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lovebugism · 1 year

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forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

part one | part two

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick <3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss.

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you.

But he is.

Quite dreadfully so.

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town.

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room.

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand — the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford.

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign.

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is. “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.”

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence.

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect.

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed.

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend.

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to.

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work.

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve.

You want to. You just don’t know how.

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least.

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him.

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again.

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that.

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet.

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him.

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree.

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge.

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store.

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him.

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook.

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it.

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile.

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records.

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you.

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway.

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you’re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval.

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with.

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly.

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room. That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride.

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head.

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care.

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend.

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy.

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside.

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation.

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows.

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal.

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway.

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp.

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you.

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette.

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be.

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one.

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now.

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you.

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes.

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into.

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers.

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot.

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts.

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him.

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms.

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy.

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up.

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for.

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect.

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage.

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get.

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun.

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way.

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work.

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face.

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim.

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so.

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge.

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward.

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it.

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought.

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you.

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen.

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary.

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true.

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine.

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day.

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke.

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you.

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful.

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you.

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong.

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of.

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake.

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be.

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket.

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor.

Until now.

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing.

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it.

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power.

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead.

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.”

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke.

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do.

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought.

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze.

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again.

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real.

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for.

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you.

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue.

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you.

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it.

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him.

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month.

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone.

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door.

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup.

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits.

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation.

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive.

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer.

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch.

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs.

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #st oneshots #stevie oneshot #punchy x steve

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aiiviiloo · 3 months

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Two Truths One Lie

Smosh: Shayne Topp x Reader

WC: 1.8K

Warnings: A little bit of suggestive(looks n feelings), use of she/her pronouns, Y/N is one of the ogs in smosh, slight fluff if u squint, Y/N is kinda famous

It was a warm day in California when the team chose to make Y/n and Shayne film the video, which they both silently thanked them for. Getting sprayed with ice cold water wouldn't be as harmful with the weather.

"Are you ready to get sprayed to death?" Shayne joked while bumping his shoulder into Y/n who turned to smirk at him.

Y/n only ignored his comment and walked into the studio where Courtney, Amanda and Angela hung out in their stools beside the "game" table.

It was a little intimidating, the guns leaning against the table while a crew member filled them both up with water.

Shayne followed after Y/n into the studio and walked with her to the sound manager who mic'ed them up, connecting their microphone while the two of them clipped the small black electronics onto their clothes.

As they finished with that, the studio manager once again called everyone to their places, checking so that everyone were feeling alright.

Y/n sat down across Shayne, Courtney to her left as she looked down at the cards in front of her.

Before any filming session, Y/n always felt a shock of adrenaline pulse through her veins, as if she felt like any second, her body would explode - which it never did of course.

"And.. Action!" Emily, the director, shouted. The studio turned quiet before Shayne turned to the camera with a dramatic sigh escaping his mouth.

"Welcome, everyone, to another round of Two Truths One Lie. In this game, me and an opponent tell three statements, where two of those statements are truths and the other one a lie." Shayne explained, still in his dramatic voice.

"If my opponent, who is Y/n today, say hi Y/n." He continued

"Hello." Y/n answered shortly, smiling into the camera.

"As I said, if my opponent fails to find my lie, I get to spray her with water, but if she succesfully finds my lie, I get sprayed by her with water."

"I think I put on the wrong clothes for this." Y/n stated, looking down at her outfit, which was a knitted sweater with some grey baggy jeans.

"Atleast you look cute!" Courtney added, making Y/n and Shayne chuckle.

Amanda coughed, glaring at the pair in front of her.

"Oh, right! This is our three watchers. Courtney, Amanda and Angela." Shayne introduced the three women, making them mutter things with annoyance.

"I'm so happy to have gathered boygenius with us today." Y/n joked, making the whole studio laugh at her joke.

"Anyway, would you like to go first?" Shayne asked Y/n who nodded, clearing her throat dramatically.

"Here are my statements. First one. I have been in a relationship with Jeanette McCurdy for an event." Y/n began, making Amanda chuckle a short laugh at the first statement.

"I have kissed Tom Cruise, on the mouth." Shayne's eyes widened at this, not at all ready for this.

"I was in a marching band in Japan when I was fifteen." Y/n said her last statement with a small smile while Shayne stared at Y/n mysteriously, trying to figure out which one is the truth.

"Okay, first statement. When and where was it?" Shayne asked as Y/n put her card down.

"It was at an event, some Nickelodeon event. I don't remember the year but I remember we were talking and I asked if for a joke we should fake a relationship for the whole event and she agreed. Really nice person she is!" Y/n explained while keeping a straight face.

Shayne nodded.

"And the next one? That seems like such a lie but if it's not I'm so jealous of you." He joked, making the trio beside him chuckle.

"Okay, so I got booked into an actual move not too long ago, no clue who was my love interest or anything, but when I arrived to the "love" scenes, there Tom Cruise was. I think it was about seven years ago or so."

The studio was quiet, everyone actually intrigued to hear the whole story, even the trio sat quietly.

"Wow, and do you remember the kiss?" Shayne sarcastically asked, but he actually wanted to know.

"I do, it was a great kiss. I was a nervous wreck but he was so calm and collected and just a nice co-worker to work with." Y/n answered with a soft smile on her face.

"And the third one?"

"As many of you know, I've lived in Japan with my family for a part of my life. And some of you know I also play the clarinet, well played, and I wanted to play it in a marching band so I joined one." Y/n explained, quite easily.

"I think I know the lie." Shayne said quickly with a smirk while Y/n only sat with a soft smile on her face.

"It's the second one, the Tom Cruise one." He continued and Y/n sighed, looking down at the table.

But she quickly grabbed the water gun and sprayed Shayne in the chest with the ice cold water.

"WHAT!?!?!?" Angela shouted while Shayne sat in shock.

"You've actually kissed Tom Cruise?" He asked, eyes wide as he laughed in just pure shock.

"I have! It was some movie, I don't remember but I was the love-interest." Y/n chuckled while putting her gun down, letting it lean against the table.

"Wait so which one was the lie?" Shayne asked, making Y/n smile.

"The marching band one. I moved to Japan when I was fifteen but joined the marching band when I was eightteen because they had an age restriction." Y/n told the group who all made 'aah' noises as an understanding.

"Alright, so my turn. I have eaten a whole tarantula on camera. I have eaten a bull penis on camera. I have eaten surströmming on camera." Shayne said quickly.

"Okay, I know one of these 100%. You did eat a tarantula. It was on Mythical Kitchen. I was there with you but I chickened out and never ate the spider but you did." Y/n thought outloud, looking directly into Shayne's eyes.

Shayne chuckled and smiled, knowing that Y/n was right with that, they both were there.

"Ah, shit. I wasn't on the filming day of the surströmming. I remember it was you and Noah and his two brothers. Shit." Y/n muttered and sighed.

"I think the bull penis one is the lie. You must've eaten some piece of surströmming that day, your fingers smelt like shit after that I remember that." She claimed, making Shayne laugh.

"Are you sure?" Shayne checked with her and she nodded.

"I'm sorry Y/n, but you are very wrong-"

"Shit! No- No please, spare me!" Y/n began shouting as she watched Shayne pull the gun up from his side.

"LET ME TAKE OFF MY SWEATER FIRST PLEASE!" She continued yelling as everyone else laughed their asses off at her reaction.

Shayne let her take her sweater off and so she did.

Y/n unclipped her mic and pulled her sweater off, her t-shirt slightly following with but with the help of Courtney who held the shirt down, she threw the sweater away to the side.

While all of this was happening, Shayne felt his ears turn slightly pink at the sight of Y/n's stomach and a small part of her ribcage.

What was going on with him? He thought, blinking his quiet suggestive thoughts away.

"Okay, I'm ready." Y/n said, now only in a tanktop.

Shayne chuckled and slowly pumped the water gun, making Y/n nervous.

"Shayne! Just do i-" Y/n got interrupted by Shayne shooting water against her stomach, making Y/n jerk in shock.

The studio began laughing in the scene that just happened.

"OW! MY SIX-PACK!" Y/n joked, making the studio continue laughing, even Shayne laughed, his eyes closed as he did.

The studio calmed down and Y/n and Shayne continued the game, Shayne absolutely failing the game, getting completely drenched in water.

After a shot of water was shot against Shayne, Angela began joking about something, distracting the studio and audience of what happened anywhere else.

Y/n took the chance to look at Shayne who focused on Angela.

He had a big part of his t-shirt completely soaked, and Y/n kinda thanked herself for that, because now she could see Shayne's chest.

Her eyes drifted down a little before looking back up, but now on Angela who was still talking about who know's what.

Now it was Shayne's turn to look at Y/n, her tanktop had only gotten a little soaked, only showing some parts of her bra underneath.

Shayne had to control his breathing, his hands tightly knitted together underneath the tablecloth as he felt his ears turn pink again. He had felt Y/n's stare, he wasn't gullible, and damn did it make him feel good.

They continued the game after Angela's rant and finally it ended, ending with Y/n winning quite naturally.

The cameras turned off and the pair of them walked up to the sound manager who they handed their microphones to before walking out from the studio.

"That was fun, really." Y/n began, smiling softly at Shayne who chuckled, looking down at himself.

"Yeah, sure, maybe for you." He sighed dramatically, making Y/n grin while pushing Shayne's shoulder jokingly.

"Oh, shit, I forgot my sweater. Let me go get it." Y/n remembered, running back into the studio and getting the sweater.

As she picked up her sweater, Courtney walked up to her with a small smile.

"I saw you looking at him." She blurted out, making Y/n look up at her with slight wide eyes.

"I-"

"And he was looking at you too, y'know." Courtney said while smirking as she watched Y/n's cheeks turn slightly pink.

"Okay, fine. I was looking at him, he looked hot okay." Y/n sighed, confessing to Courtney who chuckled.

"Don't tell me that, tell it to him." She said while nodding to someone behind Y/n, who turned around to see Shayne stand there with slightly tinted ears.

"Oh-" Y/n said before trying to stutter something about how she did think like that and that it was okay if he didn't feel the same.

"Y/n, would you like to go out with me?" Shayne interrupted her rambling, making her stop in her tracks.

"What?" She asked, flabbergasted.

"Would you like to go out with me?" Shayne asked again, now with a smile on his face.

"Ye-Yeah, that'd be nice." Y/n said, now also with a grin on her face as she watched Shayne nod and walk away.

"Finally! I've waited for that since you both started working here." Courtney groaned, walking away from Y/n who stood there, excitement filling her entire body.

#smosh #shayne topp #smosh shayne #shayne topp x reader #female reader #x reader #y/n #shayne topp x y/n #shayne topp smosh #shayne #courtney miller #amanda lehan canto #angela giarratana #2 truths 1 lie

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voidvannie · 4 months

Text

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄

𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐮

𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞

｡｡｡｡ 🕊️🤍 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 ｡｡｡｡ jamie decides he wants to change isabelle’s name but first he has to ask the most important men in her life.

ੈ✩ ━ ❪ feel free to send an any request of things you want to see in this series, or if you just want to share some thoughts about what your read! i would love that! ❫

June 4, 2024

When you see somebody Who erases everybody in the room I don't know what to say, I don't know what to do

Jamie hadn't meant to be up as early as he was, the bold black letters of the time plastered on the screen of his phone reading 5:30 AM while he sat out on the back porch of the hughes lake house.

Another Summer of spending time with his girlfriend, her family and a couple of their friends was a nice getaway from their every day lives of playing hockey and doing all of her social media things.

The hockey players mind flashes to the small velvet black box that he had packed away in his duffel bag, making sure to keep Belle from finding.

He can hear the backdoor slide open but he doesn't take his eyes off of the sun rising in front of him.

"Morning, Jamie." Jim's voice flows from beside him, taking a seat an the empty chair.

"Morning." Jamie sends him a half smile as his head turns to look at him for just a second.

"You're up early." He says after a moment of silence, sitting the coffee cup on the arm of the chair.

"Yeah, I just needed a breather before we get up to whatever Jack has cooked up or us today." Jamie tells him with a slight chuckle.

Jim lets out a chuckle of his own and they sit in silence for a moment before the father of four broke it, "I can see all the signs, son....so go ahead. Ask me."

Oh, I I don't wanna change who you are I don't wanna mess with your dreams Or get in the way of who you wanna be

Jamie feels the palms of his hands grow sweaty as he wipes them on the dark grey material of the sweat pants he's wearing, his words suddenly catching in the back of his throat.

"Um, I.....I want to ask Belle to marry me." He finally chokes out, eyes never leaving the sunrise in front of him.

"How long have you been thinking about this?" Jim turns to look at his daughter's boyfriend.

"For about year. I’ve had the ring since December 27, 2023." He tells Jim, finding a sudden interest in playing with the thing bracelet on his wrist with 'IMH' engraved on it.

"A year?"

Jamie smiles, "Yeah. It first crossed my mind when I was traded to the Flyers. I called her right after I got the phone call when we were in Memphis and she told me that we would be okay, I'd be okay. That's when was like, 'damn, i really think i want to spend the rest of my life with this girl.'."

"And when were you sure you wanted to marry her?"

"A week after I was traded, when she packed up her apartment in California to move in with me in Philly." Jamie has no hesitation as he speaks.

Jim smiles at the adoration in Jamie's voice when he talks about his daughter, "Jamie, when Belle first came home telling Ellen and I about you, I was honestly worried. I love my sons, and I love hockey, but I didn't want my daughter to date a hockey player. But listening to how she talked about you, how she talked about the way you treated her, I told Ellen, 'i'm happy that he can put this big smile on her face and a bright sparkle in her eyes'. That's all a father could ever want for his little girl."

Jamie listens, hanging onto every word.

"And if you wanna marry my daughter, I give you permission to do so." He says as they both stand up, Jim bringing Jamie into a hug.

"Thank you."

────── ❪ 🌿🕊️! ❫

No, I I won't stop your runaway heart I just wanna be why you stay Only thing about you that I'd change is I'd change your name

Ellen and Belle had decided to take the time to have a little girls day, leaving the boys and Jim at the lake house.

Jamie sat on the couch next to Luke, playing with a lose thread on his jeans as he watched the others playing video games, trying to think of ways her could ask four of the dozen hockey players staying.

Taking a deep breath, he just decided to rip the band-aid off and quickly blurts it out, "I wanna ask Belle to marry me."

The yelling that had been going on quiets down as everyone turns to look over at Jamie, the sounds of Luke dropping the controller to the ground following.

“Did I hear that correctly?” Quinn leans forward to be able to look at Jamie.

“Dude! Come on!” Trevor groaned as he stands up from the couch, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and slapping a twenty into Jack’s outreached hand.

“Buddy, you made me twenty bucks richer!” Jack smiled widely, “Make me an Uncle in six months and I’ll win another twenty!”

“Don’t make him an uncle cause I’m not giving him another twenty.” Trevor huffs sitting back in his place. “Marry your girl, Jamie!”

“This is really what you want?” Quinn asked, his tone serious as he looks at the hockey player.

“A hundred percent. Guys, I love your sister with every little ounce of my being.” Jamie tells them, “Belle is the only person that I see myself marrying.”

“And our dad?” Luke raised an eyebrow.

“Asked him this morning, he said yes.” Jamie wipes his hands on his jeans, growing nervous again under the gaze of all the guys.

“Well, you have my yes.” Jack grinned.

“When do you want to do this?” Quinn crossed his arms over his chest.

“This weekend, before we leave.” Jamie answered, “She’s always talked about getting proposed to on the end of the dock.”

Quinn smiled, “Okay. You reeled me in. Yeah, you can marry my little sister.”

“Luke, you’re really quiet over there, buddy.” Jack grinned at the little pout on Luke’s face.

With the pout still on his lips, Luke crosses his arms over his chest, “Fine, you can marry my sister.” He pauses, "But I would also like to become an uncle, just not in six months."

────── ❪ 🌿🕊️! ❫

June 11, 2024

I can't see 20 years from now Hell, I can barely see today Can't promise you your sky won't drop a little rain When that smile in the mirror disappears I promise you I'll be right here

"Hey, baby." Jamie grins as he walks back into the lake house from being on the boat with the boys, leaning down to kiss her, "Got anything planned for tonight?"

"Hmm, no." Belle shakes her head, "Why?"

"I'm taking you out to dinner." Jamie tells her as she looks at him, "What is it?"

"What do I wear?"

"Something pretty."

“Okay.”

────── ❪ 🌿🕊️! ❫

Oh, I I don't wanna change who you are I don't wanna mess with your dreams Or get in the way of who you wanna be

“Have I mentioned how pretty you look?” Jamie grinned from the driver side of the rental car her shared with Trevor.

“Hmm, almost every chance that you get.” Belle smiles over at her boyfriend, bringing her hand up to play with the hair on the back of his neck. “Tonight was nice, just the two of us.”

“It was.” Jamie pulls into the driveway of the lake house, “But I have one more surprise.”

Belle raised an eyebrow at her boyfriend as he quickly jogs around the front of the car to her side, pulling the door open for her, “Thank you.”

“Always.” He smiles, kissing her for a brief moment before he takes her hand and starts leading her down towards the dock.

A quiet gasp leaves her lips as she takes in the sight of the small boat dock.

Candles lit up the walkway going out to the end. Seven bundles of roses lined up the sides as well as rose petals scattered along the middle.

“Jamie….” Belle stops in her tracks as tears begin to rise above her water line.

Jamie grins as he takes her by the hands, pulling her close to him, bringing her hand to wrap around his neck as he let his own drop to her waist, “Isabelle….,”

“No, don’t drop to one knee right now.” Her bottom lips trembles as she looks into her boyfriends eyes.

A chuckle leaves his lips as he sniffles, “You know, Trevor caught me watching your videos the night before we met? I had found them a couple weeks before and watched them all, and I never picked up that you were related to Jack, Quinn and Luke. And then I walked out of the locker room, and there you were.”

“We went back to our house after dinner that night, and I couldn’t stop talking about how amazing you were so Trevor gave me your number and I was so terrified to do anything with it. Took me two weeks to build up the courage to text you and ask you to have lunch with me.”

“After, I went home and I called my mom. I’ve never told you this, have I?” Jamie stops to ask her, which she shakes her head no, “Good. I went home and I called my mom, and I told her, ‘This girl, she’s it. She is everything that I’ve been searching for. She’s it for me,’ and she just laughed me off and said, ‘Jamie, your young, you’ll have more than one experience like this’, and I told her, ‘watch me marry her.’.”

“We’ve been there for each other through every good, bad, up, down. Through sickness, career moves, through every hockey game, every time you needed someone to participate in videos for your channel, TikTok pranks, and your pregnancy scare last year.” Jamie kept going with his speech, never once losing eye contact with Belle as he did.

“And the other morning, I was sitting out on the porch, lost in thought about how I was going to ask your dad and brothers, when your dad came and sat down next to me. He could see it on my face that I wanted to ask him, and he asked me how long ago had I been thinking about asking you to marry me. For an entire year, the thought of marrying your had been in the back of my mind, but six months ago I finally got the courage to buy the ring."

"But the exact moment that I really knew that I wanted to have you for the rest of my life was last year when you packed up everything you made for yourself in California and moved with me to Philly." Jamie's thumb wiped away the tears falling from Belle's face, tears of his own falling. "Can I get down on one knee now?"

A sob rips through her throat as she vigorously nodded her head, "Please."

Jamie chuckles before pulling the ring box out of his pocket, dropping down to one knee as he looked up at the blonde, "Isabelle Marie Hughes, will you marry me?"

"Yes, of course!" A giggle leaves her lips as Jamie slides the beautiful ring onto her finger before standing up and bringing her into a deep, breath taking, kiss.

Loud cheers fill the air as everyone comes out of their hiding spots, Luke instantly rushing to his older sister, spinning her around in a tight hug.

"Oh, let me see the ring!" Ellen grabs her hand, smiling at the diamond ring resting on her finger. "Oh, my baby is getting married!"

No, I I won't stop your runaway heart I just wanna be why you stay Only thing about you that I'd change is I'd change your name

Jamie smiles as he watches his fiancee gush over the ring with her mother, that smile growing bigger as she locked eyes with him, “I love you.” He mouths watching as she mouths the words back.

#❥ ꒰ 𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 & 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐄 ꒱#❥ ꒰ 𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒 ꒱#hughes!reader #nhl fanfiction #hughes!sister #jack hughes sister #luke hughes sister #quinn hughes sister #jamie drysdale x isabelle hughes #jamie drysdale x hughes reader #jamie drysdale x hughes!sister #nhl blurb

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discount-shades · 1 year

Text

Contract Spouse Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Moving

A/N: I am absolutely delighted by how much everyone loved Phoenix last chapter. 😀

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning: Angst,

Length: 2100ish

Summary: Pip moves to California.

Previous Masterlist Next

You write your name on the final box and survey the apartment. Everything was packed and labeled. Half was going with Sami to her new place with her boyfriend, Matt. Some of your stuff would be going with you to California and the rest would be put into storage.

“So you and Jake?” Matt asks as he wanders back into the apartment after taking one of Sami’s boxes to his truck. “How’s that going to go?” You roll your eyes. Sami had only informed Matt about your marriage to Jake after you decided to move to California. He had been annoyingly interested in your relationship ever since he had found out.

“I don’t know Matt,” you say shortly, as you hand him another box, “it will go however it goes.” You are nervous enough as it is. You had not lived with a man other than your father, and you had gone no contact with your parents after they had kicked you out. With the added stress of the investigation you were on edge.

