated it, as if you no longer knew what you wanted, because you didn't. You had never known it. “I guess… I'll look for an apartment in the city and drive to the university. It is not far. Only half an hour"

“You always wanted to return to the capital…” you said, not daring to look at him.

“There…there is someone who ties me to this place. For the only reason that I have returned after two years…” there was the confession. You didn't want to hear it. You couldn't hear it. Not now. Not when your whole world was crumbling around you, it almost seemed as if Aemond had waited for that moment to confess. At the moment when you were weakest and most vulnerable. "I…"

“Hey, I was looking for you, what are you two doing alone so far from the party?” Aegon just appeared there, still with a glass in his hand. He approached the two of you and you smiled at him, while Aemond thought of a thousand ways to kill him for that interruption. “You look beautiful,” he whispered to you as he grabbed the necklace Aemond had brought you. “Are you tired after work?” he whispered to you again, creating an intimate atmosphere in which Aemond was not invited.

“Yes, I'm quite tired,” you replied while he brushed his nose with yours, in a gesture that implied more tenderness than Aemond had imagined your relationship. He gave you several quick pecks. Kisses that made you laugh between each one of them. He whispered something to you that made you laugh, and Aemond began to feel uncomfortable, more and more.

“Oh, Aemond, Alys gave me my regards to you. I was shopping and I found her by chance” he said sounding completely innocent, but Aemond knew why he had said it, why he had said it right in front of you. As Aemond was about to answer, the first firework appeared in the sky and Aegon hugged your shoulders while you continued to sit. “I love fireworks,” he whispered and your heart sank.

You had never liked fireworks. They would never do it. Another exploded into the sky again and Aegon grabbed you tighter. While smiling. You didn't want to look at Aemond, but you knew he wasn't watching the fireworks. His head was very far away, almost as far away as yours.

But you both thought it wasn't fair. Aemond thought it wasn't fair for you to give your love to Aegon. You kept thinking that it wasn't fair that Aemond wanted to come back to confess something that you both had always known. Neither situation was fair to anyone. And in it, there were only losers.

#aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen modern au #aemond modern au #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader

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