me 🤝 mike
trying to make ourselves like girls
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Love and Lust
pairing: mike schmidt x afab!reader
summary:
warnings: unprotected sex, no foreplay, oral (m receiving), creampie??, female pronouns, whiny mike, whiny reader, switch!mike??, teasing, overstim, hair pulling, nipple pinching, not proofread, porn with no plot
word count: 1.3k words
author’s note: this isn't as needy n whiny as I originally hoped so I hope you guys can forgive me!!! please send requests for what you'd like to see next! very dedicated to @mfdxz because queen has been WAITING for this one
“Please.” He whined in your ear, licking and sucking at any of the skin on your neck that he could reach. “I need you, now.”
“I’m trying, I can’t get your stupid belt unbuckled.” You whined back, sitting up from your position on top of him to try and see the belt buckle better.
“Baby, I am going to cum in my pants if you don’t hurry up.” He relaxed his head against the pillows that lined the headboard, chest rising rapidly as he tried to regulate his breathing.
On normal days when Abby was home you tried to avoid doing anything sexual, but the second Mike had gotten home the atmosphere shifted. He came up behind you in the kitchen, pressing your ass against the hard-on raging in his jeans, trying to slide his hand under the waistband of your sweats. His fingers made it as far as touching your clit before Abby stumbled in asking for more dinner, a small groan only loud enough for the two of you came out.
The clink of the buckle hitting the floor dissipated any frustration you had, your fingers immediately unzipped his jeans and threw them off somewhere on the floor. Today was one of the few days he’d chosen to go commando, both of you were now appreciating this.
You went back to straddling his waist, grinding down against his cock, your wetness causing your underwear to conform to your folds as you slid his cock between them. His breath hitched at the feeling, he turned his head to the side in an attempt to cover his mouth.
“Fuck, baby..” Mike groaned, thrusting his hips upwards in an attempt to create more friction.
“Feel good, Mikey?” You teased, moving down his body to sit in between his legs.
“Baby..” Is all he could muster in response, anything else was lost the second you put the tip of his cock in your mouth.
The feeling of him in your mouth, hard and leaking from the need to fuck you, caused a moan to vibrate around him. He tried to close his legs at the feeling, you hadn’t even done anything and yet it was all too much already. Your hands pushed them back open, taking his cock as far as it could go, your nose was pressing against his pubic bone. You hollowed your cheeks as you pulled off of him, using your tongue to swirl around it as you went.
You climbed back up his body, straddling his waist yet again, and placing your lips against his. The kiss was needy and messy, strings of saliva connecting your chins together. His fingers found your hair, entangling themselves at the base and pulling your head back. He needed you, and he was tired of letting you have that control.
“I said, I needed you, now.” He grunted, nipping at your exposed collarbone.
Mike lifted your shirt and threw it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor, latching onto one of your nipples and rolling the other in between his fingers. You threw your head back at the sensation, trying to hold yourself up against him in an attempt to keep control. Any ounce of control that you had left disappeared when your hair was yanked backwards, causing a loud whimper to leave your mouth and Mike to slap a hand over it.
The sound of Abby shuffling around in her room stopped the two of you in your tracks, the soft padding of her footsteps passed by the bedroom door. You exchanged a look, it was past her bedtime, and he was off to go check on her. Nights when Abby left her room after her initial bedtime meant she’d be more likely to leave more times throughout the night, sometimes she just wasn’t tired and sometimes she just couldn’t sleep, it’s how she worked.
You heard the two of them exchanging muffled words quickly followed by their footsteps back into her room. To save time, in the chance Abby did leave her room again, you threw your underwear into the pile on the floor.
“She needed water.” He mumbled, closing the door and locking it behind him, throwing off the sweats he’d put on in a hurry.
The bed dipped as he climbed up you, kissing his way up your body. His fingers slid between your folds, collecting your wetness and bringing the fingers to your mouth. He tapped your lips, an indicator that he wanted you to open your mouth, and slid his fingers in when you opened them.
“How do you taste, sweet girl? Let me taste.” Mike removed his fingers from your mouth and leaned closer to kiss you, swirling his tongue around yours. “Fuuuck.”
Two fingers swirled at your entrance, pushing in slightly as his other hand covered your mouth just in case. He curled his fingers, brushing against the soft, spongy spot inside of you. Your body jerked against him, whining against his hand.
“Shhh, I’ll take care of you, I promise.” He whispered in your ear, a low groan following behind it as he removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock.
The stretch was wonderful, stinging slightly at the lack of prep but an oh so delicious sting. A small whine escaped his throat, hips stuttering slightly at the feeling of your warm cunt stretching around him. His eyes were squeezed shut, trying to keep himself quiet and to stop himself from cumming so soon. There was just something about having to be quiet and the dire need to fuck you into the mattress was sending him into a spiral, his eyes were just as glazed over as yours were.
His hips thrusted in and out, fingers fumbling around your chest as he searched for your nipples. You brought your hands to your mouth, despite most of your moans and whines getting caught in your throat every time his hips pushed back in, the chance of being caught bringing an overwhelming sense of excitement.
“Baby, fuuck…baby.” Mike moaned, splaying one hand on your stomach and bringing the other to his mouth.
He was holding on by a thread, orgasm threatening to spill all over your insides with every thrust, he’d been waiting for this all day and now that it was finally here he couldn’t even hold on.
“I need to cum..” He whined, leaning over so your knees were against your chest and his mouth was by your ear.
“Inside..” You managed to choke out, keeping one hand on your mouth and digging the other into the skin of his bicep, small moon shaped indents appearing.
After you finished your one word sentence he painted your insides with a low groan, sweaty forehead laying itself in the crook of your neck as he continued to thrust in and out. The over-stimulation was too much but he was determined to get you off, he slithered a hand between your bodies. He drew figure eights over your clit as he continued his thrusting, sucking and licking at the skin of your neck.
“Mikey…Mikey..” Your words were breathy and almost inaudible, all you could think, hear, smell, taste was just Mike.
He was overwhelming your senses in the best way and all you wanted was to live in this blissful state forever, full of him. One more thrust had your mind reeling, body shaking, sharp white pleasure searing through your veins as your orgasm ripped through you. He slapped another hand over your mouth, continuing his thrusts to help work you through your orgasm.
“Mike? What are you doing to her?” Abby asked innocently, standing at the open door that didn’t latch when he thought he locked it.
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Eddie chronically leaves his rings at Steve’s place to the point that Steve checks the bathroom and kitchen sink every time after he leaves, only to find one of them there every time.
Not that Steve is entirely complaining since this means he gets to call him and Eddie gets to stop by on his own to pick them up.
But when they’re at the Wheeler’s place, and Eddie says he’s going to the bathroom, Steve says, “Be careful not to leave one of your rings behind,” with a wink that has the kids exchanging confused looks. But Steve doesn’t notice because he’s too distracted by the light blush coloring Eddie’s cheeks.
“Why would Eddie leave one of his rings behind?” Dustin asks Steve when Eddie’s out of earshot.
Steve laughs. “He leaves one behind every time he washes his hands I swear. I don’t know how he hasn’t lost one at this point.” But his amusement is quick to die down when he realizes the kids are staring at him as if he’s absolutely insane. “What?”
They all glance at each other, and Steve is surprised when Mike is the first to pipe in, “He never leaves them anywhere. They’re like his prized possession. I’ve never even seen him take them off.”
Steve frowns and glances around at everyone, sensing that there’s definitely something he’s missing, so he’s quick to lie, “Well, I guess it was only once or twice that it happened. Maybe it was my fancy soap. Made things too… slippery.”
He gets a few eye rolls at the comment, but the group is quick to move on especially when Eddie comes back a few moments later with all his rings on his hands.
Steve gives him a quick smile, and Eddie is quick to return it, eyes lingering on him for a few seconds longer than necessary and the same blush from earlier returning.
It hits Steve very suddenly.
The rings are an excuse to come back.
And with this knowledge, Steve’s let’s his own gaze linger on Eddie longer than he usually allows, moving into his space more often than not, and carefully keeping track of time, waiting for the hang out to end.
When it finally comes to a halt, Steve is quick to say his goodbyes, hoping that Eddie will join and let the kids have their unnecessarily prolonged goodbyes in private. And luckily, Eddie is quick to move out of the basement, following after Steve in a way that’s supposed to look causal but is anything but casual now that Steve knows to look for the signs.
When he and Eddie silently go out the front door, Steve is quick to turn to him and hold out his hand. Eddie gives him a confused look but offers his hand which Steve takes and slides one of the rings off of.
Eddie stares at it for a moment, looking slightly frightened, as if he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.
Steve is quick to soothe the fear as he pockets the ring and says, “Just so you’ll have an excuse to stop by later tonight.”
Eddie’s cheeks flush bright red and he runs a hand over his face. “Shit.”
Steve laughs, “So it has been on purpose?”
“No,” Eddie clearly lies, pulling a strand of hair in front of his face.
“And what if I told you I wanted it to be on purpose?” Steve asks.
Eddie freezes for a moment as if he’s waiting for Steve to tell him that he’s joking, but Steve sits in the silence, letting the question settle between them.
“Then,” Eddie starts, taking a small step forward into Steve’s space, “I would-”
The door behind them bursts open and Dustin yells, “Hurry up I have a curfew!” as he races off to Steve’s car.
Steve rolls his eyes at the kid and takes a step back as everyone else makes their way out the door to the cars or their bikes.
Steve and Eddie linger behind for a moment, which Steve uses to quietly ask, “I’ll see you tonight?”
Eddie gives him a bashful smile in return and nods. “Yeah, I’ll see you tonight.”
Steve resists the urge to celebrate in any way in front of the kids and instead puts his hand in his pocket, fingers curling around Eddie’s ring.
As he gets into his car, ignoring Dustin bitching and complaining, he slips the ring over his finger and smiles at it.
He notices the car go quiet and he nearly groans at his mistake.
“Is that Eddie’s ring?” Dustin screeches.
It’s going to be a long drive home, but Steve doesn’t mind when he has Eddie to look forward to.
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Teen Dad
Quite surprised there’s not a lot of these AUs considering how much Steve apparently sleeps around but anywho.
Teen Dad Steve who finds out one of the girls he’d slept with pre-Nancy is pregnant and he damn well intends on helping out however he can.
Turns out; helping means taking his son (his SON) and having full custody because the mom, no matter how much she wants to be involved, can’t take care of him.
Steve’s alright for the first 6 months of little Louie Harrington’s life.
But then his parents come home and shit hits the fan.
Which— fair enough. He was only 17 and already had a whole ass son, they were gonna freak out.
But kicking him AND aforementioned son out? With no where to go? No money? Barely a job?
That’s just fucked up.
But Steve makes do, and lives out of his car for no more than a month before finally landing his hands on a cheap trailer in Forest Hills.
He and Louie move in and sure, it’s rough. But he’s got a nice paying job at the Diner and yeah maybe he has to skip some classes to get extra money but it’s fine. It pays his bills and rent and that’s all that really matters.
It’s fine.
And then the second wave of Upside Down fuckery hits, and Steve’s suddenly in the hospital with a grade 4 concussion (whatever that means) and his top priority is to make sure someone is with Louie.
Enter Claudia Henderson, Dustin’s mom.
She takes care of Louie for as long as Steve is in the hospital and then some when Steve can’t be left unsupervised in case his head worsens.
And that’s how the Party is introduced to little Louie (as they all call him).
Steve’s stunned to find out that Mike and Lucas are so good with little kids, but the two of them love stopping by the Henderson’s (and later on the trailer) to see little Louie and offer to babysit for him whenever.
The other kids take a little bit of time to warm up to Louie (and the fact that Steve’s actually a parent) but when they do Steve never ceases to have at least one of them over.
And with all the racket brings in the attention of nosy neighbors.
Steve is well accustomed to nosy neighbors. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln next door to his parents were always looking to snitch on him for something or other.
But Miss Bottomette and her grandchildren Noah and Casey were sweethearts. Steve didn’t mind having them over for dinner or going over there. Miss Bottomette was the one to teach him how to actually put his cooking skills to work.
Linda and Tom, a newly married couple down the road, were quite eccentric but that’s what made them charming. Steve found their dog, Dasher, quite the sweetheart.
And even Mr. Knowles, the grouchy old man next door to Miss Bottomette, seemed to take a liking to Steve and Louie.
It wasn’t long before the story behind the new boy in 2718 New Bird Ave was revealed: Teen Dad Kicked Out.
Then the whole town knew. And while most people were nice about it, even supportive of how he had taken a step into his child’s life, there were always those people who sneered.
Steve ignored them, loving the life he was working on making for himself and Louie in the trailer park.
The only neighbors he never seemed to meet, despite the looming presence, were the Munsons, right across the street.
Steve knew about the Munsons. Well— he knew about Eddie Munson; drug dealer who was on his second run of senior year. Steve actually shared a few classes with him.
He’d yet to meet the mysterious Wayne Munson, but that was to be expected with work schedules.
And then Steve was graduating, and his parents didn’t show up.
But that was totally fine. Cause the kids, Claudia, Joyce— even Hopper with El— were there. They held up little baby Louie while Steve walked the stage.
He’d heard rumors of Eddie Munson having to retake senior year for a third time— but he didn’t dwell on it for too long. Because sure, he missed more than his fair share of classes and scraped by with a C+ average.
But he did it.
And then summer hit, Dustin left for camp, and the mall opened up.
Steve picked up a job at Scoops Ahoy, cutting back on his hours at the Diner but still staying there because the money was needed and the tips were lovely.
And he meets Robin Buckley, and actually talks to Eddie Munson every once in a while when he stops in with his band, and lets the kids sneak into the movies because he’ll be damned if he robs them of a normal summer.
And then Dustin comes back and their reunion is short-lived because Russians are hellbent on torching non-existent information out of Steve and he’s busy getting his third concussion and then there’s a fucking flesh monster and Billy and Hopper for protecting them and—
It’s not a good night.
But then he’s rushed to the hospital and he tries to call Miss Bottomette only for the call to refuse to go through and shitfuckgoddammit.
Because what about Louie?
Miss Bottomette said she’d be alright watching Louie until Steve got home, but Steve wasn’t able to go home until someone was able to make time to take him home.
Usually, he’d lean on Hopper for this stuff, since his parents were out of the question. But—
But Hoppers dead.
So he’s stuck at the hospital for another day or two until finally, Claudia comes to pick him up.
He’s with Dustin in the backseat of the car, anxiously bouncing his leg and biting at his fingers and nails until Dustin gives in and just holds his hand. Robin’s there to, having been able to leave after the first night but coming with Claudia to pick him up. Steve’s relieved to have them both close by, even if his hands reach for Erica subconsciously.
His trailer’s empty when he gets home, and Miss Bottomette isn’t answering the door.
Steve’s on the brink of a full blown breakdown before Mr. Knowles— bless his heart— points them across the street.
The Munsons apparently have his son and have for a bit now since Miss Bottomette had a minor seizure and couldn’t be left alone with Louie. Mr. Knowles assured Steve that she and the kids were fine and staying with him for the moment.
Steve wasted no time afterwards sprinting to the Munsons and knocking on the door. Dustin and Robin are close behind him, Claudia waiting patiently in the driveway.
The door is answered by a gruff looking old man that’s taller than Dustin but slightly shorter than both Robin and Steve.
“You Harrington?”
Steve nods so fast he faintly wonders if that’s how bobble heads feels.
They’re let in in no time and the old man— the infamous Wayne Munson— calls out of Eddie.
Eddie Munson emerges a moment later with little Louie in his arms, bouncing softly on his feet to keep the baby calm.
Steve is in front of him in a second, scooping Louie gently out of his arms and into his own.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Dustin’s rubbing his arms and Robin his back. Claudia is talking to Wayne, explaining what had happened (or the cover story version at least) and Eddie is hanging back a few feet from the three of them.
Robin takes little Louie in her arms and shoos Steve to the couch to calm down.
“Let him meet his auntie, Steve. You take a minute to breathe now, yeah?”
Steve was led to the couch with a soft hand on his shoulder from Eddie Munson, and they sat side by side while Steve worked on easing his breathing and to stop fucking crying.
Eddie’s shushing him and after a moment (and a clearly pointed cleared throat from Robin) Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s shaking figure.
They leave the Munsons’ trailer is promises of new babysitters and a new friendship.
And then the fuckery that’s 1986 happens.
.
First Part:
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౨ৎ. MANSPREAD ( 17﹢) ; mike schmidt
tags fem reader. established relationship. dry humping / heavy petting. begging. no reader orgasm ( boo ! ! ). cocky to submissive mikey + 1.8k words.
mike cannot seem to keep his legs closed. literally. sitting next to him was a total hassle. his legs covering every perimeter of leg space he could reach — leaving your knees buckled together and tucked in whatever corner you’re forced into.
you’ve mentioned his bad habit before, in which he mumbles an indolent “sorry” and then the next day, continues to do the same thing he’s half heartedly apologized for. at this point, you’re not sure he was doing it to press your buttons or his permanent restlessness has caught up with his memory.
then playful slaps on the knee became another idea. a quick sting to his skin kept his reactions stunned, buckling his knees together from your sharp touches. each slap garnered a short cry and a sudden flinch like some invisible string tied his legs together.
it worked, but only for a few days.
now mike catches your wrist halfway from making contact on his knees, gently tugging you down in the corner of the linen couch with a delighted chuckle. either that or he tosses you a knowing glance when you come by the couch, a raised brow and his hands protecting the caps of his knees — glancing his soft hazel eyes towards the tiny empty space beside him.
what a total ass.
all your solutions to stop his leg spreading habit seemed to do nothing for mike. instead, it made him even more repulsive — the spatial width between his legs could nearly reach the arms of the couch, leaving your poor body folded to regain any left over space. then his arms spread along the plush pillows — his rough hand would ever so often teasingly tug at your ears or play with the loose strands of your hair, pulling the ends while playfully twirling it in his finger.
in the corner of your eye, you swore there was a smug smile etched onto his face.
yeah, he’s totally doing this on purpose.
you thought a bit harder after that day. re-enacting different scenarios in your head without it resulting in some unneeded argument — nearly burning abby’s lunch in the process. but like a flash of light, it suddenly hit you. if mike was going to rob you of personal space, why can’t you do so to him?
“um … are you okay?” abby glances up at your blank eyes in concern, the chicken that was supposed to be golden brown violently sizzled from the bubbling oil, grimly layered under a blanket of black charcoal.
