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wandering-words · 1 year

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30 for avanine if you haven't already, plz and ty🫶

(Ok for anyone keeping track, I’ve fulfilled 3, 8, 12, 13, 17, 24, 25, 27, 36 but if anyone wants to see anything else then just send me an ask!)

Thank you for this ask! This is a reimagining of Ava and Vanetta meeting hehe.

Hope you enjoy :)

30 - ‘this is my husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner etc.’

Janine didn’t know why she let Erika drag her to the hookah club again.

Nothing good ever came from Janine going to a club, if last time’s interactions with Gregory and Ava were any indication, but Erika reassured her that this time would be different.

“Come on, girl, what’s the likelihood that Gregory would show up again?” Erika said as she rifled through her closet, clicking her tongue as she pulled out dress after dress, each one making her mouth scrunch up in disgust before she kept looking.

Janine couldn’t argue with that.

“And you know you’d love it if he did,” Erika said with a shit-eating grin, and Janine rolled her eyes, trying desperately to hide that Erika was right.

Janine didn’t want to ruin their friendship, she really didn’t, but something about Gregory made her feel a certain type of way. It filled her with a warmth that she hadn’t even felt for Tariq.

He was just so kind, so thoughtful, so attentive, and it made Janine realize that she’d always deserved better than Tariq. Not that she thought less of him, just that she deserved more than someone whose gaze always passed over her. (And not just because she was short.)

“And you’re going to love what I picked out for you this time!”

The dress Erika chose for her was a bit different. It was another black dress with a slightly deeper neckline and long sleeves. Clearly black was becoming Janine’s signature color in Erika’s mind.

Erika pulled out a dark red dress for herself, sitting down in her makeup chair and putting on her makeup almost robotically, as if she did this every week. She brought out the brown in her eyes with the eyeliner, swiping the mascara brush against her lashes to make them look fuller, thicker, more enticing.

It almost made Janine insecure, the shorter woman settling for light foundation, mascara, and lip gloss, but it felt more authentically her. She was keeping her hair curly this time, too.

When they finally entered the club, Janine felt her insides swim with anxiety. The last time she’d gone clubbing was before winter break, and she forgot how overwhelming the environment was. Music blasted through the DJ’s speakers, the bass thumping through her body, and the place reeked of alcohol, sweat, sex, and cigarette smoke. The lighting was dark, sparse, and had purple undertones.

All of the new stimulation was enough for Janine to feel overwhelmed, feeling the anxious feeling in her stomach churning more threateningly, but then Erika guided Janine’s fingers to rest in the crook of Erika’s elbow.

“Just follow me, I know this is still new to you,” Erika said, and Janine felt her stomach settle just a little bit at Erika’s coaxing.

“Okay,” Janine said with a nervous laugh, following her friend to the bar where she ordered different drinks for them. She handed Janine another tequila sunrise, and Janine enjoyed the sharpness of the orange mixed with the sweetness of the grenadine, regretting not having more of her drink the last time.

But she didn’t get to enjoy her drink much more than last time, as she saw two people who managed to make her stomach churn with that all-familiar anxiety.

The club lights seemed to focus on one person, and when Janine looked over to see who it was, she felt her heart leap into her throat.

The woman in question had dark, wavy hair and Janine recognized the wide, knowing smile, one that was never directed at her, she only got a raised eyebrow and a flat-lined smile.

It was her mom.

The formidable, absent, Vanetta Teagues.

Just her luck. The woman who was “too busy” to visit Janine at work or at home, despite living not too far from the school or Janine’s apartment, apparently wasn’t too busy to stop herself from grinding on men at the club.

What was worse was seeing the woman behind her mother.

It was none other than Ava Coleman, and it looked like the two of them were… friends?

Ava looked at Vanetta almost admiringly, and Janine felt her body tense uncomfortably.

How was it that Janine had to fight for every morsel of attention Ava gave her, only to be rewarded with insults, while her mother, who seemingly had everything, won Ava over through a single interaction?

