#and how they got so ingrained in their love language
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I Knew You
Summary: You and Steve Harrington have hated each other ever since sixth grade, which made living next door to him all the more miserable. It hadn't always been like that though, shared smiles and loving gestures in secret before popularity went to his head. But now, Steve somehow keeps finding ways to squeeze himself back into your life, making you question if the boy you once knew, the one you might have loved, still lived somewhere within him.
Note: Its been a bit since I last posted, but I had this idea and really wanted to write it. I'm currently drowning with work and school stuff for my masters so my next fic might take a hot minute and will definitely be shorter. This takes place in the fall after season 4 and both Eddie and Max survived with minimal injuries. It’s also partially inspired by Cardigan by Taylor Swift, hence the lyrics as chapter titles. This ended up being way longer than I intended for it to be, but I hope you enjoy!
Warnings: 18+, no use of y/n (reader is referred to as Baby), smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), enemies to lovers, language, mentions of blood/injuries, some cannon divergence, fluff, angst, slowburn.
Pairings: Steve Harrington x reader
Word count: 30.5k (I got carried away)
I knew I’d curse you for the longest time
The last salt of the summer air lazed its way through the breeze, picking up the fresh fallen leaves with it. There wasn’t enough foliage on the ground to worry about raking them just yet, but it still brought a chill down your spine at the thought of autumn’s rapid approach. You were sitting on the window bench in your room with a book in your hands and your back against the wall as the breeze floated through the open window, making the curtains dance despite being drawn back. It was a moment of quiet, something you desperately needed.
You were lost in words on the page before you, taking them in sentence after sentence, until the loud slam of a door interrupted your trance. The sound of the door was followed by singing, loud and obnoxious singing. More specifically, Steve Harrington’s loud and obnoxious singing. He had just strolled into his room, playing air guitar along to whatever metal song he was bellowing. A metal song that you presumed Eddie had played so many times on the tape player in his van that it somehow ingrained itself into Steve’s pop-hits brain.
You sighed, shaking your head to try and brush off the noise as if this was a daily occurrence. Well, it almost was, in some form or another. You lived next door to Steve Harrington for as long as you could remember. Your bedroom windows faced each other too, allowing each of you to gain small, often unwelcome, glimpses into the other’s life. Just about every girl in school had come up to you at least once to tell you how lucky you were to have such an easy way to see Steve Harrington. Then they’d always proceed to ask if they could join you for a sleepover at your house, no doubt just to get a chance to spy on the boy in his natural habitat.
Your eyes flitted back down to the page, stuck on the same sentence ever since your ears were met with the unwelcome disturbance that was Steve Harrington’s singing. He’d moved on from singing to vocalizing the song’s guitar solo, which was somehow even more annoying. Steve’s arms moved wildly up and down his fake guitar as he banged his head up and down. If you weren’t so annoyed you’d honestly be impressed by the amount of endurance Steve’s performance surely required. But you were annoyed. Annoyed enough to finally speak up.
“Do you constantly have to make so much noise or do you just like to hear the sound of your own voice?” your remark rang out through the open window, trickling through the air to reach Steve’s room. You didn’t look up from your book, doing your best to look unbothered. Steve stopped singing and thrashing about. His heavy breaths evened out slightly before he responded, slowly approaching the window sill.
“Do you constantly have a stick up your ass or do you just like to pretend that you do?” your eyes widened at that, putting your book to the side as you turned to face the window, to face Steve. He had a smirk on his lips, one that you were more than familiar with by now. It was the smirk he flashed each time he said something that he knew would piss you off. Quite frankly, it was the expression you were most familiar with seeing Steve wear at this point in your life.
“If there’s a stick up my ass then it's only because you put it there,” it was a lame comeback. You knew it. Steve knew it. But they can’t all be winners. You winced as the words fell from your lips, waiting for Steve’s retaliation, which was sure to be unsavory.
“I don’t recall ever doing that. But Baby, if you bend over I’d be more than happy to oblige,” Steve's smirk grew wider. Whether it was the stupid nickname or the sexual nature of his response that caused the flash of his pearly teeth, you didn’t know. However, you did know that you hated it, all of it. You hated that you constantly walked right into his dumb little comebacks. You hated that he seemingly had an endless supply of them just for you. You hated the day that the stupid nickname was ever aimed in your direction and you hated that Steve Harrington was the one to do it.
It was late September 1978. Summer was still putting up a fight, albeit a weak one, to keep its warmth in the air. It had rained the night before, washing away the fresh fallen leaves to get stuck in the gutters along the roof or in the storm drains beside the narrow streets. School had only started back up a few weeks ago, and somehow, Steve found himself climbing the popularity ranks. It was a big deal for a sixth grader who’d only just begun his journey at Hawkins Middle to be so admired so fast, but Steve was already starting to see people worship the ground he walked on. He liked the idea of it, that he could waltz through the door of some place and up and run it so soon. His dad always said that the Harringtons were winners, and Steve knew he would be nothing if he disappointed his dad.
Steve was walking to school that morning, Tommy and Carol to his left as a group full of his classmates followed closely behind. It was as if Steve had his very own entourage. They were a few blocks from the school when he saw it, a bike abandoned on the grass next to the sidewalk. There was a backpack beside it too, laying face down as if it had been thrown off in haste. It didn’t take long for Steve to realize why the bike before him looked so familiar. It was the same one he had seen you on almost every day that summer. The bike you rode to the library, to Lover’s Lake, to the movie theater, to the quarry. As long as it was a place with a good story waiting to be watched or read, or a quiet environment to immerse yourself in a good book, someone was sure to find you there with that bike.
Steve panicked for a moment, preparing himself to run to the police station and report that you had been kidnapped. But then he looked up. You were hunched over the sidewalk a few yards up, picking at something on the surface of the cement. Steve’s legs moved, the others following, and stopped once again, this time only a few feet from where you sat on the sidewalk. Steve’s brows furrowed as he looked down, finally getting a good look at what you were doing.
You sat there, slowly and gently peeling the dried worms from the sidewalk. Then you parted the grass next to the sidewalk, putting the worm down to get it as close to the soil as possible. Steve watched you curiously as you moved on to the next worm. It was then that the breeze picked up a bit, shifting away the hair that covered your face. Steve saw it, the tear tracks running down your cheeks as you struggled with the worms that Steve was sure were already dead. A few chuckles sounded from the group behind Steve, and suddenly he remembered that it was not just you and him on that sidewalk.
You too had suddenly become aware of your audience then, head snapping up to see the group in front of you. Your eyes landed on Steve. His expression was etched with empathy, an emotion Steve still held onto no matter how much Tommy tried to strip it from him in his sudden rise to king status. At that moment you didn’t care about the others or the tears that still leaked down your soft cheeks. You cared about the poor worms that stuck to the sidewalk. Your gaze landed on Steve, appealing to the boy who lived beside you for so many years.
“The rain,” you sniffled and Steve’s heart ached at the sound. He’d seen you cry before, as he was sure you had seen him cry too, through the cracks in the curtains obscuring bedroom windows. Each time Steve had to stop himself from marching over to your house and wrapping you in a comforting hug. It was an urge that he still had to repress, even here and now. “The rain cools down the sidewalk and the worms like to come out onto it. But it- it’s not raining anymore. It's too hot for them now. They- they’re burning alive,” fresh tears fell, replacing the old ones. They ran races against each other, fighting to be the first to drip off of your chin and onto the cement below. Steve’s mouth opened, but he was cut off by the boy beside him.
“Whatever, worm girl. Just move out of the way so we can get to school,” Tommy’s words rang through the air, the entourage laughing at you from behind him. Steve could picture it now, you’d spend the rest of middle and high school deemed as the worm girl. You’d hide in all of your classes, eat lunch by yourself in the library, and ignore the taunts that echoed throughout the hallway. Worm girl, worm girl, worm girl. You’d leave Hawkins the day after graduation, a car full of boxes, your life packed up and tucked away in each, and you’d never return. You’d start a new life in a new city that only knows you by your real name, not some playground-esque tease that stupid Tommy Hagan awarded you in 6th grade. You’d be happy there, build a place you could call home, find your one true love, and Steve would never see you again.
Steve had to stop this now. He had to bury the name worm girl in the ground before it could ever fully emerge. And there was only one way that Steve’s prepubescent brain could think how. Your eyes flickered from Tommy before landing back on Steve, willing him to say something, to defend you. Maybe that was too much to ask.
“Damn, that was lame. Worm girl, really? Are we five?” Steve pulled his gaze from yours. He couldn’t bear to see the look of hope that blossomed in your eyes. Not with what he was about to say next. “I mean, if anything, we should call her Baby since she’s crying like one,” small giggles sounded off behind Steve before being overtaken by full-blown giggles and laughs. And there it was. Steve’s master plan had come to fruition. Replace a bad nickname with a not-as-bad nickname. It wasn’t a great plan, he knew that, especially when he saw the scrunch of your brows and the quiver of your bottom lip, but it was the best that Steve’s 11-year-old thoughts could conjure on such short notice. And Baby really wasn’t that bad. It's a term of endearment for Christ's sake. Or at least that’s what Steve would tell himself.
Tommy laughed from beside Steve, throwing an arm over Carol and guiding her to walk around you. The others followed, hurling a few taunting calls of ‘Baby’ at you as they walked by. You looked back down at the ground, refocusing yourself on the task at hand, ignoring the cracks running along the foundations of your heart. Maybe Steve wasn’t the same boy you had grown up with. Maybe his middle school fame had gone to his head more than you thought it would. More than you hoped it would.
You had just freed another dried worm from its place on the sidewalk when you saw it. A pair of Nikes in front of you. Steve Harrington’s pair of Nikes. He hadn’t gone with the others. It was like he was rooted to the spot. You placed the worm into the depths of the grass, tilting your head to look up at the boy towering over you.
“Screw you, Steve,” you spoke harshly, doing your best to let venom lace your words despite the shake in your voice. Steve didn’t say anything back. He just crouched down in front of you, gently picking up the last worm from the sidewalk. He copied what you had done, parting the grass to place the worm close to the damp earth below. Steve stood up then, walking back to the group that had now passed you, heading towards the school. They hadn’t even noticed he was gone.
Steve rejoined them, sticking to the back of the group to not draw attention to his momentary absence. He looked back at you then, finding you with your head turned over your shoulder, already gazing at him with confusion plastered across your face. He shot you a soft smile, one that he had typically reserved just for you. It only lasted a moment, but for that moment you were more perplexed than before.
In that smile was Steve. The Steve. The one that had plaid wallpaper in his room and hand-drawn pictures of cars taped to the walls (some that you had drawn for him). He was the boy who had a slew of green army men sitting on his window sill, the same ones that he had given you. They sat pointing towards the street out front, and never ever at you. They protected both of your rooms. The soldiers protected them from monsters, wizards, ghosts, and disappointed parents. At that moment, Steve was the boy next door who left messages taped to his window for you to see. The boy who stayed a few paces behind your bike after school to make sure you got home safely. He was the boy who promised to love you always before placing a peck on your lips when you were both five. He was the boy you knew, not the one who humiliated you in front of his friends.
But the moment ended. The smile dropped from Steve’s face as quickly as it had appeared. He turned his head back around, putting more and more distance between the two of you. You watched him for a moment longer until you finally managed to tear your gaze from his retreating figure. You moved then, leaning over the grass to see the worm that Steve had placed there, worried that he left it too high up. Most of the worms were dead long before you got there, you knew that, but it didn’t stop you from trying to help them. All the worms in the grass were lifeless and unmoving despite your efforts. All except one. It was the worm Steve had placed there.
You jumped into action then, using your fingers to dig a hole in the dirt. As quickly as you could, you placed the worm into the hole, covering it with the fresh soil. Its tail poked out just a bit and you watched with bated breath as it slowly retracted, moving deeper into the ground below. You glanced up at the sidewalk again, expecting to still see Steve in the distance, but he was gone. Over the hill and out of your eye line, just like the worm.
“Don’t call me that,” you bit through gritted teeth and Steve just laughed. His stupid, obnoxious, loud laugh. The one that warned you that danger was near anytime you heard it in the hallway in high school.
“Would you prefer I call you something else?” Steve pondered dramatically, bringing a finger to his lip and glancing up as if he were trying to remember something. “Maybe worm-” Steve began, a look of anger more prominent on your face now.
“Fuck you, Steve,” you cut him off before he could finish his taunt. He was about to say something else, no doubt another snarky comment that you could definitely afford to miss. It was about to spring from his lips when Steve was met with the sound of your window slamming shut. You locked it too, pulling the curtains closed and retreating to your bed, no longer in the mood to read. Steve stared at the purple curtains now blocking his view of you. Oh, how he hated that specific shade, knowing that they were the only thing keeping him from gazing at you.
Steve closed his window too, locking it the same as you had. But he kept his curtains open, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of you later. The hand-drawn cars that once lined his walls were replaced by movie posters, ones he had gotten for free from work. He still had the army men littered along the window sill though. Most of them had been knocked over on their sides and Steve never bothered to pick them back up. They pointed at your room now, though Steve never intended for them to do so, unlike you who had purposefully aimed your soldiers at Steve’s window no more than a few days after Wormageddon.
Steve sat back on his bed, laying down and placing his arms under his head. He’d made you mad. Gotten you all riled up, just as he had planned from the second you opened your mouth. So why did he not feel better right now? Why did his stomach hurt and his heart refused to rest? This battle was over. The war waged on but this was still a victory worth noting in the imaginary books. He hadn’t gotten the final word but he still won nonetheless. Isn’t that what he was supposed to do? He was a Harrington after all, and Harringtons were winners. Right?
But I knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss
The sun crept along the horizon, unwilling to give in to the moon just yet. Orange and pink illuminated your room through the open curtains. You sat at your vanity, applying a final layer of gloss to your lips before smacking them together. Unbeknownst to you, Steve had been watching you through the window. He admired the effort you took while getting ready, although he knew you didn’t need it. Steve would never admit it, he’d repressed it for far too long, but he thought you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
You turned towards your closet, digging through it to find a pair of shoes that matched your outfit. Steve couldn’t help the clawing desire to know what you were getting ready for. There weren’t any parties that he knew of that night. Maybe you were hanging out with Nancy and Robin. He couldn’t imagine why you’d need to get dressed up for that though. Steve wished your window was open. He would lean on his window sill, asking about your plans for the evening. He’d say it in that snarky Steve Harrington way. The way he knew would elicit an eye roll in response. But maybe you’d give in and tell him. Maybe you’d invite him to go with you. Or maybe Steve was letting fantasy mix with reality.
A car horn sounded from outside, pulling Steve from his thoughts with a jump. He didn’t realize he was still standing at his window staring at you. At least he hadn’t until you rushed to your window, trying to get a glimpse of the vehicle out front. Your eyes locked with Steve’s then and you could’ve sworn you saw him blush. You brushed it off, refocusing on why you had come to the window in the first place. Parked on the street in front of your house sat a van. A beat-up, rusty, falling apart at the seams, van. Steve’s gaze followed yours, also noticing the van below. A van he was more than familiar with at this point.
You bent over, pulling on your shoes as quickly as you could before rushing out of your room and down the stairs. Steve jumped into action then, doing the same from within his own house. He burst out the front door just in time to see you grabbing for the handle of the van’s passenger side door. Steve peered through the windshield getting a glance of the unruly curls that rested on Eddie Munson’s head. You hopped into the van and Eddie looked up, seeing Steve cut through his yard and head towards the van. You fastened your seatbelt and looked up, also catching sight of the boy rapidly approaching you.
“Eddie, please drive. Like right now,” you turned to the boy next to you. Your voice came out shaky and desperate. Definitely not the commanding tone you’d hoped for.
“Sorry, princess. Gotta see what the hair is so adamantly chasing us for,” Eddie shrugged and you groaned, throwing your head back. Unfortunately that only made Eddie laugh at you.
“If you leave right now, I’ll do anything you ask for the rest of the night,” you pleaded, clasping your hands together to beg.
“As tempting as that sounds, it’s a bit too late,” Eddie points to the window behind you. You turn, seeing Steve standing next to your window, hand raised in a wave. Eddie leaned over, arm reaching across your lap to crank the window down, because he knew damn well that you wouldn’t do it. Not when Steve was standing on the other side at least.
“You’re like a goddamn jumpscare. I hope you know that Harrington,” you spoke, folding your arms over your chest as Eddie retreated back to his side of the van. He could identify the hint of jealousy on Steve’s face all too well. It was the same look Steve wore anytime a guy got too close to you or made you smile a bit wider than normal. Eddie was well aware of Steve’s complicated feelings for you, even though Steve sure as hell wasn’t.
“Whatcha up to? I thought you were staying home tonight?” Steve asked Eddie, resting his hands against the van’s door. He was close to you, too close. You leaned back in your seat, putting more space between the two of you.
“Well, now I’m not,” Eddie shot Steve a cheeky smile and Steve just blinked in response. “Ok fine,” Eddie gave in, unraveling under Steve’s stare. He hated lying to Steve, especially now that they’d gotten closer. “We’re going to see some band play at The Hideout. We’ve had these plans for weeks. I lied about staying home,” Eddie rushed out and your mouth dropped in shock.
“One look into Harrington’s sparkly eyes and you're spilling your guts? Pathetic,” you groaned from your seat. Eddie rolled his eyes, focusing them back onto Steve.
“You think my eyes are sparkly?” Steve quipped, a smirk growing on his lips. You heard Eddie laugh beside you and you couldn’t help the scowl that formed on your face.
“Get over yourself, Steve,” you moved your hand over the window crank, threatening to roll up the window, but Steve stopped you.
“Wait! I wanna come with,” he spoke quickly, eyes darting back and forth between you and Eddie. You couldn’t help the laugh that formed in your throat. “What’s so funny?” Steve glared at you then.
“Well, for one, you hate metal music,” you began and Steve scoffed.
“So do you,” Steve tried to retaliate, but the smirk on your lips told him he was fighting a losing battle.
“Sure, I’m not the biggest metal fan, but I like it enough and I love the energy of the crowd. Plus Eddie and I have been doing this for years. It doesn’t even matter, you’re not coming with us so you might as well give up now,” you spoke, lifting your hand in a sarcastic wave goodbye.
“Good thing it’s not up to you then. It’s Eddie’s van. He gets to decide,” your head snapped in Eddie’s direction then. You glared at him and focused as hard as you could. When you were younger, you and Eddie were convinced that you’d be able to communicate with each other telepathically if you tried hard enough. It never worked of course, but it never hurt to try. Eddie understood you better than anyone. He became your number-one confidant since the day you met. Surely he could pick up on your brain waves begging him to bar Steve from your plans.
Eddie headed towards the band room at Hawkins Middle with his guitar case swinging in his hand. He was early, intending to warm up on his own before the rest of Corroded Coffin got there for band practice. Eddie flicked on the lights, expecting the room to be empty. But it wasn’t. You were there, in the corner of the room, tucked between some music stands. You’d been curled into a ball and looked up when the fluorescent lights came on, illuminating your hidden figure. There were tears streaked across your face after a particularly brutal day of taunts from Tommy and Steve. Eddie set his guitar down and moved towards you slowly.
“Are you okay?” he asked in a quiet voice, hesitantly approaching. You remained silent, rising from your spot on the ground and wiping away your tears with your sweater sleeve. “I’m Eddie,” he spoke again, extending his hand for you to shake when he got close enough. You told him your name but didn’t meet his hand with yours, not yet.
“But everyone calls me Baby,” your voice was hoarse from crying but Eddie heard you loud and clear. He was an eighth grader but even he’d heard about the poor sixth grader that the popular kids had been calling Baby. It had moved beyond just them though. All of your classmates, teachers, and neighbors had adopted the name for you.
“Well, I won’t call you that, not if you’re not comfortable with it,” Eddie reassured you. He had been victimized plenty by the popular kids. He understood what it felt like, which is why he was shocked when you shook your head. His hand fell back to his side.
“No, it’s ok. I’ve been telling people to call me Baby to help reclaim it, I guess. It took Marissa the librarian forever but she’s finally gotten used to it. My parents still slip up, but that’s to be expected,” you shrugged. What you didn’t tell Eddie was that it still hurt when the name spilled from Steve’s lips. You weren’t sure why it did. But the more you were called Baby by everyone else, the more desensitized you hoped to become to it.
“Reclaim the name?” Eddie asked, eyebrows furrowed. You nodded, suddenly unsure what the boy in front of you thought. “That’s pretty metal,” a smile stretched his lips and his hand shot back up between you, beckoning for yours to join it. “It’s nice to meet you, Baby.”
“You too, Eddie,” you mirrored his smile, finally placing your small hand in his. Eddie’s calloused fingers enclosed around the back of your palm and two became one. You were inseparable. Inseparable in everything except for the reoccurring nightmare scenario that kept popping up in your life. You’d been dragged in early on, being one of the last people to see Barb before she went missing. You’d caught a glimpse of her through your window, sitting on the diving board above Steve’s pool, when suddenly she was gone. You joined Jonathan and Nancy in their quest to find her and kill the thing that took her. It sucked to keep Eddie out of that part of your life, but it was for his own good. Or at least it was until this past spring when Chrissy Cunningham became Vecna’s first victim right before the poor boy’s eyes. Then you told him everything. Your two worlds fully merged, and you and Eddie became totally and fully inseparable.
Your glare bore into Eddie’s and you thought you had gotten through to him. You were wrong.
“Alright Harrington, hop in. Quickly though, I don’t want to miss the opening act,” Eddie conceded, turning to face his gaze towards the road ahead. He could feel you burning holes into him with your eyes. You rolled the window up as Steve opened the van's back door.
“We’re so working on the telepathy thing again. Evidently, you’re in desperate need of a refresher,” you grumbled and Eddie chuckled at how mad you were at the addition of Steve to your plans. Steve closed the van door, lounging in one of the bean bags Eddie kept in the back.
After what felt like the longest ride of being tossed around the back of Eddie’s van, Steve was never more thankful to see The Hideout come into view. The three of you filed out of the van as the sound of metal music filtered through the bar’s closed doors. Much to Eddie’s dismay the opener had already started their set. It smelled like cheap beer and cigarette smoke, causing Steve to wrinkle his nose.
“Go get us some drinks from the bar. Baby and I will get us a spot up near the front,” Eddie handed Steve a few dollar bills, enough to cover both your drink and his own. You and Steve might hate each other, but you’d been around each other in enough alcohol-fueled group settings to know each other’s drink orders. Steve beelined towards the bar, yelling over the music to order your Dirty Shirley with extra cherries, Eddie’s Rum and Coke, and his own Long Island iced tea.
He spotted you and Eddie pushing through the crowd. You were in front of Eddie, his forearm thrown across the front of your shoulders to keep you close. The two of you stopped not far from the stage. You leaned up to say something in Eddie’s ear, your back flush with his chest, and Steve felt a rush of jealousy run through him. Eddie had told him countless times that the two of you were just friends. That the kisses he’d once shared with you while high were just meaningless, drug-fueled, pecks on the lips. That was a lie of course, but Eddie definitely wasn’t going to tell Steve about the way you moaned against his lips until the two of you sobered up enough to feel embarrassed and swore to never speak of it again. Sometimes Steve needed to be lied to about certain things, mainly so Eddie wasn’t on the receiving end of Steve’s right hook.
The bartender placed the drinks in front of Steve in exchange for the wad of cash slapped on the counter. Steve grabbed all three glasses and began his trek through the tightly packed crowd. He’d gotten really good at holding a bunch of stuff in his hands at once during his brief stint at Scoops. Steve made it up to you and Eddie, passing the drinks to each of you. The three of you watched the opening band’s set, dancing as much as you could with drinks in your hands and a packed crowd.
By the time the opener’s set was over you had sipped enough of your drink to expose one of the cherries in your glass. Steve couldn’t help the way his mouth gaped as he watched you fish the cherry out with your finger, popping the morsel in your mouth and pulling it from the stem with your teeth. Eddie eyed the boy next to him, amused not only by Steve’s aroused reaction to such a simple thing but also by your complete obliviousness to said reaction. Despite the lack of music coming from the stage as you waited for the headlining band to come on, Eddie still had to shout over the buzz of the crowd.
“Show Stevie the thing,” Eddie gestured towards the cherry stem between your fingers. You shook your head in protest, but Eddie gave you his best puppy dog eyes and you were instantly beat. You rolled your eyes, placed the cherry stem on your tongue, and closed your lips. Eddie brought his arm up, glancing back and forth between you and his watch. Steve was baffled by the coordinated performance that the two of you were putting on in front of him. After a few seconds, your mouth popped back open. You plucked the cherry stem from between your teeth and held it up for Steve to see.
“Seven seconds! That might be your personal best,” Eddie exclaimed while Steve looked closely at the stem. It was tied in a knot. He took it from between your fingers and was about to ask how you did it when the band came on stage. Steve’s hand trailed down to his side, tucking the tied cherry stem into his pocket. He wasn’t sure why, but throwing it away felt wrong for some reason.
The band was really good, especially the lead singer. He was only a few years older than you and he had gorgeous, blonde hair that flowed down to his shoulders. Steve had scoffed when the singer winked at you during their set, but you couldn’t hear the sound over the music. The three of you had a surprisingly good time together, although it's pretty hard to fight with such loud music blaring throughout the room. Eddie and Steve were tasked with finding a table after the band left the stage and you got stuck with grabbing everyone new drinks.
“That was actually really fun. How often do you guys do this?” Steve asked, his pants getting stuck to cheap faux leather as he slid into a booth opposite Eddie.
“Once every month or so. It depends on which bands are playing,” Steve was listening to Eddie or at least he was at first. His eyes had been scanning the bar, trying to find you. When he finally did, his expression hardened. You leaned with your elbow against the bar, waiting for the bartender to come back with the drinks, but you weren’t alone. The lead singer of the headlining band was beside you. He was smiling at you, and even worse for Steve, you were smiling back. Eddie noticed the change in Steve’s demeanor, the jealousy that now filled the hazel of his eyes. He tracked Steve’s gaze across the crowded bar, landing on you.
Eddie was impressed. He’d seen you bag your fair share of hot guys after a show at The Hideout, but never had you managed to get with the lead singer of the headlining band. Steve, on the other hand, was not impressed. He was livid. It didn’t help that the lead singer had just placed his hands on your hips, pulling you flush against him as he leaned in close to whisper something in your ear. Steve quickly slid out of the booth, stomping his way through the crowd of people, heading towards you. Eddie winced, knowing he should chase after the boy, but slightly curious to see what would happen if he didn’t. Steve pushed through the bodies surrounding him, stopping just in front of where you stood against the bar.
“What's taking you so long with the drinks?” He called out and your head shot up at the sound of his voice. The smile that had grown on your lips quickly faded at the sight of Steve. The singer, Corey, looked up from where he had just started to kiss your neck. He didn’t move his hands from your hips despite Steve’s pointed glances.
“Hey man, you’re kind of interrupting something right now. If you want a drink then ask the bartender or whatever,” Corey moved to face you again, but Steve wasn’t done.
“Hey man,” Steve mocked Corey’s words. “You need to take your hands off of her right now,” your brow furrowed in anger while Corey filled with confusion.
“Sorry dude, didn’t realize she was your girl,” Corey assumed based on Steve’s comment and began to move his hands, but you stopped him.
“I’m not, I swear. I barely even know that guy,” Steve scoffed at that and you shot him a glare. Corey’s eyes flitted back and forth between you and Steve. He looked more confused than ever, almost painfully so.
“I’m way too high for this. You have her, man. It's not worth the fight,” Corey held up his hands in defense. Eddie had just worked his way through the sea of people in time to see Corey back away from you, scan the crowd, and head towards some pretty redhead across the room. Steve looked triumphant as he turned his gaze back to you. Eddie thought you looked like you were about to go ballistic. He’d never seen you that mad before in his entire life. You looked even angrier now than you had when Eddie purposefully put gum in your hair and it got stuck so badly that you had to give yourself bangs to get rid of it. Eddie was about two seconds from sprinting out of the building to save himself from being a witness to what was sure to be Steve’s murder when the bartender, Dave, called out from behind you.
“Here’s that Long Island for you, Baby,” you spun around, revealing the Rum and Coke and Dirty Shirley that sat on the counter behind you. You thanked Dave, giving him a good tip, before turning back to Steve. Because even in your fury, you could still be nice to the waitstaff. You picked up the Long Island, marched towards Steve, and slammed the drink directly into his chest.
“Since you wanted it so fucking bad,” you pushed past him, not caring about the way the liquid sloshed over the lip of the glass, coating your hand and Steve’s shirt. You moved towards the exit, slamming the door open into the moonlit darkness outside. Steve took a second to process what just happened. He placed the remainder of his drink back on the counter before following in your path. Eddie groaned, grabbing his now abandoned drink from the bar and downing it. He grabbed your drink from beside his, knowing you’d need it when this was over, and followed Steve. You had made it to Eddie’s van and tugged on the door handle, cursing the long-haired boy for actually locking it for once.
“What the hell was that?” Steve called out from across the parking lot with his arms held wide. He was stalking towards you at a furious pace. You were so pissed that you didn’t even notice your feet dragging you forward to meet him in the middle.
“Where the fuck do you get off?” you asked in response instead of answering his question. Steve stopped when the tips of his shoes touched yours, scrunched faces mere inches from each other. “First you invite yourself along to Eddie and I’s thing and then you ruin my chances with the very hot lead singer of the band. You did that for what, huh? Shits and giggles? I don’t give a shit who you are Harrington, that’s too fucking far,” you yelled, rage boiling beneath your hot skin.
“He wasn’t that hot,” Steve scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes widened. Eddie, who had just made it out to the parking lot, was surprised there wasn’t steam shooting out of your ears at this point.
“Is that the only thing you fucking heard from what I just said?” you brought your hands to your forehead in exasperation. “You’re such an asshole! I thought it would end when we graduated. Like you’d grow up a bit after graduation day. Hell, Robin said you’d matured, changed, and left the King Steve shtick behind. Eddie is one of your best friends now, the boy you taunted for years. So what is it about me, huh? Why are you suddenly too golden-hearted to bully everyone else but you never stopped fucking with me?” you had gotten close to Steve, not that you noticed through your tunneled vision of anger. Your heavy breaths fanned across Steve’s lips as you awaited his response.
“I-” Steve opened his mouth to respond and then quickly shut it. He didn’t know. Well maybe he did know, somewhere deep down, but it wasn’t something he could say to you now. Not in The Hideout’s parking lot where a crowd had started growing around you. Steve stepped back, creating the space between you that you desperately lacked at the moment.
“That’s what I thought,” you stepped back too, turning to walk towards Eddie. You quickly stopped, facing Steve once more. “Do me a favor, find some other girl to lurk around for a while. It's bad enough that you live next door. I really don’t need you following me wherever I go like some fucking creep,” you spun on your heels again, grabbing the drink from Eddie’s outstretched hand and throwing it back like it was fruit juice.
Eddie unlocked the van and you slid inside, slamming the door behind you. Eddie’s eyes met Steve’s with a grimace. Eddie looked at you in the van and then back to Steve. Steve got the message; Eddie couldn’t take you both home together. Maybe Steve was the one with telepathy instead. Eddie’s remorseful eyes searched Steve from across the lot. Steve conceded, gesturing for Eddie to take you. He was the one that fucked up anyway. If anything he deserved to be the one that had to call a cab. Eddie shot Steve a tight-lipped smile before hopping into his van and driving off. Steve watched the van’s taillights as Eddie rolled through a stop sign, speeding off into the night.
The light in your room was off when the cab finally dropped Steve off at home. He wasn’t surprised, expecting that you’d be at Eddie's trailer, erasing the night from your thoughts with a shared joint. Steve trudged up the stairs, opening and closing his door softly behind him so he didn’t wake his parents. They’d be gone for another business trip in the morning, leaving one less thing for him to worry about tomorrow. Steve’s window was still open from earlier, allowing the cool night air to seep in. He laid back on his bed, thoughts racing in the silence. And that’s when he heard it. A soft sob, then a sniffle. A deep breath, then another sob.
Steve sat up, his gaze aimed in the direction of the sound. His eyes landed on you, sitting on the floor of your darkened room with your back against your bed. Your window was cracked open, the way you normally kept it at night, allowing the birds to wake you with their songs in the morning. Steve stood, moving towards the window. You couldn’t see him from this angle, not that you would have been able to regardless with the tears clouding your vision. Steve frowned. An ache in his chest, the same one he’d felt whenever he heard you cry, flourished within him. He wanted to comfort you. To wrap an arm around you and let cry into his chest. To tell you it would be okay and ask who’s ass he needed to kick. But he couldn’t. You weren’t friends. You hated him. And it’s not like he could kick his own ass.
He didn’t realize, didn’t even feel it, but a tear slipped down his cheek, matching the flood that crowded yours. Steve lifted his hands to rest on the window, leaning against it as his brows furrowed over the broken look on your face. He pushed down, shutting the window softly, locking it, and closing the curtains. He couldn’t listen to you cry anymore. He remembered what you said, and he didn’t want to linger. The tear rolled off Steve’s chin, drowning a little unsuspecting green soldier on the window sill below. Steve moved away from the window and laid back on his bed. He felt around his pants pocket and fished out the knotted cherry stem. Steve’s eyes roamed over it for too long before he set it aside on his nightstand and closed his eyes. He couldn't sleep that night, no matter how hard tried. In the quiet dark of his room, Steve swore he could still hear your muffled cries.
Drunk under a street light
Black and white flickered from the TV screen, illuminating the dark room that you lounged in. You were lazing on the couch, mindlessly picking at the bowl of popcorn in your lap. The movie playing across the room did nothing to pull your unfocused stare from the coffee table in front of you. It wasn’t until you received a light kick to the thigh that you could finally shifted your eyes away.
“Okay, ouch,” you glared at Robin who was lying across the couch beside you, feet practically draped across your lap. She sat up, digging her hand into the bowl of popcorn. Her perfume scent lingered in the air around you even after she pulled back. It was sweet and light like she had just finished baking a batch of sugar cookies.
“You’ve been begging me to watch Casablanca with you for months and you’re not even paying attention to it now that I actually am,” she lifted her hand towards the screen before bringing her handful of popcorn to her lips. It's true. You had been dying to get someone to watch Casablanca with you for ages. Eddie watched it once and then refused to do it again after he ended up crying at the ending. Rick Blaine’s selfless act of giving up his one true love to give her a better life brought tears to the cold-hearted boy’s eyes. He made you promise not to tell anyone, especially Dustin.
“Sorry Rob, I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” you apologized, trying your best to pay attention to the movie again. You’d been zoned out for the entire first half of the movie, not that it mattered. You knew exactly what was happening on screen, given that you’d seen the movie a million times. It got to a point where Steve started keeping a copy under the counter at Family Video so there was always one available when you came in.
“Are you thinking about Steve?” Robin asked, her voice overpowering Ingrid Bergman’s as Ilsa confessed why she left Rick alone in Paris. Your head snapped towards the girl beside you and you could see the faint smirk growing on her lips.
“Why would I be thinking about Steve?” you answered her question with your own. The smirk fell from her lips then and she rolled her eyes. Robin sat up, pressing pause on the remote.
“Because he was totally jealous and caused some huge blowout fight between the two of you. And when I say huge I mean huge. It’s been over a week and you still won’t even acknowledge that he exists,” Robin explained, turning to face you better. You sighed and faced her too. You tried to avoid talking about Steve with Robin. Ever since they became friends it seemed too weird to talk shit about him in front of her.
“First of all, Steve definitely wasn’t jealous. He’s just a menace that loves to torment me,” Robin snorted a laugh but didn’t interrupt, allowing you to continue. “Second, Steve and I aren’t friends so me not talking to him for a week really isn’t that big of a deal,” Robin shrugged at that, seeing your point. “And third, how the hell do you know about all of this?” a guilty look spread across Robin’s face and you quickly realized the answer to your question. “Eddie’s got a big mouth,” Robin nodded in agreement at your words.
“I would’ve figured it out regardless. Steve’s been moping around for days. He’s really beating himself up over the whole thing,” you chuckled and Robin shot you a confused glare.
“What? I find it hard to believe that Steve Harrington even remotely cares about anything that has to do with me. Well unless it has to do with making my life a living hell,” you leaned back again, digging your hand into the popcorn bowl once more. Robin just stared at you, obviously baffled by something.
“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe somewhere in Steve’s caveman brain all this ‘torment’ is actually his way of expressing that he likes you?” Robin asked and repositioned the blanket that covered her lap. You stopped mid-chew, considering Robin’s words. You swallowed hard, sitting up and placing the popcorn bowl down on the couch between you.
“So what, Steve pulls my pigtails on the playground and it’s all okay just because he likes me? That’s such a toxic ideology, Rob. Not only that, but the suggestion that Steve actually likes me is insane. I mean have you heard the worm story?” you felt defensive, as if you were being attacked even though you weren't. You couldn’t understand why your heart wouldn’t stop racing at the thought of Steve liking you.
“Of course, I’ve heard the goddamn worm story,” Robin threw her hands in the air, nearly knocking over the popcorn in the process. “And I didn’t say that it was a healthy way of expressing his feelings. It just might be the only way he knows how. It’s not like his parents are great role models in teaching him about love and stuff,” a quiet fell over the room while your head raced at Robin’s words. You’d been so wrapped up in your feud with Steve that you hadn’t taken the time to consider his life outside of you.
You knew Steve’s parents were pretty absent based on the lack of cars in the driveway. And it was well known across town that Mr. Harrington was an asshole, no need to grow up next door to figure that out. Steve adored his dad when he was younger, and talked about how he wanted to be just like him. But you had heard the fights that seeped through the open windows in the years that followed. The disappointment that filled Mr. Harrington’s face when he entered Steve’s bedroom and saw the movie posters lining the walls. You wondered then what Steve’s parents thought of his decision to forgo college. Whether they argued with his choice, fought with him to take a chance to change his future, or if they just accepted it, not expecting much else from their disappointing son.
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Robin studied your face as you spoke. You looked lost, like you were questioning your past with Steve. After a moment the hint of a smile graced your lips and Robin furrowed her brow. “Still doesn’t mean he likes me,” you quirked as Robin sat up, grabbing another handful of popcorn.
“Oh whatever,” she launched her fistful of popcorn at you, hitting your face with the popped kernels before they fell to your lap. You retaliated, throwing popcorn back at her. The popcorn fight quickly ended when Robin picked up the bowl, dumping the rest of its contents over your head. The two of you fell into a fit of laughter while you tried, and failed, to pick the popcorn kernels from your hair. Eventually, you gave up, resting your head on Robin’s shoulder, the crunch of the popcorn sounding off as you did. Her shoulder was bony, uncomfortably stabbing your cheek with each delicate press against it, but you didn’t mind. Neither of you was very touchy-feely with each other, though you were never sure why, so it was nice to have a rare moment of intimacy. It granted you a deeper understanding of one another and a peak into the mysterious ways that each of your brains worked.
“Go to a party with me tonight?” Robin asked softly, not quite ready to leave the comfortable quiet just yet. You kept your head still on her shoulder and closed your eyes, inhaling sharply.
“Since when do you actively attend parties?” you questioned and Robin’s shoulder shook beneath you as she let out a gentle laugh. It was a comforting sound, like waves at the beach or rain on the pavement. That’s what Robin was to you. A comfort. Sure, Eddie was your best friend and you’d known him longer, but Robin understood you in a way that he didn’t. She controlled your chaos and balanced it with ease and truth. Robin matched your energy, knew what was best for you, and made you feel heard.
“Since Vickie asked me to go,” Robin winced out the words, anticipating your shift away from her side. Just as Robin thought, you lifted your head, turning to face her.
“So you’re not inviting me to go to a party, you’re inviting me to Third Wheel all night?” you raised your brow, eyes pouring into the girl beside you. Robin winced, shrinking into her spot on the couch. “Alright, I’ll go. Got nothing better to do anyway,” Robin cheered triumphantly at your concession, standing to go to your room and start getting ready together. You stopped her, gesturing to the popcorn that littered the couch and floor. She groaned, reluctantly helping you clean up the mess she made.
You’d walked to the party, arriving after everything was already in full swing. The sticky air reeked of weed and cheap booze as you pushed your way through the front door. It was sweltering inside the house. Sweaty bodies pressed themselves closely together on the dance floor, sipping on whatever deadly concoction resided in the punch bowl. Robin made a beeline for Vickie as soon as she walked through the door. There were familiar faces, people you knew from high school and whatnot, but no one you particularly fancied talking to. That is until you saw a mop of brown curls approaching with a black lunch box in his hands.
“I didn’t know you were gonna be here,” you called out over the boombox that was blaring music throughout the room. Eddie wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to walk along with him. He guided you to the kitchen, stopping in front of a countertop littered with booze. You weighed your drink options, eventually pouring some vodka and Sprite into a solo cup, disappointed at the lack of cherry grenadine. You held up a bottle of rum pointed in Eddie’s direction, but he shook his head.
“Strictly business tonight sweetheart,” Eddie patted the lunchbox in his hands. You nodded in understanding, bringing your cup to your lips. “Where’s Buckley?” he asked, suddenly noticing the missing girl that he was sure dragged you here. You didn’t even have to speak, just pointing your finger to where Robin danced with Vickie across the room. Her hair was already a mess and her cheeks were flushed bright pink. You were about to say something else, keep your conversation with Eddie going, when he received a tap on his shoulder. It was some jock looking to make a deal. Eddie gave your hand a quick squeeze in place of goodbye and led the guy to the back of the house.
So there you were, standing alone in a crowded kitchen, regretting your decision to come in the first place. If only Nancy or Jonathan were there to keep you company, too bad they were both off at their respective colleges. Hell, you might even take Steve’s companionship at this point, because the longer you leaned against this countertop, the more boxed in you felt. What you didn’t know was that Steve was there. He thought it would be a good way to get his mind off your fight, but as he stood in the corner of this too-hot house, sipping a lukewarm beer, and listening to his old basketball teammate drone on and on about how they should’ve won the championship game their senior year, Steve realized he was wrong.
It especially didn’t help when his eyes scanned the room and somehow landed on you. You were alone, searching the room, presumably for a familiar face, when he spotted you. Luckily for Steve, you remained oblivious to his watchful gaze, giving him some time to study you since he felt like he hadn’t been able to in ages. He considered going over to you, to keep you company, but before he could even take a step, someone else approached you first. Your face dropped to a scowl at the sight of the freckled boy who now stood in front of you.
“What’s wrong Baby? Not happy to see me?” Tommy asked, a devilish grin hiding his lips. Steve was rooted to the spot, unable to move. He wanted to march over to you, drag you away from the douchebag before you, but he couldn’t will his legs to trudge across the congested room. He was never good at standing up for you, especially not to Tommy.
“Is anyone ever happy to see you?” you asked, crossing your arms and keeping a close grip on your cup. Tommy looked you up and down, hungry eyes boring into your skin. Suddenly you wished you brought a sweater to cover your bare shoulders. Steve still watched you from afar, his stomach turning at the desire that lingered in Tommy’s expression.
“There are plenty of girls around here that love when I show up,” Tommy grinned, leaning in closer. He reminded you of a shark with his teeth bared, waiting for a lowly seal to stumble into his pathway. “I could show you why if you come upstairs with me,” his lips came dangerously close to your ear, muffling the music that rattled the room.
“I’ll pass,” you grimaced at his offer. Tommy’s grin faltered and you brought your cup to your lips with a shrug, trying not to look too smug at your denial of his advances. That must have been what set Tommy over the edge. He reached up, slapping the cup from your hand, ignoring the liquid that splashed over you both. His face leaned in close as his arms caged you against the counter.
“Fuck you,” he spat, his face close to yours. “You’re just some weirdo bitch anyway,” you were scared at that point, terrified even, but you remained calm. Showing your fear would be the worst thing to do. Steve’s heart raced in his chest as he watched Tommy corner you. He took a step forward, moving in your direction.
“A weirdo bitch that won’t fuck you,” you fired back at Tommy and his face turned red with fury. Maybe poking the bear wasn’t a good idea. Suddenly someone knocked Tommy to the side, freeing you from him. You looked up, seeing a flash of red hair and someone in a striped shirt. Vickie and Robin.
“Woah man, we were spinning around and kinda lost control. Didn’t even see you there,” Robin leaned down to where Tommy now sat on the floor. She shot you a wink when he wasn’t looking. Vickie offered him a hand, but he brushed her off, standing on his own. He looked around, catching the glances of some of the partygoers, and stomped off, too embarrassed to continue trying to pursue you. Steve had made it about halfway through the crowded living room when Robin and Vickie took down Tommy in some sort of weird spin attack. He stood there now, watching as they checked over you. “You alright?” Robin asked you while Vickie inspected you for any bruises or blemishes from Tommy.
“Yeah, I’m all good. Think I’m just gonna go actually,” you looked down at your shirt, taking inventory of how damp it was from your spilled drink.
“We’ll go with you,” Vickie spoke up, taking hold of your arm as if she would guide you out. You shook your head, sliding her hand down to yours and giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go.
“No, you guys stay and have fun. I’m gonna try and hitch a ride. I’ve gotta know someone around here that’s planning on leaving soon,” you had no intentions of actually getting a ride from someone. But you knew Robin would never let you go if she knew you were going to walk home alone and you just needed to get out of there. You would ask Eddie, but you knew he needed the money he’d make from selling tonight so you didn’t want to bother him.
“Okay,” Robin nodded, granting you permission to leave. You gave her and Vickie a two-finger salute and made your way to the door. “No rides home from anyone on the basketball team. Past, present, or future. I swear all of those guys are creeps,” Robin called after you, turning a few heads as she did. You chuckled, continuing on to the door.
Steve still stood in the living room, watching the three of you closely. His eyes followed you as you trekked through the crowd to the door. Once you finally made it outside, his gaze shifted back to Robin only to find that she was already looking at him. She motioned with her head to the door, encouraging him to follow after you. So he did. Steve threw away his half-drunk beer and burst through the door. You were already halfway down the block when he got in his car and pulled up next to you.
It was cold outside, especially for early September, a chill lacing the breeze with each gust. It definitely didn’t help that your shirt was still soaked through. You saw the headlights of a car approaching behind you, brushing it off as you shivered and pulled your arms close. It took you a moment to realize that the car hadn’t passed you yet. You turned your head, suddenly facing a maroon BMW with its windows rolled down. A groan escaped your lips, but you still bent down to peer through the window. Steve’s car came to a stop, a smile gracing his lips at the sight of your exasperated face.
“You stalking me now, Harrington?” Steve let out a chuckle and a gust of wind picked up, making you shiver again.
“You wish. Come on, get in and I’ll drive us home,” he studied your face, searching for a sign that you’d agree. He couldn’t find one, your body unmoving from your spot on the sidewalk.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking. Plus Robin said no rides from anyone on the basketball team,” you shot him a sly smirk and stood up straight, continuing your walk through the neighborhood. You’d expected Steve to drive off then, leaving you to walk in peace. But he didn’t, his car followed alongside you. “What are you doing?” you asked, stopping again to see Steve through the passenger window.
“If you won’t let me drive you home, then I’ll just drive next to you,” Steve shrugged, looking up at you.
“What if I cut through someone’s backyard?” you asked and Steve shrugged again, a smirk dancing on his lips.
“Then some people are gonna be really pissed to see tire tracks on their lawn,” he replied and you almost wanted to laugh at his persistence, entertained by Steve’s unwillingness to let you be alone. His smile faltered then. “You and I both know the kind of shit that lurks around Hawkins at night,” any amusement from before had slipped away. None of you mentioned the Upside Down much now, not after finally defeating Vecna. It was final, the battle that ended the war, destroying the Upside Down for good. You couldn’t help the lingering fear that you’d missed something, that one day it would all return. And here, on the sidewalk after some lame party, you realized that Steve shared that fear too.
“Ok,” you said simply, shocking Steve as you pulled on the passenger door handle and slid into the seat next to him. He waited until you buckled up before rolling up the windows and driving off. It was quiet in the car, the lingering tension of all the unspoken words swirling in the air. Steve heard the sound of your teeth chattering and your hands brushing the goosebumps on your arms. He quickly reached into the back, grabbed an old sweatshirt that sat there, and handed it to you. Normally you would’ve rejected it, your pride too inflated to accept help from Steve in any form. But it was cold, your shirt was wet, and your conversation from earlier with Robin still lingered in the forefront of your mind.
Steve didn’t expect you to take his sweatshirt so easily, replacing his hand on the wheel when he felt the weight of it lift from his palm. You pulled his sweatshirt on, reveling in the warmth it provided. It smelled like hairspray and lavender, a hint of boy mixed with the two. It smelled like Steve. Silence settled over the two of you again and Steve couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I’m sorry,” the words burst from within him, head turning to look at you for a moment. You looked calm and objective like Steve hadn’t even spoken in the first place. “The whole thing at The Hideout was so stupid. I don’t even know why I did that,” you looked at him then, expression still neutral. “I guess I just feel like I need to protect you and I took it too far,” your brow scrunched at that, finally giving Steve an insight into your thoughts.
“Protect me? You and Tommy tormented me for years,” anger rose in your throat. You hadn’t meant to get mad, still considering what Robin said, but Steve’s twisted claim brought it out of you in the way that only he could.