“o – oh, yes i’m fine abs.” you assured the smaller schmidt, transferring the hot pan away from the scorching stove — your inner victory delayed by your own clumsiness.
to salvage her burnt meal, you both shared a box of fresh delivered pizza for lunch.
but now it was that time.
it’s nighttime, mike was comfortably splayed on the couch, mindlessly flipping through channels. as it always was, his legs covered every crevice of the couch — body propped completely in between the plush cushions. the gray baggy sweatpants he changed into clung to his frame well — heavily ruffled on the parts you would love to get an eyeful of. his shirt was slightly damp from a warm shower, the gentle curl patterns in his brown hair glistened under the colorful glow of the television.
mike catches your lingering gaze, a pleased smile on his face.
“you’re not going to sit down?” he slurred a quip, patting down on the other end of the couch — seized by his thick thighs.
he refrains from teasing you for your blatant staring, but instead, for your multiple failed attempts to get him to stop his obnoxious leg spreading.
“oh yeah i will.” you mocked his sluggish tone, going to get yourself a cold drink before you make your way over to the couch.
blocking his view from the blaring screen, you purposely bent down in slow motion — distracting him from his vacuous browsing to simply put your drink down. mike quirks a brow at your little act, but still makes no effort to scoot over, barely moving a muscle.
then your body began to engulf his vision, fluorescent light spilling in the sides of your shadow. confusion knitted into his brows until suddenly, the air in his lungs were punched out from an added weight. the heavy crash of your body made mike rasp a curse, making him pathetically adjust himself after being nearly sunken in the folds of the aged couch — one hand clawing at the cushions for some stability.
“r – really? on my lap?” mike managed to breath out, holding your waist steadily with his free hand — your body felt so good flushed against his.
the innocent attempt to adjust himself ended up with him grinding on your ass, eliciting a low groan from his lips.
gosh, he’s too loud.
you hurriedly fish out the remote from his weak grasp, changing the channel to something that could hopefully muffle the pathetic noises that spill from mike’s mouth. abby’s room was still nearby the living room, the lights off and the door completely shut.
“well … you never give me room on the couch, so i think this is fair.” you explained leisurely, tossing the remote to the side as you grappled onto his spread knees, lifting off some weight to rub slow, shallow circles over his clothed cock.
mike fought back a needy whimper, biting his lip until fleshy pink turned paper white. the cooling sensation of his damp hair did nothing from how much his body was burning up. both his hands cling desperately onto the handles of your waist — kneading and lightly grazing his nails in your soft skin.
a throbbing warmth brushed against your clothed clit, mercilessly constricted by the confines of his sweatpants. you fought back a whine yourself, desperately tugging at the gray fabric with sealed lips. every steady brush of your soft flesh made mike see stars, the urge to lift his hips and grind harder into the curve of ass sat heavy in his lust hazed mind. yet his obedience seemed to glimmer brighter than his deviant instincts.
“ha ha- harder – ngh – please go harder.”
he sounded so sweet, so needy. you couldn’t deny him when the pool of his sticky precum oozes through the gray fabric — gossamer strings that weaved your dripping arousal with his own.
“s – stay still then.” you whispered, now fully pressing your weight against his hard cock — your back against his panting chest.
mike does what you ask, gluing his hips down to the cushions.
his heartbeat was racing against time, pumping all the hot blood that rushed down to his cock. his warm breath fanned the back of your neck, sending electric waves down your spine. his touches were sweaty, latching and kneading anything that pertained to softness. the open mouthed kisses he planted on your bare neck blossomed into purple hues, the drag of his teeth and muted whimpers coercing you to absolutely destroy him.
your hips rocked faster on his cock, the throbbing imprint tucked between the curve of your ass. his grip felt extra tight on your hips, reddish crescent marks decorating your flushed skin. mike throws his head back on the couch, his usual deep groans replaced with airy sighs. he closes his eyes, the same stars dancing in his eyelids — your heady scent making it harder for him not to hold you down himself and hump his cock against your pussy.
he’s so close, he can feel it.
“might cum – ah fuck.” mike warns with a high-pitched whine, the blasting audio from the television really doing him a favor.
you can tell too. his cock hasn’t stopped throbbing ever since he’s accidentally grind against you. his seeping precum never seemed to stop, only staining against the seat of the couch. he was like a horny teenager, so desperate to get off and trying so hard to compose himself. not like the asshole who was taking up all the space on the couch.
this was a great plan after all.
with one hard press against his cock, a spill of scorching heat nestled into your clothed pussy — eating through his soiled fabric and coating your covered folds. with no restraint whatsoever, mike’s deep groan vibrated the dimly lit living room, mindlessly bucking his hips lazily over your cunt like he could possibly pump some cum along your walls. the stars that whirled under his lids dispersed into a warm, satisfied feeling all over his usual restless body.
the very last minute, your hands flailed over his panting mouth — looking over to the direction of abby’s room. he seems to realize how loud he was, eyes widening as he hastily grabs onto the discarded remote, amplifying the volume to a considerate tone. not too loud to wake her up but definitely loud enough to cover the after effects of your intense heavy petting.
the light in her room remains untouched, her delicate footsteps nonexistent. she’s still asleep, thank goodness.
still both hazy from your lustful highs, mike drops the remote and snuggles into the crook of your neck — taking in your addicting scent while admiring the love marks he gave you. his cock softened under the soiled fabric, the sticky feeling making him furrow his brows. but then he realizes one thing, the sudden flinch of his body made you alarmed.
“i – i’m sorry. you didn’t get to cum.” mike sheepishly apologizes, fiddling with the waistband of your soiled shorts.
you shook your head with a relieved sigh, leaning back to gently kiss his stubble jawline — combing your fingers through his soft curls, dried on the top but the ends damp with sweat.
“i’m fine, baby, but you can make it up with one thing.” you mumbled in the base of his ear, a playful smile on your face.
in the corner of his eye, he can see the curl of your lips — the sight earning an eye roll.
“i already know what you’re going to say, but let’s hear it.” mike’s voice was baritone next to your flushed face, completely contrasting his previous whines and whimpers.
“give me all the space on the couch for now on.” you laugh when mike groans, still pulling your body closer to his despite this new ordeal.
“okay fine.” he defeatedly mumbles into your shoulder, his rough hands tracing over your bruised hips to your neglected chest — reaching under to knead your soft skin for his own enjoyment.
the moments of comforting silence were therapeutic, not even the continuous dialogue and sound effects from the bulky screen could ruin its peace. there was something still ticking mike off, he didn’t want to ruin this sweet moment but he couldn’t help it.
“are you sure my lap isn’t good enough?” he pleaded, a glint of hope in his hazy eyes — the couch being his only source of possession where he could splay himself comfortably.
you scoffed, rolling your eyes in the back of your head.
“no.”
it was an attempt.
he huffs in defeat, now kneading at your chest for some comfort.
“okay.”
© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.
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inspired by and as a direct follow up to this post by @strangersteddierthings:
Eddie is horrified. He remembers the day Steve is referring to, though clearly not as well as Steve does. He calls out as Steve raced up the stairs and hears his door slam.
“Fuck.” He stares blankly at the wall in front of him. He can’t believe things went so bad so quickly. He’s been trying to get to know Steve better, get closer and damn if he didn’t just blow the hole thing. He’d shown up early, told Steve he needed to prepare as an excuse to spend some time with him. Despite everything that happened over spring break, Steve had remained guarded, standoffish no matter what Eddie tried. At least now he knew why. He’d fucked things up before he’d known there was something to fuck up.
He feels even worse about calling him a bully. Sure, Steve had looked the other way and even laughed at some of the mean jokes others had made, but he was far from the worst. That dubious award went to Billy Hargrove, but even without him, there was plenty of people who did far worse than Steve did.
Especially because Steve is right. He did hit first, metaphorically at least. He can justify it all he wants as trying to protect himself, but that doesn’t make it right. Steve all but admitted that as he said the same thing.
He feels nauseous at the realization that maybe he was just as bad as those he decried. That for all his talk about accepting outcasts and defying convention, he was just as prejudiced.
Swallowing hard, he heads back to the dining room and looks at the clock. There is no way he is going to be able to run the campaign today. He’s not going to be able to focus or even play without thinking about how things might have been if he hadn’t driven Steve off all those years ago. He grabs the phone and dials Gareth’s number.
“Emerson house, Sheryl speaking.”
“Hi Mrs. Emerson, it’s Eddie.” Eddie is proud that he manages to keep his voice even. “Is Gareth there?”
“Oh, yes! Let me go get him for you.”
“Thanks Mrs. Emerson.” Eddie focuses on breathing while he waits.
“Eddie? Hey man, what’s up?”
Eddie breathes out. “Hey Gareth. Look, I know its last minute, but we’re gonna have to postpone Hellfire. Something came up.”
He could hear Gareth’s frown through the phone. “Postpone? What happened, did Harrington do something?”
As if he couldn’t feel worse. “Nah. I’ll explain later, but can you call Jeff and Frank, let them know? I gotta call the freshman, too.”
“Alright, but I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Fair enough. Talk to you tomorrow.” Eddie promises before hanging up. He weighs his options for how to tell the Party. Eventually, he decides on calling Mike, know that the younger teen won’t push too much. He’s dialing the Wheeler home before he can second guess his decision.
“This is Mike.”
Eddie feels a rush of gratitude that Mike is the one who answered, rather than Nancy or one of their parents. “Hey Mike, it’s Eddie. Listen, Steve’s not feeling great and having Hellfire here isn’t going to help. Can you call the rest of the Party, let them know we’re gonna move it to another day? I’ll keep an eye on Steve.”
Eddie knows Mike is a confused, given how adamant he’s been in the past about not canceling or moving Hellfire, but as he expected, Mike accepts what he says at face value. “Sure. Need us to bring anything?”
“Nah, I’ve got it. Pretty sure he just needs some peace and quiet so he can rest. But thanks.”
They say their goodbyes and Eddie puts the phone back on the hook. With that done, he checks that the door is locked and faces the stairs. Now for the hard part. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, if there is anything he can say that will fix this, but he has to try. Even if doesn’t change things between him and Steve, Steve deserves at least that much. Every step feels like it takes effort, chest heavy with guilt, but it only takes him a few moments to get to Steve’s door.
It’s closed, which doesn’t surprise him. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before knocking. Nothing.
“Steve?” If it wasn’t for the quiet sound of Steve’s breathing he could hear through the door, Eddie would think he had left. He glad that he at least didn’t drive Steve out of his own home. He rests his forehead on the door.
“I’m sorry.” Eddie hopes Steve can hear how much he means it. “You’re right, I fucked up. I made an assumption and took out my anger at other people on you. And that wasn’t fair and it’s not okay. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. Even if it wasn’t you, I shouldn’t have done that.” He lets out a hysterical laugh as he realizes - “And despite that, you still humor the kids when they talk about D&D and agreed to let us play here and didn’t punch me in the face, which makes you a better man than I.”
He falls silent, listens as Steve’s breathing slows. He isn’t sure how long he stands there. He wonders how many other people he hurt this way, without even realizing. Knows he wants to do better, be better.
He sighs, feeling his shoulders slump. “Anyway, I canceled Hellfire for today. I told everyone something came up, don’t worry about that. I’ll make up some story, make sure they know its not your fault. And uh, let me know if you want to hang out again or something. I know I’ve been around a lot; didn’t realize that I was making you so uncomfortable, which is probably another thing I should apologize for. Anyway. Yeah. I’ll see you around, okay?”
He waits a moment for an answer, but when none comes, he backs away from the door and walks downstairs to gather his stuff. It hurts, but he knows Steve deserves space and to be the one to initiate contact. He has some thinking to do, anyway.
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i feel like mike is ALWAYS so grumpy,
him with his obnoxious sister and girlfriend is just so canon to me sigh
oh he absolutely is (also i blacked out and wrote 600 words of pure delusion ??? im so sorry i rlly have a problem omg)
first off, sleeping sans pills is a little hard for him for the first month or so. it’s hard for him to fall asleep and stay asleep, so he spends a chunk of the night just laying and staring at the ceiling where his nebraska poster used to be, waiting for sleep to find him instead of searching for it. when he actually gets up in the morning, his body just feels like he’d gotten hit by a bus, evidence of his restless night showing up all over the place.
and abby, as kind as she is, just doesn’t know when to shut up. mikes pouring them both a bowl of cereal and abby just continues talking about any and every single thing under the sun, completely oblivious to the agony her older brother is in. mike tries to be patient, he hums between his yawns as he fills her bowl with milk, he blinks lazily at her as she keeps talking. but at a certain point enough is enough and the cereal is a little stale and mike was really looking forward to a nice bowl of cereal to give him energy for the day but everything is shit right now so he ends up politely (at least as best as he can) asking abby to stop talking.
he thinks that by the time you’re supposed to come over later in the afternoon, he’ll feel better. he doesn’t have work until a few hours after breakfast, and he uses the time to take a shitty nap on the couch. a nap that’s disrupted by the doorbell ringing entirely too loud, followed by abby’s excited screech which alerts him of your arrival. he’s happy to see you, but he’s tired as shit and now he has to go work a dead end job and he can barely manage to paint an appreciative smile on his face when you walk him to his car and promise that you and abby will have fun.
by the time he gets back after work, the sun has set and it’s a few hours past traditional dinner time. the lights in the house are still on and when he enters he hears a movie playing. he’s so tired he only wants to take a shower and sleep but he knows you’ll refuse to let him do just that until he’s eaten, which ends up with all three of you at the table, you and abby having dessert while mike slowly makes his way through dinner.
he’s nodding off the entire time, and he’s sure he would’ve knocked out face first in his slice of pizza if you and abby weren’t talking his head off. you bounce off of each other like you’re playing an exciting match of ping pong, mikes head going back and forth as he attempts to follow a conversation with no real connections.
and to make matters worse, you’re both on mikes case, too, cracking jokes and being far too concerned and it’s too much for his tired head and his grumpiness just multiplies tenfold until he takes a final bite out of his pizza and storms down the hall to take a shower.
(of course, you find him when he’s slipping a shirt over his head after his shower in his room, hair dripping onto the cotton and flinging onto the carpet when he turns to look at you. he apologizes, tells you about how sleepy he’s been, and kisses you good night. but he’s still a Grumpy Guy, despite the chronic exhaustion)
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Steve has a secret, well “secret” may not be the correct way to describe it. He has something for himself, thats what. Ever since he stopped playing basketball and doing swim competitions once he graduated he's had way more free time, which at first he filled with shifts at Family Video, or bothering Robin.
Then, when she started school he started doing art more. Which, may come a surprise to many, as he never really talked about his interest in paintings and old art.
Greek sculptures that are able to show life in a still ethereal way, while still being able to twist it at their will. Renaissance oil paintings, capturing tragedy yet still being able to portray it as beautiful, in their own terrible twisted ways.
He likes sketching on paper, painting on canvas. His paintings aren't usually too different from the things he sees around him. Honestly thats the only things he paints, people, his friends, places he goes, things he sees that stick with him, dreams, moments that play on repeat in his head.
Around his Junior year, after the Demogorgon, Steve had turned the sad basement in his sad empty house, into his own space. A place where he can go and do his art, hang it, play music on his walkman, or using the record player he got from a pawn shop a few months prior. Somehow the basement is the only space that actually feels like his in his house, not even his bedroom.
Steve’s art was not very consistent to be honest, mostly the kids and Robin, landscapes that he liked, the Demogorgon/dogs, the Mindflayer (he needs some way of getting those out of his head, and somehow drawing them down feels freeing.) He does have a few paintings of Nancy from when they were together, she’s become less of a model for his work after everything though.
The last time he painted her in a painting alone, was one of that bathroom in a girl he barely knows’ house, a spilled drink on Nancy’s dress, and red solo cups littering the counter.
Steve’s art shifts though, after a moment that will never leave his mind. He knows who Eddie Munson is, obviously. How could he not? Honestly Steve isn't that surprised Henderson and the others befriended the guy, he does run a DnD club.
But then, Henderson needs a ride home after their club meetings because his mom is working late, and then Lucas and Mike’s parents are also asking Steve to pick them up too. Babysitting duty, as per usual.
Steve arrives a bit earlier than he planned. He didn't have any project to consume himself into, hitting an art block begrudgingly. But then, Steve sees Eddie Munson, sitting on a fake throne, watching the kids and other club members argue, he has his chin rested on his fist, and he's wearing a white tank top, showing off his shoulders, given the fact it’s still September.
The lighting of the small theater room captures Steve’s interest like a moth to the flame, and he is regretting having left his sketchbook at home, even though he never draws around the kids or anyone he knows.
Eddie Munson’s face and curly locks fill up the pages of Steve’s journal and some canvases for months after, and Steve rarely genuinely complains about coming to pick the kids up.
Afterwords, months later from that day. Chrissy Cunningham dies, and Eddie Munson almost goes with her. God, or whatever deity that was looking down upon him, was on Steve’s side in that moment, when he was able to revive Eddie and then drag him out of the Upside Down.
Steve gets closer with Eddie after that, they become actual friends. Steve was so used to witnessing his muse from afar, it was so…exciting, to see Eddie in all his glory, just a few feet away, and his smile being directed at him.
“Do you even have any hobbies, Harrington?” Steve blinks. Him, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, and the party, are all hanging out by the pool. Steve is lounging on one of the chairs, sunglasses over his eyes as Eddie talks beside him.
“What?” Steve responds.
“I mean…I like barely ever see you do anything besides sort Movies at Family Video, or boss around the kids. Like, what do you do when we're not all together?” Eddie asks, moving his hand a little as he talks. Steve thinks for a moment.
“Funny,” Steve answers instead. Eddie scoffs.
“I'm being serious, man! What do you do?” Eddie laughs a little, most likely at the ridiculousness of it all. What would Steve know, Eddie is like a puzzle, and Steve has to take every minute slowly, deciphering everything he lays out for him, via tongue or action.
“I don't know, what do you do?” Steve says, almost carefully.
“Band stuff, DnD, Writing,” Eddie lists. “And I guess saving the world now, but thats a bit of a side hussle.” Steve scoffs.
“Whatever, man.” And thats that, they don't talk about it again. But it sticks with Steve, because his friends really do think he doesn't do anything with his life. It's not like he has college classes to study for, so what does he do?
Later, maybe two or three weeks after, Steve decides he wants to show Eddie his space. The two of them are alone, Robin is in Nevada, visiting her grandparents, so the trio’s usual movie night is cut down to a duo’s movie night.
Although Steve finds himself mostly focusing on Eddie and his beautiful hair sitting next to him, than watching ET. The little alien scares him a bit anyway. Eddie notices him staring though, his eyes flickering to meet Steves, then a smirk spreading across his lips.
“We are watching a movie, lover boy.” Eddie says. Steve goes red, his gaze shifting to his lap. Steve furrows his eyebrows then stands and shuts the TV off. “Woah! Hey!”
“I want to show you something.” Steve says, it's a bit quieter than he meant it to be, but his tone indicates something to Eddie, which has him staring at Steve, starstruck.
Steve walks out the room and hears Eddie follow him. He gets to the basement door and opens it, flicks on the stair light.
“Basement- woah- okay, guess I'm getting murdered. Thought I’d go out in a more metal way than this.” Eddie says as they walk down. Steve laughs a little and shakes his head.
“I just think you should see this.” Steve says. “Nothing life threatening, I promise.”
“Alright, I trust you, Stevie.”
“Good.”
Steve turns and flicks on the light as they step onto the concrete. The lights flicker on, revealing the paintings on the walls and art supplies on the tables and counters.
“Woah-” Eddie says. “Is this, all your stuff?” Steve sighs, he folds his arms and faces Eddie. He looks shellshocked.
“Yeah.” Steve says. “You said I don't have any hobbies, I do, actually.” Eddie looks around, walking slowly.
“Is that Henderson? Why is he wearing yellow gloves?” Eddie asks. Steve walks over to a painting of Dustin from Steve’s angle while they were walking on the train tracks, a bucket of raw meat is in one hand and he's wearing the headphones for his radio.
“D’Art,” Steve says. “That was when we were leading him away. I made that one after everything happened. I was trying not to think about the Demogorgon stuff and everything, so I just drew him. I have one of Max from that day I never finished painting in a stack I think too.” Eddie doesn't say anything for a minute after Steve is done explaining.
“You can paint.” Eddie says, though not like a question. “These are beautiful…” Eddie looks around and walks to another one he sees. It's one of the Byers and Hopper’s, all hugging while laughing. El looks the happiest. Steve had painted that after they had all gotten together after everything. “Why…didn't you tell anyone?”
“About what?” Steve asks, folding his arms as Eddie brings up a hand to touch the painting.
“This- Steve, you're amazing at this. These are…” Eddie trails off as something catches his eye, he slowly starts to walk towards a big painting propped up behind one of the tables laid out in the middle of the room. Steve walks to him to see which one he's looking at.
An angel, knelt over a puddle, crying as it stares at his reflection, which is blurred and dark. He stands in a forest, his wings are long and huge, sprawling out above him.
It’s one of Steve’s bigger ones, the inspiration came from a dream he had after they had read about Icarus in his english class back in Highschool.
“It’s… magnificent.” Eddie whispers. Steve smiles gently at Eddie’s reaction. Eddie backs up a bit and looks away from the painting. “Is that me?” Steve follows his eye, to the painting. Eddie walks towards it, Steve stays behind him. It’s the first one Steve ever made of Eddie, the one of him on the throne.
“Yeah, it is.” Steve says. “I made that the first night I came to pick up the kids.” He says. “The first time I met you, actually met you.” They share a look.
“You are incredible, Steve Harrington.”
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Baby, You're My Type
Eddie Munson x GN!Reader
Words: 804
Summary: When someone unexpected asks you on a date it brings some new information to light. And long-overdue conversations are had.
A/N: Slowly getting back into writing, I'm very rusty so please bear with me. Hope you enjoy it. I should have a few more small fics coming out in the next few days while I still have some time off.
The Hellfire club was just finishing up a section of their campaign when you burst through the door, eager to share your news. You throw yourself into an open seat, leg bouncing as you wait for Eddie to stop talking. You lean over the table, fingers tapping as you stare at your best friend.
As soon as he closes his mouth the words were spilling out, “The funniest thing ever just happened.”
Everyone begins packing their things and Eddie quirks a brow in your direction. When all you do is stare at him with a wide grin he gestures for you to continue.
“Jason just asked me on a date,” you laugh as the rest of the room goes quiet. The older members of the group are quick to rush out the door not wanting to see where this conversation goes. Dustin on the other hand stops shoving papers into his backpack and settles in, ready to watch the drama.
Lucas and Mike tug at his arms, not wanting to stick around longer than necessary. “Let’s go,” Mike hisses. His eyes darting between you and Eddie.
"Now," Lucas urges.
“I want to see how this plays out,” Dustin whines, catching your attention. Your laughing dies as you take in the worried look of the younger group members and realize that maybe your news wasn’t as funny as you thought.
“You should go out with him.” You whip around, eyes wide. The click of the door behind you is all you need to let you know that only you and Eddie are left to finish this conversation.
You open and close your mouth, trying to figure out the right combination of words. Something that will get through to Eddie and let him know just how ridiculous he is being. Before you can find the words Eddie continues, “I mean you do seem excited about it.”
Finally you stand up and make your way toward him, leaning on the table just in front of his chair. Your fingers wrap around the edge of the table, gripping it tight.
“I was only excited to share the news because it’s crazy and I found it funny.”
“I don’t see what would be that funny about it.” He leans forward in his seat. The small gap between you grows smaller but neither of you back down. The smell of his cheap cologne floods your senses and for a moment you forget what you are talking about.
“He’s not my type, not even close to my type. Everyone knows that, so it’s funny that he thought he would ever have a chance.” The way you lips quirk up at the end of your sentence is not missed by Eddie. His eyes practically glued to your lips as you speak.
“Are you sure, he seems like he would be your type.” There’s an edge to his voice that has you gripping the table harder. How can he still think that you would be into someone like Jason when you have always made it clear that you would never be caught dead with someone that arrogant.
You chew on your lip, contemplating if you really want to say what you’re about to. Taking a deep breath you tell Eddie, “My type is metalheads, with crazy hair, tattoos, and a love for nerdy things like dungeons and dragons.”
He taps his fingers against the arm of his chair, pretending to think about your revelation. You scan the room, trying to find anything to hold your attention so you can avoid looking at Eddie.
“I thought you said everyone knew your type, but I never knew that’s what you’re into.” He stands from his chair inching ever closer. His warm breath hits your face and finally you turn your gaze back to him.
Your heart flutters as you take him in up close. Mustering all the courage in you, you tell him, “I made it painfully obvious for so long, but in case you still can’t see it this should help.”
He quirks a brow at your cryptic words and you bunch your hands in his shirt pulling him closer. Pressing your lips into his you let out all the pent up emotion you have been holding in. His arm slips around your waist pulling you closer as his other slides up to cup your cheek.
When you pull back, you can’t help but to smile. “In case it still wasn’t clear, you’re my type Eddie, just you.”
“Hmm, I never would’ve guessed,” he jokes. “That’s good though, ‘cause baby, you're my type too.”
Lifting you slightly he sets you fully on the table intent on making up for lost time. As your lips find his you wrap your legs around his waist and get lost in the happiness of finally being with Eddie.
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More Than Enough
Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader
Rating: T
Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever. Technically part of my Men I Always Meant to Write For non-series series.
Length: 9.9K
Warnings: Angst. Angst angst angst angst, mentions of reader having anxiety, friends to enemies to lovers, has a happy ending
Summary: Mr. Ross (Mike, he’d insisted, but you knew that you had to keep the formalities up for your own sakes) introduced Beth first, giving you a chance to just—look. You’d never bothered to catch up with Harvey once he’d gotten a job in New York. You knew that he was there, of course. The few friends that you had kept in touch with from Harvard had told you. You’d heard his name every couple of months regarding some case that he had tried, some deal that he’d closed. But you couldn’t imagine what you’d say to him if you turned up, and you weren’t sure that you wanted to know what he’d say to you—if he’d have anything to say to you.
There were a lot of things that you remembered about Harvey. You remembered his dimples, and the freckles peppering his shoulders; you remembered the way his eyes lit up when he hit on something good; you remembered the casual, almost bored way that he answered questions in class. Most of all, you remembered how he looked at you.
Harvey used to look at you with warmth, and teasing. He used to watch you hunker over your books and notes, stare you down when he was determined to come out on top in an argument. He used to peer up at you as he tried not to fall asleep on your shoulder, sharing the train ride back to spend the odd weekend in New York.
You remembered the way his gaze used to send nervous butterflies swirling through you. The way his smile made your face go hot, and your heart pound in your chest.
You remembered so many things about how Harvey made you feel, things that you held on to for such a long time—and they were in direct conflict with the way Harvey looked at you when you walked into the conference room that morning.
Something funny had happened in your gut when you’d heard his voice, the way he was warning his associate that he would, “Handle this one, and we’ll be outta here in five minutes.”
As you rounded into the room, you could see that his associate wasn’t convinced; you couldn’t blame him. You’d put up a hell of an argument with Mr. Ross a couple of days before, which had no doubt prompted him to return with backup. Now, you felt the first stirrings of panic, faced with a past you'd tried to forget, but you were too close to the conference room to turn tail, and with Beth already two steps deeper inside, it was too late to bail out. You’d promised her that you’d stick to her side through this ordeal. She couldn’t afford a real lawyer, and the few that you’d spoken to about pro bono work just didn’t have the bandwidth to help her case. The rest of your coworkers had been overwhelmingly supportive, your boss included—you couldn’t think of any other employer that would let a lawyer come and speak with Beth at her workplace without raising a stink about it.
Mr. Ross (Mike, he’d insisted, but you knew that you had to keep the formalities up for your own sakes) introduced Beth first, giving you a chance to just—look. You’d never bothered to catch up with Harvey once he’d gotten a job in New York. You knew that he was there, of course. The few friends that you had kept in touch with from Harvard had told you. You’d heard his name every couple of months regarding some case that he had tried, some deal that he’d closed. But you couldn’t imagine what you’d say to him if you turned up, and you weren’t sure that you wanted to know what he’d say to you—if he’d have anything to say to you.
Harvey looked good. Self-assured, confident, wearing a bright, charming smile as he shook Beth’s hand. You could hear Mike introducing you, and had just a moment to brace as recognition his recognition swelled.
It took over his expression entirely as he met your eye.
Harvey’s gaze flickered, brow furrowing a touch. The dimples disappeared as his lips dropped from a smile to a stunned purse. You shook his hand where it had frozen, a quick, firm pump before you let go.
“Please,” You gestured to the small conference table before you set your things down. The space wasn’t at all grand, it was…Homey. Surely not the sort of spaces these two were used to, if the suits were anything to go by.
“I appreciate your persistence, Mr. Ross,” Beth started, tucking a stand of greying hair behind her ear as she tried to steady her nerves, “But my position hasn’t changed since the last time we spoke.”
You glanced from your elderly coworker toward Mr. Ross. Just out of the corner of your eye, you could see Harvey watching you closely. The feeling was at once familiar and foreign; it made your stomach turn.
“Ms. Owens, I recognize that our client has put you in a difficult position—” Mr. Ross started. You had to clench your jaw to keep from rolling your eyes as he went on, “But the valuation that we’ve offered for you to change the name of your LLC and sell the site is incredibly generous.”
You did smile, then. Hell, you couldn’t help it.
“You disagree?”
Your stomach lurched at Harvey’s question, and you looked toward him. Oh—you knew that expression. His eyes were narrowed; his lips were curled into a smirk that dared you to argue with him.
“Isn’t that obvious? If we didn’t disagree, none of us would be in this room right now,” You pointed out.
“We’ve spoken to our client,” Mike cut in, drawing your attention again, “And he’s authorized us to bump the offer up to $100,000.”
You let that hang in the air for a few moments, brows raising when Mike gave a small, encouraging nod.
“That’s it?” You retorted dryly. “You expect me to believe that a pharmaceutical company with a market value of over three hundred billion dollars is willing to drop a whole 100K? How overwhelmingly generous.”
“Do I need to point out that your cash-grab is standing in the way of medical progress?” Harvey argued.
“Oh, please,” You scoffed. “It's a dick pill, Harvey.” You tried to ignore the stunned, slap-shocked look when you used his name, pushing on—“And if you’d read the comparative studies that the company did, you’d know that it works with roughly a third of the effectiveness of the market leaders. This isn’t exactly going to blow the toupee off of Viagra, no matter what your client says.”
“We could bury you under fees and paperwork.”
“Whoa, Harvey,” Mike muttered beside him, casting him a wary look. You could feel Beth shifting nervously beside you as well. You forced yourself to be calm, and to smile a little, even as your stomach flipped. You’ve done your homework; you’ve prepped. You can do this.
“Yes,” You nodded, “You could. But you’d be doing so at the expense of a woman who has owned and operated a company out of her studio apartment under this name since 1995. What Beth has here isn’t just a little stumbling block for your client—it’s an institution, with hundreds of annual customers and testimonials speaking to the way her products have improved their lives. This may be a blip for your client, but it’s a significant part of Beth’s life. And considering the recent, sharp drop in the company’s stock price and the uptick in legal suits, I wouldn’t be surprised if you all need a win right now. If you railroad us, we will go public with your client’s intimidation tactics.”
“Intimidation—?” Harvey snapped.
“Oh, have they not mentioned the non-stop late-night phone calls, the people following Beth to and from home? The private investigators? The threatening letters?”
You watch Harvey’s expression mar with surprise. You can’t help but chuckle then.
“C’mon. You should know better.” You look down at the folder in front of you. “The fact of the matter is, my client has had to endure a mountain of shit for what is only a marginally effective aid for erectile dysfunction—one that’s projected to make your client nearly $18 million in its first quarter on the market. If you need to close anyone, it’s on your side, not ours. You either bump the offer up a mill, or we go to the press with what we have.” You drew two copies of an article out of your folder, sliding it across the table to them. “Just a little taste.”
“Excuse me?” You heard. The four of you turned your attention to the office secretary, who was lingering in the doorway. Right on time, just as you asked. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have a call. I can have them hold—“
“No, that’s alright,” You shook your head before turning back to the men on the other side of the table, subtly waving for Beth to stand. “We’re done here. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ross. Harvey, always a pleasure.”
You led the way out, holding the door open for Beth. Vindication shot through you as you just caught Mr. Ross asking, “What the hell was that?”
--
She was all over the page. Harvey had given the article a couple of passes while he was in the car on the way back to the office, but reading it through again, he felt that even if she hadn’t handed it to him herself, he somehow would’ve known that it was hers.
The argument that Mike was having with Craig Philbrook seemed almost muted to him as he read it for a third time. It was a concise presentation of the facts, but it hit the exact emotional points that it needed to. It was beautifully balanced. Harvey could almost imagine her curled over her laptop, drawing up a draft, editing it with expert precision. He’d seen her work like that before. Sure, it had been a long time ago, but the sight of her hunkered down in Langdell Hall had never really left him—not even when he’d done his best to push it away.
“Harvey!”
He glanced up, brows raising. Craig’s face was the shade of a cherry tomato, and seemed just about ready to pop. His chest was heaving from what must’ve been a spirited bout of argument with Mike. Glancing at his associate, Harvey found Mike wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, at an equal fever pitch. He considered for a moment more before he tossed the article onto the table.
“We don’t have any choices here, Craig,” He admitted.
“A million dollars? That’s insane!”
“Actually, considering what the company expects to pull in almost a eighty mill in the first year, one million is pretty reasonable.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“I’m on yours, Craig. Look, if you wanna action your plan, we’ll sic the dogs on ‘em. But the press is never gonna side with a company that’s putting a little old lady through her extreme financial and emotional distress just for a landing page. If we settle outside of court, slap an NDA on top, none of this ever comes out. Keep it clean.” Harvey pushes himself out of his seat, standing and buttoning his suit jacket before taking the article up again. “Talk to who you need to talk to, but do it fast. Every incident that they noted is another ticking time bomb that we may have to worry about diffusing.” He rounded his seat, heading for the door before he paused and turned back. “Oh, and Craig? Quit having her called and followed. You’re just giving them more rope to hang you with.”
He turned away, tucking his hands into his pockets as he strode down the hall, Mike in tow.
“You think he’ll cave?” Mike asked.
“He will. He has to.”
“Okay—Question.”
“Is it related to the case?”
“Yes. What the hell was that?”
“That was me doing my job. The job you were supposed to handle, and you're welcome, by the way.”
“I don’t mean back there, I mean this morning.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit.”
Harvey cast an irritated glance back toward Mike as he walked into his office. It was no surprise that Mike followed; once he got something in his head, he couldn’t let it go. Neither of them could.
“She said seeing you was always a pleasure,” Mike added as Harvey settled behind his desk.
“Maybe she was just trying to get under my skin.”
“Seems like it worked, and I’ve never seen anyone but Tanner do that. How do you know one another?”
Harvey considered. He didn’t know her, not really. Not anymore.
“We went to Harvard together,” He finally admitted.
“She’s a lawyer?”
“No.” Maybe? He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t checked the bar for her name in a long time.
“So she…Did what with her degree?”
“As far as I know, she never got it. She dropped out, middle of our second year.”
“Why?”
“No idea.”
“Come on, you can tell me.”
“Don’t you have a brief to write or a motion to file.”
Mike was quiet for a moment, gaze sweeping Harvey’s face before his mouth fell open in slight surprise.
“...Oh, my god, you really have no idea,” He managed.
“Why are you still standing here?”
“Does Donna know?”
“Why would she?”
“Because she knows everything.”
“Well, I doubt she would know this.”
“You’re deflecting. She definitely knows.”
“Go ahead and ask her.”
Mike’s mouth works wordlessly again before he turns his head just a little.
“...She doesn’t know.”
“She does not.”
“Unless she does, and you’re trying to double psychy-psych me into not getting an answer.”
“Then go ahead and ask.”
“...She doesn’t know.”
“Are you asking?”
“If she does know—”
“You could be doing this on the other side of the door.”
“Okay.”
Harvey relaxed a bit as Mike leaned back in his seat, then smiled as he heard Mike call out, “Donna?”
He shook his head, taking up a baseball from behind his desk and turning his chair to gaze out of the window, turning the ball over and over in his hands. Mike wasn’t entirely wrong. If there was anyone in the city who may somehow know what happened, he was almost certain it was Donna. Harvey sure as hell didn’t know what had happened.
Harvey could still remember the shock of it—turning up to goad her into going to get dinner with him, only to find that her half of the room was completely cleared out. Her roommate had told Harvey that she didn’t know where she’d gone, didn’t have a number to reach her. Harvey had chased answers down within his means. He’d gone after phone numbers that he’d used and found them disconnected; he’d stopped by her apartment building and asked the doorman for information, even tried to bribe him, but the man hadn’t let a single word slip. Harvey had waited outside for hours in the hopes of seeing her, but had come up with nothing.
No call, no note, not a word of warning or explanation. Harvey hadn’t been worth saying goodbye to then, and he apparently hadn’t been worth saying goodbye to today.
His gaze dropped to the baseball in his hands, his thumb sweeping across the stitching as his chest fluttered with bitterness. Mike hadn’t come back in, so he was almost certain that Donna didn’t have the answers. Harvey eyed the article on his desk, frown deepening.
Maybe Harvey would have to get the answers for himself.
--
“Um—Did you happen to see Gerald’s email?”
“Nope,” You hardly looked away from your laptop screen as Beth sidled up to your desk. “What’s up?”
“He wants another SWOT analysis.”
You closed your eyes in irritation, drawing in a deep breath.
“Of course he does. Thanks for flagging.” You opened your email, glancing over when you realized Beth was still standing there. “Everything okay?”
“...Just, I haven’t heard anything yet, from…” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I just wonder if we were too aggressive.”
You nodded a little, offering her a reassuring smile.
“If anything, they’ll counter, maybe for half a mill.”
“But…What that other man had said about burying us in fees, and paper—”
You turned your chair, taking Beth’s wizened hands in yours.
“He’s not going to do that,” You swore. “They’d screw themselves over if they did, and they know it. They’re probably just ironing out paperwork. It’s gonna be okay.”
Beth’s eyes darted between yours before she finally nodded. You gave her hands a gentle squeeze before you let go, turning back to your laptop as she walked away. You bit your lip, peering at your laptop screen. Your eyes scanned it, but you weren’t really taking anything in. You were just as panicked as Beth was that you hadn’t heard anything from the firm. It either meant something very good, or very bad. But you didn’t dare let Beth know how nervous you were. If it hadn’t gone your way—if the company decided to take Beth down—you would never forgive yourself.
You drew in a deep, shaky breath, curling your fingers into your palms and trying to shake off the oncoming shivers trickling down your spine. You’d always hated this feeling—the fear of loss, the swell of hopelessness. You hadn’t felt either so acutely in a long time. You’d been happy for it; you hadn’t missed them. Arguing with Harvey had brought you back to the contentious moments in law school, the panic of not knowing who the professor would call on next, the fear of tripping over your words in front of a dozen of your peers—
You closed your eyes for a moment, drawing in another deep breath and forcing your mind calm. You weren’t in law school anymore. You were a manager at a marketing firm. You did good work. You liked your job. The life that you led was more than enough. The people that you answered to were satisfied with your results—and whatever happened to Beth could be overcome. You were certain.
You opened the email from Gerald, reading it through before you CC’d Anne from finance, Jason from legal, and your boss before you typed out your response:
Hi Gerald,
Per our contract, we’ve completed the four SWOT analyses that we’ve been contracted for this year. Happy to take this conversation offline to discuss renegotiation.
--
“I’m going out.”
Donna sprang up at the warning, striding to catch up with Harvey.
“Going out where?”
“I need some air.”
“There isn’t enough air in your office?”
“I like outside air. The exhaust, the cigarette smoke, the waft of salt from the hot dog vendor.”
Donna arched a brow, folding her arms across her chest as Harvey hit the down button for the elevator.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the woman that Mike asked me about last week, would it?” She asked.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh no?”
“Nope.”
“Too bad. Her LinkedIn, Instagram, and Bumble profile were very interesting.”
Harvey arched a brow, glancing toward Donna before he stepped onto the elevator.
“Since when are you on Bumble?”
“I have a few profiles for research purposes.”
Harvey shook his head, smiling and casting his gaze toward the elevator floor as the doors closed.
--
When someone came to a stop at your desk, you assume that it’s Beth, or your boss—someone that you worked with. When they didn’t speak, you glanced up, and realized immediately that it was a mistake. Harvey was standing there, his hands in his pockets as he waited to have your attention. You dropped your gaze back to the screen, clearing your throat.
“I’m assuming if you’re here in person again, it’s bad news,” You commented. Harvey’s lips pouted as he seemed to consider.
“Depends on what you consider bad news.”
“I consider Beth getting screwed out of her fair share as bad news.”
“Well, then I have good news and bad news.”
“Okay.”
“The good news is, my client is ready to settle out of court for the requested amount, provided an NDA is signed.”
“I’d need to see that before she signed it.”
“Of course.”
Your brow furrowed.
“Then what’s the bad news?”
“There’s one more contingency to the deal being signed.”
“And what’s that?”
“Get a drink with me.”
Your gaze narrowed, and you couldn’t help but lean back in your seat, arms folding across your chest.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Not at all.”
“If I refuse?”
“Beth will still get her settlement. But,” Harvey tipped his head from side to side, “It’ll probably take way longer.”
“How much longer?”
“Pff…Anywhere from a few months to a year. To be perfectly honest, my client doesn’t want to pay out. I mean, he will, because he knows that our advice is the right way to go, but I can gum up the works.”
You pushed out a stunned scoff.
“You’d seriously do that for a drink with me?”
“We each have something the other wants.”
“What the hell could I possibly have that you want?”
“Answers.” Harvey's critical gaze skimmed your rapidly heating face. “So? Are you busy tonight?”
--
You felt out of place. The bar was nice, and everyone seems dressed for it…Except you. Well, your workplace was fairly casual. It was rare that you met with clients in person. You dressed up in those instances, of course, but your day-to-day work wear is jeans and a nice shirt. You were trying not to shift uncomfortably, or fidget to adjust your cardigan, or the shirt underneath. You glanced up toward the waiter, offering a small smile as he set your drink down.
You picked up your glass, drawing in a long, slow sip. You’d spent the last five hours distracted at work, torn between trying to figure out what the hell you were going to say to Harvey, what sort of questions he could have. You already knew that this was more likely to be an interrogation than a friendly chat.
He was drawing it out, too. He was taking a slow sip of his own, watching you like his gaze could drill through your skull.
Maybe it could. He was certainly trying hard enough.
“So?” You pressed, unable to help the silence. His lips twitched. Ugh, he’d wanted you to cave first, and you had played right into his hand. Bastard.
“Did you ever finish your law degree?” He asked.
Embarrassment prickled your skin. The conversation was going to be a roller coaster if that was where he was starting.
“No.”
“Never went back to Harvard?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I had no reason to.”
“Not even to visit? Maybe pick up something you forgot?”
“I didn’t forget anything when I left.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Irrelevant.”
“I find it very relevant.”
“I disagree.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Are you?”
“Not particularly.”
“Move on.”
“Speaking of moving on, you seemed to do that very quickly.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You disappeared. No one could get in contact with you.”
“I didn’t want contact with anyone.”
“So you just dropped off of the face of the earth, for what? Fun?”
You shifted in your seat a little, fingers pressing into your palms where they were hidden in your lap.
“Trust me, nothing that happened to me then was fun.”
“Why should I trust you?”
Your stomach lurched; your hands tightened in your lap.
“Take my word for it, then,” You corrected.
“Your word isn’t worth anything to me.”
You averted your gaze, jaw tightening as you leaned back in your seat. Maybe you could just slam the drink back and go. You could hear Harvey leaning forward in his seat.
“Tell me,” He pressed, “What happened.”
“Why does it matter to you?”
“This has been a giant question mark for me for a long time. You know I hate loose ends.”
You drew in a deep breath, leg beginning to bounce beneath the table as your nervous energy swelled.
“I couldn’t do it anymore,” You finally admitted.
“What?”
“I couldn’t do…Harvard Law. That environment, I couldn’t do it. Look, I loved it at the start, I loved the feeling of getting in, but once I was in, it was too much.”
You couldn’t meet his eye; his look was as heavy as ever.
“Why didn’t you talk to me?” He asked after a moment. You scoffed a laugh, raising your brows as you finally brought yourself to look at him.
“Are you serious?…Harvey, you were allergic to feelings.” It was a little vindicating to see Harvey shift in his seat as you went on, “If I’d told you that I was struggling, you would’ve told me to buck up, that it wasn’t that hard, that I just needed to put my head down. You don’t respond weakness, you can’t fucking stand it.”
“You did just need to put your head down.”
Your mouth worked wordlessly for a moment, lips curling into a hysterical smile as you breathed, “Oh, my god—” Because there it was. There was the answer you’d expected years ago.
“You were top ten!” Harvey argued. “You were this close to knocking me off out of the top five.”
“I was losing my shit!” You lowered your voice, leaning in. “I couldn’t sleep. I was having panic attacks every time I left my room. I couldn’t handle it, alright? I’m not like you.”
“No, you’re not. I wouldn’t have given up.”
It was like a slap. You bit the inside of your cheek before you leaned back, nodding. You could feel your throat going thick as your eyes welled with tears.
“Okay,” You reached into your pocket, drawing your wallet out for a twenty as you stood. “Well thank you for this lovely trip down memory lane.”
“Sit down.”
“Fuck you.”
You didn’t even care that your language drew the attention of the other patrons. You just strode out of there as quickly as you possibly could, hands fumbling for your phone to get a car. Maybe it shouldn’t have been so surprising that you heard his footsteps behind you moments later. It pushed you to walk faster, to keep him from seeing your watering eyes.
“Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that you’re turning tail and running,” He sounds almost bored, “You’re so good at it.”
“Leave me alone, Harvey.”
“You know, I had the wildest theories back then. Kidnapped by a foreign government, taken by aliens, activated sleeper agent. It’s a bummer to find out that you were just a coward.”
“Stop it,” You warned, shoving the door open and striding through it. You heard his palm hitting the wood behind you to keep the door from hitting him in the face, and you were desperate to escape it in the city noise. Harvey pushed on as if you haven’t said a thing:
“I used to think we were one and the same, but I would never have done what you did. I never would’ve just disappeared. Why didn’t you trust me—” His fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you to turn to him. His diatribe seemed to falter as he took in the tears slipping over your heated cheeks. You twisted your wrist out of his grip, tucking your arms around your middle and keeping your gaze anywhere but Harvey.
“...You could’ve talked to me,” Harvey finally said.
“You would’ve told me then exactly what you said just now, and that was the last fucking thing I needed back then. Frankly, it’s the last fucking thing I need right now.”
“Look at me.”
“No, you—You got your answers, alright? Get Beth her settlement.”
“You want me to get her settlement for you?”
“I want you to get it for her. Because she deserves it. So, get her the money, the money she’s earned, and just…Just leave me alone.”
You turned away from him again, getting just a little relief from the fact that you don’t hear him following you.
You spent the night worrying that your answers won’t be enough, that Harvey would go out of his way to bury Beth in paper, screw her over to the point where you had to go back to knocking on the doors of firms willing to take her case on a pro bono basis.
But when you turned up to work and Beth practically clobbered you with an excited hug, you knew that he hadn’t gone out of his way to fuck you over. You let out a sigh, patting Beth on the back and letting out a relieved laugh as repeated her thanks.
--
“Be nice.”
That had been your boss’s only warning as you’d headed into a conversation with Gerald. And you had every intention of being nice. But you also wanted to be realistic. You glanced from the finance rep to the landline in the middle of the conference table as Gerald groused, “There's no need to be unreasonable.”
“I don’t think us upholding our end of the contract is unreasonable," You argued. "We’ve done the SWOT analyses that you asked for in the past, and we’ll be happy to do them again. But we need to adjust the contract.”
“You can’t just do a one-off and bill me extra?”
“We could, but if we open that door, you’re just going to keep coming in, Gerald.”
“This is ridiculous,” He snapped. “I can cut this contract.”
“Yeah, you can,” You nodded. “You are absolutely at liberty to do that.” You heard the sound of a door opening to the conference room, but you felt your focus locked-in to the phone. “But if you cut this contract, that’s going to cost you a lot of time and a lot of money. We have a guaranteed pay clause regardless of termination, so if you cut us loose, you’re still going to have to pay us for the full year. While you’re still shelling out cash to us, you’ll have to pay to bring on another firm. You’d be better off negotiating the additional SWOT analyses instead of paying two firms off at once.”
You were quiet for a moment, brows raising as you and your associate waited in silence. You closed you eyes, holding your breath. Please, please please—
“How many SWOT analyses would I get with the increased cost?” He finally asked.
“That’s up for negotiation,” Anne hurried to reply. “As it is, you’re averaging one per month. If we push it to a dozen, we could work with you to discount them at 25%.”
Another pause. Another moment of you holding your breath, of please, please please please please—
“Send the revised contract.”
“It’s already in your inbox," You admitted. "Thanks, Gerald.”
“Yeah.”
You reached out, stabbing the button to hang the phone up before he could change his mind. You sighed, slowly leaning back in your seat and peering up at the ceiling. Christ, you felt dizzy.
“You can’t keep bullying our clients,” Anne grumbled.
“Our clients can’t keep bullying us. If we keep going the way we’re going, we’ll be the firm that does triple the work for half the pay. We’re too good for that.”
“She’s right.”
His voice made you whirl around in your seat, heart sinking into your stomach. Harvey stood just inside the room, his hands tucked into his pockets. Heat prickled along your neck. How long had he been there? Shit, you’d thought your boss had been the one to come in—
You glanced toward Anne with a guilty smile.
“Can we get a minute here?”
“Sure,” She nodded, pushing herself out of her seat. Harvey grasped the door handle, holding it open and shooting her a wide smile as she walked past. You stood as well, folding your arms across your chest before hurriedly lowering them to tuck into your pockets. You wanted to mirror him, look as nonchalant as he did, not all twisted up and shielded and defensive. Oh, you were cool as a cucumber. Definitely no reason to worry here, no way.
Harvey closed the door, stepping a little deeper inside.
“What can I do for you today, Mr. Specter?”
“Thought I’d come see how Beth’s planning on using her retirement check, how you’re going to use your fee.”
You frowned. “What fee?”
“You didn’t charge her a fee? Standard in New York is 40%.”
“I wouldn't take Beth’s hard-earned money.”
“You earned it, too, considering how hard you defended your client.”
“Beth was not a client. This was a favor for a friend.”
“That’s funny, because you called her that during our conversation.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. You said that your client had had to endure a, what was it…‘Mountain of shit’?”
“Well, that is true,” You muttered. “It was a mountain of shit.”
“Could’ve been two mountains of shit.”
“But it wasn’t, so. I thank you for that.”
“It’s only fair. You did what I asked, you answered most of my questions.”
“Most?” You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest. “What the hell else could you want to know?”
“You wanna do this here?”
“I don’t wanna do this at all.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Harvey.”
“I didn’t have a clue—”
“I am not doing this here.” You spoke more firmly than you felt. “This is my place of work.”
“Well when I tried to do this elsewhere, you walked out on me.”
“And yet you followed.”
“Because I had a chance to this time. I didn’t get the chance back then."
You shook your head, averting your gaze.
“Look,” Harvey stepped closer. “I’m just asking for a chance.”
“Last night wasn’t enough for you?”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Well, it was for me. Hell of a flashback, just like old times. Same old Harvey, not knowing when to back off. Strong, direct, painful line of questioning—all gas, no breaks.”
Harvey was quiet for a moment, eyes skating over your face.
“It won’t be an interrogation again.”
“How can I know that?”
“I was angry last night.”
“And you’re not now?”
“...Not in the same way.”
“Oh, well. That’s a relief.”
“I just want to understand. Help me understand.”
“Understand what?”
“How one of the smartest people I’ve ever known changed her mind all that time ago, and then flexed the hell out of her legal muscles to get me to close in ten goddamn minutes.”
“People change, Harvey.”
“You haven’t.”
The two of you watched one another for a long, contentious, quiet moment before he said, “You need to come to my office.”
“What for?”
“To read over the NDA before Beth signs it.”
Fuck, the NDA. You’d forgotten about that.
“Fine," You nodded. "When.”
“How’s tomorrow work for you?”
“Tomorrow's a Saturday. You’re gonna do this on a weekend?”
“Gives us time to turn around any edits you need before you give it to Beth on Monday.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. Goddamnit.
“Fine,” You agreed. “How’s seven?”
“Sure. We can grab dinner—”
“In the morning.”
Harvey’s brow jumped, his chin tipping down a touch.
“Are you serious?” He asked.
“Completely. You wanna get this NDA into your associate’s hands as quickly as possibly, right?”
“You expect me to be in my office at seven in the morning so you can read something.”
“You could’ve saved us both a trip and just brought it with you.”
“It’s still being worked on.”
“Well, you can have someone messenger it over tonight and I’ll drop it off tomorrow morning. Or is it long enough that you’re going to, um…Gosh, what was that neat little threat, again? Bury me in paper?”
You saw something flash across Harvey’s face. You didn’t know if it was remorse, or what—but it’s gone as soon as it appears.
“Fine,” He bit out. “Seven. In the morning.”
“Sounds good.”
“Don’t be late.”
“Oh, I won’t. I’m very punctual.”
“I remember.”
Your stomach flipped. Of course he did. He turned away, opening the door…And holding it open.
“What are you doing?” You asked, raising your brows.
“Are you coming?”
“Are we camping out outside of your office overnight? You strike me as a glamping guy.”
“I thought you were leaving the room.”
“I’m not.”
“Your meeting is over.”
“I have a quiet room and a SWOT analysis to work on.”
“You’re telling me you haven’t done it already?”
Your face went hot at the accusation, lips pressing to hold in your irritation at the way Harvey smiled. You were relieved when he finally turned away. It gave you a chance to sink down in your chair and parse through what the hell just happened.
--
“Oh, wow. You’re early.”
You raised your brows at the tone of surprise, eyeing the entrance to the building, and then turning your attention back to the young man that had just sprung up in your way.
“Yes, I am. Good morning, Mr. Ross.”
“Please, call me Mike. Not on the other side of the table anymore.”
“Well, until that NDA gets signed, yes, you are, so. Excuse me.”
You made to step around him, but he stepped into your way again.
“I just wanted to say,” He added, “That I really admire how hard you worked for Beth, and I completely agreed with your assessment of the company’s value.”
“...Thank you, I appreciate that. Now, if you could just—”
You side-stepped him again—and again, Mike got in your way, pressing:
“I honestly didn’t think they’d cave for a million, but you really showed them—”
“Mike?”
“Yeah.”
“Did Harvey ask you to make me late?”
Mike’s mouth worked wordlessly for a moment, panic marring his features. You smiled sweetly.
“You know, I’m not sure what Harvey has told you about our past, but he probably didn’t mention that we were in an intramural dodgeball league. I can throw some mean elbows when I’m trying to get what I want, and you look like you bruise easily. So if you’d like to keep your ability to bend comfortably, please step aside and let me in.”
Mike pursed his lips before he nodded once, stepping aside.
“Thank you,” You cooed, sliding past him.
“I really do admire what you did for Beth!” He called out after you. You snorted, shaking your head as you headed to the lobby to get a visitor’s pass. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t more than a little antsy, glancing at your phone as you waited for the elevator, then waited in the elevator. When you stepped off, you found a stunning red-head standing there. Her eyes brightened at the sight of you, and she took a step back as you stepped off of the elevator.
