#me when I’m totally working on the next chapter you guys

[blueinkjpeg]

Red Chloe!!!!

From this

[janaispunk]

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @janaispunknotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending in an ask – it’s really the thing that keeps writers going :)

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶Surely, when two friends set up their two friends on a blind date in the very small town of Hawkins, they make sure those two people don't know each other beforehand, right? And, more importantly, aren't coworkers, right?✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, angst towards the end, drug/alcohol mention/use, 18+ overall for eventual smut

chapter: 3/20 [wc: 6.1k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 3: The Accidental First Date

“Is this too much?” you asked, yanking down the visor and checking yourself in the small mirror.

Sitting in the back parking lot of the movie theater, you went through your purse for the finishing touches on your look. Doing your last paranoia check for anything in your teeth, turning your head this way and that to zhuzh your hair, and most importantly, preening your oxymoron of a sweater to show a decent amount of cleavage without flashing the cups of your push-up bra.

Truly a walking contradiction of a top. Cable knit and warm, but with a plunging neckline, to where the top button started at your sternum.

“No, you look hot,” Robin assured with her goofy smile. “New York modest is Hawkins slutty. He’s gonna love you.”

You shrank into your girlish giggle. “Good, I want my dating debut in this little town to be a statement. Set the stage for future escapades.. Until I run out of men, I guess. Seriously, how many bachelors live here and aren’t total hicks? Four?” Robin laughed.

“Could be worse. You could be a lesbian.”

“True,” you concurred. “Good thing you have Vickie. Sucks she couldn’t come tonight.” Robin made a sad huff of agreement, working a mascara wand through her lashes. “Hey, I know I said ‘yes’ without asking, but is this guy you set me up with even my type? Not that I care, obviously; a good story is a good story, but I’m just trying to set my expectations here.”

She furrowed her eyebrows dramatically, and paused unscrewing her lip gloss to rock her entire body into a positive affirmation–almost bumping her forehead on the steering wheel from the force of her nodding. “Oh, absolutely,” she said emphatically. “Looks scary on the outside, but is a total sweetheart on the inside. Overconfident, and obnoxious, but in that charming, swoony way.”

“Perfect!” You clasped your hands together.

Stepping out of the car, she waited for you so you could walk with your arms linked together, and she continued, “I haven’t seen him in years, but Steve was telling me over the phone that he’s been going through a tough time, and hasn’t been on a date in a while.”

“Aw, poor guy.”

There was a beat of silence where both of your faces twisted into knowing smiles.

“I know what that look means..” Robin led, canting her head to you.

Innocent, you lifted your shoulder in a coy shrug, bringing a collection of her soft hair up to your chin. “No idea what you’re talking about. I was just thinking, if he hasn’t been on a date in a while.. Why not make it memorable for him?”

You laughed together, rounding the sidewalk to the front entrance of the theater where the glamorous marquee shined gentle daylight upon the darkened street. Romantic and intimate, with a crowd of people standing in vague suggestions of lines; some broken off, gossiping, smoking.

“There they are,” Robin whispered, letting go of your upper arm to wave at Nancy–who you had met at the grocery store last week. She saw you approaching, and tapped her hand on the chest of the man beside her.

Still a considerable distance away, you peered at him, and placed his luscious hair in your memory. “Oh, that’s the guy who came to the shop today.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah, he was talking to the annoying mechanic I’m always telling you about.”

“The one you have a crush on?”

“Shush,” you bristled at the mention of your not-so-secret. “I do not have a crush on Eddie. Anyway! Did I tell you what he did this morning? He fuckin’ stood outside the window next to my desk, just out of my view for like, full on minutes, waiting for me to look at him. Like Michael Myers or some shit. Scared me half to death.”

Robin, still caught on one detail you had somehow failed to mention in the month you worked at the auto body shop, quietly asked, “..Eddie?”

“Yeah, my coworker,” you answered, not looking at her when she fell a step behind, since you were too focused on greeting Nancy, and introducing yourself to Steve to notice her sudden jog up behind you. Too fixated on complimenting Nancy’s skirt to witness the way Steve aimed his confused frown just past your shoulder. Missed his dismissive hand gestures, and Robin’s panic as she tried to wordlessly communicate something dire to him.

You were too busy listening to the cars cruise by on the street, and chatting casually, and savoring the warmth of a new friendship to scrutinize the sound of quick footsteps from the other direction, or the jangle of metal chains attached to their presence, or Robin’s damning groan.

“Sorry, I’m–” a familiar voice said. A bit nasally and on the higher side. Mirthful, awake with youth, and excited to make a good first impression.

You turned to them. Your date.

“..Late,” they trailed off.

Deer in headlights. Big, brown doe-eyes wide with surprise, framed by beautiful black lashes.

He stared at you.

His stomach sank.

You stared at him.

Your heart raced.

Eddie had stopped mid-step with his hand raised in greeting. The chains on his leather jacket tinkered until they stilled. Kind smile frozen from a better time. Chest filled with a held breath. Presenting himself with his best foot forward, and now his ears were tinted with the embarrassment of trying too hard to impress.

Oh, God.

You blinked away, and were intentional to accept the situation for what it was without showing your surprise, opting for a simple, timid, awkward, shaky, exhaled, “Hey, Eddie.”

He wasn’t so poised.

Shutting his eyes, he allowed the realization to wash over him, scrunching his face in a pained expression as the puzzle pieces slotted into place. He hung his head, and released his breath through his nose. “Your roommate is Robin,” he stated, pointing at her to punctuate his sentence. “And you call her Bobbie.”

“Yeah..” It was an apology as much as it was a confirmation.

“You still call me Bobbie?” Robin asked, tugging on your sleeve, forgetting the tense air surrounding the group for the moment. “I haven’t used that stage name in years.”

“Guess it stuck with me..”

Thankfully, someone else added to the conversation. Unfortunately, that person was Steve addressing the elephant outside the ticket booth.

“So, I take it you two know each other,” he deduced, looking from Eddie’s dejected gaze at the ground, to you wringing your purse strap over your chest.

Eddie enlightened him in a solemn tone, sparing a single glance at his friend, “She’s the receptionist at work.”

“Ah.” He turned his attention to Robin. “You set up two people who work together.”

She threw her hands up and blamed him, “Uh! No way, dunce, don’t put this on me. This whole thing was your idea, and at no point in the conversation did you tell me Eddie was a mechanic! If you had told me he was a mechanic I probably could’ve put two-and-two together myself, and avoided setting up people who see each other every day.”

Increasingly red-faced, Steve very pointedly avoided Eddie’s suspicious squint after being outed as the one who set up the date, not Nancy. “You’re the one who lives with her, how could you not–?”

“Okay!” You clapped once to end their bickering. “Then it’s not a date.”

Nancy, bless her, picked up her improv skills fast. “Yeah! Not a date. Just a casual outing between friends. Steve, get the tickets ready so we can get popcorn before the line gets too long.” There was a ripple of unanimous murmurs, followed by shuffling to the entrance.

“Silver lining,” Nancy muttered out the side of her mouth to Steve, “It’s a movie date, so it’s not like they have to talk to, or look at each other.”

Steve tempered his laugh to a hiss and held the door for Robin, who in turn kept the it ajar behind her for you, but as you went to catch it, it was opened for you.

Clack- clack- clack. You’d heard the sound every morning; his distinct rings on the metal frame of the glass door beside your desk, followed by his soft grunt when pulling it open. But whereas his whispered ‘morning’ normally echoed in the tiled lobby, it was now on the back of your neck, fanning your skin, and it wasn’t a sweet greeting, but a reserved, solemn, regretful, sad, “Sorry for.. yeah.” That’s how he started your date that wasn’t a date. With an apology. And still, as the crisp autumn air was replaced by the humid waft of buttery popcorn, your brain was stuck at the garage, filling in the drag of his heavy work boots on the way to the breakroom for coffee, and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke trailing his stride.

Except, as you were jolted back to reality, you came to know he didn’t present himself so generically outside the context of motor oil. Due to the traffic clogging around the ticket ripper, Eddie ran into you and you discovered the nuances of what he smelled like when not at work, with the added intimacy of his chest pressed to your back.

Worn leather enveloped by notes of vanilla musk cologne. Spicy deodorant carried by the sweet earthy tang of tobacco. Dove White on his heated skin, and Dawn on his hands.

A symphony you could immerse yourself in learning for hours if it wasn’t for the crime of your group moving forward.

“Did you want anything?” Eddie asked you, pointing at the concessions.

“Oh, no, I’m good.” You made a clawing gesture at your mouth. “Eating popcorn before the movie even starts because I have no self control and then being forced to sit there with kernels in my teeth drives me nuts.”

Not finding you as endearing as you intended, he slipped his hands into his pockets, and motioned for both of you to stand off to the side, out of the way while you waited for the others to get their snacks. And he just stood there. Not saying anything. You were turned to him as if to carry a conversation, but his gaze was set ahead; not on anything in particular, just away from you.

Rarely had his face been this slack, this devoid of emotion. Even when doing menial work like filling out invoices for parts you would need to order, there was activity. Liveliness in the tic of his eyes reading lines on the paper. Movement of his tongue sliding across his top lip. A subtle crease between his brows. Something. Anything.

You spoke above the giggly teenagers sneaking into the film next door, “For a stick in the mud, you look nice.” He really did, in his well-loved jacket draping his frame after years of being broken in to perfection. Tight black jeans. Sensible boots. More accessories than just his rings.

Try as he might to cut you an unamused look, his freshly washed hair bounced in immaculate waves around his face, catching the low mood lighting like a messy halo.

“Thanks,” he said, not meaning it.

“I can see why you don’t get many dates if you always look this miserable.”

“I’m not miserable.”

“Glum, then? Woebegone? Hapless? Crestfallen?” When he seemed hellbent on wishing he were anywhere else, you eased up on your act. Harboring the pit of rejection eating away at your stomach, you pried, “Disappointed?”

The glimpse of vulnerability in your words was not lost on him.

He snapped to, shaking himself out of his funk to reassure you in his gentle timbre amongst the chaos of someone beating the top score on the pinball machine, “I’m not disappointed to be here with you.”

“Then what are you?”

“Sorry,” he guessed, shrugging. He was the type to speak with his hands, moving them despite being confined to his pockets. “I’m sorry our friends suck at communicating and this is how your night turned out; you being here with me when you were clearly expecting someone else.” His gaze didn’t dare dip lower than your nose, but the effort you put into your appearance did not go unnoticed. It wasn't the first time he stared a little too directly into your eyes after you decided to stop covering yourself up.

“I don’t go on dates intending to find my one true love or anything lame like that,” you said, honestly. “I go on them to have fun, and I think we can still have fun, even if we have to share the same tiny lunch table come Monday, and we side-eye Carl for bringing tuna again.” He almost smiled at that.

Sensing he needed another boost of confidence, you kept going, “Before I knew it was you, Robin was talking you up in the car. Going on about how my date was some sweet guy, super handsome, and with a heart of gold. You know, the Prince Charming type. Oh, and totally obnoxious too. Real loudmouth who never shuts up.”

Okay, maybe some of that was ad libbed, but you wanted to know how much of it was true.

Eddie shifted from foot to foot, subduing his grin by biting his tongue, literally. “That’s a pretty apt way to describe me back in high school, yeah, especially with how I’m dressed.”

“What changed?”

“Uh, I had a kid,” he laughed. “She stole all my charm. I swear Adrie can talk me into anything.”

“I think you’re just a pushover.”

“Probably,” he surrendered. Raising his brows, he mused aloud one of the many things on his mind, “Do you not agree that she described me accurately? Sweet Prince Charming guy, all that?”

There was no way in hell you were going to speak your truth. Instead, you smirked. “I don’t think you want to know what adjectives I’d use to describe you.” They were far too vulgar to utter in a crowded room. Hot in the most annoying way. Absolute pain in my ass. Just the worst, especially when I don’t hear you sneak up behind me in the kitchen, and you think it’s funny to scare me right as I open my drink from the Coke machine, and you laugh your stupid laugh when I drop it. An absolute eye-sore when you look up at me while you're on your hands and knees cleaning up the mess you created. Irritatingly handsome when you grin and buy me another one.

Ignorant to your private thoughts, he swung his elbow out to push you, and smiled.

Relaxing into the natural lull in conversation, you both watched your friends make it to the front of the line and order their food. They waited at the counter, starting the clock on when they would inevitably make it back to the two of you, and cease your alone time with Eddie. (Although, first, they’d have to traverse an entire bucket of dropped popcorn, and navigate around more than one group of children reenacting a fight scene they just watched on the big screen.)

“Were you disappointed I was your date?” you asked.

Robin was right. Eddie was a sweetheart. As soon as he detected an inkling of insecurity–whether it be in your strained voice, or etched into your face, or imbued in the question itself–he was quick to absolve your worry.

“No, no,” he said. “Relieved, if I’m being honest.”

“Relieved?” You weren’t expecting that.

“There’s a reason I haven’t dated since having Adrie. It didn’t sound like Steve made it clear to.. you, well, my anonymous date which happened to be you. Jesus, this is confusing. Whatever, you know what I mean, he didn’t say if he told my would-be date that I’m a dad, and I was afraid of coming here and having to tell them myself. Even if we hit it off, it’s a deal breaker for some people, y’know? Not that I blame them. I would’ve said the same thing five years ago.”

You nodded as you listened to him. “Never thought about it from that perspective. All my dates have been one-and-dones. Super casual. Kids were never really brought up.”

“Yeah, the dating world isn’t always so gracious. I’m kinda glad I’m here with you–someone who knows me, at least.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spied Steve raising his sodas above his head as two boys ran past him, pretending they were in a shootout.

Knowing he wouldn’t have time to respond, you informed Eddie, “You’re worrying about the wrong thing. Adrie’s an angel. You should be more concerned about your curmudgeonly attitude being a deal breaker.” His narrowed-eye glare had never felt so sweet.

Robin’s giddy presence became known. She dropped her chin to your shoulder with a satisfied hum, and wrapped her arm around your waist to hug you snug to her body. You laid your head on top of hers, swaying with her.

She must’ve made a face at Eddie, because a different emotion flinched across his features, and he was back to avoiding making eye contact.

You, however, were more enticed by the drink in her hand than analyzing his change in demeanor. “Shit, now I want an Icee.”

“Yeah, I got cherry,” she said, angling the straw towards you. “They have Coke too–Okay, bye, dork,” she giggled after you.

“Go ahead and sit without me! I want an Icee.” Nancy clutched the largest size of popcorn to her chest to avoid spilling it as you stumbled out of Robin’s hold and darted for the concession stand.

Eddie raised his voice, “You couldn’t have decided that five minutes ago when I asked?”

“Nope!”

————

The theater for the low budget horror flick reflected the town’s perception of it. As soon as the heavy door closed behind you, your footsteps on the dense carpet echoed around the empty room. Your group was sitting in the back row, and their murmurs could be heard from the bottom.

You climbed up to them and flumped into the seat next to Eddie. “We can share,” you said excitedly, shaking the drink at him before placing it in the cupholder at the end of the single armrest.

When the subtle pinch of concern around his eyes remained, you promised him you didn’t have cooties.

He played with his rings, pulling them down the length of his fingers and spinning them while he worked through his confusion. “You don’t have to sit next to me.. You can sit next to Robin.” He motioned beside him, to Steve munching on his popcorn while Nancy held it, and Robin whispering on the end, rolling her eyes at something Nancy said.

“Why wouldn’t I sit next to you?”

Eddie’s mouth opened and closed, struggling to settle on what he wanted to say, and finishing with a submissive shrug, leather jacket groaning at the act. He bounced his foot quicker, shaking the aglets on his laces against his boot in a chaotic rhythm. “Dunno..”

“You’re silly. I’d pinch your cheek if I didn’t think you’d bite me.” He reeled at that, and you giggled. You didn’t mind making him balk at your weird quirks; whatever put him at ease. Rather, whatever made him stop rubbing his knee against yours, because you were certain the friction was about to cause a fire.

Digging through your purse, you took out a rectangular box and slid your finger under the flap, popping it open and dumping a handful of candy into your palm. You threw it back into your mouth. “Want sh-ome?” you chewed, offering the box to him.

“Who the hell eats Mike and Ikes?”

“Uh, me, jerk.” Right as the lights dimmed to pitch black, and the curtains drew back from the screen, you hit him with the most exaggerated pout. “I only eat them at the movies. They’re a ritual, and you’re rude.” The shadows lining his face twisted into a deeper grin. “Are you more of a chocolate guy?”

“Maybe,” he answered like he was suspicious of your motives.

And maybe he should be. Afterall, you committed the number one sin when it came to cinemas.

“Looks like I chose right,” you said, reaching into your purse and pulling out a Kit Kat. “I was hoping my date would be a chocolate sorta guy–” You went quiet seeing his eyes widen a touch. “I mean, not date. Begrudging coworker? Tentative acquaintance?”