“I know, I know. And I’m sorry about that too. I just- I just wanted to fit in, to be cool. But I realize now that none of that shit ever mattered. I mean, how important was popularity when the one person that I actually cared about couldn’t stand me?” Steve spoke and the tension in your face dropped. The one person Steve cared about? Was he talking about you? You took a deep breath, thinking over your words when the car came to a stop in front of your driveway.
“Steve,” you spoke softly, almost a whisper, like the breeze rattling through the trees. “I can’t just forget about all of it because you’ve abruptly changed. I can’t just decide to be your friend all of a sudden. You hurt me, for a long time. Hell, you still do,” Steve winced, wanting to turn back time to when you were five, when nothing bad had happened to you yet and things were much simpler.
“I know,” Steve’s head sunk, his chest aching with each passing second.
“I just,” you stopped, jumbled thoughts bouncing around your head. “I just think it’s easier when we keep ourselves apart. It doesn’t hurt as much that way,” the streetlights above reflected the swelling tears in your eyes as they threatened to spill. You hadn’t meant to cry, and you surely didn’t want to. Steve understood your sentiments. Being around you only reminded him of how it could’ve been if he hadn’t tried so hard to fit in. If he hadn’t screwed it all up.
“But maybe we could try. Try to be friends,” the words surprised Steve as they left his lips. They came out far bolder than he felt capable of being at the moment. “Group settings, public places. Baby steps, you know?” Steve tried to stop the hope building in his chest, too worried about the damage it would do if you said no. But you didn’t.
“Maybe,” you said in a whisper, a tear finally tracking down your cheek. A soft smile slipped over Steve’s lips, the same one he wore around you as a kid. The same smile you saw before he traipsed over the hill, leaving you on the sidewalk with the worms. Your lips twitched upwards for a second before you pulled the door handle and exited the car.
The feeling of hope now took full form, blossoming in Steve’s chest, filling every crack and crevice between his ribs. He watched you walk up to your front door, still wearing his sweatshirt, slipping inside your house with a small wave in Steve’s direction. Steve put the car back in gear, pulling into his driveway next door. He shut the car off and leaned back in his seat, still unable to wipe the smile from his face. Maybe. He could work with maybe.
You drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding
Eddie’s van was a mess. Your legs brushed against fast food wrappers while cigarette butts covered the floor, crunching under your sneakers. It smelled like weed and sweat with a hint of the black ice air freshener that you forced him to buy a while ago. It was early afternoon, the sun still high in the sky as Eddie made a right turn out of your neighborhood.
“Why are we doing this again?” you asked, shifting to look at Eddie. He had his hair pulled up into a messy bun that you insisted on doing for him. It was a rare and rather unwelcome hairstyle for the metalhead, but it was well warranted for the occasion.
“Because Buckley wants to learn how to play basketball and Harrington asked for my help,” Eddie shrugged, approaching a stop sign and making a left. You rolled your eyes, letting out a huff of air from your chest.
“But you hate basketball,” you groaned, wondering why Robin would even want to learn how to play in the first place.
“Yes, but they’re my friends and they asked for my help, so my help they shall receive,” normally you would have laughed at Eddie’s goofiness, but the thought of being around Steve loomed over your head. You still hadn’t seen each other since the party, just glimpses through bedroom windows. It was hard to say where either of you stood with each other. Becoming friends seemed like an impossible feat on your part, too stuck in the past to care about the potential future.
“Okay, so why am I included in this? Steve didn’t ask for my help,” you pulled your feet from the trash-covered floor, finally sick enough of how the garbage touched your ankles. Your feet rested on the seat and you hugged your knees close to your chest. Your head sat atop them, watching Eddie closely with narrow eyes, trying to figure out if this was some scheme to get you near Steve.
“Each team needs two players, Baby. Kind of hard to play a two v. two with only three people,” you let out another groan and Eddie smirked in response, knowing you couldn’t refute him anymore. He made a sharp right turn, pulling up to the outdoor basketball courts that sat behind the high school. Eddie turned off the engine and tapped your knee. It was his way of telling you to get out of the car and lock your door behind you. The two of you began your walk over and could just barely make out three figures through the holes in the chain link fence that surrounded the basketball courts.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear athletic shorts before. I might pass out at the sight of your legs,” you said to Eddie as the two of you walked through the gate, entering the basketball court. You barely had time to accentuate your comment with a smirk before Eddie leaned in close.
“Reel it in, Baby. Best not to flirt with me in front of Harrington. Wouldn’t want to risk him getting jealous again,” your face grew hot at Eddie’s comment, the thought of a jealous Steve stirring something deep in the pit of your stomach, something like desire. Eddie donned a stupid smile as you approached Robin, Steve, and Lucas in the middle of the court.
“What’s up with you?” Steve asked, noticing your flustered appearance. Your eyes darted back over to Eddie, who continued to wear the same shit-eating grin as before.
“Nothing, just ready to play some basketball,” you deflected and Steve nodded, covering the basic rules of the game. Lucas was acting as the referee for the match, making it feel much more intense than it should have. That’s probably why you took it so seriously, covering Robin as if your life depended on it. Steve won the tip-off, sending the ball back to Robin. She caught it and began to dribble towards the basket. She looked like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time as she made her way up the court, nearly smacking the ball away from herself in the process. You used it to your advantage, managing to grab the ball from her, dribbling up the opposite side of the court, and scoring a basket from the three-point line. Steve retaliated after that, shooting his own shot and tying the score. It continued like that for a bit, Eddie and Robin eventually gave up on trying to cover the both of you, which was how you ended up in front of Steve, desperately attempting to block his shot.
“Worried you’re gonna miss?” you taunted as Steve dribbled in front of you, your back to the basket. A cocky smirk overtook his lips then, bringing the ball up to shoot. It would’ve gone in too, if you hadn’t smacked it out of the air, stealing it for yourself. You sprinted down the court towards the other basket with Steve hot on your trail. He managed to get in front of you and you turned your back towards him, protecting the ball in the meantime before you could get a clear shot. “Come on, Harrington. I thought you were the team captain back in high school. Figured you’d be better than this,” you knew it was dangerous, teasing him in such a flirty way, but it was all in good fun, right?
“Oh, I’ll show you, Baby,” Steve practically whispered into your ear, his chest pressing against your back. If you weren’t so focused on beating Steve you would’ve felt the goosebumps that littered your spine. Steve’s arms came up to circle you, so you moved, pivoting to take your shot and knocking Steve out of the way in the process. He lost his balance as the ball left your fingertips. You felt Steve’s hands find your torso as you watched the ball tip into the basket, dragging you down with him as he fell. Your shirt had ridden up when you made your shot, causing Steve’s fingers to brush against your bare skin. It felt like you were falling in slow motion until you finally landed hard on top of Steve, your back flush to his chest.
Pain shot up your sides as Steve’s fingernails scraped against the semi-healed scars that resided there. You got up quickly, not taking the time to register your pain, lifting your shirt again to see that the wounds had broken open on both sides. It took Steve a second to get up after hitting the ground so hard. The others rushed toward the two of you, but your eyes landed on Steve, his gaze already honed in on the fresh blood pooling on your skin. His hands came down to his own torso, feeling the scarred flesh that matched yours.
After everything was said and done, the dust settled and Vecna gone for good, there was only the matter of medical care to worry about. Eddie was mostly unscathed, with a few bat bites here and there, but nothing some disinfectant and band-aids couldn’t fix. Lucas was sure to have a swollen eye, cuts, and bruises after fighting Jason. Max was delivered to the hospital where the doctors said she would make a full recovery but might need a pair of glasses. Which just left you and Steve. You had jumped in right after him at Lover’s Lake, fighting your way through the water as he was tugged deeper below. When you popped out of the gate mere seconds after him, the bats swarmed you too. It wasn’t until Nancy appeared, oar in hand, that you managed to escape the feeling of the bat’s teeth sinking into your skin.
The bats had gotten you good, doing just as much damage to you as they had to Steve. When the fight was over and everyone was safely right-side-up, you refused to get medical care, worried that you’d be poked and prodded while Owens’ doctors tried to study your wounds. Steve refused too, unwilling to be treated unless you were first, not that you knew that.
Robin and Eddie insisted on staying with the two of you to make sure nothing bad happened in the middle of the night. But you said no, pointing out that Eddie needed to stay hidden until his name was cleared. Not to mention that you just wanted to be alone after the strenuousness of the previous few days. You assured Robin and Eddie that your parents would take care of you if anything happened, same with Steve. They reluctantly agreed, dropping you and Steve off in front of your house, leaving the two of you to go your separate ways.
You were about to trudge up the lawn and enter your house, thinking about finally being able to sleep, when you caught sight of Steve’s empty driveway. You hadn’t even thought about the fact that his parents were out of town, and he hadn’t mentioned it to Eddie or Robin either. Steve had already started walking towards his house when you called his name.
“You didn’t say that your parents weren’t home,” you jogged up to him, wincing at the pain that shot up your side. Steve shrugged, also looking desperate for a decent night of sleep. Steve turned around again, continuing towards his house, leaving you on his lawn. You started following him until he saw you from the corner of his eye and stopped again.
“What are you doing?” the words sounded twisted as they fell from his lips, the same venom you expected from the boy who bullied you for years. Your face grew hot with anger, suddenly wondering if you should just turn back around and retreat to your house.
“You can’t be alone tonight, not when you’re in such bad shape,” you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to come across firmly in an attempt to discourage Steve from arguing with you. He simply raised a brow in question.
“I think I’ll be fine,” he moved to turn on his heel again, to scale his front steps and enter the cold empty house before him. But your arm shot out, landing on his arm and stopping him in his tracks. Steve froze, mind racing at the feel of your skin against his. He couldn’t remember the last time you touched him, given that you usually kept your distance whenever he was near.
“Steve, I can’t leave you alone in good conscience. If you bleed out and die, that’s on me,” you spoke the words quietly, almost sounding embarrassed to have to say them at all. Steve studied you, eyes roaming over your face. The walls you kept up around him seemingly fell in that moment as he caught sight of the worry hidden deep in your gaze. He nodded then, giving in and leading you to his front door, trying not to look visibly upset when your hand no longer held him.
The house was just as you remembered from when you were a kid. Clean and organized, everything in its designated place. It always frightened you back then, a house so pristine that it didn’t look like anyone could possibly live there. You followed Steve as he ascended the staircase, both of you winded and clutching your wounds when you got to the top. Steve showered in the bathroom attached to his room, offering you a towel and clean clothes before sending you off to the guest bathroom.
The hot water pulsed down on you, blood and grime swirling around the drain at your feet. The water seared your skin with each drop, but you didn’t mind, hoping the sweltering heat would rid you of the horrors you’d witnessed within the past few days. The sight of Eddie being tackled to the ground by a swarm of bats. The sound of Steve’s screams as his flesh was torn open. Your own wails of pain as the bats did the same to you a few feet away. Max’s broken limbs and unfocused eyes as Lucas held her in his arms on the way to the hospital.
You turned the shower off, unwilling to let your thoughts run rampant anymore. You were careful when drying off, avoiding your wounds to keep blood from soiling Mrs. Harrington’s stark white towels. She’d be sure to have a fit at the sight of a stain. You dressed quickly, pulling Steve’s old shirt and baggy sweatpants on. There wasn’t a first aid kit in the guest bathroom, so you headed back to Steve’s room, holding your shirt away from your body to avoid getting blood on it. You knocked gently on Steve’s bedroom door and it only took a moment for him to open it for you.
His hair was wet, a towel draped over his bare shoulders. He was shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips as water dripped down his hairy chest. Your eyes lingered there for a moment before trailing to the bandages wrapped around his torso. Steve’s eyes followed yours, landing on the gauze tied tightly to his skin.
“I seem to get the shit beat out of me anytime something like this happens,” he used his towel to gently pat his hair dry. “I’ve gotten pretty good at patching myself up,” Steve shrugged, hanging the towel on the back of his bathroom door.
“Can you do mine?” you asked quietly, lifting your shirt to reveal your wounds. Steve’s gaze flickered down to them, blood from each gash threatening to spill down your sides. His breath caught in his chest at the sight of your exposed skin. It was dumb, just your stomach on display, but it took Steve a second to contain himself. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, memories of your bare skin seen on the few occasions that you forgot to close your curtains before changing. Steve always looked away, but the flashes of your skin were seared into his brain. He nodded in response to your question, going into the bathroom with you trailing behind him. He told you to sit on the counter, pulling out the first aid kit from the cabinet next to your dangling legs. Steve wiped each wound with an antiseptic wipe, cleaning the area and sopping up the thin blood that surrounded it. His hands were gentle and soft like he was afraid to touch you, to break you.
“Hold this,” Steve placed a gauze pad on one of the wounds, his fingers guiding your hand to rest over it, holding it in place. He ignored the tingle in his fingers as his skin brushed yours, moving on to place another pad over the other blemish. Your hand came up automatically, holding it in place without Steve having to tell you again. He unraveled the rest of the gauze, slowly wrapping it around your waist, softly brushing your hands away when he no longer needed you to hold the pads in place. Steve circled it around you a few times, finally securing the gauze tightly in place with a swift knot.
“Thank you, Steve,” you whispered, his face close to yours. Steve hummed in response, letting his eyes drift to your lips for a moment too long before pulling himself away and packing up the first aid kit. He returned it to the cabinet, his shoulder brushing your leg in the process, sending chills down his spine.
Steve stood then, opening the linen closet by the door, searching for a blanket to give you in case the guest room got too cold. You were tired, to the point of exhaustion really, longing to lay your head against a soft pillow. But fear came creeping in, the demons in your closet, or the demogorgons rather, holding your mind hostage. The fears controlled you then, in combination with the exhaustion, speaking words from your lips that you otherwise wouldn’t have even considered muttering.
“Can I sleep in here? With you?” when you were first dropped off all you could think about was finally being alone, but as you sat there now, Steve's clothes covering your skin, you realized that wasn’t what you wanted at all. Steve froze, and his quest to find a blanket quickly halted. He looked up at you, taking in the heavy bags under your eyes, the weight of the past few days slumping your shoulders forward. He knew under normal circumstances that you never would have asked, and probably couldn’t have even stood being in the same room as him for more than two minutes, but these weren’t normal circumstances. And he would take what he could get.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll sleep on the floor. You can take the bed,” Steve turned to the linen closet once more, searching for a blanket for himself this time. He heard you slide off the counter, thinking you’d brush past him and get into his bed, but you didn’t. You stopped next to him, pulling Steve’s focus to you.
“You can’t sleep on the floor. What if you bleed out? I’d never know if you were down there. At least not until the morning,” Steve placed his hands on your shoulders, ceasing your seemingly endless babble. Your eyes were wide and bloodshot, staring back at Steve with a worried brow.
“Okay,” he agreed, trying to calm himself, the jitters of being so close to you creeping in. “We’ll both sleep in my bed,” his hands fell to his sides and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Steve left the bathroom, turning out the light as he did. You slid into Steve’s bed, the sheets pulled up around you as Steve switched off his lamp. The bed dipped beside you from Steve’s weight. You went to roll over, trying to face him, but you were met with pain, gasping and clutching your side with a hiss. Steve shot up, trying to help you but only injuring himself with his sharp movement in the process. You couldn’t help but laugh as you both settled down onto your backs.
“Aren’t we a pair,” you mumbled and Steve chuckled beside you. The room was dark, filled with the scent of a burned-out candle, Steve's lavender-scented shampoo, dirty laundry, and something else inherently Steve. Your eyes watched the ceiling, lying in silence next to the boy you supposedly hated. He rustled around beside you, trying to get comfortable. In a normal situation, you would’ve snapped at him for moving the bed so much, but right now you found it amusing. After another minute of restless movement, he let out a groan.
“I normally sleep on my stomach, but this shit makes it impossible,” annoyance laced his tone as he referred to the bat bites lining the front of his stomach. Your head turned in his direction, silently taking in his side profile, his sharp nose, and long eyelashes. He almost looked normal if you ignored the angry ring of red flesh lining his neck.
“I’m a side sleeper,” you spoke softly, Steve’s head turning towards your voice. For some reason, he liked hearing more about you, even if it was just something as silly as how you normally slept. “I’m in the same boat as you, Harrington,” the wounds on your sides making it impossible to lay that way. Steve could just make out the shadows of your face in the dim light. The curve of your lips, the arch of your brow, the tip of your nose. He thought you looked beautiful. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop the bats from getting you,” your lip quivered then, tears welling in your eyes as you lived up to your crybaby nickname. You weren’t sure where the burst of emotion came from, chalking it up to the exhaustion that weighed heavily upon you. Steve lifted his head, his hand coming up to brush away your tears.
“Are you kidding? You jumped in right after me. If you hadn’t been there I would’ve been dead in less than a minute. You distracted some of them. I would’ve been bat food if not for you. If anyone’s sorry it should be me,” you shook your head and Steve’s hand came down to rest on your cheek, thumb rubbing circles against it gently as he spoke. Why were you letting him hold you like this? Why did it feel so comforting? You sniffled, trying to stop your tears from falling. “Baby, you saved me. I need you to know that,” you nodded at his reassurance, too choked up still to use your words. Your eyes were heavy by then, the lack of sleep weighing in on you even more.
“I'm glad I went through that gate then,” you mumbled, words barely audible through your sleep-slurred speech. With the last of your energy, you moved, rolling onto your stomach, the wounds on your sides untouched by the mattress. Steve followed your lead, moving onto his side, and facing you. His arm draped across you, careful to avoid your wounds, and a soft sigh left your lips as your eyes slowly closed. Your breath evened out soon after, slowed inhales and exhales taking over. Steve’s fingers found the bulge of the cotton pads on your side, tracing across them gently, a comforting gesture that you’d never know about. He wished he had superpowers, the ability to heal you with just a touch. But he didn’t, so he’d do this instead, easing your pain with a soft touch while you slept.
When you woke in the morning you had the overwhelming urge to pee. You slid gently from Steve’s embrace, somehow managing to get even closer to him during the night. You tiptoed to the bathroom, not wanting to wake the sleeping boy. The large mirror covering the wall taunted you when you finished, urging you to take a peek beneath the gauze. You caved, hands gently pushing the gauze to the side. The bleeding had stopped and the gashes already started looking better. It was curious how well they had cleared up overnight, but you just shrugged, used to the strangeness of the supernatural by now. You climbed back into bed with Steve after putting the bandages back into place. You wanted another minute of peace, a moment, maybe the last of its kind, when you and Steve didn’t hurt each other. When Steve Harrington was still the boy you knew, not the one you’d grown to loathe.
“Shit Steve, seriously?” You winced as the blood began to trickle down your skin. “It’s a basketball game, not tackle football,” you lost your balance for a moment, Lucas’ arms shooting up to steady you. Steve stood speechless, incapable of fathoming how his hands did so much harm to you. The skin had never quite healed right, you suppose, more fragile than most other places on your body. “Eddie, can you take me home,” you asked, trying to keep your shirt from getting wet with blood, knowing your shorts were a lost cause with scarlet droplets already pooling at the waistband. Eddie nodded quickly, rushing to your side as if he had to carry you to the van.
“I can take you. I mean, I live next door. I’ll clean you up,” Steve suddenly was able to find words, knocked out of his stupor. He moved towards you then, but you raised your hand, stopping him in his tracks.
“I asked Eddie,” you spoke with a glare, already walking toward the court’s exit. Eddie shot Steve a sympathetic look before following behind you. Robin lifted her hand to comfortingly pat Steve’s back while his mouth fell slightly agape. You got into the van with a wince and Eddie closed the door for you. Robin, Steve, and Lucas were filing off the court then. Steve’s head was down while he unlocked his car. Eddie turned the keys in the ignition, started the van, and began to pull out of the lot.
It was an accident, you knew that, so why did it frustrate you so much? The same hands that once held yours as children now were the ones to lacerate your skin. Maybe it was the ache you buried deep inside, the one you’d never been able to alleviate, the pain Steve perpetuated for years. The one you hadn’t been able to forgive him for no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you wanted to. He left you, tossed you aside like you were some old sweater discarded beneath his bed, like you were nothing. It seemed never-ending like you’d never escape his harmful grasp. You wanted to be five again when the world seemed so much kinder and you loved Steve Harrington. Maybe the latter was still true, maybe that’s why he scarred you more than the others ever had.
As Eddie drove towards the exit, your gaze drifted up, landing on Steve. Robin and Lucas had already gotten into Steve’s car, but he stood outside of it, arms resting on the crook between the car’s roof and the door. His eyes followed you through the van window as Eddie sped away. A strange look overtook Steve’s face, one you couldn’t quite read. It was the look of a boy that never wanted to hurt you, but somehow constantly did.
I knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs
The sun hid behind the clouds, peaks of light streaming through the cracks in the sky. Tires rolled against the pavement, making their way across town. The radio was low in the car, some Fleetwood Mac song lulling softly through the air. Your car was old, covered in dents and scratches, with windows that only opened halfway and an engine that grumbled with each press to the gas pedal. Even though your parents offered to help you buy a new one, a more reliable form of transportation, you refused. This car held too many memories in its stained cloth seats. Your first kiss in the backseat, jam sessions with Eddie, driving Will, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas to the science fair where they finally got first place again. You couldn’t let it go, not yet, not while it still had some life in it. You knew how much it sucked to be abandoned.
The tires screeched and squealed as you turned into the Family Video parking lot. You pulled into a space near the front of the store, dim headlights shutting off when you pulled the keys from the ignition. Robin had told you she was working today, but as you looked around you were unable to find her bike in its normal place on the bike rack. You did however spot a maroon BMW parked near the back of the lot. That lying bitch. A sigh fell from your lips, eyes closing at the thought of seeing Steve. It had been two days since the basketball incident and you had been sure to keep your distance. Steve’s sorry eyes peeked through bedroom windows and only made you feel guilty for getting mad at him in the first place. But you couldn’t stall this any longer, the movies were due today and you’d be pissed if you got another late fee. So you grabbed the tapes from the passenger seat, holding them close to your chest as you closed your car door and walked through the entrance to Family Video.
Steve stood hunched over the counter, the same way he normally did when the store was empty like it was now. His eyes were glued to the magazine that rested on the counter before him. It was a Cosmopolitan. He was ashamed to admit that he was searching its pages for tips on how to get back in your good graces. So far he was coming up short, but he still skimmed through it anyway. The bell rang above the door, signaling to Steve that a customer had entered.
“Welcome to Family Video. My name’s Steve. Let me know if you need help with anything,” the words spilled from Steve’s lips automatically, his gaze still glued to the magazine. It took Steve a moment to register the silence he received in response, brushing it off as another inconsiderate customer. At least that’s what he thought until a stack of tapes slammed down on the counter beside him. Steve looked up then, seeing you standing across from him with raised eyebrows. Your eyes trailed down to Steve’s magazine, and his gaze followed yours. In less than a second, Steve had slid the magazine off the counter, quickly tossing behind him. You simply blinked, an amused smile blossoming on your lips as the magazine crashed to the floor.
“I want to return some tapes,” you couldn’t help the smirk that remained as you spoke, pushing the stack of video tapes in front of the boy. Steve nodded, picking up the first tape and scanning it back into the system. “What were you reading there, Harrington?” he could hear your smile through your amused tone, refusing to meet your eyes as he continued to scan your tapes.
“Sports Illustrated,” Steve lied, ignoring the way your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You couldn’t contain your laughter anymore, clutching your sides as giggles poured from your throat. Your laughter was contagious, causing a few chuckles to spring out of Steve too.
“Whatever you say, Harrington,” you composed yourself, finally ceasing your giggles, but the smile remained taut on your lips. Steve handed over your receipt for the returned tapes, expecting you to leave after clutching it in your hands, but you didn’t. Your feet drifted over to the movie-lined aisles and Steve couldn’t help but follow, tripping over his discarded magazine in the process.
Eventually, you stopped in front of a shelf, Steve watched the way you studied your options. When one finally caught your attention you leaned up, standing on your tippy toes to grab it. Your shirt rode up in the process, revealing the large bandages that covered the wounds on your sides. Steve’s heart dropped, the memories of the basketball game, the whole reason he had been reading that stupid magazine in the first place, flooded his mind. Just as your fingers brushed the front of the tape, seconds from getting ahold of it, Steve’s hand lifted it instead, offering it to you.
“Thanks,” you said sincerely, only then noticing the kicked puppy look on Steve’s face. You opened your mouth to speak again, but Steve beat you to it.
“I’m so sorry about the other day. I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I just got carried away,” Steve’s gaze drifted to the ground, missing the pity that swelled in your eyes. “I’m sorry this shit keeps happening. It’s just that when I’m with you I can’t seem to function like a normal person,” he lifted his head then, catching a glimpse of emotion in your expression. Regret? Or is it that underlying anger you saved just for him?
“It’s fine, Steve,” you assured him, but the boy wasn’t comforted. He opened his mouth to apologize again, but you didn’t let him. “Dude, I’m sick of hearing you apologize. It's fine. If anything I should apologize for being such a bitch about it. It was an accident, let’s move on,” Steve eyed you, unsure whether you were messing with him or not. But you were serious, hoping that the old Steve still lived within the boy in front of you, and that one day you could make amends. Maybe this was the first step, and if that meant forgiving him for something he accidentally did, then so be it. “Check me out?” you asked, holding the tape up for Steve to see. He nodded, going back behind the counter. He reached down, grabbing a copy of Casablanca from under the counter and placing it next to the movie you had just picked out, but you shook your head.
“You don’t want it?” Steve asked, suddenly wondering if you had been kidnapped and replaced by a clone. That was the only logical explanation for your behavioral change towards both him and your favorite movie.
“Kinda bored of complicated romances at the moment. Maybe another day,” Steve slid the movie back under the counter, keeping it there in case you changed your mind. “I heard this one was good though,” you gesture to the copy of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off that you had picked out.
“Yeah, Robin said that she thinks I’d like it. Haven’t had a chance to watch it yet though,” Steve scanned the tape, fixing his gaze on the computer, where he typed in the code for his employee discount. He did it every time you came in during his shift, thinking he was sly and that you’d never noticed, but you caught on a while ago. It came to light after a rousing argument with Robin about how she had been overcharging you.
You pulled a few crumpled bills from your purse, handing them over to Steve. He waited, knowing you were now going to dig around your purse until you found some coins, never willing to pay with anything other than exact change. After a few seconds, you pulled the coins out, two quarters, a dime, and three pennies. You placed them gently in Steve’s extended hand. His palm tingled with the brush of your fingers, quickly sorting the coins to alleviate the sensation. He handed you the bag with your tape when he finished putting your change away. With a small smile, you turned, heading back towards the door you entered through. Just as you were about to place your hand on the large handle and push it open, you stopped. Steve, who had been watching as you walked away, felt that dreaded sense of hope again, the one he felt so often when you were near.
“What time do you get done here?” Steve’s eyebrows raised, taken aback by your question. His mouth opened, fumbling for words as he checked his watch.
“Thirty-two minutes. Why?” you chuckled at his sudden nervousness. Maybe he really had come a long way from his days as King Steve. King Steve never would’ve struggled like this when talking to a girl.
“Do you want to watch this with me?” you held up the bag that housed the Ferris Bueller VHS, extending an olive branch. Steve’s response was immediate like he didn’t even need to think about it.
“Yes,” it was a simple answer, but you just nodded in return, a shy smile creasing the corners of your mouth. “We can watch it at my place. My TV is bigger,” Steve smirked, regaining his charming and flirty tone, the one you’d gotten so familiar with as a result of all the teasing. You rolled your eyes at the innuendo, smile still cresting your lips, and pushed your way through the exit.
“Whatever you say, Harrington,” you called out behind you, repeating the same words from earlier. Steve laughed, watching your retreating figure, the sway of your hips, and the swell of your ass. He looked at his watch again, still displaying the same time as when he had checked just moments before. Steve groaned into his hands. This was going to be the longest thirty-two minutes of his life.
You were enveloped in a book, sitting on your window bench when a light tap sounded off next to you. Thinking it was just the old house creaking or something, you ignored it, eyes scanning the next page. That’s when it happened again, and again, and again. You pulled back your curtains and flung open the window only to narrowly avoid getting smacked in the face by a pebble.
“Shit, sorry,” Steve swore, his cheeks turning red with guilt and embarrassment. He was standing below your window, pebbles spilling out of his hand. A week or two ago, hell maybe even a few days ago, you would’ve gone off on him, screaming about nearly hurting you and potentially damaging your window. But now, you just smiled, taking in the sight of the boy next door. Only Steve Harrington could make a romantic gesture nearly turn into a trip to the hospital. “I tried to leave you a message, but your curtains were closed,” you glanced over to his window, spotting the piece of loose leaf taped to it with the words ‘come over?’ scrawled in black ink.
“Give me two seconds,” you pulled your head back inside, closing the window behind you. As you did, a few of the army men on your window sill fell on their sides, no longer facing the window across the gap between two houses. Snagging the video tape from your desk, you ran down the steps, stopping in front of the mirror hung up in the hallway. Why did you suddenly care how your hair looked around Steve? Brushing off the thought, you continued, opening the front door to be met by the boy next door.
“Ready?” he asked and you nodded, following as he turned towards his house. You walked closely behind him, catching a whiff of hairspray, lavender, and cologne. Steve led you to the rec room in the basement, which housed the largest television in the Harrington residence. You handed him the tape and he slid it into the VCR before settling on the couch, a good two feet from where you sat. Neither of you mentioned the distance, just watching the movie and laughing at Ferris’ goofy antics.
As the movie progressed a chill ran through you, goosebumps prickling your skin. The Harrington’s seemingly liked to keep their basement ice cold. Steve noticed and pulled down the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. He laid it on his lap, extending the end of it towards you. You accepted his silent invitation, closing the gap and sitting close with the blanket wrapped around the two of you. The rest of the movie was spent that way, thighs brushing against one another when either of you moved.
When the credits finally ended, with Ferris Bueller in his bathrobe disappearing from the screen one last time, you felt at ease. You hadn’t expected to feel so comfortable with Steve, but it was almost a relief that you managed to get through a whole movie without wanting to kill him.
“That was so good. Robin was totally right, I loved it. I'm basically Ferris Bueller so it makes sense I guess,” Steve shrugged and you couldn’t hold back the laugh that bloomed from your lips at his comment. Steve turned to look at you, a brow arched in confusion at your humor. “What?” he asked bluntly, a hint of amusement on his face.
“You would think that you’re Ferris,” you spoke, looking smug. Steve's lips stretched into a daring grin, curiosity getting the best of him.
“Okay, if I’m not Ferris then who am I?” Steve leaned in close and you rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder.
“It’s so obvious that you’re Cameron. Sure, the people that don’t know you that well might think you’re Ferris, but I know you Steve Harrington, and you’re Cameron fully and completely,” your grin widened with Steve’s look of exasperation. His hand flew to his chest in mock offense.
“What the hell makes me Cameron?” his words still had the air of joviality behind them despite his faux wounded front. The corner of your lips faltered then, suddenly reluctant to divulge more about your characterization of the boy before you. You didn’t want to tell him what he already knew, that he and Cameron shared a strained relationship with their fathers, both all too afraid of disappointing the men who raised them. That up until recently both boys took all the shit that their fathers gave them, too freighted to stand up to them. You didn’t want to say any of it, which was fine because Steve already knew. From the second Cameron appeared on the screen, the voice in the back of Steve’s head pointed out each similarity that they shared. Silence settled over the two of you, smiles fading in the quiet room.
“If it makes you feel better,” you began, voice small and fingers fidgeting on your lap. Steve wanted to reach over and grab them, encase your fingers with his, but he restrained himself. “Cameron was my favorite character in the movie,” you nodded towards the TV screen that now reflected a blank blue shadow over the pair of you. Steve observed your bashful demeanor, thinking about how cute you looked when you got all shy.
“You would definitely be Jeanie,” Steve asserted, breaking through the uncomfortable quiet. Your jaw dropped at the comparison and the smile returned to Steve’s lips at your reaction.
“Ferris’s bitchy sister?” Steve nodded and you shoved him again. He righted himself, continuing to make his point.
“I mean, come on, it’s so obvious,” Steve repeated your words from earlier and you shook your head. “You’re both a little crazy in a hot way. Not to mention you both go for bad boys,” you glared at Steve, but he could tell you weren’t actually mad.
“I’m not into bad boys, asshole,” you defended and Steve’s smirk grew, his rebuttal already concocted in his head.
“Oh really? So it wasn’t you that hooked up with Billy Hargrove at Tina’s Halloween party two years ago?” your jaw dropped again, and Steve’s snickering filled the air. He reached over, pressing your chin up to close your mouth. You brushed his hand off of you in confusion.
“How the hell do you know about that?” you asked, confusion and curiosity coursing through your thoughts. “Did Eddie tell you? I swear to god I’m never telling him anything ever again,” you crossed your arms, waiting for Steve to talk.
“Hargrove used to brag about it to me and try to rub it in my face,” Steve informed you and your face wrinkled, filled with questions. “I guess he thought that it would make me mad since you and I used to be friends or whatever,” Steve shrugged, no longer smiling. He watched you, unsure how you would react to his explanation.
“Did it?” you questioned, and Steve shrugged again. He didn’t want to tell you that it did, that it took every fiber of his being to restrain himself from punching the blond boy’s stupid face.
“A little,” Steve lied and another silence fell over the room, but it wasn’t as tense this time. Steve waited a moment before speaking again, watching the way you avoided his gaze. “Why’d you even hook up with him? I thought you hated him,” Steve’s voice was quiet, unwilling to break through the low noise barrier that settled between you.
“You stole my copy of Pride and Prejudice,” you let out a sigh, gaze shifting to your hands that rested in your lap again. Steve’s brow furrowed, confused about the correlation between his question and your response. “It was the copy my grandma gave me when I was 11. I had notes in the margins on just about every page. You took it from my bag in homeroom the day before the party and refused to give it back,” Steve knew what you were talking about. He couldn’t remember why he took it, but he knew that he still had it, tucked away in his closet, in a spot that only he could find.
“But what does that have to do with Billy?” Steve still didn’t understand. Your hands ran over your face as you let out a sigh.
“You hated him and he hated you. I figured the enemy of my enemy was my friend, which wasn’t true by the way. I was super pissed about the book and a little tipsy. I needed to blow off some steam, so one thing led to another and we hooked up in his car after the party,” you were ashamed of it, regret filling you the second it was over. “I didn’t know that he was such a douchebag when it happened. If I had known how badly he treated Max and Lucas then I never would’ve done it,” you explained, still unable to meet Steve’s gaze, embarrassed by your past. Steve’s hand extended, tilting your chin with his finger, allowing your eyes to finally meet his.
“I shouldn't have taken your book, Baby,” Steve whispered and you gave him a soft smile in return. The nickname rang through the air and reverberated off the walls. Hearing it didn’t bother you for some reason. For the first time in years, the word didn’t sting as it fell from Steve’s lips. Maybe the tide finally turned, the war nearly over. It gave you a sense of courage, making you brave enough to let your next question out in the open.
“When Billy bragged about it, what did he say?” Steve was taken aback, wondering why you would want to know. Billy’s words were far from nice, if anything they were disrespectful and an invasion of privacy. But the way you looked at Steve now told him that you genuinely wanted to know, needed to know.
“It was really depraved stuff, like how your body felt against him,” Steve started and you nodded, motioning with your hands for him to continue. “He said you would start to breathe heavily when he kissed your neck. That you did this thing with your tongue when you kissed that felt insanely good. He said you moaned his name like it was made just for you to say it. That your thighs shook when you…” Steve trailed off, face flushed and unwilling to finish his sentence. He had started speaking slower with each sentence, despite the racing of his heart. The tension floated thick in the air, crowding the room and making it way too hot for the blanket draped over your lap. Steve wasn’t sure when his hand had dropped to your lap, brushing between your legs from over the blanket.
Your eyes were glued to Steve’s, unaware of the distance that disappeared between you with each passing second. His breath mingled with yours, tingling against your skin. Your tongue darted out, bringing moisture to your dry lips. The heat between your thighs ached to be relieved, wishing Steve’s hand would travel higher up your thigh as his jeans tightened at the sight of your gaze alone. The blue from the TV screen that coated the room disappeared as your eyes fluttered shut. Both sets of lips were centimeters from meeting in the middle when the VCR popped out the tape, landing with a loud smack on the ground. Steve had leaned on the remote while moving closer toward you, accidentally pressing the eject button. He knew he needed to fix the VCR, worried about its tendency to spit out tapes rather than the slow half push it was supposed to do, but he’d put it off, too tired after a long day of work. You broke apart at the sound, creating more distance as you moved the blanket from your legs and scrambled back, Steve’s hand falling into the now empty space. Neither of you could look up at the other.
“I wish we stayed friends when we were in middle school,” Steve said after a long span of silence. He never wanted to be your enemy, never wanted to drive you into the arms of an undeserving man. Your eyes met then, his were glassy, which was something you hadn’t expected.
“Yeah, me too,” your voice was small but sure, words speaking nothing but the truth. You didn’t remind him why you weren’t, something you would’ve done a week ago. Instead, you sat in agreement, pondering how different your life would be.
“I wonder what would've changed,” he spoke. It was soft, almost a whisper, and you longed to be close to him again. To feel his words fan across your lips instead of the empty space beside you. “If I would’ve been friends with Tommy, if I would’ve dated Nancy, if we’d be off at a college somewhere instead of this shithole town,” Steve was louder now, melancholy mixed with underlying anger. Even if you were finally able to be friends now, Steve couldn’t help but think about the time he missed out on with you and all the other lingering what-ifs.
“We could still get out one day. Leave the teen angst and trauma behind,” you sounded normal again, reassuring to Steve’s overactive thoughts. “Maybe we could go together,” Steve’s heart leaped out of his chest at your words, but he reeled it back in. It was still new, being able to talk without words slicing into the other’s skin. You looked at him with anticipatory eyes, awaiting his response.
“Just give me the signal Baby and we can be out of here before sunrise,” Steve extended his hand, this was a deal to shake on, a long-term agreement that one day you’d run away together. You grinned, accepting his outstretched hand, wondering about where you’d go. Considering if you were in love with Steve Harrington, if you always had been. Dying to know if he was in love with you too.
A friend to all is a friend to none
Autumn had officially begun, a chill in the air that persuaded the orange leaves to tumble from the trees. It was your favorite time of year, though you couldn’t help the twinge of sadness that swelled in your heart at the thought of leaving the warm summer sun behind. Eddie insisted that you come to visit him at work, his desperation ringing out through the static of the phone. After a few minutes of groveling, you caved and agreed to go, which is how you ended up banished to the backseat of Steve’s car on the way to the record store on main street. Robin had called shotgun, but you didn’t mind, having the entire backseat to yourself and stretching out your legs. Steve’s car smelled like pine trees and leather, hairspray and cologne, as it rolled along the pavement.
Steve pulled up to a parking spot in front of the record store, placing his hand on the passenger seat headrest as he threw the car in reverse. He turned his head towards the car’s rear, watching carefully as he backed into a spot, shooting you a wink before he faced the front again. You couldn’t help the warmth that spread over your cheeks, feeling like a bumbling schoolgirl with a crush. Ever since your movie night, your almost kiss, things had been different with Steve. Sure, there was still some teasing and the typical dirty innuendos, but it didn’t sting the way it used to. It didn’t evolve into slammed windows and drawn curtains, loud arguments and bruised egos. Something new coursed through your veins, your heart beating just to hear the sound of his voice. It was scary, the rush of feelings that you’d seemingly repressed for years, hidden under what you thought was hate.
“You coming or what?” Robin leaned back into Steve’s car to face you. The thoughts of Steve had distracted you and you only now noticed that they had already exited the car. You followed suit, unbuckling and sliding across the seat to get out on Steve’s side. He greeted you with an arm slung around your shoulder, purposely messing up your hair in the process. You swatted at him, smoothing your hair back down as you walked through the store’s entrance together. Music wafted down from the speakers that littered the ceiling and you instantly knew that Eddie had picked out whatever metal song was playing. As if he could hear the mention of his name in your thoughts, Eddie appeared in front of you, grabbing ahold of your wrist and dragging you towards the front counter. Meanwhile, Robin and Steve headed towards the back, searching for some Abba vinyl that Steve had been wanting for ages. The absence of Steve’s arm around your shoulder left you with a chill, the tingle brought on by his touch subsiding, but you brushed it aside following the long-haired boy.
You went behind the counter with Eddie, hopping up to sit in the space between the cash register and the pile of records stacked to the left. It was a familiar spot for you, somewhere you’d sat a million times, much to Eddie’s manager’s dismay. In this spot, you’d talk about dates that you went on, someone from high school who got knocked up or married, a new song Eddie was working on, and your hatred for Steve Harrington. But this time was different. Eddie remained silent as you perched before him, crossing his arms over his chest and peering at you with knowing eyes. He came to stand in front of you, his stomach brushing against your knees. You glared at him in response, already knowing the words that were about to crest his lips.
“You and Harrington have been awfully close lately,” a smirk danced across his face, arms uncrossing, hands landing to rest on your knees. You narrowed your eyes, placing your hands behind you, and leaning back on them.
“We’re sort of friends now, I guess,” you shrugged and Eddie leaned in even closer, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead as if he was testing your temperature. You smacked his hand away, earning a yelp in response. The grin reappeared on Eddie’s lips as he shook his hand to alleviate the pain caused by your slap.
“Friends, huh?” you nodded as his question, eyeing Eddie for his next move. Someone entered the store, the chime of the bell over the door alerting the both of you. But the two of you didn’t flinch, didn’t even spare the new customer a glance, too enveloped in your weird standoff staring contest. Instead, Eddie called out his standard greeting, welcoming the person to Rad Records, as his eyes roamed over you, searching for an unspecified answer. “Just friends, nothing more?” Eddie finally continued, needing more evidence to make his case, to find the answer to his unasked question. And you gave it to him, eyes darting away from his and legs beginning to bounce. Eddie’s jaw dropped, a gasp seeping from the open space between his lips.
“Shut the fuck up, Edward,” you rushed out, clamping your hand over his slack jaw. Eddie’s wide eyes trailed from you to Steve and back. His lips moved behind your hand, trying to speak, but you shushed him, refusing to let go until he calmed down. You cringed at the swipe of his tongue against your palm, but still held on tight. After a few seconds, Eddie stopped and you took it as a sign to set him free. Your hand retracted, falling limply onto your lap, where you wiped his saliva onto your jeans.
“Holy shit. You like him. You actually, consciously, like him,” Eddie whisper-yelled at you and it took a considerable amount of effort to not spontaneously combust at his words. It’s one thing to finally admit it to yourself, it’s another to hear it spoken out loud. Still, you felt like there was a ritual you had to play along with, like you had to deny the accusation.
“I so do not,” you spoke stubbornly, but Eddie could hear the give in your voice, knowing the truth.
“You totally do. The fact that it’s taken you this long to realize is insane,” Robin spoke up from behind you, startling you with her sudden appearance. You looked beside her, expecting to see Steve, but he wasn’t there. You didn’t know whether to be sad or relieved by his absence from the conversation.
“Where is Steve anyway?” you shifted on the counter, making space for Robin to rest her elbows next to you. Robin nodded towards the back of the store. Steve’s figure was obscured by the towering displays that littered the room.
“Some guy that he knew from the basketball team came in and started talking to him. Steve called him Jumpy or something. I dipped out as soon as I could, so Steve’s stuck back there now,” you cringed at the name that fell from Robin’s lips. Jumpy was the dumbass nickname of Allen Peterson, some douchebag that was friends with Tommy.
“Ugh, he and Tommy once broke into the girl’s locker room during gym and stole my clothes. I had to walk around in my gym uniform for the rest of the day. It was humiliating,” a frown bloomed on your lips, one that was echoed by Eddie and Robin.
“I remember that. They somehow never got caught,” Eddie’s eyes trailed to the back of the store, still unable to spot Steve. “You want me to kick him out?” Eddie’s eyebrows raised in question, almost begging for the chance to kick someone out of the store. But you shook your head, tapping his shoulder so he’d move out of the way. He did, stepping to the side, allowing you to slide down from the glass counter.
“I want to see if he remembers me. Maybe mess with him a bit,” Eddie and Robin waved you off as you walked towards the back, the top of Steve’s perfectly styled hair coming into view as you got closer. You approached from behind Steve, not able to get a good view of his face. You were still hidden, questioning whether you should continue with your plan or not. Wondering if Allen would do something to upset you, tease you, and make you feel small. But Steve was there, and how could he hurt you when the boy you loved was standing by your side? Just as you were about to take a step out, you heard something, Allen’s voice.
“Dude, I can’t believe you’ve been hanging out with such losers,” Allen’s words elicited a soft scoff from your lips. He peaked in high school but here he was calling you a loser? You wished you could see Steve’s face, to know what was running through his mind, the witty comeback that was sure to leave his lips any second now. But it didn’t. All you heard was the smooth sound of his laugh dancing through the store.
“Come on, man. They’re not that bad,” you brushed off Steve’s weak, delayed defense. At least he stood up for you in some regard, that’s what matters.
“Nah man, that Baby chick is nuts. I remember how weird she was in high school, always crying over something. Sometimes I just wanted to bend her over and give her something to cry about, you know?” Allen mimed thrusting his hips as his words hung in the air. It made you feel dirty and violated, like he had already touched you in the way he said that he wanted to. The boy viewed you as an object, nothing more than something to be used to satisfy his needs. Your eyes bore into the back of Steve’s head, willing him to speak up on your behalf. To defend you, to protect you, to punch this asshole in the face. But Steve was never good at defending you and all he did was laugh again. That irritatingly coy laugh, the one that set off alarm bells whenever you heard it. The laugh that belonged to the reigning king, not the boy you loved.
“Oh yeah, totally. One good screw would straighten her right out,” at that moment you could’ve sworn that the entire town could hear your heart as it shattered. You weren’t really sure when you revealed yourself from your hiding spot behind the bookshelf, but your eyes locked with Allen’s, and his stupid smirk dropped. Steve tracked his gaze, spinning on his heels to see you, tears welling in the corners of your eyes, forehead creased, and red-hot anger coursing through you. You turned, moving as fast as you could towards the exit at the front of the store. Steve chased behind you, his hand catching your arm right after you passed through the door. Eddie and Robin looked alarmed at the sight of you both stopped before the store’s glass front.
“Let go of me,” you spoke hotly, cursing the strength of Steve’s grip. Steve’s eyes roamed over you, catching the flicker of hurt that flashed across your face before you restored it to its angry glare.
“I didn’t mean it. It’s just-” Steve began, but you quickly cut him off, still trying to wrangle your arm from his grasp.
“I don’t give a shit what you meant, Harrington. I thought you changed. I forgave you for all the shit you put me through. Guess I wrong to think you were capable of being a decent person,” Steve’s eyes watered at your words, hating himself for making you doubt him and how he feels for you.
“I have changed. I don’t know why I said that shit,” Steve pleaded, he wanted you to understand, to give him five minutes to explain himself. But Steve knew this was it, you’d already made your decision, it wouldn’t matter even if he got down on his knees and begged. He’d broken your trust, said shit he didn’t mean, and now he’d lost you again, the same way he did years before, the way he never wanted to again. Steve let go of your arm, giving you the freedom you asked for when you first left the record store with him in tow. Your arm felt numb, empty, without Steve’s hand there, and you cursed your stupid heart for not wanting him to let go.
“I guess old habits die hard, Harrington. Stay the fuck out of my life,” your words spat from deep within you, fire coating each syllable. Steve watched as you turned, making your way down the sidewalk and turning into an alleyway between two stores. Eddie and Robin burst through the record store’s entrance, ignoring the autumn chill that they were greeted with as they did. Steve wiped his eyes, glad to have tears clouding his vision because he was not sure he could stand to see his best friend's face as he recounted the past few minutes to her. Eddie looked to Steve, silently asking where you went, and Steve lifted his hand pointing in your direction. Eddie took off, turning the corner to the alley to find you slumped on the ground, knees to your chest and head in your hands. He approached you slowly, pulling you into him when he finally got close enough. Sobs racked your body, chest heaving against Eddie’s as he held you in a tight hug, knees resting on the cement below.
“I hate him, Eds. I fucking hate him,” Eddie nodded in understanding, stroking your hair and pulling it from where it stuck to your tear-stained cheeks. “I should’ve known he’d break my heart again. I should’ve known not to let myself fall in love with him,” your tears soaked Eddie’s shirt and he froze, stuck on the words that fell from your lips. Love. Sure, he’d known you liked Steve, but love was different. Love meant more hurt. It held more weight. It meant that you set aside the past and moved on. It meant you finally gave in to the feelings that gnawed at your heart and your brain each night. It meant that Steve really fucked up.
Chasing shadows in the grocery line
Steve’s car finally peeled away and flew down main street, signaling to Eddie that the coast was clear. He walked you back to the now barren record store, save for his co-worker Terry, who was in the back unpacking a new shipment. Eddie asked Terry to cover for him and when Terry saw your tear-stained cheeks and red puffy eyes, he agreed, no questions asked. So Eddie put you in the passenger seat of his van and sped off down the road. You didn’t ask where he was going when he passed the street that led to your house, already knowing where he was taking you.
Eddie’s van stopped abruptly in front of his trailer. Wayne’s car was gone, signaling that he’d already left for work, leaving the trailer empty. It was getting dark, gloomy clouds blocking the sun as the moon rose in the sky opposite it. The porch lights flickered on, illuminating the shadows of your face through the cracked windshield. You caught sight of Lucas’ bike through the back window. It was lying on its side outside of Max’s trailer, thrown in haste. Normally it would’ve made you laugh, elicit a joke about young lovebirds to fall from your lips, but right now you couldn’t even will the corners of your lips to curl into a faint smile.
Eddie opened your car door, gently lifting you by your waist and placing you on the ground. You followed him inside, trailing behind him like a lost, heartbroken puppy with nowhere else to go. He led you to his room, indicating for you to sit on his bed, so you did. Eddie placed a soft kiss on your forehead, the kind a mother gives her child, and lifted your arms. He disrobed you of your heavy knit sweater, your way of protecting yourself from the autumn winds that pierced the air, and replaced it with one of his Black Sabbath shirts. You unclipped your bra through the shirt, pulling it out of your sleeve before tossing it to the floor. The action always amazed Eddie, drawing a laugh from his lips, but this time he remained quiet, too concerned over you to pay attention to much else. Next, Eddie unlaced your shoes, pulling them from your feet. You shimmied from your pants after, throwing them across the room, uncaring where they landed.
With a shaky breath, you laid down, facing the wall, your back turned to Eddie. Eddie pulled off his leather jacket, shucked off his jeans, and moved towards the bed. The mattress dipped beside you, Eddie’s body now close to yours. He pulled the bed sheets up to cover you both before draping his arm across your torso. You relaxed into him a bit, fingers and legs intertwining with one another. It was a familiar position, one you and Eddie had shared a million times, but his comforting touch wasn’t working quite the same as it normally did. Not when your heart hurt this much.
Eddie wanted to ask what happened, pester you with questions, and uncover the truth, but he refrained, knowing you’d speak up when the time was right. His heart ached at the feel of your body shaking against his, small sobs springing from deep within your chest no matter how much you wanted them to stop. Eddie only held you tighter, his arms practically crushing your ribs as his own tears began to well in his eyes. You stayed like that for a while, long after the sun fully sank beneath the horizon, leaving the room in complete consuming darkness. The wind caused sapling branches to scrape against the window, becoming the only sound to fill the lingering silence. You stopped crying after a while, wishing you could sleep the pain away, but remaining unsuccessful in your attempts.
Finally, you gave up, shifting to face Eddie, your forehead pressed to his. Breath intermingling, comforting you, letting you know that, yes, your heart may be broken, but you were still alive. Eddie studied you, unsure whether he should be the first to speak or not, but you quickly quelled that thought when you opened your mouth.
“Do you think you’ll ever leave Hawkins?” your question threw Eddie off, his brows scrunching in confusion. It’s not what he expected you to say.
“Not unless the band takes off, and certainly not without Wayne,” Eddie had thought about it before, considered moving to a big city where the lights never dimmed and the gigs would never end. But as much as Hawkins may have hated him, he could never hate it in return. He’d get sick of the city noise and never be able to sleep, craving to hear the chirp of crickets and cicadas instead. So when you asked, he was sure of his answer. But he didn’t echo your question back to you, already knowing that your answer would be a resounding yes. It would be tough for you to leave everyone behind, but you longed for something different, somewhere new to help escape the past and finally look forward to the future. Eddie was lost in thought, still wondering why you asked that when you spoke again.
“He’s exactly who I thought he was,” it was a whisper, one that could easily be lost, left hanging in the air with no one around to hear it echo off the peeling walls. But Eddie heard it, he absorbed your words from the silent room, wanting to know more, so you continued. “I thought he was different now, but it turns out he’s still the same, too wrapped up in caring about what others think,” fresh tears sprang in your eyes, a sob tightening your throat as you spoke. “I’m tired of fighting against his undying need to be liked. I’m tired of losing against it every goddamn time. I’m done,” there was a finality to your tone, one that caused Eddie to lift his head from his pillow, a questioning look on his face.
“Sweetheart, do you want me to talk to him? Figure out what’s running through his head?” Eddie offered, but he knew the gesture would be wasted on you. Once you set your mind to it, it was done. But he wanted you to hear Steve out. He wanted you to find a way to reconcile your differences. For all the pain and confusion that Steve Harrington brought, he also filled you with joy and light. You’d been happier throughout the past few weeks than Eddie had ever seen you, illuminating rooms simply by entering them. Eddie didn’t want that to disappear, to be forever obscured by a compilation of closed curtains and avoidant gazes. But he was met with a furious shake of your head.
“No, Eds. I mean it. No more Steve,” Eddie nodded despite the voice in his head yelling at him to speak up and try to change your mind. It was no use. He rolled onto his back, one arm resting under his head, the other still laid across you. You shifted too, laying with your chest pressed to Eddie’s stomach, head resting just below his. “I wish it was you that I loved. It’d be much simpler that way,” you’re not sure why you said it, maybe the cloud that formed in your head from the day’s events expanded, spilling all of your hazy thoughts through your lips. It was a sad wish, an empty hurt with truth behind it. But Eddie understood, his own thoughts reflecting yours, the telepathy finally working in a way. He wanted to take away your pain in any way he could, but not like this. Not when your heart was beaten black and blue, longing for a simple ceasefire to mend your open wounds. Not when that same heart belonged to another, an echoed call through the woods waiting for the birds in the treetops to sing back with an affirmative answer. Eddie loved you, but not in the way the both of you currently wished for. An irrefutable loyalty that would consciously be limited to platonic fellowship, no romance lingering from either party in the way you held each other close.
“I’m sorry, Baby,” Eddie’s whisper slid through the strands of your hair, a soft kiss placed overtop of it. You’d grown quiet by then, breath evening out as you were finally granted your wish for sleep. Falling deep into a slumber where you were still five and Steve Harrington tucked flowers behind your ears as he whispered to you about love.
Days had passed, an endless stream of the same heartache and emptiness that blended each rise and fall of the sun together, making it difficult to distinguish one from the next. Robin called you probably a million times, but you refused to come to the phone. Your parents opted to unplug the phone from the wall for a few days, growing tired of the incessant ringing. You knew she just wanted to talk about Steve, but that was something you couldn’t quite handle yet. You’d only plugged the phone back in to call out of work, letting them know you had a nasty stomach bug, not caring if they believed you or not. The curtains in your room remained closed with the little army men on the window sill replaced in their defensive stance. To you, this was war.
On the fifth day of refusing to depart from beneath your bed sheets, your mom entered your room, messing with the knick-knacks that covered your dresser as she did. A custom D20 from Dustin, a kazoo Eddie gave you for your birthday one year joking about how you could be Corroded Coffin’s lead kazoo player, a mixtape Robin lent you ages ago, a new pack of colored pencils you’d been meaning to give to Will, and a flower that had been dried and pressed into a glittery bookmark, all littered your dresser’s surface. Your mom grabbed the bookmark, admiring the way the lavender flower retained its shape despite being flattened so many years ago. It was the same lavender that grew from the ground beneath your bedroom window, decorating the grass between the Harrington’s house and your own. You watched closely as she eyed the bookmark, curiosity flooding your thoughts.
“I remember making this with you,” she spoke softly, a gentle cadence meant to comfort you, and it sort of did. “You came running inside with the flower and insisted that we save it. You said it was too important to let die,” she sat on the edge of your bed, bookmark still glinting in the soft glow of the lamplight. You propped yourself up on your elbows, wondering where she was going with all of this. She handed you the bookmark then, and you took it, confused, examining it as if you’d never seen it before.
“I don’t remember that,” your voice was hoarse from crying. It didn’t help that you hadn’t properly spoken out loud in days, too congested with the bustling thoughts running laps around your mind.
“You were five. And if I remember correctly a certain boy had been the one to pick the flower for you,” you understood then, she was talking about Steve. Part of you felt betrayed, like your mother was providing aid for the enemy, but the other part of you wanted to know more, why she wanted to talk about this, especially now. “We always assumed the two of you would be friends, lovers even,” she wagged her eyebrows at you and the corners of your lips ticked up at the gesture. “So it was strange to see the distance that grew between you, the pain you caused each other. I’d always hoped you’d resolve your differences, and fall back into the same ease you had as kids, but I know it’s more complicated than that,” her hand reached up, brushing softly against your cheek. You hadn’t realized that you were crying until her fingers swiped over the fallen tears. “I love you, my Baby,” her words were a whisper, gentle lips pressed to your forehead. She patted your leg through your comforter, standing up as she did. On her way to the door, she stopped, turning back to look at you. “Maybe some fresh air might help. A trip to the store?” she suggested and for some reason you nodded, actually thinking that it would be nice to leave your bed for a bit. She smiled, making her way out of your room to grab the grocery list for you. As she rounded the corner, one foot out the door, she couldn’t help but notice the tight grip you kept on the bookmark in your hand. The flower within it that was always in bloom. Something that could never die.
You opted to go to the store alone, wanting to drive with the windows down and the music up, drowning out the overcrowded space in your head. It was nice to leave the house, to be in an open space with autumn in the air. The crisp leaves crunched under your tires as you pulled into the grocery parking lot. You were so concerned about making sure that you had the list your mom gave you that you completely missed the maroon BMW parked on the opposite end of the lot. Once you had the list, you grabbed a cart, its wheels squeaking loudly as you made your way down aisles, grabbing item after item off the shelves.
There was only one thing left on your list, a bag of tortilla chips, which was your dad’s favorite snack food for some odd reason. You almost chuckled to yourself seeing how his scratchy handwriting interrupted your mom’s pristine list. With a squeal of protest from the shopping cart’s wheels, you turned the corner, eyes roaming over the chip options in front of you. You finally found what you were looking for and stood up on your tiptoes, the top shelf being just a bit too high for you to reach. A warmth washed over you as someone leaned into your space, large hands retrieving the bag and offering it to you. Your breath stopped for a moment and you found yourself unable to move.
“I’m just gonna put these in here then,” Steve spoke softly, placing the chip bag into your cart when you froze. He looked tired, with dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. His hair was flat, almost greasy looking, lacking his usual abundance of hairspray and product. Steve watched you, the way you shrunk at the sight of him and he felt as though his heart had been torn from his chest. He never wanted to hurt you, to make you feel less than what you were. And to Steve, you were everything. Steve opened his mouth to speak, an apology sputtering from his lips, but the sight snapped you out of your stupor, suddenly springing to action.
“I told you to stop apologizing to me,” your voice was firm and cold, nothing like the ease it held back at Family Video the last time he tried to right his wrongs.
“Just let me explain, please,” he pleaded, eyes soft, a glimmer of familiarity in them. For a moment you almost let him, finding yourself more than willing to listen to the boy speak. You were reminded of the comfort you found in the sound of his voice recently, the swell it brought to your chest. But that vanished when you remembered the way he laughed when talking to Allen, his vile words leaving your glass heart shattered across the record store’s stained carpet. It felt like a slap to the face, a cut on your cheek, a crack in your rib. You meant what you said, you were done with him. The boy before you showed no growth. He was still the same boy who called you names, taunted you in the halls, stole your favorite book, and scared off the boys you liked.
“No,” it was stony and resolute, an end to the conversation. You pushed your cart away, leaving Steve behind, your shadow cascading over him as you did. You made your way to the register and Steve followed close behind. He got in line behind you, but he stayed quiet, unsure what to say. He only had two things in his basket, which made his checkout go by quickly. By the time he got out to the parking lot, you were still there, placing the hefty grocery bags into your trunk.
“Let me make it up to you,” Steve startled you, appearing at your side out of nowhere. “I swear I've changed, I promise. I care about you, so much,” you slammed your trunk closed, wheeling your cart back to where it belonged. Steve followed you, but you stayed silent, refusing to acknowledge his pleas. He stood in front of your car door then, blocking it so you couldn’t get in. “I don’t want to lose you again. Let me show you I care. Let me prove it,” he looked like he was on the verge of tears. Part of you wanted to reach out and hold his face in your hands. The other part wanted to hurt him more, make him feel what you felt. The latter won.
“You can’t prove shit to me, Harrington. I don’t believe it, any of it. You’re still the same stupid boy you were when we were 11, and I fucking hate you for it,” you spat and Steve’s face hardened. You wanted him to yell back at you, to prove that he felt something for you, something worth fighting for. But he didn’t. He simply stepped aside, a new slump in his posture as he let you go. His gaze followed the battered silhouette of your car as it drove off, a wisp of fallen leaves and Steve’s shredded heart trailing behind it.
When you got home you stormed inside, leaving the groceries in the car for your parents to unload. You fell back into your bed, resuming the same position you held before you went to the grocery store. It took some time, anger encapsulating your every fiber, but eventually, you fell asleep, putting the situation with Steve aside as you escaped to the peace of your dreams.
You awoke the next morning, groggy and sore. Rolling onto your back, you caught a glimpse of something from the corner of your eye, something that was out of place. Your body groaned as you arose, hesitant steps towards your desk, hands slowly lifting the object. It was a book, but not just any book. It was Pride and Prejudice, the copy that your grandmother gave you years ago, the one that was taken from you. You flipped through the pages, fingers tracing the words you’d penciled in on the margins. Stuck between its pages was a bookmark, your bookmark, with lavender and specks of glitter decorating it.
You sat back on your bed, wondering why the book was returned so suddenly and out of the blue. Your mom was the one to put it in your room, marking its pages with the bookmark, but Steve had been the one to take it years ago. Why did he keep it? Why give it back now? Was this the end? A bookend in your tumultuous relationship with the boy next door? A post-it note fell from between the book’s pages and you leaned down to grab it. Written in Steve’s messy scrawl was one word.
“Please.”
And you’d come back to me
The note was metaphorically stuck in your head, lingering like a bad dream that you couldn’t wake from. It didn’t help that it was physically stuck to your nightstand, its fluorescent green shade haunting you with each passing glance. But you just couldn’t will yourself to throw it away. It was a life preserver tossed to you after falling overboard, a worm on a hook meant to reel you in, a last attempt to fix what had been broken, to reconcile with Steve. You meant it when you said you were done, but the ache inside you longed to be quelled. And there was only one person that could do that. The least you could do was hear him out. Find closure, nothing more, or so you told yourself.
A few days had passed since your encounter at the grocery store and you finally felt brave enough to face Steve again. You knew he was home given that his car had scarcely left the driveway in the past few days. Your legs felt wobbly, knees knocking as you marched in the dark through your lawn, crossing over onto the Harrington’s property. It was late, but you knew he’d still be awake, just as plagued with his thoughts as you were. You jabbed the doorbell with your finger, waiting nervously for the door to open, to see the boy that plagued your thoughts. But it didn’t. So you rang it again, and again, and again. Repeatedly pressing the button until the door finally cracked open.
“I don’t want whatever you’re selling, man,” Steve began but stopped when he saw you, straightening his slumped shoulders. He looked worse than he had at the grocery store like he hadn’t slept in days. He let the door hang open as he gaped at you, unable to form words. You took advantage of the open space, slipping inside his house before he could stop you. Steve shut the door, turning to see what you were doing, but you’d already made your way upstairs to his room.
His room was pretty much the same as it had been the last time you were there, back when the world almost ended. Clothes strewn across the floor, trophies lining small shelves, movie posters galore. You noticed a new poster though, one for Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Steve finally caught up to you, his perpetual gloominess temporarily taken over by confusion as to why you were suddenly here in his house. You sat on the edge of his bed and he followed suit, worry filling his entire being. Was this the end? Did you come to say goodbye? Steve’s heart beat rapidly in his chest, panic rising in his throat when you finally spoke.
“You said you wanted to explain, so explain,” your voice was soft and quiet, a tone completely unlike the one you used when you were mad. Steve was baffled, wanting to know what made you decide to hear him out, but he knew better than to waste what very well could be his last chance with you.
“I didn’t mean what I said in the record store. I didn’t mean any of it. I wanted to beat the shit out of Allen when he said that stuff,” Steve’s hands shook as he spoke, watching your face for any sign of emotion. He wanted to know what you were thinking, wished he could read your mind. But he couldn’t, so he continued. “It’s like every time I’m around someone from high school, I get pushed aside and someone else takes control of what I say. Someone that reminds me a lot of my father,” angry tears welled in Steve’s eyes. He hated that after all these years his dad still had such an impact on him and the way he acted.
“Steve,” you spoke up, still emotionless in your tone. But Steve stopped you, wanting to continue, practically begging you with his glassy eyes to let him. So you did.
“I know it's not an excuse, and it's so so shitty of me. But he’s just there in the back of my head reminding me that Harrington’s are winners,” a tear dripped down his cheek and it took a great deal of restraint from you to not reach out and brush it away. “I hate that I let him win. I hate that I ever betrayed your trust, that I was so mean to you in school, that I let you out of my life. I hate that I let Allen get away with what he said, that I agreed with him instead, because I don’t. I think you’re beyond perfect the way you are. I don’t want to change anything about you,” Steve stopped for a moment unsure if you’d let him continue. Little did he know that your breath had caught in your chest and extinguished any words that might have spilled from your lips.
“I never ever want to hurt you again,” Steve continued when you didn’t say anything. “I promise, I won’t. I want to be better, I want to be the boy you trusted when we were kids. I care about you so unbelievably much. I never stopped, not once. Please let me prove it,” he’d moved closer to you and you let him, trying your best to keep your feelings hidden from your expression. You were close to breaking, to giving in, to letting yourself be unequivocally in love with Steve Harrington. But you still had to put up a fight, to prove it was the right choice, not just a never-ending loop of pain.
“I’ve given you so many chances, Steve. How do I know this one would be any different?” you couldn’t look at him, knowing you’d lose all your resolve if you did. So your eyes fell to your lap instead. Steve watched your avoidant gaze, wanting more than anything for you to face him.
“Because I love you,” it was firm and unwavering, a declaration spilled from Steve’s cracked lips. It snapped your attention to him immediately, granting Steve his previous wish. “I always have, even when we were kids. I got confused when popularity came into play, but it was still there, in the back of my mind. I didn’t know what it was then, but I do now, and I’ll do anything for you, anything to keep you with me,” Steve grew shy, still unable to tell how you feel. “I want you in any way that you’ll have me. Anything is fine with me as long as I have you back in my life. I just can’t lose you,” Steve finished, leaving his words in the air for you to respond. You took your time to collect your own thoughts, to steady the thump of your heart in your chest.
“Steve,” it was soft, gentle, longing, matching the tone Steve hoped to hear. “I don’t want to lose you either,” the words halted Steve’s heart in his chest. He hoped this was it, that you loved him the way he loved you. “I want to trust you again, but you have to earn it. We can't just keep hurting each other,” you asserted and Steve nodded wildly. You wanted to laugh at the way his hair flopped around on his head as he did it, but you refrained, simply letting a smile crest your lips instead. Steve’s lips matched yours, curling at the edges, and soon you found yourselves incapable of holding back the soft chuckles that rose in your throat.
Steve’s eyes never left you, admiring the smile he’d so dearly missed seeing. He only ever wanted for you to be happy, only wanted you to know you’re loved. And from here on out, he’d make sure that you were. You leaned forward resting your forehead against Steve’s, one last ditch attempt at your silly determination to communicate telepathically. It never worked with Eddie, so why not try it with Steve, the boy you loved since you were five. It would ease the tension, tell Steve what your lips were too scared to say.
“What am I thinking?” you asked, hands coming up to hold Steve’s shoulders in place. His hands wrapped around you, resting on your waist, feeling your scarred skin through the thin material of your shirt. Steve scoured his mind, focusing on you, the soft reflection of light in your eyes, the way your lips were dry and cracked, the curve of your cheekbones. You were more than beautiful to him, you were angelic, bewitching, radiant. You were everything he ever wanted and needed.
“That you like me too?” Steve put on his smug charm, trying to cover up his nervousness. It made you want to laugh, to kiss him, to tell him the truth.
“So close, Stevie. I was thinking more along the lines of love, but if that’s what you’re getting then, sure, we can go with that,” you shrugged jovially, a smile stretched across your cheeks as Steve’s jaw went slack. His eyes watched you for any sign of doubt, of mockery, but he couldn’t find any. He knew it then, you loved him too. Steve found your gaze, eyes whispering to him in their own secret language. Kiss me, they said, and who was he to deny them of their wish? Steve pulled you in, grip tightening on your waist as he did. Your chest was suddenly flush with his, your body now resting in his lap, lips only a breath away from meeting. It was a last chance to bow out, to give it up for good, but you didn’t want to. You tilted your chin, finally closing the gap and brushing your lips against Steve’s. The kiss was encompassed by every flower he’d ever picked for you, every peek behind closed curtains, every taunt and tease and fight, every innuendo, every unseen longing gaze, every utterance of the name Baby, all wrapped together. It felt like winning a game of hide-and-seek that had been called off after an hour of unsuccessful searching, a ring of smoke clinging to the air and lingering high only to be dissipated by the summer breeze, a ceasefire on the battlefield for a war that had gone on too long. It felt like Steve, and you couldn’t get enough of it. His lips danced with yours, never wanting to feel anything but the crush of you against him. But eventually, you ran out of air, pulling back enough to breathe, still keeping your forehead pressed to his.
“I think I knew you loved me because I always loved you too,” Steve’s words were breathy, softened with the heave of his chest. Your smile flashed through your heavy breaths and hot cheeks. Steve Harrington loved you, and you loved him too. It would take some getting used to, but you liked the sound of it. You couldn’t hold back any longer, leaning back in to reattach your lips to his.
A moan mixed in with the kiss, grumbling up from Steve’s throat. His hands shifted down past your waist, landing on your ass with a light squeeze. You laughed at the gesture, keeping your lips pressed against his, and Steve’s heart melted at the sound. But he didn’t have long to linger on the feeling, because your hips rolled against his crotch, catching him off guard. Steve’s mouth opened a bit at the feeling, eliciting a groan from deep within him. You took advantage of the opportunity and slid your tongue against Steve’s. You did the move that you always did, a roll of your tongue against his, and Steve’s fingers dug deeper into your skin.
“Fuck, is that the tongue thing that Hargrove was talking about?” Steve asked, pulling away for just a second before attaching his lips to the column of your neck.
“I don’t want to talk about Billy right now, okay?” you gasped as Steve’s teeth bit into the sensitive spot on your neck. You felt heat flush straight to your core and a whimper slipped from your lips. Steve was mesmerized, enthralled with the sweet sounds you made and the way your breaths picked up.
“Noted,” Steve spoke against your neck, sending vibrations down your spine. He worked his way back up to your lips, hand trailing under your shirt. You flinched when his hand brushed your scar, his cool fingers causing goosebumps to prickle your skin. You always had to lie to your hookups about where the scars came from, but you didn’t need to with Steve. He knew you. He had matching wounds. Steve pulled away, worried about the way you shuddered when he came into contact with the healed skin. But you just lifted your arms above your head, signaling for Steve to remove your shirt. The soft fabric slid from your skin, leaving your chest exposed. You’d foregone a bra that morning, and given the entranced look on Steve’s face at the sight of your bare breasts, you were really glad that you did. His hands gravitated towards your chest, cupping it gently. Steve’s thumbs came to rest on your nipples, brushing back and forth over them, evoking a delicious moan from your lips.
His mouth found yours again, and you couldn’t help the way your hips began to grind against his, craving friction to satisfy the heat pooling between your legs. You removed Steve’s shirt then, and instead of resuming his previous position, Steve tilted his head down, attaching his lips to one of your nipples. You couldn’t help the pleasure that coursed through your veins, grinding harder against Steve’s lap. He was hard beneath his sweatpants, and his length caught against your clit with each movement, only further riling you up.
Soft moans fell from both of your lips in harmony until Steve’s mouth departed from your chest, shifting to lay you down with his body hovering over you. His lips were swollen and red, wet with his saliva as he gazed down at you. He looked at you with a hunger that he’d suppressed for far too long as his hands trailed down your stomach, slowly pulling down the sweatpants that rested on your hips. You lifted your bum, making it easier for Steve to take them off. Once your pants were discarded on the floor, Steve’s face shifted down, hovering over your clothed cunt.
“You don’t have to,” you spoke quietly, suddenly seeming shy and so drastically different from the girl who just rolled her tongue into Steve’s mouth.
“Trust me, Baby, I want to. I want to so fucking bad, have for a long time,” Steve’s eyes found yours, but he didn’t move from his spot between your thighs. His breath fanned over your skin, only adding more heat between your legs. He placed small kisses on your inner thighs and your back arched at the sensation. Steve truly had waited a long time to do this, thought about it late at night while his hand fisted his cock, so he was going to savor every second. His fingers dragged over your panties, drawing little stars over the material. You threw your head back, unable to contain yourself as a result of Steve’s teasing.
“Please Stevie, need you so bad,” you begged, breath coming out ragged and labored. Steve smirked up at you, finally hooking his fingers into the cotton material and yanking them off. He lowered himself further, breath now fanning over your exposed heat. Steve wasted no time, licking into your cunt, flexing his tongue with each flick back and forth through your wet folds. You gasped as he held down your thighs, holding them tightly around his head.
His tongue was persistent, like a starved man eating for the first time in days. Steve’s hips rutted against the mattress, so turned on by the noises you made, the way you tasted, how you felt against his tongue. It got to a point where you could hardly keep still, squirming wildly beneath Steve’s steel grip, and he knew you were close.
His mouth came up to your clit, sucking it with enough force to make you whine out his name. He could come at just the sounds you made, but he held back, keeping his focus on your core and the shake that slowly began in your thighs. The coil that had been building in the pit of your stomach snapped, a wave of pleasure flooding through you. Steve lapped at your folds, capturing the last of your arousal on his tongue as you came down from your high, chest heaving and thighs quaking.
“Fuck, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Steve ran a hand through his hair, shifting up to place a kiss to your lips. You tasted yourself on him, a whimper escaping you in response. Without breaking the kiss, your hands came down, fumbling to rid Steve of his sweatpants, but he stopped you.
“I wanna return the favor, Stevie. Wanna make you feel good too,” you spoke between kisses and Steve pulled away, hastily shaking his head.
“You do that now and it’ll be all over. I’d rather come inside you, Baby,” Steve's eyes asked you for permission, wanting more than anything to be buried inside you. You understood what he meant and nodded eagerly, the idea reigniting the heat between your thighs.
Steve got up quickly, pulling his pants from his legs. You repositioned yourself, now on your hands and knees, facing away from Steve. He kneeled on the bed behind you, one hand smoothing over the curve of your ass, gently finding its resting place on your waist. His lips placed a quick kiss to your spine as he took his length in his hand. He pumped himself a few times before lining up with your entrance, slowly pushing in with a wrecked moan. Your walls stretched around him, squeezing his length as he bottomed out. You couldn’t help the faint pants that fell from your lips at the feel of being so full.
“Fuck, Steve, so big,” you whined, arms weakly holding you in place. He chuckled behind you, trying to keep from blowing his load right then and there. You were so tight, your walls surrounding him perfectly. He slowly started to move, pulling his hips out gently and pushing himself back in. Steve was practically growling at the sensation of your walls clasped so close around him. As you both adjusted, Steve sped up, his hips bouncing quickly off the curve of your ass. It was hot and wet, hard and deep, the sound of skin slapping together filled the room.
“Taking me so good, Baby. Wanna hear those pretty sounds. Making ‘em just for me, right?” Steve’s breath was labored, trying hard to hold on as his fingers dug into your hips. You complied with Steve’s request, letting your stifled whimpers echo throughout the room. Steve pulled you up then, your back pressed to his front as your ass bounced off his thighs. He thrusted up into you and his hands came up to fondle your breasts. “Tell me you’re close, Baby. I can’t hold on much longer,” he muttered in your ear, ending his statement with another shaky groan. You nodded, the back of your head moving against his shoulder as you did. He quickened his pace then, using every last ounce of reserve that he had to pound into you, bodies pressing together. Your face scrunched in pleasure and Steve’s followed, both of you toeing the edge of blinding pleasure.
“Fuck, Stevie. Love you so much,” you moaned through ragged breaths, hand coming behind his head in an attempt to pull his lips to yours. The words you spoke and the crash of your lips against his had Steve coming undone. His hot streams of cum coated the inside of your walls, triggering your own high, cries of Steve’s name muffled by the taste of his swollen lips. You sunk back down onto his lap as he finally ceased his movements, resting on the back of his heels, still buried deep within you. His eyes met your soft gaze and he couldn’t help the uptick of his lips. You loved him and that’s all that mattered to him now.
The two of you cleaned yourselves up, slowly redressing to various degrees. Steve pulled on the boxers that were lost in his sweatpants while you draped your oversized shirt back over your frame. You gave up on trying to find your panties, accepting that they were now lost in the mess of Steve’s cluttered bedroom floor. You fell back into bed with Steve, rolling on your side to face him, the bed sheets draped over you. Steve’s legs brushed against yours, slowly intertwining until one of your legs rested between both of his. You caught sight of a cherry stem resting on his nightstand, one that had been tied in a knot, and held back your teasing remarks about him keeping it. Steve studied you, wanting to memorize this moment, each feature of your face. He wanted to fall asleep and wake up to the sight of your soft, pleasant smile as you watched over him in the same way he did to you. Eventually, Steve’s lids grew heavy, fluttering closed as he drifted off to sleep, you not far behind.
When you woke in the morning, you were still tangled together, radiating heat off one another to fill the otherwise cold morning air. You nestled your head into Steve’s bare chest, a soft groan slipping from him as he awoke. Neither of you wanted to get up, face the morning, and separate after a night together. The only reason you eventually did get up was because Steve had to go to work and you were sure your parents would notice your absence soon.
You went downstairs before him, waiting for him to find his car keys in the mess of his room. You shared a kiss on his doorstep, fingers tangling in Steve’s hair as he pulled your hips flush with his. A whine escaped you as he pulled away, leaning down to pluck a daisy from his mom’s well-manicured front garden. Steve tucked the daisy behind your ear, placing one last kiss to your lips before walking over to his car. He opened his car door, stopping for another glimpse of you before he left. You smiled at him, waving him off and watching as he backed out of the driveway. He blew you a kiss before putting the car in drive and pulling away. You held the kiss close to your heart, the heart that now belonged to him, and headed back across his lawn to your own house.
The smell of coffee wafted through the air as you shut the front door behind you. Your parents sat at the kitchen table, a newspaper between them and a cup of coffee each. You drifted into the kitchen, ignoring their questioning looks, and plugged the phone back into the wall. Your parents shared a silent look, a look of relief that the storm was over, that normalcy would soon resume.
You went upstairs then, entering your bedroom and pulling back the curtains that encompassed your window. You planned to leave a note for Steve stuck to the glass, the same way you used to when you were kids, one for him to find when he got back home from work. But when your eyes drifted to the window across from yours, you were met with confusion.
In place of the army of green men that once sat on the window sill was a pencil with a half sheet of white paper attached to it. A white flag. Steve surrendered, and the war was over. You smiled at the gesture before crafting your own flag to mirror the one across from you. It would be a truce then, breaking even and giving up the fight. The ache in your chest was quelled and replaced by an unfathomable warmth. There were no winners or losers anymore. There was just you and Steve, two lovers that took way too long to figure it out.
You would call Eddie and Robin later to explain the previous night’s events, but for now, you sat back on your bed, Pride and Prejudice clasped in your hands. You opened the cover, eyes landing on the bookmark between its pages, mind drifting off to the boy that picked you flowers and told you he loved you so long ago. Maybe you knew him all along. Maybe he wasn’t so different after all.
You put me on and said I was your favorite
The summer sun beat down on Steve’s tanned skin, sweat dripping from his brow, making a trail down his neck to the collar of his t-shirt. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, wishing to escape Hawkins’ summer heat. With a deep breath, Steve leaned down to grab the box at his feet, hoisting it up to hand to you. You stood in the back of a U-Haul, organizing the boxes that were handed to you. Your very sweaty boyfriend flashed you a smile before turning to go back into his house and grab more boxes.
“You guys couldn’t have picked a hotter day to move,” Eddie appeared in front of you, unruly curls stuck to his forehead and neck. You’d offered him a hair tie earlier, but he declined, now stuck suffering in the humid air. His arms were strained with the weight of the box he was carrying, clearly struggling more than Steve had been.
“Sorry, Eds. We can’t control the weather,” you took the box that he had brought out, placing it somewhere behind you in the truck. You brushed away the sweat that had formed above your lip and watched as Eddie shook his head.
“I can’t believe you guys are actually leaving,” a sad smile stretched his lips as he spoke. He knew that it would happen eventually, that you would leave behind this horror story of a town and start anew. You’d suffered more Upside Down related trauma than he had, and he knew the fears that still crept into your mind from time to time. It was a good change, even if it meant leaving the people you loved behind.
“Me too, honestly,” you looked up then, head snapping towards the sound of voices arguing in the distance. Steve and Dustin were on Steve’s front porch loudly talking back and forth about how to move Steve’s dresser from his room. Robin stood next to them, rolling her eyes and dragging Max towards your house to grab the last of your book collection. “I’m glad it's with him though,” you nodded your head towards Steve, who was still deep in his discussion with Dustin, wild hand gestures and all. Steve caught you gazing at him from the corner of his eye, shooting you a look that said ‘this kid is crazy’ before disappearing into the house, Dustin hot on his trail.
“Yeah, yeah, you guys are in love or whatever. We get it,” Mike appeared at Eddie’s side, his slim arms struggling to carry his box. You raised a brow at him, lifting the box from his arms with ease and he faced you with an unamused glare.
“I think it's sweet,” Will approached behind him, also unloading a box into your arms. He smiled at you sweetly, and suddenly it hit you how much you were going to miss all of them. The bickering and the fights, the tight hugs and reassurances that they would call to let you know they got home safe. The late nights spent overanalyzing every detail of some cheesy movie that you’d forget the plot of by the morning. And in the background of it all was Steve. His forlorn gaze as Nancy walked you down her driveway to your car. His open curtains waiting for your lights to flicker on when you got back from work. His grand gestures as he put himself in harm's way, trying to protect you. You pretended to hate each other, but now you know that you never really did.
The afternoon dragged on, the heat weighing heavy on everyone as boxes and furniture were piled into the truck. Eventually, you all finished and everything you owned was packed away. Steve grabbed a quick shower, rinsing the sweat from his body to make the long car ride more comfortable. You hugged your parents goodbye, urging them to come visit once everything was unpacked. The others still lingered, waiting to watch as you and Steve drove away. Tears filled their eyes and streamed down sweaty cheeks as you hugged each of the younger kids, promising to return for Thanksgiving.
Steve began his round of goodbyes, mainly opting for a secret handshake or a ruffling of hair. Robin squeezed you so tightly that you thought she might crack one of your ribs. She sniffled as she pulled away, moving on to give Steve the same crushing embrace. Eddie stood before you, his head tilted towards the ground. You brushed his hair back from his face, catching sight of his tear-stained cheeks. He pulled you close, arms encompassing your frame.
“You’ll call every week?” he spoke into your hair, burying his face in it to hide his swell of tears. You nodded against him, your own muffled cries slipping from your lips. He pulled back then, and Steve was right behind you.
Steve placed his hand on your back, guiding you to the front seat of the U-Haul. He said his goodbye to Eddie before joining you. Steve’s car was hooked up to the back of the truck and your parents planned to bring yours up with them when they came to visit.
You stood on the ledge of the truck admiring the sea of your friends that stood before you. They watched you with tearful eyes as you shot them one last watery smile and slid into your seat. Your gaze was pulled towards the side of your house, your bedroom window that sat across from Steve’s. It was funny to think how close he always was, even when he felt miles away. Steve’s hand brushed yours then, the tingle of skin pulling you from your thoughts.
“Ready to go, Baby?” Steve asked, reaching down to put the truck in gear. His hair was still wet, smelling of his lavender-scented shampoo. You ran your hands through it, brushing the loose strands to the side. Steve caught your hand, placing a small kiss on your palm before you could pull away.
Sixth grade Steve was right, you were leaving with your things packed into boxes and a new city calling your name. But not because you were the worm girl that was running away. It wasn’t because this town had terrorized and taunted you to the point of no return. You were leaving because you wanted to, not because you felt forced out. And sixth grade Steve was wrong about you finding the love of your life once you left too, because you’d already found him, and for that Steve couldn’t be happier.
“With you?” you questioned, eyebrows raised, hand still encompassed by Steve’s. He nodded, showing you that smile that he reserved just for you. The same one he gave you as you sat on the sidewalk with dried worms newly relocated to the surrounding grass. You mirrored his look, gazing into his hazel eyes with all the love and adoration you had acquired for him over the years. “Always.”
#steve harrington#joe keery#stranger things#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfics#stranger things fic#stranger things fics#stranger things slowburn#stranger things imagine#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington slowburn#steve harrington slow burn#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fics#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrinton fanfics#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x femreader#steve harrington x fem reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington angst#steve harrington enemies to lovers#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x fem! reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#joe keery fic#joe keery fanfiction#joe keery fanfic
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☆*:.｡.FANCALL.｡.:*☆
Summary - Like many idols Mingyu dreaded fancalls, well that was until you were on the other side.
Word Count - 2.7k
Content Warnings - 18+ Slight Sexual Language [2 be safe], Fluff, Shy/Cute! Y/n, Love At First Sight?, Sneaky! Mingyu, The Sparks Are Flying, Mingyu thinks Y/n is Adorable, Slight Innapropriate Dynamic with Fan & Idol, NDA Mentioned, Short Hair!Mingyu Appreciation, Hoshi Cameo, Mingyu gets Bricked Up lol, Shameless Flirting
a/n - this is the least dark thing i’ve written so far and it still got a lil something something but it’s very cute and short hair mingyu is indeed my favorite
☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆
Mingyu believed he had the coolest job in the world. Honestly, being able to make music with his twelve best friends and travel the world was something out of a storybook. And his mother ingrained in him from a young age to always be grateful for the wonderful opportunities presented to him throughout his life. But with all the positives that came with being a successful and attractive idol there were many negatives that he tried his best to take in stride. Stalkers, calls from saesangs all throughout the night, rude staff, endless schedules, extreme diets and that was just to name a few. But one took the cake out of all of them—fancalls.
Don’t get him wrong, he loved meeting carats more than anything in the world; accepting their sweet comments while trying to make their experience worth while in the short time allotted. Most were so kind, humorous and creative, it was always so fascinating getting to see how many different types of people Seventeen’s music reached even after all this time. But just like the duality of life there were fancalls that went so horribly it unfortunately made him dread doing them at all. Whether it went from brazen fans demanding him to strip, asking him uncomfortable questions, to hurling insults at him for not remembering them from a fan meet over 3 years ago. It really could be so draining, not knowing what type of person would be on the other side of the call but he had to do it—and with a smile.
“Bye~ love youuu,” He waved as he ended the facetime with a fan from Australia. It wasn’t one of the worst ones but the constant ‘Oppa Will you marry me please?’ question was starting to get on his nerves, the forced cute tone just making it worse. Expertly he kept swerving around the question but she was quite persistent. The timer for the call was his saving grace as he threw his head back in a deep groan no longer having to deal with the irritating fan. ‘Just one more’ he thought. One more then he could call it a night and go to sleep. He took a deep breathe just in time to prepare himself to greet the next fan.
“Hello-“ He tilted to look back down at the phone screen to check the name and—Oh? Well for starters what a pretty thing you were. “Hello…Y/n?” Voice raising at the end, checking his pronunciation.
You smiled brightly at him trying to hide the little squeak you made before nodding and greeting him back enthusiastically, “Oh my gosh, Mingyu hi!”
Many fans somehow found ways to constantly win the fancalls or fanmeets but he was confident that he’d never seen you at even a concert. With a face like that even with his bad memory he’d be sure to remember. Your face already enough to give him the boost of energy he so desperately needed.
He found himself reflecting your sweet smile at your excitement, “Is this your first fancall?”
You bit your lip softly before nodding, “Y-yeah, I’m sorry i’m just so overwhelmed right now. I’ve been a fan for so many years.” You expressed earnestly.
He couldn’t stop his tongue from lightly grazing against the bottom of his canines as he watched your plush lips. “Yeah?,” He gazed back up at your eyes, “ I’m honored, thank you for your continuous love and support…Who’s your favorite?” He asked cheekily.
You laughed in your hand at that, “You of course.” you lowered your hand as you felt a bit more comfortable to express yourself, remembering the short time for the calls despite all you wanted to say, “I had always been into kpop but Seventeen was always the most special group to me. Your music reminds me of youth and freedom and the love you all have for each other warms my heart. Watching you guys grow and flourish literally is my pick me up in life. I ended up falling for your charms seeing you take care of your members, i love your big heart! I was lucky enough to win this fancall so I just wanted to say this all from the bottom of my heart. Also your short hair is beautiful!” You ended passionately hoping you properly conveyed your emotions. You had been practicing this for over a week.
He couldn’t help the dazed smile that took over his features. Your words technically weren’t anything new. He had heard some variation in the hundreds of calls up to this point but something about yours was just different. The back of his neck slowly warming at the thought of little ole you watching over Seventeen (him) this whole time.
He thanked you sincerely again as he sneakily snuck his hand across the table to turn off the impending timer—he wanted more time with you. Hopefully you couldn’t see the little imaginary devil horns adorning his head at his little scheme.
“ Where do you live?” He asked pointedly. He watched your brows slightly raise at the sudden inquiry,” Your window—,” He pointed behind you,” It looks about the same time of day as it is for me… are you close by Korea?”
He knew at this point things were slowly heading down a road that was hardly appropriate to engage in with a sweet little fan like yourself but he felt the risk was worth. It wasn’t everyday he got to meet a girl as enthralling as you. I mean how could he not, those beautiful eyes taking him in like that, your sincere words and admiration—he may be an idol but he was still just a man at the end of the day. A weak man.
“O-oh” You looked back at your window before turning around, “Well right now, I’m actually in Korea—like as we speak. I’m here for work. I think it’s been about two weeks already…”
Korea you say? The next words slipped out before he could even catch himself, too busy examining your features. “Modeling?” As if it was a no-brainer.
You threw your head back in laughter at that but he didn’t get what was so funny. Seeing that he was expectantly waiting for an answer you wiped your stray tear and responded.
“No, no model over here but i’m working on a TV production set for a company is Seoul”
Oh? You’re in Seoul too. He’s in Seoul…and he doesn’t believe in coincidences. Don’t you think—things are aligning too perfectly?
“Such a stunning face like that behind the camera,” He whines playfully, “It’s a crime!”
His face lights up at your bashful giggle at his compliment, it made him feel on top of the world. Even though this was your fancall he just needed to know more, and flatter you more, hoping you wouldn’t catch on that the timer would’ve gone off minutes ago. Afraid that piece of information would scare you off.
“Your boyfriend back home must be missing you right now then, “ he continued shamelessly, eyes hanging low waiting for your reply.
Your eyes shifted feeling a little hot under his unwavering gaze, “It’s okay, I d-don’t have one anyways” You twiddled your thumbs.
“Yeah? You don’t need one anyways though, right? Cause I’m your favorite, “ He jokingly stated.
It took you a beat before you caught the teasing joke, not confirming nor denying. Mingyu often playfully teasing fans for looking at other men wasn’t anything new. But in those videos he’d be sporting his signature pout but right now he was completely fixated on you, mouth slightly ajar in wonder. You felt your chest get hot briefly feeling so small in the presence of a cunning wolf. You reflexively went to check the time on your phone—
“Right, Y/n?” Your breathe caught hearing your name come from his lips for the second time that day. You forgot your name was even displayed on the screen let alone expecting to hear it again, especially like that.
Mingyu wanted an answer, and he wanted you to stop checking the time on your damn phone. His eyes like a puppy’s reading “pay attention to me”.
“Of course Mingyu,” you conceded demurely, forgetting your train of thought. “You’re the golden standard honestly. There’s a inside joke amongst Carats that God made you as an apology for men haha and i can’t help but think there must be some truth to that” You said matter of factly knowing how much he loved when fans stroked his ego and just how true it was. The handsome smile you received from that was damn near blinding but as a fan it was a dream to make your idol happy and tell him the truths about himself that he deserved to hear. He was handsome, kind, talented and all of the above.
You were so cute—fuck. He had been privy to that little joke a couple months back, constantly being heralded for all his green flags he had as a potential boyfriend or husband but he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty at hearing them from you. Because he knew he was failing miserably at stopping the nasty thoughts of him doing naughty things to the beautiful Carat he had the pleasure of meeting at that moment.
“Earlier” He started softling shaking his head out of those images,” You said you liked my short hair— which one do you like most? If you had to choose, Long or short?” He didn’t want to come off sleazy with the constant flirting and possibly make you uncomfortable so he went back to earlier in the conversation to lighten the tension. Maybe it’d help with tightness currently in his sweatpants.
He expected you to struggle before ultimately landing on long hair like everyone else would answer but your quick and confident reply of “Short” caught him off guard.
He ran a hand through his cut locks subconsciously. You were the first to say that. He liked his short hair too but it seemed like most of fans didn’t and made sure to let him know. He knew they didn’t mean harm by it but your heartfelt validation made his ears redden against his tan skin.
“Really?” His eyebrows raised before grinning childishly, “You’re not just saying that?”
You mirrored his grin, “Your long hair fits you very well but short really is my favorite. Hmm,” You tapped your chin in thought, “ You look more pretty and soft with long hair but God you look so manly and sexy with it short like a firefighter. And with your big arms and-”
You glanced back down absentmindedly just to see his shocked expression before covering your face up in embarrassment. You did not mean to say all of that out loud, worried you might’ve made him uncomfortable with your involuntary tangent.
“And?” He leaned forward head in hands tilted teasingly, “Big arms and what Y/n?”
You peeked through your fingers, “Well you know, y-you take good care of yourself and it shows.” You promptly closed your fingers again.
He chuckled at your cute antics, heart squeezing painfully, wishing he was there to pry your hands from your pretty face and get all up in your bubble.
“So you like manly looking men huh?, “ He leans back naturally spreading his legs under the table—though you couldn’t see, “I’ll keep that in mind.” For some reason when you talked about his body like that it didn’t make him feel awkward or objectified like in the past with other fans. Quite the opposite, it excited him. Were you thinking dirty thoughts about him too? God he wanted to hear them.
A ring from your side of the call rung out causing you to curse lightly before looking at him again, previous shyness leaving. You ordered food almost 20 minutes ago?! You hadn’t realized the time flew so fast talking to Mingyu. But why didn’t the timer go off? Before you could question him the restless delivery driver banged on your door.
“Mingyu it was so nice finally meeting you,” You started to get up, your smooth thigh coming into focus causing him to bite his lip and discreetly shift his leg to hide his erection, “My foods at the door so I have to go-“
“No don’t goooo,” he pouted ,” I’ll wait right here so go and quickly bring it back yeah?” He gave you his best pleading eyes, he didn’t want the call to end, at least not yet.
You pulled down your lounging dress slightly before nodding and swiftly heading off the screen, a slight “coming!” heard in the background.
He tapped away on his phone patiently waiting for you to return until he heard a knock on his door. Turning back he saw Hoshi’s head pop out.
“Bro you’re still not done?” Hoshi glanced around the room, “Everyone’s heading home soon, you need to wrap it up before management notices”
Mingyu held his hands in a begging motion, “Hyung distract them for a bit, please i’ll be quick” he pleaded.
Hoshi raised an eyebrow in question but left with a huff of ‘you owe me’ before closing the door. With a ‘hehe’ Mingyu turned around just in time for you to settle back down with your takeout in hand.
“Ooo whatd you get Y/n?” He really liked the way your name sounded on his lips.
You looked up at the sound of your name again and smiled as you took out the containers, “I got some Tteokkbokki, dumplings, kimchi of course and look,” you held up your last dish, “ The place by my apartment makes a salmon katsudon and its-“ You moan dramatically just at the thought (causing him to flinch in his pants),” It’s to die for.”
“Wahh that looks so good…” he trailed off watching your cheeks chub as you were already digging into your food, he just wanted to reach over and pinch them. You barely even noticed as he watched you quietly cause you were in your own world, obviously underestimating how hungry you were. Once you realized you were quite literally stuffing your face in front of Mingyu you haphazardly swallowed what was left in your mouth ready to apologize but when you looked up he was just gazing at you fondly.
“Is there something on my face?” You wondered out loud, putting your container down.
“You just look so cute enjoying your food. I’ll have to try that place soon” He tugged on his ear nervously, “ Hey Y/n?”
You looked back at him with wide eyes,” Hmm?”
“I really have to go soon,” He began, eyes slightly saddening at that fact,” But Seventeen is having a fan meet in Seoul next week…. If i send you some tickets through your company would you come?” He would’ve liked to give them to you personally but that might be a little to forward for now.
Your mouth dropped at that, never thinking such an outcome would come from this fancall. Really all you wanted was to convey your appreciation to the group. You nodded dumbly before giving him your companies details upon his request still slightly lost that this was all happening.
He was elated you accepted making sure to store that information safely so he could send the tickets later. “I really hope to see you then Y/n-“ he heard footsteps getting close to his room signally him he really had to let go of you for now, “I’ve taken too much of your time, enjoy your food and-“
He hesitated ending the call as he always did. Normally an easy ‘love you~’ was his go-to but for some reason it felt so intimate relaying it to you. “Thank you for loving seventeen and… I love you~” He blew a kiss, his eyes never straying from yours despite the heat in his cheeks.