“Mr. Specter’s office is this way,” She waved for you to follow. You raised your brows, falling into step.
“Was that a lucky guess, or did you know who to look for?” You asked.
“I knew. I don’t operate on luck.”
“Right. Did Harvey or Mike show you a picture of me?”
“Nope. I found pictures myself.”
“For what purpose?”
“Curiosity.”
“Sated?”
“Very.”
“Excellent. Do I get to know who you are, or do I have to go sleuthing on the firm’s site after this?”
“I’m Donna.”
“And what do you do here?”
“I just told you,” She stopped, waving you toward an office, “I’m Donna.”
You raised your brows before you turned, walking into the office. How the hell did he look pristine this early in the morning? Did the bastard sleep in a suit? His brow furrowed at the sight of you, shaking his sleeve back and eyeing his watch.
“6:59? What the hell did Mike do down there?”
“He made a valiant attempt, but I got past him.”
“How?”
“How did I get past him?”
“Yes.”
“Bullshitted him. Told him that we used to play dodgeball together, that I know how to throw a mean elbow. He crumbled like a bran muffin.”
“Damn.”
“You really should teach him how to lie. Second I called him on it, he blue-screened.”
“Trust me, Mike knows how to lie.”
“Whatever,” You shook your head. “Can I have the NDA so I can go?”
“Go? Oh, no. This doesn’t leave the office.”
“...Excuse me?”
“This document doesn’t leave the building until it’s ready to go to Beth.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
Your mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before you snapped it shut.
“....Fine.”
Harvey took up the document, holding it out. You fought the urge to snatch it from him, instead taking hold of it before you sat down in one of the seats in front of his desk.
“Need a pen?” He asked.
“Nope,” You shrugged off your bag, rooting around in it before drawing out a red papermate felt tip pen.
“You hungry?”
Yes, you were. You’d been planning on getting breakfast and a massive coffee before going over the damn thing on your own, in your apartment, but no. Harvey had done what Harvey always does: turned the situation in his favor.
“No,” You answered, uncapping the pen.
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
You didn’t answer to that, you just tipped your head into your hand as you settled in:
THE PARTIES: This Non-Disclosure Agreement (referred to herein as the “Agreement”) created on__________, is by and between…
You were quiet for a moment, tipping your head to the side as you skimmed your finger over the pages.
“Harvey?”
“Sure, we can do bagels.”
Damnit, a bagel sounded so good right now.
“Why is this NDA…” You tipped your head to the side, flipping through the file, “Thirty pages?”
“Because it needs to be.”
“Ballpark, this should’ve been six, tops.”
“You’re dealing with a big company. They want to make sure their bases are covered.”
You shot Harvey a disbelieving look from under your lashes before you looked back down at the file.
“Besides,” Harvey added, “It’s not the length, it’s—”
“—It’s the content, yeah yeah,” You muttered. You heard him huff a soft laugh, but you forced the flutter of butterflies in your belly aside in favor of focusing. Hell, you needed to get through this, and fast. If you weren’t careful, your stomach was going to start grumbling.
--
“Here we go.”
You glanced up, doing a double-take at the sight of the coffee tray in Donna’s hand. You looked back down at your work, finishing a note that you’ve been jotting before you turn the page. You went still when Donna held a cup out to you.
“Sugar-free iced dirty chai with a double shot,” She offered. You raised your brows, taking hold of the cup.
“You’re good,” You nodded.
“I’m Donna.”
“I remember.” You couldn’t help but smile at her before you took a greedy sip of the iced chai. Oh man, that hit the spot. You’d been there a while, and you were starting to get a headache. You hadn’t tried to parse through legalese like this in a long time, especially not on an empty stomach.
“So? Are we doing bagels?” Harvey pressed. You glanced at where he was leaning back against an end table lined with basketballs. He arched his brows. “Come on, it’s been an hour and you’re only halfway through. You’re going to run out of steam if you’re not careful.”
“...You’re paying for them.”
“Of course.”
“Then yes, please. Bagels.”
“They’ll be here in five,” Donna warned, striding past you and back to her desk.
“She’s very good,” You commented, nodding after her as you turned back to your work, making another note.
“You really are gonna run out of ink.”
You fought the urge to mimic him, just going on about your business.
“I’ve got plenty of pens,” Harvey added.
“Law firm this big, I’d hope you’d have a few pens.”
“More than a few. Hundreds.”
“Mm.”
“Thousands, even.”
“If you’re not sure if it’s hundreds or thousands, then maybe you should go count them and get back to me.”
“You just want me out of the room.”
“I want you to stop watching me.”
“Why?”
“It’s creeping me out.”
“Did it always?”
“Objection: relevance.”
“If you allow me a little latitude, I can establish relevance.”
“No thanks.”
“Why are you going over this thing with such a fine-tooth comb?”
“I wanna make sure you don’t screw Beth over somewhere.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust your client. You work for your client.”
“I do what’s best for my client.”
“And I’m doing what’s best for my friend.”
“Your due-diligence.”
“I’m just reading, Harvey.”
“You and I both know it’s more than that.”
You ignored the comment, turning to the next page of the NDA.
“Food’s here,” Harvey spoke up after a few minutes of quiet.
“Thanks.”
You could hear the rustle of bags as Donna unpacked things before leaving again.
“...You gonna put that down?” Harvey asked.
“When I’m finished with it, sure.”
“What about the bagels?”
“I’ll take it to go when I’m done here.”
“Come on, I can hear your stomach growling from here.”
“My stomach isn’t growling.”
“Not at the moment, but it has been.”
“I’ll live through eleven more pages.”
“The bagel will get cold.”
“I’ll heat it back up.”
“You’re going to reheat a toasted bagel?”
“Yes, using the same apparatus that toasted it in the first place.”
“A twice-toasted bagel is gonna be hard as a rock.”
“Oh well.”
“And if you don’t eat now, I will use all of the scallion cream cheese.”
“Knock yourself out.”
“I mean all of it. There’s a ton here, and I probably couldn’t fit all of it on a bagel, so I’d have to go in with a spoon. You want me to do that?”
“Do whatever the hell you want, Harvey. You usually do.”
Blessedly, that shut him up for a few moments.
“So did you,” He countered after a moment. You didn't need a law degree to catch that insinuation.
“I didn’t leave Harvard because I wanted to. I left because I had to.”
“You chose to.”
“I made a decision that favored my mental and physical health over my career prospects. There's nothing wrong with that.”
“You ever regret it?”
You considered for a moment, gaze drifting from the papers.
“...Sometimes,” You admitted finally, glancing toward Harvey. “When this whole thing with Beth cropped up, yeah. It was a bummer not to have the full force of the degree behind me. But…If I had become a lawyer, I probably wouldn’t have met Beth, or had enough time to help her, so…” You shrugged, looking back down at the NDA. “It’s not as easy as just regretting it or not regretting it.”
“You regret leaving everyone behind?”
“...Yeah. I could’ve been better about the way I did it, but at the time, cutting everyone off felt like the right thing to do.”
“Even me.”
“Harvey,” You sighed heavily, “I’m not saying that what I did was right for everyone involved. If I had reached out to you, to Scottie, to any of our friends, maybe I would’ve gotten a different answer, but the way that you reacted to me the other day? When you told me that I was a coward?” You lifted your head to meet his eye. “That was exactly what I was expecting. And you know what, it hurt like hell last night, but there is no way I could’ve handled hearing that from you back then.”
Harvey’s jaw worked for a moment.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” He admitted softly. “I’m sorry.”
You hesitated before you nodded a little, turning back to the NDA.
“If it’s what you felt—”
“It wasn’t,” Harvey shook his head. “I was mad, and I let it get the better of me.”
“And you’re not mad now?”
“Not at you for that.”
“But you are mad at me.”
“For making me get up to be in the office at seven in the morning? Yeah, I’m outraged.”
You fought back a smile, shrugging.
“Didn’t mean to fuck with your beauty sleep, princess.”
You turn the page, twiddling the pen between your fingers.
“You’ll make it up to me.”
“Will I?” You arched a brow. “How exactly do you think I’m going to do that?”
“You’ll pay for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, we’re getting dinner?”
“I’m fully aware of the vast difference in our salaries, so I’ll pick somewhere with only one Michelin star.”
“What a generous smug asshole. Time really has changed you.”
“It hasn’t changed either of us.”
“I don’t know. I think you’re more of a dick than I remember you being.”
“I’m blushing.”
“Sure, Specter.”
“Put the NDA down and have a bagel.”
“Bossy.”
“It’s my office, I get to be bossy.”
“Fine. I’ll take the NDA to a conference room and give us both some space.”
“Keep your seat, have a bagel, and let me see what you have so far.”
You didn’t look up until you saw a plate lowered into your field of vision. You arched your brows before you raised the NDA, holding it out to Harvey as you took hold of the plate. You shifted in your seat, sitting up just a bit. Crap, you hadn’t realized how far down you’d slid in your seat over the course of the last hour. You set the bagel aside for a moment, capping your pen and tucking it behind your ear. You twist the top off of the bagel, lapping at the thick layer of cream cheese before taking a bite. You can’t even help the soft, relieved groan that you let out at the taste.
Damn, you were hungry.
You glanced across the desk, met by Harvey’s smug smile.
“Shuddup,” You mumble around the mouthful.
“Didn’t say anything.”
“Didn’t have to.”
You took another bite as Harvey began to flip through the notes that you’d made in the NDA.
“You’re having fun with this,” He comments.
“I’m protecting my friend.”
“And you’re having fun doing it.”
“Sure, Harvey.”
“You are.”
“So you’ve upgraded from not analyzing your own feelings to telling everyone else theirs?”
“Not everyone. Just the people that I know.”
“Bold claim.”
“I told you—you haven’t changed. This NDA proves that.”
“How so?”
“Because so far, you have marked every single thing that I threw in there to trip you up.”
You nearly dropped the plate, and the bagel. You completely froze in the middle of your chewing. Harvey’s smug smile widened as he closed the NDA and reached out, taking up another, far thinner file from his desk, holding it out.
“Here’s the clean one.”
You reached out, setting the plate down on the desk. You flipped it open, embarrassment beginning to well up as you saw entire passages from the previous NDA—the very ones that you’d spent your time marking—omitted. You nodded for a moment before you muttered, “Okay.” You dropped it into your purse, slung your purse over your shoulder, and stood, taking the remainder of the dirty chai and the bagel with you.
“Hang on,” Harvey groaned.
“Nice meeting you, Donna,” You commented, ignoring Harvey as you passed her desk.
“You too!” She chirped over Harvey’s following, and his call of, “Would you wait a minute!”
“Why, so you can keep making a fool of me?” You bit out.
“I didn’t do it to make a fool of you, I did it to make a point.”
“And what point would that be?”
“That you’re a damn smart person—”
“I knew that already—”
“And that you would’ve made an amazing lawyer! You could still make an amazing lawyer!”
“That doesn’t mean that I want to be one!” You whirled around to face Harvey, face hot and close to his as he comes to a sudden stop to keep from ramming into you. “Just because my goals changed doesn’t make them any less important than yours. I am glad you’re a lawyer. I’m glad you have your corner office, your fancy fucking suits, your title, your position. But I’m glad that I have my life, the way I want it, without all of this. I get that what I did hurt you back then, and I am sorry. But I wasn’t fighting to knock you out of the top five when I was at school. I was fighting for my life. I know that I am smart. I know that I could’ve been an amazing lawyer, but I am happy just being myself as I am, right now. If that’s not enough for you, I don’t give a shit, because it’s my life, not yours.”
You left Harvey standing alone in the hall, his gobsmacked, stunned expression remaining as you turned away from him and strode to the elevator. He didn’t bother to chase you down this time, which was a relief. You managed to hold it together as the elevator doors slid open, studiously ignoring Mike as he stepped off and greeted you:
“Hey! Done already?”
You reached out, jabbing the lobby and door close buttons as quickly as you could.
--
Mike’s brow furrowed as she disappeared from sight. He turned away from the elevator, peering around the corner to see who might be nearby. There wasn’t anyone there for a few moments, and then…Harvey, standing there looking stunned and lost.
“Did she already finish her mark-up?” Mike asked. The question seemed to snap Harvey out of his reverie. He cleared his throat, straightening and turning away.
“She got halfway. I gave her the clean version.”
“What? I thought you were only going to give it to her if she caught 95% of the errors."
“She was on track to catch every single one. Spoiling the surprise didn’t seem like such a bad idea.”
“Is that because this whole endeavor has been a bad idea?” Donna piped up as the two neared her desk.
“I don’t wanna hear it,” Harvey warned as he strode past her.
“I wanna hear it, but I don’t have time, I have uh,” Mike pointed down the hall, “A 10-Q filing to comb through—”
“Go,” Harvey nodded him away before he turned, heading back into his office. He reached out, taking up her half-marked NDA. His gaze skated over her notes, and it was as if he was transported back to Langdell, to the notes that she would scrawl in his margins, questioning his citations and methodology.
“...She’s happy as she is.”
“Donna."
“She said it herself!”
“She’s not working at her full potential.”
“Sounded like she preferred it that way. You’ve seen her at work. Is she bad at her job?”
“No.”
“Good at it?”
“What’s your point.”
“My point is,” Dinna leaned in the door frame, “That success looks different to different people. For you, it apparently looks like rubbing someone's skills in their own face. And I think if you keep harping on what might’ve been, she’ll just resent you for it—and if you lose her again, you’ll resent yourself for that, too.”
Donna raised her brows pointedly before she pushed off of the door frame. Harvey looked after her for a moment before he lowered himself into his seat, tossing the NDA onto his desk. What to do next?
Bringing her there hadn’t brought him much luck, but so far, going to her had been far more effective.
--
“I’m going to file a restraining order.”
“May as well do it on a full stomach.”
“I don’t have the NDA here, I sent it back with my edits.”
“I know.”
You glanced between Harvey’s calm expression and the bag of takeout that he was holding up. You sighed heavily. You thought you’d been able to shake Harvey, at least for the day. As soon as you’d gotten home, you’d double-checked the NDA, and hadn’t been able to find a thing wrong with it. You’d sent it back with a messenger, unwilling to step foot in that damn office again that day. You’d been certain that that would be in, but there Harvey is.
“I promised you dinner,” He adds.
“I thought you said that I’d be the one paying for it.”
“I take cash and Venmo.”
“Okay—” You drew your hand back to shut the door, but Harvey pressed his palm against the wood before you could.
“Wait a second.”
“Harvey, I can’t do handle a repeat of this morning.”
“I’m not asking you to. This morning, I wanted to understand what happened, I got that.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
Harvey seemed to have to brace himself.
“The woman that I knew at Harvard…The woman that I thought I knew—”
“Thin ice, Specter.”
“—I had a different perspective of you then. I know we can’t blank slate this, but I’d like to get to know you properly, and I want you to get to know me. As adults. I wanna know what I’ve missed.”
You considered for a long moment, your gaze dropping to the bag of takeout. Letting him in wasn’t the greatest idea. If it went south again, you couldn’t just storm out—it was your apartment. But there were things about Harvey that you’d missed, too; things that you hadn’t been able to learn about through your mutual friends, and things that you couldn’t just get from googling the guy’s name.
“What’d you get?” You asked finally.
“Chinese.”
“Dumplings?”
“Vegetarian, fried.”
You sighed, stepping back and nodding over your shoulder with a concession of, “Alright.”
--
There were a lot of things that you had remembered about Harvey. But sitting on the floor of your living room, leaning back against your couch as you ate dinner and drank beer was bringing back so much more. Harvard had held so many bad memories that it had nearly crowded out the good ones, the warm ones. But now, as Harvey busted your balls, teased you, ribbed you as he nudged your knee with his, or your arm with his, or your shoulder with his, was bringing back memories of vicious butterflies.
Oh, you’d had the worst of crushes on this man. It had only been made worse by late nights spent in his dorm, all-nighters pulled at the library, nights spent dancing with him at parties. You’d been certain that there had never been anything there, and you hadn’t pushed it. Harvey had been your friend, a good friend. But now, with the way Harvey’s smiles softened and his gazes lingered, you found yourself wondering if there had ever been anything more, anything that the both of you had buried.
“...I was sorry to hear about your brother.”
Your admission came out of a quiet moment, and it sobered the both of you. Harvey nodded a little, lowering his head and looking at the beer in his hands.
“I would’ve reached out,” You added, “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me at that point.”
“I didn’t.”
You nodded at his confirmation, and it was your turn to look at the beer in your hands.
“You knew more about my life than I thought you would,” Harvey added, leaning back against the couch and shifting to face you a little.
“Well, some of our mutual friends kept me informed on the happenings of the great Harvey Specter.”
“Why didn’t they tell me about you?”
“I asked them not to.”
“Why?”
“Figured you hated me.”
You bit your lip as Harvey reached out, taking the beer out of your hands and setting it on the coffee table. Your stomach flipped as his hand raised, tucking two fingers beneath your chin to turn your head toward him. You hesitantly met his gaze, stunned by the warmth you found there.
“I never hated you,” He murmured. “I was upset, sure. I was angry, and confused. But I didn’t hate you.”
“Maybe you should’ve.”
“Couldn’t if I tried.”
“Did you try?”
“Yes.” Hervey’s thumb smoothed along your jaw. “But every time I got angry, I worried, too. I had no idea where you were. I didn’t know if you were alright, if you were at another school or dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I know,” Harvey nodded, hand smoothing around to your nape. “But I’ve gotta say, if you ever disappear on me like that again—”
“You’re done?”
“I’m gonna send a hundred fucking Pinkertons after you.”
You scoffed a laugh, brows raising. “That a threat, Mr. Specter?”
“It’s a promise.”He shifted closer. “I’m not losing you again.”
“You did fine without me.”
“I would’ve done better with you.”
“You didn’t need me! You had Scottie, you had Jessica, you have your career and your suits and your—”
Before you could say another word, Harvey pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes went a touch wide at the sudden unexpected contact. It was a moment before you let yourself lean into him. You raised your hand hesitantly, resting it on his chest as he drew you closer. Your knees knocked against his as you cuddled against him, humming softly as Harvey sucked your lower lip between his. You leaned back a touch, smiling as he rested his forehead against yours.
“I want you around,” Harvey murmured. “Can’t that be enough?”
You nodded, sweeping your thumb gently under his collar.
“It’s enough. More than enough.”
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glitter & crimson
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Realistically, Steve knows the band won’t hang around Chicago forever. He knows they’re out promoting a new album; knows they’ll have to move on and that Eddie has to go with them. It doesn’t stop him from wanting Eddie to stay; to live in the quick familiarity he’s built within Steve’s little found family.