Then Ava locked eyes with the shorter woman, and she saw Ava give her a half-smile in acknowledgement, which was honestly more than Janine thought she’d get. She sauntered over to Janine quickly and confidently, not hiding the way she appraised Janine’s body on the way over.

“Janine Teagues, back at the club? Wouldn’t have guessed that,” Ava said in a way of greeting, smiling one of her showmanship smiles at the shorter woman before downing the shot in her hand. Janine grimaced, but Ava didn’t break a sweat.

Janine was looking from Ava and back to her mom, hoping that her mom wouldn’t notice her. Part of her hoped desperately that, because her mom never really paid any attention to Janine anyway, that she wouldn’t see the two of them together.

No such luck.

“Janine, baby, is that you?” Vanetta said, her voice pitching higher at the end of her question. She wrapped her daughter in a bone-crushing hug, and Janine cringed at the smell of her mom’s musky perfume mixed with vodka.

Ava furrowed her brow, clearly confused as she looked between an uncomfortable Janine and a beaming Vanetta.

“You two know each other?”

Janine sighed. It was now or never.

“Ava, this is… my mom.”

For the first time possibly ever, Ava looked speechless. Then her mouth hardened into a sharp frown, and she looked at Vanetta accusingly.

“You didn’t mention anything about having a daughter.” Her words came out almost bitterly, looking between the two of them with a visual growing confusion on her face, her eyebrows furrowing as she looked between them.

“But you’re so cool and Janine is so…”

Vanetta kissed her teeth, looking Ava up and down as if ready to take her. Janine was almost flattered that her mom was willing to take someone for her, but she didn’t want this to haunt her, and it wasn’t worth it, Ava threw petty insults her way every day.

Janine opened her mouth to say so, but then Ava’s arm was wrapped around Janine’s shoulders and she was pressing a feather-light kiss to the side of Janine’s head.

“Relax, this is my girlfriend. She knows I love her.”

Janine couldn’t prevent her eyes from widening comically wide, but then Ava was murmuring in her left ear, “just go with it, I can handle it,” before plastering another one of her showman smiles on her face.

What was worse was that Janine felt the few sips of her drink turning in her stomach, feeling almost like the anxiety she felt when she first walked into the club. But this feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant, it was just… new?

Because Janine could still feel her skin tingling from where Ava kissed her. And Ava’s arm wasn’t an oppressive weight on her shoulders, in fact, it was comforting. It was steady, it was there, it was warm, and it was the most physical affection Janine had gotten since her breakup with Tariq.

She suppressed the urge to burrow herself closer to the warmth Ava provided, thinking that Ava would probably pull away if Janine tried to get closer.

Ava was only doing this to save her own skin. Not for me.

Vanetta looked between the two of them and laughed. “I always told her to go for girls, and she never listened to me. I’m surprised that she went for… you.”

Janine felt a rush of indignation flow through her before feeling another wave of surprise at her indignation.

Ava was always insulting her and goading her, but Janine knew that underneath all of her bravado and unflinching charisma, she was kind, even warm.

She wanted to defend Ava, and what was stopping her?

“I don’t need your approval,” Janine said, trying to keep the bite out of her voice. It was hard to stay calm and level-headed when she was at an overwhelmingly loud club that constantly reeked of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and sweat, and when she was trying desperately not to lean too much into Ava’s intoxicatingly floral smell and comfortingly warm embrace, even if it was just from the side.

Vanetta looked like she was about to fight her own daughter for a second before letting out a hollow laugh, sounding eerily like a hyena. “I know, baby. I just want you to know your worth.”

Ironic words from a woman who often insinuated, time and time again, that Janine wasn’t worth her.

Before Janine could question herself, she pressed a chaste kiss to Ava’s cheek, leaning on her tiptoes to do so. She felt Ava’s arm tighten across her shoulders in response, but Janine didn’t miss Ava’s small, genuine smile as Janine made the gesture.

“Well, she’s worth it to me.”

Maybe this wasn’t as fake as she thought.

For either of them.

#abbott elementary #janine teagues #ava coleman #ava x janine #avanine #vanetta teagues #I love writing this woman #like so much #and thanks again for the ask

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stevebabey · 1 year

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part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !