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belokhvostikova · 1 year

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Following Friday’s events, Eddie Munson was on a mission to apologize to you, though everything fell short when your life began to crumble in a matter of hours.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, self-deprecating thoughts, violence, experienced anxiety and panic attack, mentions of childhood abuse and neglect, and brief mentions of blood, body shaming, and non consensual touching.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | For the sake of my sanity, I'm going to need all of you to ignore the blatantly unrealistic process of making a book in this story, lol. If there are any necessary warnings that were accidently left out, please feel free to let me know!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡

Whatever mantra of the Munson Doctrine Eddie had been feeding himself to believe about the highest of the social hierarchy embedded within Hawkins High was really starting to fall short, specifically when your pretty face started monopolizing every one of his thoughts imaginable.

As much as he’d like to admit otherwise, Eddie Munson liked staring at your face, and it was really starting to piss him off just how much he really liked doing it. And the situation only became worse when he steadily watched your wonted bewitching smile fade into a disheartened look of dejection, because that following weekend after your impromptu photo shoot with Hellfire, became the worst week of your life.

And Eddie Munson watched it entirely unravel right in front of him.

It never really occurred to Eddie just how much he’d casually gawk at you prior to said photo shoot. I mean, you were the face of the school, of course, you were hard to miss when you practically lit up the halls with your smile. And that’s merely what Eddie had chalked it up to; your popularity involuntarily placed you at the forefront of his attention. It wasn’t the small strands of baby hairs that perfectly framed your face, whether you decided to keep your hair natural, or styled it for the fun of it; it wasn’t your enthralling eyes that seemed to almost squint close because your cheeks became so full of delight with your spellbinding laugh; and it definitely wasn’t your apologetic reassurance that everything was okay to the kid from the drama club who accidentally bumped into you, causing you to drop your books, and you gave Andy McAvoy a stern talking to when he tried to defend your honor with violence against the poor kid.

No, it was none of that that caught Eddie Munson’s attention to you (he forced himself to believe).

But now, things are different.

He’d actually gotten a chance to talk to you—yes, that cafeteria instance was the first time Eddie Munson had ever actually spoken to you, and he berated you with dehumanizing comments—and he blew it with his rash decision to automate you into a box of prissy cheerleaders that had nothing better to do than gossip with their friends- ah yes, that box, that was formulated by sexist losers who used it to justified their mean actions against innocent teenage girls. Oh, fuck, Eddie cringed to himself at the sudden self-realization.

He had to fix this. He didn’t even have to confess his feelings—which, he didn’t have *cough* *cough*—he just had to apologize for his mistakes. What he wanted to believe to be patronizing was actually sincere on your part, and you didn’t deserve any of his degrading tirade. And his conscience was letting it be known. Resuming the campaign had been a shit-show that Friday, when all he could focus on was your crying face. It became even worse when he realized that he’d never actually seen you drive—always painfully third-wheeling with Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham, or silently pleading to Patrick McKinney to control Andy McAvoy when he felt entitled to nonconsensually feel you up in his convertible when they drove you to school—meaning you were probably left crying alone at night waiting to be picked up, or worse, walking home. And you did it just for him. For his friends. To be included in some stupid fucking yearbook, because he made a big deal out of it in the first place.

Oh, shit, he was an awful fucking person, Eddie thought.

So, come Monday morning, he would apologize. He had all weekend to find the right words, rehearse his apology to perfection, and plan when to actually say it to you.

But Eddie Munson never got to correctly apologize to you on Monday.

Because aforementioned, Monday was the start of the worst week of your life, and he got scared and simply watched everything happen.

“No running in the halls, young lady.” Mr. Long sternly reminded, as you zoomed past him.

“Sorry, sir.” You weren’t sorry. The second he turned the corner, you picked up the pace and ran to the newspaper room, frantically attempting to shove the slender key into the slot with shaky hands.

Earlier on Saturday, the Yearbook Committee had worked to finish the final draft of the Hawkins High 1986 Yearbook, and with the team’s effort, you all concluded the first official copy that held the recognition of all staff and students intertwined with a school year’s worth of memorabilia, squished between the glossy green and orange cover that encapsulated Hawkins High.

And now, you were about to destroy it.

Sixty minutes. You had sixty minutes. You managed to wake up early that Monday morning, practically running to school, and situating yourself within the newspaper room—sweaty and exhausted—an hour early before the bell rang to commence the school day. In truth, you’d like to say you were a badass, and demolished the yearbook with no regrets, but reality had quite literally sucked, and you were panicking for a solid five minutes before you came to a consensus.

It had to be destroyed- well, not destroyed, just unbinded. God, you were such a dramatic coward.

See, that Saturday afternoon with the Yearbook Committee, you had done your part, you really did. You gathered photos, helped have them printed, assisted Nancy Wheeler with the placement of pages, and took over binding the book together when Fred Benson’s scrawny hands cramped into oblivion. You also may have—very discreetly—had Hellfire’s picture printed, created an entirely new page to fit them between the Glee and Math Club, and it was then you realized you didn’t even know half of their names. It had never occurred to you on Friday night that—with the exception of Eddie Munson, Lucas Sinclair, and Mike Wheeler—you never caught the names of the other four members, prompting you to lose precious time after having to locate their stupid names in the student registry for identification—they weren’t stupid, you were just really frustrated at that point.

And now, on this fine Monday morning, you persevered through blistering callouses, contracting muscles, and sore knuckles to unbind and bind back the yearbook with an additional page within the “Hawkins High’s Clubs” recognitional section.

Hellfire’s page.

And it was perfect.

The pages were still intact with their crisp stiffness of that of a newly unopened book, and you cleaned off any smudges that impaired the quality of work within the creation. You stood back. You couldn’t help the soft giggle that left your lips at the mere sight of Hellfire sticking out like a sore thumb against the formality of the other photos—in true Hellfire fashion. But there it was. Their title, their photo, and their names that gave them the minimal ask to simply be acknowledged in a school that consistently disregarded their beings, and you were happy they finally got it. They deserved it. Even if Friday’s event left you crying alone in your bed feeling awful. It was worth it. Your thumb gently caressed the smooth page of their photo—Eddie’s photo—and reminisced on that night.

Had you actually done something terrible? Was Eddie right to call you out on your actions? You certainly knew you hadn’t caused this entire commotion out of pitiness, though you understood where he may have interpreted it as such. I mean, even though you never did anything, your friends made his life a living hell, villainizing his differences, casting him as a danger to society, affecting his life beyond just a superficial high school social life. It was true torment.

You understood the facade which Eddie Munson had to put on to protect himself, but what you didn’t understand was the sudden shallowness that appeared when you thought you proved yourself to be more than just a ditzy cheerleader. Why were you even trying to prove yourself to some guy? Eddie Munson was an awful person. Right? He yelled at you, judged you, degraded you, and all for nothing- well, as far as you knew. So yeah, Eddie Munson was an awful person. You may have understood him, but he was still an asshole. You’d done your part, adding Hellfire to the yearbook, and that was that. That was all you needed to do. You no longer had to think about his stupid feelings, his stupid hair—which you totally didn’t want to run your hands through—his stupid brown eyes that made you shutter as they bore into yours, and his stupidly beautiful smile. You also kinda wondered how his hands might feel on your-

“What are you doing here?”

Jesus Christ, how long has Nancy Wheeler been standing there? You didn’t even hear the door open.

“Uh, um, j-just looking at the, uh, yearbook?” You mumbled. You wished you had better control over your facial expressions, because right now, Nancy Wheeler was eyeing the fuck out of your worried guise.

“You came to school early just to see the yearbook?” She questioned.

“W-well, yeah, I mean, isn’t that why you’re here early? …Right?” You prayed.

Nancy blinked. “Yeah, I guess, just had to make sure everything was correct before Fred takes it to make copies.”

“Oh, Fred’s here?” You piqued with interest.

Fred Benson didn’t actually pique your interest all too much—though, it was quite fascinating seeing how fast his slender fingers would cramp after just a couple minutes of working—but he did give the perfect escape from Nancy Wheeler’s captious glare.

“Uh, yeah, he’s out front waiting for the book-”

“I’ll hand it to him!” You interjected, watching her face scrunch with confusion. You could only awkwardly laugh, “You know me and Fred,” you zoomed right past her, “just always so, uh… tight.” And you left without further explanation.

Shoving Mr. Long’s word of chastisement right up his ass, you ran down the empty hall, yearbook held tightly in your tired hands, as you rejected any of Nancy’s calls for you to come back. Reaching the double glass doors, you spotted Fred mindlessly tweaking with his camera in the front seat of his car.

“Fred!” You could visibly make out the bewildered “huh” that fell from his gaping mouth from your sudden appearance. “Fred, here take this and go!” You shoved the yearbook past the small crack of his window.

“W-wait, didn’t Nancy want to che-”

“No, she sent me to give this to you!” You urged. “And she said go now, or else the copies won’t be done in time!” My god, the entirety of this situation had you lying more than you ever had in your life.

“But the distributors don’t close until six-”

“Fred, I don’t care!” You whined. “Do you really want to make Nancy upset?!” If your calculations were correct, Nancy Wheeler’s flats were currently speed walking—she was one to follow the rules—past Mrs. Durberry’s science classroom, meaning you had ten more seconds until she appeared.

“Well, n-no-”

“Then drive! Now, please!” He scrambled to turn his car on, and luckily, the old piece of junk managed to roar alive with a heavy blow of carbon dioxide, and you heaved watching Fred Benson skirt past the incoming wave of students on bikes and cars, leaving tire tracks on the cracked pavements. When he came back, you’d be sure to apologize for demanding him so aggressively.

Nancy Wheeler screamed your name.

Turning around, she came pummeling towards you with a might of pure irritation. “What the hell was that?! I didn’t even get to check the book!”

You huffed with exhaustion. It was only 8:18 a.m and it had already been a long day. “Nance, come on, I’ve been on the Yearbook Committee for the last three years, don’t you trust me by now?” Admittedly, guilting Nancy probably wasn’t the best option, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“I don’t care how long you’ve been in the committee, I have the authority to make final calls, not you!” Gee, you really had an act for getting people to yell in your face. Were you actually the problem?

“Look, I understand, but I promise everything was perfect with the yearbook. I mean, come on, you saw the finished product on Saturday when we completed it.” You reasoned.

Nancy took a deep breath to regulate herself. “This is your only strike.” She pointed a finger at you like a child. “You pull something like this again, and you're off the committee. Understand?”

You swallowed thickly. The trouble you went through just for Eddie Munson- his friends. Just for his friends. “Yes, I understand.” You submitted quietly. “But I promise, the book was fine, everything is going to be perfectly okay.”

Everything was not perfectly okay.

Because unlike your little white lie of being “tight” with Fred Benson, he actually was with Nancy Wheeler, and, boy, did he rat you out when he paged through the printed copies of the yearbook and found the seven believed satanic cultists mischievously smiling right back at him, tainting the committee’s precious work.

It was in the midst of your A.P U.S History class when the staticy call of your name over the intercom interrupted Mr. Whitney’s lecture of the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, and prompted you to the principal’s office at 10:57 a.m. Now, it wasn’t an unusual occurrence for Principal Higgins to often call you down as you were a valued student representative of Hawkins High, though you quickly knew your visitation had nothing in relation to an honor medal or scholarship award. No, it became quite evident that such subject matter was beyond any congratulations to you, because upon entering, you were faced with a choleric Nancy Wheeler, displeased Principal Higgins, and timid Fred Benson. You were fucking screwed, I mean, Principal Higgins quite literally had a yearbook in his hand. Crazy part of it all is that a good third of your being actually believed you may have gotten away with it, but they managed to find out in a matter of two fucking hours. Who were you kidding?

There was only so much nonchalant-ness you could mask, though your previous revelation of being unable to control your facial expressions was really biting you in the ass, and your insistent cracking under pressure was palpable.

Your wide eyes flashed between everyone as they stared you down. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t even manage to speak. And they didn’t speak. Why wasn’t anyone speaking?

“Aw, you miss me already, Higgy-”

Everyone’s attention snapped at Eddie’s sneering voice as he strutted his grand entrance, though he was quick to flinch back in surprise when he saw everyone looking at him. And you, shit you were here! You were here looking at him. He’d been searching for you all morning just to apologize, and now you were here… with everyone… why was everyone here?

“Now that I have everyone situated,” Principal Higgins cleared his throat, “I’d like to clear up a matter that has been brought to my attention. I’m sure as you all are well aware of, an unauthorized change has been made to our yearbook and I’m looking to get to the bottom of it.” Higgins turned to you, “Ms. Y/L/N,” he spoke with such care, “this is a safe place for honesty. Did Mr. Munson subject you into making these changes?” With a dramatic slam to his desk, the yearbook was turned open to showcase Hellfire’s designated spot on the page.

“What?!” Both you and Eddie questioned in unison.

“I didn’t “subject” her to shit!” He was quick to rightfully defend.

“Language!” Principal Higgins was even quicker to yell back.

The atmosphere was taut, and it felt like their judgmental stares were swallowing you into an endless blackhole of utter disappointment and failure. You couldn’t even muster up the courage to meet their gaze, simply staring at the old rug beneath your sneakers, wishing it’d come alive and consume you already.

“Ms. Y/L/N, is that true?” Principal Higgins lectured you.

A part of Eddie actually wished you would have lied and accused him of being the aggressor while you were the helpless victim, because that was the usual reality of Eddie Munson: to be denigrated. It would have justified his previous beratement against you from Friday, it would have supported his initial beliefs about you, it would have cleared him of being an asshole, and most of all, it would have changed the way he viewed you, from a genuinely beautiful person inside and out that took a sincere interest in bringing simple recognition to him and his friends to a cold-hearted superficial bitch that chalked up this elaborate plan as a vendetta with your jock friends.

But Eddie Munson knew you weren’t like that.

Which only made it hurt worse when he watched you pain through the sting of your manicured nails stabbing into your palms and your teeth sinking into your tender lip.

“Y-yes, that’s, uh, true, sir.” Your voice was so delicate, Eddie was ready to jump in and just take the blame. “He didn’t make me do anything, it was, uh, all me. I lied, and made him and his friends take the photo. And, well, I, uh, added the page and told Fred to print it.”

You shuddered at the sudden slap of the book, as Principal Higgins closed it with much despondency against you. “And is there valid reasoning as to why?!” Principal Higgins wasn’t one to be known for his placidness and he was quick to make that apparent. “You are the best student at this establishment, you should not be falling under influence of a hooligan like Mr. Munson! How have you fallen so naive all of a sudden?!”

You were really tugging on Eddie’s heart the way your eyes grew round with panic, completely helpless to the grown man scolding you, just as he did last Friday. And while he may have caused it the initial time, he’d be damned to watch it happen to you again.

“Hey, look, you can insult me all you want, but you don’t have to yell at her like she made some dire mistake!” Eddie lambasted Principal Higgins, far more harsh than any regular tone Eddie used when he was regularly being reprimanded.

Higgins could only scoff in disbelief. “Vandalizing school property isn’t a mistake to you, Mr. Munson?! Well, given your grotesque track record of uncivilized activities, it seems as though I’ve answered my own question!” He sneered back with intended offense.

“Please, ‘vandalizing school property?!’” Eddie mocked. “She fucking put our picture in the yearbook, and for good reason, too. You’re the one at fault here, excluding students from recognition!”

The thudding sound of your heartbeat was completely muting you from the onslaught of shouts that was suffocating you in the tight room. While Nancy Wheeler was beginning to contemplate if telling Principal Higgins was too far, Fred Benson was merely watching with joy that none of the blame was being casted on him, and you, well, your body was racking with stiffness, as it suddenly felt like your airway was tightening every breath out of you. Your hands began shaking by your side, unable to control the instantaneous wave of trepidation, as everything was beginning to blur around you.

And no one was noticing.

“I have rightful reasons to exclude your gang of misfits from my yearbook!” Principal Higgins walked from his desk, standing against Eddie with pure spite in his eyes. “You and your posse of cons and aberrations have done nothing but taint the reputation of our school and town, running around like imbeciles who have nothing better to do than waste their lives away! And I will not stand to have you be associated with the work I’ve done to correct this school from delinquents like yourself!”

Chest heaving and nostrils flared, the Eddie Munson from the cafeteria instance was back, though angrier, and he was two seconds from actually gaining an assault charge from hitting Principal Higgins square in the face. But the older man was quick to turn, and eject his dissonant castigate towards you.

“And you, missy!” Your eyes were blinking posthaste with fret to control the swell of tears that were burning your eyes, at the clashing outburst being directed against you. “How did you even gain the facilities to take such picture?!”

Your mouth was dry with consternation, unable to formulate words, and simply quivering your mouth open.

And unlucky for you, Fred Benson spoke for you.

“After our yearbook meeting on Friday,” heads snapped at his gravelly voice, “she said she was going to stay after to work, and that she would lock up herself. She must have taken the key, and stolen a camera.”

Higgins scoffed with great disgust as he judged you, before turning to Nancy. “Ms. Wheeler, as president of the Yearbook Committee, had you permitted her to do so?”

Nancy looked at you with guilt. She hadn’t anticipated the situation to blow up this much, though she spoke honestly to the authoritative eyes of Higgins. “Uh, no, I didn’t.” She meekly answered.

“And Mr. Munson,” Eddie rolled his eyes, trying to control his frustrations before doing something he wouldn’t be able to take back. “When did Ms. Y/L/N enforce these photos?”

“Why the hell does that even matter?” Eddie gritted with a clenched jaw of tension.

“Mr. Munson, you choose not to answer me, and I will not hesitate to place you as an accomplice, and you certainly cannot afford another detention or suspension if you’re planning on finally ending this school year as a graduate.” In a perfect world, Eddie Munson would have lied for you and lessened whatever punishment you were about to receive, but Hawkins, Indiana was far from perfect, the threat made him budge under the pressure of his potential future and your distraught eyes.

“It was, uh, after her cheer practice. After school.” He sheepishly murmured with regret.

“Ah,” Principal Higgins turned to your shaking stature. “So, not only did you make unauthorized changes to the school yearbook, but you stole school property, used our equipment prohibitively outside of school hours, and actively unsubordinated my authority. I have to say, I am awfully disappointed in the person you have become, Ms. Y/L/N, and I am ashamed to have valued you so highly when you simply choose to go down the path of delinquency.” Everything about Principal Higgins words were humiliating and slammed you into a vicious cycle of believing the worst about yourself. “Finish the rest of your day,” he sighed, “but you’ll be suspended for the rest of the week for your actions.” Your heart sank at his news, and Eddie stood dumbfounded that he contributed to it.

Your visions grew blurry under the swell of tears, and your breath was becoming sporadic with panic, and everyone just kept fucking staring at you. “N-no, sir, p-please!” You choked, “I-I have scholarships, a-and acceptances that I-I’m still waiting to hear back from, this could ruin that for me, p-please, sir!”

While your pleads were being disregarded, everyone stood stun watching your fate unfold in front of you. Eddie Munson didn’t know what to do. Nobody did. On top of being berated by him from Friday, you were now facing the worst possible consequence for something so trivial, and he watched it happen. Granted, there was quite literally nothing Eddie could do to fix the situation, but seeing you stand there, panicked about your future and trying to conceal your incoming sobs through the ache of heart palpitations, it was fucking excruciating for him to witness.

“You should have thought about that before you made your choices. Everything is on you.” His words were ringing in your ear like a loop confirming everything you’ve ever hated about yourself. “I’ll be sure to let your father know of the news, and as for your spot on the committee, it is up to Ms. Wheeler to determine where you stand. Now go, everyone back to class.”

Fred Benson was first to leave, giddy to have been cleared from any trouble. Eddie Munson should have left, but he couldn’t stand to leave, simply watching you turn to Nancy Wheeler in a flash. Your round eyes were pleading to her to let you stay, but her previous words of “This is your only strike,” was tormenting you. She sighed, “I’m sorry,” and the shake of her head answered everything before she could verbalize it.

You were off.

You stormed out of the room, bumping shoulders with Eddie, though with no malice intent, just simply needing to get out. The second you reached the clearing of the empty hall, your tears were drowning your cheeks, your sobs so unbearably hard your breathing staggered for release. Suddenly, your little cashmere sweater felt like it was sticking to your skin, giving you hot flashes that brought dizziness to your pounding head. The blood battering your ears cleared out any noise, including Eddie’s calls of your name. He reached out to hold your arm, causing you to severely flinch in hysteria, and he appeared devastatingly concerned for your state of being.

“Sorry! Ar-are you okay?” He winced at the loud sob you choked out, as he felt stupid for even asking you that question. “Look, everything, uh, everything’s gonna be fine.” He rushed to reassure. In truth, Eddie Munson was completely talking out of his ass, he didn’t know if everything was going to be fine, your panicking was just causing him to panic, and all he wanted was for you to be okay. “J-just, uh, breathe for me.” He offered.

“I-I c-can’t! I’m scared, Eddie, help me!” You pleaded with frightened eyes.

Your beg hit too close to home. Suddenly, Eddie was a little boy curled up in the corner of his trashed living room, as he watched his parents abuse one another with words and fists. He pleaded the same words to his parents, who merely ignored his shaking little body. Such horrific events disfigured Eddie Munson’s belief of healing. No one cared for his emotions, no one cared for his feelings, and no one cared to make sure he was okay. So, yes, Eddie Munson yelled at you Friday night because he was petrified. Petrified to be hurt, just as everyone else had done, because to Eddie Munson, that was his fate. To be hurt and to be forgotten. Maybe that’s why he cared so much about being excluded from the school yearbook. While anyone would have rightfully been upset, being excluded cemented the notion that Eddie Munson was disposable. His father spoke it, the townspeople spoke, his teachers spoke, and his peers spoke it. But you didn’t, and that fucking scared him. It’s why he yelled, it’s why he panicked, and it’s why he’d try anything to help you right now.

“I-I know, sweetheart, just listen to me, please.” He quietly spoke. “I’m not gonna touch you or anything, I just really need you to listen to me.”

You fervently nodded your head, and he sighed with relief, because though minor, it was progress, and progress was incredible.

“I, uh, I want you to focus on my voice, okay?” His wide eyes connected with your red ones. “I wouldn’t lie to you, and I mean it when I say everything will be okay. I-I’ll make sure of it.”

Could he physically do that? No. But would he try his damn hardest, putting his being through anything to make it happen? Yes. For you.

“Okay, I want you to-”

“What are you doing to her?!”

Eddie’s eyes screwed shut with disappointment.

Jessica fucking Lewis.

“Get away from her!” She charged past him to get to your hysterical figure. “Did you do something?!”

“No, no, I’m trying to fucking help her.” Eddie implored. “Stop yelling, she’s having a fucking panic attack.” He gritted through his teeth.

“Don’t fucking come near her ever again, you freak!” Eddie watched as you tried to get your words out, but your shrinking throat made it impossible to get your voice out, and he recoiled, watching the fear in your eyes as Jessica held a tight grip in your arms.

But before he could stop her, Jessica was dragging you into the girls bathroom, and he stood frozen doing everything in his power to not rip out his hair in frustration.

Aside from her fault-finding comments against Eddie, Jessica Lewis had actually been a fairly good friend to you through the years of cheer, connecting with the girls through the pact of lifelong sisterhood, as she insisted. Though such pact also came with unwarranted advice when she felt one of you was “falling out of line” with a pristine, perfect image. That being said, when she found you panicking at the hands of Eddie Munson, she was actually concerned, impetuous, yes, but concerned, nonetheless. She’d sat with you, decisively skipping the rest of Mrs. Otis’ home economics class, to console you, bitching out any innocent girl to leave as they attempted to alleviate themselves, while you sat heaving with the back of your thighs sticking to cold tiles of the bathroom. When you did finally manage to catch your breath and calm your heart rate to a healthy status, Jessica had petted your hair with care, constantly asking what was wrong and what Eddie had done. Through your tremored voice, you hoarsely clarified that “He didn’t do anything,” and “He was just trying to help.” That revelation had actually baffled Jessica Lewis, honestly, some part of her believing you to be lying, but she gave it a rest when you assiduously shook your head in response to her asking what was actually wrong. By then, the bell had rung to signal the start of third period.

And it was during said third period when your situation only worsened completely unbeknownst to you.

While you were in the middle of trying to focus on your quiz—which proved damn near impossible after today’s events—Fred Benson was seemingly trying to get back at you for nearly inducing him into a heart attack after your actions almost cost him his spot on the Newspaper and Yearbook Committee (In reality, Nancy Wheeler had only yelled at him for not previously checking the books).

See, once Fred had informed the rest of the Yearbook Committee of what you had done and how you were being punished, the news had spread like wildfire; nerds, geeks, punks, jocks, everyone knew one version or another. “Perfect Cheerleader Falls Under Satanic Cultist’s Influence and Vandalizes School Facilities,'' small town high school students sure had a talent to dramatize any given situation. You’d only taken a picture, that’s all it was, but the students of Hawkins High had conspired together to formulate you into a freak slut who allegedly got fucked by the Eddie Munson after cheer practice in exchange for putting his club in the yearbook.

As the students of your class hurtled to mitigate the dreaded boredom of the school day with the clashing laughter and stale food of lunch, you sighed in your seat, head pounded and anxiety still churning in your mind and stomach, slowly packing up your belongings before handing over the quiz—quite literally the worst you’ve ever performed on one. Lunch seemed like the worst possible thing to conquer, right now. Despite the horrid grumbling of your stomach, you felt no need to satiate that hunger, as your appetite was long gone for the afternoon. In addition, you’d known Jessica Lewis long enough to know that she had informed all your friends of your panic attack, and if you chose to call her out on it, you knew you would only be met with a “I’m only trying to help,” as if you needed an intervention. She’d done it to Paige Semore when the girl healthy gained a couple pounds over the summer and got ridiculed by Jess.

But when you entered the cafeteria, you quickly wished you were subjected to Jessica Lewis’ harmful “advice”, rather than the reality you got.

The sound of the heavy double doors announced your arrival, and suddenly all eyes were on you. No, like quite literally, all eyes were on you. No greeting smiles from acquaintances, no shying-away looks from crushing students, no bright wave hello from Chrissy Cunningham from across the cafeteria, in fact, she was heavily avoiding you, seemingly finding the table more interesting as Jason Carver glared at you. Everyone was staring at you as if, without notice, you had become the town pariah. Because you had. Your perturbation had bombarded you like a missile hit, as quiet whispers flooded your senses. Peering around you caught his eyeline. Eddie. His brows had severely been furrowed with much worry, because he knew. He knew how quickly it went around, and he knew just how bad the news got twisted. Now, he was no stranger to the onslaught of destructive rumors, but you weren’t, and with the day you had, his chest was pounding with dread for you.

Chalking it up to merely being in your head, you swallowed the lump in your throat, and with quick steps, you sped to your usual lunch table. But everyone kept staring- your friends were staring. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” You whispered, as they genuinely looked at you with disgust.

“Why don’t you tell us?” Jason scowled. “Seems like you’re the one who caused all of this, you desperate slut.”

Your mouth dropped incredulously. “What did you just call me?”

“You fucking heard me!” Jason stood from his chair, rejecting Chrissy’s quiet ask to not cause a scene. “It’s exactly what you are.” He laughed.

Eddie Munson’s residual anger was fueling. Hard. He stood from his chair all the way across the room, metal legs scraping the floor with a deafening screech. But his presence only caught the worst attention. “Oh, would you look at that? Your little freak coming to help you?”

Eddie faltered at your watery eyes, begging for everything to just stop. If he spoke, nothing would help you. “What are you talking about?” Your voice stung with pleads to just understand what was happening to you.

“Stop acting like you don’t fucking know!” Andy’s booming voice startled you. “You wanna choose some gross freak to fuck, then fine by us, go right ahead, but don’t think that you’ll be able to with us!” Andy McAvoy was taking it far more personal. He liked you. That was obvious. But hearing the rumors simply led him to believe you chose Eddie Munson over him.

“What?” Your voice cracked in distress.

Eddie had had enough.

“She didn’t fucking do anything!” He marched his way over. All the boys of the basketball team stood in preparation for a fight that Eddie Munson was known to love to finish. Finish, not start. “Your bland lives got that fucking boring you all have to go around making shit up to make things interesting?! She didn’t do anything!”

“Aw, defending your precious little fuck toy, isn’t that cu-”

Chrissy Cunningham's shrilling scream startled the entire cafeteria as Jason Carver’s blood stained her powdery skin. You flinched at the bone-crunching punch that busted Jason’s pretty face, and everything felt heavy in your chest. Your hands were beginning to shake beyond your control, as everything was horrifyingly disfiguring in front of you. It was happening again. Before your mind was about to shut off from the assault of today’s events, your instinct had elicited all rash decisions, and you had to leave. All you could comprehend was the diffusing sounds of students instigating the fight before everything fell silent and you trudged down the hall to escape.

Staff were quick to call Eddie’s name before another detrimental hit was casted upon Jason. It was only then, Eddie’s judgment was left unclouded, and he noticed you were gone. “Did she leave?” He hadn’t necessarily asked anyone in particular, moreso questioning himself, but Chrissy Cunningham had ardently answered him with a swift nod of her head and bulging eyes of fear.

Eddie broke through the doors with force, catching you near the end of the hall. “Y/N!” You didn’t turn, though. Every repeated call of your name fell with no response, and he chased you down, following you into the zephyr of the afternoon weather outside. “Y/N, c’mon, wait!” He’d grabbed your arm.

“What?!”

Eddie staggered at your biting tone. Not once, in the four years he’d known of you—freshman to senior year—had he ever heard your voice so malicious, yet drowning in urgence to make everything stop. Your inconsolable state devastating him helplessly.

“I-I’m sorry.” He sighed so softly.

“‘Sorry?’” You affronted. “Now you’re sorry?! After everything that’s happened! Why, is it out of fucking pity?!” Internally, Eddie was begging you to stop, because if you kept yelling at him like this, his defense mechanism was going to lash out, especially when he was already angry from everything that’s just happened. “I don’t want some stupid apology, not when every time you appear, my life gets worse! I just want you away!” You cried.

Eddie scoffed in disbelief. Were you actually blaming him for all this? No, you weren’t. But after the day you just had, you were not looking to be comforted by someone who partially hurt you. But Eddie Munson couldn’t understand. His judgment had a habit of being clouded; his cynicism about anything good happening to him had protected him from a lifetime of hurt, and now, unfortunately, your rightfully pent up polemic about him was believing his suspicions to be true.

“This isn’t my fucking fault, you’re the one who wanted to take our picture in the first place!” He shouted, shielding his vulnerability.

“Because you made a big deal out of it!” You screamed with frustration. “You yelled at me first, you said mean things to me first- why- why were you so mean to me?!” You blubbered through drowning tears.

“Because- be- ugh,” Eddie pained with vexation. “You fucking terrify me, okay?! You terrify the living shit out of me!” Guarding his tearing eyes from your shattered being, he groaned realizing you weren’t going to understand unless he opened up, but he couldn’t bear to, and maybe that was the best solution to move on, run away. “It’s just fucking hard when, you know, you look like that and you’re fucking you, and I’m just me, and you have a great life-”

“‘Great life?!’” You derided through tears. “You know nothing about my life!” You shoved him. “You know nothing about me!” You shoved him again. Eddie was quick to retrain your wrist in a tight grip, preventing you from touching him again, no matter how hard you tried. “Stop acting like you know everything about me when you know absolutely nothing! I’m not going to stand here, and let you say mean things to me, when you know nothing, do you understand?! I have never done anything to you, and I never will, because unlike you, I’m not some sulking asshole who can’t handle their fucking emotions, and uses their sorry life to lash out at people because they’re too pathetic to deal with their own problems!”

And maybe your rash psycho analysis of Eddie Munson was too much, or not harsh enough, but either way, your critical comments derailed him off the edge of sanity. He aggressively dropped your wrist, and got into your face with a full might of fury. “You are such a miserable bitch!” He shouted, invading your space with intent, causing you to wince and step away from him, but he wasn’t relenting. “For once, you got a fucking taste of what your bullshit friends have been doing to me, and now you can’t fucking handle it?! God, just love playing the fucking victim, don’t you?! Maybe they are right, maybe you are just some fucking desperate slut craving fucking attention?! Is that why you did all this shit in the first place?!”

The way your face flashed with sudden dejection had him biting his tongue. Oh, fuck. He regretted it. He fucking immediately regretted it.

Eddie began furiously shaking his head in denial to what he just uttered, he couldn’t believe it. “No,” he heaved out. “No, I-I didn’t mean it, I’m s-sorry.” He could only muster a whisper.

You didn’t even have the energy to fight back, merely accepting his words as truth with a silent sob that burned your being. “Yeah,” you shakily sighed with a sniffle of sobs. “I’m sorry, too, Eddie. I would have loved being your friend, and now I just want nothing to do with you.” His heart dropped at your calmness. When he first spoke those words to you, demanding you to stay away from him and his friends, he knew a deep part of him didn’t mean it. Why would he, you were fucking perfect? But you, the stillness and tranquility of your words cemented them to be the final verdict. You were done. “So please,” you wiped your drenched face from tears, “just leave me alone and stay away from me.”

No malice, no anger, no fury.

Just pure defeat.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | This is my first time making a tag list, and I got overwhelmed—in a good way—that I simply tagged anyone who commented. If you were not looking to be tagged, I’m so sincerely sorry, and please let me know to respect your wishes and remove you!

(Big, fat kisses to all of you) @televisionboy @batkin028 @lostdreamingwallflower @cevais @myfavoritesareproblematic @btbabyy @married-to-the-music01 @super-nova-03 @deathnote6666 @cherrytc @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @averagestudent03 @freakymunson @princess-eddie @imagine-a-world-blog1 @negativity4you

@nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64 @redlovett @goldstars-to-all @eddiesguitarskills @goslytherin @sashaphantomhive @maxinehufflepuffprincess @emeritusemeritus @angel-upon @middle-of-the-earth @scarletwitchwhore @my-tearsricochet @pixiepaintt @ericasdumbworld @animechick555

@gewrgia-black @hookandchain @roseanddaggerlarry @prestinalove @sebismyhubby @maddsunn

(I’m so sorry, some blogs are not popping up when I try to tag y’all, if it’s an issue on my part, I’ll try my best to fix it as soon as possible)

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #mean!eddie munson #the yearbook: club pictures

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brbzonedout · 9 months

Text

Miles comforts insecure reader

Pairing: E!42 Miles x Fem(tomboy)!Reader

Warnings: Body Imagine issues, catcalling?, Crying.

You stared at yourself in the mirror turning to see the pair of jeans at every possible angle.

“Ain’t no way,” you muttered to yourself.

The pair of snug fitting 2000s style jeans hugged your thighs and hips in a way that made it uncomfortable to stand let alone walk.

Eying yourself in the mirror you started to feel extremely insecure. Ever since you hit puberty you’ve been thick and developed faster than the other kids in your grade. It wasn’t a bad thing by any means it’s natural but for you it brought a lot of unwanted attention at such a young age and that carried well into your teenage years.

Earlier before you and Miles entered the store you both decided to stop for chick-fil-a. While in line an older guy maybe in his late 20s and his friend decided to take it apon himself to comment about how you looked in your school uniform. Commenting that you had quote on quote “anime thighs” and that he’d “Take that over a desk any day,” Miles wanted so badly to chew them out up held back after you said not to start anything.

Bring a shy person to begin with didn’t help much, so to cope with your feelings, you started wearing slightly baggier clothes. They gave you a sense of comfortability you hadn’t felt in a long time. On top of that the style was just cute in general.

But today while in the mall with your boyfriend he picked out the jeans for you. Was this him saying he didn’t like the type of clothes you wear now?

“You good in there?” Miles said from outside of the dressing room.

You jumped being startled out of your zoned out state.

“Y-yeah i’m cool…” you shouted back making sure he heard you.

You didn’t want to have to lie twice.

“Can I come in?”

“If you want…” you cringed at the way that came out, like you didn’t want him in there.

Miles slightly parted the curtain and slid in through the crack.

“If I want?” he said eying you up and down with a slight smile.

You shrugged.

Miles look up and met your eyes through the mirror before you broke eye contact causing him to start worrying.

“What you don’t like ‘em?”

You shrugged again lightly pulling at the material around your thighs.

“They’re nice…kind of tight-”

The boy put his slim fingers through your belt loops and pulled back lightly.

“Mm, yeah I guess- ain’t that the style though? Want me to go get a bigger size?”

“The style? You sound like your mom,” you forced a giggle at the boy honestly trying to change the subject.

He smiled at your comment and stuffed his hands in his pockets. But, his eyes glanced up at yours. Once you broke eye contact for the second time he knew something was wrong.

“So do you want a bigger size? They’re right out there.” The boy peeked through the curtain and squinted to see the available sizes, “I think the next size u-”

You cut him off, “Don’t we gotta find something for you too? Is it getting late?” You rambled and scrambled to find your phone to “check the time”.

“Baby….” he said flatly with a slight confused look on his face, “why are you avoiding my question?”

Eye brows furrowed trying your best to create a false confused expression, you turned around to face him.

“What question?”

“Seriously?”

“Miles-”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

With a slight pout you played with the hem of your white collard shirt, “I just don’t like the pants…”

“Ok? That’s fine we can look for more.” he shrugged.

You looked in the mirror once again noticing how the denim tightened around your hips…and thighs…and butt. The man’s voice played back in your head, “I’d take that over a desk any day,” it was too overwhelming. You just broke down.

In your relationship with Miles he had never seen anything trigger you this much and this fast.

Without hesitation he stepped forward and gently placed his hand on your arms to calm you down.

“Hol’ on hol’ on, chill i can’t understand you if you’re crying. Just relax ok?” said as he rubbed his thumb soothingly over your arm.

You took a deep breath in and wiped your tear stained cheek with the heel of you palm then nodded head.

“I don’t like how they look on me, and it just triggered me cuz of what happened earlier.”

Miles sat you both down on the dressing room floor listening intently making sure you understood he heard you.

“Then why’d you say you liked them?”

“I thought you would want me to get them? I don’t know. I just wanted to get out of here.”

He chuckled, “Since when do you care what I think about clothes?”

With a quick glance up you thought for a moment then laughed sniffling and wiping your tears once again. “Ok true, I don’t. I don’t know you just seemed to like them a lot.”

“Listen I don’t give a fuck what you wear I just wanna make sure you’re comfortable,” he leaned back against the dressing room wall, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I told you what to wear all the time.”

“A bad one.”

“A bad one,” he parroted you. “And what that bitch said earlier don’t matter he was ignorant and obviously gets no play talking about anime thighs. Looked almost 30 acting like a little bitch.”

You smiled slightly and nodded sitting up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for an embrace.

“I’m sorry that was dramatic, breaking down out of nowhere.”

Miles hugged back and laid a quick peck on your cheek.

“Stop apologizing for dumb stuff, no offense. You were sad so you cried it’s normal, now come on we gotta go I don’t think i’m supposed to be in here.” he laughed and handed you the skirt you walked in with.

A smile came across your face as you took the clothes from him.

“Wanna get Cinnabon after this?” you asked unbuttoning the jeans.

“What kind of question is that? No duh I want Cinnabon!”

This is lowkey based on myself, this was really fun though. Exploring different emotions I feel like i’m getting slightly better. Thank you for reading!! Remember requests are open right now so don’t be shy!

#across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miles morales #earth 42 miles morales #miles morales headcanons #spider man #earth 42 miles fluff #prowler miles #miles g morales #e!42 miles x reader #e!42 miles morales #e!42 miles #earth 42 miles

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dropsofletters · 1 year

Text

how to unsubscribe to dating

SUMMARY: on april 18th, hansol likes his favorite youtuber’s instagram picture. not because of her content—though, he finds himself laughing at all of her weekly videos—but because he thinks she’s gorgeous. that is how it ends. just a like on a picture that no one will see.

three years later and after a tough break-up, the internet hates her and a misstep has hansol dragged into the drama. now, everyone thinks they are dating and what a better way to gain subscribers and have millions on views on their videos? just let them think it’s real and work on a whole season of dare videos for the world to enjoy.

only that it is not so easy, one can subscribe to a youtube channel but not really unsubscribe to falling in love.

TITLE: how to unsubscribe to dating.

PAIRING: chwe hansol x reader

GENRE: youtuber!au ; fake dating-ish!au ; youtube drama!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; idiots in love!au

WORD COUNT: 14,014 words

GENRE: fluff ; humor ; drama ; angst if you squint ; suggestive

NOTE: this was a kofi request! if you want me to write anything, you can go over there and request something from me.

The secret to color theory is that there are primary colors, and the rest are just blend-able shades that would not exist without bases, foundations and ‘trials-and-errors’. In some sense, we correlate the color of our lives to that primary stance—we are red, we are yellow…the intensity that we want to be. How we want to counterpart in a main role that, inherently, sometimes won’t be settled upon us. The saddening truth of being a purple, or a lime green.

She would have never imagined herself to be anything more than a yellow. She said, when she was younger, that her voice would be so high that the annoying tone that came with her made her stand out in any crowd. Yellow. And then came heartbreak, teenage years, the blending with a pure gray or a black undertone that could never get her to darken her soul. It was more like a mustard yellow. Lulled. Not as bright. Just wishing upon standing out again, blending nicely with everyone, but always sticking out like a sore thumb. Hard to look in the eyes.

For the past two months, she felt like she was back to her bright yellow. To smiles with all teeth, shared with Jay as he wrapped his arms around her shoulder; to late-night talks with the phone screen glaring across her vision as she whispered small ‘I don’t want to go’s. Relatively, that comes to a stop. Because, in the eyes of a man that she dated with the dumbfounded hope to finally meet the love of her life, she was never yellow. God, he’d cringe at the mere sound of the Coldplay song. She was brown.

As in shitty brown.

Jay should be better than this. In actuality, after how everything fell down with a break-up text that he never really responded to, she doesn’t think he’s better, but hey, common sense is a thing still, isn’t it? As a YouTuber, quite like her, who shared the same interests and niche with a commentary channel based on pop-culture, one would think that he would not incorporate their ‘not-that-talked-about’ relationship in a Tweet. Though, maybe she had seen him as a bright blue, when he’s nothing but—at best—a plum or a dark gray.

You know, like having concrete between your teeth. Not that pleasurable, neither something she wants to try again.

@notthatjay_lee: how does that song go? a, b, c, d, e, f…thank you for wasting my motherfucking time.

She chuckles. Actually, full-on laughs when sitting on the counter at her kitchen, trying or supposedly about to edit her newest video commenting on Disney’s old shows and how she binge-watched them on a brim. Not that the viewers should know that she watched the entirety of Hannah Montana in a week because she was going through a break-up and crying for the asshole that Jay Lee is, but she needed to update after being a month away.

She continues scrolling, watching the thread that has formed in the tweet and the hundreds of comments that tag her. They weren’t precisely out as a relationship, but it was known. They went to conventions together, appeared in pictures with fans tagged together. It wasn’t hidden under the rug, but it was also not blasted out of proportion like Jay is doing right now.

He responded to a fan.

@jaysassissick: We are here for you, Jay! I can’t believe what some bitches can do for fame.

@notthatjay_lee: imagine getting cheated on by someone who can’t even reach a million subscribers. lol. can sadly relate.

“You just didn’t…” She mutters to herself, standing up and closing her laptop with a bang. More notifications pop up, from all social media that she could muster. Pictures tagged of the two of them together coming up with headlines that read commentary-channel YouTubers feuding. Cheating. Cheater, out of all things.

And that’s the thing about women. If they are not colors that blend well with the primary ones, like men expect to be, they are tarnished and burned to ashes to stay in the ground. That was her case, in which her silence was the ignition of a chain of events that now are out of her reach. None of those people that keep harassing her online can know that Jay had been distant the past month; that he’d spend more of his days running away from her than actually trying to put effort into the relationship.

That it’d be more looking through social media to see him commenting on pictures of his supposed ‘friends’ wearing bikinis and his phone hidden with his face down whenever they were together. It was not confirmed, of course, she didn’t have enough proximity with him, neither did they live together for her to confirm that her suppositions were true, but something she knows. Jay is not a saint, neither is she for the rage that builds within her like a Lego house that burns with the unsatiable need of revenge.

She almost believes that the best way to go about this is making it as public as he is. However, she knows she’s better. Yellow, bright, shining, as she has always been, just shadowed by someone who was envious of how burning her colors could be. Hence, she puts her phone down after turning it off, quite like he did whenever a fight ensued between the two and he would play the victim card with a pout to his lips. She thinks about it—the video she is supposed to edit, the pictures on her phone she has yet to delete and the revival, that word that speaks about new beginnings and definitely, a smirk that tells the past that she’s doing much better.

For now, she’s just alone in her apartment. With a bowl of noodles that has gone cold and a heart that is palpitating far too fast, for heartbreak isn’t easy, much less when it’s this open, but she can think of ways of getting back to Jay, whether the public knows it’s directly thrown his way or not.

She owes this man nothing.

“Jeonghan, I need you recording my shit. Not looking at your phone.”

With a hand quipping closed as if asking for Hansol’s lips to remain shut, Jeonghan remains as relaxed as he had been when they started recording this weekly’s recap. Though, while Hansol had been stumbling over his lines—as per usual on a Saturday morning, that’s the only time they could meet up because Seungcheol was going on a trip this weekend for his cousin’s wedding—, Jeonghan had frankly lost his mind to whatever is showcased in his phone. So far in the text he’s reading, which Hansol is certain is not a book, that he leaned back on one of the love seats in Hansol’s office, propped his knees to his chest in fetal position and lurked through whatever caught his interest like a lion looking for his prey.

“The moment you can get a word out without stuttering is the moment we start recording.” Jeonghan runs a hand through his black hair, covering the rudeness of his words with a soft smile. Hansol knows better than to take Jeonghan’s words close to heart, but still.

“I just needed some more coffee.”

Seungcheol enters the room then, with a new Starbucks drink since Hansol decided to steal his. “You drank my macchiato.” With a slap on the back of Hansol’s head, the man takes a seat on the other empty love-seat, as if there is not a whole video to be recorded and posted on Monday. “But Hansol’s not wrong. I have to get on that plane at four and it’s nine in the morning. We can get through this video if we just start recording it.”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond and Hansol takes this time to sigh deeply and toss his head back. Things were easier when posting a YouTube video wasn’t so…meticulous. At the beginning, just over eight years ago, Hansol had posted a video on social media that had gotten quite visibly viral. He had over a million views in just fourteen hours, breaking records somehow, making it to meme accounts and Vine compilations. Stupid as it could get, it was a video of Hansol wearing a swimming hat and those aesthetic sunglasses that resembled John Lennon’s style, with Jeonghan zooming in on the frame and him saying: ‘bitch’ before the video came to an end.

It had literally no context, but he made a living out of it.

That’s how he launched his career, changed the name and created an online persona. He called himself Zach, sporting bright and quite frankly unfitting outfits and making meme weekly recaps. He spoke about what was new on the Internet, made fun of some videos, never quite made it to the commentary channel spectrum but became a voice that over ten million people had subscribed to. No one knew that his real name was Hansol, or that he wasn’t as outspoken as he was in his videos. Never an opinion that breaks or makes a room.

Jeonghan grabs the coffee mug from Seungcheol’s hold, ignoring the man’s complaints to take a sip. “I think I have a topic we need to add to this week’s review.” He finally pulls away from his original position, biting down on his lip like he does when he has an idea that he can’t keep on the depths of his chest. “Have you heard about the newest drama with Jay Lee?”

Hansol crosses his arms across his chest, sitting on the edge of the desk that holds his computer, always in front of him in his videos. “Jay…Lee? Doesn’t ring a bell for me.”

“You know, the TikTok guy who makes POV’s videos.” Jeonghan urges on, tossing a glance towards Seungcheol who finally snatches his drink before giving a curt nod.

“Even I remember who he is.”

“How many guys don’t make ridiculous videos on TikTok?” Hansol prompts, only to have Jeonghan sighing.

“He was known on YouTube for his music videos and parodies. You know how that went a little bit downhill lately, so his niche has changed. Makes videos every once in a while.” Jeonghan includes in his narrative, turning his phone around to show a picture of a man he now recognizes. Damn, even in his beginnings as a YouTuber, Jay Lee already had a bunch of people under his name. With long, tossed back black hair, tattoos that scatter across a slim, tall body and a pair of glasses that always rest on the brim of his straight nose. He was of interest for a bunch of people on the Internet, even to this day.

“What about him?” Hansol questions, only to have Jeonghan clapping his hands once.

“He’s burning the Internet with his latest allegations. He was dating a commentary channel YouTuber, though they never accepted it, but he’s making the allegations that she cheated on him and has announced that he’s releasing a diss track to explain everything.” He’ll never understand how the world revolves around drama, but Jeonghan gives more explanation by saying her name and giving him the phone once again.

The picture shows a couple together with a fan, and he recognizes her with far more ease. He remembers last summer, when he would spend most of his afternoons laughing about her videos with the graphics she made. Very rarely does her face show on her videos, but she draws a little character that speaks, through her commentary, about the topic at hand. Always a show. A video. A meme. Hell, he thinks that she once talked about him on a video years ago.

Jay is much taller than her, with his arm wrapped around her shoulder, squishing their cheeks together as they hold peace signs, her hand interlocked with the young fan’s. They didn’t look necessarily in love, but close enough to it. Like the beginning of a love that had just started to flourish.

“What has he said?” Seungcheol questions, now interested in the topic.

“What hasn’t he said? He has spent the past three days creating a YouTube war. He has even dropped her name a few times, tagging her, asking her to be upfront because she has escaped the internet. MIA and all.”

Hansol can’t imagine how tough it is to go through a break-up where the other person is trying to plot everyone against her. Sure, he’s not certain if she cheated, but he takes his own phone to look through Twitter, seeing him post pictures of the two of them together—clearly personal, never seen by anyone but them—, adding thread after thread of how in love he was with her and how badly she broke his heart. It seemed like he was bleeding through a wound that was never quite as open as he made it out to be.

“What an asshole.” He mutters, getting closer to the computer and writing something down on his script. “I think we can add it to this week’s episode. The last bit. Just for a few clicks and because…he’s really getting out of control.”

“And everyone is supporting him.” Jeonghan adds, shrugging his shoulders. “Would be nice to give an opinion that isn’t sided one way or the other.”

“…That’s putting Hansol against a man that has just about the same following as him. Including him in the war isn’t going to do the channel any good.”

Hansol looks up at that moment, raising his eyebrows and weighting the options. Seungcheol isn’t wrong, but he knows this is a topic that needs to be talked about. Break ups on the internet. Where some people post videos crying and hugging for the last time, while others take their following to side with them as if it was a parent going through divorce.

“Yes, but this whole Zach character is about that. Speaking about what I think is wrong, right or funny…and these tweets? Stupid, borderline funny, over-line worrying.”

Seungcheol takes a sip of his macchiato, bringing a shoulder up in nonchalance. “I’ll have to take care of the mess after, but if that’s what’s going to bring the views, go for it.”

Is he really doing it for views, though? Or maybe, he just thinks it’s inherently wrong to destroy someone’s career that way, until they are too afraid to go on the internet because of hate. Jay Lee will have to learn a lesson about being made fun of.

@notthatjay_lee: glad to know the mystery’s resolved. @chwethatzach you’ve cleared the rumors up. song coming in three days!

Hyeji had said it seven months ago when she started liking Jay, as she flipped on tarot decks, spread them neatly on the coffee table between them, speaking through a cloud caused by the blunt between her lips. Jay Lee’s an imbecile, he’ll break your heart. She didn’t listen, because in her mind all men go through a phase of being overly-confident and, quite frankly, assholes. She opted to believe that Jay was willing to change and talk, venturing into a friendship and then, into whatever kind of relationship they had held that now is a complete disaster.

Her best friend, Moon Hyeji, runs her fingers through her dirty hair after showing her the tweet that Jay had just posted. Tagging her after, nonetheless. Hyeji, as wild as she is, with long locks of wavy hair and a rose tattoo on the column of her neck, had called Jay just a day ago, telling him to back off before she took legal actions. Taking it from the woman who is the daughter of one of the richest men in the country, a businessman nonetheless, Jay should have taken it a little bit more seriously. Hence, he doesn’t.

“What the fuck do I even have to do with that dude?” She questions, finally standing up from her position on Hyeji’s lap. Ever since this issue went to absolute hell, with the diss track incoming and a handful of people making drama videos about the timeline of their very short-lived relationship, Hyeji had travelled all the way from London to get here and eat piles of ice cream while bad-mouthing Jay. Only that it didn’t help her the slightest.

She wants to talk, but she doesn’t know how to go on about the issue. Fueling the problem even more if just going to have his fans speaking with more fervor, and just like how he doesn’t have proof of her cheating, she also doesn’t have anything to defend herself with about not cheating.

“There’s a video, apparently…” Hyeji roams through her phone with long nails before she displays her screen on the TV in front of them. The image that loads is of the start of a video of someone she knows somewhat well, for she really likes Zach Chwe’s videos, or at least, she can catch up on them every once in a while.

Zach has always been a little different than most. He feels like a true friend that one can talk with as he launches in that green chair of his, always wearing clothes that leave everything to the imagination and would have everyone talking about him. He’s wearing a tie-dye hoodie, as per usual in some of his videos, with an apron on top of it that reads ‘the chef’s dead’ and a pair of sunglasses that rest on top of his brown hair. His soft eyebrows move with each of his words, firstly greeting his audience, then speaking about the newest memes found on the internet.

“He must have spoken about your issue with Jay.”

“How so? He never talks about drama.” She asks, getting a look from Hyeji who clears her throat soon after.

“People believe he’s the one guy Jay is saying you cheated with.” Her best friend whispers, moving through the video, getting fast glimpses of Zach laughing, tossing his head back, speaking through slim lips and using his ring-cladded hands to express his points. Only three minutes before the video ends does the image of Jay with her and a fan comes on the screen, earning Hyeji a few taps on her shoulder.

“There! There! Stop the video there!”

The darkness of her room, reeking the smell of orange chicken and diet soda, is bathed in the light of Zach Chwe as he rolls on his chair and says: “There’s a reason us men are called assholes and I think it’s because Jay Lee exists. Okay, I’m not anyone to be putting my opinion here and I usually stay away from these things, so I’m not sure if she cheated or not…but isn’t it, at least, the best thing you can do to spell correctly as you’re dissing your ex?”

Then, the screen shows screenshots of Jay’s tweets, bathed in hate, writing in the worst possible way and yet, with a few errors.

She hadn’t noticed that as she got drowned into the drama that he had created, so she smiles for what feels like the first time this week.

“You don’t even spell that well, Zach!” Someone shouts from the background, and she knows Zach Chwe normally has his friends putting in some words for spice on his videos, but she actually laughs along with him.

“More of a reason to critique, I guess.” He shrugs his shoulders. “But hey, remember those Facebook videos we talked about a few weeks ago? If you haven’t checked it out, I’ll leave the link to that video on the description, but we were making fun about those mom videos where they make their daughters fearful of sending nudes because some creep will post them on their Facebook page. I thought men like that didn’t exist, until I figured out this whole Jay Lee thing. He’s a hair away from posting a picture of her feet, I tell you so.”

The video doesn’t last much long after that, with Zach making fun of Jay’s tweets and then, the camera zooming in on his face for an outro recalling his beginnings online. However, Hyeji has fallen silent, with her knees propped under her chin, using her free hand to caress the column of her ear, as always, seeking for a way of making her feel better through touch.

“This sounds…like the internet is going insane.” Hyeji then reaches for her phone, shaking in the air. “Come on, unlock it and turn on your notifications again!”

“What? Why?” She is not sure she’s ready to lurk through social media once again, Hyeji has been doing that for her instead, like her little manager, blocking the hate that gets real and personal.

“Jay is playing it off as if Zach Chwe is the one that you’re dating, or the one you cheated on him with.”

“I didn’t cheat on him—

“I know, but he’s trying to get views and I need to know if Zach’s team contacted you, so open that phone and get a pair of balls for what we’re about to face.”

A pair of balls would be little to what she needs once she opens Twitter and Instagram.

On Instagram, she has been tagged on a bunch of pictures. Headlines that include her profile picture on YouTube and Zach Chwe’s picture. Titles that go on the rampant lie of ‘YouTube Stars Zach Chwe and OfDrawingsAndWords on a relationship!’ scattering across her vision on every platform she comes across of.

“I’m doomed. Jay keeps winning no matter what I do—”

“Because you haven’t said anything. You’re protecting him even when he’s trying to destroy you.” Hyeji advices, pushing on her Instagram notifications until she sees it, a direct message from the YouTuber who is implicated on this drama with her, nonetheless. “So, you either take the reigns right here, right now or Jay Lee is going to drown your career before it even reached the shore.”

Shaking fingertips reach for the Instagram message, closing her eyes tightly until she opens it.

“Read it.”

“Come on…” Hyeji trails, clasping the phone in her hands. “I know it’s been tough, but I don’t need you hiding away.”

“I’m scared! This guy has nothing to do with me!” She screeches, slapping her hand on her shoulder only to have Hyeji looking at her. With that softness that characterizes her under all her strength.

“Alright…” Hyeji whispers, soon after reading out loud. “Hey, it’s Zach Chwe. I’m sorry that my comments involved us in a mess bigger than what you already had going on and my team and I want to make mends on the issue I just created. Do you mind talking about it, in person or with my PR team getting in contact with you? Sorry for the inconvenience once again.”

Hyeji takes in a deep breath before tossing herself onto the half-done bed.

“We’re talking about it in person.”

“…Uh, we’re not.” She finalizes, trying to snatch her phone back but Hyeji isn’t relenting. Though, she’s not as rude as one would imagine, she still consenting by looking her way and expecting her to change her mind. “Hyeji, I don’t want to see anyone right now. Jay’s blowing everything out of proportion—”

“Reason as to why you shouldn’t hide. Zach Chwe can be a great person to have on your side right now. The internet loves him, and now they’re not as cruel. You have to see the comments, people are torn just because he is involved.”

That makes her ponder, inspecting every portion of Hyeji’s face to find some fun or joke in her features, but she’s full-on serious. Not a drop of insecurity in those quirked eyebrows. She sighs deeply, taking the phone in her hands and seeing the sign that reads ‘you follow each other’. Why is it that people naturally gravitate towards what a man can say or not, even when she has been expecting to be trusted by anyone online and no one seemed to be by her side?

No one but him and a few people. Even the friends that she had collaborated with several times had taken his side.

Hence, she starts typing, not caring about the consequences of fueling the fire a little bit more, because she’s already getting burned, but she won’t relent without a fight.

“I’m down with meeting up so we can sort out how we will go on about this. You select the place and the time. Thank you for getting in contact, by the way!”

Hyeji places a kiss on top of her head, squishing her slim cheek against her scalp.

“We will get past this, love. I swear we will.”

She doesn’t think this unreasonable love war is anywhere near over, however.

“I sure hope we will.”

Hansol thinks making ramen is an art form. He does it when he’s nervous instead of nibbling on his bottom lip or tugging his black beanie down his ears for the umpteenth time. Only he would think it was a great idea to meet with one of his favorite social media creators on a fucking convenience store, but he feels protected by the quietness and the sweet buzzing of the microwave as he wishes upon a start that the stacks of cheese that he poured on his flaming hot noodles becomes a puddle at the bottom that relishes its exquisiteness.

So, maybe, he’s a bit nervous. Reason as to why he had lost his grip a bit when pouring the cheese on the ramen basket.

It passes him how she has been able to spend weeks receiving the messages she does, but the moment he posted that video, the narrative took another turn. Hell, he even thinks he has seen some edited videos of the two of them as a supposed ‘couple’. The song has been released, heard by thousands, even more news coming up about them and he’s…surprised. About the sheltering that came from his pseudonym and how the world is torn. Now, Jay shines as a real villain and people ponder if leaving him for Hansol was the right choice.

How in the hell he got in this situation is misunderstood by him?

However, he rubs on his eye after grabbing the ramen noodles and plopping them on the nearest table, he hears the bells by the door ringing, the worker too occupied in organizing the strawberry milks to even care about her, but he does. None of her pictures online would ever compare to how she looks in real life. With a gray turtleneck for the weather, face ridden of any makeup, sweater half-tucked into her pants and yet, as her sunglasses rest on the brim of her head, she looks like a whole…dream.

She reminds him of the warmth that comes from a gust of breath on top of freezing hands when winter drops around. They are just barely reaching fall, but the weather has fallen significantly. She stands in front of him, looking away from her phone before a small smile reaches the corner of her eyes, not adding a small ‘hi’ as he does with a wave of his hand, but something to the air between them nonetheless.

“You look different when you’re not mumbling ‘bitch’ into the camera.”

Breaking the ice, warming the air, significant matters that only she can do and does in the brink of a second. Hansol plops the two bowls of ramen on the table, watching as she scrunches her nose at the cheese to stir it within the mixture, but he tries not to think too much about his decision. Maybe, she’s just not fond of cheese.

“I take that as a good thing. I don’t call anyone ‘bitch’ unless I get a really good check out of it.” Hansol jokes around, soon after widening his eyes when she quirks an eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth barely lifting in a smirk. “Not that I’d call you anything of the like. Gosh, I’m being stupid. Uh…hi, I’m Hansol.”

“You’ve already said hi.” She prompts, picking up some of the noodles and unlike him, who has already burned the bridge of his mouth, she twirls them on the chopsticks, blows on them and munches on the cheesy treat. “But I didn’t know you were called Hansol. I would’ve sworn on my life that your real name was Zach.”

He shakes his head. “I want my real life nicely divided from who I am as a person online. Not that I am much different, but Hansol’s the name that I have on my ID and that I use for personal matters, so I don’t want to mix the two.” He shrugs his shoulders soon after, saying her name and earning a nod from her. “Okay, so, uh…to the matter at hand, right?”

“Straight to the point.” She clears her throat, giving him a smile before reaching for the diet soda Hansol had brought. “So, half the internet thinks we are dating…and that you’re that supposed side guy that I had while dating Jay.”

He shouldn’t ask. Shit, this is Jeonghan speaking in his brain, telling him to fucking ask, but he’s curious. He heard the nonsensical beat that Jay released in the form of a diss track that now has fifteen million views, so… “Did you really cheat on him or is he taking everything out of context?”

She spreads her hands across her chest, defending herself. “Here’s the thing, I am a woman. Me breaking up with a guy just because I was unhappy in a relationship directly has to mean I cheated on him. For starters, I didn’t. I liked Jay even after the break-up, obviously until the moment he decided to blow everything out of proportion.” She explains, sighing deeply after. “I didn’t, for instance. I’m sorry that you got involved.”

“No, I am the one that should be sorry.” Hansol shakes his head, rubbing his eyebrow as if something was bothering him. “It’s just—No, I’m sorry but I don’t regret it. I had to talk about it. Part of it was because obviously, it’s a trending topic, but also because…no one deserves to get the hate you’re getting right now.”

She remains silent, playing with the straw in between strawberry lips. Not an ounce of makeup and yet, the inside looks as if they were bitten to utter perfection. Hansol’s embarrassed that he has liked every picture of hers on social media ever since they started following each other.

Things that the public had sadly taken account of and had completely used against them to prove a supposed relationship.

“I don’t regret it either. That you did that, I mean.” She counterparts. “Sure, I shouldn’t be thinking about revenge, but Jay has been so distraught and the public has turned against him, while also not being on my side. They are just on your side.” With a mellowness that, somehow, he thinks should never belong to her, for the twist of her lips on a downwards motion is a terrible contrast to the smile he saw earlier. “Reason as to why my friend got in contact with one of the people from your team. I don’t have a team myself—”

“I’m surprised I even have a team, so I don’t judge you.” Hansol’s eyes twinkle, remembering the words he had shared with Seungcheol earlier. After all, he’s the manager and the one—technically, for Hansol still has his input—in charge of what is posted on his channel or not. “Seungcheol, my manager, talked to me about what your friend and mine talked about.”

Seungcheol was not that happy about the exposure that Hansol got, but after a while, Jeonghan weighted the options and became a mastermind for what the internet was aiming to see. They wanted to learn the other side of the story, just because it would be told by one of the most liked characters in YouTube as of now. Zach Chwe, venturing into the world of a person that no one would have ever thought he’d be compatible with. To break all the rumors with a show, a mini web-series for the world to gnaw at while both teams earned money.

“For the record, I know it’s a difficult thing to think about. I wasn’t in for it at first.” Hansol explains, and he’s not sure he’s ready to have a different light casted on his channel, but Jeonghan was clear to say that he wasn’t intending on a dating show or a couple’s channel. Instead, he wanted something…vague. “They just want us to work on a challenge mini-series. We’d do stuff like go to haunted houses or anything of the like. To make people wonder if we really did date or we were just in it for the show. They’d give us views, hoping to find something or any clues, and we’d leave with a good paycheck and a big question mark after what we were.”

She continues eating, pondering with fluttering eyelashes and a sigh that gets trapped on her throat. “Yeah…I’m okay with it. I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” She responds, and Hansol thinks the deal is almost over, but she continues: “You’ll have to keep in mind that while there may be a huge wave of people loving our series together, you might also get a lot of hate. Jay did a great job at—”

“I don’t care.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll come to learn I don’t care about a lot of stuff. Hate? I don’t care.” Hansol explains, giving her a soft smile. “A wanking old man can tell me I’m the worst YouTuber he has ever seen, and I won’t take it to heart. I’m not a plate to be enjoyed by all.”

“Whoa…” She whispers, plucking a lot of noodles up to show it to him. “Not only are you the antonym of a lactose intolerant person, but you’re also awfully wise.”

“You’re welcome for the visit to the bathroom later.” Hansol comments, earning well-heard laughter by her. She tosses her head back and the laugh comes out in spurts. Odd and yet, cute.

“I’ll have to get used to those comments, Z—Hansol.”

“We’ll get used to each other. We have a whole season to plan, after all.”

WE VISITED A HAUNTED HOSPITAL? | EP. 1 S1 | ZACH CHWE

She’d kill Hansol for thinking of visiting a haunted hospital as the first topic of their new show, but she’s too scared to actually want to murder him right now. What if he came back as one of those ghosts who were supposedly here? She can’t risk it.

Drops of petrichor build on forgotten walls, where once were supposedly patients that needed help but were abandoned to a beckoning fire. Hansol said on the way here that he truly doubted the events happened. If the hospital was burned down to its core, why was it still standing and why were tickets sold for people to go through it like tourists in Sydney? She doesn’t have a clue. All that she knows is that they were placed on opposite ends of the hospital, bound to meet through clues, but she hasn’t been able to move from her position under a table.

She was aware that Hansol’s team and hers, which only includes Hyejin, had insisted on having jump-scares all around. One of those jump-scares could be Jeonghan in a clown uniform, but the moment she saw it, the moment she sprinted away. Now, she has been seated there for more than thirty minutes, ignoring her next mission and the door in front of her, with a beating heart and her knees pressed to her chest.

Great, she’s about to ruin their first episode.

Beheld with destiny, she thinks she’s about to shit her pants the moment she hears that old, wooden door creak under the weight of someone entering. Caught, she’s imagined to be, unable to discern between the group of people there to add spice to the video and the actual ghosts that are supposedly in this hospital. However, the first thing she sees are a pair of converses in light green and soon after, someone is kneeling in front of her.

Hansol’s long hair is clouded by a hoodie so thick his earlobes are red, or so she thinks that’s the reason, because his hand pats on the expanded leg of her jeans. Bell jeans were in once again, and she had opted to have them on her outfit. However, Hansol’s high cheekbones lift in a smile when he counterparts:

“If you’re really trying to hide from ghosts, having half of your leg out from underneath the table is not the way to go.” Hansol spares a look at the corner of the room, perhaps pinpointing where the camera is, before she shakes her head at him. She’s still a little shaken, letting out in a trembling tone what must be the most pathetic thing he’s ever heard.

“What if this place is actually haunted?”

“I don’t know percentages, but I am sure someone has died in every possible place on earth. Here, if it’s haunted, or anywhere.” Hansol drags himself under the table, sitting down next to her and taking up the same position she has, though he presses his cheek to the upper portion of his knees. “So, as a matter of fact, every place should be haunted.”

“You’re not helping.” She adds, turning her face to look at him and my God, is Chwe Hansol actually very handsome. He’s different from Jay, with higher cheeks, rounded eyebrows, and a color that resembles honey on tea in his irises. She should look away, not feed into the idea that people have of them being together, but they were meant to act as natural as possible for this show, and looking away has never been more difficult.

“…Said my mom as I helped with the dishes, and my sister after I met her first boyfriend. Helping is not really my biggest forte, but I try.” Hansol shows a full row of teeth when he smiles, like he does it without a care in this world. He probably does. Something about Hansol tells her that he doesn’t really care what people think of him. “But I found you, so I think that’s us winning the game, isn’t it?”

“Is this a park ride for you or something? You’re all smiley and shit.” She tells him, mimicking his smile though hers is a bit more crooked, like she’s trying to push it away so it doesn’t reach him as the most dumbfounded, surprised expression.

“I like this place.”

She feigns a ringing cellphone with a purr of her lips, folding her hand to mimic a phone only to be caught in between his digits, pressed to his ear as if he’s picking it up.

“Yes, hello?” He asks, fluttering eyelashes in between sweetened laughter. One would think that someone like Chwe Hansol was a punch of pink lemonade, but knowing he’s more like a very sweetened soda is a new occurrence.

“It’s your psychologist. He’s asking for another appointment.”

Hansol chuckles at her words, putting down her hand and yet, leaving her with a tingle that awakens in the pit of her stomach and blossoms like butterfly wings across her chest, filling her in with a breath so profound that every single one of her ribs expands with glee.

“They should.” With that, he stands up,extending a slim hand that wavers its fingers for her to grab. Once she does, she’s up her feet, chest to chest with a man who looks at her with pink lips closed together, hiding the row of teeth that she had grown so fond of in just minutes, for how beautiful and calming his smile could be. “I think we should get out and get to the exit—”

What they don’t expect is for the door to bang open, irrupting on their fort and creating a tense atmosphere when they come face to face with a clown, much of the like of what It could look like. And while Hansol laughs from the moment he sees it, she doesn’t. A shout trips from the back of her throat, much like herself, as she jumps onto Hansol’s back and feels his hands contracting against her thighs, catching her just in time. Her eyes, hidden by his neck, are barely touched by the long hairs on his nape that don’t get to be trapped in his beanie, and when she mumbles for them to leave, Hansol starts sprinting like his life depends on it.

Never does he stop laughing, though, as whoever is dressed on the clown outfit follows after them. He’s secure, for some reason, even when they don’t know each other very well, something about Hansol makes her feel as though she is protected. Sheltered from a world that had always been so tough, but with him is just a tiny bit more complex. And for Hansol, that’s okay.

Something tells her that Hansol doesn’t push himself to understand the majority of things. The reason why the world goes around the sun, or why so many people choose heartbreak. He knows he’s a particle, a mere second in a clock, a reason to laugh or a momentum to flee. While she lives through memories, Hansol relishes on breaths. On moments that are here and now, enjoyable and yet, somehow dreamy in the way that they go by so fast.

She doesn’t know him much, but when they reach the exit and the sun bathes them through peaks in between gray clouds, he is still holding her. Even when Seungcheol points Hansol’s camera at them and he’s talking, he still doesn’t let go of her. She hears a faint joke, a reason to part from his neck, but lord does she wish she would not have looked away.

For his face is too close and that mole on his temple is right there, valuable enough to catch her attention.

So, she drops herself to the floor, falling on her knees and raising her hands in the air before shouting to the camera:

“Good fucking Lord, we made it!”

And Hansol laughs, like he does in these situations, but how she wishes that laugh would not feel precisely like home should feel like.

Thirteen million views and just the third episode of the series has been posted. Now, that is breaking records.

She would have never believed the world would become a big number for her. Flop or not valued by the amount of people seeing you; regardless of interest or not. She seeks for that validation—much more after the break-up—. From people who don’t really know her, but love to give conspiracies about how Hansol and she met. They say they are together, and they don’t really deny it. The closer they get through episodes, the more people seem interested in it, and while she’s in the thrive for more—fame, success, whatever the fuck it is that is sedating her, Hansol stays…the same.

He invited her over to his place. So unorganized, just like his thoughts. He leaves his coats hanging on his poor couch, picking them up per demand, with splashes of coffee on the coffee table from early this morning still forgotten. Tonight, on this Saturday night, Hansol has brought soju with himself, licking off the remaining bits of his black bean noodles from his chopsticks. She still has a bit left on her place, but she has opted to sit with her head hanging from the sofa, looking at him from upside down, maybe a bit boozed because of the alcohol he had prepositioned for ‘idea organization’.

“What if we ate noodles on a rollercoaster?” They have planned up to episode ten. The end of the season, after all. But people have been asking for another season, and while it’s not confirmed, a company had ventured into the hardships of wanting to promote them for a second season and that meant giving them ideas on a silver platter in hopes of them liking it enough to support it monetarily.

“You want a POV of us vomiting on a camera. Got it.” She drags, inspecting the way his cheeks turn maroon and how he puts his bottle of soju down, giving her a smile that, if she had to describe, would call it extremely dumb.

“When you put it that way, sounds incredibly hot.”

“Ew, Hansol.” She has gotten used to calling him that name now, a month into their venture and almost four episodes in. Her head starts thumping and with four bottles of soju, she can’t stop thinking. Hansol has almost been like a bubble; he lets her see on the outside and still, protects her in some way. She knows that the death threads are still there, as well as the ongoing rumors with Jay that include her in a love triangle, but with him, recording and a new group of people around them, she has managed to lose herself a bit more. “I can’t think straight at this moment.”

“Probably because you’re losing blood flow.” Hansol drags himself closer to her, never lifting his butt of the ground, twisting her hair in a bun that falls the moment she sits up straight. Not because he told her so, or because she was afraid of losing oxygen in her brain, but rather the reason behind it was that Hansol was a little too close to her. Enough for her to see those beautiful speckles in her eyes.

Yes, so that’s the thing…Hansol is extremely pretty.

Awfully so.

In a drunken state, that’s multiplied by a hundred.

“What if we made a ‘Show Me The Money’ parody?”

Hansol shrugs. “I’d eat you up.”

“You think so?” She slurs, pressing her cheek to the edge of the couch and almost twitching when Hansol reaches for the corner of her joggers, pulling them down where they had bunched at her ankles. That’s when his skin comes in contact with hers, wrapping entirely around that portion of her leg and letting his thumb caress the joint behind it. “Mm, don’t do that.”

“S—Sorry.” And Hansol pulls away at that moment, cheeks even more flushed with the alcohol, eyes widened. “I—I didn’t…”

“It just feels nice.” She tells him in a whisper, dozing off and letting her eyes close as the only thing she can hear in the background is the faint sound of Drake’s latest record and, of course, his calm breathing. “…And I don’t like getting used to it. You don’t know how many times I’ve gotten used to things only for them to hurt me…after…”

It’s the alcohol talking and the sleepiness losing her, because she doesn’t remember what else she had said or why she falls asleep so fast. What she does remember is what she dreams. She sees Jay in dreams, remembering the way his palm fit so snugly around her knee, and how he’d trace the underside of it with how big his hand was. Now, she sees it in third person, in some cramped-up party of the like of those he went to, with his lips spread around another woman’s, doing the same thing he did to her, and somehow breaking apart the little threads left in her heart. Because that’s what men have always done to her—hurt her until she couldn’t recognize herself.

She awakens with sweat pooling at her neckline and breaths unarranged in a manner that has her clasping the first thing she feels. Hansol has turned down the lights, his back pressed to the edge of the couch, head lulled back in a way that will probably have him aching in the morning. His brown hair spreads on top of his forehead like vices, eyelashes straight and long, jaw squared yet somehow relaxed as his lips part. He’s snoring softly, barely audibly, laying there like he wouldn’t move even if the world ended.

So, she drags her hand across his forearm, feeling every bump and mountain of slim muscle until she reaches his knuckles and touches them, shaking his hand in hopes of getting him to open his eyes.

He doesn’t, but he does hum at the mention of his name.

“Hansol…I had a nightmare.” She has them often. Each time, she looks into the shadows of the night hoping for the real monsters to appear. Not the ones that make their guest appearance in horror movies, but the ones that actually hurt her. People that tarnished her heart in ways that now has it stopping from time to time. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but could…could you please hold me? When I’m held, I can fall back asleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” He rasps out, dragging himself towards the couch as she makes him some space. He doesn’t talk about his room or taking up the bed, because he’s probably too sleepy to even care, when he places an arm under her head and lets him square a leg in between his just to make room for the two.

“I’m sorry for getting so close.”

He drags her until her face rests on his collarbone, humming what she can imagine is a ‘no’. “You’re not doing it for anything bad. It’s okay.” He whispers. “Is this tight enough?”

She looks up at him, eyes still closed. So naturally peaceful and yet, somehow blaring war noises inside her head. Ready to flee away just in case her stomach drops to the ground at the mere sight of him. “It’s perfect.”

Hansol shouldn’t feel perfect. Not if season two is ever going to happen.

Usually, the one with the cruel ideas is Jeonghan. Hyejin has finally met up to that standard. Her friend, not his, and that’s surprising. Hansol has to give her some props for the idea of the ninth episode.

‘Never Have I Ever’. He doesn’t think he has played the game since that one moment he joined college. Only recently did he get his degree, and the engineering degree normally doesn’t get invited to the kind of parties that have drinking games, but Hansol was friends with a bunch of people who would take any kind of game as a reason to drink. This one doesn’t include drinking, but it’s either eating something really nasty, laid in front of them on a picnic cloth—there are testicles in there, as far as he knows—or answering.