Eddie and Robin seem to have already created their own secret language, all gestures and movement and eye contact Steve picks up on but can’t quite read. He’s already picking on the Party like he’s known them their whole lives; ruffling Dustin’s hair, elbowing Mike, throwing his arm around Will’s shoulders, and giving Lucas little shoves.
It’s easy; so easy to get caught up in how charismatic Eddie is. Steve has a hard time keeping his eyes off him, and Eddie knows. He keeps making comments, throwing winks in Steve’s direction, seeing right through every wall he’s ever built around himself and Steve is caught between being obsessed with it and terrified.
He stops drinking after the one beer, worried he’ll make things weird if he gets anywhere near tipsy, opting to stay as far away from the possibility as he can. If anyone notices, they don’t comment.
Lucas is chatting animatedly with Jeff, Max sitting close by, twisting braids into El’s hair. Dustin, Mike and Will appear to be grilling Gareth and Freak about dungeon and dragon campaigns Eddie used to run. Nancy has her arm looped through Robin’s, but her attention is on the phone in her hands, as Eddie and Robin talk about what touring is like.
“Where else are you going on this tour?” She asks as Steve tunes back into the conversation.
“This isn’t really a tour, we just haven’t been on the road in a while and we just stopped the album, so we lined up a few shows to get our feet wet before we hit the road for real this summer. One more show out in LA on Tuesday, then we’re done until May, for now.” Eddie explains.
“We’re in LA on Thursday!” Robin exclaims, and Steve’s stomach drops because, yeah. LA on Thursday. He trains his eyes on the glass in front of him, not willing to actually look at anyone they’re around.
“We could totally meet up again if you guys are able to swing it?” Freak offers, and Steve forces a little smile onto his face and nods.
“We can figure it out later,” Eddie says after a few beats, and Steve is grateful for how the conversation rolls onto the next topic. When he finally looks back up, though, Eddie’s still looking his way. Steve hits him with what he hopes comes off as a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t seem to pay off the way he hopes.
Once the tab is closed and the staff is tipped well, Steve catches Eddie’s elbow on their way out the door. “I would like to meet up in LA, if you’re interested. I didn’t mean to get weird about it, it’s… I’ve been in my head a bit about that game since it was announced.”
“Oh, hey, no worries. We’re in LA the whole week, then we’re heading home. So no pressure, honest.” Eddie hooks his hand over Steve’s softly.
“Well, we should get in Wednesday, but we could totally do something after the game or even Friday?”
Eddie smiles and nods, patting over Steve’s hand. “Text me about it.”
“I can do that. How much longer are you guys in town for, anyway?” Steve asks.
“Ah, the dreaded question comes,” Eddie’s playful, and it makes Steve’s face heat up. “We’ve got just under another 24 hours in the Windy City before hitting the road again.”
“Oh,” It pulls his chest in a way he wasn’t expecting, in a way that shouldn’t be happening for a rockstar he was adjacently aware of in high school. “Are you busy tomorrow?”
“Harrington,” Eddie’s teasing again, and it does nothing to help the blush on Steve’s face. “You can’t possibly miss me this much when I haven’t even left yet.”
“Shut up,” Steve shoves him away then, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout, only for Eddie to pull him in with an arm around the shoulder.
“We can grab brunch or something? We leave around 8 to avoid rush hour, so I’ll have to be in the bus by 6, or I’d say dinner.”
“Brunch works for me.”
~~~~
The trip back to the hotel doesn’t go as Eddie expects; everyone is silently chatting amongst themselves, nodding and tapping along to the music and not causing a scene. He almost points it out, but elects not to bring unwarranted bullying upon himself instead. The guys had been giving him shit about Steve near constantly, so this was a nice change of pace after the last few days.
There was actually quiet as he made his way back to his room. A hot shower finally restored warmth to his bones the hockey arena had stolen, and he was drying his hair when he heard his phone vibrate with a text notification.
Steve: anything you're craving for brunch tomorrow so I can pick a place?
It’s practically too easy to flirt with Steve; he sets up lines without even seeming to realize. But Eddie still can’t get a real gauge on how Steve feels about the flirting, so he sidesteps the easy pass he could have made about Steve being enough of a meal, in favor of actually answering.
Eddie: French toast?
The next series of texts come before Eddie even moves his hands back to the towel over his hair.
Steve: sick, I’ll pick you up around 10:45
Steve: you mentioned going home, did you mean like, back to Hawkins?
Eddie twists his hair up in the towel, and lays down on the side of the bed he doesn’t sleep on before firing off an answer.
Eddie: nah, I’ve got a place in Nashville and no reason to go back to Hawkins anymore. My uncle moved to Indy, so that’s usually as close as I get.
Steve: any reason you moved to Nashville?
Eddie: are we playing 20 questions?
Steve: sorry.
Eddie bites his lip, and only hesitates for a moment before flipping over onto his belly and hitting the FaceTime button. Steve answers on the second ring, looking embarrassed, but Eddie doesn’t let him get a word in.
“My mom was born and raised in Memphis, but she always told me her favorite city was Nashville. I was there with her a few times when I was little and she’d just, like, light up. And music is so heavily engraved into every inch of the city, it’s hard to not find inspiration everywhere you turn. So. I bought a place in Nashville the minute I had enough saved up, and it’s kind of my home base now.” Eddie explains, watching as Steve’s face softens and he relaxes into his chair listening to Eddie’s answer. “Do I get to ask a question now?”
“I really wasn’t trying to be annoying, “ Steve looks ready to keep going with an apology, but Eddie cuts him off.
“Why do you play hockey?” It stops Steve dead in his tracks, and he genuinely looks confused for a moment. Eddie almost offers to drop the topic, but Steve fumbles his way into an answer.
“My, uh. My dad wanted me to play before I was even born. Because he played. Professionally for a few years when I was growing up, then he went on to coach.” Steve explains, and it sounds a little rehearsed. Eddie’s sure it’s something that comes up often if his father played and coached. “Gotta keep the Harrington legacy alive, I guess.”
There was a bite to Steve’s words that wasn’t lost on Eddie. “You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”
Eddie can see Steve working over how he wants to answer before he shrugs and sighs. “Because it’s all a show for him. The part we don’t talk about is how I got hurt and benched most of my senior season and he cut me off when I didn’t get full rides. Convinced me it was better to not go to college at all, despite the other scholarship offers, than to not get promised a spot on the ice. Convinced me to self-sabotage so I had to fight tooth and fucking nail to get into the league at all.” Steve pauses, then, and lets out a quiet laugh. “Sorry, that’s so unbelievably whiny of me. I love getting to play professionally, and I don’t take the opportunity for granted.”
“Not whiny. Dads can be the fucking worst.” Eddie offers, gently, and is grateful when Steve doesn't press on that particular bruise.
Instead, he takes his turn to ask a different question. “Why music?”
“This is lame, but the answer is once again my mom.” Eddie rolls his eyes at himself, but he smiles. “She was a musician. There were always instruments around and music was always playing and we traveled for her to perform. I knew my whole life I wanted to be a musician like her, but it wasn’t until after she died that I figured out that songwriting… telling stories and painting pictures with words and melodies and making people feel something…” Eddie trails off, lost in the thought.
“I’m sorry you lost her. It sounds like you enjoyed your childhood with her.” Steve offers, hopes it doesn’t sound like a forced nicety, but Eddie smiles and his nerves ease.
“She was a force to be reckoned with. Firing on all cylinders at once, chaos and home bundled into one.” Eddie’s soft a quiet for a moment, and Steve appreciates the silence by taking in how relaxed the other is to be talking about his feelings; it’s a refreshing break from many of his experiences with teammates or opponents who don’t know how to get emotional in a healthy way. Eventually, though, Eddie clears his throat. “Anyway. Back to 20 questions,”
“I wasn’t trying to start a game, really, I just… like talking to you,” Steve admits around a blush, tucking his chin into the collar of his shirt in an effort to hide the shade of his cheeks, but Eddie’s smile says his cover is blown.
“ANYWAY!” He announces louder, then taps at his chin. “Favorite and least favorite teams to play and why, go.”
“I’m not a dog.” Steve laughs but thinks about his answer anyway. “Favorite is probably the Flyers in Philly. Their fans are absolutely brutal, and their mascot is hilariously terrifying.”
“I have seen many a Gritty TikTok, so I completely understand,” Eddie gives him a few beats before he prompts. “Least favorite?”
“The Kings. LA. Billy Hargrove.”
“The…, what the fuck? How many guys from Hawkins are professional hockey players?” Eddie asks, because honestly, how had he not known there was more than Steve?
“He’s technically from LA, which is why he went back, thank God.” Steve mumbles, before dropping his head back against the wall behind him. “But, for whatever it’s worth, there’s me, Billy, and Tommy Hagan in the league.”
“Well isn’t that a fun bunch to surround yourself with,” Eddie muses out loud. Tommy and Billy were two of the biggest assholes Eddie had ever met, and it sounded like Steve wasn’t too fond of the other pair either.
“I actually…” Steve trails off, before trying again. “I was going to invite you guys to come to the LA game, but I’m really not sure it would be a good idea, so I’m… I’m actually going to ask you guys not to come, if that’s not too much of a dick move? I can get you tickets to literally any game you want for the rest of the season, just. I don’t think it’s worth it to get Billy started, and if he’s heard any of the press about us, I’m already going to hear it even if you’re not there.”
“Homophobe extraordinaire still, then?” Eddie guesses, and Steve chokes out a laugh, before covering his mouth and holding up a finger to ask for a moment to compose himself.
“He's… a lot of things.” Is the response Steve opts for, but Eddie can tell there’s more there. Whatever the two of them are doing, it doesn’t feel like Steve is ready to elaborate, so Eddie moves on.
“I think it’s your turn.”
~~~~
Nothing changes after Corroded Coffin leave Chicago, though. Not in the ways Eddie had expected, at least.
Steve still texts him throughout the day, answers his Facetimes whenever he’s available. Eddie makes him the playlist he promised, and Steve gives feedback on which songs he likes and which ones he really doesn’t, after Eddie promises to not take Steve’s opinions personally. Which, to be fair, he tries really hard not to.
The concert in LA comes and goes, and Steve seems to send him every TikTok he comes across from the show. It’s a refreshing break, as every few videos in Eddie’s feed are of him cheering for Steve at the game, or Steve watching from sidestage in Chicago.
A text from Robin eventually confirms their arrival in LA, and Steve and Eddie make plans to meet up after the game. Since Steve had expressed concern about Eddie going, he decides to just watch from the bar they agree to meet at. Televised games make it easier to track the puck, but Eddie decides he likes being there in person better.
Eddie’s sipping absently on his beer and in the time it takes him to look down at a text from Chrissy, several of the people around him react to something. Eddie looks around to make sure someone in the bar hadn’t passed out. When he looks back at the screen, absolute mayhem has broken out on the ice. The refs are trying to separate players from one another, and Eddie’s scanning through the numbers on each Blackhawks jerseys before he finally spots Steve, slightly off to the side from everyone else. The camera pans away from him, zeroing in on the fight, now between a Blackhawks defenseman and none other than Billy Hargrove.
Billy’s helmet and gloves are off, teeth shining with blood as he grins like a psycho and starts to skate in Steve’s direction. One of the refs pulls him back, though, escorting him into the penalty box while another Kings player gathers his helmet, stick and gloves and clears them to the bench.
The camera finally pans back to Steve, who is now sitting with his back against the boards. He’s got a gloved covering the lower half of his face, but his white jersey is covered in blood. A ref and the Blackhawks goalie are kneeling on either side of him as someone else speaks with him. The camera zooms in as the TV crews work to make out what is happening, just in time for Steve to lower his hand and shows off a gnarly gash along the side of his face. He leans forward a little and spits out blood onto the ice, and the TV jumps to the announcers in the booth.
The volume is off, but they show a slow-motion replay of the few moments Eddie’d missed; Steve passes the puck off to another player on his team, just before Billy slams into his side. The impact sends both of them into the boards and down onto the ice. Billy swings his stick around and cracks Steve in the face with the blade heel. Steve reacts, throwing his whole arm into Billy’s face, before a sea of white Blackhawks jerseys sweep in and suddenly Billy’s a few feet away, with players from both teams piled up.
Eddie’s hand hovers over his phone; has no idea what to do in this situation. Texting Steve is useless; it would likely be hours, if not days, before he even thinks about looking at his phone. He doesn’t want to bother anyone, but he’s… well, he’s stressed. Even if Steve isn’t interested in him the way Eddie’s interested in Steve, they’ve still built a weird little friendship and that was an awful lot of blood.
So, Eddie ends up firing off a text to Robin. It’s just a simple 'let me know if there’s anything I can do,' but his phone lights up with a call immediately.
“How bad is it?”
“I’m not back with him yet, but just… meet us at the hospital, if you can?” She asks. While her voice waivers a bit, she’s calmer than Eddie expected her to be.
“I’ll be right there.” He agrees, hangs up and exits the bar before the game even returns from commercial break.
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it was all supposed to be a joke. they were supposed to be in steve’s backyard with all their friends and family in shitty lawn chairs, holding cans of budweiser and jamming to whatever song eddie was in the mood for that day blasting through the speakers. steve was supposed to be in front of them all in a tuxedo t-shirt and powder blue dress pants, flowers in his hair that had been teased to high heaven and dark black sunglasses to keep out the bright sun. that’s how they had planned it all those years ago when they’d been high and drunk and young and in love.
but somehow instead, the yard is full of flowers and benches that hopper and wayne put together with spare wood for everyone to sit on and there’s an archway at the end of the aisle and soft acoustic songs spilling gently out of the speakers. steve’s still at the front, that was always supposed to happen, but this time he’s wearing an actual tux, light cream with a boutonnière and everything, and his hair is pushed back just so. there’s no flowers in his hair and no sunglasses but it’s cloudy enough of a day where he doesn’t really need them anyway.
they weren't even supposed to do this. there wasn't supposed to be a grand entrance and a walk down the aisle, no flower girls or ring bearers or anything remotely traditional. but what started off as, "well, i wouldn't mind walking down the aisle," and "i think exchanging rings would be cool," and "who cares if it isn't legal, i'm going to marry you anyway damnit," turned into this beautiful day of friends and family and love.
robin’s standing beside him in a tux of her own, pinstripe grey donning a pocket boutonnière that matches nancy’s bouquet, with a few notecards in her hands. and speaking of nancy, she’s heading down the aisle in a flowing dress, and when her eyes catch robin’s, she crinkles her nose before blowing her a kiss. she stands opposite of steve as eddie's not-quite-bridesmaid and grips her bouquet tightly, her eyes never leaving robin's.
and then there's dustin. he's in a tux that matches steve's and he has his curls pushed back with probably too much gel and a tie that suzie got him for their 3rd anniversary. the best thing he's sporting, though, is the smile on his face and the ring box in his hand and the joy in his eyes as he looks out at the crowd. having him there as best man and smelling the cheap cologne he wears so he seems more grown up calms steve's ever beating heart enough to where he doesn't think he'll throw up from nerves anymore.
all of their loved ones are surrounding them in clothes steve’s never seen before but he couldn’t care at all what they’re wearing because they’re all smiling wide and bright at him. he catches himself rocking back and forth on his feet so he shakes out his hands and holds them behind his back to distract himself. his stomach is rolling with waves or butterflies and when he catches joyce's eye in the front row, she mimes taking in a deep breath which he instantly copies. the soft grin she sends in return tells him that he thinks it could actually work to settle him. mothers have that healing way about them.
he’s never been good with weddings, always fidgeting in a too tight suit his mom picked out, but he never thought he’d be this antsy at his own.
steve's just about to give up and sprint down the aisle to get eddie so they can run away together and leave nerves and or butterflies behind him, but then the music stops. he sees lucas changing out the tapes quickly, giving a thumbs up to mike who throws one to will who runs back behind the shed to where he knows eddie is waiting and when will pops his head back out to run back to his seat, it hits him.
he's getting married.
steve doesn't have time to think about it anymore than he already has been for the last 8 years because eddie's coming around the corner of the shed.
'here comes the sun' is playing out over the speakers, soft and perfect, and eddie's smiling, wide and beautiful, and steve can't help but mirror it back to him. the clouds overhead seem to hear them, hear the song and hear their hearts beating in time with each other, because as soon as eddie gets to the aisle, bright warm rays of sunlight peak out and make the rhinestones he demanded line the lapels of his own black tux shine like real diamonds.
steve stops breathing. he swears he does, and he knows his family are all feeling the same way. he can hear a few gasps, hears joyce muttering what she thinks is a silent, "oh my god," in hop's ear, and watches how wayne stands up just a bit straighter from his front row seat.
eddie glides down the aisle like the drama king he is, soaking in the looks from everyone they care about and soaking in the sun that seems to come out only for him. it's like the sun knows he's a star, too, and wants to come out to be with one of it's own. eddie's always been sunshine and starlight and a blinding thing to look at and take in. he's the light, steve's the moth, and a few clouds on their wedding day could never change it.
"well, that was insanely good timing," eddie whispers to steve once he reaches him. his grin softens and he brings up a hand to wipe gently at the tear tracks on steve's cheeks. "hi, baby."
and steve can do nothing but choke out a laugh, catching eddie's hand in his own so he press a kiss to his palm. he thinks he can feel eddie's heartbeat against his lips and, even if it's his brain playing tricks on him, he likes the sentiment that it brings. "i love you so fucking much."
it's eddie's turn to get teary-eyed and the sun glints off the tears that fall down his cheek before heading back behind the clouds, dotting quick-to-fade sparkles on his face like a wedding present.
steve kisses him. he can't help it. it's nothing but a fast press of lips, watery smile to watery smile, and everyone is cheering except for robin.
"hey! it's not time for that yet," she says with a pretend scowl, arms pressing to each of their chests to keep them apart. it's enough to leave nancy giggling where she stands behind eddie, her laugh like bells bouncing off of the trees surrounding them. "just give me like ten minutes and we'll have you married and you can kiss all you want then."
steve swears he can hear mike groan at that which cause him to grin which cause eddie to grin back and then they're holding hands like it's the only way to get through the next ten minutes. and it might just be the only way to get through it. knowing them, if they didn't hold on tight, one of them would make a move first and there'd be hands around waists and fingers tangled in hair and robin would hate them forever because she wouldn't get to do her speech.
it's after vows are shared, after rings are on fingers, after kisses are pressed to lips and cheeks and temples and hands and everything else they can quickly reach, that the two of them get some peace. everyone is inside eating snacks and drinking cheap champagne, and it goes unspoken that they're going to take some time for themselves. take some time to bask in their new maybe not-so-legally real but as real as could ever be in their hearts marriage.
they make their way, hand in hand like they've always been meant to do, to a table set up for them. eddie pops a bottle of champagne that they pass back and forth between themselves as they share cheesy smiles and champagne-laced kisses. and it's as they look into each other's eyes, fingers lacing so their rings clink softly against each other, that the sun peaks out to say hello once more.
