#nothing was made with any other article of clothing in mind

[bellsliturgy]

i wish rounded spectacles existed in cyberpumk :( v just doesn’t look right with any other kind of lens

he wears his specs when he’s V, and he wears a pair of aviators when johnny’s in control

[mywritersmind]

SAVIOR - LN4

pt.2

summary : Y/n’s favorite place has quickly become her and Lando’s shared hallway. They grow closer and finally make it to the fresh air.

OG SUMMARY (When y/n’s absent neighbor shows up, causing her great annoyance with smoke and repetitive beeping, she marches over to tell the man off but is met with a handsome face and strong hands that are in distress.)

listen up : no warnings!! y/n is clueless abt f1. lando is silly. i’m craving strawberries now.

word count : 1878

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I haul my five grocery bags into the elevator, struggling to keep them all off the ground. I sigh when I finally still in the metal box, i’ve carried these at least two blocks and one had broken on the way.

The doors are about to close but a hand slides in between them, making them automatically open for him.

Hello my hot mysterious neighbor.

He looks relieved he made it, “Y/n!” He says cheerfully, like we’ve known each other for ages. It’s been a couple weeks since I slammed on his door and stomped through his kitchen.

The other side of the hallway had been quiet until last night when I heard keys rattling and the door opening. I can’t help but wonder what he does that keeps him from home so often.

“Lando, Hi!” I smile back as he slides beside me and presses our floor.

“You need help?” He eyes the bags as I bite my lip, not wanting to bother him. I don’t have the time to respond because he takes three bags out of my hands like it’s nothing.

“Thank you.” I sigh, “I’ve been struggling for like two blocks.” He laughs a bit with me as the numbers get higher and higher.

“I’m happy to help.” We finally reach our floor, Lando watches me go first and walk to my door, unlocking it and walking in.

Lando follows hesitantly, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

“Thank you again! I put myself in a bit of a bind when I decided that my friends need fifteen types of salami and cheese.” I place the bags on the counter, Lando following.

I push back my hair and suddenly wish I had cleaned up a bit more. My friends are coming over tonight and I had decided to push back my cleaning. Looking around at the clothes and old popcorn bowls scattered around makes me want to slap myself.

“Really, I like to lend a hand! I never get to be neighborly.” He shrugs.

“What do you do for work? If you don’t mind me asking?” I start placing the cold items in the freezer.

He leans against the counter, his arms holding him up and looking alarmingly fit, “Uh… You ever follow Formula 1?”

I nod, “Kinda? I used to love it!” My mom and I would watch every sunday but I stopped in college so I don’t know any of the current grid, “So you work in the sport! That’s cool, pretty hands on?” I ask as he laughs a bit, looking awkward.

“Yeah, I work with the cars.” He looks around my place a bit, “So, why does one need this much food? I’m judging or anything it’s just… You don’t seem like the type to need a jumbo sized pretzel bag.”

I smile and snatch the bag from him, “I could definitely eat all of this by the way! But I'm having a bit of a party tonight. If anything’s too loud just let me know! It’s just old friends from college- actually.” I look up at him, a boost of confidence appearing in me, “You could join us. If you’re not busy.”

It suddenly sounds like a ridiculously stupid idea. I turn back to the fridge, placing a bottle of lemonade in it and cringing.

“I would love to.” I let out a sigh of relief, “But I've got plans…” I frown and turn back to him, finally putting away the last of my groceries.

“Aw.”

“It’s really nice of you to invite me.” I smile, a bit sad and confused why I'm disappointed. I mean I barely know the man. “What do you do for work?”

I lean against the counter so I'm across from him, “I’m a writer. Journalism right now but I really want to take a more bookish route…”

He genuinely looks so intrigued, more interested than anyone else who I've told I write articles about neighborhood drama.

He checks his watch, which I'm now realizing is incredibly expensive, and swears, “I gotta go. Have fun with your party tonight.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I definitely do have fun. My friends and I eat, drink, and play board games just like we’re back in dorms. I’m seeing my last and closest friend off when Lando comes up the hallway, As my friend's eyes go wide when she sees him, I shake my head.

“Goodbye!” I push her out of my apartment, “Love you!”

“Yeah love you too! Text me!” She walks past Lando, nodding at him before she turns behind his back and mouths ‘he’s hot’.

I roll my eyes at her, a smile still on my face as Lando looks at me. He’s in a full suit, holding his blazer in his hand.

“Fun time then?” God he’s hot!

“Absolutely!” I giggle, a bit tipsy, “How about you then?” I eye his suit.

“As good as I could make it.”

I slap my hand over my mouth, “God you aren’t coming from a funeral then, are you?”

He laughs at this, “No! No. A work banquet thing.”

I giggle a bit as he turns to his door, “Hey!” I say without thinking, “Would you want to come in? I have wine.”

He’s sitting on my couch thirty minutes later, a glass deep and talking about where he’s traveled too.

“That’s my dream!” I say, my feet tucked under myself as I tilt my head on the couch cushions, “Traveling. I mean- You’ve been everywhere!”

He shrugs, sipping his wine, his tie undone and shoes off, “It’s amazing but I'm not there for long so I don’t usually get to sightsee much. Honestly the most interesting thing that’s happened to me recently is this pretty girl came to save my baking disaster.”

I hum to his words, blushing a bit, “Sounds like a hero if i’ve ever heard one.” We both go silent, taking pieces of my leftover charcuterie board. “Should I start watching F1?”

“No!” He says it so quick that i’m taken aback.

“No?”

He laughs a bit, shaking it off, “It’s boring. I can’t have someone else in my life talk about it.”

I spin my wine around in the glass, “So I'm someone in your life now?”

He smirks, “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

I pretend to contemplate this, “I’ve never had a friend who hasn’t gone to the strawberry market with me.”

He makes an odd face, “So we must go then.”

I sigh, “If you want to be my friend…”

The corner of his mouth pulls, “Tomorrow at 9?”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

He’s at my door at 9:12. Thank god he’s late because I hop over to the door, pulling on my shoe and pulling down my jean skirt.

I open the door and stand up straight, smiling breathlessly. He, of course, looks perfect in jeans and an olive green shirt, “Morning.”

“Ready to taste the best strawberries you’ve ever had?” I grab my bag and keys.

“So ready.”

We make it to the market just on time. It’s my favorite neighborhood gem. Every Sunday people gather with strawberries. There are big and small, some covered in chocolate and some in honey.

I buy a box of chocolate ones, well Lando does. He insists that he still owes me. Handing one to Lando with an extra fork, he bites into it, his eyes roll, “Fucking hell.” I nod, excited that he likes them as much as I do.

“My favorite treat! Something you can’t burn your house down with.” I eye him and he eyes me right back. Being with Lando is like a breath of fresh air. I’ve never been so confident in my social skills.

He laughs with a shop owner as he buys his pack of plain strawberries. He's so nice and just listens politely as the woman goes on and on about her childhood on a strawberry farm.

He gives her a bigger bill than necessary and as she insists it’s too much, he just shakes his head and continues walking.

We settle at a park bench nearby, tasting all the pieces we’ve bought, “This is genuinely phenomenal.” He says while eating another, “How’d you find this place?”

“Had to write about something local and had total writers block… I was walking around one day and just sort of stumbled upon it.”

He smiles, I really like this smile. “You seem like the type to just stumble upon a strawberry market.”

I laugh, covering my mouth, “What does that even mean?”

“You’re just so…” His hands make these weird gestures, his fingers moving around as he laughs and gives up, “It just fits.”

I smile, meeting his eyes. They're so nice, a mix of blue and green. His gaze washes over me and I feel the need to smile even more.

“You’ve got nice eyes.” My stomach twists as he says it so calmly, “Real pretty.” I feel a blush on my cheeks and I turn away from him, looking at the park near us and being startled by the child looking up at us.

Lando follows my gaze, mumbling softly, “Shit.”

“Hi.” The kid says awestruck, I look to Lando who’s smiling and sitting up straighter. “Um- Are you Lando Norris?”

Lando scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah I am! What's your name?”

“W-William!” He says, swallowing and pulling a pen from behind his back, “Could you sign this?” I glance to what looks like his mother, she’s watching him with a smile.

Lando simply nods and takes the cap from his head, its bright orange. He signs his name and messes up the kid's hair, “Thanks a lot! My friends’ll never believe it!” The boy squeals and runs back to his mom who waves slightly and takes the boy's hand.

I raise a brow at Lando, still confused, “I’m sorry…” He looks embarrassed but I don’t even know what for.

“I’m going to assume you didn’t tell me the whole truth in what your job is?”

His cheeks get a bit red, “I do work with the cars… Just really close. Like I’m in them. One specifically.”

I nod, “Yours?”

“Mine.” He crosses his arms, his lips in a thin line, “I drive for McLaren.” I breathe out.

“Oh.” I can’t help but think I have a type because I grew up with Jenson Button posters on my wall.

He runs a hand through his curls, “I don’t usually get recognized around here- Thought we would be okay.”

“We are okay!” I reassure him, realizing he’s actually embarrassed, “That was sweet.”

He looks up hopefully, “You think? I’m sorry for lying- I just really liked that you didn’t know who I am or what I do.”

“Well, I sort of still don't. I know your full name now, that’s about it.” He smiles at this, I bite into another strawberry.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

He is yet to say something I'm not shocked at.

“Yeah.” I nod, smiling at him as he grins, “I’d really like that. Don’t you have to race soon though…? Singapore, isn’t it?”

The smirk that pulls at his lips is just plain mischievous, “I never said the date would be here.”

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru & Geto Suguru

TW: yandere, noncon, drugging - inebriated and immobile reader, unhinged Gojo and Geto being an enabler

fem reader

ODD...

There’s something very… odd… about seeing two boys be so comfortable flirting in front of each other...

Usually, a man would need to be alone with a girl to show his puppy-dog eyes – it’s that vulnerable and intimate side they don’t want other guys to see – and otherwise, at the very least, someone normal would have the decency to look away from the intimate sight and allow a friend some privacy.

But Suguru and Satoru were different.

They offer each other no decency – no privacy – none. In fact, you can’t really place a time when you’ve been alone with either of them. They’re always attached at the hip. You swear, they’re more prone to have pouts and sweet-nothings on their lips when they’re looking at you at the same time – mirroring each other's smug smirk and hooded bedroom eyes – finishing each other's sentences. 

You don’t understand their endgame. Despite both vying for your attention, they’re not exactly competing for it. More like… they’re helping each other out. Almost… rooting for the other...

Maybe they want to leave picking one of them up to you? 

It’s, anyway, very odd.

You’re confused when you’re in bed with both of them...

Your memories couldn’t tell you how you got there, only that there’d been a party, and you’d been drinking a little too much and gotten yourself a little too caught up in the moment that you’d allowed the white-haired blue-eyed tall boy to sway you away. Still, you couldn’t exactly remember a time when alcohol had made you feel like this – limbs numb yet ticklish, your head fuzzy, grasping at the muted words surrounding you and their blurry faces in between blinking.

“She’s up, ‘Guru.” Gojo noticed first, having been unable to look away from the sight of your pretty face sleeping in his bed. You’d been so soft and dumb when they’d helped you away from the crowd.

The drugs had hit you much harder than he’d thought, making you so dopey he’d had to carry you the rest of the way like a bride.

And now you lay there so cutely, he’d had to swallow the pool in his mouth more than once already – jaw locked tightly and eyes wide so as not to miss a single thing from the rise and fall of your chest to the way your lips parted with dulcet moans.

Geto, however, had made himself busy – peeling your clothes off one article at a time, leaving wet kisses on your skin each time he exposed someplace new.

You made a sound once you noticed, but you weren’t strong enough to move much more than keep your eyes open in flickers.

“Morning, sunshine-” He murmured with lips smearing against your cheek and a hand softly coming to cup your face, angling it to look into his heavy eyes. “Care to help us settle a bet?”

You moan, unable to formulate any words.

“You see, ‘Toru here- thinks he has the ability to read people’s minds by watching them long enough- but I think he’s full of himself like usual.”

He smiled, cooing at you to stop the sloppy cries that soon overwhelmed you when both the current event and the thoughts of what might impend dawned on you.

Otherwise, he ignored it in favor of continuing his query. “Naturally, the only way to know what someone wants is to try and find out, don’t you agree?”

He leaned in closer, and you struggled to look up into his darkened eyes through the tears and the sleep. Wanting to say something, to tell him to stop, to get off – but you couldn’t make much other sounds than a baby would.

“Like, for example-” He murmured, ignoring your inner turmoil. Swiping his tongue across your lip before he softly pushed down on them with his.

Kissing you. 

He cared little that you couldn’t kiss back. Assisting your mouth to receive him with fingers squishing the plush of your cheeks – making you open to take his tongue, letting him swirl it about your own before he smacked off with a wet string connecting you. 

He sighed with a curled smile, chuckling lowly. “Now, I could tell you liked that… but the only way I’d ever find out was to go ahead and try it. Whilst Mr. Six-eyes here- is still left none the wiser.”

Most of what he said was muddled, and you were otherwise too panicked to listen anyway – wanting to wind your legs shut – but so tired, you could barely even curl your fingers into gripping the sheets.

“Try again, and I’ll deduce whether she liked it or not myself,” Gojo spoke up from behind him, his tone syrupy – with the same sickly-sweet thing pooling in his eyes.

He swallowed thickly yet again.

“I didn’t quite catch it the first time…”

Geto hummed and then indulged the ask, leaning in to kiss you again. Only this time, he swiped a hand up from resting on your knee to your thigh, then further in between them. Stroking two fingers up the naked slit until both digits circled your clit – waking it up.

A whine slipped your throat and poured into his before he could detach yet again – still with the same smile, casually asking the other boy, “Whaddya reckon this time?” 

Gojo shuffled a little impatiently now, looking like he was about to pounce soon, too.

“I’d say she liked it very much..." He said – tone strained – and a hand raised halfway in the air, fingertips buzzing while slowly lowering down to brush the plush surface of your thigh.  "But, y’know… I have a feelin’ she’ll like me even more...”

Geto offered a lax laugh, snarking, “Y’think so, do you~” Leaning back to give the other space.

Gojo was already crawling forward – greedily taking his place between your knees, lifting your thighs up to rest on his. 

He was still wide-eyed – looking calmly frenzied while lowering his hand down to your pretty pussy, rubbing between the lips to feel the wet heat there – a shudder running through him at the feel – slumping forward with a sigh.

“Only one way to find out, I suppose…” Geto added, lazily watching the seemingly star-struck six-eyes part his lips when entering your cunt with two slender fingers. Pumping them in slow and carefully – feeling your thighs weakly tense up but ultimately accept it – too influenced to fight back.

He pushed his thumb into your clit like it was a button, making your chest softly arch with a small croon – attracting his gaze – now, looking back at your pretty face and how you sighed with your belly. 

Once again, he swallowed thickly as he leaned over – keeping his hand between your thighs, working the place as if in reverence – while slowly putting his other hand around your throat. 

He licked his lips when giving it a squeeze, huffing out a small airy chuckle when feeling your walls clench on his fingers in return – and then locked his mouth over yours.

Tongue first and wet, slurping your lip into his mouth – moaning into you like he’d been edging himself to the moment forever, finally indulging it with every fiber – pouring himself into your mouth while curling his fingers against the gum of your cunt, forcing forth moans from your chest.

He was soon panting - rutting his own thickened crotch against whatever was convenient.

“Toru-” Geto broke through after a while before the boy could get too lost in the haze. But Gojo only answered with a sneer out from the corner of his mouth – and continued with you unfettered.

Geto sighed, almost rolling his eyes. Ignoring the threat.

“Let the poor thing breathe.” 

Only then did he notice how tight he’d been squeezing your neck. Your tongue lazy in your gaping mouth, lips wet with his drool – breaths weak with tears slipping free from your eyes, staring upward toward nothing. 

“Well, no doubt you enjoyed that…” Geto continued casually with a snide smile, watching him detach his hand from around your poor neck, followed by you gasping for air – but otherwise remaining just as still as you’d been. “Not so sure she liked it so much, though…” He snickered. “I think I win.”

“I disagree,” Gojo argued but sounded calm – not sparing the raven-head a glace while pulling his fingers from your cunt and showing off the wet slick left on them from when he’d felt you throttle and shake. Flashing the other boy a smug smirk of victory.

Geto’s smile didn’t drop in spite of it.

Instead, it grew a little wider, stretching so far, his eyes got slim.

“Hmm…” He hummed – as though in genuine thought, even when they both knew it wasn’t. “Guess we gotta keep trying, then…”

You struggled to keep focus. Only barely catching parts of the muddled conversation. But you could swear – it was as though they were having a trivial debate rather than anything else you felt it should have resembled – not much arguing present in it whatsoever – as if they were but a pair of level-headed thinkers sharing two equally respected beliefs before testing their theories. 

Meanwhile, you were left out of the discussion, as though you were but a test-bunny to their experiment.

Gojo leaned back on his calves and began buttoning up his shirt with one hand – looking down at you while he raised the other up to his lips, opening his mouth and lolling out his tongue – licking the two digits he’d had inside you with a grin.

“Seems so, huh?” He answered while at it – his eyes gleaming in the dark like something nocturnal on the hunt. “No other choice...”

[gay-dorito-dust]

From HSR men, who is most likely to wear clothes that you’ve knitted or crocheted for them if you were their S/O?

Argenti would wear near enough anything you���d crocheted for him, he didn’t care if it was well made or had a couple of loose ends, he will wear it either way and with the upmost pride.

He treated anything you made him as though it were priceless treasures that could never be replicated as anything made by hands that weren’t yours didn’t hold the same sentiment.

He sings your praises so much and so often that many thoughts you’ve woven your gifts for him out of pure gold rather then the standard wool.

Them: it’s just a knitted rose cardigan, what’s so important about it?

Argenti: it’s not just a knitted rose cardigan, it’s a knitted rose cardigan my beloved had woven with their own hands with nothing but time and patience on their side, so it would be best to respect their craft for what it is.

Them: and what’s that?

Argenti: art

Aventurine could buy pretty much anything and yet the most priceless things in his possession were the things you’ve made him by your own hands.

He will try anything and everything you’ve made in the past and wear it as though it was apart of some latest fashion trend. He wears your hard work with pride and appreciation for the talent you possess.

You were possibly the only person to think of him whilst making clothes and little crochet trinkets that he now fiddles with his left hand whenever he was scared midst a high stakes gamble.

Aventurine doesn’t allow for anyone to touch the things you’ve made him, no matter what their relationship to him is as you made those things for him and him alone, that and he didn’t want others to tug on it roughly or handle it heavy handedly to the point it ruins the crochet peacock you made him.

The clothes and items you made for him along with anything else were his comfort items that he’s grown a deep attachment towards, and he would always try to keep them in pristine condition. You’ll never catch him without something you’ve made on him.

Welt Yang loves and cherished everything you e made for him and will always have it on him at all times whenever he needed to feel your presence close by when you’re apart.

It puts both his heart and mind at ease.

He wears the scarf you made him religiously but the moment where he had to engage in combat, he’s carefully peeling it off of him and tucking it away safely to prevent it from getting damaged.

He didn’t feel it was right to wear the scarf you spent hours working on during combat, where it would take one wrong move and ruin the whole thing.

Other than that Welt always wore anything you’ve made him as a silent expression of his thankfulness for you and the effort you put into everything you made. He loved them all equally, but nothing topped the dark brown/beige scarf you gifted him first.

The scarf had become a prominent article of clothing of Welt’s that it would become a main staple of his usual outfit, so much so to the point where people would easily recognise it’s absence should he ever take it off. That’s how often he wears it.

Gepard loves the sweaters that you knitted for him and would wear them no matter the weather.

It could be warm as shit and Gepard would still be wearing your sweaters regardless. Not because he felt as though he was expected to wear it, but because it had become his most favoured piece of clothing.

Serval and Lynx would mention about how he never seems to part from the light blue sweater with white snowflake deigns on it, and would ask whether or not this had anything to do with you; only to bear witness their brother’s face become red as a cherry as he attempted to find any excuse that would evade him of any answer all of their teasing.

He fails and his sisters -mainly serval- tease him restlessly for being puddy in your hands.

Gepard was more often seen in his armour due to his job but the moment he gets to be rid of it after a long day, he immeditly puts on the sweater you made for him and let’s out a audible sigh of relief as he then burrows his face into the soft, breathable fabric.

If anyone had asked where he go the sweater from he’d scratch the back of his head and say that the sweater was one of a kind, before adding on that you were the one who made it for him.

Needless to say it didn’t take much for any to know just how much he adored the sweater, from the way he spoke fondly, to the soft caressing the light blue sweater between his thumb and finger. He wasn’t as subtle as he liked to think he was.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

I loved your peter vs Alastor story, can we possibly get a part two? Like maybe Peter is looking for her and she hears about it through the news or something from missing persons reports. She’s changed her name and Alastor has told her there’s nothing to worry about, but keeps having dreams about Peter finding her? You can choose how it ends!

A/N: I didn’t think people would want a part two to that but since you asked you shall receive! I love writing about Yanderes going against each other it’s so much fun 🤗. I watched the first four episodes of Hazbin Hotel and guys i LOVE IT SO MUCH. I’m so glad I waited for this show, and I’m so glad other people are enjoying it as much as I am. Special thanks to @a-bookworms-teashop or also known as @forbidden-sunlight, for helping me with this short story! As per usual we all know I like cliffhangers so expect a part three soon <<33 happy reading & enjoy!

Warnings: violence, obsessive tendencies, mentions of blood, lots of manipulation, talks of mental abuse, lots of dark content ahead!!

Songs you can listen too while reading: Close to you by Rihanna. Slipping through my fingers by ABBA. Desire by Megan Myers. Love on the Brain by Rihanna. Forget her by Jeff Buckley. Meet me in the hallway by Harry Styles. The Grudge by Olivia Rodrigo.

Part 1

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

Forget her

Living in New Orleans was nice. People were always so kind, and everyone was so welcoming. Getting a new name was easy, surprisingly. The government didn’t make it hard to run away from psycho ex boyfriends who didn’t know how to take a hint. Living with Alastor was nice. He was always a gentlemen, a gentle man, a good lover too. He made sure to never treat you the way Peter did.

In fact he was quite the opposite with you. Inviting you out to parties with him, keeping you out of the public eye as to not bring the wrong type of attention around. Everything felt like it was starting to get better. He would bring you flowers, take you to work with him even, or work from home. Alastor was nothing short of the perfect boyfriend. In fact he was perfect and more.

But lately, something seemed to have you on edge. He had been fidgety. Checking his phone constantly but always reassuring you with the polite smile. A reassuring one he tried to keep on, but you saw right through. He was hiding something and you wanted to know what.

According to Husk, Peter had since moved out of the apartment he had been living in, with no notice too. He had gone completely ghost. There was no sign of him anywhere, according to your knowledge. It was a Saturday evening when it had all happened. When your intuition had finally proved to be right.

“You said I wouldn’t be seen.” You said, the article about an appearance the two of you had made up on your phone. Alastor was walking through the kitchen, tossing various ingredients into a large pot, his jambalaya coming along nicely.

“ Dear please, there hasn’t been any sign of you for months. I doubt the bastard has even seen it, let alone have any access to technology.” He brushed you off with a chuckle, sliding the ingredients off the cutting board and into the pot. You sighed and put your phone down on the counter. Maybe you were being over paranoid. But ever since reading the article, a chill had ran up your spine that didn’t seem to be leaving any time soon. Alastor noticed you looking off to the side, lost in your own mind. He reaches out, hands brushing your sides gently. “Why don’t you take a bath, hm? Ill even set it up for you. What do you say dear?” He asks calmly, a hand on your lower back, ushering you out of the kitchen and past the open living room, making your way down the hall to the bathroom.

“ Alright fine. But we need to talk about this later.” You say, and he responds to you with a kiss on your cheek. You go to your shared bedroom, going through the large walk in closet to find a change of clothes for after your bath. The water is running in the bathroom, the smell of fragrances light on your senses. You make your way back to the bathroom to see Alastor leaning over the tub slightly, candles already lit on the sides of the tub to allow you to relax. There’s your favorite book next to a cup of wine, along with the radio playing light jazz. Everything is perfect, as it should be, and for a moment you can forget the feeling of strained eyes on you. You can forget it all as you’re embraced by a man who loves you. Who truly cares.

“ Take your time darling. I must run out for a bit to get some extra ingredients. Will you be fine without me?” He asks, taking the robe from you as you sink down into the tub, eyeing you carefully, enough to give you butterflies. You smile, one of his favorites and nod, reaching to the side to pick up your glass of wine, the red stains your lips slightly as you pull the cup away.

“I think Ill be okay, thank you love. Be quick please, I might just nap here.” You say jokingly. Alastor smiles, folding your robe up neatly in his hands before nodding to you lightly. He leans down to kiss you, a soft tender kiss, before leaving you in the bathroom alone. It’s when you hear the front door shut that you sigh, now knowing he’s gone. The water is just right, just warm enough on your skin for you to rest your eyes a bit.

A bit turns into an hour, and when you hear a loud glass shatter from the kitchen is when you wake up from your nap. You hadn’t been serious about sleeping in the tub, but mistakes happen. You quickly pull at the drain, the water slowly slipping down as you grab your towel and get yourself dressed, sliding a simple nightgown on before stepping out of the bathroom. “Alastor?” You call, but you’re met with silence. Your vision is hazy, the steam from the water seeming to create some sort of film over your sight, but you manage. Walking down the hall and into the living area, you see a vase shattered on the ground. What you don’t expect to see, is a distraught Peter standing across from you.