You gasped quietly at his ending words. You knew he always told his fans that but right then you didn’t feel like he was telling you that as just an idol to supporter.
“Love you too Mingyu, take care of yourself Okay?”
The steps were getting louder so he initiated his melancholic goodbye before you reciprocated with a breathless one of your own; ultimately ending the call.
Just in time he got up as a staff member entered the room. Acting none the wiser Mingyu moved passed them with a bow saying he was heading home before any questions could be asked. He really needed to take care of his problem downstairs anyways.
While in the car on the way home he sent a message to his manager and gave your workplaces information to send some tickets for you and your coworkers, not to draw any unnecessary attention to you specifically . His manager didn’t question the sudden gift exchange which he was thankful for, only asking if there was anything else needed. Mingyu typed out a ‘nope hyung thanks’ in return until he envisioned that gorgeous smile of yours but this time it was within arms reach.
‘Hyung, can you get an NDA ready by next week too?’
NDA - non disclosure agreement, can be used for various things but in this case many celebrities have the people they keep close to them or want to start a relationship with sign one to protect their privacy pls comment it inspires me (°▽°)
#kim mingyu x reader#mingyu x reader#svt x reader#mingyu smut#seventeen x reader#mingyu scenarios#mingyu x y/n#mingyu x you#mingyu fluff#kim mingyu fluff#mingyu imagines#seventeen fluff#svt fluff#kpop x reader#kpop fluff
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Now that I know your requests are open, BE READY TO RECEIVE SOME TOE CURLING ASKS!!!
Like for example, I’m desperate for overstimulated Bucky 😩 like we all know Bucky can’t get enough of his girl, to the point where she’s gone dumb, but there’s something about tying up a big strong metal armed super soldier and making him cum over and over and over while he’s begging (he doesn’t know what he’s begging for, you to continue or stop like ✋)
Emphasis on the tying him up and sucking his soul out of his body, with your own body.
But you know, this was just a suggestion 🫶🫶keep up the great work!! 🌸🌸🌸🌸
Girl🥵
That is so fucking hot i can’t even, got me like😵💫😵💫😵💫🫠🫠🫠✋️✋️✋️💦💦💦
Okay so I immediately sat down and started writing after reading this. Overstim is honestly one of my favorite things. Let's hope i did it justice🙏🙏🙏
Big boy
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Word count: 2,3k
Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral (f and m recieving), handjob, slightly severe overstimulation, messy creampie, messy, filthy fluids everywhere, bondage, slight d/s vibes(with sweet, subby, needy Bucky), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk
Summary: see the lovely prompt above💗
Note: the gif is cocky Bucky before he knew what he’d gotten himself into😏
“Keep your eyes on it,” you said, your voice drifting in through the cotton like muffle over Bucky’s hearing. He blinked the blur from his eyesight and heaved for breath, wave after wave of syrupy pleasure tinged with overexertion lining his lungs and loins like the finest lace.
Looking down his body, covered in sweat and twitching sporadically, he watched helplessly as you bent forward, sliding your pussy slowly off his cock. It made an obscenely wet noise as it slapped back onto his stomach, adding more wetness to the drenched patch of hair below his navel. From your position astride his hips facing away from him, he had an unobstructed view of the utter mess between your legs, your red and swollen pussy gaping slightly below your puckered asshole, the sight sending off small fireworks off undiluted, heady arousal in Bucky’s head.
You moaned softly and a moment later Bucky answered with a downright helpless mewl as his cum, pearly white and thick, began to drip out of your pussy. His whole body jolted, his cock jerking in a feeble attempt at rising. You knew what that exact sight did to him, how it chafed at some primal being inside him, how desperate it made him to pounce on you and pin you down, to cover you in his body and nuzzle your neck, to imprint himself on you and in you until he was ingrained in your very being.
His arms jerked, but even his vibranium arm was powerless against the restraints you’d so cleverly acquired. He’d been so cocky when you’d asked to tie him up in the bedroom, all overinflated male pride and confidence in the fact that few bindings could keep his strength leashed. He’d grown hard in his pants and happily relaxed onto his back in your bed, head rested on the mountain of soft pillows. His arrogance had turned on a dime once you seemingly out of nowhere whipped out a pair of vibranium handcuffs and proceeded to fasten his wrists to bolts drilled into the very concrete of the wall behind the bed. Bucky had only realized his mistake once you’d secured his vibranium arm and leaned back with a grin filled with so much wicked glee he’d actually gulped. A few, increasingly earnest tugs on his bonds had solidified it. He was indeed completely at your mercy. Not helping at all, his cock had grown even harder at the realization.
Now, god knew how many orgasms later, he could hear his blood pumping thick and slow in his ears, saturated with pleasure so intense and drawn out it sizzled in every nerve until the point of numbness, and watched helplessly as you elegantly turned around on the mattress and leaned forward between his legs, your eyes filled with mischief and a bratty confidence that had Bucky’s hands itching to spank your asscheeks raw.
You blew soft, cold air on his swollen shaft and he shuddered at the sensation, more overworked than he’d ever been before. He didn’t know if his cock was still hard or just so swollen from all the stimulation it couldn’t shrink back to its normal, soft state. It seemed encased in a thick layer of rubber numbing it while simultaneously feeling so rubbed raw every nerve ending was exposed. He didn’t know if he wanted more or desperately needed reprieve. Okay, maybe that was a lie. You had insisted he choose a safeword before you started, and he hadn’t once considered saying it out loud, not even now.
A choking sound forced itself from him as you bent down to kiss his shaft, making it rise up to twitch against your lips as you peppered it with light, loving kisses.
“P-please,” Bucky heard himself saying, wrists weakly tugging on his bonds.
You looked up at him with sensual, low-lidded eyes, laying your cheek on his hip and letting a finger slowly trail up and down his sensitive cock. Bucky hissed and shuddered, his reactions wildly out of proportion to the things you were doing. But he couldn’t help it, he was so sensitive.
“What are you begging so sweetly for, baby?” you asked.
Bucky didn’t know, not really. His mind was a melting blurr of sensation and pleasure, and he just knew he needed you, though he couldn’t string together his thoughts to figure out in what way.
“I…I can’t,” he huffed out between great puffs of air as your finger continued to tease and tickle his overstimulated flesh.
You tsked and pouted.
“Aw, don’t tell me you’re tapping out already, big boy?” you asked in a sickly sweet, slightly condescending tone. You wrapped your hand around his aching cock and began jerking him, moving the foreskin up and down, the glide easy and wet by the copious amount of slick mixed with his cum still covering it from the way you’d ridden two orgasms out of him in one go.
Bucky moaned, a long, drawn out, desperate thing as he watched your hand helplessly, so fucking hard and so fucking sensitive.
“I want you to give me one more,” you said, soft and slow, watching his face as your hand sped up. Bucky threw his head back and panted at the ceiling, One more? How many had he already given you? Four? Five? He didn’t even know he could cum so much consecutively, but surely he couldn’t come any more now?
Bucky groaned at the ceiling as his body warred between exhaustion and the tension you were slowly and meticulously building in him despite everything, how a tingling sensation began growing in his balls even as his purple, engorged cock-head throbbed in protest.
Was he actually going to come again? He couldn’t believe it, but his body was tensing up, his breath coming out in puffs, the muscles in his thighs bulging. Yes, he could feel it, it was coming, it was within reach.
“God,” he choked out, and you moaned in encouragement, kissing his hip as your hand sped up the tiniest bit.
Bucky whipped his head down to look in disbelief as a splash of cum jettisoned out of his cock to add to the mess on his stomach, his body shuddering violently.
“That’s it,” you breathed with delight, playfully biting his hip as you jerked him through the tiny orgasm, soothing him with your hands up and down his body as you kissed you way up his torso, taking a nipple into your mouth and suckling noisily. You’d both been surprised by how sensitive Bucky’s nipples were, and he still struggled to admit how fucking much he loved it when you played with them, the tingling going straight down to his groin. Bucky shuddered as you bullied the nipple with your tongue and teeth the exact way he used to do to you.
Bucky was still struggling to gather his frayed and scrambled thoughts while his body shivered in the aftershocks of his pleasure, and he heard himself make a sound suspiciously like a whimper as you straddled his waist and laid down on top of him. Bucky relished the heavenly intimacy of your skin on his, of your warmth covering him, and felt himself overwhelmed with emotion as you nuzzled his cheek and wrapped your arms around his neck. He tucked his face into the hollow of your throat, trying to get closer, desperately wanting to wrap his arms around your body. He made the weird whimpering sound again and didn’t even have enough presence of mind to be embarrassed by it. He wanted to kiss you so bad, he needed to feel the comfort and security of your lips.
“P-please…kiss me,” he mumbled into the skin of your neck, eyes closing against the onslaught of churning pleasure of your body on his mingling with his body struggling to cope with the pleasure of his last orgasm.
You pulled back and kissed him immediately, humming soothingly as he hungrily pushed your lips open with his to suck on your tongue. You kissed him again and again, pulling back far too soon and Bucky shamelessly whined in protest, stretching his neck towards you, mindlessly trying to reclaim your mouth.
“You’re being so good, baby, it’s making me so wet,” you mumbled against his lips, and he shuddered and moaned against your mouth, helpless against the visceral reaction he had to you using dirty words. “Wanna see?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, and Bucky gasped in a mix of arousal and trepidation. Yes, he fucking wanted to see, he fucking loved your pussy, loved watching it, loved seeing it messy and sloppy wet. At the same time, he didn’t know if he could stand anymore now, he was too fucking sensitive, too overstimulated, his cock pulsing along with his pulse where it lay still swollen and spent against his stomach.
You didn’t wait for him to answer and Bucky watched, breath speeding up, as you raised yourself up and scooted up to straddle his chest. He could feel the wetness between your legs smear against his abs and he downright growled in frustration. It was too much. He wanted to fucking ruin you. Pulling your knees up, you leaned back with one hand on his thigh and splayed yourself out for him, your pussy so close, and yet just out of reach.
Bucky let out a huffing sound of desperation as he beheld your sopping wet cunt, seeing a tiny trail of his cum still leaking out of you, down over your asshole and pooling on his chest. God it was so fucking hot, and you knew how weak he was against a sight like that, how much he fucking loved to have sweat and cum and spit and slick covering you both. And he knew if he kept watching it, his cock would try and rise again, and he didn’t know if he could survive another attempt at orgasming.
“You see how swollen it is, baby?” you asked, reaching your free hand down and slowly tracing over your pussy lips, circling teasingly around your clit. Bucky licked his lips, imagining he could conjure your sweet, heady taste on his tongue, and nodded, not able to tear his gaze away from his very favorite thing on this earth. “It aches for you baby, it wants you to fuck it again,” you added, watching carefully as Bucky’s mind imploded a little.
“Oh God, doll, I don’t…I can’t… I… please,” he moaned out between labored breaths, not even knowing what he was babbling about, but completely unable to tear his gaze away from your sweet cunt and the way it clenched as you kept toying with your own clit.
“You want to lick it, baby?” you asked.
Oh god, yes he wanted it, but fuck, he knew his cock would get hard again if he did. Well, try at least. You knew it too. Wicked little minx, you were strumming him like a well-tuned fiddle. Still, Bucky nodded mindlessly, desperate for you. You cooed at him, dragging a hand through his hair lovingly and scooted closer to push your cunt into his face, and he moaned long and gratefully as you started to grind on his mouth. “Mmmm, just like that, that feels so good, baby,” you said as you undulated, his tongue flicking your clit the way he knew you liked, his mind buzzing with the fulfilling pleasure of eating you out, of giving you pleasure, of tasting the mix of his own taste with yours on his tongue like the most heady aphrodisiac. His cheeks were flush, feverish both from his exertion but now also from the way your praise made him feel all tingly, floating on a cloud. He felt high, drugged out of his mind on pleasure.
He was faintly aware he was continually moaning into your pussy, eyes half-closed and dazed as you got closer and closer to release, bucking your hips. A hand fisted on his hair and his moan turned to a growl. Yes, yes, yes, he kept chanting in his head as you came in his mouth, your cunt pulsing, drenching his chin in more of your juices. His cock throbbed with his sped-up heartbeat, rigid against his stomach as you came and came and came and all Bucky could think was yes, yes, yes…
Bucky was still buzzing away in a cloud of slowly drifting thoughts of you when he faintly registered your weight lifting off his chest, and then he was promptly brought back to reality when a hand wrapped around his cock. He cried out, blurry eyes looking down to see you between his legs again, holding his slightly hard cock in a gentle grasp. He whimpered openly this time as you lowered your mouth to gently lick the underside of his cock, tenderly but firmly coaxing his overworked cock back to rigid hardness.
“I want one more,” you murmured against the head of his cock before the tip of your tongue gently swiped at his frenulum, and Bucky could only whine low in his throat, completely beyond words, body writhing on the mattress. “You’re so hard, daddy, feels like your cock wants to come again,” you murmured, rising up and gently straddling his hips, fitting his cock between your soggy pussy lips. Your hips started a slow grinding motion and Bucky’s breath started to come out in puffs. He sounded like an angry bull, for christ’s sake, and he melted down into the mattress, eyes glued to the way your cunt slid up and down his cock, teasing and overwhelming him at the same time.
You raised your hips and placed the head of his cock at your entrance, and Bucky watched in trepidation mixed with helpless arousal as you slowly started sinking down on him. His eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth dropped open as his mind blanked out completely from the pleasure
#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky fic#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#prompt#prompt fic
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So request kinda if not just sharing my thoughts in general.
Alex. My boy. What if reader is a civ or even another soldier in a different squad and the whole thing with him joining Farah’s forces indefinitely. I think this can really lend itself to some angst and that good old misunderstanding. Kinda leaning towards civ!reader just because the more miscommunication. I guess it’d have to be an angsty ending though 😳, but regardless-
Love your writing and, as always, feel free to change anything or do whatever gives you the most inspiration
World Caves In
PAIRING: Alex Keller x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: Perhaps it would have been better if your husband had died - at the very least you could understand that.
WORD COUNT: 7.9k
WARNINGS: Angst, misunderstandings/miscommunication, hurt/comfort, vulgar language, abandonment?, Alex being an adorable husband, fluff, etc.
A/N: I was gonna make this an angsty ending but I got my period and thinking about that made me cry so here we are, lmao. Enjoy, Anon!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
When you’d been escorted out of work by two uniformed men, you knew the news wasn’t going to be good. Sitting in the back of a large black car, you spare nervous glances as the vehicle jumps, its wheels going over the last speed bump. Your work building begins to become a fraction of a memory and disappears faster than your resolve.
The men sit on either side of you, silent, and the only comment is to the driver as you all enter the main road. Swallowing, you part your lips and mutter, plain dread in your tone, “Is he alive?”
All you get is a glance from the front mirror and nothing more. You hunch more in your seat and stew in agony, mind far off on the topic of your husband.
Alex wasn’t overly reckless, you’d managed to snuff most of that out over the course of the many years you’d expressed concern to him about it, but a large chuck of the blond was still too selfless for his own good. It was hard not to think the worst.
From training to advising, your husband was always off on one mission to another, far from your quaint and quiet home here—where you waited day after day for even a sliver of contact from him. Alex specialized in so many things that trying to wrap your head around it was impossible.
Even now, you only knew the bare minimum.
The soft-smiled man worked in the SAD division of the CIA. He’s an Operations Officer. Currently, he’s somewhere across the globe.
Away from you.
Thinning your lips, you take down a deep breath and settle back into the seat, pulse flying. The men were obviously Agents—you’d looked closely at their badges when they’d first shown their faces at the front desk and had kept within view of your work’s security cameras just in case this was a ruse. When you could find nothing out of the ordinary, you had tensely asked them what was happening.
They would be holding his dog tags if he was dead, you had reasoned, desperately, a flag.
It was frantic, the way you had thought that up; how could you not be like that? Alex was the light of your life! With him constantly putting his life on the line, it was inevitable for him to get hurt, sometimes seriously. It was ingrained into your mind the way you would help clean his wounds in the middle of the night when the pain woke him up with a grunt stuck in his throat. The way you would sit half-asleep in his lap and re-wrap bandages while he told you to go back to bed half-heartedly. His hands drifting over your warm skin like he was cascading his fingers up and down the spine of an old book.
You never listened.
“It’s late, Bug, I can’t keep you up like this.” His drawl echoes in your ear as you rub a heavy palm into your eye. Alex’s hands are both on your hips, squeezing the flesh just below your tiny sleep shorts. You have him sitting on the floor, back resting on the wall and shirt discarded to the side only wearing loose gray sweatpants. A long cut up his left pec is the center of your blurry attention—a wet rag held as you dab at it. Blue eyes narrow at you. “I’m just fine with doing it myself, y’know.”
“You’re being stubborn again,” you utter, the soft light of the bathroom placed at half-capacity to at least try and keep some of the veil of sleep over your heads. “I told you to wake me up when you needed it cleaned.” Your skin brushes his and Alex shivers under you, sighing breathily. “And you’re not keeping me here—I’m helping.”
A small flash of that full smile, mustache flinching up, “Well when you look so pretty sleepin’ I can’t just shake you awake and tell you to fix me up.”
You take your free hand and pinch his nose, yawning as he grunts out chuckles. A delicate glance is thrown his way as the rag lowers from reddened skin. Like a butterfly's whisper, you study his face gently; reaching and cupping his cheek with your palm.
Alex’s lids flutter, heavy weight falling into you as if waiting for this—lips pressing to your inner wrist in reverence. You hold back a tired giggle and feel the corner of his mouth pull up when he feels it.
“All that talk, and yet,” pressing a smooch to his forehead you take your hand back and hear the grumble he lets out after, “you still like it better when I’m the one that’s working on you.”
“Can’t complain too much,” he admits slowly as his head leans back to tap the wall, “my wife’s hands are way softer than mine.”
Alex’s grip on your flesh tightens when you sipe away the last line of crimson from the wound, tattooed arms flexing.
“Sorry,” you whisper, watching his eyes slightly awash with pain. “Got caught on a stitch.”
“Ah, well,” the blond sighs, shifting “I suppose I can forgive you.”
Laughing quietly as the house settles, you shake your head and rest your forehead on his.
“Such a saint,” your lips utter teasingly as Alex smiles wide, his hands moving higher to your waist. You lean into him, stealing his warmth as your tired eyes flutter; feeling his thumbs run circles over the flesh of your lower spine.
A content breath escapes you.
“Go back to bed, Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, lips brushing yours like silk, the bristles of his facial hair tickling you. “I can do the rest, promise.”
“Know you can,” your mutterings are barely heard, but the man seems to register them, sea-glass gaze incredibly soft. He chuckles at your sleepiness, one hand leaving your waist to capture the back of your head; weaving into your hair and gently massaging your scalp. You practically melt into him, limbs going slack, slurring out, “Quit it. Wanna help, Alex.”
His laughter shakes you, and with a huff escaping, you bury your burning face into his neck and lean into him, careful of his wound even in your fatigued state.
“No offense, Bug,” Alex shifts, grunting as he easily maneuvers you until you’re laying in his arms, inked forearms under your knees and behind your shoulders with vivid images of grim reapers, snakes, and angels guarding you close. A kiss is firmly pressed to your forehead as the blonde smirks downwards, “But you’re about as helpful to me right now as an empty mag.”
You grumble, trying to disappear into his skin and letting him dig his stubble into your cheek.
“If you bring me back to bed before you’re done,” you yawn and close your eyes, “I’m divorcing you.”
He laughs deeply into your ear, body shaking as he pulls back and sends you an incredulous look.
“Hell, we can’t have that, can we, Mrs. Keller? I’d lose my damn mind.”
It’s a long drive, and you worry through the entirety of it. A primal, whole-body-shaking type of fear. You’d built a life with Alex and loved him more than anything or anyone that had come before. Even if he was gone a lot, that had never dulled what the two of you had—your marriage was nothing short of something you would find in a fairy tale; flashing pictures on pages with vivid colors and tender glances. The very cover itself is made of the finest leather and inlaid with gold calligraphy.
Please, Alex, you plead in your head as you remember his loving gaze—his back as he makes supper in the kitchen and hums to himself. Please be okay.
The men hold open the car door when it comes to a stop outside a very obviously abandoned apartment complex near the outskirts of town. You get out quickly. Looking around, you take in the overgrown grass and the broken concrete with a knife in your lung; holding back the flood of anxious tears.
Though, confusion takes president.
“Where did you…?” You turn to look at the Agents, but they’re already clambering back into their car and snapping the doors shut. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed you watch them speed off as a cloud of dust drifts into the air.
Pulse echoing in your ears, you watch the vehicle speed down the road and disappear.
Swallowing, you whisper, “What the actual fuck?” Turning in circles, no one else is around. A part of you starts to worry less for Alex and more for yourself.
They were CIA, you reiterate, I checked their badges—Alex showed me the standard ones. Could I have missed something?
Expression nervous, you shift on your feet before your stuttering legs take you closer to the abandoned building, not really seeing much choice here. You could imagine the scene from The Wizard Of Oz—when the man pulls back the curtain and all is revealed.
That said, you could really only hope that was what was actually happening to you and you weren't getting kidnapped or shot. Taking a deep breath, you clench your fists and enter the building through the open front door.
It was in the wide lobby that you locked eyes with Kate Laswell. You blank, mouth parting as the scent of concrete and decaying furniture get stuck in your nose.
The woman seems highly agitated, brows tight and jaw clenched. Her white blouse had been flattened multiple times by rough hands, lanyard swaying on her neck like Alex’s dog tags would. She holds a file in her hands; the paper bulky as if holding something more than just paper inside its manila clutches.
“Kate?” You ask, confused, “What are you doing here? What’s all of this about?” Taking quick steps forward you splay your hands as your voice grows more serious. “Where’s my damn husband?”
You didn’t know Laswell personally, in fact, when you had first got a glimpse of her here, you’d forgotten the older woman’s name for a moment. The first meeting between the two of you had been at a CIA get-together that Alex had been forced to go to because of his position—some celebration because a group of ICBMs had been taken back into US hands after being stolen. Your husband had introduced you to the Station Chief over a drink with a hand on the small of your back.
But it didn’t stop you now from talking to her like you’d known her for years. Not when fear was flooding your veins.
“What the hell is going on?” You say harshly, glancing around the room for any sight of someone else here.
Kate sighs heavily but wastes no time in speaking, her professional tone and serious face leaving your already fast-paced heart racing.
“Alex isn’t coming back to the United States.” Your eyes blank, staring into icy blue. She holds out her manila folder, jaw tight. Blunt. “He’s a deserter.”
It’s like your entire being halts; your skin suit feels as if it’s sagging on your bones with the weight of a cinder block connected by hooks to the floor.
What did she just say?
Opening and closing your mouth you stutter, lids blinking rapidly.
“I…” Fingers flinching in the air, an exhalation from your nose sounds more like a wheeze. Kate watches stiffly, taking a look at the floor before returning her attention to you; emotion flashes in her eyes. “...W-what?”
“Keller deserted his post—I tried to speak with the Colonel but there’s only so much I can do.” Laswell takes a deep breath as you continue to go through shock. Alex wasn’t coming home? How, why? “He’s staying in Urzikstan to fight with the Liberation Force.”
“Urzikstan?!” You gape, but the woman continues.
“For all intents and purposes, I shouldn’t be here, but Alex asked me personally to hand these to you.” Again the manilla folder is shown to you, but when you only glare and fight the fear and confusion rampaging in your gut a sigh echoes out and it’s placed on a termite-eaten side table. “Even communicating with you could put you in danger now that he’s gotten on the bad side of the entire SAD and CIA branches. This is all I can do.”
“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hand coming up to capture your mouth.
“If Alex re-enters the states—he’ll be arrested and tried in a court of law. If he’s not shot on sight for what he knows.” Kate watches you closely, shaking her head in pity. “I’m sorry,” there’s a strained pause, “but he’s made his decision.”
As she brushes past you, leaving the folder on the side table, you feel your wide eyes well with tears—confused and horrified. But he’s coming back to me, right? Alex…Alex wouldn’t leave me here alone.
It was common knowledge that over the last years the blond had gotten more agitated at his line of work; the orders that he didn’t want to follow but had no choice. No voice. But he can’t just abandon you...could he? You’d taken vows. Had a happy marriage and relationship. Loved each other.
He can’t just…he can’t…
Your hands shake and you’re unable to stop them, gaze locked on that unassuming manilla folder. Kate pauses in the doorway, peeking back and seeing your sickly-looking face, the agony written in the lines of your forehead. Like the picture of a loyal wife being told her husband was never coming home. And Alex wasn’t even dead. Resentment begins to burn.
But he made his bed.
“He told me to tell you that he wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to leave him,” was all she said, a final knife being stabbed into your heart and being ripped out like a live wire. Electricity makes your back go stiff in an instant. “It would be best to never tell anyone that we met.”
You were alone, full body shivers and bile stuck in the back of your throat. Cold sweat coats your palms, a sticky mess of your barebones disturbance.
“He…” your voice is hoarse, bouncing off the far walls. “Alex left me here? He left me.”
It was easier to say that the sun had exploded and you were waiting for the last beam of light to incinerate you. Inside of your skull your brain pounds as, in a mad dash of desperation, you rush to the manilla folder and rip it open with vibrating arms.
Having Laswell tell you that Alex wouldn’t be mad if you…if you…the hairs on the back of your neck rise and suddenly you’re angry beyond a sliver of a doubt. It was insulting.
“Alex fucking Keller,” the paper opens to the bulk of your husband's dog tags and a flip phone—reports like his own personal file and the patch that he had once worn so proudly on his combat vest. Red, white, and blue dig into your retinas; it was old, worn beyond measure, but that little patch was something that was never removed. Not even to be cleaned.
“The dirtier it is,” Alex had commented on the American flag patch when you’d offered to mend it for him, cringing at all the blood stains and dirt flecking off it as he slipped his vest off in the foyer of your home. “The luckier I am.”
“I think the stench of it alone will frighten off anyone who comes near,” you had raised a brow, smirking up at him as he walked over, laughing. A kiss is placed on your lips, Alex’s bright smile transferring over to you as if able to spread from his mouth to yours that simply. You sigh dreamily.
He pulls back with a tiny wink as you gaze up at him, cheekily stating, “That’s the plan, Sweet Thing. Gotta make sure I come home to you in one piece.”
You brush your hands over it and think that maybe it would have been better if he had died. Then you could understand why he’s doing this to you. Anger spreads into rage.
Looking next at the phone and dog tags, all you do is shake your head and slam the folder shut, bitter tears tracking your face. You can’t read anything—can’t see his name imprinted on that metal that used to press coldly into your skin as you both slept in bed. You don’t care about the phone or the files.
None of it mattered.
“He fucking left me here,” it’s like you’re a broken record replaying over and over again. “You absolute bastard, Keller!” Yelling, you press your fingers into your face, hands spreading over your eyes and mouth to muffle your enraged sobs.
“You’re still alive and you left me alone.”
Only the abandoned building echoes your pain; replaying it back over and over again as your wails echo around the lobby like a symphony of laughing jesters.
—
The phone that Laswell had given you had been going off at least three times every day—morning, noon, and at night. You had stared at it with fury, knowing exactly who was calling even if the thing was displaying an unknown number. By now you had steeped in your anger enough that you had found yourself snapping at friends and family alike when asked if you were alright.
You wished Alex was here so you could hit him upside the head for being so stupid. So you could hate him until you had the pleasure to love him again.
Urzikstan.
You’d looked up the country after you had spent two days straight in bed, afterward manically cleaning the house with a glare that could light fires. The far-off place was a land utterly divided by war. Russian occupation, a terrorist group; the force that your husband had joined. Mass against mass against mass.
Brick meets wall.
And Alex had chosen to stay—without a doubt because he’d seen the dire situation and had used that damnable good heart of his to empathize to the max. Forget donations, humanitarian work, or anything else, the man had fucking decided to join in a Liberation Force.
As much as you wanted to say you hated him; had wanted to slam your gold wedding band to the table with a good riddance for betraying you like that…you still had his dog tags around your neck, and the ring was still on your finger.
“Too good for his own sake,” you grumble, shoving dirty clothes into the washer like they had tried to attack you. “Deserted the fucking CIA, Jesus Alex. Do you even think when I’m not around?”
There were only so many times you could curse his name until you felt a deceiving needle of pride slither itself into your skull. You could describe Alex as many things but he would always be steadfast in causes that truly needed his help. He often told you that the best missions were the ones where he could do so much more than take out a target—he strived to help the individuals he met. Form bonds.
God forbid something came in between the blond and the ones he’d chosen to give his loyalty to.
You slam the washer shut and stomp into the living room after starting another cycle. Stress cleaning was really not a good look on you—the entire house was without a single spec of dust but you yourself felt like you’d run seven marathons. Clenching your teeth, you go and drop to the couch, a grunt falling from your lips as your head hits the pillow.
Staring at the ceiling, you finally take in the utter silence of the house—not a home, because it could only be that if Alex was here—with a pained crease forming on your brow. The pipes spit water, and the washer grunted its mechanical garble…but there was no humming man making food in the kitchen. No blond hair visible as a head rests on your chest; your fingers playing in the locks that act like silk as you part them, the man on top of you purring. Body a weighted blanket.
“Was it really that easy,” you whisper to nothing, lip quivering. “Was it really that easy to stay away, Alex? I thought…I…”
Eyes wrenching shut, you hear the phone right at noon again as it sits on the coffee table. And you let it.
There were voicemails, no doubt, but you hadn’t thought to listen to those either. This small act of rebellion was all you could act on but for the simple fact that it also harmed you. Barbed wire steadily digging deeper as it kept your hands wound to your sides—neck plastered to the pillow as bright silver spikes glinted. You stare at the unknown caller who really wasn’t all that unknown and watch the screen light, vibrating over the wood in steady intervals.
What hurt the most was that if he’d asked you to come along—become an Expat just for him—you would have said yes. You could find a new job, a new place to call home. Humanitarian work would have been at the top of your list and Alex…well….he would still be fighting, just as he always had.
But at the very least you would have been there to clean his wounds. Together. You’d both promised on that altar to do nothing less. He could’ve asked. He should have asked.
Alex…
“Urzikstan,” you mutter for what seems like the fiftieth time. When the ringing stops a few moments later the new voicemail icon flashes. Placing your arm over your mouth, you clench your hand so tight it starts to shake, whispering into your skin, “Fine. I guess you did make your bed. And…and I won't be there to lie in it with you.” No matter how much I want to.
You slip the wedding band off of your finger and place it beside the phone before turning and burying your head into the cushions; feeling more numb than you ever had before.
—
It carried on like this for three months. The ring didn’t move from the coffee table and neither did the flip phone; the file had all but been tossed in the trash as it sat teetering on the living room desk. You carried on as well as you could, all things considered.
Work was a blur, going out with friends even harder to enjoy, and any enjoyment of hobbies or activities was dulled to an almost gray existence. Like a ghost, you wafted through experiences with dog tags and a withering appearance. Eventually, you just stopped going out unless it couldn’t be helped. You still bought meals for two at the grocery store out of habit. You placed blankets where Alex used to sleep beside you. You went to work.
And still, the calls never stopped except for a brief pause after the first month. You’d thought he’d finally given up, but no. Back at it.
It had gotten to a point now where the device was automatically deleting all recent voicemails—too little space in the inbox.
Angry curiosity was tempting you. It would be easy, you reason, to simply play the first message and listen. The worst part of it was that you’d begun to forget Alex’s voice and perhaps that was why, on that dead-aired Saturday, you snatched the phone and brought it into the kitchen.
Firmly planting it on the counter, you stand behind one of the island chairs and glare, hands tapping into the wood.
“I’m giving you three minutes, Alex,” you speak as if he’s still here, as if his form stands right behind you, head tilted like a damn dog with that infectious smile and those sea-glass eyes. “Three minutes,” your fingers snap the device open and you go to your voicemails; jaw tight, “and if you don’t hear you groveling, Keller, I’m deleting all of them and chucking this phone into the sink.”
You go down the line to the very first message, small buttons clicking, and before you can stop yourself you press play.
It begins with a small moment of silence. A cough.
“Hey,” he says your first name, not one of your epithets. Your brows deepen their annoyed furrow, but you can’t help the uptick in your heart rate. Inside your flesh, the sinews of your throat close in on itself like a balloon. “I…I’m guessin’ I have a good enough ass-kicking waiting for me since you didn’t answer.” A strained laugh before another pause. You feel acidic tears boil behind your lids. “I’m not surprised—not really. Done some stupid things but never something like this.” You can hear him shake his head, voice going lower in defiance. “But they were asking me to leave Urzikstan in a worse place than when I entered it. This Liberation Force, Bug, it…they’re good people and what they’re asking me to do…” Alex huffs, growling under his throat. “I can’t stand by that. The man you chose to marry, he can’t stand by that. They need me here. I’m not asking you to not be angry—to not hate me for this. I know I damn well deserve it.”
You let your tears hit the counter, head slightly bowing over. That was your Alex.
“You need a leash,” your strained voice hits the walls, bouncing off picture frames and your husband's cooking utensils. The small pieces that make up the whole picture frame of your life. “God,” you huff wetly, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“I know I should have talked to you first, figured out some plan. But, uh,” Alex’s throat gets choked up, and you snap a hand to your mouth when you realize he’s close to tears. He clears his throat. “Hell, I should have done a lot of things, Sweetheart.”
You can hear shouts in the background, calls in Arabic. The pounding of a door and a woman’s voice.
“Alex, we need to move! Everyone is ready—Barkov’s lab cannot be left standing a moment longer.” The hurried hand to the line muffles the words, but you hear him anyway.
“Affirmative!” He comes back. “I don’t have time to explain more, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… everything. I’d understand if you don’t use the passport Laswell’ll give you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stop calling.” Alex laughs and your face freezes.
“Passport?”
“What kind of Husband would I be if I just let the most perfect woman in the world go without a fight, huh? I’ll be waiting until you call to tell me to shut the hell up and leave you alone or that you’re down in the airport waiting.” There’s a large sound of combat vests being clicked on—pistols being situated into holsters and a rifle strap slipped over a chest. Alex suddenly pauses and you stare at the phone blankly. “I know this is a big ask, Doll, and I know I’m horrible for even springin’ this on you when I’m half a world away from our bed. But I had to try, even if it was selfish. I just…I just really need to hear your voice telling me if I’m an idiot or not for thinking this up. Call me back soon…or when you run out of my clothes to burn in the firepit out back…I love you, okay? More…more than anything.”
There’s a minute or two of nothing, just Alex’s ragged breathing, and then there’s an older man’s voice ordering him to hurry up. The line clicks.
Your ears ring as it does, wide eyes dripping tears from your bottom lashes as your lungs chill over. Hand slowly flinching out, you ghost over the keys before clicking on the following voicemail. As it plays, your feet start to take you backward at a snail's pace, your spine flattering against the wall as blood drains to your feet.
“Hey, it’s me again. I still haven’t heard from you—that’s alright. Take your time.” Steadying yourself with a hand, you look out of the kitchen and get a glimpse of the manila folder on the desk, its tan hide sucking you in. Pulse in your throat, you rush out to grab it as Alex’s voice echoes. “I know Laswell gave you the file, I trust her that much at least.” A sigh. “But even if it’s just to yell at me, please pick up the phone soon. Let me save some of my dignity and give me a chance to beg on an open line, huh, Sweetheart…? But I guess that’s all—gotta go. I love you.”
You don’t play the next message because you’re ripping open the file with rabid hands, seeing exactly as you had when Laswell left it for you. Alex’s mission report; his patch. The dog tags around your neck clink together like a song, some brutal rhythm.
“Passport?” Grasping the mission report you pick it up, flipping through the multiple pages of blacked-out words and more confused than ever. “Airport?”
The words come out as whimpers, hands so shaky that the pages slip from your fingers. They slam to the floor in a flurry of bond paper and you curse loudly, snatching for the remnants futilely. Grasping on your hands and knees hitches build in your breath as your fingers dance rapidly before they slip across something distinctly not paper.
Small, tiny, and blue. Laminate.
Your very blood seems to stop in your veins. Pushing back one last piece of paper, you come face to face with a singular American passport. Gasping down mute breaths and licking your lips, you pick it up lightly, leaning back on your legs as if you’d just slammed your head into the concrete.
“Alex…” you whisper to no one.
Flipping the hard cover open, a small, palm-sized piece of paper slips out to your lap as your own face stares at you in image form. You blink for a moment before going to take the note and separate the ends. Formal script is inside, stiff lettering. Not your husband's handwriting, but you didn’t have to guess who’d written out these directions for you.
Laswell.
There was a destination in fountain pen ink—an airport near the Urzikstanian and Georgian border. Seeing as Urzikstan was on the travel-ban list due to the turbulence of the government and terrorist threats, you wouldn’t be able to get there directly.
But you supposed Kate had your back for that too.
Georgian safehouse - wait for Keller there. It’s secure. More directions and then a small gap. A pause. Good luck.
You don’t know how long you stare at that paper—that passport. The first thing you think about is how could Alex ask you to do this. Uproot yourself with the snap of a finger. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything beyond what could fit in a few suitcases. No furniture, no large amount of clothes, or even sentimental items. You’d have to quit your job; leave behind family and friends to travel to a war-torn country.
But he’d said it was your choice, and he wouldn’t push you to make it. He’d said you could leave him if you wanted—keep all of this that you’d built here.
…But you’d built it together, hadn’t you?
You think of Alex’s bright smile and his mustache. His tattoos. How he’d hold you so tight in the long hours of sleep that you half-believed he thought you’d disappear if he didn’t; nuzzling his nose into the back of your head and grumbling out nonsense. The way you could trace his scars and watch as he willingly submitted to your praise, delicate lips curving into sheepish grins as you place soft kisses on the raised skin. Red cheeks.
This place wasn’t a home without Alex in it.
You look over at the coffee table and lock onto the gold of your wedding band.
—
Getting into Georgia was a long affair of paperwork and screenings—not days but months of legal jargon that Alex had dodged entirely because of his desertion. By the time you’d landed in country, you were wholly exhausted down to the very marrow of your bones. You get through the checkpoints, pick up your bags, and look out at the entirely new world outside of the airport’s windows.
“Okay,” you swallow saliva and nod carefully before looking down at Laswell’s directions to the safehouse.
You slip the paper into your pocket after memorizing the address, tips of your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the flip phone. Clenching your eyes shut, you take your hand back out and go to try and hire a driver. You were here, but that doesn’t mean all of this was forgiven.
After you find someone able to drive you to where you need to go, you end up standing with a quaint hostel ahead of you, home far behind. Gazing slightly nervous at the strange place you’ve found yourself, you think of Alex’s hand on the small of your back and sigh; caressing the cool metal of the ring around your finger.
Walking forward, you hitch your bags over your shoulders and grit your teeth against the hot sun. When you meet the owner at the front desk you state your name and ask for a bed.
The man’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks at something on his countertop, raising a brow in thought. Grabbing at a stack of papers he holds up a finger and begins digging. Too tired and overwhelmed to ask what was wrong, you just watch and rub at your face.
“Ah,” the man snaps his fingers and laughs to himself, “here it is! I knew I had placed the note somewhere, Mrs. Keller.” You blink, confused, but the man just takes a key from the wall and motions for you to follow. Sparing a glance around for a moment, you slowly slink after, not really having a choice.
“I remember your Husband coming to me—the blond with the tattoos.” The owner looks back, making sure you’re following. He motions to his right side with splayed fingers. “Scars on the side of his head, to reserve a room.”
Alex was here? How much had he done already pertaining to the chance that you would show up?
“Y-yeah,” you chuckle stiffly, “that was him. Sorry for being so long I was…preoccupied.”
“You’re lucky he kept up on payments,” the man grumbles, opening a door with the key and motioning you inside. “My pleasure to finally have you, regardless.”
Entering the small and sparse room, you take the key from him with a thankful smile and a quick thank you before he closes the door. As the barrier thuds, you sway on your feet. Blinking. Breathing hard. You drop all of your bags with a heavy thump that echoes off the walls in a single instant. Heart pounding at everything that was striking you in an instant, you walk slowly back to the bed. You don’t bother to take a shower or brush your teeth; even change.
You fall down on the mattress and pray you don’t have to dream about Alex sending money to this place every week simply on a suffocating hope that you’d come back to him. You pray you don’t dream at all.
The phone wakes you up only thirty minutes later.
Groaning, you shift your body so your hand can snake into your pocket, grasping it and tossing it to the pillow beside your head. You’d never made it through all of the voicemails without crying, so you just deleted all of them and let the inbox fill back up again.
Feeling the dog tags press against your chest as you form your chest into the bed, you shove your head downward and listen to it ring.
Bring-bring, bring-bring, bring-bring
It happens in a flurry of a sleep-addled mind and a horrible desperation to see your husband after nearly a full year of no contact. You flip it open and answer with your nose pressed deeply into the pillow below you. Ears straining and pulse running like a starving cat after a mouse.
Dead silence.
“...Sweetheart…?” It’s pitiful how fast the tears flood you at Alex’s shocked and tiny voice. Tight breathing sounds over the line from his end and your other hand digs into your scalp. A small, cut-off laugh. “Hey…I—”
You hang up with a vicious slam of the screen and let the silence settle again. People walk the hall; the sun dims as night sets in. This isn’t home. Dropping the phone back down to the pillow you curl into a tight ball and cry yourself back to sleep.
If you had to guess, you’d say the small curse was what woke you for the second time, though you didn’t register it until minutes later. That muffled ‘shit’ as a foot hits your dropped bags near the door. But then it’s silent again and your ears only twitch to the gentle sigh that brushes against your face; a thumb and forefinger caressing your cheek as hair is placed back over your ear.
Perhaps the only reason at all as to why you don’t wake up screaming bloody murder is because of his calluses. They burn your flesh as they slide over it—as ingrained into your very being as your own heart is. As if Alex’s touch was another organ that was needed to survive. More important than a liver or a spleen.
When your eyes slip open he’s leaning back in a chair he had turned to face you, built form shifting as the rickety wood creaks. No more than five feet away sits your husband, and all you do is suck in a tight breath and lock gazes with soft sea glass.
Alex freezes at the same time, strong brow line peeling back and mustache stiff as his lips immediately thin. You both stare for a good while, a thread of tension entering the air. The night deepens.
He speaks first, in the dense hours of confrontation. Your heart feels like it’s been stuck with a spear, vignette at the sides of your vision, and a blooming center of only Alex’s body and his messy hair. The scarf around his neck. The combat vest.
Had he driven all this way to see if you were here? Because you’d answered the phone? But you hadn’t even said anything. Your head stays on the pillow, wondering if you were hallucinating.
“Hey,” Alex forces a chuff before he glances away, nervous arms crossed. “Hey there, Doll. Sorry that I woke you. I…ah,” your eyes bore into him, hand on the sheets slowly clenching into a fist. “I figured there was an off chance you would be here.” He clears his voice, throat closing on a trying laugh. “Guess I’m glad I looked. You should remember to lock your door, by the way.”
At the sight of your rising glare, his tone drops, expression falling even more than it already was. Deep well of sadness grew in his eyes, lips pulling back in a strained agony.
Alex’s gaze drops to the floor.
“I know,” is what hits the air, “I know, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it,” you push your body up as his large shoulders tighten—such an accomplished and strong man brought to a squirming heap when his wife’s sharp words hit him in the chest. “What the hell were you thinking, Alex?!”
Heavy feet hit the floor as you stalk over, fatigue and tiredness pushed all the way to the back of your mind yet also enhancing your emotions. Bitter rage was sparking—held in far too long. Alex’s eyes don’t meet yours, so you grab him by the chin and angle his head up to you.
At the sight of your red sclera and the baggy gaze he stills. Under your grip his beard tickles you, the soft grip of flesh that makes you want to wrap your arms over him and weep; make him promise to never leave like that again.
“I…I wasn’t…”
“That’s the thing isn’t it—you didn’t think.” Sea glass floods over, going glossy; hurt etched into both of your faces as if carved from the same stone. But you don’t stop now, growling out as your skin burns. Alex isn’t sad that you’re angry, he’s sad he’s done this to you. “You disappeared, Alex. Laswell had to just drop all of this shit on me. I thought you had died.” You growl. “Do you know what that feels like?!”
“Sweetheart—”
“Shut up! You let me talk,” he falls silent, hand delicately coming up to grab your wrist. Not to pull you away, just to hold you. To feel your skin and the heat of it. You sniffle and his eyes break. “And the worst part of it was that if you had just asked I would have followed you right then and there.” Alex sharply looks back at you. “But the biggest insult was that you thought I would leave you—that you even considered that.”
Shock slowly gives way to a blank expression. He was confused, now.
Was that what you were angry about?
“You’re an idiot, Keller. Hot-headed. Cocky.” You shake your head, but a tiny smile begins to bleed onto Alex’s face. Watching you like you’d just sprung a million dollars on him. His grip slightly squeezes, calloused thumb running the span of your knuckles as you shake his head with your hand. “Damn nuisance to my health, is what you are.” Trying to remain angry is tough when he’s looking at you like that—starstruck—but you spit out, “It’s insulting that you thought I’d just give up on us that easily.”
“Most women don’t want a man who’s wanted for desertion, Doll,” Alex whispers, testing a smirk on his lips with his expression still strained.
“Arrogant!” your voice snaps. “Not a single brain cell in his stupid little head.” You let go of his chin and grip the sides of his skull, feeling the dirty but still soft strands of hair before you huff at him.
But he just looks at you and smiles, face smooshed.
“...You really came?” Alex asks quietly. You fall silent and after a moment you deflate.
After the silence of trying to keep the sneer on your face, you let it drop, lips quivering slightly. Anger glints with pain. “I should hit you upside the head, Keller, for all the worry you’ve put me through,” you grunt, eyes flashing over every new bruise on his face—every cut you’d have to re-learn. He looks tired.
Oh, Alex…
Before the blond can respond to you, you’ve captured the back of his head and shoved it into your chest; face burying itself into his scalp to bring forth that scent of dust and cologne. You whimper out as he grips you around the waist with just as much fervor, “Did you think that I would stay away?”
Alex says nothing, only the slight tremor in his bicep betraying him. You firmly kiss his skull and run your fingers through his hair, the both of you so tight together there’s barely enough room in your ribs to allow your lungs to inflate.
But holding him was more important than air, a sentiment that Alex seemed to share entirely.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Bug.” He mutters into your skin. “Feels good to be able to hold my girl again.”
You stay like that for a long time before you pull back and capture his cheeks, face pulling closer before you kiss him deeply. It’s not a fast-paced or desperate thing—no clashing teeth or tongue. That wasn’t what you needed right now.
All that you needed was Alex. Your home.
You both separate and the blond grabs the back of your neck, forcing you back so he can lay another on the side of your mouth; nose, cheek. Anywhere that he could reach as his mustache tickled you to a smile. Giggles worm out and you wiggle out of his grip to wipe at your cheeks, spreading away tiny tear tracks and saliva.
“Quit it,” you whisper, and Alex gazes up at you reverently from his chair.
“Negative, Ma’am,” he says, equally as soft, not even blinking. “Don’t wanna.” You roll your eyes, face hot.
The seconds draw long of only watching one another before you shake your head and move your hands to shimmy out of the dog tags around your neck. Alex’s gaze locks on the metal swiftly, smile shifting.
“You’re horrible.” You huff, quietly, before shoving his dog tags at his chest. “Now put them back on.”
“But I’m not in the—” Your glare shuts him up. Alex clears his throat sheepishly. “Yes, Ma’am.”
You nod and watch as they’re resituated around his neck. Right where they should be. When you take a step back to really take him in, there’s a moment where you skim over the state of his left leg. After all, the metal was barely noticeable in the dark. But when you do see it every little part of you shrivels up with confused pain.
Alex stands with a noticeable preference to his right and as he towers over you, fingers coming to grab at your face and slowly drag it back up.
A slightly apologetic look washes over him.
“I’m guessing you didn’t listen to all of the voicemails.”
“Alex…” you slowly cut off. “You…” Staring at the metal limb instead of the real one, you gape. “...how?”
“Y’know,” he laughs, but you don’t find this funny. He notices and kisses your forehead, tapping his scalp to yours and saying after a contemplative pause, “I think it’s better if I don’t explain it. I’m alright, just...” Alex smiles cheekily, the spark that you love coming back easily as it shimmers in his eyes, “just a little more carbon fiber and aluminum than I was before.”
You hug him tightly.
“I’m sorry, I should have come sooner—I was just angry, and I wasn’t—”
“Don’t apologize to me,” Alex sighs, grabbing you and maneuvering the both of you to the bed. He sits and you end up laying in his lap like that moment in the bathroom ages ago. “None of this is your fault, okay? You deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have put such a burden on you.”
You sigh in his arms, head under his chin and heart finally able to return to a steady pace. Licking your lips, you ask, “Does it hurt?”
Sending a glance down, Alex’s lips twitch with a grin before it disappears. He hums.
“Sometimes.” Your hand grips his opposite cheek and you lay a kiss on his chin, caressing his flesh.
It’s a tentative kind of love. An understanding and a plea all at once.
The blond leans back against the wall and pulls you closer, closing his eyes. Finally relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. But his girl is in his arms, and he’s never been this calm.
“I have a home in Urzikstan,” he confesses lightly, fingers brushing your body and giving way to shivers. You listen, eyes fluttering at the vibrations of his words. “It’s safe—protected. I…want us to live there.” Alex nods against your head, swallowing. “If you’ll come back with me.”