Hansol should be concentrated on making her eat the five meals that are meant to be eaten by her, but he is tranced by her. Has been since two weeks ago, when he decided that sharing a couch with her was a good idea. Not only did he have to walk away before she noticed that he had accidentally wrapped a hand around her waist while asleep, but he also had to fight off the thoughts that ventured into his head. He didn’t want to be the rebound, but that’s precisely what he would be if he tried to get with her. If he played the cards he does sometimes, when life is a little simpler, of rubbing the back of his neck and buying someone’s favorite Pokémon cards.

It doesn’t help that she has decided to look absolutely gorgeous while they sat on a bench, in a secluded park that Seungcheol had found fitting for filming. Roses scatter around them in the same color of red that splashes on her dress. A loving heart neckline that has him looking down and—fuck, Hansol, don’t be stupid. She’s way out of your league—

“Never have I ever…” She drags her voice while reaching into the hat that was placed nearby for them. He looks at the shape of her mouth, the length of her eyeliner and he wants to punch himself for a second. For staring with that intent, even with cameras around them. For feeling a bit protected in front of them just because everyone thinks they are dating. Or so. “Eaten or tasted earwax.”

“Do I have the face of a man that has tasted earwax?”

“Yes.” She responds, chuckling at him only to have him scrunching up his nose. He looks down at the plate that is served in front of him, this round’s beverage for anyone to enjoy. “Hansol, don’t tell me you have.”

“I’m not sure, but I was a weird kid! May have!” He tells her, picking up his chopsticks and biting into the testicles that he had repulsed from the moment the game started. She throws her head back, laughing like the child in her had awakened at his response, before she’s shaking her head and tossing the card to the side.

“You’re so nasty.”

“Tell me you haven’t done it.”

“Just because I am sure I did it as a kid as well, I’ll help you out with those testicles.” She picks up the chopsticks from his hands, giving it the slightest of bites before sticking out her tongue and dropping it to the ground. “Gross! Jeonghan, where the fuck did you find this stuff?”

“It was Cheol!”

The game continues, with the two of them a point away from either losing or winning. She has her legs spread in front of her, crossed by the ankles, waiting for him to read the card that he’s just opening when his eyes widen for a fraction of a second. Oh, this wasn’t Seungcheol. This has Hyejin’s name written all over it. He knows it because she has been wriggling her eyebrows whenever he makes his way past her, opting to tease him about the ‘obvious crush’ he has on her best friend.

“Never have I ever liked the person across from me.”

Hansol doesn’t move, and he should be drinking the broccoli lemonade that the team prepared, but she moves with a little more precision, as if her anatomy was made to act in cue. His heart stops when she grabs the glass and brings it up to those lips that had been burgundy red at the start of the recording to drink. She closes her eyes, tosses her head back, and gags at the taste, but Hansol is far too lost.

…She had liked him? Then? Now? When?

“Confessions, confessions. Always coming up from these videos.” She is more of a natural in front of the camera, taking his hand and bringing it up in the air as per a champion from a boxing fight. She has won him over, if only if she knew. “We’ve got ourselves a winner. Give a round of applause for Zach Chwe, everyone!”

Hansol can’t even smile. He’s dumbfounded, staring at her profile and seeing her grin in such an easy going way. Though, the moment they say their goodbyes from the video, she pulls away from him, clearing her throat and looking at him as if she expects an answer. One that never comes and leaves him just to stand up, excuse himself out of the park and lock himself in the nearest bathroom.

Being the rebound is not what he wants, but God, would he be lying to himself if he didn’t accept he has liked her for longer than he’d want to admit.

Two months pass by. The first season becomes a success and still, not a word has been uttered about that episode. The subscribers’ favorite episode, but the forgotten episode for those who were involved.

No one asks questions when they come together for VidCon. It feels natural, actually. She doesn’t think she would have been able to just go on her own anymore. As some kind of way the world had planned it, Hansol feels like her counterpart in whatever this is right now. Friendship, work, whatever they have garnered together that people seem to love enough to have a panel for them, where they speak to fans and take pictures together. She notices then that she’s not the only person awestruck by Hansol’s beauty, even when that’s obvious at this point. He looks like a daydream in his black t-shirt, rounded glasses and skinny jeans, smiling in pictures and even joking around with fans.

Sometimes, she just looks at him from the side and blames him for it. For letting things slide so smoothly in between the two after that forbidden episode. He never said a word, neither did he try to clear her head with a kiss to her lips or even a strict ‘no’ that would have her moving on. It’s his fault for being likeable; for giving her a necklace with her initial as a celebration when their first season became a success. For him to receive her with a bowl of noodles for every recording they had each week. For him to tag her on stupid memes on Twitter, not giving a care what anyone could say.

The venue is packed and Hansol gets a little too lost on conversations with a fan that is talking about his beginnings as a gamer—that wasn’t really good to start with—when she feels someone tapping her on the shoulder. Her hips move from the edge of their table, where an enormous poster of the publicity image for the first season of their show spreads in the background, to turn around and respond to the subscriber that was trying to get her attention. Nonetheless, like a clashing thunder in a summer day, Jay stands there looking like the oddest thing she has seen in the past three months.

Because she’s not used to him anymore. Neither has she felt like she was truly comfortable with the idea of him. He’s a few heads taller than her, with his black hair pushed back and the sleeves of his shirt dragged up to showcase his tattoos. He’s smiling when he greets her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and hugging her briefly before he pulls away. They are lucky that is not peak hour and most people have scattered to look at the music presentation that was taking place.

“Jay?” She questions, only to have him smiling proudly, like he would do whenever he got recognized in public.

“The one and only. I had to pass by when I heard you were making it to this year’s convention.” His dark brown eyes splay across the poster behind them, trailing after every detail of the image of Hansol wrapping an arm around her shoulder, both smiling at the camera as they spread their hands in peace signs, smiling gleefully. “Haven’t watched a season of the show, but I might start. It’s fucking everywhere.”

She should not talk to him, but she scoffs at his words, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms across her chest to portray just how closed she is to him, but she doesn’t miss her sarcastic smile. Not an ounce of hate is within her chest anymore, but she recalls the wounds he opened just to make bigger ones. “…Mhm, it’s not the type of show you’d watch. Too much of a big brainer.”

“Oh, come on, you know I’m smarter than I look.”

For the way he plotted the entire internet against her, she knows for a fact Jay could very much be a lawyer or an astronaut if he wanted to. Misspells or not. “I’m certain. I’ve never doubted you’re a cunning, smart little shit.”

“I like that. Might make it my new motto.” Before Jay could venture into more of a conversation, her waist is grounded by a pair of thin arms wrapping around them. Soft skin connecting with her through the fabric of her pink hoodie has her looking back to see that Hansol is hugging her from behind, hiding his hands on the pockets of her hoodie and pressing his chin to her shoulder before whispering into her ear.

“We’ve got stuff to do, remember? Like organizing our things at the hotel and sign some posters for tomorrow…” He never rushes with those things, but at the presence of Jay, Hansol’s a bit more masculine and selfish with time. When she tries to answer him, far too lost in the beauty of him now that he has pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, pulling the strands of his hair back, his golden eyes have settled on Jay, not even sparing him a grin out of courtesy. “I’ll have to snatch her away from you.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Jay adds, aiming to hurt and taint, but Hansol doesn’t let him. Instead, he pulls her by the strings of her hoodie, interlocking their hands together before speaking closely to her face.

“So, are we going?”

It’s not a doubt that she says ‘yes’. After all, if her heart had grown a bond for Hansol without him touching her that way, having a glimpse of what it could be like to be with him has her brain going feverish.

Hansol is certain about many things. That he likes the color green. He loves tie dye hoodies. That he would die in a beanie if he could. He enjoys weird scary shows, and he would marathon the entirety of Scream in a minute. He is also certain that he doesn’t want to talk to her, as they sit across from each other in his hotel room. Not just because, but for the matter that she was talking to the ex that had done anything in his willpower to push her to be absolutely nothing.

He sits on a brown leather couch, working diligently on signing posters while she has opted not to do so. For the past ten minutes, she has ventured into all the possible conversation topics in order to get him to look up, even smile, but while Hansol likes living his life in tranquility, he also has his angered moments. His blood felt like it had rushed to his knuckles from how tight he was holding them closed when he saw Jay. He couldn’t bear but admit to himself that, while he had opted not to think about her in that light, the idea of her going back to Jay and not with him infuriated him. Sure, she wasn’t his—neither was she anybody’s, for that matter—but if someone had to have her as the person by their side, it had to be him. Right?

Anyone but fucking Jay Lee.

But preferably him.

Yet, she knows how to get the world to look at her with eyes that had been rose-colored by her voice and eyes alone. After ten minutes, she knows that he won’t talk to her and when the beads of silence surround the cream-colored room, he almost imagines that she has left. Only that he gets to see her jean-cladded thighs standing in front of his knees, his eyes darting to her face for a fraction of a second until he sees her. The closeness, the little smile that splays in the corner of her mouth, and that wave to her eyebrows that tells him that she’s a bit confused, amused, but also a tad annoyed.

“Why are you angry at me? I haven’t done anything to get the silent treatment.” God, she’s one of the smartest women he has met. With the way she can think of matters in the spot and make a drawing on the screen the most interesting thing in the world. He knows her commentaries on movies are the most precise, intelligent words that could be said, and yet, he wishes she could wake up and realize that he has been here, all along, for three months and even a bit more, liking her like a complete fool. “Hansol, you either talk to me or you talk to me. I’m not giving you another option.”

“That man was…okay, I’ll talk to you.” Hansol stops himself when he hears just how mortified he sounds when he starts talking, putting the poster he was signing to the side, laying on the table next to him with the other pile of posters. Soon after, he’s spreading his hands on the armrest, leaning back on the couch. “Jay has done nothing but make your life an absolute hell and there you go, just being nice to him, letting him hug you and talk to you—”

“Hold up,” She interrupts him, spreading a hand on her waist. “If I just ignore him or treat him like shit, I’m giving him even more of a reason to talk. I’ll be the first to admit to say that the stuff Jay put me through wounded me in ways that will take more than a few months to work through, but I also don’t want to give him the benefit of being aware of how much he hurt me.”

Hansol can understand that, but he also knows what men like Jay think. He runs his fingers through his hair, groaning through half-parted lips. “He probably thinks he still has you on the palm of his hand.”

“He doesn’t.” She shrugs. “So, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to see you with him. That is the problem.” Hansol says, standing up and staring at her, face-to-face. “I know you won’t go back to him but it makes me angry to think you ever thought of being with him. Not only doesn’t he match up with you on looks, but he never deserved you. You could put him on a pan and drop an entire bag of salt on him and Jay Lee would still be flavorless. The biggest mistake you could ever make, and the thought alone of him wanting to be with you—”

“I don’t want to be with him.”

“Yes, but…” You also don’t want to be with me, he completes for himself. Sure, she had once said she liked him, but what reassures him that it wasn’t just for the camera?

“You’re making a big deal out of it!”

“I fucking know!” He exclaims, widening his eyes.

“Then?”

“I will make everything that happens to you a big deal because I care for you. I’ve liked you for God-knows how long. Sorry for getting jealous, but I don’t regret it one—”

She interrupts him before he could say anything else, with her lips spreading across his, savoring the tremor of his mouth before he opens it to the granting touch of her tongue. His bottom lip fits between hers as if they were made for her, her hands gravitating to his waist and pulling him closer, though the fact that she was the one to make the first move did not stop Hansol from adding his own motions. His hands spread on the back of her neck, thumbs coming in contact on the column of her throat and dragging a sweet stripe down, rising goosebumps all over her skin. Hansol tilts his head to the side, a cloud of humidity building from the breath he lets out before kissing her lazily, albeit strongly, like he knows he doesn’t have to do much to do it right.

She would like to punch him, ask him why he never did anything when she confessed to liking him in that video, but Hansol has seated back on the chair, hands landing on her hips as he continues to kiss her, and her thighs part to settle comfortably on his lap. When she pulls away from him, lips tainted in that romantic shade of pink that he leaves everywhere he goes, she traces the outline of his mouth with a peck before she goes down to his neck, hiding in there for a second.

“You had me guessing for so long, Hansol. That’s what assholes do.”

Hansol’s hands rub at her hips, one of the portions she’s more insecure about, but with him it just feels right. “I don’t want to be your rebound.” He tells her, grabbing her by her chin before pushing their lips together once again. He keeps his eyes closed when he speaks against her mouth, just minutes after biting on her bottom lip. “Please, don’t let me be a rebound. If I am, stop me now.”

She’d be crazy to stop him. Not when his mouth looks like a rose petal and her heart feels the more at ease she has felt in a while. Sure, this is always the start of every romance. She knows that men feel comfortable before they destroy her heart even worse than the last time, but something tells her that this is not the case with Hansol. She closes her eyes, venturing into the shape of his mouth to trace it like the map she should have followed a long time ago.

For now, she’ll get lost in him, in the way he makes her feel like she’s the newest star in the sky and he’s drawing it himself. Calling her something that goes unnamed for now.

The word ‘for now’ is so funny. It prolongs in time, so much that three months turn into six, and then, an entire year.

She had said that Hansol’s idea was a ‘for now’. That him, as a person, was temporary as it gets, but the clock was making fun of her as she rushes to his car, holding onto the coldest coffee she could get at this hour of the morning. Some people feel comfortable, not because they are colored certain way or how they make you feel, but what you two make together. Blue and green are colors on their own, but together they make something different. The creation of new matters is what makes the world a little bit more interesting.

Hansol doesn’t enjoy mornings, not after a short night of sleep, and that may be her fault, but with the way he smiles at her when she opens the car’s door, she’s sure he has forgiven her. For how great they felt last night, she’s sure that there were no grudges held. A camera is pointed her way, though she knows that the second season of their show is still being published on her channel and, no way in hell, he would ever post the videos he takes of her. Little vlogs to remember what it was like here, now, forever. God, forever sounds amazing with Hansol.

“Here we have a whole coffee addict, making her way to my sick Porsche.”

“It’s a Toyota, Hansol. Sit the fuck down.” She completes, entering the car and pushing her hair over her shoulder, leaning over the seat to let him taste the coffee. That makes the camera a little too close to her face, laughing and pushing it to the side the slightest. “I’m sure I don’t look that good in that angle.”

“You don’t, but real love will make me say you do.” He completes, sipping a few more times into her coffee before giving it back to her. He has the hood of his shirt all the way over his dark hair, turning off the camera and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he starts the car.

Talking about their relationship in public was forbidden, for she doesn’t want to blur the line in between the faux relationship and what became real. In fact, it happened with its bumps along the road. She can’t say that everything has been easy, that sometimes her nightmares don’t wake her up with the idea of Hansol leaving one day, or not precisely leaving her, but stomping on her heart before he flees away, but that idea alone is pushed away with a served kiss and a few words that save her from doubting. Hansol is not much of a talker and yet, when he opens those lips of his, he always seems to say the right thing.

So, while the subscribers have never gotten a real video of them admitting to their relationship, it’s almost public notice. She sips on her drink, looking at his profile and the tranquility of him before asking.

“So, I saw a Tweet not too long ago. As I was waiting for coffee, actually.”

“From who?” His voice grows serious, expecting to hear anything from Jay or anyone else on the internet, but she calms him down by interlocking their fingers together, tracing the small promise ring on his finger with her thumb.

“From a subscriber that wanted to point out our supposed beginnings.” She likes looking at those conspiracies from time to time. They are so ridiculous that she can’t help but be amused by how close and obsessed people can get from someone they saw on the internet. Well, as long as it’s kept like a good momentum on someone’s life, and they know not to blur the line, she’s sure it’s okay. “The first picture you liked of me was on April 18th, three years ago. It was a picture of me on my desk, looking down at my I-Pad as I drew, working on my next video.”

Hansol twists his head to the side, laughing to himself a bit before nodding. “I remember that picture.”

“You do?”

“I do.” He looks at her for a fraction of a second before bringing their interlocked hands up, giving it a soft kiss. “Your hair was shorter then. Way shorter. I thought you were pretty.”

“Sometimes, I wish I had met you earlier.”

“Huh, earlier wasn’t our time, I guess.” Hansol responds, letting go of her hand to grab her coffee.

Holding her breath, she looks at his sleepy profile. At him as a person. It has been so long and yet, the words don’t weight on her mouth when she opts to mumble it for the first time:

“I love you, Hansol.”

His eyes twinkle when she says those words, spreading a smile into his face that show all his teeth before he gnaws at his bottom lip.

“I love you, too.”

#vernon scenarios #vernon x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #kpop scenarios #seventeen #vernon #writing #vernon au #vernon fluff #vernon angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen au

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wzy3ka · 10 months

Text

| Enemies to lovers⋆.ೃ࿔*:･|| N.RK (니키)

Pairing✧.* non idol!niki x reader

Contains✧.* swearing, drinking (for this fic reader and niki are 19)

Context: enemies to lovers ✧.*

Niki got under your skin in a way no one else could. it was like everything he did annoyed you.

Sometimes you just wish If he could shut to be a mute boy rather than been a boy bitch-

That's what you call him.

whenever you went out, there he was, literary a glue on your side-

every time he greeted you, there was some sarcastic remark, or an insult mixed with it. you couldn't stand him.

Tonight was no different than other nights.

you met your friends at the club, instantly greeting them when you walked inside.

you shot niki a glance, not bothering to say hello to him.

The sea of teenagers with imbalanced hormones was everywhere.

You could go like this all night long, feet moving to the crazy beat as they belong to the music.

You moved in your dress like your hips were made to sway, the sequins catching the disco ball light that twirls above - launching

every shade of the rainbow.

the night carried on, you and your friends had a blast, taking shots and dancing most of the night.

that was until you finally needed a break, your feet were killing you.

you stumbled over to the bar, taking a seat on one of the stools, ordering a drink when someone slid into the stool next to you.

you turned your head slightly to see who it was and there was the boy- bitch, also ordering a drink.

you decided to ignore and not engage in conversation with him, not really craving a headache at that moment.

"surprised you came here today."

Niki started up a conversation, something you wanted to prevent.

"fuck off niki." you shot back which only made him chuckle.

"didn't know you hated me that much, y/n.

"Gald you know that now"

"ouch, that one hurt. you could've denied it, save me the heartache?"

"aww, poor baby. i prefer honesty, sorry if you don't."

Niki stayed silent after your comment, his eyes scanning over you. it made you shift, wanting to get up and leave.

you were about to speak up about the way he was obviously looking at you until you heard someone call your name.

You turned your head towards the source of the sound- just to find your friends for a few months, flirting was something you did regularly.

you weren't sure if he liked you or if he was just extremely friendly.

"jungwon! what a nice surprise." you greeted, immediately giving him a smile.

Niki raised a brow at your immediate enthusiasm when you saw jungwon.

he would've rolled his eyes if he was sure no one would've saw him.

"it's nice to see you! you look great."

Niki wasn't sure if he cringed, gagged, or both at Jungwon’s attempt at flirting with you.

it, however, looked like you were enjoying it by the way your smile widened.

"i could say the same fo-" you didn't even get to finish your sentence when a blonde came up and wrapped her arms around jungwon.

"there you are, baby! I was looking for you." she said. baby?

"y/n, right, this is my girlfriend." jungwon introduced you. you had to stop your mouth from dropping at the word girlfriend.

he has a girlfriend.

"oh. oh! it's, uh, great to meet you. you two look adorable together." you complimented,

trying your best not to seem upset.

"don't we?" the blonde said, giving you what seemed to be a fake smile.

"and…and there's someone i want you to meet!" you made up, making jungwon’s head tilt.

"yeah, who?" he asked.

you turned around, eyes meeting Niki's. "this is my boyfriend, Niki!"

Niki stared at you, almost not catching on at first. "Oh! yeah, that's me."

he looked up towards jungwon and his girlfriend, sending them a smile. they shook hands and the blonde just seemed to be relieved.

after introductions, Jungwon was pulled away by his girlfriend which you weren't complaining about.

you felt like an idiot and now, you felt like an even bigger one for bringing him into your lie.

letting out a breath you didn't even know you were holding in, you chugged down the rest of your drink, cringing at the bitter taste.

when you looked back at niki, a smirk painted his lips-

"so, boyfriend huh?"

you signed while passing hand through your hair, you appeared stressed to Niki, which made himself say the next words-

"hey, you did a great job." he said while walking up to you, before he realized what he had just said- was he comforting you?

"in my defense, that was not supposed to come out."

"Eh, it's fine, pretty boy."

"pretty boy?" he raised a brow at the nickname.

"well. it's only fair that i make you flustered after you did it to me."

"go out with me."

you looked up at him in shock, almost not believing that he really said that to you.

"excuse me?" you blurted, almost giggling at how straight forward that was.

"go out with me"

"to think i thought you were such shy, adorable man-child”

"man-child?" Niki ultimately ignored the shy & adorable part because to some degree, you were correct.

"you heard me."

"you know what I heard first though? shy and adorable so i'm gonna guess that's a yes on that date."

"you sure you deserve it?" tilting your head, you crossed your arms with a slightly challenging tone.

"positive, pretty lady"

Ty for reading,I hope you enjoyed <3

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superlarva · 11 months

Text

Some much needed hugs in this chapter!

Chapter 3 of my baby domino twins and dad Rex fic without a name if any of y'all have suggestions I'd love to hear them, I can't decide on a good title :(

Links to previous chapters: 00 01 02

Next chapter: 04

Summary: Rex and Fives bond as they get ready for bed.

CW: Implied/referenced child abuse

Chapter 3 - Home

Rex’s keys clattered across the hallway floor loudly. He cringed and held his breath, stopping in his tracks. Fives’s head burrowed deeper into his shoulder, his boney legs constricting around Rex’s hips.

“It’s okay, I got you,” Rex hushed quietly, hoping the boy wouldn’t fully wake up.

Fives shifted again in Rex’s arms, pressing his small body up even further against Rex’s chest. The boy hummed quietly, slowly pulling himself from the depths of sleep, “…Echo?”

“Rex!”

Rex whirled around, clutching Fives tight as the boy jerked awake in his arms. He was met with a familiar face staring at him half hidden behind a mop of jet-black hair and the door to apartment 6116.

“Hardcase!” Rex heard Jesse’s voice bark from deep within the apartment behind the teen in front of him.

“What?” Hardcase answered, still eyeing Rex and the boy in his arms.

“Leave him alone. Aren’t you supposed to be grounded?”

Hardcase rolled his eyes, turning his head back towards the apartment, “Aren’t you supposed to be putting Tup to bed? Anyways, Kix isn’t even here right now.”

“Right, so that means I’m in charge. Get back in here.”

Hardcase stepped out into the hallway and let the door slide shut behind him, grinning at Rex, “Oops.”

Rex readjusted his grip on Fives as the boy squirmed in his arms, trying to turn to see the new presence in the hallway.

Hardcase moved into the kid’s line of vision and gave a small wave, “Hey, little guy.”

Fives snuggled his head back down into Rex’s shoulder, clearly not wanting to interact.

“Hardcase,” Rex warned, moving to pick up his keys. “You should listen to Jesse.”

Ignoring the comment, the teen bent down and grabbed the keys swiftly before Rex could reach them, “Here, let me get that for you.”

Rex sighed and let Hardcase open his apartment for him, holding out his hand for the keys as the door swung open, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Hardcase said, dropping them in Rex’s palm.

“Get back in there before you give your brother an aneurism,” Rex ordered over his shoulder before kicking the door closed behind him.

Rex set Fives and the bag of clothes down on the kitchen counter, “Sorry for waking you up. My friends can be a little, uh… overly enthusiastic. Sometimes.”

Fives rubbed at his eyes looking around the small kitchen and adjoining living room.

“Yeah, so, this is my apartment,” Rex wrung his hands, studying the boy’s curious glances for hints of satisfaction or distaste. “I know it’s not that big, but it’s got two bedrooms, so, you know, I figured it should be alright if you and Echo are okay sharing a room.”

Fives’s eyes snapped to Rex’s, a look of pure wonder etched across his face, “A whole room just for me and Echo?”

“Uh, yeah… is- is that-” Rex stumbled over his words, anxiety building in his chest. He took a deep breath, “Is that not okay?”

“We never had a whole room to ourselves before.”

“Oh, well, yeah, you guys will have your own room. It’s not set up or anything yet, so we’ll need to do that.”

“Tonight?”

“No,” Rex said the edges of his lips twitching up at the hopeful note into the boy’s tone. “Tonight we’re just gonna get you all cleaned up and ready for bed. First up, we got to take off these shoes.”

As Rex removed Fives’s socks and shoes the boy fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Something up?” Rex asked, peeling off a sock.

“Was…” Fives’s faced screwed up in confusion. “Was he a grown up or a kid?”

“Who? Hardcase?”

Fives nodded.

Rex chuckled, “Yeah, I can see how that’d be confusing. He’s a teenager, so he’s kinda in between being a big kid and an adult.”

“Will I be a teenager too?”

“Mhm,” Rex affirmed, taking off the last sock, “When you turn thirteen.”

“When will I turn thirteen?” Fives asked, letting Rex help him hop down off the counter.

Rex dug around in the shopping bag and pulled out one of the pairs of dino pajamas and a pair of underwear, “Do you know how old you are now?”

Fives shook his head, following Rex as he made his way towards the bathroom.

“Well, when’s your birthday?”

“What’s a birthday?”

Rex stopped outside the bathroom, looking back at the boy’s questioning face. The kid had no idea how heartbreaking his innocent question was. Rex sighed and stepped into the bathroom, depositing Fives’s new clothes on the counter, “It’s the day you were born when you were a baby. Everyone has a new one on the same day every year. So, for example, on my birthday this year I turned twenty-four.”

Fives looked down at his own body then looked up at Rex, “I don’t think I’m twenty-four yet.”