Logistically everything was ready to go. Utilities all canceled and mail forwarded. Sami had rolled her eyes at the moving checklist you had given her but dutifully followed it. You had notified your bosses, and had to quit one of your jobs, but the other had agreed to let you stay on. You had convinced them that having a California based liaison would help when working with companies in that time zone.

You were prepared for everything except Jake.

“It’s just that a fake marriage and moving in together is very romcom of you.” You gaze at Matt in exasperation as he continues, “what if you have to fake PDA?”

“Eww Matt, that's my brother you are talking about!” Sami walks in and shoos Matt outside, but the expression on her face is calculating as you try to hide your embarrassment by shuffling boxes into different piles.

“I’m going to miss you.” You look up from shifting boxes at Sami’s words. She has tears in her eyes. “I know I was moving out first but now you are going across the country and…” She trails off sniffling. You walk over and wrap her in a hug, her long blonde hair tickling your nose. “I’m just going to miss you is all.”

You dry her tears with your sleeve. “I’m going to miss you too,” you tell her and she lets out a watery chuckle. “Your brother is going to be a poor substitution for my best friend.”

“Ouch,” You look over as Jake walks through the door. “That hurts my feelings Pip,” he holds his hand over his heart, “all two of them.” He walks over and hugs Sami before pulling you into a hug and you can’t help but inhale the smell of his cologne.

“You’re late Jacob.” Sami sasses him as she checks her watch. “It's after eight. We've been at it since seven.”

“I slept in, Samantha.” He shrugs and you look more closely and see shadows under his eyes. “Also I got donuts.”

“You are not carrying any donuts.” Sami has her hands on her hips, “don’t lie to me about donuts.”

“I gave them to Matt downstairs.” Sami groans and goes running out the door. You both watch her go and turn to each other. “You good?” his tired eyes are searching your expression and you square your shoulders and nod.

“Are you?” He shrugs his shoulders in a non-committal way.

“Yeah, as good as anyone being criminally investigated can be,” he says and he pulls you into a hug when your face falls at his response. You relax into him, wrapping yours around his waist. Jake’s hugs are always comforting. Strong arms and a firm chest. He is solid and dependable and you can't help the feeling of safety you always find in his arms.

His voice rumbles in your ear where you have it pressed against his chest. “We have a lot of evidence to prove we are actually together and a valid reason for you to move after you got the letter.”

You nod reluctantly and go to apologize again for the both of you being in this situation but he stops you. “I knew what I was getting into, Pip. I could have divorced you years ago but I didn’t so we are in this together.”

You agree quietly as Sami walks back through the door with Matt who noisily clears his throat. You grab a donut from the box he is holding before grabbing something small you can carry in one hand and making your way out to Jake's truck, eating as you go.

It took a few hours to pack the stuff you were taking to California into the truck. The movers you hired were able to take the furniture that was yours to the storage locker before carrying on and taking the rest to Sami’s new place. Your car had been on its last legs for a few years so rather than chance it on a 1300 mile road trip you had decided to sell it and buy a new one in California.

Once everything is settled you find yourself standing outside Sami's place, her arms around you as she cries into your shoulder. Jake and Matt standing a respectful distance as you say your goodbyes. When she finally releases you she takes a shuddering breath. “God, I didn’t even cry this much when I moved out of my moms house.”

You’re not crying, but going your separate way from Sami is still hard. “It’s probably for the best.” You smile half heartedly. “Gotta break that codependency we’ve got going on.” It had been a running joke for most of your friendship, though for you, it felt like it was a little too close to the truth. Your lives were entwined so closely that you were more like twin sisters.

“I’m just realizing that we’ll never live in the same place anymore.”

“I’ll be back in the city six months or so after the charges are dropped and we can divorce.” You say as the guys begin to walk over. “Shouldn’t be more than a year.” She gives you a look that you can't place and turns to hug Jake.

“Take care of her, she may be your wife but she is my best friend.” Jake chuckles and picks her up in a hug. You hear her whisper to him but can't make out the words. You give Matt a quick hug and after he and Jake shake hands you are on the road.

– – –

Jake blinks in weariness as he drives. He had spent the last two days driving to Texas and was now leaving the state. He never slept well in hotels, or in this case motels. He actually hadn’t slept well in years. But he didn’t like to think about it. He only couldn’t sleep when he was sleeping in new places. After a week in one place he was fine. Mostly.

He glances over at you. After the letter you had started to wear your wedding band, hoping for it to leave an indentation on your finger. It had been his suggestion. He had thought of the deep groove etched in his mother’s finger when she had finally been ready to take her wedding ring off, four years after his dad had passed.

He could tell you were nervous. Your fingers constantly move as you fiddle with the band, spinning it around and around. He had bought the simple white gold infinity ring with tiny lab grown diamonds when you had married him, and until now you only had worn it for special occasions.

Looking at you, sitting beside him and completely upending your life to move across the country to make the marriage seem real, the guilt hits him. “I should have divorced you years ago.” His voice is sharp, breaking the silence that has stretched between the two of you for the past hour.

You look up at him, startled by the sudden admission. He can feel your gaze boring into him and he avoids your eyes, focusing on the road. “Careful Jake,” he can hear a wryness in your voice that tells him you are grinning, “any other woman would be insulted by an admission like that.”

He let out a grudging chuckle. “You know what I mean.”

You sigh. “It’s a two way street Jake. You won’t let me blame myself, so I won't let you blame yourself.” You straighten up in your seat and shift so you are facing him. “Jake, look at me.”

“Can’t. I’m driving.” He can practically hear your eyes roll.

“Jake.” Your voice is weary and he relaxes his shoulders with a sigh and glances at you before returning his eyes to the road without the rigid focus of avoiding your gaze. “We probably should have divorced but it was just easier not to, for both of us. It’s no use playing the ‘what if’ game.”

“Yeah,” he voices his agreement but he knows better.

The last few years he had been actively avoiding the topic of divorce when he talked to you. If he thought you were getting close to bringing it up he would change the subject. He was afraid that if he divorced you he would have to give you up.

You were his confidant. The person he talked to most. Some days he thought you knew him better than anyone. He told you things he couldn’t tell his mother who would only worry. He couldn't tell Sami either. His sister was notorious for her inability to keep a secret and would have spilled to his mother the first chance she got. Javy knew what happened but they never talked about it.

But he could talk to you. He never told you what happened, but he could tell you everything else. His thoughts, how he was feeling, but never why. You just listened. You were understanding, you would give advice and help him reframe things. You always seemed to know when he needed a distraction, but you had always been that way.

The day his father died he had been sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the night, numb to the world, wondering what the hell he was going to do. The old fashioned responsibility of being the man of the house weighed heavily on his shoulders.

His mother had gone to bed hours ago, she had ended up barely leaving her room for a month, but he didn’t know that the first night. You had spent the night with Sami in her room. It crossed his mind that he should have checked on Sami hours ago, but the lack of light coming from under her door told him it was too late and he’d buried his face in his hands feeling like a failure.

He heard a creek and looked up to see you creeping out of his sister's room. You had met his eyes as you walked into the kitchen. You grabbed two clean glasses out of the dishwasher and filled them at the sink before walking over and putting one in front of him and sitting across from him at the table with the other.

“Sami’s asleep.” Your soft voice broke the silence.

“I should have checked on her.” He said it automatically, sharing his real fears and insecurities with you. “I’m already fucking this up.”

He remembers the look on your face so clearly. Compassion, exasperation, and understanding. “You can’t mess up grief. You’re allowed to be sad too, Jake.” He stared at you thinking about how ridiculous it was that at seventeen he needed to be comforted by an eleven year old. “It's not all on you.” You sat quietly across from him for a few minutes as he thought about your words .When he eventually nodded you stood up and gave him an awkward hug before you picked up your glass and left the kitchen. “Drink some water, crying can dehydrate you.”

He watched Sami’s door close behind you before staring at the full glass you put in front of him. He picked it up, drained it, and went to bed himself.

“I didn’t know NCIS investigated marriages.” Your comment brings him abruptly back to the present.

“What?” he asks in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, when I got the letter it surprised me,” you say, “It's just that the TV show makes me only think of them investigating murders.” Jake lets out a short laugh and he sees you smiling at him out of the corner of his eye. “I mean, if we need lawyers will JAG be involved?” There is laughter in your voice. “How many TV shows am I going to live through in this situation?”

A smile lingers at the corner of his lips as he keeps driving.

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman/reader #top gun hangman #topgun maverick #topgun hangman #hangman topgun #topgun #top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader

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penvisions · 4 months

Text

garnish {chapter 10}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Time doesn't heal all wounds, but it does make the heart grow fonder. You find yourself missing Joel, too stubborn to reach out but Ellie is tired of seeing you both pinning as she navigates classes with you and her homelife with Joel now that she's back in the city.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: canon typical language, reader is a dumb dumb, reader is stubborn and heartbroken, mentions of reader's past, trauma, complicated family dynamics, stressful family dynamics, reader mourns her past relationship with father, verbal abuse (past tense), ellie being a scheming lil shit, language, sexual content, references to sexual relations (past tense), smoking, cigarettes, nicotine, drinking, consumption of alcohol, melancholia, manic depressive internal monologue

A/N: WE DID IT, we made it to the end!! i've never finished a fic before so this is all so exciting and a little terrifying, to be honest. i hope hope hope that i've done this lil au justice, with it growing a mind and story line of its own i never even planned for somewhere around chapter five. but we did it and i am proud of this lil one and maybe self-indulged a lot with my own birthday on the 17th! please tell me your thoughts!! a HUGE thank you to everyone that interacted with this. y'all made this possible by engaging with me and inspiring me to continue on even when my own brain was working against me ♡

i would love to take prompts for these two dummies to expand their universe and story in the future if anyone is interested? but i'm still getting used to having what little attention my fics are getting and i dunno if that would be something people are interested in ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Well, you certainly have the enthusiasm, Ellie.” A smile passed over the desk, fingers curled over her application and subsequent documentation. She had already graduated from her Boston school at the end of the previous spring semester, already set up to TA for a favorite professor of hers in the new year after a successful first year of doing so for another. But she had a pending application for a secondary degree. One here in Austin.

Her life laid out in front of you once she had begun school, having applied and gotten into an art program in England right out of high school, something she had gushed about excitedly for a few moments when you asked her about it. Sure, you had talked about it in passing over shared meals both in the comforting environment of father’s home and while out getting coffee that had developed as a regular occurrence any time she was in town.

She was only four years younger than you, both her and Sarah. So driven and excited about this time in their lives. Sarah having relocated to work for a company that fought for her attention and hire after a phenomenal performance in communications and social work out in California. Both supported and shown love in a way that used to make anger and jealousy flair up in you, but that you now saw as a blessing for those who had that kind of nurturing environment to flourish in.

“I just…the perspective of art and language of art you’re trying to explore is really fuckin’ interesting. I know it doesn’t necessarily fall in line with my focus of studies, but-“

“Classes that interest you are just as important as those that help along your degree.”

“And dad said that I could go for it, said if it’s what I want, he’ll help me in any way he can.”

“Ellie, it would be a pleasure to have you take part in the program. There is a two semester commitment, I will remind you. And the application you submitted for Austin is still pending. But if you’re on board, I can sign my approval and walk it over to the admissions office when we’re done here.”

“I was…actually going to see if you could give me a ride back to the house…dad was in a hurry when my car wouldn’t start, and I left my keys with him so he could take a look at it.”

“Oh,” Your bottom lip was between your teeth, nervousness taking ahold of you. “Um, well-“

“I totally understand not wanting to, but I would feel better going with you than taking a bus or somethin’.”

“It’s okay, I can. But let’s walk this over to admissions and see what we can get in the way of aid first, yeah?”

“Fuck yeah, thank you so much!”

Your class sessions were at nine and lasted for two hours every Tuesday and Thursday. Not wanting to over log the students with a long block of class time on top of all the reading you did end up requiring of them in order to participate in the discussions. Only two days a week to allow for some leeway with the readings on top of the other responsibilities you were all to familiar with. You had explained to Ellie once her application had been switched over from pending to accepted.

You did miss the social aspect of working at the restaurant, the different foods and drinks you could try on a whim, the ability to get as much or as little human interaction as you wanted. But…you had made a choice to leave it behind. For good. Focusing finally on the things that you wanted to do for the rest of your life and a plethora of memories and stories of a time now past.

And Joel….you missed Joel.

But you were stubborn, sure that the man wanted to wash his hands of you after never getting a response.

Ellie was banging her head along to the tape that had been stuck in the trucks deck for years now. An old one from your childhood, one of the only things you father had intentionally gifted you. His love of music something you shared despite the rift and space created between you both. Your birthday up until you moved resulting in a gift card to the local record shop and a few tapes or CDs he wanted to share with you.

The younger girl belted out the lyrics, the loose strands of her hair whipping around from the cracked windows. You sang along with her, though not as loud, indulging her despite the ache that had settled in your bones. Having overthought yourself into a weird mood before class.

Suddenly the music faltered before the warbling completely as the ribbon inside began to loosen from the spool and hang out from the deck.

“Shit, that’s not good.” Ellie lamented as she reached forward to push the play button in to pause the music. She hit the ejection button and carefully pulled the tape from the mouth of the player. Her charcoal stained fingers spinning the spools one at a time to wind the ribbon back where it should be. A few moments later and she was reloading it and pushing play but the speakers only crackled before the tape ejected itself.

“Damn, it died.”

You didn’t say anything, thoughts a whirlwind as you panicked over loosing the last tangible connection you had with your estranged father. If she picked up on your tense silence, Ellie didn’t comment on it, leaving the tape hang half out the deck and moving to use the radio for the remainder of the ride.

The house looked the same, Joel’s house, nestled to the side of a small cul-de-sac. The neighborhood calm and quiet in the early afternoon.

The graying curls you would recognize anywhere peaked from where Ellie’s care was being inspected by Joel laid out on a roller underneath the carriage. The hood was propped open and a giant tool storage cabinet had been wheeled closer to the opening of the garage. She bounded up to him, talking too fast for you to make anything out from the curb.

But Joel must’ve been able to decipher at least some of it because his gaze turned to you, oil staining one of his cheeks and his chest puffing up with a deep breath.

You felt your own breath catch low in your throat, a lump of air making it hard to breathe.

You drove off with your heart hammering in your chest.

It was now February, the dreaded holiday of the month approaching and your birthday right along with it. A shame, that such a day overshadowed any plans you had once made. The holiday taking precedent with prefix menus that brought in generous tips from happy couples and friends. But this year, this year you could do whatever you wanted.

Stay in, go out, order takeaway, drown yourself in fancy truffles. Whatever you wanted. But the weight in your heart didn’t have you all too keen for the day to arrive. Wondering what Joel had decided for his special menu, the drinks Millie worked with Mary on to pair alongside it. Maybe….maybe you could snag a seat at the bar and indulge?

You let the thoughts trail off and focused on grading the papers in front of you. Needing to get them done before your attention was pulled by a movie night with your friends.

You were up at exactly one minute before the clock stuck midnight. Bleary eyes watching the progression of the last sixty seconds before it was officially your birthday. Your phone buzzed with two texts immediately, all camps too much to handle in the early hour. Turning it to silent mode, you turned over and listened to the faint sounds of Sweet Pea playing with a bell down in the living room, hoping sleep would come back to you.

Waking up for a second time was a whirlwind, snooze allowing for you to sleep in until the absolute last minute before you had to get up. Shoving the tube of fabric that was a simple, off the shoulder dress over your head and fluffing up your hair with dry shampoo and you were out the door and headed to the campus.

“Alright, everyone, since I’m feelin’ a little generous today!” You clapped your hands once, noticing Ellie slink in at the last minute before you typically announced the beginning of class. “I’m gonna play a documentary for today- but!”

You interrupted the happy chuckles from the group of about thirty or so individuals you had interviewed and approved for your program. “I will need a paper on the methods used to help identify the remains and artifacts, with your general interpretation of the cultural basis hypothesized from them due next class!”

“Professor, c’mon. It’s my birthday, it’s your birthday: let’s all just take it easy.”

A chorus of, “Is it really your birthday?! Why didn’t you tell us!” rang out across the room. Certain individuals looking genuinely upset that they had missed out on a chance to let you know how much they appreciated you and liked you. It made the ache in your heart lighten just a bit, weird mood about the day waning slightly in their unabashed openness. Ellie was oddly silent, normally one to engage loudly and enthusiastically, her phone in her hand, fingers a blur as she fiddled with it.

“If you really want to do something for me, please, concentrate on the documentary!” You turned your back to the class, booting up the video on your laptop and tugging down the projector screen that was closed and stored up above the whiteboard. Turning the lights off, save for one in the back for them to take notes with, you pressed play and offered one last tidbit before the opening credits rolled, “But it doesn’t hurt to bring a gift card for any local coffee shops.”

“Need a ride today, Ellie?” You asked the lingering girl, slow to pack her bag up once the class had ended and hesitant to disembark from the campus altogether. Her car was in the shop, something needing repair that was beyond Joel’s skill set. As well as a new set of tires they were waiting on to get delivered before installing them. The ones she had for the more intense weather seasons of Boston worn down over the years and needed replacing. You didn’t mind totting the younger girl around, offering her help with proof reading papers and going over terms that didn’t easily stick. Talking about nothing in particular, though Joel had been diligently inside the house or away each time you dropped her off at home, no more awkward glances since your little display of speeding off the first time.

“Was gonna offer to get you a coffee,” She wouldn’t look directly at you, setting you on edge. You were about to ask her if everything was okay when she suddenly swung her bag on her shoulder and faced you. “I’m helping at the restaurant today, assumed you wouldn’t be cool with dropping me off there.”

An hour later, you were both loaded in the car with too expensive coffee drinks and pulling up to the front of the restaurant. You didn’t want to test if you had clearance to park in the employee lot, not sure what would hurt more. The denial of your code beeping or the approval of your code chirping and opening the gate. Sighing, you put shifted into park and let the engine idle.

Ellie seamed to be taking her sweet time once again. Moving slow to collect her things, having hesitantly showed you the project she was working on for one of her art courses. The bell above the front entrance sounded as the door opened and your head snapped up to see Joel walk through it. He paused, holding the door open beside him as he gave a small wave to Ellie and a somber nod to you.

Yous lips lifted at the corners as you noticed the stain of what had to be beets on his otherwise pristine apron, the white of it displaying the dark red in a disturbing way. His other hand was behind his back, shrouded in the shadows of the interior. He shared a hushed work with Ellie as she finally exited the truck and slinked past him with a last wave toward you.

But Joel didn’t follow her inside.

He stepped outside completely. The door closing behind him with a soft thump.

He was walking toward the truck, the passenger window down all the way as Ellie relished in the fresh air before knowing she wouldn’t leave until well past midnight after the rush of the holiday.

Your fingers dug into the skin of your thighs, dress having ridden up during the drive to expose the tops of them. The sun warm on them as your nails made crescent shapes in their softness, making your anxiety for the world to see. You were otherwise frozen, unsure of what to say, how to talk. He looked so good. Longer hair slicked back, sliver glinting in the sunlight at his temples and in the scruff of his face. A vaguely heart shaped patch where it didn’t grow in too tempting of a sight as you recalled the way it felt to pepper kisses there.

Joel’s eyes flickered down to your mouth as your tongue swiped out to wet your suddenly dry bottom one, his hidden hand finally shifting from behind his back.

You couldn’t help the little gasp that pushed from your chest as a boquet of flowers was revealed to be in his grip.

The colors of it shades of orange, gold, and yellow. A mix of chrysanthemums, sunflowers, and peonies all wrapped in a delicate tissue paper with a white ribbon holding it all together. In the middle of the front of it, there was something shiny.

“Thought it was an emergency, when she started blowing up my phone a few hours ago.” He finally spoke, stepping off the curb and up to the passenger side of the car. He extended the bouquet to you, hiding his face from you for a moment. You were able to make out the shiny thing in the middle.

It was a copy of the tape that had died the first time you had given Ellie a ride home. The one you couldn’t find anywhere online. The one you had almost just ordered a CD or digital version of. The one you had almost reached out to your father to ask about. It was impossible to find, to replace. But it was there, in the middle of a beautiful arrangement of flowers.

A sob suddenly wracked through your body, hands coming up to cup your chin and hold any others in as fat tears fell hot from your eyes.

“Oh no, no – this – this was supposed t’make you smile, darlin’, not burst into tears.” Joel quickly lowered it, moving it out of view of the windows frame and pulling it back behind him. “I’m so sorry, I – I was just trying to do somethin’ nice for ya on your special day.”

You hiccupped as you reached out a hand in a weak wave, wiping at your cheeks with the other.

“No, Joel, it’s…it’s really sweet of you to do this. I just…I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you do, you deserve everythin’, darlin’.” He reached through the open window and gently placed the bouquet down on the passenger seat. Molasses eyes catching yours as he offered you a weak smile and a nervous display of his fingers slinking his hair back. “Just wanted to do somethin’ for you today. I didn’t know last year and well, this year I do.”

“Joel…”

“Don’t need anything from you, really. They’re for you and that’s that.” He shuffled on his feet, watching as the breeze ruffled your loose hair and the fabric of your dress, sleeves flowing in the wind, the shine of your necklace in the sunshine.

“Thank you, really. I- I appreciate it.” You reached over to tug the cassette from its secure spot. Turning it over in your hands, taking in the scratches on the plastic of the case. The memory of looking over the massive collection he had displayed in one of the guest rooms, the small shelving unit he had made himself to store all the tapes he had previously kept in boxes in the garage. “Joel, this is from your collection, I can’t-“

“You can ‘n I wanted to. Ellie told me yours got ate and I don’t listen to the tapes much these days, just the vinyl.”

Voice gone and heart beating fast, you nodded. Feeling the urge to lean over and pull him into the truck to drive around for hours and listen to the reverent offering in your hands. But he had a holiday menu to get back to and you had a new recipe to try out. Each on their own and in different worlds.

He patted the window sill twice with a wide palm before he was turning away and disappearing back inside. You watched him go, heart urging you to call out to him while your mind told you it wouldn’t ever be that simple again.

Friends had come and gone, sharing dinner and gifts with you. Crappy movies and good liquor, laughs abundant and feelings so alive. The kind of day that reminded you that you were alive and well. The kind of day that made everything else worth it, small moments tiding you over until you could feel like full and bright again.

You stared at the flowers until the alcohol in your system blurred them, the colors running together and dimming as sleep pulled you under in the late hour. The tape playing through to the end before the machine finally shut off, blanketing you in your passed out state.

You would stare at them, as if they were pulling your attention every time you were in the kitchen or the living room. Choosing to hide away in your office or upstairs when you were home where they were out of site. When they began to wilt and dry up, you moved them to the back patio, not able to through them out but not able to reach out to the man who had gifted them to you.

Finally removing them from the vase and cleaning it out. You bagged them up and left them on the counter to deal with after class. One that went by in the blink of an eye, almost like the day was rushing toward something. Rushing you toward something. The slow thrum of…something deep in your bones as you engaged in the discussion, leading it back to the focal point if it got too off tangent.

The routine of giving Ellie a ride one that hadn’t been prevalent lately since her car had been fixed and the end of the semester rolled around. But today it seemed to be one of the things that time was ushering you toward. Driving Ellie home with post class treat of milkshakes this time, the weather beginning to inch toward the dry heat that was prevalent most of the year.

“Thanks again! See you Thursday, professor!” Ellie hollered over her shoulder as she all but tore out your truck and ran towards the front door. By passing the scene of Joel stood in the driveway, garage open behind him once again.

“I better! You have a final!” You hollered after her, no real malice in your voice.

She whizzed past Joel who was stood at the front of her car, hood open and engine block exposed to his perplexed expression. His hands were on his hips, a wrench in one and a screwdriver in the other. He was looking down into the exposed parts with a look you couldn’t quite read from the curb but when he spotted Ellie he called after her.

“Babygirl, I don’t see anything wrong with it. You said it was making a rattling sound, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah! A rattling sound.”

“From…where, exactly?” He turned a furrowed brow to her but she was determined to get away from his prying gaze, scurrying off without any more words. Her bag thumping against her shoulders as she rushed toward the door.

You had been so focused on watching her nearly trip over the steps leading to the front door that you didn’t notice Joel rise from his spot tinkering with something on her car and approach the side of yours.

“Hey there,” His cautious voice greeted you too close through the open window.

“Oh jesus, fuck! Joel don’t do that!” You startled so bad the seatbelt locked up and tightened around you, preventing you from taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Shit, sorry. Thought you saw me comin’ over.” A sheepish rub of his hand along the back of his neck, had your eyes roaming over the picture he made in the frame of the open window. Perfectly fitted, as if he should be on the inside of the truck beside you instead of standing outside of it. Close, but not close enough.

Quiet fell over the both of you, Joel looking into the cab of the truck, grease and oil marring his beautiful skin and white t-shirt and you gazing just to the right of him, not able to directly do so now that his attention was focused. The words shared between you both, all of the good, all of the bad, and all of the confusing floating in the heavy air between two people who had lived far too much in such a short amount of time. Echoes of everything passing in the charged air between you both.

Your name being uttered had your eyes glancing at his, the sun lighting them up into a bright hue and your heart fluttered in your chest. You held his gaze for a few seconds, heat creeping up your neck from the pulse of warmth that only he could cause filling your chest.

“Alright, well…thanks for bringing Ellie home.” He reached a handout to pat the side of the truck before shoving away.

“Hey, Joel, wait…” You leaned over, hoping that the words in your throat didn’t get stuck. When he turned quickly back to you, there was a hopeful pinch to his features, lips pursed as he waited with bated breath for you to continue. Taking a deep breath, you locked eyes with him again, keeping up the connection. The hope that glinted in them helped the words to flow from you in a quick push.

“Do, um, do you want to grab a coffee sometime?”

previous chapter || end

taglist: @hiddenbabynyc @jessthebaker @clevergirl74 @anavatazes @samiamproductions @76bookworm76 @tuquoquebrute @sarap-77

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

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pluckyredhead · 2 months

Note

Can you please say more about the Lanterns' politics?

I am so glad you asked me about this because I've been thinking about it since I reblogged that post but also I'm definitely about to get yelled at lol. ANYWAY THIS IS GOING TO BE LONG.

Tl;dr: John is the only one with a coherent political position or an up-to-date voter registration.

Hal:

So something interesting about Hal is that his stories are often very political but his character is not. With one extremely obvious exception, he rarely talks about politics; rather, he serves as a means through which to tell political stories, usually unintentionally.

What do I mean by that? Well, for example, in the Silver Age, his love interest would occasionally be possessed by a misandrist space jewel that would force her to attack him, but always lose because women are inherently inferior to men and prefer to be subjugated by them anyway. That's the original Star Sapphire concept. It's wildly misogynistic, but it doesn't mean Hal the character is misogynistic. But it's also a very political story, even if I don't think the writer was deliberately trying to make a point so much as...being an average, thoughtlessly sexist guy living in the 60s. (Carol continues to be the subject of mindbogglingly sexist writing and art well into the 2000s. Fucking comics.)

And so you have Hal Jordan, whose love life was ruined by his girlfriend getting promoted above him and who called his best friend by a racist nickname for decades; Hal Jordan, poster boy for chest-thumping post-9/11 kneejerk patriotism; Hal Jordan, lightning rod for a certain kind of regressive bigoted fanboyism. Choosing Hal as the Lantern for a particular story over John or Kyle has come to signify something very specific, but none of that is necessarily reflective of what Hal himself believes.

So what about Hal himself? Well, when we first meet him, he's the epitome of privilege: a white, straight, cis, Christian (I know he's canonically half-Jewish now but that's only as of the past decade or so), ablebodied, upper middle class (Geoff Johns retconned him to have a working class background, but in the Silver Age, he had one uncle who was a millionaire, another who was a judge, and a successful politician brother) man with a flashy job. Privilege tends to lean Republican; even if he is from California, I suspect Hal voted for Eisenhower in 1956.

In GL/GA, the word "Republican" isn't used to my recollection, but Hal is definitely presented as...I'm going to say conservative by I mean lower-case C. He doesn't have deeply held political beliefs, but he's traditional. He doesn't question the system, because he's never had to. He resists things that challenge the way he's always understood the world works, and that's very relatable - most people do! And he will absolutely argue with Ollie, who certainly isn't always right about everything. But he's also willing to listen, and have his mind changed, and certainly reachable via appeals to compassion and fairness.

Once the "relevance" trend of the late 60s-early 70s was over, Hal's stories default back to ostensibly politically neutral, although obviously nothing is actually politically neutral. In the late 80s and early 90s he's the most unpleasant version of himself, and that has political manifestations, like when he allows John to be imprisoned in apartheid South Africa for a ridiculous and unnecessary crime Hal himself committed. It's extremely fucked up, but again, it's less because of Hal's actual opinions and more because Christopher Priest wanted to write about apartheid, even if it does make Hal look incredibly, horrifically racist.

Then jump to the mid-2000s and Green Lantern: Rebirth, and you might imagine that losing his hometown, getting possessed by a giant space bug, becoming a supervillain, dying, and becoming the embodiment of God's vengeance might have some effect on Hal's politics, but that is not what Geoff Johns is here to write. Johns is writing a Hal who teleported in from, like, 1967 - no nuance allowed. He's a summer blockbuster that walks like a man. He's a Baja Blast. He's never had a coherent political thought in his life. In his defense, he has had more and goofier concussions than any superhero I can think of and his brain is smooth like an egg. Still.

Anyway, all of this is to say that I think Hal tends to default to center right positions but can be easily coaxed over to center left. That said, he has never not once in his life had his shit together enough to vote in a single election, not even for his own brother.

Guy:

So Guy's deal is a little bit complicated because his most vocally political era was also in part due to severe and personality-altering brain damage.

When Guy was originally introduced in the 1960s, he had the pleasantly bland personality of all superheroes. Many years later, he suffered a series of major injuries, torture, and a lengthy coma, and he emerged from the coma in 1985 with the aggressive, abrasive personality he's best known for today. Justice League International took that even further, using him to parody the jingoistic, red-blooded American action hero of the 80s.

This version of Guy is a vocal fan of Ronald Reagan and despises the USSR. He's pro-war, proudly xenophobic, and treats women badly enough that it crosses the line into repeated sexual harassment, both physical and verbal. (To be fair...ish, this last also applies to Wally West and arguably a number of other men, and was always played for laughs. It was gross all around.)

Again, this is partially a manifestation of his brain damage. There's also a running gag in JLI where if he gets hit on the head, his personality changes to this cloying, timid, gentle one, sort of halfway between a child and a flamboyant gay stereotype. Hit him again and he goes back to Asshole Guy. I'm not going to pretend I don't find some of the gags funny, but it's obviously all highly problematic, and not just from a medical standpoint.

That said, I don't think we can dismiss Guy's politics or his usual personality as simply a manifestation of brain damage. We see in later flashbacks that he developed the abrasiveness as a defense mechanism from growing up in an abusive home, and as he matures through the 90s, he doesn't actually become a significantly different person, even after his Vuldarian healing factor kicks in and heals his brain. (It's a thing.) I think it's more accurate to say that the brain damage probably affected his impulse control, his filter, and arguably even his paranoia levels.

All of which is to say that as much as I would love to go "Guy's better now, so he's not a Republican!"...that dog won't hunt. I think a really good canon writer could make the case that Guy is pro-union-style working class and also a former teacher so he's at least center left, but as of now canon evidence is pretty firmly on the red side. It doesn't help that the GLC has been written as fetishistically pro-cop and pro-military since Johns got his grubby hands all over it. I will happily ignore the New 52 retcon that Guy was a cop, and you could even try to argue that he dislikes cops because his brother was a corrupt cop who became a supervillain, but I think it's much more likely that he identifies with cops as a Corps member. Although I don't think he would have any patience for killer cops. ("You were afraid for your life even though you were the only one with a weapon? Then fucking quit, coward.")

All of that said, I think Guy is similar to Hal: defaults to center right, can be talked into center left on certain issues but he's more stubborn about it. (They would also both be enraged by Jan 6 and disgusted by the current Republican party - I can't quite argue that Guy Gardner is a Democrat but Green Lanterns don't have any patience for traitors or cowards.) It's also kind of a moot point because he never knows what is happening on Earth and hasn't voted since his pre-coma days.

John:

Oh John Stewart, thank god for you.

John was introduced as an explicitly political character in an explicitly political story. The first time we see him, he's stepping in to defend Black men from a white cop, citing his own knowledge of the law to do so. He shows a much more perceptive and informed perspective on the issue's main plot (a racist senator running for president) than Hal does. Even in the little moment above, we see that he's sensitive to exactly what it means for him, a Black man, to be taking on this role.

None of this is a surprise, since we'll later learn that John's parents were civil rights activists. Not only would he not have had the privilege Hal and Guy did to assume his existence was politically neutral, he was explicitly educated about political realities and progressive advocacy from childhood. He's well-informed, he's passionate, and he's going to tell you when you are being fucking stupid.

John isn't immune from the GL cop/military...thing, although I can't blame Johns for that - it was the cartoon that made him a Marine, and the comics followed suit. But that's never outweighed his origin or his upbringing. Like, he's friends with the DCU's fictional version of Nelson Mandela.

This one is straightforward: John is a staunch progressive. He is, however, in outer space 90% of the time, so he's always at least a little bit out of date. I imagine every time he comes back to Earth he spends the first 24 hours watching the news in abject horror.

Kyle:

Kyle doesn't talk about politics a lot, but when he does, he lands pretty much where you'd expect a young California-born artist living in New York City to land: to the left. My read on Kyle is that he hasn't really thought any of his politics through, which makes sense - he's a character who is led by emotion over reason every time. He doesn't have John's carefully thought-through arguments or knowledge of the law behind him. I feel like when something political upsets him, he's more likely to splutter angrily than make a coherent argument (which: same). When he's given the time to think things through and speak from the heart, though, he can be very eloquent, like in his speech to Terry after Terry accidentally comes out to him.

It's also worth pointing out that his solo appearances were mostly in the 90s, which were prone to avoiding politics or only addressing them in a halfhearted both sides-y way like the story above.

That said, I don't think he ever actually does anything about his political opinions. He never votes in midterm or primary elections, and probably only voted in a presidential one because Alex dragged him along one time. I feel like Donna tried to do the same when they were dating and that was when Kyle realized he'd forgotten to change his voter registration from California to New York. Jennie wasn't responsible enough to Mom him into doing his civic duty, and he's been in space pretty much nonstop ever since, so...

Simon:

In that other post, I said Simon's experiences should have radicalized him, but instead he was created by Geoff Johns. Simon is a Muslim, Lebanese-American man who came of age in the post-9/11 era, and was wrongfully convicted of terrorism and waterboarded at Guantanamo Bay. His reaction to this was...to put on a ski mask and wave a gun around. Like, it's been a while since I've read these issues, but aside from the "ripped from the headlines!!!" of it all, I feel like Simon's experiences largely don't inform his actions or perspective except that he's super angry (fair enough).

The thing about Simon (and Jessica) is that he hasn't been around very long, and most comics don't have characters directly expressing political opinions. It's not a coincidence that these characters are in chronological order and each write-up is shorter than the last. I can think of about three times where Kyle has ever said anything I can interpret as political, and he's been around for 30 years. Simon only has a third of that history. So while one could certainly extrapolate what Simon's opinions are likely to be, I can't think of any canon where he actually says them.

Jessica:

Jessica has even less to go on in terms of explicitly political comics. You'd think she wouldn't like guns because of what happened to her friends, but she has one of her own and doesn't seem bothered by Simon's. I'd imagine she has opinions on immigration as someone whose family is from Mexico and Honduras, but it never comes up. If I were writing for DC, I'd make both Simon and Jess leftists, but as for actual canon proof? I got nothing.

I will say that she probably avoids political discussions because anxiety, and I bet she got really good at voting by mail during her years not leaving the house. She probably votes by mail from space. Maybe John's not the only one with an up-to-date voter registration.

Kilowog:

#green lantern #hal jordan #guy gardner #john stewart #kyle rayner #simon baz #jessica cruz #meta

105 notes · View notes

miheartsedthings · 3 months

Note

Idea - Billy spending his time with someone else while the reader is crushing on him from afar, sees their relationship unfold into something the reader wishes they had with Billy, but Billy's just doing it to distract himself from his elevating feelings for her while she's trying not to feel crushed by this massive crush.. happy ending :>

Thank you so much for being patient while I worked on this! Hope you like it! 😘

“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.” ― Federico García Lorca, Blood Wedding and Yerma

SFW, Angst, Fluff, Hidden Desire

Backing away, trembling, eyes filling with tears as his mouth babbles softly ‘No, it’s not real. This can’t…it can’t be happening…please…’ but it is happening. It has happened. Billy Hargrove has fallen in love, and much to his despair.

He wakes every morning from a nightmare of this all-consuming feeling. It’s terrible the way your face lives in his mind. You’ve replaced so many darker images and for that, he’s so grateful, but now there’s the cloying need for you. The Flayer’s voice used to echo in his skull. In the years since leaving Hawkins, it’s quieted down and now only one message remains, tacked to the back of his mind in perpetuity. No one will love you it says No one will stay.

This is the strongest because it’s the one he already believed. The ‘truth’ he already knew about himself. His being unloveable. He thought he’d made his peace with it. He thought he was satisfied enough to have survived the Flayer and made it back to California. For a time he found a kind of happiness. A hollow, sugary calm that left his days empty. There was booze again, and a slow reentry to weightlifting. His appetite for women was slowly returning. He’d made a couple of friends and attended a couple of parties. He was creating a new normal and it was okay that it didn’t feel exactly right.

He could live with the waves of loneliness that came over him at night. He could handle those dark memories and the nameless sense of loss. He would’ve been fine with it, if not for you. He saw you in class one morning. The dawn of another semester, another summer left behind. His skin was still warm from days on the beach, his head ringing with a hangover. Then you spoke and it was like you’d called his name with just the sound of it. He looked at you and listened to you, and every next thing you said spelled out his ruin. Every day the feeling sank further and further until he was bashful of looking your way.

As if that wasn’t enough, you kept showing up all over campus. You were in the student center whenever he went, and at parties he attended looking so fucking good in everything you wore. You passed by each other on your morning walk to separate classes and you always waved. Always with that lovely smile of yours. It got to the point where the thought of moving around campus made him anxious about running into you. He thought of you when he picked out his clothes, for fuck’s sake. Things couldn’t continue this way. He had to find peace from you. So, when Lauren asked him out one day after the class you shared, he said yes.

You’re trying to ignore the twist in your gut when you see Billy and Lauren walk in together. They’d always sat together in lecture, so you suppose it makes sense they’d start dating. But that doesn’t make it easier. You’d noticed Billy on your first day in class. He sat near the back, classically handsome and easily the most interesting person in class. When he talked, everyone listened, not just because of the way he looks. The way he speaks is filled with intention, right down to the gestures he chooses to accentuate his words. Whatever he feels he means it and he never shies away from that.

At the same time, you get the sense that what he says isn’t useless fluff, but based on something. Whatever he’s been through has changed him. You find yourself wanting to go up to him after class and ask him where he gets his confidence. You’d listen to his whole life story if he cared to tell you. But every time you thought you’d worked up the nerve to speak to him, those pretty blue eyes turned your nerve into vapor.

You’d always been a little shy, but with Billy, it was a new kind of nervousness. Even boys you’d had crushes on in school hadn’t made you feel the heart-stopping terror of his full attention. Maybe it was for the best that Lauren had taken him off the market. Now, there was no need to be nervous because there was no chance anything could happen. So why doesn’t that make it easier? Why, instead of relief when you see the pair together, do you only feel a queasy swell of envy?

“Count off when I point to you. Evens will be one team, odds will be another.”

You think nothing of it when the professor presents the group project. Then, you realize that you’re number three and Billy is number seven, and you’re flooded with fear.

“Oh nooo,” Lauren whines, hugging Billy’s arm to her chest. Billy says something softly to her. He’s always gentle with her, paying attention to every little thing she says. If only he’d look at you with the same care. He wears a lot of denim and smokes so much you smell the leftover cigarettes on him when he walks by. He’s always lost in thought when you see him. Something dark and cloudy behind his eyes you find yourself curious about. The distance is what kills you.

It feels unnatural that you can’t just go up and ask him what he’s thinking about. But you can’t. You watch the gentle way he pulls away from Lauren, telling her she doesn’t need to miss him since she’ll see him after class. You can’t blame her for being clingy, if he was yours you’d regret every moment apart.

His eyes lift and there you are, making his heart race. You look down to your notebook. Your two other group members have already arrived at the two seats beside and diagonal to you, leaving the spot across from you for Billy. He plops down, his face the perfect mask of indifference. He doesn’t even look at you. Your stomach hurts.

The professor explains the assignment and you turn in your seat to watch and listen, but the words are going over your head. Billy gives off a blazing heat and you can’t ignore it to save your life. After class the four of you agree to go right to the library and talk about the assignment.

In the library, only you and Billy show up. Of course, Lauren is there, too.

“Y/n, how do you get your hair to do that? It’s so cute!” Lauren smiles at you, twirling a lock of her auburn curls around her finger. You try to be lighthearted, but your face is burning.

“Just practice. And Youtube.” You chuckle. Billy sits there looking down at his phone. He’s still yet to speak since the three of you arrived in the library. Instead, Lauren has been acting as his mouthpiece.

“Very cute,” she says again, then nudges Billy. “Isn't her hair so cute, BB?”

Finally, his gaze lifts and he looks at you. You awkwardly smile and look down at your paper.

“Sure,” he says.

Lauren chastizes him, saying he’s supposed to agree with her and always compliment a lady on her appearance.

“It looks like the others aren’t coming,” You say, breaking into the conversation, sufficiently embarrassed and ready to escape. “We should try again later this week.”

In your hurry to get away, you snatch Billy’s pen from the table, shoving it into your bag with everything else. You don’t notice until you get home and quietly curse yourself. The next day, you see him in the student center when you go there to study. You smile and wave like you usually do, but then, wave him over. He hesitates a moment, his usual cool demeanor chipping a bit as he saunters over. Damn, even the way he walks is hot.

“I took this on accident yesterday,” you say, producing the pen. He smirks, flashing the sharp tips of his canines.

“Shit, you could’a kept it. I didn’t even notice.”

Right, he didn’t notice. Your neck goes warm.

“Sure, of course, I just thought…it’s yours, so…”

“Right.” He says.

“Right…”’

An oppressive quiet falls over the two of you, while you’re still holding the pen out to him and he’s still yet to take it and sweat is prickling the back of your neck because you’re not sure what to say or do. You’re certain the wrong move would ruin everything. Finally, a flicker of awareness snaps you out of it and you pull back your hand, unfortunately, it’s at the exact same moment he decides to reach for the pen.

“Oh,” you say, and extend it again and at the same moment he pulls back his hand. Both of you produce an awkward chuckle and he shifts onto his other leg.

“Keep it,” he says with a handsome little grin.