“Guess again Baby.” He says with a smile. He sighs and takes in your appearance, eyes completely devouring your appearance. “What are you doing here?” You ask, panic written all over your face.

“How did you find me?” You ask again. Peter tuts at you, standing straight up, revealing just how tall he really was in comparison to you. He has a folder in his hand, one he throws on the floor in between the two of you, and it just barely touches your feet as it slides across the floor. “What is this?” You ask, eyeing him closely. He grins, hands behind his back as he watches you pick up the folder.

“Your perfect boyfriend.” He responds. The pictures inside reveal themselves before you can even process whats going on. Pictures of Alastor and you about in the city. Ones of the two of you at home, the two of you at dinner. Intimate moments, things that were supposed to be private. All laid out right in front of you. A picture of Alastor and you at a friends wedding. His face was burned out of the photo, but you knew who it was. The more photos you looked through the more you found. Magazine clippings of Alastor with you in the town. Paparazzi seeing you both together at parties, dancing around each other like no one was watching but the worlds eyes were on you. Peters eyes were on you.

“He told me-“

“Told you what?” Peter snickered, stepping closer, the broken glass crunching under his feet. You kept going through photos, one right after the other. Then, one really caught your attention. Mimzy. She had been so obsessed with Alastor and how you were no good for him. Now, in front of you was a photo, the two of them with their arms around each other, almost like lovers, but not quite friends. How long ago was this? Why didnt he tell you about this?

“He doesn’t love you. Not the way I do.” Peter said, stepping closer, arms raising for a hug. “ Let’s just go home. We can put this all behind us. I can forgive you.” He said, a smile on his face. He was still the same. He thought he had done no wrong. He lowers his arms when he sees you don’t come closer, but instead reaches for your hands, pulling them to his chest. “What do you need? Money? I can give you that. If- if you want more freedom we can go out! We can do whatever you want-“ He pleaded, eyes begging for yours to look at him. “Please, just come back. He took you away from where you were safe. Now you have everyone judging you, when you don’t need that.” He said, hand cupping your chin to force you to look at him. “Are you really happy here?” He asks.

It feels like time freezes for a moment. Were you really happy? All the press, Alastor always being gone or out at parties. The social events. The liquor, the drugs. The dancers and the crowds of people together. With Alastor, it was always a party. But with Peter, things were different.

With Peter, you were quiet. Alone but without the drugs, the partying and the social interaction. With Peter you really never lifted a finger, not like you physically could. Peter always brought gifts home, even if he was upset with you. He always did laundry, had things neat and tidy, or as much as they could in the small apartment. With Peter, you were taken care of. With Peter, you lived a calm life.

Well, at least that was how he saw it.

With Peter, there was a constant fear surrounding you. Suffocating you. He never let you live, took away your freedom and your life to keep you tied down to him. He had hurt you on multiple occasions, raising a hand to the person he swore to love so dearly. He had threatened to kill your family, your friends, anyone who stood in between the two of you. Peter didn’t love you, no, he was obsessed. Did you really want that life back?

“I.. I am happy here.” You finally said, pulling yourself away from Peter. His eyes looked defeated. He looked, complex. In a matter of seconds his demeanor changed entirely, standing tall in his anger, his pride.

“Happy? Happy with a man who took you from me?!” He yelled, lunging forward and caging you between him and the wall. His eyes looked manic, like something had snapped. It was only then you noticed him reaching into his pocket, glass shard in hand. “I told you what would happen if you ever left.” He said, hand in the air as the shard came down quickly. A slice to your cheek had you sliding down the wall, tears streaming down your face as blood ran down your neck, fingers shakily holding onto yourself for some support.

“Peter please-“ you pleaded with a whisper. Even after all these months away from him he still managed to make you feel so small.

“I see what’s going on.” He said, chuckling a bit. He crouches down, eye level with you now. “He has you completely brainwashed doesn’t he. I’m sure he-“ He stops when he hears the front lock being turned. The door opens to reveal a humming Alastor, eyes shut as he hums a song to himself softly. He turns to lock the door, before turning back around, finally opening his eyes to see the sight of Peter and you on the ground.

Everyone is quiet for a moment. Peter looks panicked, Alastor looks, unreadable, and you look, frightened. Alastor drops the bag of groceries, and before you can process what’s happening there’s a knife being drawn from under his shirt sleeve. Not a large one, but a size big enough to kill a man. To kill Peter. Peter stands quickly, clutching the glass shard in his hand so tight he begins to cut himself. The two meet in the middle, Peter swinging to try to slice Alastors neck. Something about the way Peter misses, the way Alastor inhales sharply. His eyes widen but in a different way. One you’d never seen from him before. There’s a difference in the way his eyes gloss over, the shine in them just a bit brighter than before.

Nothing would ever be the same after tonight.

[historia-jaeger]

Avoid the obvious. - The Jeankasa discussion

I'm basing my contribution on this article here because it picks up on the theories I've already heard and has a few new ones up its sleeve. ~*~ The first big discussion sparked this picture:

Mikasa is seen visiting Eren's grave, with a man and child with her. Judging by his clothes and hairstyle, one could assume that this man is Jean. The Child is adoptet-Theory: The first thing that comes to mind when I see Mikasa with a man and children is: She is married and has children. But there are also people who actually believe that Mikasa got the baby from Historia's orphanage... I can't really refute it. So I'll leave it like that.

This scene has now been animated in a fairly small format. But you can see the color of the hair and the color of the suit. Here, too, it is easy to conclude that it is Jean.

The Man is to tall to be Jean-Theory: Based on the second scene, in which the man runs across the hills with Mikasa, he is estimated to be a little taller than Jean. You can see from the grave scene in the manga, that the man is exactly Jean's size. Especially because the man appears taller in one scene, because the landscape is sloping and he is therefore walking on a higher level like Mikasa and therefore appears a bit taller.

Source There are two different versions of the scene where Mikasa lies in the grave. In the manga, she lies in a bed as lilies. she has her hands folded in front of her chest. In the anime, Mikasa wears a ring on her ring finger and her grave is made of roses. These same roses are also on her chest. The flower-theory: The flower theory includes two versions. The one with the white lily and the one with the four roses. According to the "White Lily Theory", these symbolize Mikasas purity. Says that she hasn't slept with any other man and will remain loyal to Eren until death. Qoute: They are chosen for both weddings and funerals and symbolize the renewal of the soul. They can represent purity, commitment and rebirth, so they are often used to express compassion. - Source To make it short. Lilies are grave flowers. That´s why they´re put in Mikasa's grave and not to highlight her chastity.

Four roses means "Nothing will come between us", so Mikasa will love no one exept Eren. Okay. Is this is the right meaning, as I found out myself. Source But I see one or two Roses und two other Blooms on this Grave...

Source

Besides, you never know what colors the roses were. This is also important to know. Therefore I would rule out this theory. The ring of purity-theory: Mikasa wears a ring on her ring finger that looks like a wedding ring. But opponents of Jeankasa claim it would is a chastity ring. Unfortunately, that can't work, because Attack on Titan obviously takes place in Germany. The last date I could record was the year 850. Source

The “True Love Waits” movement, which also included the chastity ring, only became active in Germany in the 21st century. So in our current era. Source

The pioneer of the chastity ring was the chastity belt: There is no clear evidence that the chastity belt was already known in the Middle Ages. It is believed to be a myth that was invented and spread in the Baroque period to paint the picture of the “Dark Ages”. Other stories say that the chastity belt was invented by the Doges of Venice in order to effectively collect tax debts from prostitutes. Source

So it's pretty unlikely that Mikasa wears a chastity ring. In that case it would probably be a wedding ring. The Hairstyle-Theory: It is often said that you can't even know that it is Jean, because many people have that hairstyle. For example, Armin, who is often portrayed as Mikasa's grief companion. To underline this, antis often use such images:

Source In one picture Armin's hair is flying back and in the other picture Armin has actually pinned his hair back. But let's be honest, folks. When you have two people to choose from. Jean and Armin. Who will you choose then? Someone who has this hairstyle naturally or someone who doesn't usually have this hairstyle except in a picture?

Especially because Armin must have had a really big growth spurt to be Jean's size. But fine. Let's play a round of "Choose the Color":

All in all, it also depends a little on the exposure. But which hair color is closer to that of the man at the grave? Armin's or Jean's? The man's hair color is ash blonde. A color that not everyone in Attack on Titan has either. So... It can't be Armin but obiously Jean. ~*~ Other arguments: Jean whould never betray Eren with marrieng Mikasa: Did Jean make such a vow? - No. And I don't need to cite any evidence that Jean was definitely in love with Mikasa. Mikasa only rejected him, because she was in love with Eren and he accepted that too. But Eren is dead. Why shouldn't he be allowed to marry Mikasa? In the AOT-Guidebook it´s stated that Mikasa's martial status is single: When is the book from and how old was Mikasa? Prove please. Mikasa loves Eren because of what is written on Eren's grave, her scarf, because she let herself be buried next to Eren, and so further: I don't understand this concept of "just one or the other". Just because Mikasa loves Jean and has a family with him doesn't mean she has to give up her feelings for Eren. She is still allowed to mourn him, think about him and talk about him with others? I don't understand how things like this are always taken as evidence of "Mikasa only loves Ereh." And Mikasa can be happy without Jean, but she can also be happy with Jean. So why does the obvious always have to be downplayed? WHY Mikasa has to be with no one exept EREN? Her hidden Bandages: Why should the bandages be evidence that Mikasa didn't pass the symbol on them to her children? Maybe she doesn't want to present the symbol to everyone. Maybe she doesn't want to pass it on to her children? Maybe she had already passed it on to her "adopted" children and still covered her arms? How do you know that those in the picture are even bandages?

~*~ It makes sense that Mikasa is married to Jean and has children. Family has always been very important to Mikasa. Especially because she lost her family twice. It was only thanks to Eren that she threw herself into the fight against the Titans. As you could tell from her dream with Eren, she preferred a simple life to fighting. She cut her hair, because Eren wanted it that way. It was supposed to protect her from the Titans. Jean, on the other hand, found this so beautiful about her. Anyone who wasn't struck with blindness could clearly see that Jean was in love with Mikasa and knew that his feelings were not reciprocated. But this certainly changed after Eren's death. Jean also dreamed of having a family with Mikasa and the child in Mikasa's arms looks a lot like a baby.

It is quite logical to conclude from this dream that there is a real wedding. Why would Isayama bother to draw a family when it really isn't a family? Then he could have easily drawn Mikasa alone at Eren's grave. But he didn't. Mikasa is married and the first candidate for a husband would be Jean. Not Armin, not Farmer-Kun or some random guy. JEAN. ~*~ Thanks for reading.

[bizaar]

Endless Summer ✧

Part 3: Band on the Run

Cruel Summer Masterlist

Prev - Next

pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader

warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), horny-loser!reader, brief descriptions of sexual fantasies, swearing, and so much pining

word count: 19k

a/n: we're back baybeee! also, if anyone knows the original creator of the gif below, please let me know so I can tag them, I've had these on my laptop for over a year and I've lost all my credits!!

In the three hours it has been since you got home from school, the floor of your bedroom has become almost totally obscured by what is essentially every article of clothing you own. You’d made the mess in a frantic attempt at putting together an outfit out of thin air because you don’t actually own anything cool enough for how you’re planning to spend your night.

You’re supposed to be babysitting, just like every other Tuesday night you’ve spent since you were thirteen years old, but this week, for the first time in history, you did everything in your power to get out of that duty. You’d pulled out all the stops to convince everyone that, despite the perfect health of your earlier day, you’d somehow managed to contract a sudden onset, highly contagious illness sometime between fifth-period chemistry and now (one you intend on making a swift and miraculous recovery from) and for the safety of everyone around you, you should not be disturbed under any circumstances.

You blame it on how you’d spent four hours out in the cold, taking Dustin and his friends around to trick-or-treat last night, though all that does is get your mother on your case about how she “told you to wear a coat”, but would you listen? No.  

 It took almost a full hour of debate, all the tricks you’d ever seen employed in movies to fake sickness, and what you like to think of as an Oscar-worthy performance on your part, but your parents eventually gave in and called across the street to deliver the news. Part of you feels like it was only because they didn’t want to argue with you anymore, but in any case you got what you wanted.  

Dustin was going to the Wheelers, your parents were going to their weekly Tuesday night extracurriculars, and (unbeknownst to everyone else) you were going to see a band play at the Hideout.

Though not just any band.

The only reason you’ve gone to such lengths to get out of all your previous plans is because you’ve been personally invited to go and see Corroded Coffin play — Eddie’s band. 

Of course, you didn't know that at the time of the initial invitation, which came through Gareth, just as the school bell was finishing its cacophonous ringing to signify the end of fifth-period chemistry. 

“Hey, so, what are you doing tonight?” he asked, leaning less than casually on his elbow to peer down the length of his nose at you.  

You remember thinking that the way he was twisting at the waist looked terribly uncomfortable, but you were only half conscious of anything going on around you as you began the arduous task of orienting yourself toward your original plans for the night.  

“Homework.” You replied in an absent monotone, trying for the millionth time not to get sucked back into the memory of the lunch period spent “swapping eyes” with Eddie Munson. 

It’s been five days since then, but who’s counting?

Certainly not you and all the assignments piling up in your locker, waiting on the promise of “later” you’ve been making since the moment you finally managed to drag yourself out of those woods.

You were vaguely aware of Gareth answering with some kind of a droll response – which was entirely on brand for the likes of him – but you hardly heard him say it.

 You had a lot of other things on your mind, all of which seemed much more important than divulging your wholly uninteresting after-school plans to your lab partner.

Tonight, you’ll be sitting at the Henderson’s kitchen table doing all your overdue assignments while your prepubescent charge plays Atari, nothing more, nothing less. 

Talk about a rip-roaring good time, right? 

Still, it beats the “casual hangout” in Steve Harrington’s backyard Carol had tried to coerce you into attending under threat of major bodily harm. Not that being forced to sit around a pool in early November, fifth wheeling while everyone around you sucks face doesn’t sound like just the most fun a girl could have, but you told Carol the same thing you told Gareth about your plans for that night – you’ve got to do your homework, and it’s not even a lie. 

Normally, you like to think you’re a much better student, and while you’re not entirely sure that line of thinking is warranted (as is evidenced by your last report card, which saw you pulling straight C’s) you know for a fact that any and all thoughts of academia flew right out the window the moment Eddie put himself in the seat across from you in the lunchroom. 

And aren’t you so incandescently glad he did? 

It is a sentiment your teachers do not share. That morning (the first day back after a long weekend spent miserably pining) you’d even received the dreaded summons from your guidance counselor, who sat you down and asked if “everything was fine at home”. 

Why? You’d wanted to ask – because you were seen slinking off to the woods with Eddie Munson or because he wasn’t in school the next day and you haven’t turned in a single assignment since? You might remind them that with the long weekend, there are only technically two days of work missing, but you know they don’t want to hear that because this isn’t really about the homework.  

This is about you following Eddie out into the woods.

How are you supposed to think about things like formulas and essays when you can still see him gazing back at you from across the picnic bench every time you close your eyes? With that dreamy look on his face? 

And more to the point, how are you meant to explain to an adult that everything is fine, it’s only just you haven’t seen him in nearly a week and, not to be dramatic or hideously cliche, but you can’t seem to eat, sleep, or concentrate on anything so banal as homework when you’re fairly certain he was getting ready to kiss you out in those woods before the bell rang?

You’re not positive that’s where things were headed, but you’re pretty damn sure, and it's enough to get your girlish libido ringing the warning bells of your imminent demise with every day that passes out of Eddie’s presence. 

No, you can’t explain that to an educational professional or Carol, or anyone else without raising some serious alarms. Because you’re not even supposed to be talking to Eddie Munson, let alone sneaking off to the woods to become as completely captivated by him as you are. 

And he didn’t even kiss you… 

God, how you wish he would have just kissed you, especially after the way he seemed to make himself scarce the moment you took your eyes off him. 

You’d put quite a lot of time and energy after you got home that Thursday evening into wondering what it would have taken to get Eddie to lean over that table, and quite a bit more into wondering whether you ought to have bucked up and done it yourself. 

Not that it mattered, because he didn’t kiss you and you didn’t kiss him, and there you remain, unkissed and suddenly the topic of everyone’s conversation.

Because on top of everything else, there is that side of it. 

Like somehow a spell had been broken that afternoon you followed Eddie out of the lunchroom, everybody and their mother is suddenly keenly interested in you. People who have never given you the time of day suddenly know your name, and they want to know all the intimate details of what you did with Eddie Munson out in the woods, or rather, what he did to you. 

You probably should have known that was coming.

Still, you hate to indulge them with any kind of answer, even if it happens to be a big fat nothing. They only want to know so they can wrinkle their noses and sneer and shout about how “fucking nasty” that is — shacking up with the Freak King — just like Carol did in the lunchroom the day before all your dreams came true. 

You would spare yourself that humiliation if you could, but more than that, you’re struck by how you don’t want them talking about Eddie that way. 

You have become inordinately fond of him since that afternoon, more than you already were, and in a very specific way. Somehow, you can’t help but feel that, even though your conversation lasted less than twenty minutes altogether, you understand each other now.

You’re simpatico.

You might even venture to say that you’re almost friends. 

Strange how a little quiet intimacy was all you needed to curb the rabid edge of your obsession. Eddie is still all you think about, but in a decidedly calmer way, because he thinks you’re nice and approachable, and you think the same about him.

Still, in the five agonizing days it’s been since that big fat nothing happened, the questions have not stopped. Part of you wants to give them an answer if only to shut them up, but somehow you don’t think “he captivated me” is going to satisfy the people’s ravenous appetite for gossip. 

You’re certain everyone has already made up their mind about what they think happened, anyway. In the food chain of high school social constructs, it doesn’t matter what did or didn’t happen, it only matters what people say happened. and you’re absolutely certain that you’re going to hear all about it sooner or later.

You realize now that’s probably why Carol was so desperate to get you to come out and fifth wheel tonight when she knows you have to babysit. She keeps telling you that you owe her because you didn’t go to Tina’s Halloween party, but somehow you’re not convinced she was that upset to have missed you.

Maybe it’s just that she doesn’t trust you not to lie to her about where you’re going to be and who you’ll be with, who will see you with them, and how that will come back to reflect on her. Guilty by association is the law of the land at Hawkins High, after all.

With all that weighing heavy on your mind, you ignored any further questions Gareth had about your after-school plans and shoved your books into your bag, ready to submit yourself to the quiet death of study hall. 

Ugh… study hall… you’d rather eat glass. Then again, you’d also rather not have to spend your summer watching the sweat beading on Mrs. O’Donnell’s upper lip in summer school, so down the hall you went, headed against the flow of traffic in the busy hallway.

Somehow, it feels like overt symbolism bashing you over the head – you’ve always hated a cliché.  

Lucky for you and your impending academic doom, Gareth was not so easily deterred and scrambled to follow you out the door.

“Why don’t you come out tonight instead?” He asked innocently, like it was the most casual thing in the world and he wasn’t struggling to keep pace with you as all your classmates shoved past.

The question hit you square in the back, punching your lungs flat and wrenching you out of your thoughts with enough force to make your head spin.

“Excuse me?” You gasped, pulling to a stop and whipping around so suddenly that Gareth, who you hadn’t realized was skirting along at your elbow, nearly took a blow to the solar plexus in his attempt to keep up. 

Your insides clenched and forced your heart up into your throat, but before you had the time to decide whether or not Gareth had just asked you out, his eyes went comically wide, and he began to backpedal as if his life depended upon it. 

Then again, it might have, if what he said was true and word got back around to Eddie.

“Not like a date!” He yelped, throwing his hands up and showing you his palms in a way that flooded you with a strange and instant relief, “Just as friends—”

Oh, thank God for that. 

You could barely wrap your head around the concept that Eddie feels any sort of intimate way about you —and you’re still not entirely convinced about that — but to suddenly learn that you are the object of two affections? That’s too much revelation for one week, and you can only thank that dim lucky star that so infrequently passes you over that it had been nothing but a misunderstanding. 

Not like a date, Gareth said, Just as friends, and you’re fine with that.

From there, he had your full attention as he went on to explain that his band was doing a set down at the Hideout, and he was extending you a personal invitation to come and see them play. You had no idea Gareth was in a band, though that was perhaps stupid on your part based solely on the boy’s appearance – of course, Gareth is in a band, and of course, that band’s name is Corroded Coffin (which you’re only slightly ashamed about giggle-snorting over when he told you) Between that and the location, your gut reaction was to refuse. 

Gareth is great, especially when he’s playing the herald to all your hopes and dreams, and especially when he isn’t asking you out, but no.

Absolutely not. 

You would not be going to see Corroded Coffin tonight.

Lucky for you, you’ve had the perfect excuse to get out of anything and everything that sounds like a colossal bore since you were thirteen years old, and you were all too happy to trot it out.

“Oh man, I wish I could,” you began, trying to mask the faintest hint of smug satisfaction in your tone with an apologetic scrunch of your features, “...but I’m babysitting tonight.”

And you would have been content for the conversation to end there, but you didn’t count on Gareth having an ace in the hole, one he was all too happy to knock you upside the head with and send your brains splattering all over the crusty school linoleum.

“Aw, really? Damn, that’s a bummer,” he hummed, “I know Eddie would’ve been stoked to see you.” 

Your heart skipped a beat and you had to fight to stop yourself from seizing Gareth by the front of his shirt.

If you had, you would have shaken him like a ragdoll and demanded he tell you everything he knows. Instead, you did your best to remain calm as you stared back at him and the look of smug self-satisfaction he suddenly had plastered across his face.  

For some reason, it made you think of the message you’d promised to take back out of the woods last week.

“Tell the smug bastard to mind his own business,” Eddie said, and you didn’t, because Gareth never asked you how it went. He just gave you a sly smug look, the same one he was currently giving you right there in the hallway five days later. 

“Oh,” You said, feeling about as casual as a heart attack, “Is Eddie going to be there?” 

Your voice hitched and wavered as you did your best to casually skip over his name. You were cool, calm, collected, and definitely not internally shrieking with the sudden potential of a “part two” of last Thursday…

The potent spike of desperation that thought sent rocketing through your midsection was enough to drive color bleeding up into your cheeks and a cold sweat beading across your brow.

It is a reaction you are certain Gareth was not unwise to as he continued without missing a beat. 

“Yeah, he’s our frontman,” He explained, knowing full well what he was doing dropping that kind of information, “Technically it’s his band – he started it back when he was in Middle School or something,” 

Well, put me in a fucking chokehold why don’t you? Something inside of you screamed to have had such a treasure trove of lore opened up to you.

Like the blessed hand of deus-ex-machina — cheap bitch that she is — opportunity comes a-knocking.

A personal invitation has been extended to you and you’ve never been more anxious, because you? 

At a rock show? 

At the Hideout? 

Who the hell do you think you are? You’ve never been to a concert – which is not an astounding statement to make in and of itself considering your inclination toward introversion – so you have no idea what to expect.

There are a great many things you’ve never done. For instance: you’ve never lied to your parents to get out of babysitting, so you can sneak off and go to a rock concert in a dingy dive bar you’re not legally old enough to get into, to see a boy you are strictly forbidden from speaking to.  

You’ve got no business being involved with any of that and as the school day came to a close and the final pieces of your plan steadily fell into place, you had to ask yourself whether you were seriously going to go to such lengths, just to see Eddie?

The answer was a resounding yes. 

You’re going to see Corroded Coffin perform tonight if it kills you.

As you stand there looking back at yourself in the mirror, dressed in the fifth outfit you’ve tried on in as many minutes, you begin to wonder if it might just do that.  

Your parents have been gone less than five minutes, and you’re already getting cold feet.

Yet another thing you’ve never done is try to approximate dressing to impress someone, let alone the boy you regularly spend your nights and mornings fantasizing over with all the ravenous fervor of a pack of hungry wolves.

You have no idea where to start. 

What are you supposed to wear to a rock show in a dingy dive bar? Jeans and a band-tee, maybe? And if so, what kind of jeans, and which band-tee?

It occurs to you that you ought to try and match the vibe of the band, but you have no idea whether they skew toward Credence Clearwater Revival or Judas Priest. 

Then again, with a name like Corroded Coffin, you can’t help but feel it is probably the latter, but you’ve been wrong before. 

So, maybe jeans and a t-shirt is too casual and you ought to try something a little more risqué. 

Maybe a little denim skirt and the pair of ripped nylons you haven’t gotten around to throwing out… or is that too risqué? How exactly does one strike the right balance between sultry and slutty without outright screaming “I want to feel you in my guts?”

You remember then how you once skimmed an article in Cosmopolitan Magazine about the prospective power of underwear, so you go digging through your top dresser drawer and are very quickly dismayed to find that you don’t have a hidden stash of lacy panties carefully concealed beneath your days-of-the-week underwear. 

Of course, the fact that you’re even considering what kind of underwear you ought to be wearing tonight on the very far-off chance that someone is going to see them is enough to send you into a fit of hot-faced embarrassment. 

No, not just anyone – the fact that you’re considering the far-off chance that Eddie Munson is going to see what kind of underwear you’re wearing is almost enough to give you heart palpitations. 

Christ on a fucking bike.  

And then just like that, you’re imagining how gentle he’d be. 

Laying you back on a tufted leather couch as he kneels before you and reaches up with long, dexterous fingers to unbutton your jeans — should you wear jeans tonight? — and carefully, oh so gently, peels them down your legs at an agonizing pace while puffs of warm breath fan the bare skin at the top of your thighs. 

Then again maybe not, maybe he’ll be fast and rough with you. Maybe he’ll manhandle you and throw you around like a doll, and you’ll like it.

Crowding you against the cold brick of a wall and holding you there, his body pressed flush against your back as stone bites your palms and the side of your face. You gasp when he tears at the back seam of your skirt — oh, okay so you are wearing the skirt — ripping both it and your nylons in half, exposing you to the cold air and the hard strike of his palm as he brings it down on the tender skin of your— 

You’re blushing so violently that you have to go to your hall bath and splash cold water on your face. Even after you’ve calmed enough to wander back to the black hole of mess that is your bedroom, you still have no idea what to wear. 

It’s times like this that you curse Carol for shirking her duties as your best friend. Between the two of you, she’s the expert at dressing to attract male attention, she ought to be here helping you with something like this. 

But she’s not here, she’s sitting out at the pool at Steve Harrington’s playing tonsil hockey with Tommy. That’s where you ought to be, too – sitting at the pool, trying to look anywhere but at them, going at it.

That’s where you belong, in Carol’s shadow or perched on the plush sofa at the Henderson’s with your knees up and Speed Racer reruns steadily turning your brain into soup.

It occurs to you that you might be a bad person, or at least a very selfish one – if you’re going to skip out on Dustin like this, you might as well do it to hang out with your friends, not to try and carve out a brand-new cherry-flavored personality for yourself in a crowd you don’t belong to.

You’re not equipped for something like this. You have no business with rock shows and dive bars and people like Eddie Munson – you’re just a boring, midwestern babysitter from a town no one has ever heard of, and you would do well to remember that there is no changing lanes in a place like Hawkins. 

You’re just about ready to admit defeat and march yourself across the street with your tail tucked firmly between your legs when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. 

Plain-Jane, boring little you, with the same haircut you’ve always had, same silhouette, same clothes, same as it ever was, and suddenly you can’t stop thinking about what Eddie said to you out in the woods…

“You’re not what I expected…” He’d said, twisting the rings on his thick fingers and looking at you so wistfully, in a way you’d convinced yourself was full of hope and an expectation you desperately wanted to meet.

You still want it. You want so badly to be the girl he expects to see at the show tonight, not some trussed-up idealized version of what you imagine might impress him. 

He likes you for you, after all, just the way you are, and it’s enough to stoke the fires of your courage, even if it doesn’t help you decide between the jeans and the skirt. 

By the time you finally throw something on that you’re halfway happy with, you’ve spent too much time wondering about hypotheticals and outfits and whether– in the event of an intimate collision – you would actually like to be spanked. Before you know it, you’re running late. 

You’ve almost convinced yourself that it’s fashionably so as you snatch up your keys, fly out of the house, and down your front steps. All the coolest people are fashionably late … at least that’s what Cosmopolitan Magazine says.

It’s only a short jaunt down Cornwallis to the Hideout, and when you get there, there is a semi-shitty Chevrolet van parked crooked across two spaces with the back doors flung open wide. 

It’s vaguely familiar, the way all vans of its type are, though perhaps you only think you’ve seen it before because of the posse of boys meandering around it, moving gear between the vehicle and the curb. 

Your headlights briefly illuminate the familiar faces of the group before passing them over as you pull into the first parking spot you see.

There is Gareth, of course, alongside Adam and Jeff, who you only actually know by reputation and the quick debriefing of the band he’d given you earlier that afternoon, but you cannot help but notice that there is conspicuously no sign of Eddie among them. 

You try not to be too immediately disappointed by that as you kill the engine and unbuckle your seatbelt.

Oh, will you relax already? A voice chides you from somewhere in the back of your mind. Just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not here.

Across the tiny lot, Gareth drops the end of the amp he’s got propped between himself and Adam (you think) and skips over to meet you as you steal one final look at yourself in the inset mirror of your sun visor.

You’re not a natural when it comes to applying makeup — yet another thing you could have used Carol’s help with tonight — but you did your best to look presentable.

You imagine if there is anything glaringly clownish about the way you look, it will be easily obscured by the dark and dingy atmosphere of the venue. Bar. Whatever.  

And then the crisp November evening air comes rushing in to flash freeze you with goosebumps as Gareth opens your driver's side door and stands practically bouncing on his toes with excitement. 

You brace yourself against the cold and suddenly cannot imagine trying to endure sitting out at the Harrington’s pool on a night like this. 

“You made it!” Gareth cries as you slide out of your trusty little Toyota Corolla and it strikes you with just how nice it is to have someone glad to see you show up for once. 

Your friends are typically less enthusiastic about that. 

Still, you don’t want to appear overly eager, so you can’t help but try and mask it by pulling a face – you’d told him you’d be there, after all. 

“Was that ever in doubt?” You ask, shouldering your bag.

You shut the door and twist your keys in the lock before quickly stashing them. 

“Well, you never know.” Gareth says, shrugging, “People get busy.” 

Yeah, and people also bend over backward to get out of prior obligations to keep their word. 

And then, you find yourself wondering if it’s totally weird that you jumped through so many hoops just to make sure you could keep yours. 

Lying to your parents, lying to Mrs. Henderson, lying to Carol (who called you ten minutes before you left and demanded once more that you come out before cursing you when you declined again).

Somehow you can’t help but get the sense that if anyone knew, if anyone could have been a fly on the wall of your life this afternoon, you might come across as desperate, especially considering you could take or leave the band. 

You’d gone through all that effort just to see Eddie, who so far as you can tell is not even here.

Shit — you’re starting to wonder if tonight is going to be a huge bummer when Gareth brings you back. 

“Come over and meet the guys,” he says eagerly with a hand at your elbow to guide you across the darkened pavement. 

Every step leads you closer to the van, to the band, to the impending night, and you find yourself second-guessing your outfit for the umpteenth time that day. You wonder if you’re underdressed, and whether you should have cowboyed up and opted for the skirt, which you’d decided was a bit much for the occasion.

Was it the skirt or the fantasy that went with it? 

The world may never know.

“Guys!” Gareth calls once you get within distance, “You know–” when he says your name, their heads snap to tandem attention in a way that reminds you of meerkats.

It might have been funny if it wasn’t for the way they stand there gawping at you, eyes big as dinner plates and out on stalks. 

The silence that hangs between you is deafening, and standing there under such intense scrutiny you can’t help but feel suddenly like you’ve made a terrible mistake.

You twist your fingers out of nervous habit and shift from foot to foot, wondering if you’re allowed to be here, or whether Gareth remembered to mention that he’d invited you out tonight.

“Well, say something, for Christ’s sake,” Gareth says through his teeth. 

“Oh, r-right… hi–” Jeff stammers, tripping over your name like it’s a hot coal sitting on his tongue.

Adam is not so smooth.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, like he absolutely cannot fathom that you, of all people would coincidentally be here at the same time as them, and certainly not for their benefit. 

It makes you feel frighteningly out of place and you have to force yourself to put down roots to stop yourself from turning right around and going back to your car. 

Before Gareth can finish telling him to shut the fuck up, a figure appears from the shadowy depths of the van and your lungs go flat. 

Lo and behold — Eddie Munson, in the flesh. 

Just the sight of him makes every part of your brain light up like a cathedral and chant his name as if it were singing Hallelujah. 

Eddie Eddie Eddie!

He’s halfway through some tirade and stumbling over a thick black cord that he has somehow become hopelessly tangled in.

“Hey – you assholes are doing a lot of standing around and yapping for–” he is saying before he looks up, sees you, and cuts himself off with a startled yelp of your name.

Despite the semi-comical octave to which he speaks your name, your insides flood with warmth as he practically falls out of the van. He skips over, dragging what you quickly come to realize is a microphone with him in his simultaneous attempt to free himself and close the distance between you.

It goes about as well as anyone could expect.

Before you know it, you’re standing toe to toe in the span of a heartbeat, and like a balm to your worries, you forget that you were ever nervous about being here tonight. You forget the awkwardness of Gareth’s friends, your stress over your outfit, and the lengths you went to be here, because here he is, staring back at you like everything else has melted away. 

All is once again right in the world. 

“Hi!” He says, quickly wiping his grimy hands down the front of the ridiculously tight jeans he’s wearing, the ones you’re desperately trying not to notice or wonder just how he’d managed to get into. 

“Hi, Eddie,” You purr, feeling the muscles in your cheeks already beginning to pull for how wide you’re smiling at him. 

Eddie Eddie Eddie. 

Had you been looking, you might have noticed the way the rest of the band was watching you, exchanging looks of varying degrees, throwing elbows and shushing each other, but you’re not looking, not at anything but the beautiful boy standing before you. 

His hair is wild, like always, but tonight Eddie’s got what looks like dark kohl liner smudged messily around his eyes and half rubbed off, like he’d tried something new and immediately second guessed it. It’s so incredibly endearing that it makes your heart throb in the stupid cupid fashion you’ve been chasing ever since that Thursday in the woods.��

Your veins flood with ecstasy and just like that, you’ve got the fix you’ve been itching for all week. 

With his tight jeans, the thick studded belt bursting out of its loops, all his chains and rings, steel-toed boots, and the faded band tee cropped at the waist and shoulders you can see him wearing underneath his jacket, he looks like something off the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine.

He’s dressed like the guy who would push you up against the wall and rip your skirt off, and you’ve never felt more like a stupid girl with a silly little crush than you do now.

It might almost be intimidating if it weren’t for the way that he’s looking right back at you, as if you hung the moon and the stars and were personally responsible for the shining magic of the cosmos. 

Like the guy who would take his time unbuttoning your jeans. 

You look at him, and he looks right back at you, and you feel something begin to flutter in the space behind your lungs — something warm and frantic, like the beating of a tiny bird’s wings. 

Right now, standing in this parking lot, you could be the only two people in the world, and you’d be just fine with it. 

And then, there is a cough, a conspicuously cleared throat, and the spell is broken.

Eddie shakes his head, like waking from a trance and simultaneously pulling you from yours. 

“What - uh- what are you doing here?” He asks – it hits you like a fist to the gut. “Not that it isn’t great to see you… it’s just— I didn't expect to see you.”

Oh.

You can feel the corners of your mouth twitch where your smile begins to falter. 

“I came to see your show,” You say quietly, fighting a losing battle against the tide of your nerves as they come rushing back in with enough force to sweep you under.

Eddie’s dark ringed eyes go wide and his mouth falls open, and you feel a cold lump drop into the pit of your stomach with a hollow thump. 

“You did?” he gasps, voice lilting up into that comical octave again, “Really?”

Oh, great. So, nobody knew you were coming.

For as mortifying as that is, it doesn’t sting half as badly as the disappointment battering you over how you’d spent your afternoon thinking Eddie was as excited to see you as you were to see him.

He didn’t even know you were coming — stupid Gareth. 

Suddenly, your subconscious is whispering horrible things to you: maybe he doesn’t like you as much as he’d originally let on. Maybe that moment you shared out in the woods was all in your head, maybe you’d misread the signs and he was just being nice for the sake of the loser virgin, tripping over herself to try and win the affections of the local drug dealer.

It makes you feel particularly stupid about how you’d sat there at a soggy picnic bench out in the woods, desperately waiting for Eddie to kiss you – why the fuck would he kiss you? He doesn’t even know you.   

You can’t even touch how embarrassed you are about how much time you’d spent fantasizing about him undressing you. 

Christ, you’re pathetic. But you’re also here, and you ought to at least try to make an effort to appear like you’re not the socially inept loser everybody seems to think you are.

“Oh, y-yeah… I mean, it’s no big deal.” you fumble to explain, gesturing vaguely like it’s going to help smooth over the growing awkwardness of this moment

Maybe if you keep talking, nobody will get the chance to say anything that sounds too much like a rejection.  

You give your best approximation of a casual shrug and continue.

“Gareth invited me.” You say, and somehow it feels oddly accusatory, “He said it was cool… unless…”

Uncertainty makes you strangely brave, brave enough to lean into the awkwardness of the moment at least – if there’s one thing you’ve learned after years of being Carol’s punching bag, it’s that if you can’t beat the joke, join in.

“…Unless?” Eddie prompts.

You furrow your brow.

“Unless he conveniently failed to mention that I was coming?”

Of course, the moment your gaze snaps over to regard him with a harsh, unforgiving glare is when Gareth conveniently decides it’s time to get back to hauling gear.

With a fistful of each of their shirts, he drags the others away, spouting some bullshit about “call times” and “sound check” and leaves you standing there with Eddie in the chasm of the awkward silence fighting tooth and nail to settle snugly between you.

You refuse to give it the satisfaction as you watch them retreat, and you make a displeased sound.

Bastard coward sons of bitches. A pox on all their houses.

“Well,” you start, “This is awkward, I don’t mind saying…” 

Once the rest of the band has circled around to disappear beyond the far side of the van, you begin to feel the faintest hint of that same warmth from the woods settling over you, and you take a chance to lean into Eddie’s space. 

“Hey, listen,” you say dropping your tone, “It was great seeing you — really, it was … but if it’s totally weird that I’m here I can take off—”

“Oh, no!” Eddie says a tad too loud. His voice rings out and echoes across the empty spaces before he reigns his enthusiasm in, “No – it’s not weird! You should totally stay!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, for sure. You should definitely stay, right guys?” You look just in time to see a nondescript door set into a wall of the bar slamming shut, leaving the two of you alone in the cold, “…Whatever, forget those assholes — I’m glad you’re here.” 

And there you go grinning your face off again.

“You are?”

“Yeah, are you kidding? It’s awesome to see you. Also, nobody’s ever actually come to see us play, so that makes you the closest thing to a fan we’ve got.” 

“Oh, good.” You say. 

“Great.” 

“Excellent.” 

“Fan-tastic.” He says, stretching the word lyrically and moving to shut the back doors of the van with a hard THUNK, “Only you gotta do something for me if you’re gonna stick around,”

You move quickly to fall into step as Eddie starts toward the side door set in between a stack of pallets and a dumpster. The same one the others had only just slipped through. 

“What’s that?” You ask, doing your best to pretend that you don’t smell the toxic waste that is bar trash permeating the air.  

He yanks the door open and reveals the murky interior of the Hideout, waiting just beyond like the portal to another world. 

The smell of wet trash is quickly overwhelmed by the strong tang of smoke and alcohol, hitting you in a wave of thick, roiling air. You grit your teeth as it washes over you, accompanied by the tinny din of a Jimmy Buffett song playing over the jukebox.

“You have to promise you’re gonna cheer super loud to balance out all the booing,” he says, holding the door open for you, “We aren’t exactly what you’d call popular with the local wildlife.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from telling him that Gareth already warned you of that during his earlier sales pitch. 

Something along the lines of “we’re terrible, please come see us play,” had been uttered as a backdrop to your giggling over learning the name of the band, back when it was only a silly anecdote and you knew nothing of the gravity of the invitation. 

You banish the thought to the back of your mind and bite down harder on your cheek to try and distract from the way you can feel your heart beating against your ribs as Eddie’s hand comes up to hover at the small of your back, ushering you inside. 

“I can do that.” You say with a quick nod.

“Perfect – after you, M’lady.” 

You almost don’t remember to be worried about getting into the bar when Eddie guides you over the threshold with a short, sweeping gesture. 

The side door deposits you at the far end of the bar, and despite only the slightest change in atmosphere, it takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the neon signage and overhead bulbs.

All your fears of bouncers and fake IDs dissipate when you arrive and there is no one waiting to card you on the other side. 

You do your best to breathe as subtle a sigh of relief as you can, because you made it, you’re in, whatever that means for the rest of your night.  

The Hideout is a full-on hick dive, as much as you expected. Booth seating, pool tables, and the vaguest suggestion of a bandstand in the far back corner next to the jukebox where you finally see Gareth and the others again. They’re busying themselves with the task of setting up amps and instruments beneath a slapdash Corroded Coffin banner hung crookedly over the drumkit. 

It’s clearly homemade and looks very much like it has been spray painted, black over red on a stained white bed sheet. It’s incredibly tacky in the most endearing way.

The bar is not too terribly full for seven-forty-five on a Tuesday night, though in taking in the faces of the blue-collar working-class patrons, the general décor, and the type of music shuffling through the jukebox as the track turns over to play Loretta Lynn, you can’t help but feel that this is not really their crowd.

Not really your crowd, you tell yourself, not that you have the experience to know such a thing. 

If you thought you felt out of place before, standing among the band, the feeling is amplified tenfold as you begin to notice the way half a dozen people have turned around to gawp curiously at you. 

Of course, it doesn’t occur to you that the reason they’re staring is that you’re standing there tucked in against Eddie Munson, who you also had not realized was standing so close to you.

You erupt into a fever of goosebumps as you rock back on your heels and feel the contours of his chest graze your shoulder blades. Eddie’s hand comes up to grip you kindly by the shoulder as he guides you further into the dingy building and starts to give you the rundown. 

You do your best to focus on his words to keep yourself grounded, trying to assure yourself that you’re allowed to be here. 

If he’s not nervous, you’re not nervous.

“We’re gonna go on soonish,” he says, depositing you at an empty barstool, separated from where a handful of patrons sit nursing their drinks, “– we’ll probably play for like half an hour, maybe longer depending on how many songs they let us play.”

“How many songs do they usually let you play?” You ask, having to project your voice to be heard over the din of the bar.

You do your best to hop up onto the stool in a way that is cool and elegant as you have almost perfected with your squat metal seat back in Mr. Kapz’s class. This one is taller than you’d estimated, however, and you immediately find yourself struggling to get up over the lip of the polished wood.

Eddie, ever the gentleman, doesn’t hesitate to help you up and steady you. 

“Three or four,” He hums without missing a beat. “Our record is six, but that was only one time, so I wouldn’t hold my breath for that many with this crowd. Also, don’t be surprised if they pull the plug on us — like, literally kill the power.”

“You’re kidding…”

“It’s no big deal, it’s just something they like to do in this fine establishment.”

He says it like it's funny, but suddenly you can’t help but think back to Gareth’s plea that you come and watch them play. For the first time since he’d invited you that afternoon, you are suddenly struck wondering just what you have really gotten yourself into – you have no idea what kind of music they play, whether they’re halfway decent or as terrible as Gareth let on.

You have to work to remind yourself that, regardless of the quality of Corroded Coffin, you’re here to support your friends. 

Which is only really half true – you’re here for Eddie.

You’re watching him closely when another body appears at his side and claps a loud, forceful hand down on his shoulder. Your heart spasms in tandem with the way Eddie jumps under the sudden contact, and you brace yourself for whatever is coming as his head whips around to address his assailant. 

Then, much to your patent relief, his features light up and his face splits into a wide grin. 

“Oh, hey! Wayne!” He yelps with a rush of boyish excitement, “What’re you doing here? Are you gonna watch us play?”

The man – evidently Wayne – wheezes out a chuckle that is a little too sarcastic to be kind before answering, speaking in a thick Appalachian drawl that is bizarrely out of place in this town. 

“I get enough of y’all’s music at home, thanks very much. Just sayin’ hi on my way out,” he rasps, squeezing Eddie’s shoulder with an unmistakable affection before turning his bright blue eyes on you, “Who’s yer friend?”

Eddie makes quick introductions, and once names have been traded back and forth, Wayne touches the brim of his faded ballcap. 

“Pleased to meet you,”

“Oh – sure. I mean, likewise,” you stammer, stiffening your spine to keep yourself from wilting under the intensity of the man’s gaze.

It’s almost intrusive, and makes you feel like you need to go home and put on another layer of clothing just to keep him from seeing your deepest, darkest, inner most thoughts and feelings. 

X-ray specs got nothing on this man’s penatrative gaze, and when it's just about enough to send you crawling out of your skin, then there goes Eddie saving your life again.

“Isn’t it bad luck to wear a hat indoors?” He asks with a mischievous smirk.

Wayne catches him expertly by the wrist as he reaches for the hat, like he’s a certified expert at avoiding such a motion, and guides Eddie’s ring-bedecked digits safely away from his headwear.

“Bad luck to put a hat on a bed.” Wayne corrects, “Bad luck to open an umbrella indoors.”

Eddie snorts as he takes his hand back and nudges you with his elbow, gentlemanly letting you in on the joke. 

“Wayne’s a nut for that kinda stuff.” He says, gesturing to the older man with no small amount of humor, like it’s simply the goofiest thing anyone has ever heard. “Real superstitious,”

It doesn’t feel mean, so much as a deep set rapport built over a lifetime of back and forth like this. 

Wayne makes a thick, gravelly sound in the back of his throat which you recognize as the beginning rattle of a smoker’s cough. 

“Least I know where the bad luck’s comin’ from when it shows up,” The man hums, “Anyways. What time are y’all goin’ on?”

“In a few minutes. Why?”

In lieu of answering, Wayne just hums again, thoughtfully so this time. Then that bright gaze slides back over to you.  

“They got earplugs behind the bar if you ask for ‘em,” Wayne says with a clipped gesture, “Just so’s you know.” 

“Hey—!” Eddie begins with all the moody indignance of a child.

Wayne cuts him off with raised hands, begging no offense. 

“Just tryin’ to be neighborly in case yer friend don’t know what she’s gettin’ into,” He stresses, “Y’ever heard these fellers play?” 

“Uh, well— no, actually, I—” you start,

Wayne’s brows jump. 

“Like skinnin’ a cat,” 

It sends you right back to the incident in the quad the week before, to what Eddie had said about Carol’s screeching tirade, and suddenly the look Wayne is giving you is so familiar it’s almost eerie.

You realize with a start that it’s the exact same look Eddie gave you out in the quad.

The resemblance is uncanny. The joke, however, does not land.

“Well, it was nice seeing you, Wayne,” Eddie fumes, clapping the man on the shoulder in a stilted mirror image of the way he’d done a moment before and maneuvering him past you.

If you didn’t know better, you might have said that the faintest flush of color had bled into Eddie’s cheeks, but you tell yourself you don’t as he pushes Wayne past you and attempts to maneuver him out. 

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” 

Wayne stops short then, turns, and gives Eddie a very stern look, thrusting a finger up at him in a way that feels oddly paternal as he warns him with a low utterance of, “Hey now,”.

You know that look well enough from having seen it on your father. It means “watch your tone”, and it does the job it’s meant to.

You watch as Eddie puts his hands up and retreats a step, and the tension dissipates before it’s even had the chance to settle. 

 Suddenly, they’re friends again and your brain is crawling out of your skull with curiosity over who this man is to Eddie – what a strange dynamic they have, decidedly charged with something but clearly softened by a kind of underlying affection.

Almost like family – exactly like family, you realize. 

If you didn’t know better, you might almost guess that this man was Eddie’s father, but of course that couldn’t be true, because you know exactly where Al Munson is meant to be, and it’s not here at the Hideout.  

After a quick back and forth that you only catch bits and pieces of, Wayne gives you one last parting look, brows jumping.

“I’m serious about them earplugs.” He says, then claps Eddie on the back as he takes his leave. “See you at home, Bud,”

“Yeah, okay… later.” He mutters – he gestures after the man once he’s gone, “My uncle.” Eddie explains, and suddenly everything makes a little more sense.

You just had the pleasure of meeting the elusive other Munson, who you’d heard talk of around town, but whose reputation (or lack thereof) has been vastly overshadowed by the likes of his brother and nephew.   

“He seems nice.” You offer for lack of anything better to say. 

“Yeah, he thinks he’s real funny with those earplugs – weird seeing him here though, he usually drinks out at The Attic on — hey, what’s the matter?” Eddie asks suddenly, brows creeping toward one another to form a deep crease of concern between them, “You’re not scared are you?” 

You swallow hard and try not to stare at him, suddenly backed in a multicolor glow as the stage lights come on, leaving him looking like some kind of ethereal rock god. 

“No.” You lie. 

Eddie grins at you like he knows you’re fibbing, and he reaches up to touch your arm. 

You do your best to suppress a shiver under the way he gently squeezes you there.

“Hey, you showing up like this? Biggest thing anybody’s ever done for me. Y’think I’d let anything happen to you after that?”

He barely gives you time to read into the sentiment before something over your head draws his attention and the moment ends. 

“Anyway, you’re perfectly safe. Laverne here’s gonna look after you,” He gestures to the space behind you, “Right Laverne?” 

You turn to see the woman behind the bar that he is speaking to, face split into that big, winning smile of his — a little sleazier than it was a moment before — and are suddenly struck by the knowledge that this is the second person Eddie has introduced you to in this place in less than two minutes. 

You catch yourself wondering just how much time he spends skulking around this bar as a tall, middle-aged woman with a big cloud of frizzy hair dyed a red so deep it’s nearly purple comes into view.

Laverne — the bartender, evidently.

She’s got a blown-out tattoo on her bicep that you think must have been a snake at one point in time, and her massive, freckled breasts are just about spilling out of the top of her too-tight tank top, stretching the name of the bar until it’s almost illegible. She looks entirely too rock and roll for this place, like some kind of a transplant from a seedy biker joint on the Sunset Strip.

By the way she’s glaring at Eddie, you can tell that she is immune to his attempts at charm.

“I don’t pay you to stand around flirting.” Laverne drawls, jerking her thumb over her shoulder toward what you can only imagine is the back of house, “An’ you left a whole pile’a dishes stacked up back there when you ran out to put yer makeup on.”

Eddie’s grin wavers under the impromptu lecture and you can’t help but feel your insides squirm on his behalf.

“Gee, Laverne, I never knew you liked me so much,” he tries, but she is not done. 

“Don’t you think for one second I’m gonna cover yer ass so’s you can cut out early an’ go diddle yourself or whatever it is you do on your own time. When yer here, yer on my time, an’ I don’t appreciate my time bein’ wasted,  so, who d’you reckon is gonna do them dishes, Junior?”

All the sleazy charm ekes right out of him and you watch as Eddie goes white as a sheet. 

“Green around the gills” is what a distant relative of yours would have called the look on his face, and you can’t say you disagree.  

You have to resist the urge to reach out and put a steadying hand on him, purely on babysitting instinct, because if you didn’t know any better – which you don’t – you’d think he was about to keel over, and it’s almost startling.

Based on his schooltime bravado, part of you imagines Eddie would be made of stronger stuff in the face of such ire, but you’re quickly beginning to understand that the Eddie you know from school is not an accurate depiction of the man behind the mask. Then again, you’re not certain you know anyone who would be able to stand there and take a dressing down like that, so maybe Eddie is made of that elusive “stronger stuff” after all.

Suddenly, you can’t help but imagine what would have happened in the alternate universe where Carol found herself here with you, standing in his place. You’d like to see her try running her mouth then, face to face with the likes of Madam Hideout. 

Back in the real world, Eddie casts a wary gaze in your direction before answering the woman who you have quickly come to realize is his boss. 

“I’ll do ‘em after,” he mumbles, suddenly much less an ethereal rock god and more a sullen child.

The muscle in Laverne’s jaw flexes as she grits her teeth, and you can suddenly see her right at home standing behind a great oak bar in a saloon, eyes shaded in a big Stetson, spitting a fat gob of dark, rotten chaw to the sawdust floor as she chews through her thick Texan drawl. 

“They shoulda been done b’fore you punched out.” She spits in the tobacco-less, non-Old West version of herself. 

“I’ll do them after, Laverne.” Eddie insists, sliding back into the boyish indignance from before. 

She rolls her eyes and stalks off, muttering something unintelligibly rude as she goes, and an indiscernible emotion wells painfully in your chest. It is deeply offended on Eddie’s behalf, whatever it is, and moves you to want to protect him, though you don’t know how you would manage to do that. 

You don’t typically feel this way about anyone over the age of twelve, and don’t know whether to try and pick a fight with Laverne or to drag Eddie out to the parking lot where you’ll be safe from the ire of rude bartenders – that’s what you would have done with Dustin had you encountered a bully somewhere out in the wild, but somehow you can’t imagine either scenario going over well with Eddie swapped for Dustin. 

The lack of options leaves you paralyzed, and by the time Eddie is talking again, you’ve gone and said nothing in his defense. 

The indignant emotion deflates and leaves you feeling cold and guilty.

“Yeah, that Laverne…” he says, “She’s a real peach.”

You watch the woman saunter to lean over the end of the bar furthest from you, and once you are almost certain she is out of earshot, you lean in close.   

“Do you work here?” You ask in a stage whisper, if only to be heard over the din of the music and murmuring conversations. 

Eddie’s gaze snaps back down to you and you watch as he grows suddenly and strangely shy. You can see his guard cautiously slipping into place as he reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck and offers you a lopsided shrug. 

“Few nights a week, yeah.” He admits, almost like he’s embarrassed to have been caught in the conundrum of playing a set in the place where he works, “Pays the bills, y’know?” 

You wonder how much of the interaction with Wayne followed directly by the one with Laverne is coloring this moment, and you’re mortified to have put him in this situation.

If you weren’t here, he would be up on the bandstand with the rest of the guys instead of looking after you, and both interactions may very well have been avoided entirely. Suddenly, you’re desperate to take responsibility for your presence and put him at ease. 

“That’s cool.” You tell him, and for once, it is exactly the right thing to say.  

Eddie immediately brightens. 

“You think so?” He asks.

You nod, because if you’re not nervous, then he doesn’t have to be, right? Suddenly, this interaction feels a lot like babysitting, and you take no small amount of comfort in the familiarity of it, even if Eddie is most certainly the one babysitting you here at the bar. 

“Totally! You’re basically getting paid to play a gig every week – do you know how many bands would kill for that?” 

Eddie’s face splits up into that big, toothy grin.

“Yeah, exactly!” He starts before second-guessing his tone and attempting to reign in his enthusiasm, “I mean – hey, it’s not Saturday night at the Garden, but a gig’s a gig. At least until we can get the band off the ground and get a record–” 

Over the rumble of the bar, you hear somebody shouting from the direction of the bandstand – Jeff, you think. His voice is laced with annoyance as if this is the third or fourth time he’s called Eddie, and he is quickly losing his patience.

“MUNSON!” He shouts, “LET’S GO!”

Eddie twists at the sound of his name and you watch as he pulls a face, almost like he’d forgotten there was a greater purpose to being here other than standing around chatting you up at the bar.

“Whoopsie – guess that’s my cue.” He says, shrugging out of his jacket as he turns back to you, “Hold on to this for me, will you?”

Your heart rockets up into your throat and you hope that Eddie can’t see how your fingers are trembling as you accept his jacket and hold it against you.

You clench your teeth to keep something cheesy from floating up past your lips like you’ll guard it with your life.  

You think you must be making a face, then, one Eddie mistakes for anxiety as he gives you a soft look and his voice turns gentle. 

“You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” He assures you, “You’re with the band, remember? Fan numero uno.”

He raises a finger to emphasize the notion, and you nod, watching him turn and trying to beat back the spike of fear that surges in you when he leaves you sitting at the bar. 

He’s fine if you’re fine, and you’re fine if he’s fine, but only so long as you’re enveloped in the safety blanket of his presence – but you remind yourself that you’re a big girl.

If you can lie to everyone you know and sneak out of the house to slip into a bar to see a band, you can sit alone in a room full of strangers for a few minutes before the band starts to play. 

And yet, sitting there, watching Eddie move into the crowd, you’re suddenly struck with the sensation of how stridently you don’t want to be left alone in this place where you so clearly don’t belong. But you don’t have to be so overt about it, so you shout at Eddie’s back in the far-off hope that it will make him turn around and look at you once more. 

“Y’know, you keep saying that,” you start, “But I haven’t even heard you play!”

He turns on his heel and shoots you full of holes with that big, goofy grin of his. 

“Oh man, you’re gonna love us!” He calls back, and you can’t help but snort out an undainty laughter. 

“That’s not what Gareth said!” 

Eddie pulls a face and cups a hand at his ear like he didn’t hear you before throwing a shrug and disappearing into the throng of people milling about the pool tables. 

You take great comfort in the fact that for as cool as you think he is, you are starting to understand that he is an incredible dork. That makes things so much easier, especially with how you want so desperately for him to like you as much as you like him. 

And you like him so, so much. 

Too much – it doesn’t feel like just a schoolyard crush anymore, not since the moment you shared out in the woods, and again back in the parking lot, and just now, here at the bar.

Sitting here, with a big dopey look on your face and hearts in your eyes, you think you could very easily fall for Eddie as you watch him jump up onto the bandstand and exchange an indiscernible something with Gareth, grinning wolfishly as he does.  

You’re almost too busy sifting for gems through the last five minutes of conversation to realize what you just told yourself – you think you could fall pretty hard for Eddie Munson.

The thought startles you enough that you have to move to try and escape the way it makes you feel, twisting on the stool to face the bar. You sit there, letting the din of the environment wash over you in sickly waves of overstimulation, and you remind yourself of what Gareth originally assured you about this outing. 

Not like a date. He said. Just as friends. 

In the wake of your most recent revelation, the idea stings just a little bit more than you are prepared to endure.

Then, there is the abrasive sound of a throat being cleared. It’s only then that you look up and find yourself face-to-face with Madam Hideout herself.

Laverne gives you a hard side eye from where she stands at the tap directly to your right, pouring a tall pint of foamy beer.

If you’re blushing, you hope she can’t tell under the deep, colored lighting.

You try to smile at her, but it’s little more than a flattening of your lips as your mouth stretches horizontally, and somehow you know it isn’t coming across as polite as you’d intended. She doesn’t reciprocate.

Behind you, an amp flares with staticky feedback that makes your hair stand on end as someone plugs in a guitar. 

The sound of a dozen disgruntled barflies rumbles through the room as the band finishes setting up, and you find yourself witness to a sudden mass exodus. You twist in your seat again and watch as at least half of the patrons very quickly make their way out into the parking lot, following Wayne Munson’s lead after the fact.

By the time the herd has been thinned, the room is not empty by any means, but you can suddenly see the bandstand at the far end of the room where you couldn’t before. It gives you the perfect vantage of Eddie.

Corroded Coffin has similarly noticed how the room has cleared out, much to their own varying degrees of chagrin. Eddie is fumbling with the strap on his guitar, adjusting the length as he scans the room with a furrowed brow – then, as he finds you, right where he left you, his face splits into that same wide grin.

Suddenly shy under the cast of his attention, you gesture to the state of the room – get a load of these guys – and give an overexaggerated shrug. He responds in kind by sticking his tongue out at you and you feel your insides go tight and squirmy.

You don’t even realize how you’ve been grinning back at him until your face starts to hurt, and as quickly as the spotlight finds you, it’s gone again when Jeff leans over to say something to Eddie, snatching his attention away and leaving you sitting there alone on your stool again.

Brimming with what you would argue is too many feelings to process all at once, you reach around to grip the bar and spin yourself in a tight circle, hoping that maybe a little gravity will help sort out those big scary emotions.

“Quit that spinnin’.” Laverne snaps. “I ain’t moppin’ your little brains up off this floor if you fall.”

“Sorry.” You say immediately, bracing yourself on the bar to stop from going around once more – tragically, it leaves you facing her and the apparent disdain she holds for you, simply by way of association.

You avert your gaze.

Somewhere, you can hear the theme to Cheers playing distantly over the muted rumbling of half a dozen conversations.

…sometimes you wanna go, where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came… 

Some less than others. 

When you work up the courage to chance a look, you find that Laverne is still staring daggers at you. More than that, a cursory glance reveals that most of the people still sitting down the length of the bar are stealing curious looks at you. 

You can feel your throat going dry under the attention of so many strange eyes. It’s not that you’re necessarily an inherently shy person, only that without Eddie to bolster you, the feeling of being somewhere you clearly do not belong is attempting to crush you flat.

You do your best to make yourself as small as humanly possible as the beginning of a beat gets thumped out on the drum set before abruptly stopping.

Soundcheck.

Your mouth is suddenly full of cobwebs, and you muster your courage to steal one more look at Laverne, whose eyes you can still feel burning holes into the top of your skull. 

You peek up at her, hoping her ire will have eased, as if miraculously in the last thirty-seconds you’d done something to earn her respect.

No dice.

“Do you think I could get a coke?” You ask, cringing inwardly as your voice wavers and cracks.

You don’t really want the overpriced, watered-down soda she’s bound to give you, but you’re willing to do anything to distract from how much you stick out among the half-drunk onlookers pressing their faces in on you like kids at the zoo.

Thank God for the shield of Eddie’s jacket, you are once again so thankful you’d foregone the tight little skirt and boots combo.

Laverne gives you a hard look, and you feel a twinge of sudden bravery begin worming its way through your midsection. This time, you stare back at her. 

Then, she throws a dish towel over her shoulder as she makes her way to you, chunky Doc Marten’s thumping hard on the spongy mat behind the bar.

As uncomfortable as you are to be sitting there under her gaze, some nagging part of you at the back of your tongue meets the annoyed twinge steadily rising in you, and together, they wish she would climb down out of your ass already.  

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she pulls the trigger on the soda nozzle and fills a dark red, textured glass to the brim – no ice.

She sets the drink on the bar in front of you with a hard thump and you watch the foam leap up over the brim of the cup and spill down the side before dissipating with a soft hissing. 

Laverne pops a straw into the cup and somehow it feels like an insult, like something Carol would have done. 

You’re supposed to inhale, Dummy! pared down to a simple gesture with that same patent disdain. 

Still, you’re nothing if not fatally imbued with unflinching manners, and the words are tumbling out over your lips before you can stop them.

“Thank you,” you mumble, and the nagging little voice on the back of your tongue cries out at your treachery. 

Laverne grunts out a response and quirks a thin, penciled brow at you. 

It takes her forever to speak, and you wish the band would just start playing already so that you would have an excuse to turn your back to her.

“The Chief’s been known to frequent this place,” she begins, and in a brief moment of deep confusion, all you can do is stare at her, waiting for her to clarify, “Of Police.”

You have no idea what to do with that information.

“Oh,” you say dumbly, “You don’t say,”

She nods.

“Might even be inclined to call him a regular customer,” 

Somehow, you can’t help but get the sense that it’s less a statement of fact than it is a threat, and if that is the case, you can’t deny that it’s more or less effective.

The last thing you need right now is to find yourself sitting, wilting under the gaze of Chief Hopper while he reads you the riot act and lists in detail everything you’ve ever done to make you such a terrible person — faking sickness and sneaking out to go and see a boy you’re sweet on in a bar you’re not old enough to be sitting in when by all rights you should be sitting on the Henderson’s couch watching He-Man.  

For lack of a better response, you twist idly on your chair, nice and slow so Laverne can see you do it and come all the way back around to the other side.

The phrase, “if looks could kill” passes through your mind for a brief, yet terrifying second – something in the back of your mind is inexorably calm as it assures you that you haven’t done anything wrong. 

You’re supposed to be here. You’re with the band, no matter how anyone may happen to feel about that.

Leaning over the bar and taking a long, innocent sip from your straw, you make a show of swallowing, smack your lips, and shrug. 

 “Funny. I don’t see him.”  

In spite of all your affected cool, you feel your guts twinge with anxiety when Laverne levels you with a hard look and crosses her thick, tattooed arms over her generous bosom. Suddenly you’re half worried you’re about to be “bounced” or whatever the official term for being forcibly ejected from a bar is – one more for the list in your long night of firsts. 

Then, in a shocking turn of events, the corner of the woman’s lip twitches in the faintest hint of a smile, violently suppressed, of course. 

You’re oddly pleased, in the way only a goody-two-shoes like yourself can be under the attention of anyone who could even remotely be perceived as a figure of authority. 

“How old are you?” Laverne demands.

Just like that, the twinge blossoms to a nagging feeling of angry defiance, lurking far in the back of your throat. 

Stupid question. You think, biting the inside of your cheek, because it’s not like you’d tried to order a beer. 

“Forty-five.” You say, matter-of-factly, suddenly unable to adjust your tone as you remember how rudely she’d spoken to Eddie before.    

She holds you in that hard, deadpan gaze.

“That’s funny,” She sniffs, “Bet your rock star boyfriend thinks you’re real funny too.” She hurls it at you like a slur and your heart spasms and lurches up into your throat.

“Oh, he’s not my—” but the bartender is already walking away, so you clamp your mouth shut and hum out your annoyance.

You swallow hard.

Boyfriend.

The word clangs around in your ribcage, and you wonder if that’s what people assume when they see you and Eddie together. 

Just like that, you’re feeling breathless again.

No wonder your teachers are all so freaked out – you don’t get the time to worry about that before Eddie’s voice cuts through the room and strikes you square in the back. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight–” he says smoothly into the microphone, “Before we start the show, we’d just like to say one thing…” 

You turn in your seat and find yourself immediately locked in his gaze. Even across the room, it sends a chill up your spine and goosebumps flashing across the expanse of your body. 

You’re gripped in the feeling that suddenly, you’re the only two people in this room, that no matter what happens next, it will be for your eyes only, and you’ll cherish that to the end of time. 

Eddie leans in, grips the microphone and looks you dead in the eye.

“This one goes out to all the ladies.”

Oh. Nevermind. 

“Oh, my God,” You say under your breath. 

Boo. Hiss. 

He’s so uncool, you can’t stand how much you like him. 

The strike of sticks on cymbals masks the agonized groan that rumbles throughout the bar and with the first few hard chords, the show begins. 

Corroded Coffin is not the greatest band in the world, but they’re also far from the worst.

It was an over-exaggeration on Gareth’s part to say that they’re terrible; they can carry a tune, they’re mostly on key and in sync, and that’s more than you can say you expected from how you’d been prepared.

You find that they mostly play covers of metal songs – the likes of Judas Priest and Black Sabbath – which garners a general disinterest from the bar, save for one sloppy drunk biker who just about loses his mind when they go into a crunchy rendition of War Pigs. 

You’re certainly losing your mind and falling a little bit harder than you’d expected you would be when you woke up that morning.

Eddie Munson in front of a cafeteria audience is one thing, but Eddie Munson on stage, a real-life honest-to-God stage is another animal entirely. As far as you are concerned, he was born and bred for the stage, and you’re enraptured, watching him move under the lights. The way he grips the neck of his guitar as he teases a melody out of the taught strings and growls into the microphone settles in your bones in a way you know is going to linger for months if not years to come.

It is mesmerizing in the most intoxicating way. If you thought tearing your eyes from him at school was difficult, you’re fairly certain you don’t blink from the start of their set to their less-than-grand finish.

They play a whopping five songs before someone unceremoniously kills the power, just as Eddie had prophesized.

“Bummer.” You hear someone groan out of the dark from the direction of the stage.

Luckily, it’s a total blackout to the whole bar, and not just the stage, saving the band any overt embarrassment in the face of their less-than-adoring public.

Your ears are ringing in the sudden absence of sound and the darkness lingers only a moment before the power comes back on again.

Loggins and Messina are back on the jukebox in an instant, the patrons turn back to their drinks, and just like that, your introduction to Corroded Coffin is cut short, one song shy of their record. 

With the lights on and free from the cloying miasma that can only come from standing in the crowd at a rock show, you manage to claw your way back to your senses enough to remember your parking lot promise.

You surprise even yourself by erupting into a cacophony of thunderous applause, whooping, and hollering just like any self respecting number one fan would do. Then again, if you’re being completely honest, and if the drunk biker hollering unevenly doesn’t put up too much of a fight, you might happily accept the title.

It doesn’t take much effort to shoulder your way through the meager crowd, particularly with the way it is steadily thinning. Evidently, the end to the show was enough to call for an end to the night for a good number of people here at the Hideout.  

You cross the room in a hop, skip, and a jump that deposits you at the foot of the bandstand, where you stand craning your head back nearly to the point of pain just to look up at the object of your affection. 

You hold Eddie’s jacket clutched reverently against your chest and imagine your steadily beating heart imbuing it with all kinds of emotion — super-charging it with what Huey Lewis and the News is now telling you must be the power of love. 

“You didn’t tell me you were good!” You cry, and are almost immediately chagrined.

You’re half deaf from the set and even through your screaming ears, you know you must be shouting. Worse than that is how you would dare to say something so incredibly awkward.

Why can’t you be cool for once in your stupid life?

Eddie is positively slick with sweat, pushing his hair back from his face and grinning again as he comes down to your level.

He drops into a squat you’re half surprised he can manage with just how tight his jeans are — the other half of you is too busy noticing how now that he’s down here, you’re almost nose to nose. 

You try not to stare at his jeans, or the sweat dripping down from his hairline to grace the curve of his cheekbones and drip off the sharp line of his jaw. His shirt has gone semi-translucent and is clinging to his chest like a lover as you force yourself to meet his honey-warm gaze. 

“You guys are great.” You try again, hoping it comes out sounding a little cooler this time around.

No such luck. 

“Yeah? Well, what’d you expect, Sweetheart?” Eddie drawls, showing you his teeth in a way that makes your insides go tight — he tilts his head over to press his ear to his shoulder, “They don’t let just anyone up on this stage, you know.”

“Yes, they do.” Jeff counters from somewhere behind him, and you watch Eddie’s brows come down in aggravation, “Remember when they let that guy do forty minutes of close-up magic?”

Somewhere, very far away, Gareth is shrugging his shoulders from where he still sits, comfortably perched behind his drumkit.

“That guy wasn’t half bad.” he posits, much to the chagrin of his bandmates.

“That dude was wearing a cape.” Eddie scoffs.

“And you’re saying you wouldn’t?” Jeff snorts.

You’re too caught up in the way your heart is beating itself senseless against your ribs to hear the back and forth continue between them because Eddie called you Sweetheart.

Normally, you like to think such a pet name would leave you roiling in disgust, but nothing about the way you feel about Eddie is normal. 

And you’re not being any shade of normal about this. Forget whatever bullshit it says on your birth certificate, forget all the little pet names anyone has ever given you — Eddie Munson reached down and christened you Sweetheart, and as far as you’re concerned, that’s your name now. 

You feel like your head is going to crack open and burst with electric light as the name rattles around and around in your skull until it finds a tight little corner to wedge itself into and stay forever. 

Sweetheart, Sweetheart, Sweetheart.

Sweetheart and Eddie.

Sweetheart Munson. 

It’s so goddamn saccharine you’re almost surprised when your teeth don’t come tumbling out of your head. 

As you get lost further down the road of delusional fancy, the band’s bickering carries on without you. 

“I dunno… d’you guys think we should invest in capes?” Adam posits, and it’s almost enough to send Eddie into apoplectic shock.

“Corroded Coffin does not wear capes!” He snarls, and an intrusive little voice can’t help but beg to differ, because to you, Corroded Coffin sounds exactly like the type of band who would come out on stage wearing capes. 

“At least he had style.” Gareth huffs, “And the crowd liked him a whole lot better than they like us, maybe we can learn something from Magical Marve.” 

“Jesus Christ, you guys — you’re blowing it in front of our number one fan!” Eddie gestures to you as he says it and you blush bright red, suddenly terrified that you’ve been caught with hearts in your eyes as the rest of the band’s attention snaps over to you — their apparent number one fan. 

In a few years, when you would read Misery, you would spend a full week brimming with resentment that Stephen King would dare to suggest that it could be anything but a term of endearment. But that was a thought for the future, and only because he wasn’t there to see Eddie Munson dub you Sweetheart. 

Right here and now, you are just happy to be included. Because it’s like Eddie said before, you're with the band… who is still bickering as they go about the quick and dirty business of breaking down their equipment. 

It takes a solid twenty minutes, even with you fumbling to try and help anyway you can. Your vision goes briefly spotty when Eddie hands you his guitar and asks you to “hold her a sec”, briefly — accidentally — hooking his pinky finger with yours in the exchange. A promise of something yet untold — his jacket, his guitar, anything he gives you, you’ll guard with your life. 

It sounds just as stupid as you feared when you can’t stop yourself from saying it this time, but the way he laughs eases the sting of your embarrassment, if only a little. 

When everything is more or less put away, moods have not yet recovered from the previous moment’s tiff, but Gareth is never one to be deterred. 

“Come on, you guys. Why the long faces? That’s the longest set we’ve played in a while!” he says, nudging you with his elbow, “I’d say that’s reason enough to celebrate.”

It’s perhaps the first suggestion that night which isn’t immediately met with a dissenting chorus of booing and hissing. 

“Yeah, what do you say, fellas?” Jeff throws a neighborly arm over Eddie’s shoulder and gives him a shake for good measure, “The Palace’ll still be open for a few hours, how’s about we order a couple pizzas, get a six pack and go for a few rounds of Dragon’s Lair? Quarters are on me.” 

It sounds about as fun as any average Tuesday with Dustin and his friends, not nearly as special as anything you would do to celebrate such a monumental night as this, but being the guest here, you defer to the group. You look to their leader to gauge the appropriate reaction to Jeff’s suggestion, and you notice with a start that he does not share his friend’s enthusiasm. 

Call it babysitter’s intuition, but you seem to be the only one who has noticed that Eddie’s mood has taken a sudden and immediate nosedive into the creaky laminate flooring.

Everyone else is too busy listening to Gareth get his feathers ruffled over the plan to notice Eddie’s exchanged look with Laverne, still tucked in at the back of the bar with her arms crossed. 

You watch all of this happen with the privilege of blessed invisibility, preserving both the excitement of the moment and Eddie’s dignity as a decision is quietly made.

He’s not going. 

Your heart sinks. 

“Oh, so you’re just gonna oh-so-graciously offer to pay for the cheapest part of that plan?” Gareth snaps.

Jeff fishes a ring of keys from the front pocket of his jeans and jingles it in the other boy’s face.

If Eddie’s not going, you don’t want to go either, but you don’t dare embarrass yourself by saying that out loud, so you keep your mouth shut.

“I’m also gonna drive. You can be a cheap prick too when you get your license, Freshman.” Jeff says with no small amount of smugness, “What d’you say, Eddie? You in?”

He does his best to approximate an apologetic smile, then shakes his head, sweat damp curls bouncing as he does. 

“Not tonight, I’ve got some stuff I gotta finish up here.”

He does his best not to look directly at you as he says it, but you’re starting to learn that if there is one thing Eddie has a hard time doing, it’s not looking at you. You aren’t sure how to process that information and for a brief yet terrifying moment, it swells inside you to the point of pain. 

“You sure?” Gareth presses, glancing less than subtly between you and stretching his words past the point of pain, “Big night. Worth celebrating.”

You level him with an unimpressed look. 

Real smooth Gareth, why not just spell it out for him?

Still, you suppose you have to give him Brownie points for trying because you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for him. 

Eddie is already retreating when he gives his final answer, waving you off in a way that feels almost painfully casual. 

“Yeah, no, you guys go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.”

You watch him go, and he watches you watching him. You can’t tell for certain, but it feels almost as if something significant is passing you by, a moment you’ll never be able to get back if you don’t snatch it out of the air before it’s gone.

It fills you with a stinging burst of panic, especially when Eddie turns and lets you out of his sight. 

You came here tonight to see him. You’re only here for him. 

You’re almost shocked to hear your name being spoken then, and when you snap back over to reality, Jeff and Gareth are looking expectantly at you — Adam, who could evidently not care less who comes or stays, is already halfway to the door.

They had him at pizzas and a six-pack.

“—how ‘bout it?”

You blink back at them stupidly.

“Me?”

Jeff shrugs. 

“Sure, it’s like the man said, you’re our biggest fan, you ought to share in the glory too.” 

Strange how you had assumed that invitation would not be extended to you, stranger still is how you’re suddenly considering it.

Pizza and beer at the arcade is not the worst way you’ve ever spent a Tuesday night, but there is something nagging at you, stopping you from immediately accepting. It’s that same feeling as before, opportunity slipping past you and an incredibly powerful pull asking you whether you ought to stay as you turn back to watch Laverne step aside to make room for Eddie as he rounds the bar. 

Stay? At a bar?

Where you have been so summarily informed that the chief of police is likely to pop up at any moment like a cheap jump scare in a bad horror movie?

It’s certainly not the worst idea you’ve ever had. 

It’s not even the worst idea you’ve had all day. 

“I think…” you start, “Actually, I think I’m gonna pass… it’s been a lot of excitement ...and my curfew is coming up soon.”

It’s not expressly untrue, but you feel a sharp pang of regret when Jeff shrugs and so willingly accepts your polite decline.

Part of you wishes that they would have fought a little harder to get you to come out – even Carol won’t take no for an answer the first time around – but that part of you is very quickly whipped back into shape.

You’re not here to hang out with Adam and Jeff and Gareth. 

“Suit yourself,” he says flippantly, then claps Gareth on the back, “C’mon G.” 

He doesn’t follow right away. Gareth, never one to miss a quiet exchange, remains, giving you a pointed look.

“What’s up?” He asks quietly, “You good?” 

You wait for Jeff to get out of earshot, then lean in.

“...Do you think I should stay?” You ask.

Gareth’s brows furrow in a confusion that you can only imagine must be the mirrored echo of your own previous thoughts. You can almost hear him warning you that Chief Hopper hangs around here, and then something like realization flashes across his features as he glances past you. 

You follow his gaze over to where Eddie is disappearing into the back, tying a dingy apron around his waist. 

“Yes,” He says quickly, with a wide stretch of his mouth, “I think that’s exactly what you should do.”

“You do?”

“Yes, absolutely – you stay, and I’ll see you tomorrow,”

You watch Gareth disappear out the front doors and linger a moment beneath the multi-colored lights.

The jukebox has since flipped over to play Dusty Springfield, and she is warning you that being good isn’t always easy, no matter how hard you try, and it gives you courage enough to slink back to the bar, where your soda sits long empty.

“You’re not getting a refill, so don’t even ask.” Laverne snaps, startling you. 

“I just wanted to pay for it.” 

She makes a gruff sound in the hollow of her throat and begins wiping down the bar. 

“It’s paid for.” She says reluctantly.

Before you can ask what that could possibly mean, she continues. 

“So, I reckon you’re stayin’ behind.” It’s not exactly a question, so you don’t feel pressed to answer, and when you don’t, she hefts a tub of dishes up onto the flattop. “Why don’t you take this back to Junior, since you’re so keen on hangin’ around. Save me the trip.”  

You look from Laverne to the dishes, and back again, feeling the wheels of your brain creaking under the duress of trying to see the invisible pitfall ahead of you. 

“...Am I allowed to do that?” you finally manage to ask, and for half a moment Laverne stares back at you like it was the dumbest thing she's ever heard anyone say. 

“I don’t give a shit” She finally huffs, “You do what you want, I’m goin’ out for a smoke.” 

She’s gone out the side door in a flash, and it takes you far too long to work out the pieces – Eddie paid for your drink, and she’s giving you an excuse to go back and see him. 

Boy, are you dense sometimes. 

Still, you can’t help but wonder if it’s all some clunky ploy to get you thrown out of the bar. You also can’t help but wonder who is going to watch the bar while Laverne is gone, but you decide that isn’t your problem as you seize the plastic tub and heft it down to brace against your hip. 

When you slip behind the bar and into the back, Eddie’s standing at the sink, elbow deep in suds and glaring at them like they’d personally wronged him. 

You linger in the doorway, selfishly taking in as much of this candid moment as you can steal, and scrounging around for what is left of your courage. 

“Hiya.” You say, once you find your voice. 

It startles him bad enough to send him leaping back from the sink. 

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says, stumbling over your name in a way that makes your insides go tight, “I – uh – I thought you left with the guys.”

“Nope.”

“What are you–?”

You tilt the dishtub toward him and jostle it in a way that is less tantalizing than you mean for it to be with the way the dishware shifts dangerously.

“Special delivery.”

Eddie’s brows come down over his eyes and his shoulders sag.  

“...Oh, great. Thanks,” he says, then gestures to the metal surface piled high with dishes. “Just put ‘em wherever you can.” 

The task is daunting. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen as many dishes in your life – it’s going to take him hours to get through them.

You tentatively shove the plastic bin in where you can fit it, careful not to disturb the topsyturvy stacking method that has been employed here, and linger idly as Eddie wipes his soapy hands on his jeans. 

A measured silence settles  between you, through which you can still hear the muted sounds of the bar trilling distantly on.  

“What happened?” Eddie finally asks, “How come you didn’t go with the guys?”

“Oh, well…” you start, electing to fib a little rather than do something so embarrassing as tell him the only reason you’re here tonight, “You know, as thrilling as sitting around in a parking lot drinking cheap beer sounds, I figured somebody ought to stay behind and keep you company. And I figured since you bought me a drink and all, it ought to be me.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. 

“Lucky me.” 

You try not to let the biting sarcasm of the response dig its teeth in as you continue. 

“...That was sneaky, by the way. You didn’t have to do that.”

Eddie shrugs, and rests a hand on the curved metal lip of the three-basin sink.  

“Least I could do for our biggest fan.”  

He sounds less enthusiastic about that this time around and it is enough to make your stomach clench.

“...You guys were great, by the way.” You try again, for lack of anything better to say.

Eddie shakes his head. 

“Nah, we weren’t. We were actually pretty rough, I’m surprised they let us play as long as they did … but thanks for making the effort, though.” 

“Well… you were great.” You press, folding your hands behind your back and taking a step closer, “I mean, you were pretty much the best part of the show.”

Distantly, you see his eyebrows jump beneath the sweaty fringe drying tacky to his forehead. The corner of his mouth twitches. 

“You keep stroking my ego like that and I’m gonna have to buy you dinner to go with that drink,” Eddie warns you, and something inside of you shrieks with unabashed hormonal joy.

You cannot think of anything more tantalizing than that … except for maybe one of your two fantasies from earlier in the evening, but neither of those scenarios is on the table for tonight.

At least, you’re fairly certain they aren’t. 

You thank your lucky stars he’s so fixated on washing dishes that he can’t see the way you turn bright crimson.

“I’m serious. You were great, Eddie.” 

It’s enough to finally make him look at you again.

“You think so?”

And of course, now that you have his attention, you can’t help but go embarrassing yourself. 

“Yeah, absolutely. You’re a goddamn rockstar…” 

He grins. 

“D’you kiss your mother with that mouth, Sailor?”

You curl your lips in past your teeth on instinct and drop your gaze to your sneakers as the suggestion sends you hurtling back to the picnic bench in the woods behind school. 

You’re so sure Eddie was going to kiss you out there – you watched his eyes go heavy and lidded as his gaze slid down to your lips. You saw the shift in his posture, the oh-so-subtle way he tilted forward, curling his hands into fists, moist pink tongue darting out to wet the plush spread of his lips. 

He’s not looking at you like that now, and it’s the worst goddamn thing in the world. You have to force yourself to think of something – anything else to stop it from completely destroying you as you stand there, listening to Eddie washing the dishes. 

Oddly, there is only one thing that comes to mind. 

“...Can I ask you a question?”

The lewd soapy sounds of suds on ceramic sends a chill up your spine. 

“Sure, hit me.” 

“Before you went on, when we were standing at the bar... why did Laverne call you Junior?” You ask, and the question seems to catch him off guard, so you elaborate to fill the awkward silence before it can settle between you, “She did it again just outside when she told me to bring these back to you… I was just wondering about it…”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away, and you’re just about ready to tell him to forget it by the time he opens his mouth to speak.

“Ah… hmm,” he hesitates, “… it’s a … it’s a little inside joke some folks around town like to roll out.” Eddie explains, then after a beat of silence, he gestures vaguely, “Munson Junior.”

“...Oh.” You say lamely – the subtext is not lost on you, and suddenly you’re sorry you asked.  

A heavy silence settled between you, and then Eddie clears his throat in the prelude to what you'd feared was coming all night long.

“Hey, listen … it was real nice of you to stay behind…”

Uh oh. Here comes that dreaded rejection. 

It was nice of you to stay but it’s actually super weird that you’re here at all and you should probably go home before you embarrass yourself more than you already have. 

You do your best to stamp that line of thinking out before it can settle and elect to fold your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels and doing your utmost to look carefree. 

“But…?”

You don’t care if he’s about to ask you to leave, but you hope to any God out there listening that he doesn’t. 

“But… you should probably head out.” Eddie sighs.

Okay, so you lied. You care so much, and you can feel the corners of your mouth tremble as your smile begins to waver. 

Eddie continues.  

“This is gonna take a while, Sweetheart… and I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than stand around watching me play in dish water.” 

Sweetheart. The nickname fills you with foolish courage, and suddenly you’re taking another step closer. 

“Not really,” You admit, “I actually cancelled some plans to be here tonight…” 

He breathes a halfhearted laugh out through his nose.

“Betcha wish you hadn’t.”  

Oh, how wrong he is. If only he knew just how far you’d gone to make sure you could be here tonight.

“...Can I help?” You ask tentatively, forcing yourself not to look away when Eddie’s gaze snaps up and he clocks your sudden proximity with a soft, strangled sound in the hollow of his throat.

You pretend not to hear it for both your sake, “...it’ll speed things up. And... and then you can buy me dinner, right?”

You watch him stare back at you and can practically see the cogs turning in his brain, as if he absolutely cannot fathom the request you’d just made of him. When he continues to fail to answer, you try again.

“Here, let me help.” 

You reach for the rumpled dish rag, but Eddie catches your hand.

Your lungs spasm and go flat and for the brief moment you exist under his touch, you forget how to breathe. 

He shakes his head and tries to lead you away from the sink, releasing you entirely too soon for your liking. 

“No, you don’t have to do that.” he says, and for half a moment you’re afraid that nothing you say is going to convince him to let you stay. 

Then again, it’s not exactly like you’re asking for his permission. 

“I know…” You hum, feeling your tongue go fat in your mouth and taking another step toward him, “But I want to.”

Eddie doesn’t retreat from your advance, but he calls your bluff with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow.

“You wanna waste your night doing dishes in the back of a bar?” he deadpans.

Of course you do. 

You want to tell him that you want to do every trivial task under the sun if it means you get to do it with him. You’d happily sit and watch paint dry if Eddie was going to be there with you, but somehow you’re not certain that is going to do anything to make you sound cool and attractive.  

“Sure, why not?” you shrug, rolling your sleeves up as far past your elbows as they will go and sidling up so you’re standing nearly hip to hip.

Your heart is hammering behind your ribs when you dare to steal a cautious, casual glance up at him, “I don’t have anything better to do right now.” 

Eddie stares back at you, brows furrowed quizzically before he shakes his head, mutters something unintelligible to himself, then reaches into a milk crate sitting beneath the sink that you hadn’t noticed until he fishes out a pair of oversized yellow dish gloves and hands them to you. 

“Yeah, okay – since you’ve got nothing better to do – put these on. We don’t want those fingers going prune.”  

It takes you much longer to get through the dishes than you anticipated when you originally offered your services.

Two hours later, your sweater is soaked down the front, you’ve got suds in your sleeves, and you can smell the faintest hint of budding mildew wafting off of you, but you finish the dishes in half the time you imagine it would have taken Eddie to do them on his own. 

When you’re done, you bid Laverne a cheerful farewell, one she does not acknowledge, and you leave the bar together. 

Eddie has been talking animatedly about a hundred different subjects the whole time, though the last five minutes of conversation have been allotted to his guitar – which he tells you is an N.J. Warlock series, and you have no idea what that means.

You don’t mind though, you’ve been listening quietly without interjection because your newest revelation is just how much you like to listen to Eddie talk when he gets going. Not the heated preaching you’ve witnessed a hundred times in the lunchroom, but an excitable deep dive into something he is clearly very passionate about. 

In your deepest flights of fancy, you imagine him talking to someone about you like this, and as you cross the parking lot and arrive at the back of his van, it makes your insides flutter with a girlish excitement.  

Unfortunately, he mistakes your silence over the past few minutes for disinterest and grows sheepish.

“...Anyway, I didn’t mean to talk your ear off like that,” Eddie says, rolling his shoulders. “When I get going it’s hard to shut me up sometimes … sorry.” 

You shake your head.

“No, not at all! I didn’t want to interrupt your flow, I just don’t really know anything about guitars.”

A look of patent relief flashes across Eddie’s face and is very quickly replaced with something sly as he pops open the back doors to the van. Inside sits half a dozen pieces of Gareth’s drum kit, two amps, and a sleek, black, rectangular case.

Eddie rests a hand on the hood of the case with a thump and you watch his gaze slide over to you. 

“You wanna meet her?” he asks. 

You don’t respond right away, if only because you don’t know who he could possibly mean, here in this deserted parking lot, but he doesn’t give you the opportunity to linger in the limbo of that unknowing. 

He pops open the hinges and flips the lid up, revealing the angular crimson body of the guitar. Eddie lifts the instrument carefully from its crushed velvet bed and presents it to you with all the reverence of a lover. 

You reach out tentatively to trace the smooth resin of her body with your finger pads and suddenly the moment feels supercharged with something heavy. The air is thick with it, whatever it is, and it settles in your lungs with a cloying film. You can’t be certain as to why, but you can suddenly feel your heart beating in your stomach.

“This is Sweetheart,” Eddie says, voice dripping with an admiration that makes your insides clench.

The heady atmosphere dissipates almost immediately, and you drop your hand back to your side to try and mask the way it makes you flinch to hear him call the guitar that.

Sweetheart?! No, it most certainly is not. 

You’re Sweetheart. That’s your name now, remember? He only went and gave you the goddamn thing, now here he is telling you it’s just some random term of endearment he slaps on anything shiny and new that happens to catch his eye?

Fucking lame. 

“Oh. Wow. It’s pretty.” You force yourself to say, because it’s not untrue, even if you are suddenly gripped in a ridiculous burning jealousy over his relationship toward an instrument. “Really pretty.” 

And then Eddie pulls a face of sheer and total mock offense.

“Hey now,” he warns you gently, “Show a little respect for the love of my life here, will ya?” 

You glance up at him and for half a moment aren't entirely sure you’re in the mood to meet him there. But it’s stupid to be jealous of an inanimate object. That would be like finding out Eddie was jealous of your vibrator or something stupid … which also suggests he’s fucking his guitar, so no, maybe it’s not like that at all.

Still, the thought manifests an image, which immediately sears itself into your frontal lobe and sends the blood rushing to your head so quickly you’re half surprised it doesn’t pop.

“...she’s pretty?” you hum, feeling suddenly like you’re about to faint. 

Eddie gives you a satisfied smile – one you don’t see for how your vision has briefly gone spotty – and nods. 

“Damn right she is," he says, laying her back in her case and snapping the lid shut.

If you’d been looking, and not feeling a stupid sense of satisfaction to see her get so summarily shut away, you would have seen Eddie go suddenly shy as his eyes slide over to peek at you from his peripheral.

“...Second prettiest girl in the room tonight.”

It hits you like a slap in the face and is oddly grounding. Your vision clears, your ears stop roaring, and just like that everything goes back to normal. Just you and Eddie standing in an empty parking lot with the echo of his attempt at a smooth line lingering between you. 

Your mouth falls open and you choke on a loud bark of startled laughter. 

Ha! Take that, Sweetheart.

Eddie wrinkles his nose and pulls a face like he immediately wishes he could take it back, not knowing that you’d strike him dead before he would even dare. He’s a total fucking dork, and that’s yours now. There will be no takebacks. Not now, not ever.  

“Damn,” he mutters, squeezing an eye shut and reaching up to scratch at his brow, “That was super fucking corny, wasn’t it? Not my best effort – sorry.” 

You press your lips together in a tight seal in a desperate attempt to keep a hideously giddy sound of animalistic joy from bleating up out of you, and you shake your head. 

“That’s okay.” You start, dismissing the thick layer of cheese with a flippant wave, “I’m sure Laverne would be flattered to hear you say that about her.” 

It takes him a moment to catch on, but when he does he snorts and rolls his eyes, mumbling something under his breath about Laverne. He doesn’t correct you, and you let the moment die with dignity because you know what matters.

Eddie Munson thinks you’re pretty, and that will forever be etched on the front of your brain, whether he likes it or not. 

“So,” Eddie begins, shutting the van up again and leaning back against the door. He fishes a rumpled pack of camels from his jacket pocket, and you elect not to say anything about that, “It’s a little late for dinner… but how would you feel about a midnight snack?”

You know the muscles in your face are going to be sore in the morning for how widely you’ve been grinning back at him all night, and you nod, hoping you don’t look too overeager, but also not giving a damn if you do. 

“What did you have in mind?”

He pops a cigarette between his teeth and goes looking for his lighter.  

“Let’s see. I think Fosters might still be open. You could get a milkshake, chili dog, banana split, – whatever your heart desires, Sweet Thing. Your wish is my command.” 

The thought of riding out to Foster’s Freeze on the far end of town with Eddie Munson is tantalizing in the best possible way. You’re beaming as you bring your wrist up to glance at your watch and try to visualize what you can stomach so late.

All thoughts of your growling stomach sail right out of your head as your heart rockets up into your throat before dropping into a free fall because it’s nearly midnight. 

“Jesus Christ!” You gasp, head snapping up to share your horrified look with the class. 

Eddie blinks back at you.

“Nope, just me–” 

“Can I see your watch?” You’re taking hold of his wrist and pulling it up to stare into the digital face of his Casio before he can answer, “Oh, God – it’s so late.”

“What’s the matter, you turning into a pumpkin or something?” He teases, lighting his cigarette with his free hand.

“My curfew was like half an hour ago,” You say quickly, dropping his wrist and nearly upending your bag in the frantic search for your keys.  

“Oh… shit,” Eddie mumbles, “Well, d’you need a ride? I’ll get you home lickety-split–” 

You elect to ignore any intended innuendo there in lieu of your mounting panic.

“No, thanks, I’ve got my car – listen, I really gotta go,” You say, “But let’s do a raincheck, okay?” 

You don’t wait for him to answer before you turn and bolt for your car shouting back to him as you go.  

“I mean it, Munson! You owe me that midnight snack!” 

You’re fumbling with your keys in the lock and whipping your door open with a harsh creak before you remember yourself and spin on your heel.  

“Oh— Eddie, wait!” He’s circled around to the driver’s side and is standing on the runner, already half way up into his seat when his head snaps up, and you grow suddenly shy, “Thank you for this, it was – I mean, you’re – I had fun tonight. More fun than I would have had sitting at home, anyway.” 

He gives you a strange look.  

“...you really mean that, don’t you?” He asks after a moment, “Truly. Dishes and all?”

You nod, and you watch him shaking his head in a way you imagine must be accompanied by a good-humored chuckle as he takes a final drag on his cigarette and tosses it.    

“Well, bless you for saying so.” He says, “Let’s do it again sometime.”

“Absolutely. I’ll do the dishes with you anytime.” Oh my God, why the fuck did you just say that? You’re cheesy and boring and stupid – just a stupid girl with a stupid crush. 

And Eddie is laughing. 

“Get home safe, Sweetheart.” he calls, “Wear your seatbelt.”

“Yeah, you too… goodnight, Eddie.”  

Despite the traded goodbyes, you both linger a moment longer, looking back at one another halfway into your respective cars and so reluctant to part despite the ticking time bomb hurtling toward you at breakneck speed.

You need to get home, and yet…?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Eddie calls, and you feel yourself flush. 

“It’s just… you know … what Shakespeare said…”

Across the lot, he steps down from the van and nods. 

“Sure. Good ol’ Willy Shakes.” and when you don’t elaborate, he gently prompts you, “What’s Shakespeare say, Sweetness?”

The saccharine twist on your new nickname has a lump forming in your throat, one you almost don’t get the words around as it swells and threatens to strangle you.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow.” you sigh. 

It’s perhaps the uncoolest thing you’ve said all night, and you don’t even have the good sense to be embarrassed about it, because it’s also the truest thing you’ve said all night, and suddenly your heart is pounding in your chest.

You really, really have to go, but you don’t want to. 

Eddie crosses his arms and leans back against the van.

“Yeah… it sure is.” 

The silence endures, and as the seconds tick by, you continue to fail to tear yourself away. The last time you left him like this, you didn’t see him again for five days, and after tonight you’re not sure you can survive another five days without Eddie in your life.

Maybe you can stand to miss your curfew. Maybe your parents won’t notice your car is gone and won’t come to check in on you. Maybe you can sneak in after midnight or stay out all night … maybe you can just stand here saying goodnight over and over until the sun comes up and never have to get to the parting part. 

“Go home, Sweetheart.” Eddie says then, “I don’t wanna get you in trouble.” 

The sentiment causes the lump in your throat to swell, and you have to force yourself to breathe out slowly to ease the pressure it puts on you.

You watch him climb up into the van and feel your heart thumping again. One of you had to go first, you suppose. Last time it was you, this time it’s only fair it’s him. 

“Bye Eddie.” You call, and when you still fail to get into your car, he heaves a long-suffering sigh, which is a little too fond to be just that.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” He asks, “It’s like I told you – lickety split.”  

Don’t make a promise you can’t keep. You want to warn him, but all you can manage is a smile.

Then you slide in behind the wheel of your car and shut the door behind you. You linger a moment longer and when you feel that lump threatening to return – one you quickly realize is the prelude to melancholy – you can’t help but steal one last look out your window, back at the van.

Eddie is still there, and better still, he seems to have had the same thought as you, because when you look, there he is looking at you again.

It fills you with a bright and warming sense of satisfaction. It's not so easy to tear yourself away, is it?

Then, as if to answer, Eddie waves.

You grin, return the gesture, and start your cars at the same time. It only takes a short dosey-do around each other to exit the parking lot side by side. You turn left, he turns right, and you watch in your rearview mirror until his taillights fade into the dark.

Yeah, you think you might have fallen pretty hard tonight, and you’re going to have a very hard time getting up again.

[karniss-bg3]

Writing prompt! Imagine Kar'niss and Tav actually getting into a disagreement about something relatively serious (something other than Kar'niss just getting grumpy about not feeding the shadows), and it being a moment of realization for one or both of them that Kar'niss is growing as a person to be more than just a yes-man to a perceived "majesty"

Weeks had passed since Tav’s arrival at Moonrise. During their stay they had bore witness to many incidents that made their skin crawl, atrocities which cemented in the idea that this may not be the place for them. They were in the process of packing their things, stuffing articles of clothing and supplies into their bag in a hurried fashion. Their mind often drifted to Kar’niss, one of few individuals in the accursed place they felt even a sliver of sympathy for. Yet he seemed cemented in place, unwilling to budge from his devotion, putting Tav in a conflicted state of mind. Distracted as they were they didn’t hear the soft clicking that moved along the wall, their concentration broken by a voice tucked away in a high corner.

“What is the True Soul doing?”

Tav whirled around, their heart rate kicking into high gear from the sudden intrusion. Their gaze drifted to see several reflective eyes peering at them from a darkened corner, watching Tav with an intensity that was slightly off putting. They often forgot there were many holes the drider could squeeze through if he wished it.

“Kar’niss, you startled me,” Tav said. They placed their hand on their chest in an effort to steady the rapid thumping within their rib cage. “I’m packing. I don’t think this is where I belong.”

Kar’niss’ pedipalps curled tight to his body, inching from his perch near the ceiling to creep closer to the ground. “True Soul is...leaving?”

“Yes,” Tav murmured, “I think that is for the best. I realize you hold loyalty to your Mistress but I at least ask for a head start before you inform the others. I’d like to think I’ve earned your trust enough for that much.” Tav swung their pack over their shoulder while turning to face the perplexed drider.

He frowned and climbed off the wall, his legs carrying him across the floor to bridge the gap between himself and Tav. “A traitor, a heretic…?! How dare one of Her faithful abandon Her!” He arced up while his front legs lifted into an aggressive stance.

Tav didn’t budge, reading Kar’niss’ face, able to see a tinge of uncertainty within his features. “No, how dare She treat one of Her faithful the way She does you.” Tav snapped, their chest pushed out in an effort to stand up to his advance.

“Wh—What? True Soul speaks lies. We are Her chosen, Her devout! We should rip out your blasphemous tongue!” Kar’niss shifted from side to side in an anxious trot, his hand retrieving the sword at his back.

“I am the first that has spoken any truth to you at all, at least in these walls. Don’t you see how they treat you? You’re less than dirt on the bottom of a shoe to these fanatics. They have one goal and they don’t give a shit who dies to obtain it. That includes you.”

“No, NO! Majesty loves us, She did not see an abomination in us. She saw a soldier, strong and loyal. A guide to shepherd Her followers into Her light. We are important!” Kar’niss’ breathing increased in pace, the grip on his sword hilt so tight that his knuckles grew ghostly pale.

“I don’t see you as an abomination either. Does that count for nothing? Who else besides me has spoken to you since I’ve been here? Who played beautiful music for you while you stood alone at the top of the tower?”

“But—“

“Who bandaged your wounds when the rest left you to die? Who called you by your name? Not drider, not web-arse, not eight-legged freak. Kar’niss!”

His hands trembled, his eyes darting around in confusion. “W-Wuh—We...are Her chosen. We are nothing without Majesty’s light…” His voice trailed off, wobbled and in pain.

“Which is the lie they have been feeding you since the beginning. But I don’t believe that, not for a second. I think you’re better than playing puppet to some selfish deity. You should come with me, leave this wretched place. Rise above the expectations of someone else.”

Kar’niss backed away from Tav as if he had been struck with a weapon, visibly panting from a growing panic. “They do not know us! They think they can barge in and try to lead us astray!”

“I am trying to lead you astray because I don’t want you to die here!”

“What does it matter if we die? Our lives are forfeit, we belong no where! We are nothing!” Kar’niss’ voice raised, his body lifting up more so as his inner anger churned deep within.

“Stop it, it’s NOT TRUE!”

“IT IS!”

“Tell me what the fuck you want!” Tav yelled as they stepped forward, invading the drider’s space despite how volatile the situation had grown.

“I—We…”

Tav marched up and poked Kar’niss directly between the pedipalps. “Don’t hold out on me now, speak for yourself for once.”

“Be silent!”

“Tell me, TELL ME!”

“To be more than THIS!” He cried, the grip on his sword lost causing it to hit the ground with a loud clang. His entire body quivered while he backed away from Tav. His form once puffed up and aggressive shrank down considerably, tucking himself away into a corner. He put his face in his hands, the sob he bit back escaped, a torrent of emotion unleashed. “I want to be more...than this.” His words were muffled by his hands, dripping with pent up anguish he kept locked away for far too long.

Tav exhaled a heavy breath while they rubbed the back of their neck, doing their best to calm down after the heated exchange. They wandered over to where Kar’niss sought to hide away, a frown etched over their features. “As do I. Please don’t give up, there is more for you out there than you may think.”

His hands lowered to reveal his face which was smeared with moisture. He stared at Tav a long moment to think over what was said, struggling to process it. Before he could respond the sound of quick footsteps were heard approaching the room. The door thrust open and a half-orc woman known as Z’rell entered.

“What is going on? We heard a commotion from downstairs!” Her eyes darted to Tav with scrutiny then wandered over to Kar’niss who looked upset. “Drider, you are meant to be on patrols. You’ve been asked not to hassle the True Soul. Must we take you to the dungeons for reeducation?”

Tav frowned while Kar’niss sucked in a sharp breath, his fear of such a fate radiating from his very pores.

“No, Disciple Z’rell. He is not hassling me,” Tav said.

The half-orc’s upper lip curled, taking note of the packed satchel over Tav’s shoulder. “And where is it you’re going? You’ve not been given any assignment.”

Tav’s breath hitched in their throat, their gaze wandering over to Kar’niss. They knew he could out them at any moment as he knew of their plan to leave. A silence fell over the room, each party involved looking to one another, the tension thick in the air.

“W-With us,” Kar’niss said. “We are to retrieve new followers, it is Majesty’s will. With a True Soul they will be more willing to follow an a-abomination.”

Tav’s eyebrows lofted with some surprise. They watched Kar’niss’ features, able to sense it pained him to lie and yet at the same time it was an odd sort of relief to him.

Z’rell huffed. “Very well, if it is in service to the Absolute. Do not be gone for long, we march for Baldur’s Gate soon. And for fucks sake keep it down.”

Both Tav and Kar’niss nodded. “Of course Disciple Z’rell, we understand. Thank you,” Tav said.

The warlock rolled her eyes and left the room, closing the door behind her with a firm slam. The pair left behind exhaled in unison, as close of a call as either could’ve expected. Tav turned to the drider who was still a little dazed and pensive.

“You saved my neck. Thank you, Kar’niss.”

He shook his head while rubbing his hands together in a nervous fervor. “She will be angry with us. We will be punished, She will take Her light away.”

Tav stepped in closer and reached out to cup his face in a bold move, guiding his chin to look at them. He was startled by the touch unsure how to react to it, but he wasn’t wholly opposed to the contact. “We will find a new light. Come with me, leave this place. Be more than this.” They paused and made eye contact with him. “Please.”

His lips trembled while his legs shuffled with hesitation, one hand rubbing at his plated arm in uncertainty. He had never defied the Absolute before, never even considered it. When he looked at Tav he felt things he couldn’t yet understand. Everything they said had been true even if some pieces were still difficult to fully accept. They were one of Majesty’s True Souls, maybe it meant more than he was meant to know.

“I...will go with you, True Soul. But we are afraid.”

Tav bowed their head and nodded. “I am too. Take comfort in the fact that we’ll be together. I won’t hurt you, I won’t make demands. Trust in me.”

Kar’niss’ brows knit, the very idea of trust a foreign concept all its own. “I will try.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Kar’niss followed Tav out of the room, the pair wandering past the guards without incident. Kar’niss’ eyes darted around nervously as if certain all around him knew he was leaving for good, certain someone would call out their betrayal. No one did, not a peep to be heard from the residents within, all too self absorbed in their own goals and desires to care about the drider’s or Tav’s intent. They’d exit Moonrise tower and march away from it’s looming shadow toward Baldur’s Gate. Kar’niss stopped on the road to look over his shoulder at the building he’d called home for sometime now. A lingering sadness hung over him, the push and pull of desperation for the Absolute’s acceptance locked in a bitter battle with his deep rooted desire to carve his own path. He couldn’t be sure this was the right choice or even if he fully believed in it, brainwashed as he was. But there was a tiny voice growing within his mind, a spark of free thought that told him to follow Tav into the den of the unknown. For better or for worse this was the voice he chose to listen to. He ripped his gaze from Moonrise and looked ahead to Baldur’s Gate, dutifully marching behind Tav to seek out new horizons, his fate left hanging in the balance.

A crack had begun to form in the foundation of his faith. It would be up to Kar’niss if he wanted to nurture the sprouts of change—or stamp them out as weeds.

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober- Day 13 (Somnophilia)

Reinhardt x Reader

In the middle of the night, Reinhardt couldn't sleep. His mind kept wandering to thoughts of you, the newest recruit. There was something about you that made him infatuated...maybe even obsessed. He sated his desire with passing looks and touches, but Reinhardt wanted more. It wasn't long before he started to pay more attention to the things you like or do.

You like to spar with Cassidy and go get a coffee afterward. You like the color (f/c) on your gear and like to go onto the roof at night to relax. He knew all this and made sure to figure out more. He followed you around and made note of your every action.

He figured out you took sleeping pills to deal with your insomnia.

Reinhardt couldn't take it anymore. He slipped out of his quarters and made his way silently down the hallway to where he knew you slept.

As he approached your door, he paused for a moment to gather his courage. This would definitely be crossing a line. The others wouldn't understand, but he knew you would. There's no going back after this if anyone finds out. But he didn't care. Reinhardt wanted nothing more than to feel you, love you, cherish you. And he knew you loved him back.

You just didn't know it yet.

Steeling his mind against any rational, sane thought, Reinhardt quietly slid the lock open and stepped inside. The dim light from the corridor barely reached across the room, casting most of it into darkness save for a small pool of moonlight filtering through your window onto your sleeping form. He glanced at your nightstand and saw an empty glass and a prescription pill bottle. He closed the door behind him.

Reinhardt slowly walked over to your bedside, his gaze tracing every contour of your relaxed features. He couldn't resist reaching out a tentative hand to brush a strand of hair away from your cheek. The contact sent shivers down his spine as he watched you breathe peacefully beneath the sheets. You looked so peaceful and relaxed.

You must have known he was coming. You must want this as much as he does.

With a shaky hand, Reinhardt reaches over and pulls your blanket down slowly. He slightly frowns when he sees you're clothes. Maybe you didn't.... No. You simply wanted to make him put some work into it. Yes, Reinhardt thought, that had to be it.

Slowly, carefully, Reinhardt began to undress you, starting with removing your shirt first. As each article of clothing fell away, he reveled in the feeling of being able to see you completely exposed under the pale moonlight. His hands trembled slightly as they moved lower, tracing along your toned abdominal muscles, lingering just above the waistband of your boxer briefs. He could feel his heart racing in his chest – both from excitement and fear of discovery.

Eventually, everything was removed except for your underwear since he wanted to leave the best for last. Reinhardt hesitated for a moment before reaching out once again, this time grabbing hold of the elastic band and pulling it down over your hips.

You shifted slightly in response, mumbling something incoherent in your sleep, but did not wake. With bated breath, Reinhardt finally allowed himself to admire your naked form fully illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window.

His finger gently traced your soft lips. You look so...vulnerable. Reinhardt was concerned. Anyone could have come in here and hurt you. He was glad he was here to protect you.

As Reinhardt's fingers danced along your supple skin, he felt a surge of heat rise within him. His breath quickened as he explored further, running his fingertip along the curve of your hipbone, then trailing it up towards your neck. His touch seemed to stir some dormant part of you awake, causing you to stretch lazily under his touch.

Reinhardt couldn't help but let out a low groan as his desire threatened to consume him whole. He needed more; he craved closeness, connection… intimacy.

He slowly took hold of your jaw with his callused hand, and with a bit of pressure, pried your mouth open as gently as he could. You made no effort to resist as your body was limp and relaxed. Reinhardt shuddered when he took a look into your mouth. It looked soft, wet, and inviting. His other hand worked quickly, pulling down his zipper and freeing his throbbing erection from its confines.

With shaking hands, Reinhardt positioned himself at your mouth, pressing the head of his engorged member against your plump lips. They parted ever so slightly, allowing him access to explore your tongue and teeth with the tip of his cock. Each brush against your wet warmth sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through his body, driving him closer and closer to the edge.

He leaned forward, resting his weight partially on the bed as he thrust deeper into your mouth.

Each shallow thrust drew forth a whimper of submission from you, amplifying the intensity of Reinhardt's arousal tenfold. The sound of your breathy gasps, coupled with the sensation of your hot tongue wrapped around his length, drove him wild with desire. He picked up speed just ever so slightly.

The sight of you lying there, naked and vulnerable beneath him, served only to heighten his fervor. He watched transfixed as his thick cock disappeared between your swollen lips, emerging coated in a sheen of saliva.

Every time he pulled out to stroke himself and keep himself hard, it left a trail of drool connecting your mouth to his aching need. Reinhardt knew he couldn't cum with such a slow pace.

Without warning, he pushed himself balls deep into your mouth, cutting off your air supply completely. You shifted weakly against the bedding, but your unconscious attempts at resistance only fueled Reinhardt's determination. He held you there, watching the flush spread across your face as you struggled for oxygen

He started to feel a stir of guilt as you continued to struggle, so Reinhardt slid his cock out from your throat. You sucked in great ragged gasps of air, coughing and spluttering as your body fought to recover from the sudden deprivation. Eventually, your body went back to its calm and normal rhythm of breathing.

Still hard and hungry for more, Reinhardt watched with a mixture of satisfaction and shame as you regained your composure, oblivious to the violation that had just taken place.

Feeling emboldened by his success thus far, Reinhardt pressed his cockhead once again to your swollen lips, demanding entrance without preamble. This time, however, he didn't stop when you instinctively resisted, instead choosing to simply overpower you with his strength.

Your sleeping form whined in protest as Reinhardt forced himself inside your mouth, but he ignored your pleas, focusing solely on the sweet torture of your warm mouth enveloping him. He sped up his thrusts, each powerful stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through him like a tidal wave.

Watching his cock disappear and reappear between your lips was almost too much for Reinhardt to bear. The sight of his enormous girth stretching your tiny mouth to its limits sent shivers of anticipation down his spine. He could feel himself nearing the edge, the pressure building in his balls like a volcano threatening to erupt.

Growing impatient for release, Reinhardt took matters into his own hands – literally. Grabbing hold of your head, he roughly shoved your face onto his cock, using your skull as leverage to drive himself deeper than ever before. His hips bucked wildly, slamming his entire length into your waiting mouth with every brutal thrust. You squirmed beneath him, no doubt aware that something wasn't quite right, but unable to break free from the haze of sleep. At this moment, he needed nothing more than to cum – to mark you irrevocably as his.

"Ahh, mein Liebling," Reinhardt whispered tenderly, unable to contain the words that had been building up inside him for weeks. "Ich liebe dich so sehr." He continued to thrust, his voice growing more urgent with each thrust. "Du bist die Sonne meiner Welt, ohne dich bin ich verloren im Dunkel."

His pace increased, driven by a primal instinct that bordered on feral. "Willst du es haben? Willst du mich? Ich bitte um Vergebung, aber ich kann nicht aufhören." He held you there at the hilt of his cock, suspended between ecstasy and agony.

As the familiar sensation of impending orgasm began to build within him, Reinhardt pulled out of your mouth, deciding that he wanted to watch every second of his release unfold. He roughly grabbed your chin, angling your face towards him as he stroked himself furiously, his movements growing increasingly erratic as he neared completion.

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Reinhardt cried out in ecstasy as he came, painting streaks of cum across your cheeks and nose. Panting heavily, he stood there for several seconds, savoring the aftermath.

After catching his breath, Reinhardt grabbed a pair of your boxers from nearby, using them to clean your cute face. What kind of lover would he be if he left you like this? He stuffs the boxers into his pocket and puts his dick away.

Once satisfied that the mess was gone, Reinhardt redressed you, tucking you in snuggly beneath the covers. As he gazed down at your peaceful expression, Reinhardt caressed your cheek. He leans down to kiss your cheek. You look so peaceful as you sleep despite what happened. Reinhardt's breath hitched in his throat as you unconsciously moved your face into his warm hand.

All guilt and doubts left his mind. You loved him back. Your body knew you two were made for each other. Reinhardt slipped quietly out of the room, wondering if he should love you again tomorrow night.

Scumtober 2023 Masterlist

[alien-tr0n2000]

Are the Smurfs related? ACTUALLY NO!

I have noticed that people become confused when it comes to Smurfs and whether or not they are related. Well I’m here to give the facts!

The Live action Confusion

The Smurf live action movies from 2011 made everything confusing in terms of Smurf relationships. Since it is the one Smurf movie that people usually remember watching. The live action movies depicted Smurfette as an “adopted daughter” yet also having the other Smurfs crush on her. Which is very weird. Keep in mind though, that Smurfs are never depicted as anything sibling like in any other Smurf media besides this one.

In that movie they depicted papa as very fatherly in general especially to Smurfette. When in the 80s show and comics; (that were made by the creator of Smurfs himself unlike these live action movies). Had Papa hitting on Smurfette and many other things. This movie made things very confusing because they also depicted the Smurfs as “papa’s sons” which is why people believe they are siblings when they are not. That movie is just weird when it comes to depicting papa’s relationship to the Smurfs and Smurfette. Especially since they crush on her.

Why is Papa called “Papa”?

“If they aren’t related, then why do they call him Papa?”

Well, his name was turned into Papa for the english versions of Smurfs. But his name given by his creator is “Le Grand Schtroumpf” which directly translates to “The Great Smurf” or “The big Smurf” meaning he’s literally just the oldest Smurf. He’s more of a leader, than a father. Sure he did raise all of them and is technically a caretaker to them, but none of the Smurfs are even related to him. (I will explain later on in the article).

Another example of “being Papa” being a leader role in Smurf village is a comic; (“Smurfette the Great”) and an episode of the 80s Smurfs; (“Papa for a day”) In the comic, Smurfette is “in charge” because she is wearing Papa Smurf’s hat and red clothes. The episode, included the Smurfs appointing themselves as “papa” (or “mama” for Smurfette). Whenever they got the red hat, they would become the boss. It would be different if they tried to act like a father or mother with the hat, but they would start being the boss once they became “Papa”.

This proves that being “papa” in Smurf village just means he is the boss, not the father.

How are the Smurfs not related?

Smurfs are delivered by storks once in a blue moon, individually. Nothing happens. Once in a blue moon they just kind of show up. Meaning, none of them are blood related. There is Smurfette, however, who is created by magic from Gargamel. Smurfs can only be created through magic or being delivered once in a blue moon.

Do the Smurfs see each other as brothers?

Smurfs can have different relationships with each other. They CAN have brotherly-like bonds but this would be for certain Smurfs. For the most part the men are almost always fighting. Over anything really. Once they even went to war. (“King Smurf”) Some Smurfs don’t even know much about each other at all. More like people living in a neighborhood than in a giant family.

That is all of my Smurf talk! I hope I could clear up any confusion!

Sources:

https://smurfs.fandom.com/wiki/The_Great_Smurfette

https://bluebuddies.com/ubb/ultimatebb.php/topic/1/2868.html#000000

https://youtu.be/8Ivf8buMJqQ?feature=shared

https://youtu.be/KG3mPGpLg68?feature=shared

[kkami-writes]

Black Blood — chapter seven. wc. 2.4k references. fandom tour episodes

The monday meeting had come and passed, going smoothly as you went over schedules for the week. The boys had been rather impressed with how organized you seemed, noting that you had even gotten yourself a personal planner, watching as you wrote down stuff. You had even asked for their input on what kind of events or projects they’d like to participate in. 

Right now though you were currently standing outside a bowling alley. There were just a few people from the camera crew who were filming the members as well as a handful of other staff monitoring the shoot. They were not paying any attention though, filming their own intro with a selfie stick, attempting to get the introduction just right. 

You were off to the other side, not too close but close enough that they boys could interact with you if they wanted to. JYP has decided to really play up the whole new manager thing, with you acting as a ‘friend’ and ‘confidant’ to the boys. While you didn’t necessarily mind, happy to play the role, you were slightly worried about stays reaction. You could handle hate, that was nothing new to you but you would hate for the boys to receive any backlash. 

Filming of ‘Fandom Tour’ was off to a good start though. Everyone has already had lunch at their favorite restaurant when they had been trainees and had even put up a plaque to commemorate. The boys had also decided that they wanted to go bowling, something that they had done frequently when they used to have more time. You watch as Felix and Jisung go on and on in their intro, the other boys complaining about them taking too long. 

You can’t hold back your laughter as the two have to do the intro two more times, repeating the same thing again when the other members had messed up. (It was slightly embarrassing that you could hear yourself in the video when it had been posted)

Hyunjin pulls at his blazer, removing the article of clothing due to it being too warm to have it on. You held out your hand for him, falling into your manager mindset. He smiled softly at you as he handed it over to you before returning back to his members. As they made their way into the bowling alley, you walked over to their stylist, handing over the jacket for safe keeping. 

The director had made you sit in the section directly behind the boys, putting you directly in the camera view at certain angles. You groan to yourself but take a seat anyway. It seems that you would have to get used to being somewhat in the spotlight. Apparently they were going to be utilizing you more often than you had originally thought. 

The boys were too busy ogling the prize for the winning team which was fancy korean beef, something they could definitely afford themselves. Still, that didn’t stop them from getting excited. The producer had handed the meat over to Jeongin to show off but he’s quick to make a run for it, grabbing your hand to pull you with him. 

“QUICK. LET’S GO NOONA,” You let out a small snort but play along, running away with the maknae, hand in hand. The boys are screaming various things but it’s hard to make out over the noise. The two of you giggle before making your way back to your seats.

While they pick teams, the producer walks up and hands you a pair of bowling shoes that are in your size. You blink down at the shoes before looking back up to blink at the producer. He simply says that they’ll explain in just a second. When he walks away you take the time to make a face, scrunching up your nose and letting your smile fall. The thing you didn’t like was being thrown in blind, you would much prefer to know what your role was gonna be. Or at least tell you that you would be participating so it doesn’t completely catch you off guard. 

God, were you gonna regret becoming their manager?

The PD-nim then explains to the boys that each team will receive a ‘noona’ card. In simple terms, any one could use this card and get you to take their turn instead. When they looked over at you, you simply shrugged your shoulders. Honestly you had no idea what was going on, but you would play along like they wanted you to. 

When the producer asks you what team you thought was gonna win you respond with “Felix’s Team,” Your answer was met with boos from the other team and you shrugged your shoulders again. “Hey, what can I say? I love me some underdogs,” You give them your signature grin, sharp canines glinting. Then they were off to bowl. You probably clap a little too hard when Jisung rolls his ball down the lane only to hit one pin, doing your best to encourage him. It was kinda funny they all loved to bowl but weren’t very good at it. Actually, it was endearing. Seeing them be actually kinda bad at something was refreshing because for a while you were convinced that no matter what they did, they would excel. 

You have to cover your mouth to stop from laughing at the fact that after all that, Jisung had gone over the line, making it a foul. Felix asks for support from his team but they’re a little lackluster, definitely have given up already. 

“FIGHTING!!!!!!” You yell out for the poor boy instead, who instantly brightens up at hearing your cheers for him. Changbin whines about favoritism but you look away with a hand over your eyes, especially when Felix ends up bowling a gutterball as well. Of course you don’t actually wanna show favoritism so you clap loudly for Hyunjin when the pretty boy bowls a strike. (totally not impressed at all, nope) After watching them for a while you really couldn’t help the smile starting to curl at your lips, looking at how they interacted with each other. It was just so nice to see them relaxed and having fun compared to last week. While you admired their dedication to their craft it was a little hard to see them pushing themselves so much. More than once you had to force them to stop dance practice and take an actual break, perhaps using just a liiiiiiitle bit of your persuasion. You had deemed it necessary though, in the end, too much can also do harm. 

It’s Jisung who uses the noona card first, waving it in the air. You let out a small groan to yourself before standing up, making your way over. Man, you can’t remember the last time you bowled. When you were alive that is.

“Hey, don’t get mad at me when I bowl a gutter ball,” You mumble while picking up a ball with a decent weight. Both teams cheer for you of course, which only makes things more embarrassing for you when you eventually fuck up. So when you go to bowl and actually manage to hit a strike you’re stunned, standing there in disbelief. Jisung and Hyunjin are running up to you, jumping around you with the same stupid confused look on your face as they do so. 

“See!! I told you!!” Jisung grins that heart shaped smile you adore and you can’t help but laugh, ruffling up his hair. “Guess I’m just a natural,” You snort, moving back to your seat to continue to watch the rest of the game. 

As you watch you start to feel bad for Bangchan, who is performing quite poorly despite everyone hyping him up before they even started the game. Bangchan, who was supposedly the best player, was not living up to the hype.

Even though they were winning, the rookie team still wanted to use their noona card so it’s Minho who uses it. While you don’t manage another strike but you do get them a spare, to which Seungmin gives you a high five. It surprises you, the male hasn’t interacted with you as much as the others since he had seen you half naked, still shying away from you sometimes. You shrug it off, assuming that maybe he was playing it up for the cameras. 

Bangchan gives you a suspicious look over from where he was sitting, eyebrows raised as if accusing you of using magic to help the rookie team win. You mirror the look at him before mouthing ‘really?’. He simply shrugs his shoulders at you and you roll your eyes at him. And in the end the poor boy couldn’t hit a single strike, his pride damaged as you pat him on the shoulder. 

“There, there. It’s impossible to be talented in everything,” 

When you arrive at the next location for filming, the kids wanted to film another funny intro. So here you were, standing behind the chicken(?) statue, your head peeking out just a little so you’re not completely seen, it’s more of a little easter egg for stays if they manage to catch you. 

In the end, they all agree to ride the zipline together. You eye the two who are afraid of heights, making sure that they seem to be okay with that. As you all crowd into the elevator up to the top you turn to the PD-nim. 

“Can I ride too?” You ask curiously. If you were honest you really wanted to ride it. It looked fun and you had never done anything like it when you were alive. He nods and you become excited.

“You wanna ride it???” Jisung asks incredulously. He’s holding on tightly to Minho, both of them trying to comfort each other as the elevator climbs higher. You nod eagerly, excitement flooding your veins. Once at the top Changbin is screaming and suddenly Minho and Jisung are both on the floor, not wanting to stand up. You want to laugh at how silly they’re being but you also feel bad so you sit in between them, holding out your hand to both of them. They eagerly grip onto yours, squeezing tightly. 

When it’s their turn they slowly take baby steps towards the front. Minho needs more help than Jisung, so you take the time to guide him towards the seat, helping him into it as you squeeze his hand again. 

“You can do it. I’ll see you down there,” You pat his head before walking off so they can properly strap the poor boy in, moving to go sit with Seungmin. 

“Wah, how do you even put up with them?” He asks, referencing how you had sat with them on the floor. You nudge the boy with a small tsk of your tongue.

“Don’t be mean. Min’s really afraid of heights,” You’re not actually scolding him and he knows it too, giving you his signature grin in return, the same smile he has when he’s being a menace. You watch patiently as one by one the other members take off, getting more and more excited for your turn. 

After Seungmin and Jeongin have left you eagerly bound up to the seat for your turn, waiting for the workers to strap you in. It’s more fun than you thought, the breeze in your hair and it feels like you’re flying again. You had always enjoyed flying as an angel, it felt freeing and the only comfort you had when you were in heaven. Flying was definitely something you missed after having your wings removed. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you take it in, trying to lean back as far as you can with your arms stretched out to really add to the feeling. You didn’t really care about taking in the view, you just wanted to relish the feeling of being in the air while you could. When you’re back down on the ground the tiniest bit of disappointment fills your chest but you push it down, just like you do with most of your emotions. 

While the boys go off to complete their mission, you hang back, checking out all the food stalls and practically trying everything. One of the perks of being in the human realm was definitely all the new foods you got to try. While it definitely sucked that you didn’t really need food, it was still nice to enjoy and didn’t stop you from moaning at all the new flavors. 

One by one the boys all come to your table with their own snacks as they finish their mission, silently stuffing their faces. It was always rather satisfying watching them eat, they had made everything look tasty and always shocked you with how much innie could stuff in his mouth. 

Soon enough everyone was off to the last location for filming, which was a pension in Gapyeong. The kids would be staying in the main building while staff stayed in the neighboring houses. Of course, being head manager you would be staying with the kids. There were still more missions and games to be had but you were feeling exhausted. Keeping up with them was rather difficult and you were shocked at how much energy they could have. Of course, your tiredness could also lead back to the fact that you had not fed a single time since you had been here.

Using magic, despite only using a little, had drained you and being on earth sapped you of your energy much faster than had you been in hell. You would definitely have to feed soon and honestly, you weren’t looking forward to it. Yes, you had other methods of feeding besides semen but it would be so much easier. But you had felt uncomfortable going about it, not really wanting to feed off some random guy, but if you really had to, you would. For now you would stick to your other method, even if it didn’t provide much. 

You had bid the boys goodnight before they started their nightly games, sneaking away to your room. Once your head had hit the pillow you were out cold, your lack of energy catching up to you. Despite all the screaming and yelling the kids had done you hadn’t woken up and for a second they had thought you had died, going to check in on you once filming had finished. 

But they were satisfied with how peaceful you looked asleep, leaving you to have sweet dreams. Except they didn’t know that you hadn’t dreamed once since the day you died.

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[something-tofightfor]

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #1: Javier Peña - Apology Kiss

Starting this one off with our favorite DEA agent and a request that goes a little against the grain for him. Thank you for requesting this, Anon!

Not connected to any other Javi Peña I've written and takes place after the events of the show. Written with a female Reader in mind.

Word Count: 1582

Rating: M? A little angsty, a couple mentions of Javi's informant escapades.

Javier Peña  didn’t do romance. He didn’t even usually do relationships in the traditional sense, especially after the way things had ended with Lorraine and the way his life had played out in Colombia.  

But when it came to you, he tried, even though it took him some time to accept the idea.

Years spent with the DEA, living minute to minute in foreign countries and never knowing whether or not the day would be his last had put things into perspective, though it had taken until well after he was back in Texas for the meaning of the words live in the moment to really sink in. 

At first, your gentle “let me know when you make it home” requests had bothered him. He wasn’t used to anyone that wasn’t a colleague or his father acting concerned about his whereabouts. And the way you weren’t willing to let one syllable answers and non-committal grunts speak for him when you asked how his days were rubbed him the wrong way, too, because it meant having to open up in ways that he wasn’t familiar with in order to answer.

But what had taken him the longest to get around were all of the little ways you were constantly attempting to care for him, and how useless - and frustrated - it made him feel. 

Javier knew he was a capable man. After all, he’d been lead on two of the most important busts led by the DEA in recent years. He’d managed to infiltrate cartels and offshoots of cartels and play both sides successfully without getting himself killed. He’d built and maintained a network of informants; some of them women whose company he enjoyed and others regular citizens desperate to change something, no matter how small what they had to offer in the way of information was. 

But when your patience shone through - you more than willing to explain the basics of cooking or why it was important not to just toss every article of clothing together into the same temperature water and hope for the best or when you suggested working your way through all of the movies and music that he’d missed out on instead of just starting with what was out now - it really made him feel like an asshole. 

And being an asshole was definitely not something that Javier Peña was comfortable with. 

He’d met you a few months after coming home for good. Javier was sitting on a bench at one of the many parks overlooking the Rio Grande while he waited until it was time to pick Chucho up from a meeting he had scheduled downtown about the ranch. You approached cautiously with one hand raised and extended, voice carrying even though you kept your distance. “I’m sorry to bother you, but my watch battery stopped … could you tell me what time it is?” 

His answer had relieved you - your shoulders sagging as you thanked him. For the next fifteen minutes the two of you made small talk, Javier the one that had to say goodbye first - but not before you asked him if you could give him your number, just in case he ever wanted to use it. 

He was used to women approaching him, but there was nothing desperate or cliche about your interest. Not only had he taken your number when you handed it to him on a piece of paper ripped from a pocket sized notebook in your bag, he’d given you his in return, black ink and his name scrawled in ballpoint pen over another page. 

From there, the connection grew, and it didn’t take long for either of you to realize that it was a real one. 

It was friendly at first, the two of you meeting for lunch or a single drink once a week, and then it progressed, Javier inviting you to see the ranch and you offering your couch and VCR in return, along with an almost endless supply of popcorn and the kind of fizzy drinks and sweet treats he hadn’t let himself indulge in in years.

You initiated the first kiss, and he didn’t discourage it - lips meeting for the first time on the sidewalk outside of some chain restaurant whose Tuesday night special boasted the best wings in town. From there, everything escalated. 

One night a week turned into two, and that turned into three or four, split between your place and his. You met Chucho, the man delighted by your presence and immediately launching into stories about Javier as a child whenever you came into view. 

He met your friends and some of your family too - bumping into them while you were out, or stopping to drop something off before the two of you set out for a long drive through the flatland east of the city on your days off. 

The more comfortable things got, the more uneasy he became at just how easy it would have been to get used to things being that way all the time… if he’d let it. And so when Javier showed up at your place late one night, his well-worn leather jacket snug against his frame to end it, he didn’t bother telling you the truth behind the decision. 

He told you everything but the truth instead, spitting out that he was a grown fucking man and that he didn’t need someone to coddle him all the time, and that it seemed like you were getting too goddamn comfortable making decisions for him before turning to walk away, shoulders straight as he made his way back to the truck. 

He didn’t relax until almost a mile down the road. 

You’d barely reacted to his words aside from recoiling and blinking a few times, one hand gripping the door frame as he shook his head, words pouring from his mouth in the hazy glow of your porch light. And when he turned to go, you hadn’t stopped him, Javier picking up an almost silent “Be careful, Javier,” as he walked away from you. Those three words were what he focused on while he drove. 

And what he kept focusing on as he swerved suddenly, turning around with a squeal of tires against loose gravel, the journey back to your house made with his heartbeat thundering in his ears. 

He didn’t ever apologize. He’d learned it was useless, because an apology wouldn’t bring back someone after they were shot. It wouldn’t unexplode a bomb, or keep someone from overdosing on cocaine. Sorry was just a word, and he’d gotten so used to hearing everyone else around him constantly apologize that the word itself made his lip curl. 

But for you, he’d try to prove that he really was apologetic for the way he’d treated you because he was scared of the alternative - as long as you’d let him. 

Javier parked his truck in your driveway and gripped the wheel for a few seconds, taking two long breaths - and then headed for your front door, his heart pounding. 

You answered after a single knock, the expression on your face sad, the hurt in your eyes evident. But you didn’t slam the door in his face, and that was a start. 

“I’m… I’m sorry.” 

It stuck in his throat but he meant it, the man’s eyes narrowing for a second before he continued. “I’m not used to this. I couldn’t be used to this, and now it’s…” Squeezing his eyes shut, Javi shook his head from side to side. “Truth is that I’ve never had anyone treat me like you do before, and I’m still getting used to it. Scares the hell out of me how much I want to get used to it, actually, because -”

“Javier.” You reached out, laying your hand against his cheek. “I accept your apology. We’re going to have to have a conversation about all of the things you said,and what you meant but -”

“I really am sorry.” He said it again, and that time the words came smoothly, the furrow of his brows easing as he realized he truly meant it. “We’ll talk about it whenever you want.”

“Come inside.” You smiled at him, gesturing to the hallway behind you with your other hand. “I just finished making popcorn. Figured it wouldn’t take you long to come back, and -” Of course you did.

He moved before you finished, both of Javier’s hands rising to cradle your face between them as he tilted your face to kiss you. 

There was no hesitation on your part, the soft sigh that escaped you when your mouths met the final thing he needed to truly relax. 

It wasn’t a prelude to a frenzied removal of clothes or the two of you making your way to the couch, only unzipping and pushing what was necessary to the side. It wasn’t to keep you from prying or to keep himself from having to make an excuse or avoid a conversation.

It was just a kiss because he wanted to kiss you, and when he pulled back enough to murmur the words a third time - I’m so sorry - you nodded, tugging on his belt to pull him fully into your house and then pushing the door shut behind him. 

At the sound of the quiet click, your lips still flush with his, Javier smiled without stepping back, thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones. He still didn’t like apologies, but part of him was very thankful for the opportunity to make them to you - no matter how many it took.

---

[eringobragh420]

Pairing: Seth Rollins x f!OC Summary: Seth believes he's doing the right thing. Warnings: Suicide, depression, infidelity, smut. 18+ Notes: Not sure if there's an audience for this one lol if so, let me know! There will be eventual fluff and smut. Song is "Reputation (Just To Save Yours)" by Post Malone

Seth

He looked at the black suitcase in the corner of the hotel room, his cross-body fanny pack sitting atop the clothes inside. His heart pounded as he thought about what was waiting for him inside the zipper. It was time. If he thought about it hard enough, it was past time. He should have made this decision long, long ago. A clatter in the bathroom drew his somber brown eyes to that door for a brief moment—his fiancée, his everything, his reason. His gaze slid back to the bag. He didn’t know exactly how she would react, though he knew she would be upset. He only hoped she would understand in the end—he was doing it for her. He was finally putting her before himself.

take my own life just to save yours drink it all down just to throw it up take my own life just to save yours

He glanced down at the phone in his hand, having forgotten momentarily he was holding it all, and there, staring him right in the face, was the ultimate nail in his coffin. A breathy chuckle escaped his lips at his own dark humor. TMZ had posted on their Instagram two nights ago another article depicting him as a cheater, this time with a woman he hadn’t told his fiancée about. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true, or that he didn’t know the woman, or that his fiancée claimed it didn’t bother her because she had finally learned to trust him after all the other times. It mattered that these articles would never go away, made up relationships or rendezvous would never cease to be written about, and his fiancée would be forced to face them, deal with them, and question her faith in him every time a new one was published. And it was his fault. He expected and agreed to be punished for the rest of his life for his transgressions, but not her—she didn’t deserve it, and he wouldn’t allow it any longer. Surely they wouldn’t continue to run these kinds of stories if he were—

“Are you okay?”

Seth Rollins snapped out of his stupor and looked at her, his beautiful fiancée, as she exited the bathroom. Her scent billowed into the room, and Seth’s eyes fell closed as the brief memory of buying her the Versace perfume flashed through his mind. She’d fallen in love with it, not so subtly hinting at a fresh bottle for her birthday every year since. Her honey-colored hair was curled to perfection, makeup a masterpiece, and her outfit on point. She was going to nail the interview, he knew it. His timing was bad, he knew that, too, but it was now or never. Everything was in order. He hadn’t expected the interview to be rescheduled. 

take my own life just to save yours i got a reputation that i can’t deny you’re the superstar, entertain us

He smiled at her as she crossed the room, extending his arms to envelope her within. One last time. His eyes fell closed once more because now that he was holding her, how was he supposed to let her go? She felt so good against him, so right, so pure. And he’d been nothing but cruel and deceiving and a user. He didn’t deserve her. Nobody deserved her, really, but certainly not Seth Freakin’ Cheater Rollins. He smelled her hair for the last time, inhaling deeply, hoping her scent lodged itself into his nostrils so he could smell it while he’s… He felt her breath on his neck, her small hands squeezing his much larger back. He didn’t know where he was headed in the next few hours, and he didn’t much care, but he kept faith he would one day hold her like this again. After, though. After he paid for his transgressions. If he ever fully did.

entertain us but please don’t wake me up i betrayed us but us don’t give a fuck

“This is stupid,” she said, pulling away suddenly. Seth held on, which was unusual, and she noticed. However reluctant, he let his hands slide away from her warm body. “I’m not gonna get this job. We both know it.”

“Bullshit,” Seth replied, swatting his hand. “There’s no one better for the job.”

He wasn’t just saying that. Her ideas, so far, had been brilliant and well-received by the WWE Universe—the couple choosing to ignore the mass sympathy the fans had for a woman who had been repeatedly cheated on and humiliated by one of the most popular superstars. Whether they liked the direction the storylines were taking or simply felt sorry for her, she had won an interview with Triple H himself for a job opening in Creative. She no longer wanted to be on the show—she wanted to write for it. She was a talented performer, that was for sure, but she would be even more deadly with a keyboard.

“Seth,” she said, looking up at him from nearly a foot away in height.

“I mean it,” he said. “Please don’t second-guess yourself. This is what you’re supposed to be doing. I know it.”

“But what if—”

“What if you don’t get the job? You go back to wrestling and try again next time and if it doesn’t work, you keep wrestling, which you love, and then you retire. What if you do get the job? You live the rest of your life doing what you love and then you retire.” He left himself out of the picture on purpose. “It’s a win-win situation.”

After a moment, her expression relaxed, her eyes softened, and she smiled. God, he would miss that smile. “How do you always know what to say?”

kill myself today kill it all away broken path i made please just stay away

Seth swallowed, a small smile flickering across his thin lips. He did always know what to say—especially when it came to convincing her to stay with him after another night of fucking someone other than her. “I also know,” he started, ignoring the self-loathing thoughts constantly fluttering around in his battered brain, “that Trips hates it when people are late for meetings.”

She glanced at her Apple watch and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Oh, God,” she whined pathetically.

“Calm down,” Seth chuckled. “Deep breaths. Shoulders back. Chin up.” She followed each order without question, her body ramrod straight as if presenting herself to her commanding officer. “You’re gonna kill it.” He instantly regretted his poor choice of words, but she had no idea why they were in such bad taste, and his heart ached. It would be just like him to humiliate her one last time before putting her through what might prove to be one of the most difficult events of her life. It’s for the best, he kept telling himself. She would hurt for a while, but it would go away and she would find someone else and she would forget about him.

“I love you,” she said softly.

The Visionary inhaled as deeply as his lungs would allow to keep the tears from pooling in his eyes, to keep from grabbing her and squeezing her and never letting go, to keep from confessing his true intentions once she left the hotel room. He looked into her eyes for the last time, held her hands, fingered the enormous diamond ring he’d purchased in the hope that he could buy her forgiveness for one transgression or another. Christ, he really didn’t think it would be this hard to say goodbye without saying goodbye. He knew what he was doing was the right answer, so why didn’t that make this any easier?

i know i fucked up before, but i won’t do it again and i got a lotta things that i wish i would’ve said and i’m the same damn fool when i’m wearing that hat again i know i fucked up, and i can’t make it right

“I love you, too,” he replied after clearing his throat, which he played off as having dry mouth.

He tried to stop it, but she pressed her lips to his, and his eyes squeezed shut and his body somehow froze and melted all at the same time. He cradled her face, thumbs caressing her silken skin, and he realized too late that he should have memorized every peak and slope of her lips because she was pulling away too suddenly, and he was leaving very soon. She giggled, and his heart fluttered, stomach rolling. She quickly reached up with her thumb to wipe away her lipstick from his mouth before grabbing her purse, blowing another kiss at him, and then she was gone. And he was alone.

watch yourself, i can’t slow down this is who i am, can’t be anyone else, so don’t let me go, save yourself just save yourself, just save yourself 

Seth grabbed the small bag from his suitcase and tossed it on his side of the bed. He filled two plastic cups to the brim with water from the tap and set them on the end table. He clapped his hands to maintain focus—adrenaline was zooming through his veins and his heart was slamming against his rib cage and he could feel the tiny doubts in the back of his mind chiseling away at the wall he’d built to block them out. He unzipped the fanny pack, pulled two pill bottles out, and placed them beside the cups of water. At the time he was prescribed these antidepressants, he’d assured the doctor he hadn’t been suicidal. He hoped Dr … WhateverTheHell didn’t blame himself for not seeing any signs. Especially since Seth had been laying his happiness on fairly thickly for those around him as of late to avoid suspicion. So far, so good. Staring at the full bottles, he pulled his blonde and brown hair into a high bun so he would be able to lie comfortably on his back on the bed. His mahogany eyes closed, and he saw her in a beautiful, flowing wedding dress, walking toward him on a deserted beach in Hawaii where she’d told him she’d always wanted to get married. She wouldn’t be headed toward him when she got married, and Seth believed she would be better off because of it. Smiling at how happy she looked, the former Shield member opened his eyes and felt a wave of calm crash over him. It would all be okay. He started toward the pills when he heard the lock click on the hotel room door.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed, rushing into the room, bringing with her that pretty perfume and positive, albeit anxious, energy. “I don’t know where the hell I think I’m going without my keys.” She crossed the room, snatched the keys from the table not two feet from where Seth stood, and he knew she could hear his heart clobbering his chest or his uneven breathing, or she would see the sweat forming at his hairline. Fuck, if she realized what she walked in on … 

“Just to the parking lot,” he automatically replied, and his eyes snapped shut for a quick second, in complete disbelief he’d allowed himself to speak at all when he knew his voice would crack like it just did, quiver slightly as he drowned in the accumulating adrenaline. But if he hadn’t spoken, she’d have been suspicious. This was the biggest lose-lose situation of his life.

“Hilarious,” she said, standing on the ball of one foot to lift herself so she could kiss his cheek, which she again wiped free of her lipstick. She was going to have to reapply at this rate. Seth’s smile was small and quick and he dared not meet her gaze. “Love you.” As she headed back toward the door, she glanced in the direction of the nightstand, toward the pills and the cups of water, and Seth worried he was about to pass out. But she continued on, disappearing behind the door, and Seth collapsed, one hand on the mattress, the other clutching his stomach. 

i was born to raise hell i was born to take pills i was born to chase mills i was born to cave in i was born to fuck hoes i was born to fuck up i was born … what a shame

When the nausea passed, The Architect started toward the pills again. He froze mid-step, waiting for her to come back, and after nearly a minute of waiting, he took a seat on the bed beside the table. He opened both bottles with trembling hands, set the caps down, and he folded his hands in his lap. After several deep breaths, he poured five or six white pills into the palm of his hand, launched them into his mouth, and swallowed a few gulps of water. Less than twenty seconds. He could do this. He wanted to get them all down, both bottles, before he lost consciousness, to be sure he got the job done. He could do this.

take my own life just to save yours drink it all down just to throw it up take my own life just to save yours take my own life just to save yours i got a reputation that i can’t deny you’re the superstar, entertain us

Violet

She unlocked the black SUV and climbed behind the wheel. She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat and checked her makeup and hair one last time as she inserted the stupid key into the ignition. She was going to be so late—Hunter probably wouldn’t even open the door for her at this point, and she wouldn’t blame him. Her hands fell into her lap, her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath. She could do this. Seth had been so supportive throughout her journey from superstar to writer, and while she could easily let herself down, she simply could not disappoint her fiancé. Grabbing the steering wheel once more with one hand, she maneuvered out of the hotel’s parking lot, and onto the busy roadway.

This was going to be her year, she decided. With a job in Creative on the horizon, she would also be getting married in the near future. The thought brought a smile to her face. She hadn’t yet told Seth, but she’d already been wedding dress shopping a few times. She went alone, told no one, and disguised herself as best she could while shopping so her secrecy wouldn’t get back to her fiancé. Of course, several days after trying on wedding dresses, a routine doctor appointment informed her of the child growing inside of her, a baby belonging to herself and Seth Rollins. A decidedly unplanned pregnancy, she’d been more than excited to find out anyway, and she imagined an incredulous, yet thrilled smile gracing Seth’s thick beard once she shared the news with him. They hadn’t really had the conversation about whether or not they wanted children, but with Seth having turned over a new leaf, she just knew he would handle this life-changing event better now than he would have last year. He would be shocked, of course, but happy nonetheless.

Violet was so proud of Seth. Everything he’d overcome, his relearning how to be in and sustain a healthy relationship, and especially the mental help he’d sought all on his own. He was seeing a therapist, and his psychiatrist had prescribed antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication, which he was taking regularly without a single complaint. He’d given her opportunities and plenty of reasons to leave him, but her love for him outweighed the anger and resentment. Neither of them could ever forget all the cheating, the lies, or the public opinions dumped on them in the wake of each transgression. But they could move on, and that’s what Violet intended to do.

She smiled, random memories floating through her mind as she came to a stop at a red light, just before the white line. Seth had been so attentive to her while being compliant with his medication and doctor appointments, surprising them both. He held her hand more, pressed whisker kisses to her cheek, and even slapped her ass while they were grocery shopping. Most importantly, he spent his nights at home. He’d had his pills at the ready when she’d left him a little bit ago, causing Violet to again swell with pride. 

Her eyebrow twitched.

As the moment became clearer in her mind, she recalled both bottles of antidepressants had been on the bedside table. Both bottles. Why did he need both bottles? 

Her head tilted.

Next to both bottles of antidepressants had been two full plastic hotel cups of water. Of course he used water to swallow the pill—just one pill; the other bottle had been entrusted to him due to his traveling and the possibility of misplacing one—but he didn't need two fucking overflowing cups.

She shook her head, a brief, uncomfortable smile splitting her lips because what she was thinking was outrageous. Not possible. Seth wouldn’t do that to her. 

He’d been nervous when she’d gone back for her keys. Her eyes snapped shut, only to open at twice their normal size, and she saw—playing right in front of her unblinking, unseeing eyes—Seth glance at the table with the pills and water. He’d looked right at them, and she had looked right at them. 

Tears welling in her eyes, she upended her purse, dumping the entire contents onto the passenger seat. Swiping things to the floor, she snatched her phone and, with trembling hands, managed to place a call to her fiancé. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four …

“Hey, it’s Seth. Leave me a message. I’ll get back to ya.”

Violet ended the call. She sniffed, salty rivers winding down her cheeks, leaving pale trails in their wake, washing away her perfect makeup. She pressed send once more, listening to the ringing, and she tugged at her lips with quivering fingers. Seth’s voice-mail answered again at the very moment the traffic light turned green. She tossed the phone in the general direction of her purse as she hit the gas, turning the wheel hard to the left so she could make a U turn.

She saw the truck as she was turning, but by the time her desperate brain registered the danger, her foot wasn’t fast enough to react before the blue cab of the semi slammed into the front of her SUV. The sounds made by crunching metal and breaking glass and the squealing of the truck’s many tires were the loudest she’d ever heard. Her body bounced against every surface, head meeting the driver’s side window and producing a crack of its own, and her light blinked out.

[bugs1nmybrain]

L Lawliet x Chubby!Reader NSFW

Minors Don't Interact (18+)

Warnings: NSFW, weight/body insecurities, fem-reader, chubby reader as the title suggests, disordered eating habits, reader fat-shames herself, the reader has been attempting to lose weight, unprotected sex, lots of kissing, vanilla?, finger sucking, blowjob, pussy eating, squirting, body worship themes, dom L, the reader comes from a low/lower middle-class background, fingering, L is probably a little out of character (he's just more of a sweetheart than canon L), L might be triggering? He tries to be nice to the reader about eating but may come across as inconsiderate?, Misa is mentioned once, L doesn't really know how to be emotionally supportive but he's trying his best!!!, cheesy ending

I kind of had a hard time getting through this prompt because I struggle a lot with weight and disordered eating. It was meant as a self-affirming fic but the first half of this was triggering for me to write. I hope it's good.

Buying this stupid scale was probably the worst decision you could've made for yourself. In your mind, you assumed that getting one would encourage you to lose weight and that you could document what eating and exercise habits helped you lose more. You were excited, even, but as soon as you stepped on it your excitement turned into hate.

It wasn't like you weren't trying. You've read as many articles as you could on what diets would give you the quickest results. You've also tried exercising plenty. On the worst days, you didn't eat much at all. However, it seemed like no matter what your efforts were, you had little success. It was unfair. You couldn't help but feel envious of girls in the mall who would wear outfits you could never picture yourself in. Being at the beach made you furious as well. It was like you'd never be enough, never like them.

Your phone buzzed with a text from L. He was requesting your company for dinner at his current residence. L, as distant as he seemed, was very fond of you. He was a very busy guy, so the time between you two was limited, but he did indeed try to put in an effort to spend as much time together as he could squeeze in. Meals were often a safe time for him.

You had about an hour to be there, so you tried to prepare a nice outfit to wear. Nothing looked good, though. It was hard finding clothes that looked good on you. You hardly found any clothes that looked proportionately correct on you. It was an endless battle.

Eventually, you gave up and settled with a black turtleneck and jeans. Watari picked you up and drove you to L's. When you arrived, you made your way through the security procedures, though you didn't have to do much as L trusted you enough to waive some of the more complicated screenings.

You walked into a beautiful dining room with a table of well-prepared offerings. A lot of it was typical dinner food, but a good portion was also sweets, as L didn't partake in normal eating habits.

L sat down at the end of the table and caught your eye as you walked in. You were embarrassed, honestly. Before dating him, you weren't used to a finer lifestyle. Coming into a fancy residence like this was beyond you. You felt out of place, but L made you feel at home in the unfamiliar atmosphere. He gave you a gentle smile as you sat down on the chair to his left.

"You look beautiful," he comments with an inviting impression.

"You think so? I thought this was a little plain-looking."

"I suppose it's a casual outfit, but nonetheless, you look lovely in it," he beams.

"Thank you," you blush in response.

"Of course. Are you hungry?"

Urg. You supposed by definition, you were. You hadn't had much to eat today other than your three cups of coffee and a very light breakfast. You hated questions like this. You simply nodded, feeling torn.

"Please, help yourself. I made sure to acquire your favorites."

This was awful, and you felt incredibly uncomfortable. You didn't want to disappoint or sadden him. L clearly put in effort for this, but you were so afraid of gaining weight. There was a lot of food, and you assumed he expected you to be generous with your portions.

You did what you could and took what you thought was enough food to not upset him but also not too much that you felt like a glutton. Even with this, though, you felt like you took too much (in reality, you didn't take enough).

The food was great, meals with L never failed to impress.

"Would you like dessert, love?"

Oh no.

You expected it, given L. He absolutely loved sharing sweets with you and it was one of the ways he knew how to display care for you. The treats were always delicious, and you were grateful, but the fact that a single slice of cake had so many calories drove you nuts. You felt a tad jealous of L. He manages to stay small despite his horrendous diet. It wasn't his fault, he simply had a very different metabolism than you did, but it was unfair. He could eat ten folds of the amount you eat and not gain a thing. When you only spent a day or so eating full meals, you put on weight.

L notices your hesitation and is puzzled about what to say. He's not an idiot and has noticed since he first started dating you that you had a complicated relationship with eating and food. He could tell by the way you poked around at your food and was very light on your portions that you were clearly scared to eat much. He never once found you unattractive and even found your plump features very endearing. He understood why you were insecure, but he only wished he could somehow assure you of your worth.

Knowing you were going to stall, L takes it upon himself to cut you a slice of strawberry cake and places it down in front of you, with a soft, "here."

You smile at him. His small attempts to make you happy were cute, and you did appreciate it. The cake in front of you looked scary, but you wanted to be grateful and make him happy, so you gave up.

"It's tasty isn't it?" He remarks with a mouthful of cake, himself. As a prestige of a background L came from, he had no sense of manners it seemed.

"Mhm."

Again, you were poking around. L felt a little frustrated by this. He wasn't upset about waste, ungratefulness, or anything like that, he was just disheartened that you were so hesitant to nourish yourself. Sure, cake may not be the most nourishing thing, but its mental effects are rewarding. He wanted you to be able to enjoy things like a nice meal without feeling ashamed of yourself. It's why he encouraged you to eat with him often, he wanted to give you a sense of comfort and connection that could come from eating. But every time you seemed unsettled. It made him feel sorry.

"Do you not like it? Would you like a different flavor?"

"Oh, no! It's great, I guess I'm just a bit full," you assure him.

L doubted it, given the amount you put on your plate.

"I'm sorry," you say with guilt.

"I'm not upset with you, love. I suppose I'm just worried for you. I've noticed that when we've had meals together you make your portions rather small. I hardly think that was enough to make you feel "full""

You kind of hated this. Who was he to assume how much you needed to eat? Why did it have to matter?

"I'm trying to lose weight."

"Why?"

"I'm not very happy with myself. I don't feel attractive, and I see other girls, like Misa Amane, who are very small. They get to wear as much or as little as they want and they're always beautiful. I feel like no matter what, I'm always ugly, and fat."

L didn't really know how to handle this, because in his eyes you're beyond beautiful. He didn't really understand why you felt like you weren't. He thought that he always made it apparent to you that he saw you as gorgeous. It was like the meals though. Sometimes no matter how much affirmation he tried to give you, you were never satisfied.

He noticed it when you'd pull down on your shirts to conceal your stomach. When you and he made love, you insisted on keeping the lights completely off. You'd send him pictures of you in very pretty outfits, but when you'd see him in person later that day, you were in something much more conservative. In a way, it broke his heart.

"I know that I can't say anything that will change your mind about this. It makes me sad to know you think of yourself in such a negative way because I've never thought any of those things about you. I suppose my opinion doesn't mean much, but comparing yourself to models like Misa Amane isn't a fair assessment. Those kind of women are paid for being underweight. Having a fuller figure doesn't make you any less attractive and if anything, it makes you incredibly adorable to me. You look like yourself, which is more than beautiful."

In a sense L was right to say he couldn't exactly change your opinion about yourself, but his reassurance right now, in this moment, felt comforting. You did worry that he didn't see you as pretty or somehow was only with you out of pity.

"You know, I'm no model myself," L says, cocking his head to the side. "On the opposite end, I'm underweight and very nimble. I'm also pale and my hair is disheveled. Some have also said my eyes are creepy."

"You're cute though!" You giggle and gush within milliseconds. "Honestly, I don't think I've ever known anyone who looks like you. You're so handsome and pretty and cute and adorable,"-

"So who's to say you aren't those exact same things? Both of us have imperfections. It's abundantly clear you love me for mine, so believe me when I say that yours are just as desirable to me. I love you as you are, Y/N."

His loving words offer you peace of mind at the moment. Sure, you weren't as thin as you wished you were, but knowing he didn't see you less than made you feel a little more content. You glance at him lovingly, and L reaches his hand under the table to find yours.

"I love you," L assures again.

You blush, "I love you too."

L hums and rubs your hand with his thumb. "May I kiss you?"

You giggle at his request, with a complete change of mood to what you felt previously. "Yes, of course."

L leans in to kiss your lips tenderly, holding the side of your neck with the hand that wasn't holding yours. You turn pink and flustered, to much of L's own pleasure. As your kiss starts out light and gentle, you let go of his hand to wrap your arms around his shoulders, closing him into a warmer embrace. Heated tension forms between both of you, but before it can get too heavy L pulls away.

"There's cameras in here."

"Oh," you comment in embarrassment.

"Here," L takes your hand before standing up, encouraging you to as well. "Come this way."

You followed L, with your hand in his.

"The table still has food on it," you say worryingly.

"That's Watari's job. Don't worry about it. Just follow me, alright?"

L guides you up the elevator to a higher floor. When the doors open, you're led to a spacious room that is cleaned and decorated nicely. L closes the door behind you and quickly turns his attention back to you with a soft smile.

"I missed you today while I was working," he says as he begins kissing the nape of your neck.

You smile uncontrollably as you tell him, "I did too. I couldn't wait to see you."

"Mm..that makes me happy to hear."

L kisses your neck lovingly before gesturing you to follow him to the bed. He sits you down and hovers over you as he pulls your lips in for another kiss, this time full of more hunger and adoration. You bring your hands down to his waist band and tug at the button to his jeans, zipping them down.

"Can I see you?" L asks.

"Hm?"

"May I take off your clothes, first?"

"Oh.."you blush hesitantly.

"Here, let me help you."

L pulls your turtleneck over your head and quickly follows with unbuttoning your jeans, sliding them off. You're now only left in your bra and panties, and L can't keep his gaze off of you for a second.

"I'm bloated from eating," you say sheepishly.

"Nonsense," L kisses down your chest and places a hand on your stomach. His fingers sink into your plush skin and you clam up. "Please don't feel self-conscious, love. Allow me the privilege of appreciating your beauty."

L kisses you again and you continue your attempts toward his crotch. You pull his pants down, revealing his arousal through his underwear. Blushing, you grope his cock among the clothing, producing a pleasant hum from his chest. After a couple of strokes, you take his underwear off, dragging them down his legs. His penis stands erect with a flushed pink tip.

"Do you see what you do to me?" he remarks, stroking your face with his fingers, guiding them to your lips. You stick your tongue out, allowing L to slowly insert his fingers into your mouth. His cock twitches in excitement as you suck on his spider-like fingers gently. He takes them out to tuck your hair behind your hair. You assume responsibility to start stroking his bare cock, glancing at it for a bit. His penis is very pretty. Longish, maybe a little over 5 and a half inches, but slender. Not slender in the sense that there's no sense of filling, but it matches the rest of his thin anatomy. It's also pale and flushed pink, with not many veins.

"Mmm.." he moans as you stroke him. You tease his glands a little before taking him in your mouth. You drag your mouth along his shaft, eliciting a sigh from him. You tease and lick along his penis to the point that he needs to reach his hand to cover his mouth in order to conceal his noises. Who would've figured that the deadpan detective L would be such a responsive lover?

"Love, please.." you continue bobbing your mouth on him and look up at him for a moment. Your pretty eyes send a shock through him and he pulls his cock out of your mouth, knowing full well that he'll cum if this keeps going. And he surely was not finished with you.

He kneels in between your legs and kisses the inner flesh of your thick thighs. L pulls your panties down your legs and presses his finger up to his lips, enamored by your beautiful cunt. He presses his fingers at the bottom of your thick thighs and spreads your folds apart. He looks at your wetness for a moment and then proceeds to sink his face into your arousal.

"Mmfph!~"

Your moans escape uncontrollably as L begins sucking on your clit. His mouth produces wet and messy noises as he licks your pussy, following his tongue up and down before continuing to suck on your clitoris. He raises his hand to insert two fingers in your cunt as he eats you out. L makes sure to curl them perfectly, rubbing along your g-spot. The simultaneous stimulation to both areas causes a surprisingly quick build-up.

You grip L's hair, which he takes as a sign to attack your pussy even more intensively. His tongue flicks rapidly up and down your clit and he fingers you faster, causing you to grind on his face. L can feel your orgasm approaching by the way your insides were contracting on his fingers. He hums on your clit, giving it more vibration as you cum on his face with a high-pitched whine. Fluid sprays on L's face unexpectedly, shocking both you and him.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know that would happen. I didn't think I had to use the restroom.."

L smells the fluid on his finger for a bit before commenting, "This doesn't smell like urine to me," and he laughs cockily. "No need to be embarrassed, darling."

L wipes his face off with an article of clothing that was tossed on the floor and comes up to kiss you again. He pulls you to rest on the bed facing him. He reaches behind to grab your ass, squeezing your plump features with his hands.

"You're gorgeous."

You want to thank him, but instead keep kissing his lips with vigor. L moves on top of you and removes your bra. He kisses down your breasts, nipping them with his mouth briefly to then kiss your stomach, groping the plushy flesh. You tense up a little but relax in the notion that he's doing it out of desire, not to insult you. He comes back up to kiss you once again and pushes his pelvis between your thighs.

You tug at his shirt, the only article of clothing separating the two of you. He grunts a little and hesitates. "You know I'm shy about my torso."

"I know, but we're both supposed to be embracing each other right? It's unfair for you to have me all naked and you to be covered."

"Yes, that's correct. I apologize."

L allows you to take his shirt off, exposing his thin figure in its entirety. You kiss his neck, causing him to whimper.

"Y/N, I need you so badly right now.."

"I'm yours. Please.."

L kisses your temple and continues by taking his penis to tease along your folds. He sinks his cock into your warm and soft pussy, and the both of you immediately moan at the pleasure. L begins to thrust into your warmth with a slight build-up. The pace eventually grows into a desperate and starving yearning. He loves you as if he hasn't for ages (he did about three nights ago) and fills you to perfection.

"Y/N..love, you're so perfect..."

You gasp in pleasure as he rubs your g-spot perfectly and grip his back for comfort. You pull him into kiss you as you fuck each other, the both of you filling the room with filthy sounds. It was a good thing the room was sound-proof.

"I love you, L.."

"I know, baby. I love you..you know that right?" He says in your ear, whispering between pants while he rests his forehead on yours. L's eyes are fixated on the way your body moves to his thrusts, and he feels a sense of pride knowing that he's the only one who's able to see you like this.

"Mhm!" L fucks you deeper, his cockhead brushing your cervix. Your warm, wet walls continue to clamp on him and he knows he's not going to last very long. He presses his body closer to yours, relishing in your warm body against his.

"Darling...I'm close.."

"That's ok, please. Inside."

L's hips thrust forward for a little longer, his orgasm building. He finally comes undone and releases his loads inside of you, with a strung-out moan as he does so.

You grab around him and pull him close for comfort as he rests on top of you, cock still inside.

"Thank you.." you say pleasantly, more than happy with the affection you had received.

"Thanking me isn't necessary. You know how much I adore making love with you."

You blush and laugh in response. L eventually pulls out and rests beside you, wrapping his legs around you as he attempts to mimic his sitting position in a cuddle form. The both of you enjoy the presence of each other's bodies and hold each other as close as possible.

"Please never doubt yourself, Y/N. You're more than worthy and more than beautiful."

"Okay. I think I believe you, I'll try to," you hum and bury your face in his chest. "I love you."

"As do I, Y/N."

[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 23 - Up and Coming

Summary: Eddie wasn't used to success.

Word Count: 752

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Angst? But then happiness? Eddie Munson sad-sackery turned into perseverance and joy.

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you didn’t start on Day 1, you can still join!

Tagging: @the-unforgivenn at her request.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Eddie wasn't used to success.

The Munson name meant being unpopular, being picked last. It happened to him for his entire life.

Maybe when his mom was still alive things had been a little different. But he'd been young, and Kindergarteners didn't care what your name was as long as you wanted to play pretend or race cars or hopscotch with them.

He had to grow up once she was gone. But once you were grown there was nothing to protect you from the harsh realities of the world. Of the unfairness of others.

People told him he sucked, that his clothes sucked, his taste in music. The more hits he took, the tougher his skin became, and before long those words didn't hurt him so much. Instead of digging into him and carving out a piece of his happiness though, they dug into the ground below him and created a canyon between him and the others.

But it was hard to build a bridge on your own; so he found others like him--other freaks--to help get across the social void until they could try to find a piece of the world they could make their own.

Or build it themselves if they had to.

And they did.

They built a club for themselves, an identity. Embraced the word freak to mean someone different, someone looking for a place to call their own. They started their band with a plan to get out. To find a place of belonging, to find a future, to find something more.

To find success.

It was elusive. The closer they got to it, the further away it seemed to get. But it's what drove them to keep going. Drove Eddie to keep going. He encouraged them to work harder, to push themselves further, and to never give up.

They moved to Indianapolis. Then to Chicago. They played fests and clubs and opened for bigger bands.

They just. Kept. Going.

But a handful of fans that could sincerely be called friends at this point, and gigs that still didn't fully pay the bills, and t-shirts that they simply could never sell enough...that wasn't success.

Right?

So when someone woke him up early one morning, pounding on his door, he certainly didn't expect it to hit him like a freight train.

Dave flung the newspaper at his head and then grabbed fistfuls of his t-shirt and shook him. All the while screaming "we did it! We did it! We made it Ed!"

Three Up-and-Coming Bands to Keep on Your Radar By Alex McCall

The headline was big.

Front of the entertainment section of the Tribune with a grainy black-and-white picture of him and the guys on stage at some venue. He couldn't quite tell which one, but they'd been booking gigs pretty regularly now so it could have been any of them.

Eddie rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scanned over the page, over the paragraphs about the other bands that he'd vaguely heard of in passing, until he reached the two paragraphs about Corroded Coffin.

This McCall guy sung their praises. About their stage presence and their unique sound. About the small group of fans and praises from local critics Eddie had never heard of. About the four of them and their synchronicity on-stage.

This, that, and the kitchen sink.

It was a see it to believe it moment and Eddie simply could not believe it.

The article even ended with a quote from Eddie himself, one he couldn't remember giving.

"Guitarist Eddie Munson says the band is 'destined for a bigger stage' as he sips a can of Dr. Pepper and I have agree wholeheartedly. Keep Corroded Coffin at the front of your mind because these guys are going places and you don't want to miss your chance to get in on the ground floor.'

It was wild.

It was unbelievable.

"Davey I'm gonna need you to pinch me or something..." he muttered softly.

It was everything he could to not to feel like he was about to die, as his whole life flashed before his eyes. Every time he felt like a failure, every struggle he thought they'd never overcome.

Pain erupted in his arm and he was brought back to reality to find his friend grinning wickedly at him.

"OW!" he screeched "What the fuck! Not that hard!"

Eddie looked down at the newspaper once again, reread the article, and touched the picture reverently.

And that's when he realized...they found their place.

They found their future.

They were on their way.

[jjkamochoso]

The Perfect Fit

Story Overview: Levi Ackerman begrudgingly finds himself falling in love with the Survey Corps’ seamstress. Will they be able to own up to their feelings for each other? Or is their love doomed to fail before they discover the truths of each other’s hearts? This slow burn reader insert story will be filled with angst, yearning, and a bit of mystery as we slowly unravel the truths behind Y/N’s past… and explore her and Levi’s future!

Chapter 7

Series Masterlist

Chapter 6 linked here

Chapter 8 linked here

Levi Ackerman x female reader

Warnings: none

The snow had melted and left behind strikingly green grass and blooming flowers. Spring had sprung for the Scouts and with the warmer weather came a new expedition into titan territory. You and Levi had a good thing going in your office, both working and chatting keeping you busy, so you knew what the squads had been up to. You felt your heart skip a beat at the mention of everyone you had been growing fond of venturing into dangerous territory. Of course that was literally the whole point of this military branch, but you still didn’t want to see any of your friends come back hurt or not at all. The days leading up to the expedition were quiet for you but you knew your workspace would most likely be overflowing the minute the soldiers come back to the castle, tears and rips galore in every article of clothing. You took the time of the calm before the storm to work on some of your own personal projects. You were finishing up a few blankets and some children’s clothes made of fabric scraps that you were going to hand out on your trip to the interior coming up. You worked diligently, your mind wandering.

Maybe Levi could accompany me? I know Erwin usually goes but it might do Levi some good away from work for a few days. Does he even believe in charity? I’ll just have to ask him next time I see him… after the expedition of course.

You were thrown out of your thoughts by a knock at your door.

“Come in!” you said.

Sasha entered your office, handing you her jacket with a sheepish smile. “Hi, Ms. L/n. I know this is last minute but my jacket has a tear on the sleeve and Captain Levi said he’d personally feed me to the titans if I wore it on our trip so…” She trailed off, her cheeks showing a hint of red.

You lightly laughed, taking the jacket from her and inspecting the damage. “Of course he’d say that. This rip is pretty small so I don’t know why he’s nitpicking it but rest assured I’ll have it ready for you in about an hour.”

You saw her light up and she jumped up and down. “Oh, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

“It’s no problem, really, it’s my job. Now, head back to training. I want to make sure I keep seeing your face around here.”

Sasha saluted and ran out of the room. You pushed aside your previous projects and got right to work. The hole was ridiculously easy to repair and barely took any time. As you laid it on your table for her to pick up, an idea struck you. Getting out your tried and true pocket pattern, you executed your plan.

“Ms. L/n? I’m here for my jacket!”

Sasha showed up a little over an hour later and you had finished your work in the perfect amount of time.

“Oh good! I added a little something extra for you as well. Wanna see?”

She nodded her head eagerly as you flipped the jacket inside out. “It’s nothing major but I thought you would get good use out of an inside pocket. I know you’re always, well, hoarding food, and this way you can place it somewhere nice instead of having it fall out of your hands. I hope you like it.”

You awaited her reaction with bated breath. She was quiet for a moment and you were nervous she didn’t like it. All of a sudden a loud squeal left her mouth and she wrapped her arms around you in a bone crushing hug.

“You are the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known! We don’t deserve you!”

Was she… crying? You didn’t have time to figure it out before she left, jacket in tow, presumably to the dining hall to test it out. You shook your head, a smile resting easily on your lips. You had such a soft spot for all these kids and it broke you that they had to fight so hard while losing so much. Their resolve amazed you and inspired you to stay positive and strong as well. If they didn’t falter in the face of danger and death, you wouldn’t falter in supporting them however you could.

A few days later, Levi came by your office. You weren’t expecting him since it was the night before he was leaving but you welcomed him in as always.

“I’m surprised you’re here since you’re leaving so early in the morning,” you said, taking a sip of the drink you brought in earlier.

Levi lingered by the door. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I said I was surprised, not upset. Please, sit wherever you’d like.” You gestured with a sweeping hand, the biscuit in your grip dropping crumbs onto the floor.

As he sat down near your work table, the captain looked at you with disgust. “It’s like you live in a pig sty, dumping crumbs like that. That’s disgusting.”

You feigned sadness, putting a hand over your heart. “To think I was going to offer you some! Instead you disrespect me.”

Walking over to the bed where you were, Levi took the piece that was laid in your outstretched palm. “If I collected all the pieces off the floor I would’ve had my own full one you filthy woman.”

You couldn’t contain the laughter that bubbled out of you. Levi’s eyes softened at your relaxed demeanor. The truth was, he was here because he was stressed to the max about the expedition. They always came with a degree of uncertainty and a little bit of fear, but this trip seemed like it was going to be different—worse. He didn’t know why he felt the trepidation that he did, he just knew he couldn’t bear getting stuck in his head for the next 10 hours. He already couldn’t sleep on normal nights and overthinking by himself was certainly not what he needed at the moment. Finding refuge in your room hadn’t failed him before and it seemed to be working in present time, too.

“What have you worked on lately?” he asked, eyes taking in the projects left out.

“Not a lot. Sasha came in because you chewed her out for her jacket.”

“I did,” he hummed softly, “since she was being careless and tore it on an ODM hook. Besides, nobody’s ever up here before we leave. She prevented you from becoming a hermit so you’re welcome.”

“My savior rescues me again. When am I ever going to repay the favor?”

“That’s stupid. You do plenty enough around here, stop acting like you don’t.”

You knew that was his way of giving a compliment so you said nothing, appreciating his words silently. It was quiet in your room, the slightest touch of tension running between you. It was strange because you wanted to say something, anything, before he left for what might be the last time ever, but you couldn’t find the words. What do you say to someone who continually puts their life on the line and doesn’t (more like can’t) think twice about it? You wished you could encourage him or send him off with sage advice, but nothing came to mind. “Please don’t die, I need you here for our comfortable talks and childish banter” seemed too desperate. “Good luck on your trip” was much too informal. You decided sitting in silence was probably preferable for the both of you, so that’s what you did. You didn’t know how long you two sat on your bed together, legs dangling over the edge and hands dangerously close to each other. When Levi shifted to pull his pocket watch out, his free hand slid next to your own, his cold skin melting into yours. Though the touch was small and completely accidental, it still left you reeling. The part that really had your heart thumping was the fact that he didn’t pull away. His eyes were fixed on the ticking clock while yours flitted between his ethereal side profile and the floor. When he put the timepiece away, you knew your time was up with him.

“It’s getting late. I won’t keep you up,” Levi said, but making no move to pull away from you yet.

“I’d stay up with you all night if you wanted me to. You know that.”

“I’d never want you to do that.”

“And I know that.” You took in a breath. “I can’t pretend to know how you’re feeling right now but I’m here for you. I believe in you and your squad. I won’t mention it anymore but I have faith that tomorrow is going to be okay.”

Levi found it impossible to look at you in fear of him taking one glance in your e/c eyes and canceling the whole damn expedition. Instead, he got up and ignored the situation, opting for the tried and true distraction of talking about your work.

“What’s these blankets for? And are these… baby clothes?” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “One of you is enough, I can’t handle baby y/n’s running around here-”

You cut him off in your shock. “No, no, it’s not like that! They’re definitely not for me. I was going to wait to ask you until after you came back because I don’t want you to have anything else to think about.”

He looked at you expectantly, so you continued. “I’m taking the blankets and baby clothes to poverty stricken people in the interior. Erwin and I usually go and hand them out every few months but I was going to see if you wanted to come instead. If you’re into that kind of thing. No pressure of course, I know you’re super busy and it’s a silly thing I like to do but-”

“That’s the furthest thing from silly. We all have a duty to protect humanity and you’re doing it in the way you know how. Tell me when and I’ll be there.”

“Oh! Thank you! I’ll figure out the details and fill you in. Now you have to come back in decent shape because we’ve got things to do. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Sergeant brat,” Levi answered with a tiny smirk. “Now go to bed. You get irritating when you don’t sleep enough and I won’t be here to save everyone from the pain of dealing with you.”

You stuck you tongue out at him. “Goodnight Levi.”

“Night, y/n.”

When he left your room, you stood in the doorway and watched him walk down the hall to his own room, your heart aching for him. After feeling bliss from mere fingers grazing, you selfishly wanted to feel more of him. You didn’t want him to leave to help save humanity. You wanted to hold him in your arms and never let go. You settled for giving him a small wave as he looked back at you before entering his own doorway. He returned the wave and you both went to bed, sleep evading both parties.

The next morning was a blur. Running on a lack of sleep was tough but you absolutely weren’t going to miss the Survey Corp’s send off. You got ready in a hurry and ran down to the stables where preparations were finishing up. Erwin had allowed you to take a horse to follow them to the gate and you were grateful you didn’t have to stay behind. Petting your horse, you heard the clip clop of another one coming up behind you.

“You don’t look like shit so I’m assuming you slept alright?”

“You have such a way with words, Captain. Your charm is how you capture hearts, right?”

You and Levi loved teasing each other and you tried to make today as normal as possible, ignoring the fact that he was heading into titan territory in an hour. You fed your horse one last snack before climbing on, gathering with the rest of the Scouts. When you started your march toward the gate, Levi was still riding next to you in the back instead of in his position next to Hange.

“Is it okay for you to be back here? I don’t want you to screw up positioning because of me,” you argued, but he blew you off.

“Hange is too loud in the morning. Back here is fine.”

As per usual a silence fell between you. If you could overlook the fact that some of the people around you were about to die horrifically, it was a beautiful morning for a horse ride. You found yourself stealing glances at Levi, doing your best to memorize details of his face. He tried his best to keep his eyes forward but couldn’t resist the chance to admire you either. He wanted to burn the image of you, sleepy demeanor and hastily thrown on cape, sitting regally on a horse, into his mind because you radiated beauty. He hoped he wouldn’t die today but if he did, he would be content if you were the last thing he ever saw. The gate entered your view and the townspeople were cheering on the Survey Corps. You knew it was time to let Levi go.

“Levi,” you said quietly, but he miraculously heard it over the crowd. “Just… whatever you do, come back to me. Please.”

He nodded in understanding. You reached over the best you could while on your horse and placed a fist over his heart that was now beating so fast it was ready to explode. “See you soon, Captain,” you said, fighting back tears that threatened to fall.

“See you soon, y/n.”

Chapter 8