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i miss you, i’m sorry - matthew tkachuk
matthew tkachuk x fem!reader
summary: you go with your bf to a hockey game; he is unaware of your history with one of the players (please read warnings!)
warnings: abusive bf, violence, strong and derogatory language, angst, a few uses of y/n
word count: 3k
you felt like you hadn’t been able to breathe properly in hours, sitting rigid like a stone next to mike, who’s mood has only deteriorated as the night went on. mike was a diehard coyotes fan, and had brought you to the game with him last minute when his friend had cancelled last minute.
“are you sure none of your other friends would want to go? they would probably have more fun than i would,” you had offered, desperately trying to get out of going.
“they’re all busy,” he replied. “i know you hate hockey, but can you try to have a good time, for me?” he asked sweetly, pulling you into his arms. you weren’t fooled by his tone; you would go and you would enjoy it, you didn’t have a choice.
“okay,” you smiled, and he kissed you softly before going to your shared room to get ready. you sighed, trying to figure out how you were going to make it through this game. you didn’t hate hockey - you used to love it actually, but when you started dating mike you chose to keep that part of your life a secret. it seemed silly at face value, but there was a bigger secret you were hiding from him, and you asked the universe why it had to be the panthers that arizona was playing tonight.
a little less than two years ago, you had dated their star player, matthew tkachuk for almost a year, before the travel and hectic schedule got to be too much for you, and you decided to leave; the hardest thing you had ever done. the relationship had been kept pretty quiet thankfully, no traces of it online except for one or two group photos from when you were together still floating around instagram; though you had done all you could to erase any evidence.
if mike found out, you honestly weren’t sure how he would react; but you knew it wouldn’t be good. you had met mike a few months after you and matthew broke up, and he was nice enough, until he wasn’t. he kept up the good guy just long enough for you to move in and become dependant on him, and suddenly you found yourself trapped. things were okay most of the time, but if he got angry, sometimes you got caught in the crossfire. he had only actually hit you once, but he yelled, and would sometimes grab you too hard, leaving you with bruises to cover before he could see them; he had the audacity to say that they made him upset.
he had been in a good mood when you got to the arena, and you were thankful that your seats weren’t too close to the ice, though you shuddered at the possibility of matthew seeing you in the crowd, despite how slim the chance was. you hadn’t seen him since they day you broke up, and as the familiar head of curly hair came out from the tunnel, skating on to the ice as part of the starting line up, your heart felt like it was being twisted in a vice.
you missed him. you missed your friends on the team, having grown pretty close to some of the guys, as well as their girlfriends. you hadn’t heard from any of them since leaving; it was too hard at first, and then it became a safety concern. any connection to your former life meant more risk of mike finding out about matthew, and that couldn’t happen.
“can you at least look like you want to be here?” mike whispered in your ear, and you knew it wasn’t a suggestion. you put on a smile, and thankfully it was good enough, as he turned his attention back to the players on the ice.
the game started off a bit slow, however the panthers had a 1-0 lead at the end of the first, and through the second as well. the coyotes were playing pretty rough, getting quite a few penalties for some dirty hits, all while mike cheered them on, booing the refs anytime they called a penalty on arizona. you watched as one of floridas players, nick cousins, ran into one of the coyotes while he was low on the boards, the hit landing on his shoulders or maybe his head, you couldn’t really tell. another coyote skated up and checked nick face first into the boards; hard. he hadn’t been looking that way and had no warning to protect himself, and you watched in distress as he crumbled to the ice, and you were worried he was unconscious.
nick had been one of your closest friends while you were dating matt, and your heart pounded as you watched him struggle to his feet.
“that pussy folded like a piece of paper!” mike laughed, enjoying every second of him getting hit. floridas players jumped on the guy who had laid the hit on nick, defending their fallen teammate as a fight broke out, sending players from each team into the penalty box. mikes mood dropped with each second of the refs deliberating passed, the officials eventually awarding nearly 20 penalty minutes to forsling for florida, as well as enough penalty minutes to arizona to give the panthers a man advantage.
“that’s fucking bullshit!” he screamed, the crowd of arizona fans not happy about the decision either. you said nothing as mike spilled some of his fourth beer on your lap, just thankful it hadn’t got on his spare coyotes jersey that he had insisted you wear. as the players got ready to continue the game, you looked across the ice, locking eyes with the one person you hoped you could avoid more than anything. something flashed in his eyes as he saw you, but his attention was quickly back to the game as the whistle blew, and soon the second period was over and he was gone down the tunnel for intermission.
the coyotes scored in the third to tie the game, but the panthers got the lead back, scoring twice in close succession. matthew looked to you after putting the puck in the net, and it took everything in you to ignore him. mike was livid at this point, the alcohol not helping in the slightest, and you cringed internally as he grabbed your hand, holding it way too tight.
forsling finally came out of the penalty box after serving 17 minutes, and immediately scored an empty netter, solidifying a 4-1 victory for florida. with 2 minutes left in the game, mike dragged you out to the concession area. matthews eyes noticed your empty seats, and his heart dropped, wondering if he had imagined you even being there in the first place.
downstairs, mike pushed you against the brick wall next to the restroom.
“wait here. i gotta piss before we leave,” looking at the long lineup already formed outside the men’s room. the arena was small, and there were limited washrooms, so you had a feeling this was gonna take a while, but you dared not move from your spot against the wall.
you could hear the final buzzer go, and the florida players began walking out from ice level, and you realized that they had to walk through the main area to get to the visitors locker room, and your blood ran cold. most of the panthers paid no mind to you, but you held your breath as you saw matthew approaching, praying that he ignored you like the others had.
he thankfully didn’t say anything, but your eyes locked for the second time that night as he passed by, disappearing down the hall and into the locker room. your foot tapped anxiously on the floor, grinding a small piece of gravel under your shoe as you willed mike to hurry the fuck up.
10 minutes went by, and you exhaled in relief as he finally appeared, not even caring about the death grip he took on your wrist as he literally dragged you behind him towards the exit.
“y/n?” a familiar voice called, and you hoped with all you had that mike would ignore it and keep walking. “wait- y/n.” mike stopped, causing you to bump into his back with how fast you were following behind him. he turned around, and you were sure he was quite confused as to why matthew tkachuk was calling after you.
“what the hell do you want?” mike asked, looking matt up and down before turning to you, still holding you tight. “do you know this asshole?”
“no, let’s go home,” you pleaded, but he wasn’t budging.
“you got the wrong girl.” mike shrugged. “shouldn’t you be circle jerking with the other guys in the locker room right now?” he spat, still bitter about his team losing the game.
“i told them to start without me,” matthew joked dryly, and you could feel his eyes on you, however yours were glued to the floor.
“funny,” mike replied. “let’s go,” he pushed you in front of him to leave.
“wait, y/n - please.”
“i’m sorry, you have the wrong person.”
“yeah, chucky,” mike laughed. “you must be thinking of some other whore. i’m sure there’s a lot of desperate chicks around here that would suck your cock though, so stop talking to mine.”
“you really shouldn’t talk about women like that,” matthew threatened, and while his tone sounded calm, you knew he was furious.
“or what? what, you want to fight or something?” mike asked. you noticed a few people gathering to watch, either out of concern or just to see matthew, but you knew this wasn’t going to end well.
“baby, can we please just-“
“shut up!” he shoved you and you fell to the floor, landing hard on your ass, before punching matthew in the face. matthew swung a fist at mikes face, hitting him square in the jaw. your eyes widened in horror as mike swung more drunken punches back at matt, and people backed away from the fight. you looked down the hall to see a familiar face, and you called out to your former friend.
“carter!” his eyes snapped up from his phone and he took out an airpod before he noticed the fight, and he quickly pulled matthew off of mike with the help of security guards that had come to help break up the situation. you stared at the ground in front of you again, feeling like the room was spinning and wishing that the floor would open up and swallow you. security handcuffed mike and escorted him out of the building, while carter and another security officer took matthew back down the hall towards the locker room.
an officer asked you to come with him, and he took you to an empty office room to take a statement about what happened. you just hoped matthew wouldn’t get in too much trouble.
•
when you left the office, there were thankfully little to no fans left in the arena, the hallways eerily empty as you walked towards the door. before you could reach it though, something - or someone - made you pause. you looked back down the hall to the locker room, and with a sigh walked towards it. you knocked on the door, your heart hammering against your ribcage as it opened, one of the team staff looking at you.
“i’m sorry, you can’t be back here-“
“it’s fine. she’s a friend,” carter interrupted her, opening the door to let you in. the room was empty, the team having already left, and you forced yourself to look at carter.
“are you okay?” he asked, and you nodded.
“thank you. i’m sorry-“
“don’t, it’s not your fault.” he opened his arms and you fell into them, hugging him tightly. “chuckys just getting patched up in the medic room. mostly procedure that they have to check him after a fight - usually it only happens during a game though,” he joked, and you found yourself smiling for real for the first time that night.
“is he in a lot of trouble?”
“no more than he normally gets himself into. it’ll be fine, y/n,” he assured you, but you were still worried there might be some legal repercussions. deciding there was nothing you could do about that right now, you managed to push the thought away and sat down on a bench in the locker room.
“you waiting around for him?” verhaeghe asked, and you nodded, eyes on the floor again.
“yeah. i think i’d be a shitty person not to.”
“you could never be a shitty person,” he smiled. “we miss you. chucky especially.” you looked up at him sadly.
“i miss you guys too.”
the medic door opened with a creak, and matthew walked out. you kept your eyes on your feet, counting the laces on your shoes over and over again.
“i’ll see you later,” carter said goodbye to both of you before leaving the room. you didn’t dare look up as matthew walked over slowly and sat down next to you, leaving space between you as his gaze lingered on you.
“you waited,” he said softly.
“yeah…. i don’t think i should have, but i wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“you wanted to make sure i was okay?” he laughed softly. “yeah, i’m okay.” he said, and an awkward silence filled the room. “was he always like that?” he asked gently, and you shook your head sadly.
“nope,” you said bitterly, eyes growing wet with tears. “he was perfect at first. until he wasn’t.”
“i’m sorry.”
“don’t be. it’s not your fault.”
“i still am. you don’t deserve to be treated like that.” you didn’t reply, knowing he was right. “y/n, you haven’t even looked at me.” he hand touched yours on the bench next to you, his touch so soft and gentle it was unfamiliar.
you turned your head towards him, and his heart broke at your sad expression. his lip was split open, red and forming a bruise already. you reached for his face without thinking, pulling your hand back before you went too far.
“what do you want me to say?” you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek. with the carefulness of someone touching glass, he brushed it off your face, and you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.
“do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” he asked, somewhat ignoring your question. he didn’t want you to say anything, he just wanted to make sure you were safe.
“i can figure something out,” you said, going through the options in your head; likely a hotel or sleeping in your car.
“please, i would feel a lot better if i knew you were somewhere safe. i have an extra bed in my hotel room-“
“no, matthew. i can’t do this.”
“do what?” he asked.
“this,” you gestured between the two of you. “thank you for protecting me, but i can’t let myself be near you. it’s too hard.”
“please,” his blue eyes looking in yours. the smell of his cologne wafted to your nose, filling you with a sense of safety that only he could ever bring you.
“okay,” you nodded.
•
the drive to the hotel was short and silent, but you felt at ease for the first time all night. the more time you spent with him, the more it felt like no time had passed; like things were back to how they were before. matthew held your hand the whole drive, his thumb drawing little circles on the back of it gently, his touch like a feather.
you got up to the hotel room and he grabbed a t-shirt from his suitcase for you.
“you a coyotes fan now?” he teased, and you laughed. matthew hadn’t realized how much he missed the sound, but did he would do anything to hear it again and again.
“not by choice,” you laughed, pulling mikes jersey over your head, putting the t-shirt over your undershirt you had on.
“did he know about -“
“no,” you shook your head, dropping the jersey in the small garbage can, and matthew cracked a smile. “he probably wouldn’t have liked it very much.”
“i’m sorry, i don’t mean to -“
“it’s okay. i know. how’s your lip?” you asked, still feeling guilty about it.
“it’s not my first split lip. i’ll live,” he smiled.
“is nick okay?” you asked, remembering the nasty hit during the game.
“he wasn’t feeling too hot after that. i’m not sure yet,” he admitted, and you nodded, before covering your mouth as a yawn slipped past your lips. “come on, sleepyhead, let get you to bed.”
you nodded, dragging your exhausted body into the nearest of the two queen sized beds. matthew tucked you into bed, leaning down to kiss your forehead, and you reached for his hand before he could walk away.
“lay with me?” you asked sleepily, knowing it was selfish to use him as a safety net right now; but you felt you would fall apart without him.
“are you sure?” he asked, and you nodded. he crawled into bed next to you, letting you cling to him like a life raft. “you’re safe now. i won’t let anyone hurt you, baby, i promise.”
“i know, matty,” you snuggled into him, everything about him bringing you comfort you hadn’t felt since you left; his scent, his voice, the feeling of his arms around you. “i missed you.”
“god, i missed you to. i don’t want to let you go again.”
“please don’t,” you begged, your eyes wet with tears that fell onto the fabric of his shirt, your fingers gripping it so tight your knuckles hurt. “don’t let me go.”
“i won’t.”
you felt like you were dreaming; what had started as a nightmare turning into the first time you had felt safe in months. you were scared that you would wake up and it hadn’t been real - you would be next to mike in his apartment, the cold draft from the window on your side of the bed would prickle you skin like it always did and you would have to apologize for not having his lunch ready for work.
but instead you would wake up in the arms of someone who actually cared about you, the sun peeking through the cracks of the blinds, casting warmth onto your skin. along with it, matthew brought a light to your life that had been missing for so long, you thought it was lost for good.
matthew pressed another soft kiss to your forehead as you felt yourself falling asleep, knowing you were protected as long as he was next to you.
“thank you matty,” you murmured, barely awake as you nose brushed the side of his jaw, your face tucked into the crook of his neck.
“anything for you.”
disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned
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—ᴇʟᴇᴠᴀᴛᴏʀ.
Dark! Mike Shmidt x fem! family friend! Reader
♡ Content warning . mentions of a custody battle, enemies to lovers with no real explanation, stuck in an elevator trope — hard dom! Mike, oral (m recieving), pnv, doggy, , degradation, rough hate sex, creampie, breeding
“…And that is why, Mr… Shmidt. That is why, as of right now, we are placing Abby in this young lady’s care.”
Mike’s jaw clenches as he watches his own personal hell unfold before him. He watches you sign the custody form for Abby, watches the pink fur hat on top of your head and your dumb revealing sweater and your short skirt and wonders why in the hell the court would ever choose a slut like you over him to care for a child. You have a good job and experience in childcare, sure, but Mike knows you. You don’t know your right from your left (literally). What makes anyone think that you can take care of his little sister?
He clenches his fists at his sides. You have a smug look on your face, as if you’ve won the Cold War. You have a tendency to challenge Mike, but he never thought you’d take it this far. Keeping family out of your quarrels was always an unspoken agreement. Mike clears his throat, shoving down the anger blooming in his chest.
“Understood.” He mutters. “I’ll bring some of her stuff over as soon as possible.”
Smiling, you get up from your seat (one you had asked for after the first one was too hard, or some dumb shit).
“Great! I’m glad we have the matter settled.” And then, with an amused, despicable glint in your eye, “No hard feelings, Mikey.”
Mikey. A name he hasn’t heard from your lips in such a long, long time. He’s so close to doing the same thing that he did to that guy in the fountain to you. Never in his life has he ever been so provoked to hit someone. But he holds back, let’s out a breath of air, and says nothing. The lawyers around the both of you pack up, sensing the tension but not wanting to deal with it. You gather up your purse and pull out a tube of lipstick, reapplying it onto your lips through a compact mirror. Shutting it, you see that Mike is the only one in the room.
“Walk with me?” You ask, and Mike’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“What?”
“This whole building is filled with only men,” you infer, frowning. “I don’t like it. You’re the only one I trust.”
His eyes, enraged, look at you as he clenches his jaw.
“I wouldn’t.”
Rolling your eyes, you begin to walk out of the room. Mike trails behind you, ignoring the swaying of your curves as you open the glass door. He catches up to you in an instant, as you head for the elevator.
“This is low, you know. Even for you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. This isn’t about me and you, Mike. It’s about Abby.”
He scoffs, as you both approach the big metal elevator at the end of the hallway. “Yeah, right. Because you’ve always had such a desire to be a mother.”
Turning to him as you press the down button in front of the elevator, your gaze is harsh.
“You don’t know me, Mike.”
Mike smiles, not a hint of amusement on his face.
“I know enough.”
And turning towards the elevator, he steps in. You follow him afterwards, rolling your eyes as the door slides shut.
After a few seconds, however, a groaning sound escapes from the confines of the small box. Eyebrows furrowing, your heart beginning to pound, you watch with horror as the emergency light flashes on the elevator wall. The contraption stops completely, and now you’ve come to terms with your worst nightmare.
Your stuck in this fucking elevator.
And as if God is punishing you, he also decides to stick you in this enclosed space with Mike fucking Schmidt.
You want to die.
Anxiety begins to plague you; not necessarily from being alone with Mike. More so of being stuck in a small room such as this. The claustrophobia is really not helping you right now.
“What the fuck?” Mike curses loudly. “Why the hell isn’t it working?”
“How the fuck should I know?” You snap, putting your head in your hands. You lean back against the nearest wall and slide down against it. Your bottom lip wobbles, your foot tapping anxiously, but you refuse to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
Mike looks closely at you, his mouth forming into a frown.
“Are you crying?”
You quickly shake your head, embarrassment dripping off of you in waves as you conceal yourself. After a moment, you can hear the sound of Mike pulling out his cell phone. He researches the name of the building and types in their number.
“Hey,” he says to the person on the other line. “Yeah, we’re trapped in one of your elevators, man. It just stopped. I don’t know—“
He pauses, listening to the other person reply.
“Oh. Is there anyway that you can get it fixed… quicker? … of course, of course. I understand. Thank you.”
Hanging up the call, he groans, and slides down to the floor across from you.
“They said it’s done this before and it’ll be an hour before they can get it up and running again.”