“Alright.” you clear your throat. “Did you ever hear from our group members?”

“Shit, no,” the two of you share a laugh, more comfortable this time. “It’s probably gonna be all on us.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” You’re chewing your lip, considering a bit of honesty you’d never had the nerve for until now. “Ya know, if I’m being honest, I don’t even remember what the assignment was.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

“You don’t know the assignment? Little miss answers every question?”

“Oh come on, I only answer half. You get the other half.”

He rolls his eyes, a playful chiding.

“Alright,” he slides into the seat opposite you. “I’ll explain it once so you better pay attention.”

“Swear.” You say, smiling brightly.

The assignment is abstract. As Billy explained it, you both found yourselves chuckling at your professor’s philosophical nature. It was a communications class, yet the assignment required in-depth study of your group mates in service of a short, but thorough introduction. You were to present your classmates as if they were receiving something like a Lifetime Achievement Award. Your speeches were to be “thoughtful, informative, and intimate”.

Billy explained all this and you enjoyed the uninterrupted view of him so up close. You were getting used to the way your stomach fell flat against your pelvis when he laughed, and soon enough you were joking right back. You asked him a few things you’d always wondered. Where had he been before Cali? Did he live in the dorms or off campus?

You talk about things you’ve overheard through dorm walls and about small towns. You tell him about friends back home and he tells you (In such vague terms that it only makes you even more curious) about his streak of trouble that almost killed him. He talks about the town he came from like it’s a dark blip on the map of his life.

“Should make Christmas fun, right?” You ask, joking.

“Fuck that,” he says. “I’m not going back.”

The mood turns somber and your smile fades. You take up the pen he gave you and take note.

“‘Hates Hawkins more than he loves Christmas’. Got it.”

He smiles.

“Nice. Very accurate.”

“Thanks,” you say “And if it makes you feel any better, I won’t be going home for break, either.”

For a moment the two of you are quiet, taken off guard by how natural it feels to be in the other’s company. You both let your eyes wander as you never had before. A small indulgence. Then his phone rings and you’re both reminded of the reality of things. It’s Lauren, asking where he is.

The next day, your group members still don’t show up to the library. Lauren’s meeting up with her own group, leaving you and Billy alone.

“What do you think she means by ‘intimate’?”

Billy looks up from his draft of your introduction. He looks extraordinarily handsome today and you've been having trouble holding eye contact. You try, of course, locking eyes and waiting for the rush of nerves to pass. His lids are tapered, and now that you think of it, every eyes you've ever admired have been tapered, just like his. His expression is thoughtful.

“Shit, I don't know. More than personal. Yeah, more than superficial. Something that lets em feel like they've known you for years.”

What would it be like to know him for years? You start to imagine the depth of understanding you'd come to have about this person and your heart starts to race. You're beginning to really appreciate this assignment.

“And the trick is doing it in two weeks.” You say, leaning back in your chair. “Well, I'll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours.”

He chuckles.

“So you can go blab about them in class? No thanks.”

“I wouldn't blab,” you say through a laugh, “I just wanna get a feel-” your nerves catch up to you right then. At the worst time. He cocks an eyebrow, making you cringe.

“You wanna feel.” He teases.

“No, no, not like that.”

“Uh huh.”

“I'm curious about you, that's all. You're interesting.”

“Hm.”

“Nevermind, forget I said anything.”

He's smirking, and writing something in his notebook.

“This is good,” he says “you're givin me plenty to work with.”

You groan, now fully embarrassed and he laughs again. Your eyes drop to your paper and you read over what you have so far.

“So,” he says, “Ask me something. If you're curious.”

You consider this invitation for a moment and decide it's now or never. You lean forward, folding your arms over each other.

“Well, in class you're always saying you don't like non-verbal communication. It's cheap and sneaky-”

“Lazy,” he corrects you. “It's the shit people rely on so they don't have to open their mouths.”

“Well…I just wonder if you might be oversimplifying things, and maybe if you don't like non-verbal communication from people because you don't know how to read it.”

His brows raise in a look of mock surprise.

“Yeah? What, you think I can't pick up on shit?”

“It's just a theory,” you say, laughing “But there's something to it. Non-verbals are valuable.”

“Depends on what they are,” he says.

“True. They're not all equal, but why hate them? I mean I know what you've said in class, they avoid the point, people use it as a crutch, but why do you think that?”

He sighs, leaning back in his chair, his eyes finding the ceiling behind your head. He sits there looking into the middle distance, pacing through thoughts. Making sense of something.

“You can't go through life...making people read your mind about shit.” He says, hesitating over a few of his words. You can tell this is harder for him to say. More honest. “People need to hear things…if they don't, they assume. And if you're stuck up your own ass trying to hold shit in, you never set it straight. What they think about you stays…”

You're watching him as he speaks, gesturing in order to help bring the words out. He brushes a curly lock of gold out of his eyes and as his voice peters out your gaze lingers on his parted lips.

“You are very non-verbal.” His eyes shoot up to yours, snapping you out of your spell. “Not in a bad way,” you add.

“In what way?”

You shrug.

“I don't know.” He doesn't look away, his eyes are fixed on you in a serious look of curiosity. “You talk with your hands. And to me that speaks to how genuinely you feel about things. Which is nice. You have an easy smile, it shows up as soon as you're amused and disappears the moment you're not. So, there's honesty in that, I think. You're very present.” He's watching you with a softness in his eyes that makes you warm. “And Lauren.” The mention of her name changes something in him. He looks away. “You uh…you keep your arm around her chair. It's protective.”

A moment passes where neither of you speaks, and you feel a quiet sadness settling over you.

“Anyway,” you continue, looking at your paper now, “Why hate it so much when it says so much about you?”

The longer you sit there in silence the more agitated Billy seems to get. He says he has to go and starts gathering his stuff. You assume it's because you've crossed a boundary by bringing up Lauren and you part ways with a gnawing guilt making your eyes water.

The next time you see Billy, you're at a party in the apartments near campus. People are crammed into the tight space, but the atmosphere is lively and warm. You and your friend stand in the kitchen, leaning against the island, cups in hand, already buzzed.

“Didn’t she say where he’d been?” Your friend asks. Her eyes are covered in sparkly purple eyeshadow and dark liner. Her signature look.

“You know my mom. She’s cryptic. All she said was my dad’s back and I need to come home over break.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Lame.”

“Lame is one word for it.”

You drain your cup of its contents and then refill it, not enjoying the thought of being around your parents for the holidays. It’s not like they’re bad people, they just expect a lot which can be hard to stomach when your dad disappears whenever he wants to. Your mom doesn’t make it any easier by demanding you be the perfect child to him whenever he decides to be home.

Your cup is mostly vodka with just enough cranberry juice to change the color. You slam it in less than a minute, making your friend laugh.

“Fuck,” she giggles. “That’s better. Let’s talk about that fine-ass classmate of yours.”

“Let’s not,” you answer, but your face is already warming thinking about Billy.

“Is he still with what’s her face?”

“Very much.”

“I don’t get that.”

“What’s not to get? She’s a nice enough girl and he’s about the most scrumptious guy I’ve ever seen.”

She shakes her head.

“Something’s off about it. Remember the episode of Catfish when it was really the dude’s cousin?”

You laugh.

“She was mad because he called her a fat-ass Kelly Price?”

“Yes! I knew, remember? I knew it was her all along! And when I think about you and this boy I get the same feeling, like the call is coming from inside the house.”

The two of you are laughing about this when you glance over into the living room and spot him. You can’t help gasping and your friend quickly follows your gaze. He and Lauren are just arriving, looking around, Lauren spots a group of girls she knows and goes shrieking over to them with her arms outstretched. You turn before Billy can catch you looking.

“Shit,” you mumble, taking another drink.

“No, this is good,” your friend says, “You have to get to the bottom of this.”

“There is no bottom of it,” you say, the reality of the situation hitting you again. “He has a girlfriend, there’s nothing left to do.” You glance over your shoulder and see you’ve lost track of him. “In fact. I’m avoiding him.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’ll be back and then we can leave.”

You don’t listen to your friend’s pleas to stay, you move away in search of the bathroom. It’s at the end of a short hall, but as you’re on your way there, you see a bedroom door cracked open and movement catches your eye. Curiosity gets the better of you so you peek into the room, noticing a little black cat licking itself on the edge of the bed.

If you hadn’t been drunk, you would’ve kept moving, but you were drunk, more than you’d realized a second ago, and you couldn’t resist. You pushed into the quiet bedroom, gently closing the door behind you. The cat gave a curious, curling meow and watched you as you sat down beside it.

“Hey kitty,” you called, softly.

It rose, curling its back into a stretch and then bumping its little head into your palm. It meows again, eagerly arching its body against you.

“So sweet,” you coo, “Such a little sweetie baby, huh?”

The cat meows and cranes up to sniff as you scratch under its chin. In your fuzzy vodka brain, it makes perfect sense to lay back and let the cat curl up on your belly, which it promptly does. It’s lying there purring when the door opens and you bolt upright, suddenly terrified that the person whose room this is has caught you. Instead, you’re terrified to see Billy.

You sit there with the cat in your lap, your body filling with warmth. As good as he looks at school, there’s something entirely different about him in this kind of setting. Something loosened. A sly smile spreads across his lips.

“I knew it,” he says.

“Knew what?”

“You’re the type to be at a party and go snooping around for the pet.”

You laugh at yourself.

“Well, this actually happened by accident.”

“Sure.”

There it is again: that comfortable stillness you keep feeling between the two of you. How can he just stand there not saying a thing and make you feel at home? You remember Lauren and look down at the cat. Its fur is so smooth and ink-black. Its eyes are an uncanny emerald color.

“So, turns out I am going home for Christmas break.”

“Couldn’t resist.”

You smile at his sarcasm.

“It’s really a favor to my mom. My dad’s home so it’s…I don’t know, it’s stupid. But I’ll be there ‘cause it’s family.”

You don’t look at him, but if you had you’d see such conflict in his eyes.

“Figured out another thing I hate about non-verbal shit.”

You look up then, as he crosses the space to sit beside you. The cat is immediately curious, stepping across your lap to carefully sniff and then headbut Billy’s thigh.

“What's that?”

“It leaves it all up to the other person. You make em’ watch you and read into everything. They end up feeling like a stalker. Then if they get it wrong, it’s like, this whole fantasy they had is just empty bullshit.”

He’s tan, bringing his faint freckles into contrast. He smells like shampoo and cologne, and he’s warm. You can tell that when his hand brushes your thigh when he offers his palm to the cat.

“Funny,” you say, your voice has fallen soft and airy, but you don’t notice. You’re focused on his eyes “My introduction to you is all about how no-bullshit you are.”

He smirks, but it’s without the usual mischief.

“Better change that,” he says “I’m so full of shit I can’t stand it.”

You stare at him for a moment, and he comes into focus then, in a new way. You understand something new about him and just as you expected, it feels incredible.

“I get it now,” You say “The real reason you hate non-verbals.”

A little glint of apprehension passes through his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“You hate them ‘cause you-”

The door opens, and Lauren is there. Her smile falters into a lopsided grin.

“There you are,” she chirps. “Not in the bathroom.”

The two of them leave quickly, Billy tossing plastic parting words over his shoulder as he rushes away. You’re left in a stillness that doesn’t end when you get up to leave. It stays with you, burning and hollow.

You’re having trouble focusing in class on Monday. Your professor is more than a little surprised to see you being so quiet, and when she asks if you have anything to add to the discussion you quietly explain that you’re not feeling well. She asks if you’d like to leave early and you take her up on the offer. Anything to get away from Billy and Lauren.

She’s been all over him, even more than usual and it’s hard to stomach. You keep thinking back to the party and your encounter with Billy. What had it meant? You felt like it was on the tip of your tongue but you couldn’t make anything crystalize into shape. Your head was drowned.

Later, in the student center, you stare down at your paragraph. Nothing about it seemed right anymore and you kept re-structuring it. The paper was clogged with scribbles and strikethroughs. Your head was down, your hands framing your eyes as you stared down at the page and you didn’t look up when he sat down.

“Finish what you were saying the other night,” he says.

“I don’t remember.”

“Of course you do.”

“I was drunk, Billy. Forget it. Please?”

You hear him sigh and adjust in his chair.

“It’s over with Lauren.”

You look up and find his eyes are stone-cold and focused. His brows pinched.

“Did you…?”

“I’m done with the bullshit, Y/n. Fuck bein’ scared. Fuck the non-verbal shit.”

A jolt of energy zips up your spine, pulling you straighter in your seat. Your heart is pressed against your lungs as you watch his eyes, full of a new determination.

“What does that mean?” you venture.

His eyes take in your features, slowly, savoring the look of you.

“I don’t have a fuckin letter of this speech written down because I’m such dogshit at explaining who you are. Maybe if I had a year I could get started but it’s impossible right now. So I’m failing this project. Which is fine. But I want that year, if I’m not getting the grade.”

You’re stunned for a moment, until a ripple of laughter breaks the quiet. You share the joy, his smile evidence of an understanding.

“Just a year?” You ask.

“Enough to get started,” he says “That’s maybe half a sentence.”

“How much time would it take?”

“How much do you have?”

You laugh again, a palm over your heated face.

“I can’t believe this,” you say, then look at him, astonished. “I was right. You’re total shit at saying how you feel.”

He smiles and shrugs.

“Told you.”

“Yeah," you say, "that you tell me.”

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#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things #billy hargrove imagine #billy stranger things #fanfic #story #miheartsedthings

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perpetuelledaydreaming · 2 years

Text

Ivy | Prologue

summary: rooster and you break-up, you run back to san diego and you run into a pretty blonde at the Hard Deck. What could happen?

listen to: ivy - taylor swift | summer time sadness -lana del rey (playlist here)

warnings: smut!!!

word count: 6.2k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

It had been a really bad breakup.

It wasn’t the type of breakup in the movies when the main character and their love interest just face a challenge and then they reconnect, say how much they love each other, and live happily ever after. No, this wasn’t that type of breakup.

This was the type of breakup where you move out the same night, the type of breakup where you tell your friends to pick up your stuff when he’s not there, and the type of breakup where you haven’t spoken in person since it happened.

It was the type of breakup that you’d never thought you’d experience with Bradley Bradshaw, Rooster, your Rooster.

“What games are you playing?” your eyes narrowed in annoyance as you poured some water while Rooster groaned automatically as he laid on the couch.

You’d been out to the bar near the base. Since you two had been stationed temporarily on Whidbey Island it had been a bit hard to adjust. Usually, you were always in San Diego or at least in any base in California but with your Ice gone, you didn’t particularly want to spend too much time in San Diego, the presence of your father lingered in those hallways in ways that still made your skin crawl.

“What are you talking about?” Rooster huffed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

The fact that he still didn’t want to acknowledge it made your blood burn as you glared at him.

“Do you think I’m stupid? Or blind?” you said nonchalantly before sipping the water, hoping that it would make you feel soberer, more in control when you were about to have this conversation.

“Brat, not in the mood for another fight”

You bit your cheek, and the grip on the glass got a little bit tighter as you fought the urge to simply walk away. You were never too thrilled about having hard conversations with your significant others, which part of you believed, was the reason you’d let his attitude go on for so long.

“Do you think I am?” you asked while you passed a hand through your hair, glaring at Rooster from the kitchen. “You want a meek little girlfriend that doesn’t call you out on your bullshit and I’m not it, Bradley,” you grumbled.

He let out a snarky chuckle. “You don’t let me forget that right?” he asked as he raised from the couch.

“Fuck you, Bradshaw,”

Rooster and you had known each other since you were kids. Growing up with parents in the Navy meant also knowing other kids in the Navy but with Ice and Mav being so close along with the fact that basically, Carol became even more like family after Goose passed away, you practically were attached to the hip since Rooster was five and you were one.

When you were younger, you didn’t get along too well. Rooster often picked on you and as Ice called it, the Navy Brat that you were, you didn’t stand for it. Your younger sister and brother loved Rooster and he got along with them better, maybe because he was a lot older than them, they looked at him as being cooler and more fun than you. Although, there were small moments when you would get along, after school when Rooster would often come to your home for homework and he helped you, when you convinced him to play fighter pilots with you and when you would watch movies together.

The bickering and small fighting only died down when you were a teenager and even older, you were 18 while Rooster was twenty-three when you started to get along. Carole and your mother often joked that you should be dating, that it was meant to be since you knew each other so well.

Rooster mockingly refused, saying that you weren’t that pretty while you would bite back saying that he wished he could take you out. Both of you apparently were hurt by the other statements, you would later find out.

So, it just stayed like that. Graduating high school, all through college, then on the Naval Academy where you and Rooster went together since Mav had pulled his papers, and finally at Top Gun.

Nothing had changed until you were called back a few years later, the uranium mission being the catalyst of it all.

“Why are you being so hysterical?” Rooster yelled back, now in the other corner of the table.

“Oh, I’m sorry I should be laughing and playing nice when I see my boyfriend flirting with another girl when we’re out?”

Rooster looked away, avoiding your gaze as he now poured water too. “I wasn’t flirting, I was being nice,”

He was a bit drunk too, you wondered if you both had tried to drink your feelings down.

“You’re always being nice to every girl, except me,” you answered with a stern look.

You’d noticed it. You wondered if it was because you’d always known each other but you also knew there was a clear cut in his attitude when you’d told him over a month ago about your plans for the future. The fight lasted over a week, and it became insufferable and ended up with both of you in bed but it was truly never closed.

“That’s bullshit,” he snapped at you.

There it is, you’d thought.

Rooster wasn’t good with hard conversations and he’d rather avoid them. Part of him thought because he usually was never raised to be a confrontational type but he also knew it was because he’d been angry most of his life, at everything, and he was always afraid that he would snap like he usually did when he was younger, a stupid teenager.

But that had been a long time ago. He liked to think his anger was in check, that he didn’t have any bad specific outbursts. Sure, there were moments he knew he was near to losing it -like when Hangman had mentioned Goose- but he tried hard to never let his anger get the best of him enough to hurt people he cared about. For you, Rooster had always been kind, soft, and perfect.

Especially when he was fighting with you, he always tried to keep his rage from spilling over, but lately, it’d become harder.

“It’s not and you know it,” you pressed.

Rooster rolled his eyes and he took a deep breath; so much for not liking hard conversations, he thought.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me the truth,” you insisted but Rooster remained quiet, his silence saying so much more. You took a deep breath. “Do you want out of this relationship?”

Rooster frowned deeply. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that we haven’t had a real discussion since I told you that I didn’t want to get married yet or have children,”

It had been a month since it’d happened. You were celebrating your anniversary, it had been a one-year and a half since the uranium mission and since Rooster confessed his feelings for you. He’d felt called to do it since he’d almost died, he’d always loved you and you’d always loved him.

It had been a dream kiss and confession, followed by the most perfect night someone could’ve spent together. Sarah, your mother had been so happy while insisting that Carole would’ve loved it if she was still with you and Ice too.

In the last part, you didn’t know if it was true.

“Don’t bring up that,” Rooster bit back, features hard and serious. “We’re talking about how I flirted with a girl, right?”

You rolled your eyes while you glared at him.

“It’s all the same. You want a wife and kids and I’m not going to give you that, and you would rather do things that hurt me rather than break up with me!”

“Do you want to break up? You don’t love me anymore?” Rooster’s jaw clenched as he got closer to you, stomping the glass of water so hard on the counter that you flinched slightly, thinking it would break.

You sighed as you stepped closer to him.

“Of course, I love you,” you scolded him, attempting to take his hand before he swatted it away.

“Not enough apparently,”

You groaned.

You now wondered if you should’ve said it, but you knew it was the right thing to do. You’d never wanted the traditional life like your mother, you never felt ready for it. The only thing that you’d ever wanted in life was to be like your father. Maybe it was an older daughter thing and the fact that you were the only one of your siblings to choose the same life as your father, maybe it was the desperation of being recognized by something more, of doing more with the path that everyone wanted you to take.

“See?”

“Okay, fine!” Rooster screamed as he paced back and forth in the kitchen and then walked to the living room, his steps being a bit unstable because of the alcohol previously consumed. “I want a family and you know it, you’ve known it since we were friends that I wanted that, that I wanted to get married, I”

“And you’ve also known that I don’t want that since I can remember, you know that I’ve only talked about flying. I’m not ready for anything like that yet,” you screamed back, following him.

“Yet, see?” Rooster retorted while you grumbled under your breath.“I just don’t get why you don’t want to give that to me?” he insisted.

“Am I denying you something, Bradley?” you scoffed. “You can go back to the girl in the bar, you want someone, anyone, just not me,” you hissed.

“That’s not true,”

“But it is! You want the house, the stay-at-home wife, and the kids but not the person, not me!” you insisted, as tears began to spill from your eyes, he refused to look at you. “And I get it, I get why you want that after everything you lost, Goose and Carole, and I get it darling but I can’t be the one that’s going live with your trauma, you can’t step all over m-”

“Fuck you,” Rooster roared.

It was a split-second, involuntary reaction.

One second he was looking away from you, trying to keep his anger at bay but the grip on his anger went loose when you mentioned Goose and Carole, his trauma, the most painful experience, and his biggest loss.

The next, his fist was rammed into the wall next to your head.

Silence reigned between the two of you, breathing heavy and jilted as your lip trembled while you looked at him wide-eyed and then to the right of your head, staring in shock at his hand wedge into the wall, white powder, debris, and white paint drifting down innocuously to your clothes and floor. Rooster pried his hand out from the wall, staring at the red and raw knuckles of his shaking fist.

“Brat, I-”

You flinched.

It was over after that. You knew that Rooster would never hurt you, you were aware of his anger issues but never to the point of him expressing it so clearly against you. Both of you had cried, he begged you not to go but you also knew you simply couldn’t stay.

That’s why you were back in San Diego, it had been three months since it had happened and it had taken almost a month to be stationed back to your home town but thankfully the Kazansky name still worked for something, you decided right there to take some time off. You hadn’t used the time that was given to you to grieve your father the prior year and you barely remember taking any type of vacation since you graduated but you surely needed it now.

You hadn't told your friends that you were back and you’d managed to stay hidden at the guest house at your parent's place for the remaining two months, only Sarah and Maverick knowing that you’d returned and why, while you actively avoided any place where you might run into them until that night. You were due to start the following week and you decided that you needed a drink.

You found yourself at the Hard Deck, you left your bike in the front and asked for the bartender of the night to pour you some tequila. Thankfully, Penny was out with Maverick that night, you realized, and you didn’t need to talk about it.

At least, until you heard that thick southern accent.

“Brat?”

You refused to turn around immediately, mentally cursing the universe for being so cruel to you.

“Hangman,” you finally breathed out as you turned around with a small smile to find him.

There he was, it should’ve been illegal how pretty he could look sometimes. Tall, knee-buckling handsome, his sea-foam-colored eyes stared at you softly, and the million-dollar smug smile accompanied with the dimples that you’d made fun of while you first met was wide as he took you in.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart,” he teased as he opened his arms, you climbed down off the chair to hug him.

He was happy to see you, you could tell by the way he was holding you, he was always happy to see you. The scent of lemon and wood wrapping around you as you bury your head in his chest.

“A shame that I cannot say the same thing to you,” you replied teasingly as you pulled away, Hangman chuckled softly.

The thing was that you knew that under that smug face and cocky attitude, there was a loyal friend. He could be a hard head sometimes, which was how you’d come to know each other; you were always butting heads at the academy but as time passed you’d come to find that Hangman was not so bad. He became a good friend, he also saved your best friend and uncle from being killed by an enemy jet.

That definitely promoted him from a good friend to one of the closest people in your life, even though you didn’t enjoy admitting it.

“Sweet as always,” he muttered while shaking his head. “What are you doing here?” he asked as he leaned into the bar, sitting next to you.

“Drinking,” you replied dully.

Hangman's lips parted for a second before they closed again, he nodded slightly. “You know what I mean,” he replied while taking a sip of his beer.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered, not daring to look at him.

“Something happened with Rooster?” he asked.

Were you that transparent?

You stared at him, hoping that the melancholy on your features wasn’t visible to Hangman, but you knew that he could see right through. He stared at you softly, eyes gleaming with certain knowledge.

“Tell me about you, how was Hawaii?” you asked, quickly changing the topic as you gazed back at your drink.

Jake chose not to pry but he could already guess that something had happened between Rooster and you, he knew you well enough to know that you were not okay. He knew it was about Rooster too because he could recall every time you had a bad day at Top Gun, you would run to Bradley almost as if he was your safety blanket.

Now, you just seemed doleful and he was nowhere to be seen.

He got the clue though, he didn’t press you to tell him and choose to lighten the mood. You talked for hours and hours on end while you sipped on Moscow mules and tequila while he only nursed on a couple of beers and watched you softly, amusement toying on his lips as you talked about your mission in Virginia and then he went on to tell you about the missions he carried out with Phoenix, who had apparently grown tired of him and then how he spent the last three months with Fanboy in Hawaii.

It was around 2:00 am when you both realized that the bar was closing and you were one of the last ones in the whole place. It wasn’t until you stood up from the chair that you realized how much alcohol you’d consumed. Jake saw how you stumbled slightly and immediately placed his hand on the exposed skin of your waist. Goosebumps erupted on your skin and your breath hitched as you felt his featherlight touch on you, he didn’t seem to think it was a problem but you quickly tried your best to walk along, brushing his hand off from you knowing that feeling like that about Jake touching you wasn’t a good sign.

Not that it mattered now when he insisted that you should go to his place and ask for a cab from there, there was no way he was going to let you ride your bike in such a state and you knew that it would be irresponsible as well. Hangman’s place wasn’t far away from the Hard Deck, a lovely small house in front of the beach, one you’d been to many times before for dinners and parties with the Dagger team.

It was a familiar setting, but as your gaze followed Jake in the kitchen as he poured some glasses of water for both of you, you realized that something was shifting. When Jake gazed back at you with that smug smirk you rolled your eyes as you took the glass of water and sipped slightly while still watching him talk.

“God, I forgot how annoying you were,” you teased with a smile.

“The girl whose literal call sign is Brat, is talking about annoying?” he replied.

You elbowed him playfully as you both leaned into the table in his kitchen while you laughed softly. He smiled coyly at you, his eyes gleaming as your laughter died down, just enough to realize the way he was gaping at you. It was strange, to see that look in Hangman’s, he was always playful with you, he always had something to say but just now it seemed like he was at a loss for words.

There was a beat of silence and something compelled you to speak.

“We broke up,” you whispered as you played with the water that remained on your glass, not daring to look back at Hangman.

“What?”

“Me and Rooster, we broke up,” you explained, again not daring to look at him.

Hangman stared at you, he could feel the bitter taste of your words as you told him. It must’ve been hard to even bring it up, he knew that you were never a fan of talking about feelings just as much as he was.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry,” he cooed softly as he brushed some hair away from your face and you turned back to him.

“I know but I feel like it’s for the best,” you concluded.

Hangman nodded as you looked at your water in silence, recalling the last time you’d spoken to Rooster, which ended up with angry hot tears falling from your eyes. You hated it, you hated all the crying, hated all the discussions with Rooster that never ended right, and you hated that you didn’t even know who you were now. A part of you lost between the friendship, the love, the fights, and everything else.

“Are you really okay?” he asked after a couple of seconds, your mind snapped back to reality as you turned to Hangman.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you, Brat,” he muttered affectionally. “You always act so strong, like nothing’s wrong but I know that you’re hurting, it’s okay if you’re not okay,”

You sighed, he wasn’t wrong.

“I’m better than before and the important thing is that I’ll be okay,” you answered him softly, although you didn’t think the last part was completely true.

“Well, you know that I get along with Rooster but I’m always going to be on your team,” Jake said, leaning back at first as if he was trying to see all of you at once while before he leaned closer to you nudging your body softly against his.

You snicker softly but then you realized how close he was, his hot warm skin from his arms flushed against yours as he cocked his head towards you smiling, as if he was seeing you for the first time. The air suddenly shifted slightly as you smiled at the other, you’d smiled at Jake so many times before in all the years that you’d known the other but this felt unknown, there was an intimacy in the way that you were talking, that you were staring at each other that was enough to make your heart feel like it was going to burst from your chest.

“Thank you, Jake,” you replied.

You stared up at him silently, your heart hammering on your chest as both of you turned to the other, it was so slow that for a second you thought that you were imagining it yourself but then you realized how his eyes flickered to your lips, the same way yours did a second before.

Jake pressed his forehead against yours as your breathing hitched, his jaw clenched slightly as he stared at you with those sea-foam eyes swirling with so many emotions that you weren’t sure how to feel about it at first. The tension crackling between both of you.

But you weren’t afraid anymore of what happened, you were suddenly overcome by the fear of what if?

So, you took a leap of faith.

You closed the gap between your lips, his hand went to cup your face softly as you placed your hand on his neck as you straightened yourself while Jake looped his arms around your waist pushing you against him. Stumbling through the kitchen you continued to kiss him, it was soft at first, it was new and it was tender and it stole your breath away. His palm brushed off some of your hair to get at your jaw as he pulled away suddenly.

You gasped softly at the sudden loss of contact but your eyes looked up at him, willing to continue, begging him to continue. Yet, he didn’t for a second, he looked at you as if you were a precious stone that he had to take care of. He placed his thumb against your lips and passed it softly over them as he looked at you, you knew that he was weighing his options, knowing that this might be something that was wrong because you were friends and you were Rooster’s ex but as he looked at you, Jake couldn’t let it go.

It was Rooster’s loss, it wouldn’t be Jake’s too.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours more urgently than before, stumbling against the wall as he nudge your neck and began to press kisses on your neck as his hand began to play with the buttons of the breezy silky black shirt that you’d worn, exposing your chest. He stopped for a second as he looked down, you weren’t wearing a bra that night and you felt your body sizzle by the lustful expression those sea-foam eyes gave you.

Jake began to kiss you again, you collapse into him as Jake’s tongue started to explore your mouth, deepening the kiss as he reached down your hips, cupping your bum and suddenly turning you against the wall. One of your hands was pressed against the wall, as Jake’s lips were kissing, licking, and biting on your neck your breath hitched, your body sizzling with anticipation as his hands reached down and began to pull down your pants before he pressed his hand over the one you had at the wall.

He suddenly pressed his length against your bum, you could feel him pressing insistently against you and you bit down a whimper while he kissed the length of your neck again and your shoulders as your shirt began to fall from them.

It was feverishly, the way that you were touching, passionate to the point that it was frightening. You wondered where it all came from, the burning desire for Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, the way that he was tenderly but fervently touching you. If you thought about it, it was always there but you’d never allowed yourself to see it.

You turned around, your trousers on your ankles, and the oversize black silk shirt slipped to the point that your breast were somehow out whilst Jake couldn’t help but pry a bit as you stared at him. His blonde hair was out of place which was strange for him, his lips taken apart as he looked at you, a dusky pink color in the slated light of the kitchen, a pale blush tinting his cheeks.

You couldn’t have wished for more.

You pulled him back harshly to kiss his lips, Jake breathed a sigh of relief, as if he was waiting for you to stop him, and this at any moment but just the fact that you hadn’t had made his breathing normal again. His right hand came to cup your cheek as your tongue caressed his while you focused on the feeling of his thumb running softly across your cheekbone.

Jake quickly looped his other arm around your torso and quickly placed you on the counter of the kitchen, you squeaked out as your bare ass pressed against the cold marble, and Jake couldn’t help but smile at you as he began to kiss his way down your body. A flash of heat ran down your body as Jake began to pull your legs apart, his sea-foam eyes always on you as you gasped with anticipation.

There was nothing, Jake decided at that moment, more breathtaking than your face when flushed with desire.

He yanked your pants off from your ankles as he pushed the lace to the side in one swift movement, diving in, he pressed a kiss to your clit, your hands flew to his hair, clutching handfuls of his blonde curls as you felt Jake’s tongue starting to move as he brushed a finger against your clit. You closed your eyes, a moan falling from your lips as your body couldn’t take the way how his mouth expertly move against your core. Then he slid his fingers inside of you, curling them against your g-spot while he pressed his lips against your clit, an unexpectedly loud moan fell from your lips and you felt like you couldn’t hold yourself anymore. Your back fell to the marble as you began to moan louder, grinding your hips up against Jake’s mouth, you could hear the glasses breaking against the floor, while one of your hands fell to your side as you gripped the table, a bowl of fruit falling too as you whimpered.

You could feel your orgasm building, your pussy clenching Jake’s fingers and tongue as he worked on you. It was too much, your back arching as you mewled in desperation at the way he was putting all the attention on you, all of his efforts on your pleasure. He was too good, Jake’s eyes flickered up at you and he couldn’t help but smirk at the way he had you already. You moaned one final time so loud that Jake thought that his neighbors might’ve heard you, your walls clenched around his tongue as you were shaking and withering, as you squeezed your eyes shut while the waves of pleasure washed over you.

“I want you,” Jake whispered as he climbed up and pushed you up against him.

His chest flushed with yours as he studied your features softly; Jake had been with many girls in his life but he was sure he’d never felt such pleasure in gazing at a woman he was with, sex for him had always been about touching and taste and fire, and yet with you, it was tender but passionate.

You were so utterly beautiful to him.

“Open your eyes,” he murmured against your lip, your thighs still trembling from the orgasm he gave you. “Come on, doll,” he said again softly.

Your eyes fluttered open, cheeks blushed as you place a lazy kiss against his lips. Your pulse seemed to be so slow in comparison to a few minutes before, it felt as if you were drunk, intoxicated by him.

“I want you too,” you breathed out as you pressed his lips against yours, you tasted yourself on his tongue feeling how he was smiling, really smiling as he took your bum off the counter and took you to his room while you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Jake sat on the edge of his bed, while you laid on top of him, kissing him hard. You tugged his shirt upward and then worked on his jeans, Jake yanked his clothes off him without much trouble as you held into his shoulders for leverage while you continued to press kisses in whatever skin you could find.

And then, Jake pulled down his boxers. You looked down at it and your heart began to thump harder as you realized what you were about to do. Jake pulled away for a second, looking up at you and smiling, Jake was so hard already and you could feel him pressing against your stomach, hard, thick. You touched him softly as you breathed heavily while watching him, Jake let out a soft growl as you work on him and you smirk smugly while licking your lips. Jake’s hands flew to your hips before you pause for a moment.

“It’s okay,” you muttered as you understand the unspoken question.

It’s okay that we’re friends and we’re doing this. It’s okay that even if you are a close friend of my ex-boyfriend we’re doing this. It’s okay that we don’t have a condom, we’re doing this. It’s okay if you are you and I’m me, we’re still doing this.

Jake then pulled you down and kissed you, hot and unrelenting, kissing you with intent. You adjusted yourself a bit and soon Jake was pushing your hips so you were sinking down on him, burying himself as deeply as he could possibly go inside of you. Both of you let out strangled moans, the feeling of being filled and the absolute warmth overtaking both of you almost completely. He feels so good, so good that you didn’t know if you were just going to come there and then by the way he was pulsing inside of you.

You moaned gently into his shoulder, nails sinking into his skin as Jake struggled for a second before he got a grip and started to move your hips provocatively slow as he swallowed hard and looked at you, he loved the fucked out look on your face. You were unable to help your sharp intake of breath as Jake thrusted up sharply, when you opened your eyes you saw the smug smirk on his face. You frown before you pressed your lips against him, claiming his mount in a vulgar, tongue-filled kiss. It was sloppy and hot as you sucked his lower lip between your teeth, eliciting a soft groan from Jake before you release it.

Now, you gave him a smug smirk before you started to move your hips up and down as your hands braced your body against his broad shoulders. Jake kept pounding into you. Jake pressed his lips against your throat, rutting his hips upward to meet yours, he sucked different purple marks into your skin as your eyes squeeze shut by how good you were feeling, by how good his cock felt as he drove up against your g-spot with each movement. Jake marked you up, a purple mark on your neck, then one on your chest, then one under your boob as he continued to snap his hips against yours.

“F-fuck,” his voice hoarse, sounding a little choked after a particular roll of your hips. “You’re so good, you’re so lovely, sweetheart,”

You whimpered at the nickname as you felt how your body began to burn as he slammed harshly into you, his heavy breaths against your upper chest. The rhythm steadily increased the tempo, bodies rocking together, both finding their release. You ride him with everything you got, mewling in pleasure as your nails rake his shoulders and then his chest, sweat running between the two of you, dripping from your slick bodies as you rocked against each other. Jake gritted his teeth, hissing in pleasure as you slightly shifted your hips and everything becomes tighter. It’s intoxicating, the way that your breathless pants and gasps feel against his ears, his ragged breathing as you kiss him one more time, it’s slower than the other kisses but with a frenzy filling up your chest. The rhythm grows quickly out of control before your throw your head back as you feel the fire pooling on your lower belly, Jake knows you’re there, you just need a little push, he slid one hand between the two of you and pinches your clit with his finger.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you clenched around him. It was too much and not enough, you gasp for breath as you quickly surrender to the shockwaves of pleasure cursing through your veins as he thrust deep inside of you. Soon, your mind was spiraling, growing hazy from the intoxicating feeling of Jake’s cock hitting the right spot, your legs begin to tremble but Jake didn’t stop, relentlessly pounding into you with a barely animalistic growl as ecstasy burst through you as Jake’s thrust became sloppy and soon, he reached his own release.

You barely heard Jake yelling out your name as he spilled into you, filling you up completely.

Jake just holds you there as you both try to catch your breaths, bodies still overheated and chest heaving. Jake’s head falls back softly as he chuckles lightly. You don’t want to move for a second, still too dizzy and weak to do it, you kiss his shoulder softly, his collarbone, and then placed a chaste kiss over his lips. Jake smiled at you and you smiled at him, your fingers playing gently with the soft hairs of the nape of his neck as Jake’s fingers trace small circles on your back.

By the morning, your muscles are so sore that you could’ve sworn you’d done aquatic training the day before but not, but you didn’t. Still, in the haze of your sleep, your mind didn't seem alarmed as you feel the warmth of a body tangled with yours, your mind didn't register the gravity of the fact that that body belong to anyone other than Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin.

The only thing you could think about was a loud and lousy ringtone that was making your head hurt, maybe it was the alcohol that was making your head hurt but you didn’t want to take the blame.

“Oh my god,”

You mutter before you press your face back into the comfort of the pillow you’d slept on that night, pulling a bit away from Jake, maybe the loss of heat would wake him up but after a minute you realize that it didn’t. You push his bicep unceremoniously, waking him up suddenly.

“What?” he asked alarmed as he began to move but still too sleepy to realize where the sound was coming from.

You groaned. “Fuck Hangman, are you deaf? Why is that thing so loud?” you grumbled although it was hard to hear you with how your face was pressed up against the pillow.

Jake’s mind finally snapped and looked down at his pants on the floor, where his phone probably was. He leaned down a bit too slow as you whimpered loudly, tacitly asking him to stop the sound.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Jake mumbles before he answered the phone and walked out of the room.

The silence is finally comforting as you take a deep breath and try to get yourself back to sleep. Unfortunately, another ringtone starts to fill the room and you cursed mentally as you recognize that it’s your phone. Jake, before everything had happened, had placed it in his room so you could charge it before you left.

You groaned as you pull yourself out of the comfortable position you were in before you reached for it on the bedside table, you don’t even mind looking at the number, you don’t find yourself caring or thinking too much about who it is.

You just wanted to go back to sleep.

“Hello?” you asked.

“Lt. Kazansky,” you recognized Warlock’s voice immediately and your eyes snapped open as you raise from the bed. You don’t answer, holding your breath as you wait for Warlock to speak, he seemed to take the hint and continued. “I’m to inform you that you’ve been called for a mission. The dagger team has to return.”

Suddenly, Jake opened the door as he gazes back at you, the same concerned expression painted on his features.

Shit.

***

taglist: @laracrofted @double-j @inky-sun @alanadetigy

***

author's note: so this took a while, I'm so sorry. I just really had this idea about the prologue and it took me a while to think about the smut lol anyway, I really hope this is up to your expectations. as always thank you for reading.

***

feedback is always welcomed!!!

donate: help me pls with a glass of wine?

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pedroscurls · 1 year

Text

Third Time’s A Charm (Part 1).

Character(s): Frankie “Catfish” Morales , Reader (female, second person POV) Summary: There is history between you and Frankie. In fact, you have both broken up twice and yet, you still seem to find your way back to each other. Could this third chance be the last and final one? Word Count: 2,339 Author's Note: And we’re here! Frankie Morales officially has my heart. I’m so excited for you all to read what I have in store for this story. We’re in for a ride. Please note that this story will have mentions of drug use / addiction and PTSD, but I will give a warning for each chapter. Happy reading! Warning: None.

Right person, wrong time. You and Frankie knew that concept all too well. You both could never get the timing right, but the amount of love you two shared never faded. It always lingered, always gave you both a feeling that maybe one day, it would work out. You left it in the universe’s hands at that point, a firm believer that if it was meant to be, you will find your way back to each other.

But after he got married, you started to keep your distance. It hurt too much to be around him. You shared so much history with Frankie and being around him, seeing him with another woman that wasn’t you, just didn’t feel right.

Yes, you both still talked, still checked in with each other, but the conversations became less and less frequent.

You never did get along with his wife, part of the reason being that she didn’t like that Frankie was still friends with a woman he had been in a relationship with… Twice.

So, when Santiago showed up on your doorstep one afternoon, you were surprised to say the least. It had been a little over a year since you spoke to the other man, having heard from Will that he had been in Colombia.

But here he was. A smile on his face paired with warm and kind eyes. Santiago was Frankie’s best friend. In fact, he was the reason why you and Frankie had been in a relationship to begin with. He had set you both up on a blind date after believing that you and Frankie would make a great pair, and Santiago wasn’t wrong.

You and Frankie were both shy at the beginning of the date, teetering on being polite and also not knowing what to expect, but after a couple of drinks and a shared interest over planes, you both started to relax.

It was truly one of the best dates you had ever been on and it only kickstarted the beautiful, yet painful relationship with Frankie.

The first breakup was mutual, both too afraid to admit that this relationship could be something beautiful. The breakup only lasted four months before Frankie reached out to you, asking you out for a cup of coffee to see how you were doing. It didn’t take long before you both admitted that you still loved each other, that the feelings you shared hadn’t left.

And so, you both tried to give it another shot.

But the second breakup was painful. You and Frankie had been together for three years before the breakup. You had been accepted into a very competitive master’s program at a college in California, which was a dream you always had even before Frankie. The program would last for two years and you and Frankie had made the decision to end the relationship.

You both agreed that you didn’t want to try a long distance relationship, afraid that it might just ruin the relationship you both built.

“I love you,” he whispered. You both decided to end the relationship a month before you had to leave, not wanting to prolong the inevitable even further.

“Will we ever get the timing right?” you asked.

Frankie didn’t know the answer to that. He hadn’t ever felt this way about someone and while this seemed so painful, to end a relationship without even trying to make it work, it made sense. He knew how important this program was to you, how passionate you were about teaching, about literature, that he couldn’t ask you to stay. It would be selfish of him to ask that of you.

Frankie didn’t want to let you go, but he knew that he had to.

“I guess we’ll find out,” he finally replied.

“Two years…” you said quietly. “It’s only gonna be two years and I’ll visit for the holidays and–”

Frankie shushed you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. He looked into your eyes for a brief moment before he scanned the rest of your features, memorizing every inch of your face, every freckle and mole… This seemed like goodbye.

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “I mean, I want you to go to California without having to worry about me, about us.”

“I love you, Frankie…”

“I love you too, baby.” Frankie was never someone who allowed himself to show emotions, to cry, but being with you had shown him that all he needed was a safe space, someone to show him that it was okay to feel things, to express how you were feeling. But right now, he didn’t want to show his pain, afraid that if you noticed it, you would put your dream on hold to stay here, in Florida, with him. “You’re going to be great.”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

Frankie gently pecked your lips. “I’ll be right here when you get back, baby.”

But six months into your program, you had become so busy, so engrossed in your studies that Frankie had taken a backseat. You knew that he would be okay; he had Santiago, Will, Benny, and Tom. While he didn’t promise that he would wait for you, it still surprised you when you found out he was engaged and eventually married.

Santiago and the rest of the guys always believed that you would come back from California and pick up right where you and Frankie left off. You had spent plenty of time with Frankie’s friends, hearing plenty of stories from their time in the military. You even felt like you were part of their group, teasing Santiago and Benny about the women they tried to pick up, confiding in Will when Frankie was in a slump, and even finding comfort in Tom’s presence.

“Santi,” you finally said. “This is a surprise.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Had to come visit you,” Santiago smiled, pulling you into a hug. “How are you?”

You took comfort in his embrace. It felt like forever since you felt this safe. Frankie and his group of friends always gave you that feeling, that sense of security.

“I’m good,” you replied, pulling back and looking into his eyes. “I heard you’ve been in Colombia.”

“From Frankie?”

You shook your head. “From Will actually.”

Santiago nodded. You let him inside your apartment and shut the door behind you. You walked towards the kitchen, hearing his boots against your wooden floors as he followed you.

“Have you talked to Frankie?”

You shook your head, grabbing two glasses to fill with water. “I haven’t talked to him in over a year. I talk to Will and Benny, though. I get my updates from them. Tom’s– He’s been dealing with the separation, so I haven’t spoken to him either.”

“You haven’t talked to Frankie in that long?” Santiago asked, surprised.

“He’s married and his wife made it very clear that she isn’t comfortable with us talking, so out of respect, I decided that it would be best to keep my communication with Frankie limited.” You handed him the glass. “I hear he’s doing okay, though.”

“You know, us guys always thought it would be you two,” Santiago admitted, taking the glass of water from you and nodding his thanks. “You kept him grounded. Hell, you kept all of us grounded.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Yeah right. Keep you five men grounded? Sure, Santi.”

“I’m serious,” he smiled. “Having you around… It was nice. Frankie always told us–”

“Santiago,” you interrupted. “He has moved on. I still love him, still care about him, but he’s married.”

Santiago nodded. “Right, yeah. I’m sorry.”

“So, what brings you by? Unannounced, by the way. You could have called.”

He chuckled. “Beats the element of surprise.”

You arched a brow, sitting across from him. “What’s going on?”

And from there, Santiago told you about his plan about asking the guys to come back to Colombia with him. You had spent so much time with Frankie and the rest of the guys that their stories about their time in the military didn’t scare you. Instead, it made you sad, frustrated, angry for Frankie, Santiago, Will, Tom, and Benny that they had to endure what they went through only to be cast aside once they were retired veterans.

Santiago’s plan sounded dangerous, but if they could pull it off, the reward would be worth it. But for the plan to work successfully, he needed Frankie, Tom, Benny, and Will to be on board. He needed all of them.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to react. You noticed that Santiago always had the ideas, never small, always big. He believed that he could get Lorea, while simultaneously seizing worth seventy-five million dollars.

“What do you think? You think I can get all of them on board?” Santiago asked.

“I think that’s a big ask, Santi.” You sighed. You were sure that each man had something going on, but at the same time, you knew how tight knit this group was. You knew that if Santiago showed this much passion to the guys, then you knew that they would back him up. No matter what. “But you know them more than I do, so you tell me.”

Santiago nodded, looking around your apartment. “I bet with your help, I can convince them no problem.”

“No,” you shook your head. “Santiago, I can’t.”

“Why not? You know all of us. We all love you, trust you, and–”

“Santiago,” you interrupted. “I believe in you… I believe in all of you, but–”

“This can be good for us,” he replied. “This money and getting Lorea? Not only will Colombia be safer, but the money can do a lot of good for us.”

“I don’t want the money. I’m not even going to Colombia, so I don’t think I should get any part of it.” You said quietly. “Besides, I can’t– I don’t want to be part of something this dangerous. You can all get hurt, or worse.”

“We won’t. We know what we’re doing. This will be easy compared to what we’ve done.” Santiago reached out for you, his eyes softening, pleading. “Listen, how about you just come by tonight? Benny’s fighting and I’m sure the guys will love to see you. It’ll be like old times.”

“Is Frankie going to be there?”

“I don’t know,” Santiago lied. “Besides, if he is, I know he’d be happy to see you.”

“Santi…”

“Please,” he said quietly. You could tell this meant a lot to him. This mission, giving back to the people of Colombia, to the guys who struggled after getting out of the military… You knew he needed this.

“Fine,” you replied. “But only because I miss Benny’s fights.”

He grinned in triumph, standing and pulling you into a hug. “I’ll pick you up tonight. We can go together.”

“Okay, but the first round is on you.”

—

You were sitting at the front, waiting for Santiago while he and Will went to the men’s locker room. You were drinking a beer, albeit very warm but alcohol nonetheless, as you watched the fights with little interest. The crowd was merely waiting for Benny, and so were you. In fact, you were waiting for Santiago and Will to come back out so that you wouldn’t have to be alone.

There were a couple of men who had come up to you, trying to make small talk, but you had told them you weren’t interested. In fact, you haven't been in a serious relationship since Frankie. The man had set the bar so high that no other man could ever reach. Sure, there were a few that have tried, but you always ended it before it could get too serious.

You were standing now, though, the crowd piquing your interest as you looked towards the cage to see two men, all bloodied and exchanging punches. While this would have deterred plenty of women, this was actually very exhilarating for you. You had always been a fan of mixed martial arts, so you had seen Benny’s fights whenever you got the chance. Luckily, every time you went, Frankie wasn’t there.

The referee stepped in to stop the fight, the man on the ground visibly not defending himself. The crowd roared in excitement, chanting the name of the winner. A couple of minutes passed before the announcer began to announce the next fight. You heard Benny’s name and you cheered loudly, raising your arms in the air (with your beer in one hand).

You glanced over at the end of the hall to see the door open. Benny walked out, wearing bright red trunks. His face was serious, focused, but you felt your heart skip a beat when you saw Frankie. He was walking alongside Santiago and Will, trailing behind Benny.

Frankie was wearing a tan colored and brown collared jacket with a gray v-neck underneath. His jeans sat perfectly on his hips, paired with a brown belt, and boots. Your eyes skimmed him, finally noticing how his curls were tucked underneath his usual Standard Heating Oil hat.

Benny looked over at you, chuckling to himself when he noticed who you were staring at.

They stopped walking and you saw Tom join Santiago, Frankie, and Will, handing them each a cup of beer. Then, Santiago pointed in your direction. You made eye contact with him for a moment before watching Frankie turn around, his eyes finally meeting yours.

His eyes instantly softened.

Yours did too.

And you both stood there, the crowd cheering Benny’s name beginning to fade out.

You saw him and the rest of the guys walk over to you. When he was standing mere inches from you, he let out a small smile. You yearned to reach out for him, to hug him and have his arms wrap around you like before, but in the back of your mind, you remembered that the man standing before you was now married.

He was off limits.

“Hey,” Frankie said. “Long time no see, hermosa.”

---

Part 2.

#frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader (you)#francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #story: third time's a charm

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ingravinoveritas · 2 months

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So anna posted this picture just after the trailer the assembly got released abit it fairly obvious after the trailer showed the 1st question so is she trying to show ppl that michael happy in this photo like he smile like he happy or been made to look happy for the family photo

What ur thoughts on Al post

Ask from @kime11e, who also included a screenshot of the above comments:

(Grouping all of these together for ease of answering.)

So...whew. Of course this all had to happen on Wednesday as I was at one speaking engagement and traveling on the way to another one today. Let me just make sure I have the order of events down... - The trailer for The Assembly came out earlier in the day; - Anna then shared the above photos from the trip to Disneyland Paris; - An hour or so after that, she shared the trailer as an Insta story; - ...And then a few hours later we see that she's replied to the comment in the screenshot above.

Wow. It feels like an entire week (or month's) worth of content somehow happened in the space of a day. I will say that for me, again what this all comes down to is timing and/or PR. The trailer was released and soon all of social media was abuzz over that one particular question (It was rude! It was totally fine! Let's use this as another excuse to attack Michael! and so on...). Bear in mind that we (as of now) have no idea what Michael's answer is to that question, but that did not stop the almighty furor from the fans assuming that he must have been offended/uncomfortable/upset and so on, and this set off a wave of fresh speculation and discussion about Michael and AL's relationship.

...And just when all of this chatter is happening, AL posts the family photos. The reasons for this could be numerous, from damage control (again, without us knowing how he even responded to the question) to trying to (again) push the "happy family" image, to who knows what. Whatever the case may be, I really don't feel like the timing was a coincidence. Also again, I am baffled by her choice of caption: "We dragged him" immediately followed by the tag #itwashisidea. Two things that seem to contradict each other, leaving it unclear what the truth actually is. Was it actually Anna's idea, insisting on them going away on Michael's three days off, and using that tag as a deflection?

It becomes even more interesting when you realize that David and Georgia are currently in Disneyland as well (albeit in California, rather than Paris). Not long after AL posted the pictures, the discourse on social media immediately shifted to "Omg, are Michael and David and their families are on vacation together?" And just like that, the focus yet again shifted away from AL and back to Michael and David (as it always seems to do).

One other thing that is interesting about the caption is that one of my followers sent me the below screenshot via DM, which is of a tweet Michael wrote in 2020 for Lyra's birthday, and the similarities are quite striking:

The cadence of AL's caption and Michael's tweet could be a complete coincidence, but it's hard not to think that there is some PR aspect to this/that someone went to the trouble of echoing a previous tweet about the kids to reinforce a particular narrative.

In any case, I do think it is lovely to see Michael smiling, which he always does when the kids are there (in contrast, notably, to when we are talking about a picture of just him and AL). But what really struck me about all of this is the comment shown above, and Anna's response to it. The commenter added another response that is not shown, so I will include a screenshot of it now:

What's so interesting is that the commenter asked exactly the same question that Michael was asked in The Assembly trailer...and AL set a very specific tone in her response to that (and to this commenter).

I've been surprised to see people characterize her response as "chill," when there is really nothing chill about this at all. It's her typical passive-aggressive style, which we're all used to at this point, but it also reeks of insecurity. I have a hard time seeing how this makes her a "queen," as someone who is "unbothered" would not respond in the way that she did. Regardless of whether the commenter was asking sincerely or meant it as a dig, someone who genuinely felt confident and secure in their relationship wouldn't even respond to this comment at all. I'm also not sure what people expected her to say. Do we think she would be fully honest about her feelings or admit to any cracks in their relationship? Most people (famous and otherwise) would not, and certainly not on social media, either.

My feeling is that Anna was very bothered by this, and (again) tried to copy Georgia's snarky/quippy way of responding to comments, and likely did not at all expect that person to throw it right back at her. So why, then, bother responding at all? Why not just block the person, or ignore the comment entirely? Because from my perspective, it seems like all AL did was draw attention to it, and to the fact that it struck a nerve in her, which just does not seem to be a good look from any angle. And all of this coupled with the timing of the post directly after the release of the trailer really makes me wonder what, exactly, Michael said in his interview. We'll find out soon enough, though, since the show airs tomorrow.

That is my take on AL's post and all of the events of the past few days. As always, this is only my perspective, but I am glad to hear from my followers with your thoughts, whether you agree or disagree. Thanks for writing in! x

#angel19924 #kime11e #hellishunicorn #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #i almost wonder if AL knew the Tennants were going to Disneyland and complained to Michael about them not going anywhere #and so he decided to go with it to keep the peace #so much to unpack and analyze #choices #not all of them good #but i will leave it to my followers to make up their own minds #it's also interesting to me that so many people assume that smiling photo = no one can possibly be unhappy #as if relationships can't be complicated #and people can't feel more than one thing at a time #anna lundberg #the assembly #relationships #discourse

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mint-yooxgi · 2 years

Text

{3} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on San & Mingi this chapter)

Words: 11,810

Warnings: Mental Illness: talks of past depression. Whore Knee thots. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Hope you all enjoy this next update to this series!! I think it shows a different side to the guys, honestly. I’d love to hear any and all theories you guys have about the story so far, or even what you thing might happen next!! I’ve got a lot planned, but that being said I’m surprised this part turned out as long as it did lol, but as always feedback is greatly appreciated!! Enjoy~

Main Story - Part Two

Heaving a deep sigh, you look at your reflection in the mirror, fingers grasping onto the edge of the counter for dear life. Wiping at your cheeks with the back of your one hand, you move to turn on the faucet in the next moment. You’re sick and tired of crying; you’ve done enough in the past two weeks to last a lifetime, and honestly, if it were up to you, you wouldn’t shed another tear over this matter. You don’t deserve to be upset, nor do they deserve any more of your tears.

Testing the temperature of the water with your hands, you decide it’s a decent warmth. Allowing the water to gather in your cupped palms, you splash some on your face, rubbing at your eyes in the next second. Turning the faucet off, you grab the towel on the counter beside you, and dry yourself off.

This is your life now, and even though you still have trouble accepting it, crying about it isn’t going to change anything. You’ve shed enough tears for the life you lost, and you promised yourself earlier that you were going to stop wallowing in your own self-pity. You do not want to go back there again.

Shooting your reflection a weak smile, you close your eyes. The feeling of your lungs expanding and contracting as you heave another deep breath serves to ground you, allowing your eyes to open to meet your gaze in the mirror once more. With one final curt nod at yourself, you’re exiting the bathroom.

Stepping back into the main area of your room, you notice only San stands there now. Where the other two went, you have no idea. Your brow furrows, especially since San looks more interested in observing the painting on the wall of a field of flowers than turning to face you.

“They went to feed, by the way,” his voice cuts through the silence as he feels your gaze on his back, only momentarily though, for you’re shifting to look at the painting in the next second as you come to stand just a little ways behind him.

Oh, so badly does he want to turn and face you right now, but the feeling of your gaze flicking over his form, even only for brief a moment, prevents him from doing so. He knows you have more questions, and he will happily answer any and all that you may have.

“I know you’re curious,” he chuckles, and he hears you huff out a breath. “You need only ask, and we- I will tell you everything you want to know.”

“Stop reading my mind.” You reply, irritation slightly apparent in your words as you cross your arms in front of your chest. Then, as if deciding against your better judgment, “what do you mean by ‘feed’?”

This time, San cannot prevent the way he smiles as his body turns towards you. Finally, you’re asking about them. The mild curiosity he can sense floating through your mind surrounding them raises his spirits more than you’ll ever know.

“We can survive on regular food for a time, but we need something a little more substantial to survive.” He tells you, lips still tugging upwards at the corners.

“So, you do drink blood.” You say, eyes wide as you nod faintly in understanding.

“Yes, and no,” another voice coming from your open doorway draws your attention, turning to see Mingi entering your room. “It can sustain us, but it’s more of an aphrodisiac than anything. Something we only consume for fun every now and then.”

“It’s like alcohol that way,” San adds. “We don’t necessarily need it to survive, but boy, does it make things more entertaining.”

“Should I be worried?” Your attempt at a joke, needing to make light of the situation right now.

The two men share a brief look as Mingi comes to stand beside his brother.

“If you were to ever offer us your blood, then most likely,” Mingi replies, nothing but honesty interwoven with his words. “Right now, I don’t think even we would be able to tell you how we would act should we ever get a taste of your blood.”

Your heart skips a beat, fear coursing through your veins.

San shoots the taller male a narrowed eyed look.

“You don’t have to worry about us drinking your blood,” San assures you, turning his gaze back onto your figure. “We swore that we would never hurt you, or do anything along those lines that you’re uncomfortable with.”

“But if I offered, you would take it.” It’s not quite a question that you pose as you eye them warily up and down.

Of course, San immediately replies within his mind.

Without question. Mingi adds, unbeknownst to you.

Anything you have to offer them, especially if you give a part of yourself to them willingly, they will take. In a heartbeat. It’s one thing they’ve always wanted; one thing they’ve always desired.

“Let’s take it one step at a time, yeah?” San smiles at you, though you’re not very reassured.

You purse your lips, blinking at the two men before you. “You still haven’t answered my original question.”

“We just don’t want to scare you.” Mingi replies softly, San’s lips twitching as he nods once in agreement.

“Look, I said it earlier, and I’ll say it again, but if this is going to work, then we’re going to need to learn to trust each other.” You look from one male to the other. “Would you rather tell me now while I’m mildly curious, or have me find out later when I potentially trust you, and have it freak me out so much it breaks that trust?”

“Touché,” San’s eyebrow quirks, his expression mirroring the smugness he feels at having heard you say that you’re curious about them, even if only mildly. An expression which he knows is mirrored on his brother’s face right now.

“We need to feed on souls to survive,” Mingi tells you, watching as you stiffen, even if only slightly. He sighs, “see, I knew you would be scared.”

“Listen,” you echo his sigh, running a hand over your face in the process, “this is still a lot for me to take in. Two weeks ago I didn’t even know creatures-“ you hesitate, unsure of what to refer to them as, “beings such as yourselves existed. I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that you guys can teleport tremendous distances in mere seconds.”

“That’s not all we can do,” San smirks, loving the way curiosity continues to tug at your mind. “But how about we save that for later?”

“Why not just tell me now?” You quirk a brow, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Mingi grins. “We have to keep you interested in us somehow.”

“Touché,” you echo San’s word from earlier. A moment later, and your eyes are drifting past their heads and to the painting on the wall once more. “Fine then. Tell me about that painting behind you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an art style like that before. I’m curious to know who chose it, and why you decided to put it in my room.”

“Oh, this?” Mingi quirks a brow, turning to look at the aforementioned artwork on the wall behind him.

“Yunho painted it.” San says, almost nonchalantly with a small shrug.

“He paints?” You voice, clear disbelief on your features as you take a few steps closer to examine the artwork in more detail.

“Paints, draws, you name it,” San continues, a small huff of amusement escaping his lips as he witnesses your eyes shine with a spark he hasn’t seen in them since you first got here.

Both men watch you carefully as you step past them to observe the canvas. Each cannot deny the way your look of wonder makes their hearts race inside their chests, even if it’s not something of theirs that you are admiring. They’ll be sure to share this with Yunho later. Their brother should be very pleased to know that finally something he has done for you has made you smile.

Sure enough, as you step closer, you take in the details of the painting. The colours are a soft pastel, blending well together and portraying an image of a clear spring day. A breeze drifts through the field of flowers. Flowers of which you notice are some of your favourites. The forget-me-nots dotting the canvas with their soft pale blue petals elicit a breathless gasp from your mouth as your lips part.

“Did he-“ the words die in your throat as your fingers come up to cover your mouth, the pads pressing lightly against your lips as you continue to stare at the canvas in awe. Your heart clenches slightly, and you have half the mind to ignore the feeling for the moment.

“When he gets back, why don’t you ask him yourself?” Mingi suggests, voice gentle as his eyes crinkle at the sides, a kind smile resting on his features.

You blink, seemingly collecting yourself and your thoughts as you clear your throat. You can practically feel the way that they’re both looking at you right now, soft smiles adorning their features. They’re gazing at you akin to how you were just looking at the painting: nothing but awe and wonder reflected in their eyes.

Finally, they’ve done something right.

“Anyways…” you swallow the sudden dryness in your throat, turning away from the canvas in the next moment as your hand drops back to your side. “I should probably unpack now.”

Turning towards your suitcases, you’re quick to close the distance between yourself and them. A few seconds later, and you’ve hauled one onto the mattress, unzipping it and throwing it open to reveal your clothes, some of which that have been haphazardly thrown into each compartment.

“Do you want us to leave?” Though it pains him to say it, Mingi manages to get the words out. Both he and San cannot help but to recall your words from earlier, echoing through their minds as they are both reminded of the shattered coffee cup that had remained in the lobby until Wooyoung had cleaned it up.

You pause for a moment, tossing the sweater you had just been holding in your hands onto the couch a little ways from where you stand now. You still cannot get over how grand this place is.

“Eh,” you shrug one shoulder, “just don’t make it weird.”

Besides, you know exactly which suitcase contains your more delicate items of clothing. That one you can simply unpack in the large walk-in closet without them peeping on things.

A warmth blooms in each of their chests, and San has to suppress the smile that wants to paint his lips as he sits on one side of the couch. Mingi, unashamedly, lets his content smile stretch across his face as he takes the opposite end of the sofa, your sweater resting in-between the two men.

A few minutes pass in silence, the two males content with just watching you work around the room. It takes you less than ten minutes to unpack the first suitcase, pulling another one along and plopping it onto the bed in the next moment. Only, as soon as you reach to unzip it, you pause, a furrow to your brow.