“Yes,” your answer is immediate. “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.”
You feel his breath hitch, soft chuckles brushing your hair far better than any comb. There’s a small tremor in his voice as he says, “I love you. God, do I love you.”
Your lips pull up, body growing heavy with a final sense of home.
“I love you, too.” Soft kisses and tight arms. Shifting tattoos. “But if you ever do something like that again without talking to me, I’m telling Laswell she has permission to put a bullet in your ass.”
His loud laughs shake your body, and you press your face into his neck to steady yourself; smiling.
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A Gryffindor's Grief
Pairing: James Potter x Fem! Slytherin! Reader
CW: Reader's family and language
Genre: Angst
Masterlist
Note: My first ever marauders fic! Kinda nervous to post this ngl… I'm still thinking if I should make a second part. I want to hear what you guys think about this! Requests are open! Photos used are from Pinterest! Credits to the owner!
It was forbidden love, really.
Those little moments of not-so-accidental touches, stealing glances, and discreet smiles sent each other's way were your means of communicating with each other.
James Fleamont Potter, a Gryffindor boy that was absolutely smitten with You; Slytherin's Princess.
An odd combination that would only lead to chaos.
Being one of the sacred twenty-eight wizarding families meant that you command power and respect from everyone you meet— intentionally or unintentionally. The idea about blood purity, power, and influence was already in your mind as soon as you were able to grasp things your toddler brain could handle.
You were taught to only mingle with pure-blood families, people who could be useful and loyal to you, and those with power, influence, and wealth. Your family’s distaste for muggles and muggleborns were also ingrained into your mind, as if they programmed you to believe what they believed in. It wasn’t that hard, after all you were surrounded by rich witches and wizards who are blood supremacists.
For someone who grew up with those ideals and values, you thought it was right. Although, your belief came tumbling down the longer you spend time at Hogwarts and got to know James Potter and the rest of the Marauders.
James, he made you feel alive.
It felt as if he was the breath of fresh air that you never knew you needed. Away from that suffocating Malfoy Manor, the scrutinizing gazes of your family, and away from rich pure blood problems. Being with him felt exhilarating, he was the buzz in your life. James brought so much joy into your dark, lavish, and empty lifestyle.
It was quite funny, picturing him as your knight in shining armor, whisking you away from your pretty, gold cage.
"Malfoy!" Evan Rosier, a pure-blooded Slytherin raised his hand in your direction, motioning you to come over and sit beside him during breakfast in the great hall. Cold eyes like Lucius Malfoy's travelled in his direction, a questioning brow raised.
"Rosier, you are being too loud." She commented, walking, and sitting next to him before greeting the person beside him, Regulus Black.
"Good morning, Regulus."
"Good morning, Y/n."
Barty Crouch Jr. looked up from his meal and snickered at the both of you. "Good morning, Mum and Dad." He teased, greeting you both as Evan laughed along with the other Slytherins near them. Heck even Severus has a small smirk planted on his face. "If you wish to make your family line extinct, then please feel free to continue with your remarks, Crouch."
He smirked, putting his hands up in mock surrender "Just kidding, Y/n. Geez. Rough summer, I suppose?"
You felt your lips press into a thin line, an obvious answer to the question; It was horrendous.
Evan’s laughter slowly dies, he shakes his head, “Give her a break mate, she just got the biggest news of her life during summer. Isn’t that right Y/n-“
“Shut your mouth Rosier if you do not want to be hexed into next month.” Her empty threat really doesn’t do damage to Evan, he just shrugged, taking it as a warning that you’re not in the mood for jokes.
Your father, Abraxas Malfoy and older brother, Lucius Malfoy made a huge decision for your future. Hearing rumors here and there about their Slytherin Princess being romantically involved with a blood traitor in Gryffindor enraged your father, Abraxas. That will certainly not do, they will not sit idly and watch as the Malfoy name be... tainted with those rumors.
You remember how you felt dread entering your system, fighting the urge to run and throw up as you mustered up a façade, “Those are just baseless rumors, a plot to ruin my image in school." You held your head high, praying they do not see the truth.
Abraxas stared at you, his daughter, with a monotone expression. "Your brother and I do not care whether those ridiculous rumors are true or not." Lucius nods, agreeing. What a lie. You know your family well enough to not believe what comes out of their mouths in situations like this.
"We do not care if you had relations with the boy, even though it is rumored that he is a blood traitor, you knew well enough not to fool around with mudbloods. Well done, Y/n. Perhaps you could change his views, get him to join our cause.” Lucius looked at you. You could press your lips into a thin line, trying to find an answer.
“That tactless boy's role is to only be a bed warmer for you, remember that Y/n." Your father stood from the chair he sat in the drawing room. Slowly walking towards you. “Although, I suppose it ends now. I heard Lady Walburga Black is looking for a potential bride to their heir, Regulus Black.”
After a week, it was official; You are to be wedded to Regulus Black, your friend, Sirius’ brother.
You could not do anything about the arrangement, what fight would you have put up? A young girl like you, who does not have any power, influence, and wealth could only suck it up and accept.
How you wish it was James you were betrothed to.
“James, you came.” You breathed out, seeing him take off the invisibility cloak. The moonlight in the astronomy tower complimented his features, he offered a small smile sitting beside you.
The stakes were high, you were sure underlings of your brother (and possibly father) in the school have their eyes trained to you as you enter another year in Hogwarts. You would need to find new ways to meet up with your lover. Regulus’ eyes discreetly looked towards James, who is undeniably looking at you.
“Wouldn’t want for my girl to be alone, you know?”
He joked, intertwining his finger with you, a second nature to the both of you. Squeezing his hand, you softly looked at him. “I missed you, pothead.” He leaned towards your face, kissing you on the forehead. One of the things he does that never fails to make you feel flustered. “I missed you too, love.” You rolled her eyes, slightly shoving him playfully, “Stop being sappy, Pothead.”
“You secretly like it, love. You can’t lie to me.” He grinned, although the last sentence made you tense up. James shot you a concerned look, noticing your body language. “Something wrong, love?” You were torn, deciding on whether you tell him about the engagement rather than keeping quiet and leaving him in the dark about your current situation.
“I got engaged.” Before you could even stop yourself, the words flew out of your mouth. Shit. It wasn’t how she planned to tell him. The light atmosphere suddenly became dark and heavy. You can feel James turn rigid, freezing up as he muttered. “So, it was true, huh?” He scoffed bitterly, hurt overtaking his features. “James…” You gently called, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, turning his body away from you.
She tried to ignore the hurt she felt, pushing it down as she understood why James was acting this way. “Sirius told me.” He choked out, still not looking at you. James really does know you well, answering the question you haven’t even voiced out yet. The slight tremble in his voice made your heart crack. You bit your lip, of course Sirius found out; he was still a Black after all.
“I love you, James. I really do.”
You spoke to him, you raised your hand, about to put a hand on his back that was still facing you but deciding against it before it touched him. Your hands faltering before dropping down to your sides. He shakes his head violently, his curly locks getting messier than they already were.
“Don’t… Don’t say it like that, love.” He pleaded, slowly turning to face you again, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Don’t say it like you’re about to leave me. This. Us.” He croaked; you felt his large hands placed on top of yours. He brought it up to his lips, kissing the knuckles.
“James…” You managed to utter out, voice getting caught at the throat.
James knew he was acting like a child, but damn- he never thought it could hurt this much. He pictured both of you marrying each other, living in a large house with a big backyard because he insisted it will be great for when you have kids. Merlin, he even imagined about 3 or 4 kids looking like the perfect mix of you both, running out and about with their names already carefully thought out.
out. He daydreamed that the both of you grow old, watching you tell stories to your grandkids about their grandfather’s mischief during your years at Hogwarts.
“I have to, James.” She chokes out, tears spilling onto her cheeks. Those four little words made James’ little bubble of happiness burst with just a bat of an eye.
“Don’t… don’t do this to me, love.” He pleaded; he even went down onto his knees as he saw you standing up from your place beside him. Poor James, luckily it was only you, the moon, and the walls of the Astronomy Tower watched him become a wreck.
“I love you, please remember that you will always have my heart, James. I wish you find happiness.” The part ‘without me’ was unsaid but was heard. It took a lot of courage, strength, and self-control not to fall apart. Deep down, you wanted James to say the same to you, proclaiming his love again for the last time you’ll be together.
“I love you Y/n, so much. No one will ever make me feel the way you did. I’ll find a way; a way for us to be happy together. I swear on my life.” He promised, looking at you straight in the eye. You could only close your eyes before smiling at him, trying to blink the tears away. Stars, you hoped James really does find a way.
“Goodbye, Potter.” She turns, walking away.
Maybe Slytherins and Gryffindors really aren’t meant to be together.
#james potter x reader#james potter x you#marauders fanfiction#slytherin reader#james potter#marauders fic#marauders era#marauders#sirius black#regulus black#remus lupin#harry poter
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She Wanted You
JJ Maybank x Routledge!Reader
Word Count:1.4k
Warnings:none
A/n: angst bc im boycotting watching season three LOL, not my gif
“What do you mean she left?” JJ questioned, dumbfounded. He didn’t realize it, but he was walking into a war zone. The Chateau no longer had the same feel. It was like someone sucked the air out, and pumped smog in.
With tears in his eyes, John B pointed towards his sister’s room. Sarah and Pope were lingering in there, but JJ had no idea why. The room was oddly neat, incredibly out of character of the girl who resided there. Her closet was emptier than usual, the three picture frames that once had pictures of her with her family and friends were empty. What caught JJ’s eyes next, made his mouth go dry. His breath was no longer there. The navy sweatshirt he had given her years ago was folded, on the bed, next to the pillow he always claimed during their relationship. Atop the sweatshirt was a ring from a gumball machine, an orange and green friendship bracelet made of paracord, and a pile of notes written on scraps of random papers. Every other personal belonging was missing from its spot.
JJ tore through the girl’s nightstand, and when he realized the box of her life savings was gone, he let out a string of colorful words and kicked the stand.
“Here, you should read this.” Sarah handed him a neatly written note. By the tear stains on Pope’s face, the somber tone from the kook, and JB’s raging anger, it was a farewell.
He took a deep breath, and swiped the letter from Sarah. The familiar handwriting was already pulling at his heart.
J,
I’ve rewritten this letter four times already, and I still don’t know how to put my thoughts into actual words. Firstly, I love you. I love you until the waves stop coming in. I love you so much that I knew I needed to leave. I’ve known since you wandered home with John B in third grade, and gave me all the answers (even though they were wrong) to my math homework that if there was going to be another boy in my life, he was going to have to fight you for that spot. From 7 years old, I only ever wanted you. But over the last two years, I can see that I’m not the one for you. And that is why I’m leaving. One of the only things that got me through my day was seeing you smile, but I understand that there is someone else who causes those crinkles by your eyes.
I have to leave because it’s too painful. I need time to have all your kisses leave my body, I need to leave because I can’t smell the ocean, listen to Akon and Konvict, or even wash my fucking clothes without thinking of you. I see you in body language, in the waves, in every damn aspect of my life. Not only are we ingrained on this island, but you are ingrained in me. If I’m ever going to come home I need to remove every trace.
I told you last week, I’d always be on your team, even from a distance. I need you to pursue Kiara because there is nothing more I want for you than happiness. Deep down, I know it will always be her. While that sentence feels like a shot, I’m coming to terms with it.
Don’t try to come find me, either. I won’t be going to any of the places we’ve ever talked about, I do have my secrets still. Not Yucatan, not Tybee, and certainly not Jekyll. Take care of my brother.
All my love,
Y/N
“When did you and Y/N break up?” Sarah asked. JJ couldn’t even think straight. Y/N and the boy broke up about a week ago, for that specific reason, JJ thought there was something there with Kiara. He didn’t think the girl would pick up her stuff and bolt. Leave her brother, her best friends, and the life she claimed to love.
“I, uh, initiated it last week or so,” he stuttered, “it wasn’t definite or anything, but it was insinuated I guess. We had a conversation about it, but I don’t think I ever could have said it out loud.”
“Oh,” she thought. “You know she really loved you with every bone in her body.”
He sucked in a deep breath to try to keep his tears at bay. How could he walk out to the front room and face John B. He was the reason the youngest Routledge had left. With Big John gone, she was all he had left. Hell, with Luke gone, she was all JJ had too. In some form he robbed his friends of a family member.
JJ laid down on the neatly made bed and latched onto the sweatshirt that smelled just like her. His memory flooded with images of Y/n in that sweatshirt. From it covering her bikini when they went night swimming, it being the one sweatshirt that was specifically for after she came home from school, the one thing that grounded her when she was having a rough day. JJ felt his chest start to tighten, and his hands were clammy and shaking.
“I thought you said you’d never break her heart!” JB screamed. Impeccable timing.
“John B don’t–” Sarah tried to interject.
“No Sarah, he promised. He promised me almost three years ago that if I gave him permission to date Y/n, he wouldn’t hurt her. He knew he’d be breaking more than just her heart. And now I can’t even help her pick up the pieces. I can’t fix my baby sister, the way she fixed each and every one of us!”
“Bro, you think this is what I wanted? I had a conversation with her. Nothing was definitive. It’s not my fault she took her shit and ran!”
“When has Y/n ever not taken her feelings and ran? Name one time!”
JJ sat there in thought, and there had been one time she didn’t run, and he had promised that he wouldn’t tell. He was going to anyway.
“When you disappeared. I held her while she cried herself to sleep for nights on end. So don’t act like I never treated her right. You know I did.” JB ran his hands through his hair and left the room.
“Until you decided you may have feelings for the girl who is like her big sister.” That stung.
“What’s going on?” Kie asked.
“She’s gone.” John B said. “‘Cuz JJ’s in love with you.”
~~
JJ sat in the hammock, wearing the navy sweatshirt he hadn’t worn in years. It smelled just like her. He could even feel the marks of where she rolled the sleeves and dug her thumbs into the side.
He barely remembered last week’s conversation about Kie, but never did he think that it would cause you to disappear. Y/n was so incredibly loyal. She wanted him. Every. Damn. Day. She wanted him when the clouds were out, and the usually blue sky was gray. She wanted him when he was bruised and beat up, she wanted him when he was crabby after a 14 hour shift, she wanted him at every hour of the day in any way she could have him.
It was just a conversation, he thought. He never flat out said that he was leaving her for the tanned, wealthy kook.
He felt so fucking stupid. He felt so much self-hatred. He remembered when they were 12 and 14, and Y/n wanted to walk to the gas station a few streets over, but John B wouldn’t go with her. He remembered what she usually bought. Peach iced tea, sour straws and a bag of munchie mix. Every single time.
He remembered when the girl got drunk for the first time and dialed him to come get her. God, she was so inebriated. She clung to the boy, giggling profusely. That was the first night she ever told the boy she loved him. Y/n never knew it, but JJ kept that memory locked in his head.
He pondered the time she was ready to give him her virginity. He remembered how nervous she was, but how much she trusted him.
It had grown dark by the time he wandered back into the Chateau. He was surprised JB didn’t kick him out, he fully expected to be out on the streets by now. As he stumbled towards the bedrooms, he went past his own, and fully dove into the light purple sheets he had come to love. She’ll come back, he thought. She has to.
#jj x reader#jj outer banks#jj maybank#jj maybank imagine#Outer Banks#outer banks imagine#obx imagine#hms pogue
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In desperate need of how SKZ would spoil their girlfriends and the gifts they’d get for them like…I feel like lixie’s love language is gift giving so he’s the type to drop half his paycheck on his s/o😩✋🏾
how stray kids would spoil their s/o
genre: fluff
warnings: none
please like and reblog if you enjoy! feel free to request anything <3
bangchan
not only will channie spoil you
he will literally refuse you buying ANYTHING
i just keep thinking of that one clip when he and felix were arguing about who got to pay for stuff at the convenience store... oh the chaos...
like he's so petty about it but it's like a need for him
he needs to buy you stuff
let him buy you stuff!!!
it's just a tendency for him. ingrained in his personality for sure; not something he can control
lee know
he honestly doesn't really think about it at all
in his mind, what's his is your
you want his money? take his freaking money lmfao
spoiling you and treating you to things comes as second nature to him and something he doesn't take much consideration to
it just feels right to buy you stuff you want, and he doesn't give it a second thought tbh
it's just really not that deep to him 🤷
changbin
this man has his wallet out permanently istg
just waiting to pay for things, credit card ready to swipe asap
he's always buying you stuff
just because
like there is no reason for it
maybe he likes being a provider, sure. or perhaps he likes you depending on him to an extent
idk whatever is going through this man's brain, i just think it's in his nature to want to spoil his loved ones
hyunjin
hyunne likes indulging your hobbies
if you are a bookworm, for instance, he will spend not only his money but his time carefully picking out books for you to enjoy
or if you are an artist like him, he will buy you all sorts of paints and pencils and sketchpads. you name it, he's getting you it!
also he has expensive taste, so when he wants to get you a fancy gift he is not stingy with that credit card of his
with him, if he's in love, why should he limit that love? if one way to show love is to get something you've been wanting for ages, why shouldn't he?
han
he would much rather he spend money on you than the other way round
not for traditional reasons or anything like that. more that he feels guilty, like he's not giving enough
he's a very generous soul but sometimes in relationships, he likes to just sit back and relax
and then he feels like he's not putting enough effort in so he over-compensates by spending a tone load of money on you
you reassure him that he is fine the way he is and doesn't have to do that but now it's become a habit he very much enjoys
felix
you are so incredibly right anon
i mean for felix is feel like all love languages fit him because he is basically the human incarnate of love but yeah
gift giving is one of them
felix loves buying gifts i know i have said this so many times in every single felix related content i write but he just can't stop buying stuff for other people
he loves spending money in general, so what better way to do that than spending money on gifts for the person he loves most?
seungmin
he's quite sensible with his money and only usually really buys something if he needs it
but spending money on you is a bit of a different story
he doesn't limit himself nor does he ask if you actually need that item you've been wanting to be. if you want it, you got it.
will literally ask for your wishlist and buy you everything off it, i'm not exaggerating
he's not one to beat around the bush, our seungmin! he goes straight to the point, as he should 💅
jeongin
jeongin is a reallyyyy good gift-buyer
he's perfectly balanced, really. he likes getting you gifts here and there, some of them are personal and others are expensive. he likes to get both kinds of gifts so that your heart is touched but also you get something a little fancy from him too <33
much like felix, he likes spending his money. and he feels he isn't being wasteful with it when he is buying you stuff because it makes you super happy aww
#stray kids#skz#stray kids reactions#skz reactions#skz imagines#stray kids imagines#stray kids fluff#stray kids scenarios#skz fluff#skz scenarios#kpop fluff#kpop imagines#kpop#kpop scenarios#bangchan#bang chan#chan#seo changbin#changbin#felix#lee know#lee felix#lee minho#hyunjin#hwang hyunjin#han#han jisung#kim seungmin#seungmin#jeongin
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Trigun: Stampede, Wolfwood, and Food
So, I think a major part of any worldbuilding should always involve food, and where it comes from. The worldbuilding around No Man's Land in Trigun: Stampede is a little tricky in this regard, since there's shown to be no real agriculture or plant life (Meryl's utter shock at the "flora" on Ship Three as a total foreign phenomenon suggests it's more rare than in the manga) so sustainable human-friendly food sources are rare and not really addressed. We see characters eating worms, and presumably there's whatever it is worms eat, and beyond that, it's suggested that pretty much all of humankind's nutrition comes from plants.
The desert dudes living off worm meat refer to "plant-based food" as an "extravagance" in the opening scene of episode 4 (aptly named "Hungry"). Meryl, by contrast, is grossed out by the idea of eating worm meat -- I think we can infer then, that Meryl, being a college-educated city girl, probably had regular access to Plant-generated food, while Outlanders are more dependent on alternative sources of nutrition.
Wolfwood, I think, falls closer to the latter category -- He's very used to eating worms, as we see in this episode, not even flinching at grabbing and devouring a whole worm, and even smoked dried worm legs as a kid in a later flashback, so supplementing his diet and other aspects of his life with worms is probably something he's used to doing for survival:
And I gotta say, the way Wolfwood antagonizes the others about eating worm-based food?
Yeah, it's a power play in some respects -- he's making a point to Vash about 'kill or be killed' to survive when he catches and throws a worm at him, and he's taunting Meryl to get a rise out of her with the roasted worm meat at the end of the episode.
But there's something very "Gross Big Brother" about it -- he's antagonizing them, but there's also some underlying level of care in it. He is showing Vash how Wolfwood thinks it's necessary to survive; he's bullying Meryl into eating the food that's available, because Wolfwood probably grew up with the understanding that you couldn't afford to turn your nose up at whatever food you got.
It's food, it's there, it's a valuable and scarce resource, and as much of an asshole as Stampede!Wolfwood is, he has those ingrained big brother instincts to look out for those around him. And food is an important part of that, because when you live with scarcity, food is life.
The whole bit with Zazie in disguise might be a charade (assuming Wolfwood already clocked Zazie from the get-go and it didn't take the worm devouring them for that card to be revealed) but it still pulls from Wolfwood's characterization in the '98 anime where he gives two of his last pieces of food to a couple of hungry-looking kids:
And the sentiment of "you still deserve to eat" as an expression of care is still real for him, especially given his smile when Vash repeats his words, finally eating some of the worm meat at the end of episode four:
Our worldbuilding implication is that food is scarce and rare in the Outlands, and Wolfwood is someone who knows how to survive by any means possible -- including eating whatever is available -- which is something he's nonetheless willing to share with others, because at his core he's a decent person who isn't as selfish as he may pretend to be.
And food is one hell of a love language.
#trigun stampede#trigun spoilers#food cw#nicholas d wolfwood#meta#lena has thoughts#lena's trigun nonsense
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬.
KATSUKI BAKUGO X SECRETARY READER
❥SYNOPSIS: as the years went by, bakugo realized that he was the last to get married. the days grew cold and the nights turned lonely. bakugo want's to marry, but he doesn't really feel like falling in love. at least he has his trustee secretary!
❥: CHAPTERS
❥ WARNINGS: implied fem reader, aged-up!, Pro-hero MHA characters over the age of 27, vulgar language, sexual themes, suggestive wording, and content
❥ MASTERLIST
❥ JOIN TAG LIST!
WORDS: 8.3K
CHAPTER 3: STAGES—CHOICES? CHOICES!
"you seem more tolerable than usual"
"Ah, fuck, a week off is what I really need, dude," Dynamight grumbles, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and longing.
"Yeah, well, keep working that ass, and maybe the officials will say something," Kirishima retorts with a half-hearted chuckle. They both share a sense of weariness, the weight of their responsibilities bearing down on them.
It's just another normal day for the two pro-heroes, Dynamight and Red Riot, as they tirelessly patrol the streets of Japan. The rhythm of their duties has become ingrained in them, but fatigue has taken its toll, leaving them aimlessly wandering through the bustling city.
As they stroll side by side, a comfortable silence settles between them. The sounds of the city envelop them, a constant hum that serves as a backdrop to their thoughts. It's in these moments of respite that casual conversations often emerge.
"So…" Kirishima begins, his voice trailing off, a spark of curiosity evident in his tone. "How's Ms. L/n?"
Dynamight's exhaustion momentarily lifts, replaced by a glimmer of interest. A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he thinks about her. "She's doing great," he replies, a hint of humor coloring his words. "Busy with her own work, but she's been killing it."
Kirishima nods, his own grin mirroring Dynamight's. "That's awesome, man. She's got the drive and the skills. No doubt she's making a name for herself out there if you refer her to other heroes."
A flicker of pride shines in Dynamight's eyes as he reflects on her accomplishments. "Yeah, she's got that fire in her. Reminds me of when I first started out, you know? Determined, focused. It's inspiring."
Red Riot claps Dynamight on the back, a friendly gesture of camaraderie. "Not giving her hell are ya?" He asks, but Dynamight's shit-eating grin doesn't fault. "Aw c'mon dude! You promised you wouldn't give her a hard time!" he groans punching him in the shoulder.
"Hey, if she can handle a battle why not give her a war?" The hero smiles. "Bakugo, we've lost over five secretaries because you wanna be an ass, just keep this one goddamn it." The redhead spits before quickening his pace and walking before him.
The blonde smacks his lips against his teeth, quickly speeding up the pace before landing a kick against his back. A moment of shared understanding passes between them, a bond forged through the trials and tribulations of their profession. They both know the unique challenges that come with being heroes, the sacrifices, and the rewards that accompany the path they've chosen.
As they continue their patrol, their steps a little lighter, and their weariness was momentarily forgotten, the friendship between Dynamight and Red Riot remains steadfast. They find solace in each other's company, knowing that they can rely on one another in the face of adversity.
With their conversation about you fading into the background, they return to their duties, their shared goal of protecting the city reigniting their resolve. Together, they navigate the streets, their footsteps echoing with determination, ready to face whatever challenges come their way. As they finish their patrol, the two pro-heroes make their way back to their agency, ascending to the 21st floor.
Stepping out of the elevator, they are met with a warm reception from their dedicated team of workers. Kirishima responds with respectful bows and words of encouragement, his friendly demeanor shining through. On the other hand, Dynamight chooses to distance himself, maintaining a stoic and solitary presence. Ignoring the well-wishes of his colleagues, he keeps his focus solely on moving forward.
"Dynamight!"
Hearing his name called out, Bakugo looks ahead to see you rushing towards him, a sense of urgency in your demeanor. Letting out a sigh, he halts in his tracks, waiting for you to catch up. As you slow your pace, he gazes down at your tired figure, a flicker of concern briefly crossing his face.
"Um, I have some papers for you to read. If you can go to your office and take a look at them, that would be great," you ask politely, holding out the documents for him to take.
"That's it?" the hero responds blankly, his tone betraying a hint of annoyance. You glance around awkwardly, feeling a bit out of place under his intense gaze. With a slight nod, you confirm that it's indeed all you need from him. Rolling his eyes, he reluctantly nods and makes his way towards his office, his steps carrying a sense of exhaustion.
Entering his office, Bakugo crashes into his seat with a loud huff, his frustration evident. "Somehow everything aches, yet I'm so fuckin' active," he mutters to himself, his words laced with a mix of irritation and fatigue.
Leaning back in his chair, he takes a moment to collect himself, allowing the weariness of the day to settle. His mind drifts to the weight of his responsibilities, the constant demand to be at his best, both physically and mentally. It's a relentless pursuit, one that often leaves him feeling drained and stretched thin.
With a tired sigh, Bakugo reaches for the papers you handed him. As he begins to review the contents, his sharp focus kicks in, his determination to excel driving him forward. Despite the fatigue and the occasional frustration, he knows that every task, every piece of information, is crucial in his ongoing mission to protect and serve.
Especially the small piece of paper that stood out among the rest, Dynamight holds it in the air, his eyes fixated on the intricately decorated surface. As he averts his gaze from the paper, he locks eyes with you, sitting in a corner chair, typing away on your computer.
"Hey," Dynamight calls out, his voice beckoning your attention. Your trained eyes snap up, meeting his intense gaze. "Yes, Dynamight?" you respond, a hint of confusion lacing your words. A moment of silence hangs in the air as you await his next words, uncertain of why he called for you.
Dynamight waves the paper in his hand toward you, prompting you to stand from your chair and approach him. Taking the paper from his hand, you observe his expectant expression. "Read it," he says flatly, his voice devoid of any enthusiasm. Your eyes travel across the paper, and you begin to read aloud.
"You're invited to the celebration of Shoto Todoroki and Momo Yaoyorozu's marriage—"
"Of fucking course," Dynamight interjects, his tone dripping with toxicity and perhaps a hint of jealousy. You gaze at him with an unreadable expression, unsure whether to continue or not.
"The ceremony is in the fall, if you want to know," you mumble softly, the words barely escaping your lips. "I don't give a damn if it was fucking tomorrow, damn it… throw it away," he says dismissively, waving you away. However, you choose to stay in place, compelled to speak your mind. "I know it's not my place to speak, but I thought I would show this to you because I heard that these were your friends," you say, your voice laced with genuine concern.
Your boss looks at you with a deadpan expression, his gaze piercing through you. "Who the hell told you that?" he asks, his voice laced with curiosity. You bite your lip nervously, briefly glancing at the invitation before covering your mouth with it. "Um, Red Riot, sir," you admit, eyes widening realizing the potential consequences of the word you said.
"Sir? What am I, 70?" Dynamight raises his voice, his irritation palpable. You quickly shake your head, realizing your choice of words was inappropriate. Before the hero can further express his discontent toward you or the situation, he lets out a resigned sigh. "Don't listen to a damn thing Riot says. He has a singular cashew for a brain," he mutters, his frustration evident.
You take a step back, processing his words and the subtle vulnerability beneath his tough exterior. Bending down into a bow, you apologize and walk towards the trash can and toss the small invitation in the garbage.
As the hours pass, you diligently work at your computer, stationed in the corner chair of Dynamight's office. Despite the occasional interruptions to run errands or print out papers, you remain focused and dedicated to your tasks. Unbeknownst to you, Dynamight observes your every move, silently appreciating your unwavering work ethic. He can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for his own path as a pro hero, realizing that he could never envision himself in your position.
As the day progresses into late noon, Dynamight taps away at his phone, engaged in a text conversation with Red Riot. "So, are we getting a week off or what?" he types, eagerly awaiting his comrade's response. The screen displays the familiar bubble of three dots, indicating that Red Riot is typing. Within a moment, the response arrives: "Hell yeah, dude!" Dynamight can almost hear Red Riot's enthusiastic tone echoing from the words on his screen.
With a satisfied grin, Dynamight sets his phone down, ready to enjoy the upcoming week of well-deserved rest. However, as he looks up from his phone, he realizes that you are no longer in the office. The chair sits empty, the computer screen casting a faint blue glow. Biting the inside of his cheek, he picks up his phone and begins dialing your number, curiosity piqued by your sudden absence.
As the phone rings for a mere moment, Dynamight observes your figure darting into the office, hastily throwing the door open. Your face reflects a mixture of panic and calm urgency as you speed-walk over to his desk. With his mouth slightly ajar, he ends the ringing call, intrigued by the urgency in your demeanor.
With a huff, you slam a handful of papers down and look at the hero. His face remains straight and unreadable. "Anything else you need, Dynamight?" you say, slightly staggered breath escaping your lips. The blonde hero blinks a couple of times, tilting his head as he looks at the stack of papers.
Extending his finger to lift one of the papers, he looks back up at you. "And might I know what the fuck is on my desk, L/n?" he says, his polite tone dripping with condescension. Clenching your jaw, you manage a half-smile. "Apologies, Dynamight! These are your schedules for the next three months. I've strategically organized each event to your liking, be it fundraisers, press conferences, speeches, or office schedules-"
"Even the shitty high school reunions?" he interrupts with a sly smirk. You chuckle at his response. "Yes, I made sure to make those an optional choice for you," you say with a smirk.
Dynamight scans through the papers, his face focused. Suddenly, he slams a particular paper down and points to a specific line of text. "October 16th, that's a Wednesday. Why is there a press conference scheduled on that day?" he questions.
Raising your eyebrows, you lean over to look at the indicated line. "I scheduled a press conference on that day because you'll be accompanying Red Riot to the Golden Hall to celebrate his birthday. When there are many people with similar expertise and professions gathered, it's considered a press conference," you explain with a smile. "Plus, your officials emphasized the need for you to attend more conferences, so… I bent the rules a little," you mumble.
A long pause hangs in the office, Dynamight's eyes fixed on you. "And why should I keep these papers? Couldn't you have just emailed me this as a damn form?" he growls.
"Because you only use your phone on workdays, and even then, you're barely on it. So I figured a printed form would suit you best," you reply calmly. "And what if I lose it? What then?" he retorts with an irritated tone, seemingly upset that you have an answer to all his questions.
As he pays close attention to your every word, he notices your eye twitch.
Letting out a sigh, you place your hands behind your back. "You walk into this office with nothing, so I assume you leave with nothing as well… These papers will be waiting for you safely in a nice drawer upon your return, Dynamight," your tone edges on the brink of scolding. Your boss says nothing, tearing his gaze away from you as he settles back in his chair, focusing on his computer.
"Get out."
Blinking, you slowly bow before making your escape from the seventh ring of hell—Dynamight's office. "Wait!" he yells out, causing you to stop in your tracks. "Yes, Dynamight?" you say wearily. Your boss notices the tiredness in your tone, raising his head slightly.
"Don't come to work tomorrow. Takin' a week off," he says.
"Yes, Dynamight" you say, making another attempt to leave before you were once interrupted. "L/n!" Dynamight calls out for you once more, "Yes?" you say, on the brink of breaking right then and there.
"Rest."
Your eyes widen for a moment, that might be the nicest thing he's ever said you since you started working here. "Yes, thank you...you as well!" You exclaim, soon you grab your computer and push in your chair and rush for the door.
With a slam, Dynamight sighs and stands from his chair "god, that girl." As like every other working citizen in the building he gathers his things and leaves his building. Walking in the secluded garage to his car, he hears rushed footsteps luring behind him.
Turning, he notices his friend.
"Hey dude! mind giving me a ride?" the cheery red head says, Bakugo lets out a deep sigh before opening with the drivers side of the car stepping in. Kirishima gives him a grin before opening the passenger side and throwing his stuff and himself in the car. Starting the engine, the duo zooms out of the garage and onto a secluded tunnel that soon lead to the outside road private from the public to see.
"A whole week off, what are you gonna do, Bakugo?" Kirishima asks excitedly. "Sleeping and ignoring you," the hero replies flatly. Rolling his eyes at Bakugo's response, Kirishima settles into a comfortable silence as they drive. The Japanese sunset bathes his skin in a soft, warm glow, adding a touch of serenity to the moment.
"So… did you get the invitation?" Kirishima asks with a curious tone. "Yeah, not going to Icy Hot's shitty wedding," Bakugo retorts. This earns a groan from Kirishima. "Why not? He's your friend!" Kirishima pleads. Bakugo dismissively responds, "No, he's your friend. I'm just a publicity stunt." The statement hangs in the air, and Bakugo mutters, "Plus, weddings aren't really my thing, y'know?"
Kirishima places his hands on his head, giving Bakugo an irritated look. "Dude, you gotta get out more! Aren't you sick and tired of attending weddings without ever hosting one?" he remarks. This catches Bakugo's attention. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he growls at Kirishima. The red head shakes his head and dismisses Bakugo's anger. "Nothing, Bakugo. Just fucking drive," he sighs aloud.
Bakugo frowns deeply, keeping his eyes on the road. He revs the engine and presses harder on the gas pedal, accelerating the car's speed. Soon, the duo arrives at Kirishima's home. The place exudes a warm and welcoming aura, with signs of life scattered about. Toys dot the lawn, and the sprinkler sprays a fine mist onto the rich green grass. The lawn chairs and picnic table glisten under the sunlight, and the windows emit a cozy glow from the yellow-white lights inside. Bakugo's gaze lands on the mailbox, which bears colorful handprints and the words "Krishma's Rensidance!" etched on the side, written in childlike handwriting.
Kirishima steps out of the car, grabs his belongings, and slams the door. Turning to face Bakugo, he declares, "We're gonna hang out tomorrow! No ifs, ands, or buts!" His toothy smile brightens his face as he waves Bakugo off. As Kirishima makes his way towards his doorstep, Bakugo observes him rummaging for his keys, only to be surprised by the door opening before him.
Bakugo looks closer and sees Kirishima's entire family standing there, welcoming him. His wife holds a baby on her hip, while two toddlers eagerly reach out to embrace the towering hero. Laughter and affectionate words flow from their lips joyfully.
For some reason, Bakugo feels a pang in his chest at the sight. But before he can linger any longer, he looks ahead and accelerates, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Biting his lip, he mutters quietly to himself, "One day."
Maybe one day.
STAGE 1' — money hungry bitch
As Bakugo approaches the voice, he traverses through a gated entrance adorned with lush tropical foliage and tall palm trees, signaling a transition into a serene and exclusive paradise. The path meanders gently downhill, leading him towards the golden sandy shores and crystal-clear turquoise waters.
Upon reaching the beach, he's greeted by a breathtaking panorama. The beach stretches out for a considerable distance, flanked by rugged cliffs on one side and the endless expanse of the azure ocean on the other. The absence of crowds and noise creates a peaceful ambiance, allowing you to fully immerse yourself in the natural beauty that surrounds you.
The sand beneath his feet is soft and powdery, inviting you to take a leisurely barefoot stroll along the shoreline. The gentle sound of waves crashing against the shore provides a soothing soundtrack, accentuating the tranquility of the setting.
A series of strategically placed lounge chairs, sun-beds, and umbrellas offer a place to relax and bask in the warm sunshine. Positioned at a comfortable distance from one another, they provide ample space for privacy, allowing you to unwind and soak up the sun's rays undisturbed.
Towards the edge of the beach, the blonde finds a private cabana or a charming beachfront villa. These secluded retreats offer shade and seclusion, providing a cozy space where you can retreat for a moment of respite or enjoy a refreshing drink while relishing the panoramic coastal views.
The private beach setting in a small coastal area in Osaka, a place where people of high status are allowed to frolic without the eyes of the general public and paparazzi to taunt and disturb them. As he looks over at the cabana he sees a group of men waving near him.
Walking closer, Bakugo turns up a small grin. "Sup, guys," he calls out to his friends Kirishima, Sero, and Denki. The trio greets him with bright smiles and open arms, excited to see each other outside of a rigorous work setting. "Holy shit, we're actually here!" Denki says excitedly. "We've been planning this for months, dude," he beams.
Bakugo sits at the cabana and lays back in the modern white beach chair. Its rich plushness comforts his aching muscles. Laying back with a sigh, he closes his eyes in relaxation. "What've you been up to?" Bakugo grumbles.
"The usual, slaving away for humanity," Sero speaks up, making the three other men laugh. "Nah, but seriously, on the lighter side—me and Mina have been talking, and we're thinking of trying to have a—"
"Don't you fuckin' dare!" The blonde rises up from his seat with a frown, sunglasses tilted from the sudden jolt of energy. "What?" Sero says curiously. "What the hell do you mean by 'what?'" Bakugo mocks Sero's response in a mocking tone.
Kirishima takes a swift sip of his margarita, setting it down, he leans over to pat his friend on the back. "Hey, dude, we're happy for you! I remember when me and Imani started trying for kids. It was kinda hard, but I'm sure you'll succeed quicker than us," he says with a smile.
This makes the blonde groan aloud. "Do you even know how weird it sounds when you say that you're trying to have a kid? You're basically telling the whole world that you're fucking every day!" he protests. This makes Denki frown and shake his head.
"Even though it may seem like that, mature people like us three," Denki points towards Sero, Kirishima, and himself, "know that it's more than just fucking, okay?" he says, extending his tongue out for his straw. He lazily takes a sip of his coconut water.
"Yeah, sure, whatever. Like you and Jiro have ever had it hard, Kaminari," Bakugo says, disrespect falling off his lips with ease. This makes the yellow-haired man tilt his head in interest. A frown is present on his lips as he stands from his chair and walks towards the blonde.
"Say that again?" Denki leans towards Bakugo, electric currents traveling from his fists and up his arm. "You heard me," Bakugo growls. "You know we've had two miscarriages, right? That's not so fucking easy to handle!" Denki raises his voice.
Soon Sero and Kirishima stand to hold back the yellow-haired man and de-escalate the situation. Bakugo scoffs and leans back in his chair, the cabana suddenly grown quiet. The laid-back and relaxed aura soon turns tense and cold.
"Y'know, Bakugo, you seriously need to grow up," Sero cuts through the tension. "You can't live every day like it's high school. We're grown men with our own problems—"
Sero's words make Bakugo sit up once more. Taking off his sunglasses, the trio is met with his angry red eyes. "And I'm supposed to care about your problems?" he says. "Yes! You are because we're friends!" Sero yells. Bakugo rolls his eyes and nods his head lazily. "Yeah, whatever."
"No wonder no one wants to settle with your brute ass," Denki says. "You're stuck in this narc peak-high school era! You're turning 30 in a couple of years, wake up!" Denki yells.
The tension in the cabana thickens as Denki's words hang in the air. Bakugo's jaw clenches tightly, his fists balling up in frustration. He looks at Denki with a mix of anger and hurt in his eyes. The words hit a nerve, and it takes a moment for him to gather himself.
"You think I don't know that?" Bakugo's voice is low and laced with bitterness. "You think I don't know I'm stuck in some fucking time loop, reliving the same shit over and over again?" He stands up abruptly, knocking the chair backward. His friends take a step back, startled by his sudden outburst.
"You all act like you've got it figured out," Bakugo continues, his voice shaking with raw emotion. "I can't just fly out to the States and marry some foreign supermodel like Kiri, and sadly, like every single one of us, our youth was taken from us. All the burden was on me to save the country back then!" he yells. "So no, I couldn't shack up with my high school sweetheart like none of you guys either!" He yells.
"But I'm still here, still struggling to move forward, still haunted by the past. And you don't think I want more? You think I don't want to change?"
There's a moment of silence as his words hang heavy in the air. Sero, Kirishima, and Denki exchange glances, the weight of their friend's pain sinking in. Kirishima takes a step forward, his voice filled with genuine concern. "Bakugo, we know you've been through a lot, and we're here for you. But you have to let go of this anger, this bitterness. It's holding you back."
Bakugo's expression softens for a brief moment, but then hardens again. "Easy for you to say," he mutters under his breath. Denki takes a step forward, his tone earnest. "We're your friends, Bakugo. We're not here to judge or belittle you. We just want to see you happy, to see you grow and find peace."
Bakugo's shoulders slump, his anger starting to fade away, replaced by a weariness. He looks at his friends, their expressions a mix of concern and genuine care. "I… I don't know how to change," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kirishima steps forward and places a hand on Bakugo's shoulder. "It's okay, Bakugo. Change takes time, and we'll be here with you every step of the way. We'll help you find your path, but you have to be willing to take that first step."
Bakugo's gaze shifts between his friends, a mix of emotions playing across his face. Slowly, he nods. "Alright," he says, his voice filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability. "I'll try… for you guys."
His friends offer him warm smiles, their support evident. They gather around him, offering words of encouragement and understanding. In that moment, Bakugo realizes that he doesn't have to face his demons alone, that he has a support system he can rely on.
As the tension eases, the cabana fills with a renewed sense of camaraderie. Bakugo knows that the road ahead won't be easy, but with his friends by his side, he feels a glimmer of hope. And for the first time in a long while, he starts to believe that change is possible.
Sero leans over to take a shot of his drink, slamming the small glass down. He lets out a smile and exclaims, "Change starts right damn now!" Stepping over towels and drinks, Sero places his hand on top of Bakugo's head and ruffles his hair. "Feast your eyes, young fellow, for there is an array of choices to feast on!" Grabbing the blonde by his jaw, he forces him to look out of the cabana.
Bakugo squints as the bright blue sky crowds his vision. Looking around, he sees many people outside enjoying their day, including women of various heights, tans, and complexions. "Dude, are you serious?" Bakugo says flatly. "Fuck yeah! I mean, unless you don't swing that way…there are guys here too, I guess," Sero says. Bakugo shoves the black-haired man off him with a grunt.
"Shut the fuck up!" Bakugo yells. Sitting back down in his seat, he looks up at his three friends, who all look back with shit-eating grins. "I don't swing that way!" he reiterates. The three back off with 'okays,' as Bakugo looks out of the cabana once more and sets his eyes on a particular woman.
"There! She's hot!" Kirishima says, and as Bakugo looks at the woman, he can't help but agree, at least from a distance. "Go up to her, talk to her, and get to know her. Then boom! Get her number, and you're in it for the long haul!" Kirishima says confidently. Bakugo shakes his head and grabs his water to take a sip. But before he can, Kirishima snatches it from his hands.
"No, no, no! Here," Kirishima gestures to the corner of the cabana. Crouching down, he reaches into the mini cooler and pulls out a rather long bottle of clear liquid. Grabbing a shot glass from on top of the cooler, he cracks open the bottle and pours a hefty amount, some spilling over and dampening the warm sand. Standing up, he cautiously walks over and hands Bakugo the shot.
"You'll need it," he chuckles, making the rest of them go into a fit of laughter. "You know I don't drink," Bakugo says before taking the glass to his mouth and drinking the sour liquid with ease. A burning sensation overtakes him. Bowing his head down for a mere moment before clearing his throat, he raises the glass and flips it over, showing that he's done.
The trio screams in triumph, grabbing him by the feet. Bakugo smiles as he's soon pushed out of the cabana. "And don't come back until you get her number!" Kirishima says. Soon, Sero and Denki grab hold of the ropes to the curtain entrance and close it shut. On the other end, Bakugo can hear the trio giggling like little girls.
Bakugo stands outside the closed curtain, his heart pounding in his chest. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He looks at the woman Kirishima pointed out, her beauty undeniable even from a distance. A mix of nerves and determination fills him as he walks towards her.
As he approaches, he can feel his palms growing sweaty. He clears his throat, trying to find the right words to say. The woman looks up at him with a curious smile. "Hey there," Bakugo says, his voice coming out a bit rougher than he intended. "Mind if I join you?"
The woman's smile widens, and she gestures to the empty seat beside her. "Not at all," she replies, her voice warm and inviting. Bakugo takes a seat, feeling a surge of confidence.
The woman standing before Bakugo appears to be in her mid-20s, radiating a youthful energy and a sense of confidence. Her long sandy blonde hair cascades down her back, styled in a high ponytail that mirrors Bakugo's own hairstyle. The sun's rays catch the golden strands, lending them a natural shimmer.
Dressed in a vibrant purple bikini that accentuates her curves, she exudes a carefree and beach-ready vibe. A matching floral cover-up is tied around her waist, swaying gently in the ocean breeze. Her sun-kissed complexion boasts a healthy glow, complemented by an array of freckles that sprinkle across her cheeks, adding a touch of charm and playfulness to her overall appearance.
As Bakugo's gaze meets hers, he can't help but feel captivated by her dark blue eyes. They hold a glimmer of curiosity and intrigue, as if she is equally interested in getting to know him. Her eyes convey a sense of depth, hinting at a vibrant personality and a story waiting to be shared. In that moment, time seems to slow down as they lock eyes, creating an unspoken connection between them.
"So, what brings you here?" Bakugo asks, his tone awkward yet filled with genuine curiosity. The woman smiles, amused by his slight discomfort. She lifts her glass to her lips, taking a slow sip, her dark blue eyes fixed on Bakugo's intense red gaze.
"Nothing special, really. Just enjoying myself and trying to meet new faces," she replies, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness. Her response intrigues Bakugo, and he nods his head, shifting in his seat to face the bar while still stealing glances at her.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Bakugo continues the conversation. "So, what do you do? Not just anyone is allowed to be here," he chuckles, prompting a giggle from the woman. She takes another sip of her drink, her eyes locked onto his.
"Well, I'm actually just a friend of a friend. She's the one who got me in here, so technically, I'm just an ordinary person," she admits, punctuating her statement with a nervous chuckle.
As their conversation progresses, Bakugo starts to notice something. The woman seems to be ordering more and more drinks, far exceeding what she had when he first arrived. As their conversation nears its end, the bartender returns with the bill.
With a frown, the woman raises the bill to her face. "Cash or card, ma'am?" the bartender asks. "Oh, no, he'll pay for it!" she chuckles, casting a small, sly grin in Bakugo's direction. His eyebrows furrow in confusion as her words sink in.
"Uh, no, I'm not—"
"What?" she interrupts, her tone flat and almost offended. "You're a pro hero. I'm sure you can handle paying for this." She slides the bill towards him, expecting him to oblige.
Bakugo slams his hand down on the bill and pushes it back towards her. "So, that's why you talked to me? Because you wanted a couple of free drinks?" he says, his voice tinged with clear frustration. The woman rolls her eyes in response.
"So, are you going to pay for the drinks or not?" she says, her tone demanding and expectant.
"Money-hungry bitch," Bakugo mutters under his breath. With a huff, he stands up from his seat and heads straight back to the cabana, leaving the woman behind.
Bakugo's frustration grows as he realizes the woman's true intentions. He clenches his fists, trying to control his anger. He can't believe he fell for her act and wasted his time on someone who was only after free drinks.
He storms back to the cabana, needing some space to cool down. The sound of the music and chatter around him fades into the background as he seethes with disappointment. He trusted her enough to engage in a conversation, only to be used for her own benefit.
As he sits in the cabana, he reflects on the encounter. He should have been more cautious and not let his guard down so easily. It's a lesson learned, a reminder that not everyone has genuine intentions.
Taking a deep breath, Bakugo decides to put the incident behind him. He won't let this one encounter ruin his evening. He reminds himself that there are plenty of other people at the party, and he can still enjoy himself.
With renewed determination, he stands up and heads back to the lively atmosphere. He joins a group of his friends and engages in conversation, letting go of the negative experience from earlier. Bakugo focuses on enjoying the rest of the night, surrounded by people he trusts and values.
Although disappointed by the woman's behavior, Bakugo doesn't let it define his evening. He learns from the encounter and moves forward, ready to make the most of the remaining time at the party. As he goes over to his friends, one of them pats him on the back, not even asking what happened while he was gone.
"There's always more fish in the sea…"
STAGE 2' — blabbermouth
As Bakugo sits across from the woman in the VIP lounge, he can't help but feel a growing sense of frustration and disappointment. Her monologue continues unabated, and he finds himself struggling to stay engaged in the conversation. Her lack of interest in getting to know him or even asking about his own passions and experiences becomes increasingly apparent.
He tries to interject, hoping to steer the conversation toward something more balanced and engaging, but his attempts are quickly overshadowed by her relentless chatter. It feels as though she is more interested in hearing her own voice than in connecting with him on any meaningful level.
Bakugo's mind begins to wander, his thoughts drifting away from the conversation at hand. He starts to question his own decision to venture into the dating scene, wondering if finding a genuine connection with someone will prove to be an impossible task.
Unable to endure the one-sided conversation any longer, Bakugo gathers his courage and interrupts the woman mid-sentence. "Look, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I was hoping for a more balanced conversation," he says, his voice tinged with a touch of irritation.
The woman's smile falters for a moment, her eyes widening in surprise. She takes a moment to process his words, seemingly caught off guard by his candidness. After a brief pause, she offers a sincere apology, realizing her own self-centeredness in the conversation.
"I'm sorry," she says, her tone softened. "I didn't realize I was dominating the conversation. Let's start over and take the time to learn about each other. I genuinely want to get to know you."
Bakugo's annoyance eases a bit, appreciating her willingness to own up to her mistake. "Look, you're you're a great girl, but I gotta bounce."
"You're a hero, I get it," she responds, and he lets out an awkward chuckle. "Yeah, duty calls," he says flatly. Standing up, he heads for the door, making his way to his car. He speeds off, feeling the need to vent his frustrations to his friends.
In a flurry of angry texts, Bakugo rants about the encounter he just had. He lets out his frustration, seeking support and understanding from his buddies. Their replies offer words of encouragement, reminding him not to let one bad experience bring him down.
With each message, Bakugo's anger subsides, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and reassurance. He knows he can count on his friends to boost his spirits and help him navigate through tough situations.
Driving down the road, Bakugo's focus shifts from the negative encounter to the positive relationships in his life. He looks forward to hanging out with his friends and enjoying their company. Determined to make the most of the evening, he leaves the frustration behind.
As the city lights whiz past, Bakugo's mind clears, and he immerses himself in the present moment. He embraces the excitement and energy that come with being a hero, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead.
STAGE 3' — yandere
The next date arrives, and it turns out to be a complete disaster.
"I'm so happy to finally meet you. Trust me, you have no idea," the girl says. They are sitting at a nearby restaurant, and the hero looks at her, sensing her eagerness.
"So… you mentioned that you do hero work. What kind of hero work do you do?" Bakugo asks, attempting to initiate a conversation.
"Oh, well, I happen to know a couple of heroes personally, and I've been following you around for some time now. I've been meaning to finally meet you—" she starts, but Bakugo interrupts, feeling uneasy.
"You've been following me around?" The blonde becomes increasingly uncomfortable in his seat upon hearing her words. She starts to stammer, looking nervously at the floor and then back up at him.
Suddenly, her hands slam loudly on the table, drawing attention from nearby tables. "Dynamight! Katsuki Bakugo! I'm in love with you!" she blurts out, her voice filled with intensity.
Bakugo's eyes widen in disbelief as the girl's confession hangs in the air. He sits frozen in his seat, unsure of how to respond to such a sudden and intense declaration. The atmosphere in the restaurant grows awkward, and he can feel the eyes of other diners on them.
"Uh… what?" Bakugo manages to stammer, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and discomfort. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, feeling a wave of unease wash over him. This is not at all what he expected from this date, and he's unsure of how to handle the situation.
The girl's face turns bright red, and she covers her mouth with her hands, as if regretting her outburst. "I-I'm sorry," she stutters, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean to say it like that. It's just… I've admired you for so long, and I thought maybe we could have a connection. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
Bakugo takes a moment to collect his thoughts, trying to find the right words to respond. He can sense the sincerity in her words and recognizes that her emotions have gotten the best of her. Despite feeling caught off guard, he doesn't want to hurt her feelings.
"Look, I appreciate your admiration, I'm flattered really," Bakugo says, his voice firm but not unkind. "But it's too soon for me to reciprocate those feelings. Let's take things slow and see where it goes."
The girl's expression shifts from embarrassment to a sight of disappointment. She nods, her eyes downcast. "I understand," she murmurs softly. "But I really do love you."
Bakugo offers a small smile, trying to alleviate the tension. "Um, Yeah…" Looking towards his left he spots a restroom. "Hey, you don't mind if I hit the stalls right quick eh?" he asks. The woman across from him, head hung low.
"But I love you."
Eyes going wide, he soon leaves from his seat and cautiously heads for the door and speeds off.
STAGE 4' — acceptance
So just like you, Dynamight derives from the same misfortune of dating in his 20's being absolutely shitty.
Following the next Monday, Bakugo strides into his office, feeling refreshed and energized. He settles into his chair behind the desk, surrounded by reminders of his heroic achievements. The room is adorned with trophies and mementos, a testament to his unwavering dedication to protecting the city.
As he gazes out of the large windows, Bakugo's red eyes reflect a sense of contemplation. Thoughts drift back to the words spoken in the cabana. They hold a truth he can't ignore—finding love has been a challenging journey for him. While his friends effortlessly find their partners, his life has been consumed by battles and the responsibility of safeguarding countless lives.
Memories of his high school years flood his mind, the weight of the city and country pressing upon him during the war against the League of Villains. It was a time when his determination burned brightest, but it left little room for personal pursuits. The demands of his heroic duties offered no respite, no chance to indulge in leisure or explore romance.
In his youth, he dreamt of finding that special someone, of experiencing a deep connection. Yet, as time passed and his heroism took center stage, those aspirations faded. His ambition burned hotter than the desire for companionship, and the pursuit of love lost its allure in the face of his unwavering dedication.
Now, sometimes he might have a one-night stand here or there. But it's only to subside his manly urges. But besides that, he was completely alone. With the only thing surrounding him were the stole cold trophies and awards.
But his train of thought was cut short.
"Good morning, Dynamight! How was your break?"
The hero watches as you walk in, your attitude more chipper than usual. A warm smile cascades across your face as you set a couple of neatly organized papers on his desk. As he eyes you, he notices a striking difference in your appearance.
Instead of your regular bleak all-black attire, you decided to spice things up. You're wearing a black dress shirt with a matching loose sweater and a pencil skirt. His eyes waver down and, wait, are those heels?
The hero can't help but admit that you look good.
"Fine, you?" he asks, but instead of getting a response, he looks up and sees you in the corner of the room texting with a smile on your face. As you finish texting, you place your phone in your bag and look back at the hero.
"Great," you say with a smile, but suddenly your phone rings and your face is glued back to the screen. With a sigh, the hero tends to his paperwork, but he's puzzled by the sight before him.
"Sauna date??? Movies??? Take him home???" is written on the paper. "Mr. and Mrs. L/n? What the hell?" Dynamight mumbles in confusion, the paper still in his hand. His eyes tear from the paper and back to you.
"L/n."
"Yes, Dynamight?" You ask, currently occupied sneaking a good morning text to your date. Dynamight sighs and rubs his temple with his free hand. The blonde began to think to himself:
So everyone is just shacked up but me huh?
"Strike two," he says with a cold tone.
Eyes snapping up from your phone your face is puzzled, you find your boss holding a piece of paper. Looking closer you grow warm in embarrassment. It was a random loose leaf paper of writing—words consisting of you having your date last name and next date ideas scattered all over it.
"It's a strict policy we have here…keep your romantic endeavors outside of work, you of all people should know that." He says, voice stern and strong he stands from his chair and walks close to you.
As he looks at you, he eyes you down and starts to look at your features intensely. From your batting eyelashes to the shine in your pupils. Every mark, freckle, or scar adorned on your face was taken into sharp notice.
"I'm sorry, Dynamight… it won't happen again," you say softly, feeling a mixture of guilt and embarrassment. Dynamight looks at how you look like a deer caught in the headlights, snapping from his thoughts he takes the paper, crumpling it up and shoves it into your palm with a dismissive gesture.
For a moment he thought you were cute. "Right," he says coyly, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. Without another word, he turns and walks away, and you instinctively follow suit.
You both make your way down to the basement of the building, where a private parking lot reserved for top employees and heroes awaits. The sound of your heels clicking against the polished gravel reverberates in the air as you quickly catch up to Dynamight's wide strides. As you look ahead, you notice a chauffeur stepping out of the driver's seat of a sleek, black luxury SUV. The chauffeur promptly walks over to open the door, extending a hand to assist you and the pro-hero.
As the hero takes his prideful steps into the car, he was in deep thought. Thinking about a conversation he had in the cabana:
"What about L/n?"
The hero shakes the emerging thought from his head in an instant. Looking over, he notices you looking out the window, lost in your own thoughts. Watching how the Japanese sunrise hits your skin and pours into your eyes. Lips pursed and eyes relaxed as you throw yourself deeper in thought. Biting your lip you look back down at the papers in your hand
But soon, you glance up from your work, meeting Dynamight's gaze in a brief moment of eye contact. The young hero didn't know what to feel when his eyes met yours, but before he get lost in your eyes. You pull your gaze away can return to your work.
For a moment Dynamight thinks to himself that maybe he should try and get to know you, he realizes that from most of his secretaries, you seemed more tolerable than usual.
"So… who's the guy?" Dynamight breaks the thick tension in the air, causing you to pause from your typing and look at him with a rather shocked expression. "I'm not permitted to tell you that information, Dynamight," you say, maintaining a professional tone. The pro hero rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with your response.
"Fuck the rules, I'm your boss," he retorts, contradicting himself with a hint of frustration. You swallow nervously and shift your gaze to the window, observing the bustling city of Japan at such an early hour.
"I met him during my week off. He's a good guy, and we're attracted to each other–"
"That's it?" Dynamight interjects with a snort, and you blink, trying to restrain yourself from showing your irritated state. "Well… I'm not exactly comfortable discussing my personal life in detail," you respond politely, hoping to defuse the tension. However, as you glance over, you notice Dynamight giving you an unamused look. He soon adjusts in his seat and leans his head back, signaling his disinterest in further conversation.
"Whatever," he says dismissively, the hero soon shuffles in his seat and leans his head back. Closing his eyes he tries to think of anything else but his mind travels back to the conversation he had in the cabana.
"What about L/n?" Kirishima says, his curiosity piqued.
"No fucking way!" the blonde responds, his voice filled with disbelief. "Who is L/n?" Sero and Denki say simultaneously, their interest now fully sparked. Bakugo looks over at his friends, his intense gaze silently pleading for them not to say another word.
"L/n, Y/n L/n. She's the new secretary," Kirishima says with a mischievous grin, unable to contain his excitement any longer. As he speaks, the duo's eyes widen with intrigue. The mention of a new arrival in their midst always manages to stir their interest.
"Dude, another one? They just keep dropping like flies," Sero chuckles, his amusement evident in his voice.
"Nah, man, this one is staying, I swear," Kirishima retorts confidently, pouring himself a drink as he settles into his seat. He takes a moment to savor the anticipation in the air before continuing, "Like hell she is," Bakugo mutters under his breath, his arms crossed and an air of defiance surrounding him.
Denki gazes at his friends, his curiosity piqued. "Well, which one is it? Is she staying or leaving?" he asks, unable to contain his eagerness for more information.
"Bakugo doesn't want to admit it, but she's good at what she does," Kirishima states with a mix of admiration and pride. "She has this attitude that I've never seen before. She reminds me of how we all used to be at UA— young and a ball of determination and confidence waiting to be popped," he boasts, his voice filled with nostalgia and fond memories.
"Plus, she's got a nice swing to her ass… and I'd tap that if I were you—" Kirishima continues, but his words are abruptly cut off by Bakugo's fierce interruption.
"Enough! Please!" the blonde's voice echoes through the cabana, a mix of frustration and embarrassment evident in his tone. He had hoped his friends would steer the conversation away from such personal matters, but it seems they were determined to tease him relentlessly.
"She sounds like a hoot. I'd say go for it," Denki chimes in, raising his glass in a toast to support his friend's potential romantic endeavors. His mischievous grin hints at the mischief he envisions unfolding.
"I mean, I think you should go for it too," Sero adds, his voice laced with playful encouragement. "And what's the worst that can happen? Just fire her," he suggests casually, taking another sip of his drink.
Bakugo leans back in the beach chair, his mind now abuzz with a mixture of thoughts and emotions. The words of his friends swirl in his head, tempting him to consider the possibilities. He contemplates the impact this new secretary might have on his life and the potential adventures that lie ahead.
Soon he feels a jolt pushing his side to side, opening his eyes he sees you. Face content and cold, "We're nearing your destination Dynamight." You say, gathering your things you hand him papers. The hero kept his gaze on you for a moment before looking down and shuffling the papers, mumbling to himself.
I'll think about it…
You thought you were getting closure from the cliffhanger lol, nah...
Pulled this out of my literal ass, so this might be the last chapter you're getting out of me for a while LMAO (not to long tho stay seated).
Finally getting back on my zoom and writing more! I have so many ideas to share with you, I'm so fucking excited to share them with you all!
— 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐢𝐝𝐚 ❤︎︎
❥: @r-ans, @xo-evangeline, @superkittywonderland, @inlovewithteo217, @im-better-than-your-newborn, @nar00, @king-dynamight, @bollzinurmouth, @gold24fish, @xasilex, @the-queen-of-sorrows, @itgetzweird08, @yoyosocks165, @zyxys1, @your-mom83, @pebblepoop, @lovra974, @suchagoodgirixoxo, @bakugospartner, @gaby-11, @smokers-sweetheart, @akqsa-xxi, @StableCreator93, @alhina, @din-O-bi-wan, @jolynegf, @sad0ni0n, @wore-for-anime, @a1hina, @goldenglow149, @aliruuiz, @zany17, @zukowantshishonourback, @uvula6927, @ilovedenk-i, @LavaLampFullOfSoup, @echosfadve, @atsushiki, @smolbeanzzz, @urdecentartist09, @lem-hhn, @stevenknightmarc, @violetseon, @katsu-shi, @ryumiii, @idontevenknowlolls
#— 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐢𝐝𝐚 ❤︎︎#mha#mha headcanons#mha x reader#bnha headcanons#mha imagines#bnha insert#bnha x reader#bakugo x reader#mha fanfiction#lovelyiida#bakugou katsuki#mha bakugou#bakugou x reader#bakugou smut#bakugou x y/n#bakugo x you#bakugo x reader series#bakugo fic#bakugo series
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Could we get captain price with a younger/inexperienced reader? Like someone who’s only had shitty hookups that didn’t care if they got off or not. He would completely ruin you for all other men omg. Like knowing that he’s the first person to really make you feel good would be so hot to him
TRUTH OR DARE? A PRICE X F! READER
A/N- I actually had a lot of fun writing this bad boy. I really hope I did this prompt justice~
W/c- 2.1k
WARNINGS- Smut, language, fingering, orgasm(s), p i v, choking, rough sex, inappropriate relations with your boss, and like a ton of SMUT. Ok cool enjoy.
Of all things, of course a children's game would be your downfall.
It all started after a you and the rest of 141 finally completed the 2 month long mission in bumfuck Russia. Safely back at the bunker, the squad pops open a bottle of whisky, bourbon to be specific, so even Ghost joined in. The game of cards long since abandoned in favor for a rousing game of Truth or Dare.
"Minx, you're turn" Soap slurs, "Truth or dare?" "Truth" you respond, after seeing the last dare done in the group you chose the hopefully safer answer. Gaz had last chosen dare and the image of his bare ass is now forever ingrained in your brain.
"Oh that is so not gonna save you missy," Price mutters, taking another sip of his drink. You raise your eyebrow at him as Soap asks "how many time has a guy made you cum in one night?". You spit out your drink at the bluntness of this question. You usually can hide your emotions pretty damn well, as it was part of your job. Your were 141's espionage agent. Their "honey pot" , which is how you got your code name, Minx. But this question, off of Johnny's drunk lips caught you off guard.
"I'm sorry, WHAT did you just ask me" you retort. "Oh you heard me." he counters. You take a sip of your glass and muse on how to get out of this one. But you know there is no way out, its either answer this question or down the rest of the bottle. Your stomach doing flips at the thought of drinking that much. After a long sigh you shrug your shoulders in defeat, "Not a single time Johnny boy" exhale. Every head in the room snaps up to stare at you in pure shock.
Johnny lets out a chuckle, "I can change that for you Sweetheart" he boldly asserts. "Johnny you couldn't figure out the difference between a pussy and an asshole" Price quips, which manages to get what sounds like a chuckle from Ghost and full on howls from the rest of the team. You feel your face redden and you look up at Price to try and come up with some snappy comeback but the words die on your lips when you see how he's looking at you. It's different now, hungry.
It's been a few months since that night in the bunker, but you can't get the image of Price's face out of your head. Are you falling for your Captain? You don't have the privilege's of loving anyone in your line of work. Not only can they be killed, but most men would lose their minds watching you flirt with mob bosses. How fragile their egos can be, but that's what makes it easy to get information. Which comes in handy on your next mission.
You slide on the little black dress laid out for you in the hotel room of some fancy 5 star hotel in the heart of Mexico. This mission was simple, get in, get close to the some high up cartel douche and get the information off the USB he's carrying. Slipping in the earpiece that is near invisible you breathe, "hear me alright lads?". "Copy" responds Price, "Loud and clear Minx. Remember the plan and stick to it." "Yes sir" you reply. The rest of the squad was outside, hiding in the shadows incase anything went awry and being subtle was no longer an option. You stalk out of the hotel room and down to the casino on the first floor, ready to outsmart yet another idiotic man. You catch the attention of every man in the room when you walk in, some even blatantly staring. You saunter over to the bar and order yourself a drink, ignoring the man at the bar trying desperately trying to get your attention. You swipe up your drink and leave him with his mouth open as you go to sit in the lounge and wait for your prey.
"Incoming now Minx" you hear Ghost breathe through your earpiece. Not a minute later incomes your target, a rather short man in an overpriced suit, Angel. All the pictures you'd been briefed with made it easy to spot him in the crowd. You take a slow sip of your drink and as he walks past you, you slowly look up at him with doe eyes. You can see in his eyes he's fallen for it hook line and sinker. After a few minutes a man in a black suit taps you on the shoulder, "Excuse me Miss. But Angel would like to speak with you" he whispers into your ear, accent thick. "Oh does he?" you respond, "well who am I to decline?"
You follow the man to the back of the casino and he leads you to an elevator. "He's on the top floor" he gestures to the door. "Gracias" you respond, voice dripping with honey. "You could work on that pronunciation." Gaz snorts in your earpiece. As the doors shut and the elevator moves you take a big gulp of air. "Shut it Gaz" you spit. The doors open to a dimly lit club, filled with music and smoke. "Hope you boys are ready for a show," you breathe as you step into the club.
He sticks out in his flashy white suit making it easy to pick him out of the crowd. You slide into his lap and purr "you wanted to see me handsome?" His hand slides onto your ass and you suppress a gag at the smell of his god awful cologne. "mmm, I've wanted to lay my hands on you from the moment you looked at me" he moans into your ear. "Well, I'm here" you murmur into his neck, placing kisses from his ear to the nape of his neck. You hand slides down his body, nearing his groin. You slip your hand into his pocket and slip the USB into your dress. "We should take this back to my room" he hums. "Mmmm, you'd think I'll just follow you anywhere?" You pull back, eyes wide, "I would feel much safer back in my room. But I need to freshen up first" you move your hand up his chest. After a few more minutes of some pretty heavy petting you get up, "you can find me in room 603" you whisper into his ear as you slink away. Of course that wasn't your room number, you weren't even going to be in this country by the time he figures that out.
The minute your outside the hotel you find a way to slip into the backstreets to rendezvous with the team. "I feel like I need to take a scalding shower for the rest of my life" you groan, still feeling his hands on your body. "Let's exfil and get you that shower, you earned it" Price smiles once he has eyes on you again. You wonder what a shower with Price might be like... you shake your head to get the image out of your mind.
After debrief and a long hot shower you get a text that surprised you
My office- 10 minutes.
It's from Price. What could he possibly want with you at this hour? Your mind races with the possibilities as you leave your room, mostly of terribly dirty thoughts of being bent over Price's desk. As you approach his office door you pause, unsure of if you want to knock on the door or pretend you didn't see his text. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you rap on the door 3 times before you hear Johns gruff voice, "Come in."
You slide in the door and close it softly behind you, "You wanted to see me sir?" you choke out. The air in here thick with cigar smoke and anticipation. "Your performance on todays mission was good kid, but that's all it was, a performance." he mutters, voice low. "Sir?" you inquire. "You've never wanted to take a man to your room, none of them could please you" his words go straight to your core. "I've been thinking about this since that night in Russia" he continues, standing slowly from his desk chair, "and I know you have too" his eyes flick up to yours. They have that same hungry look from all those nights ago. You gulp, "have I now?" you tease, hoping to regain some control of the situation. "Oh you know you have love" he grumbles. In an instant his hands on your neck and your back is on the door. You let out a yelp of surprise and pleasure. His lips meet yours and the fire in your belly ignites. You had been thinking about this since that night, many times with your hands between your legs and the image of him in your mind.
"Why don't you show me then? What it should be like?" you moan as you nip at his neck. "I'm going to ruin you" he growls, flipping you around and face down onto his desk. The tone of his voice and the force he moves you around with is more than enough to get you soaked. He rips the booty shorts you wore down your legs, to reveal your bare ass, a perfect site to behold. You can hear him hum in delight at the sight of you bent over his desk. Your breathing is ragged as he takes one hand to hold your head down on the table and the other begins to rub your folds. His touch alone tightens the band in your stomach, he knows exactly what to do. "Wet already?" he croons, taking his thumb to your clit. He starts slow, moving in a circle causing your back to arch. The fire in your stomach turns into an inferno as he takes one finger and slides it into you. You gasp at the feeling of his rough callous fingers. He pushes up against you, his cock throbbing through his pants and slides in another finger. "Fuck John" you moan. "Shhh, let me show you how you deserve to be fucked" he grunts. His pace begins to quicken, fingers sliding effortlessly in and out of your hole. You've never felt this burning inferno in your stomach unless it was your own fingers. "Holy Shit John" you whine, your eyes loosing focus at how incredible this feels. "Cum for me" he commands, fingers moving at a speed you didn't know was possible. The gruff command is enough to send you spilling over the edge into an orgasm. You cry out his name as he doesn't relent. You have to bite down on your arm to ground yourself, the world going black from pleasure. "That's my girl" he praises, removing his fingers from you with a satisfying pop. Before you can catch your breath, you hear him unbuckle his pants. Shudders run through your body in anticipation for what comes next. If his fingers could do that, you can only imagine what his cock can do to you. "Ready?" he whispers. You're so fuck dumb all you can do is manage a nod, as he slides down your panties which are just a soaking mess. He teases you, moving his cock back and forth between your soaking folds before he finally slides his tip in. He's so much bigger than anyone you've ever been with, you cry out as he slides a couple inches deeper. "Breathe love" he groans through gritted teeth, "You have to relax for me". With one final thrust he's in, his size struggling against your walls. You whimper as he begins fucking you. His hand moves from your neck to your head, hands filling with your hair. Pulling your head back, he picks up his pace. Every thrust fans the flame of yet another orgasm. "Fuc- John I'm gonna- I'm gonna" you yelp. Words won't come out of your mouth, your brain to scrambled from the last orgasm. "Fuck" He grunts, and with one final punishing thrust you feel him empty inside you. His cum mixing with yours as you're thrown into yet another orgasm. His forehead on the back of your head, cigar smoke filling your senses.
"What are you doing to me Minx?" he breathes. You're still bent over the desk gasping for breath. You've never been fucked like this in your life, its nothing like those shit one night stands you've been used to. Your whole body feels like its on fire, but your head is where its the worst. Words are failing to come to your lips, all you can do is whine. He slides out of you and kisses your forehead.
"Truth or dare?" you finally gasp out. Shakily hopping up on the desk, regaining a miniscule amount of control of your body. A smirk crosses Johns mouth, "Dare" he answers.
"I dare you to make me cum again" you challenge, voice still shaky. His eyes light on fire again, "Gladly".
#price smut#captain price x reader#captain price smut#mw2#mw2 x reader#mw2 smut#modern warfare#modern warfare 2#price x reader#modern warfare 2 smut#captain john price#captian price
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⭒❃.✮:▹ holiday hoes
“so if you’re keen to listen, here’s an offer i’ll propose. let me work and i’ll provide you with a touch o’ that gold!” —liquid gold, lackadaisy
❝for the christmas spirit I’m going to be doing something… special, this year~
for the following days, i’ll be challenging myself to write an nsfw prompt that’s holiday related, based on the prompt list i gave myself. the masterlist will be posted soon enough, so stay tuned~❞ —kosmo
the list will update as each day passes. all fics are NSFW and must be read with caution!
ALL readers are gender neutral, however some fics may have gendered body language.
┅✦┅
✿ prompts ✿
1. “all dolled up” — phantom x reader, lingerie
- you wanted to look extra pretty for phantom on the holiday season
2. “a different kind of warmth” — swiss x reader, cockwarming
- when the icy cold temperatures hits, swiss has his own unique way of warming you up
3. “gingerbread houses” — aurora x reader, food play
- what a fun little activity to do with aurora! surely she won’t have any other ideas in mind… right?
4. “red ribbon” — rain x reader, bondage
- there was leftover ribbon from gift wrapping that you decided to use, and maybe you’re just the best gift for rain
5. “naughty list” — terzo x reader, spanking
- how sad… you ended up on the naughty list, looks like papa terzo will have to ingrain some discipline into you
6. “candle queen” — sodo x reader, wax play
- the scent of the candles just made this year extra cozy, maybe sodo has some tricks up his sleeve for how to make things cozier
7. “frosted windows” — cirrus x reader, mirror sex
- the fogged windows are perfect places to trace pretty little shapes on, cirrus however has a different shape in mind
8. “come watch me play” — vessel x reader, exhibitionism
- vessel likes to put on a show for the christmas cheers. what kind of performance does he have in mind?
9. “unwrap your present” — cumulus x reader, stripping
- you came home from a long day of work, just finally getting that well deserved vacation. cumulus has a pleasant surprise waiting for you
10. “festive little fantasies” — copia x reader, toys
- your gift for copia surely got him excited….
11. “picture perfect” — iv x reader, aphrodisiacs
- ivy was not expecting this little christmas get together to get all.. steamy.. but now he has you all to himself
12. “not so angelic” — omega x reader, corruption kink
- the little angel that came down from heaven to spread the joyous spirit… surely omega won’t try anything
13. “holiday blow” — iii x reader, blowjob
- as iii is writing letters to his loved ones, you decided to give him a little treat underneath his desk
14. “stuffed like a present” — mountain x reader, cum bulge
- mountain wants to give you something that’ll leave you completely filled
15. “nice list” — secondo x reader, praise kink
- what a good pet you’ve been… and it looks like secondo has taken notice
16. “blind to the light” — ii x reader, blindfolding
- ii wanted to add more spice to the bedroom for this year, and spoil you prettily for his holiday affairs.
17. “give you more” — zephyr x reader, overstimulation
- you decided to be extra generous to zephyr, and assist him when he’s in dire need of some love and affection
18. “my special gift” — sunshine x reader, thigh riding
- sunshine has a special way of showing off what’s hers.
19. “miss me on holiday season” — aether x reader, sexting
- aether is away for the festive spirits, that doesn’t stop you from missing him though
20. “just this once” — ifrit x reader, hate sex
- stuck in a log cabin with an old enemy, except ifrit’s been feeling extra lonely this christmas
21. “take me to church” — swiss x reader, blasphemy kink
- christmas is all about celebrating the birth of jesus… swiss wants to show you off to him
22. “forever ingrained” — vessel x reader, photography
- a new polaroid camera? vessel is getting a few ideas on what to do with it…
23. “christmas tree” — phantom x reader, public sex
- while searching for the perfect christmas tree, phantom finds himself needing some attention
24. “sharing is caring” — sodo and rain x reader, threesome
- sodo and rain learn to share their special gift
25. “merry christmas” — all era iv ghouls x reader, fuck party
- the ministry is all decorated in festive decor and it truly feels like the holidays are in season! now… what do these ghouls want to do with you?
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#ghost fanfiction#sleep token fanfiction#ghost bc x reader#sleep token x reader#the band ghost x reader#papa emeritus x reader#nameless ghouls x reader#vessel x you#vessel x reader#holiday prompts#holiday writing#smut prompts#smutty drabble#ghost bc smut#nameless ghoul smut#sleep token smut#spicy content#christmas prompts
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Sex in the Flowers
pairing: Larissa Weems x sex worker!reader
summary: y/n hasn't been int he game long, but when she met Larissa Weems, her life changed. And after a few months of meeting, she quits her job. ON the last meeting she has, she tries to tell her but Larissa just wont listen.
warnings: language, smut, rough(ish??), mommy kink, breeding kink, shifter cock, thigh riding, fingering, oral, degrading, praise, love confession
a/n: if you see a misspelling, no you dont.
It came as a shock that Larissa Weems had time for this. Let alone planned it all for you. And all you had to do was show up to her office door at 3 sharp.
And so in your shortest sun dress and white vans, you knocked on the door as the time rolled over. Beaming up to the woman who you adored.
But on her half, she assumed that you flashed everyone that smile. It was apart of your job. You were paid to go on dates with rich and wealthy. Mostly their sons in a way to try and match make you. The day you mentioned going for a female crowd as well, your check became way more.
Larissa had accidentally stumbled across you and figured it wouldn't hurt. Yet, with every date, she became more in need of you. Wanted you all to herself and to never think of others trying to take you.
"You look absolutely adorable, darling." Larissa complimented. Please with the blush that covered your cheeks. "Are you ready? I picked out a secret place for us."
"Lead the way, love." You gestured. You knew the nickname caught her off guard. As you never gave nicknames to anyone. It was in your rules, don't give nicknames or you'll get attached. So what was this all about?
She hummed and held your hand towards the car. Where in a summer breeze your hair flowed freely. The music playing in the background as you acted without a care in the world.
This was a side Larissa had never seen. She was loving it ever so much. But it was driving her mad that she didn't know what was causing this free spirit energy.
In a matter of time, you had found yourselves in an isolated field. The two of you laughing over silly things.
At a point you had gotten up to dance around in the field. All while Larissa unpacked the sandwiches she had made and the glasses for the wine. Her blue eyes never once leaving your figure. You could feel her eyes one you. It made you happier than you've ever been.
Mostly excited to tell her you quit your job and love her. The only thing is: you were putting a lot of faith in how you read her actions. For all could go wrong and she doesn't see you in any romantic way and just loves the idea of you. And knowing she could've easily bought it was her finale tie. But you were praying it wasn't like that.
"Darling, come eat!" She called over to you. Smiling ever so softly as you walked over without breaking eye contact. Once you sat, you did something new and sat on her lap instead. Letting you arms wrap around her neck and hugging her. "What has got you in such a mood?"
"Mmm, I just missed you ever so much! What'd you make?" You got comfortable in her lap and reached for a sandwich.
"You're favorites, I figured you've been working so hard and only probably taken out to fancy, so I figured that something casual would be nicer for you." Larissa summed up and you could only feel your heart beat faster.
"Yes about work!" You saw the moment, only to be shushed by the woman who held you carefully.
"Let's just enjoy the time we have together," she whispered close to your ear.
The two of you chatted while nibbling on sandwiches and sipping on wine. You kept shifting however. There was something that was making you uncomfortable, you assumed it was just a foot. Which lead to you now laying on the blanket on your stomach. Reading a book out loud for the both of you. Not noticing how your dress hiked up your legs.
You're too occupied with the book that you don't see how Larissa looks at your body. How she traces every dent and bump on your legs. Every color she ingrains into her memory. The colors of what was going to be hers. And finally she couldn't help it. Her hands needed to touch you.
Her fingers ghosted over your legs. It wasn't till her hand had your thigh in her grasp. "Larissa." You warned. Playing into the job she thinks you still have. You sat up, which made her hand move away.
"I'm sorry." She looked away in shame. Only to be brought back to face you by your hands. "I know it's against the rules but I couldn't help."
"You're fine, we can act like it was a subtle mishap. Nobody will know." You gave her reassurance. Now laying on your back with your knees bent. Showing even more as you kept reading.
Is it possible you're teasing her? No! Impossible! You are far to innocent and sweet to tease her. Plus, why would you tease if she can't even touch you?
But maybe you were teasing, especially now that you've managed to move your dress to expose your frilly laced trimmed panties. The cute bow being what drew her attention.
"Do you always wear cute panties?" She let her hand trace delicately, almost not at all. Her eyes jumping all over your body.
"Larissa Weems, you're being awfully handsy."
"And you're being an awful tease." She puffed out. "I mean truly, your rules make no sense! I get to take you on dates, but never am I allowed to pay for you, buy you anything, touch you, nor spend more than a night with you. I truly don't get what you get out of this!"
You were stunned by her. Were you meant to get anything out of this? But then you busted out laughing.
And after a moment of laughter, you finally could talk. "Well it seems like someone doesn't agree with the rules. You signed the contract as well. Now, keep your hands off while I keep reading."
She gave you a heavier huff and pulled her hands into her lap. Listening carefully to your words. Noting how they seemed way more important now that it was you. Her eyes searched at what she couldn't touch. Trailing over ever detail of your skin. Wishing that just for a day she could touch and hold you.
"You're not paying attention to me anymore. So, bring your eyes up and not lingering." You broke into her thoughts. Closing the book and sitting up. The dress falling back over your panties. "Seriously, what has gotten into you today?"
Larissa was clearly fed with your games. "Jesus, Y/n! I just want to fuck you senseless!" She shouted.
And once again you were stunned by the silver haired woman. "Was that all it took? A tiny bit of teasing?" You couldn't help the growing smile. "Did you know, for the very brief time I've done this, I thought I would be married off before I broke any rule. To even think that it only took me to find you."
"What?" Larissa was confused now. Becoming dumbfounded when you climbed onto her lap, straddling her and keeping her trapped. “Y/n…”
“If you had just let me tell you my exciting news about work we could’ve skipped to this part so quickly,” your voice was low, kept just between the two of you. “I’ve always wanted to be fucked in a pretty flower field.”
Larissa didn't think twice, her lips were on yours in seconds flat. Moaning at the taste of the wine on your lips. You had barely drunken any but the divine taste lingered. She was sloppy and hurried.
“Easy tiger…” You hummed out. Using slight force to push her off. “You have to let me tell you about work.”
She frowned at you, you kept mentioning it. Was it some new rule update? What was so important that's keeping her from devouring you.
“What is it Y/n?” She whispered. She didn't want to scare you off with a higher volume.
“I quit.” You smiled. Yet she wasn’t. “I thought you would’ve been happy for me?”
Larissa cane back to her senses. Pushing you off her lap. “I am, but that means I won’t see you again.”
“Nonsense, my love. I quit cause I fell in love.” You beamed now. Your smile being blinding. “Truly, I didn’t mean to, but you know what they say. You can’t control it. The only thing is if it’s returned.”
A long tense silence washed over. “How long?” She finally broke it.
“Since last week. I met with everyone and told them it was over.” You felt less confidence in everything. And the silence didn't do anything to help settle the nerves. Nor did the silence, which actually made you regret saying anything. "I'm sorry, I should just go now." You were about to leave.
"Y/n?" Her voice shook. You couldn't look her in the eyes so you looked to her legs. How perfectly they were folded to the side. "Y/n, look at me."
You couldn't, you felt so stupid now. Like a little child getting a simple math problem wrong. "No, truly, just forget I said anything." You were walking away, carefully stepping around flowers. But when you missed the overgrown flower stem and tripped, you swore this was the worst day ever.
You felt tears fill your eyes, and could hardly move. You felt an overwhelming mix of emotions. Embarrassment taking mostly, but sad because your dress was now dirty.
It wasn't until arms scooped you up that you let out a small sob. Curling into yourself once you were in her lap. Her hands stroking your hair and thigh to calm you.
"I need you to look at me darling," she whispered. When you didn't she used her own hand to get you to look at her. Meeting your teary eyes. "There you are, none of these tears. You let yourself get to the worse case."
You gave a sniffle, "But you didn't sound happy or thrilled. You didn't even say anything back." You frowned. "Is it because I'm too young? Or do you not find me attractive? Was it easier because you could just buy me?"
"Oh baby no! That's never been the reason. I think you are the sweetest, most charming little thing ever. You're young, you shouldn't want an old hag such as me. You have so many people who would kill to even have a chance with you." She was rambling, but cut short with your lips on hers. Soft and passionate.
You held onto her like she was going to disappear. She was returning the kiss with the same amount of passion. You were ready to die in her arms.
Larissa pulled back and laughed lightly at how you chased after her. You slowly peeled your eyes open again. "I love you." You mumbled in the space. "I love every single part of you. I love you, Larissa Weems."
"Angel, don't say things you don't mean." She stared past you into the field. Suddenly you felt anger. How could she disregard you like this?
You huffed and sat on the other side of the blanket. "Don't belittle me." You felt heat bubble in your stomach. "I confess my love, quit my job, all because I'm so damn in love with you and all you can do is reject me. I put myself out there just for you, and if you don't want me I'm sure as hell someone else would!" You yelled, frustration expressing itself through heated tears.
Something about that sentence got to Larissa. She couldn't believe you would put yourself that low because of her. Yet, her next words only could spur you on. "What, whore yourself around?"
"I'd rather be a whore than mommy's unwanted!" You screamed without realizing. You weren't even making full sense now. "Maybe someone else would please me at least! I'll find someone else to fuck me dumb in a flower field!" You were about to leave once again.
"I suggest you stay put before you do something you regret." Her voice was dangerously low, but you couldn't ignore what it did to you. You wanted more of it.
"Or what?!" You held your ground. That waws until you were on the ground. Her hands on your chest pushing you down with a great strength.
"Mommy's gonna fuck you like the slut you want to be." She purred in your ear. Your breathing stopped. Was this what dying felt like? "Wouldn't you like that pretty girl? To be fucked dumb and hard by me in this field?"
You had this look already in your eyes. It didn't take much to put you into a sub headspace. It never had, a few compliments from a pretty lady and you were puddy in their hands.
"Look at you, already complying with me. Such a good, good girl. Do you truly want this?" Larissa let her hands up a bit. Giving you enough space to back out now.
You were long gone by now. "Please, mommy! I wanna be your good girl, please!" You were at your breaking point. You needed some relief and you needed it now.
Larissa knew this when your hips bucked up to find hers. "So needy baby, but what happened to wanting to whore yourself out? Being a dirty slut?"
"M' so sorry! Never again! Promise!" You were only falling deeper and deeper into the mind set. Eventually you'd become nothing but incoherent words.
Her hands roamed your body, sliding down your legs and back up under your dress. Her thumbs running just under your boobs. Listening to you whine for more. "What do you want angel?"
"All..." you hummed. Larissa immediately knew what you meant. And the devilish smile that dawned on her was intense.
The dress you had on was suddenly gone and the early summer breeze ran over you. Making you shiver with anticipation. Her hands cupping your boobs making you less cold. She played with them like dough, pulling airy moans from you, but it wasn't enough.
Her lips began attacking your neck while her thigh found its way between yours. Making you cry out as your hips began moving on their own. She could feel your slick running on her leg.
"Is that all for me princess? You're so wet for mommy. Have you been anticipating this moment?" Her warm breath was gliding on your neck. You could feel her hand move to find your heat. Meaning you lost the contact with her thigh and you whined. You whined like a puppy being told no.
"You're ok, Imma take such good care of you." Her hand found way to where you needed her the most. Drawing tight circles on your clit. Larissa's blue eyes watched with how you bit your lip to silence yourself. "Uh-uh baby, let mommy hear how good she's making you feel."
And you did, you let loose. Letting her know that she had you entirely. "Mmph, more." You matched her movements. Missing the touch of her as soon as it left. "NO! Please!"
"It's ok, I'm right here. We're gonna get rid of these ok? She fiddled with you panties. Pulling them down your thighs, light kisses being left in the trial. Then the found your inner thigh. Where she nipped and sucked bruises all over. "You're all mine baby. Nobody else gets to have you like this."
"Only yours, mommy." You let your hand tangle into her perfect pin up. "Mommy, your hair." You frowned.
"Does someone want to run their fingers through it?" You could only nod at her words, too lost with how her silver curls fell freely.
That was the moment she knew. Larissa knew you meant your words. Each and every one.
Her head dipped back between your legs, kissing your clit several times while you dug into her hair. Doing everything you could to pull her into you.
Larissa caved finally, giving into your wants. And you thought it was heaven, but one skilled tongue went a long way for you. She had you squirming for more. It was never enough some how. And just as you thought she was going to grant you a release, she pulled away.
"W-what?!" You looked down to her. Instantly forgetting of it as she began to loose her clothing. Letting you focus on between her legs. You were confused suddenly. "Mommy?"
She just smiled at you. "A shapeshifter honey, it's easy to manipulate to my needs. And I need to fill you with my babies, ok?"
You could only respond by pulling her down to you and kissing her. "Yours?"
Larissa softly nodded. "You'll look so cute with that belly, so round and full. Doesn't that sound nice baby?"
Then suddenly, you wanted to make her feel good. She was doing all the work, it wasn't fair. She could sense your gears turning. But never got to ask as you pushed her back and settled between her legs.
"Baby? What are- oh!" She moaned as you licked her tip. Swirling all over it before sinking onto it. Her eyes couldn't tear away from you. How you looked her in the eyes the entire time.
Her mind could focus only on you. How your tongue knew where to lick. How your eyes knew how to look. You were consuming her and she didn't know how. All she wanted was to have you with her every single second of the day.
"Oh baby, just like that. You're doing so well sweet girl. Mommy's perfect princess." Her praise sent a throbbing to your core each time. "I'm so close, god baby you're so good for me!" Her hips began to meet you. Stuttering the second you took her all in. You felt the warm liquid shoot down your throat.
Swallowing it all, you pulled off of her. Only to move fast and crawl on top of her. Lining yourself up. You slammed her all in. Both of you moaning loudly and breathing quickly.
It was all you needed to get that release you had been denied earlier. Larissa quivered at how you tightened around her. Almost forgetting that she was the one who was supposed to be in control.
But once she could find your eyes, you knew you fucked up. "You just couldn't wait could you? Such a whore for your own pleasures. I thought you were my good girl? But was all this so you could use me for pleasure?"
You shook your head quickly, "No! Mommy, please. M' sorry!" You were quick to apologize. "I...you just...I needed you." You shyed away.
"Well, now you're gonna get me. And I hope you accept it all." It was too quick, the movement. You were back on your back and she was on top.
You both were still. Staring down at your stomach. The bulge being so evident. But her stillness only made you suffer. "Please..." you begged. Needing her to move even just slightly.
"You are in no room for begging baby, but I'm gonna fuck you so good."
And she did. She truly meant it all. How she would fuck her babies into you. It was a repeating cycle for what felt like eternity. By the end you were wrapped up in her arms all dressed again as she carried you back to the car. Whispering sweet nothings into your ears.
Once back to her office, you couldn't even think of leaving her. And even when she tried to say goodbye, she missed how you practically clung to her. She wasn't ready for you to leave either yet.
"Rissa?" You called for her attention. Instantly getting it. " I meant it. I love you."
"I know you did pretty girl. And you showed it so well, that I love you too. Now what do you say about a nap?" She kissed the top of your head.
"Really? You'll let me stay?" You lit up, excited at the thought.
She bobbed her head, "For as long as you want. I'm yours forever, Y/n."
The two of you ended the day with the longest nap you've ever had. It was the perfect way to end the date.
#principal larissa weems#larissa x reader#larissa weems x reader#larissa x you#larissa weems#larissa weems smut#smut#wednesday#gwendoline christie#mommy
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Dear John || Don’t be Sore
Or alternate title: “You’ve got mail, you mopey sunnvavitch”
Warnings: 18+ sensuality, suggestive language in letters, reference to fellas “giving each other a hand” and angst.
Requested: yes! -taking Bucky to the pinup wall to give him pep talks/Bucky learning Julie Jean wears his coat
“Who’s yours from Buck?”
Crank’s voice interrupted Gale’s attempt to ingrain into his mind the sweetly feminine scent lingering on the letter. “Marge.” he mumbled blissfully into the crinkled paper.
“Maaaarge.” Bucky echoed drolly, past being shy over the rabid sort of pain he felt each time the mail came and -sorry Egan, no dice.
It was bad not getting any letters, yet he wasn’t alone in his plight this mail run. But Bucky was pretty sure he had those others beat for just how few he had *ever* gotten.
No holdup, no pesky censor, just a failure to set it up right for times like these. And funny enough, Bucky now missed the exercise of writing, brief as his attempt had been. He probably should’ve made a journal instead of pouring every hapless thought onto paper and sending it to a Cotton Candy goddess in Neverland, but he’d enjoyed it. Now though, now it might as well have been a journal, all that writing he did, the lovely recipient of those letters was now as silent as leather and pages.
And now in camp, letters from Marge made Buck’s face light up with adoration and hope that years of Bucky’s own devotion hadn't once sparked in those eyes or twitched upon those lips -unless in fond aggravation, cautionary amusement.
Marge.
Bucky had liked her better when he didn’t need all the love she took, back before Gale hadn’t dwindled down to Egan’s single reason to live.
Gale had Marge for that.
Buck didn’t have his ear pinned to the radio for a single warble of a famous voice, Buck didn’t have to pace a circle asking what kinda deluded looney he was to think she was actually seeding her broadcasts with hints to him that she remembered him still. Acorn. The monotony of this place made you doubt you knew your mother’s name, much less things like Julie Jean’s turn of phrase when asking after how he liked his drink, shaken or stirred?
It had been easier back when there had been broadcasts. Back before the damned radio got found. Busted, and Bucky seethed over it for more reasons than one, but he had a suspicion his bunk mates were sadder his tranquilizing weekly ritual of listening to her was no longer available.
They’d taken extreme measures as a result, hauling him by the collar to the pinup wall and making him recite a crass liturgy of devotion to her and renewal of promise that worked for a few weeks.
“Why’re you down Bucky?” Brady had nearly begged him when this tradition became monotonous in turn like everything else around here, “It’s not like she stopped talking to you, just the fuckin’ krouts took her away for a bit.”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s right, Major.” Demarco would pile on, “She still cares about you! Just because you can’t hear it don’t mean she’s not still saying it.”
The truth of it was he was still down. Whether it was the knock to the head or this place, his competitive spirit had turned sour, and as his own happiness plummeted, his ability to be glad of others’ began to crumble. And that felt disorienting all on its own, like he had some ugly and bitter little fella takin’ up residence where his heart once gloated and loved freely.
He knew it had something to do with it all when winter’s first trying chills made Buck shiver in his bunk, teeth chattering so near to John’s head he didn’t even think before he took what he himself wanted most. He had climbed in and held him, stiff and bewildered and a little begrudging as he was, Buck was dear and warm and would die for John, that much he knew. And John loved him.
“You’d make a great dame.” he told his poor friend one night like an idiot, drunk off of months of not being kicked out of his bunk. Maybe Acorn had been right in one of her last letters, one she sent in reply to the candid photographs of base that Bucky had developed and sent to her: she’d said he had a type. Tracing Gale’s cherub lips in a room full of snoring men in the dead of night…maybe he did.
“Can I help?” Buck had offered instead of kicking him out right then and there: because Buck was good and Buck was observant, and what Buck had allowed that night settled something in John just enough that the next time he was taken to the Spank Bank Wall, The Hall of Hopes and Dreams -he could muster up some good humor, enough to soothe Brady’s concern in turn.
“Thinkin’ of makin’ a crystal radio.” his little Kriegi Marconi had dared next week, and John was kept occupied again for the next weeks rounding up the supplies to make it happen, an amusing pantomime of his childhood games of playing a bootlegger
No one even knew if it would work. And in the meantime it was a horrible suspense not knowing what the hell was going on “out there” all while having to hide the evidence of their collection in here. And then in the middle of it all, once more-
“Who’s yours from?”
“Marge.”
“Maaaarge.” Bucky predictably parroted, Crank and Benny got letters this time too, and that was good for them.
Buck’s face while perusing his letter however, was not the typical luminous glow of an ardent young cherub in love, and that had the odd effect of worrying Bucky. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s, she’s bein-“ he trailed off, flipping the letter back and forth and scrutinizing it intensely, “I think she’s hinting somethin’. Where’s that envelope? Hell Benny, don’t put the plate on it!”
“Sorry major.”
Buck took the worn envelope and shook it, prying the seams apart until like an old dream replayed, a little square and shiny card floated to the ground. John kept himself seated, not even ready to dare hope that had anything to do with him, much as he was shaken by the similarity to Julie Jean’s first correspondence and attached photographic gift, tucked in an envelope seam. The way Buck had shaken it just so and how it had fluttered to the ground and how Buck’s thumb had looked pressed against Lana’s black and white nipples.
“John Egan, you’ve got mail.” Buck bellowed with something like triumph in his voice, face lit up like a firework stand ablaze, “Get over here, you mopey sonuvabitch.”
The chair he was sat in clattered backwards into some poor fucker as Egan dove up and towards Buck’s bunk, drawn to the waved little photograph in his hand. Buck was a merciful man and handed it over without a game of tug. Bucky deeply wished the room wasn’t full of curious friends but then again, looking into this flat, shiny, black and white, shrunken little world -it took him miles and miles away. Away to a front yard in some small town where it looked chilly but festive, with candy cane decor lining the sidewalk up to a plain brick house and two girls in the yard, mid blurry laugh, clinging to each other like they’d fall over and tweak their ankles in the leaves if they let go.
Marge and Julie.
“How ‘bout that.” Gale’s voice was warm and soft and Bucky didn't have an answer for him, he ground out a rough cough that was intended to be an agreement before it got snarled in the lump in his throat.
Julie was wearing his coat. Even as the sight got a little blurry with smarting eyes and a rush of warmth to his chilled face, Bucky could see the patchwork leather swallowing her little frame.
She’d told him in a letter once she’d barely made it to 5”1. He told her that made him over a foot taller. She said she’d happily climb him. He said he’d happily carry her around impaled on his pole.
She was wearing his jacket.
She was drowning in the fleece and she was laughing and she was holding Marge and there were candy canes and Christmas had been celebrated as it should and it was all quiet and peaceful back home.
“She’s good.” He managed to croak. And he didn’t mean her pose or her tits or her savvy ability to come out on top and cheer them all up, he meant she was a good person.
“Marge says she sought her out.” Gale explained, letter consulted once more to get his story straight, “Another War Bond tour, showed up at the factory. Made a beeline for Marge. Apparently she’d looked her up and stipulated the stop in her contract. She stayed for dinner -guess that’s when they took the photo.”
“How ‘bout that.” John managed to repeat happily.
💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.
MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for. 🤓 :
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#masters of the air#mota fanfic#dear John#John Egan#john egan x oc#john egan imagine#john egan smut#mota
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hiii could i request some headcanons for a touch starved!casey jr with a reader who their love language is physical touch [romantic/fluff]? idk i just want to give to my baby a hug, he deserves so much better😭
一∑ Tender Connections
author’s note: i agree this boi needs all the hugs c:
warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort themes, touchstarved!casey jr. x gn reader, unedited
—————————————————————————
Ever since Kraang was defeated Casey never stopped training. It was ingrained in him since birth that he always needed to be ready for the next catastrophe.
But those were few and far between even with the weird magnet company of the turtles + April! Despite everyone’s attempts at wanting to show Casey the new world he was now in, he would go back to the lair and train until he was sore.
One time Leo tried to keep him out all night which was quite possible in New York since the city never slept. There was an endless amount of possibilities to get into some fun and maybe a little mischief if it involved the blue turtle.
But Casey’s stamina and resilience was equivalent if not better than all of the turtles due to his upbringing. He wouldn’t have survived the apocalypse otherwise. So when Leo finally portaled them back to the lair, barely having enough energy to do so without passing out seconds later, he didn’t get to see Casey’s knowing smile.
The boy from the future easily picked up his younger sensei and got him to bed. Then it was off to the dojo, where he continued to stay up until he felt like he had gotten a good enough training session in. What he wasn’t expecting, was you to be leaning against the circular doorway.
“You know, you may have the worst sleeping habits out of all of them if Leo’s passed out.” You quipped and Casey could only offer a shy smile as he picked up the last of the equipment he had used. “I told him it wouldn’t work… to be fair” Casey muttered.
You didn’t know what to say. Things like, “Kraang is defeated now! And we can’t take some time to relax” didn’t really compute with Casey even if he agreed. His body just was wired a certain way and he didn’t know if it would ever relax. Even now his muscles which were exceedingly sore, ached for a different reason. He felt restless. He didn’t want to sleep. He felt like fighting. He felt like defending and protecting the city from some new unknown source of danger that was surely building up its forces now
Thoughts like these were driving him crazy. And you could see it. “Why don’t we go out?” You asked and watched as his mouth dropped open, about to refute that such methods didn’t work as Leo had literally just tried all evening to wear him down.
But you stopped him before he could refuse. “Just to a rooftop! It’ll only be a few minutes,” and how could he deny you? As he took you in, it was obvious that you had forced yourself to stay up. Had you been waiting for them to get back? You were in comfy pjs and your hair was a bit disheveled from what he could only guess was tossing and turning in bed. “Alright,” he sighed, shaking his head but continued to follow a step behind with a slight grin.
It was nice to know how much you cared. How much everyone cared about him! But something about you in particular made him feel a tad warmer.
So up to a rooftop you went. The sky was dark and there were blinking satellites that mimicked stars. The city still alive and thriving just as he had left it, but the rooftop was calmer than the sidewalks. It was quieter. He didn’t know if that was a good thing for a person like him. The quiet invited in thoughts that he’d rather not think about. Like his endless worries and paranoia.
He had been sitting on the low rise ledge that bordered the entire rooftop. One foot started to tap anxiously just to offer any kind of distraction when you had sat down next to him, carefully since past the ledge was a seven story drop to pavement. Your proximity eased those nerves somehow and with knees almost knocking, you faced Casey and started talking
About anything and everything! About yourself and your hopes and dreams. You asked about his now that he was here and didn’t have to live day by day. Talking like that made it sound like the future wasn’t always in peril. As if maybe he would have enough time to do other things, like try every restaurant in NYC. And travel outside of the city, even New Jersey which he still didn’t understand why the guys all disliked the place.
The conversation ebbed and flowed naturally until silence overtook once more and this time Casey didn’t have the overwhelming urge to distract himself. Instead he just took a deep breath in and out, letting it go in a long sigh. Then his breath caught in his throat because he hadn’t realized how close the two of you had gotten while talking. Your hand finding his in that moment and your fingers intertwining with his as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
He couldn’t stop himself from looking down at your connected hands, and he shivered all over as you started to trace patterns on the back of his hand. The pressure he had unknowingly been carrying around released from his shoulders. His eyes darted up to yours, finding that you were already there, waiting for his gaze.
In the moonlight he tried to convey his gratitude, because what could he say in this moment that wouldn’t ruin it? He squeezed your hand, comforted by the pressure. Grounded by the gentle hold that you had on him.
The two of you stayed like that for a while. Until your eyelids started to flutter and your body couldn’t stay upright. He of course more than welcomed you to lean on him, but he didn’t want to push his luck and didn’t want to keep you awake any longer when it was obvious both of you needed sleep. “C’mon,” Casey spoke softly, rousing you to try and get you to stand.
But it seemed you were either already out of your wits or maybe just trusted him wholeheartedly because you only scooted closer to him, allowing him to pick you up in his arms and carrying you back down to your bed. Which of course was done easily enough by him since he always had his grappling hook at the ready. It all ended quite too soon for his liking as he carefully let you go so you could snuggle under your covers, rasping out a goodnight to him with your eyes closed.
Would it be horrible of him to admit he had wanted to kiss your forehead so badly in that moment?
After that night, Casey was in for much more than handholding. While that still happened often, hugs became second nature between the two of you. He reveled in your hold, a days worth of stress releasing as soon as your arms encircled around him. Your hands at his back, going up and down in soothing strokes had him holding on tighter when it was time to let go. “Just a little longer?”
He’d shyly ask. If you didn’t want to he would immediately let go. But you always indulged him with a bright smile. So don’t get too mad when he starts to become greedy! With this revelation of him wanting and seeking out your gentle touch, he’d pull you into quiet corners like a true ninja.
One second you’d be in the middle of a Mario kart game and as soon as it was over you found yourself being tugged up and away because Casey had a really important thing to show you or a question that only you could answer! It got more and more ridiculous until Mikey called the both of you out and said you didn’t have to sneak around to hug!
Once PDA was on the table Casey never looked back. He was stuck to your side and honestly, you wouldn’t rather it any other way! <3
#touchstarved#casey jones x y/n#rise casey x reader#rise casey jr#rise casey jones#casey jones x reader#rottmnt casey jr#casey#rise casey#casey jones#casey jr#casey junior#rottmnt x gn reader#rottmnt x reader#rottmnt x gender neutral reader#rottmnt x you#rottmnt x y/n#tmnt fandom#tmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise tmnt headcanons#rottmnt headcanons#rise headcanons#rottmnt fluff#tmnt fluff#rottmnt fandom#headcanon#rise x reader#teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt movie
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I’ll Take the Night Shift
Pairing: Husband!John Price x Wife!Reader
Synopsis: Before you knew it, John was gone - taken from right under your nose and leaving you no choice but to retreat without him. But you would do anything to get him back, even go into the lion’s den itself.
Word Count: 15.2k
Warnings: Torture, blood & gore, V suggestive & some spicy bits, vulgar language, angst, found family tropes, eventual fluff, and comfort, injured Price would be the sweetest person idc, so much plot, briefly edited
A/N: The flashbacks are spicy because I said so. (Soap request being written after this). Enjoy!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You try to remember how you felt the first time they told you. Your combat vest was still on, that night vision rig still connected to your head and weighing about as much as John did when he rolled on top of you in the middle of the night. At your front rested the M13, its black and sleek metal bumping against your chest with every teetering step.
Black, on black, on black. Except for one item, hidden, kept close to heart, and even closer to mind at all hours. You were always aware of it, the metallic press that was ingrained into your body just as the caress of John’s fingers was, burning over your pulsing epidermis as it traveled.
Around your neck, your wedding ring sat heavily on its chain – gold more bright than the sun and kept safe and warm against the flesh of your breast under the numerous padded layers. Your face was bathed in sweat, lungs aflame with blood dripping from a knife puncture on your right thigh. Although the limb is bathed in crimson, the dark fabric of your pants hid most of it. But it couldn’t hide the red footprints in the dirt.
It was a Black Op in Finland – a target stashed away in a mansion that was clawing for breath in this dense forest with more viridian-colored trees than any you had seen before. Green seemed to breed in the small spaces, between rocks, up crackling bark; crunching under your black boots as you came to a shattering halt. Moss and tiny plants get crushed under your fierce steps.
If it was any other circumstance, you would have loved to drag your husband here for a vacation.
You had felt fear when they told you. Cold. Chest-tightening. Skin tingling as your limping body fought to focus on anything but the pain that was spiking in your leg, but that was simple when the words flew from Gaz’s lips with panic. Simon had stopped behind you as well, the two men dressed just as you were and holding their breath for your reaction. They knew it wouldn’t be good.
“The Captain isn’t responding. Soap can’t bloody find him.” The chill of the night was nothing compared to the dread that flooded your veins, eyes snapping forward blankly at flashing shadows as your panting breath was all at once sucked back down.
What?! Is all you can numbly think.
A brief stuttering inhalation ensues, your brain screaming as if banshees wail and smash against the bone of your skull with sharp teeth and blunt nails; tearing to try and get out. But you were not born to break at such a fickle emotion as fear in your bloodstream, or the adrenaline making your eyes vibrate. You were taught to act.
You’re turning on your heels and hiking back to the mansion without a word or hesitation, the world around you speeding by. In a single instant, the organ in your head promptly goes silent in a fell swoop of horrified realization. Everyone left in that mansion would be dead if you got your hands on them – ripped to tiny little pieces until that which was yours was returned unharmed and conscious into your arms.
You hold the M13 tight around the stock, jimmying it into your shaking grip.
“Whoa!” Gaz rushes to get ahead of your warpath – which didn’t take much as your wound was throbbing; making your head pound something awful.
It doesn't matter what I feel…Where is my John?
Dark hands grasp your shoulders tightly, shaking you as your lips turn into a snarl.
“Out of my way, Garrick,” You growl, face suddenly twisting into an image of pure animalistic rage, “I’m going to Soap’s position.”
Attempting to jerk out of the man’s hold, your skin crawls at the thought of John. He always answered the comms – always stayed within eyesight of his partner when placed with another individual. Your husband did not leave men behind. He would never leave Soap behind.
And that meant he was either dead or captured.
Your mind jumps to violent imagery. Your Captain, riddled with bullets and bleeding as he writhes in pain; left to die like a feral dog as he snaps at everything that moves. Or worse, taken and stashed away, far from you, and tortured for information. John would never break – they’d have to kill him anyway.
There was no version of this story that involved him living if you did nothing.
“Johnny isn’t at the mansion,” Ghost comments, popping up in the side of your vision as you have a stare-off with Gaz and releases the radio attached to his vest, “He was under heavy fire – had to pull back. Should be closin’ in on our position soon.”
“I’m still going back!” Growling, you snap your arms back and shoulder past Gaz, “You’re idiots if you think I’m leaving John by himself in fucking Finland surrounded by hostiles.”
But what if he’s already dead and I don’t know it? Can I handle that?
You grunt under your breath, trying to stop the sting of your eyes.
“Love,” The younger man pleads, Kyle’s dark eyes worryingly going from your thigh to your face, “You’ve got to be bloody joking with us. If you go back to that place you’re as good as dead. We have to pull back to the Evac Point. There are too many guns – we’re outnumbered.”
When you had joined Task Force 141 you had never expected to marry the older Captain of this rag-tag bunch. It had been surprising enough that you had been spotted by the brown-haired Brit at all, only seeing him once when he had come to teach a class of rookies on Counter-Terrorism. Naturally, the two of you had struck up a conversation – or, rather, you had forced him to speak to you. But how could you not? The man was about as handsome as they came. The gruff and gravel tone that rumbled his chest, his large build reminiscent of a brown bear, and how the muscles under his shirt had rippled when you snuck up on him. Physically, he was everything you wanted, and the same went for attitude once you got to know him.
And, hell, how could you look at someone like John Price and not get entranced by his eyes? Storm gray and raging waters; you swore you could see an entire world hidden in the flecks of silver as if he was carved from stone and his soul was pure electricity. But despite all of it, his serious face had seemed warm under that beard of his and that bucket hat on his head wasn’t helping. He seemed kind enough, and that had piqued your interest as you were constantly being surrounded by less-than-respectful men in the barracks.
In fact, your first sentence to him was, “How many times have you nearly lost that hat of yours mid-Op, Sir?”
You had snuck up while the rookies were working through a practice course down below the loft, where the two of you currently were. John’s head had snapped to the side, his constantly narrowed eyes widening a fraction. If you had to guess, he didn’t get snuck up on often.
But he had never met you before.
His arms were attached to the collar of his vest, and you saw the fingers tighten as his shoulder-width stance tensed below him. The shouts and calls of the people below blurred as you tilted your head, blinking innocently up at him, watching his lips move with heated thoughts.
You quite liked him looking surprised.
“Ma’am,” He utters in greeting, before letting out a deep sigh that makes you huff a laugh in turn. He seemed tired – stressed, “Very funny. Don’t suppose you’re part of the others down there, then, are you?”
“Unfortunately, no, Sir,” Your gaze filters to the flailing limbs and you watch with creasing eyebrows at the chaos, amusement deep in your blood, “I mean…they look like they’re having fun, at least.”
“Yeah, that’s a bloody exaggeration, that is,” His wrinkled forehead had creased, following the horrific sight as well, “Laswell told me that this group was promising.”
Your laugh makes his head fully turn back to you, blinking down and fighting the flick of his eyebrow in confusion.
“Oh, God, she told you that?!” Shaking your head you shifted your body to face him and stifled your chuckles. You say your name and utter out, “If you want someone who’s not going to sugarcoat things for her amusement, Captain Price, you come straight to me. Squad 5 is the one you want for Counter-Terrorism courses; certainly not 3. That’s a good way to get shot in the ass by your own guys.”
He stared at you for a long minute before his eyes flickered down to your hand; he grunted and grasped it in his own.
You were correct – he was warm. Firm. The ingrained lines of his palms splayed over yours, and the flesh of your lips softened at the delicate way he was holding you. Like you were a prized weapon.
And you would have it no other way.
“Just Price is fine, Ma’am. Kate mentioned you in her call…You were in Romania in ‘04, Yeah? Quite the job to do by yourself…You ever think on joinin’ a team?”
Three months later Laswell was giving you a call saying you were getting a promotion and the rest was subtle glances that evolved into stolen touches in dark corners when no one was looking. It had been scary how instant the feelings were realized…you trusted John with your life, just as he did with you. That was the first feeling after lust and the one far before love – protectiveness for each other on the same level as wolves in a pack.
You can’t leave him behind.
“He’s the Captain–” Your lips begin to hiss out, eyes narrowed at the ground as you struggle along. You were weaker than you should have been – blood loss leaving you nearly on the ground after the retreat, “He’s my husband!”
Rage was easier than panic. Perhaps that was why John called you Lion for a callsign.
“...And you’re going to get him killed.” The remark makes you freeze. Ghost doesn’t move from behind you as the echo of his words bounces off the trees, but you feel his presence just the same as Gaz clears his throat awkwardly, “You go back, Aarre Virtanen will put a bloody bullet in ‘em. Not a chance he doesn’t.”
Aarre Virtanen. The target that had escaped the Force’s grasp like the weasel he is. Your eyes alight with rage, and cities burn in your iris.
“You’re just about the most impulsive person I’ve ever met, Love,” John mutters into your hair, running his fingertips over the hospital gown as he lays in the bed with you. Your eyes are closed, feeling your head rise and fall with the steady breathing in the Captain's chest – damn him, the way he touched you was hypnotic; putting you to sleep where the pain meds failed.
“Hm,” You groan, digging your head deeper into his peck and feeling him chuckle velvety.
“I need to teach you how to think plans through before you commit, Yeah? Else you’re going to keep getting hurt…and we can’t have that, eh, can we Sweetheart?”
“...If you’re gonna hold me like this when I get shot, I’ll make sure to take more bullets for you from now until the end of time.”
A puff of breath and a brush of coarse beard hairs over your scalp.
“You’re hopeless, you are. What am I supposed to do with you…?”
“Probably kiss me, Sir, but I’m not picky. You can fuck me too while you’re at it.”
A shuttering of leaves rips everyone out of their arguing, and in an instant three guns are held leveled at a dense bush, shaking in the moonlight. Every moment spent with John was flashing over your eyes like you were dying. Why was your breath getting strained? Why was your grip shaking?
“Friendly! Don’t go poppin’ off shots, it’s jus’ me!” Your stance lessens at the familiar Scottish drawl, air falling from your nose in a terse sigh.
Soap’s body pops out a second later, and you’re right next to him with a heavy heart, gripping him by the arm and digging. It was hard, holding yourself together with string and fraying cloth, but you had to. You can’t break…not now. The man's vision is locked on your face, and you don’t like the thinness of his lips as his expression is layered with guilt.
It mirrors against the desperation in yours, leaking into the tone coating your sentence like poison.
“Little Lady, I–”
“Where is my husband, Johnny?” Your face contorts, pulling back. He was supposed to be here, why wasn't he here? He took MacTavish with him because he needed an expert to detonate a bomb in the lower mansion’s tunnel structure. He said he’d be back soon…Where is he? “Johnny, please, he can’t…” Begging has never been implemented in your life. Never.
But for John, you’d do anything.
The man in question flinches back, the dried blood over his face catching your gaze in the dim light as you stop dead; your eyes slashed the distance between Soap’s visage and the gore over his cheeks. Up his arms. On his hands. Staining his chest like fucking finger-paint. Before you know it you’re backing up, eyelids fluttering like hummingbird wings and jumping from place to place as all you can see is red. Your hands are slippery, and you hold them limply ahead of you.
No, no, no. No, it can’t be.
“Holy shit, Soap,” Gaz whispers, voice horrified, and you feel his hand on your back trying to steady you, “Is that…”
Ghost’s dead eyes stay locked on the scene, narrowing behind his mask. The Scot’s head flows to the blood, quickly inhaling as his nose scrunches. His lips part in horror as he tries to calm you down, backing up a step.
But you can’t stop seeing red.
“Hen, now don’t do that – it’s not…I…He,” He stumbles over his words, swallowing thickly as you gape. Soap growls, splaying his hands, “Steamn’ Bloody Jesus! The explosive went off prematurely, fucken’ bastard of a device – whoever made it should get his neck rung – an’ the…the tunnel collapsed with us in it,” You just stare, and you wonder if your heart can hurt any more than it already is. At your side, Gaz blows out a slow breath, and over your back, you feel his grip tighten, “I tried to get him out of the rubble, Hen. But,” He stops, and one of his hands smacks against the top of his helmet, “Virtanen’s men got there first. God,” Johnny gasps your name, “I’m so sorry.”
But all you do is stare.
“Love,” Garrick lightly says, his breath on the side of your face, “Love, we have to move.”
But Gaz, You want to say; scream, as your stained fingers twitch when you level them with a heavy glare, Gaz I can’t leave him here
“He’s not dead.”
Ghost grunts, fixing the position of his gun over his chest; resting on hand on the end and looking off into the trees, “They’d keep ‘em alive. Try to get answers – who he is, who sent him…” The man trails.
Your heart fractures your ribs, ears ring like cicadas under your skin.
He’s not dead, You have to tell yourself so you don’t break down, looking at everyone around with veiled shock, He’s not dead.
The only reason the four of you were still standing around was that, in the absence of John’s leadership, you took point. It hit you suddenly, then, in that instant where the storm that was going on inside of your head was silenced. These men were under your wing – they needed you to take up the mantle; you needed to trust that John was alright. If only to keep the whole of the 141 safe and alive.
Gaz had shrapnel in his back; Soap looked like he was about to either turn around and go on a rampage or slump over with his head in his hands. And Ghost well…he was Ghost, but even so, his clothes were layered with blood and dirt. Not to mention yourself – your thigh has since gone numb.
…And we can’t stay here.
With your heart falling into a deep hole, you school your expression.
Don’t think about him. Don’t do it.
Your job has never been more difficult than at that moment.
“Evac Point is a ten-minute jog. L-Laswell’s expecting us.” The voice that comes out of your mouth isn’t yours, the tone is off and the structure is shaky at best and broken at worst. There was nothing more you could do, even if you knew you could drag your way back to the mansion and start a fight.
Gaz was right, you would die if you went back. And you can’t get John home safe if you were dead.
The team needs you to lead them just as your husband would.
So, avoiding all eye contact and the wide looks, you slip out of Kyle’s hold, feeling your leg sizzle with agony as you put weight on it. Garrick mutters your name, and Soap clears his stuffed throat; coughing into the night. Ghost is the one who loops his arm under your shoulders when he strides up behind you, and you flinch at the contact before closing your eyes and feeling bitter tears drip down your cheeks.
“We’ll get ‘em back, Lion,” The man glances down at you, skeletal face glowing bone white, “I give you my word.” But you don’t answer, just grimace and will away the feelings in your heart and the vomit in the back of your throat.
This is what John would want you to do, you know that – perhaps that was the only reason you were willing to leave and reevaluate at all – but, somehow, it still felt wrong.
Akin to betrayal.
The ring around your neck suddenly weighed more than the numb flesh of your leg as tears smack the moss mutely.
—
Laswell is sitting in the meeting room as a nurse wraps your thigh tightly. The sutures underneath pull at your flesh; making it stretch at a touch of a finger as you stand upright. The others had pleaded with you to sit down, but nothing would sway you. Not even the needle that had been going through your skin when you refused pain medication. Being on your feet made you feel better – like you were about to do something which would stop the thinness of your breath and the jump of your heart. Your weight was mostly on your uninjured limb anyhow, shifting as the affected pant’s leg was cut lengthwise and shoved aside as the gauze slowly wrapped around and around.
“When are we going after him,” You ask Kate, rubbing the sleep from your eyes but only succeeding in spreading dirt and blood all over your sockets, “I’ll be ready in five if you need me to be. All of us will.”
“Damn right,” Kyle nods, “Just give the order.”
The blonde sighs, and the other men in the room move on their feet in unease. No one was content sitting still – one of their own was missing. Soap in particular was taking it badly; almost as broken up as you about it.
“We can’t do anything,” Your rampaging heart clenches. You had been worried about that, “This mission was Black,” Laswell’s chair squeaks as she rises, a tablet in her hands and a scowl on her face, “Legally speaking, no one was ever in Finland in the first place. A blown power box was the cause of the explosion.”
“Kate–” Gaz growls, but Soap cuts him off.
“This is clatty, Laswell!” He crosses his arms, the mohawk on his head pressed down from being in a helmet for so long making him look unhinged. When the helicopter had dropped the Force off at base, a meeting had immediately been called; that was over three hours ago, and still, nothing had been done. It was precious time, “Send out drones, recon forces, anything. Hell, send us back in – we'll take care of this.”
“Sergeant MacTavish,” Kate stares at him, and she spares a quick glance at you as the nurse stands quickly and leaves. You clench your jaw. Without John being here the room felt empty, devoid of a very important figure; you were no leader, but what choice did you have but to take charge, “Price knew the risks, and…Black Op means no take backs. He’s been in this a long time.”
“We all have,” You whisper, grunting as a shiver of fire runs up your leg.
In the back of your subconscious, you know everyone can see how shaken you are. Your eyes constantly rove to the corners as if shadows will suddenly take form and attack, your fingers twitch as if still around the trigger of a gun; when someone mentions John’s name your hand unconsciously reaches to grasp the ring around your neck. Gaz spares you looks, reaching up to fix the position of his ball cap with tense breaths.
Inside, the thoughts were running faster than you could catch them. Every moment you spent with your Captain – dinner dates, gifts that you told him not to buy you but he did anyways…the list went on including the moments spent together. They were distracting you. He was distracting you.
Was this how it felt to lose a vital part of you? Like torture? But your person knows what torture was like – it had never felt as painful as this before. You couldn’t recall in your memory a time when your chest had been this wound tight, fingers so shaky and weak. Your brain was what you would consider your best companion in these situations…but this was different. Common sense had abandoned you in the form of a square brown-bearded face and strong arms.
God, John, You press your fingers into your eyes until you see stars, Please be okay. Please. I’ll be there soon. J-just wait for me.
There was another voice as well, telling you that if you just told yourself he was okay you could get through this easier. You could break later – you needed to focus on getting your husband back.
That was all that mattered.
Laswell scratches at the back of her neck, and your hands fall back to your sides.
“We can’t do anything,” Kate repeats, and the subtle change in phonics leads your head to snap up. Her deep blues were already staring at you; boring into your soul. The others perked up as well when your body stills, listening with predatory attention, “Shame. I heard the target was planning on being at a get-together in a week at his property in Poland.”
Your pulse stills, and you find your wavering voice, “...Can’t fault the man, he has a weapon-smuggling business to run…He’ll need more potential clients.”
“Hm,” The boys look back and forth with bright eyes, teeth showing as their lips peel back, “Affirm.” Laswell saunters to leave the room, slipping past you. But before she brushes against your shoulder her face tilts to you. You smell her scent – bark and coarse linen – as she speaks, “You might want to clean up the armory and get your gear repaired. John wouldn’t stand for his team looking like shit it if he was here.”
Kate saunters out the door, and you watch her back as the barrier closes, standing in silence. Sucking down a slow breath, your gaze filters back to the boys only to find them already staring at you.
“Well,” Clearing your throat, your eyebrows twitch, “You heard her. We can’t do anything…officially.”
“I’d say we better go clean up, then,” Soap grunts, crossing his arms over his chest, and nodding his head to you, “Head off and get a good sleep.”
Gaz and Ghost spare glances, but look about as ready as you are.
“You sure you’re up for this, Love?” Garrick asks motioning toward your leg with a head nod as he moves closer, “We have no problem doing this by ourselves.”
“I took my vows just the same as he did,” You respond immediately, gripping the younger man by the shoulder and sending a small, weak, smile, “You think he’d stay behind if it was me?”
“I think he’d rather let Soap make him tea again. And we know how that went last time.”
You huff out a sound that resembles a laugh, but the Scot in question refuses to look at you; your eyes catch Ghost sending you glances before he motions with his head to the man. Turning to Gaz you nod.
“You take Simon and get the gear ready. We’re leaving tomorrow first thing.”
“Copy, Ma’am.”
Ghost pats your skull once before disappearing, “Keep your head on, Lion.”
The door once more closes, and silence overtakes the small room. Taking a deep breath that fills you with a wave of ease – even if for a moment – you focus on the second big problem after a brief second to close your eyes and think.
Johnny.
He avoids your gaze; fidgets with his hands more than he usually does. The men of the 141 were dear to you and in a way, the entirety of it was a big family of people who really didn’t belong anywhere but with each other. You cared about them more than you cared about yourself – one of them was your husband, but the rest were your brothers.
“You remember when I took a metal rod right through my lower leg?” You begin, hobbling closer and nearly laughing when the man takes a step forward to help with a grimace set on his lips. You raise a hand to stop him, “In Egypt about two summers ago?”
“You shoved me out of the way and got hurled through a window by a bastard with a knife, Hen. Landed in an industrial yard,” You stop a foot or two from him, attempting to get his attention while he stares at his feet and mutters like a kicked dog, “Yeah. Remember it clear as day. Price nearly had my head – knew right here that he was gonna marry you.”
The comment warms your heart.
“Did I ever blame you for standing near that window, Johnny?” You ask softly, tilting your head and catching his eye as he clenches his jaw in thought. The scar on the pale skin moves, and his stubble bunches.
“Never, Ma’am.”
“Then why would I ever blame you for an explosive that went off spontaneously – one that you didn’t even build in the first place?”
He stays silent at that, but his head slowly rises to face yours fully. You had never seen him look so guilty before, those blue eyes of his so hopeless.
“I couldn’t get ‘em out,” Soap whispers and before you know it you’re grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into an embrace, “I left him behind. How could I…?”
There was still blood on him, stuck in the makeup of his flesh like large bruises; dried, yes, but you nonetheless felt it. You found, though, that at that second, it didn’t bother you as much as it should have. The Sergeant’s arms hesitantly wrap around you and when you feel him press forward with his weight, your form loses tension.
“No one blames you, Johnny,” He's shaking when you tell him, “No one. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Price,” Your throat tightens, “John knows how to handle himself, you know he would never be mad at you for retreating.”
Soap wetly laughs and places his chin on the top of your head; playing it off with a chuckle as the minutes stretch on, “I’ll just have to believe you then, Lion. Who’s to say I can go against my superior?”
Your arms tighten around him as a snort meets air, “You say that and when we get the real Captain back, I might not want to give up the position. The power’ll go straight to my head.”
“And it hasn’t already? Now that’s surprising, I could have sworn you were telling the others what to do not a second ago.”
There he was.
—
“I’m just saying, John, Fantasy beat out Nonfiction as a genre,” You shake your head, bringing the cup of coffee to your lips and sipping. Over the rim, you watch the Brit toss his beanied head to the side in disbelief.
“Negative, Dear,” The Café was mostly empty today, considering that it was so late at night you were surprised it was still open and that it was a Tuesday, “I’ll agree to disagree.”
“Name me one Nonfiction book that beats ‘The Hobbit,’ hm?” Your eyebrow raises and you place the cup down, “That’s right – you can’t!”
“‘The Guns of August’ to name one,” John raises a large brow, “do you want me to continue, Love? I’ve got quite the long list.”
It was one of the rare moments when the two of you had Leave together – once in a blue moon. These moments were so special it became tradition to spend every moment together despite the wounds or the fatigue. You both had just gotten back from an Op and rushed to change into civilian clothes and clean up together before leaving.
Admittingly, the shower took a bit longer than expected, but who could blame the two of you for taking advantage of a chance to please one another?
Across the table, your lover smirks, and you see his eyes dip to ogle the hickeys and beard burn on your neck with satisfaction. Under the table, you reel back a foot and kick his shin. Not hard, of course, but the message was received.
“Bloody Hell!” He sputters, looking back to glare comedically at you. His black athletic shirt was tight around his chest, making his muscles writhe under the fabric from where one arm sat over the back of his chair. You could imagine where you left nail marks down those abs of his; how his face had looked as you straddled his waist and used him.
“Don’t look so smug, bastard,” Your lips pull into an imitation of an annoyed frown, “Gaz is gonna make fun of me when we get back. I had a hard enough time trying to hide them when we were leaving!”
“Garrick?” John grunts from across the small table and the warm lights flicker above the two of you. His lips set forth a small smile, pulling his cheeks back and crinkling his eyes. The corner seat was the best in the café – allowing both privacy and a view of the windows and doors. Some things would just never die in the two of you, it seemed, “The Muppet can’t even pin you in drills, Sweetheart. If he teases you, just kick his legs out from under ‘em.”
“Encouraging violence between peers is not Captain behavior, Love. What would Laswell say?”
John grunts, “I couldn’t give a damn, Dear.”
While you roll your eyes and try to hide the adoring smile ripping open your skin at the man’s chuckle, you take notice of the street outside as time moves on. Staring out, your soft gaze dances over the illuminated areas of the street lights, finding old architecture and simply enjoying the scenery for what it was. When you were in the field, it was hard to take in the sights around you through the gun battles and tense situations; being able to take your time and admire was a gift. A calm silence falls over the café, and John hums gingerly from ahead of you as his knee brushes yours under the table.
“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” Blinking, you connect your eyes with his lovely blues.
The way he’s looking at you leaves your lungs tight, lashes fluttering over your cheeks as heat alights. His body had moved forward, hands and elbows on the table and leaning forward to gaze at you in reverence.
“John?” Your eyebrows turn in, lips flicking to a gentle expression of giddy embarrassment.
“Shh, Love,” He mutters, tilting his head to stare at you as your fingers fix the weight of his lent brown leather jacket over your shoulders, “Let me admire my wife, yeah? She gets lovelier every second.”
In your own little world, your head is floating as your eyes stay locked on an ocean with flecks of silver and storms. The air is thick, and around the leather, your fingers twitch with a want to embrace him; pull at the fabric of his shirt and rip him into a kiss over the table. Your heart skips beats.
Where was this coming from? You want to ask, but all that comes out is a huff as you tear your half-lidded eyes away.
“You’re making me all shy,” You grumble cheeks hot and on fire under the flesh. Your lips try to restrain a giggle, but your chest is too tight to hold anymore.
“That’s my job, that is. No use tryin’ to stop me now; you’re stuck with me.”
“I will kick you again,” You emphasize as fire burns down your neck and ears, heart suddenly too big for your body.
“Hm, I’d let you.”
“J-Johnathan Price!”
His chest-shaking laughter is contagious in the best possible way.
—
He remembers the explosion and then nothing more. It was like a ball of fire, carried on the wind before Soap even had the time to call out a detonation time; the device went off in the deep tunnels after the order had already been given to fallback. The fire was too heavy – you had taken a blade to the thigh and that had been it. John had called it off immediately.
Just when he and Soap were about to rush to the exit, the bomb went off without call or meaning. The tunnels were part of an old wine cellar – the target had converted them to be a quick back exit if anything went wrong and he needed to disappear.
The entire purpose of John taking Soap with him was to collapse the long stretches of rock and wooden support beams; to box Aarre Virtanen in the mansion like a bear in a trap but, of course, these missions could never go simply.
He remembers the explosion, and then nothing more.
The pressure of rock on his chest and gripping hands. Was Soap the one yelling at him to wake up? Shoving off the debris and ripping at his gear with grunted breaths? The barked orders were getting closer from all over.
Muppet, he should have just run.
But then the heavy presence had disappeared, and John knew he had been left behind; his thoughts, before it all left him, were only of you. How would you take it? The fact that he wasn’t coming home with you was sure to induce you into a rampage of gritted teeth and hurled curses. That was, perhaps, the worst thing that could happen. He prayed for one simple thing – that, no matter what, the boys would convince you to hold back.
And then he woke up in the room.
It was small; barren of anything besides the chair John was tied to. Under his feet was a drain, the silver metal glinting as the chilling overhead light cascaded down and left him blinking rapidly to push back the instinctual tears gathering in his ducts. As John moves his neck, it pops, making his jaw clench even as the bones ache deep under the layers of black and blue flesh.
His whole body hurts.
Blood is dried over his skin, and the world around him pulses as the stab of broken bones moves inside of him.
Concussion, He assesses, moving his wrists under the tight hold of rope from where they’re restricted behind his back; tied to the back of the metal seat. Still unable to focus his eyes, he continues to go down the list of injuries, broken ribs, John sucks in a sharp breath when he attempts to rotate his left ankle, and broken Fibula and Tibia. Bruises and lacerations everywhere…shit.
But were you alright? Was the knife wound treated, wherever you were? Did Mactavish get out?
Groaning deep in his throat, the Captain shakes his head, noticing immediately the familiar weight of his gear was absent – his bucket hat and night-vision rig are gone as are the combat vest and M13. But under his shirt, one item is still there, pressed into his skin deeply.
Golden metal. The wedding band. At the very least, that item could bring him a sliver of comfort.
Narrowing his eyelids and scrunching his large nose, a bead of blood travels down a gash above his eyebrow.
“Fucken’ hell,” John growls, grunting and groaning as he forces his neck to right itself, lower body jerking forward to help relieve the pressure on his midsection.
Finally, the water over his eyes dissipates like a wave in the ocean and his ears cease ringing. But the buzzing of the light quickly takes its place and his nose twitches at the stench of black mold and gore. Everything was concrete – the walls, floors. Blinking, John’s eyes quickly snap around the room to take it all in; trying to find the weak points that may come in handy later.
There was only one door and no windows. When the Brit tried the rope around his wrists he found it was bound incredibly tight, even making the skin irritated at the slightest movement.
“Bloody bastard,” The Captain weakly mutters under his breath, shuffling in his seat, “First you stab my wife then you tie me up, is that it?”
Struggling does nothing but serve to make John angrier, and the pain can easily be thrown to the side when his thoughts run to you. They always did, but now more than ever, considering he didn’t know if you had also gotten captured and were only a concrete barrier away.
While he tries to force down the floating feeling of his brain, a sharp cough works its way from his mouth, jerking his body back and forth raggedly. John is so out of it that he missed the sound of the door opening, the violent squeaking of the metal hinges, and the scrape of concrete. Heavy shoes pound over the floor, and when the air finally returns to his rampaging lungs, blue eyes lock onto the man.
Aarre Virtanen stands with his hands behind his back, a smug expression staining his perfect, unscathed, face. The Target wasn’t more than thirty, dressed in a nice expensive suit and dress shoes on his feet shining with more polish than Price could begin to wrap his head around.
Muppet, The characterization was almost instantaneous, Pompous little Muppet. Lion would eat ‘em for bloody breakfast.
John raises a brow slowly as a dribble of blood slides down his nose and gets caught in his beard hairs. The two men stare at one another, eyes clashing.
“I’d like to imagine,” Aarre smirks down at the Captain, “That whoever sent you planned on my life being forfeit. Unfortunately,” John has to stop himself from laughing in his face, “As you can see, Sir, I am very much alive.”
Narrowing his gaze, Price runs down the length of Aarre’s twig-like form – Not much of a Smuggler, is he? His picture made him look bigger.
But all that meant was that he had others to do the dirty work for him, and John knew that, whatever basement he was cramped into, was guarded heavily just beyond eyesight.
The chances of escape were drawing up dry, and his tongue ran over his teeth.
“The real question is, however,” The thin man speaks, coming closer with a careful step. Nose twitching, the Brit can smell the disgusting odor of violent perfume; his head rears back in disgust that the Smuggler takes as fear. Aarre leans closer, “Who might you be? Your little friends managed to slip my grasp, but we got that bitch in the thigh–”
John’s head moves forward so fast all that was seen was a blur, and soon after a cracking of a nose meets damp air.
A muffled yell echoes off the cracked walls like a satisfactory reward to the Captain’s ears, and the brown-haired individual quickly shakes his head to the side to clear the bouncing of his skull.
Definitely a concussion. He hisses and rips at the bindings behind his back; all that gets him is bloody skin and blisters.
“You,” Aarre is stumbling backward, one hand grasping his broken and bleeding nose. Crimson splatters on the floor and ragged breathing rattle chests from both parties, quivering around the room, “You…p-pathetic little shit. Fuck!”
His tears only serve to make John smile, cheeks pulling back as a humorless chuckle enters the air. Feral satisfaction lives in his flesh.
“You better watch your language there, Mutt. It’s not proper to insult a lady who can’t be here,” John’s tone drops, nearly a growl as the deep rumble leaves a hunched over Aarre flinching back; the Captain’s teeth are bared like an animal. Feet sound off in the hallways – rushing boots booking it down a set of descending stairs, “To knock your fucken’ teeth in herself!”
Blood spits from John’s lips at the hiss, and his limp feet over the floor slump to the side as his legs fall open, body raging forward as if he could break the restraints. He wanted to – wanted to bash this little bastard's skull against the floor until he was unrecognizable.
How dare he say that? How dare he call you that?!
Pain could be shoved aside in this case, his anger was so overpowering when it came to you that it simply didn’t bother him. You defended him just as religiously, and John’s mind flies to glimpse a fast memory of you physically getting in the face of a man who had insulted him over some pointless football game at a bar.
“You better mind your tone,” You had spoken slowly, face calm and the perfect example of hidden rage shimmering under the surface. The Brit watched from the corner of his eye with a smirk on his lips; not at all opposed to letting you pick your battles and feeling his heart skip beats when his title falls, “When speaking to my husband like that.”
Aarre’s guards rushed through the door, guns held in hands, all immediately leveled on John’s head.
“Don’t!” The target gasps out, slapping one of the barrels to the floor and straightening himself, “Don’t.”
A deep smirk spreads the still-falling stream of crimson over the sides of his lips; the brown-haired man’s muscles are tense, stringing him up like a wire or a snake ready to strike. Torture was elementary to him, he’d gone through it all before and none of it had ever worked. He could take it, as long as you were far away from here.
“He’s going to have a buyer,” John’s eyes minutely widened in surprise, caught off guard, “Prep him for the flight to Poland. Don’t bother being gentle…the staff won’t mind if he comes in a bit damaged.”
—
Your fingers flinch forward as you shove the sapphire earring into your ear, the sharp point poking out the other end before you shove the backing on. Taking a deep breath, you feel the car under you bounce right as you ask your question.
“Gaz?” Lips thinning, you look through the limo’s glass separator and grimace at the man’s reflection in the mirror, “Are you sure no one knows what we look like? No one at the mansion saw our faces?”
“Lion, I’m promising you – it was too dark, and we were moving too fast for ‘em to get a clear picture.”
“Hm,” You grunt, flattening out the brown fur jacket over your form-fitting gown. The navy blue color was deep, reminding you of a Lapis Lazuli stone with veins of silver reflected in the jewelry around your throat and wrists.
Poland was cold this time of year, and as the expensive buildings whizzed past just outside the glass, your breath created condensation.
You were nervous, heeled feet shuffling over the tufted floor of the vehicle and sucking down slow breaths as a way to slow your heart. It had been a week without John at your side, and all the makeup in the world couldn’t hide the bags that had sprouted under your eyes; sleep had come in bouts of quick fatigue but then left just as swiftly. Your body wouldn't relax – couldn’t – until your husband was right beside you once more.
And if he was already dead…
Your hand goes to itch at your neck, catching on the necklaces, one specifically, before you force it back down with quivering effort. Attempting to shake out your head, your ribs suddenly feel like they’re strangling your organs, and all you want to do is take off this damn dress.
Kyle utters your name from the driver’s seat, and when you blink over to look at him, you find his eyes already staring back.
“When I went missing in the Congo – you raised hell to go and find me,” He tells you, focus flicking back and forth from the road to you, “If anyone can get intel on Price and bring him back, Love, it’s you. He’ll be just fine until then, yeah? Bloke’s probably already out and rushing to get back to you.”
“Think so?” Your lips form a smile, and on your forehead, a brow raises. John was stubborn, there was certainly a chance he was already free.
“Know so, Ma’am. Just you wait and see.” Snorting, you return to looking out the window, breath now noticeably more even.
There weren't many people who could make you keep a conscience; when you worked alone before 141 it was because no one else could keep up with your spontaneous plans or ideas. You were described in your file as a quick-witted and cunning nuisance for anyone on the opposite end of your weapon – whether that be your tongue or an actual gun just depended on the Op. But John and the other boys were more of a good influence than a bad one; in many ways, they were just the same as you.
Sometimes it felt nice to have people that understood you. Your actions, the small tics that gave away how you were feeling. No one else could do it like Task Force 141, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
The rest of the ride was silent, and soon the city was peeling back to show off more extravagant houses with iron gates and cobblestone walkways. Properties the size of football fields take up your view, and your eyes blink at the extravagance; all you can’t help but wonder about is if the people that live there even know how many rooms they have.
When Gaz makes the final turn onto Aarre Virtanen’s land, you suck down a deep breath.
There were so many lights that the night sky is nearly re-illuminated with a bath of warmth – the people already inside can be heard out in the air, a chorus of phantoms just beyond eyesight who sing with alcoholic breath and gasp down smoke. You had been to many parties to infiltrate high-level organizations, but never had the stakes been so high.
Or so illegal.
When the car in front of you pulls out of the roundabout driveway, Garrick pushes on the gas to take its place. A moment of steel silence rings.
“Earpiece?” Gaz reminds softly, and you nod in response, tapping the appendage on your right side.
“Earpiece.”
“Alright…The rest of us’ll be listening – I’ll circle ‘round and be inside in an hour and Ghost is already there. He’s the waiter wearing the silver Jackal mask serving champagne near the back window. If anything goes wrong, Soap’s our sniper on the roof of the neighbor's house. Say the word and he starts popping shots to give you an exit.”
“Affirm,” Your hand is already reaching for the door, but the man stops you one last time with your name. You find his creased eyes in the mirror, brown a deep shade of concern.
“...You look beautiful, Love, Yeah? I’m sorry the Cap. isn’t here to see you like this – he’d lose his damn mind. Go all slack-jawed and trip over his own feet; God, I’d pay to see that.”
Lips delicately slide into a smile, and your face heats at the compliment. Letting out a light chuckle, you whisper, “I’ll see you in an hour, Sergeant.”
“Count on it. Stay out of trouble ‘till then?”
“Trouble? Since when have I ever gotten into trouble?” When you sneak out the door, a light chuckle bounces off the doors before they close, and your heels click against the ground like nails on a desk.
With a bitter determination entering your blood, your expression eases into a look of smug superiority as you begin to move forward and ascend the steps in front of the mansion.
Virtanen was inside those doors, and your ears twitch, listening to Gaz peel the car away into the night; plucking out the forged invitation from your jacket pocket, you can’t help but call John forward to memory. Carefully maneuvering your way up the last flight of stairs, you reach the doors and imagine your husband right behind you, clothed in a suit and tie like the one he wore to your wedding, waiting to take you by the arm and lend you strength.
Keep me aware, You want to ask his phantom, Make me see the hidden details so I can bring you home to me.
Invitation in hand – which Ghost had to go through quite the killing spree to get accurate – your lips flick into an easy smirk.
Your silver tongue would come in handy tonight, but you hoped you weren’t too tired to miss important social cues. You needed to figure out where John was by tonight, or there was the possibility of losing him forever. Aarre Virtanen was the target yet again, and you would do whatever was necessary to get information to spill from his mouth like prayers; the party was an obvious front to impress buyers.
And you could play that part quintessentially.
“Hello, Handsome,” Purring, you move fluidly, body swaying as you come to a stop, letting your fur jacket slip down around your elbows and display a delicious amount of skin around your adorned neck, “So sorry you’re stuck out here in the cold, I can’t imagine what a bore it’s been.”
The man couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, eyes wide as they bore into your form from behind a silver mask depicting a bird of prey. His eyes slip, and a very audible swallowing of saliva makes his throat jerk – the poor individual's face was undoubtedly beet-red, seen extending down his neck and ears.
“I-It’s really no problem, Ma’am,” He stutters, grabbing the slip of paper from your outstretched hand and barely opening it before he shoves it back into your chest, “You’re all good! Please, enjoy the hospitality of Sir Aarre Virtanen to the fullest of your abilities.”
“Why,” You show an all-teeth smile, “I’m sure I will.”
Slipping through when he opens the door, a woman in a cat mask offers to take your jacket to the coatroom, which you agree to immediately, and disappears a second later.
“Did you just flirt with the doorman, Hen?” Soap’s voice nearly startles you, but with a subtle flick of your hair, you play off the flinch as you step through the extensive foyer; slipping past other well-dressed individuals to make it to the ballroom, “Tch, naughty, naughty.”
“You’d be surprised,” You mutter and send a polite smile to a man who ogles your form, his eyes boring into your flesh, “How fast people can look over an invitation if you give them an incentive. Simon’s forger misspelled the street name.”
“Bloody fucken’ bastard,” Ghost growls lowly under the line.
“So vulgar, Simon,” You smirk, waltzing into the marble-floored ballroom and clearing yourself a path with wide eyes and stares, “We’re at a party. Aren’t you excited?”
“You’re not the one holding a damn plate of champagne, Little Lion. Feelin’ like I might bash someone over the head if they wave me over with a fucken’ finger again. Like I’m some damn mutt.”
Stifling a deep laugh, your fingers splay over your lips, “Easy, boy. Don’t go barking up the wrong tree.”
All you hear in return is a grumble and a muffled giggle from Soap. Gaz is most likely scrambling to get his tux on and tie a bowtie like how you taught him on the far street corner back in the city. Slowly, but surely, it was coming together.
Soon, You tell yourself and imagine a steady hand splayed over your back; digging into your skin.
“Excuse me?” A presence slips up to your left, and you turn with a slow head and an even slower smile. Already, your cheeks were hurting from the constant fake expression.
“Oh, hello, Love,” It’s a man who wears an all-black outfit, fitted with silver buttons and a red pocket square, “How can I help you?”
“That’s one of the target’s guards,” Soap slithers out over the line, “Saw ‘em scheming not five minutes ago near the snack bar.”
“I was wondering if such a beautiful woman might not humor me. I’m in desperate need of company for the auction later this evening.” Your smile turns deadly, a glint forming in your eye that should have deterred anyone who saw it – but sometimes people overlook the snake in the grass if it’s pretty, regardless of its fangs.
Getting close to this man got you close to Aarre. Your hand reaches up to caress the wedding ring on its chain.
“Well, how could I say no to such a dashing man? But you must tell me, where did you purchase your tux? My brother has been looking for one that looks the same; you understand, of course, the kind that hugs the body just right…”
—
“You’re a fucken’ minx, you are,” John moans under you, hips sputtering and jaw clenched. He’s panting as you finally slip off of him, choosing to collapse to the bed just by his side with a breathy sigh. Your legs are still shaking, but the deep-rooted ache of pleasure takes hold in your lower body nonetheless.
Chuckling while sucking down breaths, you smirk and turn your head to the side, finding deep blue already digging into your skin despite the glaze over the orbs. Perspiration leaks down his flushed forehead, getting caught in the hairs of his eyebrow before you reach up, and flick it away with a firm finger.
“And you’re a lousy bottom, Captain, how many times did I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself?” You ask, eyeing the way the brown strands of John’s hair stick up at odd angles with growing amusement. He looked like a porcupine, “You don’t listen very well. I’ll have to fix that.”
“Damn woman,” He groans, turning his head away with a huff escaping his lips. Your ears twitch when he cracks his neck, stifling a chortle behind your fingers as he levels you with an unamused look, “Need to figure out a way to tire you out quicker. Gettin’ too old for this.”
“Hm,” Rolling your eyes, you shift till you’re laying on your stomach, legs sliding over the ruffled sheets, “I like you like this. Just perfect.”
“Yeah? Tell that to my hips, Love.” Now that really gets a laugh out of you, hiding your face down in the covers for a moment and feeling John’s eyes lovingly gracing down the curve of your spine.
Reaching over, your fingers grab onto the bare skin of his toned thigh and pinch.
Grunting in surprise, the Captain’s hand snaps to your wrist and grasps it as your giggles fill the air with softness. You turn your head up and rest your chin on your free hand, looking over and letting your eyes wash down John’s physique; a primal sense of possessiveness leaks into you when you know no one else gets to see him like this. The nail marks track down his pecks, over his abs and deliciously lower atop his navel, and over his neck and collarbone is the fresh array of black and blue hickeys. Just like you, his heart was still racing, seen moving under the skin.
He looked positively, beautifully, wrecked. The Captain’s eyes never left yours, side-eyeing you with a half-open mouth. A small sigh leaves his red lips.
“C’mere,” John mutters, and you squeak when his grip is suddenly pulling you right up next to his chest so that you were more than half lying on top of him.
Moaning out in contentment when you feel his heat leak into you, your body goes limp against the man; leg thrown over his upper thigh. Eyelashes flutter over your cheek when his large hand keeps you against him, settling on your ass heavily. He squeezes gently in payback for the pinch, and you smile, knowing he can feel it against his chest by the way he purrs like a cat as you press a kiss to his sweat-slick flesh.
The moment of content silence leads long, but just when your eyelids are nearing their final shut is when you hear it, muttered on teeth-bitten lips for the first time, though it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“Love you, my Sweet Girl,” John mutters deeply into the air, but you’re already drowned in sleep, satisfied and more at ease than ever before.
But no matter, he’d just tell you again in the morning; make you say the same as he gripped your hips and used his tongue for more…carnal types of confessions.
You had no idea at that moment, but two years from that day, you’d both be married. Husband and wife in every sense – bonded and promised to each other until the sun and moon collided; till every city burned and only dust remained.
There was really no other pair so carefully crafted than the two of you.
—
“Here you are, Lovely,” The guard, whose name is Mikael, hands you a champagne glass as you both stride forward to the bidding room. It had been two hours of entertaining this man – dancing, flirting, brushing off compliments that made you want to hurl – but none of that mattered. No matter the cost, you would see this done with a smile and a knife through Virtanen’s eye.
“Thank you,” You sing, toasting with him and taking a slow sip. The liquid sits bitterly in your stomach, a rock that bounces around with every clipped step.
Choosing back-row seats, you sit in what could be described as a theater of sorts and place the glass on the floor. There was a large stage at the front, with rows upon rows of plush chairs.
How many people are here to buy smuggled contraband? You can’t help but wonder silently, eyes wide as more and more people flood through the doors.
“Do you usually get so many buyers?” Asking Mikael sweetly, you keep your gaze moving, filing every face into the back of your mind for later.
His hand moves to rest on the back of your seat, and you have to hold back a grimace, “This is more than the last times, but, uh…well,” Sensing hesitation, you shift closer and peer up into his eyes, blinking innocently and smiling.
“Well…what?”
You swore you heard Soap gag over the line and soon after a sharp shushing sound. At your side, Mikael’s expression gets giddy, pupils dilating as his vision darts down to your dress before righting itself.
“My boss has got something good tonight – a new piece of merchandise that everyone wants to get their hands on. Apparently, some people here have been waiting for a score like this for years.”
“Oh?” Wondering aloud, you lean back out of Mikael’s hold with a furrowed brow and ignore his light huff of annoyance in your ear.
Narrowing your eyes, you scrunch your nose at the thought.
‘New piece of merchandise?’ What the hell could that mean? The target mostly specializes in weapons – certain ones that are manufactured so that they can’t be traced…what could be so new?
“It’s starting, here,” The guard whispers as the lights dim, and hands you a golden-colored bid paddle designed with lace-like designs. You twirl it in your hands with an unimpressed look.
“How pompous can this guy get?” You mutter under your breath and startle when Ghost’s voice pipes up.
“Get me a new G18, yeah? Johnny lost my last one.” Resisting the sudden urge to cover up your face and hide your smile, you lightly hum in the back of your throat.
“I did not!” Soap starts a ruckus as the Auctioneer comes onto the stage, and you ignore the fast man’s voice as he begins a bid for a stack of RPGs – wheeled out in a crate by three other individuals in animal masks – in favor of the amusing argument, “I told ya’ where you could blood find it.”
“It was in the middle of an active war zone, MacTavish.”
“You’ve never complained about it before, ya’ bawbag. Canny be my fault if you don’t go an’ get it.” The Scots accent gets more prominent as the Auctioneer sells the current merchandise to a couple sitting two rows down, “‘I lost it’...utter shite.”
Gaz groans and you see a shadow near the door, leaning on the wood from the corner of your eye. The badly presented bowtie gives away who it is – you’d have to have John teach him how to do it properly when you got him back.
“Would the two of you shut up? Bloody hell, I’m about to scream.”
The bickering went on for a while, making your tight chest just a little looser. John would be proud of them.
“Finally,” The Auctioneer calls out, yelling over the crowd, “The grand attraction for tonight – a product put forward by our esteemed host Mr. Virtanen!”
Your body straightens, spine tensing, as Mikael tries to get your attention fruitlessly to talk about a product he won. You ignore the guard, watching with a unique type of hatred as the weasel of a man swishes his way on stage from behind the red curtain. Immediately all conversation in your ear is halted, and try as you might, a growl builds in your throat.
“Easy, Lion,” Simon mutters, but all you see is red; red around an expensive tux and a lithe form of the man who had stolen away your husband from you without thinking of the consequences. The bandages over his nose gives you cruel satisfaction that someone, whoever they were, had gotten a hit in.
You had half the mind to tell Soap to take the shot but knew that if you did, John would be lost forever. Your Captain had always said violence and timing were the most important aspects of a mission – you had to politely disagree.
Ops could be accomplished without violence, though it was rare, it could still happen on occasion and timing was all relative. One person could say it was time to act while a million others disagreed; this was shown in your case. You wanted to rush the stage, tackle the thief, and beat his head in – Gaz, Soap, and Ghost would all disagree, of course, but that was because you were thinking only about John and nothing else.
What really mattered was cunning and drive. You had the silver tongue, and you, without a doubt, had the drive to see this through.
But nothing could have prepared you for what came next.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aarre Virtanen called out, his thin face ugly and punchable, “May I present the star of tonight's bidding wars – an esteemed and highly sought-after mystery man! Captain Jonathan Price!”
The curtain rolled back, and, tied to a chair with a light shining above his head, was John. Beaten. Bloodied. Barely recognizable besides the tufts of his brown locks and the glittering of golden metal under the ragged remains of his clothes. You can see his wedding band around his neck, and you go to grip your own in a flashing second. There was so much blood. Your heart ceased working, body suddenly very numb and stone-still despite the heat in it, as if you had been shot in the throat and all you could do was gasp out in panic. And gasp you did. It was involuntary, instinctual, like you could feel every ounce of pain and agony that he was undoubtedly in deep in your own marrow.
What?!
A loud, horrified, sound rips from your throat; the air was hard to suck down as your hand snapped to your mouth, muffling the exclamation of terror. Your eyes are so wide you’re afraid they’ll pop out of their sockets as you lightly hunch into yourself like a bug.
“Now, now!” Aarre Virtanen continues over the muttering of the crowd, oblivious to your panic in the back row. Mikael is giving you strange looks, lightly pulling away from you in confusion at your reaction; you don't register any of it, “I know what you’re thinking, my lovely patrons, but I can say without a doubt that this man–” He points to the limp figure, “Is the one and only Johnathan Price! Do you want to know why?” The crowd cheers, and in that instant you want to torch the entire building and laugh as it burns to the ground, “Because he and his precious 141 tried to attack me on my own property! The idiot’s explosive went off before they could run!”
Over the ruckus of gleeful laughter, Soap on the line is hissing curses under his breath, voice heated and full of hatred.
What I’m I supposed to do? Your mind’s running. For the first time in your career, you can’t focus clearly. Gaz is saying something in your ear, his shadow slinking closer step-by-step, and Ghost is nowhere to be seen or heard.
Oh, John, You feel like crying, eyes running from one injury to another as if he were just a punching bag – his body was broken, but still, you knew he hadn’t given anything away. In the chair, you can see the small inhalations of his lungs, jumpy and shaking, but he was still breathing.
“How did they figure out his name?” Simon grunts over the line, and his tone is the only one unaffected by emotion, even if you could feel the anger wafting out and mirroring your own.
His dog tags, You want to tell them, He keeps them in his vest pocket because he said he wanted to wear his wedding band instead.
Your hand tightens over your matching piece, one half of a promise to protect one another even in the direst of circumstances.
Freezing, you snap back into focus as the bidding starts with Aarre Virtanen laughing and clapping on stage like some demented jester. So be it. Your mind halts and a rage-induced calm encompasses you as your eyes stick like glue to John. Tossing the joke of a bid paddle at a startled Mikael’s lap and slipping past him, your heels connect with the floor with muffled thumps, carrying you down the middle of the aisle.
“Ma’am–!”
“Lion, what in the bloody hell are you doing?!”
“Playing the game,” You growl over the chaos in the comm, “Gaz, find a way to get on stage from behind one of the curtains,” People are starting to turn and look at you now, accusing glances that bounce off you like flies, “Soap, have a line of sight of the target – do not let him stray from it no matter what. And Ghost,” Your heart is speeding when Virtanen’s gaze snaps to yours, expression blanking. John groans weakly from where his head is downturned, and you can’t help but take a shaky breath at the sound, “Go find out where they store the sold items. Find something that’ll come in handy. Take out anyone you need, I give full Execute Authority.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” They all say it at once, and the line goes silent not a second after, flipped off so everyone can remain focused. Steeling your body, you put on a cloak of indifference, even as your eyes bug and sweat stains your palms – the stakes had never been this high, and if you messed this up…
The both of you would be going home in body bags.
If I had known he was going to be here, I would have come more prepared. A knife in a carry bag or a hairpin – Something. But John had stated before that he loved you for your intuition.
You simply needed to move your pawn piece and hope it wasn’t in the way of a bishop.
Sliding over your husband's slumped body once more, you have to rip your gaze away, else your cover be blown and everything falls apart before it’s begun as a sting forms in the back of your nose.
Just a little longer, Love, just hold out a little bit longer.
The Auctioneer halts when you stand just below the slightly higher plateau of the platform, and Aarre digs into your body with his dead face, body bent to stare down at you. All around you, the world is deathly quiet. A minute…two…
“And who might this be?” Virtanen spits, lips pulling into a sneer as his eyes crinkle, “I don’t have to tell you, Dear, that all purchases are final.”
Don’t look at John. Don’t look at him.
“You said this is Johnathan Price?” Your voice carries; it's stronger than you would have imagined, even as your legs shake, “Well, I don’t believe you.” You swore then that your Captain’s head moved slightly, his face turning to the side, but you can’t be sure.
Gasps are hidden behind hands and handkerchiefs.
“...What?” The smug look on the man's face falls in an instant, just as you had hoped it would – Virtanen relied on his power; ego, and unquestioned superiority. What you had to do first was break it down to a point where he was frothing at the mouth, “What is it that you are implying? That I would…lie to my loyal customers?!”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Your feet carry you away to the stairs, scaling them up to the stage and shoving past shell-shocked guards who didn’t know what to do, “Where’s the proof, Mr. Virtanen? I believe I would like to see it before I make any definitive financial choices. You could be selling us any stray British man you found on the street and we’d be none the wiser for it.”
There was a pause before a murmur of agreement from the crowd.
Aarre gapes at you, mouth opening and closing as his face gains a red sheen, blood rushing to his head and making his eyes rapidly flutter from the guests to you. Swallowing down saliva, you saunter up to John, fingers shaking as they reach out to brush his arm. You nearly break when his flesh flinches and becomes tense, muscles writhing as you hook a finger under his chin all too aware of the eyes on you from every angle. It helps that one of them is Soap, though.
Looping the digit under him, John’s beard scratches your skin just like it always did when you ran your hands over his cheeks or around his square face. Moving his head up, your grip vibrates with anxiety when you’re finally able to take a full look at his visage.
Please be okay, Love.
You can’t help the widening of your eyes when they lock on the bruises, the cuts, and scratches littering his large nose and forehead. His eyelids flutter over sunken cheeks, bags of severe color under his orbs as a rumble echoes in his battered chest.
Did they even feed him?
“I don’t – I don’t like what you’re implying, Miss!” The Target continues to prattle, but already your shoulders have squared, “I would never, in a million years, make such false claims–!”
When John’s eyes shutter open you seem to forget where you are entirely, head completely going silent off all fears or concerns. As the lids slide back, you notice one optic is bathed in red – the veins in the gentle sensory organ having been popped by relentless fists…but the other, oh, oh, the other. A shade so familiar it twists your lips and makes your heart clench. Storm gray; ocean blue, flecks of moonlight trapped just for you.
John’s focus is blurry, his mind confused and in need of a dark room with a glass of chilled whiskey to put on his forehead, but...that finger under his chin. His gaze narrows, lips pulling tight under his beard hairs as a shadow stands in front of him. Why did it feel so familiar? So…warm?
“John?” A soft voice graces his ears, leaving them twitching as his arms burn more than a thousand suns, “John, please, look at me.”
His face scrunches, eyebrows turning in. Blinking, the man only succeeds for a few moments, consciousness so rapidly fading because of the wear on his body, but a few moments was all he needed.
It was you – looking at him with terrified eyes, mouth slightly parted in awe. John’s heart skips beats.
She’s here? He questions, weakly moving his arms to try and embrace her before the rope stops his bloodied and shredded hands, Why? How? And…oh hell, is that a dress?
Blinking at the navy gown, his eyes widened at the heavenly sight in front of him. Was he dead? No, he realized, you wouldn’t be here if he was. But that was the only option to see something like this in front of him when he was where he currently was.
“L-love?” He gasps out, letting his full weight fall into your hold.
Your hand brushes over his beard, tangling in the bristles and flinching at the open wounds that you find.
“It’s me,” You whimper, “I’m right here.”
If possible, he gravitates toward you even more.
“--Are you even listening?!” Aarre Virtanen yells, and people are standing from their seats out in the crowd, calling out in confusion.
John murmurs out comments from under your grip, but they’re so weak you can’t make them out as he nuzzles your limb. From the corner of your eye, a figure rustles one of the stage curtains, held back in the shadows.
“I’m here,” Gaz says a second before Simon does.
“I found something that might come in handy...When I throw it, get Price out of there and take cover.”
“Soap?” You ask, voice low and gaining a sheen of ice. Slowly, your head tilts to the side, gripping your husband by the back of the head and drawing him to your stomach, caressing his scalp through his hair as he sighs into your dress.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Take it.”
“...With pleasure.” The ear-ringing shot fires off, breaking glass and rustling half-drawn curtains, but it meets its mark with expert precision.
Aarre Virtanen’s head pops like a balloon, and a moment later a smoke bomb is being chucked from halfway across the room by a Jackal-masked waiter with a strong arm. Before the guards can even get to their pistols around their thighs, Gaz has rushed through the smoke and sliced John’s bonds with a serrated cake knife. Both of you grab your Captain by one of his arms and drag him off to the side, disappearing just as the first screams wail out.
The 141 works like a well-oiled machine, and not five minutes later everyone is in the limo that Gaz had re-driven and parked down the dark roads of Poland, rushing off as you press table cloths against your husband’s leaking cuts. Tears dribble down your cheeks, with large hiccuped gasps as you lean over John – who could only barely keep his eyes open to look at you as Soap and Ghost watch anxiously from their seats.
“You’re gonna give me a heart attack, y’know that,” You sob out, practically sitting on top of him to stop the crimson leaking over the cushions, “I need to keep a bell on you, my Love.”
Your wedding band sways just above his face, and his own glints below you, bunched on his collarbone.
“Go on,” He says in a low voice, eyes incredibly soft but still distant in a way that told you he was concussed. It was a miracle he was even conscious if you could admit it to yourself.
The man’s shaking hand travels to your cheek, brushing away tear tracks only to leave blood stains behind instead. He pulls away slightly, staring at the mark in disgust as his complexion gets even paler. Snapping your grip up, you bring it back, making him cup your flesh in his big hands and splay his fingers over your ear and weave into your hair.
John hums under his breath, “Beautiful.”
Then he goes limp, and you start screaming.
—
Stripping your face of makeup, you step into the shower with only your necklace on, letting the water slap against your head as you take a deep breath in. You lean forward, letting your head connect with the porcelain of the hospital’s washroom as your body begins to shake – finally allowed to fall apart and feel the genuine horror that had lived in you for a week straight.
John was just a door away in the hard bed of some random hospital Gaz had driven to. Quite recklessly, you should mention, but it’s not like it mattered.
Ghost was on the phone with Laswell, getting a protection detail in case anyone attempted to break into the room and stab someone with a scalpel, while Gaz and Soap also got ready for sleep. No one was leaving the hospital tonight. Garrick had explained the situation in broken Polish to the local authorities, and the staff was kind enough to give out a free office room with pillows and blankets. It was a good thing that the room was connected to John’s, otherwise, you might have refused…even if the bags under your eyes threatened to block your line of sight.
Wiping blood and grime from your body, you take less time than you should have in the shower – too occupied with being by your husband's bedside. The new stitches on your recently ripped-open thigh wound were red with irritation, but you had all but forgotten about it entirely.
They had only just gotten John stable an hour ago.
“They, uh,” Gaz’s eyelids crease, “I think they said that they had to re-” He halts, face going slack, and sending you a slow look, “restart his heart.”
“They nearly beat him to death,” You whisper, hands coming up to weave over the top of your head as you sob into the wall, “They…God, John. I was nearly too late.”
Your words trail off in a weak whimper, muffled over the sound of water and the whirring fan in the ceiling. What if you had been five minutes late? Three? Would he have…
Would he have died in your arms?
You spend the rest of the shower wondering, and as you dry yourself off and slip into sweats and a hoodie from the gift shop, your tears splatter the floor. Rubbing your nose, you sniffle; reaching to grab the ring and pull the chain out above the fabric. Your fingers caress the item for a minute or two, and your eyes flutter shut.
He’s okay, You tell yourself, He’s just a door away. He’s alive.
You open the door and let the steam waft, itching at your neck before you take a steadying breath. John lays still on the hospital bed, body hooked to machines that display screens and vital signs with glitching green lights that pierce your eyes as if a mocking little beast was behind the glass.
Your husband’s wounds are all stitched and glued back together; wrapped tightly and tucked in by your gentle hands with an extra blanket. He usually complained about how cold it was back at your shared flat in London and around the multiple bases the Force traveled to…you would hate for him to shiver here.
It was the least you could do.
Drawing your eyebrows in, the red ring around your eyes doesn’t help the sting, but still, you gaze at your husband with all the tender concern in the world.
If was determined, then, that you wouldn’t be able to sleep until he was awake; until you saw his eyes soften on your figure. Until he was tracing the very makeup of your genetics like no other being could even have a glimpse of you in their features – like the aspects of your form were holy and utterly unique, never seen besides out of legend and fable. You longed to bathe his flesh in the feeling of your touch. If you believed it hard enough, you could convince yourself that you could make him forget this ordeal, forget the wounds.
But you were no fool. A cunning nuisance, perhaps, but not a fool.
All you could do was wait for him to wake up, and so your socked feet carry over the tile and bring you to the chairs beside the bed, grabbing one and pulling it out. Your fingers intertwined with his, weaving the calloused pads and scared flesh that mirrored your own like an echo of history together.
Bringing his limb to your face, you rest your forehead on it, feeling the pump of his blood like a hymn and letting it calm you. A presence in the room makes your once closed eye crack open, slipping to the side. You had only just noticed him.
I really must be tired.
“Doctors say he’s stable,” Gaz mutters lowly, leaning against the wall in the far corner. It was like he had known you wanted someone to watch John while you couldn’t – even if only for a few minutes, “They came in while you were showering”
Your lungs inflate, “...Thank you, Kyle.”
You feel his eyes on you, but as you lay a gentle kiss on your husband's knuckles he speaks once more.
“You sure you don’t want to get some rest, Love? It’s late, y’know – sun’s gonna come up in a few hours around here.” It was a nice concern, and you knew that after Ghost’s call with Laswell that he’d get some sleep as well; Johnny was already snoring away, the sound nearly heard through the walls.
Gaz, well…
“And am I to expect my Sergeant to get some rest if I do that?” Your voice is hoarse and weighed down, but the message is clear. The man lets out a chuckle, pushing off the wall and coming over to you. He rests a hand on your shoulder and you lean into it.
“I have no problem watching over him for you – he’s my Captain too, Lion. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you have to carry the burden more than the rest of us.”
If you could have rolled your eyes, you would have. A teasing tone sneaks into your words as you snort.
“Gaz, and I mean this in the best possible way,” Your lips utter out, still gazing at John’s face as it scrunches and twitches in his sleep, “Respectfully, fuck off, yeah?”
A moment of silence passes before a thick laugh echoes out over the room.
“You act a lot like Cap. when he’s out of commission, Ma’am.”
“Of course I do,” Your grip travels up John’s arm, tracing old blemishes and kissing across bruises, “If he brings all the hard-headedness away with him, none of you lot would get anything done.”
An easy air keeps the both of you in a tight embrace and Garrick’s hand squeezes for a moment; a piece of you breaks open as your gaze slips to the floor.
“I’ll take the night shift. Please, I…,” Your voice borders on unheard, “I can’t sleep until he’s awake.”
He sighs but nods his head.
“Say no more. If you need anything, and I mean anything, you just come get me, yeah? Don’t worry if you have to be loud – been trying to get used to waking up abruptly anyways.” His hand disappears, and you huff.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good. You better.” Gaz’s feet carry him away and through the side door, slipping into the office. A rustling of thin cotton is heard a moment later before the door completely closes on its own.
You stay in that chair for another hour and a half before John moves an inch. When you feel his finger twitch you jerk up, drool falling from your chin to the sheets before you wipe it off.
“John?” Breathing out a gasp, you shake your head to focus better, and pause when his hold on your hand suddenly gains strength. Your heart soars.
“...Love,” He grunts out, face scrunched, and tense.
At that moment you swear your body loses all weight, and you pull the chair closer as you wetly speak.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here. D-don’t move too much, just let the painkillers work.”
“Bloody things make my damn head lose,” He groans, head falling to the side on the pillow as his eyes flutter open.
You place his knuckles to your lips to hide the shuttered breath you take when you see his eyes – even if one was still red. It was still your John.
He looks at you for a moment, eyes glazed, with his jaw clenching and unclenching to gain bearing. The covers hide his chest, but you hear the way he breathes as his messed-up bedhead leaves you chuckling. But the longer you were chuckling, the more you wanted to cry, and soon nothing could stop the swell of vile sobs falling from your mouth.
“Oh,” John whispers out, voice weak as his digits twitch under your shaking lips, “C’mere, Love. None of that, now.”
Your body falls forward, and the man hides the grunt in his chest when you unintentionally hit his ribs as you burrow closer into his side. He doesn’t mind. John’s hand goes to the back of your head, weaving through the strands as the covers catch your tears – he’s looking down at you with such blatant worry it hurts.
He shouldn’t be worried about me, look what happened. He’s in the fucking hospital.
“Y-You,” You’re gasping for breath, chest tight and vibrating. ‘Take a breath’ it tries to tell you, but getting the words out was more important. John’s hand gets tighter, and he longs to kiss your forehead, “I didn’t know if you were dead, a-and then when they had you on stage I was trying so hard to keep it together, John. But…but then you were bleeding all over the car and I was screaming at you too–”
“Breathe,” Your husband pleads, authority leaking into the comment, “Please, Dear, take a breath for me, Yeah? I’m right here.”
You weep but do as he says, feeling the muscles under your grip move as he shifts his weight. Taking a deep breath, your nose is shoved into the fabric of the blankets, inhaling John’s scent and letting it encompass you entirely.
He was there. He was right there.
Letting out one last whine, your Captain prompts you to lift your head with a muted brush of his finger over your scalp. Pulling yourself up, you scrunch the bedding in your hands around John’s waist, practically leaning all the way over him. It was a good thing the bed wasn’t too high.
He smiles softly down at you, his grip moving to slip past your eyebrow and swipe away the salty water that itches your chin, “There she is. My beautiful wife”
Your watery chuckle wraps him in more warmth than any blanket ever could.
“Do you need anything?” You mutter after a minute of staring into each other’s eyes, head tilting to the side as your heart rate finally slows to a pace that copies John’s.
One of your hands goes to smooth his hair, carefully flattening down the patches and being mindful of the bandages and band aids over his visage. You swear he purrs at you, body rumbling under your chest.
He doesn’t answer right away, instead focusing on mapping out your face – as if for the first time. But when he does speak he brushes off the question entirely.
“I had a dream.”
“A good one?” You ask immediately, voice equally as low and vulnerable as his. In his orbs, you see stars blinking with every movement, deep hues of blue in every shade.
“Hm,” He affirms, a slow smile blossoming on his lips, “You were there.”
“That, my love, could mean many things.”
“No. Only one, Mrs. Price,” Your eyebrows raise, eyes watering as rogue drops tracks fall down your cheeks once more.
It was all so much. Getting him back; seeing him like this, having him talk to you like that again – with all the love in the world. He was beaten, but alive, and already awake beside the gargantuan odds.
But you didn’t marry him just because you thought he was buff and could give you a good time. You married him because he was John, and no one else could be.
John’s gaze washes over you, narrowed in that expression he always had on his face when he’s thinking. When he’s studying you with more care than anyone has in your entire life. Like he could figure out everything and anything about you in the way your lips curved, or how you looked at him so delicately as if he was made of glass and not stone or metal.
He could never understand how you loved him so much, how every bit of stardust was reflected into your body and leaked out of you whenever you moved.
How he managed to get you by his side…well, he’d never know. But the feeling was mutual.
“Oh,” Your thumb caresses his cheek, running over the bristles and skimming over the skin, “And what’s that, Mr. Price?”
“..Means I’ve been blessed to see you not only when I open my eyes…but when I close ‘em too.”
In Poland, two people are finally able to press their lips together for the first time in a long while; they themselves would say it felt like ages. That was expected, naturally, because a match such as the one made between you and Jonathan Price was forged with steel and tempered in rough waters. Nothing could break it.
Their wedding bands clink together as they pull back, glinting gold more vibrant than the sun…but not quite as warm or adoring as the looks in their eyes.
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just a scratch [ e.williams ]
summary ; ellie takes care of you when you return home injured from being on patrol with dina.
warnings ; 18+ themes, minors dni ! strong language, some depictions of an injury [ skin-tearing, blood, a brief mention of amputation ], over-protective + major girlfriend!ellie vibes. she just loves you a lot tbh, and hates to see you hurt.
author’s note ; hhhhiiiii hi :D i decided to rewrite this! not unlike all of the other things that i have written + will continue to write, i scrutinised the previous version until i decided to delete it + make it better!!! it was labelled fluff but, like?? it wasn’t giving enough fluff?? i wanted protective gf ellie, but it just seemed rushed to me, to be honest. saying this, i reallyreallyreally appreciate the love you guys gave that tragic attempt at a return to this community!!! it made me super happy + spurred me on to want to rewrite it and make it better for you!!! we all deserve having sweet, caring, sometimes a little over-protective ellie in our lives + we deserve it to be written well!!!! i hope you can all enjoy this re-draft even more, and thank you for always being so patient + understanding when it comes to my obsession over the things that i post here!!! i’m just a bit of a perfectionist when i write, but i’m really happy with how this has turned out!!! as always, please let me know your thoughts + enjooooooy!!!! <3
. . .
ellie’s love for you could have moved mountains; defied gravity; grown wings and soared above the clouds with determination to land on the sun. solid in how it had nestled itself into the pit of her heart and beautiful in the way it had developed buds which had flowered over time, the way the girl had allowed herself to feel for you for was something entirely indescribable. she had tried to write about it in her journal, and she had tried to talk about it in front of jesse, or dina— even joel, at times. but every single attempt seemed to result in scribbles, entire pages being torn out, or incoherent trains of thought which were often met with furrowed eyebrows. not to mention the further questions that would make her flush her own least favourite shade of pink, trip over her words as if they were cementing her feet between them, and that she didn’t have the answers to. she much preferred to express her love for you in less obvious ways— more private ways, like letting you take the first shower of the morning to make the most of the limited hot water, frying your eggs first because she knew that you didn’t like it when the pan got too greasy, or letting you pick the evening’s movie because she loved your concentration face when it came to watching you sift through her selection of dvds. she was loving, in a way that you hadn’t realised she could be. granted, she still got shy about it, even in front of you, but although useless when it came to verbalising her feelings, there was one thing that ellie was a master at:
keeping you safe.
a part of her believed that it was her sole duty, putting herself before you in every scenario that she found herself in with you at her side. ingrained in her; like a drug mingled with the blood in her veins, a language that she hadn’t remembered being taught but was fluent in, nevertheless. whether it was fighting the infected or the healthy, ellie was almost entirely fearless either way. and it wasn’t that she doubted your ability to look out for yourself, nor did she think that she could execute any of it better than you. it simply stemmed from her instinct to protect you, because she loved you. she had become sort of obsessed with it; with keeping you strapped to her side like her gun in its holster, tattooed forearm outstretched behind her like the arrow on a compass always displaying the right way to turn; ellie’s way to turn. and alongside this determination to look after you came a tendency to maintain a certain sense of disdain for letting you venture out on patrols and runs with anybody else, because ellie knew that nobody could protect you like she was sure she could— it was a kind of promise to herself, and to you, that your girlfriend had succeeded in keeping every single time the opportunity arose, without ever faltering. you couldn’t remember a time where you had ever returned home injured from a run or a patrol with ellie. you had barely even been sore.
the only exception to this rule of sorts that she had instilled within herself was when she was tied down with something else in jackson or elsewhere, and on this day in particular, when dina came to ask her if it was cool if you accompanied her on patrol, she found herself in this exact position; it was out of her control, because she knew that keeping her word to maria and helping her to set up the new routes for the next few weeks of runs and patrols was what she had agreed to, and she would stick to her promise. she couldn’t offer to go with dina herself, nor take her spot to keep you safe. she had no choice but to give in, and she always hated doing that.
“you’re helping maria here, and (y/n)’s free. i’ll bring her back,” dina reassured your girlfriend when she caught the look that she shot her way. she was well aware of the girl’s protective nature. if anything was to happen to you on her watch, dina wouldn’t put the idea of murder past ellie for a second. “i promise.”
“that’s a pretty big promise,” ellie’s brow furrowed, the lines that appeared on her face mimicking those that she had spent the past half hour etching onto the map in front of her; deep, stretching way past her control and branching off into unknown territory; beyond the safety that she knew she could provide. in a nutshell she trusted dina, but trusting her enough to relax against her promise to bring you back from a world that was merciless— one that was not lenient to those that had loved ones waiting for them at home, giving them a pass from death or mutilation simply because they had people to return to— was a different thing altogether. the world had become too foreign to care. a promise was nothing. she twirled the pen around between her fingers. “did she say she’d go?”
“uh, yeah,” dina exhaled, resting a fist on the table beside her and leaning into it. “yeah, she said she was up for it.”
ellie almost rolled her eyes at this. of course you had. she knew that you always wished that you could be in fifty places at once just to ensure that you didn’t let anybody down, or disrupt anyone’s plans. you were a people-pleaser, but not the bad kind. that’s what, on top of everything else, also bugged ellie. her conscience was fighting with itself; she knew that letting you go out of jackson without her would plague her mind for the rest of the day until your return, the urge to simply drop everything and make herself available to you gnawing at her bones right to the marrow, but she also knew that you wanted to help. it was in your nature. you were utterly good. the visual that was playing in her head was accurate, knowing you well enough to predict the willing nod that you had offered in response to dina’s question, masking the overriding sense of knowing better that had kicked your own conscience into consciousness; she knew that you had been the one that had told dina to come and double check with her, partly as a surefire way of letting her know where you would be for the rest of the day, but also as a way of gauging her general thoughts on it— she knew that you knew how protective she was of you, and at the same time as wanting to drop everything that she had agreed to do, to tell dina that she was happy to take this patrol and then make her way to your shared home just to toss your sneakers your way in a silent gesture of i’m here. let’s go., ellie decided against it. she smoothed the pad of her thumb over the rounded side of the pen that remained still gripped in her hand, and found that her gaze had involuntarily returned to the map before her. her eyes trailed over all of the possible routes that could be taken upon exiting jackson, mental grip slipping as she attempted to unscrew the stubborn lid on her memory in order to remember which paths hadn’t been cleared in a while.
“where are you heading?”
“north, straight up through the woods and past miller cabin.”
ellie’s thoughts wavered, and she pressed the tip of her pen into the wooden tabletop. the area north of jackson hadn’t been cleared in a few weeks, she knew that for sure. god knows how many more infected had shown up and were inhabiting it now— she even had the audacity to silently question whether or not dina would even be able to handle it. she also wondered if her protective nature was a sort of blessing in disguise; her instinct to take the lead every time, to reassure you that she would scope out the stagnant corridors which loomed like long, ghostly faces before you could follow in behind her was perhaps the wrong way to go about ensuring your safety. autonomy was probably more beneficial to you than following your girlfriend’s every move like her shadow. potential outcomes then began to race through her mind; images of you getting stuck between too many infected and not having anywhere else to turn; of dina assuming that splitting up and taking different routes would be a good idea, resulting in your disappearance and failure to return to jackson which would leave everybody simply assuming the worst. moving on. just another name amongst warnings. something to learn from. the idea that the heartbeat that she had spent months studying while you slept as it pulsed in the side of your neck could be stilled with just one wrong move made ellie’s stomach clench. that she would be the only one to inhabit the sheets within her bed; the imprint of your head in the pillow next to hers would become a sacred treasure, untouched, and encased in glass within the museum of ellie’s heart. the thought made her cringe.
the girl looked up at dina again, chewing the inside of her cheek before letting her jaw relax. “i mean, i can’t really stop you,” she felt her body sink into itself slightly, the words she spoke suddenly accompanied by a release of breath that she wasn’t too familiar with— a kind of letting go that felt unnatural, and that left its remnants wedged between her lungs. “if she said she’d go, then i guess she’s happy to go.”
“we’ll be careful. i’ll look out for her.”
ellie didn’t respond. she felt as though she couldn’t. instead, she felt herself forced to focus on the kind of heat that had begun rising at the very top of her spine and which was spreading like a disease up her neck, burning the spongiest part of her skull and trailing through to her jaw as dina’s shadow spanned out across the table like the worst kind of raincloud that was now looming over the map in front of her; over your name which she had absentmindedly carved into the table with the inky nib of her pen.
. . .
the evening sun was a bulbous yolk in the evening sky, bidding goodnight to the people of jackson. its setting behind the hammock of mountains and trees signalled the time to turn in for most, but for ellie it acted as the pendulum at the base of the clock that had loomed in the sky since you had left for miller cabin with dina about four hours earlier. it was as if it was refusing to set until you came home. stationary; a light to guide you back to safety. back to ellie.
her room felt stale. the sun was doing a terrible job at defrosting the cold air that lingered between ellie and her window, which she felt as though she hadn’t stopped looking out of since she arrived inside. maybe she hadn’t. like it was some kind of crystal ball that would somehow reveal your fate if she stared for long enough. she was unsure of how much time had passed, the spotlight of her mind shining solely and directly at the thought of you— how far you’d made it, what you’d found, if you were doing okay. she tried her very best to keep her faith in dina alive, trying to tell herself with a few dismissive shakes of the head and shrugs of the shoulders that you would be fine, soon to be returning home to her with barely a hair out of place, and your usual manner; rational, kind, always happy to see your girlfriend. and part of ellie felt moronic for spending the entirety of her day worrying, battling with a multiplicity of thoughts, and tearing the inside of her cheek to shreds, but the other part of her knew that it was only natural— she’d had enough of losing those she loved, and she wasn’t about to let her pride get the better of her. not this time.
the click of the latch on the door broke her train of thought, and her head snapped towards the sound so quickly that it was a surprise that it didn’t come detached from her neck altogether and land with a dull thump on the rug below her bed. she watched intently as a hand pushed firmly against the door, and a large shoe promptly wedged itself between the doorframe and the wood to help prop it open. slightly muffled voices were honestly hard to make out through the small gap in the door due to their gentle tone, but ellie could tell that it was you by the little laugh she heard pass through. her favourite sound. lifting herself from the mattress, the girl soon made quick work of swinging her legs over the side of her bed and even quicker work of standing up once she properly processed what was going on: jesse entered first, and ellie’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight that followed; his arm was tucked snugly beneath your armpit to support you as best he could in your footing that you were barely succeeding in achieving on one foot. it wasn’t long before your girlfriend noticed the large dark patch that had stained the outside of your now torn jeans just above your kneecap and which, in certain lights, she could see was a kind of black crimson. the worst kind, and bigger than she was comfortable with.
“jesus fucking christ,” she exhaled, her breath a little shaky. dina followed suit with your backpack draped over her shoulder, and her head tilting slightly to ensure your path to the couch was clear as jesse guided you through the small living space. she took wider steps to get ahead of the both of you, clearing a space atop the blankets for you. “is that—“
“it’s not,” dina was quick to interrupt ellie’s sentence, knowing exactly what the girl would say upon seeing your injury, almost before ellie did. jesse gradually let his arm slip from your body, mumbling a few words of encouragement as you sunk down onto the couch with a small intake of breath. “ellie, it’s not.”
“then what the fuck happened?”
“ellie, i’m fine.” you spoke.
the girl raised her eyebrows. “well, shit, (y/n). i don’t believe you.”
“i slipped— jesus,” you exhaled, face wrinkling up in considerable discomfort as jesse lifted your leg by your calve and propped it up on the coffee table in front of the couch. “i just slipped and it wasn’t anybody’s fault but mine.” you watched as your girlfriend made her way around the table to stand beside you, reaching a hand out to unstick the few pieces of hair that lay flush against your forehead with clammy perspiration, her callused thumb brushing over your forehead affectionately, but also as if to reassure herself that you were really there. that you had really made it home.
“there was a blockage along the path,” dina spoke quietly, as if slightly apprehensive about whether to join the discussion at all. “just before we reached miller’s cabin. tree fell, crushed a few cars, fenced a lot of infected in.”
“it was my idea to climb on top of the cars,” you used your hands to better recount your failed plan of action, tilting your open palms slightly to mimic your movements. “i was gonna try and, like, jump onto one of the window ledges across from them to see if there was a way around, but i didn’t even make it that far. my, fucking… foot slipped, and i tore my leg on a piece of rogue metal.”
ellie sighed heavily, filling the empty space beside you with a gentle squeak of the springs and being especially careful not to cause you any more pain with her body weight against the cushions. “fuck me, (y/n). why did you do that?” she questioned you, although secretly she knew the answer; it was you all over, never wanting to turn back from anything without being able to say you tried. “why the hell did you do that?”
you shrugged, lips parting as you tried to justify your stupidity in a way that ellie would truly believe, and dina placed your backpack down on the floor beside the couch. “we dressed the wound once we got far enough down the path. it’s sterile, and we managed to stop the bleeding,” she explained before you could speak. “jesse came out and helped me bring her in when he saw us arrive.”
“why didn’t you come and get me?”
you gave ellie a knowing look, and it was almost enough to cause the girl to crack a small smile. almost.
“she didn’t wanna worry you, dude.” there was even a smile in jesse’s voice, and you watched as he extended an arm to the wall and leaned his entire weight against it.
“didn’t want you jumping to conclusions,” you whispered teasingly, your eyes trailing over ellie’s face in an attempt to memorise every single part of it.
the brunette scoffed a small laugh, and for a second, from the look on her face, you wondered whether she was about to cry. the horrible thought flashed over your mind when you clocked the sudden shine that glossed her eyes, and the slight wrinkle between her eyebrows. from the way her teeth were pulling at the inside of her cheek, you knew that she was frustrated; upset with you; upset with herself. “…fuck.”
“we’ll give you guys some space,” dina spoke after a small pause in the conversation with a small nod, turning her body towards the front door and giving jesse a small nudge to the ribs. “let you get some rest.”
you looked over at the two of them, pressing your mouth into a tight-lipped smile. “thanks, you guys. don’t know what i would have done without you.”
jesse cocked a playful brow. “well, you wouldn’t have that giant gash in your thigh if it wasn’t for dina. in fact, you wouldn’t have even been out there if it wasn’t for—” his words were halted by a heavy smack to the shoulder from the girl behind him, which prompted him to twist the doorknob, and after which he uttered a small, “ow! why are you so violent?”
“goodnight, you two,” dina sighed, and glanced over her shoulder at the two of you. “feel better soon, okay, (y/n)?”
“thanks for bringing her home, dina. for looking after her.” ellie finally spoke, and dina turned back around for a moment upon stepping out into the night’s air
“i tried. a promise is a promise.” she shot you both a small smile, before pulling the door closed with a final click.
despite your injury, ellie had to admit to herself that her room was warmer with your return. she let her eyes scan over your profile, lingering slightly on the slope of your nose bridge, and the sculpted dip of your philtrum. her eyes fell to the side of your neck, and she felt herself visibly relax when she managed to clock the small thumping of your pulse. the same pulse she so often studied while you slept. “babe,” she whispered, regaining your full attention and earning her a small hum. “you’re okay?”
your face softened slightly, and you nodded. “yeah, ell. i’m okay.” she lifted a hand and placed it both reassuringly and gently on your good leg, giving your knee a squeeze before carefully leaning over your body and reaching for your backpack.
“please,” she huffed, plonking the bag down on her knees and retrieving your water bottle from inside. “drink something.” you complied to your girlfriend’s orders, letting her hand you the bottle and taking a few swigs from it to make your girlfriend happy. the water felt good as it swilled down your throat, softening the scratchiness and somehow lessening the pain in your thigh for a split second, though you were grateful for the momentary relief nevertheless. screwing the lid back onto the top, you placed the bottle beside you on the couch and turned your head to look at ellie again. “you could’ve died.” you watched her lips as she whispered.
you barely shrugged. “but i didn’t.”
ellie sighed. “fuck, (y/n).”
“ellie. i’m right here,” you insisted, though your voice remained soft and shrouded in moonlight. “yeah, i got hurt. and yeah, it sucks. but it will heal, and i’m here, and i’ll be okay.”
this wasn’t the first time that ellie was rendered pretty speechless by your ability to comfort her with a handful of simple, yet meaningful words. despite thinking of you all day, almost worrying herself into a mental decline and narrowly avoiding fucking up the work she completed for maria, you had immediately calmed her nerves. you somehow always knew how to relax her tense muscles, unclench her gritted teeth, and supply her with fresh air to breathe. here you were; raw beneath your bandage, still adorned in your blood-stained clothes, and probably exhausted. but you were alive; here, and breathing; here, and still as pretty as she had seen you that same morning, barely succeeding in keeping your heavy eyelids open as the two of you lay dozing in the sun-soaked bedsheets; here, and reassuring your girlfriend that things were alright.
“i love you,” the girl whispered, leaning a little closer just to tilt her chin upwards and press the gentlest of kisses to skin between your eyebrows. “i love you so much. i was, like, shitting my pants all day. hated not knowing whether or not you were okay. felt helpless.” her voice had fallen into a mumble, and you looked up at her with a hint of a smile.
“and i love you. even if you do worry too much.”
a shadow of a smile flickered over ellie’s lips, and she licked over them. “i worry for a reason,” she chuckled quietly, barely even loud enough for you to hear despite sitting so close to her. “clearly. how long sinced dina dressed your leg?”
you glanced down toward the coffee table, turning your leg to the side slightly to get a better look at the stain on your jeans to check that it hadn’t spread any wider, and to ensure ensure that you hadn’t bled through the barrier. “uhh, maybe… i don’t know, a couple of hours ago?” you returned your gaze to the girl beside you, whose own eyes were fixed on the maroon bloodstain.
“and you promise it doesn’t hurt? you don’t need me to clean it, change the bandage?”
“i promise.”
the girl was quiet for a moment, gaze trailing back up your leg before she turned her head and found your eyes. “is it bad under there?” she whispered, as if frightened of the answer. you shook your head gently, silently judging yourself for the way in which your heart fluttered at the concern that tainted ellie’s tone. you knew she would have been worried sick all day, but you couldn’t help but find it just slightly amusing how hard her outer shell appeared to everyone else. to those who didn’t know her. to anyone that wasn’t you.
“oh, yeah,” you whispered, trying to maintain a degree of seriousness in your voice, and ellie’s breath caught in her throat. “dina didn’t tell you, but, like… she almost had to perform the world’s first amputation while on horseback.” you couldn’t hold back the grin that tugged your mouth upwards, along with the heavy exhale that accompanied it through your nose. your smile grew wider when you watched as ellie noticeably relaxed upon realising that you were joking, and rolled her eyes.
“you’re so sick, you know that? sick and fucking twisted!” she leaned her elbow on the arm of the couch and rested the side of her head against her open palm. “jesusfuckingchrist.”
“i’m okay, ellie, i promise.” you reassured her, now in all seriousness. “i know that the blood probably makes it look scary, but it’s really not that bad. just a small gash.” extending a hand, you placed it on your girlfriend’s jean-clad thigh and gave it a squeeze, smoothing your little finger over her kneecap. the girl’s ivy eyes caught onto yours in a way that they had before, but that you swore to yourself over, and over again that you would never get used to: utterly loving, with no shadowed thoughts to cloud over it, and completely unapologetic, at that. with a small shuffle of her legs, and lifting her head from her hand, she got herself closer to you and took a second to lick over her lips.
“come here,” she whispered, hooking her pointer finger beneath your chin and reeling you forwards slightly. you pretty much immediately melted into her touch, allowing her to mould you into whatever position she wanted you aided by just her hands, and captured her lips with yours as they brushed. in a chaste, yet meaningful kiss, you brought your hand from her leg and used it to cup her face, pushing away a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. her own hand trailed up your arm, briefly warming the skin beneath your clothes before resting on the dip of your shoulder, lingering there even after the gentle kiss came to an end. “i love you,” ellie spoke, the tip of her nose almost slow dancing with yours as they brushed. “i don’t know what i’d do if i lost you.”
you offered her a small smile, lifting your shoulders in a shy little shrug. “and you’ll never know. ‘cause i’ll always be here.” your sweet, yet earnest words made ellie smile, the greenest part of her eyes twinkling optimistically right before you, like a shooting star passing through the sky just for less than a second, but for long enough to remember its short presence forever. she pressed one last short, firm kiss to your lips before glancing over her shoulder at your shared bed.
“you should lay down, babe.”
pulling at the corner of your lip with your teeth, you nod. “soon. wanna stay here with you, just a little longer,” ellie’s small smile brought another one to your own lips, and you elbowed her side lightly. “missed you.”
“missed you. when i wasn’t busy almost killing myself over what could’ve happened to you, and almost fucking up maria’s maps.” she mumbled, and you gave an amused hum.
“well, at least assuming the worst made this situation look a whole lot better. right?”
ellie pulled a face, twirling a piece of your hair that she had picked up somewhere along the way around her two fingers. “i wouldn’t say that, but, yeah. i’m definitely happy that you aren’t dead.”
you raised your eyebrows, scoffing a laugh and letting your head fall back against the couch. “thanks, ell. i’m happy i’m not dead, either.”
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