“Reluctant friend,” he answered smoothly, taking the package from you and ripping it open with his teeth.

~~~

Trailers for other films played, bathing the room in flickers of light interrupting the darkness. The opening credits began. Your candy was half-eaten. His was devoured. You took a sip of your Icee, and from the vantage point of pressing your back into the cheap theater seat, you observed him in your periphery.

His gaze hardly left the drink. Your offer to share it gnawed at him in a visible way. Scoping out the straw, the possible trace of spit you left behind, the possible trace of spit he’d leave behind. He peered at the screen to acknowledge the intro, and then back down it was, boring holes into the Icee.

You were no better, nibbling at your lips when he finally caved and took a sip–all too quick, and clumsy, almost missing the cup holder when he put it back down with lightning speed.

The edge of your thighs touched under the arm rest; worse so, when you folded one leg under you, and leaned into him. “Do you hate it when people talk during movies?”

“Not these kind.” He meant the genre in general, which made for great fodder for ripping apart in friend groups, but another popular trope among this realm of fiction became apparent. The first set of tits flashed on screen, and you both found yourselves lacking in the commentary department.

After a moment, you tilted your head. “That actress looks familiar..”

“She’s been in other cult classics. Always acts with her eyebrows.” He turned to you and nudged your shoulder, vying for your full attention. He emphasized the end of each word with an inflection as if it were a question, and raised his eyebrows in every way possible, mocking her slowly, “She’s the one who always talks like this–!” He looked crazy contorting his face to make his point.

“That’s it!” You snapped. “Her wearing glasses really threw me off.”

“Mhm.” His hum vibrated along your upper arm pressed to his, and he asked quietly under the screams of the first gorey death, “Do you like B movies?”

“Hell yeah. Back home they would play them at this rooftop drive in place. I rarely paid to watch them, though. The next building over had a good view of the projector screen.”

His banter dropped in favor of chewing on the corner of his thumb. If it wasn’t for the wild change in scenery cast across his face, you could’ve sworn his faint smile faltered into inscrutability.

Did you say something wrong?

————

“Damn, that was a cool practical effect,” Eddie complimented the purplish fizzing ooze that once was a person.

“I know, right? That’s why I love these bad movies. There’s no budget for good CGI, so they have to do creative stuff like that.”

It was inevitable. Bound to happen. A mere act of fate. Stars aligning in the close knit group leaning forward to exchange witty quips about the hare-brained plot holes in the movie, and not minding their surroundings except to receive everyone’s laughter, making jokes at the expense of the bad acting.

Steve was asking a question that was technically answered by the movie’s lore if he’d paid attention to the dialogue during the second gratuitous stripping scene. You or Eddie could have answered, but Robin took it upon herself to explain, and you two nodded along.

Absentminded, you reached for the Icee.

Distracted, Eddie reached for the Icee.

The waxed paper cup was cold under your fingers, but your hand was blanketed by warmth.

Slow to process, you both glanced down at the reason why neither of you were achieving your goal, and the overload of sensory inputs faded away to one: touch.

Your thumb was trapped under his palm, and his fingers stretched around the cup, meeting yours on the other side and housing them beneath his in a steady amount of pressure. They were almost interlocking. Holding. Wrist on top of wrist–his with the extra harshness of his leather and chain bracelet on your skin. The heaviness of his forearm resting on yours.

Truly, the accident lasted all of two pumps of your heart, but it felt like more when he stroked his calloused fingertips over your knuckles as he let go.

“Sorry!” he blurted.

“S-Sorry,” you laughed, jittery from the encounter.

Your cheeks were hot. His were flushed red. The lewd moaning of a woman feigning to orgasm just from the male lead removing her bra alone played in the background. Neither of you could decide which plan of escape was less embarrassing: continuing to stare like idiots at each other, or watch the actress’ ginormous boobs bounce as she faked riding a guy.

You blinked. His eyebrows ticced up.

Boobs it was.

He adjusted how he sat, tugging his jeans down his legs a little, and crossing his arms. Eyes laser focused on the woman’s face. The why was obvious, and you couldn’t help but tease him for pretending to be a gentleman in your company when you held no such modesty when it came to ogling her tits.

“Thinking about how much Aquanet she uses?”

“Shut up.”

————

Later into the film, after the plot circled back to the juicy gore, you leaned into Eddie to ask him a question.

What that question was, you couldn’t remember.

As soon as you placed your elbow on the armrest and used the back of your hand to tap his shoulder, he dipped his head to hear you. It was an automatic thing starting from the moment you slouched in your seat. That’s all. A shift in your sitting position and intake of breath, and he knew you were going to speak, and he wanted to listen. He cared about what you had to say. He leaned into you as well, because listening to you took priority over the movie.

“Eddie?” You sought any words. Any words at all. Any would do. Any question, even if you knew the answer. “Uhm. The music sounds really familiar. Do you recognize it?”

“It’s the same composer as Chopping Mall and Deathstalker II.”

“Ah.”

Ah. All you could muster when you were charmed by the silhouette of his lips moving. Watching them form letters, pout on the plosives, press into a line on his thick swallow.

Ah. All you could say when his hair brushed over your fingers. Dry, in need of a deep conditioning. Curling around your forefinger. Tickling your palm.

Ah. All you could respond with when you lifted your gaze, and caught him staring at you like you stared at him.

————

As predicted, the filmmakers padded the runtime with another topless scene, and the movie ended on a witty one liner that included not one, but two puns, and no resolution to the numerous plot threads left hanging.

“That was.. certainly something!” Robin summed up, holding the doors open to the subdued hours of the night.

Once outside in the fresh air, the dynamic reverted back to its original status.

Your friends made themselves scarce in the worst way; whistling, shuffling to the side as they found asinine things to comment on, leaving you and Eddie alone. Their intentions were pure, but reality was not so kind.

Eddie cemented his gaze on the sidewalk as he picked at his callouses, and apologized for the mistake of going out with you. Again. “Sorry about all this.”

Itchy sweat broke out across your back. It sucked he was so brazen about rejecting you. You had  hoped some of the tender crush you had on him extended past the armrest you shared, the looks you shared, the touches you shared; but maybe you were just tricking yourself into finding things that weren’t there.

Wanting to end on a better note, you appealed to him in a last ditch effort to smooth over the situation, “I meant it when I said you looked good tonight. It’s nice to see you outside of your work clothes.”

“Thanks.”

That’s all. Thanks. A shy glance from beneath his curtain of messy hair, and a somber tone to maximize the awkwardness of the not-date with your coworker.

You needed to get the hell out of there. “See you Monday?”

“Yeah, see you Monday.”

The group winced in unison when they saw the way you two departed.

Robin was quick to link her arm with yours and gather you closer, bringing your heads together to gossip as you walked back to her car. “That bad, huh?”

Around the corner and out of sight, you gave her half a smile, trying to appear in better spirits. “Well, I don’t think he likes me. He didn’t return any of my compliments, and he apologized for being on a date with me no less than four times over the course of the evening.”

She cringed for you. “That’s worse than Balloon Guy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you said, remembering what would go down in history as the shittiest date you’d been on. “Yeah, that’s more times than Balloon Guy.” Robin hugged you tighter, making your steps go clumsy. She apologized for Eddie’s weirdness, but you shrugged. Maybe you were supposed to find it weird, too. Maybe you were supposed to disapprove of the idea of romantic feelings for your coworker, too. Maybe you were supposed to have no expectations for it to lead anywhere, too.

Maybe you were supposed to reject him, too.

————

Still loitering outside the theater, Steve exchanged a look with Nancy, and jogged to catch up with Eddie before he made it too far in the opposite direction.

“Uh, hey buddy!” Steve clapped him on the shoulder to stop him. “It sounded like you two were hitting it off during the movie, what happened?”

Eddie sulked under the question. His chest fell with a surrendering sigh, and his boots scraped the concrete as he turned to him, not bothering to mask the dullness in his slack expression. Everything about him was tired, including his voice when he slipped into a lower, raspy octave. “She’s nice, but..”

“But what?” Nancy asked, searching his face.

Bottling his burdens, he clenched his teeth, and worked his jaw as he contemplated evading their insistent prying; but after ruminating on it, he explained the source of his problems, “She lives a very.. whimsy life.” He fluttered his hand like a bird flapping its wings, or a butterfly. “She does this thing where she says ‘yes’ to anything anyone asks her; it’s why she moved to Hawkins, and why she ended up on this date to begin with. Y’know, just doing whatever seems like fun. It’s cute, in a way, and obviously I.. feel a way towards her, but this place isn’t where she’s looking to lay down roots. New York is her home.”

Steve squeezed his shoulder, knowing what was about to come.

“I’ve already been left for someone better.. I can’t go through that again.” Eddie’s eyes begged them to understand. “I don’t want Adrie to get attached to someone who’s just gonna leave.”

Nancy started, “Eddie–You don’t know if she’d leave.”

He shook his head, and pulled away from Steve’s lingering grasp. Shushed his friend’s well-meaning words about him being valued, and to forget his insecurities about not being good enough.

“A girl like that doesn’t need me weighing her down,” Eddie said, imparting the wisdom he’d come to accept since you made a mark on his life weeks ago, when it became your mission to befriend him. “I’ll pick up Adrie in the morning. Thanks for watching her.”

The night got darker as he left.

Darker still, when Steve waved at his back, and Nancy played with the locket around her neck, and her goodbye went disregarded.

————

Silence.

It surrounded him. Blood pulsing in his ears, his heart beat, the refrigerator hum, the tink of glass bottles as he grabbed the full six pack and brought it to the couch, springs squeaking under his weight.

Utter emptiness welcomed him.

Not a sound in his home. Not a giggle from his daughter, or scrape of a skillet from Wayne’s makeshift breakfast-dinner before he went to work. Even the dogs around the trailer park were quiet.

Just.. nothing.

It was what he wanted, right? A night to himself; a break from the chores, the questions, the food making, the taking care of a tiny human being who made everything tougher than it needed to be.

He got his wish.

Two beers down in peace, he got his wish.

Eddie looked around his trailer lit by the single lamp beside him.

Quiet, empty, nothing.

Dark silence.

The jolt of his sob startled him. It erupted from his chest so suddenly. Ripped from the tightness of repressed emotions; the things he tried to deny, to feel and then lock away. To keep safe, buried down deep where he could manage them from progressing past the boundaries he created for his own good, and Adrie’s. He felt the agony of them all at once. The morning smiles, the afternoon laughs, the evenings of pretending you didn’t plan to bump into each other in the doorway to the lobby. The game of seeing how long he could watch you twirl the phone cord around your finger before you looked up from your desk. Your sweet way of comforting him after the hard nights of Adrie’s sleep regression by taking his tan work jacket and draping it over his shoulders while he slept at the lunch table in the break room. Your gentle method of fixing his collar when it was tucked on the inside of his coveralls.

The date was too good to be true.

In fact, the truth itself was far more painful.

The date was amazing. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had more fun. More thrills, sure. But not more fun. There wasn’t a day in his youth where he experienced more of the flirty thrum in his veins than when he committed himself to learning the way your lips moved when saying his name in the darkened theater.

The date was perfect. He was happy. And he couldn’t have it again. Shouldn’t have it again. Wouldn’t have these feelings again.

Eddie doubled over and put his third beer on the floor before he spilled it. Nothing was discernible beyond the water invading his ability to see, to fathom his reflection in the old TV. Sad, miserable, and lonely. An idiot for finally getting attached to someone, and it was someone he wasn’t supposed to.

Tears slipped from between his lashes. He smeared them on his cheeks, covering his sweaty face from his possessions bearing witness to his stupidity.

It was in his best interest to reject you–reject your casual stance on dating, and relationships, and people with kids–but the face you made when your advances went underappreciated churned his stomach.

He needed to be stronger. But he was weak.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighed into the stale air. Opening another beer, he nursed it as he huddled into the corner of the couch, and searched for Adrie’s quilt to soothe him. But of course, he sent it with her when he dropped her off at Steve’s.

No baby blanket to hold onto. No Adrienne to sleep on his chest to ease the pain of loneliness. No reason to look forward to Monday after he royally screwed everything up.

“Goddamnit,” he groaned.

Maybe, if he apologized enough, there was a chance you wouldn’t hate him.

Maybe, if you forgave him, you’d go back to the morning smiles, and the afternoon laughs.

And maybe, if he was enough of a masochist, he’d let you gently ease past those boundaries meant to keep you, and your kindness out. If you wanted to trespass, that is. He didn’t know. He was an idiot.

[bitterie-sweetie]

Fake it til you make it

Pairing: Jeonghan x reader Genre: fluff, fake dating WC: 6.5k Warnings: alcohol A/N: yes it's about vday buuut it's actually for @syuperseventeen's bdayyy!!! surprise surprise! happy birthday nat, i hope this year is even better and filled with many things to look forward to <3

Your Valentine’s date with Jeonghan is coming up and yet the only thing on your mind is how to break up with him. Of course breaking up with someone is difficult, but you’d argue that what’s more difficult is breaking up with someone you never even dated.

Jeonghan is a prankster. 

Growing up, you’d often be on the receiving end of his pranks at school. Third grade “initiation” had you drenched in water after he told you to pin a cup against the wall with a straw, and in ninth grade you had tears streaming down your face after eating an entire scoop of wasabi—not the matcha ice cream he said it was. Then there was the time he did something to make your first crush hate you, which, in hindsight, was a good thing because the guy turned out to be a total asshole. 

It wasn’t Jeonghan’s fault entirely when you were too willing to fall for his pranks because being the target of a prank meant having his attention, and that’s something that you wanted. Jeonghan had a way of making everyone feel special, and his attention was a limelight that you never wanted to step out of. 

Honestly, you might’ve kept up with it if he kept going. But then that fateful day came and it was like you were suddenly on his side, working with him instead of being the victim to his antics, and you’d say that that’s what has kept the two of you together after all these years. 

Well, at least until now.

“Hey,” you greet in a rush, looking around the table at everyone and seeing that you’re truly the last one to arrive. Usually, you’d give that place to Lee Chan; he’s the most popular of your friend group and almost always has a prior appointment to your meetups. “Sorry I’m late. My train was delayed and—oh, did you already order for me?” 

Jeonghan slides a sealed bubble tea across the table and sets it in front of your seat—the one empty chair right beside him, no less. When you glance at him questioningly he shrugs and tilts his head towards the crowd at the front. “The line was too long so I ordered yours with mine. Hope you’re feeling like your usual today.” 

Indeed, the sticker on the cup shows that it’s your go-to order. “Aw, that’s so sweet of you. Thanks, babe.” 

Today’s meet up with your friend group is the first of the year and it’s also the first time you’re seeing everyone since Chan’s wedding… including Jeonghan. You would’ve spent Christmas and New Year’s with him had he not cancelled on you, and now that bit of distance has manifested into a larger uncertainty for you over the past while. Even now, the ‘babe’ seemed to come out awkwardly, sticking to your throat.

“Wow, you guys are actually disgusting. I hope you know that.” Seungkwan makes a face at you, and beside him, Soonyoung nods a few times in agreement. 

You plaster on a smile. “It’s okay to just say you’re jealous.” 

The only response you get is an eye-roll from Soonyoung, and then everyone moves on, thankfully. Mingyu asks you what you’ve been up to so you talk about your recent promotion at work and some new habits you’ve started in the new year, and when you sense that the conversation is starting to approach the territory of your future with Jeonghan, you gently steer it towards Chan. After all, he’s the one that got married just a few months ago, and you know he would never miss the chance to talk about his amazing honeymoon and how great this new chapter of his life is going.

There is truly nothing like adult friendships and its quarterly updates. 

Once there’s a bit of a lull in the conversation, Jeonghan turns to you. “What are you doing this week?” 

“Oh, this week?” Your heart speeds up tenfold at the uncertainty of what might come next. “Hmm well, it’s Valentine’s Day.” 

“Yeah, exactly.” He nods and much to your relief, there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. “So I’ll see you for our date then?” 

“Of course, babe.” 

“Can’t you guys do this somewhere else?” Soonyoung says as he stares daggers in your direction. You totally understand and sympathize with that though; today you’re turning up the sweetness more than usual to compensate for the distance you actually feel, unfortunately at the expense of your friends.

Jeonghan completely ignores Soonyoung’s complaint and doesn’t even look his way. “That’s good,” he says, leaning back in his seat and almost looking relieved at your answer. “I was afraid my darling might not have time for me anymore.”

“What? No way. Did you have anything in mind for our date?” 

“Hmm, yes but it’s a surprise. I’ll text you the details later.” 

“Well, uh, I have to run,” Chan says, slowly getting up from his seat. The rest of you hardly bat an eye, having gotten too used to his busy schedule. “It was nice seeing everyone. You guys should come over for my housewarming once everything is set up.” 

Mingyu stands up too. “Oh, I actually have to go too; got a dinner with Wonwoo later.” 

…On second thought, perhaps you overcompensated a bit too much with the cringe. Soonyoung and Seungkwan leave soon after getting a call from their roommate, Seokmin, and then it’s just you and Jeonghan at the table. Still seated side by side, your arm occasionally brushing against his. 

“How have you really been?” he asks in a low voice. 

“Decent, I guess, despite the winter blues and all. It’s pretty much what I said earlier.” You shrug when he remains silent. “Why do you ask? Do I look depressed or something?”   

“No,” he shakes his head with a laugh, “not depressed, exactly, but I wanted to see if you’re as sad as I am about not seeing each other in so long.” Then he leans in a bit closer, as if to whisper a secret. “I missed you, darling.”

It’s times like this when you feel like he’s toeing the line. There’s a small smile lingering on his lips and a softer look in his eyes, not at all like the overdone sweetness to the point of sarcasm from before, but you can never tell if he really means what he says or if this is just part of the act. 

Regardless, it makes your face feel hot and it makes you unable to look directly at him. 

“Oh… yeah,” you say, trying to make a quick recovery. “It’s too bad we missed out on the holidays but at least we get Valentine’s Day.” 

“Yup, that’s exactly why I have something special in mind for that day. I want to make it up to you, darling.” 

You give him a smile and then go to take a sip of your drink, and that’s pretty much the end of the conversation. Despite saying he misses you, it’s interesting how he doesn’t explain why he bailed on the holidays in the first place, and you don’t know whether you should ask about it at this point.

Or if you should even be curious about such a thing. 

Jeonghan pulls you out of your thoughts with a brush of his hand on yours. “It’s getting dark. Let’s head out?” 

You agree and then let him hold your hand, lace his fingers with yours, and then lead you out of the shop. He doesn’t let go until you cross the parking lot and get to his car. It’s strange, you think. You can’t seem to recall the last time the two of you held hands so naturally like this especially when there’s no one else around. 

In fact, when the two of you are alone, the sickening sweetness is always toned down but not completely dropped. Now, Jeonghan’s smiles are softer around the edges like they’re less exaggerated, less of a performance, and when he calls you darling, his voice is quieter and isn’t at all coated in the sticky honey you’re used to. When he hugs you goodbye at your door, it’s a loose hug and almost has a degree of uncertainty. 

Jeonghan steps back but lingers just for a second. “I’ll see you in a few days for our date, darling.”

“Of course,” you put on a smile, “I can’t wait, babe.” 

He waits until you get into your building before giving a little wave and then heading on his way. 

After you close the door behind you and collapse onto your bed, you heave a sigh and finally let the smile slip from your lips. So there would be a Valentine’s date this year after all; the anticipation makes your heart speed up the slightest but at the same time makes you all the more anxious. You thought that he really would end things today, and if not, that you should be the one to do so. But seeing him after so long, feeling the way the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin, basking in the brightness of his smiles, you simply couldn’t utter those words. 

Perhaps Valentine’s Day wouldn’t be the right time to do it either, or maybe your date won’t end up happening for whatever reason. You know that this is something you have to do, but the question is how exactly would you go about doing it? Because there is one major problem. 

You’re not dating Jeonghan at all. 

One moment in high school is what started this whole thing.

It was eleventh grade drama class—which Jeonghan thought would be fun to take as an elective—that resulted in the two of you being cast in the school play. Although neither of you landed a role that was remotely close to important, Jeonghan decided to have fun with it and improvise during your one minute of screen time and that somehow turned your insignificant cameos into a beautiful romance that had the audience rooting for you. 

And that very moment somehow managed to embed itself so deeply in your relationship with Jeonghan that it became a long running joke to this day. 

Today you’re sitting across from Soonyoung and Seungkwan again, with Mingyu beside you this time. Almost an exact replica of last week’s meetup, but Chan already has plans and Jeonghan is very obviously missing—something Soonyoung points out immediately.

“Wow, no Jeonghan today?” he says loudly even before the hostess is out of earshot. The people at the two tables nearby glance in your direction and you start to regret coming here at all. “We really won this one. Y/N, we should do this more often.” 

You definitely should not. “Um, yeah. Totally.” 

Last week’s meeting with your friends is what gave you the idea to consult with them about your situation. You first suggested the idea to Mingyu, and then used the prospect of free food to get Soonyoung and Seungkwan to come out, and naturally, Chan is busy so it ends up being the four of you at brunch. Which is better on your wallet, you think. You get the feeling that this quarterly meetup can totally happen more often if you were to make this offer every time. 

As for what you’re about to ask… well, truthfully, you still don’t know if you should even do it. You’ve gone so many years without saying a word that it’d simply be odd to ask now, plus you would run the risk of making everything weird. But if you don’t do it, you would only end up making it weird anyway because how much longer can you go on pretending?

Besides, it’s not only you and Jeonghan who are prolonging this inside joke for way longer than it should’ve lasted. All of your friends should be in on it if they treat the two of you like a couple too. 

The waiter comes by to take your orders, and you try not to wince at the entire list that comes out of Soonyoung and Seungkwan’s mouths. Mingyu gets the least, seemingly knowing that something is up if the worried glances he throws your way is anything to go by. 

Once the waiter leaves, that’s when the small talk stops and all eyes turn to you.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Soonyoung asks with a goofy grin. “Since Jeonghan’s not here, does that mean you need help with Valentine’s Day plans or something?” 

Beside him, Seungkwan has the complete opposite expression as he eyes you warily between sips of his americano.

You take a huge swig of water like it’s liquid courage, and then go for it. “This is going to sound weird…” you start, trying not to notice the way Seungkwan tenses up as if bracing for your words, “but I wanted to ask you guys what my relationship with Jeonghan is.” 

Silence. Complete, dead silence. 

Soonyoung freezes like he’s in a photograph while Seungkwan’s hand holding his americano hangs in mid air as a drop of the drink dribbles down the side of his lip. 

“Sorry, what?” It’s Soonyoung who recovers first. “I think I heard that wrong.” 

You shake your head. “Just tell me.” 

“You’re asking us what your relationship with your own boyfriend is?” 

“Boyfriend—exactly!” You have to hold back all the thoughts you have on the topic. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. So you think he’s my boyfriend? That we’re dating?” 

Soonyoung frowns but it’s Seungkwan who answers, exasperated. “Y/N, what are you trying to say here? Are you trying to say you guys broke up? Or do you think we don’t know you well enough and this is a test? Can you say whatever it is directly—” 

“Jeonghan and I aren’t together.”

There, you said it. Your biggest secret is out.

It should make you relieved to finally let out the secret you’ve been harbouring for years or it should at least alleviate some of the weight on your chest, but it doesn’t. The silence in the wake of your confession only closes in on you and makes it all the more suffocating.

“Any—anymore?”

“No. We were never together.”

The bit of silence from earlier repeats itself. Maybe you should become a speaker or presenter with your ability to draw such reactions from a crowd.

Seungkwan noisily sets down his drink and then leans forward with a frown. He’s still in denial, that much is obvious, and he narrows his eyes as he asks, “Is this a joke? A hidden camera? Are you trying to prank us like Jeonghan—”

“No, I’m completely serious. It’s really not what it seems, and this is why I’m asking you guys what you see us as because at this point I don’t even know the answer myself.” 

With a deep breath, you tell them the truth about this entire thing.

You tell them about the high school play and your impromptu acting, and how that led for the two of you to become the famous couple at school afterwards. Sure, it might’ve been a good thing because that meant your acting was believable. But to two people who were interested in just about anything except love at that age, it was annoying and gross. 

After the show when the shippers wouldn’t stop, the two of you decided to do what you do best—pull a prank. You spent that Valentine’s Day together as a joke and acted extra disgusting to mock couples while making fun of how stupid people were to believe whatever you showed them. In twelfth grade, the two of you did the same for Valentine’s Day and then even went to prom together as a joke. 

In recent years, however, the annual joke of a Valentine’s Day date has turned into his Christmas and your Lunar New Year, his cousin’s graduation, your coworker’s housewarming, and Lee Chan’s wedding. It’s made you on a texting basis with his sister and it’s made him familiar with all your favourite food spots and go-to orders. It’s turned him into someone who’s simultaneously as distant as an acquaintance yet closer than a best friend. 

And so, here you are, living an entire lie because you and Jeonghan had the whole world fooled.

“That’s insane,” Soonyoung says when you finally finish the story, unable to look your way and instead, stares into his drink with how mind blown he is.

Seungkwan, on the other hand, remains a bit skeptical. “Okay, but then what was with all that PDA?All the kissing? Is this some sort of situationship?” 

“Oh, um.” Immediately you can feel your cheeks heating up. You didn’t think this far at all but now it seems like the entire truth will have to come out. “All of it was fake. We’ve… never actually kissed.” 

That drama class has taught you more than you needed to know about manipulating angles and the audience’s perception, and Jeonghan is very good at it. Your fake kisses were often just a trick of the angle or occasionally using the thumb trick, and having seen the evidence captured in photos over the years, you know how convincing it can look.

Now, it’s embarrassing to admit for reasons you never would’ve imagined. Admitting to pulling a childish prank like this is one thing, but the realization that you and Jeonghan have faked it for so long without ever once making it real has you feeling almost dejected.

“I always knew Jeonghan was crazy but I didn’t know he’d be *this* crazy.” Soonyoung now has his head in his hands and is staring off into space. “This is the most insane story I’ve ever heard. I’m not sure if I should be happy for you or sad.” 

You give a wry smile. “Yeah, well, I get why you would think we were together though. You met us in college and wouldn’t have known about what happened in the past so I guess there would never be a reason to question it.” 

Beside you, Mingyu clears his throat and you turn to look at him. He’s been so quiet throughout your story that you were too busy focusing on the reactions of the other two, but looking at him now, his reaction is entirely different. Mingyu isn’t as surprised as he is concerned. “Actually, Y/N, a few years ago…” he says hesitantly, “there was a time when I asked him if you were actually dating.” 

“You did? What did he say?”

“He didn’t deny it.”

“Well, we all know how he loves to be ambiguous and leave things a mystery.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “No—see, that’s what I thought too, but it was different that time. At first he didn’t deny it, but when I pushed a bit more, he said that you’re dating. In actual words and with the most serious look I’ve ever seen on his face.” 

This is news to you. You always assumed that they were all in on the joke and would’ve never guessed that anyone actually asked Jeonghan, but the fact that he answered that way is all the more baffling. 

“I don’t get it. Why would he tell you that?” 

“Yeah, so,” Soonyoung says, “from then on we all thought that was fully confirmed, and he never said or implied otherwise.” 

“Right…”

Mingyu nudges you gently. “Y/N, are you telling us about this now because you’re planning on stopping the act? Has it been bothering you? Or did something happen?” 

“Is that why you wanted to tell us today?” Soonyoung lets out a dramatic gasp and leans all the back in his chair, hands over his mouth. “Don’t tell me—are you going to stop the act because you have a crush on someone?”

“What? No, definitely not. It’s not that, it’s—” 

Here’s the next part of your big secret being revealed, something you weren’t entirely ready for but you tell yourself that this needs to happen. 

It’s because of your feelings for Jeonghan. Your very real, very genuine feelings that have nothing to do with this prank.

Truthfully, you can’t pinpoint when you started feeling this way, much like you’re not sure how this joke was able to stick around for so long. It could be the most recent development—when your friend tried to convince you to hop on a dating app, all you could think about was how wrong it felt because you already had Jeonghan. Or maybe it was the Valentine’s Day just before college graduation when he leaned in so closely you thought he was going to kiss you, for real this time, and then only realizing much later that you were disappointed that it wasn’t real. 

Or perhaps it started way back, to the time he asked you to prom—he said he didn’t have a date only for you to later find out he’d already rejected two promposals from other people. All for your fake relationship, supposedly.

And now, for you, what has started as a harmless prank has turned into something much more than that over the years. 

Everyone looks like they're at a loss for words after that part, and even Soonyoung has lost his enthusiasm after hearing it. “Shit, that’s…” he starts. “Okay, yeah, I’m definitely sad for you.” 

Seungkwan and Mingyu have similar sentiments but you wave them off, eager to lighten the mood again after such heavy topics. The food on the table has been long finished and you’re beginning to feel like you’re overstaying your welcome when there’s a crowd waiting at the front of the restaurant. “It’s fine, it’s whatever. I just wanted to get this off my chest today so that I can figure things out before I see him in a few days.” 

A while later, you finish paying and then all head out together. 

The conversation continues to replay itself in your head, and you realize there is one thing you’re curious about. You turn to Mingyu. “By the way—Mingyu, why *did* you ask Jeonghan if we were actually dating?”

Mingyu stops mid-stride and freezes like a deer in headlights, clearly not expecting your question at all. “I—um, I was asking for a friend.” 

“A friend?”

“Yeah, Chan.” He nods a few times in a row. “I thought Chan had a crush on you and I was trying to help him out.”

Strange, seeing as you’ve probably interacted with Chan the least among your friend group. He’s simply too booked and busy to hang out with you, and has been all throughout your college years together. 

Oh, and he’s married.

“Like, before he met his wife?” you ask.

Soonyoung starts to cough furiously from where he is a few steps ahead while Mingyu’s cheeks redden the slightest bit. 

You vaguely remember the first time the two of you did this, and how it wasn’t anything like how it’s going now. 

Tonight is the night you’re supposed to go on your date with Jeonghan, and you’ve been buzzing with nerves since the night before. You have no idea what to expect for tonight since all he told you about it was to show up at his apartment, and that in itself was slightly concerning as you’ve never been to his home before nor has he been so secretive about any plans. Usually the two of you would be going to a casual place or would have the schedule shared ahead of time if it was a more formal event that needed preparation. 

Jeonghan buzzes you in when you arrive and before you can say you’ll wait for him in the lobby, he tells you to go up to his unit. Again, a bit strange. You do as he asks though, and then even go to knock on the door when there’s no sign of him coming out.

When he opens the door and steps aside, that’s when everything clicks—you’re not here so that he can get his car and take you to your date location. This *is* the date location.

Beyond the doorway, you can see that his apartment is completely decorated. Rose petals line the sides of the hall and lead to the dining table, covered in a deep red tablecloth and perfectly set for your meal. Beside it, a large bouquet of roses rests at the center of the sideboard surrounded by a row of flickering candles which light up the space.

Even without knowing what his home normally looks like, it’s obvious that all this would’ve taken a lot of effort to set up.

“Jeonghan, why did you prepare all this?”

He gives you a dazzling smile. “Because my darling deserves the best, of course. I told you I was going to make it up to you for cancelling Christmas.” 

“Babe, that’s too sweet of you. You really didn’t have to.” You try to return his smile but it doesn’t come easy when this whole situation is overwhelming. Then you let him take your coat and then guide you to the dining table where everything is set up. 

Only when you’re seated do you realize that his response doesn’t answer your question at all. 

The scent of the roses fill the room and looking at them gives you a pang in your heart. This is what the two of you used to make fun of—these big, romantic gestures, and the couples that willingly eat them up. Now it’s as if the tables have turned and you don’t know what to think. 

If this were in public, in front of your friends or other people, you would’ve said that it was another funny gesture that Jeonghan put up for the sake of making them cringe. Because the two of you were the perfect joking, prankster couple, right? 

Now that it’s just you and him here, it confuses you as to why he’s going to such lengths for a joke when it’s something that no one else would see, when there’s no audience to watch his performance. 

You watch as Jeonghan busies himself in the kitchen, serving the food that he’s prepared and pouring the wine into glasses while glancing your way every once in a while. He looks pleased, you note, and he should be if he got his space to look this beautiful. But you can sense that there’s something else too, almost like a nervousness that sits on his shoulder every time he breezes past you and makes eye contact for the briefest second.

After everything is ready, he finally takes a seat across from you and the dinner begins.

Making small talk is easy at first; you comment on your surprise at this type of date, talk about how cold it’s been lately and how it sucks that your company is forcing you to go back into the office. You ask him how his holiday went and how his family has been, and mention how cute his sister’s new puppy is after seeing a post about it on her social media. 

You know you’re just delaying the inevitable. Somehow you get the feeling he knows it too, judging by the way his answers are shorter than usual and how your conversation feels so superficial. So this time after there’s a lull in the conversation, you decide to go for it.

"Jeonghan, um…"

"Hmm?" He looks at you and waits for you to continue, but you don't. Or rather, you can't. "Ah, you're going to comment on how good this is, right?" he says instead, as if supplying you with a way out.

You're all too eager to grab onto it. "Wow, you read my mind." An enthusiastic nod, a slight look of surprise. "It's amazing. Did you make all this yourself?"

Jeonghan shakes his head and then follows up with a sheepish smile. "Partly. The rest is store bought."

Another nod, and then it just ends there again. Seated in this spot with the soft lighting of flickering candles cast against the wall and the heat of Jeonghan's gaze on you, the feeling of discomfort only grows. It's hard to remember what the two of you were like before, during the days when everything seemed so silly–when each move was a clearly defined act between two actors and the world was your stage. And most importantly, when each smile he showed you didn't send your stomach into somersaults or your mind into a loop of second guessing. 

The air is so heavy and stifling that you grab your glass and down a large gulp of the wine. At least when you're drinking, you wouldn’t have to speak, whether that might be responding to him in a way that gives away all of your thoughts, or completely spilling them out yourself. Maybe the alcohol will also drown out some of your anxieties and–

"Hey, slow down." Jeonghan glances at you with worry. "We have all night."

You set the glass down, albeit a bit reluctantly. "Right, sorry. This wine is just so good."

Yet another lie, but what's one more at this point? The wine is much too sour and leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You would've much preferred a soda or bubble tea, and drinking something fancy like this during such a fancy occasion makes you feel like you're pretending to be someone you're not.

Which is exactly what you're doing, isn't it? You've been living a lie this entire time.

You briefly wonder if Jeonghan feels the same way—the two of you have never properly spent time alone in complete privacy, and to have your first time be in such a formal atmosphere must feel strange. But if he's uncomfortable, he makes no sign of showing it. Or maybe he's always been the better actor of the two of you.

“You know, since you mentioned seasonal depression, I was thinking that for Christmas this year we should go somewhere. Somewhere warm and sunny to get away from the cold.”

“Oh, this year?” you repeat stupidly when you can’t quite believe what you’re hearing. Jeonghan wants to continue this thing? And here you were, thinking that he was about to end it at any moment for the past few months. “Um, yeah. That would be nice.” 

“Or it could be a fall trip. Your parents have been wanting to go see the leaves change colour, right?” 

There’s no hint of sarcasm on his face and no playful twinkle in his eye, and even though no one can read him very well, you know enough to tell that he’s being serious. You also know that what he’s saying makes no sense at all.

“Right, yeah. They’ve been wanting to do that.” 

“Y/N, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply automatically, and then reach for another long gulp of your drink. “Yup, all good.”

Jeonghan frowns, a tiny crease appearing between his brows. “Are you sure? If you want to talk about it, I’m here to listen.” 

It’s strange, the way he looks at you. Jeonghan, who dances around questions and deflects easily with humour and only shows people what he wants them to see, now has worry filling his eyes as he waits for you to continue. As if he *knows*.

You doubt Soonyoung and Seungkwan would have spilled your secret so easily, but there’s a great possibility that the two of them would be unable to act normal around him after what they learned, and unintentionally hint at the truth. Then there’s the other possibility that Jeonghan knew way before any of this. Because maybe he—

No, you don’t want to think about that.

“It’s just that,” you say, having to force yourself to pause and slow down your thoughts before something terrible comes spewing out. A slow inhale, a shaky exhale. “Why are we here, Jeonghan?”

His frown deepens, but now it’s turned into confusion. “What do you mean?”

“What are we doing? This date has been nice, but I’m just very confused over why you put so much effort into this when there’s no one else around to see it. Weren’t we doing all of this as a joke? As a prank? Pretending to be a couple so that we can fool the world since that’s exactly what they wanted to see, but joke’s on them because we’re not?” 

Jeonghan watches you silently with an unreadable look on his face. “Is that how you feel?”

“’Well, yes, because isn’t that the truth? And now, we’ve been doing so much together that it doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. How can it be when your mom is offering to give me homemade side dishes? Or—or when Chan’s wife was there, smiling at us on her wedding day like she wished we’d be just as happy as they are?” You pause to look at him and then proceed to look away. “How long are we going to continue lying to the world? Because I can’t stand the guilt.”

The last part of that may be true, but it’s not the full truth. 

“Yeah, you’re right. We don’t have to keep doing this.”

“W—what?” You stare at him, dumbfounded. 

Jeonghan sighs deeply and then meets your eyes, but then quickly looks away. “Yeah, we should’ve left this in high school. The joke has kind of gotten old, hasn’t it?” 

You have no idea what he means by any of that, but it feels like you’re better off not knowing. The tension in the air is thick, and even when you imagined your fake breakup hundreds of times in your head, this is not something you could have predicted. It’s as you’re on a precipice, and one wrong move will delete all those years, all that time you spent with him. 

And the worst part is that you don’t even want to break up.

“Jeonghan, look. I know all of this is supposed to be a joke, but why is it that it feels like you really do care?” One last deep breath before you make the jump. “And why is it that I *want* you to care?” 

That has him stunned for a second, so much that the expression is obvious on his face in a way that almost never happens. 

“Wait, what? I do care. No, I get that we started all this for fun back then, but that’s not how I feel about it now. Everything we’ve done is real—trust me, I wouldn’t have brought you to my family if that wasn’t the case. And I never thought I was lying to them. It’s exaggerated, yes, and much too dramatic, but I’m not a good enough actor where all that can be based on a complete lie.” 

You braced yourself for the final blow, only to be completely confused over his words. “What are you saying?” 

“Y/N, it’s always been real to me. All of it.” 

“But—but I thought you wanted to stop all this when you cancelled our plans for Christmas. Why did you do that?”

Jeonghan opens his mouth a little but then closes it again. “Do you remember last year at Chan’s wedding when you caught the bouquet?” 

You nod but don’t hide your confusion about where this is going.

“After you caught it, everyone was looking at you… and then at me. It was like they all expected us to be next, because well,” he shrugs, “everyone thought we were together. And that’s when I realized that this is more than simply feeling like it’s real. We were turning it into something real.”

“So you called off Christmas because you wanted to stop doing this? Because you hated how it was becoming real?” 

“No,” Jeonghan shakes his head. “The opposite. I was afraid of how much I liked that it felt real. That day at the wedding, I—I wanted to kiss you for real, Y/N. Not have to fake it.” 

“Oh…”

“If we did meet up for Christmas, I don’t know what might’ve happened. I thought it was safer to stay away for a bit and gather my thoughts.” He hesitates slightly and you can see the pained smile he has on. “But one day into the holidays and I was already regretting my decision.” 

You don’t know what to say to that. Your mind is hardly listening anymore when it keeps on repeating Jeonghan’s words like a broken record, screaming to you that it’s real, that all of it is real. That you’re not the only one who’s been feeling this way, and that you won’t need to stage a fake breakup for your fake relationship. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I’m just—are you sure all this is real? Jeonghan, are you being serious?”

He breaks into a tender smile. “Don’t you remember? I already answered you back then, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You asked me if I’d be your darling, even if thousands of miles may separate us, even if—” 

“—if the paths we walk may crumble,” you finish off. “Or something like that. I actually have no idea what we said back then.”

Those were the lines in the play that you did back in high school, the very lines that the two of you conjured out of thin air one day and the very moment that started this whole thing. 

“Yeah, that,” he says softly.

“Hmm, so, babe,” you put on your usual mockingly sweet tone, repeating the line that you said on stage many years ago, “are you going to kiss me?” 

Jeonghan holds back a smile like he can’t contain his happiness, and follows with his line without missing a beat. “If that’s what my darling wants.”

The smile only widens when he gets up from his seat and you go to meet him halfway, and it’s the last thing you see when he leans in closer and closer. Jeonghan gently slides his thumb between his lips and yours as he closes the distance, like how it was done the very first time, but this time you can feel it as he slowly moves it away. 

Then you’re kissing him, actually kissing him for real for the first time. His lips are soft and warm, and the bit of hesitance between you seems to completely melt away as you wrap your arms around him and he pulls you closer. You let yourself drown in his scent, the warmth of his touch, and the loud pounding of your heart now that you no longer have to be paying attention to the reactions of the people around you. Nothing else matters anymore, all that matters is what you have now.

You spend the rest of the night catching up, whether that’d be stories over the years of shared memories, or creating new memories to make up for the lost time. He tells you he loves you and that the trip suggestions were very much real, and the two of you laugh over how you’ve become the exact couple you once mocked. It’s easy to understand them now though, you think as Jeonghan gives you a sleepy smile as you’re cuddled up on the couch.

