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carmenized-onions · 3 months

Text

Something to Do. | Catering

logline; Itinerary for your trip to New York? Just try not to fucking cry.

[!!!] series history, this is the twelfth; gonna start season three after I post this. Wonder how bad it's gonna throw off the rest of my plot line. Ideally not at all. We'll see.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I really like this playlist for all chapters, but for a wedding where music is blasting, it feels particularly fitting.

portion; 13.3k how does this keep happening.

possible allergies; Terrible self-image, everything feels bad, very real conversations abt ,,, self-death and addiction.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets referred to as a woman and other feminine honourifics but no pronouns, i believe)

i made you all so mad last chapter. Let's see if i can make it up to you, babydoll (probably wont)

You hate to admit it, but you were kind of relieved when you found out Carmen wasn’t coming on the plane. You’re in a bit of a state of fight or flight; well, more accurately, currently leaning towards the flight side— Pun intended.

He’s coming to the wedding. You know he is. For one, he’s getting thirty grand for this, he has to. For two, his location is still on for you— Whether he forgot to turn it off or just didn’t care, you’re not sure. But he hates you, so there’s no way it was intentional, you’re certain about that much.

You know you shouldn’t be looking at it, but you have. You’ve been looking all week. Checking your Find my Friends like a doting mother. He goes to work far too early, he stays far after close, he goes home. Rinse and repeat.

You check on him one last time before boarding the plane. He’s opted to drive, with Richie. Something about ‘wanting to bring their personal equipment’, Richie texted you. They’re halfway through Ohio. You’re sure that road trip is definitely going spectacular after their side of the explosion.

Richie texted the day after that fucking fiasco, asking if you’d want updates on how it’s going at The Bear. How it’s going with Carmen. You said you wanted to know if he wanted to tell. He opted not to tell.

You hate to admit, you were kind of relieved, to not know. To just look at Carmen’s little icon go from Point A to B. Instead of Carmen Reports, you and Richie text about much lighter things. Normal things. Eva drew a funny picture of you kinda things. It’s nice. You know you’re probably being childish, but it feels so much fucking better to ignore the Bear in the room. You don’t know how to feel about anything, and frankly you don’t want to try to figure it out.

You suck, Carmen sucks, what more is there to know? Process it? Fuck that.

Carmen hasn’t texted you; you haven’t texted him, the entire week. Radio silence. You stopped playing Connections. Didn’t see a point. Not like they even have a streak function anyways— You’d die before you let that Wordle streak break, though. That was your thing. Carmen doesn’t get to take your things, too.

You didn’t get a text from the Exec, either. So that’s… Something? Or, rather, explicitly, that’s nothing. Does that mean Carmen gives a shit? Not necessarily. Ugh. Your whole system was so shocked after that fucking fight that you didn’t really have time to take in the fact that that jag was into you? Vomit inducing. You’ve got to rethink your life choices, if they lead you to him.

But also, you know if Carmen and you were okay right now, you probably would’ve given him your number. You would’ve catfished him for weeks, laughing over your phone with Carmen and Syd as this idiot falls into your trap. You miss Carmen. You also don’t miss Carmen. You want to see him desperately and also never fucking look at him again.

Carmen’s going to be in the kitchen; you’re going to be out in the banquet hall, on bar, this whole wedding. The likelihood either of you have to actually interact this weekend is quite low. The likelihood either of you have to confront what you’re supposed to do with yourselves now is quite low. You hate to admit it, you’re fucking relieved.

Sydney sleeps on your shoulder, for most of the plane ride. You sleep against her head. Shout out Marcus, for switching seats. He’s behind you, with Tina. He wakes both of you up about an hour in, shaking your seats— Because the dessert cart came out and he didn’t want either of you to miss it. The mini cheesecakes are better than expected, to be fair, so he’s forgiven.

This is going to be the stupidest weekend of your life. You’ll take that, over worst, at least.

“Be honest, would you tip me extra well?”

You give a twirl in your probably too fancy semi-cultural outfit. Your family shows up for weddings, if Vinnie and Mira didn’t want their bartender to go hard, they should’ve put that in their notes. It actually would have been nice to get sent notes, though… What is the theme for this wedding other than ‘Italian’ and ‘New York’…? Glitter eyeshadow is probably fine, right? Yeah it’s fine. Not like you could get that shit off now, anyways.

“If you were my bartender, I would ask ‘what are we?’” Answers Syd, watching you from the bathroom as she attempts to put her hair up. Definitely struggling in silence.

Sharing a hotel room was the best idea you ever had. It would be a nightmare to get ready alone in silence, right now. It’s nice to talk and have something to do. If you didn’t, you’d absolutely be ruminating about Carmen, debating whether or not to check on his room, that’s just down the hall, you could see if he needed help with getting ready and also see if he’s as tired as you think he is and— Plus, the amount you saved on splitting a one bed? Christ. Economy is in shambles. So is your brain.

“You would not be brave enough to ask your bartender ‘what are we?’”

“For you, I would.”

“Are we about to kiss, bro?” You duck into the bathroom, getting way too close to the side of Syd’s face. She laughs, pushing you away with the palm of her hand, you scoff, “Wooowwww—”

You clutch your heart, mortally wounded. Retching, truly. Now this is heartbreak in its rawest form. “—Reject me, why don’t you?”

“I’m playing the role of timid—” “I’m sick of this friends to lovers plot line!” “It adds! It adds!”

“Shut up— And tilt your head back, dumbass, what are you doing?” You stand behind her, taking her braids into your hands as she struggles to bundle them all herself.

“I do this all the time by myself, y’know.” So Syd says, but she lets you take her braids regardless.

“Yeah, but I’m here.” You stretch the hairband on your fingers. “Messy bun?”

“You think?”

“I think primal is too clean.”

“No, I was gonna do the one where it does like— Like the infinity in the front?”

“Who’s mom are you tryna fuckin’ look like?”

She kisses her teeth, attempting to reach a hand behind her head to smack you. You dodge and somehow manage to make it easier to smack you. “I’m literally only gonna get to come out after everyone’s left, I dunno why we’re making effort here—”

“High messy bun?” “High messy bun.”

Oh, the days of doing each other’s hair. You’re glad it’s back. You’re glad you get to become, together, again. It used to be bobbles, friendship bracelets, and glitter tattoos—but now it’s tying up each other’s hair, helping with the curling iron, clasping the gold chains on your neck, zipping up the back of your outfit, pinning the collar pins on her uniform, fixing makeup, asking each other to compare perfumes before going through with the final decision, mocking each other’s purchases.

“Wait, what mini deodorant did you get at customs?”

“Oh, one of those Native ones— I think it’s peach—?”

“Those cost like five fucking dollars, Ink. For like two swipes.”

“Excuse me for wanting to smell good, fuckin’ ‘wolfthorn’—”

“I work in a restaurant. I need Old Spice strength, okay—!”

“Oh, pbbbttt— Syd.”

“Pbb—Fuck, how do you do that?”

There’s a knock at the door, interrupting your squabble. “Are you decent?!”

Sydney groans, “No!”

“Yes, Rich, we’re decent, doors open.”

Richie comes in, unceremoniously. A touch awkward. He’s so rarely been in a room with women getting ready. It’s simultaneously exactly what he expected, and not at all what he expected. “Chip, can you put these fuckin’ things on f’me?”

Cufflinks. He presents the box to you. They’re just plain and silver, boring. Save that in your rolodex of gifts to get this Christmas. “You’re fuckin’ forty and you don’t know how to put on some cufflinks—?”

You’re nagging, but you’re already putting them on him, he holds his wrist out for you. “Nah, I was too busy runnin’ shit to learn.”

“Runnin’ your mouth, more like.”

“Yeah, yeah.” It’s a quiet moment, a tender moment, of adjusting his sleeves. Sydney’s scrambling to clean up the room around you two in the background. It’s hard to turn off the autopilot of cleaning one’s station, no matter where she goes.

You purse your lips. You shouldn’t ask and you shouldn’t care, but you do. You half-whisper, to Richie. “How was the drive?” He knows what you’re asking.

“Terrible start. Surprisingly okay middle. He went straight to the banquet hall once we got here.” He swallows, treading carefully, a thing Richie never does. “Do you wanna know the dirty details?”

Oh good, you wouldn’t be able to check on his room even if you wanted to. You want to. Need to? Stop thinking. Carmen sucks and you suck.

“Not particularly.” You take one final look at his sleeves, happy with your handiwork, letting his wrists go. “You feel settled, though? Or jury’s still out?”

Richie shrugs, tilting his head back and forth. “Grovelled decent enough, by time we hit Penn. But I’m waitin’ on my informer.”

You cringe, knowing what he means. You also know he’d smack you if you said he doesn’t need your say in order to forgive Carmen. “It’s gonna be a minute, until your informer has an answer.”

“I know.” He nods, twisting his wrists back and forth, looking at the cufflinks. Then he gives you a once over. “Y’look good.”

“You too.” You look over him, he does look good. He’s in his suit, wearing his wedding ring, which makes your heart hurt a little bit, but he does look good. “What’s your fuckin’ job tonight, by the way?” He can’t be doing kitchen. He sucks at kitchen. But he’s also just not dressed for it.

“Fuckin’ everything.” Hyperbolic? Typically yes, with Richie, but not this time.

“Wait staff here had too high a fee—”

“Translation: more than free?”

“More than free, yeah.”

“Heard.”

“So, I’m server, set up, and fuckin’ whore-derve—”

“What?” That pronunciation snaps Sydney out of her autopilot clean, her back snaps up straight. Hands on her hips, like a disappointed teacher. “It’s hors d’oeuvres.”

Richie rolls his eyes and really his whole head back. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ CIA or whatever the fuck—”

You interrupt the fight before it can start. “Let’s just say appetizers.”

Sydney does not let you. “Apps and hors d’oeuvres are different.”

You angle your body from Richie to her, deadpanning. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ FBI or whatever the fuck—”

“Alright!” She’s already walking to the door, despite the fact that she started it— “We’ve gotta fuckin’ get to hall now or we’re gonna have like zero prep time, Chefs.”

You both follow after her, doing one last check to make sure you’ve got everything you need. You honestly don’t need to be in this much of a rush, you’re pretty sure, but you don’t mention that. Richie said Carmen just went straight to the banquet hall, when they came in this morning. You’re not sure how well you know him anymore, all things considered, but by your best guess, he’s almost certainly done all the prep by himself.

Carmen did not do the kitchen prep entirely himself. Well. He might’ve, you haven’t checked, but you don’t think he would’ve had the time.

Carmen did your prep entirely himself.

When you get to the bar, in the banquet hall, you have nothing to do. Side work finished for you. Lemons, limes, oranges— All cut into wedges and loaded in their baskets— even the cherries are pitted. The glasses are organized from wine to whiskey glasses, the sink is clean— Which you know the banquet hall staff didn’t do— They never fucking do.

You don’t see Carmen, but you know he did it. He showed up before anyone else, he was in the kitchen before anyone else— So no one else could’ve left the simple braised beef sandwich on your station. Exactly how Mikey used to make it. Half hot, half sweet. Your order at The Beef. Carmen would’ve done pork, but this is what they had on hand, and he had a feeling this would mean more, anyways. It does. Granola bar on the plate with it. One of the nice ones, too. The wrapping boasts fifteen grams of protein.

He knows how hard running bar is. He knows you won’t have time to eat once it starts. So, he’s making sure you get something down now— And that you have time to eat it in peace, and making sure you have something you can scarf mid-shift later, when you don’t have time.

Fucking. Hell. Fuck this fucking guy. Carmen fucking sucks. You fucking suck. This all fucking sucks so much. This sandwich is so fucking good. You’re so fucking mad. Stop saying fuck. Fuck your subconscious for wanting you to stop saying fuck. It’s so unfair, for him to be maybe the cruelest a person could possibly be, in front of an audience made out of your loved ones, and then be sweet, like this.

He is awful, with words— Well, he’s typically better, with you, par for the last time, but he’s best in the kitchen. You can taste the sorrow, the guilt, the apology. The first thing he ever made you, was a sandwich, the brisket sandwich, that Mikey refined for you, as an apology, for freaking the fuck out in a freezer and having that be your first impression of him— Or, at least, first first-hand impression of him. How far you’ve come.

This will not pass, as an apology. Not a proper one. But… You’ll give him a sign, in return, at least. A confirmation that you got the message, nothing more. Definitely nothing more.

“Rich.” You stop the guy in his tracks, as he marches through the room, helping the rest of the staff set up the hall. Not his job, but it’s Richie. “Can you ask kitchen their shifties?”

He nods, like he understands, walking away with stacks of chairs under both his arms.

He comes back after two minutes, straight up to your bar. “What the fuck is a shifty?”

“Oh.” You feel condescending, for being surprised. You’d never really thought about the huge difference between morning servers and night servers until right now. Richie has never worked with a bar staff. He worked at a fucking sandwich shop. “It’s uh— Your drink. Get a drink on your shift— Shifty— It can be like, a cocktail, a straight, a shot, coffee—”

“I know how many fucking drinks exist, Chip—” “Mocktail, smoothie, juice—” “Yeah, I’ll get a Pina Colada.” “I will break the blender over your head.” “I’ll get you a list.”

You nod, already starting on usuals you know will have remained unchanged since your absence. Steel trap memory. Getting drinks with The Beef staff used to be the highlight of your week, which isn’t a sad statement at all. “I won’t tell anyone you like Dirty Shirleys.”

He defends. “Eva put me on them.”

“Insane thing to say about your five-year-old.”

“You know what I meant— She likes the normal—” “I’m pokin’ fun, go give this to Carmen.”

You’re hoping if you say it fast, coupled with bickering, Richie won’t make mental note of it. Won’t register it. Of course, he still does. How could he not? You slide the mug to him; he takes it, though, slow, with a perplexed look.

Yeah. They had lavender and maple syrup behind the bar. And cardamom. And milk to froth. And black coffee. Whatever. You didn’t have any dried lavender to top it with, this time, so it’s not actually that cool, anyways. Doesn’t make it special. Did you do a maple syrup drizzle to make up for this? Yeah. You hate yourself just a little bit, for it. You really cannot shut off the way you love, can you? Hopeless. Be even the slightest bit withholding, would you? Just a touch petty? God, you suck. Such a princess.

Rich shrugs, when you don’t try to justify yourself. You’re an adult, he won’t coerce you to be sharper, even if you should be. “Aye aye, Chippy.”

If Carmen ends up wanting to drink later, then he’ll have to come to you. That’s being tough, right? Sure. That’s definitely withholding, Chip. Really showed Carmen there. Certainly, a church woman must be clutching her pearls at your backbone, somewhere in the world.

Do you think you’d be able to handle him coming to your bar, anyways?

No. Decidedly no. Which is a bit stupid, because you’ve faced much scarier things in your life, than some asshole you owe two grand. Well, some asshole you owe two grand that you love deeply that hates you deeply because you are in some part responsible for not taking care of his brother—

Carmen doing your side work was unintentionally cruel, honestly. You don’t have anywhere for your brain to go but him. Don’t have anyone to talk to, or anything to do. Richie can tell and whether you want him to or not; he knows what you need. He repeats himself, walking off with the mug. “I’ll get you your list.”

He knows what you need. Something to do. Something to fix, for someone. Not fix someone. People’s princess. Still failed Mikey, no matter how hard you tried.

Sprite, grenadine, vodka, lime, maraschino cherries. Dirty Shirley. Something to do. Just focus on something to do.

You miss the naivety of wanting something to do. Three hundred guests versus one bartender without a barback is a layer of hell that Dante forgot to specify in his Inferno.

“What can I fix for you, ma’am?!” You’ve got to yell every sentence to get anything intelligible over the music and the cacophony of conversations.

There is an overlap of voices from every single woman crowding around your bar, despite the fact that you were definitely making explicit eye-contact with just one of them. You lean over the counter to hear her alone. She blinks, when you get in her face.

“What are we?”

You cannot stop the snort, but you’re pretty sure she didn’t hear it, music's too loud to hear anything. Syd’s a fucking oracle. “We’re fucked. What can I get for you?”

“Lemon drop shot?” Of course. It’s New York.

“Comin’ right up—”

The crowd of women interrupt you, and each other. “Oh, make that two!” “Make that three!” “Wait what are we making?”

Who the fuck is we? They’re more than welcome to get behind the bar with you. You’d take anyone, at this point.

“Lemon drops, babe!” “Oh—Oh, we doin’ lemon drops?” “Let’s just say ten and be safe!”

Of course.

It’s a lot of that, on repeat. But it’s better than the ones that want one very specific brand of scotch with their soda, because at least you can make huge batches for these ones— Does no one know how to fucking act around an open bar anymore? You get a vodka cran and you fuck off. You really need to start telling people you don’t know how to make bellinis.

Working alone is hard, because you can tell when you turn your back to make drinks, and aren’t able to take twenty more orders at the same time, that everyone’s real fucking annoyed with you. You have tried splitting your cells to become a second person, didn’t work. You’re constantly spinning around to accommodate people, and it’s getting fucking nauseating. And you’re usually patient, but the questions are getting just as mind-numbing.

“Can I get a uh… A negroni… Sbagliato? With prosecco?” “Sbagliato means prosecco is in it, sweetheart.”

“Do you do hurricane shots?” “I’m happy to slap you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, so it’s open bar?” “Yeah.” “So, I don’t have to tip, either?” “Well— It’s appreciated— Oh, and you’ve already walked away. Okay.”

It’s a lot of that, on repeat.

You see from twenty feet away, amidst the crowds, Uncle Jimmy walking towards your bar, and when he waves all friendly, he sees your glower, and opts to turn in the other direction. Smart man. No wonder he’s successful.

Richie swings by your bar, waiting at the corner, where the line hasn’t congregated. You don’t need to be shaking this martini for as long as you are, but it’s a good way to look like you’re working when you’re just trying to talk to Richie. He presents his serving tray to you. “Tiny quiche?”

You open your mouth, hands full with your shaker. He gets the point, stabbing a toothpick into the appetizer and shoving it in your mouth. Oh God, food is beautiful. Food is what sustains. You could write a full book of poetry right now about why food is everything. Well, not everything. You’re still in hell.

“Richie, I’m dying, your job can’t be that important, come be barback.” You pour out the martini. You attempt to open the jar of olives by yourself, when you struggle, Richie puts his tray down and grabs the jar from you.

Thankfully for your pride, he’s also struggling with it. Plus, it gives you time to annihilate the tray of quiches. He shakes his head, his job is important, allegedly. “You want me to starve guests?”

“Ideally? Yes.” You ignore the dirty looks you get from eavesdropping patrons. He hands you the opened jar. You take a toothpick from his tray, since you’re already out of yours, pierce an olive, toss it in the martini, and pass it to someone— Quite frankly, there’s every chance that’s not the guy that ordered the dirty martini, but he takes it, so who gives a fuck.

Richie sighs, he does want to help. “I’ll ask kitchen if they can cut someone.”

Thank fucking God. “Ask Marcus, he’s got mixology experience or some shit.” You remember being occasionally impressed by his verbiage— At the very least, he knows what stuff is back here, and that’s enough for you.

Richie just shakes his head, lips in a line, when you mention Marcus. A universal sign that something has gone horrifically wrong. You furrow your brows, immediately worried, leaning forward. “What happened?”

“Excuse me! What’s it take to get a long-island iced tea around here? This open bar is not very open!”

You and Richie both grimace, at the thick Jersey accent on this woman waving her hand hysterically at your bar. He gives you a nod, already taking his empty tray and starting to walk back to the kitchen. “I’ll ask.”

You turn your body to the woman, but head still to Richie. “Don’t ask. Tell.”

Not even five minutes pass, before you get a barrage of texts, from multiple people, all at once. You watch them flood in on the notification screen of your phone laying on the counter, while shaking up a cosmo, this time.

From Marcus, worrying. ‘sorrysorysorrybakkingemergencymbmmbmb’

From Syd, concerning. ‘couldn’t stop him lmk if it’s bad’

From Richie, alarming. ‘yk how to call your dog right’

But it all makes sense, when Carmen comes up to your bar, removing his apron. “You need a barback?”

Hair is normal. Not at its best, not how you taught him, but it’s better than before. He smells excessively like you; like accidentally used half the bottle levels like you. Maybe not an accident. Don’t read into it, too much— They’re almost certainly the only travel sized bottles he had on hand. Of course he’d take them. He smells like Old Spice, too, though. Don’t read into it. He looks tired. You knew he would. You’ve watched his location, every day. By the time you go to bed each night, he’s only just left The Bear. He deserves to feel tired, he was a fucking asshole, and you’re glad your cat ate just short of all of his flowers.

But you brought in the plate, the next morning. You cleaned it, and then hid it in the back of your dishwasher. You wanted it to be safe, you also just didn’t want to look at it or think about it or have it exist in your mind, at all. That’s half the reason you couldn’t let it perch outside your window anymore. Taunting you. He’s a piece of shit, but you can feel it in your chest; the care you cannot get rid of. The desire to ask are you okay? Have you been sleeping? How are you? How’s your week been? Want a hug? Have you been playing Connections? What did I do wrong? Did you need me? Did anything break? Did you break?

You missed him. Was the radio silence relieving? Yes. Preferably, you’d never acknowledge each other for the rest of your lives besides an eventual wire transfer. Preferably, he’d stay in the back of your dishwasher for the rest of your life. But God, you missed him, this week. You’ll probably miss him for the rest of your life. Is that toxic? You’re working on it. No you’re not… He just made every space easier to breathe in, kept a light on, for you. Not at the end, but he did before. Before he figured out that he hates you.

It’s a thing that everyone says about you, that you bring ease, and whether you can confirm or deny that, who’s to say— But you know Carmen does it for you. Lights up a room for you. And you might be alone in that feeling, but that’s okay with you. Or it was. It was, before he figured out he should hate you.

Oh, shit, you’ve been staring at him in silence for way too long. It’s hard to know how to navigate this. You don’t know how to feel, so you don’t know how to act either. It’s all a weird state of limbo that you desperately want to get out of, but don’t want to do any of the work required to do so. What do you do with your hands? Your body? Your voice? Are you supposed to be funny and nice still? Christ, just say something. What’d he ask, again? Can’t remember.

“Uh…” Still can’t remember, but— “What’s happening with Marcus?”

He seems to falter, slightly, but he comes into your bar, oh right, barback. You needed a barback. He exchanges his kitchen apron for a bar apron. Not used to seeing him wear all black. You wish you could enjoy it. Wish you could say it’s cool watching him act as one of your professions. He answers, as he ties the strings around his waist. “Uber dropped their wedding cake.”

Fuck whatever tension you two have. You nearly fold over in shock. The current track on the speakers fades out, right as you yell back, “They dropped their fucking wedd—!?”

With haste, Carmen puts the palm of his hand over your mouth. Knife tattoo hand. Oh, he missed being this close to you. Not the point here, though. “Shhhhhhh…!”

You relax, he removes his hand, you’re annoyed that you wish he didn’t. You whisper, though it’s still screeching in tone. “They dropped their fucking wedding cake?”

He nods, combing his hair back with his hand. Knife tattoo hand. It’s making your shampoo waft. You both notice it. He stops. “Marcus is remaking one, now.”

“From scratch?” You were right to be so worried; Richie was right to make the face he did. Carmen tilts his head back and forth. “Box mix that he’s finessing—”

You finish the sentence with him, “—Because he’s Marcus.” The king of doing too much, especially when there’s no time for it. It’s his best and worst trait.

He nods, smiling just slightly, but not the typical smile you get from him. Timid. “Yeah, so he’s locked in, but I’m here.”

Simple sentence, but it still schisms your brain. You cannot help but feel a distrust of it. “Shouldn’t you be running the back, though?” Keeping his kitchen in order? Being the Exec in his head?

He shakes his head. “They run a tight ship without me just fine.” The first lesson you gave to him, that that’s a good thing. Is this conversation hitting specific pain points on purpose as a punishment from God or is this just how all your conversations are going to feel, from now on?

Probably both. You nod. “Okay.” You do need a barback.

“This is so cute, girl, and I love love but I’m gonna need that Cosmo like yesterday.” Why did this woman have to say love? That would already be terrible if you were good right now. Carmen’s probably not the type of guy to say the L word for like several months anyways. You’re not even dating anyways— Or weren’t? Can you use past-tense on something that never was?

You hand her the Cosmo, and you both pretend you never heard her.

Running bar with Carmen makes your life infinitely easier, though albeit tenser. He hasn’t done this before, but he’s watched previous bar staff from the sidelines— And one of his best traits is how quick he catches on to things. He’s not confident enough to mix drinks, but everything else, he does just fine.

“Behind.” There’re occasional autopilot moments that make you laugh, though. He snaps back into his body, when you do, moving next to you. He tilts his head, “What, you don’t say behind?”

You shrug, and it feels normal, for a second. “Professionals probably do, I’ve never worked in a place that does, though.”

“But what about when you’re holdin’ shit?” You allow yourself to feel normal, for a second. It is a delight to teach him something about your work. You continue to make drinks and hand off orders, all while you both speak. It reminds you of the domestic flow you were both so used to doing. That was so easy for you both to fall into. It’s nice that it somehow hasn’t gone away.

“So, you know when you’re in the kitchen, or here, behind bar, you get like, really fucking hot?” Don’t let that entendre stay doubled— “Like sweaty?”

“Mhm?”

You hold onto your chilled shaker, stepping behind him, “So, we don’t say behind, we—” and press it just under the back of his neck. He shivers, immediately, full shock running through his system. “Do that.”

“Christ!”

You want to enjoy the moment, but you can’t help but remember him calling you a modern-day saviour. You try to push it down, but the warmth you were starting to feel tones down, quite a bit. You manage to keep him from noticing, manage to keep the smile on. “What, don’t like it? It’s nice!”

“Think it’s a safety concern, f’sure.”

“Call OSHA.” You touch the shaker to his face, before going to pour it. He laughs. Actually laughs. You wish that made you feel good, still. And somewhere, in some corner of yourself, it still does. But not like it did before.

Soon enough, you two get a second of reprieve, as Vinnie’s Best Man gets up to do his speech, or whatever. He uses a knife to clink his glass, and of course, it fucking shatters. You’re half-mad, because technically for the night, those are your glasses, but it’s too funny to actually give a shit. Plus, the Best Man gets a pass tonight, in your book, because one, he understood protocol and got a vodka cran from you, and two, his speech is forcing everyone to sit down and leave y’all the fuck alone.

“Beautiful night, beautiful couple, beautiful people— Couldn’t ask for a better weddin’ for my best friend— But let’s be honest, I didn’t think he’d be gettin’ a wedding at all— Aye! This guy Vin, amirite?”

You take this moment to halve your protein bar from Carmen. You wordlessly hand the other half to him. He shakes his head. “M’Good, you eat.”

You shove it towards him. You know he hasn’t eaten much, you don’t know how, but you just know. “I’ve eaten twelve tiny quiches and a beef sandwich, Carm, take the fuckin’ granola.”

He breathes heavily through his nose, but he takes it. You both watch the Best Man, quietly eating your halves. He is silently overjoyed at the verbal confirmation you ate the sandwich.

“I don’t need to introduce my goddamn self, I’m sure my reputation precedes me, right? But I’m Leo, I’m my boy’s Best Man, and I just couldn’t be more honoured, y’know? We grew up together, playin’ stickball in the Bronx, and now this guy’s marryin’ one of the most wonderful women in the world? And I get to be here? Man, I love ya.”

As cranky as you’ve been all night, this really is a gorgeous wedding. More often than not, the guests are nice, it’s just that the shit ones stick out in your head like nails to be hammered. Vinnie and Mira seem like a good couple. You wonder if you’ll ever get to have a wedding like this. They commissioned one of those painters to do a live painting, too. Always wanted one of those. And they’ve got little gift bags for the guests. You’re taking notes, internally, of what you like here, what you’d want to do for your own.

You wish you and Carmen were talking, right now. Despite the fact that Leo’s voice is booming throughout the hall’s speakers, the silence between you feels deafening, because you both know that you would be talking right now, if you weren’t living in fucking limbo. You need to work. You need something to do. The ice basket is running low, refilling it will take at least two minutes and maybe holding the ice will shock your nervous system.

You grab a bag of ice from the freezer behind you both, Carmen pretends to be listening to the speech, because he doesn’t feel like he has the right to help you with the weight. You cut the bag, emptying huge chunks of ice into the basket. You ball up the plastic in your hands to throw out; you nod to Carmen. “Can you break the ice?”

He seems surprised, taking a second, before nodding, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I owe you an apology—”

“Oh, no!” You hastily correct. “No— Yes but no— I— I meant—” You hand him the metal scooper, nodding to the clumped-up ice you just poured out. “I meant can you break the literal ice blocks?”

Carmen wishes he has dead. And you can both tell that. “Yes. Yes— Yeah, f’sure, one-hundred— Course. Heard.” You nod back, pensive, throwing the plastic bag out, staring straight ahead, trying to refocus on Leo again. You can’t.

Carmen beats the ice, softly, so as to not make a noticeable noise for the audience. After a few seconds, he returns to his point. “…I do owe you an apology, though—”

“Don’t even worry about it, Carmen.” You don’t say this. Fak does. He sidles up to the bar. Where he keeps apparating from and hearing your conversations, you’re really not sure. “I’ve got this one.”

Neither you or Carmen know what Fak thinks he’s got, here, but you’re both too intrigued or surprised to stop him. Well, Carmen does give it a fair shot, after a second, “Fak, I’m—”

“Nono—” But there’s simply no chance. “I appreciate you trying to fix my problems for me, but y’know, I can handle myself, Carmen.” …You wish that’s what Carmen said, last Friday, instead of calling himself your charity tax write-off.

Fak pivots to you, sighing, shrugging, hands up, as if you know as well as he does what the fuck he’s about to say. You can’t tell if you’re supposed to be scared right now or not. When you don’t say anything, he starts, “Alright, I guess I’m the one that's brave enough to say it, there’s some major tension here.”

Now why does Fak think he’s the one to acknowledge this. Quite frankly, why is Fak here? Is he working, too? On what exactly? You don’t remember seeing him on the plane, either. Was he a part of the road trip? Dear God, that's a nightmare third wheel. You just let out a, “Huh?”

“Oh, come on, you haven’t shown up at The Bear since last Friday—” You’re now remembering that before the fight of all fights broke out that night, Fak ran out of the kitchen. Guess no one filled him in, after. “And like, this week, when something broke—” He nods to Carmen, who grimaces, hand over his face. “Carmy told me to fix it, instead of calling you, like he’d usually.”

You know you’re not allowed to be upset about that, and yet, you really fucking are. You’re Carmen’s fucking fixer. Or were? Fuck. Christ, are you jealous of Fak now? You turn your gaze just slightly to Carmen, who’s leaning over the counter, propping his head up on his hands. “What broke?”

He answers briefly. “Expo clock.”

It was extremely apt and even more upsetting for him, the way time literally stopped, when you left. When he made you leave.

You tuck your hands in your pockets, looking back to Fak. “You fix it?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.” Carmen stands back up, opening his mouth to intercept, Fak puts a hand in front of his face. “No Carm, I’ve gotta tell her the truth…” What.

“Tony…” Neil sighs, unable to make eye contact, at this moment. “I was really harsh on you, that Friday…”

“…Huh?” The fucking degree thing? Is that what he’s talking about? You honestly can’t remember anything before Carmen, from that night.

“You don’t need to hide your pain.” He nods solemnly, “I— I’m just gonna say it… I know it’s hard to believe, but I was… jealous.”

“I know.”

He ignores that you’ve said this entirely, “I know, I know, it’s crazy. Me? Jealous? But yeah, I was really good at hiding it, but you’re just really like smart, Tony, y’know? And everyone was like— Tony can fix this— Tony can fix that— And I was holding it together, but then you were good at serving, too. And it got to me— And obviously Carmen could tell, so he stopped calling you. Trying to be a true bro.”

Oh, Fak really doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, huh? “Of course there’s like, the other obvious tension in the room—” Oh okay, so he does know— “Between us.” What.

“What’s up?” You blink, voice going high for a second. Carmen cannot stop staring at Fak, face entirely unmoving, unblinking. Neither of you are sure what emotion to feel right now. Is Leo’s speech still fucking going? You’ve completely tuned it out, if it is.

Fak gestures to the air between you two. “Well like, there’s obviously a really intense sort of rivals to romance dynamic happening here…”

What.

“And like,” He raises his hands, in defense— Of what exactly? You couldn’t be less sure. “I could totally see that happening, in the future.”

It takes everything in you, to just hold your lips closed together. You have to bite down on your top lip, to not scream laugh in his face. “For sure, man.”

He nods, continuing, “But right now, I just don’t think I’m ready to take what you’re giving, y’know?” Holy shit, wait, is that how Carmen feels? Is that what the fuck is going on in his head? “Just not ready for all—” He gestures to you in general. “This.”

“Little harsh.” You tilt your head. “Fuckin’ cool it, Fak.” Carmen barks, in tandem with you. Oh, he’s upset. He wasn’t set on his emotions, this entire time, but he seems to have now settled in the upset category.

“Right.” Fak nods. “And so, I’m sorry I can’t be that for you… And I know it’s gonna take time to recover, but please come back to The Bear, when you’re ready. You’re… You’re a better repairman than me. We need you.”

You put a hand over your mouth, to cover your shit eating grin, trying your best to compose yourself and look sad. The best way out of this is to just agree with him. It’d take far too much energy to clarify everything for Fak. You’re nodding too much. “…Yeah, y’know, Fak… I will consider that. All those words you said? I’m gonna… Gonna really take all of it to heart, dude. I really appreciate… The directness— Y’know, that takes… Strength, man.”

“Thank you.” He nods. “Still friends?”

You did not realize you were even friends to start. And not in the insecure way, this time. You nod. “For sure, dude.”

You and Carmen both watch him walk away, in perplexed silence. Carm’s the first to break it. “…Was that anything—” “Obviously fucking not.”

He’s going to reply something witty in response, and it’s going to make you both feel like everything’s okay, again, but then he seems to see something that scares him straight. He turns to the back of the bar, aimlessly grabbing bottles, for no reason. Literally no reason, everyone sat for the speeches, what’s he doing—?

“You still serving?” Older man, oval glasses. He stands in front of your bar. Ah. Kinda rude of him, maybe that’s why Carmen’s giving the cold shoulder to this guy? Whatever. You'll serve him. Just because you're Chicago's Kindest doesn't mean everyone else has to be.

“Yessir, what can I fix for you?”

“Manhattan with bourbon?”

You salute, “Aye aye.” And get to mixing the drink. You’re pretty sure Carmen must know this guy, because he’s already set out the bourbon, vermouth, and angostura. It doesn’t take long to fix the drink.

When you go to hand it to the man, he seems to notice the mop of blond curls behind you. “Aye, Carmen? Jimmy told me you’d be workin’ tonight.”

A small, tentative, meek wave from Carmen. He sniffs. “Yeah. Hi, Uncle Lee.”

“Oh.” Is all you can say. Pulling the drink away from his hand, as Uncle Lee reaches for it. “You’re Uncle Lee?”

“My reputation precedes me?” He chuckles, nodding.

Carmen comes up beside you, and witnesses a smile from you that he’s never seen from you, and ideally hopes will never be directed at him. It’s the slowness of it, it’s a smile, but you’re doing it purely to bare your teeth.

“It sure does.” Give him a chance, it’s been four years, give him a chance. “I was a friend of Mikey’s.”

He fails the chance. “Ah… I see, friend, ya did a little—” He taps the side of his nose, sniffing. “Together?”

He really fucking fails the chance. Your smile grows, painfully so. The apples of your cheeks so high they practically close your eyes for you. You laugh a deeply fake laugh. “Hahaha, yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what we used to do. Uncle Lee.”

“Oh!” You tilt your wrist quickly, pouring the bourbon Manhattan in the bar sink. “Ah, fuck. Hand slipped.”

Lee is a bit taken aback. “Really—?”

“Really.” You repeat. Putting the glass down. “And y’know, I could remake that for you, but I dunno if you wanna trust my shaky junkie hands.”

Holy fuck. Carmen has always been great at keeping his reactions hidden, and still is, so Uncle Lee cannot tell how out of character this is, of you. You’re nice, you don’t bite— Or Carmy didn’t think you did, because of the amount of grace you gave him, last Friday.

“Lee, I’m gonna level with you.” You cross your arms, smile fading, but there’s still that venomous lilt in your voice. “I’ve been thinking for the last, I dunno, two years, what I’d say to you, if I had the displeasure of seeing you.”

There’s a pile of forks behind your bar, that you’d asked Richie for, just in case this situation came to a head. Just in case this fucking idiot came by. But it just doesn’t feel right, now. Doesn't feel right to leap over the counter and stab him in the neck with a fork. Though you've imagined it, and you still actively are.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, looking around the venue. “But we’re at this beautiful wedding, and Vinnie and Mira don’t deserve to have their reception ruined by us causing a scene.” You gesture to the air between you, almost comical.

He shrugs, “Better than Mikey, in that regard, then.” You know what he’s referring to, despite not being there.

You nod, smiling real big now, really baring your teeth, now. “His fuckin’ house, Lee.”

“I could have your ass fired, y’know.” “So do it.”

You lean forward, elbows on the counter. “I’m not getting paid for this. Please, get me fired. Snitch to Uncle J, c’mon, fire me. I’m delighted to get cut. Do it.”

After what feels like eons of a silent stare down, Uncle Lee throws a fake punch. Carmen’s the only one that flinches, immediately rearing his own fist back, stopping short when Lee does.

You’re still just coy, elbows on the counter. Lee scoffs, “Cokehead.” Of course.

“Yessir.” You just lightly shake your head, standing up straight again, smiling, amused, delighted, even. “That’s me. That’s who I am.” It’s not, but there’s no point in arguing with him— Especially when you agreeing just seems to piss him off more.

You’ve given Lee nothing to work with, to insult you, so it takes him a moment to generate something. “You’re—”

You don’t let him get it out, putting a hand up for him to give it a rest. “Lee, I’m not startin’ a scene, it’s a gorgeous wedding.”

“Oh, how grown of you—” “But, if you wanna have a scene, just wait in the parking lot.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You really think—” “I do. I do think, Lee.”

You lean forward, again, shrugging, speaking nonchalant, speaking with your hands, casually. “I wanna make it so clear, for you, too. I’m not gonna crack my knuckles, not gonna make some empty threats, not gonna scream in your face— I’m not gonna tell you I’m gonna kill you or anything like that. Because obviously, I wouldn’t do that.”

You nod, slowly, methodically, clearly. “What I am gonna say, is that I have been a bartender on and off since I was twenty-one. I was an E-M-T, for three years— All in our beautiful city of Chicago, Illinois. The sheer volume of geriatric white guys I have had to pull to the concrete in a full nelson in both professions— Insurmountable, Lee. So again, to be, so fucking clear, Lee— If I see you outside, I’m taking you to the fucking pavement, and I’m not getting off.”

Uncle Lee’s got no comeback, for this, but he’d be dead in the ground before he just lets someone have the last word. This is why Uncle Jimmy is more successful. “Oh, I’m sure you fuckin’ would.”

You grin. God, those forks are tempting. Resist. You keep your hands busy by grabbing a maraschino cherry from it's jar behind your bar to snack on. “Enjoy your night, Lee.”

“You’re a real fuckin’ bi—” A fork flies over his shoulder, clattering behind him. Not from you, from Carmen.

He speaks for you. “Enjoy your night, Uncle Lee.”

It feels good to be backed. Carmen’s here, and he’s on your team. You tack on, waving goodbye to the fucker, “Back lot, Uncle Lee.”

Lee pivots his gaze to Carmen, he rolls his eyes, disappointed. “Alright, Donna.”

Carmen goes for another fork, you stop his hand, holding it there, for a second. The metal clatters behind the counter. Lee’s pleased enough with the provocation. Men like him don’t leave until they’ve won something in their heads. He leaves, on his way to the punch bowl, since he’s determined he’s not getting shit from the bar tonight. You and Carmen just watch him, like prey, making sure he leaves without looking back.

“You’ve got teeth.” Carmen’s first to speak, cleaning a glass, both of you looking straight ahead. You nod.

“I do.”

“You don’t bite much.”

You shrug. “Try not to.”

Carmen considers the fact that what he wants to say would mean sticking his foot in his mouth. He then considers the fact that nothing he could say now will ever be worse than what he said then. He keeps rubbing away at a perfectly shining glass.

“You didn’t bite me.”

“I didn’t.” You nod, and your body goes on autopilot, as you start making a drink no one’s ordered. Just need something to do. “I couldn’t.”

He doesn’t like that answer. “I deserved it.”

“I deserved it, too.” You’re not a big fan of your own answer, either. But you can’t say it’s not true. You deserved it. Just some failure leech trying to reattach yourself to people through merry good deeds, as if they’d add up to fucking anything—

“No, you didn’t.” He pivots to you, tone inarguable. He puts the glass down. It’s a lowball, you need a lowball, you grab it from him.

“Do you like cognac or vodka?” You ignore his words, but you look him in the eyes. You regret it.

He lets you get away with it, because he is absolutely not the one allowed to lead the conversation, here. He did enough bulldozing, before.

“I dunno, I don’t really drink much.” You squint, you’ve seen his apartment. He clarifies. “Other than wine n’ beer.”

You nod. You opt for cognac. He watches you, for a moment, before asking. “What’re you—”

You’re already finished, by this point, sliding the glass over to him. “Black lavender latte. Cognac n’ coffee liqueur. If it’s too strong, let me know, I can add more milk.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Is all he can think to say. He takes a sip. It’s far behind in his long list of regrets, but certainly one of them in the way he spoke to you, is that there’s a strong chance he will never have a mixologist as talented as you working at The Bear.

“Hmm.” You hum, not watching him drink it, because you won’t be able to handle either reaction— You won’t be able to handle disgust nor pleasure. You never want to look at Carmen again. He’s also all you want to see. This sucks. You suck. Carmen sucks.

“Thank you for the coffee earlier, too.” You’re overjoyed at the verbal confirmation he drank it.

“Figured you’d need one.”

“I did.” He thinks about it, and decides to take the bullet. “Needed yours.”

Your breath hitches, and he can’t tell whether or not that’s a good thing. He doesn’t get the chance to ask, as a meek and overly sweaty man comes up to your bar. There are bar stools at your counter, though they’ve been tucked far under it to keep the flow of traffic moving. But the man points down to the stool, silently asking. You nod.

“You can sit, sir.”

He’s delighted. He sits. “Sorry, I’m not gonna sit long, I just uh— Just—” He turns around pointing to the Maid of Honour, who’s just gotten on the hot mic for her speech. “I uhm, it’s— Usually the bar is empty, when uh, when people are talking.”

“That they are.” You nod, smile soft. “Can I get anything for you, or d’you just wanna sit? No shame in that.”

“I— I, uh, if it’s not a bother— I was just wonderin’ if uhm— Totally fine, if it’s— If it is— Do uhm, do you— Do you do mocktails?”

Carmen watches you grow ten times softer, in demeanor. It’s wonderful, how you’re able to flip on a dime. It’s wonderful what you’re willing to give to people, when they deserve it. You nod. “Yeah, sir. What’s your drink?”

“Oh— I— Anything’s fine, really.” He plays with the loose strings on the cuff of his left sleeve.

You tilt your head, recognizing his nervousness. “If it’s not too personal, sir, are you…” You debate the best way to say it. “Taking twelve steps?”

He looks scared, initially, to be caught; but then he looks at your face, and he knows he has nothing to be worried about. He nods. “One— Two months, two weeks, one day.”

“That’s huge.”

He shrugs. “It’s a start.”

“A start is huge.” You emphasize, and he nods, because that’s inarguable. “What was your drink before? I can make a mocktail of that— Or maybe you’d prefer somethin’ total opposite?”

“Oh! Yeah, I uh, I liked uh, old-fashioneds, but you can’t really make those without whiskey—”

“Yeah, you can.” You’re already grabbing your shaker. “You just use barley tea. I can do that— If you want that.”

He thinks on it, for a second. Debates whether nostalgia is good or not. “Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”

While you work on it, the guy feels enough confidence, bestowed by you, to tell you about himself. “I liked sitting. That was the thing I liked about drinking. The sitting and the talking and the feeling good about it.”

“I hear that.” You watch the tea steep, nodding. “Reason why the phrase is ‘takes the edge off’.”

Carmen has to turn around. He’s listening intently, but he has to turn around. Again, he’s pretty good at hiding his tells, but you’re pretty good at reading them. And you’d be able to tell his flat expression is the equivalent of being absolutely fucking bug eyed on anyone else. You’re a bartender. You were a paramedic. You have seen so many people, on their worst day— Seen so many people like this guy, like his brother. You have taken care of so many addicts.

The number of times he said loser or junkie to your face, and the way that that was what you always fought back on. It will not stop replaying, in Carmen’s head. The way you think that wasn’t okay, but the way he spoke about you was. It’s all just nauseating. You’re so good to everyone but you. You defend everyone but you. Carmen's almost furious about this, though he doesn't feel he has the right to be. You should've treated him like Uncle Lee. He acted exactly like Uncle Lee.

“It can make it easier, to be at the bar, for some people, I've found.” You continue, still making conversation with the man as you stir the steeped tea into the glass, over ice. “Makes you feel normal.” Forced sobriety is definitely in the top five, of the most ostracizing human experiences.

He nods, relieved to have someone. “Most people don’t get that.”

You nod, strain out the virgin old-fashioned, and push the glass to him across the counter. “Well, I get that.”

He takes a sip of the mocktail, it’s perfectly nostalgic in a way that doesn’t hurt. “Thank you.” He’s thanking you for a lot more than the drink.

“A pleasure.” You nod. He stands up, tucking the stool back under the counter, as the speeches end. It won’t be long until the bar is crowded again, and he knows it’ll be too much, for him or you. You add. “Good luck with month three. It's a heavy one.”

“If you work it and you’re worth it.” He recites the line incorrectly on purpose, it’s an important one, but you both still laugh at it. Like an inside joke, practically. You give one quick dap, he puts a twenty in your tip jar, and walks off, with less sweat, and more spring in his step, this time. Good.

When he walks away, before guests start to stand, there’s a lull of silence. You don’t need to look at Carmen to know he has a million different thoughts, and a million more follow ups.

“You have questions?”

“None of my business.” He sniffs, awkwardly. “Unless you want it to be.”

Why did he have to fucking say it like that. Why did he have to put the ball in your court. Carmen fucking sucks. Y’know what, no, turn it on his ass.

“Did you give the New York Exec my number?”

“No.” The reply is instant. He doesn’t get thrown by the topic change in the slightest. You were pretty sure you knew the answer, but the speed of it is still a little surprising. Like it wasn’t something that was ever up for debate.

“What’d you say to him, then?”

This is when he looks embarrassed, just slightly. This part was up for debate, seemingly. “We—”

“Everyone, please stay in your seats for just a moment, our wonderful catering crew will be coming around to serve you!” Says… Vinnie’s mom? Mira’s mom? They all kind of blend together. It’s not long after this, that Syd rolls by with Marcus and a cart of food. She’s starting with you, despite the fact that you’re not a guest. Sweetie.

“Salmon or chicken?”

“Just gimme both, we’ll split it.” You nod your head to Carmen. “Best of both worlds.”

And then, the game of eye contact conversation ensues. A game that Carmen nor Marcus can comprehend.

‘I asked you’ Syd glares.

‘You can’t just starve him out’ You deadpan.

‘Who said?’

“Syd.” You say aloud. She sighs, handing you both plates, mumbling ‘whatevers’, walking off to serve the actual guests. No time to bicker. You look to Marcus, worried. “Heard about the cake, how’s it goin?”

He shrugs but he’s smirking, proud and bad at hiding it, he hands you a paper plate with a little chocolate cupcake. The floral frosting job is simple, and you know if he had more time, you’d probably be looking at a full realistic rose, but it’s still beautiful. “You tell me. Taste test.”

“Lil sacrilege, to do dessert before dinner, but okay.” You grab a fork from your pile, digging in. “Oh fuck,” You have to laugh. “Marcus— You stress me the fuck out, how do you have time to make shit this good?”

It’s a built-in habit for you, to hand your fork to Carmen. He gives you a moment to realize or pull back. You should but you don’t. He takes it, thankful, and tries the cupcake for himself.

“S’fire, Chef.” He points the fork, emphatically. “‘Specially with what you had.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Marcus nods.

You tilt your head, curious, “Do you even have time to test, though? If this sucked you wouldn’t have time to remake the full cake anyways, would you?”

“No.” He answers bluntly, and you both snort. He adds, “Just wanted to make sure you got dessert, over here.” Just wanted to make sure you ate something.

“Marcus…” You pout, overcome by the sweetness of the sweets Chef. You’ve gotta return the favour. “Gin and juice still your go-to?”

“You tryna get me fucked up at work?”

You shrug, grinning. “Are you tryna get fucked up at work?”

He’s going to say yes, but then he pauses, and looks to his boss. Looks to Carmen. Ah, you don’t run his kitchen— Get that through your head. Of course, Marcus can’t just drink—

Carmen shrugs, smiling, “Are you tryna get fucked up at work, Chef?”

Marcus claps his hands, grinning. “Yessir!”

That makes you feel a little lighter. You nod. “Gin and juice, comin’ up.”

You pour out the pineapple juice— Marcus’ preferred juice, of course you remembered. And Marcus leans over the bar, to watch you stir in the gin, even if it’s just a stupid simple drink, the guy loves to learn.

He asks, “How much they payin’ you, tonight?”

You shake your head, “Tips. Nothin’ else.”

Carmen’s ears burn, at that, while he evenly divides and plates out the salmon and chicken plates so you both have a little of everything. If things were normal you could just eat off each other's plates.

Marcus tilts his head, just as surprised. “You in debt, too?”

“Just to Mikey.” You smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m doin’ this in exchange for Uncle J getting me out of work early, a couple weeks back.”

“That’s it?”

“I was in a rush.” You shrug, measuring out the simple syrup. “Got like thirty missed texts from Syd, I thought someone fuckin’ died, didn’t have time to bargain.”

“Wait—” Marcus cannot help but grin, nearly laughing, at the ridiculousness of it, at how bad you got fucked over, by your own permission. “You’re here because you… left work… to go deliver Nat’s baby?”

“Yessir.” Are you fucking serious? Carmen can’t help but stare at the side of your head, for just a few seconds, before going back down to the plates. You’re in this hellscape of a bar, three states from your home, because you were delivering his niece? You did that for them already, and promised yourself for this, in order to do that?

“You know me,” You hand Marcus his glass, and you shouldn’t make the joke, but you can’t help yourself. “Modern day Christ.”

Marcus stifles down his snort, turning his head away from Carmen, to look at the ground. You do the same. There is something painful, about it all, for everyone; but Carmen can’t say that pain isn’t deserved, on his end, so he takes it. You’re allowed to joke about it all you want, if that’s what it takes for you to feel lighter.

A timer goes off on Marcus’ phone. He takes a sip from his gin and juice, nodding in approval, “Oh, shit— Alright, cool times up—” He lifts the glass to you, you hurriedly get the point and grab a random empty cup to clink with him, cheers.

“I’ll be back.” He says. Doubtful, you think. But you nod and wave him off nonetheless.

“If T needs a drink, tell her to take five.” You haven’t seen her tonight, but you realize yourself, again, once you say this. Not your kitchen. “Uh— If that’s, that’s okay—”

“Tell Chef to take a break if she needs it, we haven’t seen her.” Says Carmen, beside you. We. Don’t read into it. He hates you, and you hate him, actually. Carmen sucks, and so do you.

Marcus nods, and makes his mad dash off as a tsunami of guests that have just gotten their plates decide now that they want a drink with their meal. Sonofabitch.

God, you need a break. It’s really hitting you, and your stomach. As full as everyone’s tried to keep you, you really need to just sit down and have your fucking plate. Working behind a bar is a nightmare on the feet and back— Your earrings feel heavy, and your bracelets feel like handcuffs. It’s just all too much, without a break. You need a nap and maybe a thirty-minute session of just staring at a wall.

But the tsunami.

Carmen watches your side profile, and thinking back in his head, the collage of memories forming your face— He’s never seen you genuinely fatigued before. He’s seen you in the middle of the night, he’s seen you caught off guard, seen you distressed— But you’ve never really been one to ask for a break. It’s always yes of course it’s done, with you. It’s your best and worst trait.

As the crowd closes in, and your face morphs into a smile, ready to serve, Carmen claps his hands together, calling out to the sea. “Ey, sorry everyone, we’re just gonna take a quick thirty, alright? Union mandated.”

There is no such thing as a Bartender’s Union, you and Carmen very well know that. You’re about to call it off and say it’s fine before someone can throw an empty glass at your head or something, but instead, a scrawny but wide built, deeply New York Italian man, at the front of the crowd nods.

And as he nods, the crowd groans. He looks deeply offended by this. He turns to his fellow guests. “Where do y’all get off? We fought for those thirty-minute breaks, you fucks!” This quiets them pretty quickly. “We can live with the fuckin’ punch bowl for thirty minutes, c’mon.”

Carmen gets close enough to whisper to you, but far enough that it’s still not personal. Far enough that he still hates you. “Most of the family does or did service work. Say ‘union mandated’ and you can do anythin’”

You smile, watching the crowd dissipate, you crack a joke, because that’s probably what you’re supposed to do. “Union mandated… Murder?”

“Revolt, y’mean?” “Is that an offer?” “I’d ride for you.”

It’s supposed to be light and fun, but you can’t stop yourself, you can’t play the part and it comes out. “Would you?”

That one hurts. It all hurts, but that one really gets Carmen. That you’d have genuine reason to have pause about his dedication to you. Not your fault, his.

You grab your plate from his side of the counter, embarrassed by your instinctual prod. “Sorry.”

He’s not embarrassed by his. “Stop apologizing.”

There’s a heavy silence, before Carmen adds, “I’m supposed to be fuckin’ apologizing.”

There are no more interruptions. Fak isn’t going to come by, patrons are leaving you be, the staff is either helping Marcus or serving food. There is nothing left, to interrupt you two. This is going to happen. Christ, why does Never Let Me Down Again have to be playing right now? That’s not a fucking wedding song. This is too dramatic and simultaneously awkward and clunky and bad. There is no somethings left for you to do. There is nothing left to do, but talk. Nothing left to do but escape the void, ideally together. Please let it be together. You hate to admit it, but you want it to be together.

There is no good place to sit. So, you pick up your plate, and one of the many forks from your pile. With a sigh, you crouch down, and slide yourself underneath the counter, sitting with your legs folded, so Carmen can join you. You nod to him, to let him know that he can in fact join you.

He does. You take a few bites, in silence, before he breaks it.

“I didn’t mean a fuckin’ word.”

“It’s okay if you did.” You can’t look up from your plate. You deserved it.

He says your name, with a severity, to it. “—I didn’t mean a fucking word.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“I—” Despite rehearsing what he wanted to say, and having ample stage to say it, he does not know how to say any of it, anymore. “I was like, like, jealous? But not in the— Not in the normal way.”

“Normal way?”

“Like, I didn’t— Well I did— But I like—” He puts his fork down, “I saw you as competition.”

You don’t know what to say, and so he keeps going. “I saw you like… Like being so perfect at everything, and being so… Being so what everyone needed, and you being there, and and— I felt so… the way you can just do that— Like— Like you can just be you and it just works. And I just fucking can’t.”

A talent you share with his brother. A talent Carmen envied in Mikey, and thus, envies in you.

“And then I got so… weird about that thought. Like you being you is— You’re for everyone. And I got this idea in my head that…” He cringes, trying to find better wording in his head for it, and he can’t. “That you were for me.”

“But you’re not for me—” “Ouch.” “—Not what I meant.”

He thanks you, internally, for being willing to add levity, right now. “I lo— I like you, so much. And I don’t want you to change. If you were like…” He half gestures to himself, which you’re not a big fan of the deprecation, but you let it slide. “Cold, and not for anyone, you wouldn’t be… you.”

Carmen realized as much, watching you tonight. Watching you interact with full strangers to long time friends. If you were callus, you wouldn’t be you. If you didn’t love his family as much as he did, he wouldn’t have attached himself to you, so quickly. He loves the way that you love. The way that you can’t turn it off. It’s not that Carmen isn’t special. It’s that you are so fucking special. He’s fucking stupid for not connecting those dots, earlier.

He picks up his fork again, needing to do something with his hands. Your brows remain furrowed, as you try to walk back how he spiraled from what and where.

“So, you just wanted to take me down a peg?”

He shakes his head. “It— I— With Mikey, I— I saw some shit that made me think that I was just… fillin’ a gap, or you were just being so good to me out of like… Guilt.” He chews down on his salmon. “And I couldn’t find your fuckin’ invoice, so I just kept drilling into my head that I was just… Charity.”

“You’re not charity.” You’re quick to refute.

“You didn’t fail Mikey.” So is he.

Oh Christ. You nod, but you don’t believe it. “You weren’t wrong to say it.” You have to put your plate down. “I— I don’t see you like I saw Mikey, at all. But I do…” You trail off, just looking at him has you tearing up.

He leaves home so early. He comes home so late. He looks so tired. Gaunt. Has he been eating? Did he light his oven on fire again? Remember how he looked in the freezer. Remember how Mikey looked in the freezer? Remember how they are so so different. They are so different but you still can’t stop connecting every fragment and taking it as a sign and worrying so fucking much, so fucking paranoid—

“Do what?” He swallows his last bite of chicken, and you can’t stop looking at him and fuck you just can’t hold it back, this time. You were doing so good about this. This isn’t even the point of the conversation— Well, kind of. Just breathe.

As your eyes begin to water, he sets his plate aside on the floor, reaching out immediately, worried, immediately. He pauses, hand floating in the air. Hesitating. “Fuck—Can I?”

Eyes barely open, you nod. He’s quick to take your plate from your hands, set it aside, and hug you there. It’s awkward, underneath a bar counter, half sitting, half crouching, grappling you. Carmen does not wish to be anywhere else.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and babble, unable to hold back a fear that’s been long standing, since the day you met him.

“Sometimes you remind me of Mikey so much and I get so scared and I just— Fuck, I just— Please don’t kill yourself, Carmen.” His arms wrap around just a bit tighter, as do yours. “I know that’s selfish—”

“It’s not.” Mumbled, to your neck. Skin to skin isn’t really the focal point, here, but there is a lurking part of his subconscious fearing that he will never be able to hug you like this, again. Never be your rock. “I won’t.”

It’s silent, for a minute. You believe him. He holds you there, and you believe him.

“Why did you think all that? That you were filler?” You pull back, just a bit, to look at his face. “Did I do something to make you feel like that?”

“No— God no. You’re—” He swallows. It feels stupid now, to even say how his fucking tantrum started, you had it so much worse, in your head. Why didn’t you tell him? “I was looking for your invoice, and—”

“I forgot the booths, by the way.” You recall the shoddy invoice you wrote. It’s a stupid time to interrupt, but as you slowly grow more comfortable, inches from his face, it feels like the time to be stupid. “And taxes. I owe you something more like eighteen-seventy.”

“You don’t owe me shit.”

“I’m paying back a Berzatto, somehow.”

“Where’d that money come from?”

“Where’d your tirade come from?”

He swallows again, getting back to the point. “I found a folder. Called ice chips, or something like that— But it wasn’t for ice. It was, for you.”

You look at him, genuinely perplexed for a second. Then you get it. And it makes a lot more sense, why Carmen knows you failed Mikey—Try as he might to deny it. “Oh… You found my Ice folder.”

“Fuck’s that mean?” You’re glad, honestly, that he’s never had a reason to learn what it means. It’s fair. You had to teach it to Mikey, too.

“Ice. I-C-E, Carmen. It’s an acronym.” You spell it out, slow. “In Case of Emergency. I-C-E.”

It knocks the wind out of him, immediately. He’s extra glad he’s holding onto you, because he’s starting to feel untethered. “What?”

You nod. It’s time to walk him through it. You have to tell him. “I made Mikey keep some sort of emergency stuff as a fail-safe, for when he forgot people wanted him alive.” When Carmen’s quiet, you continue. “I was in his work cabinet, I think Richie was in his bedside, you and Sug were in his wallet.”

His stomach lurches, at the idea of being the emergency his brother always had on him. “You knew he was suicidal?”

Who didn’t? You think, but don’t say, because that’s not fair. Mikey cut him out, how could he know?

“Everyone’s suicidal, when they’re trying to get sober.”

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back. It’s both your turns, to squint at the other, confused beyond belief now. How is he confused? You’re first to ask. “Carmen, what was in my ice folder?”

“Anniver— Oh my fucking God.” He unwraps himself from you, because he’s frankly too ashamed to touch you, realizing everything he misunderstood. “Oh, my fucking God.”

You let him go, though you don’t particularly want to. He’s probably realizing he’s hugging the enemy.

“Carmen—?” “You didn’t fucking date Mikey.”

“What?!” You jump, your head hits the bottom of the base of the bar’s sink. “Fuck! Ow, no— What?!”

It’s a mess of limbs and emotions, as he grabs your head haphazardly, seeing if you’re hurt— It honestly hurts more, to be pulled around like this. “Are you o—” You don’t let him finish, grabbing at his wrists, ignoring your sore head.

“You thought I’d fuck your brother and then—What— try to fuckin’ get the whole set?” You’re cringing at the thought. This had just never come up in your mind. You would’ve set him straight, if it did. It was way worse in his head. Why didn’t he tell you? “I— Carmy, babydoll, are you fucking insane?”

You say nice pet names, when you’re perplexed. You’ve got a pattern of doing so. He also has no comeback for this, completely mum. You release his wrists. You add, again, aghast. “How old do you think I am?”

“Ah— As old as Syd?” “Correct.” “So, twenty-eight?”

“Turning, but yeah.” You nod, like a teacher walking him through a problem. “And how old was Mikey?”

“Forty something.” “Forty-three.” “No one remembers their brothers’ age—” “Sixteen years. Carmen.”

You press your hands over your eyes. “And listen, I get at a point age is just a number but I was twenty-five when I met him and he was already fucking forty— I grew up with Muppet Babies and he grew up with Muppets. Period end of sentence.”

You sigh. This situation isn’t funny at all, but you feel a load lighten off of you significantly. And also the situation is extremely funny. It’s hard to be mad at someone this thrown off.

“It’s just— Listen, do I think Mikey’s hot? Absolutely—”

“Alright—” He cringes, putting a hand in the air, asking you to lay off this train of thought.

“Oh, what do you want me to say ‘your genetic make-up fucking sucks actually’? No, you have a hot family, Carmen.”

“Say this in any other way but this one.”

“I did not date your brother, Carmen.” You finalize, he breathes lighter. “Think about it for like more than two seconds. Richie would’ve fuckin’ run his mouth about it immediately— Would’ve said you’re getting sloppy seconds or call me a fuckin’ homie hopper—”

“I did think that he’d say that, yeah.”

“Well fuckin’ think harder on it, next time—” “Well, what about the joint bank account?”

The most romantic paperwork he’d ever seen. It makes you pause, and Carmen’s considers a universe where you’re just the most incredible pathological liar in existence.

“I made him make it.” You finally say, saddened just thinking about the failsafe that didn’t fucking work. “I didn’t put any money in it.”

“Why’d you want it, then?” The idea of you dating his brother quiets in his head, now he just wants to listen.

“So I could keep track of his spending and withdrawals.” You pick up your fork and twirl it around, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Need something to do with your hands. “Mostly his withdrawals.”

Carmen thinks about it, trying to tie together the red strings in his head without asking you first. “So you could see if he was buying.”

“If he knew he was being watched, he was less inclined to deal.” You shrug and nod. “Plus I wanted him to get into the habit of keeping savings.”

“Lotta good that did.” Carmen can’t help but laugh, pitifully, at that. “Everythin’ got claimed, when he kicked it.”

You shake your head, you tuck your knees to your chest. “Not everything.”

He just looks at you, curious, waiting for you to explain. Mikey had so much credit card debt— Everything he had outside of fucking tomato cans was claimed.

You shrug. “Not the accounts he wasn’t sole proprietor on.”

Joint bank account. It was partially your money, technically. It deferred to you. Carmen’s head just falls over, another painful realization of another thing you did, that he got completely wrong. You never gave Mikey a cent. You just gave him the protection of your name and credit score.

“Why’d you do all that, for him?”

Holy shit, he doesn’t know. Carmen doesn’t actually know you killed Mikey. You live in a world, still, where Carmen doesn’t completely rightfully blame you. You tap your fingers on your knees. Staring aimlessly. There is nothing else to do.

“Anyone ever tell you why I get called Chip?”

“I asked Richie. Said to ask you.” Carmen shakes his head, he’s a bit sick of himself, for being almost excited to get an answer about this. “Said it was personal.”

You squint and snort. “Since when does Richie give a fuck about personal?”

Carmen smiles, finally, and tucks his knees to his chest to mimic you. “Since me, I guess.”

“Good influence.” You smile, trying to distract from the nervousness, thrumming hard in your chest. Spit collects in your throat like it’s trying to choke you. “I uhm… Chippy is, uh, Mikey started calling me Chip or Chippy cause of uhm—”

You take a moment, one deep breath. A breath of air in the world before Carmen knows. A sanctimonious breath.

You pull at the long black rope chain on your neck, pulling it out from underneath your top, where it’s always been safely tucked. Not hidden necessarily, just always close to your chest. Close to your heart.

“It’s a joke, about— It’s like—”

Just do it, Chip. Let it rip.

“It’s—”

You hold out your fist for him to put his hand out and take it. Carmen gets the point and holds his palm out. You press the pendant into his hand. Holding your hand over it, for a moment, as if you could decide now that actually he shouldn’t be allowed to see this. Like there’s still an escape option, somehow.

You move your hand, you try to speak calmly, as he stares. And the text on the large round pendant stares back at him.

To Thine Own Self Be True.

“Sobriety chip.” Unity, Service, Recovery.

A proud and large 3 months, in the middle of the triangle, leers back at Carmen.

“I was— I was Mikey’s sponsor.”

Now y'all in my asks see why I was waiting, eh?

Ya caught on! Well, after thinking collectively, ya caught on. Some of you got it quick. Anyways, I shouldn't be talking about this like it's some gotcha, it's deeply painful.

A lot of hard confirmations! Fuck! This conversation was so hard to navigate, because I was like-- There's just so much for them to catch up on, and so they keep like moving forward and so I was like wait I have to go back and address this-- No. That's not how most real convos like this work, they just keep running forward, they can clarify later. Such a weird brain challenge. I was tweaking. I hope it's sensical to read? If it's not, dw, i'll walk into the sea about it.

Can you believe this chapter began with Syd/Chip/Richie? Absolutely bonkers. We started with getting ready in a hotel/taking a flight. We were so young, then. I've gotta go watch season 3, so don't send me spoilers, but please send me literally any and all thoughts about this chapter. I really fuckin-- Rah.

I'm happy with this chapter and I honestly think I will probably make a separate post sometime this week showing bits you might've missed-- So much of this was me harkening back to those first three chapters. I went back and reread them recently and I was like woah. I don't know how I did the thing where the writing style felt distant and slowly became close as they became close as characters, but I did feel like that was a thing. In the early chapters. Having to recreate that distant feeling here? Oh fuck. Brutalizing feeling.

Oh but on the more cute side, if you also see Tony as Desi, I was thinkin like a lehenga style blouse with all the work, and like, some black flared pants? and she's got big fuckin jhumkas, OF COURSE!!! OF COURSE BRO!!! But I just left it at semi-cultural so everyone could have fun, hehehe

I feel almost certain, someone's gonna be missing from this tag list, and for that, a thousand pardons, I am gonna put it in my notes app so I don't forget next time, mbmbmb, also added people that did not ask but you are so frequent that i feel like you're just forgetting to ask? idk if you wanna get taken off always just ask dw

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @sharkluver @fridavacado @hoetel-manager @mrs-perfectly-fine

anyways, if you wanna be added send me your thoughts/analysis/diagnosis at length + ask to be added and i will ! try! sometimes they get lost and i am sorry abt that but i do try!

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen x oc #carmy x reader #carmy the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx

489 notes · View notes

soobnny · 3 months

Text

dating him | lee know

❝ come over, the cats miss you ❞

if he wasn’t a menace before (impossible btw), he sure as hell is now

this man is relentless

teasing as his love language

just loves riling you up bc he thinks ur reactions are so cute

and he smirks a lot too

if he wasn’t so damn attractive, u would’ve wiped that smirk off his face !!!!!

“wait min, i got a text”

“nice to know you have friends”

u hate him 😭😭😭😭😭

he’s such a little shit that he’s even rilling u up during ur dates

laser tag games where he kisses you to distract you before taking you out

HE’S SO MEAN

he’d push you against the wall with a sly smirk and you think you won’t fall for it again, but you do

every single time

u should’ve known better

this is lee “resident cheater in all possible games” minho

anyways

he is also an ass lover ❤️❤️❤️

i’m sorry but u cannot go into a relationship with him without expecting him to always have his hand on ur ass in some way

so in short

the trope is giving u thought he was out of ur league but he’s actually a weirdo

so now u’re dating the Weird Kid

(u wouldn’t want it any other way)

his other love language is acts of service

i said in my chan one that minho also gives Chief Hong from hometown cha3

like tell me i’m wrong

man wife #2

he is ur personal handyman

he’s just good at everything

will most probably only do it for u tho

seungmin: hyung can u fix my sink

minho: no

seungmin catching strays 😂😂

you: babe—

minho: what do you need me to do now

he says it in fake annoyance too

but he’s got his tools in his hand already ready to do whatever u want

obsessed i tell u

he drives u around too

if you have an event, a party, a project, anywhere you need to be

he’ll drive u there

he always makes time

AND he picks you up too like shut up

it could be a party that finishes at 2am and he’s just waiting for your call to pick you up

sometimes, you tell him he can just sleep early bc your friend will give you a ride home

when you get home, look … he’s still awake

he’s been waiting for you to come home this whole time to make sure you’re safe

BUT he doesn’t say anything

the moment he sees you’re alive and breathing (and doesn’t need taking care of), he’s on his way to the bedroom to sleep

when u look around, he’s done the chores already

he just does things to lessen the load that u might have u know

if u’re so stressed with anything, he’d silently clean up ur room or bring u food

so u don’t have to think about that anymore

also the best chef in town btw

he likes cooking together

and by cooking together i mean like he does all the work and u just stay there and keep him company

he can’t risk ur clumsy ass injuring urself

comforts u thru his cooking too

would baby u and feed u when u’re sad

his favorite dates with u are quiet, homemade dinners

just likes being with u and u only

away from everyone else

as niki would say, i don’t like anyone except sometimes you

it’s in moments like those that he just unwinds and shows u his softer sides

he’s honestly just so gentle and soft

he looks at u with stars in his eyes

ugh such an attentive listener too

sometimes u think he isn’t listening, but he’s got it all memorized

“yeah u mentioned it on our date 3 months ago”

like damn

anyways, moving on

his pet names for u give olden times

honey, darling, jagi

but also loser, idiot, stupid girl (endearingly)

so u two are giving me old married couple

u’d both wake up early and have coffee or tea together and just talk abt anything

also this is far into the future but like

sneak peek at minho as ur husband

i think u two would be the type to have a garden

like gardening would be ur little hobby

he grows fruits and vegetables

u beg to grow flowers

OK BACK TO BOYFRIEND MINHO

randomly sending selfies thru the day

THOSE selfies

u know what i’m talking abt

forces u to send selfies back

(ur photos are all saved and hidden in his phone but he will never tell u that)

oh u’ve also become his cats’ mom btw

one of ur favorite errands to do is going grocery shopping for his cats

u’d always end up buying them a gift

“u’re the reason my cats are spoiled”

SUUUUUUURE minho suuuuuuure

cat fashion shows

like dress to IMPRESS

(btw idk why but i feel like u could force him to play roblox with u)

he also uses his cats to lure u to visit him btw

“soonie misses u, u’re being a bad mother”

it’s just him who misses u let’s be real

and if ur favorite thing to do with him is cat shopping, his is walking by the han river with you

he loves walking

esp when it’s with you

just a peaceful walk tbh like yall don’t even have to say anything

tho sometimes when he’s feeling playful, he’d suddenly play tag with you

ends with both of u just sitting by the river and looking at the lights and the stars and holding hands or maybe ur head on his shoulder

damn wish that were me fr

when u go home, u watch some variant of a trashy reality tv show together

u’ve basically seen it all

but if anyone were to ask u what happened in those shows, yall wouldn’t know

u two were too busy just making out instead of paying attention

or falling asleep

old married couple i’m telling u

expect to also be dragged into his camping

when he has particularly long days off, he’d propose going camping together

ah, the beauty of warm bonfires and quiet conversations

he’d take good care of you the whole time

like yessss do your job as a man and fix up this entire camping site

and he does

tho, aside from camping, he’d also suggest hiking to take in the view of the mountains and the pretty sky

u’d wake up early on both occasions just to watch the sun rise

in contrast to these very productive activities, sometimes minho also just loves lazy sundays where you just cuddle for the entirety of the day

what more could he want

u and his cats with him

that’s honestly just the dream

good luck cat mom

have fun acting like an old married couple with lee know

he is the dream man

nonchalant to anyone else except u

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

965 notes · View notes

jeonginsleftcheek · 3 months

Text

Get better, okay?

pairing: lee know x gn!reader

genre: sick fic, fluff

word count: 742

warning/s: none?

a/n: this is just a short drabble bcs i'm sick and medicated. i hope it makes sense bcs at this point i'm hallucinating.💀 hope you like it, if you did please reblog🫶🏻🫶🏻

~check out my: Masterlist

You're standing in your kitchen, cursing yourself cause you're going to be late for work again. You're trying to make some toast as quickly as possible because you know that your boyfriend will nag at you if you didn't have any breakfast.

You hear Minho getting up, his feet shuffling towards the kitchen.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."- you chuckle at his disheveled state, his hair sticking in all directions and a scowl on his cute face.

"I don't feel so well."- he says weakly.

"What?"- the smile on your face fades away, replaced with concern.

You drop what you were doing and come closer to Minho, your wrist on his forehead.

"You're burning up!"- you gasp and he groans.

"Great! Just what I needed."- he rolls his eyes and then winces. "Ugh, headache."- he adds.

"Okay, you go back to bed and I'll call in sick at work and take care of you."- you say.

"I don't wanna be in bed all day!"- he whines. "I've got things to do."

"I know you don't but I'm not giving you any choices. Bed, now."

"That sentence would be hot in different circumstances."- he smirks and you narrow your eyes at him.

"Go to bed, please."- you add desperately.

"Alright, alright, I'm going."- he says and trudges back into your room.

You rummage through the cabinets to find some medicine as you put the kettle on. Sending a quick message to your boss (who was thankfully always understanding), you work around the kitchen, making tea and cutting up some fruit for Minho.

Suddenly, you feel a breath hit your neck and you shriek turning around quickly.

"Minho! What are you doing here? And how did I not hear you?"- you ask, hand on your beating chest.

"I'm bored in bed. And lonely. All alone."- he pouts. You chuckle, having no idea he was clingy when he's sick.

"I'll be right there, honey."- you coo, ushering him towards the room. "You need to lay down."

"But see, I'm fine."

"You're most definitely not."- you say, seeing a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Lay down, please."

He whines again but this time he listens, dragging his feet slowly, making a show of it.

When you're done preparing everything you lay it down on a tray and carry it to your room. You almost melt at the sight, Minho buried in blankets, only his hair and eyes peeking out.

"Let's first check your temperature."- you say.

"Okay, doctor."- he smirks and you shake your head, chuckling at him.

"Wow, your fever is kinda high."- you frown, looking at the thermometer after it beeped.

"Great news."- Minho says sarcastically.

"Here, drink your medicine."- you say and he does so, looking at you with glassy eyes.

"How about some fruit?"- you say and Minho pouts again.

"Feed me?"- he asks and you chuckle.

"You're such a big baby."- you say.

"Am not! Don't you dare tell any of the guys I'm like this when I'm sick. Now, please feed me or I will cry."- he says and you chuckle again, grabbing the plate with the fruit.

"I can't believe my day's been ruined like this. I hate being sick."- your boyfriend whines.

"My grumpy little man."- you smirk.

"I am not little."- he narrows his eyes at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Okay, but you're grumpy."- you lean in and kiss his forehead.

"Missed my lips."- he smirks.

"I didn't."- you tease him. "Anyways, lay down now. You need sleep."- you add grabbing a cloth you brought earlier and getting up so you can put it under water.

"Where you going?"- Minho pouts.

"I'll be right back."- you say, disappearing into the bathroom.

You come back and put the wet cloth on his forehead.

"Oh, that's nice."- he says.

"Do you want me to lay down with you?"- you ask and he whines, making grabby hands at you.

You chuckle and change into more comfortable clothes before crawling into bed.

You put your arms around Minho and he settles on your chest, burying his forehead into your neck.

"I had no idea you were this clingy when you're sick."- you smirk, caressing his head.

"You must be hallucinating."- he mumbles.

"Right... I'm hallucinating."- you giggle.

It's silent for a moment and you think he fell asleep, until you feel his arm tightening around you.

"I love you."- he whispers.

"I love you."- you echo, kissing his head.

"Get better, okay?"

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg

#skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #skz soft thoughts #skz soft hours #lee know fluff #lee know x reader #lee know #lee know scenarios #skz drabbles #lee know drabble #lee know x you

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once-upon-an-imagine · 6 months

Note

I’d love a request where the reader is Bobbys daughter and dating Buck. It’s a hot day and the reader has gone to the firehouse to see everyone but she ends up feeling unwell because of the heat and Buck looks after her.

hello, love! ahh thank you so much for this request! and thanks to everyone who voted! it's my first time writing for Buck so I hope you like it! also, I'm not sure why, I swear I read somewhere that Bobby didn't know they were dating so that's kind of the course this took, so I hope that's okay! Warnings: reader faints because of the heat; I think that’s it, but always let me know if I missed anything Disclaimer: I don’t own 9-1-1 😊 gif isn’t mine 😁

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Heatwave

"Okay, how does this look?" you asked, placing the lasagna in the middle of the table. Buck had texted you that the team was on their way back so you needed to hurry up.

"For the third time, honey, yes. It looks good" Athena said as she brought the bread with her and you went over to finish the salad you were making. You had learned a thing or two from your father and you started to actually enjoy cooking. It brought the two of you together after you lost the rest of your family, and it usually helped calm you down, but not today. "Look, I know you're nervous about telling your dad about you and Buck, but you need to breathe and relax" she said, walking closer to you.

You had been seeing Buck for a long time now. At first, you didn't want to tell your dad, mostly because you weren't even sure if the two of you were serious. Then, it got serious quickly and the two of you agreed to tell your dad when you were both ready. So now, because the two of you wanted to move in together, you knew you had to tell him. So, here you were, cooking your father's favorite meal for lunch, and hoping to have your dad in a good mood for later tonight when you were going to finally tell him.

"I know, I know" you said to Athena, who had kindly volunteered to help you since it was her day off. "It's just... my dad has hated every single boyfriend I've had" you told her.

"Oh, I know. He's told me about all the insipid, idiot, good-for-nothings you've dated before" she said, making you widen your eyes at her. "His words not mine" she said, making you roll your eyes. "But he adores Buck, like his own son. I mean, they even went to a Bruce Springsteen concert together" she reminded you.

"Ugh, I know, nobody loves Springsteen as much as those two" you said, making Athena let out a chuckle. "Look, I know he loves Buck... as part of his team. I'm not sure if he's gonna love Buck as my boyfriend" you said, nervously.

"Of course he will. Because as much as he loves Buck, he loves you more than anything and anyone" she reminded you. "And he's going to see how happy he makes you" she smiled.

"You really think so?" you asked, smiling back.

"I really do" she nodded. It actually meant a lot to you what Athena thought too. You knew she didn't particularly like Buck at first, but she had mentioned to you how he's changed and how she sees that the two of you brought out the best in each other. "Looks like they're here" she said, when you saw the truck pulling into the station.

"Okay" you said, placing the salad on the table. "I think the bear claws are done" you said, wiping your hands on your apron, and went over to the oven.

"Really? You had to make his favorite dessert?" Athena said, rolling her eyes. "Aren't you trying a bit too hard?"

"Better safe than sorry" you smiled nervously.

"Hey, what's all this?" Hen asked, being the first one to get upstairs.

"Do I smell your dad's famous lasagna?" Chim was the next one to appear. "Please tell me I'm right" he smiled, seeing at the setup table.

"You are correct" you smiled.

"Oh, this is why you're my favorite Nash" he smiled.

"Hey! I heard that" you heard your father coming up. "This is a nice surprise" he smiled, looking at the two of you before he went over to his wife and gave her a kiss.

"Yeah-" Athena started before you interrupted her.

"It was Athena's idea" you quickly said. "I uh, just... tagged along to help with the cooking" you smiled as Buck and Eddie finally made it upstairs.

"Hey, little Nash" Eddie said, walking over to greet you. Aside from Athena, he was the only one who knew about the two of you. And Christopher.

"Well, I'm happy to see you" Bobby said, before walking over to you and kissing your head. "Both of you" he added. "This looks good, duck" he smiled as you rolled your eyes a little.

"Why is it that he calls you duck?" you heard Chimney ask when he was taking his seat.

"Why does he call you Chimney?" you smirked and he glared at you.

Your dad laughed and walked over to the table with Athena as he started telling Hen and Chim that he called you duck because you used to be a really grumpy kid and when you were a toddler, you sounded like Donald Duck whenever you argued with him about something.

"Hey" Buck said, walking closer to you as you walked to the oven. "How are you feeling?" he smiled.

"I'm... fine" you smiled wearily.

"You're a terrible liar" he chuckled.

"I know" you said, opening the oven and feeling the heat struck you. It was already extremely hot outside. This just made it ten times worse. "I'm just a little nervous" you said, getting back up, suddenly feeling dizzy, and making you drop the tray with bear claws a bit faster and louder than you intended on the counter, getting the attention of the four people on the table.

"Whoa" Buck said, worriedly, getting closer to you.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Eddie asked. "You're sweating a lot"

"Yeah, no I just... felt a bit light-headed" you said, placing your wrist on your forehead.

"Did you eat something today? Maybe you need to sit down" Buck said pulling you closer to him. "Look at me" he instructed.

"I'm fine, sweetheart-" you tried smiling before Buck saw your eyes roll over to the back of your head and you collapsed in front of him. He quickly wrapped his arms around your waist, preventing you from falling all the way to the ground.

"Bobby!" Buck yelled, even if Bobby was already rushing to you as Buck and Eddie carried you to the sofa.

"Chim! Hen! Get your bag!" Bobby ordered. "What happened?"

"I think it's the heat" Eddie said as Chimney came running back up with his bag, handing Hen what she needed.

"Did she eat anything at all today?" she questioned.

"Not while she was with me" Athena replied.

"She didn't have breakfast either" Buck said, feeling guilty. He was the main reason why you were late and didn't have breakfast.

"What? She didn't?" Bobby asked, confused. "Wait, how do you know that?"

"Um... she texted me?" Buck smiled, nervously as Eddie and Athena shared a look, thinking it was probably best to give everyone some space.

"You two... text each other?" Bobby asked as Chimney and Hen shared a different, confused look.

"Oh, I did not see this coming" Chim muttered to Hen.

"Seriously? You didn't?" she asked before going back to examining you.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You slowly opened your eyes and realized you were at the 118 station and you had a cold cloth pressed against your forehead. You tried to sit up but Buck quickly ran over to you.

"Whoa, easy there, love" he said, sitting on the coffee table in front of you. "Hi" he smiled sweetly at you, offering you a bottle of water. "How are you feeling?"

"A bit dumb, to be honest" you chuckled, accepting the water and taking a sip. "W-what happened?"

"You fainted" he reminded you. "Sweetheart, why didn't you tell me you hadn't eaten today?"

"I'm sorry" you frowned. "I didn't think it would be a big deal. I didn't have time to eat this morning and, then I went to work, and then I started cooking and I lost track of time and, I guess the heat didn't help" you said shyly.

"No, it didn't" your dad said, walking over and sitting on the edge of the sofa. "How are you feeling duck?"

"A bit better" you said.

"Well, it's a good thing your boyfriend is always alert and quick on his feet" he said, casually.

"Yeah, he- wait, what did you say?" you froze, realizing what he'd just say. "Did I hit my head?" you asked Buck. "Did my dad just call you my boyfriend?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, sweetheart" Buck smiled apologetically. "I know you had a whole thing planned tonight, but I let it slip that you didn't have breakfast today, and well... I kind of told him" he explained.

"Y-you did?" you asked, feeling a bit nauseous again. "Does he know we're moving in together?"

"What?!"

"He does now" Buck said with a tight-lipped smile.

"You're moving in together?" your dad asked.

"I uh-" you stuttered. "Y-yeah" you admitted. "W-we were going to tell you tonight at dinner" you insisted.

"Is that why you came to make my favorite lunch? So I'd be in a good mood?" he asked, knowing you too well.

"M-maybe?" you smiled. "A-are you mad?"

"No, honey. I'm not mad" he chuckled, pulling you closer and kissing your temple. "I don't love the fact that you hid it from me for so long" he added. "But I'm glad you're with someone who I know cares about you as much as I know Buck does" he smiled. "And, if I'm being honest, I kind of suspected it for a while" he said, surprising you.

"You did not" you glared at him.

"You both are terrible liars and I mean, you only make bear claws when you're giving me bad news" he smirked, making you roll your eyes.

"Wait, does that mean, I'm bad news?" Buck asked.

"What? N-no" you said unconvincingly. "I make them when I'm not sure how he will react" you insisted.

"Yeah" Bobby said. "To bad news" he repeated with a chuckle. I'm glad you're happy, duck" he told you.

"Thanks, dad" you smiled. "I really am" you told him.

"I'm gonna go get you something to eat, okay?" he said, getting up and kissing your head again. "Don't ever scare me like that again" he muttered before walking away.

"So, your dad knows about us" Buck smiled at you.

"Yeah, and it didn't go bad at all" you said, excitedly.

"Not bad at all? Sweetheart, do I need to remind you that you just fainted?"

"Well, yeah but... I mean aside from that" you pouted, making him smile at you before giving you a peck on the lips.

"You really scared me" he said, worriedly.

"I'm sorry, love" you insisted.

"You don't have to apologize" he said. "Especially since it was kind of my fault you didn't have breakfast" he said, blushing a little. "But now that we are going to live together, I will make sure you don't leave the house without eating first" he instructed, making you roll your eyes a little.

"Fine" you smiled before he leaned in for another kiss. "I love you" you told him.

"I love you too" he smiled.

The End

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A/N: aahhh! I hope you loves liked it!

#9-1-1 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley drabble

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m3vl0vesu · 7 days

Text

𝑨 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅

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He didn’t smile.

That was one thing you noticed about the only other kid in the classroom, one of the many Wayne kids.

And apparently the only biological one, not that you cared really. His family was none of your business, you should really be more concerned about your own to be honest…never mind. You closed your eyes and sighed, catching the attention of the boy, who was now sitting in your chair. Well it wasn’t yours but it was yours. He watched as you adjusted the pile of sketching paper slightly to the right, making sure they were all aligned perfectly. He watched you watching the boxes full of dis-arranged paint tubes and bottles, he saw the way your hand twitched at the scene. Weird.

It was a Thursday afternoon and every Thursday, after last period, you would head towards the art room upstairs. It was the only club you ever joined. You got to know everyone there and some even became your friends. But even after the club ended you’d still linger in the room. Even after you'd cleaned up your (and other people’s) mess, and you had put the pencils away, and you had cleaned the paint pots, you lingered. It had become a habit, you enjoyed the quietness. You enjoyed that the only noise you could hear was your breathing. What you didn’t enjoy was that the ‘new’ kid also liked staying behind.

Ruining one of the only times your mind was quiet…or quieter than usual. I mean it’s not like he was loud or anything no-it was just his presence, you wanted to be alone-no. Needed do be alone. But what can you do? He liked art. He was damn good at it too.

So there really was no point in being annoyed, just suck it up and deal with it. Like you always do. Why do you always do that? After another sigh, you swing your bag over your shoulder and walk out. You didn’t mean to slam the door, honestly there was no reason for you to be angry, Damian didn’t do anything wrong. Damian. Damian. Ugh. Why was his name also annoying? . . . As you turn the corner you stop abruptly. Looking up you meet the eyes of your Art teacher, Miss Williams, she looked down with an eyebrow raised. You smiled. You really did adore her and her loving nature, she was like a big mama bear. Gotham didn’t deserve her. She was so…her.

Every other day she had some new fun way to do her hair, today her afro was star-shaped. Fitting. You smile softer, the sound of her voice saying your name pulling you out of your trance. “You're leaving earlier than usual” she states, almost concerned, “is something wrong?” You just shake your head, leaving after a simple goodbye

The bus was almost empty. Your eyes stared at Gotham Academy until it was out of sight. It was a big school, you hated it.

Hated the rumour-filled halls, the rude pompous pricks that roamed the halls, hated that you were on a scholarship for so therefore could not escape it. And you especially hated how proud your mother looked whenever she saw you in the uniform. As the bus continued to drive you watched the big mansions and penthouses turn into dirty streets and run-down apartments. It was a big difference. Messy, dirty, bloody…home. Your eyes spotted the way the bus driver’s lips tugged upwards as you gave him a small thank you. It was probably the only nice words he heard today, it was probably the only nice words you said today. The worn-out soles of your shoes hit the ground and you begin walking, just a few minutes away from home. Each leaf you stepped on getting more darker than the last, it was almost winter. That meant that after school clubs would be closed. Barely even any schools even have after school clubs in the area, since it’s Gotham. .

. After a call with your mother you slowed down, not really wanting to go home. It was quiet on the streets. Oh wait.

Now it wasn’t. There was shouting, it sounded like two-or more-male voices. You see, there's a rule when you walk the Gotham streets. Do not, whatever you do, look. Just keep walking. And you do. Don’t look. Keep walking.

Don’t look. Keep walking.

Don’t look. Keep walkin- . . . After the very obvious gunshot you heard a distant thud.

Your feet stopped and your knees felt weak, bile rising in your throat as you stared wide eyes at the pavement in front of you. Don’t look.

You beg yourself not to turn around.

So you close your eyes, and beg yourself not to open them. . . . Small arms wrap around you as you lay in bed, your sister mumbling about something going on with her friends. The rest of your journey home was a blur, all you know is that you will not be going school tomorrow. Even if that means lying to your parents. . . .

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>>>>Pt.II

A/N: This is going to be a story based fic with some dark themes. Feel free to click off if any of it disturbs you in any way. I know there wasn’t much Damian in this but there will be more in pt 2! I always try to keep Reader as ambiguous as possible, this is a f!reader fic but you can read no matter what gender! :D Reblogs are always loved and as always Mev loves you!!

#m3v loves you #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader #f!reader #damian al ghul x reader #dark themes #original character #original character x reader #platonic!original character x reader

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quin-ns · 4 months

Text

The blue VI (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Series summary: JJ has a secret, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold onto it. He discovers his breaking point when his best friend starts to show interest in you, his step sister, who he’s already fallen hard for

Series tags: step brother!jj, dual pov, jealousy, one sided john b x reader, drinking, inappropriate relationship, public sex, oral sex (f receiving)

A/N: the moment we’ve all been waiting for

Series masterlist + OBX masterlist

You felt bad for Kiara, knowing you probably hadn’t been the most pleasant company for the past few days.

Usually when the two of you had sleepovers it was all night gossip and games and sneaking out, but you weren’t up for any of that. Best you could offer was laying in her bed with her and watching videos on her laptop with some minor conversation.

You didn’t really have the capacity to think about anything else but your royal screw up with JJ.

She tried to get you to talk about what happened, but how could you? It didn’t take a genius to figure that something went down, but you’d rather have her think it was just an argument.

You still couldn’t believe what you’d done. You kissed JJ. You actually kissed him.

At the time it was you wanted, but then you let doubt get the best of you.

And now JJ probably hated you. Ironic how he thought it would be the other way around.

It wasn’t like you wanted to hurt him, but you had a hard time grappling with the very confusing feelings you now held for him.

It all started with that first kiss. You never would’ve known what you were missing if he hadn’t gone and done that.

“I love you, but it’s a perfectly good Saturday night and I am not spending it in my bedroom,” Kiara complained, forcing you out of your own head.

She pulled the fluffy blanket you had claimed as yours off of your body.

“What? Hey!”

You didn’t even remember her getting out of the bed. The two of you had practically been rotting beneath the covers all day.

“Up!” she demanded. You looked up and found the stubborn face of your friend looking back. “Come on.”

“Ugh, fine.” You forced yourself to sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of your bed. Kiara stood with her arms crossed while you frowned up at her. “Happy?”

“I’d be happier if you told me what happened with JJ that was bad enough to make you act like this,” she countered, raising her brows expectantly.

“I told you it was just a disagreement.”

“And I told you not to lie to me.”

You averted your gaze from hers. It wasn’t like you wanted to be dishonest with her, but it was better than the truth.

“You said you don’t wanna spend the night in your room,” you said, rising to your feet. “So… what do you want to do? You get to pick.”

“There’s a party tonight at the Boneyard,” Kiara declared. Evidently she’d already had a plan prepared. “And we’re going.”

Getting dressed with Kie actually helped to uplift your mood. You were both determined to pick out nice outfits for the other, and thankfully you’d left enough clothes at her house to have options.

You ended up in a cute crop top and some jean shorts. Dressing in the summer was always easy.

“Pope just texted me and said he, JJ, and John B are all going,” Kiara informed, reading off her phone as you made your way to her jeep. “You good with that?”

You wanted to see JJ. Even if he was pissed at you, you still missed him. You wanted a chance to talk to him, to explain what happened and admit a few things you had yet to fully accept.

“Yeah,” you replied, climbing into the passenger side. “Good with me.”

You and Kiara arrived with a wave of newcomers spilling onto the beach. The party was really getting started now.

Wandering around the beach, you kept an eye out for JJ. The sound of his voice traveling, blonde hair—something. Him being out of your sight was something of a new occurrence. After about ten minutes of trailing behind Kie as she talked to people and got a drink, you began to doubt he was even coming.

He was definitely avoiding you, and you decided you weren’t very much in a party mood after that.

You were about to ask Kie to leave until a familiar face approached.

“Long time no see,” John B teased, a smile on his face at the sight of you and Kie. “I missed you guys.”

Kie put a hand on her hip. “And here I thought you went to the dark side.”

She was referring to his boss—Kiara didn’t talk about it much, but you knew she wasn’t a fan of Ward Cameron’s daughter, Sarah. John B working for the family wasn’t her favorite thing.

“Very funny,” John B dismissed sarcastically. Thankfully Kie didn’t seem to mean it as much as she had in the beginning. John B fixed his gaze on you, and he took on a more thoughtful expression. “You got a second?”

You glanced to Kie, and she gave you a nod to say it was fine to leave her alone. You offered John B a smile. This conversation was coming too, it was just a matter of when.

“Yeah, sure.”

John B tried to find somewhere less crowded, but that wasn’t really an option unless you wanted to totally ditch and go into the woodsy area of the beach, but that seemed inconvenient. You ended up sitting next to one another on a big tree trunk that had fallen horizontally. People were milling around, but they were more distracted by the keg a few yards away. No one would be paying attention to either of you, much less eavesdropping.

“So, what’s up?” you asked when you sat down.

“We haven’t really had a chance to talk since a few nights ago,” John B started, a shyness to him that you usually didn’t hear directed at you.

You watched as he ran his hands over his knees, searching for what to add.

“I wasn’t avoiding you or anything,” you told him, trying to ease his nerves. “I’ve just been busy with Kie.”

“I know, I didn’t think you were.” John B gave you a small smile before he continued. “I don’t know how to say it right but I’m gonna try anyway,” he decided, meeting your eyes. “Your friendship means a lot to me… and so does JJ’s. And as big of a crush as I have on you, I don’t wanna risk losing either of you over it.”

“That’s mature of you,” you said, trying to not react at the mention of JJ.

“Recently I’ve been forced to think about what’s important to me, y’know?”

At the vague reference to his father, you tried to not retreat into your own mind about all the “what-if’s” in life. With everything going on you hadn’t thought about your mom’s situation in a while. In a strange way it was somewhat a relief, but you’d prefer to not have anything going wrong the way it had been.

“I think it’s for the best,” you agreed, honestly more relieved than you imagined yourself feeling. “You’re a great guy, and any girl would be lucky to have you.”

John B chuckled at the flattery before saying, “You just make sure to tell her that, alright?”

It was your turn to laugh at his teasing tone.

“You got it.” You meant what you said about him. “I’m glad we talked.” You found yourself in a better mood than you had been all day.

“We should find Kie before she thinks we’re getting into trouble,” John B commented. “And, for the record, I am too. Happy we talked.”

You gave him a smile at that. “She’ll survive,” you replied to the former statement, but looked out in front of you nonetheless, trying to spot the other girl.

You caught a glimpse of blonde hair instead.

JJ.

It was definitely him. You’d recognize him anywhere from his walk to his clothes, and you just had a feeling in your gut. It was him, but he disappeared into the crowd as soon as you saw him.

Your heart skipped in your chest. You got to your feet, everything else forgotten in that brief moment.

“You good?” John B questioned, clearly sensing your urgency.

You turned and plastered on a smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied. “We can split up and look for Kie—divide and conquer and all that.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard… okay, then,” John B trailed off, half chuckling behind you as you took off in the direction you swore JJ went.

If it wasn’t him, you must’ve been delusional.

Your heart continued to race as you found JJ at a keg, filling up a cup. So it had been him. Nice to know you weren’t losing your mind with longing that you imagined it. You never quite pictured this for yourself when it came to JJ, but as badly as you wanted to run to him, your feet were heavy.

Now or never, right?

You managed to walk up to him before he could lift the cup to his lips (and before you could freeze back in place) and he spotted you. You couldn’t quite place the look on his face, but it was more hurt than angry.

He stayed in place when you stopped across from him, but the way he glanced away from you told you that you had to talk fast.

“I’m glad you’re here, I’ve been looking for you.”

JJ scoffed, shaking his head, drink forgotten.

“You must have me mixed up with John B,” he mocked. “Although good job, ‘cause you found him.”

“We were just talking,” you defended.

“Right, sure.”

“I’m serious, okay?” you implored while he gulped down his drink. “We’re just friends.”

“Well, good for you.” JJ dropped his cup to the ground as he began to walk away, not even giving you a chance to answer his question that followed. “Is that all?”

You watched him for a second, a frown working its way onto your lips. You saw his shoulders slouch as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

You snapped into action and followed after him.

“No, it’s not,” you rushed out, trying to fall in line with his steps through the sand but remaining a few behind him. Finally, you reached out and grabbed his arm when you realized he wasn’t going to stop. “Can you just hear me out?”

JJ turned, looking at your hand on his arm before meeting your eyes. You missed that shade of blue. You let out a sigh when your pleading worked. You saw it on his face before he said anything.

“Fine,” he agreed, keeping his guard up. “Talk.”

You glanced around, noticing the people in the surrounding area. You swallowed.

“Can we go somewhere alone?” you asked, knowing you couldn’t say everything you wanted to with all these ears nearby.

JJ led the way into the woodsy area of the beach. Calling it the woods wasn’t really fitting because it wasn’t thick like a forest. It was clusters of palm trees and shrubbery that lined where the beach met dirt, with grass sticking out of the sand. But none of that really mattered, what was important was that it was away from all your peers crowding the shore. It took a minute of walking until you felt like you could talk freely, the only sense of the party nearby being the music faintly filling the air.

JJ stopped and you did too, standing across from him. It felt like there was so much distance between the two of you, even if it was really only a yard or two. You never realized how rarely he left your close proximity until now.

You weren’t sure where to start, so you just… started speaking and prayed the words would come.

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but John B and I really were talking about being just friends. He said my friendship—and yours—mattered too much to mess up, and I don’t even see him like that. I promise, JJ.”

JJ stayed quiet for a moment, but he looked like he believed you.

“Okay,” he said, eyes low as he nodded. “Cool.”

Irritation crept in quickly. “You can give me more than one word answers, you know. I’m trying to be serious with you.”

His eyes flicked up at the sass in your tone.

“What do you want me to say? Thank you for not dating him?” he snarked. “Because thank you, I really do appreciate it, y’know?” His voice was raising and you understood why he’d been so careful with his answers before. “You can’t be with me but hey, at least you won’t be with him!”

You clicked your tongue at his words. You really wanted to have a genuine conversation with him but JJ didn’t seem too keen on that.

“I forgot, you can’t take anything seriously,” you muttered out of annoyance, but he heard you loud and clear.

“Right, yeah, everything is a joke to me. Like when you kissed me the other night—that was so funny,” he shot back, taking a step closer. “What’s also funny is I came here ready to pour my fucking heart out like an idiot to you, and you’re already over it all.”

“What makes you think I’m over any of it?” you accused, throwing his tone right back at him. “You can’t just assume shit and then act like it’s the truth! I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, if it makes you feel any better. But hey—probably not! Because apparently you don’t believe anything I say now, even though I’m telling you that there’s nothing going on with John B and there won’t be! I kissed you, not him, remember?”

You saw JJ’s throat bob as he swallowed, and it made you realize that you had moved forward to close the gap.

“Yeah, I remember,” he finally said, voice much lower than before. “I also remember you changing your mind.”

“I didn’t change my mind,” you confessed, hugging yourself. Now was your chance to try and put words to everything. You had JJ’s attention and even if he looked like he was going to storm off any second, you knew he wouldn’t. You took a breath. “When you kissed me I—I had no idea what to do or think. I didn’t know you felt that way about me and it kinda… I don’t know. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about it and it made me realize that everything we are to each other has never been what it was supposed to be. I didn’t know how to accept that, I guess, and so I did push you away, and I’m sorry. But then at the movie when it was just us I let myself slip up for a minute and I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry for that too.” You took a shaky breath. “And now here we are and I don’t really know where to go from here—I know that’s not fair but I’ve never felt like this before and I don’t know what to do.”

JJ’s eyes had stayed on your face through the entire admission, even when you couldn’t meet his gaze. When you finished, you swallowed back tears. You couldn’t quite read the look on his face. You weren’t sure what he was going to say, or what you wanted him to say.

“If I kiss you again are you going to push me away?” he finally asked, a sense of desperation in his voice.

Words almost failed you, but you managed to get out a small, “No.”

That was all it took, and then JJ’s lips were crashing against yours.

Your head spun as you kissed back, not denying yourself what you knew you wanted. Ever since the first kiss, you’d wanted more. You could admit that now.

Your hands fisted in the fabric of JJ’s shirt and pulled him impossibly close. He fell into you eagerly, hands gripping your waist.

His kiss was feverish, hungry to taste you after being denied for so long. You tried not to let your mind drift and instead focused on the now. Everything else could wait, but right now you and JJ had the world to yourselves.

That thought really won when your fingers drifted to the hem of his shirt.

“Is this okay?” you asked softly.

If the heat between the two of you wasn’t so intense, you might’ve laughed at the look on JJ’s face. You might as well have told him he won a million dollars.

“Yeah,” he rushed out. A smile tugged at the corner of his lip. “Definitely okay.”

With that he leaned back in, lips on yours once more. You let him control the kiss while you focused on removing his shirt. As you pulled it from his body, JJ had to part again. In that instant, you admired him in a way you hadn’t before. Heat rushed through you as he returned to devouring your lips.

JJ’s hands wandered to your shirt, and with a hum against his lips and a nod, you let him pull it from you. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. Neither could you.

In a mess of hands and fabric, you ended up on the ground, naked in JJ’s lap, his knees digging into the sand as he stared up at you. Your body was a temple and he was here to worship.

Curious hands ran across your exposed form and ocean eyes drank you in. You’d never seen such a look of awe on JJ’s face before and you were thrilled by the idea.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he said, sounding about a second away from losing it. “I mean it.”

Your heart fluttered. Words failed you. You managed a light nod, which caused a smile to spread across his face.

“I love that you think that,” you managed, taking a deep breath. You found his smile, his eyes, his hands on your body—all of it felt right. “I love you, JJ.”

A look crossed JJ’s face. You’d never seen it before. It was more than awe, it was more than disbelief. Adoration. He adored you.

“I love you too,” he said. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with relief. “You—you’re everything to me.” He swallowed. “I never thought I’d get to say that.”

“You can,” you said, voice softer than you’d planned. You lifted your hips. “As much as you want…”

One of JJ’s hands held your hips tight while the other lined himself up. Hungry eyes couldn’t decide between watching your face or watching where your bodies were about to meet as you lowered yourself down into his lap.

The head of his cock pushed through your entrance, drawing a small gasp from you and a groan from JJ. Impatience almost won, but you had to move yourself slowly to be able to take him. Finally, your ass met his thighs and you dropped your head to his shoulder. Your breaths were shaky as you adjusted to the stretch of him fully inside you.

JJ’s hard cock twitched, his hands grabbing at your waist, your hips, your thighs—anything he could get his hands on to try and hold on and pull you close. You wrapped your arms around his neck to hold yourself in place. You took a moment to adjust, but the moment you did, you let him know.

“You can move,” you said softly into his ear.

You felt JJ’s entire body shiver at your words. You nearly smirked. His fingers pressed into your skin and he tried to control himself.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to want me,” JJ said, a thickness to his voice that you found incredibly hot.

You leaned back to meet his lustful gaze. You couldn’t resist teasing him given your position.

“I have a feeling I do.”

You raised yourself up a little and dropped back down, drawing a desperate sound from the blonde as you taunted him.

His tongue ran across his bottom lip, it was damn near mesmerizing. You ran out of time to look because his lips were surging toward yours, but you weren’t complaining.

JJ chuckled at the gasp you let out against his mouth when he forced you onto your back. You welcomed his weight on top of you, your hands running down his muscular chest, taking in every inch of skin you somehow resisted the urge to touch—truly touch—before.

He drew back his hips, leaving only the head inside, then slammed back forward. A moan escaped your lips, and that only spurred JJ on. He repeated the movements again and again. Slow at first, really letting you feel the drag of his thick cock inside of you. The pleasure was so agonizing, but you let him get his fill of teasing you back.

Sooner than later did his desire get the best of him, and you weren’t complaining when JJ picked up the pace. Your hands found his back, nails digging in just enough to make him stifle a moan. His lips found your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses to your damp skin. You felt his teeth begin to press in more than once, but he resisted the urge to leave behind evidence.

A curious hand wandered up to JJ’s hair, your finger carding through the soft locks. At a sharp thrust, you gripped, and his hips stuttered.

JJ’s hips snapped repeatedly against yours, flooding your entire being with a pleasure you’d never experienced before. The feel of his cock moving inside of you stirred a need inside of you that you didn’t even know you had.

You were meant for each other, it was clear to you now.

JJ kept thrusting his hips, his lips returning back to yours, devouring you in a hungry kiss. He swallowed down your moans, never letting his lips part from yours for longer than a second as his hips curved into yours.

You were being pushed towards your edge fast. It was as if JJ already knew your body.

“I’m close,” you managed between kisses.

JJ groaned out something you didn’t understand, but you knew he heard you. A skilled hand snaked its way between your bodies to find your clit. Your thighs clenched around his waist as a gasp leapt from you.

Your whole body felt overheated, like you’d melt from the inside out. JJ’s cock moving inside of you paired with the weight of his body on top of yours and the needy way his lips sought after yours between breathless sounds worked together to draw you closer and closer to release. All of your senses were flooded by him and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

JJ wasn’t any better off than you, you could tell with the way his hips slammed into yours and his ragged breathing that he was close.

“JJ…” you moaned out his name as the knot in your belly finally snapped. “Fuck!” you cursed in a whimper as your body tightened around him, not wanting to let him go as you rode out your orgasm.

His lips parted from yours so he could watch your face. Your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw dropped as you shook. You could feel his eyes never leaving your expression even as you were blinded to it.

Thrusts became rougher, more desperate as he chased his edge. The sound of skin against skin synced up with your heart pounding in your own ears. JJ was saying something but you couldn’t hear. Your nails dug into his back as he finally shoved his hips against yours and let go.

A shiver of pleasure ran down your spine as warmth flooded your insides. You held onto him tight as he jerked inside you, giving you everything he had.

You opened your eyes and the sight of pure ecstasy on his face made your body quiver. A moan tore from deep in his throat as he reacted. You licked your lips before pulling him down into a kiss. It was sloppy and tired and the best kiss you’d ever had.

After a long moment, JJ forced himself to part from you. He smiled to himself as he made some joke about not wanting to smother you, but you wouldn’t have minded. He grinned even wider when you said that.

In the aftermath, you forgot where you were. As you sat up, evidence of what had just transpired dripping between your thighs, you looked to JJ. Beside you he mirrored your position, sitting up, facing you. He looked just as wrecked as you were sure you looked, but it was beautiful.

All you could do was smile. So this is what being in love with JJ felt like. You could get used to it.

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mcflymemes · 1 year

Text

"THAT WAS WAY TOO CLOSE" PROMPTS * assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

are you all right? did you get hurt?

well. we're never trying that again.

that was far too close for comfort.

my life just flashed before my eyes.

i can't believe we survived that.

we won't survive another one of those.

i need a few seconds to breathe.

we got lucky with that one.

are you injured? let me see.

a little warning next time!

we are never doing that again.

tell me when you're ready, and we'll keep moving.

who's not dead? sound off!

[name]? can you hear me? are you all right?

when did that start happening?

just... give me a second.

that can't happen again.

well, that was... unexpected.

i could have used a heads up.

a bit of help would have been nice.

did you know that was going to happen?

i thought we were going to die.

next time you decide to throw yourself into harm's way, bring someone else.

i guess it's time to move.

that was close. too close.

i can't believe we made it out of there alive.

one more step to the left and we would have been dead.

they nearly spotted me.

i hate it when you do things like that.

remind me never to listen to you again.

ugh, everything hurts.

i think i broke something.

i'll be fine. just give me a second.

i thought you said you had this handled.

feel like my heart's about to explode from my chest.

i'm still shaking.

they were looking right at us. how did they not see us?

next time, you're doing that.

you could have told me that was going to happen!

we made it out by the skin of our teeth.

i don't like close calls.

had you just warned me ahead of time, i would have handled that a bit better.

how did they miss us?

i like your hiding spot.

we'd best be moving on then.

enough talk. we need to keep moving.

it's over. we can keep going.

we can't risk that happening again.

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hippiegoth97 · 1 month

Text

You Couldn't Ignore Me If You Tried: Eddie Munson x Reader

Collage by me :)

Master List

Tag List: @keikoraven @ar-jupiter @alcielo1438 @cairro-xx @stolen-in-moonlight

@micheledawn1975 @janiejenn @rafescurtainbangz @melodymunson @spacedoutdaydreamer

@veemoon @sariahs-stuff @feral-pumpkin-energy @comeonatmebruh @munsoneightysixx

@morgthemagpie @josephquinnsfreckles @jenniquinn @usergeta @cometzombie

@spookybabey @daggerdaggerkitten @nina6708 @sanctumdemunson @yourdailymemedelivery

@person-005 @slowandsteddie @gri959 @elegantkoalapaper @letitgoandletlive

@loserboysandlithium @costellation-hunter @leelei1980 @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever

@ohmeg @stalactitekilla @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne @oneforthemunny

@prettyboyeddiemunson @eddievanmunson @msgexymunson @rattkween86 @violetpixiedust

@bimbobaggins69 @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @babygorewhore

@mediocredreams @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @ali-r3n

Description: You're invited to a party hosted by one of your classmates from Hawkins Community College. You're not usually one for parties, but Steve insists you go and socialize. He goes with you, quickly chatting up the ladies. While at the party, you happen upon Eddie Munson offering you drugs. You hated each other in high school, but the festive spirit may just bring you a change of heart...

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, female reader, enemies to lovers, mentions/use of drugs and alcohol, angst, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, praise/degradation, semi-public sex

Word Count: 14.1k

Divider by @firefly-graphics

You Couldn't Ignore Me If You Tried

Pt. 1/2

You're walking between classes at Hawkins Community College when a random guy shoves a neon green flier into your hands. "Party at Lover's Lake! Don't miss it, baby!" He says while peeking over his sunglasses.

"I'll think about it." You say awkwardly, putting the paper over the books in your arms. He winks at you, smacking his mouth as he chews his gum. Then he goes on his merry way, giving more flyers to every hot girl he sees. Who the fuck was that guy? You have no idea. You glance at the flier, and it reads: “You're invited to Reefer Rick's early release party! He's going from in the slammer to getting hammered! 2121 Holland Rd at 7pm Be there or be square! And don't be a narc!" It's written in bubble letters, and has a giant pot leaf in the background. You scoff, thinking about tossing it in the trash can next to you. But Steve comes up from behind you before you can.

"Whatcha got there? Oh, you got a flier too?" He asks abruptly, causing you to jump as you’re startled by his presence.

"Shit, Steve. Don't sneak up on me like that!" You thump his shoulder, making your way to your next class.

"Ow! Rude. So, are you going to this?" He asks, gesturing at the paper in his own hands as he walks with you.

"I don't know, I'm not really a party person." You shrug, already sensing Steve gearing up to convince you into going. He's always been a social butterfly, lucky him.

"Aw, come on, Y/N. You really wanna be a lonely loser for the rest of your life?"

"Hey!" You glare at him. "Who's the rude one now?" You grumble, gripping your books closer to your chest.

"What? It's true.” He continues. “You don't really hang out with anyone besides me and Robin. And your love life is borderline nonexistent." He sighs when he sees you giving him a death stare. "Look, you're a really nice girl, Y/N. I just think you could stand to let loose every once in a while. Not to mention you definitely need to get laid. God, you're wound up so tight that you're just waiting to snap." He rambles on, gesturing with his hands as he speaks.

He goes on like this until you've almost arrived at the next class of the day, and his words manage to worm their way into your head to make you give in to him. "Ugh, fuck, fine! I'll go to this damn thing. But YOU are coming with me and YOU are driving!" You yell, drawing the attention of other students around you. You groan, tugging the door to the lecture hall open, leaving Steve behind you.

"See? Tightly. Wound." He calls after you before rushing to his own class. You roll your eyes, making your way to a seat near the back of the room. Your professor drones on about physics, and you're barely paying attention. You're on autopilot, jotting down the things he writes on the chalkboard without actually reading them. Your mind is somewhere else, contemplating what Steve said to you earlier. He’s right, you definitely deserve to go nuts and just be a young adult. And you'd be lying if you disagree with his statement about you needing a good lay. You mentally roll your eyes again, annoyed that Steve has you pegged. This party better be worth it.

When the day is finally over, you meet up with Steve in the parking lot. "Hey, dickhead." You call to him as you approach his car.

He scoffs at your insult, shaking his head. "You better watch your tone, Y/N. I could just leave you here and let you find your own way home and to the party."

"Yeah, right. A gentleman like you could never just leave a helpless girl like me to her own devices." You smirk, going over to the passenger side and sliding into your seat. He sighs, getting into the driver's side. "And you're lucky I agreed to go to this stupid party anyways. Let's go home and change, hm? I better look real slutty if I'm going to get laid, like you say I so desperately need." You look over at him, smiling sarcastically.

"You're just upset that I'm right." He grumbles before shifting the car into gear, driving you both to your shared apartment. It was Steve's idea to be roommates, and you jumped at his offer to split the rent. Plus, if anyone breaks in, you have a semi-strong man to protect you. He keeps a baseball bat with nails embedded in it by his bed in case it ever happens. You’ve asked him about it a few times, wondering why he needs such an excessive weapon. But he always brushes you off, like he’s hiding something. You’ve dismissed it as him having an irrational fear or something, and decided to drop it.

The ride to your apartment is silent except for the radio, you stare outside the window and fantasize about how tonight might go. You want to have fun, but you can't help feeling anxious about potentially hooking up with a random person. You aren't a virgin by any means, but guys aren't exactly lining up around the block to give you their time, either. The whole concept of parties and the activities held at them seem foreign to you. Drinking, smoking, awful dancing, fucking. What was the point of it all? You figure there must be a reason so many people participate, so why not go crazy? You just hope you can find someone cute enough to sleep with, and to not puke your guts out from drinking too much.

Steve notices your leg nervously bobbing up and down, raising an eyebrow at you. "Are you okay, Y/N?" He asks.

"Hm?" You look over at him, confused.

"Are you nervous or something? You're shaking your leg like Thumper." He motions at your leg with his head, and you look down.

"Oh, um....I guess I'm just anxious about the party." You say, glancing at your hands.

"Oh. Well, don't. It'll be fine. I'll be there, and we'll have a good time. I promise." He reassures you, smiling kindly.

"Okay." You say unconvincingly. Steve parks the car and you both head upstairs to your apartment. You run to your room to get ready, contemplating just how easy you want to look tonight. You dig through your closet, rapidly dragging the hangers forward to weigh your options. You debate wearing a skirt, or even just jeans, but nothing feels right. Not until you happen upon a cocktail dress you were given by Robin for your birthday. She aptly called it your 'fuck me' dress. It's black, form-fitting, sleeveless, with a collared neck. It sparkles in the light from the sequins that cover its surface. It goes just a couple inches below your ass, and it leaves most of your back exposed. This is the look.

You slip into it, fitting like a glove. You think about wearing stockings underneath, but decide against it. They'll just be more difficult to get off later. You look in the mirror, working out how to do your hair and makeup. You decide to tease your hair, inhaling a noxious cloud of hairspray as you go. You smoke out your eyes, and add a light amount of foundation. You finish it off with a bright red lip, making sure to dab off the excess so it won't end up on your teeth. You add simple gold jewelry to accessorize, nothing too flashy that would distract from the dress. Finally, you step into some shiny black heels. You inspect yourself in the mirror, satisfied with your work.

"Are you ready yet, Y/N?" Steve asks impatiently, knocking on your door.

"Yep! Come in and have a look!" You say excitedly. Steve opens the door, and his jaw drops when he sees you. You beam at him, spinning in a small circle. "What do you think, Stevie?"

"I think you're gonna be at the top of every guy's list tonight." He stares at you dumbly, almost drooling. "Including mine."

"In your dreams, Harrington! You're more like a brother to me than anything. Is that what you're wearing?" You point at his simple pairing of jeans and a button-up shirt. "It's almost the same as what you wore to school today. Oh, God. Am I overdressed?" You ask, freaking out that you've gone overboard and look like an idiot.

"No! No, no. I mean, yes, I'm wearing this. But you aren't overdressed, I promise! The girls always dress better than the guys, you look perfect." He can't stop gawking at you, and your cheeks burn bright pink.