“Wait,” you subconsciously say your thoughts out loud, “what time is it?”

“Just past two in the afternoon,” Mingi supplies for you without so much as looking at a clock. “Why?”

You go to reach for your phone that rests charging beside your bed. Sure enough, Mingi is right. Seeing that it’s at full battery, you’re quick to unplug it.

“Well, like I said earlier, my parents are probably worried sick about me,” you say, going in to check your notifications that you’ve missed over the past two weeks. Sure enough, you see dozens of messages from your parents, and your sister, asking you where you are, and what happened to you. “I’m calling my mom. You two,” you turn to give them a sharp look, “stay quiet.”

Two seconds later and they can hear the familiar sound of a dial tone and then the tell tale ringing of an outgoing call. Each man watches you carefully, hearing your thoughts begin to consume you as anxiety takes hold.

What are you going to tell your mother? Will she even pick up? What if she starts asking too many questions? Are your parents okay?

It’s on the fourth ring that your mother answers your call, her face appearing on screen as a relieved smile paints your own features. You seriously didn’t realize just how much you missed her, or your father for that matter.

“Sweetie, oh my goodness!” Your mother greets you with a gasp, nothing but worry reflected on her features. “Are you alright? Where have you been? What have you been up to? What’s going on? Where are you?”

“I’m fine, mom,” you shoot her a smile, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders as you see a familiar face. “I’m sorry I went a bit off the grid for a while, I just-“ you heave a sigh, running a hand over the top of your head, “needed a break from things.”

“Oh, sweetie,” your mother coos. “It happens to the best of us. As long as you’re okay.”

“I’m okay, mom. I’m okay.” You assure her, but at this point, you honestly don’t know if it’s more for her or for you.

“Where did you go?” She asks, and you can see her sit down on the living room couch in your family home, your father sitting on the opposite end as she angles the camera to include him in the frame.

“Hi, dad,” you shoot him a small wave as his eyes widen and he scoots forward to see you better. “I’m sorry for giving you both a scare.”

“We were worried sick about you, honey.” Your father voices softly, taking the phone momentarily from your mother’s hand. His concerned face fills the entire frame as he frowns. “We were about to put out a missing person’s report since you haven’t contacted us in so long, and you usually call or message every few days.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle awkwardly, shooting a sidelong glance at the two males sitting on the couch and watching your every move, “sorry about that.”

“What happened?” He mirrors your mother’s worried tone as he shifts to include her in the frame.

“I needed a break from work,” you reply honestly. “I took a weekend for myself, and it just made me realize that life is too short to be wasting my youth behind a desk at some stupid job that I’m already starting to hate. I just needed some time for myself.”

The partial lie falls from your lips so easily. Well, it’s like they say: the best lies contain partial truths.

“But not contacting us for two weeks?” Your mother stresses, her hand grasping at your father’s arm for support. You can just tell she’s getting a bit choked up. “Sweetie, we thought you died. Or something worse had happened to you. We didn’t know if we would ever see you again!”

“I know, mom,” you sit yourself on the bed, angled away from the two men so they don’t appear in the frame. “I’m sorry for worrying you, it won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Your sister was convinced that you met someone and ran away together,” your father jokes, attempting to lighten the mood if only slightly.

Oh, if only they knew the truth. You blink, gaze darting to the side to see both San and Mingi looking at you with amused quirks to their brows.

“You could say that,” you chuckle, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “The running away part, that is."

Only, your mother doesn’t see it that way. Instead, a dramatic gasp is escaping her lips as she takes the phone from your father.

“Holy crackers! Sweetie! You did, didn’t you?” She smiles, her eyes shining at the thought.

“No, mom, it’s nothing like that-“

“Who’s the lucky guy?” She cuts you off with a wiggle of her brows. Then just as quickly, she adds, “or girl!”

“The important thing is that you’re happy,” your father adds with a nod. “And they treat you right.”

“Woah! Okay, there,” you hold up a hand, waving it frantically in the air as if to tell them to wait a second as a heat rises to your cheeks. “There’s no one like that yet! I’d tell you if anything were to happen.”

Your parents both chuckle, and you fail to see the way both males stiffen at your words. Sure, they’re upset that you’re essentially hiding them from your parents, but the language that you used only serves to kindle that spark of hope you gave them earlier today. There’s no one like that yet.

Yet.

Which means they still have a chance.

“Well, okay, sweetie,” your mother smiles knowingly as you laugh nervously. “If you say so.”

Oh, you can just tell she does not believe you. So, of course, you’re quick to change the subject. “How have you two been?”

The next thirty minutes are spent talking to your parents and catching up on all that you’ve missed. You tell them a bit about your little trip that you took considering your mother pointed out the luxurious room you seem to be staying in. (Both San and Mingi had smirked at that, pride filling their chests at somewhat gaining your mother’s approval for something, even if she is none the wiser.) She tells you about the day trip they took to the countryside, telling you that you’ll all have to plan something when you get back from however long you’ll be taking for yourself.

“Speaking of, how long do you think you’ll be gone?” Your mother asks, shifting her position on the couch as she leans further into the cushions.

“I’m not sure mom,” you reply, truthfully. “I won’t be back any time soon, that’s for sure.”

“Well, okay, dear,” she hums. “Just keep us updated and let us know if you need anything. We’re here for you, and we always will be.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, suddenly overcome with a tremendous sense of gratitude towards your parents. “Thanks, mom.”

“Seriously sweetie,” your father chimes in. “Anything at all, we’ve got you covered.”

“I really appreciate it,” you smile, a warmth settling in your chest and spreading throughout your body as you look at their happy faces staring back at you through the screen. “I should probably get going, though.”

“Alright then, sweetie, you have a good rest of your day!” Your mother cheers, her eyes shining in content at getting to talk to you once more after so long. “If you get a chance, you should call your sister. She’s also been really worried about you.”

“I will,” you promise, waving to both your parents. “Talk to you later.”

“Bye-bye, sweetie! Love you lots!” Your mother waves back, along with your father, both smiling at you fondly.

“Love you, too,” your lips twitch upwards almost sadly as you say your final goodbyes, ending the call in the next minute.

Tossing your phone onto the bed beside you after locking it, you rub your hands over your face. Your shoulders hunch as you take a few deep breaths to steady your nerves, conflicting emotions of utter joy and sorrow swirling within your chest. With a deep exhale, you’re dropping your one hand, tossing your head back as the other runs over the back of your neck, rubbing at the sore muscles there as your eyes close.

You can just feel their gazes on you as you crack your neck.

“Not a word,” your eyes snap open, turning to look at both males still sitting on the couch as a heat once more rises to your face.

San simply smiles at you innocently, while Mingi raises his hands in front of himself as if to tell you that he won’t say anything.

Despite the semi-embarrassment at having them listen in on that entire conversation with your parents, you still cannot deny the overwhelming sense of happiness you feel at getting to talk to them again after so long. Not only that, but gratitude.

You fumble with your hands in your lap, refusing to meet their gaze as you mumble a small ‘thanks’.

They simply quirk their brows at you in response.

“You know,” you finally turn your head to look at them once more, meeting each of their gazes as you continue, “for trusting me enough to do that.”

Still, you hate the fact that you feel as if you need their permission to do anything. You hate feeling trapped, like you’re not in control of your own life. That’s the part you resent most.

“Of course,” Mingi smiles at you softly, eye shining as your emotional thoughts wash over him, even the bitter ones.

“It’s like we said before,” San smiles, mirroring the fond look shining in his brother’s eyes, “we only want to make you happy.”

You nod, and although it’s small, in the back of your mind, you’re starting to finally believe them. A fact which could not make them any more glad than they already are, pride warming their chests as content growls build within. Again, finally, they’ve done something that’s good.

“Did you want to finish unpacking?” San asks, eyes flitting to your still unopened second suitcase lying on the bed beside you.

“Maybe later,” you shrug. “Can you show me to the kitchen?”

Immediately, San perks up even further, “if you’re hungry, I could make you something.”

“I appreciate it,” your lips quirk upwards, “but I don’t expect you to cook for me every time I want something.”

“That kind of defeats the whole purpose of us taking care of you,” Mingi jokes, a teasing quirk to his lips as you see San pout at your words.

“I am fully capable of taking care of myself, you know.” Your lips tug upwards in the corner, the ghost of a smirk gracing your features. “Been doing it for years.”

“We know,” Mingi grins. “We just wish you would let us do more for you.”

Only San truly understand the deeper implications behind those words, but you do not fail to catch the way both their eyes flash as they meet your gaze.

“Well, you can start by showing me the kitchen.” You reply with a nod, motioning to the couch with your one hand outstretched in the next second. “But first, can one of you toss me that sweater?”

It’s like watching two rabid dogs go after a piece of raw meat after being starved for two days. Mingi grabs the sleeves of the hoodie while San grabs the bodice, each tugging it in a different direction to pull it closer to them as they stand.

“Let go,” Mingi growls, his eyes flashing black in warning at his brother as he tugs the sweater closer to his body.

“No, you let go,” San retorts, his own eyes flashing black with a snarl on his lips as he pulls the hoodie towards himself.

Like hell are they going to let the other do something for you, especially not when you’ve asked them so nicely. It’s the whole bar situation of the first night all over again, each wanting to prove to you how they can provide for you. Whatever they can do to make you like them more for the moment, they will. After all, progress is still progress, no matter how small.

Shaking your head, you take a step towards them in order to make your way over and simply grab your hoodie from their hands. Only, before you can move more than two steps, you’re freezing in your tracks.

For the second time that day, the sound of tearing fabric reaches your ears.

Your lips part and your eyes go wide in shock as you watch both males turn to look at you with equal expressions of disbelief on their faces. In each of their hands, they hold a piece of fabric that was once your completed sweater, the material clinging on to it’s original form for dear life as the sleeves quite literally hang on by only a thread.

“My hoodie,” your voice comes out small, high-pitched in disbelief as your expression drops, a pout painting your features. That was one of your favourites, too.

“Shit,” San curses at the same time Mingi swears, “fuck.”

“Baby, we’re so sorry,” San says, eyes pleading with you to believe him as he clings to your sweater for dear life.

“Just-“ you’re so stunned that you don’t even register the pet name he’s just called you, sighing in the next moment as you pinch the bridge of your nose, “put it down.”

Gently, they place the sweatshirt back onto the couch.

“Seriously, we didn’t mean to-“ Mingi begins, before you’re cutting him off quite sharply.

“It’s fine.” It’s not, really, but it’s only a sweater. You’ll live. “Accidents happen.”

At least their remorse is genuine, each male standing there sheepishly as you exhale another sigh. Besides, it can most likely be fixed, but you’ll deal with that later.

“So,” you begin, “the kitchen?”

“Right!” San jumps at the opportunity to guide you, stepping around your couch with a small ‘follow me’ in the next moment.

Wordlessly, you let him lead you out of your room and down the hallway, Mingi following close behind. Neither of them say anything for the time being, thoughts consumed with the idea that they’ve just let you down after just getting you to open up to them slightly. The one thing you asked them to do for you and they’ve already screwed it up.

Then, a brief thought from you has them both perking up.

It can be fixed.

Even though it’s not technically directed at them, the fact that you even thought of a potential solution has their moods perking up momentarily. Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem.

“There are actually two kitchens on the premises,” San explains as he steps into a room not too far off from the bar area, if you recall correctly.

“Of course there are.” You huff out an amused laugh. “I’m guessing the other one is in the opposite wing?”

“That would be correct,” Mingi nods, already sitting at the counter on one of the stools.

“Then I guess you’ll have to show me that one later,” you hum, eyes taking in the details of the cabinets before you.

The kitchen is fairly large in size, bordering on a cross between the size of an industrial workspace, and a conventional home design. The countertops are granite, that much your can tell, and there’s a separate gas stovetop off to the side. A large fridge sits against one wall, as well as two ovens just beside it, stacked on top of each other. The cabinets match the design nicely, and you find yourself nodding your head subconsciously in approval as you take in the space.

Little do you know of the smile that graces San’s features at hearing your impressed thoughts. Finally, a space that is his, and he can share it with you. Plus, you approve? There is simply nothing sweeter in this moment for him than this feeling right now.

Walking over to the fridge, you reach out towards the handle. Only, before you can pull it open, you hesitate, unsure of whether or not simply raiding their food stash would technically be considered rude at this point.

“Go ahead,” Mingi assures you with a smile and a nod, even if you’re not looking at him.

“What’s ours is yours.” San adds, leaning against the counter with a content look on his features as he watches you pull the fridge open.

The sight that greets you has your eyes practically bulging out of your head. Each shelf is stocked with everything and anything you can think of, and more. You seriously don’t have to worry about going hungry while you stay here, for they have everything you could ever want - everything you could ever need.

Nodding to yourself, a faint smile tugs at your lips as you reach in to grab some fruits. In no time at all, you’ve gathered some apples, a few peaches, some grapes, a package of strawberries, and a melon, placing them on the counter beside the sink.

Turning back to the cabinets with your hands on your hips, your brow furrows. If I were a bowl, where would I be?

San simply smiles to himself as Mingi lets out a soft chuckle. Wordlessly, San is opening a cabinet, handing you two large bowls as you nod to him in thanks. Placing the bowls on the counter, you realize that you’re still missing two things.

Yet again, when you turn around, San is already holding exactly what you need, placing the cutting board onto the counter before turning around and grabbing two different knives from their holders. Though, you notice him hesitate before placing them down, keeping them held steady in his hands as he faces you.

You quirk a brow at him, hands still resting on your hips as you look at him expectantly.

“Forgive me if I’m a little hesitant to give you a knife.” He replies, worry furrowing his brow.

You know that they’re both probably worried that you’ll either try to hurt them, or worse, yourself. Only, you have no intentions to do so. Not only have they proven that they’re faster than you, so even if you tried to attack them, it would be pointless, but also stronger, too. Besides, they can read your every thought, and you’d rather not try to dissociate again to make your mind blank for a surprise attack.

“Says the demon holding them in his hands while he faces me.” You counter, a slight tilt to your head.

Again, Mingi chuckles, watching as San places the knives on top of the counter for you.

“Fair enough,” San hums, taking a step back to give you some space.

You shoot him a small smile in thanks as you step closer to the sink to begin washing the fruit. You get about halfway through washing when you notice San’s presence lingering just over your shoulder.

You shoot him a pointed look, “stop hovering. Sit.”

“I’m not-“ the protest dies in his throat as both you and Mingi give him a look. “Fine.”

Grumbling under his breath, San makes his way beside Mingi on the opposite side of the counter, pulling out a stool and sitting down right beside him. Carefully, he rests his forearms on the stone, mirroring the exact same position that Mingi is sitting in.

The whole time you work, both males watch you intently, smiles on their faces. They often think of saying something, but the silence that settles over the three of you is comfortable, and they are more than content to listen to your unfiltered thoughts as you move around the kitchen.

Honestly, this moment in time with you is so peaceful, that they can already picture your future together. They wouldn’t mind if every day were like this, a blanket of ease settling over you all as the day moves forwards. You’re making them so unbelievably happy right now, and you don’t even realize it yet.

San cannot help but let his thoughts wander as he shifts his position so that his head is leaning in the palm of his hand as his elbow rests against the counter. Exhaling a dreamy sigh, he watches you with a soft gaze, picturing moments like this with you in either one of his two kitchens.

The two of you would be cooking together, perhaps you helping him to prep your favourite meal. He would come up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head into the side of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply.

Then, his thoughts shift, darkening along with his gaze as he pictures you being covered in his scent as he does so. The idea of you smelling like him, and him like you after a night of passion has desire swirling in his chest. His eyes begin to swirl with that all too familiar blackness as he envisions you begging him for more, leading to him taking you right on this very counter. Your legs would be thrown over his shoulders as he indulges himself in what he’s sure would be the best meal of his entire life. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to be between your legs right now…

A harsh elbow to his ribs jolts him out of his all too vivid thoughts, Mingi shooting a side-eyed glare at his brother for his much too loud thoughts projecting themselves into his head.

Oh, please, like you wouldn’t be thinking the exact same things if you got a chance to see her working behind your bar. San rolls his eyes, noticing how Mingi’s gaze darkens.

In the next second, Mingi’s thoughts are overcome by the same exact desires. It’s exactly as San suggested, Mingi picturing what it would look like for you to be mixing drinks with him behind his bar. Slowly, the image shifts, and Mingi can see himself standing between your legs as you sit on top of the counter, your hands tangled in his hair as he kisses you. You’d wrap yourself around him, pulling him in closer to you as his hands found purchase on your thighs, squeezing the flesh appreciatively and eliciting the sweetest of sounds from your lips, He’d kiss down your neck, biting on the skin there before sinking to his knees, your hands still tangled in his hair as his lips-

That’s what I thought. San’s smug voice is cutting through Mingi’s all too vivid daydreams about eating you out on top of his bar.

Oh, fuck off. Mingi grumbles. You started it.

Can you blame me? San has to resist the urge to quirk a brow as he sees you cutting into the fruit so delicately, the juices dripping down your fingers just like how yours would drip down his chin as he makes you come over and over again for him from his tongue alone.

Not one bit, Mingi replies, attempting to control his breathing as his gaze darts to your lips, watching as your tongue swipes out to wet them as you concentrate on cutting the fruit. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to feel them pressed against his own, against his body, wrapped around his cock… You probably taste just as sweet as the fruit you’re cutting into, too.

It’s subconscious, and both males believe that you don’t even realize that you’re doing it, but the song that begins to float through your thoughts as you cut into a peach nearly has a groan escaping their lips. They didn’t think it could get any worse for them and their all too vivid desires practically drowning their thoughts in everything you, but then you start humming. That same damned song, too.

Pretty girl, you’re like peaches. You chuckle to yourself, forgetting momentarily where you are. Then, in the next moment, you’re chuckling to yourself as you toss some slices into the bowl before you. Oh, Jongin, if there ever were a contest for the most obvious cunnilingus song out there, you’d certainly be the winner.

“Who is this ‘Jongin’ guy, anyways?” San’s bitter voice manages to pull you out of your thoughts.

Your eyes widen, managing to drop the halved peach in your hands onto the counter in shock. In the next moment, you blink, seemingly coming back to reality as you pick up your dropped fruit to continue cutting it and tossing it into the bowl.

“Kai? He’s just some idol,” you reply casually.

“Yeah, we gathered as much,” Mingi replies, somewhat shortly.

You raise your head to look at both of them, noticing how they practically scowl at the counter beneath their hands. Realization crosses your features, and a smirk pulls onto your lips. Perhaps you’ll have a little fun with this while you can.

“Well, he’s an excellent dancer,” you begin. “Certainly knows how to move his body. Especially his hips, if you know what I mean.”

It’s faint, but you swear you hear Mingi growl.

“His first solo release was better in my opinion,” you continue, having finished cutting all the peaches and moving on to the last fruits you have left to add to the bowl. “More sensual.”

A mental image appears in their minds as you envision what appears to be a music video in your own. A man is enticingly rolling his body with an open shirt as backup dancers flank him on either side, the tune playing throughout your head. You lick your lips, and action of which does not go unnoticed by either of them.

“He’s from one of my favourite groups, too. Though, he might not necessarily be my favourite in the group.” You add. Then, almost dreamily, “he is very handsome, though.”

Honestly, you’re surprised the counter hasn’t crumbled beneath San’s hands, given how tightly he’s gripping it right now. Though, Mingi isn’t fairing much better, a vein in his neck popping as he strains against every nerve in his body to hunt this idol down and kill him for daring to consume your thoughts for more than a second. Especially in this way.

“You kind of remind me of him,” you meet San’s gaze for a brief moment as you lean forwards. “Your eyes are similar.”

His mind blanks. Did you just, in a roundabout way, call him handsome?

A smile faintly tugs at his lips, a sense of smugness washing over him. If only it could last…

In the next moment, you’re humming, as if disappointed in something. “Though, I think he’s taller.”

This time, your eyes briefly meet Mingi’s, and it’s now his turn to freeze. Is this your roundabout way of saying you’re into taller men?

Mingi’s heart races in his chest, a sense of satisfaction flooding his veins as his lips quirk upwards at the corners.

“Though, he’s not the idol I think is the most handsome, but that’s subjective,” you shrug. “I much prefer his best friend. His brother, if you will.”

At this, both men straighten, inhaling sharply. Just like that, you’ve managed to burst their little bubbles, their minds swirling with disgust at the fact that you would praise another man like this in front of them. The worst part is, now, there seems to be another.

“Taemin’s a bit of a dork,” you smile softly, your tone dripping with affection. “Well, a crackhead is more like it. He’s also a great dancer. Very kind, and very easy to love.”

This time, there is no mistaking the snarls that tear from their throats. A fact in which has your eyes going wide. Perhaps you’ve taken this a bit too far, you don’t want to push them any further than you already have. You still don’t know what they’re entirely capable of, and the fact that their eyes have bled black is in no way reassuring.

“Relax,” you’re rolling your eyes in the next moment, “I didn’t say I was in love with him. There’s a difference.”

You freeze, knife pausing halfway through the last apple you have to cut. You have no idea why you just said that. Why you felt the need to reassure them, or even clarify that simply ideology you’ve had since you were small, is unbeknownst to you. What you do know, however, is the effect your words have on them, for they both seem to calm down, even if only slightly, at this revelation.

“Are you in love?” San asks, somewhat quietly, clearing his throat slightly as he suddenly avoids your gaze. “With anybody?”

You take a moment to consider his words, an amused huff escaping your lips in the next second, “isn’t that just the million dollar question right there?”