“Oh yeah, I wanted to ask something,” you say, and he looks at you in alarm at your abruptness. “Why did you tell Mingyu that we were together?”

Jeonghan stays silent for a bit, narrowing his eyes as if having difficulty recalling what you’re talking about. Then he finally answers. “Oh that?” He chuckles. “That was because I didn’t want him to think he had a chance with you.”

[itskattkm]

The air in my lungs

Chapter 1

Cairo Sweet x Fem Reader

Summary: A stroke of fate changes you and leads you into the arms of Cairo Sweet. Will she be your downfall or save you?

Warnings: 18+, Grief, Injuries, Smoking, Trauma, anxiety, sexual content, student x teacher mentioned, harm, blackmailing, bad grammar

A/N: Based and inspired by Millers Girl. Mr. Miller himself isn’t really present but will be mentioned. Hope you guys enjoy. Also I’m not sure if I should make it a fem g!p reader. Let me now if so :)

Master list | Next chapter

It was almost the end of the current school year. Soon would be a long and warm summer in Texas maybe the last summer for Cairo here, before she would leave it for Stanford in California. As always she was one of the students that were pretty early, since this was a private school, she had pretty many ways to get in here and just do her thing. That’s why Cairo was working on a new idea for her book, holding a cigarette in her other hand. Not caring at all that she was smoking in the empty classroom. Well almost empty classroom. She had noticed you were sitting near her and gave you a frown. Why did you even sit so near. Like the class wasn’t already empty enough, couldn’t you sit somewhere else? Cairo was a bit pissed, she didn’t liked it when other students could see her work or maybe even interrupt her while working.

“I’m writing. I’d appreciate if you respected that” Cairo mutters, without even looking your way. She takes another drag of her cigarette afterwards. Her gaze fixed on the screen of her laptop.

You turned around “So what? I’m not allowed to sit near you?” You asked with a cold tone but a dirty smile on your lips making Cairo look up and straight into your eyes, with pretty zeros emotions.

“No.” Cairo replied, trying to go back to her writing without laughing. Unfortunately that didn’t happen, since Cairo was now laughing at your reaction. She put down her pencil, which had the cigarette dangling in her mouth still. Cairo turned and smirked at you. “You do realize you’re just asking to get teased, don’t you?”

You fully turned around now and walked towards her. In the way you walked Cairo could tell you were somehow… pissed? Angry? There was something frightening and exciting in the way you walked over her and suddenly stole her cigarette from her mouth, while taking a deep hint on it. Cairo was totally overwhelmed and watched you with fixated eyes. The cigarette left your lips and in the next moment you destroyed the cigarette by pressing it down on her desk.

The next move really caught her off guard. She felt like a frozen statue. Her brain wasn’t able to see that coming but still… it happened and she couldn’t do anything. You reached for her jaw with your hand and held it tight while pulling in and kissing her hard before releasing the smoke of the cigarette in her mouth.

Slowly your grip loosened and you took a step back while looking at her with the coldest eyes she’s ever seen. “Next time don’t smoke around me. I prefer fresh air” that’s what you said with your quiet but low voice before turning around and leaving the class room, making a departure like the newest villain in town.

Cairo was stunned. “D-Did that just happen?” She muttered, still reeling from the shock and adrenaline. She put her hand on her lips and bit them, trying to resist smiling. She turned to her desk once more, pretending to work, but couldn’t help glancing at the door every so often. She wanted to see if you would comeback, but she didn’t want her to get her hopes up. She took the pack of cigarettes from her purse and took another one. “Hmm.. fresh air?” She mumbled to her self.

The next morning was quite the opposite. Cairo was the first of all students like always. Sitting in class and working on her drafts till the teacher would arrive and do their thing. You weren’t there and Cairo could help but wondered why. Wondered why she never noticed you before. It was like you were some sort of a ghost. She knew her classmates. She knew you but still… she never really saw you. Then Y/N entered the classroom as the last one while everyone was already there. She sat down on her table in the last row and began to unpack her laptop, also waiting for the teacher to arrive now.

When Y/N raiser her gaze to look to the front of the class she saw Cairo sitting in the middle of the first row like always. She was holding a book in her hands that looked a bit older and seemed like she was Reading.

Like if Cairo had felt some sort of bigger power or more of a shiver down her shoulders she turned her head and glanced over to you, only to look away immediately, slightly blushing. She didn’t like the fact that you were making her blush already… but something deep down inside of her couldn’t help it. She still could feel your lips on hers. How surprisingly soft they felt and the way you stole her air while letting the smoke of the cigarette in her mouth. Like you were sucking out her soul or something. She could feel your eyes on her, and she didn’t wanted to think any longer about yesterday. So Cairo focused on the book she had been reading and turned to a chapter, ignoring your glances at her.

You couldn’t help but liked the fact that Cairo was turning around just to check if you were there. I small smile creeped up on your lips and you found yourself blushing. Feeling somehow proud and confident. But still, it was something you didn’t wanted others to see so you tried to get that fucking smile out of your face.

There was that invisible power, the urge to look back at you it was like fighting against the need, no the urge to look back at you and get lost in the moment. So Cairo looked over her shoulder with a blush on her face. She put the book down and cleared her throat. “Whatcha looking at?” She tried to say monotone to not show how excited she was. After that she put on her headphones and resumed reading as if nothing had ever happened. You continued to stare, so she shifted in her seat, getting irritated at the lack of privacy during a quiet time. Why couldn’t you just leave her alone?

You didn’t respond to her question. Instead you stayed quiet and kept watching at the back of her long and dark hair. It was quite interesting for you how her hair looked almost black but on days where the sunshine fell on them you could see they were quite the opposite. A hidden chocolate brown making your mouth somehow watering at the thought of chocolate itself, how stupid you thought.

When finally the teacher attended the class Cairo tried to focus once more on something else than you, but kept glancing at you every so often, only to catch you staring at her. Even if you didn’t say anything, it definitely made Cairo feel uneasy.

“Don’t break your neck while keep turning around to look at me” I texted her and the message popped up on her laptop, you could see from your view.

Cairo’s eyes widened at the message. It was from you. She read it again, making sure it wasn’t a mistake. She turned around towards you and typed, “Well, you keep looking at me, so…”

“Because the teacher is in front of you. If I were you I wouldn’t have choose the seat in the first row and in the middle of the class” the text popped up on Cairos screen.

“And so? I can sit wherever I want.” Cairo rolled her eyes but couldn’t contain her racing heart when she send the message.

“Then stop wondering or thinking that I look at you. I’m trying to pay attention to our teacher” you texted back fast. Cairo wanted to believe her, but wasn’t sure if her words were true. Cairo looked at you again, who was focused on the teacher now “You really don’t look at me? Not even by accident?” She texted back curious.

Another message popped up from you saying “Your in the middle of my sight it’s hard to ignore”. Cairo looked to the side and muttered, “Oh..” She looked at you for a couple of more seconds, only to give up and focus on the class again. The class was a bit boring since the teacher went on for quite a while about a topic that seemed uninteresting to Cairo. She continued looking at you, and finally decided to text her again. “So.. Can I ask you something?”

As soon as Cairo send the message she heard her own heart pounding so hard that it made her feel like dying, dying to know what you would say and how you would react.

“Wow is our A+ student getting bored of class? oh my god it’s a miracle!” You answered and hoped she would get the sarcastic hint. Cairo turned to you, rolling her eyes. She wrote, “Shut up, please. And yeah, I’m bored.” She added an eye roll emoji.

You held back a chuckle and tried to focus on the class again. Cairo turned back to the class, then a few words of the teacher’s caught her attention. It was the first time during the class Cairo was actually listening again. The topic of discussion was writing, and she was listening to the lesson. Writing about the perspective of someone who was fighting with being good or bad. There was a moment of silence after the teacher had finished the lesson, which caused Cairo to look at you with a mischievous smile. It lasted only a second, though. She looked down at her notebook, which had a couple of doodles on the margins.

“So? What was your question?” Popped the curious question by you at Cairos laptop up. She wanted to ask you something before you just ignored it and started discussing about who was starring at who and where.

Cairo wrote, “Do you actually like me or are you just flirting with me to be funny?” She pressed the send button without looking at you.

You held back a grin and answered “you think I like you?”.

Cairo’s jaw dropped slightly. She read the message and looked at you directly, now confused. She turned back around and huffed, “So you don’t?”.

“Depends” you send and hoped to tease her. Cairo looked at you as if expecting her to elaborate on that. When you didn’t, she texted again, “Depends on what?”. You couldn’t help but chuckled quite by yourself feeling how you were getting on the nerves of Cairo.

“It’s so funny when you turn around. Your reactions are really amusing me” you texted her and smiled wide in a cute but cheeky way to annoy her even more while waiting for her to turn around again. Cairo rolled her eyes but couldn’t help looking at you. She could’ve sworn she saw your dirty smirk, but she might’ve seen wrong. Cairo rolled her eyes again and looked back at the notebook she was now doodling in. The bell finally rang out, signaling that the class was over. Cairo put away her notebook and turned in her seat again, finding you already staring at her. “Do you… need something?” She asked slightly annoyed since you didn’t moved and kept staring at her.

“Oh yeah” you said calm and your eyes softened while looking at her expensive green leather backpack

“Do you have a cigarette for me?”.

A smirk appeared on Cairo’s face. She looked away, but her smile never went away. “Do you think I like sharing my cigarettes with every person I’m flirting with? I could be flirting with every person on this campus if that was the case.” She had a smug look on her face as she said that, knowing that your response would be interesting. Her smirk stayed on while she waited for you to react. Dreamy. That was the first word that came into Cairos mind when she saw you smiled and looking at her with tilted head “So your flirting with me?” You asked, your voice giving Cairo and weird feeling down her spine… a good feeling.

“Mhm..” Cairo said, still looking away, but smirking at you. She took a cigarette from her pocket, pretending to put it in her mouth. She glanced over at you. “You might wanna get closer for it..” she said in a teasing tone of voice. “I will… trust me” you whispered with a low voice and got up from your desk, walking closer towards her. Cairo turned, and smirked at your approach. “I wouldn’t trust anyone that easily, love.” She said, a smirk still on her face. She took the cigarette out of her mouth, and put it in Y/N for her to take if you desired.

“That’s good” you said in such a calm way it made Cairo feel goosebumps. The way you took it slowly between your fingers made it look like she was watching some sexual commercial or a thirst trap but then you destroyed it right beside her on the desk while smiling cheeky. “What did that cigarette ever do to you, huh?” Cairo asked in a joking tone. She smirked, but was now slightly startled. She looked over to you with a raised brow.

“Stop smoking my dear. It’s not good for you “ you whispered and left the classroom. Cairo watched you leave, a smirk still on her face. “I think I’m getting somewhere…” she muttered, and followed you.

[ayyy-pee]

𝔼𝕡𝕚𝕤𝕠𝕕𝕖 𝟘.𝟝 - 𝕋𝕠𝕠 𝕄𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕥𝕠 𝔻𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕜

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Next Episode

Pairing: JJK Men x Female Reader

Episode Summary: After a drunken night of binge watching your (least?) favorite show, you find yourself making a grave mistake.

STORY TWIST: READERS WILL VOTE AFTER CERTAIN CHAPTERS TO CHOOSE WHO GETS A ROSE AND MAKES IT TO THE NEXT WEEK. KEEP A LOOKOUT FOR THE VOTING LINK AT THE END OF CHAPTERS

Story Warning: DRAMA, lying and scheming, REVERSE HAREM, profanity bc I can only be me, arguments, fights probably, heartbreak and tears, (more to come)

Artist Credit: momoya348, Umbra3terna, ilameys,maoyaoyao519, _0_0219 Divider Credit: Cafekitsune (Tumblr)

A/N: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE! I hope you guys enjoy this ride (that you're in charge of in later chapters!!!) I'll put up Episode 1 tomorrow after proofreading!!! <3

“God, this show is so stupid,” you mutter, shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth while you get settled onto the couch.

“Please…It’s so bad, but I tune in to every season.”

You glance over when your friend reaches into your lap and dips her fingers into your bowl of popcorn and grabs a few kernels.

That was the perfect way to describe what was happening now. You’re currently huddled up on the couch, having spent the day binging the most recent season of The Bachelor until you’re all caught up. The new episode airs tonight and you’re eager to see who Joey ends up picking. Will it be Rachel? She’s gorgeous, funny, and her family seems to really get along with this season’s Bachelor. They have great chemistry. Or maybe it will be Daisy? Though you couldn’t see that working out. The girl is a total bore. Or it could be…what’s her name again? The one who looks a little bit like she could be his sister. Ah, whatever.

You’re not sure when you really began to even give a shit about this mess of a show. It’s corny. No one falls in love within a few weeks of knowing each other. And why does one man or woman need to date twenty people to find someone to marry? Are they that unlikeable in the real world? Not to mention, it’s totally unrealistic. Do these relationships even work out once the cameras cut off? Unlikely. You find the entire premise of the show downright stupid.

And yet, you can’t tear your eyes away as this season’s Bachelor takes each girl out on an extravagant date that…you can’t lie, you would love to be on.

Dancing in Malta? Sunbathing on a yacht off the coast of Spain? Getting to see Niagara Falls up close? Sign you up. You don’t think you would stand a chance being the object of everyone’s affection, but you could definitely milk being a contestant for free trips and good food.

“Why can’t he see that Rachel is the best pick here? Ugh, annoying. You know he’s going to give what’s-her-name the last rose.” Your friend downs her wine in one swig and you don’t bother to hold back the laugh bubbling in your chest. She’s all red faced. You’re not sure if it’s from how passionate she is about the show or from the two empty bottles of merlot she’s managed to down practically on her own, but the glowing hue it gives her highlights the thick scar across her face. A product of her line of work, and said line of work being the reason she’s guzzling wine in the first place.

“Maybe take it easy on the drinks, Utahime.”

She hiccups next to you, slouching in her seat. “I haven’t even had that much to drink!”

“You’ve had most of the wine just on your own!”

“Oh my god, you have one or nine glasses of wine and suddenly you’re wasted,” she mutters sarcastically. “I’m fine.”

You roll your eyes, because you know there’s no going back and forth with her stubborn ass when she starts drinking. 

The living room dims for about three seconds before it lights back up, the show now having gone on commercial break. The rose ceremony is next and despite shit-talking the show only ten minutes ago, you’re eager for the commercials to wrap up so you can see who goes home. It better not be Rachel. You use this brief intermission to go and get some water for yourself but mostly Utahime so she can sober up.

This has been your routine for the last few weeks. Every Monday night, Utahime comes over, peels you out of your bed and forces you on the couch to chug alcohol and watch this ridiculous show. While you find the entire premise of the show nonsensical, you’re grateful for the time it’s given you with Utahime.

You’re fairly new to the Kyoto area and Utahime was the first person you’d met on your first day at your new – how can you put this? – unique job. You see, you and Utahime both work in the field of Jujutsu sorcery. But there’s about where your similarities in the field stop.

Utahime is an active Sorcerer. She’s an instructor raising up the next generation of Sorcerers, building them up so that they can one day join the frontlines to protect the unaware non-Sorcerers of Japan. She’s strong– a grade 1 Sorcerer. Quite impressive. She could easily knock a curse’s head off if she wanted to.

But you? Well, while Utahime is at the top of the ranks of Jujutsu society, you are what some would refer to as a bottomfeeder – an unranked, unimportant, lowly Window. You’re someone who has just enough cursed energy to see a curse. But can you do anything about them? Not unless you want to end up in the nearest trauma center. So if you’re smart, you’ll do your job and whip your phone out to report it so that the real Sorcerers can handle it.

You’ve been in this field for several years now, but working outside of the major cities of Japan. Transferring to Kyoto was your idea of wanting something new and different. Utahime had quickly taken you under her wing. You were certain it was because she took pity on you. A weak, barely gifted Window. But as time went on, you came to realize that that was just Utahime. She was kind and funny, and had a good heart. Well, except when it came to –

“Hey!” Utahime calls from her spot on the couch. You can hear a slur in her words as she speaks and you know she’s opened yet another bottle of wine from who knows where. “Come here! Look at this!” You peer at the television from the doorway of your kitchen and see Utahime has it paused on a very ugly ad. It’s bright white with a background full of red rose petals across the screen. Your eyes roam over the words.

“THE SEARCH IS ON FOR THE ELIGIBLE WOMEN WHO ARE READY TO FIND TRUE LOVE! DO YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW HAVE THE CHARM, STYLE, AND PERSONALITY TO BE OUR NEXT STAR? IF SO, APPLY OR NOMINATE SOMEONE NOW!”

“Will you hurry up? Come look!” Utahime demands, messily pouring more wine into her glass. But it looks like a normal advertisement to you, so you’re not entirely sure what has Utahime’s interest so piqued.

She beckons you again, yelling “Come here!” So you quickly grab a couple bottles of water from your fridge and head back. Utahime is pointing insistently at the screen. “Look. Look really hard.”

You follow the path where her finger points, shuffling closer to the t.v. to get a clearer look. It takes a moment for you to see it, like really see it, but it’s definitely there. Underneath the last line, hidden from the eyes of those unable to see the horrors that you and those like Utahime can, is another message. You fall to your knees, eyes glued to the tiny additional message floating beneath, glowing with cursed energy that reads, “JUJUTSU SorcererS PREFERRED”. 

Confusion slowly takes over your features, the corners of your lips turning down with a frown, a brow arched and skepticism in your eyes. Were you missing something? Was this some sick joke? Were Jujutsu Sorcerers huge fans of The Bachelor or something? You spin around to face your friend who has a look of mischief twinkling in her eyes. You know it all too well, mouth falling open and a finger pointing when you scream “NO” at the exact moment Utahime yells “YOU SHOULD APPLY!”

“Absolutely not!” You must be looking at Utahime like she’s grown two more heads because she looks just as confused as you.

“Why not?! You’d be great on there!”

Maybe she hasn’t grown two more heads. Maybe her brain was swapped while you were in the kitchen because why the hell was she suggesting this?

“Well, for starters, I’m not really looking to date.”

Utahime rolls her eyes, as if that’s just not a good enough excuse. You should just ignore her, snatch the remote from her hand and hit play so you can get back to the show and see who this guy chooses to potentially get engaged to. But for some reason (could be the single drop of wine your friend allowed you to have while she downed the rest), you feel the need to keep listing off reasons to not sign up. “Secondly, I– why would I even want to go on this show?”

Utahime sips her wine, eyes low as she falls into her drunkenness, but you can still see the sparkle of mischief in those brown hues…and it scares you. So you keep talking, chatting away and listing excuse after excuse to your friend, eventually finding yourself back on the couch trying to drive your final point home.

“Besides, they want Sorcerers.” This seems to get Utahime’s attention again, makes her set her glass down as she looks at you.

“I’m sure it’s fine. You are a Sorcerer.”

“I’m a Window.”

“Semantics. You can see curses, can’t you?” Utahime argues.

“...yes.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “But I can’t do anything about them.”

It’s not something you should be ashamed of, but there’s just the tiniest bit of you that is ashamed. Because being able to see these monsters and not having the power to do anything about them…well, it feels like a curse in and of itself.

To this, she sighs. “Sorcerers, Windows. They’re just terms used by the higher-ups to keep their stupid, fucked up heirarchy intact.”

You know it’s the wine that’s loosened her tongue. In public, Utahime would not dare to speak so freely. The Jujutsu politics in Kyoto were a lot stricter than they were in Tokyo. Not that that said much anyway. The politics were shit regardless. But Utahime worked closely with those connected to the higher-ups, so outside of this little bubble in your apartment, she kept pretty hush hush about her true feelings.

You watch Utahime closely as she fiddles with her wine glass. She really is beautiful. You think she’d be incredible on a show like this. Which gives you the idea.

“What don’t you apply?”

Utahime leans back, a cackle so loud and abrupt leaving her tiny body.

“No way. I would never date any of these Sorcerers.”

“And you want me to?!” You ask incredulously. You don’t know whether to be offended or not.

Your friend fixes you with a deadpan stare. “You don’t know them the way I do. The only good one out of all of them is Nanami Kento…and Shoko.” She mutters the last name quietly, like it’s a secret that she thinks so highly of her. And maybe it is a secret…the way she feels about the doctor in Tokyo who you couldn’t help but notice has Utahime’s cheeks glowing red whenever she’s mentioned.

“Besides,” Utahime continues. “If I signed up for this and got paired with Gojo –” she shudders at the mere thought of being near the man. “I don’t think I’d be able to keep myself from projectile vomiting just at the prospect of having to kiss him.”

It’s your turn to laugh obnoxiously now, because – “Why the hell would the strongest Sorcerer in a thousand years sign up for this shit? You don’t think he has anything better to do? Like, you know…keep all of Japan safe?”

“Satoru Gojo does whatever Satoru Gojo wants.”

You can’t argue with that. Utahime would know best. She did grow up with him after all. She knew him well. You’ve never met the man, being just a Window, you doubt you ever will. Out of all the Sorcerers, you’ve only ever met Utahime and Principal Gakuganji. You’ve never even met any of the students. You all run in different circles, but that doesn't mean you don’t keep up with the going-ons of the Jujutsu world. Everyone knows Satoru Gojo.

“You should really sign up, though,” Utahime suggests once more. “You might meet a good person. If anything, you’ll get a good vacation out of it.” With that, she stands. It’s clear that the wine is hitting her again, because she wobbles clumsily to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

If it’s anything like every other week before this, you’ll be peeling Utahime out of your bathtub because she will have inevitably fallen asleep.

Your eyes fall back on the hidden message on the television, reading it over and over before you finally just hit play and let the finale finish.

Joey chooses whatever that girl’s name is. You’re only halfway paying attention because against your better judgment, you’re actually thinking about applying to this. But you think the show is stupid, right? Why would you waste your time? But what if Utahime is right? What if you do meet someone? It’s not that you’re against dating. You’re just not actively in the market for romance because you’ve found that dating non-Sorcerers is more stress than it’s worth.

The constant obligation you feel to regulate their emotions so you can avoid the creation of a cursed spirit that you’ll have to call in and do paperwork for? Exhausting. Not to mention, if you ever grew to truly love this person, you’d be overwhelmed with guilt if a curse manifested and harmed them in any way and you couldn’t do anything but watch in horror as you made a phone call.

You’d never really given any thought to it, but perhaps dating a Sorcerer is what you needed. You could end up meeting an amazing man!

But also, semantics or not, you were not technically a Sorcerer. You were simply a Window. Why the hell would an actual Sorcerer want to be with you? Better yet, what were the chances of this show even choosing you as their next Bachelorette?

- - - - - -

Apparently, the chances were extremely high, because one phone call, four video interviews, a nearly five hour drive from Kyoto to Tokyo, and days of promotional video and photo shoots later, you find yourself standing outside of the Bachelor Mansion, donning the most expensive gown that money could buy.

This is not what you expected. Not at all. There is so much going on. You want to run and hide from every single camera you see being propped up. You want to curl into yourself when the lights come on and the director calls, “Action!” And you see some man you’re just meeting for the first time approaching as he speaks directly to the camera.

“...and she’ll be making history tonight as The Bachelorette’s first Jujutsu Sorcerer,” you hear him tell the camera as he stops just a few feet short of you. Tall, blonde and handsome. He looks like an American football player. “I’m Jesse Palmer, ladies and gentleman. Now, let’s meet our Bachelorette!”

He turns to you, wearing a bright smile. The cameras follow, moving closer to catch a close-up of your face, so you smile as naturally as you can and try not to flinch when Jesse moves forward to embrace you in a swift hug.

Jesse calls your name as though you’ve been friends for a long time. “So nice to finally see you. You look great.”

The camera pans down your body and back up to your face. “Likewise, Jesse.”

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

“I’m nervous! Definitely nervous, but feeling good! I’m so excited for this,” you lie. You’re dreading this process. But it’s too late to back out now. So you just hold your smile, conversing politely as Jesse makes small talk and gets to know you before the first contestant pulls up.

And you hope that if Utahime is watching, she sees the message behind your eyes screaming that you’re absolutely going to kill her.

[kookslastbutton]

Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | chapter two

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love

word count: 6.1k+

warnings: This chapter in particular is written from Yoongi's perspective, oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of body shaming by Hybe executive, bestie!tae is wonderful support 🥹, light fighting between members (literally crack), Namjoon has a little crush, Oc being a total boss at work bc she is amazing at her job, and cute & meaningful Yoon and OC interactions that make them finally start bonding (a little flirty too, hehe) 😉

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: CHAPTR TWO IS HERE! GOD...the slow burn exists outside the series too with me not updating for two months. I'm sorry guys but TYSM for your patience! I'm VERY excited to release this chapter bc I think Yoon & Oc are super cute, hehe. Okay anyway, this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

Yoongi stands with his hands placed loosely on his hip, chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath. The seven of them had been practicing choreography for their new RUN BTS song nonstop when Jimin called for a much-needed, fifteen-minute break. There’s a part of him that’s thanking the younger for it and another that’s wishing he hadn’t, as every moment left alone with his thoughts is spent decoding his last encounter with you at the cafeteria.

Why had you made such a beeline for the exit the moment he was waved over by his member?

You also completely ignored his attempts to greet you on your way out. He only stopped by the cafeteria to slip an orange in his pocket before returning to his studio. He didn’t mean to intrude or incite that you had to leave with his sudden presence.

Taehyung assured him that you merely left to tend to work matters, which he’d typically sum as hyper-fixation with one’s work as he’s prone to do the same, but this felt different at its core. Your behavior seemed more intentional than that. The last thing he wants to do is misread the whole situation, but he must’ve done or said something to cause your uneasiness.

“Hyung, how did the album meeting go this morning?” A clear voice comes from Yoongi's left as his fellow band member, Namjoon, strides next to him, water bottle clenched in his fist. Like himself, large droplets of sweat dots around the man’s brow. The minor interruption shakes Yoongi out of his slightly dazed state.

“Went well.” He takes a big swish of his own water before screwing the cap back on. “We reviewed everything in three hours and the album looks better than I anticipated. There are a couple of promotional strategies that still need finalizing, but I’m pretty confident about it overall.”

“That’s great, man. __-nim’s been doing good work with TXT for the last few years, so she’s definitely suited for the job. I thought about requesting her help to promote Indigo but the timing of it all didn’t work.” Namjoon’s voice drops an octave at the last part, as if remorseful for more than a missed professional opportunity.

“Ah, maybe your next album hyung,” Jimin suddenly chimes in, slapping the taller man on the shoulder from the side. “I have a feeling you and __-nim would work well together. Think about it, you’re both natural born leaders and you’re smart too. I bet __ -nim has as high of an IQ as you.”

Namjoon’s cheeks flush with the faintest tint of rose as Jimin flashes a knowingly cheeky grin. Yoongi, of course, witnesses the entire exchange, the slightest part of him feeling uprooted by the thought of his band member and new marketing manager suddenly hitting it off. He decides not to comment on the matter, choosing to remain in ignorance instead. This is all speculation, right?

Now that they’re all on the subject of his album though, it gets him thinking that maybe he’s been too narrow viewed regarding the reason for your off putting behavior at lunch.

D-Day’s release has become a consuming priority lately, with everyone involved worked to the bone. Aside from himself, you’ve been bearing the brunt of it. He’s appreciative of course, considering the album holds a deep sense of meaning to him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to be perfect. A little pushback during the first proposal is natural, yet he did get more resistant toward ideas during this morning’s meeting than anticipated. Perhaps some of his nitpicking was unnecessary, adding to your already heavy load.

Yoongi’s head feels worse the longer he entertains the possibility. He doesn’t want to make the first time working together a complete whirlwind, especially this early. A strong, healthy partnership starts with trust, safety, and mutual respect. The same philosophy can be applied to relationships of varying natures. That reminds him—since when did Taehyung and you become so close? He’s been ruminating over it all afternoon, like a jigsaw puzzle he can’t solve.

It’s odd how little he knows.

“I heard someone mention __-nim over here. I want in.” A small grumble leaves Yoongi’s lips as Jungkook pushes next to him, displeased by how tiny his space bubble has gotten due to the huddle his members have formed around him. Just why the hell is everyone so interested in his new marketing director? That's what he wants to know.

“Can you introduce me to her sometime hyung?" Jungkook pleads. "I’m thinking about releasing an album in the next year and it’d be great if you could hook us up…yknow?”

Oh, Yoongi knows. He knows exactly what this young buck is insinuating, but it isn’t mating season yet and even if it were he will do no such thing as to “hook them up”. Besides, his conscience tells him that you wouldn't be interested in the company of a younger man anyway—not that your dating life is any of his business or anything.

“Get in line Jungkookie, behind Namjoon. He needs her for his album first.” Jimin squeezes down on Namjoon’s muscular shoulders with both hands, shaking him just enough to hype him up. His hands are removed seconds later when he’s told to knock it off.

“That’s enough about this, okay? I’m pretty sure Yoongi-hyung is the only one who actually needs __-nim right now because, in case you dumbasses have forgotten, D-Day is set to release in April,” Namjoon scolds the two with a commanding tone. Jungkook, per usual, remains persistent in his original request and keeps his full attention on Yoongi.

“Anyway hyung, as I was saying, I know your album takes priority so I’m in no hurry to meet her. I can be pretty patient as you know-“

“Heh, that’s a lie.”

“Shove it Jimin, no one’s talking to you.” Jungkook’s eyebrows scrunch together as Jimin snorts helplessly next to Namjoon.

“You shove it Kook,” Jimin counters. “And stop trying to date __-nim! Find your own woman!”

“I’m not trying to date her! She's my noona for gods sake! Do you think I’m oblivious to how the public reacts to idols dating? Also, __-nim is a Hybe employee, not an idol. I can only imagine the type of scandal the media would spin it as.”

“Right, we all know you actually just want to take her to your bed instead,” Jimin interrupts for the umpteenth time. “Our handsome leader, on the other hand, is interested in her professional abilities. We can learn a lot from him.”

“Why are you always trying to start a fight with me Jimin? Is it because I can take you, now that I've been building up more muscle?” Jungkook’s accusations earn him nothing more than a sea of eye-rolls until Jimin lunges himself towards him, puffing out his chest the best he can to size him up.

Namjoon rubs his face with a hand, a clear visual display of his exhaustion. He’s been moderating these stupid squabbles for nine years now. “Alright very mature, biggest boy band in the world and this is what it’s come to? Amazing, congrats to everyone for winning the award for most-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Seokjin interjects, effortlessly shouting over everyone while waving his hands. “My brothers…why are we fighting over here like a couple of peacocks? We are all beautiful in our own, individual ways. Mine, for example, is my handsome face.”

“For the love of god hyung, we’re trying to settle something. Go take your inspirational pep talk elsewhere!” Jungkook bends his knees, swooping down to throw Jimin over his shoulder but he misses when the man starts tickling him ruthlessly.

“St-ah-stop it Jimin!"

“You stop it, you frickin’ brat! Trying to take advantage of our hyungs for your own selfish gain.” Jimin then slaps Jungkook on the ass which does not go unappreciated as Hoseok cackles from the other side of the room. Up until this point, he’s been scrolling on his phone, completely unbothered by the chaos. As Hoseok nears the action, Jungkook delivers a swift kick to Jimin’s rear end.

“Ow, what the fuck Kook?!” Jimin tries soothing the sting by massaging it with his hands. “You little prick!”

“Oh come on, I barely hit you. Gaining sympathy points won’t help this time, plus I see you trying to hide a grin. You think this shit is funny. You’re sick you know that?”

Jimin makes a move to return the kick to his youngest member but ends up hitting a far taller, and leaner subject instead. Taehyung, who just returned from the bathroom, throws a hand over his abdomen and grunts from the sudden impact.

“What is—shit Jimin that really hurt!” Taehyung’s baritone voice echoes off the walls as he winces from the pain. He takes a few deep breaths, then viciously eyes the two brawlers followed by the rest of the room. “What the hell is going on? I heard you all talking about __-nim from the hallway. Yoongi-hyung here is trying to kick off his album and tour, which we are supposed to be celebrating over drinks this Friday, but here you are arguing with each other and who has the biggest dick. Well, you can all put it away because as __-nim’s best friend, and number one wingman, only I’m allowed to set her up with someone and it won’t be with any of you! Sorry hyung…” he looks at Namjoon who appears to have brushed the comment off.

As soon as Taehyung ceases his mini-speech, eery silence sets in. Hoseok is the first to dare say a word.

“Uh, so what’s this about being her best friend Tae?”

“Yeah, I had no idea either.” Jimin quirks his head to the side, awaiting the details.

“Same,” Namjoon adds in a short breath.

“What happened to us, man?” Jungkook pouts at Taehyung, a total 180 from moments ago when he was in an unsolicited sparring match with Jimin. “You used to share everything with me. Now you’re holding out on me. Since when did you and __-nim start hanging out?”

Yoongi’s ears perk up for the first time since all the commotion began, curious to hear Taehyung’s response. He only recently discovered the blossoming friendship hours ago and even then, it was a brief inside look.

“I didn’t think to mention it but yeah, we started talking since her first day at Hybe. I bumped into her on the way into work, early morning for both of us. I expected her to be a bit on the reserved side, considering she was a new hire, but she was quite friendly. The more we talked, the more I felt like I knew her as if a childhood best friend I’d reconnected with.” Pausing, he wets his lips before continuing. “We share a lot of our meals together now, like our lunches during the weekday. Her food tastes amazing by the way. I think she missed her calling as a chef but it’s more than food— it’s a love language, a labor of love.”

“Wow, you two sure are connected,” Hoseok speaks first again, seeing the rest of his members working to process the new bit of info.

“Platonically, yes.”

“This’ll be good for Yoongi-hyung and his album then! No bad blood exists here!” Hoseok shifts his gaze between Taehyung and Yoongi, pleased with the outcome. The older of the two remains speechless, yet it’s far from a dazed expression. Yoongi is instead deep in thought, the wheels turning in his head.

So maybe it’s true that birds of a feather flock together, he hums to himself. The two of you seem to be social butterflies with a vase full of commonalities. He, on the other hand, prefers his solitude. That’s not to say he’s a hermit or anything though. Hybe hosts a company-wide New Year’s Eve party every single year and he’s made his best effort to attend them all. He mainly mingles with his members, but he still makes sure to small talk with other coworkers. Come to think of it, did he even see you at last year’s New Year’s Eve party?

He can’t remember much from the night except Seokjin scolding him for not wishing him a happy birthday the minute the clock struck midnight. He was a bit tipsy at that point. Taehyung disappeared soon after to make his usual rounds, stopping to chat with everyone in his path. Maybe he took off to talk to you during that time.

Okay, he really needs to stop thinking about you.

"Just to confirm, is everyone still on for Friday night to celebrate D-Day?" Jimin pipes. "I booked us a good place to have some food and drinks.

Taehyung nods, "I am, as long as it's not the same place we saw our CFO and his much younger date feeding each other. I couldn't eat for the rest of that night."

Jungkook fakes a gag before replying. "I'm sorry but does anyone know how is he still working here? Guy creeps me out."

"I swear, I couldn't agree more. Just yesterday he made an egregiously body-shaming comment toward __-nim to someone else on the board. She kept a brave front when she told me, but I'm damn tempted to get him removed from his position myself!" Taehyung's nostrils flare as he shares his frustration, fingers digging into his hips.

Yoongi takes a final chug of his water before abruptly tossing the bottle on the floor. A sharp crack resounds through the space, instantly commanding the authority of the room. “Fifteen minutes is over,” he gruffs. “It might be twenty minutes with all the bickering earlier. We don't have time to be talking about this anymore.”

“Come on now," Hoseok says. "Didn't you hear what Taehyung said? Our CFO really is a class-A jerk. I feel so bad that __-nim has to put up with his bullshit, she doesn't deserve it." His eyes frantically search the room, hoping to rally support.

"Don't worry about that asshole," Yoongi assures, "I'll handle it." He strides over to his choreographed position on the dance floor as if a leader in his own right, the rest of the members following in his steps.

"Just don't kill him, hyung," Namjoon says, resting a hand on the older's shoulder from behind. Yoongi merely snorts lightly in reply.

Yoongi is dead tired, his feet feeling heavier the minute he stands from his studio chair. He could have left hours ago, but here it is nearly 9:30 at night, and he's only just leaving the office.

As he shuffles down the hallway towards the elevator, he notices the eerie silence. It's thick, almost palpable. There's not a soul left in the building this late at night. When the elevator doors open, he leans casually against the metal rail, closes his eyes, and mentally retraces his day.

Overall, it was a decent day, he thinks, productive at best. Skipping dinner to work on his album tracks was an easy decision, but he might be paying for it now given the intense growling of his stomach. Despite his songs being considered perfect by his members, he can't help but tweak each one a final time. It's as if his gut tells him there's still a piece missing from the whole.

All at once, the elevator comes to a sudden stop. Yoongi's eyes shoot open, anticipation flooding his senses. Is someone still here? He listens intently, straining to hear any sound over the faint hum of the elevator. After a few moments that feel like an eternity, the elevator doors slide open to reveal an empty, dimly lit hallway. It's the 16th floor. He hesitates for a second, peering into the shadows, but there’s no sign of anyone. Strange.

Just as the elevator doors begin to close, Yoongi hears a distant, unmistakable voice. "Please hold the door!" you plead, your voice strained with urgency. He responds immediately, stretching out an arm to block the door. "Thank you so much," you say, slipping in beside him, your bag thrown over your shoulder.

Yoongi watches as you enter, curiosity in his eyes. It seems you were of like mind tonight, working late and likely burdened by the extra work he caused for you. The feeling of tension is as clear as it was yesterday, lingering as a reminder of the unspoken discomfort between you both.

But then again, there's that issue Taehyung mentioned, looming in his thoughts. He hadn't realized you overheard the horrendous comment his CFO made about you. No wonder you hurried away from him like a bat out of hell yesterday; you knew he knew. He wouldn't dare shine a light on the situation and risk embarrassing you further; no one needs to relive such a belittling experience. Yet, he's wrestling with the right words to say.

"Heading home, Min PD-nim?" You surprise him by speaking first, voice firm with a touch of gentleness.

Yoongi allows a faint smile to tug at the corners of his lips, hoping it'll relieve some tension. "I am, it's been quite a day. What about you?"

You nod, shifting the bag on your shoulder. "Same here. Just had to wrap up a few things before heading out."

He hesitates for a moment, noting how you speak as if it were only a few minutes past five or six in the evening. "I understand. I was working in my studio up until now. I should be back up there tomorrow too," he says, then chuckles lightly, "Sometimes I feel like I should just live up there."

You return the subtle laugh and smile softly at him, your light brown eyes catching his dark ones. It feels like the same prolonged gaze you shared upon first meeting, yet now, it's somehow become easier; perhaps a hint of familiarity.

"By the way," he continues, seizing the opportunity, "feel free to call me Yoongi-ssi. I'm not that formal in case you didn't know." He playfully gestures to his casual attire; tan cargo pants, grey plaid button-down, and sneakers.

You seem hesitant towards the request at first, evident from your delayed response. "Are you sure?" you choke. "I don't want to over step my boundaries."

"There's no need to worry about that," he assures. "We're on equal level aren't we? If we're going to be working side by side for the next eight months give or take, I want us to feel comfortable with each other. Please, call me Yoongi-ssi."

"Okay, I might need some time to get used to that," you say, head nodding, "I'll try calling you Yoongi-ssi from now on."

"There's one other thing too," he pauses, "since we'll be working on D-Day's promotion from start to finish, I'll have many of my own opinions. It's a natural instinct for me, but I don't want to be a hinderance. I don't want anyone else giving you issues either, so I'd like to hear your full thoughts on matters, especially when it comes to important decisions."

"That means a lot Yoongi-ssi, thank you. I'm very grateful that you'd allow me to be a part of this and I'd very much like us to have an equal partnership. This is your album though, so I want to make sure it gets the recognition it deserves in the way you'd prefer."

Yoongi glances at the floor numbers displayed to the right of the elevator doors. Any second now and you'll reach the lobby. He wouldn't mind talking longer, but letting you both get a decent night's sleep is the far better idea at this point.

"I trust that D-Day is in the right hands with you, __ssi," he replies. "It's why I recommended that we work together to promote it in the first place. Bang PD was also confident in the idea. We don't doubt your expertise for a second." He pauses when the elevator doors slide open and allows you to be the first to exit. "Have a good night, okay?"

For the first time, you reciprocate the wish with a full, illuminating smile. It's not a professional one, Yoongi notes, its a real one—as genuine and sincere as his words. He takes it as a sign that the tides may finally be turning for the better. "You too," he hears you say before you push through the large revolving doors and step into the cool night air.

In the evenings that follow, Yoongi finds himself back in his studio as promised, a glass of whiskey in hand. He ultimately decided that if he was going to be here until all hours of the night, he might as well have a cold beverage to keep him company.

As he leans back in his chair, swirling the dark amber liquor in his glass, his mind inadvertently wanders to you. Were you downstairs again? Were you here with him? It would seem that given your unexpected late-night encounter in the elevator, the validity of the idea wouldn't be all that wild or far-fetched.

With each passing minute, as the clock inches closer to the late hours, he finds himself circling back to the same thought. It's as if the possibility of running into you has become a highlight of his night.

Just then, a deep and familiar voice interrupts. "Burning the midnight oil again, hyung?"

Startled, Yoongi looks up to see Taehyung standing in the doorway, a sympathetic smile on his face. Despite it being almost 9 at night, his younger member is nothing short of flawless in appearance.

"Yeah, working on my tracks," Yoongi replies, offering a small smile in return. "What are you doing here?"

Taehyung steps further into the room, hand tucked in his pocket. "I wanted to stay late to keep __-nim company, but I'm not sure how much longer she plans on staying tonight. I was on my way out when I figured I'd stop by to see you too."

"Well, thanks for thinking of me. Want a drink?" He offers, nodding towards the nearby whiskey bottle.