Rex turned away from Fives, both to obtain a clean towel from the cabinet and also to hide his face from the boy. Every word Fives said solidified just how deprived and neglected the twins had been in her care. It made him livid, not just at her, but at himself: for not being there, for not even trying to find out that he had kids he should have been there for. He did not want Fives to see him fuming and think he was angry at him, so he took a deep breath.

Once he made sure his expression was neutral, Rex turned back to Fives, “No, not yet. I think you’re around seven right now.”

“So, then I’ll be a teenager in six years?”

Rex smiled, surprised that with Fives’s lack of basic knowledge he knew how to do subtraction, “Yeah, I think so.”

Rex had showed Fives where everything was in the bathroom and explained how to work the shower bath, but he still resorted to fidgeting nervously in the hall outside the closed door after he got changed into his pajamas.

After only a few minutes of waiting the water in the shower turned off. Rex rubbed the back of his neck, listening intently for any cries of distress. That had been an awfully short shower for the amount of filth on the kid.

After waiting and not hearing anything from inside the bathroom, Rex’s anxiety won out and he knocked softly on the door, “You okay in there, bud?”

“Y-yeah,” came a slightly panicked response. “I’m almost done. S-sorry.”

Rex frowned, “It’s okay, take as long as you need.”

Rex stood outside the door for a minute trying to think of something better to say to ease the boy’s anxieties before he gave up and went into his bedroom to sit on the edge of his bed. As soon as he did, he heard the bathroom door open, and a little face appeared behind it.

“All done?” Rex asked, surprised that Fives actually did look clean.

The boy nodded, pushing a sopping wet curl away from his forehead.

Rex laughed and made his way over to Fives, who opened the door a little more for him.

“Here,” Rex said, grabbing the towel that Fives had left on the edge of the tub and using it to dry his hair, “If you rub it on your head like this it’ll dry your hair.”

Fives squirmed a little, but calmed down after Rex explained what he was doing. When Rex was done drying Fives’s hair, he hung up the towel on the back of the door and began rummaging around in his bathroom cabinet for a new toothbrush for Fives. After finding one, he held it out, “Toothbrush.”

Fives took the toothbrush, and went over to the sink, “Can I use your toothpaste?”

“Yeah, of course.”

As Fives brushed his teeth, Rex picked up the boy’s dirty clothes from the floor and threw them into the wash, changing his settings to “soil level heavy” before letting it run.

By the time he had finished, Fives reappeared from the bathroom. He smiled shyly as Rex approached, “I put my toothbrush next to yours.”

“Perfect,” Rex said, smiling.

Fives smiled back.

“Ready for bed?” Rex asked, hitching his thumb to his bedroom.

Fives regarded him nervously, “Is-isn’t that yours? Your room?”

“Yes, but I’ll be sleeping on the couch,” Rex said quickly, pointing to the couch behind Fives in the living room.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Fives said, looking up at Rex with big innocent eyes.

“I’m sure you can, but I would feel a lot more comfortable if you slept in a real bed tonight.”

“But…” Fives’s eyebrows pushed together in confusion, “But it’s yours?”

“Your right,” Rex nodded. “And that means I get to make the decision of who sleeps in it.”

Fives stared at him, bewildered.

“And I’ve decided that person is you.”

Again, the boy made no response.

Rex sighed, “Am I going to have to chase you in there?”

Fives sobered and shook his head vigorously, slowly backing away from Rex and sidestepping into the bedroom. Rex held back a smirk and followed the boy into the room.

Fives was standing in the middle of the floor, looking between Rex and his queen-sized mattress. He had a funny look on his face, almost as if he were asking permission to approach the bed.

“Go on,” Rex snipped, jerking his head toward the bed, he was exhausted and just wanted to get Fives to sleep as soon as possible so he could crash himself. He regretted his clipped tone as soon as the words came out of his mouth. He didn’t want to scare the kid.

Fives climbed up onto the bed and sat on top of the sheets, balling them up into tight fists as he stared at Rex, Rex thought for further directions.

No.

Not for further directions.

There was a slight quiver in the boy’s lip just visible in the dark room.

Fives was trying not to cry.

Rex, scared he had frightened the boy, covered the distance between them slowly and sat on the edge of the bed, a bit away from Fives, “What’s wrong?”

At that Fives burst into tears, his whole body shaking. Rex tried not to get upset himself and took a deep breath. He didn’t know if Fives was crying because of him or just because of everything he had gone through today or because of Echo, or what, but he wasn’t going to be able to figure it out unless he handled this with tact. Rex thought back to all the times others had tried to comfort him before settling on his first question.

“Do you want me to stay here or go?” Rex had hated it when the people who had hurt him tried to comfort him and he didn’t want to do the same with Fives, but he also didn’t want to say anything that would make Fives assume that Rex thought Fives was upset at him.

Fives tried to say something but was racked with a fresh wave of sobs and nothing but unintelligible noises came out of his mouth. Finding a solution to his problem, Fives shakily uncurled one of his fists and reached out to Rex.

“Stay?” Rex asked, scooting closer to the boy.

Fives nodded and grabbed Rex’s arm, pulling it to his chest and hugging it with all his strength.

“Okay,” Rex said softly, pulling Fives into a hug with his free arm and rubbing the boy’s back. Rex didn’t really know what to do but whisper the phrase “you’re okay, I’ve got you” over and over as he rubbed circles.

Luckily, it seemed to work and eventually Fives’s sobs slowed down and his grip on Rex’s arm loosened a little. Rex squeezed the boy tight before pulling back a bit so he could see his face, “Okay now?”

Fives wiped a tear from his eye and took a shuddering breath before shrugging a little and closing his eyes as more tears spilled from them.

Rex pulled him in close again, cradling Fives’s head to his chest, “Oh, bud… What’s the matter?"

“Y-y-you’re- y-you’re-” Fives was starting to hyperventilate, clinging to Rex for dear life.

Rex’s heartrate picked up. He’d done something wrong hadn’t he. And now his son was practically inconsolable. He carded a hand through Fives’s damp hair, hoping to calm him down enough that he would be able to speak.

“You’re t-t-too nice t-to m-m-m-m-me!” Fives let out with a wail.

Rex froze. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t that. He went back to rubbing Fives’s back as he tried to organize his thoughts. Suddenly he realized. He turned to the shaking boy in his arms, “Fives?”

The boy sniffled and shifted his head to peak at him, “M-mh-hm?”

“Do you know why they called me to come get you and Echo?”

Fives shrugged, “B-because you’re a- a policem-man?”

“Because I’m your dad.”

Fives looked up at him in confusion, tears come to a halt.

“Do you- do you know what that means?” Rex asked softly.

“It means…” Fives trailed off. “…you have to take care of me?”

“It means I get to take care of you and I get to make you feel safe and I get to make you happy.”

Fives scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, sniffling, before regarding Rex curiously and saying in a small voice, “I didn’t know you were my dad.”

Rex smiled, he could barely believe it himself, “I am.”

Fives cocked his head to one side, “Eh-Echo said you were probably a bad man.”

“Do I seem like a bad man?”

“No… but Echo s-s-said you-” Fives took a second to snort some of his snot back up into his nose, “-said you come get us if you w-were a good guy.”

Rex cringed; he knew Echo was right. When he looked down, he was comforted by Fives unjudging face. The boy wasn’t mad at him, just confused, just trying to figure out how everything fit together. Rex shifted the boy off of his lap and onto the bed so they could face each other more comfortably, “You know how you said you didn’t know I was your dad?”

Fives nodded.

“Well, I didn’t know you were my son. Not until today.”

“Oh,” Fives said, blinking slowly. “And I r-really am?”

“You really are,” Rex echoed softly.

@marierg @stressed-cherry @ffdemon @renton6echo @bambambunny @xylionet @tazmbc1

#we got some Hardcase in this chapter :)#sorry for giving him hair lol #we'll get some Echo soon #in chapter 5 #the clone wars #captain rex #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #clone trooper echo #clone trooper fives #clone wars #tcw #superlarva #tcw hardcase #domino twins #baby dominos

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yeahyeahchloe · 11 months

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It Wasn't in my Head (1)

(a/n: hellooo! im super excited to be putting my ideas into writing ((finally)) and sharing it with u! this will be a multi part fic, im not sure how long yet, but i am a fan of long slowburn stories so get ready. also, this story will contain inappropriate themes so minors and ageless blogs dni! this is only my third or fourth fic ive ever done so plz be nice to me hehe. ok on with it then)

Summary: Abby is the starting linebacker at UW and when her team starts to falter her coach decides to get the team into ballet, in order to teach them that grace and stability is important in football too. Abby is just as upset about her teammates about this, until she sees her pretty new ballet teacher...

dancer!reader x football!abby

!!ABBY IS STRAIGHT IN THE BEGINNING. READER IS HER GAY AWAKENING!!

The locker slammed in the empty room as the blonde walked out alone, ready for practice. There were a few "hey man"s thrown her way as she walked out the doors.

Abby had always had a thing for sports since she was a kid. She tried a lot of them too, none of them quite working out.

That was before she found football.

Football was one of the only things that ever made Abby truly happy. She knew it was kind of corny to say, but she seriously felt lost without it.

So when she worked her ass off and was offered a once in a lifetime opportunity to play on the men's football team at the college in her hometown, it just kind of felt like fate was aligned.

Abby jogged over to where she saw everyone else running and started doing so. Abby got along fine with all the boys on her team, I mean it was her team after all, but she never really felt the need to truly befriend any of them. She had her close circle and that was all she needed.

Her said close circle consisted of her friends Miguel, Ellie, and Vi.

Her and Miguel met when they were teenagers at a boxing class. She ended up hating boxing but loving what came out of it. Miguel was the type of guy to make anyone feel good about anything. He could turn anything into the funniest joke, or a life lesson.

And Ellie, well she met Ellie not long ago, when their dads met in a poker club and Ellie's dad kina killed Abby's in the game. They had been friends ever since they started talking about their lack of mothers and love of corny dad jokes. Abby had also always known Ellie was gay, but the deal was kind of sealed when she would gush about her crush on a girl named Riley.

And Vi, well Vi was Abby's best friend since childhood. Abby was embarrassed to say, but she was the scared, shy kid sitting on the ABC rug in the classroom. Thankfully, Vi was the complete opposite and marched right up to Abby on her short little legs and struck up conversation. And the rest of the story just kind of wrote itself.

"Hey! Hey Anderson! Slow down!"

Abby looked over her shoulder to analyze the face calling out to her. She turned back ahead and cringed before turning back around and smiling at the man.

Owen wasn't a bad guy per-say, it was really just the way he couldn't learn when to stop. He had practically been eating out of Abby's hands the past three years they've been playing together.

It always confused Abby why she wasn't attracted to Owen, but she sort of just wasn't, and she thought she had made that pretty clear. She also just liked to think that sports were important to her, and she had too much going on for crushes or relationships.

"Hey Owen what's goin on?" Abby slowed so the man could catch up and tried to approach the conversation politely.

"Oh yaknow...practice," He said in between huffs, trying to catch up with the fit girl next to him, "What about you?"

"Yeah just, practice," She commented, coated with awkwardness.

Owen went to open his mouth to speak again, but thankfully her coach whistled loudly and told everyone to hustle in.

They flocked over to their coach and took a knee in front of him while the moustached man opened his mouth and started speaking.

"I called y'all over here to talk before ya started doing drills," he gruffed in his strange accent, "I hope y'all have noticied, that all your scrimages have been straight crap recently. I've seen blindfolded toddlers play ball better than you sissies!"

Abby cringed at his harsh words, but she couldn't help but agree. She assumed everyone was slacking recently due to the fact it was August, and the season hadn't even started yet.

"So, since I wont be caught coaching a ton of pansies, I've decided to get some outside help," everyone seemed confused by his words, and Abby couldn't help but be confused herself.

What the hell kind of outside help did they need?

"Huskies, y'all are gonna be taking ballet classes," the coach said, smirk prominent on his mustache covered lips.

Everyone immediately groaned and commented with wild distaste for the man's decision.

"Shut your nabbin!" he erupted with anger in his voice, "I don't want to hear another damn word! Y'all are takin ballet to learn that just because you think you're big tough men, don't mean you are! You will learn how to move properly on your feet, improving your agility, balance, and strength coordination. You start tomorrow and are fortunate enough to be taught by the greatest ballet dancer in the state and a student at this school. Dismissed,"

Fuck

(a/n: ok wow first chapter! hoped you guys liked it, I promise the next chapter will be more interesting. I will try and have it out soon! ♡︎♡︎)

#tlou #abby anderson #abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #x reader #ellie williams #joel miller #first chapter #im nervy #i hope u likey #athlete!abby #football!abby

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creatchie8 · 1 year

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Matching Set

Summary: It was easy to hide away from telling people your truth, until you met a certain man on a Sunday night at the bar you worked at.

Pairing: Bob Floyd/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI! (18+), explicit smut, oral sex, p in v sex

Word Count: 21,000

10:38 PM, Sunday

“You know…” You said as you squeezed the dish sponge under the hot water at the double stainless steel sink, “You really treated your guy friend like total shit back there.”

You half jokingly laughed to Penny as you two finished up tonight's dishes. Baked mac and cheese. Incredibly tasty buy oh so cemented to the glassware you were slaving away at.

Penny chuckled at your comment as she expertly dried some deep blue drinking glasses with a lemon yellow rag, “He should have paid attention to my rules. It's not my fault he can't read.” She grinned devilishly and you just rolled your eyes.

You had heard your aunt talk a few times about Maverick, how he was sweet but at the same time an ignorant fuck. But truthfully, that is all you could get out of her. She chalked it up every time to an old flame, but you suspected that it was always still dimly lit within her by the faint fondness that lingered in her eyes.

Even when she would say the ‘ignorant fuck’ part she often smiled as if she was enjoying a sweet moment.

The final bit of cheesy crust dissolved within the now seemingly boiling water and you were free. Humming as you handed the glassware off to Penny to dry and then tossing your sponge next to the soap dispenser. The dish cloth was rough as you dried your hands with it, then handing it to Penny to dry hers off next.

Nights like this were nice.

Not that you didn't like it when sweet Amelia hung around you two instead of scurrying off to get out of chores, but being alone to talk about ‘grown up stuff’ was refreshing. The creamy yellow kitchen light flickered slightly as the two of you settled back down at the table again.

You were really blessed to live in a nice house like this, especially with people who loved you.

Penny propped her head up on her palm as she looked at you, “You seemed to get along really well with that girl back there.” she smiled.

Your fingers were busy picking at a knob in the wood grain, “Phoenix? Oh yeah. I don't even know what got into me.” You reminisced about the night, “She just ordered a beer and then we started talking. She's really funny.” You leaned back in the wooden chair and laughed, “She’s here on some top secret mission. Even when she got tipsy she still wouldn't tell me what it was about.”

Every so often a woman in uniform will come and hang at The Hard Deck. It is always refreshing when they do, especially when they are as sweet as Phoenix is. She came in with a few people trailing behind her, all of them comfortably chatting. You noticed that Phoenix seemed to lead them, not in a commanding way, but in a trustworthy way that really intrigued you.

Maybe her trustworthy aura and warm smile is what got you talking to her so quickly, because soon after she ordered a beer you two exchanged a greeting and some more conversation that led to her asking if you worked tomorrow night, then inviting you to hang out with her and her friends when you could get a chance.

“You know what I say about slacking on the job, hun.” Penny tsked and shook her head.

You knew she didn't mean it. Deep down she was happy that you were socializing.

Especially when you haven't found a friend to hang around since you got here, and you have been here since when? A freshman in university, and now you are twenty-two with your aunt and a fourteen year old girl as your two best friends. You cringed at the thought.

Both of your heads perked up at the sound of laughs coming from said teenager’s room.

Still cringing, you heaved yourself up and out of the chair, the legs squeaking against the floor as you pushed it back into the table. “I better head off to bed. Don't let Amelia bully you into letting her stay up later.” you smirked and left the kitchen, but not before you heard Penny snort, “What? But I wanna be a fun mom!” she whined sarcastically and got up herself.

The door to your bedroom was cracked slightly open like how you left it this afternoon before you went to work at The Hard Deck. It was smaller compared to the other two rooms, but that is because before you came here it used to be an office.

Penny had insisted multiple times that Amelia did not need her huge room, that it would go to much better use if you had it. But honestly, you loved the reclusiveness of your room. It was tucked away at the end of the hall next to the downstairs bathroom.

An optimal spot to claim the bathroom first on busy school mornings.

Thank god you didn’t live with your little brother anymore. It was like he had a sixth sense when you would attempt to go to the bathroom, always running out of wherever he was hiding at breakneck speed to push you out of the way (he grew about a foot and a half at eleven and has had a mischievous personality since four) and locked the door.

You flipped on the light switch and flopped into bed, still smelling like stale beer and cheap military man cologne. You should take a shower, like, now. Groaning as you kicked off your shoes, you sat up and looked with heavy lids around the decorated room. Much more homey than all your other usually shared rooms growing up.

The bedtime checklist formed in your head as you sat there in heavy silence. With the window cracked a bit you could hear the waves crashing outside, deep blue and full of memories from your time in California.

Tonight was fun. You weren't going to doubt the laughs you had with Phoenix and her other teammates she introduced you to, even if you did only stay behind the bar and serve them alcohol and bar food.

The Hard Deck catered to all things military, and with that comes two main reactions to a young woman like you serving alcohol. Being completely ignored or basically being immediately proposed to by the single (and sometimes taken) men. You had gotten used to it at this point.

How to act (sweet), how to dress (revealing, but leaving much up to the imagination), just to get a little something extra added to the tip jar (Navy men are bad tippers so it wasn't much more).

Sighing as you got up and strode over to your closet and picked out the first comfortable thing you found. Along you brought a shower cap and body lotion to the bathroom. You saw somewhere online that your hair would get healthier if you didnt wash it super often, and that you should be refreshing it with dry shampoo.

It worked for thousands of other people, so why not you?

In the bathroom you undressed and cranked the shower handle until you were sure it was set at a hot temperature. It was always a gamble with the downstairs bathroom.

While you waited you leaned against the white wood vanity and looked at your reflection. Sometimes, you hate looking in the mirror. Maybe it wasn't the mirror, but instead your appearance you hated. Scars littered your body, nothing major but nicks that reminded you of a past life. Feeling angry and miserable, desperately searching for something to satisfy your craving.

Shaking your head, you rubbed your eyes and stopped touching the larger scar on your left hip, jerking your hand away like it burned you.

God, you looked ridiculous with that shower cap on. No matter how far you slid it down or up your forehead it still looked laughable. Finally, you accepted defeat and shrugged, stepping into the now hot water.

Like most people, the shower is a safe space. No one was going to barge in on you asking if you could help them write their book report or ask if you could pick up a shift because one of the servers caught mono.

At least, it hasn't happened yet.

As you washed your body you mentally went over the names of people Phoenix briefly introduced to you at a distance from where she sat at the bar.

Fanboy had a really nice smile, almost boyish and cheeky. Payback is friends with him, and has a great booming laugh.

When Phoenix tried to introduce Hangman and his buddy Coyote, your nose wrinkled in disgust, causing her to laugh at you, taking they had already introduced themselves to you.

Unfortunately, Hangman especially had. Flirting with you shamelessly to a point where you dropped your sweet customer service voice and instead replaced it with a stern snap of, “Get off of my counter and out of my face.” Hangman scoffed and pushed himself off where he was leaning over the bar and sauntered over to the pool table to join Coyote.

Phoenix rolled her eyes in disgust as you told the story and shook her head in disbelief, “He’s a fucking shit head for sure. I won't doubt he’ll get us all killed ” she grumbled before she took a long swig of her drink.

She introduced her WSO last, whose callsign was Bob. Even now in the steamy shower you still think it is an odd callsign. It is simple and easy to say for sure, which is better than a complicated one you guess.

Bob’s glasses were the first thing that caught your attention, as not many who flew the aircraft needed glasses.

You already knew Goose’s kid, Rooster, who had always been nice to you. Well, more than nice to you. You had known him since you had been born, his family close to yours especially after his dad’s passing. He was always like a big brother to you, one who teased you but also made an effort to check in on you when you were struggling.

At this point you were just wasting water and decided to get out. The mirrors were steamy before you wiped them down with a light blue fluffy towel that came from the shelf beside the shower. After you dried yourself thoroughly, you ripped the shower cap off and tossed it onto the counter along with your things.

Even though you hated going to bed sticky, you vowed to always put lotion on after showers because of how dried out your skin got due to the hot temperature of the water.

It's a win lose situation.

Bob had gotten to the bar a little after Hangman and Coyote, but before it had gotten terribly busy. Never did you see him come in, and now that you think about it, you never saw him leave either. But he sure caught your attention.

You were thinking no one was at the bar so you crouched down next to the ice maker with the metal scoop in your hand, ready to do some major damage to the giant chunks that didn't separate.

The metal against the ice had this incredibly satisfying crunching noise, like little shards of glass.

You tossed the scoop with a clang into the ice maker after you had thoroughly finished the massacre and turned around, wiping your wet hands on your jean capris. Looking up from your hands you jolted in surprise as there was a man standing directly on the other side of the bar looking at you intently.

“Oh my god! I'm so sorry,” you breathed, “I didn't even see you come in. What can I get you?” Your hand goes to your chest in an attempt to calm your beating heart.

The man looks startled too, then immediately apologetic, “I’m sorry ma’am, I haven't been here for long.” He visibly gulped, then proceeded to open and close his mouth a few times before saying, “Peanuts?” You blinked at him and his cheeks immediately flush a bright red, “Oh uh.. Nevermind.” He says quickly and goes to turn around.

“Wait! Like, peanuts to eat?” You ask and he nods, the corners of his mouth quirking up the slightest bit. “I have peanuts with the shells still on, it's messy though.” You explain as you raise one eyebrow slightly and he nods again.

“That is alright with me, ma’am. Thank you.” He says as he pushes his silver glasses up the bridge of his nose.

He was slimmer than most of the meat heads who usually frequented the bar. In fact, you had never seen him here before. His Naval uniform was pressed neatly, especially around the collar where you could see his white undershirt peeking above the top buttons. You look at his name plate and see the last name ‘Floyd’.

Okay, nothing to write home about, you thought as you turned to the back of the bar and opened one of the bottom wood cabinets that kept the commercial cardboard box with the peanuts. Grabbing one of the matching cups, you note the other things within the space that are unbelievably messy.

You'll have to clean it up later.

He’s kept his gaze on you this entire time. Normally they don't have the patience to wait a minute or two so you have to chase them down to hand them what they ordered. This pulls a huff and a smile from you. His dirty blond hair is neatly combed over to the side, and not in a greasy way. In a freshly showered way.

He is clean shaven and smells good.

Handing over the full cup, you ask him if he needs anything else. He shakes his head no, smiling at you. “Have a good night, ma’am.” His crooked smile was handsome, and his southern accent was intriguing.

When Bradley showed up after everyone, it brought a huge smile to your face. He was searching the crowds till he saw you and made a beeline to where you stood behind the counter. Of course out of his pressed khakis and in a Hawaiian button up.

“So, are you willing to tell me more about this top secret mission?” You tease, playfully pushing at his broad shoulder. Bradley swatted away your hand, shaking his head. You never knew his dad but gosh, from all the old photos you had seen, Bradley was shaping up to be his exact replica.

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’, “I take it you already tried to pry it out of some poor unsuspecting soldier?” He asked and you solemnly nodded, putting on a show. It made your heart ache that he had eventually grown away from your family, especially after his mother had passed. When you heard the news it was like your heart had sunk through your chest and to the floor.

“Yeah… Phoenix over there is much too smart for my mind tricks.” Your comment made Bradley laugh, glancing over to his new teammates by the pool table. Then, you exchanged a few pleasantries before you served him his alcohol of choice and sent him on his merry way.

Though, the certain man you were looking for had his body hidden behind one of the larger support beams. You knew he was there by the way he shifted his body and eventually took Phoenix's pool stick. Fanboy and him seemed to click instantly, when the game wasn't grabbing his attention, Bob leaned towards the shorter man and conversed intently with him.

At the piano, you admired him more. The goofy way he swung his head to the music, how easily his body interacted with Phoenix's when she tried to get him to dance more, you were captivated by the truly human movement of him.

Shaking your head brought you back to reality. Bob was a strange one. Once your skin is freshly moisturized and ready to get into clean sheets, you proceed to gather your things. A sudden knock at the bathroom door startled you, halting your movements so you could stare at the closed door.

“Hun? Can I ask a favor of you?”

A trapped sigh left your lips at the sound of your aunt’s voice.

“Of course, what is it?” You ask through the door, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Tomorrow, when you go running, could you please take the trash can out to the street? I have to take Amelia to school early and knowing how difficult it will be to get her out of bed I will probably forget.” She laughed, and you snorted, knowing that Penny is not exaggerating how grouchy her daughter is in the morning.

“Totally, good luck with her.” You respond, earning another laugh from Penny. The floor creaks a few seconds later and that is your signal to continue like normal.

After cleaning up the bathroom before heading to bed, you think about what the next night will bring in the darkness of your room.

Penny would let you play a game of pool or two with Phoenix, especially because she seemed to be your first real friend in years.

If it's not too busy of course.

__________________

6:03 AM, Monday

Waking up after a very late night was rough. Even more rough when you’re waking up at six o'clock in the morning.

Why do you do this to yourself?

You're not proving anything to anyone when you wake up at ungodly hours of the morning just to go on a run. But you just do. Running on Mondays and Wednesdays had become a routine ever since you took that Anatomy and Physiology class your sophomore year. You noticed after a while that it hurt less and made you eventually feel better.

So if you stopped now you would lose your streak and have the possibility of making you feel like shit the rest of your life.

Maybe you were just overthinking it now.

Morning runs were just better in a way. You tried running at night when it got cooler, but even with two pepper sprays, you were still paranoid of all the things that would possibly happen to you. The sunrise was also too beautiful to miss, you looked forward to seeing it every time. You had to remind yourself that although it is gorgeous, you do not need to take up all your photo space on your phone with millions of pictures of the ombre sunrise.

Once all of your running gear was on, you snugly put in your earbuds and locked the door behind you. The trash can was a little difficult to drag to the side of the road, same with the recycling. The driveway was slanted upwards going towards the main road, as the house was on a little bit of a slant. Moving to California was the best idea you've ever had in your entire life. The soft sand, the crisp sea, everything just looked perfect when you ran alone.

It was like the downstairs bathroom. No one to ask you what outfit looks good for a school dance, no one to ask to help fill out the accounting books for The Hard Deck.

Amelia was still asleep and Penny had absolutely no desire to run, so it was just you.

Soon, your nose started to drip due to the cool air around you and you wiped it on your light sport jacket sleeve as you jogged.

Teenage you would be in shock how you turned out.

You were the textbook definition of a wild child. Sneaking out to meet boys older than you, skipping school for weeks at a time. You basically became an addict in tenth grade, and all you wanted to do was leave home. The people you surrounded yourself with did not help in the slightest. You all fed off each other and encouraged one another to continue down a self destructive lifestyle.

If your folks hadn’t checked you into rehab, you would be dead by now, and that is ultimately what younger you wanted, was to be dead.

For the longest time you resented your parents for it. Resented them for helping you get better, and for a while you refused to even look at them when they came and saw you, even ignoring your brother who at the time was probably too young to understand why his big sister had gone away.

The hate in your heart was too great at the time to realize that they only wanted to help you.

You checked your watch, which was a pre-graduation gift from Penny. To be honest, you're not much of a watch wearer, but you'd wear it for her. Slowing down to a stop, you looked at the rising sun from the gritty sidewalk as you put your hands on your hips.

It was the barrier between the start of the sand and the residential neighborhood road.

Your lungs burned, which was a side effect from the vigorous exercise and the constant state of burning California always seemed to be in, especially at this time of year. Turning on the news was a bore now. Nothing new except for fires, fires, fires.

But, the ocean was absolutely stunning, as it always is. Stunning in the way it shimmered like a billion little fireflies, the way it smelled (salty, like iodine), and felt (cool humidity kissing your skin). Without realizing it, you found yourself walking across the sand and down to the shore.

Stopping before the wet earth, you took off your running shoes and socks to hold them in your left hand.

It was freezing on your feet, but that is exactly what you needed. It shocked you back to reality, back to the ache in your heart you always have had. The water was up to your knees now and you stopped, staring into the horizon.

Bright, glimmering, water constantly warping the reflection.

How did you go from the life of the party to this sad, depressing woman? Sure, you weren't getting blackout drunk every night and being reckless, but now all your days consist of the same three things.

School. Work. Sleep. Repeat.

Senior year will do that to you, but it won't last forever, Penny always tells you in her motherly voice. You just have to get through this semester then next, then you'll be free to get a job other than The Hard Deck, and maybe, just maybe find a place.

But you never know in a state like California, where the prices are always rising.

You were always tense too. Like a rubber band constantly at its max. Did masturbation count as sex? If not, you were totally a born again virgin. University did not have a good dating pool, because all but two of your classes were online so you were never there.

The Hard Deck was an extremely shallow dating pool, despite all of the flirtatious men throwing themselves at you. But, they would fuck anything with a pulse.

Bob flicks into your mind, and the sudden thought of him startles you. He has really nice hands, you noticed how neat his nails were when you handed him his cup of peanuts.

A few times he lingered near the bar, patiently waiting for you to get to him, never irritated by the long line of people in front of him. When he smiled at you, it was infectious. Never in your life had you been so eager to serve people to get to a specific customer. He had asked for Dr. Pepper with a few pumps of nonalcoholic raspberry syrup, so you pulled out your soda gun and a glass, making light conversation about the projected weather for the rest of the week.

A lull happened in the conversation while you were measuring out the syrup, the both of you completely focused on the drink.

“Your bracelets are very nice.” Bob said suddenly, catching you off guard.

“Oh, thanks!” You smiled and grabbed a clean bar spoon, “All Walmart I’m afraid, nothing designer here.” You laughed and gestured to your wrist where the metal chains hung. He laughed too, causing a warm feeling to bloom in your chest.

The veins in his forearms snaked up to his biceps and under his sleeves. Bob was handsome in a classical way. Like he would be a lord in some period drama tv show.

You definitely were not staring intently at the muscles in his arms when he was playing pool. Totally not fixed on the way his shoulders pulled at the fabric and made it stretch over them when he leaned down to take a shot.

When he blushed, it didn’t just stop at his cheeks. It trails down his neck and probably down his chest.

Your hands fly to your face in embarrassment, you have to stop thinking about this right now. Bob and you didn't even know each other! What makes it even worse is you are definitely going to see him tonight at the bar.

This is so fucked up, and you are for sure a sad lonely born again virgin.

The running shoes squelched just slightly as you put your feet in them after you got out of the water. Your legs were numb. The socks didn't do a very good job of soaking up the water on your feet but you didn't care. All you cared about was getting back home fast, even if you puke from the effort.

You had to get him out of your head.

Unfortunately, the puking did not happen when you got back to the house. You had hoped slightly that you would have, because then you could feign sickness and get out of going to work tonight. But it was easier pulling the two waste bins down the cement slope and to the side of the house.

“Penny! Penny, I'm home!” You shouted as you sorted through the mail on the kitchen table. Just bills, nothing special. Except for a neon orange sticky note on the fridge that caught your eye as you looked up.

Going to the grocery store,

text me if you need anything.

XOXO Penny

“You know, she could have just texted me that.” You chuckle to yourself as you walk down the hall and to your room. Amelia had already gone to school so you were completely alone in the house, which was usual for this time of day.

Classes and homework dragged by slowly for the next few hours. Not all of your classes had set online meeting times but some did, like the class you were in now. Thankfully, the teacher allows students to keep their mic and video off so no one has to see your disgruntled self doing anything but paying attention.

You then had a quick zoom meeting with your advisor, who assured you that you are on the right path to graduate this upcoming semester, spring. She helped you pick out the final classes needed to graduate and she sent you on your merry way.

It was finally happening. All the hard work you spent on each and every class was finally paying off, even if you did take an extra year to graduate. From your office chair you could see your tiny little closet that had no door, and you were already mentally picking out what you wanted to wear with your cap and gown. It would have to match navy and yellow, as those were school colors of U of C San Diego.

You should take Amelia into the city and go dress shopping with her when you get the time.

Did Bob ever go to college? It seemed unlikely by how young he looked. Maybe he was taking some online classes through like Purdue, weren't they known for being able to do that kind of thing? You had seen so many commercials for it and even considered applying there yourself before getting a good scholarship to U of C San Diego.

The next few hours drag by and your eyes are tired from reading some guy’s thesis on… something. You weren't sure at this point. The front door opens and slams shut before you hear feet running to your bedroom door. Two-thirty, Amelia’s home. You whip around to your bed and scan the room for inappropriate objects Amelia might see and you sigh in relief as you find none.

The bedroom door swings open and you smile at the fourteen year old in your doorway.

She grins back and goes to jump on your bed, which she swears is the comfiest place in the whole house.

“Hey girly, no shoes on the bed.” You warn as she starts climbing up onto it. She complies and kicks off her sneakers before completely messing up your blankets in an attempt to get comfy.

“How was school? Wasn't it one of your teachers' last days?” You ask as you turn to your desk and shut off your laptop.

“Mrs. Panchak? Yeah she's having her baby. I dont think I'm going to miss her though.” she says, her eyes on her phone, “School was fine. Nothing special, but Julia got her braces on over the weekend. She said they hurt even today.” Amelia mumbles off handedly, clearly distracted by something on her phone.

Penny liked to tease her for how glued she is to it, but you're just glad she has fun chatting with her friends even after the school day ends.

You slap your thighs and get up to stretch, your shoulders popping from being hunched over for the past however long. “Hey, where’s your mom?” You ask, scrunching your eyebrows. Penny hadn't come in yet, and you didn't notice because of school.

“Out with the boat, she texted me a while ago.” Amelia says and moves over so you can sit next to her.

“So how come she texts you can not me?” You ask, feigning hurt and Amelia shrugs, laughing, “Maybe she likes me more than you?” Groaning in fake pain you lean heavily on Amelia who laughs harder and then proceeds to push you off of her.

After bugging Amelia with more questions about school, you get up and convince her to come into the kitchen with you. Amelia requests a snack without chicken in it, as she had school lunch and today it was a ‘soggy gross chicken thing’ in her words. So you decide to make cheese quesadillas.

Colby jack for her and pepper jack for you. Amelia shows you funny videos on her phone while the two of you eat. After she runs out of videos to show you, Amelia then goes on to show you her wishlist on some clothing websites, asking if her mom would buy it for her or if she had to do more chores to get money.

She rolled her eyes so hard you thought they would get stuck in the back of her head when you unfortunately broke the news to her that Penny definitely would not be buying her the clothes without chores.

Finally, it is time to head over to the bar. It opens at five and you like to be there at least half an hour early to set up. Penny is not too fond of the idea of Amelia staying home alone for too long, despite her daughter’s pleadings. So she regularly comes with you to do her homework at the bar.

Thankfully, your hair wasn't a huge mess so you just spritzed that dry shampoo into your roots and mussed it around a bit before changing into some comfy jeans (that hugged your ass nicely) and a pretty knitted blouse that wouldn't make you too hot or cold while working. Then of course your trusty work sneakers.

They were actually marketed as nurses shoes online but that drew you in even more at the prospect of not wanting to chop your feet off at the end of every shift because they hurt so bad. So far, they worked pretty dang well.

The two of you hopped into your car and drove to The Hard Deck after you made sure Amelia took her backpack with so she could get some work done while she was there. It was always so weird to see the bar completely deserted. Your car was the only one there in the tiny parking lot as the two of you walked up to the double doors.

You let Amelia unlock them as she does every time she comes with you and the two of you walk in, breathing the scent of stale beer and wood.

Thankfully, Amelia gets straight to work at the bar so you have time to prepare for the upcoming night. There was always so much to be done.

A while later, the doors open and a man comes in, who you then recognize to be Maverick. You smile and finish wiping down the table you were working on.

“You know, the bar doesn't open until five, Mav.” You chuckle as he walks over to you.

“I know, I was just here to give your aunt something, is she here?” he asks as he pulls out a wad of cash from his jacket pocket. Your eyes widen at the sight and you take the tiniest step back, “Woah, you really didn't need to bring that here, I’m serious.”

“No, I insist.” Mav says firmly and hands over the cash to you.

You look up at him apologetically, “Thank you, I will let her know you came. She's going to be here a bit after five, and you're welcome to stay.” You offer as you walk over to the till and start placing the bills in their rightful place, then make sure Penny closed his tab last night.

“I think I might come back a bit later, nice seeing you again.” He smiles and leaves the two of you in the empty bar after talking to Amelia for a little bit, obviously amazed at how big she had gotten since the last time he had seen her.

__________________

6:24 PM, Monday

Oldies music and the conversations of people rang in your ears as you and Penny whirled around one another, serving people from all sides of the bar, opening tabs, and cleaning up spilled drinks. It was unusually busy for a Monday night, there must be a lot of people in town.

When you looked outside, the sun was setting, and it was just barely a sliver floating on the ocean.

A bit ago you saw Phoenix through the crowd, her sharp elbows jabbing at people who pushed against her. She was followed by Payback and Fanboy. And Bob. Unfortunately.

Your heart dropped straight through you as soon as you saw him, it was like a bucket of ice had been dropped on you.

Why were you even acting this way? He had literally never done anything to you. Just asked for a couple of fucking peanuts and complimented your bracelets. Which you had made sure to wear tonight, for some reason.

When your eyes meet Phoenix’s, she smiles a soft smile and dips her head in greeting before heading over to her spot at the pool tables. Her eyebrows had a crease in between them, as if something was deeply worrying her. Even though you too had smiled at her, it was quickly dropped as you had another customer snapping his fingers for your attention.

What a fucking asshole.

Half listening to his order, you watched the four of them settle at the pool table. They were all wearing civilian clothes tonight. It was interesting to see them all in outfits that expressed their own personalities. Like Bob. His long sleeve plaid button up sleeves were pushed over his elbows.

The veins in his forearms were raised and the muscles there flexed as he played pool.

You wondered how calloused his hands were from working.

This was a mess.

The night continued and Phoenix checked in on you a few times, always coming back to request more alcohol too.

“Probably can't play pool tonight, huh?” Sipping on her drink as she sat in front of you, cleaning some shot glasses with a rag.

“Maybe later. You never know with Mondays. Sometimes they are completely dead, and others busy,” you look around, “like this.” Your lips pressed together in a thin smile as you place the dry glasses upside down on a clean dish towel. Phoenix tsked and downed her glass of pretty amber whiskey.

She was drinking far more than last night, and so had the other people in her squad.

Her cheeks were ruddy and a few strands of her beautiful dark hair brushed her shoulders where they escaped the knot of the back of her head. You dared not ask about today. Everyone was looking in pretty rough shape, and they all seemed to have one permanent crease between their brows that Phoenix sported.

“So, is Bob a good partner?” you ask cautiously as you start placing the glasses under the bar, looking down so you can’t see her face. She shifts in her seat and leans her elbows on the counter.

“Yeah! He’s great. Real nice guy, super smart too. But he gets stepped on too easily, Hangman was giving him shit while we were flying today.” She scoffs, sounding annoyed. You look back up at her, a bit of relief washing through you that Bob is a confirmed nice man.

“Jeez, like what was he saying to him?” You ask, still taken aback that a grown man would belittle and pick on another like a child.

“Oh the normal dumb things. Snarky remarks about his glasses, his callsign too. Called him baby on board. God, what a freak. Like yes, Bob is a weird callsign, Robert is his real name so I feel kinda bad he didn't get a creative name.” Phoenix griped, clearly pissed off from today. It was actually almost funny how she was acting, the alcohol making her more animated and loose-lipped.

“Someone needs to knock him down a peg.” You mutter and she nods in agreement.

Phoenix asks for two more cups of the amber whiskey, eliciting a raised eyebrow from you. “Not for me.” She groans in an almost animated way, “I promised some others I would bring them back something too.”

She was most definitely tipsy, not surprising after all the drinks she had tonight. Were the others getting drunk too? Looking over you saw that the lot of them were more relaxed than they were when they arrived, laughing freely with one another, and for once Hangman was not making snide remarks, but instead swinging his arm around Phoenix’s shoulders in a friendly manner when she arrived with his drink.

Bob was relaxed too. A plastic water bottle in one hand and the other resting above his head and on one of the wooden support beams. He no longer stood straight and formal, but slouched slightly and leaned his weight on one foot. But god, his ass looked really nice in those bootcut jeans.

The night went on and the crowd thinned out a bit. Penny was casually chatting with a regular when you came up beside her to put some liquor away. She stopped you with a hand on your elbow.

“Hey, I can hold down the ship if you wanna go over there and hang.” She nods in the direction of the pool table, where currently Phoenix is whipping the guys asses in the game. Smiling meekly as you finish putting away the bottles, you shrug, leaning on the counter next to her.

“I’d rather not. Feels awkward to barge in on their game.” Looking in their general direction, “Plus, they are all very much not sober, and I would have to become a sober driver-friend.” Penny looks at you in a confused way, like she had no clue why you wouldn't jump at the opportunity to finish work early and play a game of pool. A customer raps his knuckles on the bar top at the other end, so you smile sheepishly at her to go serve him.

It’s not until a while later when you look up from organizing that damn peanut cupboard when you see the crew huddled around the jukebox, loudly arguing about music. It is not aggressive arguing, you breathe a sigh of relief at that.

Turning your attention back to the many other shelves that needed the same deep organizing treatment.

A whistle snaps you out of your cleaning trance and you stand up, knees creaking as you straighten them in your capris. You tilt your head to one side in an attempt to stretch it, as the concentration on the cupboards caused a crick in your neck.

Quickly pasting on a cheery smile, you turn over your left shoulder to greet the customer standing at the bar. Your smile falters a bit as you realize it is Hangman who called you over, his white teeth gleaming against his tanned skin.

“What can I get for you?” You ask, your friendly demeanor slipping the tiniest bit.

“Not happy to see me?” Hangman asks, his signature smirk growing bigger.

“Well although you are charming, you aren't really my type.” You leaned on the countertop, inhaling the spicy scent of his cologne.

“Not your type?” Challenge rose in his eyes, “You haven't even met me darlin’.”

“I’ve met enough of you to know that I am not coming home with you.” You say matter of factly, shifting your weight to one side. You could tell that despite your words of protest, Hangman took it as a game to play now.

“Not coming home with me?” He dropped his voice lower, a large warm hand catching your wrist, “Who said I wouldn't mind going to my truck?”

Rolling your eyes, you pulled your wrist back, his fingertips dragging along the skin of your hand. “Listen Hangman-”

“It’s Jake. Call me Jake.” He interrupted, drumming his fingers on the bar top. The yellow lights behind him made it look like a halo was surrounding him. You scoffed.

“Jake,” You start, annoyed that he had cut you off, “It’s going to take a lot more than you batting your eyelashes to get in my pants.” You wrinkle your nose and hope the interaction between the two of you wasn't going to cause a scene.

A hopeful glimmer shone in his eyes. “So, what will get me into-” Jake starts, interrupted by a heavy hand on his shoulder. The two of you look over his shoulder, both equally in shock as you see two familiar faces behind him.

“Dude, leave the lady alone. She has more to worry about than getting with your sorry ass.” Fanboy quipped, his dark eyes watching the two of you as he stood by Bob. As Hangman stood up to his full height and turned around, Bob’s hand fell from his shoulder.

You could see his jaw muscles flexing as Hangman came nose to nose with him. You had expected Bob to shrink back, to let Hangman overpower him. But he stood his ground, fists clenching by his sides. It was like how cats act before a fight. Bristled and taught, their ears back as they stare each other down.

“Hangman was just leaving!” You say quickly, exchanging a worried glance to Fanboy, who took the hint and pressed his palm to Hangman’s chest, which snapped both him and Bob out from their staring contest.

“I’m cool, I’m cool.” Hangman assures Fanboy with a grimace, holding his hands up in defense as he backs away from the two of them, walking stiffly back to the pool table.

Fanboy laughs and slaps Bob’s back, urging him to sit next to him at the bar as he sat in a seat in front of you.

“Jesus! I had no idea you had it in you.” Fanboy says, a huge smile on his face as Bob joined him, his confidence dissolved almost completely now. You smile at the two of them, trying to shake the nervousness from your body. “A beer for me and-” He looks at Bob who shakes his head with a tight smile, “Nothing for my friend here.” Fanboy says as his attention is turned back to you.

Nodding, you walk over to the cooler and pull it out, your legs slightly wobbly from the adrenaline rush you just experienced. The brown bottle was icy and wet in your hands before you dried it with a rag that was hanging halfway off the bartop.

“You know, I was handling the situation just fine.” You said as you strode back over to the two of them, handing the uncapped beer to Fanboy who took a drink immediately upon placing it into his outstretched hand. Bob pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, placing his elbows and forearms on the bar.

There is that blush again, kissing the tops of his ears and cheeks. You remembered what you thought about at the beach, how you wondered if the redness crept below his plaid top.

“Just fine? Dude, he looked like he was going to eat you alive!” Fanboy laughs, nudging Bob with his elbow, “Plus, it was Romeo over here's idea. He saw you two and just about had an aneurysm!” Fanboy was rambling now and you laughed, turning your attention to Bob who looked utterly humiliated, eyes trained on his hands.

“Well, thank you for looking out for me. But really, I had it under control.” You say and place a hand softly on Bob’s, his eyes quickly looking up into yours. Impossibly, his blush deepened and he gave you a soft unsure smile. Fanboy noticed the tension between the two of you and excused himself with a snicker.

You watch him leave, brushing off what he might think about you and Bob.

“You sure I can't get anything for you?” You ask as you turn your attention back to Bob. The silver of his glasses glinted against the dim bar light, reflecting the tiniest bit onto his skin.

Once you had spent part of your summer in the middle of nowhere, Nevada with some extended family. The days were hot and long, baking the dry desert earth and plants. Sage was abundant there, the light green leaves clustering in thick patches along hiking trails.

That is exactly what Bob smelled like, sun baked sage.

His calloused hands shifted under yours, making you realize that yours was still resting on his. You remove them and shoot him an apologetic look. “No thank you ma’am. I hope you have a good rest of your night.” He says simply, tipping his head towards yours as a goodbye, that unsure smile still on his lips.

“Wait!” You call out, maybe a little too loud as a few nearby heads turn to look at you momentarily before returning back to their own lives.

Bob turns back around slowly, clearly confused as he makes his way back to you, wringing his hands together. That same yellow light that shone behind Jake was behind Bob, reflecting off the corners of his glasses. The halo was much more fitting for him.

“I just have to ask, if you don't mind me asking.” Pausing, you watched him sit, “What does your callsign mean? It is just so different and I-” You cut yourself off as you stare into his eyes, “I am just curious.” You finish, observing his fidgety behavior.

“It’s a long story.” He starts, “I am sure you are much too busy.” Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, “I don't want to bother you.”

Turning over your shoulder to Penny, you catch her eye and smile, “I’m gonna take a break, is that okay?” You ask and she nods, grinning at you before heading over to the computer situated in one of the corners of the bar top.

“There. Not too busy now.” You felt confident when you looked at him, wiping your hands off on your jeans before heading to the little cut out exit and towards him. Bob was frozen where he was, seemingly shocked you were leaving your responsibilities to hear his story. Leaning on your elbow next to him, you asked, “Wanna stay in here or go outside? It’s cooled off now.”

Bob ponders your question for a moment, looking around at all the people still left in the bar, “Outside I think, it's too hot in here.” You watch his Adam's apple jump before getting up. You lead the way to the doors outside, all your focus on what lies ahead and not the other people around you.

It is as cool as you imagined, the humidity unmistakable and clinging to you. But the soft breeze felt nice on the deck. The door shut behind Bob, blocking out some of the noise inside. Pulling out a shabby plastic chair from an equally shabby table, you sit down and urge him to do the same.

Dark water engulfs most of your sight when looking out towards the moon. Just a silver half and resting on a bed of clouds, like it is going to bed as well. Your gaze pulls from the sight and back to him, surprised he had been staring at you the whole time.

“Do you like being a WSO? You must be pretty good at it since you are here.” You start, shifting under his gaze. The sharp surge of confidence was fading quickly.

“Oh, uh, yeah I do. I have always been more into the technical side of things so it is really nice to be able to do that and be in the plane.” Bob answers, itching the side of his nose as he talks. The soft light made pretty reflections off his glasses.

Nodding, you smiled at his answer. He was probably really smart in highschool… and college if he was in it. In general too, he looked smart.

“So, Bob. How does one get that name?” Phoenix’s voice echos in your head, Snarky remarks about his glasses, his callsign too. Called him baby on board. God, what a freak… Quickly, you shoot him a genuine smile to let him know you were interested in his story, not here to humiliate him.

“I uh- well-” He stutters, eyes downcast as he struggles to start, “Well I’ll just start like this, you know that one song?” He pauses and you raise an eyebrow, signaling him to go on.

“You know, that one song by OutKast? B.O.B., Bombs Over Baghdad?” He asks, his voice wavering the tiniest bit. You nod, familiar with the song. It was released in two thousand, but made itself present to the American public on nine-eleven, becoming an anthem for war against the middle east. That’s all you really knew, it was referenced frequently in The Hard Deck when tensions were high between the two countries. Hell, even your dad had referenced it when you were growing up.

“Yeah I do, I’ve heard it a few times, it is quite popular with the military, right?” You ask, your voice becoming quiet. It is and will always be a touchy subject for people here.

“People made the correlation that Bob is a nickname for Robert, my real name, and it just stuck.” He says further, “But-” He adds quickly, as if he was trying to explain himself, “But, I want you to know that although it is what my callsign is, that song wasn’t originally made out to be pro-war. OutKast is a very anti-war band.”

The crashing waves were soft behind his voice, it was accompanying him like an instrument.

Bob shifts in his chair, his eyes wide and unmoving from your face like an owl, “I prefer to think of myself as the interpretation that came out before uhm, nine-eleven.” His voice had gotten quiet too.

Nodding, a light smile returned to your face, “No, I totally get it. I could see how confusing it is having that callsign when it is so iconic in the military but not for the reason you personally want it to be.” Bob visibly relaxed at your words, his tense shoulders slumping to their normal position. He nods and hums in agreement. It was clear he put in a lot of thought over his callsign. Probably mulled it over in his mind for a while.

Neither of you said anything for a while, just letting your eyes roam over one another.

You broke the silence first, “I wonder what kind of weather we will be having tomorrow?”

“Hot.” Bob answers simply. You hum in agreement back.

After work, Penny tried to get you to eat dinner, but you declined, making a beeline to your bedroom and shutting the door for the rest of the night, mumbling something about homework and class. Which was true, you did have to commute forty-five minutes to your eight AM class.

Sleep was horrible, you just laid in bed and stared with wide eyes at the ceiling, replaying the moment over and over again. Was Bob doing the same? He seems like the type of guy to have a strict bedtime at nine PM, and to have a lengthy bedtime ritual.

What does he wear to bed? He seems like a matching set kind of guy (he presents himself too nicely to not care about his outward appearance). But what if he slept just in his underwear (boxer briefs or boxer shorts)?

The thought makes you groan, flipping your body so you are laying on your stomach.

Your head presses into your pillow, tempted to scream. This was so ridiculous. It was literally like you were in middle school having a crush. You are twenty-two for god sake.

__________________

7:05 AM, Tuesday

Sleep comes slow, and too soon you hear your alarm clock buzzing at you. Eyes puffy, mouth dry, you felt like shit. The light from the rising sun filtered through your curtains and made a light stain on your sheets. Rolling to a sitting position, you try to will yourself to get up.

Academic success is important to me. Academic success is important to me.

The mantra barely worked, but you found yourself able to shove your legs into some leggings and a light, flowy top. A jacket would probably be nice too, you think as you go back to your closet and sift around the hangers, till you find a black U of C branded quarter zip and throw it over your head.

This will have to do.

Penny is sitting on the couch, drinking what appears to be coffee and watching the morning news on mute. It was unusual to see her awake at this hour of the morning.

Leaning on the back of the couch with your water bottle in hand, she looks up at you with a weary smile.

“Couldn't sleep?” you ask, opening your bottle and taking a drink. Penny nods, “You too?” She asks and sips at her own mug.

“What? Could you tell by my unbelievably dark circles and bags under my eyes?” You say sarcastically before you screw the cap back on and put it in your backpack. Penny chuckles and pats the hand you have resting on the backrest of the couch.

“Hey, I know today is your day off-” She paused and your jaw clenched, lips tightening to form a thin line.

“Who called in sick?” You ask before she can finish, shifting your weight off the couch so you were fully standing up behind her.

“Olivia did. I would really appreciate it if you filled in for her.” She set her coffee down on the small side table, “Free food, remember?” Penny said as she turned to face you, her normally penciled eyebrows scrunching together in a pleading look.

A moment goes by before you let out a huff, a tiny smile gracing your features.

“Course I will. What time?”

__________________

2:31 PM, Tuesday

It smelled like fresh citrus when you got home, the sea blue wax warmer still on while it sat on the kitchen counter.

Lazily, you let your backpack slip off your shoulders and onto the floor, nudging it with your foot to the side of the entryway, promising yourself to pick it up before you leave.

Even though no one was in the house to witness you coming home, you still made a show of dragging your feet to the bathroom, comically groaning and muttering all the way there.

The shower scalded your skin, and you were pretty sure there were third degree burns developing on your back. Today was supposed to be your day off. Hadn’t you received enough bad luck already? You opened your eyes and stared at the water emptying down the drain. You wish you could melt under the water and get washed down there too.

If you were unlucky enough, you would see Bob today as well, and considering how today has gone, you could easily predict your future. Flashes of the night before enter your memory.

His eyes burning a hole into your soul, how he barely knew you yet injected himself between you and Hangman- which you had under control- but still. The thought of him feeling protective over you was enough to make your knees wobble. Maybe you were getting soft on account of not having anyone be interested in you besides your body.

Sage filled your nose when you got close to him, the smell smooth as it filled your lungs.

Closing your eyes again, imagining the previous night in full color.

Your hands went up your body and to your breasts, squeezing them hard.

It was easy to imagine him before you, sinking to his knees while his large hands explored your body, his lips kissing every square inch of you. It was as easy as breathing. You had no idea what he looked like under his naval khakis or jeans, but you assumed he was lean and strong. More lithe and limber rather than severely muscled up and bulging.

Your quick fingers trailed down your body and to your clit, legs automatically spreading eagerly. Starting out in smooth, languid circles, tipping your head back and out of the spray of water.

Already you ached with want as you imagined quiet, unassuming Bob taking the place of your fingers, looking up at you with those blue doe eyes. Your fingers hastened and your other hand met your core, pruney fingers slipping with ease in between your folds.

If you want to be at The Hard Deck on time, you should hurry up.

The voice in the back of your head warned, but it was quickly taken over by a vision of Bob laying you down gently against your plain cotton sheets, the smell of summer in the air.

Two of your fingers slip in with ease, starting at a medium pace, crooked and already coaxing pleasure from you.

He was above you, inside you, the feeling of being full almost too much. You lean against the cold of the tile shower wall, all thoughts of getting clean completely out of your head now. Imagining the look on his face, twisted is pure pleasure sends you into a frenzy, massaging your clit faster as you finger fucked yourself. Your hands were cramping, which realistically would hurt, but you were too consumed by your fantasy to stop.

Breaths gasping and stuttering, you thought of him in every compromising position with you, the balloon within you getting filled with more and more air, waiting to burst.

What eventually sends you over the edge is him right in your ear, moaning and whining your name, the way it rolls off his tongue purely immaculate, and you're convinced his voice was made just for you.

Your head flies back, the air punched out of your lungs and your core fluttering. Thank god you were leaning against the wall, because you surely would have collapsed on account of your thighs actively shaking and quivering.

__________________

9:45 PM, Tuesday

The yellow tinted light in the single toilet bathroom paints you in an unattractive bright beige. Under your nails stung from trying to scrub underneath them with the opposite hand’s nails. You were absolutely exhausted, mentally drained, physically beat if you will.

Thank god it was closing time though, the crowd nearly gone at the time of you excusing yourself to hide in the bathroom. You just needed to get away for just one second before you had to face the closing chores with Penny.

A buzz in your back pocket alerted you, causing you to turn off the silver knobs and flicking your hands before tearing off a sheet of brown paper towel. It was so thin it almost disintegrated in your hands.

After throwing it away in the dingey trash can, you leaned against the sink counter away from the mirror so you didn't have to see the sallowness of your completion, pulling out your phone.

Penny:

Leaving with Pete right now, can you finish up? Doesn’t have to be spotless. See you at home :)

Reading the text elicited a groan from you, shoving the phone back into your pocket without responding. No, it wouldn’t be a problem to close up by yourself, you had done it millions of times in the past.

It was just lonely having to finish, the only thing to keep you company was the jukebox in the corner, but even that too had to get unplugged sometime.

Taking a deep sigh, you push yourself off the counter and to the dark wood door. You stared at the gold knob for a second, wondering if you could hide away in here for a few more minutes. The thick smell of Hawaiian Aloha Febreze suddenly made itself known to you, and you evacuated the bathroom. Gosh, why did Penny like that smell so much?

If they made it into perfume you were sure she would have a never ending supply of it.

The supply closet was at the very end of the hall, the door rickety with a very flimsy lock on it. Right at your forehead hung a black plastic sign with white block letters, ‘Employees Only’. You grabbed the off brand bleach sitting on the shelf level with your knees, and a fading red bucket that had some dry rags hanging over the side.

Slowly, you uncapped the bleach bottle and poured a splash or two into the bucket, trying to avoid inhaling the strong odor.

The jukebox was now playing quieter, the rush of the crowd completely gone. You hummed along with the song that was playing as you walked to the doorframe at the end of the hall, making sure to step up on the three inch ledge at the opening. Too many times you had forgotten about the tiny step, and ate shit.

Not to mention it would be a complete disaster if you spilled the bleach on the wood floor.

You scanned the bar, relieved when you saw that no one was here. Not even a severely inebriated straggler left by their friends.

This had to be some sort of record!

You smiled to yourself, imagining a little plaque with tonight’s date on it, saying something like, ‘Hard Deck Record - No Stragglers To Call An Uber For’ or something stupid to monument today.

A chair creaked and you snapped your head to its general direction, all hopefulness leaving your body. It scraped against the wood floor and you walked over, preparing a stern voice to tell the remaining patron to leave. To your surprise, it wasn't just any old customer, but Bob.

Why did you choose this day to masturbate to his pretty face?

There he was, standing awkwardly next to one of the support beams, his chair hidden behind it. Both of you stood there for a moment before you broke the connection, heading over to the bar to fill up the rest of the bucket with warm water.

“Did you lose something?” You ask over the sound of the faucet, eyes trained on the slowly filling bucket. You could see out of the corner of your eye that he was walking towards you, but never going behind the bar. The last thing you wanted was to look at him, to show some sort of hint that you were interested in him.

“No I uh-” He rubbed the back of his neck, watching your every move, “Penny was leaving with Maverick and I felt bad that you were going to be here by yourself. So I asked if I could stay.”

You looked at him, eyebrows furrowed as you stopped the faucet, using your fingers to swirl the water around. The rags plop in after being hit by your wrist. You were surprised he had offered to stay, even more surprised that Penny had let him. Mav must’ve assured her that he wasn't trouble and could be trusted.

Bob notices your confused expression, “I’ll help clean of course!” He says hurriedly, trying to assure you he wasn't going to just dick around while you worked. That brought the tiniest smile to your face. Sure, lots of guys tried to hang around after your shift.

But as soon as you shoved a broom in their hands, they were out of here quicker than a chicken on a junebug.

“Well, that is awfully sweet of you.” You smile, genuinely thankful he stuck around. Still, heat pooled lower in your stomach. Was it nervousness or arousal? You couldn't tell.

Bob was wearing another button up today. In his signature style of course, with the sleeves rolled up just above his elbows.

“Do you want anything to drink? It’s on me.” You say as you fish out a rag, wringing it out before setting it on the bartop in front of Bob, making small circles and watching the mixture bead up on the acrylic. You still refused to look at him, which was childish in a way.

But you were almost positive that if you did, he would be able to tell what you did in the shower.

Maybe you were just too superstitious.

“No thank you. I don’t drink actually.” Bob states, his voice quieter now that he was in such close proximity to you. There was that damn sage smell again.

“Religious?” You ask, finally looking at his impossibly blue eyes, “Not that it’s a bad thing.” You add on quickly, not wanting to offend him.

Bob chuckles softly, the noise almost startling you. Have you ever heard that noise from him before? It seemed so unlike his nervous and observant composure. “Not exactly. At first, yes I was religious. But now I don’t drink because it messes with my head.” He explains, now watching your hand, which had slowed its scrubbing to a snail’s pace.

“What do you mean, ‘at first’?”

“Well, I grew up in Oklahoma, which is in the bible belt of the United States. Southern Baptist to be exact. My whole family is, but soon after I left for the Navy, I stopped practicing.” Bob was now sitting in the stool in front of you, hands clasped between the two of you.

“Just grew apart.” You concluded for him, “So, tell me then. Why do you have a southern accent?” Your question was serious, but Bob just looked at you, bewilderment on his face.

“People in Oklahoma have southern accents. Just not strong ones.”

Oh. My. God.

“No way, really?” You now felt stupid, laughing in embarrassment. Your face heated up and you wanted nothing more than to crawl up in a ball and die. But you felt a little less embarrassed as Bob laughed along with you, his pretty eyes squinting under his glasses.

“So what about you, do you drink?” Bob asked after the two of you got done laughing.

“Nope. Four years sober this year actually.” You say cautiously as you start wiping down the bar with more intent to clean.

“Four years… If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?” He wonders, confusion audibly in his voice.

“I don't mind, I'm twenty-two.” You started, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. “Didn’t hang around the best people growing up and in school, but I’m clean now. Have been since moving here with my aunt, Penny.”

Curiosity taking the best of you, you glanced up at Bob, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Wow, I’m sorry. Is it hard to be a bartender then?”

“Oh don’t be. Honestly, yes it was at first. But I didn’t start working here until I was about twenty.” You stop scrubbing and smile at him. He smiled back, warm and accepting.

It was weird to see such an open and honest reaction. Even the most seemingly accepting people shut down at the thought of being friends with a once-druggie.

“So, If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?” You ask, parroting what he said earlier with a chuckle. You were becoming much more at ease with his presence, but that didn’t stop you from noticing the slight change in his facial expressions or how he picked at the skin around his fingernails.

“Twenty-six. Now could you hand me a rag so I can help too?” Bob was practically gleaming at you, sliding off the barstool. His palm was outstretched slightly, patiently waiting for you to hand him one.

Was he really twenty-six? It was only four years older than you, which wasn’t a huge age gap but the words twenty-six and twenty-two still felt so different. Especially considering you were still in school and he was already involved in a serious career.

After wringing out the rag and handing it to him, you both started working on tables, conversation fueling your motivation.

Bob talked highly about his family, how back in Oklahoma he had a plethora of sisters, all married with babies. He stopped what he was doing a few times and came over to you, showing pictures taken at family gatherings on his mom’s Facebook page. With every photo he showed you, you would be lying if it didn't cause a pang of want in your chest.

Even the photo which he swears is the most unattractive one of all time, was somehow making your face heat in jealousy. In the photo his hair was a mess, sticking up at all angles like a porcupine. He sported a sleepy smile with an even sleepier baby with its head resting on his shoulder, spit up covering a bit of his sleeve.

It was cute, adorable even.

Bob flips to a new photo, “Is that your dad?” You ask and point to an older man standing next to a young Bob. He nods and zooms in a bit. He couldn't have been more than ten years old in that picture.

“Well, now I see where you get your good looks.” The comment comes out offhandedly and you don’t really realize what you are saying until you look up at him. He bites his bottom lip slightly, a blush dusting the apples of his cheeks.

“Thanks.”

As you got back to work, he continued talking about the farm he grew up on. It was pretty secluded from the rest of the town, taking about thirty minutes to drive into civilization. Bob spoke fondly about the animals there, how cute it was to bottle feed calves and lambs. His dad had a strict policy on what animals could go inside, dogs not being one of them.

So, being the (in your words) sweet boy he was would secretly feed them extra scraps on cold mornings before he had to leave for school.

Bob asked you about university, wondering if you went to a community college nearby. You explained that you went to University of California San Diego, and yes, you did in fact drive forty-five minutes just for a few classes.

He seemed impressed by your major when you told him, and your heart skipped a beat at the small compliment. That snowballed into you rambling as you swept, gushing about all you wanted to do with it, that you were in your last year, and thankfully, you didn’t need to go to grad school unless you really wanted to.

Nervously, you explained that you took an extra year to graduate, but you were relieved when he spoke up.

“You know, people put too much pressure on others to finish a degree in four years. What matters is that you like what you do.” Bob explained simply, eyes trained on the task in front of him.

Bob was impressed by your passion for your studies, smiling secretly to himself as he dried drinking glasses.

Then you talked about the military, asking if it ran in his family. Turns out, his dad was the rebellious one in his family, the only one out of Bob’s uncles not to serve. Even his grandpa had served, and was awfully proud of Bob for enlisting right out of highschool.

He asked you the same, watching you carefully as you made your way over to him behind the bar to help him dry the clear pint glasses.

Your elbows brushed against one another as you worked, the clinking of glasses and friction of fabric accompanying the soft music in the background.

“Yeah I would say it runs in my family. My grandpa was an Admiral, who actually knew Mav when he was still at Top Gun. Long, long time ago” You laugh, “Mav and Penny have known eachother much longer than what they let on. I think he used to be one of her old sweethearts.”

“Really? Well now I see it, but before you just told me, I would have never guessed. What about your parents?”

You stiffen unintentionally, hands stilling on the glass you were working on. “My dad is Penny’s brother, he was in the Navy too. We moved around a lot, as most people do. But I wish we hadn’t. I think that if I had that one thing constant in my life, it would have saved my parents a lot in medical bills.” You laugh solemnly.

“But, I think my brother is graduating high school in the spring, and I would be in complete shock if he didn’t enlist right out like you did.” You add, trying to lighten the moment. Bob nodded silently, finishing the last glass of the night.

Finally, the two of you were done. Checking your watch, you noted the time, pleasantly surprised when you realized it was just a little past eleven. The outside world was completely dark, like an inky sheet of paper wrapped all the way around the building.

“One second.” Momentarily, you left him at the bar, heading quickly into the back to grab your bag. Once you came back, his anxious expression dissipated.

“Hey, thanks for staying with me. It would’ve been a real drag if I had to close up shop by myself.” Walking over to a table, you pull out a chair before sitting in it, your drawstring bag hanging over the backrest. You motioned him to do the same.

“It’s no problem, really. My pleasure, actually.” He smiles and heads over, taking a seat right next to yours. You could swear he actually moved it closer. The sudden lack of distance made you feel that dizziness again, a large knot in your throat, preventing you from swallowing.

“What do you think you would be doing? If you hadn’t joined the Navy I mean.” You ask, studying his features. His eyebrows raise the tiniest bit and you notice a beauty mark above his left one. Gosh, were you two really that close that you could see almost every detail of his face?

Bob ponders the question for a bit, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand. He was still looking at you, and you could swear he was doing the same thing. Studying your looks, his blue eyes mapping you from forehead to chin. Eyes lingering a bit longer than normal at your lips, which you licked nervously.

“I’d probably be on a farm somewhere. Maybe not Oklahoma, but somewhere with lots of mountains and trees. I love to hike.” His eyes looked past you, as if he was in a dreamlike state imagining where he would be, “But, the beach is really nice too. Maybe the weather is a bit too hot for my liking, but beautiful nonetheless.” He added on quietly, eyes flitting to yours.

Nodding, you took a deep, almost shuddering breath. “Yeah, the beach is pretty gorgeous, isn't it?” The words came out almost as a whisper.

It was suddenly much too hot in the bar.

“I love to run.” You offered, trying to get rid of the silence that was settling around you two.

“Really? That’s cool, I like to run too.” Bob simply stated, like it was the most casual of conversations, like you two were not seconds away from jumping each other.

“Maybe when this is all over we could run together.” You gulped, realizing the underlying intentions of the offer. A possible date maybe? What would this simple run turn into? Maybe a picnic on the sand? The two of you laughing, sweaty in the ocean water?

“Yeah, I think we should.” He breathed, like it took all his effort to come up with that simple sentence.

The tension between the two of you was bubbling over like a pot left on the stove for too long. His foot nudged yours under the table, which you tapped back with a weak smile.

Before you could think, you found yourself leaning forward in your chair. So forward towards him in fact, your butt was lifting from the chair, leaving you in this odd ninety degree angle at the hips while your face was directly in front of his. Your hands came out to steady you, one on the table and one on the arm of his chair.

Bob looked startled, peering up at you through his glasses with wide owl-like eyes. His tongue poked out between his lips and passed over them quickly, looking rapidly between your eyes and lips.

A large hand grabbed at the base of your skull, and pulled you down to his face, the other hand cupping your cheek. His palm was rough with thick calluses, scratching the soft skin of your face. Big blue eyes were the last thing you saw before yours fluttered closed, the next sensation being the soft cushion of his lips melding with yours.

An earthy sage scent plugged up your nose, letting it envelope you like the salty water outside. They were soft kisses, gentle and tentative. Bob drew back to catch his breath, his cheeks reddened and freckled.

Were you always this lonely? The loss of his lips dug a pit in your stomach, making it known how long you have stayed away from intimacy. This feeling of need made you scared. You wanted to be independent, you had built up confidence to not rely on another person for so long. Yet you could feel it slipping away like sand just from a few kisses.

Your crisis was distracted by his lips on yours again, letting out a soft sound of happiness that had Bob smiling against your lips. Slowly, he pushed himself out of the chair, the tension in your muscles dissolving as you straightened out to your full height.

The tentative kisses did not stay for long as they were replaced by a desperate sense of urgency. Bob backed you more into the table, your ass hitting the ledge. Hands now free to explore, you planted your palms on his chest, digging your fingers into the soft fabric of his button up.

You hadn’t even noticed that his hands had moved from your face till you felt them slip down to your waist, his fingertips softly brushing the belt you had worn today. It was modest, the way he was touching you. Letting you take the lead of pushing and pulling with your two bodies.

Standing on your toes, you backed up more into the table and sat upon it, breaking the kiss only to get comfortable before you were tugging him closer. Bob settled himself between your legs. The sudden shifting against the inside of your thighs brought your attention down to your throbbing core.

It was almost embarrassing how turned on you were, the dampness and heat pulsing with every accidental touch to the insides of your thighs. Pulling him closer so he was almost flush with you must have awoken something within him as well because you could feel the kisses morphing into almost bruising. His mouth tasted like sweet peppermint candy, the white and red ones your grandma always had in her purse.

Dizzy, you raised your hand to tangle in the short hairs on his neck, pulling him back from your mouth. Looking at him through bleary eyes, a sharp gasp left your throat as he chose to continue the kisses down your jaw and to your exposed neck.

This couldn't be happening, right? You must have done something amazing in a past life to deserve this. It was almost too much. The coldness of the frames of his glasses, the hot, wet kisses he was pressing into your skin like his life depended on it, you could pass out from all of the attention.

Your mind wandered as your body went to putty in his hands.

It was a quick realization of what you had felt earlier. Lonely. So, so unbearably lonely.

But you were used to loneliness. It was scary to feel this sharp sense of want in your chest, this man you barely knew was breaking down your walls faster than even Penny, who basically knew all your deepest, darkest secrets.

“Stop, please-”

But before you could even finish, Bob was off of you in an instant. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while he looked at you with worry.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He opened and closed his mouth a few times after, wanting to say something more as he put a few spaces of distance between the two of you.

“No, no. It’s me.” You gulped, “Please just- I need to finish and go home.” You let out a rush of a breath, still sitting on the table as you were not sure you could stand.

Nodding, he scrubbed his hand over his face and straightened out his shirt some, the wrinkles you caused on his chest still there. Then, he was gone. Just like that he left without a word.

The door closed softly though, you were bracing yourself to hear it slam but it never did. It was like he was making a point to close it softly, like he didn’t want to scare you.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you stared up into the warm yellow glow of the lights above you.

__________________

3:26 PM, Friday

Even through the kitchen window above the sink, the sun was hot. Not exactly a record breaking temperature, but nonetheless sweltering for what was supposed to be fall.

The stainless steel basin sink was smooth under your fingertips, sun peeking through the window and reflecting off the silver metal. Your nail beds were burning under the heat, but also because of how hard they were gripping the basin. The sight outside on the sand was unbelievable.

Phoenix had mentioned to you several times how all their asses were getting beat day after day with little to no reward. How they were all scared shitless for the upcoming mission- which she told you nothing about- just what could be shared with people outside her circle.

Of handedly, she mentioned something about Mav having something planned to let them blow off some steam, but you had just figured Mav sweet talked Penny into renting out the bar for one night just for the crew so they could play and drink.

Never in your wildest dreams would you have ever expected to look out and see them playing football right in your backyard.

Penny hadn't warned you either. But she had known about this because Mav must have asked her. The two of them had become extremely close in the past few days, his motorcycle frequenting the house after he got off work.

You were shopping online in the coolness of your bedroom when you heard the door open and a bunch of loud voices travel down the hall to your room. Amelia’s birthday was in a few weeks and you couldn't wait to get a head start on the birthday presents, she was going to be fifteen. You swear you remember her being born like it was yesterday.

Not thinking much of it, you continued adding more stuff to your favorites to look at later.

But soon you realized that it was not Amelia and her friends, but a bunch of mature adults whooping and hollering in the house. Quickly, you got up after shutting your computer. Penny hasn't texted you at all today so you had no idea who it could be.

Hands shaking, you reached out and tried to grab the doorknob, sweaty palms making it almost impossible to turn. It had to be someone that knew your family. There were too many cheery voices for it to be intruders.

Slowly you opened the door and peeked your head out and looked towards the kitchen, and with no such luck, you saw no one. Damn that staircase blocking your view. So quietly, you step out into the hardwood hallway and shut the door, taking some cautious steps forward. God, even your feet were sweaty and sticking to the floor.

It was so much hotter in the rest of the house, even with the AC running. Penny loved natural light so unfortunately she always tried to keep the blinds open. Unlike your room with the single window, you only opened the blinds when you were sure it wouldn't cook everything you owned.

Twisting your hands together nervously, you finally made it within view of the kitchen, and the butterflies in your stomach turned into feral bats trying to escape a cave.

Everyone, and you mean everyone was in the kitchen. The whole crew. The Daggers, or whatever dumb name they decided to call themselves.

Frantically turning to leave, you heard Penny call out your name. You had been spotted.

Twisting your body back to face the group, most of whom were still chatting, thank god.

Penny was grinning ear to ear, sitting in a chair but turned around to face you, beckoning you forward with her left hand while her right held a glass with what you could only assume to be lemon water or a cocktail.

Plastering on the most genuine smile you could muster (you were sure you just looked like you were in pain though), your sticky feet led you to the familiar faces scattered about the room.

Phoenix was the first one to greet you, leaving her spot leaning against the chair Halo was sitting in to go and hug you. She smelled like outside and sweet perfume, her loose ponytail tickling your nose as she held you in a great bear hug. Pulling back, you noticed the clothes she was wearing. Not her usual khakis but black shorts and a loose fitting plain white tank top.

You tuned in as she was talking to you, your eyes trained on her face but your mind was busy with the noise around you.

“... good for our team work if we let loose and played some football.” She grinned as she moved out of the way for Payback as he made his way to the hall, probably to the bathroom.

Your hands came up and scrubbed your face, looking at her apologetically, “What did you say? It's rowdy in here.” Phoenix laughs, her drink tipping with her as she explains again, that Mav wanted them to work as a team, and what better way than an American pastime.

Agreeing with her, you turn to the fridge and grab a soda, frosty in your hands. It was like a swarm of bees had taken over the room. Even halfway behind the fridge door, people were brushing against you, their hands reaching for the crisp drinks they desperately needed in this heat.

“So, why my house?” You ask, making your way back to Phoenix and Halo at the table, smiling to let them know you are not upset, just curious. Phoenix’s eyes flit between Penny and Maverick, who were obviously flirting. You catch her eye and she tips her head towards them, indicating their obvious likeness for one another.

Nodding in response you look around the cramped kitchen. Rooster came up beside you, his left arm swinging casually around your shoulders. The shift of his arm caused your own clothing to suddenly move, making you hyper aware of what you were wearing.

Casual lounging shorts cut at mid thigh, and a ribbed t-shirt. What made this ensemble quite unfortunate was the low support sports bra you were wearing underneath. Perfect for the comfort of your bedroom, but never in front of company. You might as well be wearing no bra at all.

Crossing your arms protectively in front of you, you turned your head to look at Rooster, a small smile on your face.

“Been a while, huh?” Rooster says playfully, squeezing your shoulders just slightly.

Rolling your eyes, your elbow nudged him in the ribs, “You literally saw me yesterday, at the bar… and you never tipped me.” You add on, scoffing sarcastically.

“I mean,” He says with emphasis, “We haven't hung out in a while. With my work, and your school- You know the phone works both ways.” Rooster says in fake disapproval, mocking the least favored divorced parent.

Letting out a laugh, you look down at your feet. The smell of his deodorant and sweat enveloping you.

“I know, I’m just the worst aren't I? You know-” You start but get cut off by Maverick trying to get everyone’s attention as he stands up from the chair beside Penny’s.

Rooster’s arm drops from atop your shoulders and down to his side, his lips pressed into a thin line as Mav started talking. You knew all about his papers being pulled, how upset he was when it happened.

Mav started out by thanking Penny for letting them use her house as a meeting place, which elicited a few claps and ‘thank yous’ by some members. A soft blush creeped up her cheeks as she lowered her head a bit and smiled. God, she has it bad. Never in your life had you expected your aunt, who was full of quick answers and witty remarks to be in love.

The kitchen quieted down as Mav continued, explaining what they were going to do, the teams, and more. You stopped listening, and looked around the room. Your mouth went completely dry as you locked eyes with him.

Wearing a yellow shirt with a white design in the middle and basketball shorts, he looks wildly out of place. Not in a way that segregates him from others as they are all wearing casual workout wear, but in the way it was just so casual from all the times you had seen him.

He's standing almost at the polar opposite end of the kitchen from you, jaw flexing and eyes now at the ground, making a point not to stare at you. You wiped your clammy hands on your shorts, thinking back to your last interaction with him.

That night you had gotten so comfortable with him, opening up to him in that short amount of time more than you had with Penny your first year here. What pained you even more is how much he had opened up to you. You knew the real Bob. The one who eagerly shows you pictures of his nieces and nephews upon talking about them, the one who is passionate about agriculture and wishes to settle down to have a farm.

The one under his quiet, reserved outer shell that he projects to his colleagues.

Then, out of your own selfishness, you had to ruin it. The tension after you two had kissed could have been cut with a knife. You had felt betrayed by your body as you touched him, but relieved when he did the same. But, with all relationships, you pushed him away and out of your life, and the bar.

You were sure you could die of shame and embarrassment right there in the kitchen.

Finally, Maverick finished his spiel and instructed everyone to leave the house and head down to the beach. Phoenix patted your arm before she followed the crowd out, leaving her drink on the dining room table. You pressed yourself to the kitchen counter in an attempt to get out of anyone's way as they passed.

Penny got up and disappeared to the living room. You must talk to her about letting you know when people are coming over, especially when she knows you aren't decent.

As the kitchen emptied out, you let go of a breath you didn't know you were holding, but sucked another one right up after you realize the room was still not empty.

“Hey.” You grimaced, tipping your head at him. You meant to move closer but your feet were cemented to the ground.

“I have this,” Bob says as he leans down and picks up a smaller dark blue duffle bag, “Could I leave it here?” He asks shakily. You knew he was as nervous as you were, whether it was because he did not want to play football, or he was remembering that night as well.

Blinking at him, trying to formulate an answer as the silence became painful.

“Yes! Yeah, go right ahead. Sorry.” You finally get out, the words gushing out on a quick exhaled breath. “Just put it on a chair or under the table, so it doesn't get stepped on.” You continue and mentally shake yourself out, trying to put on a facade of cool, calm, and collected.

Bob nodded and slid out a chair to drop the duffle bag onto, before sliding it back into its original place. Looking back at you, his lips quirked up the tiniest bit (if your eyes hadn't been glued to his face you surely would have missed it) before tipping his head as a goodbye, and leaving.

The screen door closing brought you back to reality, thank god he was only going to be stationed here for a little more. You couldn't handle having to see him anymore. Penny finally emerged with two brown leather books in her arms, and you immediately recognized them as The Hard Deck’s financing books.

“Come out and join me,” She smiled as she shifted the two books to one side of her hips, holding them like someone would hold a toddler, “it'll be fun, and I need help with these.” She says, gesturing to the books.

“I'll be out in a minute.” You promise, the weak smile you had earlier coming back to your face. Before closing the door behind her, she quipped something at you, but the blood rushing in your ears was too loud.

So that's where you were. Fingers gripping the sink as your neck craned to watch the game from the window. Your focus solely trained on Bob, who had kept that yellow shirt on instead of shedding it like the others. Admittedly you were a little disappointed he kept it on.

If you were going outside, you had to change, you decided before heading back to your room.

As the door shut behind you, you sagged on it. Was it even worth changing? Everyone had already seen you in these clothes, and besides your obvious lack of chest support, it wasn't like you were wearing something egregious.

Even though you never open your blinds when it is hot out, you have to admit the rest of the house looked absolutely beautiful in the afternoon light. Making your way to the window, you grab an old baseball cap and put it snuggly atop your head, in an attempt to shade the sun you will surely get outside with Penny.

After opening the blinds up, you leave the room, the door cracked just slightly.

Slipping on a pair of sandals by the door, you take a deep breath. You had nothing to worry about. All you were going to do was manage the books with Penny and steal some looks at the team. No big deal.

Penny was sitting a ways away from the game in a beach chair, a book open in her lap and the end of the pen between her teeth, clearly not concentrating on the page in front of her. Plopping down beside her in the warm sand, you took the other book and flipped it to the most current page, studying the numbers.

You had to do this many times before, so managing it had become quite easy to you.

The two of you sat in silence, like an unspoken pact not to make a peep while you both concentrated on the pages, and the men in front of you.

You couldn't help but smile as you watched the game, especially when Bob was involved. He hung back from the game, but as it went on he became more confident. He was definitely the type to sit back and watch things unfold before inserting himself.

There is a reason why he is here over the millions of other WSOs in the Navy.

As the game progressed, it became less serious and more playful. You were sure none of them were keeping track of points at this time. You closed the book and leaned back on your elbows, as the numbers were becoming confusing in your brain. The game was coming to a close.

You laughed out loud when Rooster picked up Bob on his shoulders, Bob gleaming triumphantly with the ball in his hands. The group excitedly cheered around him, causing your heart to soar. It was an unfamiliar sight to see him at the center of attention, especially after observing him at the bar.

Soon, the heat became too much and you headed in, promising Penny that you had full intentions of returning, just that you needed to cool off.

Back inside the house, you filled up a blue drinking glass with the cold water from the pitcher in the fridge. The baseball cap suddenly felt too tight on your head, so you took it off and set it next to the sink, praying you didn't have too bad of hat hair. Your back was turned from the door, eyes looking over the many papers littering the fridge door, all held up by colorful magnets.

Not too long after you finished your first cup, you heard the door open behind you. Assuming it was Penny, you turned around ready to start firing off witty comments about her and Mav.

To your surprise Bob is standing in the doorway, breathing heavy, his cheeks flushed from exertion. Licking his lips, he walks over to the chair he placed his bag on, almost stumbling a bit.

“Do- do you need some water?” You ask, gesturing to the cup in your hand. He looked absolutely beat, his hair in disarray and a bit of wet sand smeared on his right cheek. Bob nods, his chest stuttering as if he couldn't get enough breath in his lungs.

Whipping around, you open the fridge door and fill up the cup in your hand, not even realizing how impolite it is not to get a clean cup for him. The whole world was completely silent, as if everyone was holding their breath as you let the door close and you made your way over to him, wasting no time to give him his drink.

Holding the glass up to him, you noted the condensation that had gathered around your fingers, how the cool water made your fingers slip right off as he took it from you. Standing so close to him you smelled a mixture of wet sand and the saltiness of the sea. You stared intently as Bob rose the glass to his lips, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. A small bead of water escaped his lips and rolled slowly down his chin. Knees weak, you grasped the back of a dining chair right beside you.

You could swear you were drooling at the sight.

Bob set the glass down on the table, making a dull clinking sound against the wood.

The sudden noise snapped you back to reality, forcing you to realize the distance between you two was small, and that you were most definitely in his personal space.

Taking a step back, you noticed his hand was still grasping the duffle.

“Do you mind if I uh-” He cleared his throat, “go and change? In your bathroom?”

“Sure!” Your voice came out tight and squeaky, “Down the hall, last door on the left.” You gestured over your shoulder with your thumb in the direction of the bathroom, watching him smile softly and thank you.

As he started walking away from you, you noticed the deep red sunburn glaring on the back of his neck.

“Oh my god.” You say and he immediately turns on his heels, spinning abruptly to look at you with wide eyes, “What? What?” He repeats, concern washing over his features.

Feet unwillingly carrying you over to Bob, gesturing to the back of your own neck, “Your neck- it’s really burnt.” You stop in front of him, almost toe to toe. “Did you not use any sunscreen?” You ask, praying your tone doesn't make you sound like a disappointed parent.

You were trying to portray ‘chill, concerned, friend’.

Bob raises his hand to rub the back of his neck, wincing slightly at the hot skin, “No, I did. But it must've rubbed off.” He explains, a southern accent dripping through his words, making you melt.

Before you could even process what was going on, you had pushed past him, walking down the hallway down to the bathroom.

“I- I have some of that aloe vera stuff we can put on it.” You call over your shoulder, hoping he’s not too far along behind you, “It’s that green gel, feels really good on sunburns.”

Now you were just babbling, frantically twisting your hands. Jesus Christ, you should have asked him before totally assuming he would be fine with you putting your hands all over his body- well only his neck, but still!

When you realized this, you were already in the doorway of the bathroom. Your hand caught the door frame and turned around. Bob must've been following you closely because he stopped a couple inches short of barreling you over, his duffle bag hitting your leg. You can see the reflection of your face in his glasses.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I should've asked you first-” You start to say and he cuts you off.

“No, it’s a great idea. Thank you.” He breathed and you could feel it on your face. Nodding slowly as you bit your bottom lip, searching his eyes. You notice that freckle above his left eyebrow, the same as you did when you kissed him at the bar.

It was taking everything in your being to not crush your lips against him desperately, the sexual tension of that night drifting over to this moment.

Your fingers fumble with the light switch, grasping at anything to keep yourself grounded. As the light hums on, Bob’s eyes close tightly for a moment. You didn’t realize how dark the end of the hallway was till both of your eyes were assaulted by the fluorescents.

Crouching down to open the cupboards, you feel Bob’s shins rub against your lower back as he side shuffles his way into the room. God, there was so much junk in here. A lot of it was hardly ever used and dust was collecting on the bottles. Bob lowered his duffle onto the closed toilet seat, and you could hear him fiddling with the zipper to the bag.

Finally, you locate the bottle and stand up to your full height, closing the cupboard door with your knee. You fiddle with the cap before looking up at him, noticing how his eyes flit from your face to something behind you.

Looking over your shoulder you see nothing, so you bring your attention back to him, tilting your head in question, your fingers now picking at the hard plastic top of the aloe vera gel.

“Can we… close the door?” Bob asks, carefully choosing his words, hoping you will get the hint as he toys with the hem of his yellow shirt. Humming in agreement, you turn and close the door softly, gently turning the lock. Thankfully it didn't make too much noise, as you were not wanting to startle Bob and make him feel trapped in the room with you.

You were merely doing it for privacy.

Turning back to Bob, you notice yourself in the mirror. Lips chapped from the heat and licking them, your shirt bunched up a bit around your armpits (which you immediately adjusted by tugging at the hem), and your cheeks flushed from the sun.

You both knew what had to come next, and stalling wasn’t the answer to getting this done and over with. In order for you to accurately help him, he must take off his shirt.

This all felt so juvenile, christ it wasn’t like you had never seen a man without his shirt on, and he had been shirtless plenty of times. But right now, in the bathroom with the door locked, purposefully hiding away from the others, it felt like it was the gateway to possible disaster.

After standing there staring at one another for what seemed like ages, Bob grabbed the bottom of his shirt and lifted it over his head, ducking carefully in order for his glasses not to get knocked off his head. You held your breath as he dropped it to the tile floor, the yellow contrasting against the light tan squares. He was as handsome as you had imagined.

Broad shoulders, sprinkled with millions of freckles. His collarbone defined, tapering to his chest, the muscles rising with every breath. Abs softly there, but visible nonetheless.

Lower and lower, your vision got. Shamefully you peaked at his hips and you noticed a light v-line, practically begging for you to explore what was below.

Your eyes snapped back up to him, “Turn around, please.” You direct quietly as your hand reaches for his elbow, gently touching it as another signal to turn. He did as he was told, facing away from you and slightly lowering his head. The freckles trailed from his shoulders to his back.

Squeezing a small amount of the green gel in your palm, you set the bottle on the countertop. It was a thin consistency as you attempted to warm it up in your hands, trying to minimize the cold shock.

With no second thoughts, you swiped a flat palm across his neck, which was indeed burning. Bob’s shoulders moved the tiniest bit, probably because you gave him no warning. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed as you massaged the aloe into his neck, grabbing the bottle and squeezing more after you realized the first amount was not enough.

You couldn't tell if it was hot in here or if it was you. But the feeling of want pooled in your lower stomach, causing your thighs to clench closer together. Once you felt your hands had overstayed their welcome, you removed them, letting your fingertips ghost down his back, yearning to touch him more.

Bob paused for a beat before turning back to face you. His bottom lip was swollen and wet, as if he had been worrying it with his teeth the entire time. The sight was making you go absolutely feral.

“I want you.” You croaked out, mouth dry as a desert. Your eyes then widened in shock as you realized what you had just said, hand clamping over your mouth. The world was literally burning to the ground in front of you.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He looked like his brain had short circuited at what you said, trying to process three tiny words that had a life altering meaning. Faintly, you heard the front door open, then shut.

Voices distantly talking in the kitchen. But Bob seemed to not notice. Steely blue eyes burning into yours.

“You want…” He paused, his tongue wetting his bottom lip, “You want me.” He said it less like a question and more like a matter of fact statement. You almost expected him to blow up in your face, to angrily tell you how unfair it was for you to say that you wanted him. After you had rejected him at the bar. But to your surprise he was calm- well as calm as someone can be due to the vulnerability of this interaction.

Dropping your hand from your mouth, inhaling a sharp breath through your nose. “Yes.” You say dumbly, struggling to even think due to the environment. It was dreadfully humid, the aloe smell the only thing you could comprehend right now. You felt drunk on sight alone, and you swear Bob is now officially the most handsome man in the world.

So handsome it makes you want to sob and rip your heart out.

Suddenly, your whole world was flipped upside down. You stiffened as he took a quick step towards you, closing the already nonexistent distance. You felt his hands fly to your biceps, his strong fingers holding your whole body at his mercy. Not even giving you a second to think, his lips crushed into yours, a much different feeling than the tender first kiss you shared at the bar.

A much different Bob too. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever expect such a sudden force from him.

Realizing your eyes are still open in shock, you shut them and kiss back after a beat, feeling his bare chest pressed flush to yours. He is so sturdy and unmoving, like a boulder near the shore. His hands loosen their grip on your upper arms and you take the opportunity to raise your hands to either side of his face, pulling him in for deeper kisses, both of your mouths opening to let eachother explore.

In fractions of seconds, the kisses turned from wants to needs. Your back was now against the locked door, Bob’s thigh wedged between your own. It was pressed into the soft cotton juncture between your legs, the slight friction doing nothing to ease your now aching core. Bob had one hand curved around your hip, and the other on your upper back, pushing you into him even more.

Lungs screaming, you pushed his face back the smallest bit. Foreheads touching, and the silver metal of his glasses cooling the spot between your eyebrows. Strings of saliva connecting your mouths were disrupted by panting, the two of you trying to catch your breath.

Barely opening your eyes, you noticed his were still shut, a deep crease ran between his brows.

You gave him a quick kiss on his open mouth before gently pushing him back more, observing his whole face now. Bob looked absolutely wrecked, eyes dark, glasses threatening to slip off his nose, and his whole chest was blotchy and red (confirming your suspicion that his blush did in fact creep down below his shirt collar).

He looked disappointed that you had stopped kissing, searching your eyes for answers.

“W-We should go to my room.” You whisper, but not for privacy. You physically felt like your voice couldn't get any louder. “Just across the hall.” More voices could be heard from in the kitchen and your heart picked up even more, scared to get caught in such a compromising position with Bob. You considered the thought of stopping what was going on, to just compose yourselves and act normal until you could get more promising alone time.

But as Bob nodded, letting out a raspy noise of agreement, he got off of you.

This movement not only left your body strikingly cold without his, but as he removed his thigh it rubbed just right, leaving you on an upstroke of a very short high.

The thought of stopping seemed utterly ridiculous now, your body humming with need as Bob picked up his shirt and duffle, waiting for you to initiate the escape. Turning around, your shaky fingers silently turned the lock and then the knob.

You shot a quick glance over your shoulder at Bob, who was still in the exact same spot. With the doorknob still in one hand, you messily turned the light switch off with the other, leaving the two of you in complete darkness besides one sliver of faint light seeping through the cracked door.

Holding your breath, you peaked your head out. The voices were louder, and they were laughing. Bob’s hand grasped your hip in an attempt to not lose you in the dark. You couldn't tell who was here based on voices alone, but if you had to guess, there were probably half as many people here now than when you first emerged from your room.

Blindly, you reached back and grabbed his hand on your hip, holding it tightly as you pushed through the door and all but sprinted into your room. You were thankful for leaving it cracked earlier, saving you the time of loudly having to open it.

You stayed at the door while Bob went in, quietly closing and locking it. Hands shaking, you looked down at them, still facing the door. Only the quiet breaths from the both of you could be heard. The collar of your shirt was bugging your neck.

Bob seemed to read your mind because he reached out, brushing the hairs on your neck softly before tucking in the tag of your shirt.

It was a harmless gesture, something that anyone could do. But the way he did it, lingering fingertips, felt oddly domestic and sensual.

“I am sorry for the other night.”

Bob was the first to break the silence, even if it was a quiet muttering of words. His fingertips were still lightly brushing your upper back, as if he was trying to coax you to turn around to face him. You were still too scared to.

It made you gulp. The comment makes your lungs hitch as if you had been punched.

Your eyes searched the plain door in front of you. You probably looked utterly ridiculous, your whole body turned rigidly to the door without moving. Hands still clasped tightly on the knob.

But that didn’t phase him. Gently, his fingers smoothed out the wrinkles of your shirt, coming close enough to feel his breath on the back of your neck. Lightly, you felt him trace the backing of your sports bra. A simple cross-back, nothing special. But in this moment, it felt special. The way he was tracing it like it was the most delicate of lace, patterned with beautiful designs.

It wasn't until he dipped down and pressed his lips to your shoulder that you relaxed, cautiously laying your head back to touch his shoulder. He was beautiful, the same man as before, but amplified by his loving actions towards you.

The knob clacked as you let it go, hands going to his cheeks and jaw while your body followed to be facing him.

All the tension remaining in your body was gone when you started to kiss him. Bodies warmed up and humming with pleasure. Easily opening up to one another as you made your way to the bed, still attached at the lips.

You were the first to lay down, shimming up the bed so you rested on it until just your feet hang off the end. Bob stood between your spread legs, one hand reaching down to jostle your ankle in a friendly way before kneeling on the bed. Impatient by his slow crawl up to you, you sat up on an elbow while the other hand grasped at his shirtsleeve to try and urge him upwards.

He smiled bashfully, dipping his head before he found your lips again. Your hand wandered to the hem of his shirt, pushing upwards to grope at his stomach and chest.

His skin is smooth, despite the rounded bumps scattered sparsely about him, dark beauty marks that looked like stars on his skin. You were eager to see them again.

Bob took the hint and sat up to pull his shirt off, letting it fall off the bed with a light thump. You admired his body before tugging off your own shirt and bra. He looked at you hungrily and let his fingers dip into the waistband of your shorts, silently asking for approval. You nod, biting your lip as you watch him slip off your panties and shorts, moving off the bed to help you take them off your ankles.

Your heartbeat quickened, feeling very exposed in front of him so you promptly shut your legs, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. Remembering all your little scars and insecurities that you did not want him to see. They were human, something that made you- you, but you felt more than naked now.

Suddenly, you remembered all the people in the kitchen, their voices drifting back to you. Not wanting to miss this opportunity, you spread your legs, this time with the soles of your feet firmly planted on the comforter.

The man at the end of your bed seemed perplexed at your movements, watching you in real time how the wheels turned in your head. But he wasted no time dropping to his knees, making a thunking noise on the floor.

Large hands grabbed at your thighs, urging you closer to the end of the bed. You obeyed them and shuffled downwards till your naked pussy was inches away from the most handsome man you have ever seen.

The hungry look in his eyes made you visibly shiver, noting how his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, seemingly intoxicated by your musky scent. He took both of your legs and put them over his shoulders, the crook of your knees on each of his respective shoulders. Spread even more for him, he kissed and nibbled at your inner thighs.

Drawing out whimpers of desperation from you, making you impatient and driving you wild. You raised your head up from the bed and tugged on his hair, directing him to where you would rather have his mouth. His hot breath fanned over your glistening folds, and you could practically see him drooling. Right before he dove in you gave a sharp tug to his hair, forcing him to look at you.

“Glasses?” You choked out hoarsely, your fingers slipping from his hair to touch the frames of his glasses.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” He mutters, eyes glazed over as he focuses on you before pulling off his glasses and folding them. Reaching behind himself, he places them on the floor and goes right back where he was. Giving you a quick kiss to your thigh, he dives in without warning.

It makes you jump, the flat of his tongue dragging a thick line from opening to clit. Your head drops back on the bed as you clamp a hand over your mouth, stifling a string of curse words threatening to get you in trouble by the volume of them.

In no time he has you quivering and panting, biting your lip almost hard enough to draw blood to block out the loud moans and whines. Never in your life had anyone you slept with got you to the edge this quickly with just their fingers and mouth. You were thankful for the locked door as his obscene slurping got increasingly louder. It was like he didn’t care, too lost in pleasuring you to contain his noises.

Your surroundings had gone blurry long ago, like your body was shutting down all unnecessary functions to just focus on this one delicious sensation between your legs.

Every time you glance down your heart stops at the scene before you.

Bob’s face red and glistening from sweat, eyes scrunched tight in concentration. When the lower half of his face isn't completely hidden by your mound, his nose peaks up and rests upon your pubic bone, extra wet with your juices. One hand rests between your legs, two long fingers stuffed inside your weeping hole, curling and massaging a spot even you have never found. While the other hand is wrapped around your thigh, the beds of his fingernails white with pressure as he grips the soft flesh of your leg, hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Fuuuuck-” You whine quietly, one hand tangled in your hair while the other scrabbling at the sheets beneath you. The feeling in your belly was unmistakable, it had your chest heaving in quick breaths. It felt like he had been between your legs for hours, but when you glanced up at the clock by your bedside (it took you longer than you liked to figure out the time) it had only been about ten or so minutes since he had started.

“Bobby-” The nickname slips out against your will, making him falter against your core.

You can see that his long eyelashes are fluttering against his cheeks before he returns to the pace he set earlier, maybe even a little more restored with vigor as he groans against you. The vibrations send a zing straight to your belly button.

“I’m close- fucking christ- I’m gonna cum-” You warn him almost seconds too late as your back snaps into an arch, the walls of your cunt pulsing around his still-moving fingers. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, only the faintest of guttural noises making themselves known as the waves of your orgasm crash over you.

You know real life isn't like the porno films. It is never glamorous or pretty with flattering angles. Because of that knowledge you always were hyper-aware of how you looked and sounded, wanting to be the prettiest version of yourself always. But in this moment, you forgot everything and just allowed yourself to feel.

It was earth-shattering, this amazing, otherworldly feeling all over your body. Bob was doing his best to draw it out, watching you with fascination. It did not even occur to him that your heels were digging into his back.

Nor did you realize until the ringing in your ears stopped that he was talking to you, only catching the tail end of his words.

“- at’s it, that's it. Good girl… fuck, so gorgeous.” Bob groaned into your thigh, watching you start to relax, slowing down the two fingers inside you to a light massage before slowly pulling out as if to not disturb you. Somehow, he had found that prominent scar on your left hip, stroking it lightly with his wet fingertips.

Even through your haze, you whined at the loss and tried to lift your head up but you were completely boneless. You feel your legs being lifted off his shoulders and the bed dips next to you before Bob nuzzles his nose into your sweaty hairline, the smell of you all over his face.

It makes you smile the tiniest bit, opening up your eyes to see him staring down at you, that glazed drunk look still on his face.

You reach out in search for his dick, your hand coming in contact with his lower belly first. You know you have found your final destination when your hand brushes over something rock hard and Bob hisses, his hips bucking into your hand.

“Want you to fuck me. Please?” You murmur up at him, palming his dick with more intention as he grinds his hips into your hand. He nods, looking down at you with searching eyes.

“Anything you want, baby.”

The pet name makes your smile grow, directing him to the condoms stored away on the top drawer of your dresser, under your camisoles. It takes no time at all before he is stripped naked in front of you and rolling the condom onto his aching cock. It is so fast in fact that you don’t even process it till he is crowding over you.

“Don’t think I’m gonna last long.” He admits sheepishly as you shift on the bed, trying to ignore how damp it feels with sweat.

His words make you huff out a laugh, moving closer to the headboard so you can lay back on a pillow, “Bobby, I could care less how long you last.” It was more than the truth, he just gave you the most mind blowing orgasm of your life and that alone would probably satisfy you for the rest of the year.

He crawls up after you, bracing himself on a hand beside your head, the other now swiping the head of his cock through your puffy folds.

The sting of the stretch was basically nonexistent by how relaxed you were, enjoying the slow slide of his dick in you. As his strokes got quicker, Bob chose to lean down, now bracing himself on his forearms bracketing either side of your head. The friction only got better as you lifted your legs up and hooked your ankles around his back, the head of his dick now rubbing deliciously against the spot he stimulated earlier.

To be honest, he lasted longer than you thought he would by the way he was acting. But soon his face crumpled and dropped into the crook of your neck, gasping against your sweaty skin while his hips snapped a few times but ultimately stilled while flush against you.

Your nails traced designs into his back as he caught his breath, light tremors shaking his body as he returned from his high.

The two of you said nothing but stayed how you were, inhaling the other’s scent peacefully. You could still hear people outside and in the kitchen of the house, but you were too far gone to really care.

“Bobby?” You ask quietly, stilling your fingers on his back.

“Hmm?” He mumbles from your shoulder, shifting to pepper a few kisses upon your neck.

“What do you wear to bed? Are you a matching set kinda guy or do you just sleep in your underwear?” You smile, looking up at the ceiling, waiting for his answer.

Bob answers after a short pause, “Matching set, why?”

Hope you enjoyed this! Check out my AO3 under Creatchie8 too!

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