A few stray tears fall from your face, and you sniffle. “Okay.”
Mike sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
“Stop.” He mutters. “Stop crying. It’s pathetic.”
Your face crinkles up in anger and you wipe your eyes with your hands.
“Fuck you.”
Mike scoffs, turning his head to the side with a smirk on his face.
“Again?”
You growl, angrily typing on your phone on twitter as a way to ignore him.
Mike watches you with contempt. His eyes trail over your legs, thick thighs wrapped up in fishnet stockings. You’ve changed your hair color since you last saw him.
“Your hair looks nice,” he states, and you’re confused as to why he’s being nice for a moment. Until his mouth is dripping with malice and he says, “Abby likes that color.”
You scoff, flicking your acrylics as you attempt to wipe off the mascara that had run down your face.
“Whatever.” You say snarkily, and Mike’s head snaps towards you, his jaw clenching once again.
“Why are you such a bitch?” He seethes, as if he hasn’t been a complete dickhead for the past ten minutes. You shrug, slipping your coat off your shoulders. It’s become unbearably hot in here.
“Why are you so stupid?” You reply, then smirk. “Your iq must be as low as your height.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Mike growls, throwing his phone down next to him. “You’re so petty. You insult people like a child.”
“Maybe if you weren’t so full of it I wouldn’t have to.”
Mike’s fists clench at his sides, but he says nothing. But of course, you can’t keep your mouth shut.
“How have you been sleeping, by the way? Are you still…” You motion your hands as if you’re popping a pill into your mouth.
Mike’s jaw clenches tightly as he glares at you.
“That’s none of your business.”
“It kind of is, actually,” you press. “A pillhead taking care of a child is definitely a scandal.”
He doesn’t say anything. His fingers tap against the metal floor of the elevator.
“Don’t worry, though.” Smiling, you tilt your head. “Even if you hate me, Abby is going to be so much happier with me then she is with you.”
And with a head that whips around faster than lightening, Mike snaps.
He pushes himself up to his feet and gets down on his knees in front of you to grab your throat with his strong hand. Shaking you, gripping the sides of your neck like he intends to kill, he sneers.
“Say one more thing about it, you fucking slut. I dare you.”
You should be scared. But you’ve always loved a challenge, and right now seems to be a big one. You just smirk at him and peer through hooded lashes.
“Or what?” You mumble out. It’s hard to talk, or even breathe, but it doesn’t matter. Because as fucked up as it is, this is lowkey turning you on— but you aren’t going to admit that.
Leaning in closer to you so he can pierce through your eyes with his burning gaze, Mike chuckles dryly. A dangerous glint flashes through his eyes.
“Or I’ll fucking kill you.”
Something clenches in your stomach, and you can’t tell if it’s fear or arousal. Your vision is starting to blur, and with teary eyes you shake your head against his grip. He looks down to your chest before finally releasing you of his grasp. Your doe eyes look up at him with something Mike can’t quite place as you gasp for air and your nimble fingers begin to massage your throat.
And something switches in him, as he looks down at you. Watching you sit on the floor with your skirt riding up, your makeup all messy and smeared, your tits hanging out. He wants to make you hurt.
“Get on your knees.”
It’s less of a suggestion and more of a demand, and you’re taken aback.
“What?” You say, exasperated.
“Did I fucking stutter?” He reaches down, hands wrapping around your hair as he yanks you towards his handsome face. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”
Gulping, you look at the now prominent tent in his jeans, and back up to him. You move up onto your knees, just like he asked. He begins unbuckling his belt. Soon he slides it out of the belt loops and wraps it around your throat. You squeak when he ties the leather around your neck, and Mike gives it a tug as a way to check the sustainability. It doesn’t budge.
“Just like you need,” he grunts, letting go of the leather and beginning to unbutton his fly. “A leash. Some fucking discipline, for once.”
Watching with your mouth agape, Mike unzips his fly and reveals his underwear.
“Mike—“ you start, but he shuts you up when he hooks his thumbs around the waist of his briefs.
“Shut up.” He snaps. He pulls the fabric down, his thick cock slapping against his lower stomach. Everything is happening so quickly and it has your head spinning. He grabs the leather around your neck and tugs, practically shoving your face against his cock. His precum smears on your cheek and your pussy clenches.
“Suck it.” He says harshly. Your mouth, still open in an O, catches on Mike’s aching tip and he lets out a low hiss. He harshly presses his cockhead deeper into your mouth, grinding his hips as a way to push himself further into you. “I said suck it, bitch.”
You cry against him, but all the while your wetness is beginning to seep down your thighs. Your tongue lolls out against your own will, tasting a sliver of the cock you used to know so well.
“Fuck,” Mike grunts. His tip hits the back of your throat and you gag loudly. “Missed this slut mouth…”
His fingers wrap around the belt again, and he pulls forward. Your throat is already starting to feel sore from his harsh fucking. Your hands land on his thick hairy thighs, gripping the skin as you try your best to take him.
Even when you hate him, you can’t help but do your best to please.
“Always running that fuckin’ mouth,” Mike rants. “Always needing something to shut it the fuck up.”
You mewl around his cock, working your lips up and down against his awaiting thrusts. Tears fall freely down your cheeks, your neck and face incredibly hot. His heavy sack slaps against your chin with each hit. When you make a small, pained sound around him, the pressure on your throat causing a lot of pain, Mike just chuckles.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?”
Your head is fuzzy, your mind already fucked out. And like god answers your prayers, Mike finally, finally pulls you off of his length. You fall to the floor with a heaving cough as you try to gain oxygen back to your lungs. He grabs your limp body and flips you onto your stomach, his large hands taking hold of your thighs and pulling you up so your ass is in the air. He flips your skirt up, exposing you to the small space of the elevator and snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin.
“Such a little cocktease,” mike rants, his thumb rubbing over one of your asscheeks. “Always tryna’ rile me up. Aching for my attention.”
You whimper when he pulls down your lace underwear in one go, not even bothering to fully take it off and instead keeping it wrapped around your knees. He spreads your asscheeks in his hands, watching your asshole clench and your pussy drip with need.
“Been real quiet since I fucked your throat,” he continues, and you hear rusting behind you. “Guess I finally figured out a way to shut you up.”
And when his pants are down to his thighs and his bare cock presses against your entrance, you drool onto the dirty floor below you. Mike’s cock stretches your tight walls ruthlessly, and he doesn’t hesitate to push fast into you so he can fuck you sooner. His big hand splays across the back of your head and pushes you down onto the floor tiles, your cheek cold from the material touching your skin. His grip is mean, cold, and he begins to pound you with no remorse, no mercy, no sympathy. You cry as his hips slap against your backside, mutters of “Mikey, please, Mikey,” spilling from your cockdrunk lips. His hands wrap around his belt, the one around your neck, and he pulls it taut against your throat. You choke, gasping for breath, and your vision blurs. His breath is hot against your ear as he utters out another set of words.
“Such a good little fuckhole…I missed it, shit.”
Your hand wraps around the belt to loosen his hold. He lets up, but his thrusts do not. Your knees ache and will probably bruise later, but’s it’s worth it. You can feel he’s close by the way he keeps slurring his filthy words, the way his thrusts begin to stutter. Your eyes widen as his cum shoots deep into your womb, filling you up and spilling over the rim of your pussy. He collapses against you, and you yourself have already collapsed against the floor with your body arching at an almost impossible angle. Mike slips out of you, watching the way his cum drips down your thighs, and lets out a chuckle.
“Guess you’ll have another kid to take care of now.”
notes: this is absolutely terrible, take it as u will
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#FNAF MOVIE !! ♡ — SWEET NOTHING (MIKE SCHMIDT X READER).
#. synopsis! — sometimes it feels like mike may never escape the past, but he hears the future in the beat of your heart (nightmare reverse comfort) .
#. characters! — mike schmidt .
#. warnings! — vague references to past traumatic events (canon compliant) .
#. word count! — 1.1k .
#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .
#. others! — navigation & masterlist .
#. a/n! — i got an autism diagnosis today lmao, makes sense tho.
The house is dark and shrouded in silence, broken only by Mike’s uneasy groans and his occasional writhing in his sleep. What seemed peaceful at the get-go has become something less content, leaving him entangled in the sheets and pulling most of the shared blanket to his side of the bed. The late autumn chill hanging thick in the air has you shivering, casting a tired, half-lidded gaze to the digital clock resting on the nightstand. It’s four minutes past three thirty in the morning, displayed in vivid, neon green digits that prompt a slight scrunch of displeasure from your face at the glaring brightness.
You remind yourself that this really has gotten better. It’s been weeks since the last time, and he’s been going to therapy like you suggested, even if he was a little unsettled by the idea at first. His new job cleaning up after club-goers at a nearby joint pays pretty well, all things considered, and with your income added to the mix, money is still tight at times, —but he’d decided after the first few sessions that you pressured him into that it was worth the trouble.
Still, that doesn’t negate the obvious. Mike has suffered a lot in his lifetime, and that’s hardly lent itself to consistency or stability. Some of it has been his own doing, while other parts have been far too out of his control, and he’s been learning how to maneavour his way around that misty grey area in between to the best of his ability. But he’s not ineffable, and sometimes, especially on nights like this, the cards fall where they may. At least this time he’s not waking up in a cold sweat, halfway to a panic attack, sweat drenching the mattress beneath him. At least this time he isn’t gasping for breath, clawing at something unseen in the shadows of the bedroom, jerking away like a rodeo bull the moment you reach out to ease him down.
He mumbles something that sounds like a plea in his sleep, but it’s muffled by the pillow his face is squished against. If he weren’t obviously disgruntled, you might have been tempted to admire how cute he looked for a little while longer.
“Mike,” you say softly, reaching out to rest a gentle hand on his bare shoulder, “hey.”
He reacts slightly to the touch, but isn’t fully awake, so you try again.
“Mike,” you repeat, fingers curling around the curve.
This time, it’s enough. His eyes shoot open, taking a moment to adjust to the darkness, then locking on your face. He sits up slightly, perching on his elbows. The breath he lets out in the aftermath is sobering.
“Sorry,” he utters, letting his head hit the pillow unceremoniously.
You ignore the unnecessary apology in lieu of brushing some loose strands of brown hair away from his forehead.
“You alright?”
He gazes up at you with those sweet, puppy-dog eyes that he doesn’t even have to try to put on. They’re just his natural state, and heaven knows you could spend a few lifetimes gazing into them if it were possible.
“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs a little, reaching up to grab your hand and hold it in his own.
His touch is so soft and tender, albeit calloused and a little clammy from the leftover adrenaline of his nightmare. He’s really come a long way, and you hope he knows that. You wouldn’t mind saying it, but he’d definitely get embarrassed by it, so you avoid laying verbal praise on too thick when you can help it. This time three months ago, he’d have been jumping out of bed to rush down the hall into Abby’s room, only letting himself relax upon seeing her sleeping form bundled up beneath her covers. Now, he takes a deep breath, exhales it slowly, and kisses your wrist.
“Nothing to worry about,” he assures you.
“I always worry about you,” you answer, offering him a lopsided smile.
He gives you a knowing look and replies: “That’s exactly the problem.”
You roll your eyes playfully and watch as he fiddles with your fingers for a bit before glancing in the direction of the clock.
“What time is it?” He asks.
“Too early for you to be awake,” you respond lightly. “You can sleep for a few more hours at least. You’ll need it.”
Mike nods, letting his heavy eyelids close again.
“Bit of an understatement,” he jokes.
It really is though. If anyone knows about hard work, especially hard work for the sake of anyone but himself, —it’s him. The least he deserves is a proper night’s sleep. You figure that’s why it’s so hard for you to see him like this, even when it’s getting better. You’d trade your dreams for his in a heartbeat if it meant he could be less haunted at night.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, voice laden with drowsiness.
He drops your hand only to open his arms, encouraging you to take your place on his chest. It’s comfortable and intimate all the same as you nestle against him, seeking comfort and closeness, and hoping with every fiber of your being that you can offer the same to him. Mike tugs the comforter up to your neck, one arm folding around your shoulders, thumb caressing the fabric of your pajama shirt. For a moment, you find yourself wishing you’d gone to sleep without it, just so he could rub against your skin directly.
You relish in his warmth, body molding to the contours of his own, —finding the closest thing you’ve ever known to heaven on Earth. Quiet connection simmers in the surrounding air, sparking like static electricity, and you let your eyes close.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask quietly.
He probably won’t, but it’s always better to ask, if for nothing else than to let him know that the option is available.
“Not right now,” he replies, and though he’s turning your offer away, there’s an undeniable softness threaded amidst it all.
“Later, then?”
He hums, and you feel it ripple through his chest.
“Maybe.”
Later might never come, but that’s okay. As long as he knows that you’re a safe haven to seek refuge in, then that’s enough for you.
“Just get some sleep for now,” he continues, craning his neck forward to ghost his lips against your forehead, his stubble scratching your skin in a way that makes you smile on command.
“Night,” you mutter quietly, snuggling further into his chest.
“Night, baby,” he returns, smoothing a hand along your hair.
It’s quiet for a moment or two, and then he sheepishly adds: “I love you.”
No matter how many times you hear it, it still gives you butterflies.
“I love you too.”
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your new mike angst has literally crushed my heart pretty pls write something sweet to help me recover
ask and you shall receive! (can be read as a part of the mike mini series or apart!)
mike waits up for you tonight. it's a rare thing and something you always insist he doesn't have to do, but mike thinks about every time you've waited for him (and how full his heart feels when your head peeks over the couch, smile growing as soon as you see him). he frowns every time, shaking his head at you while you roll your eyes and try not to smile. but really, mike has recently discovered that sleep refuses to find him without you in his arms.
mike's heart picks up the pace when he hears your keys jingle, imagining all the keychains you've acquired on your keyring (mostly from abby, a few from him) clicking together to create a harmony that excites him. the lock clicks and mike holds his bottom lip between his teeth as he grins, pulling the blanket over the bottom half of his face to hide his smile. the door creaks a little as it opens and mike hears that lovely jingle one more time as you hang your keys. there's soft thuds - one, two - as your shoes hit the ground and a change in the sound of your footsteps once you're on the carpet.
you come up behind the couch, peering over to see the vague outline of mike, his body made identifiable by the top half of his head. he's breathing softly, making the blanket on him rise and fall, the corners of his eyes slightly crinkled - but he's not fooling you.
"is the love of my life asleep?" you smile, set your arms and head down on the back of the couch, waiting for mike's eyes to magically open.
they don't, but the blanket slips down to reveal his toothy smile.
"yes," mike's mouth jokes as one eye opens, just a little, to finally peek at you.
"i meant abby," you grin and mike rolls his eyes, smile not quite disappearing. he's sitting up and you're leaning down, meeting each other halfway. mike cups your face softly as you kiss, your hands still holding on to the back of the couch to keep yourself from falling too far.
but then there's a strong tug on your body and half of it's over the couch.
"mike!" you cry, pulled off-balance, one hand coming up to the arm of the couch to steady yourself. mike only smiles as you accidentally cage him in; grins as, with one more pull, you're on top of him. the groan of his name is muffled by his own lips and the blanket traps you more than it covers you, thoroughly entangled between mike's body and yours.
"mike-" you pull back but mike chases your lips, interrupting you. your eyes are closed but they still roll, a small smile forming at mike's desperation.
he finally lets you go, taking in fresh air through small pants. your head's in his neck and his arms hold you close, the warmth mike radiates suddenly reminding you how tired you are. you can tell by mike's quietness that his brain has also begun to catch up with his body.
"dinner?" mike asks softly, fingers rubbing at stray patches of skin.
"mmm," you groan, burying your face deeper into mike's skin. "too tired." it's funny how the alertness you carried with you only a few minutes ago has drained out of your body as soon as you'd fallen into mike's arms.
"you should eat something."
you move your head, tilting your head downwards and biting mike's shoulder. "there."
mike laughs, moving your head back so that your nose hits the crook of his neck because he loves the feeling of your lips on his skin, even if they aren't moving.
the dull scent of mike's body wash reminds you that you need to shower, too.
you groan and try to lift yourself off of mike.
"what are you doing?" his voice is a little raspy and you realize he's falling asleep.
"i gotta shower, baby," you respond softly, lips pressing against his jaw before he looks at you. you're grateful for the still-on television that illuminates him for you, his tired eyes and small frown making you smile.
mike makes a whining sound in his throat, rolling over so that you sandwich him between the back of the couch. your hands are in his hair for only a few moments before you realize it will only reduce your chances of escape.
"you're too tired," he suggests, rubbing circles on your back to try to coax you to sleep. it's working, your will breaking down the longer you breathe in mike's scent.
you wrap your arms around mike and you roll. you didn't upgrade that old twin sized bed for nothing. there's a soft thump and you take most of the fall, groaning a little as mike's weight presses against you. it's only for a second, though, as mike lifts himself off, his arms by the sides of your head. this isn't much better.
"get off."
"no."
"mike." you can't even pretend to be serious, laughter slipping out the second mike's lips are on your cheek. "i have to shower!"
mike groans and warms your face with soft kisses before he finally rolls off. your senses begin to come back and you take advantage of the remnants of your awakeness, dashing to the bathroom to make the trip fly by as quickly as possible.
mike has a warm plate of food waiting once you're out - he had woken up, too. you're impatient to finish and mike can tell, moving to make sure the kitchen's all clean so you don't choke on your food. the dishes are rinsed but will have to wait until tomorrow for a proper cleaning, because you're in mike's arms in no time.
mike has learned to only brush his teeth when you are, too, because the two-minute-long wait is agonizing unless he's doing it with you.
the light gets flicked off and the two of you are careful managing your way in the pale moonlight that shines through the cracks in the blinds. but this route is familiar and you find your bed as well as you would with the lights on, your fingers pulling at the sheets to make room for you and mike.
there really wasn't a point for such a big bed when you sleep with half your body on mike. he likes it like this, loves the feeling of you on his chest, of half your torso slung over his. it's comforting, the heat of your body and the smell of your skin. there are soft mumblings about your days, words like a lullaby, only spoken to push the other to sleep. it's okay; it'll come up again tomorrow over breakfast (or maybe brunch; tomorrow's saturday).
halfway through a story that was no longer making sense, the two of you are asleep, breathing even and slow. nothing wakes the two of you - not shifts in positions throughout the night, not the sunlight shining through under the blackout curtains, not the creaking of the bedroom door. mike is only vaguely aware of another presence in the room as your sleepy eyes part slightly, shifting and patting a space for a little body to join you. his hand pulls the covers up and the three of you find sleep again.
mike ends up cooking breakfast for dinner that day.
requests for mike schmidt are open!
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