"No, thanks," Taehyung declines politely, shaking his head. "I'll let you enjoy your whiskey in peace. Although, __-nim might take you up on that same offer one of these days. She has a strong taste for it, as you do. Anyway, I'm heading out. Don't overdo it with your music, hyung, they're already perfect."

Once Taehyung leaves the studio, Yoongi's previous string of thoughts return to him tenfold.

So you really are here, he muses, and you happen to like the same throat-burning alcohol. Should he venture downstairs and offer a drink? No, that would probably be too much, and he wouldn't want to interrupt you. Maybe if Taehyung were accompanying him, but not alone; he doesn't share enough rapport with you to merit such a spontaneous drop-in yet.

No, he takes another sip of his whiskey, he'll see you tomorrow morning instead; during your morning meeting. But that gets him thinking—he's still yet to decide on whether or not he'll make an appearance on Fallon's show. He’d done it with his members numerous times, but this would be the first time doing it alone. His album would indeed benefit from the exposure, though.

"Damn it," he curses, raising from his seat. "I work my ass off. I work my ass off for it all!" He then sits back down, finishing off the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, the burn soothing his frustration momentarily. With a resigned sigh, he turns his attention back to his music. "Damn it, I guess I'll do it."

If it weren't for his phone notification reminding him of his 10 am meeting on Friday, Yoongi would have missed it entirely. Normally, he never forgets important events, but several late nights in the studio had predictably caught up with him. He feels extremely sleep-deprived today, his memory more prone to blanking than usual. Waking up with a throbbing headache at 5 am, which hasn't dimmed in the slightest, doesn’t help either. Nonetheless, with only ten minutes to spare, Yoongi has no choice but to pull himself together and head downstairs to the conference room.

"Good morning, Min PD-nim," you greet him as he walks through the door. "We're about to start."

Yoongi drags out a chair and takes a seat. You look nice today, he notes quietly to himself. He makes sure to send a small smile your way before returning the warm greeting. "Good morning __-ssi," he says. "I told you we can speak informally didn't I?"

He waits for your response, easily tuning out the startled reactions from the rest of the team. Most high-ranking officials in the organization expected to be addressed formally by those in lower positions, but here he was, openly requesting you to speak as equals. It was almost unheard of during work hours. He was Min Yoongi, after all.

"Right, of course," you reply, "You'll have to excuse me, Yoongi-ssi. It slipped my mind for a moment."

Yoongi watches as you shuffle a few papers in your hand before continuing. "To get us started, I thought we'd discuss the decision to schedule a spot on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. Will we be proceeding with this?"

"After mauling it over I think it's a good idea for the album. Do we have an idea of when this would happen?"

"Ideally after the album releases and around the time the U.S. tour begins April 26th. I say we aim for early May. Given Fallon's show's high demand, we'll need to get a jump on this as soon as we can." You shift your attention to your digital marketing and promotions team. "So-hyun, can you reach out to the producers and see what strings we can pull?"

She nods, scribbling a quick note on her writing pad. "We'll reach out today. I'll let you know as soon as we get a response."

"Excellent, thank you. I'm glad to hear you're on board with this Yoongi-ssi. It'll be a great way to promote D-Day and attract a global audience. The more smartly we utilize our resources, the better your album will be positioned in the current market." You take a brief pause to flip through your notes again. "Speaking of resources, we'll need to start booking magazine shoots and interviews. I'm proposing we run cover pages with Marie Claire Korea and Vogue Japan."

Yoongi would be taken aback by the flood of ideas and schedules you're firing at him, all within the first fifteen minutes, if he weren't already aware of your level of competency. This is exactly why he chose you, he hums to himself, your preparedness is impressive, but not surprising.

"I presume this will take place next year?" he asks. "During their spring issues?"

"Absolutely. We'll submit inquiries soon to get the ball rolling, but having the shoots completed now would be premature. Plus, it'll take some time before there are any openings with the companies. I think we should be consistent with tour dates and have Marie Claire go out in May and Vogue ready in August of next year."

"Okay, I'm fine with all that but we'll need to have something exciting released now, don't we? I know I start my weekly lives tonight, but shouldn't there be something more we can do?"

"I agree," you reply. "That's why I wanted to propose a brand new idea that came to me a couple of nights ago while I was drafting promotional content. Anytime idols release a new album or music, it gets published on YouTube, right?"

He nods, curious on where you're heading. "Right."

"Why don't we start a talk show with you as the host Yoongi-ssi? It can allow your fans to see another side of you, as well as the general public. We can invite your BTS members as guests where you can discuss music or past challenges that you've had to overcome—the choice is yours. To make it more interesting for viewers, you can have these frank conversations over a glass of whiskey or soju."

"I like the idea," he says, weighing it in his mind. "What would the timeline look like for this?"

"If we move forward with the idea, I suggest December 5th and we continue it for a max of two months. I know that only leaves us with just under two weeks to get started, but creating the set shouldn't take more an a day or a day and a half. We can also easily shoot a 30 to 60-minute video in an afternoon and publish it on YouTube the following week. Of course, a preview of the show will need to go out beforehand."

"Would we be able to invite other guests to the show? Outside of my members, I mean."

"Yes, feel free to invite whoever you'd like. We can start with the member for the first several episodes but ultimately, welcoming a variety of guests from the same or differing industries would be the goal."

"If I may." A member of the social media team suddenly joins the discussion, "I think Kim Namjoon-nim might be a good person to feature first since Indigo releases December 2nd."

Yoongi nods in agreement. "I can ask him."

"That would be fantastic, actually. If his availability is limited, we could have him guest star for the second or third episode instead," you add. "Hoseok released Jack in the Box this summer so we could have him be the first guest as well."

"Do we have a name yet?"

"Suchwita," you answer without hesitation. "It's a play on words with Daechwita."

"Suchwita..." Yoongi repeats, "Time to get drunk." He chuckles at the last few words, amusing the room, but you remain contemplative.

"How about Suchwita...time to drink with Suga, instead? It's simple and has a slight whimsical nature."

"Sure, let's use that," he answers, noticing that you've already begun jotting down the idea. "Yours is better."

Despite the adrenaline from the productive meeting with you and your team, Yoongi still feels the weight of his sleepless nights bearing down on him. His headache remains relentless and he is in dire need of a moment to himself. Once the team disperses, he slips his phone into his pocket and makes his way outside. The crisp, early morning air should offer him some relief, along with the pack of cigarettes tucked in his pocket.

When he reaches the building's designated smoking area, Yoongi takes out a cigarette and lights it, taking a deep drag as he leans against the cool brick wall. As he exhales, watching the smoke dissipate into the clear sky, his thoughts drift back to the meeting. The idea of hosting a talk show, "Suchwita...time to drink with Suga," still lingers in his mind. It’s an intriguing concept, and he can already envision the relaxed, candid conversations that could come from it.

His thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching on the ground nearby.

"Oh, Yoongi-ssi," you say with alarm, obviously startled by his presence. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'll come back lat-"

"There's no need for that. Join me if you'd like." Yoongi watches as you hesitate to accept his offer, your feet already positioned to head back inside the building. "Seriously, there's plenty of room, and no matter what they'll tell you, I don't bite."

He allows himself to smirk as you carefully move beside him, only stopping when there is at least two feet of space between you both.

"Thanks," you say, pulling out your own pack of cigarettes and lighting one. "I needed a break too."

"Rough morning?"

"Just busy," you reply, leaning against the wall next to him. "But the meeting went well. We should be able to get the ball rolling now that we have a more finalized plan. I'm glad you liked the idea of starting Suchwita, by the way."

"I do," Yoongi says, nodding. "It has a lot of potential and I'm sure Namjoon will be more than happy to help us out. He's a natural at this kind of stuff. I guess it's why he's our band leader."

"You know you're good at all of this too, don't you, Yoongi-ssi?" You pause, taking a puff of your cigarette. "Even when you have a lot on your mind and a packed schedule, you have a knack for making people feel at ease. It's why I think producing Suchwita will be such a great way to connect with fans and other artists—you'll be the host."

He chuckles, appreciative of the remark. "You really think that? That I make people feel at ease? It's not what a lot of people assume."

"Nah," you reply, tilting your head up toward the clouds. "They're just on the outside looking in. Those who know you, who are around you and talk to you, will agree that you're a pretty calming presence."

"Well, I think we're not so different then." Yoongi shifts his eyes to your face, still looking up at the sky, and smiles softly. "So, what made you come to BigHit? Didn't you say you worked for Atlantic Records? That's a pretty good gig."

"Yeah, it was. I learned a lot there, and man, I was thrilled when I got offered the job as a brand manager. I've always loved music, ever since I was a kid. I could connect so intimately with the lyrics. Music is one of the few things that could soothe me during rough times, and it still does today. I'm sure you can understand."

Yoongi nods, intent on listening to your every word, intrigued by your story.

"Anyway, sorry about getting long-winded here" you chuckle. "I ultimately decided to move on when Bang PD reached out and offered me the marketing manager position for TXT. It gave me the chance to be a more integral part of bringing music to individuals who need it most. It's like we say, 'music for art and healing.' I'd never had the opportunity to manage a completely new set of musicians before either, let alone a group. Plus, being on the global marketing team? I couldn't turn it down."

"It makes sense why you joined us then, and I have to say, it's a blessing you did too. Music is a way of communication for me, a way I can best express my story. That includes my past, present, and hopefully future. After hearing all you shared, I don't think there's anyone else I'd trust with handling my album promos." Yoongi pauses a moment, unsure if he should ask the next thing on his mind. "How come we never met before? I mean really meet and talk?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure myself. But things have a way of falling into place when the time is right, I suppose." You're now looking at him, the intensity of your gaze mirrors his own. A gentle breeze tousles a few strands of your hair and for a split moment, Yoongi begins to understand what Taehyung meant earlier when he said it feels like he's known you his whole life, like a childhood friend he'd reconnected with. While it may not be to that extent for himself, there's a comforting warmth emanating from you that leaves him feeling strangely tranquil.

"Given the circumstances, I feel like we should have at least met through Taehyung by now," he slips out. "Or even at a company-sponsored event."

"Why, do you like me that much, Yoongi-ssi? After five days of working together?" Your playful tease catches him off guard, revealing a side of you he hadn't seen before. It's kind of cute-wait, what?

"I-"

"Sorry," you quickly interject, feeling the need to backtrack. "I shouldn't have said it like that."

"Don't worry, there's no need for apologies. And to answer your question, I like you enough." He hopes you can hear the tease in his own tone as he responds.

You both lapse into a comfortable silence for the next few minutes, the only sounds being the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of a bird. He finds all of it soothing in a way he can't quite explain.

After a few minutes, you turn to him, your expression thoughtful. "You know, if you ever need to talk or just need a break, I'm here. We're teammates now."

Yoongi looks at you, his tired eyes softening with gratitude. "Thanks, __-ssi."

You give him a reassuring smile before pushing off the wall. "I'll let you finish your cigarette. See you later? And by later, I likely mean at 9 or 10 pm in our company elevator."

"Yeah, see you later," he laughs, watching as you walk back toward the building. He takes one last inhale, extinguishing the cigarette and letting the remaining smoke escape his lips slowly.

Yeah, he likes you just enough.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed it! Lmk what you think 🥰

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[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 11

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, descriptions of alcohol and underage drinking, mentions of homophobic slurs, descriptions of marijuana use, men being creepy in general, drama between exes, descriptions of an anxiety attack, mentions of nausea and vomiting, minors do not interact

word count: 10.2k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-if if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

Freshman Year, Fall

You’d never been to a college party, much less a frat party. The extent of your knowledge was taught by cheesy and likely inaccurate movies where all the characters were all played by 30-year-olds pushing 40. But after the shit show that was your senior year of high school, you were looking forward to celebrating your newfound freedom through underage drinking and close-quartered gyrating.

Your roommate's name was Tara Maclay, a honey-blonde tomboy who wore baggy clothing and had a foul but amusing mouth. Your first few days involved polite conversation and awkward apologies when you’d accidentally invade the other’s personal space. However, after a late night of deep conversation, you’d discovered that you were both lesbians and felt a friendship click almost immediately.

During yet another freshman orientation, this time for your dorm held by your RAs in one of the lounges, you’d both befriended a few other girls who also resided in your building, Wilson Valley. The first you’d met was a girl named Astrid. She was tall, skinny, and had long black & blonde braids that swayed gracefully every time she moved. You couldn’t help but notice the way Tara eyed her, nudging her playfully to break her out of her slack-jawed loser lesbian stupor.

Astrid had greeted you both sweetly and introduced you to a couple more girls she’d already met: Sidney and Rebecca, who happened to live right in the same hall as you and Tara. Astrid mentioned she had a roommate as well, who couldn’t come to the meeting. You vaguely recalled she said her name was Dina.

After your RAs ended the meeting and dismissed the rest of the residents, your newfound group lingered in the lounge. You continued to chat lightly about nonsensical topics like new classes and room assignments and the campus until Rebecca mentioned a party being thrown the next night.

“My roommate Kristen mentioned that this frat is having a ‘Start of the Year’ party or something tomorrow!” She said, settling into one of the ratty couches. “Not sure if you guys would be interested in that, but I thought that would be cool to go to, even just for the experience.”

Tara grimaced before saying, “An excuse for asshole, predatory frat guys to prey on freshman girls?”

“Could maybe still be fun, though,” Astrid mused. “Nice excuse to get fucked up and all.”

“Well, I guess the free booze isn’t so bad.” Tara quickly said, changing her tune instantly. You chuckled quietly at her.

“What’s the frat?” You asked.

“Uhh,” Rebecca pondered for a moment. “I think… Sigma… something? I honestly don’t remember. I’ll ask Kristen later.”

“All of them just sound the same anyway,” Sidney shrugged, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the carpeted floor next to the couch. “I’m totally up for it if you guys go, though. Good way to be social. I don’t really have friends around here just yet.”

You turned towards her.

“We’re all your friends, so you do now.” You said, smiling at her.

Sidney returned your smile with a wide one of her own.

You’d already set out your desired outfit on your bed for the Sigma Eta party when you sat by your desk, applying your makeup. Behind you, Tara was clumsily rummaging through her clothes, cursing under her breath as she kept changing her mind about her party attire.

“What the fuck do you even wear to frat parties, dude?” She said, throwing yet another unfolded, creased shirt into her dresser.

“Honestly, I don’t really know. I’ve mostly gone to high school theatre cast parties, and I don’t think those really count as real parties.” You replied, lightly brushing a small spoolie through one of your eyebrows.

“Am I supposed to look fucking nice, or—?”

“Just be yourself!” You jokingly said.

Through your makeup mirror, you saw Tara give you an annoyed grimace in the reflection. You laughed.

“That’s stupid ass advice.” She groaned in frustration.

“Sorry!” You apologized in jest. “I mean, you’re not really there to attract guys. Don’t have to be all dressed up and all if you don’t want to be.”

“You’re getting all dressed the fuck up.” Tara pointed out, motioning towards your outfit on the bed.

“I just like looking nice,” You shrugged. “Just for myself, not really for anyone else. Like I said, you don’t have to get all dressed up if you don’t want to. Unless there’s someone you’re trying to impress.”

“I mean, I didn’t say that…” She grumbled, almost indiscernible underneath her breath.

“Oh?” You said, momentarily pausing your makeup routine to turn towards her with an eyebrow raised. “Why? Is there a certain someone you wanna look good for?” You inquired.

Tara refused to meet your inquisitive eyes as she fidgeted with another shirt’s buttons between her hands.

“I knew it!” You laughed, pointing the makeup brush you held in your hand towards her. “You like Astrid!”

“No, I fucking do not!” Tara responded defensively.

“You have a crush on Astrid,” You said in a sing-song voice. “You have a crush on Astrid!”

“Shut the fuck up, dude!”

“You think she’s pretty, you want her to have your babies!” You continued to sing, cackling as you turned back to your desk to resume your eye makeup.

“I will physically fight you, you dick!” Tara warned noncommittally.

“Save all those kinky threats for your new girlfriend.” You chuckled as you effortlessly blended two shades of eyeshadow with one another.

“Ugh,” She groaned as she flopped down on her bed. “She’s so fucking straight though. Like, painfully fucking straight. Like, not just heterosexual. Barbie heterosexual.”

“First of all,” You said as you set down the makeup brush in your hand to grab your setting spray. “Barbie is so gay, so that point is useless.”

“Barbie is not fucking gay, man.” Tara argued.

“Barbie is a lesbian with comphet and Ken is her lavender marriage boyfriend,” You disagree, fanning your freshly sprayed face. “Secondly, Astrid is one hundred percent a dyke too.”

“Did you fucking see her, dude?”

“Yes, I did. I have eyes, Tara.”

“Yes, I do too.”

“But not a good enough gaydar though, it looks like.”

“What the fuck!”

“Trust me, Tara,” You said, turning towards her once more to look her straight in the eyes. “There is not a single straight bone in that girl’s body, I guarantee it. If you weren’t so busy checking her out before, you would have noticed it too. Might have even noticed that she was also checking you out.”

“Wait. Hold the fuck up, seriously?” Tara said, perking up for a second before suddenly looking nervous.

“Dude, this is no time to be a fucking pussy! She’s really pretty and seems to like you back. Just get to know her tonight!”

“You think she’s pretty?” She asked.

“I mean, yeah, of course. She is gorgeous.” You admit. “But you’re okay, I’m not competition. She’s not my type, trust me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, kind of discovered after my last relationship that I’m more into like, masc and butch lesbians.”

“Oh?” Tara said intriguingly, abandoning her search for appropriate clothing to take a seat on her bed. “How do you mean exactly?”

“Well,” You said, twirling your eyeliner pen in between your fingers as you turned in your chair to face her again. “My ex-girlfriend was a little bit more feminine than masculine. And I mean, I guess I was attracted to her in different kinds of ways, but I think that I was drawn more to her personality than her looks.”

You sighed before continuing.

“Which, obviously, I think is very important, but I also believe that you’ve gotta be physically attracted to who you’re with too, you know? Not in a shallow way or anything. But I don’t think I really ever felt that click with her, even at the start. It was just another unrealistic expectation I had of her that ultimately cemented the end of our relationship.”

Tara hummed in understanding.

“So why masculine lesbians, then? I’m just curious as someone who presents more as masculine but who tends to like more feminine girls.” She asked.

You pondered her question for a few moments, considering your response.

“There’s just… I don’t know, there’s just something so bold and alluring about a woman who completely rejects femininity in every possible way. We’re all expected to fill that role of being gentle and ladylike, and I think it’s just so attractive when a girl openly says ‘fuck you’ to that and presents the way she actually wants to, not the way the rest of the world expects of her. I love it when women are exclusively masculine, almost like they’re showing men how it’s supposed to be done. I think it’s just so hot and charming and sexy.”

“Ooh, so you think I’m sexy and shit?” Tara teases, wiggling her eyebrows at you as you conclude your mini-speech.

“No, you’re way too much of a loser lesbian who can’t even tell the difference between a straight girl and a femme lesbian.”

“Hey, not too fucking much now!” Tara said indignantly.

You laughed loudly before going back to applying your winged eyeliner.

A few moments later, you heard a knock followed by Astrid, Rebecca, and her roommate Kristen after you shouted that your door was unlocked. Kristen, a short and perky girl with her dirty blonde hair up in two long pigtails, introduced herself and said that her friend Mina was also tagging along later on, in addition to two other people she didn’t mention.

It was incredibly amusing to you how red and flustered Tara became as a result of Astrid’s sudden appearance. You even felt a little bit giddy yourself when Astrid graciously offered to help pick out an outfit for Tara to wear for tonight’s party.

It wasn’t long after the three girls arrived that Sidney joined the rest of your group, having done herself up a bit as well in a short, pink dress and pieces of curly hair styled to fall from her space buns. You all enthusiastically complimented her and hyped her up, to which she blushed.

You were the last one to finish getting ready, the rest of your new friends every now and again watching you finish your makeup routine as they all chatted animatedly. They all gawked in awe at the way you’d artistically dolled up your face, Kristen commenting that Michaelangelo couldn’t have painted colours the way you did your eyeshadow (to which you humourously and geekily remark that he was more of a sculptor than a painter). The girls all loudly squealed at how expertly you applied your fake eyelashes within mere seconds, you chuckling to yourself at how easily amused they seemed to be.

As all the girls began to pre-game with a bottle of Bacardi spiced rum Kristen had brought, you threw on the rest of your outfit: a long-sleeved, lacy and see-through white top with a black bra underneath, a black mini-skirt with side pockets, and your favourite knee-high black boots. You joined in the drinking festivities before Astrid checked the time and her messages then suggested you all head out to meet Kristen’s friend Mina and head towards the Sigma Eta party.

You all squeezed into a rickety, old elevator located in the middle of the hallway and headed down to the first floor of your building. As the elevator doors opened up to the lobby, Kristen broke off from the rest of the group when she spotted another girl waiting with two guys by the front doors. Kristen squealed happily and gave her a tight hug before introducing her friend to the rest of you.

Mina was a girl with short kinky blonde hair that reached just above her shoulders. She wore a white halter top with dark blue jeans accompanied by black pumps. To her left was a short, brown-haired guy with a plain, blue button-down and a pair of salmon-coloured shorts; to her right was a tall, dark-haired boy wearing an orange Hawaiian shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans.

“Good evening, fellow freshman cuties,” Mina said before gesturing to her hand to her own company, introducing them respectively. “This is Fred, and this is Jesse.”

The two boys smiled and nodded in greeting.

“Mina’s brother actually used to be in the fraternity that’s throwing the party we’re going to tonight before he graduated last year.” Kristen explained to your group.

“Yeah, Fred here is a friend of my brother’s. He was the one who told me about the party.” Mina added.

“Oh, that was really nice of you.” Astrid said, giving Fred a polite smile. He smiled back, not before eyeing her keenly up and down.

“Thought I’d introduce Mina to college life the proper way.” Fred replied cockily, patting Mina hard on the back in a brotherly fashion. Mina rolled her eyes.

“Let’s head out, chicas!” Kristen announced, beckoning your large group towards and out the front doors.

The trip to the Sigma Eta frat house wasn’t very long, but it felt like it to you at the beginning. Tara had broken off from your side when she was able to garner enough courage and nervously converse with Astrid, who was chatting back animatedly while ignoring Fred’s futile attempts to flirt with her. Kristen and Mina were enthusiastically catching up with each other, and Rebecca, who noticed Sidney’s shy and reserved demeanour, began kindly engaging her in a conversation to help her open up and get to know her. This left you to yourself for a while.

You were excited to be branching out socially and making friends, but it was difficult not to feel like you were out of your league in this rather abundant group of acquaintances. Being accustomed to smaller circles of friends and having gone through a recent ordeal with former friends, you weren’t quite sure how to politely insert yourself without seeming like a burden or nuisance.

The other guy Mina had brought along, Jesse, seemed to notice your silent predicament. He was a tall, muscular Asian man who had jet-black hair and kind eyes. You and your friends were approaching a nearby bus stop when he first spoke to you.

“So, this is your first real party, huh?”

You almost jumped, surprised that someone was speaking to you.

“Oh! Umm, yeah,” You responded sheepishly. “Is it really that obvious?”

“A little, but it’s alright,” He chuckled. “I’m Jesse, by the way. What was your name again?”

You smiled meekly as you introduced yourself.

“I’ll be sure to remember that.” He said with a friendly, assuring grin.

You weren’t sure what it was about this guy Jesse, what it was about him that made you like him instinctively. Men generally made you feel uncomfortable, and you almost never had any guy friends. But something in your gut was telling you that he was genuine, someone you could trust.

“So do you go to these kinds of frat parties a lot?” You asked in an attempt to be social.

“Sometimes,” Jesse replied. “Don’t really like this specific frat we’re going to, but I’m supposed to be helping this friend of mine link up with some guy who’ll be there. Do you smoke pot?”

“Why do you ask? Are you a cop?” You joked.

“Oh, absolutely. That is precisely why I am tagging along with a bunch of underage freshmen to a booze-filled shitty, frat party as someone who is also currently underage.” He chuckled.

You smiled at him.

“Yeah, I smoke,” You eventually replied. “I don’t really have a solid plug out here just yet though.”

“Well, my friend is a dealer and the guy we’re meeting up with tonight actually grows nearby, so we’re gonna see if my friend can work with him. She needs to procure some more fresh ‘merchandise’ or whatever.” He said, making air quotes upon saying the word ‘merchandise.’ “If you’re looking for a regular plug, I can introduce you to her later.”

“That’d be perfect, honestly,” You replied. “Don’t know how I’ll be able to get through freshman year of college without the influence of drugs.”

“Trust me, I get it,” Jesse said. “I had to make do with second-rate dealers as a freshman last year ‘cause my old dealer back home is obviously far away. Everyone around here either charges way too much or their shit is completely dry and weak.”

“Damn,” You replied. “But you think your friend’s got better connections?”

“Well, we’re going to see. But she’s real great about finding good strains and shit. Hopefully, things work out tonight.”

“I hope so too. I don’t wanna try and find another dealer out here, and then it turns out they’re creepy or something. And I trust you and your faith in your friend.”

“Yeah?” Jesse said curiously. “That’s very nice of you.”

You shrugged and gave him a warm smile.

The rest of the trip to the Sigma Eta house was much more enjoyable now that you seemed to find a friend in Jesse. You clicked instantly with him: discussing where you were both from, what your majors were, what there was to do around and outside of the campus. He even gave you tips on how to navigate college as a freshman, having gone through it himself already the previous year. It comforted you that this person you’d just met already seemed adamant about looking out for you in a friendly, platonic manner.

As your group walked down the sidewalk that led to multiple houses where other college students resided, you spotted bright, strobing lights coming from a house towards the end of the street. The sounds of loud party music and boisterous chatter grew louder the further down you ventured. You finally came up to a house where several cars were haphazardly and crookedly parked out front and an assortment of other college kids loitered around the porch, most holding red solo cups filled to the brim.

Before you all stepped foot onto the front porch of the house, Astrid suddenly stopped and turned around to face the whole group.

“Hey, can we take a quick pic of all of us attending our first-ever college party? I wanna capture the memory of getting fucked up with my new dorm besties!” She gushed excitedly.

“You know, this actually isn’t my first college party.” Kristen chuckled, but Mina nudged her in the ribs.

“You know what she means, you killjoy. Come on, let’s all take a selfie!”

All the girls gathered together and began to link arms or embrace each other around the waist or drape their arms over each other’s shoulders. You turned towards Jesse, who was texting rapidly on his phone.

“So, selfie time?” You asked him.

“Nah, you guys go ahead. I think I’m gonna go find my friend inside ‘cause I’m pretty sure she’s here already. Plus I don’t wanna get in the way of you and your friends.”

“You’re my friend too,” You asserted boldly. “Come here and get in the picture with us, new friend.”

Jesse flashed you a warm smile and relented without any further argument.

Astrid held up her phone at a 45-degree angle towards the starry, night sky, angling it so she could get the whole group in the frame (except for Fred, whom she made very little effort to include in the picture, him standing at the edge of the group and desperately trying to have his face captured as well). You and Jesse stood right next to each other, and you allowed yourself to put a hand behind his back in an almost half-hug. You let out a partly genuine smile as Astrid said “Cheese!” and snapped a few photos of your group. After she sent the pictures to you and the rest of the girls in a mass group text (which she then promptly named “Wilson Crew ❤️‍🔥” after the dorm you were all living in), you and your new friends finally ventured into the Sigma Eta frat house.

The deafening noise of terrible EDM and the smell of sweat that filled the thick air was almost enough to make you regret coming out. But the rest of your group tittered in anticipation, so you feigned excitement as you all ventured further into the house.

You entered the dining room where a long, wooden table had been turned into a small, makeshift beer-pong court. There were several people gathered around it, whether as spectators or players. You watched as a girl in a ponytail whooped after she effortlessly bounced a ping-pong ball onto the table and into a red solo cup on her opponent’s side. Several bystanders cheered in response as a frat guy on the other side of the table cursed in jest and promptly chugged from the cup.

“Dina!” Astrid mused excitedly, approaching the girl. She gave her a tight hug, which the girl named Dina affectionately returned.

Dina was an incredibly pretty girl with tan skin and black, wavy hair. Beneath thick, dark eyebrows were a pair of beautiful brown eyes that looked extremely warm and welcoming. Being Astrid’s roommate, it’d have been an obvious guess that she was a freshman too like the rest of you. But she exuded this air of boldness and spunk that made it seem like she was a vetted college student. You noticed that several onlookers, mostly men, had been eyeing her shiftily and curiously.

“I thought you said you weren’t coming!” Astrid scolded her playfully.

“Well, I honestly wasn’t, but a friend of mine had been trying to persuade me to come and—” Dina began before breaking off suddenly.

Her eyes had wandered towards your group of friends and fell on Jesse who was standing right next to you. The wide smile on her face faltered as her animated expression turned into one of shocked recognition. You turned towards Jesse who had suddenly gone rigid and stone-faced. You looked back at the girl Dina who blinked back to reality and began to stutter.

“I-I’m g-gonna catch up with you later, okay?” She said to Astrid before making her way towards the back of the house.

“Ah, shit,” You heard Jesse mutter under his breath. “Goddamn it.”

“You know her?” You questioned him.

“That… was my ex-girlfriend Dina. Childhood and high school sweetheart.” He explained.

“Oh, shit.” You uttered.

“Hey, I’m… I’m gonna be right back, okay?” He said to you before quickly heading towards the direction that Dina had gone in.

You watched as he left you behind with your friends who began to gossip amongst themselves curiously about the exchange that had just occurred.

You’d been standing in the kitchen by yourself for the past five minutes, attempting to finish a drink in your hand that you’d reluctantly poured from an orange cooler on the counter. After they’d downed a couple of shots, the rest of the girls had tried to convince you to come to the basement where the dancing was primarily taking place. You declined and said that you needed a minute or two, promising you’d find them later. Though it was still relatively early in the evening, you were already feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated. You’d been faking plenty of smiles and forcing tight-lipped laughter all night; it was getting more tiring to feign excitement, especially now that the new friend you’d made tonight had not made a reappearance since quickly running after his ex-girlfriend.

Sighing, you refilled your red solo cup with the same unknown alcoholic contents from the cooler. You weren’t particularly enjoying the drink, completely confused as to what it was in the first place, but it was at least giving you something to do. As you continued to sip from your cup, you decided to venture towards the backyard where you figured Jesse had walked off.

Squinting past the darkness illuminated by the moonlight and the strobing lights peeking through the house’s windows, you scanned the numerous figures occupying the grassy lawn. You eventually spotted Jesse’s tall, dark silhouette after a minute or two, seeing that he was in a seemingly heated discussion with the pretty girl Dina. Deciding that this was a lover’s quarrel that you probably shouldn’t get in between, you find your tired, aching feet take you back inside the house.

You felt the temperature change back from brisk chilliness to throbbing heat from the pheromones in the musky air. Unsure of where to go, you walked back to the kitchen where you found a couple pressed up against each other in the spot you previously occupied. You grimaced at their pre-coital positioning and how they seemed to be swallowing each other’s faces before retreating from the room. Having no interest in watching the new round of beer-pong that several people had started again in the dining room, you settled for finding sanctuary elsewhere.

Finding an empty spot on a wall in the living room, you leaned up against it and took a generous sip from your cup. Though you didn’t have high expectations beforehand, the night was still going quite poorly. You cursed yourself silently for not having a sufficient social battery to socialize with your friends at the party nor enough courage to endure your overwhelming surroundings. You were contemplating whether you should rejoin the group after all in their close-quartered gyrating in the basement when you suddenly felt an invisible pull from across the room that called to you and compelled your head to instinctively turn in its direction.

Your eyes simultaneously met a pair of ocean green ones. The sounds of terrible music and overlapping chitchat immediately vanished when you saw her. You watched as her eyes scanned your face just as you scanned hers. The handsome stranger began to look you up and down before the left corner of her lips turned up in a crooked smile. Your cheeks burned in bashfulness and you tore your eyes away from her to stare at the ground and take another sip from your drink.

You felt your throat close up, your breathing hitch, and your entire body going up in flames. It felt as if someone had shot you through the chest with an arrow, aiming for and perfectly hitting where your heart was located. You felt utterly bare and naked in front of all these strangers, suddenly prey to a strange emotion that felt completely foreign to you. It was intoxicating, like you were completely wonderstruck within seconds of being in this stranger’s presence.

When you eventually felt her eyes wander elsewhere, you dared glance at her once more. She was incredibly handsome: her auburn hair partly tied up in a bun, cheeks adorned with freckles as if an angel had hand-painted them itself, broad shoulders that suggested a muscular frame underneath an old, brown motorcycle jacket she was wearing. She was sitting on this ratty old couch, manspreading in the middle as she noncommittally nodded at the people standing beside her. Her slender, long fingers were expertly wrapping a few rolling papers on the table in front of her. As she brought a joint up to her lips to lick it closed, her eyes flicked up once again to look at you. Embarrassed that you were caught shamelessly staring, you quickly focused your gaze in a different direction. From the corner of your eyes, you could see her chuckling.

The girl muttered something to her nearby companions before making her way across the room to you. Your drumming heartbeat echoed each of her steps, getting louder and louder in your chest the closer she got. You didn’t allow yourself to look her way again until she was right in front of you.

“Hey.” She said, voice rough and husky.

“Hi.” You responded, trying not to sound too flustered over this extremely attractive stranger approaching you to engage in conversation.

“You all alone tonight?” She asked.

“Not exactly,” You responded truthfully. “My friends are around here somewhere.”

“Oh?” She said, cocking her head slightly to the side as she crossed her arms.

“Yeah. I think downstairs, humping and gyrating with everyone else.” You joked.

She chuckled.

“Not your type of thing?”

“Not really,” You said. “I wasn’t in the mood tonight to get felt up by some horny frat guy trying to shove his limp-dick boner up against my ass.”

The girl let out a genuine laugh accompanied by a toothy grin.

“You’re funny.” She commented. You returned her smile with one of your own.

“Wanna come sit on the couch?” She asked. “You honestly look like you’re about to collapse at any second.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t really the best idea to wear a really nice pair of high heels to some crappy fraternity party.”

“Well, hey, they look good on you, so not a total loss.”

“Yeah?” You questioned, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” She smirked. “Anyway, come sit with me on this ugly ass couch. I promise I won’t try to shove my dick up your ass or anything.”

“Aww, you’re not? I was going to say yes, but if you’re not gonna shove your dick up my ass...” You teased boldly.

Even under the dim lights of the party, you thought you saw traces of pink appear underneath her freckles as she smiled. You felt your own cheeks burning.

“Come on, pretty girl.” She chuckled, leading you towards the sofa.

She sat back down in the middle but didn’t manspread this time to make room for you to sit comfortably next to her. Her body faced towards your direction, indicating to her companions that she was disinterested in any further conversation with them. Both your hands gripped onto your red solo cup tightly like it was your life-saving anchor. Your body tensed up from being so close to this handsome stranger whose name you didn’t even know yet.

Almost as if she read your mind, she introduced herself.

“I’m Ellie.”

You smiled nervously as you gave her your name.

“So,” She began. “You a freshman too, huh?”

“Yeah,” You hummed. “First ever college party.”

“Oh?” She said, reaching for one of her joints on the table.

“Mhmm,” You respond. “Not really as exciting as people have been making it out to be.”

“What, you’re not impressed by the repulsive smell of jungle juice and shitty trap music and the giant, sweaty orgy going on in the basement?”

“Eww,” You giggled, scrunching up your nose in disgust. “No, I wouldn’t really say that I’m impressed, exactly.”

Ellie chuckled before offering you the joint she was holding.

“You smoke?”

“Yeah, I do. But are you sure? I don’t wanna waste your weed.”

“I never mind smoking out pretty girls for free every now and again.” Ellie shrugged.

You ignored the way your heart fluttered as you placed your cup down and took the joint from her. You ignored the sudden, electric spark when you felt her skin brush against yours. You ignored how her own breathing seemed to hitch at that same moment before she pulled away from you to grab her lighter from a front pocket of her motorcycle jacket.

You placed the joint in between your lips, trying not to think about the fact that Ellie’d just sealed it a minute or two ago with her tongue. Ellie cupped her left hand around the tip while her right hand flicked on the lighter. Your eyes wandered from the budding flame to her eyes, which were already watching you. Her stare caught you off-guard that you almost forgot to inhale. You leaned away from her, both to blow the smoke in a different direction and to nervously catch your breath from how intimately close she was to you.

“So?” She inquired, reclining back and throwing her arm behind you on the back of the couch.

“Mm?” You hummed in question as you took another puff of the joint.

“How do you like the j?”

“Hmm,” You say after releasing another breath of smoke. “It’s… fine.”

“Just fine?” She asked, looking playfully offended.

“What!” You said, giggling and handing her back the joint. “It’s just a regular, old j! What else would you like me to say?”

“What, do you smoke some fancy ass weed with gold and diamonds and shit where you’re from?” Ellie chuckled.

“Sorry! I guess I’m just used to something very particular.”

“Oh, yeah?” She asked, cocking up an eyebrow, the one that you’d noticed had a slit right through it. “What do you mean by that exactly?”

“I usually lace my own js with lavender buds,” You explained. “Makes it taste better, in my opinion, and it helps me relax.”

“Really? Lavender, huh? I’ve never heard of someone doing that before.”

“A little trick I learned from an ex-girlfriend.” You clarified, pretending that you didn’t throw in that last word on purpose.

“That so?” She replied. You could have sworn that she had moved slightly closer the moment you mentioned having an ex-girlfriend.

“Mhmm. Lavender’s my favourite, but I’ve tried lacing them with other herbs and plants too.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“I’ve done rose petals and passionflowers before. Gives them a much better flavour. Sage is good too if you wanna destress and all. And apparently, hibiscus and jasmine are, well…” Your sentence is cut short by a slightly drunken giggle emerging from your lips.

“Are what?” Ellie prompted you.

“Umm, they’re good too.”

“Good for what, exactly?”

You handed the joint back to her before responding.

“I heard that they’re supposedly good aphrodisiacs.” You nearly whispered.

Ellie smiled slyly, taking the joint back without breaking eye contact.

“Interesting” is all she says before taking a huge puff.

Whether it was the mysterious alcohol finally kicking in or the sudden presence of marijuana in your system, you felt a surge of sudden confidence flood your senses. You wanted to impress this strange girl, you wanted her to like you. And yet somehow, it feels almost as if you’d already met before.

“By the way,” Ellie began. “I really love your eye makeup. You did it yourself?”

“Thanks,” You smiled. “Yeah, I did.”

“That’s seriously fucking impressive. I’ve never been into makeup and girly shit like that, but I know it must take a fuck ton of talent to do it.”

“Nah,” You waved off before picking up your red solo cup from the table and drinking from it. “It’s really not that hard to learn. I taught myself how to do it for the most part.”

“That’s even more fucking impressive.” She stated simply. You gave her a sheepish smile before uttering another quiet thanks.

Before either of you could speak again, the guy leaning against the arm of the couch next to Ellie turned towards her.

“Yo, Williams, Chang here yet?” He asked.

“Really don’t know, man. He said he would be.”

“Damn. Call him or something.”

“Call him yourself. I’m not his mother.”

The guy tsked in irritation before returning to a conversation with his companions.

“Nice friends you got there.” You said out loud without thinking.

“We just got a mutual friend in common, that’s all,” Ellie replied, shrugging and taking another puff. “My best friend knows like, half the people who go to this school.”

You nodded in acknowledgement as she continued.

“Most people are usually disappointed that I’m not as nice as him.”

“You’re not?”

“Nah, apparently I’m ‘antagonistic’ and ‘mean’ and just really fucking rude.” She chuckled.

“Doesn’t seem like that to me.” You commented.

“Well, we just met,” She smirked. “Just wait a little while.”

“What, are you planning on being really mean to me in the future, Ellie?” You quipped.

She shrugged and you chuckled.

Both immensely absorbed in your engaging and private conversation, you weren’t quite sure exactly how long you and Ellie were sitting in that dirty living room on that ratty, old couch. You talked about the classes and professors you had in common, bonded over your shared love of music and the instruments you both played, laughed at all of the dumb and silly jokes she made.

At one point in the night, Tara emerged from the basement, all buzzed and sweaty. She scanned the living room, having been worried that she nor none of the rest of your friends had seen you since you’d all first arrived at the house. Upon spotting you sitting so intimately to Ellie, her whispering something in your ear and you boisterously laughing, Tara smiled and retreated back to the basement.

Ellie was beginning to tell you about her hometown when your conversation was suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Hey, yo, El!” You heard Jesse say from behind you.

You turned around to see a jovial expression on his face that didn’t quite meet his serious eyes. He was smiling in greeting, but it seemed like whatever occurred in the private conversation he had with the girl Dina rattled him in some way.

“Yo, Jess,” Ellie said, waving him over. “Been wondering where the fuck your ass has been this whole time, man.”

“Ahh, well, I kind of… got detained by D…” He admitted as he approached the couch before spotting you sitting next to Ellie. “Oh, shit! You guys know each other?”

“What, you don’t know that we’re lifelong best friends?” Ellie said, winking at you. You turned away as you bit your lip, attempting to hide the smile on your face and the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Now, hang on, I thought we were lifelong best friends?” Jesse gasped playfully, putting one hand on his hip and gesturing between you and him mockingly.

“Sorry dude, I claimed her already.” Ellie said, smirking.

You tried to ignore Jesse’s mumble of “greedy whore” towards Ellie in between loud, fake coughs.

“Anyway, you saw D? Are you okay?” Ellie said, her tone more serious now.

“I mean, I guess,” Jesse sighed. “Thought she wasn’t tagging along tonight, but I guess she did.”

“Sorry, man, I really thought you knew.”

“It’s cool. I was gonna end up seeing her at some point. Might wanna check up on her, though.”

“She okay?”

“I think so, but you know how she can be.”

“Where’d she run off to know?”

“I think she said that she was gonna go hang out with her roommate or something for the rest of the night.”

“I’ll text her, see where she is.”

“Oh, umm,” You said, awkwardly speaking up. “My friend Astrid is her roommate, so I think your friend Dina went downstairs to the basement.”

Both Ellie and Jesse looked slightly taken aback at your short degree of separation.

“Sorry,” You apologized as you looked down at your hands in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to insert myself.”

“Hey,” Ellie assured, nudging your shoulder with hers. “Didn’t I just say that we’re lifelong best friends?”

You looked up at her and smiled with appreciation at her thoughtfulness.

Ellie, realizing they’d been leaving you out of their conversation, quickly filled in the blanks.

“Our other lifelong best friend Dina got dumped by this asshole joker right here a little while back. It was a bit of a messy break-up.”

“I haven’t always been the smooth and suave man that you see before you today.” Jesse quipped.

“Never have been, dumbass.” Ellie added. Jesse gave her a scowl, which she mockingly returned.

“Anyway,” She continued. “Now I’ve been stuck being the middle man for the past year or so ‘cause these two clowns don’t know how to talk about their motherfucking feelings.”

You chuckled at Ellie’s choice of words.

“I’m sure she’s okay if she’s with your friend, though. This Astrid girl nice?” Ellie inquired.

“Oh, she’s the absolute sweetest.” You affirmed.

“Well, I trust your judgment. I’ll give her some time and check up on her after.” Ellie concluded, giving you a half-smile.

It was so curious how these people you’d known only for a few hours seemed to somehow trust you so intimately and almost blindly. Besides your cousin Rafael who’s known you since birth, you’d never clicked so well with anyone else in your life. You felt a quiet warmth in your chest, feeling as if you had been soulmates with these people in a past life.

“Might as well,” Jesse said, looking down at his buzzing phone. “Eugene’s contact said he’s here. He’s out back if you still wanna talk to him.”

You suddenly felt naive, not realizing sooner that Ellie was the dealer friend Jesse had been talking to you about earlier in the evening. Her previous rolling of papers and multiple joints should have been a dead giveaway, but you were far too mesmerized by Ellie and her charm and her ocean green eyes to give much notice to your current surroundings.

“Ah, shit, I totally forgot,” Ellie cursed.

She looked at you.

“Umm, do you wanna come with? It’ll probably be boring as shit, but—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” You said, waving her off. “It sounds pretty important. Jesse was telling me earlier that you needed to meet up with him.”

Ellie turned towards him, an annoyed look on her face.

“Now, why are you going around telling my business to everyone?” She asked him.

“It’s fun.” Jesse joked. Ellie rolled her eyes.

“If, uh, you wanna stick around, this probably won’t take long. I’ll see you after?” She said guiltily. You gave her a soft smile.

“Ellie, please go ahead. I’m a big girl; I can be left alone for two seconds.”

She chuckled at your words as she stood up from her seat next to you, not before brushing her hand and her knee against yours. You wondered silently if she did so by accident.

“See you in a bit, pretty girl.” Ellie said, winking at you.

You watched as she and Jesse walked off towards the backyard of the house. Once they were out of sight, you sighed quietly.

You realized that you were all alone tonight once again, this time through no fault of your own. Not knowing what else to do, you leaned back into the sagging sofa and pulled out your phone from a pocket of your skirt. As you waited for your companions to return, you scrolled mindlessly through different social media outlets for a while until your entertainment was exhausted and eventually settled on Instagram. After a couple of minutes of looking through your friends’ stories and posts, sending likes and comments every now and again, you see something that suddenly makes your stomach drop.

Still not fully over the results of the disastrous break-up with your high school ex-girlfriend, you hadn’t unfollowed or blocked her on social media just yet. You realized in the moment what a grave mistake that was when you came across a post with several photos of her and all your former friends at some party with a couple of unknown people included. Hot tears formed in your eyes when, while swiping through the many images, you encountered one picture with your ex-girlfriend’s arms wrapped around a strange girl you didn’t recognize. Their physical intimacy and stances suggested something more than just friendship.

You suddenly felt the urge to throw up and you immediately rose from your seat in search of a nearby bathroom. Eventually, you came across a small one towards the front of the house and wrenched it open, feeling lucky that it was presently unoccupied. Leaning over the grimy sink, the feeling of nausea subdued from what you figured was a result of separating yourself from the overstimulation of the party. Still, your hands and neck felt clammy. You felt as if you couldn’t breathe, no matter how hard you inhaled and exhaled.

You raised your head up to look at yourself in the murky mirror. Thick tears threatened to fall from the corners of your eyes. Pieces of hair stuck to your forehead with nervous sweat. Lips were trembling and shakingly releasing laboured breaths.

Leaving your past behind was not as simple as you believed it could be. The past several months had been a personal hell for you, having been abandoned to be lonely and companionless by people you loved. After a messy break-up with someone who suddenly broke your heart, a result of two young, dumb kids attempting to be much more mature than they actually were, your entire friend group ended up choosing her in the aftermath. It left you completely grief-stricken and betrayed, not expecting the people you believed cared for you to cast you aside so quickly and easily.

You’d spent the entire summer after graduating high school healing and recovering from such a loss, and you’d genuinely believed that you came to your new school fully mended. But as you stood in front of a fogged-up mirror in a dingy frat house bathroom, it seemed as if you hadn’t fully overcome your emotional wounds like you thought.

You were dabbing the soggy sweat off your moist forehead when someone suddenly knocked on the bathroom door, causing you to jump.

“Oh, umm, someone’s in here!” You quickly exclaimed. The sound of the same voice you’d been listening to all evening calling out your name from behind the door had you grip the edges of the sink and freeze in place.

“Y-yeah?” You asked falteringly.

“Hey, uhh, i-it’s Ellie.”

“Oh!” You said in surprise. “Hi! Umm, I-I’ll be out in a minute!”

“Hey, uhh, are you okay?” Ellie said after a beat or two.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine!” You cried out unconvincingly.

“Can… can I come in?” She asked hesitantly.

“Oh! Umm—”

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to! If you need space—”

“No, no!” You interrupted.

You took a deep breath, threw out the damp tissue you still held in your hand, and carefully opened the door to reveal Ellie with a concerned look on her face.

“It’s a bit of a tight fit, but, uhh…” You said, stepping aside to let her in.

You backed up to make space for her and sat on the edge of the shabby-looking tub as Ellie closed the bathroom door behind her before leaning her back against it.

“How’d you know where to find me?” You inquired.

“Someone saw you come in here.” She explained.

“Oh” was all you could say in return.

There were several moments of complete silence, neither of you knowing how to start or what to say. It was you who eventually broke it out of nervousness.

“So, umm, how did it go with that guy you were talking to?” You asked awkwardly.

“Oh, uhh, good. At least, I think so. Gave me a pretty good deal and all.” Ellie replied.

You nodded in response.

“So, hey, uhh, if you need a new plug out here…” She pointed a pair of finger guns at you, to which you half-heartedly chuckled.

“Sorry,” She apologized. “I’m not really as smooth as I would like to think.”

“Don’t worry, I still think you’re plenty charming. Dorky, but charming.” You gave her a soft, affectionate smile that she returned as you saw her turn slightly pink underneath her numerous freckles.

“So, uhh, are you okay? I don’t mean to pry or anything, and you don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to—” She began to ramble.

“Ellie,” You said, chuckling. “It’s alright. I don’t mind, and you’re not prying.”

She let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Just a bunch of bullshit in regards to my ex,” You explained. “Thought I was past it all, but…”

Ellie nodded in understanding.

“Still not over her?”

“Oh, god, no, no, I’m completely over her,” You clarified quickly. “But dealing with the outcome of it all… isn’t necessarily fun.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agreed. “I completely get it.”

You looked up at her with an expression of gratitude.

“Man, this lesbian shit is real fucking messy and complicated, huh?” She quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood. You couldn’t help but giggle at her joke.

“How’d you know that I wasn’t okay?” You asked her after a beat or two.

“The people I was with earlier said that the pretty girl I was talking to suddenly looked stressed and ran to the bathroom.” Ellie explained, shrugging. You attempted to hide your bashful smile as you felt your cheeks go hot again.

“Wanna get out of this disgusting bathroom and go smoke some more?” She asked.

You and Ellie were passing another joint back and forth again several feet away from the Sigma Eta frat house. You’d both taken shelter underneath a nearby tree, listening to the muffled bass drops of yet another bad EDM song currently playing from the frat house. The weed was calming your nerves down slightly, but you had a gut feeling that it was Ellie’s presence that was the actual cause of your peace of mind.

“Damn, I really wanna try your lavender-laced trick now.” Ellie said after taking a hit of the joint.

“I mean, it’s not really my trick. It was my ex’s idea.” You chuckled dryly as you watched her blow the smoke up towards the night sky.

“Oh, fuck that shit. I don’t know her and I know you, so it’s your recipe.” She disagreed. You laughed graciously at her argument.

“Can I ask what happened?” Ellie began, handing the joint to you. “Like, did the bitch suddenly call or text you, or…”

“Nah,” You said after a puff. “She posted something on Instagram and, I don’t know, I guess seeing evidence of her existence triggered something in me.”

“Wait, you don’t have her blocked?”

“No…” You admitted sheepishly. “I still follow her and everything…”

“What!!” Ellie exclaimed. “Why?!”

“I don’t know!” You laughed at her immediate indignation. “I just could never get myself to actually do it!”

“Alright, no more free weed for you!” Ellie proclaimed, swiftly snatching the joint out of your fingertips.

“Noooo!” You whined.

“You’re on a time-out for still keeping your stupid ex-girlfriend in your life in some kind of way!”

“Look, I like to lurk sometimes! I can’t do that if I have her blocked!” You protested, attempting to take the joint back from her.

“Oh, now you’re definitely not getting any more free weed!” Ellie said, holding the joint up and away from your reach.

“How else am I supposed to be a miserable, pathetic lesbian who needs to be sad and tragic if you don’t let me!!” You said, giving up and crossing your arms over your chest in a huff.

“Pretty girls like you should be spending their freshman year in college in their drunken whore eras, not in an ‘I’m gonna sulk over my worthless ex the whole time’ era!”

“Ugh. Yeah, I know, I know,” You sighed. “But that all sounds like so much work!”

“Alright, give me your phone.” Ellie said suddenly.

“What?” You asked, surprised. “Why?”

“Just give me!” She insisted, holding her free hand out.

You pulled out your phone from one of your skirt’s pockets and handed it over to her, eyeing her suspiciously.

“What are you up to, Ellie?” You inquired of her.

“Just hold this!” She replied, handing you the joint. “But no smoking!”

“Yes, sir!” You said with a salute before taking a quick puff.

Ellie rolled her eyes, chuckled, and had you unlock your phone before taking it back to open up your Instagram.

“Okay, what’s your ex’s name?”

“... why?” You asked skeptically.

“Just trust me!”

You squinted your eyes at her before reluctantly giving her your ex’s name and Instagram handle. As you took a generous hit of the joint, you leaned over and watched as Ellie went to your ex’s profile and blocked her.

“Ellie!!” You protested.

“This is for your own good!” She exclaimed.

“Oh god,” You laughed. “Yeah, yeah, maybe.”

“Definitely.” She asserted before typing another handle into your Instagram search bar.

“What are you doing now?” You asked dubiously.

“Replacing your ex with a hotter, much cooler person.” She explained simply before handing your phone back and taking the joint out of your hand.

You looked at your screen to see Ellie’s Instagram profile and realized she’d followed herself through your account.

“Wow. Dinosaur nerd, huh?” You said, noticing one of her posts was of her posing geekily next to a dinosaur skeleton display in some museum.

“Shut up.” She chuckled before hitting the joint.

“Well, are you gonna follow me back?” You asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t really know you that well.” Ellie shrugged.

“You dick!” You scoffed, to which she laughed. “What happened to us being lifelong best friends?”

“Calm down, calm down,” She chuckled, holding the joint between her teeth and already pulling out her phone. “Bossy.”

You felt your phone buzz with a new notification from Instagram.

“There you go,” She said, putting her phone back in her pocket. “Now we’re official lifelong besties.”

You laughed. Your affection for this incredibly handsome and charming girl that you had just met tonight was growing more and more by the second. Every time she laughed at a joke you’d make or stared at your lips a little too long or brushed her skin against yours, you wondered if you were imagining it or if she had been feeling the same spark too.

“Hey, umm,” You began. “Thank you for that.”

“Don’t have to thank me. I’m sure you would have done it eventually. At least, I hope so.” She chuckled at the last part.

“Oh, I don’t know. I honestly hold on to shit like that forever. I would have probably stayed following her ‘til I was I was fifty.”

Ellie laughed.

For the next few minutes, you told her all about the sorry tale of the break-up between you and your ex. As you and Ellie went through and finished yet another joint, she listened to you intently while she leaned against the tree you’d been standing next to. She didn’t interrupt you, aside from an occasional supportive comment or two, intent on letting you rant your pent-up frustrations out.

You hadn’t opened up to anyone else about this, apart from your cousin Rafael. It felt like you had nobody else left to trust your heart with. And yet, there was something so different and familiar about Ellie that made you feel so at home, so comfortable confiding such intimate thoughts and experiences. She happily entertained you as you confessed to her the way you’d never done before with anyone else, her face looking so sympathetic and gentle as she watched you ramble.

“Oh my fucking god,” You eventually said after a while. “I can’t believe I’ve been babbling nonstop about my bullshit, I am so sorry, I—”

You buried your face in your hands in embarrassment.

“Hey, no, no,” Ellie interrupted, pulling your hands away from your face. “None of that. Don’t apologize, please. It’s shit that you obviously have needed to get off your chest for a long time now. I don’t mind listening at all.”

“Okay, but I’m a total stranger who just trauma dumped on you like a dumbass—”

��Alright, no, you are not a dumbass,” Ellie insisted. “And lifelong best friends, remember?”

She gave you a soft smile and began to rub her thumbs against your palms, her warm touch making you tremble.

“Oh, hey, you’re shivering, here.” Ellie said, taking off her motorcycle jacket and placing it around your shoulders.

“Oh,” You said, “T-thanks, Ellie.”

“Looks really good on you.” She commented, smiling. You felt your cheeks go hot again.

“It-it’s very nice.” You said.

“Yeah, it’s my dad’s old jacket. He gave it to me when I was around 14. He used to be a delinquent and was part of some gang or something when he was younger. Rode motorcycles a lot or some shit like that. I’ll tell you more about it one of these days.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Ellie seemed to realize how close she was to your face and how intimately she was holding you. A little sheepish, she walked back a few steps to lean against the tree. She crossed her arms against her chest and, her arms now uncovered, you noticed a large tattoo covering her right forearm.

“I like your tattoo,” You commented. “What is it?”

“Oh,” She said, glancing down at her arm. “It’s a moth with some ferns around it.”

“It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“Thanks. My ex-girlfriend did the tattoo itself, but I created the design.”

“Woah, really?”

“Yeah.” Ellie said, chuckling at your admiration.

“I know you were telling me earlier that you like to draw, but that really is something.”

“It is?” Ellie replied. You could see her blushing even under the dim glow of the moonlight.

“You’re really talented, Ellie.”

“Nah. I mean, my ex-girlfriend Cat, she did a lot of work making it look better and shit.”

“Still, it’s very impressive.” You insisted. “Do you think— Can I…?”

You extended a hesitant hand out towards her tattooed arm. She smiled warmly as she offered it to you.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

You lifted your outreached hand to trace your fingertips across the multiple leaves decorating her skin. You stared at the intricate design of the Death’s-head hawkmoth that was perched atop the ferns.

“It really suits you.” You said.

“You think so?”

“I do.”

As you continued to stroke Ellie’s tattoo, you felt electricity once again run between you two. You looked up at her to see her ocean green eyes staring at you. You’d never seen anyone look at you that way, not even your ex-girlfriend. You tried to decipher her expression when the moment was suddenly interrupted by your name being called coming from the direction of the frat house.

“There you are!” Tara exclaimed, half-jogging towards you.

“Oh, hey, Tara.” You greeted her, pulling your hands away from Ellie.

“Been looking for you everywhere.” Tara said.

“Sorry, the party was getting a little too much for me. Needed a breather.” You apologized before gesturing towards your companion. “This is Ellie, by the way. She’s Jesse’s roommate.”

“Oh, hey, nice to meet you, man.” Tara said, nodding towards her in greeting. Ellie replied with a nod of her own.

“This is Tara, my roommate.” You gestured to Tara this time.

“Nice to meet you too, dude.” Ellie repeated back to her.

“So, uhh,” Tara began. “Half the group is completely wasted, and Astrid really wants to get rid of that guy Fred who has not stopped trying to grope her all night.”

“Oh, gross. Is she alright?”

“Yeah, she’s okay. But we’re gonna order an Uber and we’re about to head home in a sec. Did you wanna come with or…”

“Oh, umm…” You turned towards Ellie.

“Go on,” Ellie replied, smiling. “I think I’m gonna go find my friend Dina.”

“I’m gonna go gather up the girls.” Tara said, pointing a thumb towards the house. “Nice to meet you again!”

“You too, man.” Ellie said as you both watched Tara walk off.

“Go ahead,” Ellie said, head motioning after Tara. “Go help your friends.”

“Are-are you sure?” You said hesitantly.

“Here, give me your phone again.” She said, holding her hand out. This time, you didn’t hesitate and unlocked it before handing it to her.

You watched as Ellie quickly typed for a few moments before placing it back in your hand. Glancing at the screen, you saw that she’d texted a new contact she’d named “Ellie 😛” with the message “hey sexy” accompanied by a winking emoji.

“Oh my god, you’re annoying.” You said, laughing.

“What, you don’t think I’m sexy?” She replied, grinning.

“Goodbye, Ellie.” You chuckled, walking away a couple of steps before suddenly stopping in your tracks.

“Oh, wait, your jacket—” You said, beginning to shrug off her old motorcycle jacket.

“No, go ahead and keep it.” She interrupted, securing it back onto your shoulders.

“Are you sure?” You asked.

“Gives you a good excuse to see my sexy ass later.” She smirked.

“Shut up,” You said, unable to hide a smile. “You are so annoying.”

“You love it.” She said, smirking once more.

As she adjusted the jacket onto you, you realized just how close she was again. You stared at her and she stared right back. There was a moment or two when you gazed into each other’s eyes, neither saying anything. You felt heat increasingly rising to your face when she suddenly brushed a piece of hair from your forehead.

You found yourself completely unwilling to leave this bubble that enclosed only you and Ellie. It was extraordinary how intimately absorbed you felt in this person you’d only seen for the first time today, how enchanted you felt by merely being in her presence. In just a few hours, she filled your mind completely with thoughts of her and only her. You prayed that this wasn’t a chance meeting but the beginning of something life-changing.

The moment was once again interrupted, this time by Jesse.

“Dude, I was—” Jesse began, but upon seeing what he’d walked in on, his sentence faltered. “Oh, shit, sorry—”

“It’s okay, Jesse,” You assured. “I gotta go, anyway.”

You turned back towards Ellie.

“I’ll, umm, see you soon?” You asked nervously.

“I hope so.” She replied, smiling softly.

You began to walk back towards the house, giving a quick goodbye to Jesse. Once you reached the front porch and before you walked through the door, you turned back to where Ellie and Jesse were standing beneath the tree.

You lifted your hand and waved at Ellie, which she returned with her own soft wave. The look on her face looked completely dazed and awestruck. You bit your lip in nervous anticipation, looking into her ocean green eyes one more time before walking into the house.

After a beat or two, Jesse finally spoke.

“Is she wearing Joel’s old jacket?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jesse.”

author's notes:

i can’t believe this is finally out!! sorry for taking so long to update this, but hopefully how long this is will make up for the time ♡︎

the "barbie heterosexual" line is a reference to a line from the iconique movie "imagine me and you" :)

reader's little spiel to tara about her dating preference is just another little love letter of mine towards masc/butch/stud lesbians. just love y'all so much, you deserve the world.

fred is named after another jackson resident in the actual game (as i've probably mentioned before, all the character names in this fic are purposeful: either named after actual characters or named after people irl). i thought it was a silly little reference for him to go after astrid cause in the games, he's barely mentioned except at one point when it's seen he was paired up with astrid for patrol at one point. i enjoy my little easter eggs :)

the descriptions of most of reader’s friends are slightly based on the physical appearances of some of my irl friends :)

i’ve discovered that i really love making these flashback chapters hehe

like i said, i’m so sorry for taking forever to update this!! my life has been an absolute shit show lately (if you’ve been keeping up with my personal ramblings on here, you know by now lol). but the next few chapters have been basically mapped out already, so hopefully it won’t take me that long to update this with the next chapter ♡︎

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[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER THREE — EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you deal with the fallout of your fight at steve harrington's party... in the passenger seat of eddie munson's van. so much for pretending you didn't exist to one another, huh? content warnings: as always, MINORS FUCK OFF, because we have *deep breath* implied fantasy smut, lots of swearing, confused yearning, themes of threat, heavy snark, another mention of the drink tab which i feel like is/was gross word count: 7.2k

Dear Dio, Tommy Iommi, Gary Gygax, Pee-wee Herman, Ronnie Ecker — forgive me for what I’m about to do. 

I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Like the time I lit all my hair on fire and spent middle school with a buzz cut. Or the time I almost trapped myself in a spread eagle with my own handcuffs. Or the time I got my arm stuck in a wall for an entire afternoon when I was trying to rescue a feral cat. 

I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. But the stupidest among it all has got to be saving this girl from the bare knuckle wrath of Carol Whatsername. You know the one. 

Tonight, for whatever reason, this insane ex-rich chick has decided to teeter on the edge of a pool of boiling hot lava and for whatever reason, I feel like it’s my responsibility to yank her back.

Which sucks, because she’s a total bitch to me. 

Even if she just told everybody Tommy Hagan had crabs and has been cheating on his girlfriend in such a deranged way that it almost made me pop a semi. 

Anyway. Tell my guitar I love her. 

The world around Eddie slows to the tick of a football game replay as you let the last incendiary word you speak to Carol bounce around the goddamn Roman amphitheater Harrington’s back yard has become. 

This is insane. What he’s watching is insane. Like, he knew you and your dumb little court of Hawkinsites bickered back and forth, but you’re the last person he’d ever expect to air their dirty laundry like this. 

It’s incredible to watch the fascist leadership that he and the rest of the social nobodies have suffered under for so long rupture in real time. 

What’s even more incredible is how little hesitation there is on his part, shoving through the crowd when he sees Carol leaping for you. Eddie’s nearly jostled backwards by some slobbering roid heads— they’ve already called CAT FIGHT! and a crowd is clamoring. But Eddie’s got years of thankless equipment lugging behind him, giving him deceptively strong arms.

And thank god, because you are not an easy girl to hold onto. 

Carol lands a decent punch to your face, slamming with a dull knuckle-on-cheekbone crunch that makes all the onlookers, including him, go ooof! You stagger back in a state of shock (though, c’mon, you heard what you said just now, right?) and Eddie takes his shot just as you dive forward to retaliate.

He grabs you under the arms so you can’t like, elbow him in the fucking nose, a pale imitation of an illegal wresting move that Al Munson had forced him to learn at the tender age of seven. His dad had fancied himself a wrestling manager at the time— you can imagine how that worked out. 

But Jesus, can you ever squirm! Your body writhes against him—stop—hips bucking—don’t go there—as you try to get free. He doesn’t even think you realize who’s dragging you away from the screaming harpy, otherwise you’d probably turn your fury on him. 

He takes full advantage of the rage blackout and manhandles you through the party, earning a baffled look from Steve Harrington, who’s finally graced his own party with his presence. A pinch-faced Nancy Wheeler lingers behind him, but then again, Wheeler’s always all pinch-faced.

“What the fuck?!” Harrington breathes, exasperated. 

Eddie struggles against you struggling, just about dragging you over the front doorstep. Trust this guy to be upstairs in a domestic dispute, missing all the action while getting no action. 

Even in the chaos, Eddie will never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Harrington.

“You gotta start hidin’ your bath salts, man! Chicks are going crazy in there–Evil Dead type shit!” 

—

“You’re dead, Lacy! Monday morning, you are fucking dead!” Carol screams down the hallway. 

“It’s a date, bitch!” you screech, Munson’s nelson hold on you stronger than your thrashing. With a lot of work, he manages to haul you as far as Harrington’s front yard before you wriggle out of his grasp. You shove him, hard, all white hot and punch drunk and regular drunk on top of that. 

He yelps, high and frightened. You weren’t expecting a noise like that to come out of a surly-looking dude like him. 

So you do it again. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you spit, and Munson flinches.

“Cutting you off!” he exclaims, this half-yell, half-laugh. It stings, the way he’s looking at you– like your anger isn’t anger, like it’s just amusing to him. 

“Well, who gave you the right? Who died and made you my parole officer, Munson?!” 

“Oh, I’m not– but I also didn’t feel like being woken up at home when the cops come looking for you after you go all Raging Bull on Carol. You haven’t been around the park long enough to hear ‘em, but those sirens really perforate the eardrums!”

Your jaw sets itself stiffly and you bind your arms over your chest. Unfuckingbelievable. “I would’ve, you know,” you breathe, seething, “Beat her up.” 

Munson’s dark eyes glide over you, like he’s checking you for concealed weapons or signs of a zombie bite— you avoid his gaze entirely, staring square into the middle distance. 

You promised that he didn’t exist to you, yet here he is. Driving you off the road. Breaking up your fights. Existing.

“Yeah, I know you woulda. You’re scary,” he says. You shrug, and he reaches to massage his shoulder. “And strong. Shit.” 

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t feel bad. You don’t feel bad because he’s grinning at you now and despite yourself, despite everything that’s transpired and the everything about him, you’re trying your hardest not to grin back. Adrenaline and vodka are still burning a hole in your chest. 

“Stay out of my way, then.”  

“Noted, but,” a couple of steps from Munson’s end closes some space between you. He’s peering at your face, right where Carol clocked you. A hand reaches out, angling your chin closer to the Harrington’s glaring porch light with his fingertips. You stiffen and squint, performatively wary, but you don’t stop him. You just let his eyes pan over you, looking anywhere but into them. “You might need a little first aid first. And a ride home.” 

“I was actually planning on carjacking Hagan,” you say coolly, the smile you were trying to beat away edging its way across your face. Munson releases your chin and the spot where his fingers were buzzes. It’s just the cold. It’s just your slutty librarian outfit, you tell yourself. You have to swallow in order to speak again. “Seems like fitting payback.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, what did I just say about cops?”

—

Eddie tolerates your eyes rolling back in your head when he props the passenger door open for you, helping you into the cluttered van with an outstretched had. 

See, I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t open doors for girls wearing stilts for shoes.

Those things were not made for clambering into a vehicle like this, sure, but they’re– nice. For what he knows about shoes, which is nothing. They make your legs look more… leggy, and for whatever reason this is making his brain soft. 

In your other hand is a cold can of High Life, which is the closest thing to an ice pack he could nab. That bruise blooming under your eye is going to be nasty, and he’s a little curious how you’re gonna look with it. You, with nary a hair out of place on a bad day, with a big ol’ purple shiner in a place that’s hard to hide.  

Gunning out of Harrington’s hood, a silence settles between Eddie and you. The radio hums in the background– a mainstream station for once. He thoughtfully figured that an aural assault by Sabbath would kinda rub salt in your wound. 

He’s thoughtful, but he’s not not nosy. So, of course he’s gonna ask– 

“That whole… verbal smackdown back there,” Munson starts after clearing his throat. “With Tommy H and everybody.”

On your end, the adrenaline has worn off and the numbing effects of the booze have amped up. You feel loose and warm, apart from the beer can cooling your bruise. There are twice as many streetlights streaming past you as usual. This is going to blow later– if you don’t blow chunks first. 

“All that about your dad pimping me out?” God, I mean, Hagan couldn’t compose a written sentence to save his life but maybe he had a future in speculative fiction. Did he just come up with that on the fly? “Take a wild guess, Munson.” 

Eddie recoils in his seat– gross. Gross. “Not the– the shit with Tina and Carol and–”

“Oh, the crabs? Yeaaaah, that’s true,” you slur, “But I rejected Tommy waaay before I knew that. Call it my brilliant instinct. And then he has the nerve to call me frigid, which– trust me, I’m anything… anything but.”

Munson seems a little surprised at this. You can see it in the way his eyebrows dart under his curly bangs. 

But you’ve had your share of disappointing experiences with the blandly acceptable boys in your circle– it’s par for the course, it’s part of advancing in the field. You can’t throw your cat into the street completely, but god forbid you be choosy about the boys you want to copulate with. The ones you’ve hooked up with, all unremarkable and perfunctory, always seemed so smug afterwards. Like they’d conquered something. 

But from Eddie’s purview, you always held yourself like you were above everyone else; not just the underclassmen and the social rejects, but even your own friends. He’d watch you sometimes, because it’s hard not to watch you. He’d wait for the few flickering moments you let your guard down, when you thought no one was paying attention as you sat at the lunch table or walked the hallways. So achingly unamused by the guffawing, the backslapping, the forced camaraderie of your forced high school persona and your forced high school friends. Then, one of them would say something like, Right, Lacy? and your brow would unarch and you’d be right back in the groove with the rest of them, giggling dumbly and glossing your lips. 

He always wondered how you did it, tolerated it. And why.

“Now, far be it from me to agree with a shithead like Hagan–and I don’t, before you get scary–but I kinda get where he’s picking that up,” Eddie winces, throwing a glance to you, glassy-eyed with your head against the window. You’re looking at him with narrowed eyes, eyeliner smudged. Even that look could cut down a man with twice his ego. “You’re a little bit frosty. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day– which, y’know, could be–”

You absolutely do not let him finish the thought.   

“It’s caaaalled being aloof, Munson,” you drawl, shuffling your shoulders against the passenger door and pulling a stray thread from your skirt with a sharp snap. “Playing hard to get, duh? Leave them wanting more? You wouldn’t get it because you’re so goddamn big and obvious all the time…”

“Obvious!” he brays, letting his jaw hang open with theatrical flair, “Obvious! Lacy, you wound me, I–”

“Obvious,” you bark back, “Obvious like a neon sign, obvious like a circus tent, obvious like– like– look at me, look at me, I’m a weirdo!” Your Munson impression, complete with devil horns, is a little dorkified but it shuts him right up. That loose little tongue of yours has trasmuted your mood from wrath to barbed silliness. “So obvious you wouldn’t know that kind of subtlety. Not if it hit you in the face.” 

A familiar tune whistles from the radio, distracting you. “… or cause you’re a virgin.”

“Okay—!“ Eddie starts, immediately assuming the position of point guard. His hackles are raised, but to be honest, he’s so willing to let you ramble on. It’s the first time he’s heard you talk this much, ever, save your little tête-à-tête by the lockers the other day. 

Eddie doesn’t want to stem the flow just yet. He’s not thinking about it too hard.

“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Like a Virgin pumps from the tinny speakers and you reach to turn it up, your head drunkenly bobbling on your neck. Eddie winces; it’s so weird, watching you like this. It’s like dream logic. It’s like opposite day. “Munson’s a virgin! I’m gonna touch him for the very first tiii-iime! Munson’s a vii-iir-gin—“

“First off, no I am not and no,” he audibly swallows, positive you didn’t realize what you just sang, “no, you are not, ‘cause— well.” He clears his throat. A flare of heat burns around his collar. “I’m not the type to bone and tell.”

“Bone and tell.” You guffaw, a sound so unbecoming yet so endearing coming from you, and slump back in your seat. That tight little skirt you’re wearing rides up about an inch and a half. “Sounds like something a virgin would say.”

Eddie huffs; no way around this. You’re fucking with him, and it’s the indefatiguable male ego that’s not going to let him let you win. 

He fucks, okay? Or has fucked, prior to this. 

Not that there’s anything wrong with not fucking. 

But he’s done it.  

Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the road, and you’ve got him like a stuck pig with that expectant glare. His eyes linger on your exposed upper legs for a half a second. 

Christ, you’re annoying. It occurs to him that wants to bite the soft flesh of your thigh and hear you squeal about it, but you are annoying as hell. 

“Fine. Fine. You wanna know?”

Your head lolls against the rough upholstery of the seat and you bat your lashes at him. “I really wanna know.” 

And Munson will tell you, you know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to. 

“Nicole Summers.”

“Bullshit. Nicole Nicole? My Nicole?”

“Nicole Nicole. Nicole, formerly yours. The only-girl-meaner-than-you Nicole. It was tenth grade,” he snorts bitterly. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life.”

“Nicole told us she got her v-card stamped by a board waxer in Maui.”

“I’ve got a lot of side gigs. You don’t know about me.”

You snort too, despite yourself. That’s a lot of despite-ing tonight, Lacy. You sit up in the seat a little, interest catching. Flame to a candle wick. 

“How was it?” you press. 

Munson furrows his brow, like duh. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life, I just told you.” A beat. “Until— …Cass Finnigan.”

Now, an encounter like that is less surprising, but still you holler, “Bullshit!”

“I’d say the same shit if it hadn’t, y’know, happened to me,” he stage whispers, “In this van.”  

Your eyes widen, a flicker of a grimace sailing across your face. You wonder how he pulled that off, but all that comes to mind is the start of a bad porno– Cass meets him at that dingy little bench out back of the school to pick up and he’s, I don’t know, test driving some of his new supply and offers her a toke. She’s all, why the free samples, Munson? and he’s all, I only let the prettiest girls test the product. And because Cass is notoriously insecure–who among us, girl–she’s all, who, me? and he’s all, come back to my van, and she’s all, but I’m going steady with Mikey B, and he’s all, I won’t tell if you won’t and then he fucks her in the ass. 

Because Cass is saving the first hole for marriage and you know that. You’re the kind of person people tell things to. 

What you don’t expect is a weird pull of… envy. Why, in this imaginary scenario, had he never invited you back to his van? Well. You know why. But you’re drunk, so logic begone. “When did all this go down?”

“Uh, right before school got back,” Munson answers, kind of apprehensively. He could be lying, you figure.

“Well, Cass has been having a weird year,” you mumble, meaning to think that rather than say it. You know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.

“What’s that supposed to imply exactly?” Eddie says, an edge in his voice. He can’t help the way something in his chest flares; like he forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop with you, and now it’s dropping. 

“It stands to reason that she’d wanna, like, do something stupid,” you explain, and you know how it sounds. It’s mean. But honestly, you’re so drunk, and so past the point of attempting to spare people’s feelings.

“Like hook up with the local freak,” Eddie finishes for you, tone flat. You couldn’t not put him in his place, could you? Not that he thought Cass liked him or anything, he could feel her (literally feel her) going through the motions like a social experiment but– God, a little delusion doesn’t hurt now and again. 

“Exactly!” and even in your inebriated state, you can feel the tension in the air, hanging between you like a balloon full of noxious gas. Rather than cut it, you want to poke at it, unfeeling as to whether that’ll make it worse or better between you and the boy in the driver’s seat. You hike yourself up further, leaning toward him, pulling the can of High Life from your face. 

Munson’s profile is this beguiling mix of hurt and irritation, lit by the scuzzy orange hue of the passing streetlights. 

“What, did you want me to act impressed? Did you want me to lie to you?” 

“What? No– look, I know what girls like that– think of me, but,” Eddie’s voice shrinks in his throat, making him sound completely pre-pubescent. He notices you lean forward in his peripheral vision, like you have to strain to hear it, “that doesn’t make it any less shitty.” 

Oof. He did not need to unleash that little piss-shake of earnestness right now. He mentally steels himself for a ribbing from you, a cackling, piercing laugh like you let out before Carol punched you. 

“Of course it doesn’t!” you froth, “Just like it doesn’t make it any less shitty when guys act like they’re settling a bet with their buddies when they hook up with me.” You cross your arms to your chest with a quickness, slamming back into the seat. “Bet you couldn’t make it with Lacy, she’s got a combination lock on her pussy. Fuck you, dude.”

That coaxes a bark of a laugh from Munson, which makes you giggle a little in turn. It’s a weird feeling. It’s not quite relief; more like satisfaction. One point to Lacy, you made him laugh. 

“Combination lock, huh?”

“Allegedly.”

“Bet none of those losers even know how to crack a lock.” 

Your head tilts in his direction, forward this time. “And you do?”

Munson’s eyes flash at you, a dangerous orange glint sparkling in the darkness of his irises. “My criminal skillset is pretty diverse.”

He pins you down with this look from the driver’s seat and for a heartbeat or two, and you let him. Just long enough that a stab of sobriety sneaks in– and you can’t deny it, but you wish it didn’t. 

You’re drunk. 

If you can stay drunk, all bets are off. 

If you can stay drunk, whatever you do doesn’t matter, because you were drunk. 

You could reach over and press your fingers into the soft denim between his legs, make something hard there. You could squeeze the thickness of him over his zipper and kiss the shock of alabaster skin on his neck, where his pulse goes all jackrabbity under your touch. You could make him forget he ever heard the name Cass Finnigan. 

And it would mean nothing. 

And you wouldn’t have to justify it, because you were drunk. That’s what you’ve always been taught.

But you uncross your arms and you pull at the hem of your skirt and look to the road, just as the van swerves into the trailer park. Munson doesn’t take such a hard turn at the corner this time, probably wary of your risk of ralphing all over the van if he does. He pulls into that negative space between your trailer and his and instructs you to wait in your seat. 

“Trust me, the descent out of this baby is much trickier than it looks,” he assures you, jogging to the passenger door, a jingle of keys and pocket chains and belts on leather, “and you’re way too gone to make it in one piece, princess.”

So he holds his hand out again (“M’shitfacedlady,”) and gingerly you take it, and it becomes very apparent very quickly that your legs have turned to rubber on the drive home. 

“Oh, shit!” 

Your attempt at gracefully exiting the van is ruined by an unsteady ankle, sending your weight right into Eddie Munson’s chest. Luckily, he was braced for it– just about. “Told you you couldn’t make it without me,” he breathes as you clutch a handful of his Metallica shirt, vision quadrupling. He’s warm, and you suddenly realize that you’re freezing.

Trembling.

“Stop flirting with me,” you hiss to one out of the four Munsons in front of you. “I need to go to bed.”

Eddie forces himself to bite back another double entendre, which is a shame, because they’re doing an awesome job of covering up how goddamn nervous he suddenly is. He moves his arm to your waist, helping you haul ass to your front door. He’s got to keep one arm outstretched behind you in case you lose your balance again– which you almost do, a couple of times, wavering around like a dashboard Jesus. 

He watches you like he’s trying to commit this to memory, the rare case of you being so beyond your usual composure. He’s even got to intervene after the first five minutes, making unlocking your front door a two idiot job.

Eddie’s about to wave you off and disappear to scream and something else into his pillow when he sees you take a dangerous lunge into the darkness of the trailer. “Woah, girl–” 

But you recover, in a kind of brainless way, taking a measured Bambi-like step forward. One after the other. 

Fuck. He can’t leave you like this. 

You’re gonna trip and brain yourself on a Fabergé egg or whatever the fuck it is you and your mom have in there. 

“Uh– Lacy?” 

The trailer is eerily quiet. You feel like you’re trespassing in your own place. Boxes of out-of-place, too-expensive ephemera are still strewn everywhere, but you navigate the maze of them like it’s nothing. Sense memory. You don’t even entirely register that Munson is following you inside, that he’s frantically whispering after you, until you reach your bedroom door. 

A coldness shoots up your spine as you turn on him. You didn’t invite him in here, did you? 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask for the second time tonight. This time, it comes out a little fearful. 

Eddie picks this up, right where you’ve erroneously dropped it. His chest gets a little tight. You didn’t think he was trying to–? 

“Making sure you lie down in the recovery position, that’s all,” he throws his hands up in total surrender, Scout’s honor, all that shit. “I’m not tryin’ to pick any locks tonight. I swear.” 

“I don’t need your help, Munson,” but just as you twist the doorknob, you keel over through the door, hitting the floor like a lead balloon. 

“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” he blearily smirks down at you, “And yet.”

But Munson’s not such an asshole about it that he just leaves you there. He hauls you up, again, and you stagger towards your bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. He says some variation of okay, well, that’s how you choke to death on your own vomit, Jimi Hendrix and bullies you into the recovery position. 

“Don’t freak out, I’m just–” and Munson sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, taking one of your high heeled feet in his hands. 

What the fuck, you mumble, either aloud or in your head. But he’s fiddling with the tiny buckle at your ankle, gently undoing it. Another chill runs through your body but you don’t move, not an iota. You just… let him do it. His hands on your aching feet aren’t a totally unwelcome touch. He’s being featherlight about it, almost afraid to touch you even though he had no problem sheepdogging you into bed. 

“You could do anything to me right now,” you hear yourself saying. “No one would even know. No one would even care, I bet.” 

It’s meant to sound like you’re goading him, or even flirting with him, but it comes out sounding pitiful. You cringe, your hands creeping up to cover your face. 

“I’d care.” Munson’s voice is a tiny mumble– you know he’s just defending himself, but it kind of sounds like something else. He slips your right shoe off and sets it on the floor next to your left one. He hesitates for a moment before getting off your bed. 

“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”

“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”

“Have a fun hangover, Lacy.” 

–

You do not have a fun hangover. You wake up late Saturday afternoon after Friday’s bacchanal and don’t emerge from your room save from the occasional bathroom trip to puke up what little dignity you’ve got left. Sunday morning is when your mom hammers on the door and drags you to the kitchenette after confirming that you’re still, y’know, alive. 

“This is your game face, hm?” she says, pulling at your chin to examine your violet bruise that seems to have developed its own heartbeat. She doesn’t hold your face the way Munson did, gentle and searching, just tugs into the sparse light streaming into the dingy kitchenette.

You attempt to steel your jaw, but your bottom lip is starting to waver. 

“What happened?” your mother asks, and beneath all the jagged broken glass, there’s a tiny sliver of tenderness. 

Call it your pride, but you don’t reach for it. 

“I went out,” you say tightly, “and I made a fool of us.”

She hacks up a scoff through her smoker’s cough and disappears into her bedroom, leaving you alone to pick at a cold waffle. The few moments of consciousness you’ve had since Friday night have been spent trying to piece the party together– you remember clearing the better part of a bottle of cheap, cheap, shitty vodka with Robin Buckley’s help (weird), you remember getting into it with Hagan and Carol and getting wailed on. You remember getting a ride home with Munson, but the finer details of that are fuzzy. 

You think, and this is a thought that turns your already 180’d stomach, you let him into your bedroom, but you can’t be one hundred percent sure. All you know for an absolute is that your shoes came off that night, and you would never bother to take your shoes off after a night like that. 

So somebody must have. 

Meanwhile, Eddie’s been having a hell of a meanwhile. 

Fact of the matter is that you managed to detonate a nuclear bomb at Harrington’s party just under an hour after your arrival, which has got to be some kind of world record. It was also a world record for how little product he’d managed to sell during one of those parties, because he was preventing the manslaughter of a teenage girl– could’ve been you, could’ve been Carol. He nearly wishes he let that fight play out, as he stares into his empty wallet. 

Eddie’s gotta busy himself somehow, gotta do something– weirdly, he’s not in the mood to make a whole lot of noise. It’s not such a terrible day for working on his van, so he slams his toolbox on the ground and gives a couple dozen casual glances toward your bedroom window.

Your blinds still aren’t fixed. That’s got to have been shitty when you woke up with a splitting vodka headache and a shiner the size of Canada. 

Eddie keeps finding excuses to pace back and forth in perfect view of your window. Not in a peeping Tom sort of way, but in a way where he’d kind of like to see any sign of life from you. Even if you just rose from your bed like Nosferatu and gave him the finger. Then, he could relax. 

“Ed,” a gruff voice comes from the makeshift trailer porch, “fuck’re you doin’.” 

Those dulcet tones would belong to his beloved Uncle Wayne, who, ever since his hours got cut at the plant, has become unbearably observant of Eddie’s every movement. Wayne’s not a neglectful kind of father figure, not like his blinders-wearing real dad is, so he actually gets concerned when Eddie’s acting out of sorts. 

“Engine,” Eddie mumbles, pivoting fast like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Engine’s making hinky noises.”

“Sounded alright last night,” Wayne levels him instantly, “when you came home.” 

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he twists an oily rag in his hands, avoiding Wayne’s stony stare. 

“I was up.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. God, whenever Wayne susses him out, it’s like drip torture. He’s slow as molasses with the confrontation on purpose, making Eddie sweat and out himself on every little fuck up he’s ever made. “You go in there?”

Chin jerks towards your trailer. Eddie’s shoulders shrug towards his ears, head tilting back. “Wayne, it’s not– she was real drunk, like blotto, I just–”

“You steer clear of that one.” It’s the definite nature with which Wayne says it that makes Eddie’s stomach drop. No prelude to it, no I know, kid, you were just tryin’ to do right by her. Nothing. 

“Wayne–”

“She ain’t what you think she is. Not if she’s anything like her bloodline.” 

He says this like the realization hasn’t hit Eddie like Carol hit you on Friday fight night. 

He says this like people haven’t been saying the same thing about Eddie for years.

–

Monday morning comes and you’re still somewhat suffering. A headache nags at your temple, but you pin that down to anxiety rather than an extended play of your hangover. 

It occurs to you that you should dress as down as possible today– realistically, of course, as you’d never be caught dead in sweatpants. You need comfort, you need something that feels like a well-worn blanket so you opt for a deep burgundy sweater dress that actually belonged to your mom in the 60s. 

You’d found it in the back of her closet when searching for a belt you knew she’d stolen from you and pulled it out. Mom! you chirped, How cute! How come you never wear this?

Oh, God, she’d cringed, batting the garment out of her way as she passed you in a cloud of Shalimar, Just throw that ratty thing out for me, would you?

But you didn’t. You kept it tucked away in the back of your closet and took it out when you needed it. When you needed to bury your face in it. Substitute it for a comfort she refused to give you. Which you realize is terrifically sad, but so’s life. 

The warm red is a distant cousin in the color family to the bruise under your eye. That bruise, it’s a glaring reminder of what a fucking loser you’ve become. The old you, the real you would never have stooped to that level– never had let them drag her down like that. But now you’re the kind of girl that screams and starts fights at parties, you guess. 

Your rage feels ugly in the cold light of day. 

You’re locking the door of the trailer behind you just as Munson emerges from his humble abode and it’s nothing short of awkward. Like you’d both seen each other naked or something.

You both stand there, in your relative doorways. His mouth gapes like he’s about to say hi, say something, and a memory comes back to you. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day. No one likes that. No one wants that. 

Regret stabs at you.

“Can you see it from there?” It’s the only thing you can think of to say, because you’re sure as fuck not saying hi. 

“What?”

“The bruise. Can– can you see it from over there?” 

Munson sort of half-snorts. “Not from here–”

“Ugh, thank god.”

“--but this is like, over fifteen feet away.” 

You roll your eyes, which hurts a lot, thanks guy, and walk toward his van. 

“Now?” you say, waving a hand under your eye, right where you’ve applied and blended and applied and blended a criminal amount of concealer. Munson leaves about a foot of space between you, on purpose, and you crane your neck back, on purpose. Reinstating the forcefield between you. 

“Oh yeah, you can barely even see that you got your ass kicked.”

“It’s not even eight in the morning, Munson. Do you really want to start your day with a knee to the balls?”

“You’re right. That’s usually an after-dinner activity,” he grins and jerks his head toward the van. “Need a ride?”

Need a ride? Like it’s the most ordinary, everyday thing in the world, Eddie Munson offering you a ride to school in his deathtrap of a van. Your stomach pulls at the sense memory of being in there on Friday night, and what you’ll look like getting out of it in the parking lot of Hawkins High. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head, definite and resolute. “I’m walking.” 

He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s too late to start walking now. You’ll be late for first period.” 

You scoff back, imitating him. “So what?”

“You’re never late for first period.” 

“I can be late– how the hell do you know I’m never late for first period?” 

“Because, dummy, I’m always late for first period,” he tells you, yanking open the passenger door, “And I sit behind you in History, and you’re always there when I come in, leaning back with your nose in some dumb book and your stupid hair all over my desk.” 

It’s true– you are always reading in history, because Kaminsky can’t teach for shit and you’ve already read ahead on the coursework anyway. You liked to rub that in his face by pulling out some unprescribed literature during class. Plus, no one you really care about is in your class, so you don’t have to worry about getting made fun of for having your nose in some dumb book. Illiterate jocks would never try that shit with you– nobody there would. 

Until now. 

And it’s true that Eddie Munson sits behind you, and barrels in like an idiotic excuse for a hurricane with some idiotic excuse for being late that you always scoff at, because does he ever get tired of his own bullshit. But after that brief cameo appearance in your day, you really do forget about him. 

Until now. 

“So?” he says, all expectant. 

And you consider it for a second, you really do– but you don’t think you can handle the blowback of leaving a party with Eddie Munson on Friday then turning up with him on Monday. Going to the same class. Where he sits behind you. It’s just… overexposure. 

The same realization must hit him, because all of a sudden he’s slamming the door shut with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever. Your tardy slip, babe.” You can’t help but think he sounds a little wounded. 

But fuck it. Fuck it! Since when do you stand around feeling sorry for Eddie Munson? 

Before you know it, the van roars out and leaves you in the dust. 

You don’t make it to school until after second period, because that so-called bus route a fifteen minute walk from the trailer park must not even exist, so you forge a note from your mom in the parking lot. 

As your fountain pen hovers over the paper, brainstorming an excuse, you consider pulling out the big guns– say you had to attend visitation day at the penitentiary. Use this disaster to your advantage for once; but you pull back. Scribble something about a doctor’s appointment and dot your mother’s ‘i’s with eerie precision.  

You make quick work of dropping the note off in reception– the uptick of being the kid of the town’s gossip beacon is some people still feel sorry for you. Some people weirdly include Janice, Principal Higgins’ secretary, who snatches the note from you before you can even reach the actual receptionist’s desk. 

“I’ll file that for you, dear,” she says, all coo-cooey with an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, “How are you and your poor mother doing these days? And your,” her croaky voice drops to a whisper, “dad? How is… he being treated?”

You blink at her, gripping the fountain pen in your hand. “Do you know what a shiv is, Janice?”

Just then, the bell trills and you take your leave, stepping out into the linoleum. 

Someone calls your name from down the hall. You crane your neck to see Ronnie Ecker jogging toward you, paper in hand. 

Now look, you’ve never had a problem with Ronnie Ecker. You can’t say you’re particularly fond of her but she’s smart; she keeps to herself and she was a decent lab partner during your junior year of dissecting frogs together. Squeamish, but that’s why you were there, to handle the scalpel. As much of a social outcast as she is, she’s not nearly as odious as the rest of them. That’s pretty goddamn remarkable amongst the Hawkins student body. 

She is also, you’ve come to notice, a resident of Forest Hills trailer park. 

“Hey!” she says, “Um, I noticed you missed first period and Kaminsky was handing our papers back so I figured you’d want yours…” 

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me missing first period?”

“Huh?”

“No– nothing,” you huff, taking the paper from her. A solid B on A+ material– told you Kaminsky couldn’t teach for shit. He’d be hearing from you about this. “Thanks for this, Ronnie.”

You start down the hall but notice Ronnie’s keeping in step with you. “I also just wanted to say– I heard about what happened Friday. And I think it’s sick, you standing up to Hagan like that. Asshole needed to be put in his place.” 

Well, there’s only one person she could have heard the nitty gritty of that news from. You know she’s trying to flatter you, but all you feel is a flame of embarrassment, plus a touch of anger– even though the news has easily circulated the school hallways by now. 

Along with the rumors of you taking Hargrove, Buckley and Munson, and not in a fight. 

“Well. Y’know. I was pretty wasted,” you attempt to brush it off and you see Ronnie deflate a little. 

Like you’re not the blazing hero someone made you out to be. 

“Okay, but is it true you had a threesome with Billy Hargrove and Robin Buckley and Robin was wearing the Tigers mascot suit?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

–

Classes pass in a monotonous blur, like most Mondays, but worse. That would be thanks to the extra shot of dread that’s served with your cafeteria meal of a wilted salad and soda. Last week at lunchtime, you at least had a tenuous standing with your former circle– you could still sit between Tina and Nancy Wheeler and suffer Tina’s thinly veiled jabs at you with a semi-placid look on your face. Nancy would look at you with eyes full of pity, and you’d want to punch her face in, but you’d be fine. 

But now, as you stand in the cafeteria swirling with people and catch the death glares from your old table (save for Nancy and Steve Harrington, who just straight up refuse to make eye contact with you), you’re just about ready to snap. 

Your flight instinct tells you to toss the tray out of your clammy hands and run, and keep running, until you disappear into the woods behind the school, never to be found. Your body becomes mulch before anyone remembers to look for you. Maybe you make really good fertilizer and a couple of pretty weeds sprout up from where you die. 

Your bruise, under its flaking layers of concealer, throbs twice– as if to say, don’t you fucking dare.

You make a confident beeline for the table, chin tilted and eyes set in a stare that could be categorized as withering, if only it was trained on anybody in particular. You grab a chair that some dumb underclassman is about to sit in and drag it with you, legs screeeeeching across the waxed floor. 

Who gives a shit who you were on Friday night. 

“I can sit here, right?” you say, and place your tray on the table next to Ronnie Ecker. 

She just stares at you for a hot second. That’s too long to stay standing in uncertainty, so you settle your stolen chair at the table and sit next to her. 

Ronnie isn’t the only one staring, however– the rest of these dorks, all in their matching t-shirts with Satan’s fiery head emblazoned across them, are watching you with their mouths agape. 

“Is this a prank or something?” one of them, a curly-haired freshman, says. 

This question is directed toward their fearless leader, decked out in denim and leather at the head of the table. That is to say, the direct opposite end of the table that you’re sitting at. 

“That’s no way to greet a lady, Gareth,” Munson says, feigning coolness but you can tell he’s a little flustered. The dead giveaway is in the way he misses his mac and cheese with his fork, the way his solid gaze double-blinks. You’ve thrown him off game– and because he’s impossible not to overhear sometimes, you know that game is all he’s got going on at this table. 

There’s that feeling again– point to Lacy. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

This is Munson’s version of what the hell do you think you’re doing, but you choose to ignore him. It’ll drive him insane, and you know that, glaring red warning sign that he is. Instead, you flash a smile at the freshman that almost makes him pass out, Cupid’s arrow struck straight through the heart. 

You cross your legs and angle your body toward Ronnie– and by extension, in the direction of your old table. You can see Carol burying her face in Tommy’s shoulder, the both of them on the verge of losing bowel control with laughter. Laughter at you. 

Who gives a shit who you were before Friday night.

“So, Ronnie,” you say, taking a sip of your Tab, “You get up to anything fun this weekend?”

author's notes: let me get ahead of everything and say yes, i am absolutely fucking with the timeline. suspend your disbelief, my beautiful babies, and enjoy steve, carol, tommy and ronnie ecker still being in high school because I SURE WILL. but on an absolutely serious note, thank you so much for all the support and each and every note you’ve put on the chapters so far. i seriously, seriously appreciate it. now, the notes: - you think eddie munson doesn’t fuck with pee-wee herman heavy? you think he didn’t watch this movie in reefer rick’s, high out of his gourd, and think oh yeah i love this freak? get REAL! RIP paul reubens, this one’s for you. specially every time i mention a handjob - eddie munson also has charlie kelly disease - speaking of iterations of always sunny characters, much like frank reynolds, there’s not a get rich quick scheme al munson hasn’t tried. we’ll get into that a little more… later - admittedly, the whole ‘face eating on bath salts’ thing didn’t gain traction until the 00s, but if hawkins is going to be ahead of its time in anything, it’s fucked up shit happening to people! - did you notice how i blended eddie and lacy’s povs in the van? i’m going to continue doing that in moments where they’re on a similar ~wavelength~ - jimi hendrix did unfortunately die of asphixiation, but instead of thinking about that, watch this sick video of him playing guitar that eddie definitely has committed to memory - RONNIE ECKER KLAXON. i know that in flight of icarus she’s described as tall, but that hasn’t stopped me fancasting her as ayo edebiri in an eddie munson wig - at this point, you might be thinking damn, everyone sure seems to hate each other in this story. like, why is nancy wheeler catching strays? i’m here to remind you it’s the 1980s and teenagers kind of suck. play the track - thanks again for all the love! you can keep this crazy train going by liking, commenting, reblogging and generally showing me the same kindness you’ve shown me so far. love u my little hellcats

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter five

summary: you and luca finally talk about what happened the night of the ballet -- and finally have a chance to clear the air.

warnings: fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst not use of y/n, conversations about divorce, slow burn, baby, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.

word count: 3k

a/n: let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

part four | masterlist | part six

You’ve been avoiding his calls all day. 

After Luca bid you goodnight on Thursday, you’d practically sprinted upstairs and into your apartment, slamming the door behind you while wondering what the hell was wrong with you?

You’re too stubborn for your own good, you think to yourself, recalling the moment – the one where you could’ve kissed him but you didn’t – between you and Luca. You stood there, too paralyzed to make a move, yet unable and unwilling to walk away from him. 

Luca had given you space most of yesterday, save for a text later in the evening, but the fact that today is Saturday, the day he almost always comes into the restaurant, is not lost on you. Instead of dealing with it, you’ve been hyper focused all day, choosing to bury your head in work as you run lunch service with Mathilde, more than grateful that business has run at a steady pace today. 

It’s not until you hit a stop, forced to pause after a few hours in between the lunch and dinner rush, reaches a lull. Your brain is suddenly inundated with too many thoughts: was this it? Had you scared him away forever? Did he think you were a total freak considering you’d practically run away from him after he’d said goodnight?

“So are we going to talk about it?” Mathilde presses you, ripping you out of your thoughts with the sound of her voice. You look her way, noticing that her lips pursed in sheer annoyance at your avoidance mechanisms. 

Your face falls, unable to carry this solo for much longer, letting out a sigh of resignation because you know she’s right. 

You can’t run from this – from your feelings, from Luca – forever. 

“Yeah,” you give in. “Yeah, okay.”

“What the hell happened?” Mathilde hisses as she approaches you. “I mean, he’s gorgeous, he’s cultured… he took you out to the ballet, and you like him!”

“I don’t know,” you huff, disappointedly. “I just-, I think I got too caught up in my head. It’s like one minute I was really jazzed at the idea of being on a date, let alone a date with Luca, and the next I’m just… I don’t know… totally psyching myself out and pushing him away.”

“Merde,” she swears in French this time. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, at least releasing a little of the pent up pressure you’ve been holding onto all day. 

“Babe, I know that holding all of this,” she begins, gesturing wildly towards you, “gives you a certain edge in the kitchen… but I can’t imagine it’s good for you.”

You send her another look – one that says ‘fuck off because I know you’re right’ this time. 

“I don’t know what to do, Mathilde,” you confess, your eyes pleading with her for some advice. 

She turns to you, this time with a much more serious expression as she says, “Luca seems like a really great guy. Maybe you should just tell him all of this.” 

You nod slowly as you process. It’s not that you haven’t thought about it – it’s not like it’s a new concept to you – you were married once, after all. But the idea of being vulnerable like that, showing someone new your whole hand feels really scary. You know it’s the thing you need to do; it’s the kindest, most honest option that you have – and you know that Luca deserves just that: kindness, transparency, the truth. 

As you continue to think it over, the only words that come to you are:

“I told him that I wasn’t in love with him anymore – with Joe. When he asked.”

“Luca?”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t a lie. Was it?” Mathilde questions you carefully. 

You share your head, growing more and more certain in your answer. 

“No, of course not. It’s not that. My hesitation has never been about Joe. It’s-, it’s about me…” you explain, finding the right words in the moment. “... about my heart.”

Mathilde places a gentle hand on your shoulder as you share a knowing look as she listens.

“What if I do this? I mean, what if I jump… and it’s a horrible mess… and I ruin a good thing with a really great guy because I’m not ready?” you ask, shining a light on your biggest fears. 

She takes a beat, thinking it over, before crossing her arms over her chest, as the two of you stand side by side, leaning up against a stainless steel prep station. 

“Then you do,” she answers, as if it were that simple. “And you figure out the rest. You’re only human after all.” 

You chuckle, playfully rolling your eyes at Mathilde’s not-so-friendly reminder. 

“Here’s an idea,” she starts back up again, catching your attention as you glance sideways to look at her. “What if you jump? And it’s the best thing you’ve ever done? What if it’s worth it?” 

You take a deep breath, letting her words sink in, letting yourself feel the possibility that this could also be the best thing you’ve ever done too. But before you can say anything in response, Jesper comes back into the kitchen, calling for you. 

“Hate to break up the slumber party, ladies, but can I borrow you for a moment, Chef?” he asks, making it clear that he’s talking to you. You and Mathilde exchange glances as Jesper nods through the open kitchen to where Luca waits for you in the dining room. You open your mouth to say something, but instead, you just nod, murmuring a ‘yeah, of course,’ quick to follow Jesper out of the kitchen. 

It’s impeccable timing, really, you think to yourself, that you were just contemplating the possibility that this could be something you could do. 

You could jump, you remind yourself, if you really wanted to. 

“Hi,” you say, barely above a whisper as soon as you see Luca. 

“Hi,” he smiles warmly in return, causing Jesper to look from you to Luca, then back to you again. 

“I’m just gonna-,” he starts, searching for an excuse. 

Only, he doesn’t have one, so Jesper simply excuses himself before disappearing into the kitchen to find a place where he and Mathilde both can pretend to do something when really eavesdropping. 

Jesper’s abrupt and clumsy exit seems some of the palpable tension, earring a laugh from both you and Luca. 

“I thought-,” he begins as you simultaneously say, “I’ve been meaning to call-.”

“Sorry,” he says with an apologetic half smile. 

“No I’m-. You go first,” you encourage, blushing on a little as the two of you clumsily dance around each other. 

Luca takes a breath, reminding himself that it wouldn’t be this weird if there wasn’t something between the two of you – that he hasn’t been imagining this – not even a little bit. 

“I hope that it’s okay. That I’m here,” he finally says, his voice steady and even. 

“I-, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” you ask him, suddenly insecure about the fact that he felt he needed to ask in the first place. 

“I just-, well I thought ehm, maybe you’d need some space. I didn’t want to ehm, you know… show up here if-, even though it’s Saturday because it is your place and I wouldn’t want-,” Luca tries to explain, stopping and starting again and again. 

“Luca, no I-,” you say, before pausing, swearing to yourself under your breath as you mutter. “Shit. Fuck, I-. Goddamn, you really are fucking perfect.”

“What was that?” Luca asks, only catching the swearing part at the beginning and the ‘fucking perfect’ part at the end. 

“Um…” you trail off, looking around you. 

As you catch Jesper and Mathilde ducking behind a shelf out of the corner of your eye, and a few of your waitstaff hurrying to make it look like they’re busy and not listening in, you realize that you and Luca have managed to earn the attention of some very curious onlookers. 

“Do you want to step outside for a moment?” you ask, gesturing towards the front door. 

“Sure,” he nods, letting you lead him to a spot outside.

You make sure that you're both as out of sight as possible, staying far away from the broad windows that line the front of your restaurant. 

“Hi,” you say again on an exhale.

“Hi,” he says back, simply. 

“I’m glad you came. I know I-... I should’ve called, or- or texted you… after Thursday,” you begin, nervously, eager to own up to the very big part you’ve played in the lack of communication.

“Yes. You should’ve,” he repeats, his eyes catching yours as you nod in confirmation. 

It’s good – that he’s not going to let you off the hook – and while you like it, you like that he has boundaries, you’re disappointed in yourself as you say:

“I’m sorry.”

Luca sighs, shaking his head as he immediately counters with:

“No, I’m sorry. I mean, yes, you should’ve called. Or at least texted. But I should’ve been clear in the first place that Thursday…” he trails off, almost as if he’s mustering up the courage to say what he needs to say. 

“... that Thursday was more to me than our regular excursions. That it was a date. To me at least.”

“Luca-.”

“I wish I would’ve told you – made it clear in the first place – so you knew what you were getting into,” Luca finishes, carefully watching for your reaction. There’s something so honest in the way he goes about this conversation, and you sure as hell feel like you could take the proverbial jump right fucking now. 

“I appreciate that. Really, I do…” you start, before trailing off again. “But I-. This isn’t on you, Luca.”

“How do you mean?” he asks you, his expressive brows knitted together, as if you’d just spoken in tongues. 

Here goes nothing, you think to yourself.

“I-. This has been great. I mean… I really like spending time with you,” you start, anxiously, instantly realizing that it sounds like you’re breaking up with him. “Fuck, I-.” 

You let out a frustrated groan as it seems you’re having an impossible time getting out what you need to get out. You take a breath. And a beat, before continuing. 

“And I’ve really liked this… hanging out, getting to know you… borrowing your books. I-, I just… we’ve got such a good thing going and I really don’t want to fuck this up, you know?”

He sighs your name this time, looking down for a moment as you add:

“I’m-, I’m afraid that… I’m going to fuck this up.”

“Yeah. I know,” he answers, heavily. “I-, I am too.”

“And then Thursday night, things were so, so good, and I-, I panicked and I feel terrible because… you don’t deserve that. You don’t.”

Luca takes a beat as he listens. He’s not sure what exactly that means, but he reminds himself to stay on track, stay the course and make sure that he says what he came here to say to you. 

“It’s alright,” he reassures you, softly, taking a step towards you. “I don’t want you to feel like… like you have to feel a certain way just because I-.”

“No, that’s not it! That’s not-, that’s really not the problem,” you interject as you struggle to explain yourself, unsure of where to even begin. You take a step towards him this time too, your voice softening as you continue. “Luca, I don’t feel obligated to feel… any kind of way just because you-.”

“Because I?” he questions you.

The silence his questions leaves goes on a few beats longer than you expected, and you realize that he’s waiting for you to fill in the blank. 

“Well, I don’t know,” you pause, a shocked look on your face as one of you waits for the other.

“You didn’t-, I never let you finish your sentence so,” you ramble aimlessly, immediately bursting out into a fit of laughter as you realize that neither of you are getting anywhere. 

Luca laughs too, joining in on the much needed reprieve. 

The two of you exchange glances, and one more shared laugh, before settling in once again. 

With a crooked smile spread across his lips, Luca can take a hint, realizing that he may need to take the lead on this one.

The way your name sounds on his lips is so heavenly, so divine, so soft that you know you’ve got it bad, as you scramble for a way to tell him everything that you’ve been feeling. 

“May I?” he asks, in reference to taking the lead. 

“Please.”

“I just came here to tell you… I want to tell you…” he corrects himself, taking a step towards you. 

“... that I really like you. I really like spending time with you. I like that you get me out of the kitchen in search of something different. And I think that your mind, even though incredibly neurotic, is absolutely brilliant. And if what you need is for us to be friends right now, I want that. We can… slow all of this down. All you’ve got to do is talk to me.”

It feels like time fucking stops, and the world goes black and white for a moment, then full color all at once as you hear the words coming out of his mouth. Your revelation comes rushing in, clear as day – that this man cares so deeply for you and that maybe, your heart could be safe with him. Unsure of how to deal with the grace and compassion Luca is showing you, you’re only left with one question, as it falls from your lips like a boulder. 

“How?”

“What?”

“How do you always have the right thing to say…” you ask him, your voice caught in your throat as you finish your question.  “... when I only have the wrong things to say?”

Luca opens his mouth to say something you’ll never hear, as you choose to completely throw caution to the wind. 

Perhaps the question was rhetorical anyways. 

You’re not sure what’s coms over you, but instead of words, you only have actions left, and the only thing that will remedy the situation is to do the thing that you’ve been panicking over doing since Luca showed you into the pastry room at AOC. You charge forward, reaching out for him, and he’s right there with you, meeting you halfway as you eagerly press your lips to his. 

You can feel all the blood in your body rush through you as your lips connect. Your heart flutters. Your head spins. It’s the kind of kiss that people write sonnets about – write love songs about. It’s almost three months of simmering tension, finally allowed to reach its boiling point. You pull away, just for a moment, uttering out a breathless:

“Holy shit.”

Luca laughs with a shake of his head as he agrees with a, “Yeah.”

You exchange a look, and a laugh, before kissing him again. 

And this time the kiss is a hello, it’s a new beginning, it’s a ‘thank god I met you.’

This time, Luca pulls away, reluctantly releasing you as he does. 

“It’s not that I don’t like this,” he begins, using all of his restraint to put this on pause. “I really, really do, but… I’m kind of getting mixed signals here.”

“No, no, I know,” you apologize, turning as you hear your name called, swearing under your breath again as soon as you see Mathilde peeking her head out of the front door. 

“Oh… my God! I am so sorry, I’ll just-, except for we need you to-, she calls after you, stumbling over her words as soon as she realizes what’s going on between you and Luca. 

“Nevermind it can wait!” Jesper exclaims, poking his head out of the front door as well, before dragging Mathilde back into the restaurant.

You and Luca exchange another laugh. 

“They’re… something,” you chuckle, with a shake of your head. 

“Good wingmen,” Luca adds, mirroring your previous exchange with his coworker. 

Returning his focus to you, Luca shakes his head incredulously, considering this is not the way he thought this conversation would go. He grins as he takes you in, but knows that this is time limited. He’d noticed the curious staff of your restaurant that he’s come to know and love doing their best to pretend they weren’t listening in on your conversation earlier. They know exactly what’s going on here, so if they felt the need to interrupt, Luca knows that you’re most likely needed back in the kitchen. 

He shifts his weight in between both of his feet, taking a small step back as he states:

“We’re gonna have to talk about this.”

“Yes,” you agree, your declaration certain.

“But right now you have to go,” Luca continues. 

“Right now I have to go,” you echo as confirmation. “Later. I promise. We’ll talk. Tonight?”

“Yeah ehm. Not to be… presumptuous. But my place is closeby. We could… perhaps talk. Tonight. There?” Luca suggests, trying to downplay the fact that it sounds like he’s asking you to come over for a booty call. 

It’s certainly not his intention, considering he’d just offered to slow things down, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. 

“Yeah. I’ll text you,” you agree, suddenly nervous again. “When I’m done here. If you’re still up.”

“It’s a date,” Luca agrees, deciding to move in towards you again.

You nod, taking another step towards him so that you can kiss him again. 

“Oh, and Luca?”

He hums in response, his eyes flickering from yours to your lips because he really can’t wait to kiss you again either. . 

“I should be-. I want to be clear,” you begin, deciding to be brave in this moment. 

He raises an eyebrow. 

“I really like you too,” you say, before standing tall on your tiptoes, and pulling him down to you for, this time, a see-you-later kiss. 

----------------------------

a/n: ummm hi how are we doing is everyone doing ok?!

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

Hiii ! Congratulations on the 350 followers !! I love your blog so much you totally deserve it, I’m so happy every time you post a new writing !!

Thank you for tagging me it was so unexpected but I’m truly honoured 🫶🏻. Would you consider doing head cannons for jason x daughter of athena ? Im a cabin six girl and Jason is my fav. If you don’t have time or if you don’t want to write it I completely understand :)

By the way I love all your fics they are AMAZING.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ jason grace x daughter of athena! reader hcs

content: jason grace x daughter of athena! reader hcs warning: i think language???? author's note: YOU!!! MY NUMBER ONE FAN YOU!!! i love love seeing you spam my notifs, it makes me so happy!! so of course i tagged you as a fav, duh!! anyways YOURE AMAZING AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!

NERD'S FALLING IN LOVE ALERT

you guys met through leo, strangely enough

jason had been hanging around bunker nine when a goddess walked in-

jk jk jk but that's fr what he thought

you handed off some blueprints to leo, explaining what each one was, getting excited as he bounced ideas off of you

"oh, right, this is jason. jason, y/n," leo introduced with a wave of his hand, walking away as he went to put the blueprints in a special place

"oh! lovely to meet you," you said, offering him your free hand

"y-yeah, same- same here," he stuttered through his sentence, unable to pull his eyes from you.

you breathed out a laugh, ducking your head and turning away from the blonde boy, chewing on your lip as you called your leave

jason stayed put, watching you go, unable to move, breathe, speak-

"dude, don't drool in here. that's gross and also a slipping hazard," leo mocked, though he was growing excited at the prospects of playing matchmaker with piper.

but he didn't need to, as you stomped up to the zeus cabin the next morning during breakfast

jason had been sitting there, lonely as could be, passively reading some history book chiron had lent to him while chewing away at an apple

"hey, jason, i was just- oh my gods, i love that book!" you cheered, your thoughts getting cut off as you noticed the book in his hand

jason jumped, his eyes instantly darting up to you in a panic, his heart working double time

"what chapter are you on?? it gets so good after five," you rambled, leaning towards the boy with an excited glimmer in your eyes that jason was rapidly falling in love with

"just finished five. it's gets better than that?" he questioned, attempting a joke and earning giggles from you.

his new favorite prize

all good love stories start with the bonding over a wwii book, duh!!

then, you guys started trading books

you gave him one about architecture that annabeth had gifted to you and he gave you one on aerodynamics leo had given to him as a joke

you guys traded books for a few weeks until you came up to him, meeting at the previously declared trading spot, though this time the book was clutched to your chest

"okay okay, so...i- i annotated this one. for, uh, for you," you muttered, holding the book out to him.

jason beamed a soft smile, taking it from your hands like it was the finest gold.

"that was very sweet, y/n," mused jason, which left both of you blushing

you quickly stole his book from him and marched away

jason was eager to read the book, shooing away everyone so he could lay in his cabin the whole day and read what you had to say about the book

naturally, the highlighter and tabs were color coded, a little legend in your handwriting at the start of the book

this was the most jason ever smiled while reading a damn book and it was because of you

he finished the damn thing in one day, refusing to stop until he was done

the very last annotation had jason jumping out of his bed and racing out of his cabin in search of you

there, on the last page, in light blue pen it read, "now, when are you going to catch on that i like you and ask me on a date, jason grace?"

it did it a lightening fast speed, finding you and the words to ask you on a date falling out of his lips

you just smirked up at him, nodding your head in agreement

athena always has a plan, right?

typically, most dates consist of you and jason hanging out in his cabin and reading

sometimes you sit in jason's lap, or you guys are just next to each other, or you guys are other sides of the cabin

it doesn't really matter as long as youre together

when you guys take snack breaks, you explain everything that's happened in your books since the last snack break

jason made you a bookmark, putting his own sketches on there of an owl and an eagle

you called him cheesy but also haven't been seen without it since soooo

you like to steal jason's glasses away, putting them on your face as he tries to take them back

"now im gonna finish my book first! ha!" you cheer, snatching his glasses and taking rapid steps to the other side of the cabin

"get back here!! this is ableist!!" he calls after you, trying his best to find you with his blurry vision

you gently put them back on his face after he catches you in his arms, planting a soft kiss to his lips

"hmmm. you look better as a blurry blob," he smirks, the look on his face giving away that he doesn't mean a word of it

"looks like i'll just have to steal them away again," you tease hands inching closer to the glasses again only for jason to swat you hands away

you guys are a pair of nerds together, but the cutest pair of nerds to like every nerd fr fr

[svmjaeyvn]

love maze, s.jy.

chapter nine pairing: jake x afab!reader word count: tbd (series)

masterlist

genre: college!au, mutual friends, fake dating, smut.

synopsis: an unfortunate encounter, drunken mistakes, and a sort of (definitely) stalker leads jake sim ‘dating’ his best friend’s childhood crush.

or, your life gets intertwined with a rich boy’s in attempt to not get sued by his crazy personal fangirl and like with all good cliches, sex overcomplicates things.

contents: smut, sort of strangers to fuck buddies to lovers pipeline, childhood best friend!jay, mentions of best friend! yunjin, curly haired & mixed reader, uni!au, rich nepo baby!jake, enha frat boys, lots of kissing, fake dating turning into fwb real quick, totally way too into it for it to be fake early on, big booty reader that’s jake’s obsessed with, partying and alcohol use, slight violence, he fell first and harder trope, stem bf & writer gf, (kinda overly) possessive jake, some angst to spice things up, daddy issues, hyper independent reader who struggles with her feelings, fluff and happy ending!!

a/n: hello~ i’ve never been a tumblr girly but i have went through my w*ttpad era back in 2018 so bare with me y’all. this will be a series but not that long (i hope) so pls look forward to it. warning tags will be placed before each “chapter” to specify what to expect. pls pls reblog and interact, i’d love to have feedback and see what your thoughts are. okay! yay, for now enjoy and thank you sm :D

MDNI, 18+

tap below to continue

CHAPTER NINE: JEALOUSY

previous masterlist next

word count: 4.1k

warnings: minjun is being a stalker, that’s sort of it??

a/n: IM SORRY IVE BEEN GONE FOR SO LONG. i’m working + doing an internship at the same time so im exhausted everyday since being an adult SUCKS so i’ve neglected writing (though i have a new idea for a smau lol) and this not that great but i wanted to provide something for you guys </3 jake is down horrendous and not even hiding it now it’s crazy

"PLEASE STOP STARING," Ni-ki whined, throwing an ice cube in Jake's direction who was perched at the counter with a giddy smile. You were on the other side of the store, in the midst of barring out drinks before turning to help your coworker with a unsatisfied customer.

It was different to see you in your element, of course to you it being a mere barista job but Jake couldn't deny how much a leadership position suited you. You were good at quite literally everything, barely paying him mind when he waltzed in 20 minutes ago due to the afternoon rush but seeming calm and collected as you handled the line of drinks that seemed never ending. You looked as pretty as ever in his eyes, your haired pulled up by the clip in your hair and bare skin that seemed to be glowing.

You were called in last minute by a fellow shift as they weren't able to come in due to an emergency. Knowing Ms. Cho would've been the one to cover, something you couldn't bare to make her do as she was meant to take the week off due to spraining her wrist, and not wanting to leave Ni-ki hanging you canceled on the previous study-date you had scheduled with Jake much to his disappointment.

Lo and behold though, said boy decided that he had all the time in the world to wait for you. After you called him on your break, excited that a coworker would be coming in to do the closing tasks, telling him you'd be off at 6:30 instead of 10, Jake stopped by an hour before your shift would end deeming that allowing him to treat you to dinner would make up for the raincheck.

"Bro honestly, I know she's your girlfriend but can't you go sit down at least," Ni-ki's voice breaks his thoughts once more. Jake merely rolled his eyes, waving off the boy who looked exasperated by his presence.

"Yah, whatever. You're just bitter 'cause you’re bitchless," Jake began to tease, watching as the younger boy rolled his eyes and discretely flipped him off without the other customers taking note.

There was a familiar jingle from the door, Ni-ki's eyes looking past him to greet whoever walked in but his face turned into one of visible disgust. Immediately making his way in your direction without a word, Jake curiously turned around with his brows frowned to see what caused such a reaction.

A small scoff left Jake's lips, watching Minjun b-line to where you were behind the bar with Ni-ki glued to your side and staring him down like a guard dog. A small smirk picks at his lips, Jake waiting patiently, watching from afar to see what he planned on saying as you'd be able to handle it yourself.

"___," Minjun spoke, attempting to gain your attention but you merely lifted your gaze for a second as you focused on the drinks you had sequenced. "Can we talk?"

"I'm busy," You said dryly, sending him a pointed look as you were on shift quite literally in the middle of working. "If you need something you can ask my other staff to help you,"

"Are you seriously going to ignore me?"

"Are you seriously showing up to my job when I told you to leave me alone?" You shot back, brow raising in disbelief. "It's harassment, do you want me to call the cops?"

Minjun bit his lip, seemingly collecting his thoughts to carefully piece what he intended to say next. "You're ignoring my texts, how else am I supposed to talk to you?"

"I blocked you," You answer with a small shrug. "I don't want to talk to you. We have no reason to either way, it was your idea to move on with our lives in the first place so I don't see what you need from me now,"

"It was a mistake," Minjun attempts but a loud scoff comes from your end at his words. Feeling yourself grow more and more annoyed, you take a second to collect your thoughts, having to silently remind yourself that there were a handful of other customers that you still needed to be portrayed to in a professional light.

Your eyes flickered to the left, feeling the familiar gaze boring into your side. You met Jake's look, his brows slightly pinched as he held an unreadable expression glancing over Minjun. His arms were crossed against his chest, leaned against the front counter while his head tilted in the smallest of ways meeting your eyes. Silently indicating whether of not you wanted him to intervene, you shook your head, turning over to Ni-ki who was still on gaurd just a step behind you.

"Can you take over for me?" You ask the younger boy, his eyes softening as he glanced down to you with a small nod. Telling Sooyun the same, you leave the two on the floor to handle the customer flow and walk away from Minjun without a word. He attempted to follow along the counter that kept you separated, only to stop short noting how you met Jake at the break that separated the workers and customer side.

"You okay?" Jake asks softly, his hand finding its place in your own as he traced his thumb over your palm in attempt to offer some ease to your mind.

"I don't know why he keeps trying," You mumble out, swallowing the lump in your throat while Jake pursed his lips. You had to admit, no matter how unaffected you attempted to seem, having Minjun back and weaseling his way into your life was slowly opening up old wounds that never fully healed. It felt exhausting seeing his face, much less feeling trapped in your own workplace since that seemed to be his resort to finding you no matter how many hints you've given to leave you be.

"You want me to call the guys and we can jump him out back?" Jake offers, the teasing in his voice caused you to laugh though the glint in his eyes made it hard for you to tell if he was entirely joking. "I could take him on my own but I'm sure Jay wants a few hits at him anyway,"

"So does Ni-ki," You snicker, glancing over to the boy who had his eyes trained on Minjun with a menacing glare. "I don't have the money to bail all seven of you out though so let's not do that,"

A cocky smile fell upon Jake's lips knowing well enough his next words would cause you to grimace. "It's okay baby, I'm rich remember?"

You roll your eyes but couldn't refrain from the small laugh that fell from your lips. "You're annoying," You huff, though the giggle that filtered through your words had Jake smiling from ear to ear. Leaning closer, he's quick to place a kiss to your lips, your eyes widening as you pulled away with a tsk. "I'm on the clock, stop making me look like a bad worker,"

"No one's looking," Jake reassures, not even sparing a glance around the room but he's sure of himself. His hands fell to your hips, pulling you in closer and technically he was right, the large pastry case and stack of boxes that you had yet to be able to put away had blocked a significant amount of view of where you two stood, someone would have had to come around the corner to see you two if they really wanted to.

A clear of someone's throat caused the two of you to pull away from the giddy bubble you were in. Your annoyance flooded back in a second while Jake lazily looked over his shoulder, his eyes lighting up taking note of Minjun who stood with a dark expression.

"What's up man?" Jake smiled, turning as he said so but still keeping one arm draped around your waist though you shifted slightly in your spot. His grip tightened feeling how you attempted to move, squeezing your hip as a silent way to tell you to stay in place at his side. "You need something?"

"Can you give us a minute?" Minjun's words were short and clipped, the visible annoyance dripping from his persona.

"Don't think so," He hummed with the click of his tongue. "M'names Jake," Holding out his hand with a cheeky smile, Jake waited for Minjun to introduce himself. You had to refrain from the laugh that wanted to spill from your lips, the obviously annoying but polite tactic one you wouldn't have guessed he'd play but it seemed to work better than being possessive or immediately hostile.

"Minjun," Was all he replied with, not bothering to complete the handshake Jake intended. Turning his gaze to you, he near pleaded in a softer tone. "Can we just talk?"

Jake let out a loud sigh, dropping his hand with the shake of his head. "You know, man, I wouldn't have held nothing against you but you're really making my girl uncomfortable," His previous bubbly expression was gone, now replaced with a bored one that shamelessly glanced over Minjun. "You know me personally, I don't go for girls I broke up with, especially after she told me to leave her alone and she has a new man. That's just me though,"

"No offense man, but I know you two just got together. Your new relationship doesn't compare to us," Minjun shrugs while you let out a laugh of disbelief. You and Jake were more comfortable together, by miles, in a short amount of time even if your relationship was based on a facade. After the first two months with Minjun, it felt as though you were walking on eggshells everyday to keep him around, a feeling you remember all too well and ridicule yourself for staying in for so long.

"I mean, you're the ex for a reason right? Our relationship s’not supposed to be like yours," Jake shrugs, a humorless laugh left his lips.

"You guys don't even make sense together!" Minjun was now speaking to you, gesturing between you both with an exasperated expression. "His life is completely different from yours and you know it, why waste time now when it won't even work out,"

You frowned yours brows, not knowing how much he had looked into Jake but either way, being so ambient on your differences seemed to rub you the wrong way. What exactly was he entailing? The fact that Jake was a party guy or he was rich? You grew up attached to the hip with Jay, sure you weren't directly apart of that life but you did know how to act with a cocktail dress and dinning etiquette when you needed to. You truly lacked nothing if the relationship was real and so far, Jake didn't either.

"It's cute to know you've been thinking about me," Before you were able to voice your thoughts, Jake beat you to it. His tone was teasing, though there was a slight edge to it indicating that the cat and mouse play going back and forth was something he began to grow tired of. His had squeezed your hip, somehow subconsciously knowing that your agitation grew as well, it a silent reminder that he was there for you.

Minjun scoffed, seemingly ready to retort but Jake shook his head. "You know, I don't really like being a dick and all," He starts, a small huff of air leaving his lips as if it pained him to continue. Jake's eyes flickered to you, he winked before the bored look was sent back toward Minjun. "But I do take advantage of the benefits that come from my family. Let's just make it easier on all of us since getting the lawyers involved is always so messy, yeah?"

Your eyes widened slightly, certainly not having any thought of any legal precedent but the threat should've been more than enough to get his point across. You felt a shiver run up your spine, thinking back to weeks ago when you got yourself into the situation you were now. She totally would've sued me.

There was a clear of the throat that broke the tension between you three. Ni-ki making his presence known as he sends Minjun a rather large, but most obviously fake, smile.

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave since I've had a few customer complaints from the situation that's occurring," He says in his peppy customer service voice, the faux sympathy in his tone adding salt to the wound. Looking around, you take note of the lie considering the lobby had cleared out significantly and not a single person in sight was paying any mind to what was occurring in the corner but you were certainly thankful for the deescalation.

Minjun doesn't say a word. His eyes lock with yours, the silent communication causing you to feel uneasy. For a split second, you almost felt bad for him seeing the look of pleading sincerity, for a second he seemed like the boy you once knew and you couldn't deny the slight tug in your heart that longed for the past. But as Jakes’ hand made its presences know on your back, you shook out of the temporary daze, you subtly moved behind him, using Jake as a shield of sorts and looking away.

You weren't naive enough to fall for that. And your thoughts proved right as Minjun's expression changed in an instant, the look of anger and annoyance familiar but he merely turned and made his way out of the shop without hesitation.

The bitter feeling caused your stomach to turn, picking at the skin of your fingers as you pulled out your phone to check the time.

"You okay noona?" Ni-ki carefully asked, His brows were pinched, a slight frown at his lips taking note of your visibly discomfort.

You nod, placing a smile on your features but it didn't quite reach your eyes. You looked behind him, seeing Sooyun working by herself. "I'm alright, I need to finish my pull before Hejin comes in so support where you can for now," You delegate, already heading toward the back room while footsteps followed soon after.

Jake sighed watching you walk away. He didn't know the full story, certainly didn't want to know the details of how in love you were, but he did know that Minjun was important enough to still bother you after some time apart. A small part of him was selfish, never wanting you to think of anyone like that but him, even though your relationship wasn't even real in the first place, but he knew that was his own jealousy.

The larger part of him felt upset for you though, the crestfallen expression you held more than enough for him to want to hold you and wash all your worries away. In a perfect world, Jake would make sure you'd never feel sad again. He vows to never be the one responsible for your tears, and if he were he'd kick himself and beg for the room in your heart to forgive him.

You stopped by the back freezer, facing the stainless steel doors and you could see Jake's reflection behind you. "I'm alright," You repeat, not having the confidence to turn around knowing your eyes were glossing over and the lump in your throat grew.

Jake hummed, watching you from afar. He watched as you began to count the frozen pastries, having to go over twice losing your train of thought and seemingly looking around aimlessly. You let out a sigh, leaning your head against the frozen rack as you shut your eyes, the cold air that wrapped around your body caused goosebumps to form along your arms, though it did well in stopping the tears that were built up to the brim.

"You know, you're technically not supposed to be back here," You mumble, a hint of amusement in your words though you were rather dejected.

Jake chuckled, shaking his head while you couldn't see it. The two of you stood in silence, not knowing what to say that would make it better. Heavy footsteps sounded as someone entered the back of the house, you peaking from behind the freezer door while Jake straightened up.

Hejin pointed a finger at you as she pulled her apron over her head. Your brows frowned, clicking on the tablet that was stuck to the door to see it only be 5:50. Her keys jangled in her pocket, the lollipop in her mouth muffling her words. "Go home,"

"What?" You let out a small laugh, amused by the loud groan she let out upon her apron getting stuck while pulling it down. "It's not 6:30,"

"I'm here now so go," Hejin huffs, pulling at her ponytail as she nods towards Jake, a silent acknowledgment to his presence but not bothering to ask why he was beside you. "I saw creeps-a-lot in the parking lot. The kid and Sooyun were blowing up my phone to get me here so I chased him away. Go home and relax, I'll make a incident report to let everyone and Mama Cho know to not talk about you and refuse him service from now on,"

Your lips pull into a frown, the tears once again welding up in your eyes. You covered your face out of embarrassment, Hejin clicking her tongue as she waved you off.

"Ay, don't cry," She tuts. "He's not worth it, new boyfriend hug her!" Hejin directs, gesturing between you and Jake causing you to let out a laugh. Jake tilted his head, his arms open as you reluctantly stepped into his embrace. You refused to look at him directly, hiding behind your hands though you could see the fondness in his expression as he stared down at you. "Good, now get out of here. Pretty girls should never cry over ugly men,"

With that, Hejin was out onto the floor. You stifled your laughter, heart pulling at the thought of your work family. She, in particular, was known to be rough around the edges, not one to show praise or direct affection but small acts like these were truly the most meaningful. You made a mental note to treat them in the future, thankful for the saving grace.

Jake pulled away from the hug slight, a small smile perking at his lips as he tilted his head. He gently pulled away your hands from your face, wiping away the few stray tears with the same fond look.

"You know, I don't know how to feel about you crying over another man," He teased causing you to roll your eyes. "Guess I have a lot of work to do to make you forgive him,"

"Forgive?" You echo, raising a brow not following his words.

Jake nods. "You know, for being an idiot but at least it allowed for me and you which is like, a million times better," He says in the most obvious voice causing you to snicker. "Forgive but not forget, or whatever it is that people say,"

"Have you been looking at pinterest quotes?" You laugh while Jake begins to nod wholeheartedly.

"You put me on, it's honestly so chill scrolling. I have like, five different boards I've made so far,"

"Rookie numbers," You tease causing him to mock offense.

"They all have certain aesthetics and are listed in order," He offers causing you to hum.

You nod in approval. "Better,"

Noting that your mood had seem to raise, Jake leans in, placing a small peck to the tip of your nose causing you to let out a small squeal. Your face scrunches up, pulling away from him while he lets out a laugh.

"C'mon, you owe me your time and I think I have the perfect idea to get your pretty little mind off everything,"

"YOU’RE JOKING?"

"What?"

You sent Jake a pointed look, smiling down at the excited animal that jumped into your arms, licking the skin of your cheek while your heart nearly bursted at the sight of her tail wagging so happily. "We've been faking it for over a month and you decided to just tell me you had a dog?"

"Her name's Layla," He laughs, crouching down to the level which you were sat on the floor. As soon as you walked into the door of the unfamiliar apartment, you were greeted by soft paws jumping at your leg along with excited barks for attention. "This is my brother's place, she's a family dog but he has her most of the time since my parents are always out of town. He's on a trip with his friends so he asked me to watch her for the week," Jake cooed as he pet Laylas fur, eyes full of affection and love as she leaned into his touch.

“I’ll watch her for the week,” You smile, gaining her attention once more as you scratched at the spot just behind Laylas’ ears. Her eyes shut as you did so, a small giggle leaving your lips as the dog visibly relaxed to your petting. “I’ll keep her company while you party or whatever you do in that frat house,”

Jake rolled his eyes, his view set on you but you were far too focused on Layla to care. “I haven’t gone to a party in weeks, and if I do you’re with me,” He says pointedly as you merely hum.

“Exactly, you can go do what you want. I’ll stay here with the cutest little puppy I’ve ever seen,” The latter half of your sentence was spoken in a high voice, cooing at Layla who seemed to be happily responsive to it.

Though he liked seeing how well you got along with his childhood pet, Jake tsked. Maybe it was a bad idea bringing you to see her, all of your attention would go to the little border collie instead of him which, admittedly, he couldn’t have.

“What I want,” Jake starts, leaning over to flood your view. “Is for you to not love my dog more than me,” He finished, dangerous close to your lips as you blinked, a small snort leaving your lips.

“Well for one, I barely tolerate you so Layla wins by a long shot,” You tease causing his lips to pout. Lightly pushing Jake away, he ends up sitting directly in front of you, Layla happily pouncing into his lap but still begging for you to provide her with scratches as she rolled over onto her back to expose her stomach. “And two, you can’t be jealous over your own dog. She’s just too cute,”

Jake sighed half heartedly. “You kicking me to the curb now for my dog?”

“Precisely,” You nod, a wide grin playing at your lips that you were unable to resist. It was still between the two of you for a moment, Jake taking the silence to gently place Layla down onto the ground beside you. You rose a brow, noting how he inched closer causing you to move back. “Hey~”

His arms were suddenly thrown around your body, one around your waist while the other was behind your head, blocking the impact of him suddenly tackling you to the hardwood floor. Your laughter filled the air, arms stuck under the weight of his chest and your faces inches apart.

“Too bad, you’re not allowed to get rid of me,” Jake huffs though there was an amused smile playing at his lips. “Say you like me more,”

You gaped in disbelief. “Are you serious?” The response to your question ended up with Jake’s fingers dancing along the skin of your waist, your shirt riding up and him knowing how ticklish you were as you began to squirm beneath him. “H-hey! Okay, s-stop—”

“Say it,” Jake taunts, his laughter mixing with yours.

“O-okay—”

Layla’s loud barks suddenly broke the air before the view of her jumping onto Jake’s head was seen. Your laughs were now from seeing how he yelped at the sudden help you received, rolling off of your body and with Layla still attacking his face with an abundance of kisses, you sat up. Now straddling Jake’s waist, you returned the favor of poking your fingers into his side, moving until you found a spot by his ribs that caused him to squirm around.

“Hey! You can’t team up against me,” Jake called out, unable to move either of you due to the way you sat and how Layla was now perched on his chest to get a better angle of sloppy kisses that he attempted to block. “She’s trying to lick my nose! Baby please—”

“What? I’m giving you attention like you wanted,”

my tags!! @slutforsjy @jaklvbub @whowantshota @addictedtohobi @coolwitu @simjyunnie @kgneptun @graythecoffeebean @143ikeu @zyvlxqht @tesywesy @nxzz-skz @aishisgrey @enczen @vanvity @dreamiestay @caitysdelusions @ikkeumyluv @v3lv3tsin

[ivymarquis]

Blind Date

Me: “why the fuck is this fic taking so long to finish?”

The fic: *is the longest singular piece I’ve ever written for one chapter*

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| M Word Count| 8.4k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Drinking (everyone is clear headed), run ins with a shitty ex, mentions of abuse from prior relationship, these two are incredibly down bad for each other, oral (m! and f!receiving), protected piv, squirting

There is a certain catharsis in lamenting your dating horror stories with men to a married lesbian who’s over a decade older than you. Kate is always willing to lend an ear, and you’re positive that she gets a kick out of your misadventures in the way so many married people did while listening to their single friends.

“I swear I’m this close to just giving up all together and embracing spinsterhood,” you grouse with a drink in your hand after the work day had concluded.

You like to think your standards aren’t unreasonable. Someone kind, with their head on straight. It felt like finding a man who respects you as a person is becoming too big an ask and you very simply would rather be alone than deal with the endless hoard of men who seem hell bent on destroying any confidence you have in yourself.

“What about the guy you went out with yesterday?” Kate inquires with her head tilted. Must be fun, listening to your ramblings with a devoted partner at home.

“Oh did I not tell you? He was engaged!”

Kate pulls a face like her drink soured on her, matching how you’d felt at the time.

“Even better- guess how I found out he’s engaged.”

“She showed up at the restaurant?” Kate hits the nail on the head on the first try.

“Bingo,” you raise your glass in a gesture of affirmation before finishing it off. “Somehow I ended up being the one getting yelled at in that situation. Un-friggin-believable.”

You don’t abuse your work privileges to creep on people you meet in your personal life, but public record could have spared you if he’d been married. Harder to find out about an engagement from a total stranger who was determined to not let you find out about it and didn’t have social media.

“There’s always the other side,” Kate teases.

“Women scare me too much, I get all nervous.” You could appreciate an attractive woman as much as the next gal but good God you just could not help yourself when it came to men. The subtle way their breathing would change before they made their move, that low timber growling in your ear. The sheer weight of one on top of you as he manhandled you into the bedding-

Dear Lord, you need to get laid. Maybe you’re fixating on it too much because you’ve had an over 2 year dry spell. That tends to happen after a baby though. Especially with a pain in the ass ex who thinks he can pick and choose when to be around (and becomes absolutely incensed each time you remind him he could be consistent or he could stay home).

Kate is thoughtful for a moment, clearly kicking around an idea she hasn’t fully committed to in one direction or another. You can see the moment she decides to proceed with the thought. “Depending on what exactly you’re looking for, I might know someone.”

—

And here you are on a Saturday night, nerves clawing at your belly like a rabid dog.

Most (well, all) of the men you’ve dated you met online. There’s almost additional butterflies beyond the first-meet jitters knowing that the date is set up by a mutual friend.

There’s more at stake, even if the stakes are relatively low pressure. If the guys you met online did something incredibly out of pocket you never had to see them again, and held no qualms divulging the events to friends. Your romantic life has been full of misadventures but has given you a handful of stories, and as strangers you never have to consider any possible fallout in telling those stories.

Your son is with your mother for the night, allowing you the opportunity to focus solely on yourself this evening. No concern about keeping an eye on him while getting ready, worrying about what possible trouble he’ll get into when your back is turned.

It is hard at times- striking that balance between wanting to be a good mom and also wanting to be acknowledged as a desirable woman who has needs. A lot of men are shitty about it. You’d grilled Kate for every detail of his reaction when being informed of your young son. You don’t need another ambush regarding your disinterest in making it work with your son’s father.

She’d soothed your nerves- he hadn’t batted an eye, was about as worried about your reaction to how often his job pulled him away as you were about him having a poor reaction to being a single mom. You both have responsibilities that have to be placed above a relationship, now go play nice and have fun.

You tell yourself you can have one drink while waiting at the bar of the restaurant you’d agreed to meet at.

White wine ends up being your pick- not quite so easy to suck down as a tasty cocktail full of liquor, but gives you something to occupy yourself with.

You’ve only had the drink a handful of minutes before hearing someone clear their throat slightly behind you, and then your name.

Kate has shown you a photo of what he looks like so you’re not caught off guard when you turn around.

He’s handsome. You expect that but it’s different seeing him opposed to just the photo. Kind eyes, a warm smile on his face as he takes you in.

At least you both seem pleased with the big reveal.

“I’ve got a table waiting for us if you’re ready, love.”

He holds out a hand to let you balance yourself as you dismount from the bar seating, allowing you to steady yourself in your heels.

His hand is warm on your waist as he guides you and you’re already smitten by the time the pair of you sit down.

You’re fifteen minutes into dinner when you decide that so long as he a) is willing and b) doesn’t say or do anything completely deranged, you are going to ride Captain John Price like a mechanical bull at a shitty dive bar at the end of the night.

Perhaps the bar is in hell but either way you have been utterly deprived the past few years and he is checking plenty of boxes for you.

“So you work with Kate?” Starting off on the easy footing- the common ground that leads you both here.

“I do. Not directly- I work more on the tech side. I’m an independent contractor, I basically built the entire system she runs off of.”

“Beauty and brains,” his praise warms you, an impressed expression on his face. “Would explain how we’ve never crossed paths if you were hiding in a backroom surrounded by monitors,” he teases.

“You’re actually not that far off the mark,” not that you hide persay, but keeping that contract keeps a roof over your head and food in your child’s mouth. That keeps you busy. The fewer people who know how to work your program, the harder you are to get rid of.

You may or may not have hidden a few kill switches. Job security you call it. Though it’s not exactly first date material to talk about how you’ve got a government agency in a mutual understanding- keep extending your contract, and the program continues to work.

Either way, you don’t have much contact with the soldiers. Maybe you have passed each other in the halls but probably not- you’re certain a face like that wouldn’t have escaped your notice, introduction via a mutual friend or no. But you decide to utilize that mutual friend to shift the conversation. He’s hedged around talking about his work- on his end, sees that as the thing that might be a deal breaker for you. Probably wants to delay that until you've at least gotten your entrees.

So you go from business to hobbies. And it’s probably not entirely fair, but you’re about to see what his sense of humor is.

“Kate mentioned you’re a big soccer fan?” You make sure your expression is wide and doe eyed as you ask the question.

His eyebrow twitches- caught, no doubt, between wanting to leave a good first impression and biting back it’s football over here, love.

You crack far quicker than you initially plan, the wide grin on your face as you let him off the hook he’s good naturedly trying not to bite.

“Beauty, brains, and a comedian, lucky me.”

“I’m sorry, I had to. In fact, it was in her terms for this,” you make a vague gesture with your hand.

“Trust Kate to wheel and deal just to get my blood pressure up,” he muses as he takes a sip from his drink.

The conversation rolls easily enough- an ebb and flow as one of you poses a question, the other answering before allowing the first to say their contribution to the subject and moving on.

He’s charming, attentive, and a good storyteller. The way he carries himself screams military without being overbearing. He’s relaxed back into his chair and something about the scene in front of you makes you want to climb into his lap like a domesticated house cat.

Being the field captain to a specialized task force it’s no shock that he’s in incredible shape and you find yourself slightly distracted on more than one occasion by his hands and forearms.

The food is wonderful though the company is better- you end up moving back to the bar for fresh drinks and to free up the table for the server.

You spend a good length of time just talking with him at the bar.

John’s attention is on you but it’s clear he’s proverbially chewing on something the further on you go.

“That is the look of someone with a question they’re not entirely positive they want an answer to,” you’ve got a habit of being a touch direct at times. Amazing how it streamlines a conversation though.

“Observant one, aren’t you?” He pauses, takes another sip of his drink. “It’s probably none of my business, but ah- is your son’s father in the picture at all?”

It was your turn to take a drink. This was always such a fun topic of conversation. Frankly the number of men who took your ex’s side when the whole custody arrangement gets brought up alarms you.

But he has a right to his son.

Fuck that.

Your child is not property and you do not give a singular shit about your ex’s feelings- especially if it comes at the expense of your son’s safety. But it saves you a substantial amount of time not wasting energy on someone who could not understand the reason for your decisions.

“The short answer to the question is no. I had already left him by the time I found out I was pregnant, and given I left because he’s a raging alcoholic- with the emphasis on the rage-,” what a nice, polite way to say he is an abusive asshole. Your gaze shifts down towards the bartop, missing the way John’s expression softens as he reads between the lines of what you say. They’re not pleasant memories, but you’re not a wounded bird anymore- you’ve tended to your clipped wings and grown new feathers. “I didn’t want him involved.”

“He ended up finding out from a mutual acquaintance, and while he claims he wants to be around, he hasn’t done much other than blow my phone up at midnight trying to throw his weight around every time he gets a new girlfriend. So I get to be the cold blooded harpy that he gets to cry about- which is fine by me. On paper he says he wants to be involved, but he’s made absolutely no effort to arrange plans or anything while sober. I haven’t seen him in over 2 years. I can’t trust him to be a safe parent, and since he’s not on any official records I get final say unless he wants to go to court over it.”

Your whole little house of cards hinges on the fact that your ex wants everyone to bend over backwards for him while doing nothing for anyone else. All it would take would be one subpoena for a paternity test and your hands would be tied. He is an incredibly functional alcoholic, so there isn’t a criminal record or anything you can do to prove he would be unfit. There’s no proof of the abuse he inflicted on you.

Which means, if push comes to shove, you would be forced to relinquish sole custody and hand your child over for unsupervised visitation.

But that requires effort on his part. And that effort is the only thing keeping your little house of cards afloat.

“Sorry that’s probably way more information than you wanted-“ good job. Everything was going great until you laid out your drama.

“No apology necessary; I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

And there’s no lecture about how you should give your ex a chance, that the opportunity to raise his son could make him change for the better. No dissertation on how you owe it to your son to do whatever it took to make things work with his father (that had been a weird way to end a date, and the only reason you hadn’t gotten up sooner and left was because it was such a bizarre conversation you’d half convinced yourself the whole thing had to be a bad dream).

You’re not a wounded bird and on the one hand it’s a good thing to get everything laid out on the table, but on the other you don’t want to sit and mope about your personal troubles. You’re actually enjoying John Price’s company, and don’t want to think about your problems.

And yes you are enjoying the time for what it is but part of you can’t help but also keep an eye out for… any opportunities for a transition.

As hot under the collar as you are, John’s gaze makes warmth coil in your gut in a way that has nothing to do with the wine- he’s being a gentleman.

It’s sweet. He’s being polite and respectful and showing sexual discipline while making it clear he’s interested.

And for all your bemoaning of prior dates with other men who aren’t captains of specialized task forces about how they were too pushy and too presumptuous and a nice dinner paired with drinks doesn’t entitle them to you dropping your panties—

Yet here you sit, hours into a conversation when you’d decided 15 minutes in you want to jump his bones. And you have to be patient otherwise you’re a total hypocrite.

You’re not entirely subtle. The pair of you are perched on barstools again, much closer than the table allowed you to be with the two of you angled towards each other.

Your dress looks good on you. A jewel toned blue that compliments your skin beautifully, the hemline stopping above your knees and loose enough to bounce tantalizingly when you hit your stride walking.

It’s not exactly an olive branch, but it is an offering of sorts when you carefully take the leg closest to John and cross it over the other. The hemline of your skirt slips up your thigh, exposing more of your leg. It stops just shy of exposing the top of your stockings and the clip to your garter. It does show just a hint of the darker border to your stockings, the lace peeking ever so slightly before transitioning to the sheer material that covers the rest of your legs.

You’re incredibly pleased with yourself when his eyes flick down for a split second and linger before snapping back to your face. Got you. He tries to hide behind being caught with a sheepish clearing of his throat. It’s adorable, really.

Your cheeks are starting to get sore from all the smiling and laughing that’s occurred over the past few hours. But he’s pleasant company so it’s a discomfort you’re happy to deal with.

You look past him for a split second- nothing in particular catching your attention but just taking in the scenery of the restaurant behind you. Your eyes are back on him in a moment only for your brain to process what it saw after a delay.

There’s no fucking way-

Yes. Yes there is. Your ex is mingling in the background, and you don’t even realize the smile on your face has fallen to a flat line like all the previous giddiness is draining out of you and pooling on the floor below.

It would not take a captain of an antiterrorism task force to see your sharp shift in disposition, so John notices immediately.

“Everything alright, love?”

Maybe he won’t see you. Maybe, if there is a God and he is merciful, your ex won’t look in your direction, won’t see you, and you can continue your cheerful plan of trying to seduce your date.

And whether there is not a God or he is just not merciful- either option remains with you having the same shit result. He turns his head and makes direct eye contact. God damn it.

You look back to John. You’d hoped you could move past talking about your ex for the evening. “Remember how I said I haven’t seen my ex in over 2 years?”

There’s a twinge of relief on his face- the look of a man grateful to not be the cause of your displeasure.

“Let me guess- he’s right behind me?”

“Not quite “right behind”, but yes. Hopefully he’ll just-“ a short huff off agitation leaves you as you cut yourself off.

So much for hoping he’d simply mind his business and stay with his group. He’s making his way towards the pair of you at the bar, and you can tell he’s had a good number of drinks in his system just looking at him.

You’d become extremely proficient at gauging how drunk your ex is at a glance. A skill you developed while still with him and one that doesn’t seem to have faded.

This is, you know without question, going to end up being absolutely humiliating for you. You just know it.

“I am going to go ahead and apologize now for whatever is going to come out of his mouth,” you inform John.

His hand finds your knee, giving a light, reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be alright, love.”

“Well what do we have here?” is the warning shot letting you know he’s not going to show any form of civility.

“Hello, Michael,” you greet cooly, mind spinning a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out how to end this conversation as quickly as possible.

“You don’t have time to answer my texts but you’ve got time to go out. That’s good. Good to know you’ve got your priorities in order,” he starts.

“Answering your texts isn’t even remotely on my priority list, you know that.” You’re trying incredibly hard to keep yourself from being outright nasty but a whole lot of old wounds float up to the surface at the sight of your ex.

Maybe your new feathers aren’t as filled out as you’d initially thought. You feel raw and exposed and it’s difficult to think. You know what you should do, how you should handle it- and there’s still that one little part in your brain that is keeping tabs on John and his response to all of this.

“Your priority should be my son-“ he starts,

“-who is with his perfectly capable grandmother for the evening, thank you,” you finish for him, jaw set tightly. “Why are you here?”

The direct question is aggressive but you know the cycle with him too well to allow him to steer the conversation. He’ll run you in circle after circle until you’re so frazzled you can’t discern left from right.

“Can’t say hello and introduce myself to your new fella? Come on now, where’s your manners?”

Your eyes widen as Michael reaches a hand out- there is no way this asshole is about to grab you in public.

Quick as a snake, John runs interference and drapes his arm across the back of your chair, his fingers holding the shoulder furthest from him lightly.

The entire length of your back and shoulders are blocked by the SAS captain, forcing Michael’s hand back as there was no easy place for it to land that wouldn’t also be touching John.

Up until now, John has been quiet and assessing the situation. Not bowing up or trying to assert himself- letting you deal with your ex and navigate the situation for yourself.

The look on his face is downright unpleasant to put lightly. This is the man in charge of an elite task force, who barks orders at soldiers who drop everything at once because he told them to-

-and you don’t feel so exposed anymore. You find yourself sitting up a bit straighter only for John to gently stroke his knuckles against your shoulder in a soothing gesture. The gesture isn’t a miraculously grand one, but one that makes you realize you’re not alone in this situation even as disorienting as it is. And if you’re being honest with yourself, the upright posture and shifting of your thighs isn’t so much a stress response to your ex as you keying in on John’s response to the whole situation.

“John, Michael- Michael, John. There, now you’re introduced.” Go away now please.

Your ex is too drunk and too full of himself to see the writing on the wall, and continues to poke the bear. “Well, since she doesn’t seem to want to give a proper introduction-“ he sticks an arm out, and you can’t help but notice how the simple gesture causes him to need to correct his balance. Good lord it was barely dark out and he’s already-

Well. Not your problem. Not anymore, at any rate.

John is sitting to your left, his right arm the one that’s draped across the back of your chair. The pair of you flash a quick look to each other, John lifting his arm from your chair to take Michael’s hand and-

God.

Damn.

It.

The exchange is actually as hilarious as it is embarrassing (You can’t quite decide if it’s all the second hand cringe variety, or first hand because Look, John! Here’s the father of my child! I sure know how to pick a partner! Is still coiling in the depths of your stomach). You’d prefer if it simply never occurred at all.

You can see your ex’s forearm flexing as he shakes John’s hand. The microexpression that flicks across your date’s face confirms your suspicion- Michael is (for some reason) trying to use an overexaggerated grip to establish some sort of dominance in the situation.

The quick really? that reads on John’s face rapidly turns to a bemused and subtle if that’s how you want to play then, a barely noticeable shift in his own grip resulting in Michael wincing.

“Captain John Price,” his tone is easy, betraying none of the pissing contest your ex instigated and is failing miserably to get one over on John.

Your ex mumbles his full name, clearly realizing that whatever his brilliant little plan is a) isn’t so brilliant to begin with b) he might just be alert enough to acknowledge the fact that he clearly has no true plan. He came over with the intention of being an asshole and has been flying blind the entire time.

There’s one woman from the group your ex split off from who is watching the three of you keenly. If you were to guess, she is probably his new girlfriend.

You can’t help but wonder- does she know enough to know that this is routine behavior for him? That he throws himself headfirst into a situation he hasn’t planned out- isn’t sober enough to plan out? Situations that don’t need to occur just so he can throw his weight around? Too petty to give a genuine “Hello, how are you? It’s been a while. I want to talk to you about Sam when we’ve both got some free time?”

Everything is vindictive. Constantly worrying about not being undermined and being respected to the point he gets in his own way. Actively sabotages his own opportunities. In dire need of therapy to work through his issues because you know the alcohol is how he copes and you’d sympathized at first but the reasons became excuses and then he’d started blaming you and-

-John places his arm on the back of your chair again and you pull yourself out of your mental spiral.

“I think your date is waiting for you, Michael. Best not to keep the lady waiting.” John observes, his tone neutral despite being a clear dismissal.

“You’ll be hearing from me later. I want to see my son.” Michael’s ignoring John’s presence but taking the hint.

You don’t fling a final barb at him. The venom has been drained out of you and you just want the interaction over and done with. Let him have the last word. You just want him gone.

You merely cast a look over at the woman who is Michael’s date for the evening and hope she’s got better sense than you did- that she leaves before he sinks his claws in her too.

The weight that settled in your stomach upon first seeing him is finally lightening up on you. You know you’ll wake up tomorrow to a barrage of phone calls and text messages that you won’t answer. It’s probably not good you’re so desensitized to the idea that it barely registers as a problem. Merely one of life’s many inconveniences.

“You alright, love?” John’s voice helps you shake the last of the tendrils that cling to you.

“Yes. Sorry. Wasn’t expecting to run into him of all people tonight, is all.”

“Never fun being ambushed, is it?”

You take a bit of a risk- you know enough about his job but he’s steered the conversation away from it every time the topic would naturally shift that direction. You know how Kate’s work can go and you assume his is very similar. “Well you’d certainly know more about that than I would.”

It works. The two of you break out in grins, and you find yourself no longer worrying about Michael and your focus readily settling back on John where it belongs.

At some point- long after the single cube in John’s drink has melted, and the condensation of your wine glass has soaked the bev nap underneath it, and more importantly long enough that you don’t feel that you’re fleeing the restaurant- the suggestion is made to go back to John’s. “No more surprises, hm?”

You gladly follow him. You’d taken an Uber to get to the restaurant, anticipating drinking and hoping to go home with him, so you have no worries about your own car.

You can easily see him being the type to give you a quick, chaste kiss on the doorstep after safely dropping you at home. In another universe you’d appreciate the restraint, enjoy fleeting touches over the course of a few dates that get more intense each time before finally finding yourself in his bed.

In this universe however, you don’t have to wait. Don’t want to, either. You get to indulge your earlier impulse of crawling into his lap, knees spread wide on either side of his waist. Lowering your hips allows you to feel him and what exactly he’s packing between his own legs. Your hips cant in short motions and heat coils heavy in your gut.

From the feel of things he’s proportional and John is not a small man. There’s a brief flicker that runs through your mind that you might be in over your head with him. The pent up lust and desire stifles that flicker. You’re more than game to see what a night with him ends up being like.

His hands are warm against your skin- one cupping the back of your head and keeping you close as the pair of you make out, the other settles on your hip and keeps you steady as you grind down on him.

You are possessed with the desire to get his cock in your mouth.

It’s cute how his face follows yours as you pull away from him.

“Help me with my dress?” Your question is perfectly innocent as you turn your back to him, presenting the zipper that runs down the length of your back.

His pleased laugh warms you, a shiver of desire and anticipation running down your spine as his breath fans across the back of your neck.

You’ve got a surprise waiting for him underneath your dress, partially revealed as one of his hands holds the top of the dress steady while the other draws the zipper down.

You gave him the hint you were wearing stockings when you’d baited him back at the restaurant, letting the heavy fabric of the dress fall to a heap around you before kicking it off to one side.

Turning back to face him, John seems quite enraptured with his surprise.

The lingerie set is a matching shade as your jewel toned dress, the garter belt clipping to the sheer black thigh high stockings.

There’s always that split second hesitation when revealing yourself to someone- the anxiety of if they’ll be pleased with what’s presented to them.

John is the first person you’ve been with since you’ve had your child, and the slight anxiety quells quickly at the look on his face.

John looks like he wants to eat you alive. Any insecurity is knocked firmly aside by desire quickly ramping back up.

Placing one hand on his thigh to steady yourself as you lift a leg to take your shoe off, John is quick to stop you. “Leave them on for now, love.”

It’s a request but it’s not. Really that doesn’t surprise you- he is someone who is likely used to having his whims accommodated to. You find yourself having no urge to defy him, nodding in compliance. If John wants your heels to stay on, then they’ll stay.

He guides you between his legs, enough space between his knees for you to slot yourself in. With him sitting on the bed he’s shorter than you standing straight up in your heels. Bending down to give a quick, teasing kiss you let yourself drop to your own knees.

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to,” you assure him with doe eyes and are rewarded with him settling into the bed as your hands go to work on his belt.

Unable to resist teasing him, you mouth at his bulge through the thick fabric of his pants. You’re rewarded with a soft cant of his hips, having his belt undone and working on the button and zip of his pants in record time.

Your earlier suspicions are correct. John is a big boy in more ways than one. You want him in your mouth- now.

While you’re occupying yourself with getting his pants off, John shucks his shirt and shoes.

He is, simply put, delicious to look at. From the broad muscling to the thick dark hair running from his chest down his abdomen. He doesn’t have the hard chiseled abs of a man who lives in the gym but the sturdy build that comes from having useful, functional muscle that’s put to work.

And that’s incredibly hot. He’s girthy as hell in your hand as you give a few strokes before putting your mouth on him.

You’re not entirely certain if deep throating him is going to be an option, but by God you’re going to try.

“Bloody hell, love.” John grunts while you bob your head up and down the length of him. You’re gauging just how much of him you can get in your mouth- where your threshold is before your gag reflex wants to kick in.

He’s petting you. Doubtless trying to fight the urge to fist your hair, his hips struggling to stay still on the bed.

You want him to. You feel feral, all the pent up sexual energy you’ve been storing for God-knows-how-long welling up all at once. You want this man carnally and your brain presently thinks having your hair held in place and your throat fucked is a fantastic idea.

John clearly has other plans, restraining himself and letting you work at your own pace. That low, deep breathing paired with his soft grunts and voiced encouragements stoke the flames of your arousal hotter.

Eventually you do need air, pulling off of him for a moment. Your hand works his shaft and teases the tip of him as you lean forward to run your tongue up and down the length of him, dropping a bit lower to lave at his heavy sac. He jolts which only encourages you to do it again.

You know your eyes are one of your better features- you’ve heard the compliment enough times both in and out of the bedroom, holding John’s gaze as you lick him back up the length of his shaft and circle the head once before having caught your breath enough to wrap your lips around him once more.

The second time around you’re able to get a bit more of him down your throat, but not all the way. What you can’t reach you stroke with one hand, the other resting on his thigh to help balance yourself as you work. You can feel the tension building in his thigh as he gets closer, pleased with yourself.

It’s a heady feeling. You don’t know exactly all the dirty details of his job but understand enough to know you’ve got a powerful man at your whim right now and that scratches a deep seated itch in you.

“Good girl,” his praise washes over you, warm and welcoming. “Just like that-“

You’re intent on sucking the soul out of him, all doe eyes and hollowed cheeks with those painted red lips. Eventually he gives into the urge to grab a fistful of your hair. He doesn’t do anything to interrupt the rhythm you’ve settled into, letting you move as you see fit.

He bites out your name and you feel the muscles in his leg drawn tight. “I’m getting close, love.”

It’s not quite a question. You give your not-answer by doubling down on him. You’re so close to having him in your mouth all the way to the base. You don’t want to back off. What you do want is for him to finish down your throat.

You get your wish. John’s fist tightens and you let out a grunt as his thrusting results in your nose pressed against his public bone.

The taste of him doesn’t really register as he spills inside your mouth, your focus on breathing through your nose and keeping your gag reflex down.

He’s petting your hair again, praises falling freely from him and soft apologizes. “Lost myself for a moment there, love. You alright?”

You keep your mouth hilted on him for a moment to prove a point- you’re fine, he didn’t push you past threshold- before finally releasing his softening cock.

He’s pulling you up to him after that, an open mouthed kiss that flusters you considering he just came in your mouth. “You’re just a treasure,” his voice purrs in your ear. “Only fair I return the favor, hm?”

He guides you to lay on the bed, knees hanging over the edge before he turns to settle between your legs.

He starts at your neck. You’re ticklish at one spot his lips, squirming in his hold with a giggle. “Sensitive, hm?”

You nod out a “mhm,” that breaks into a breathy moan as he works his way down your chest. Rather than removing your bra his hands work to pull your breasts free from the cups before paying particular attention to your nipples.

His hands are warm as they roam your ribcage, the heat of his body seeping through the lace of your outfit as his fingers trail across your skin and the delicate material.

“You’re so soft, love,” you don’t quite know how to respond to the compliment, mewling wordlessly in pleasure at the attention.

That seems to appease him as he kisses his way down your sternum and to your belly, the expanse of most of it covered by the fabric of the garter belt.

His eyes flick up to your own as his lips travel closer to the apex of your thighs. Where you’ve been lying patient and pliant in his grasp, the eye contact draws something tight in your core and you squirm again.

The next thing you feel is teeth as he nips you. “Be a good girl for me,” he tells you, soothing the soft throb of his bite with his tongue.

You force yourself to still as he moves lower, lower, lower- taking his time and having you thoroughly worked up before moving to the next patch of skin.

When he’s down far enough he slides one of your thighs over his shoulder, that arm looping under your arm and banding across your abdomen.

It’s his turn now to mouth at your clothed sex.

He pulls the gusset of your thong aside after a moment of teasing, his lips descending on you.

“Oh,” your hand immediately finds purchase in his hair, a pleased whimper escaping you at the feel of John’s tongue.

John feasts on you. There’s not much else that can be done to describe it. It’s lewd and wet as he laps at you, the flesh of his tongue doing little to soothe the burning ache inside you and only ramping it up.

Those eyes are wicked as he gazes up at you from between your thighs. The hand resting on your lower stomach is pressing ever so lightly, like John wants the pressure there but not too much yet and you’re once again struck with the idea you might be in over your head with him.

“John, please,” you beg. It feels good but you need more, lust clouding your brain as your hips rock against his face.

“You need to be patient, love. I’ll take care of you. Just relax, hm?”

It dawns on you that he’s probably running down the clock until his refractory period is up. That he doesn’t want to get you going too quick and then be stuck not quite ready to perform.

It’s an assumption, and you’re not 100% sure that you’re correct, but it’s a solid enough option that you move forward with that in mind.

The thought almost makes it easier to relax into the bed- the idea that John is going to pleasure you with his mouth until enough time has passed and he can get it up again. That he’s not just mindlessly toying with you with no end goal in mind.

It feels good you’re just stuck being greedy and wanting more stimulation despite knowing that won’t happen until John decides he’s ready to give you more.

You almost jump when the fingers you’ve been waiting for make their presence known. His mouth moves to focus on your clit, lips making a seal and sucking on it. You cry out, hips canting as his fingers gently rub at your labia.

He starts with one, gently sliding it in and out of you. Your back arches in satisfaction of having something to clench on and rub against. It’s more satisfying than just one of your own- that was for sure.

“That’s it love,” John praises you while easing a second one into you.

The second finger is what you were looking for, stimulation wise. John pets and strokes you, thumb gently working over your clit in soft circles before putting his mouth back on you.

He doesn’t just find your g-spot. John’s fingers are placed so they hone in on that spongy bit of tissue tucked inside you. He doesn’t let up on it, tongue working on your clit as you arch your back helplessly and moan.

That pressure is back on your abdomen, the hand not currently stroking you to nirvana pressing down on your belly.

You moan and buck against his hold. Your orgasm is creeping up on you and it’s like he’s determined to make you squirt.

“You keep that up and I’m gonna make a mess,” you warn him- not entirely certain how he’ll respond to the prospect of you squirting on his face.

John looks delighted and you realize that yes, you are in over your head with him.

There’s a mischievous glint in his eye as he pulls back from you, “You promise, love? Don’t tease me.”

Oh dear God- Next thing you know he’s reaching over you to pull a pillow from the top of the bed, wedging it underneath your hips before returning to his place between your thighs.

You’re flustered at how eager he is to see you squirt. His mouth is back on you, sucking on your clit and making your legs shake as two fingers go right back to abusing your g-spot, his free hand pressing on your belly increasing the pressure that is mounting by the second.

There’s nothing else for you to do but grab a fistful of his hair and hang on. “Please- oh! J-John! Right there,” at your encouragement he locks in on the spot that’s got you arching your back and your thighs trembling.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me,” he’s moaning encourments against your skin and you feel like a bow drawn tight and ready to snap. You’re so, so close.

The sounds he draws out of you- both from your mouth and between your legs- are filthy and vulgar and you don’t care at all as he gets you teetering just on the edge.

You’re practically gasping for breath, eyes screwing shut as the hand not buried in John’s hair fists the sheets next to you. You babble his name, chants of John all your brain can muster.

All that pressure coiling in you snaps and gushes out, literally and metaphorically.

“Good girl, making such a mess for me,” John’s praise has you flushing hot while his fingers work you like he’s making sure he can wring out every single last drop.

He stops when you have nothing left to give him, a trembling mess shivering in his hold.

Your brain at some point made the windows shut down noise, needing a moment to settle as you process what John just did to you.

This is the hardest you’ve cum in ages, certainly better than the orgasms you’ve given yourself during your little dry spell.

You return to the land of the living with his lips on yours, tasting yourself as he soothingly strokes your side. “You back with me?” He asks, eliciting a nod from you.

“Please tell me you have a condom,” your tone is pleading. You still want to ride him but you’ve learned your lesson about practicing safe sex. Once was, in fact, all it took for things to go off the rail.

“I do,” he stands, moving to the nightstand and opening a drawer.

Now that your legs feel somewhat compliant you sit yourself back up.

No sooner than John’s got the condom on then you’re guiding him back down, having him lay on the edge of the bed.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, getting yourself situated so your heels don’t catch on his sheets, but you’re straddling him with the leg closest to the edge of the bed hanging over the side as the opposite leg folds underneath you. You hover over him while getting everything lined up. The position of your legs allows you to alternate which one is supporting the brunt of your weight, a factor that is going to be fairly important once you’ve hilted yourself on John.

Even with how pliant your body is it takes a moment for the head of him to breach you.

“Oh,” you let out a breath as you sink down on him. You’re not able to get all the way to the base of him on the first go, getting your weight underneath yourself and lifting almost completely off of him before dropping down again. You get a little further this time, a moan escaping you.

“That’s it, love. Nice and easy,” his voice coos in your ear, that low timber having you liable to melt.

He’s thick. Not in a way that’s insurmountable to manage, but you have absolutely no complaints with how he fills you and anticipate being pleasantly sore in the morning.

Two more slow bounces have you sinking low enough to hilt yourself on him, taking a moment to enjoy the sensation of sitting fully on his lap.

One of his hands braces on your hip, the other his thumb circles your clit. You squirm at the stimuli, relishing in the feel of him before getting to work.

This is what you’ve been drooling over all night. Your reward is very well earned in your opinion. Moaning lowly as you bounce up and down, your movements are initially slow and languid but pick up speed as you get your bearings. John’s heavy exhales and grunts when you clench only serve to wind you tighter.

“You feel good, pretty girl? Hm? You like bouncing on my cock?”

You flush- a ridiculous notion given how you’re quite literally hilted on his dick-, face hot from the dirty talk.

The hand on your hip helps guide you to a pace that’s pleasurable for the both of you, eyes rolling as he thrusts his hips in a way that makes you see stars. “Yes! John- yes! Oh it feels so good,” your voice a low purr as he delivers on every fantasy you’ve had this evening.

The stretch of him in you feels absolutely incredible, knocking the air out of you on each bounce. It doesn’t take long until that knot begins to form again, growing steadily as you rise and fall in his lap. The press of his finger circling your clit draws staggered moans, bracing on him for support.

“Been thinking about this all night,” John grits out. “Wanted to flip you over the bar top and have my way with you right there on the dining room floor.”

You moan at the confession, feeling less like a rabid dog with no impulse control now you know you’re not alone in the intense desire that had struck once you’d laid eyes on him.

“Probably wouldn’t have- ah! st-stopped you,” you tell him. The grip on your hip tightens at that, another moan escaping you as you bounce on him.

Your eyes roll in pleasure, cunt practically fluttering from the way he keeps getting you to clench. The thickness of his girth doesn’t just let him keep hitting that spot in you with lift of your hips so much as the mushroom tipped head of his cock drags across it.

“Aren’t you just a fucking treasure,” he praises.

Your thighs are burning, eased by the position of your legs and John’s grip helping you but becoming more present with each wet clap of your sex against his lap. It almost helps you tip closer to another climax.

Your eyes squeeze shut, a staggered breath escaping you.

“Eyes on me,” he tells you and you comply immediately.

“John, please I’m so close,” your thighs are shaking again, threatening your already precarious balance.

“You need more, pretty girl?”

You shake your head. “No-no. Just don’t stop. Please don’t stop!”

And bless him, he doesn’t do anything to fuck up your rhythm. The fingers circling your clit keep the same tempo and pressure perfectly, his free hand still helping guide you up and out of his lap before sitting you back down.

You know you’re about to come but are caught off guard by how sharp it is as you squirt for a second time.

The sight of you spurting across his abdomen nearly severs any control John has left. The next thing you know John’s abandoned your overstimulated clit in favor of rolling you onto your back, your heels clattering to the floor from the motion. Your legs go instinctively to clamp around his waist for security- only one of them does, the other stopped by wet fingers gripping your thigh by your knee as he spreads you open. His weight is held on the forearm bracing next to your head by the time you process the shift in position.

“You alright, pretty girl?”

You can’t quite get your words out but manage a nod. “Ye-yeah,” you eventually stagger out as he waits for a verbal confirmation.

With the comfort that you were fine, that gives John the assurance he needs to seek his own pleasure.

More than satisfied with your two climaxes, you lay limp and pliant in his grasp while he chases his own end.

The wet squelch of his cock splitting you open with each thrust was loud and obscene although you were too far gone in the blissed out pleasure to care. Your whole body feels delightfully tingly, your head swimming pleasantly.

You clench down on him a few times, more for his benefit than anything else. You’re spent but more than willing to help him across the finish line as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muttering praises that are punctured with short, sharp thrusts before he stiffens as his own climax hits.

The two of you have both broken into a light sheen of sweat by the end of things. After a moment to recuperate John stands with a “I’ll be right back.” (And you unabashedly enjoy the view of his ass while he retreats to the bathroom.)

True to his word he returns shortly, evidently having disposed of the condom with a towel in hand for you.

The pair of you get yourselves clean and sorted. Before you can decide how you want to ask, John seems to already know what the question is.

“You don’t need to leave, do you?”

Again it’s not entirely a question, but still gives you an out if you want to take it.

You don't want to take the out.

[saerins]

⋆୨ chapter one ୧˚ thorns without flowers, bars with no drinks

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ previous: prologue - all see through just like glass <> next: chapter two - a million miles away, still you connect me in your way ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 5k | ೀ content warnings: fluff/angst, modern au, arranged marriage, rich!sae and rich!reader, hostility on sae’s part, profanity, your marriage is not off to a very good start, both yn and sae both have other … options. | notes: ty i appreciate all of you who are reading this <3 i added everyone who asked to be tagged ^_^ lemme know if i missed you !!

The day has finally arrived. After two months of painstaking preparations, it’s your special day today. Not that your parents have given you any say on your own special day. You wonder if your future husband got the same treatment too. That is, if he was even interested in it.

Everyone has arrived, the chefs are ready, people are dressed to the nines, photographers are already snapping away. More than half the guests, most of which you barely know, have come to speak to you, to congratulate you, but it all still feels so surreal.

Is this really happening?

There’s a lot of important people in attendance today, a lot of them you don’t even know personally. Which is funny, considering that it’s your wedding. Of course, both sets of parents were in charge of the invites, and your actual friends probably only account for fifteen percent of the entire list. (With Sae’s friends, probably totaling thirty percent.) The rest are spaces filled by people in power—political, business, what have you. It’s no surprise; your parents (and you guess Sae’s as well) are great at networking, and of course these people would attend such an event—two kids of rivalling companies getting married would signify a possibly huge shift in market share, and they’d probably like to be here to witness for themselves if this is some sort of sham. If this lasts, then they’ll have to move their money around, that’s for sure.

It is kind of a sham, but you’re trying to get that out of your head. This can’t possibly be anything but a ruse to further their own gains. Parents are like that, as much as you know.

“Hey, are you sure about this? There’s still time to back out, you know?”

Beside you, your ever observant younger sister offers you a sad smile; a product of the guilt she feels because despite you not telling her, she knows you’re just trying to keep the crosshairs away from her. She must’ve realised that your feet are colder than you thought. But as far as you’re concerned, better you than her.

She has a happy relationship with one of the nicest guys she’s ever met, and the last time you’d spoken to him, he’d confessed to wanting to marry her. The only downside to it all is that your sister is way too filial—if your parents tried to force her to get married to someone of their choice, she’d give in eventually, and you don’t want that.

Besides, you don’t have anyone. No love interest, no potential suitors—what’s the worst that could happen to you? As long as Sae is decent enough of a human being, you’re sure you’ll be fine.

“I’m sure, so don’t worry about me, okay?” Your hands come up to her shoulders, squeezing slightly, offering your best and most radiant smile.

Sensing that there’s only more of your dear sister’s worry coming, you’re grateful that a timely knock comes from the doorway. You hold back a sigh of relief before turning to look at your visitor, and you stiffen up when you realise who it is.

“Is this a bad time?”

Your sister speaks up before you do. “Oh, Itoshi Sae, of course not!” There’s a sense of excitement in her voice that masks her earlier concern; it’s kind of sad that the art of faking is a necessity of living in the world you do. It’s one of the essential skills. You either fake it or face consequences. “I’m all done here, you two should talk.”

With that, she bounces out of the room, and you wonder just what kind of thoughts she’s having—her happiness is kind of infectious. Sure, Reo had said countless times that if Sae was ever a dick to you, he’d punch him in the guts for you. So far, he doesn’t have to. It’s nice that he made the time to visit you before the ceremony, it’d be nice to meet just once before after all.

“Hi, um, it’s nice to meet you.” It’s the best you can do when you’re halfway gaping at how good your future husband looks. There’s nothing that needs to be said for his face; his red-brown hair frames his face just nice, his teal eyes makes it feel like he can see right through you, and those naturally long lashes of his makes you envious. He’s wearing a simple black tux—but you know there’s nothing simple about the price tag. Not for his tux, nor for your couture wedding dress. He still looks handsome all the same, and you realise now why so many girls seem to be all over him from all those forums you’d been reading up on.

Still, as charming as he looks, he makes you slightly uncomfortable with that especially long silence, your eyes falling on his gaze, his teal eyes seeming like they’re posing you silent questions. You remain quiet, waiting for his next move. It’s almost like you submit by default.

Some foolish part of you, the hopeless romantic, is hoping you and him can hit it off right away, but even you know that’s asking for too much. Sae proves you right when he finally opens his mouth.

“I wanted to set things straight before we go through with anything.”

Just like that, with just those few words, Sae has managed to strip all the hope out of you. Nothing good can come out of those words, coupled with that monotonous tone of his. This isn’t the face of a man who’s happy to get married, and certainly not one of a man who is even willing.

Though, can you really say you are?

“I only said yes because I was forced to,” Sae tells you, not explaining more than he needs to. The line is drawn—thick with a black marker, something you can’t miss even if you wanted to. “Just play your part, act happy, and you can drop the act once we’re done with this today.”

There’s something in his bossy attitude that doesn’t sit right with you, but you’re too busy being disappointed in yourself to do anything about it. All you allow is a nod, because even without Sae saying it, you had planned to give your biggest smile later anyway, no matter how fake it is. Thing is, you had imagined that Sae was less… hostile than this. Honestly, maybe you had been hoping for him to at least put some effort into liking the situation, but from how he is now, it doesn’t look like it at all.

“Okay then, see you.”

Sae barely looks at you before he turns and walks off toward the door, right about to turn the corner when he’s stopped by your parents. Of course, they’re more than delighted to see him. They’d been convincing you hard to this arranged marriage, claiming how you’re so horrible at romance that they really are just pushing you to do this so they can have an heir early. If you ever did have a child, you can only be sure how you want to not treat them like. Your parents can be credited for that.

“You look wonderful, Sae!” Your mother is already gushing over Sae’s look as your father has his arm around him, pulling him back to the door.

“So, this is the first time you’re meeting our Y/N right? What do you think, son?” Your father has his Client Services voice switched on—after seeing him work all this time, you can distinguish it in an instant. You wonder if Sae can.

In front of your parents, you’re shocked to see that he’s already putting on an act. There’s a very subtle smile on his face—something that seems so soft and secretive, something that looks like it’s meant to be viewed by exclusive people only—and you find your own heart skipping a beat. You wonder if anyone’s ever been so lucky to be able to see that naturally.

“Your daughter is…” Sae trails off, and you find yourself swallowing the lump in your throat, inwardly asking. yourself why on earth would his opinion matter to you at all. “Pretty.”

It’s a simple word, with an even simpler meaning, and Sae doesn’t even mean it, but you find a heat creeping up your cheeks and you’re not sure why it’s so easy to appease you.

“You’re hopeless, you know that?” Reo says later on, after your parents and Sae have headed off somewhere and Reo takes their place.

Covering your head with your hands, you groan, absolutely annoyed with yourself. “Is it so wrong that I just want my future husband to remotely like me even just a little bit?”

Reo sighs, wondering what kind of luck you have to be born into a family where that isn’t even possible. Usually, people marry someone after they dated them for a while. After they can ascertain they’re good for them and that they have the capacity to put them first. Somehow, you’d been stripped of that because your parents, of all people, are the ones encouraging you to get married to someone who doesn’t love you. Hell, they even know that you and Sae don’t even know each other.

It’s pitiful, really. You’re a nice person, and Reo would shake you and convince you not to do this if he could, but it’s not like you can afford anyone to lose faith in you. If they do, how will you keep up your act? So, he’ll play his part as your best friend and just support you—he’ll deal with Sae separately if he ever dares to treat you horribly.

“Does he even know how to be nice to people?” You ponder out loud, whining, pouting as you gaze at nothing at all, the ticking of the clock making you more nervous by the second.

The wedding ceremony is half an hour away now.

Reo takes a seat beside you, leaning an elbow against your dresser. “Hmm, I heard about him from friends of friends—but all of them say he’s more of an asshole than your average person,” Reo fills you in, though you probably guessed that by yourself.

Of course, he chooses not to disclose the fact that Sae has an alleged ex he can’t get over, because what good would that do you? You’ll just get all FBI-mode and try to find her socials and find reasons you’ll never measure up and say shit like maybe that’s why Sae isn’t interested in you.

Still, you look like a hot mess and Reo has to encourage you somehow, or else you’ll end up walking up that aisle like you’re marrying Lord Farquaad. “Oi, Y/N, what I hear is he’s just a tough nut to crack.”

“I get it, Reo, I’ll probably end up talking to the wall everyday at home since my husband won’t even talk to me.”

Reo rolls his eyes, pressing his lips into a firm line and putting his hands on your shoulders, taking care not to shake you or else your hairdo will come off and he’ll have your hairdresser absolutely seething. He’s not about to try and owe her anything or else he’ll end up bald just from having to offer her a wig.

“Hey, he’s just a tough nut to crack,” he repeats, and he sighs in exasperation when you still don’t get it. “So crack him, stupid. You’re good at that, right?”

Your eyes widen at Reo’s insinuation, and even more so when you realise it’s an actual good attempt at trying to encourage you. You crack a small laugh and Reo smiles along with you—he thinks that smile looks the best on you.

“If you can crack Nagi of all people, who’s Itoshi Sae?” Reo affirms. Nagi Seishiro, the son of the dean back when all of you were in university, who wanted for nothing except laying in bed all day and playing games, somehow managed to show an interest in helping his mother with her business, and it’s all because of you. Reo still doesn’t know how you did it, but all he knows is that you’re probably magic. (No, he knows you definitely are. You were, once, his once upon a time after all.)

His words stay with you even as you walk down the aisle fifteen minutes later, arm looped around your father’s.

“Be a good wife, okay?” Your father’s words break you out of your reverie. It isn’t the normal way a father would show concern for his child. No, the way he says it is cold and sinister, like it’s a threat. He reminds you why you’ve never had a good relationship with him. “If you screw this up, we’ll all have hell to pay.”

Trust your father to drop a bomb on you right before he passes you to Sae, who receives you with a polite nod. Perhaps, his original reaction is to have no reaction at all—is that nod his form of ‘acting’?

“Dearly beloved, we are all gathered here today—”

The words are lost on you as you try to keep your head in the present. Different thoughts are invading your head from different places that you almost feel overwhelmed from the mess. You can see Sae right in front of you, staring at you, and all you can think of is how you’re going to get along with someone who looks like he doesn’t want to. Growing up with a distant father and a far-too-subservient mother gives you anxiety—what if you end up just like that? Aside from that, instead of the holy words of matrimony, all you can hear is your father’s words repeating themselves in your head.

Hell to pay? Why, exactly? Why did he let go of the flimsy excuse of simply wanting to be his daughter’s matchmaker? What’s he talking about when he involves you in a possible blowback? What’s going on?

“Anytime now, princess.”

Sae’s hushed voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you scramble to gather yourself. “Yes, I do.”

For some reason, Sae’s hands are now around yours, and the glimmer of the diamond on your ring finger reminds you of the gravity of what you’re doing. You’re getting married—to someone you barely know, for a reason you’re somehow not privy to. You’re signing away your life to be with someone who made it clear he’s definitely not interested, who views you as a chore before he bothers to get to know you.

It all terrifies you, if only because this was not what you ever envisioned for yourself. In the audience, you see Reo’s vibrant purple eyes looking at you, a confident smile on his face, nodding as though telling you that you’ve got this. In some ways, it’s reassuring, because once upon a time, you’d thought of Reo as your Prince Charming.

In front of you—not completely oblivious to your subtle actions: trembling fingers, eyes flicking over to that purple-haired boy in the front row, your shallow breathing—Sae puts a gentle hand on your cheek, slowly guiding you to look straight at him. For his part, he has to at least make this believable, to make his parents believe that he’ll follow through with this for years and years so that they’ll never have to bother Rin. Unfortunately for you, you’re his ticket to that end. Like it or not, both of you are in this together.

“Try to look like you’re happy, at least,” Sae breathes against your lips, a soft curve on his lips just for show, as he slowly presses his lips against your own, a satisfaction washing over him as he feels you kiss him back.

Great, step one is done. Now, for the rest of the wedding.

It’s a tough sell. During the reception, you’re acutely aware of how awkward you and Sae are around each other. He tries, occasionally tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, or offering to feed you food. It’s only because there’s a lot of eyes on both of you.

His hand on your back feels foreign, and forced, and you can’t help feeling sad that he’s not someone who cares for you. The only thing tiding you through is that it’s not necessarily that way for you too.

“You’re a horrible actress,” he whispers, low so only you can hear. He’s right, too. You really do suck at this. “If you don’t at least look happy, we’re both in trouble.”

As if you need a reminder. In some ways, his attitude is similar to your father’s, and not in a good way. It only serves to make his touch more alien.

“Hey, look who’s here,” you hear a very boisterous voice approaching.

A quick turn of your head and you can see who you assume to be Sae’s friends, because surely they’re not yours. The one approaching first looks older, dark hair with green tips, behind him another one with blonde hair and wild pink highlights.

“Hello there, beautiful,” the first one says, reaching out to grab your hand and place a kiss on the back of it.

With a click of his tongue, Sae yanks his hand off of you. “Stop playing, Oliver.”

Oliver. That name sounds oddly familiar.

“At least I wasn’t like Mr Embarrassing here who spilled the wine all over one of the bridesmaids.”

Mr Embarrassing cocks a brow, ready to challenge Oliver. But before either of them can say anything more, Sae cuts in.

“These are my friends—”

“I’m Oliver Aiku,” he introduces himself, properly reaching out his hand this time now, waiting for you to take it at your own pace. 

You stare at him dumbly for a moment before shaking it. “As in, the law firm?”

“At your service,” Oliver smirks.

Of course one of Sae’s friends is the son of the most influential law firms in the whole of Japan. Right as you’re still collecting yourself, Oliver nudges Mr Embarrassing.

Looking completely disinterested, he sighs. “Ryusei Shidou.”

“As in,” you pause for a while, afraid you might be wrong. “As in… the governor Shidou?”

Annoyed, Shidou nods anyway, and Oliver begins to tell you to excuse him because he’s in a shitty mood but you’re not really hearing any of that.

Holy crap. So that must be the infamous son of the governor, the one he keeps carefully hidden away from prying eyes. Given how he’s behaving, and how he looks completely unlike a… typical person here, you’re not that surprised. That’s probably just how tradition is, in their family. Much like how you and the Itoshis have their own as well.

The rest of the celebration goes uneasily, your anxiety forever creeping up your spine, threatening to unravel itself and have you running off to Reo for some sense of familiarity—but that won’t look well: new bride choosing to spend the entire celebration with her best friend instead of her new husband? That’ll just bode a scandal for all three of you, and with this many influential people in the room, from governors to influencers, that’s the dumbest move you can make.

“Well, you two look absolutely beautiful together!”

After your first dance, the Itoshis approach you, both of them seemingly happy on the surface, but given how Sae absentmindedly tightens his grip around your hand, you’re not so sure you should believe in the superficial. Right, because you of all people should know the complications that come with being children of such parents.

It’s like Sae realises what he’s doing before he drops your hand, acting like nothing happened at all.

“Sae. What did we discuss?” The way his father calls his name is absolutely sinister. If you didn’t know any better, you swear they feel like absolute strangers.

Fortunately for you, some other guests come by and steal their attention, both of them relegating to one of the other tables. Beside you, Sae’s jaw is clenched—he’s lost any interest in faking anything for now.

Still, you suppose, if you’re going to get along with him, you probably have to try to reach out… right? Steeling your resolve, you place your hand over his, squeezing it a little, “what was that—”

Without even letting you finish, Sae yanks his hand away, and for the first time today, you’re seeing some genuine emotion behind his eyes. 

And they’re not kind. They’re pretty, but they’re ice cold—the veins on his temple are prominent now, and he really doesn’t care if anyone sees.

“You’re my wife, only on paper,” he hisses through his teeth, still cautious in keeping his voice down. His frustration doesn’t know its boundaries, choosing to take this anger out on you. “Stop trying to poke your nose into my fucking business, we’re strangers, and that’s all we’ll ever be. Drop the act, I’m done for today.”

Just like that, he storms off, which doesn’t quite particularly cause a ruse because for a wedding held for the both of you, there’s not a lot of people here that actually care for either of you. It’s as though this wedding is just a pathetic excuse for a larger-scale networking session.

Feeling even more pathetic yourself, you make sure nobody’s looking before you slip away, retreating to the rooftop garden—you need some fresh air after being so uprightly rejected by your on-paper husband.

Back in the dressing room, Sae locks the door behind him, knowing full well you didn’t deserve to be on the other end of his temper but not being able to bring himself to just apologise. Just as well, he figures. From the looks of it, you seemed pretty hopeful for the bare minimum being a good relationship but Sae can’t see it.

He catches his reflection in the mirror, barely recognising himself. A year ago, getting married wasn’t even in his radar. He’d thought of it before, sure, but would never have guessed in his wildest dreams that he’d get married to you of all people. 

There’s always an agenda for why his parents force these things on their children. If he was a shittier brother, he’d have let them drag Rin back for all he cared. But maybe it’s the way he can’t bear for them to ruin yet another dream that he so easily gave in. Or maybe he thought that this idea wouldn’t be so bad in the first place, maybe it’ll give him the chance to want to move past certain things.

Evidently, it’s not working well.

You’re pretty, and that’s something he didn’t lie about. You really are, but that’s all he can say. He can’t say he sees anything, any hope, any reason for him to want this to work out.

Sae sits down on one corner of the bed, pulling his phone out. He scoffs upon realising he doesn’t even have your number. What kind of fucked up marriage is this? Nothing was handled for either of you, so it’s safe to say that the only thing either set of parents cared about was that this went through. 

As he looks through his phone, contemplating whether to ask Oliver or Shidou to think of an excuse to let him bail from the celebrations before it ends, a text comes in, and this time, all the anger and disappointment disappears, all that’s left is the warm feeling of nostalgia and familiarity.

The contact he hasn’t seen in his notifications for a few years now lights up his phone, and all of a sudden he feels somewhat better. Though, her message itself makes him feel complicated inside.

Sae types a couple of responses, staring at it for a few moments before rephrasing himself and sending it through.

Hours later, after the celebrations are done and both of you are forced to drive back to your new apartment together, you sit in the passenger seat, staring out the window as Sae drives, sitting in complete silence.

As much as you want to save what this marriage could be, you’re not sure where to even start after how he flared up earlier.

Sae keeps his eyes on the road, too enveloped in his own thoughts to bother even turning on the music. His eyes occasionally flick over to your figure. Your fingers are trembling. Are you scared of this all or are you just feeling cold? Either way, he can’t bring himself to care. All he cares about right now is just finding a way out of this stupid farce.

After a fifteen-minute drive, both of you arrive at the apartment building; sleek black walls on the front and twenty-storeys high. Each floor is an apartment in itself, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that only the rich and wealthy stay here. By extension, that means your neighbours are either going to be complete strangers who don’t bother each other, or annoying young kids who host parties and have to be complained against.

Both of you head up to the top floor, neither of you knowing what it’ll look like—it was a gift from both your parents, saying how they picked out the best of the best for their children, and then periodically joking about wanting grandchildren. (You and Sae had completely ignored that part of the conversation.) Sae let you carry your heavy bags on your own, choosing to avoid any sort of eye contact all the way up. He’s just busy on his phone, and you can’t help feeling a little lost.

When you reach the top floor, Sae opens up the door; it’s made of heavy mahogany, slamming right back at you after he strolls in. You take a deep breath, pushing on the door to open and barely making it in, sucking it up because the last thing you want after an entirely shitty day is to have an argument.

Sae doesn’t even stop, just keeps walking, placing his suitcase in what seems to be the master bedroom. Truthfully, you wouldn’t know; this is the first time you’re even seeing the apartment. This entire place is huge, and thanks to this being on the top floor, there’s two floors and a high ceiling. All crisp and clean, walls a bright white, full contrast to the outer walls of the apartment.

Ten seconds later, Sae comes back out, finally making eye contact as he looks at you like you’re dumb for just standing there. If he does think that, he doesn’t say it out loud.

“There’s another room at the far end down the hall, you can use that one,” he tells you, matter-of-factly, as though you wouldn’t retort. (You don’t, but it’s annoying that he takes it as a given.) “And there’s only one key, but I’ll make a copy tomorrow and pass it to you.”

How romantic. The first night of your new life together and he’s relegated you to the far end of the house to sleep alone. You’re sure it wouldn’t be past him to enforce a rule of minimum contact at this point.

“Yeah, sure.”

You’re trying not to make a big deal out of this, because what would it even amount to? It’s not like you can get out of this, or else what’ll that do? Just impact your sister. But still, it completely sucks that your husband isn’t someone you love, isn’t someone who even wants to give it a shot, isn’t someone who’s willing to make himself bearable to live with.

An exhausted sigh leaves Sae’s lips as he tosses the keys onto a tray placed carefully atop the kitchen island. “I don’t think I need to remind you, but I didn’t want this and I think neither do you,” he says, his eyebags more apparent now that some of his makeup has caked off. “So I’ll keep out of your way if you keep out of mine.”

Spoken as if he truly hates your guts.

The wariness from everything that happened earlier—the wedding, the entertaining, the scepticism, your unwilling husband. What’s supposed to be a typically happy occasion has drained the complete life out of you, though it deigns to strip your hope entirely. Some nauseatingly optimistic cell in your brain is telling you that you still have to try, that it takes longer for some people to warm up to you, that if you give up then this might really just be it for the rest of your life.

So you nod your head and force a smile, even when Sae doesn’t return it, even when you know he won’t. “Mhm, okay,” you say, obediently, even though Sae just looks on at you emotionlessly, the only sliver of human that you see in him being the slight furrow of his brows. When he turns to walk back to his room, you call a goodnight! to him. All it gets you is a grunt of acknowledgement before he slams the door once he’s in.

Trudging your bags behind you, you dump them on the floor of your bedroom. The walls are pearly white, and the dresser is huge, a top-to-bottom mirror rests on the wall next to the closet. There’s even a bathroom inside, too, though you’d bet it’s smaller than the one Sae’s room has. 

It’s all very nice. Expensive, like the suite of a five-star hotel, and decorated lavishly.

But that’s all this is.

Nice. On the surface. It’s nice only to the eyes. Yet it can’t shake the foreboding feeling inside you that nags at you, warning you that Sae is just going to get even worse as you go.

Right as you’re about to spiral into a descent, you get a text from Reo.

You smile at his offer. Maybe if this was a few years ago. Maybe if both of you had acted on it when you knew the feelings were there. It’s been too long since then, everything that could’ve been is not—but what is doesn’t seem to have any hope of working out. 

Sighing to yourself, you make a mental reminder in your head to keep trying tomorrow. After all, you’re probably the only hope this sham of a marriage has at making it.

taglist: @kimvmarvel @mxplesyrvp @yuzurins @futuristicxie @kiopanxp @k0z3me @y-sabell-a @sae1toshilover @xoxojisu @karmatiz @sagejin @minnieminnie00-got7 @hearts4heidi @shiinobu-x @n1uh @prepchuu @leeyzhuo @shidouryusm @kaiserkisser

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home: Chapter 2 Part 2

It's Wednesday! Time for another WIP Wednesday. No Ghost!Robin today. I've been focusing more on this fic. I think I'm going to try and start alternating weeks, but there's no set schedule or plan and it's liable to change at a moment's notice.

Fic Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

First, Previous

1.3k words

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Cassie hissed, “What the fuck, Tim!”

“I know!” whispered Tim back. “Danny mentioned home security, but I had no idea it was like that!”

Bart shook his head. “Want help with that kidnapping scheme? I’ll join you on your road to villainy.”

“That’s the problem with Tim,” agreed Conner. “He makes the road to evil look like it’s really the best option. Count me in, too.”

Cassie groaned. “Damn it, you guys are right. I’m in.”

Before Tim could do more than flip them off, Danny was back. “The pop express has returned!”

Cassie was closest to the door and Danny passed over her drink first. Only to freeze as their fingers brushed.

“Oh,” said Danny who looked at their hands then up at Cassie and back to their hands. “Huh.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Cassie and Tim started to get a bad feeling.

Which was only worsened by Danny looking at him with a grin forming on his face. “Sooooo, Tim—”

“No!” Tim shook a finger at him. “You’d better not tell me what I think you’re about to tell me! You’re OP enough! No more!”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “You done?”

Tim sighed and decided to just collapse backwards onto Danny’s bed. He stared at the ceiling and waved a hand in the air. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Danny, apparently, loved making him suffer and continued passing out the drinks without telling him what he discovered. Then the mattress dipped next to him and Danny was above him with a grin that wouldn’t melt butter.

“So, Tii-iim,” Danny sing-songed.

“Daaan-ny,” replied Tim in the same tone.

“Apparently I can sense metas. And aliens. Which is so cool. They feel so different to humans! I knew about my ghost sense, but didn’t realize that applied to other species.”

Tim just sighed and closed his eyes. “Of course you can.”

“Conner!” The mattress shifted again as Danny moved. “You feel like warm sunshine and it’s so cool. Bart, you feel like static. Which… little awkward for me, but it’ll be good. I should try and get over my fear of electricity. Cassie, you also feel like static, but in a totally different way. Can’t explain it any better than that.”

“Why is static a problem?” asked Bart.

At the same time, Tim said, “I’ll add it to the list. And the descriptions.” He cracked one eye open to look at Danny. “Will you promise to stop developing more powers for me?”

Danny laughed and nudged his knee. “No promises.”

Cassie looked between them. “Does this mean you know?” she asked Danny.

“Wonder Girl, right? And Superboy and Impulse?”

Cassie nodded. “And Tim told us about you.”

“My lips are sealed,” Danny promised.

Tim rolled his eyes and pushed himself up. “Just gimme my water and fix my phone.”

“Wow, Tim,” said Cassie. “Rude much?”

“No. Look, you’ve no idea how ridiculously OP Danny is. Almost every week he calls me saying he discovered something else he can do.”

“If you think that was rude,” added Danny with a laugh, “you should’ve seen the things he said to me when I got him killed in Elf Night.”

“Ugh,” Tim feigned annoyance. “Don’t remind me. Honestly, what were you thinking? You were a rogue! Why did you attack the boss head on like a barbarian? We lost weeks of game progress! Weeks, Danny!”

Danny just laughed and threw the water bottle at his face. Tim caught it easily.

“Just give me your phone, Slim-Slam.”

“Slim-Slam?” asked Conner.

“He tried to object to Tim-Tam. I made him regret it.”

Tim shook his head. “This was a mistake. Why the hell did I ever think it’d be a good idea to let you guys meet.” To hopefully get them to change the subject, he shoved his phone in Danny’s direction. “What do you need to do to this anyway?”

“We just need to make it compatible with ectoplasm. There’s enough ambient ecto in Amity that waiting a few weeks allows it to happen naturally, but that’s not an option for you guys. Tuck and I went through, like, fifty devices figuring out the exact quantities and locations to add ectoplasm to force the process without destroying the device. It took us ages, but we figured it out. Now Tuck and I get extra money from the tech geeks in town who don’t want to wait the month or so it usually takes for new devices to start working.”

“Speaking of Tucker, will I be able to meet him? And Sam? You’re meeting my friends, I want to meet yours.”

Danny shrugged. “Sure. I’ll text them to meet us at Nasty Burger in forty minutes.” He sat at his desk and set down Tim’s phone to do so. Then, he opened a drawer and pulled out a set of micropipettes and disposable tips in a variety of sizes along with an empty glass beaker. Then came out an electronics tool kit. Tim had a similar one, though Danny’s looked like it had been obtained piecemeal as nothing matched. Finally, he opened a different drawer and pulled out a vial of a glowing green liquid.

Tim pushed himself off the bed and moved to stand over Danny’s shoulder. His friends joined him.

Bart asked, “So what will you be doing? What’s that green stuff?”

“It’s ectoplasm. The stuff ghosts and their dimension are made of. Ectoplasm is… complicated. This is unshaped ectoplasm, also called pure ectoplasm. A ghost or sentient creature can impose their will on it and make it function in a specific way. Since I’ve died, I have an easier time shaping it than most humans. I’ll send ‘tech’ vibes at it to get it to fuse to the phone more easily and apply carefully determined quantities to the different parts of the phone.”

“‘Tech vibes.’” Tim couldn’t hold back the groan. “It’s like magic. I hate it.”

Cassie bumped her shoulder against his. “You get that from Bruce.”

“Damn right, I do.”

Tim watched as Danny popped out the sim card. “First thing I’ll do is add a hundred microliters to the sim card. Then I’ll take the screen off and get to work on the innards. Do you guys want new batteries, by the way? Tuck’s got a bunch of ecto-batteries. Could have him bring them along when we meet up. You’d never have to charge your phone again.”

“Hell yeah!” said Conner. “Sign me right up.”

Tim shook his head, but couldn’t hold back the smile. “What do you mean by never have to charge it again?”

“I mean an ecto-battery will power the phone longer than the computer in the phone will last. I’ve switched over all my electronics. Nothing in this house is hooked up to the electricity grid anymore. I haven’t used a wall plug in four months. Not since Tucker and I fixed the batteries my parents designed.”

Tim didn’t like the sound of that. “Two questions. First, if the battery outlasts the phone, how should we dispose of it. And two, more importantly, ‘fixed’? What the hell does that mean?”

Danny had finished with the sim card and discarded the pipette tip in the beaker. Then he set about removing the screen from the phone. “Just bring the phones back to me when you’re done with them. I’ll upgrade your new ones, too. And their designs were liable to explode, overload the device, or bring it to life so it attacked. But Tuck and I took care of all that. Now devices only attack if Technus manages to get through the portal.”

Tim could sense Conner trying to look at him, but he resolutely refused to look away from Danny’s hands. He was removing the cameras and adding more ectoplasm to them, though much less than the sim card needed.

Unable to get Tim’s attention, Conner asked, “Who’s Technus?”

Danny shrugged. “One of my rogues. Tuck thinks he’s the ghost of Nikolai Tesla. He’s interested in controlling all technology and will make himself a giant mechasuit cannibalized from any electronic he can find in, like, a half mile radius. Super annoying.”

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Next

So I've decided which episode of the show this will take place during! It's mid season 1, so Jazz knows about Danny but Danny doesn't know she knows. I don't think that contradicts anything I've written (need to reread it), but if it does, no it doesn't. I dunno if most of you know what micropipettes look like, but if there's any interest I can take pics at work tomorrow and post them so you can see what I mean when I talk about the tips and stuff. I meant to do that today and then I didn't.

Tag List

@gremlin-bot, @bonebrokebuddy, @britcision, @lady-time-lord-, @welcometosasakiworld, @akikkobara, @phoenixdemonqueen, @dolfay, @skulld3mort-1fan, @we-ezer, @markus209, @sjrose1216, @onyxlightdragon, @dragonsrequiem, @jesus-camp-the-sequel, @spidey29phangirl, @kyrianclawraith, @evilminji, @introvert-even-on-the-internet, @emergentpanda-blog, @lexdamo, @v-inari, @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit, @longlivethefallen, @undead-essence, @xye-chan, @liandrin, @seraphinedemort, @kisatamao, @schalensitzbucket, @caelestisdreamer, @runfromthemedic, @nutcase8691, @channajen, @tonicmii, @ambiguouslyominous, @vythika96, @addie-lover-of-stories, @ironicvixen, @violetfox2, @pickleking8, @mysticalcomputerdetective, @ark12, @mygood-bitch99, @squirrel-wolf

Getting close to the point where I'll have to split the tag list in two! (I'll still add anyone who is interested.)

[devilishmango]

The Story of Sin [UPDATE 4/27/2024]

Find the demo here. Link to the main post here.

Hey guys! 

Welp, I finished the chapter just in time for this month’s update. 😅 I really liked this chapter, though… Things are starting to not be ok for Sin, mentally, and I always love writing things like that 

In this chapter, you…

Pick up that small creature! [And NOT hurt it!! Good job!! 👏]

Hang out with Murmur for a bit and learn a bit more about yourself

Hurt Murmur’s feelings :( [It’s ok, you can apologize!]

Have another strange dream

Upset Will. :( [It’s ok again! You can apologize… Eventually.]

Hang out with Murmur and Anya for a bit. 

Some things- I’m slowly changing the look of the whole game. Now that some ✨THEMES✨ are settling in, I’m able to actually make the IF look a little prettier. I have some other art I will be adding later, when something in particular happens in the story, so get ready for that as well! [Also, this is random, but I realize that I’ve never mentioned this… The beautiful hand/forehead model for the SoS banner is my lovely little sister. Just wanted to throw that out there! 😂] I am also introducing a secret stat 👀 I’m not entirely sure how I want it to look on the stat page, so right now it’s just a number that will either go up or down depending on some of your choices. So, until I figure out how I want it to look…… Enjoy just a random number on the stats page. 😂

Also! If you are interested in being a beta-tester/proofreader, please send me a message on tumblr. Or, if you don’t have a tumblr, just send me an email. kg.1996@outlook.com Please only message me if you are serious in beta-testing or being a proofreader. I’m not really picky about how much experience you have, but I do want people who would actively be helping me correct things like grammar, bugs, coding errors, etc. Oh! Also, you will need a discord account to be a beta-tester or proofreader. That’s the only requirement!! 

And, since it’s been a hot second and I have a lot more followers now… If you are able to, and like my art/works to the point that you would like extra content, please consider becoming a patron, or buying me a kofi! I know times are tough right now, so it’s totally fine if you can’t donate anything. But even just sharing/liking/commenting/etc. Are other ways you can help support me. But, if you do have a few dollars you can spare a month, I have tiers on patreon ranging from $1-$5- you get extra content that you can request, and early access to updates and whatnot! 

One more thing! I was just able to get this month’s update done, but I definitely think May’s update might not happen. 🥺 Midterms are next week, AND I’ll be going on a small vacation to Portland, OR. for about a week at the start of May… So I may not have enough time to put together the update for next month! I’ll let you guys for sure when the time comes, but I just wanted to let you know now in case it ends up happening! Thank you for being patient and understanding. ☺️

See you all next update! 

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