They both look at you, darkness swirling in their gazes at the thought of you being in love with another. They know it’s way too soon for you to be in love with one of them, or one of their brothers, and even though they can hope, they know it’s not possible. It just doesn’t work like that.

“To answer that,” you sigh, placing the knives in the sink along with the used cutting board as you begin to clean up the small mess you’ve made, “no. I am not currently in love with anyone.”

Then, within your mind, even though you don’t mean to, you add: not even myself.

Both men are caught completely off guard by your mental admission, staring at you with wide eyes as you dig through some drawers for a fork after setting the now washed dishes off to the side to dry. A few moments later, and you’ve grabbed a smaller bowl, tossing some pieces of fruit into it so you can finally eat. Wordlessly, you push the larger bowls towards them, silently offering them some fruit as well.

“So,” you say, looking back up to meet their gazes as you spear a piece of strawberry onto your fork, “are one of you going to show me around this place, or am I meant to wander around on my own?”

Immediately, both males are on their feet, the sound of the stools that they had just been sitting on scraping against the floor echoing around the room. They watch as you move around the counter to stand beside them, fork resting against the skin of your lips as your tongue darts out to wet them. You quirk a brow.

“Follow me,” Mingi says, beginning to lead you back out of the kitchen and to the hallway.

However, before you leave, you watch, practically mesmerized, as San leans over the counter to grab a piece of fruit from one of the bowls. Not just any piece of fruit, though. A peach slice.

Without breaking eye contact, he pops the piece of fruit into his mouth. You have to strongly resist the urge to swallow the sudden dryness in your throat as you watch his tongue dart out to lick at the drop of juice that drips down the corner of his lips. He smirks.

“Are you coming?” Mingi’s voice from the open doorway manages to pull you out of whatever daze you were in, your mind reeling at the double meaning that could be interpreted in his words.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, hoping that both men ignore whatever it was that just went through your mind.

Unfortunately for you, that does not seem to be the case. You can just tell from the way that San easily catches up to you, his fingers ghosting along the skin of your lower back as he guides you along the hallway, that he’s caught your all too vivid thoughts about what his tongue may or may not be capable of doing to you.

You purse your lips, a heat rising to your cheeks as you stuff a piece of melon in you mouth. Curse these attractive demons and their stupid handsome faces.

Little do you know of the way both San and Mingi smirk at hearing your thoughts wash over them. Yes, you may still be guarded from them, protecting yourself in the only ways you know how, but they can still affect you just as you can affect them. Knowing that you still find them attractive, even after everything, simply makes their chests swell with pride, that all too familiar feeling of hunger - of desire - for you swirling within.

“Well, we’ve affectionately labeled this part of the house your wing.” Mingi begins to explain, stopping momentarily to motion in the general direction you were heading in. “You’ve already seen the kitchen and the bar area, but there’s a few more rooms we think you might like.”

“My area?” You quirk a brow, wondering in the back of your mind what that particularly means.

“Your room is the only one on this side of the house,” San tells you.

Only, before you have time to register his words, Mingi is entering what appears to be a large gaming room.

Your lips part in shock as you take in the details before you. There’s a dart board off to the side, a pool table, a foosball table, a table for ping pong, hell, even a card table. Not only that, but there’s a large TV set up with ample sitting space with every console you could dream of resting on the vanity below. You’d bet anything that behind the cabinets resting to either side of the television there are board games, and every other type of game you can imagine.

“You guys really went all in for this, didn’t you?” You breathe, blinking a few times in shock.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Mingi chuckles, your expression of awe serving to fill both of their chests with a sense of pride as you take in the gaming space they’ve created with you in mind.

“Well, it’s not only just for you,” San adds, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Fair enough,” you nod, placing another piece of fruit onto your tongue.

A few moments later and you’re across the hall, staring at a large home theatre. The plush seats line the room, evenly spread out, but still close enough together as they face the large screen. In fact, some of the recliners are actually couches once you take a closer look. The one at the back even looks more like a bed.

“Anything you could ever want to watch, we have,” Mingi informs you, and even though you don’t necessarily see shelves full of movies or anything of the sorts, you believe him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, somewhat breathlessly as thoughts of watching your favourite movies and series flit through your mind. “Wait, can this connect to YouTube?”

“YouTube, Netflix, you name it,” San says, resting against the edge of one of the chairs with a proud smile tugging at his lips.

“But is there an ad-blocker for YouTube?” You quirk a brow.

The last thing you want is to be watching a video and then get stuck with a bunch of ads. You honestly cannot stand that, it’s annoying as fuck. Besides, you’re so used to no ads on your laptop, that half the time when you have the option of watching YouTube videos on a bigger screen, you opt not to, just because of the ads.

“Of course,” Mingi grins. “Anything you can think of, we’ve provided for you, and if not, it takes us nothing to adjust things to your liking.”

“I see,” you hum, not wanting to admit how impressed you are already.

The thought alone, no matter how minor, makes them both smile as they lead you to the next room.

“A dance studio?” Your brow furrows slightly in confusion.

“A few of the rooms are for us, you know.” San chuckles, his arms crossed lazily across his chest as he sees you catch your own gaze in the floor to ceiling mirrors that line the back wall.

“You guys dance?” You turn to look at them, nothing but pure curiosity reflected in your eyes.

Little do you know how much such a simple expression means to them.

“Some of us do,” Mingi nods. “Well, more than others.”

“Wooyoung is the main dancer,” San adds. “Helps him relax. I try to join him when I can, but it’s mainly his thing.”

“Ah, I see,” you nod, spearing another piece of fruit on your fork to eat in the next moment.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re torn. You absolutely love watching people dance. It’s always fascinated you since you were younger, but you don’t quite want to go around asking them to dance for you. That would be a little too awkward for you right now, and besides, you don’t quite know if you want to, yet.

Unfortunately for you, these men cannot seem to leave your thoughts alone.

“If you want to watch us dance, all you need to do is ask,” Mingi hums, flicking the lights off while on his way out of the studio as you follow behind a little meekly.

“I know Wooyoung would be more than happy to perform for you,” San adds, sharing a brief look with Mingi ahead of him. “So would we.”

“I’ll- uh- keep that in mind,” you clear your throat, averting your gaze somewhat shyly at their offer as you continue on down the hallway.

There’s a few more rooms here and there that aren’t anything extravagant, but they’re still nice. There’s a few seating rooms, giving you ample space for you to hide away and read, or do whatever you’d like to do if you want to get out of your room but need some alone time. You can tell they’ve put a lot of thought into this, and you hate to admit it, but you’re touched. Each room is catered to your preferences, a few of the windows having benches to sit on in front of them just like you’ve always dreamed about having in your own place when you grew up. They really thought about everything.

Finally, you arrive at the last door in ‘your wing’ as they’ve so lovingly put it, and as soon as Mingi opens the door, a gasp is escaping your lips.

It’s quite a large room, a beautiful bay window stretching along the one wall and allowing sunlight to stream in, reflecting off of all of the instruments scattered throughout the room. A grand piano rests off to the side, more instruments hung on the walls surrounding the area. You can tell that each have been carefully placed, not just randomly put around the room.

Then, one instrument in particular catches your eye.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you take a step towards it, transfixed by the smoothness of its lacquered wooden body. Before you can stop yourself, the question escapes you, a tinge of hope lingering in your voice. Not only hope, but excitement. “Do any of you play?”

You’ve always had an affinity for string instruments: basses, cellos, violas, harps, guitars, you name it. However, there has always been one you’ve cherished more than the rest. An instrument that never fails to bring chills to your spine whenever you hear it being played.

The violin.

“We don’t,” Mingi shakes his head slightly, “but Yeosang does.”

You don’t understand why, but you find yourself clutching onto that bowl of fruit in your hands for dear life. It’s so brief, the thought that flashes through your mind, but you’re sure they still catch it. Especially when you see them both smiling at you so fondly as you exit the room, your cheeks flaring with heat.

Perhaps I’ll ask him to play for me sometime.

Then, softly, as he’s closing the door to the room, Mingi replies, “he would like that very much.”

You say nothing in return, opting to pop another piece of fruit in your mouth as you walk back towards the lobby. An area which you’re not quite sure really is a lobby anymore.

“Well, technically, this isn’t a hotel.” San offers, a lilt to his voice. “It was just disguised as one.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, somewhat bitterly. “I know that.”

“We hope you’d think of it as your new home,” Mingi says, softly, hope shining behind his eyes as he looks at you. “With us.”

You narrow your own at him in response, “too soon.”

Both males have the decency to look upset by your words, eyes drooping in sadness as they clear their throats.

“Anyways,” San begins to lead you towards the opposite side of the house. “You’ve already seen the dining room and the courtyard with the pool, so all that there’s really left to show you is our wing.”

“I’m assuming all of your rooms are on this side, then?” You quirk a brow.

“You would be correct,” San grins.

“Huh,” you let out a puff of air, “I don’t know whether to be grateful or amused by the fact that you decided to at least keep our rooms distanced. Though, I guess it kind of defeats the purpose when you can appear in my room in the blink of an eye.”

“We figured you would want a little bit of privacy from us at times,” Mingi nearly cringes as he hears the words escape him.

You huff out a dry laugh, “now, isn’t that funny how that works.”

The two of them say nothing as they lead you down the hallway. From the thoughts drifting through your mind, they decide it best not to show you the interior of their rooms right now. The last thing they want to do is upset you further, especially when you were all just having such a decent time together. Still, they point out who’s room is who’s.

“Jongho’s is the closest to the main foyer,” San points out a door on your left as you pass by. “Then mine on the right.”

“Wooyoung is beside San,” Mingi points to a door a little ways down as you continue walking along the hallway. “Then me.”

Across from Wooyoung’s room rests Mingi’s, him pointing out the door as you pass by.

“The other rooms are upstairs, but we’ll point them out when we get there.” San explains, to which you nod. “Anyways, here’s the other kitchen.”

Just as he says that, he opens the door and a similar kitchen to the first one greets your vision. Nodding, you enter, noticing only slight discrepancies in colour from the first, but it still has the same general layout.

Moving over to the sink, you’re quick to wash up your bowl, considering you’ve finished your fruit for the moment. San attempted to do it for you, but with one stern look from you (and a laugh from Mingi), he backed off with a pout on his lips.

“Alright, what’s next?” You say, drying your hands off with a towel before folding it and placing it back neatly to hang off of the rack you found it on.

“Well, there’s Yunho’s art room.” Mingi offers.

“You’ve already seen Seonghwa’s tailor shop.” San adds, a hint of a growl on his lips as you’re all reminded of what last transpired within those four walls the last time you visited, the memory flashing through your mind and causing both men to stiffen. It’s not like either of them wanted the honour of feeling your skin beneath their own touch like that first, or anything.

“Yeah, I’d rather not revisit that right now,” you sigh. It’s one of the reasons why you’re in this whole mess in the first place. “Upstairs then?”

“Upstairs it is,” Mingi nods, leading the way.

As soon as you reach the top of the landing, San is reaching for a door.

“Wait,” you reach out a hand to stop him, and he pauses with the doorknob held in his grasp, not even turned. “Is this the art room?”

“Do you not want to see it?” San frowns, confusion tugging on his features.

“I do,” you admit, your curiosity getting the better of you, “but I also have a few friends who are artists, and I know they wouldn’t like people snooping around or intruding on their space while they’re not there.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind,” Mingi smiles at you faintly. “Especially not if it’s you.”

“I don’t know,” you hesitate. “I just wouldn’t feel right invading his privacy like that.”

To you, art in any shape or form, has always been a reflection of a person’s soul. All of their fears, their deepest insecurities and flaws presented within their work. Not only that, but also their joys, their sorrows, and just who they are as a person, and what they value deep within. You would feel wrong, even given the situation, to intrude on his private workspace. Especially when he’s not around to be there to show you himself.

Both men share a look, hearts warming at the consideration that is flowing through you right now towards one of their brothers. It means more to them than you’ll ever know.

Yunho has always been a bit conservative when it comes to showing other people his artwork, even them for a time. They only know that he wouldn’t mind if you took a look because he told them as much before you came to them. You are the one and only person he is ready and willing to display his art for. Every time, and without question or hesitation, you would be the first one who would get to see it. That’s how much you mean to him.

“Alright then,” Mingi smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the sides as San backs away from the still closed door.

Continuing down the hall, they point out the last four bedrooms. Yeosang is the closest to the stairs on the right, while Yunho is across from him on the left. At the end of the hallway, Seonghwa’s room is on the left, while Hongjoong’s room is on the right, directly across from it.

Then, at long last, you come to the final room they have yet to show you. Anticipation lingers in you mind as you approach the grandiose double doors, intricately carved from the finest wood you have ever seen in your entire life. You hold your breath.

Then, as if in slow motion, each male takes a knob in hand, pushing the doors open to reveal the grandest sight you have ever seen in your entire life. You nearly fall to your knees at the beautiful library that greets your gaze, stretching on seemingly endlessly for two stories, books lining every shelf that your eyes can see.

They really weren’t kidding when they said they went all out to impress you.

You take a step forwards on shaky legs, mouth parting as your eyes shine with unshed tears, your entire being overcome by emotions at the meaning behind such a gesture. Sure, you knew there was a library somewhere in the house, and you couldn’t deny the way anticipation clawed at your mind the further you went on this tour without seeing it, but never would you have ever expected this.

It’s like having all of your fantasies come to life - the intricate details on the bookcases, the way the sunlight is filtering through the paned glass windows. Even the few seating areas you can see scattered throughout the room from your view at the top of the second floor balcony all seem to take your breath away.

For the first time in a long time, are you truly speechless, your heart and head both reeling from the emotions washing over you.

“You guys did all this,” you blink, voice the gentlest it’s ever been when speaking to them since you’ve gotten here as you choke on your emotions, “you did all of this,” your eyes trail around the room as your hands come to grip the balcony railing behind you as you lean on it for support, “for me?”

“And we’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.” San replies, seemingly just as breathless as you are as he takes a cautious step towards you, nothing but pure sincerity shining within his gaze.

“We just want to make you happy.” Mingi nearly chokes on his own words, overcome by his own emotions for the moment as your thoughts consume both of their minds. “You mean more to us than you’ll ever know.”

You don’t say anything in response, opting to turn back around to take in the vast space before you once more.

But to them, you don’t have to say anything. They already know. For, despite your better judgement, and probably your sanity at this point, you’re starting to believe them. A fact which could not make them happier than they already are in this moment with you.

“Who-“ so badly do you want to know which one of them was the one who came up with this idea, but the words die in your throat, almost scared of the answer you might get.

“It was Hongjoong.” Mingi informs you without a second thought, voice airy as he breathes the words out.

“It was all his idea,” San confirms, tenderly placing his hand onto your shoulder. The best part is, you let him, and this time, you don’t flinch or pull away from his touch.

The admission hits you like a truck, your sudden conflicting emotions now swirling inside of you. Yes, you are most certainly touched by the gesture - the thought alone that went into this place still has your head reeling. However, you cannot deny the way that your anger from earlier boils beneath the surface. He still broke into your apartment, with Seonghwa no less, and stole your collection right from under your nose.

The least he could have done was ask.

“Can one of you show me to my books, please?” Still, with the care and detail they’ve put into this place, that anger is dissipating fast. Besides, you don’t know if you have the energy to be angry like that all of the time.

“Follow me,” Mingi breathes, his own thoughts still reeling from the tender moment they’ve just shared with you.

Ecstatic doesn’t even begin to describe how both he and San are feeling right now, but your reaction only serves to comfirm the fact even more. They are deadly in love with you, and they would do anything to prove it. From the looks of things, the wall that you had managed to put up around yourself after the whole dinner fiasco is slowly crumbling, and like hell are they going to let any of their efforts go to waste.

Finally, they’re making progress.

With every step you take, San helps to guide you down the stairs, hand moving from your shoulder to the small of your back. Both cannot help but to watch you with that same fondness shining in their eyes as you are brought right before your entire collection.

You can tell there was just as much care put into placing your belongings on these shelves as there was put into the rest of the library, if not more. Each piece is placed exactly where it would have been back at your apartment, your little trinkets angled just how you like them.

Perhaps you should give both Hongjoong and Seonghwa more credit. Perhaps you’ve been a little too harsh on them so far. After all, it’s clear that they care about you, especially if they went through all of this time and effort to plan this out and create such an elaborate place just for you. All of them did, and you think you’re starting to feel yourself truly relax, accepting your fate little by little, if today was anything to go by.

Carefully, you walk past the few shelves holding your collection, running your fingers over the spines of both your books and manga volumes until you reach the start of your albums. Quickly, and with the expertise of knowing exactly what you’re looking for, your eyes scan the different titles, finding the exact one you’re looking for.

Good. At least it’s still there, in tact, with everything still inside of it. You’d hate for your very first album of your collection to be damaged in some way, shape, or form. From the looks of things, none of them are, a fact which makes you smile as you slide the album back onto the shelf. Besides, it almost looks as if your entire collection has been cleaned.

Taking a step back, you nod, approvingly, a weight seemingly lifting from your shoulders as relief washes over you. You’re still a little upset at the fact that your things were taken without your knowledge, or permission, and you understand that they probably wanted to surprise you with such a thing, but still. You just wish you had some warning. You suppose that that’s life, though.

“Okay,” you breathe out, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you turn to face both San and Mingi once more. Each still wear that look of fondness on their face as they continue to observe you, their hearts beating erratically in their chests as they are overcome with this moment they’ve been able to share with you. Really, they cannot wait to share it with their brothers when they get back, too. “I have one final question.”

“Anything,” Mingi’s response is but a tender sigh on his lips.

You take your time to look around the bottom half of the library, eyes catching on the glass doors that lead back out into the pool area. Honestly, you’re surprised you didn’t catch that the first time.

The longer you let the silence linger in the air, the more anticipation builds in their minds. Your own thoughts are still swirling with how grateful and impressed you are towards them at the moment, giving nothing away as to what you may want to ask them. A fact of which that has them holding on to every breath you take.

Finally, you meet their eyes, “where’s the garden?”

To say they’re taken aback by your question would be an understatement, both wearing equally dumbfounded looks on their faces.

“Uh,” San blinks, clearing his throat. “There isn’t one.”

“Not even a greenhouse?” Your brow furrows, slight disappointment lingering within your mind. Then, you quirk a teasing grin, shaking your head all the while, “all of this effort and you guys don’t even put in a garden."

“We can, if you want,” Mingi’s reply is instantaneous, worried that them not having added a garden could be the one dealbreaker to end what would have otherwise been a perfect day with you.

“What do you mean by that?” You eye him skeptically, thinking how it would be impossible to simply just add a garden.

“We mean exactly that,” San responds. “We can attach it just outside the library.”

Then again, stranger things have happened.

“You need only think of something you want, and we can provide it for you.” Mingi adds.

“So, if I wanted a room full of kittens to cuddle with?” You quirk a brow.

“Done.” San answers with a shrug, as if it would truly be nothing for him. Though, each of them would prefer if you cuddled with them instead. They already have enough to worry about with your stuffed animals. They don’t want to be competing against real ones now, too.

“A room inspired by the galaxy, complete with pillows and a moving ceiling to reflect the cosmos that I could observe whenever I wanted?” You question, still partially skeptical to what they’re telling you.

“If that is what you desire,” Mingi nods, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Is this apart of your teleporting thingy you guys do? Making stuff appear out of thin air?” Your brow furrows slightly as you attempt to wrap your head around what they’re implying.

“A part of it, yes,” San moves to sit in the chair closest to him, crossing his legs so that his one ankle rests on top of his knee as he leans back in his seat.

“I’m still not used to that,” you shake your head, recalling exactly how it felt to jump from one place to another not once, but twice today.

“It’ll take some getting used to,” Mingi chuckles, sitting in the chair opposite San as they both continue to watch you, eyes tracking your every movement.

“No kidding,” you huff out a breath, placing your hands onto your hips for the time being.

Taking one final look around the room, you smile to yourself before moving to exit the library. Only, before you can get very far, Mingi’s voice is drawing your attention back to him.

“Where are you going?” There’s a tinge of worry in his tone, apparent on his face in the way he furrows his brows.

“Back to my room,” you reply, as if it were obvious. “It’s been a long day, and I still have to finish unpacking.”

“We’ll join you,” San goes to stand but your hand reaching out to stop him freezes him right in his tracks.

“I appreciate it, but I think I just want some alone time, now.” You smile softly at them as if to reassure them you’re not about to go back to your room and sulk, or cry, or wallow in your own self-pity like you had been the past two weeks.

They share a brief look.

“Alright,” San sighs, leaning back into his seat for the time being.

You shoot him a gracious smile, moving to exit the library. Though, before you do, you pause, your back still turned to them as your hand rests on the doorknob. Then, you turn to look at them both from over your shoulder.

“Thank you. Both of you. For this,” you say, your voice soft and barely audible in the room, but they still manage to hear you as clear as day. Your hand tightens its grip on the knob as you turn to face the door. Then, under your breath, as if you say it more to yourself than anything, “perhaps you’re all not so bad after all.”

Without another word, or even allowing yourself the time to process the words you’ve just spoken, you’re making your exit. The door slams shut behind you, echoing your final admission to the two men sitting there, stunned, in their seats.

Little do you know of the way their hearts race, veins flooding with a pleasant warmth as happiness spreads through their entire body, seeping into every pore. Growls of contentment build in their throats as their eyes fixate on the spot you had just been standing in, their minds screaming at them to simply chase after you - to pull you into their arms and show you just how unbelievably hopeful and happy you have just made them, and just how grateful they can be.

Progress. They’re finally making progress.

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