"If you say so." You grin at him, eager to get over to the house of whoever the fuck 'Reefer Rick' is.

When Steve pulls up to the house by Lover's Lake, you see the party is in full swing. People making out on the hoods of cars, some puking into the nearby bushes, others smoking weed and cigarettes. There's also a keg out front with people taking turns chugging from it. The whole atmosphere feels so overwhelming, you can’t help wondering if this is a mistake. "If you even think of backing out now, when you look like that, I will never forgive you." Steve is onto you, almost like a damn mind reader.

"Alright! It was just a passing thought, nothing more. Let's get this over with." You sigh, stepping out into the cool night air. Steve takes your hand to assist you, the gravel underfoot makes your heels unsteady. Once inside, he lets you go to find some booze for you both to drink. You take an empty spot on a nearby couch to plop down on, crossing one leg over the other. There's so many people here, it must be everyone from school flooding this place. The atmosphere is warm and electric, and reeks of beer.

You spectate the people around you, watching them grind against each other to the music blasting through the house. Lots of conversations around the space echo against the walls, creating a cacophony of voices. There's a girl in the corner crying. Other girls surround her, you assume her boyfriend did something wrong. There's a line of people waiting for the bathroom, and pairs going upstairs to have sex. As you look around the house to observe the scene, you feel a pair of eyes burning into you. Someone next to you on the couch finds you very interesting.

"My, my. If it isn't Y/N Y/L/N." You hear a voice belonging to those eyes say to you. You turn to look at who's speaking to you, locking eyes with the one and only Eddie Munson.

You flash him a fake smile, unamused by his greeting. "Hello there, freak. What do you want?" You and Eddie had never gotten along in school, you hated how smug he was about everything. He was such a wastoid back then, and it seems like nothing has changed.

"Hey, now. Put the claws away, pussycat. You still hate me, huh?" He smirks at you, scooting a bit closer. You cross your arms, facing forward.

"Yes. So what are you doing here? You don't even go to the college. You dropped out like the loser you are." You say spitefully, spitting venom with your words.

"Ouch, someone's in a mood this evening." He leans in closer to speak in your ear. "I think I have something that could help with that." You freeze up at his words, shocked at how forward he is.

You face him again, and you notice he's very close to you. Like, kissing distance close. He glances at your lips, and you can't help swallowing hard at the proximity. "Yeah, like I'd ever fuck an asshole like you. Maybe when Hell freezes over." You stand up off the couch to go find Steve, he’s taking too long with the drinks. You push your way through the crowd, looking for his signature mop of hair. You don't even realize Eddie is following close behind you until you find Steve in the kitchen. He's chatting up some girl with blonde hair and a skimpy dress, she's definitely his type.

You step up to the counter where all the alcohol is being kept, finding an empty cup to pour some vodka into. Eddie sidles up next to you, still smirking. "Ya know, Y/N, I wasn't even talking about sex. I just figure a tight-ass like you could do with some pot, or coke, if that's your thing. But I like your suggestion a whole lot more." He grabs his own cup, pouring himself some tequila. You down your drink in one gulp, hissing at the burn running down your throat. "Well, seems like maybe you don't need my services after all. Have a good night, Y/N. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." He says slyly, leaving you alone as he sips from his cup.

"What are you, my mother?" You mutter to yourself once Eddie's out of earshot. You pour yourself another drink, and walk over to Steve.

"Oh, hey! There you are!" Steve says nonchalantly.

"Here I am! I thought you were bringing me a drink, Steve!" You scowl at him, not paying attention to the girl he's talking to.

"Is this your girlfriend?" She asks him, seemingly threatened by you.

"Nah, she's just my roommate. She's like a sister to me, really." He acts cool, and it makes the girl swoon.

"Well, got my own drink now." You hold up your cup.

"Hey, uh, I noticed Munson was talking to you. What's that about?" Steve asks, concerned.

"He's just being the same jerk he's always been. He was trying to give me drugs. I told him I wasn't interested, so he fucked off." You sip your vodka, trying to drown the annoyance and frustration that Eddie’s stirred up in you.

"Okay, if you say so. He wouldn't be a bad choice for a one-time thing though. He's the freak, after all. He may have flunked out of school, but he's probably an ace in the sack." He chuckles at the thought. You cross your arms, for him to even suggest that you sleep with Eddie makes you want to vomit.

"Well, if you think he's so great, why don't YOU sleep with him!?" You shout, drawing the attention of a few partygoers surrounding you. You pour more alcohol for yourself, storming off to sulk in a corner. You lean against the wall, watching everyone have a good time except for you. Some random guy walks up to you, asking you to dance with him. He's pretty handsome, and he seems polite enough. You catch Eddie's eyes on you again, and you smirk in his direction as you accept the man's offer to dance.

The two of you head to the makeshift dance floor, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders. His hands go to your waist, and you move sensually to the music. You turn your back to him when the pace picks up, rubbing your ass into his crotch as he holds you close. You drink more from your cup, beginning to feel a decent buzz. You see Eddie again, staring at you while talking to some other girl. He smirks when you notice him, obviously flirting with the girl to make you jealous. But jealous of what, exactly?

You down the rest of your drink, tossing the cup to the floor. You maintain eye contact with the metalhead, beginning to run your hands over your body suggestively. We'll see who the jealous one really is, you think to yourself. Eddie takes that as his cue to move in closer to the random girl, stroking her arm as he tells a joke. They laugh together, and it makes your smile fall away. You can't believe it, you're actually upset by this? But why? You hated each other in school, and you still do now. Great, he's tormenting you, just like the old days.

Eddie's eyes flick to yours again, noticing your reaction. You scowl at him, turning back around to grab onto the guy you're dancing with. You decide to run your hands down his chest, to his belt, to his crotch. You're just ghosting over him, nothing substantial. The man looks at you, liking the signals you're giving him. You couldn't care less about him, you don't even remember his name. Jack…Jim, maybe? It’s something stupid, and you don't care to know it. But you flash him a smile as you rotate together.

Now you see Eddie kissing the other girl, his hands running up and down her sides as their lips move against each other. You scoff. He's un-fucking-believable. Two can play at this game. You quickly pull Jack/Jim's head to you, smashing your lips onto his. His hands instantly go to your ass, squeezing it firmly. You don't feel a thing for him at all, you're just so worked up by this unspoken game that Eddie's playing with you. You break away from the kiss, looking to see what the fucker is up to now.

The other girl is gone now, storming off with an angry look on her face. Eddie's staring at you, making his way to the stairs. He beckons you over with a finger, confident that you'll follow him. Your mouth sits agape, surprised at him thinking he's going to win you over by kissing someone else. He walks up the stairs, going into one of the rooms alone. He's waiting for you. You scoff, thinking about how much of an ass he is. You'll go up there alright, to give him a piece of your mind.

"What's wrong?" Jack/Jim asks, confused at the look on your face.

"I, uh, gotta go. Sorry, I'm not feeling so good." You try your best to brush him off, wanting to go tear Eddie a new asshole.

"Oh, okay. I can help you if you want." You feel a little bad, this guy seems nice enough. And you just used him to make another man jealous. How childish.

"No, please. It's not gonna be pretty, I promise. Maybe I'll see you later though, Jack." You guess at his name.

"It's Jerry." He says, shocked at your sudden motivation to leave.

"Right. Sorry." You give him an apologetic look, before pushing your way through the crowd of dancing bodies. You stomp your way upstairs, opening each door in the hall angrily. Most of the rooms are empty, except for one with a couple loudly fucking in it. You quickly shut the door, apologizing briefly to the people inside. There's one room left at the very end of the hall, Eddie has to be in that one. You walk to the door, cautiously turning the handle and swinging it open.

You shriek as Eddie pulls you inside and quickly shuts the door. The room is dimly lit by arty neon lights on the walls, casting a purple glow on everything inside. He pushes you against the door, before clicking the lock. He's got a hand planted on either side of your head against it, and he's staring deeply into your eyes. His breath fans against your face, smelling of tequila. You crinkle your nose at it. "I see you've accepted my invitation." He grins at you, satisfied that you've played right into his hands.

"If it was an invitation to kick your ass, then sure. What the fuck is wrong with you? Using that girl to try to make me jealous? You really are a dick, you know that?" You yell in his face, but his look doesn't waver.

"Well, last time I checked, you started it. You didn't care about that guy at all, you just wanted to get under my skin." He says calmly. You know he's right, but you don't want to admit it. "Come on, princess. Tell me, why do you hate me so much?" He asks, his eyes growing softer. It’s an odd look on him, and annoyingly…cute.

"I-I don't know. I guess I was...jealous." You force the words from your lips, for the longest time you’ve never wanted to be honest with yourself about how Eddie made you feel. His eyes widen at your comment.

"Jealous? Whatever for?" He asks, genuinely curious to know what you mean.

"Well, you know. You're a freak, but you don't care. You went around doing what you wanted, being yourself. I never was brave enough to do that." You feel silly holding a grudge over something like this, he must think you're the freak now.

"True, but it didn't exactly make me a popular person, Y/N. Quite the opposite actually." He backs away from you a bit, letting you breathe. "I'm sorry you felt that way. Really. I wish you would've told me before, though." He says thoughtfully.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Why?"

"Because I may have had a major crush on you. But you always acted like you were too good for me. You probably are too good for me if I'm being honest. You know, if anyone should be holding a grudge, it should be me." He laughs, finding the whole situation so ridiculous. Your eyes widen at his confession, you'd never realized he had feelings for you. He sits on the edge of the bed in the room, placing his hands in his lap. "What?" He asks, weirded out by the look on your face.

You walk over to him without saying another word. You stand in front of him, putting your hands on his shoulders. He just stares at you as you move, unsure of what you're up to. You put a knee onto the bed, then the other in order to straddle him. His hands instinctively go to your waist, resting there respectfully. You gaze into his eyes, batting your lashes at him. The energy in the room instantly changes. It's no longer angry and tense, but burning with electrified lust. You bring your lips real close to his, parting your mouth slightly. "Do you still have that crush, Eddie?" You whisper at him seductively.

"It never stopped, Y/N." He replies, shocked at your attraction to him. Never in a million years did he think you'd be with him like this. He'd thought about it many times, even dreamt about it. But here you are, in the flesh, on his lap. You close the gap between you, putting your lips against his. He moans into the kiss, and you bite his bottom lip. He lets your tongue in, using his own to fight for dominance. You put up a good fight, but Eddie wins out. You break away for a moment, your breath shuddering slightly. Eddie's a really good kisser, it's intoxicating. "So I guess Hell is freezing over, huh?" He says cheekily.

"Oh, shut up, smartass." You quip before kissing him again, rougher this time. Your hands wander into his hair, and you can't resist pulling on it. He moans at the action, prompting you to do it again.

"Jesus, Y/N. Take it easy on the mane, will ya?" He says, breathing heavily.

"Sorry, it sounded like you enjoy it." You blush, feeling bad for hurting him.

"Oh, I do. Just be careful, hm? I'd like to not go bald before I'm thirty." He says lowly, before reaching behind you to unzip the collar of your dress. He exposes your neck, planting wet kisses to it. His teeth worry the flesh, leaving dark purple marks behind.

"Shit, Eddie. That feels really good." You sigh, leaning your head to the side to give him better access. He keeps peppering you with kisses and love bites, drawing many moans from your lips in the process. You start to grind yourself into Eddie, feeling his cock quickly growing beneath you. He groans at your movements, biting down on your throat harshly. "Fuck!" You cry out, pushing yourself down even harder onto him. You're getting wet very quickly, every move of Eddie's turns you on more and more.

"Mmm, you make such sexy noises, princess." Eddie murmurs against your skin. He looks at you, his pupils blown out with desire. "You look fuckin’ gorgeous by the way. Forgive me for not mentioning it before."

"It's alright, I didn't really give you the chance. But thank you, I put a decent amount of work into it." You say as you maintain eye contact with him.

"Well, it would be such a shame to ruin it. Unless you want me to." He suggests playfully, his hands grabbing your ass.

You moan again, continuing the movement of your hips on him. "I would like nothing more than to have you absolutely wreck me." You lean in to take his earlobe between your teeth, pulling it slightly before letting go. His breath hitches, and his hands grip you tighter.

"Don't mind if I do." He chuckles, before unzipping the side of your dress. The fabric falls down to your hips, leaving your tits exposed to Eddie's gaze. "Beautiful." He breathes out, reaching up to touch your breasts. He massages them in his hands, and your head falls back in pleasure. He brings his lips to your chest, kissing every inch of flesh he can reach.

"Oh, Eddie." You moan out, running your fingers through his hair as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasp, pulling on his frizzy locks again. He groans at your touch, biting the sensitive bud. "Fuck!" You yelp, and Eddie stops attacking your flesh to look at you.

"Sorry, you alright?" He asks, worried that he went too far.

"I'm okay, just wasn't expecting it." You stand up, letting your dress fall to the floor. You step out of it, standing only in your lace panties and high heels. You're about to step out of your shoes, when Eddie stops you.

"No, keep those on. They're really hot." He says sheepishly, stroking your thigh with the back of his hand. "Lay down for me, baby." You do as he says, and he gets off the end of the bed. He's still fully clothed, slowly stripping off his layers. You lay back on the pillows, watching Eddie reveal himself to you. He takes off his shoes first, then his jackets. He pulls his t-shirt over his head, exposing his tattoos. You drink in his form, taking in his slim yet toned arms and chest. There's a trail of hair below his belly button that disappears into his jeans, you bite your lip as you devour him with your eyes. He undoes his belt, and unzips his pants. He pulls them down, leaving only his boxers behind. He climbs onto the bed, crawling over to you.

"Hey there, handsome." You say to him as he leans over you, taking his lips onto yours. You run your hands along his arms, down his chest. You drag your nails on his skin, and he moans at the contact. One of Eddie's hands grabs your tit, squeezing it firmly. The other rubs your pussy through your panties. You whine into his mouth, savoring every sensation he gives you. He continues to stroke your folds, feeling how wet you are through the thin fabric.

Eddie pulls your panties down, tossing them to the floor. You spread your legs for him, and his fingers are back on your cunt to fully feel you. He rubs circles around your clit, before putting a finger inside you. You moan loudly down his throat, your back arching off the bed. He pumps in and out of you teasingly, curling his finger just so to make you melt. He adds another, picking up the pace. You break away from his lips, letting out a stream of curses and moans as he works you up. "You like that, Y/N? Shit, you're so wet for me." He says quietly, looking deep into your eyes.

"It feels so good, Eddie. But I think I want something else." You reply, palming his dick through his boxers. His breath hitches as you stroke him, you can feel him growing in your hand. He pulls his last layer off, letting his cock spring free. You quickly grab it again, working him in your palm. You both wind each other up, setting the room on fire. You're breathing heavily, anticipation building within you rapidly. You want him inside you so badly, you almost want to scream. You look at him, stroking his cheek with your free hand. He meets your eyes, mirroring your desperate expression with his own. "Fuck me, Eddie. Please." Your grip tightens on his length, making him groan.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." He says with a smirk, taking his fingers out of you. You whine at the loss, watching him suck your arousal off his digits. He moans at the taste, making you shudder. "You taste so good, Y/N." He says, moving your hand off of his cock. He rubs it against your folds, pushing you even further. You both moan at his actions, your blood begins to boil inside your veins. You're so turned on, you can barely stand it.

"Eddie, please stop teasing. I can't take it, I need you inside me." You practically beg, hating how needy you sound.

"I love it when you beg, baby." He purrs, slowly pushing his dick into your pussy. He mutters swears under his breath at how tight you are, and you moan as he fills you up. He gives you a moment to adjust, and you wrap your legs around him to signal that you're ready. He pulls out slowly, before slamming back into you.

"Eddie!" You cry out. He hit your g spot perfectly, and you want him to do it again. He repeats the action, knocking the wind out of you. Eddie thrusts into you a third time, making you dig your heels into his back. He groans, stopping for a moment. He grabs your legs, bending them over your stomach, your knees going around his shoulders. He rams into you again, making you scream at the new angle.

"Is this comfortable for you, baby? I don't want to hurt you." Eddie says, concerned about your enjoyment over anything else.

"Yes, it's really good. Please, keep going." You pant out, enjoying the compromising position he's put you in. He gently kisses you again, before taking on a harsh pace as he moves inside you. "Jesus, fuck." You mutter out, feeling a knot of pleasure tying itself inside you. Eddie relentlessly hits your sweet spot with every thrust, pushing you closer to your orgasm.

He keeps eye contact with you while saying the filthiest things you've ever heard. "You're so fucking wet and tight for me. You're taking me so well, such a good little slut." Your bodies slick over with sweat, smelling of booze and lust. His words fuel the fire, driving you closer to the edge. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this, to have you moaning underneath me while I fuck you into next week."

"Do you dream about me? Or think about me while touching yourself?" You ask as you moan, you've never been with a man who's so vocal before. But you fucking love it.

"All the time, Y/N. I like to picture you on your knees, or riding me. Fuck, nothing compares to the real thing, though." He groans, feeling his own high quickly approaching. "I'm guessing you haven't done the same, but that's alright." Eddie can't help sounding a little disappointed about that idea.

"I wouldn't say that, Eds. You may have made an appearance in the occasional dream." You slyly smile at him as he continues to pound into you. His eyes widen, in disbelief.

"Oh, really?" He asks, unconvinced.

"Yes, really. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't also occasionally fantasize about you, either. Although I was kinda awful to your face, nobody can resist a bad boy, Eddie." You pant out, feeling the knot growing tighter. Your hands ball up the blankets beneath you, trying to hold on to something.

"God, you're unbelievable. You're lucky you're pretty, and that I'm already balls deep inside you." He chuckles, wanting to go even faster. He's tempted to make you pay for making him feel like you hated him when you didn't.

"I'm sorry, Eddie. Really, but it's not like you didn't do or say anything back to me. But if it'll make you feel better, you can fuck me even harder. Punish me for being such a bitch to you, if you want." You can't believe the things either of you are saying, this all feels like a surreal dream. But clearly you both feel strongly for each other, despite how stubborn you seem to be.

He grins at you, eager to take you up on your offer. He pulls out of you a moment. "Get on your hands and knees, Y/N." You flip over, putting your ass in the air for him as you lean on your elbows. He smacks your butt roughly, and you moan at the sting. "Fuck, you're such a dirty whore." Eddie grabs your hips, shoving his cock back into you.

"Oh, fuck." You choke out the words, holding onto the pillow for dear life as Eddie drills into you even harder than before. The slapping of skin fills the room, harmonizing with both your moans and dirty words. He's going at an almost inhuman pace, chasing your highs like his life depends on it. His balls slap against you, you swear you can feel them tightening. "Keep going, Eddie. I'm so close, make me cum." You beg him again, not caring about your desperate tone anymore.

"You're such a needy little slut, begging like that. Maybe I should stop, just to spite you." He slows down a little, threatening to deny you when you're so close to the edge.

"Eddie, please! Don't stop, I'm so close. Fuck me harder, until I can't walk if you want. I don't care, just for the love of God, don't stop." You're almost crying, he's gotten you so hot and bothered that if he stops now you might just implode.

"Shit, you're seriously so fucking hot right now. I'll give you what you want, baby. Be a good girl for me." He speeds up again, catching you by surprise. You can barely speak, thoughts can't form in your mind anymore. The only thing that matters right now is having Eddie make you cum, and for you to do the same for him. The knot inside you is threatening to snap, and your moans only get louder. Eddie reaches a hand down to your clit, rubbing it in quick circles. "Cum for me, darling." He says, his words causing you to topple over the edge.

"Oh, God!" You yell as your orgasm rips through you. Your legs shake uncontrollably, and your walls clamp down on Eddie's cock. He groans as he's pushed over the edge too, his load filling you up in thick white ropes. He keeps thrusting through your highs, prolonging the stars in your vision. After a few more thrusts, he stops moving, panting loudly. You both collapse onto the bed, his body laying on top of yours with his dick still inside you. You lay here a moment, trying to catch your breath.

"Well, that was fun." Eddie blurts out. You both laugh, your bodies shuddering from your sweat turning cold. He gets off of you, pulling out slowly. You wince at the motion, feeling sore. "You okay? I didn't go too hard, did I?" He strokes your back, worried that he's hurt you.

You roll over slowly, looking in his eyes. "I'm okay, Eddie. I asked you to go harder, didn't I? Sure, I'll be a bit bruised and stumbling out of here, but it's what I wanted." You smile reassuringly at him, poking his chest playfully.

"If you say so, Y/N. Shit, and they say I'm a freak." You share a laugh again. "Let me help you get dressed." You sit up at the end of the bed, watching him pick up your panties and your dress. You slip the lace underwear back on, hissing at the soreness between your legs. "I really did a number on you, huh?" He says in a guilt-laced tone. Whether you asked for it or not, he feels bad for being so rough with you. "I'm sorry, princess." Your eyes snap to his, your brows knitted together.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, I promise. I appreciate the concern, though." You sigh, unable to keep looking at him when he's got that expression on his face. He helps you stand up, but you stumble in your heels.

"Here, take those off. You don't wanna break an ankle." He slips the shoes off your feet, setting them on the bed. He helps you up again, assisting you at stepping back into your dress. He pulls it up your body, zipping it tight. "There we are, all pretty again." He smiles at you, holding your hand. Eddie sits you down again, redressing himself.

You pick at your fingers, worried about what this means for you both. Shit, it might not even mean anything. This is probably a one-time thing for you, just two ships passing in the night. You doubt he wants to see you again. You're just his revenge fuck, nothing more. "So, I'm guessing you don't want to see me again. Or want me to tell anyone about this."

He finishes getting dressed, looking at you curiously. "When did I say that?"

"I mean, you didn't. I just assumed." You shrug your shoulders, sighing.

"Hm, I thought we'd learned our lesson about assumptions after...you know." He says, gesturing at the bed.

"Old habits die hard, I guess." You chuckle wryly, still looking down. You feel Eddie sit beside you, his arm going around your shoulders. His other hand lifts your chin up to face him.

"Y/N, if I haven't made it clear already, I really like you. And it seems you also like me. So, quit being a little shit and give me your phone number, ‘kay?" He smirks at you, pulling a pen out of his jacket pocket. He hands it to you, and holds out his palm for you to write on.

"You sure know how to sweet-talk a woman." You giggle, rolling your eyes. You take the pen from him, holding his hand tightly as you write on it. "Oh, by the way, Steve Harrington is my roommate. So if he picks up, don't go thinking I'm sleeping around!"

"Steve, huh? I can't say I'm not a little threatened by that."

"No, no. He's just a friend, like a brother, really. He actually ditched me to talk to some slut, he was supposed to bring me a drink from the kitchen. But I ended up with you instead." You tease.

"Damn, well I'd never ditch you, Y/N. But it's good to know I won't have any competition with him." He leans in to kiss you, cupping your cheek as his plush lips touch yours. You kiss him back, your mouths moving against each other gently. The air between you is different now. It's no longer saturated with lust, but with the promise of a budding romance. Who would've thought that two people who seemed to hate each other could evolve into passionate lovers?

Pt. 2/2

After the party, Eddie calls you as he's itching to see you again. He takes you to a nice restaurant, and you have some extra risky fun for dessert…

You and Eddie break away from your kiss to breathe, smiling kindly at each other. You don't want to leave, but it sounds like the party has died down outside, and Steve is probably searching for you. "Sounds like we missed the rest of the party." You say quietly, holding Eddie's hand.

"We had plenty of fun on our own, Y/N. Parties aren't all they're cracked up to be, well, except this time." He's apprehensive to stand, knowing you'll have to go home soon. But it's getting late, and he figures Steve is waiting for you, worried you'd gotten snatched by a creep. "C'mon, angel. It's time to go, I'll escort you to find Harrington." You both stand together, still holding hands. You carry your heels in your free hand, and Eddie leads you to the door.

"Hopefully Steve didn't leave me here." You say, wondering what he's been up to this whole time. Maybe he hooked up with that girl from the kitchen.

"Well, if he did I can always drive you home, Y/N." Eddie replies as his hand turns the knob. He pulls the door open, and the two of you are greeted with loud cheers and whooping. As many people as could fit in the hallway outside the room are packed like sardines to catch you in the act. Your eyes widen, and your cheeks turn a bright crimson. You look to Eddie, mentally asking him what's going on and what to do. But he has no answer for you, just a nervous smile.

"Way to go, Munson!" A random guy cheers in the crowd.

"Can I have a turn with her now?" Another asks, drawing roaring laughter from the onlookers. So many pairs of eyes are staring at you, you want to run and hide. This is so embarrassing, but your feet are glued to the carpet beneath you.

"Y/N, come on." A mysterious hand grabs your arm, pulling you and Eddie through the mass of bodies. You realize it's Steve coming to your rescue, and you breathe a sigh of relief. You hold tight to Eddie to make sure he isn't left behind, trying your best to ignore the onslaught of nasty comments everyone's making to you and about you. "Get out of the way!" Steve calls out as he pushes a clear path for you.

"You're such a buzzkill, Harrington!" Another drunk asshole shouts. You reach the stairs, luckily they're mostly clear so you can travel down them quickly and safely. Steve keeps pulling you all the way to the front door, out into the cool air of the night. He finally lets you free from his grasp, turning to you.

"I see you took my advice, Y/N. I knew you had it in you!" He gushes, proud of you embracing your inner slut.

"Yeah, yeah. I will admit though, I don't think I want it to be a one-time thing, Steve." You try to whisper to him, but it's a bit difficult for Eddie to not hear you when you're still holding his hand in an iron grip.

"I can hear you, ya know. Plus, I have no intention of letting you go, especially now that I have your phone number." He flashes his palm with the digits scrawled on his flesh. He grins slyly, teasing you again.

"Keep it up, freak. I'll lick it off and then you'll be shit outta luck." You retort, sticking out your tongue to emphasize your point. He just scoffs at you.

"Too late, I've already memorized it. But you'd better put that back in your mouth, unless you intend to use it." He leans into you real close, just about to try to snap his teeth at you.

"Alright, that's enough. Cool it before you make me barf." Steve scrunches his face at the two of you, unamused by your antics.

"Aw, is Stevie jealous?" Eddie taunts, not quite done being a smartass.

"Not at all, dickwad. It's just late, and I'd like to get some sleep at some point. Y/N, are you coming with me or staying with him?" Steve asks, he always gets grouchy when he's tired.

"Relax, Steve. I'll go home with you, just wait in the car for me. I'll be there in a minute." You look at him purposefully, trying to hint at him that you want to say goodbye, privately. He thankfully picks up on it, nodding and going to his car to wait for you. Once he's out of earshot, you turn to Eddie. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, getting real close. "Hey." You say quietly.

"Hey." He replies, his hands going to your waist. "I guess this is Goodnight then, hm?" He asks, smiling although disappointed that the night has come to an end.

"Yeah, it is. But you've got my number, you can call me anytime, baby. And I hope you do, cuz I really wanna see you again." You raise your knee to graze his crotch to emphasize your words. He groans at your touch, gripping you harder.

"Damn, if this is the way you say goodbye, I can't wait to see how you say hello." He closes the gap between you, kissing you deeply. You're feeling warm again, despite the fall air nipping at your flesh. Your mouths move against each other languidly, tongues doing the tango. You wish you could stay like this forever, his lips are so soft and plush, and they make you feel safe and warm. But Steve has other ideas, honking loudly at you. You break away, startled by the horn.

"Well, that's my cue to leave. But please, call me. Then I can show you exactly how I say hello." You peck his lips again, backing away. "Goodnight, Eddie. I'll see you again soon, I'm sure."

"You definitely will. Get some sleep, Y/N. And do me a favor and dream about me?" He smirks again, his hands going behind his back.

"It's a date." You reply, giggling as you walk to the car. You turn away from Eddie, pulling open Steve's passenger door. "That was a little rude, Steve." You say to him, not really that bothered by it.

"Sorry, my uh...hand slipped." He says groggily. You roll your eyes, not buying his shit excuse for one second. "So, you gonna date the freak?" He asks, a wee bit too concerned about your personal life.

"Yes, well... I'm not sure if he wants to date. He might just want sex, which I don't mind, he's very good at it." You shrug, glancing out the window.

"Ugh, gross. I don't need to hear that. But he'd be an idiot to just have you as a fuck-buddy." He glances at you, concerned that you're unsure where you stand with Eddie. Steve is far from Munson's biggest fan, but he wants you to be happy.

"Thanks, Steve. I appreciate the concern. Did you end up fucking that girl you were with earlier?" You ask, the conversation had been so focused on you, you felt bad for not asking how his night went.

"Oh, nah. We just weren't clicking." He says, blowing off your question.

"Last time I checked, Steve, that's not the point of hooking up at a party. You don't have to 'click', as long as your junk can mush together correctly." His demeanor is confusing you, he never turns down a lay. "Are you alright, dude?" You ask as he puts the car into drive.

"I'm fine!" He snaps, startling you. He sighs, feeling guilty for his outburst. "Sorry, I'm fine. I'm just...jealous, I guess." Your eyes widen, surprised by his confession. You're about to ask him to elaborate, when he keeps talking. "I'm just...struggling to find a connection with somebody. I thought I had one with Nancy, but she's with Jonathan now. And Robin is gay, as you know. I'm sick of hook-ups, and I'm worried that I'll never find my perfect person." Your heart breaks for him, wishing you could do more to help him.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm not meaning to throw my thing with Eddie -whatever that is- in your face. I know you'll find somebody worthy of you soon enough. You're a great guy, Steve. You're kind, and funny, and you care a lot about those around you. She's out there somewhere, you just haven't found her yet." He nods in agreement, smiling weakly at you. "Cheer up, buttercup. You always have your friends to support you. Now, let's go home, I can hear my pillow calling to me." You laugh, and he joins you. The mood lightens inside the vehicle, and you spend the rest of the drive joking around like you always do.

When you get back to the apartment, you don't even bother to take off your dress, or makeup. The second your head hits the pillow, you're out like a light. You wake up the next morning to the sound of the phone ringing, groaning as your head pounds from last night's activities. You didn't drink that much, but alcohol always manages to give you a headache the next day. You push yourself off the bed, wincing at the dull pain between your legs. Steve’s left for his shift at Family Video already, leaving you alone on this fine Saturday. You try to make it to the phone in the living room, but you miss it just as the final ring blares into your ears.

You slump onto the couch, still wearing your outfit from last night, makeup smudged all over your face. You're about to fall back to sleep, when the phone rings once again to startle you. You grab it from its cradle, straining to speak. "H-hello?" You manage to croak out, clearing your throat.

"Hey, Y/N. It's Eddie, you doing alright?" Eddie asks, concerned that you sound sick.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, hey, Eddie. Um, I'm fine, I just woke up. What can I do for you?" You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers, trying to fully join the waking world.

"Oh, did I disturb your beauty sleep? I'm sorry, princess." He says sympathetically, though you're not sure how sorry he actually is.

"It's alright, I probably slept too late anyways. Haven't even looked at a clock yet." You glance at the one hanging in the kitchen, 11:30am, Jesus christ. "Fuck, it's late. I knocked out as soon as I got home. You really wore me out, I'm still feeling it actually.” You adjust uncomfortably on the couch, unable to sit properly. He chuckles at your last comment.

"You poor thing. Well, I was calling to see if you're free tonight. But only if you're up for it." Eddie can never resist a tease.

"You just can't get enough of me, can you, Munson?" You reply cheekily, loving the idea of seeing him again.

"'Fraid not, but can you blame me? You're the most beautiful, sexy woman I've ever seen. So, whattaya say, Y/N?" He sounds so sure you'll say yes, he sure is a smug one isn't he?

"No." You say simply, taking him by surprise. "At least, not until you tell me exactly what you had in mind. Are you looking for a fuck, or a date?" He scoffs at your bold move, he's truly met his match.

"Obviously a date, sweetheart. What kind of man do you take me for?" His faux offense makes you giggle. "I was thinking...Enzo's? The yuppie Italian place?" You gasp at his suggestion, surprised he wants to take you somewhere so nice.

"That sounds great! Wait, isn't there a dress code? Do you even own nicer clothes, Eddie?" You poke fun at him once again, earning a hearty laugh from the other end.

"Believe it or not, I do. I'm not offended by your surprise, though. I assure you I'm just full of them. I'll pick you up at 7, and bring your appetite, darling." His emphasis on certain words sends a chill up your spine as his voice flows directly into your ear. It'll prove quite difficult to keep your hands above the table, so to speak. You give him your address, anticipation for this evening already building inside you. "I'll see you tonight, baby."

"Yeah, see you tonight, Eds." You say quietly before hanging up. You shriek in excitement, eager to tell Steve about your date. You pick the phone up again, dialing the video store. Robin picks up, grilling you about the party last night. Steve must have told her everything he knew, she sadly missed out due to having a project to finish for anatomy. She asks a few questions about Eddie, how he was in bed, etc. You tell her whatever she wants to know, before relaying to her that you have a date with the metalhead tonight. She screams into the phone, and you hear Steve in the background asking what's going on. She tells him about the date, and he sounds sad about it. Perhaps it was better that Robin picked up instead of Steve. She asks if you wanna speak to him, but you decline. You feel guilty for even thinking to let him know about it, it'd be like rubbing it in his face.

You hang up the phone again, deciding to take a nice hot bath to wash last night off of you. Your eyelashes keep sticking together from the leftover mascara, and your hair is a tangled mess. Hopefully you can manage to sort yourself out in the next seven hours. You run the bath, pouring in some soaking salts you got from your Mom this past Christmas. You brush your teeth at the sink as water fills the tub, observing how truly fucked you look right now. It's like someone took a windshield wiper to your face, dragging your makeup across one side of it. You groan, turning away from the horror in the mirror once you spit out your toothpaste.

Your body slips into the hot water nice and easy, you moan as it soothes your aching muscles. You're hoping this is enough to help you recover for a potential round two with Eddie, although you know this won't magically fix the problem. You make a mental note to take some aspirin once you get out of the tub, and you definitely need to eat something. You submerge your head under the water, scrubbing away the remnants of the party from your skin. You stay under as long as you can, trying to scrape off as much old makeup as possible.

A couple hours go by, and you've finished your bath, taken some painkillers, and managed to eat a light lunch. Now you're sitting in your room, surrounded by all your dresses splayed out on the bed as you struggle to pick one for tonight. Your hair lays damp at your shoulders, and you've been sitting in a towel this whole time. You hear Steve coming home from his shift, it's around 3pm now. "Hey, Y/N. I'm home, brought some new releases for the week." He calls from the living room, you hear the clatter of videotapes being set on the coffee table.

"Okay!" You call back, unable to focus on anything but the clothes piled around you. Steve's footsteps tap down the hallway, and he knocks on your door. "Come in, dingus." He enters the room, eyes widening at the sight before him.

"What happened here? Looks like your closet threw up." You glare at him, and he puts his arms up defensively. "Sorry."

"I can't figure out what to wear. Eddie's taking me to Enzo's tonight." You sigh loudly, stressing yourself out.

"Oh, that's nice! I'm glad he's going to take you on a real date, as opposed to...ya know." Steve speaks awkwardly, a sour mood threatening to taint his mind. But he decides to buck up and help you out. He scans the choices you have laid out, his eyes falling on one in particular. "Go with that one, no man can resist a woman in red." He smiles cheekily, flashing reassuring eyes at you as he points out his pick.

You look it over, seeing what Steve is saying. "Thanks, Steve! And you're okay with me going out with him, right? You sounded sad when I talked to Robin earlier." His face falls, he hadn't meant for you to hear that.

"Shit, I didn't think you heard me. And what are you asking me permission for? I'm not in charge of you, alright? I want you to go with him and have a good time, really." He claps a hand on your bare shoulder, trying to drive home the fact that above all else, he's your friend.

"Okay. But I promise not to gloat too hard about how it went later. I wouldn't want to depress you any further." You place your hand over his, looking up at him. He tenses at your touch, but relaxes after a moment. You share a kind smile, patting his hand. "Thanks again, Stevie. You're a good friend. Now, get out unless you wanna see me naked." You laugh, and he retorts back as usual.

"Well...if you're offering." He quips, pretending to yank at your towel.

"STEVE! Get out, you pervert!" You stand up, pushing Steve backwards out of your room. He doesn't protest, letting you lead him as he laughs. Once he's in the hall again, you shut the door and lock it. God, he needs a girlfriend. You clean up the mess on your bed, looking closely at the red dress Steve helped you pick out. It's made entirely of leather, and just low-cut enough in the chest to show off the girls without them falling out. The material hugs your waist and ass just right, with a zipper running down the back. Steve is absolutely right, this one will drive Eddie wild.

The clock reads 6:55, and you've been all set to go for over an hour. Your makeup and hair are perfect, you've got your dress and shoes on. And your purse dangles at your side. Everything is going according to plan, all that's left is for Eddie to show up. You're pacing nervously in the living room, your heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Steve's heating up a TV dinner for himself, watching the time tick down on the microwave. "You need to relax, Y/N. You keep pacing like that, you'll carve a dip into the floor." Steve says to you absent-mindededly, he's never seen you so nervous about a date. He wanted to be sympathetic, but the sound of your shoes is getting on his nerves.

You stop, plopping down onto the couch while crossing your arms. "Sorry. I'm just anxious about seeing Eddie. I mean, I'm excited, but I've never had anyone take me to Enzo's before." You're about to bite your lip, but you stop yourself as that'll smear your lipstick. You pick at your fingers instead, careful not to chip your nail polish. The clock now reads 6:58, you roll your eyes at it. Steve sits next to you, gingerly placing his dinner on his lap before turning on the TV.

"Everything will be fine, Y/N. He'll be here any minute, I'm sure. He's probably just as nervous as you, more than you even." He gives you a look, begging you to calm down and stop bobbing your knee. You take the hint, putting your hand on it to keep it still. Steve flips through channels, his meal becoming cold as he debates what show to settle on. By the time he picks, the time is 7:10. Eddie's late.

"What if he doesn't show up, Steve? He could very well be getting back at me for being so awful in high school." Your stomach churns at the idea of being stood up, you can't help wondering if all of this is a big joke to Eddie. Steve's eyes flare into anger, snapping to look at you.

"Don't say that, dude. The way he looked at you last night? He's either in love, or a ridiculously talented actor. Though I doubt he is, if he stands you up, I'll beat his ass." He says sternly, meaning every word.

"Oh, yeah, like you could win a fight! And against Eddie? I don't think so." You can see it now, Steve and Eddie duking it out. Steve could land maybe one hit, but Eddie would knock his lights out in no time.

"Okay, rude! But I don't think it'll be necessary, Y/N. He probably can't even read a clock properly." You elbow him at his comment, trying not to smile. "Ow! Jeez, you're mean when you're worried about a guy ditching you."

"He's not stupid, Steve. And honestly, if he did set me up, I'll probably kick his ass myself." You let out a frustrated sigh, daring to look at the clock once more. 7:15. Where the hell is he? You try to focus on the show that's on, but your mind keeps going back to your special little metalhead. You picture him laughing it up with his friends on how he played you so good. Getting you into bed, and pretending to ask you on a date. Only to stand you up so you see how it feels to be treated poorly. Maybe you deserved it.

You're about to give up and crawl back into bed, when the clock strikes 7:20 and you finally hear a knock on the door. Your head perks up, glancing at Steve. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go get him!" He nudges you with his shoulder, and you practically launch yourself from the couch. You run to the door, about to yank it off its hinges when you stop yourself. You take a deep breath, shaking your nerves out and smoothing your dress. And you pull the door open to see Eddie leaning in the doorway.

He looks so different, and sexy as all hell. He's wearing a dark red dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a couple of the top buttons left undone. Black slacks adorn his legs, with suspenders to match. His hair is tied back in a thick ponytail, and he's got shiny black shoes on. He's still wearing his signature rings and necklace, but would he really be Eddie without them?

"Sorry I'm late, baby. But I hope these will make up for it." He says smoothly, pulling a beautiful bouquet of roses from behind his back.

"Thank you so much, they're gorgeous! Let me just put them in some water, and then we'll get going. Come in for a second." You quickly walk to the kitchen, pulling out a simple vase to fill up. Eddie walks inside apprehensively, standing with his hands behind his back and teetering on his heels and toes. He notices Steve on the couch, who's eyeing him closely.

"Hey there, Harrington." He nods to Steve, quickly averting his gaze.

"Munson." Steve replies simply, unamused at Eddie's failure at punctuality. He takes a bite from his dinner, eyes not leaving Eddie's general direction. You see him glaring from the kitchen, gasping at him being so rude.

"Knock it off, Steve! Or I'll shove that fork down your fucking throat!" You shout at him, and he dips his head sheepishly. Eddie snickers, trying to stifle his laugh. You walk back over to Eddie once the flowers are situated, and it's here that he finally gets a good look at you. His eyes nearly pop out of his head when he takes in your form. The red of the dress perfectly compliments your smooth skin, and he can't help staring at your tits on display for him. He gulps, struggling to speak. You blush at his obvious appreciation of just how hot you look, taking his hand to snap him out of his trance. "You clean up well, Munson." You say cheekily, looking deep into his eyes.

"You don't look so bad yourself, Y/N. Shall we get going? We have some lost time to make up for." He tries to play it cool, but his stumbling of words blows the image away. You nod, opening the door again for the two of you to step out into the night.

"Bye lovebirds, have fun!" Steve calls to you, enamored by Wheel of Fortune.

"I'll be back late, Steve. Don't wait up." You reply, giggling as you shut the door. Eddie leads you to his van, opening the passenger door for you. "Such a gentleman." You tease, earning a light smack on your ass.

"In some ways, darling. Not so much in others, but you already know that." He winks at you before closing your door, jogging around to the other side. He climbs in, pulling his door shut clumsily. Eddie glances at you, seemingly nervous. "Okay, confession time." Your eyebrow quirks at him, curious what he means by that. "I wasn't late, I was actually a little early. But I spent...I dunno, thirty minutes trying to work up the courage to knock on your door." He laughs, shaking his head at how silly he feels.

"Really? Well, I was worried you'd stood me up. You know, to get back at me for high school." You say sheepishly, looking down at your lap.

"I promise, sweetheart, I would never do such a thing. That shit's in the past, let's just focus on the here and now, deal?" He holds his hand out to you, waiting for you to take it. You do, squeezing tightly as you nod at him. "Alright, I better get this old bitch started. Wouldn't want us to lose our table." He lets you go, putting the van into gear to take you to the restaurant.

You arrive just in time for the reservation Eddie made, 7:30. He holds your hand the whole way inside, and while the waiter leads you to the table. You're about to sit down, when he goes behind you to pull out your chair for you. Damn, he's got the chivalry thing down pat. "Thank you, Eds." You smile as he pushes you in, blushing at him treating you so well. He takes a seat across from you, consciously forcing himself not to slouch in his chair. The waiter comes by with glasses of water, asking what you'd like to drink. "I'll have a dirty martini, please." You say politely to the waiter.

"I'll have the same, thanks." Eddie says nervously, he's clearly uncomfortable in this environment. You'd be lying if you said you aren't as well, you just know how to hide it better. The waiter leaves to retrieve your beverages, and Eddie looks to you anxiously. "So, what exactly did I just agree to drink?"

"I'm honestly not sure, I just heard it on TV once. Sounded grown up, I guess." You can't help giggling, feeling so childish for saying that. Eddie chuckles back, holding his hand out across the table. You put your hand in his, letting him stroke your fingers. "Believe me, I'm just as lost in a place like this as you are. Let's help each other figure out what we want to eat before he comes back, hm?" You open your menus, automatically lost at the names of everything. They're all in Italian, though the descriptions are in english. You both decide to go the easy route and order steak, quickly trying to learn the correct pronunciation as the waiter returns with your drinks.

"Are you ready to order?" The waiter asks, placing your cocktails onto the tablecloth. He's been eyeing the two of you closely, especially Eddie. It seems you don't fit in enough for the staff's liking, their noses trained at the ceiling as they speak to you condescendingly.

Screw ordering in Italian, they'll know damn well what you mean in English. "Yes, I'll have the New York Strip steak with mashed potatoes and steamed corn, please." You're exuding confidence as you speak, though on the inside you're shaking like a leaf. Eddie's eyes bug out as your efforts to sound fancy go out the window, but he picks up on where your head's at. He smirks at you, and you wink back at him.

The waiter is less than enthused, probably expecting every Midwestern asshole that comes in here to struggle to read from the menu for a good laugh. He looks to Eddie, positive that he'll get his sick satisfaction from your date. "And for you, sir?"

"I'll have the same, thank you very much." Eddie replies, an unassuming smile plastered on his face. The waiter frowns, accepting the fact that you've denied him the feeling of superiority over you.

"Very good, it should be ready shortly. Please, let me know if you need anything else." You both nod agreeably at him, and he storms off.

"Nice work, Y/N! You really got under that tight-ass's skin." He laughs, highly impressed by you. The two of you feel much more comfortable now, having taken away the snooty energy of the place. Eddie takes a sip of his drink, making an odd face after he swallows.

"Is it bad?" You ask, before tasting yours. It's definitely strong, and very briny. You don't hate it, but you'd much rather have a vodka cranberry or something. "Well, I wouldn't order it again, but it's not terrible." You decide to down the rest, that way you can get something else.

"Jesus, Y/N. Take it easy." He says teasingly, before mimicking you to finish his own drink. Your glasses sit empty for a while, and you're getting a light buzz. Feeling bold, you slip your foot out of your shoe, lifting it across the underside of the table to graze Eddie's crotch. It takes him by surprise, causing his knee to bang against the wood. It's rather loud as the silverware and glasses bounce a bit, making the other patrons look at you. He waves them away, shooting you a warning look.

"What's wrong, baby? Can't hold your liquor?" You ask, feigning innocence as you continue to rub against him beneath the table. Luckily the cloth goes almost completely to the floor, concealing your actions. He moans quietly, and you feel him hardening inside his pants.

"You're sooooo gonna pay for this later." He says playfully, already planning how to get back at you.

"Oh, I'm counting on it." You grin slyly at him, pressing a little harder. He holds back a groan, wishing he could take you right now in front of everyone. Once the food arrives, you put your foot away. You'll behave until dinner's over, well, mostly. When the waiter walks away again, you lean forward a little, subtly squeezing your tits together with your arms as you cut into your steak.

Eddie takes notice of what you're doing, almost choking on the bite of steak he just took. "Fuck, are you trying to kill me, Y/N?" He says, coughing through his words. Once again, all eyes are on you. You hide your face sheepishly, trying not to laugh at the whole situation. The onlookers return to their meals after a moment, scowling at you.

"Sorry, Eds. I'm just a little eager to get to dessert." You lick your lips salaciously, bringing a piece of meat to your mouth. You pluck it from your fork with your teeth, maintaining eye contact with Eddie the entire time.

"All in good time, darling. You were expecting a real date after all, right?" He looks at you questioningly, wondering if you're just trying to give him what you think he wants.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm nervous, which apparently makes me horny." You roll your eyes at yourself, sighing in an attempt to calm down.

"Don't get me wrong, Y/N. I'm very flattered, but there's no rush. No expectations or anything, 'kay? Let's enjoy our time, get to know each other better. And it's certainly fun to take up space where we clearly aren't wanted, I love making these waiters squirm." He chuckles lowly, highly amused that everyone in here wants so badly to throw him out on his ass. But they can't, because he's a paying customer just like everyone else.

"Very true, they look so funny when they glare." You giggle, taking your time as you eat. You and Eddie spend what feels like hours just talking, asking each other meaningful questions. He's great at conversation, and surprisingly intellectual at times. When the plates are empty, and a couple more drinks disappear, the bill comes around. Eddie doesn't let you see it, eagerly putting a decent amount of cash into the check presenter. "I'm gonna freshen up before we leave, Eds, I'll just be a minute." You stand up, taking your bag as you leave the table. You make a beeline for the ladies' room, going to the mirror to check your lipstick.

The door swings open, and you think nothing of it. Until you hear Eddie's voice speaking to you. "Are you ready for dessert, angel?" He clicks the lock, making sure nobody will interrupt you. He walks over to you, pressing his body against yours before kissing your neck. You feel his erection poking into your ass, and arousal begins to gather between your legs.

"What are you doing in here, Eddie? We could get into trouble." You giggle, not really caring about being caught.

"It'll be fine, baby. Just let me make you feel good." He licks the length of your throat, and you lock eyes with him in the reflection. You moan loudly, his hand snaking around to the front of your dress. He gropes your tits, before turning you to face him. His lips meet yours hungrily, and his hands continue to fondle your chest. You lean against the sink, gripping Eddie's shoulders for balance. His lips leave yours, traveling down your neck, to the valley between your breasts. He nips and sucks your flesh, desperate to mark you as his.

"Oh, Eddie." You sigh blissfully, the booze amplifying his every touch. He stops attacking your tits, lifting you onto the counter. He lowers a hand between your legs, gasping when he realizes you're not wearing any underwear.

"No panties, huh? Such a dirty girl." He grins, kissing you again roughly while running his fingers between your folds. You moan into his mouth, spreading your legs wider for him to put his fingers inside you. He slips them in easily, and immediately pumps them in and out of your cunt rapidly. Your breath catches in your throat, overwhelmed by how fucking hot this all is. At any moment one of the staff could come knocking on the door as patrons complain that the bathroom is locked.

"Eddie." You break away from his lips, almost gasping for air. "I need you, now." You practically beg, grabbing his stiff cock through his pants.

"You sure you don't want me to taste you first? There's so much I want to do to you, but I've barely had a chance." He's almost disappointed, wanting to truly take his time to please you.

"I know, baby. I want that too, but we both know we don't exactly have time on our side here. There'll be other chances for that, but I want you inside me so badly. Please, before we get caught?" You keep palming him through his clothes, ramping him up.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." He purrs, helping you stand before whipping you around. He presses on your back to have you lay against the counter, forcing you to watch yourself as he pushes your skirt up over your ass. He undoes his belt, and pulls his suspenders from his shoulders. Eddie pulls down his pants and boxers, freeing his aching cock. Precum drips from the head, and he spreads it around as he roughly strokes himself. His breath shudders, watching you observe him in the mirror.

You're so wet for him, anticipating his dick filling you up. He teases you first, rubbing himself against your glistening clit. You both moan at the sensation, watching each other's faces change. You're about to ask him to just fuck you already, when he unexpectedly rams his cock into your dripping entrance. "Eddie!" You cry out, gripping the edge of the sink as he pounds his hips against your ass. He slowly pulls out, before slamming back in. He hits your g spot just right, making you want to scream. He keeps going like this, waiting for you to ask for more. It proves difficult though, as every thrust scrambles the thoughts inside your head.

"You're so fuckin' sexy when you're like this, completely at my mercy." He groans, you're so tight and wet for him, it's unreal. Eddie's eyes want to roll to the back of his head, but he maintains his focus. His hands are gripping your hips in an iron hold, and your pelvis digs into the counter with every move he makes. He lowers his torso over yours, speaking into your ear. "If you want me to go faster, you're gonna have to beg for it." He licks your earlobe before biting it, drawing more noises from you.

"Please, baby. Fuck me faster, I need you." You whine, needing him to absolutely demolish you.

"Such a good little slut." He whispers, before snapping his hips into a punishing pace. You can't do anything but moan and cry out Eddie's name, watching his eyes never leave yours as he pierces you again and again. Many lewd noises leave his lips too, but he's still much more under control than you are. "Tell me how good it feels, angel." Eddie doesn't know why, but he wants you to tell him how and what you're feeling.

You struggle to speak, your body is electrified with every brush against your special spot. You want to do as he asks, but it's quite a challenge. You power through regardless, knowing your words will drive him mad. "You feel so good inside me, baby. Your cock hits all the right places, and you make me so wet." You confess to him, watching him lose a little bit of control. You smirk at this small victory, deciding to push him further. "There's nobody like you, Eddie. No one can make me cum like you can. Fuck me harder, I can take it." You're definitely enjoying this little game, watching one another in the mirror as you say the dirtiest things you can think of.

"Careful what you wish for, Y/N. Wouldn't wanna push you too far." Is he really trying to get you to chicken out?

"Believe me, when it's too far, I'll tell you. Now, go faster." You say through gritted teeth, pushing backwards against him to show just how much you want this.

"As you wish, princess." Eddie pounds into you even harder, your hips will certainly have bruises later. You moan so loudly, you're sure the whole restaurant has heard you. But you can't be bothered to give a shit, the pleasure building inside you matters so much more than potentially being thrown out.

"God, you feel so fuckin' good, Eddie. Keep going, just like that." Your words are so addictive to him, every syllable sending strikes of lightning through his body. He's sweating through his shirt, his skin on fire as he keeps plowing into you. Your high is quickly approaching, waves of bliss slowly washing over you. Your pussy starts to clench around Eddie's dick, letting him know just how close you are.

"I can feel you about to lose it, angel. Go ahead, make a mess all over my cock like a good little whore." Eddie smacks your ass, ripping a vulgar sound from your throat. The sting sends a shockwave to your core, pushing you closer to the edge. "You like that? Should I do it again?" He asks, really hoping you say yes. The sound you made almost made him cum right then and there.

"Yes, please!" You cry out, and he happily obliges. He makes contact with your other ass cheek, leaving you severely fucked-out for him. Your eyes bore into his, signaling that just one more will make you come undone.

"You gonna cum, baby? You want me to make you scream so loud the whole restaurant can hear you?" It's proving difficult for Eddie to keep up the pace, his thrusts are getting sloppy as his own orgasm threatens to take hold.

"Yes, God, yes!" He spanks you once again, and it's like you've toppled off a cliff. "Oh, God, oh, FUCK!" You scream, your body combusting from the inside out. Your legs tremble, and your cunt clamps down onto Eddie's length.

"Oh, shit." He chokes out, as his dick empties into your pulsating hole. He keeps thrusting, prolonging your high. You're almost crying, everything feels so fucking good. You can no longer stand on your own, Eddie holds you up as he progressively comes to a halt inside you. He collapses onto your back, his chest rising and falling heavily. Your pussy continues to grip him impulsively, almost refusing to let go. "You were such a good girl for me, Y/N." He says breathily, slowly standing upright to pull out of you. You both groan at how difficult it is, you're hugging him so tight within yourself. "Fuck, sweetheart. Gotta let me out, though it's tempting to stay inside you forever." He chuckles, eventually able to pull away. Your mixed release drips out of your cunt and onto the floor with a 'splat'. "Well, I guess that's a little present for the staff, hm?" You giggle weakly at his comment, unable to stand up straight.

"A little help, Eds? I feel like I'm made of pudding." He quickly pulls his pants back up, putting his suspenders in place. He pulls your dress back down where it belongs, lifting you up to wrap an arm around you. You sling your purse over your shoulder, and it's here that someone comes knocking on the bathroom door.

"Hello, we've had some complaints about somebody locking themselves in the bathroom. Please open the door and vacate the premises." You hear your waiter say on the other side of the door.

Eddie clicks the lock, letting them inside. "Sorry about that, my girlfriend got sick and needed my help. She gets very embarrassed about it, but it must have been something she ate." He says snarkily, leading you out of the bathroom. You pretend to almost throw up as you walk by the angry man, watching his eyes widen in fear.

"V-very well. Come along, before anyone sees you." He frantically leads the both of you to the door, trying to not draw any attention from the other customers. "I hope you feel better, Miss. Have a good evening." He shoos you and Eddie away, hoping to never see the two of you again.

Once you're in the clear, you both bust out laughing in the parking lot. You cannot believe you got away with fucking in a restaurant bathroom, and a fancy one no less. "Nice touch with the fake gagging, Y/N. You're definitely my kind of girl." Eddie holds you close, leaning in for a kiss. You happily meet him in the middle, able to stand mostly steady on your own now. Your lips mesh together tenderly, the warmth of your bodies fighting against the night air biting at your skin.

"And you're just the guy I've been looking for." You reply, snapping his suspenders playfully.

"Ouch!" Eddie says, clearly being sarcastic. "Play nice, Y/N."

"If tonight and the night before is any indication, I'm far from nice." You place your hands on Eddie's chest, moving them upwards seductively. You undo the next couple buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his chest to the cool air. You lower your head to his torso, licking all the way up his chest to his neck. He just watches you wordlessly, taken aback by how aroused you still seem to be. You can go round after round, rough ones too, and just keep begging for more. You bite his neck harshly, marking him as yours. He moans loudly, another tent already forming in his pants. You soothe the purple flesh with your warm tongue, lifting your head to speak in his ear. "So, what do you say, Eddie? You wanna go to round three with a freak like me?"

He's unsure what to say, all he knows is that he's just as hungry for more as you are. He looks at you, his breath fanning over your face. "I thought you'd never ask, sweetheart." He replies with his usual smartassery, leading you to his van to drive somewhere more secluded. If Eddie were a religious man, he'd think he just died and went to heaven.

The end.

#fanfiction #hippiegoth97 #smut #eddie munson #stranger things #hawkins #1980s #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #enemies to lovers #eddie munson x y/n

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cinnamonest · 6 months

Note

Yan childe x teacher reader BUT the reader has a lover OMG I CAN'T-

//cucking + filming noncon, age gap, Ajax is an awful little bastard as usual

(also here's the original Delinquent!Childe x Teacher!Reader post, and the second sequel post)

Oh anon. Anon. I love this, but consider: take it a step further.

The poor boy finding out that his precious teacher he’s been fantasizing about fucking silly is MARRIED.

Typing away on her keyboard when his eyes drift and he stiffens up when he sees the ring he never noticed before. The pain. The horror. Devastated.

He’s never even met the guy, and yet he hates him so much. It’s not fair that he got to you first, just because he was born earlier than he was!

He’s probably not good enough for you. Some old guy who can’t rail you with the vigor and intensity that a young guy like himself can, probably can’t keep up with your drive either. You must be so frustrated and unsatisfied.

Now it feels so awful on his tongue to call you what he normally does. Miss _____, he says, and it feels like he’s spewing poison from his mouth, knowing it’s some other man’s name practically forced on you by dumb traditions and social standards (not that he wouldn’t do the same, but that’s different). It makes his chest hurt to hear it, the name feels like a constant reminder that some other man basically has laid claim to you, that the name marks you as belonging to someone who isn’t him.

He does some digging, finds everything he can on the guy, any online profiles or social accounts. Ugh. You deserve better. If it were him, he would just support you himself, you wouldn’t have to slave away doing paperwork all the time.

Even worse is the fact that the guy has a nice job — you know, the kind you need some higher degrees for, which he definitely won’t get seeing as his behavioral record is pretty much guaranteed to keep him out of any credible institution… still, you don’t need that much money to get by. Sure, he’ll never make that much (without getting into crime, at least, which isn’t an impossibility…), but still, he’s better for you.

It’s so much worse, though, when he stalks your accounts, sees pictures of the two of you together. Makes him feel sick to his stomach, you look happy and he doesn’t like that. He ends up having to close the window, unable to handle any further emotional damage.

He starts to pry, little by little. Can’t be too blatant, but he slips in a question every now and then — how you met, what you two do for fun, so on and so on. It makes his stomach churn to hear you talk about him, but he can’t refrain from continuing to ask, practically a compulsive urge.

God forbid you express any sort of discontentment. Even the slightest frustrated sigh, passive-aggressive comment in regards to the man, and so on, he perks up and zeros in. Oh, so you are unhappy. Typical unsatisfied wife that’s getting pent up from unmet needs and all that.

He’s very attentive to those complaints, the things you mutter under your breath and the implications of it all. He works too long and is never home (terrible, he would never leave you so lonely), he’s never helpful around the home (which wouldn’t be so much of an issue if you were home all the time and didn’t have work responsibilities), he suspiciously disappears sometimes for “work trips” or unexplained entirely (unforgiveable, your suspicions are well-founded, he’s definitely cheating and you shouldn’t forgive it).

Sometimes you sigh and shake your head — ah, sorry, I shouldn’t trouble someone your age with all this… but he assures you it’s fine… also he’s searched a list of local divorce attorneys, you know, if you consider that, which you should.

He’s not the best at being subtle or exercising restraint, so he can’t help but actually mention it out loud — life is short, better to divorce than stay in a miserable relationship! But you sigh and say it’s not that serious. He holds out on the hope that there’s an unspoken “yet” at the end of that, that eventually you’ll get fed up.

But you don’t. You keep tolerating it. It’s somewhat understandable, since divorces are difficult and messy, and you would need somewhere to stay and all that.

But getting one’s own place isn’t that hard. He would know, now — he’s actually been picking up odd jobs recently, all to get his own place. Hard to balance that with schoolwork, but he manages (and he’s in the absolute bottom-tier difficulty for courses anyway, with very little actual homework, and it’s not like he’s prepping for college like a lot of his peers). You’re very pleased with it, say you’re proud of him for being so dedicated and responsible, completely unaware that he only really has one intention for doing it all anyway.

He was planning to take that part slowly, ease his way there, but you push the limits of how much he can tolerate when he’s forced to meet the guy face-to-face. He’s just sitting there as per usual in your after-school sessions, talking a mile a minute as per usual, having a good day, completely unprepared for the psychological gut-punch he’s forced to experience when that same face he saw online comes walking right into your classroom. The sacred space that’s supposed to be just for you and him.

His soul is crushed when you get up to greet the guy all happily, practically ignoring him for several extended seconds before you gesture over to where he’s sitting and introduce each other — with himself as the student I’ve been tutoring, you know the one. The man nods, casts a single uncaring glance his direction.

Right. She mentioned you before.

The hell does that mean. He keeps the smile plastered to his face, but it’s twitchy. What did you say? Was it bad? No, you wouldn’t say anything bad about him… except maybe certain factual statements like the whole behavioral record thing, but he can accept that that’s his own fault.

Still, he doesn’t like the way the guy looks at him. A vague condescending, disdainful glance. Makes him curl his hands into fists and clench his jaw. If it weren’t for the whole “impulse management” thing you’ve been hammering into his head for months now, he might have outright attacked the guy.

It’s practically torture to sit there. You say something about how you’re going out for your anniversary, so he came to pick you up. Awful. Like you might as well have stabbed him. Not to mention it’s cutting into what’s supposed to be his time with you, and now he has to leave early.

So he’s forced to walk to the front doors with you both, listening to you talk all happily about where you’re going, while he’s forced to continue to pretend to be perfectly fine with it. Ugh.

You bid him goodbye, and he smiles and waves and walks the opposite way… and the moment you’re out of sight, he’s scowling and grinding his teeth and kicking rocks on the road all the way home, sulking like a petulant kid, imagining all the horrible ways he hopes your date goes terribly wrong.

It makes him seethe all night long, laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, nausea ruining any chance he had of sleeping. He can’t even go sulk around his parents with the hope of getting attention like he used to do when he was mad, now that he lives in this little apartment by himself.

How is he supposed to live under these conditions, no attention available on demand. You don’t even text him to see if he got home safe like you do sometimes. Probably too busy doing whatever with your husband who’s more important than he is. Hmph. His mind briefly flickers to wondering what you’re doing now that it’s later in the night, but the obvious realization only makes him feel ten times more sick. He doesn’t get any rest.

And the longer the night goes on, the more irritated he starts to feel, the misery and hurt begins to turn to bitterness and anger. He starts to feel like you probably know — no, you definitely do. And yet, you willingly tortured him like that. You've been so nice to him, giving him all that attention and affection, knowing you won't ever give him what he really wants and being totally fine with causing him so much pain. He's hurt, and more importantly, mad.

But he can't hate you… your husband, however, is a different story.

That guy kept his arm around your waist walking outside, rubbing it in his face like that. He’s certain that your husband must realize that he loves you (way more than said husband does, for the record), but that look of disdain — he doesn’t even see him as a threat, does he. Thinks that he’s not even proper competition. That much is painful. Bothersome. Annoying. Rage-inducing.

Well, he’s wrong.

That’s the thought that pushes him over the edge. He’s already had the idea in his head for a long time, he just kept bailing out every time he gathered the gall to go through with it, much to his own shame.

But clearly, continuing to be passive is not going to get him anywhere. Come to think of it, a few months ago, he would never have hesitated to go through with whatever impulse struck him, no matter how violent. It’s not like he hasn’t been expelled or arrested before.

He appreciates the time he’s spent with you, but he’s starting to think that all those little speeches about “self-control” and “thinking before you act” and all that have only really just made him docile and tame. How embarrassing.

A man should just take what he wants, right? Anything less is practically a blow to his pride.

He’s still not the brightest when it comes to formulating plans, but his rather straightforward plan ends up working. You actually agree to swing by when he says he has something to give you, something too big to carry to school himself, so he needs you to come pick it up with your car and all that. You must really trust him. Or you’re just naive, maybe, but he likes to think you trust him, however unwise that may be.

He worries that you might back out, but you show right up to his door. The motions from there are mechanical, putting his brain on a sort of autopilot mode in which he just goes through with it, without thinking too much, lest he hesitate, until you’re secured.

Grabbing you by the shoulder and jerking you inside, hand over your mouth, other arm around your waist and picking you up. It's a short distance to the bed (well, mattress on the floor), since it's just a studio apartment and all.

You being so weak makes it so much easier. He can technically tell you're struggling, but it barely feels like resistance, just weak squirming and thrashing that doesn't even loosen his grip in the slightest. You make cute little noises of surprise and confusion and fear, muffled by his hand over your mouth.

Sadly, he can't afford to have you attracting attention from the neighbors, so he's forced to keep you gagged, pulling your shirt over your head (to which your whimpers turn to full-fledged sounds of panic), and — after the brief moment where he has to detach his hand from your mouth, hearing you stammer out a wait, wait— balls it up and stuffs it into your mouth, quickly grabbing the duct tape (he, feeling very proud of himself for such clever forethought, thought to go ahead and tear some long strips off and stick the ends to the wall ahead of time), and placing it over your mouth, flipping you over onto your stomach.

You're so cute. You make the cutest little noises, your eyes get all teary, you squirm and whimper and try to pull yourself away, but he's got your wrists pinned behind your back with one hand, the other pulling your hips back. The cutest part by far has to be when you feel him jerk your skirt up, his cock pressing against your flesh and pushing inside of you, your squeals get louder and higher pitched and you struggle so hard, to no avail.

So mean, though, to pretend like you didn't see it coming. You know what you did. You led him on on purpose. Knowing full well the sort of things he's done to other people — beating his peers black and blue on impulsive whims, getting into fights because he felt like it, stealing stuff and vandalizing stuff and all those other things he knows you know he did, since it's all on his records… you willingly came all by yourself, in private, with someone like that, who you know full well is so much stronger than you are—

What did you fucking expect?

Up until then, the stream of words from his mouth are all amused and teasing and sadistic, but in those words, and the sharp jerking thrust accompanying them, you hear that underlying anger breaking through. You really hurt him, you know, by being married. He loves you so much, and you had to go and do that to me, he says, as if it was a retroactive choice, as if you should have predicted his presence in your life years in advance, as if you willfully did it to spite him years before you knew he existed.

Is it irrational? Sure… but it isn't going to change that he feels that way, and he’s mad and you can't do anything about it anyway, so he's going to keep blaming you for what you did wrong.

He keeps muttering about how stupid you are — for coming here so naively, for choosing your dumb fucking husband over him when he's so much better and loves you so much more, for all the little things you did to lure him in and make him want you so badly, for being so nice to him and having a body you should have known would make him want this so badly.

It's all your fault.

The words get more and more muffled and slurred as the movements get faster, harsher, you squeal with each thrust that makes the springs creak and the whole mattress itself move back and forth against the floor. He points out that you're leaking all over him, fluid drooling out of your hole and spilling onto his hips and thighs, satisfied by the shameful little whimper you make and the way you hang your head. You must not get fucked good enough at home, huh.

And then, he starts to slow down. There's a pause. You see him reach over, to where he tossed a few things that were on you when you came in onto the floor. Fishes something out of your purse.

You made a confused, panicked little sound when you notice he's holding your phone. Easily unlocked, whatever method you use — he holds it up to your face or forces your thumb to press against it, or, most alarmingly, even if it's protected by password or pattern, he enters it with a single try. Shouldn't have opened your phone around him so much, of course he would pay attention to that.

You're flipped onto your back, reeling from the sudden harsh movement, grunting and squirming when your bra is pulled up to your collarbones and your skirt pulled up even further, exposing your body completely before shoving back inside of you, and oh, what a euphoric sound you make — and this time, you visibly clench down on him when he does. Perfectly timed, too.

Your stomach clenches in dread and panic as you see your phone’s front side facing you.

Smile.

You cry out louder than ever before, struggle so hard, so good. His hand latches onto your throat and squeezes hard, and your hands, now no longer in his grasp, reach up to claw at them, all entirely futile. The sound of skin slapping skin reverberates around the room, and you see him tilt the camera downward, ensuring he captures the sight of his cock pounding into you, stretching you apart, all the slick fluid now coating everything from your thighs to his hips, and the sweet, precious sounds you make for him.

He wonders if anyone has ever made you react like this before. If your husband is going to be torn apart by the realization that he's made you feel better than he ever has, that he's better and bigger than him. The sheer fear on your face would suggest that. The thought feels euphoric.

He re-angles himself, leaning forward a bit, ensuring his body presses against your clit — you start to tense up, push back, your heels dig into the mattress and your body writhes with greater force than ever before. Your eyes squeeze shut and you shake your head but he doesn't stop, and you hate yourself so much in the moment for the sensations your body feels, the guilt and despair overwhelm you, you feel a cold chill in your gut — but you finally spasm and shudder on his cock all the same, clearly trying so hard to minimize it and hold back the sounds and movements, but the involuntary shudders and soft little cries are unmistakable all the same.

Normally, he would want to stay inside you longer — but there will be plenty of chance for that later. This time, the prospect of pulling out and capturing it is too tempting, and God, is it satisfying when he does. The squelching sound, the way his cum starts to drool out of you onto the mattress, the way your hole twitches from the sudden absence, slightly agape from the intrusion. It's so, so perfect, better than he could have even imagined.

You rip the tape off your mouth, gagging and coughing from the strain on your throat, and the overwhelming sensation leaves you in a dazed stupor for a few moments… your head slowly drags over to him, and an ice-cold spike of fear strikes through your heart when you see that he's still on your phone.

Slight movement from you as you try to push yourself upright takes his attention away from it, eyes flickering over to you.

Ah, right.

You make a scared little sound and pull your hands close to your chest (very cute!) as he looms over you again, but you're helpless to do anything as he puts the phone down to flip you over again, this time taping your wrists behind your back, adding a new layer over your mouth, and finally one on your ankles. Your struggles barely faze him.

You see him zip his pants back up and pull his shirt back on, standing and making his way over to the door, shuffling his shoes back on before grabbing your car keys.

I'll bring these back. Your place is only five minutes away if I drive, you know. I won’t get into any wrecks this time.

It occurs to you that you've never told him where you live, but it's the least of your concerns then and there. Your heart sinks to your stomach as he takes your phone again, grinning as he types and, after a pause, makes one distinct, final tap that you know can only be hitting 'send.'

His head turns over to you, that same dopey, carefree smile on his face as always, that now seems so much more sinister than before.

Don't worry. He won't have enough time to call the cops.

Your muffled words don't stop him. You writhe pathetically on the ground as the door opens and closes before you, listening in dread and despair as his footsteps slowly fade away.

#lord forgive me but this is the GOOD stuff #like taking reader from her lover/husband/bf by force... hnnnnng

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