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lees-chaotic-brain · 24 days

Note

careless whisper by george michael , gojo , angst

WC: 2k

CW: cheating, angst, hurt/no comfort, reader has female pronouns (referred to as madam and birthday girl), alcohol consumption (all characters are of age), swearing

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to the event taglist): @chosolovers @ssetsuka @ichikanu

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For one night, one night alone you were going to put all of your suspicions and past hurt aside and enjoy the party. After all, it was your birthday so the night was supposed to be all about you.

Shooting a smile at your boyfriend across the room you can't help but feel your stomach flutter as he shoots you a wink and begins making his way through the crowd towards you. Stopping in front of you he sweeps forward in an exaggerated bow, extending his arm.

“Madam Birthday Girl, will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

Laughing at his antics, you relax, reassured by his usual behavior. Of course everything was normal between the two of you. You were just being paranoid. Placing your hand in his, you allowed him to escort you onto the dance floor.

I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor

Wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying slowly to the music you rested your face against his chest and enjoyed the peace of the moment. Or, at least you tried to.

As soon as your nose brushed his blue button up your senses were invaded with some sort of expensive oriental perfume, meant to be subtle with rose and jasmine. But judging from the way your nose burned, whoever had been wearing it must have been wearing a whole bottle for the residual left on his clothes to be so strong. Nothing like the one or two spritzes of understated wildflower perfumes you preferred.

Fighting the urge to gag at the overpowering scent, you looked up over his shoulder in an attempt to get some fresh air. Instead you were confronted by lipstick stains on the edge of his collar. Bright pink lipstick stains, which couldn’t possibly be yours, because you would never wear a color that garish.

Suddenly you no longer felt like dancing, and as the song’s outro played you decided to give him one more chance to explain himself after the party. If he couldn’t do that, then the two of you were done. Looking up into his eyes you gave him a forced smile, a small part of you screaming that this was going to be the last time the two of you danced like this.

As the music dies, something in your eyes

Calls to mind a silver screen

And all its sad good-byes

After the song ended Gojo watched you walk away, unsettled by the finality in your eyes. Had you figured it out? Did you know where he had been before the party? Who was he kidding of course you had. As much as the two of you had danced around the obvious truth for months he knew that you knew. He had fallen in love with your quick wits and intelligence. There was no way you hadn’t put two and two together.

But despite forgotten dates, the nights he came home late or not at all, the perfume that wasn’t yours clinging to his skin, he dared to hope that you would just keep pretending not to know. That things could stay the way they were. If only you weren’t so smart.

Though it's easy to pretend

I know you're not a fool

Walking across the room you mingled with the guests, accepting birthday wishes and engaging in small talk. Heading over to the bar, you got a refill on your drink and leaned against the bar sipping it. You heaved a sigh, wishing the entire thing was over and that you could just go home. A large warm hand placed on your shoulder interrupted your stewing, causing you to turn around.

“Oh! Geto! Hi! I wasn’t expecting you to come. How are you?” You were surprised to see none other than your boyfriend’s best friend, Geto Suguru. The large man chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly at your surprise.

“Sorry, I was in the area and decided to drop by. I’m doing okay, but actually I’m here to ask you that. I’m really sorry about what Satoru did. It was fucked up. How are you doing with the breakup? I may be his best friend but just know that I’m always here for you-”

“Wait, what? The breakup?” You were confused. You hadn’t even told your best friends about your plans to confront Satoru, seeing as you had only made up your mind a few minutes ago. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean ‘what do you mean?’ We had a conversation and Satoru promised me-” Realization lit up in his dark eyes. “He didn’t do it, did he? Oh that son of a-” He stops, looking at you guiltily.

“Listen, I’m really sorry. You should hear it from him. I gotta go now.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you with a sinking feeling in your gut.

From across the room, Gojo watched his friend leave, knowing that whatever had just happened between the two of you could not not have been good. Not wanting to obsess over what Suguru could have said, he turned away and jumped into a conversation. Whatever was said had been said already. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment.

Time can never mend

The careless whispers of a good friend

If he had watched a few seconds longer he would have seen you shake yourself then chase after his friend, looking for answers. Darting around guests and avoiding dancing couples you caught up to Geto just outside of the building.

“Wait!” You yelled, hurrying to catch up with him. “You can’t just leave like that! I need to know what you mean.”

Not turning, Geto shook his head. “Trust me on this one. You don’t want to know. Let him tell you. I’ll make sure he does, but you shouldn’t hear this from me.”

“I’m pretty sure I already know.” The words fly out of your mouth before you could stop them. “He’s cheating on me, right? Listen, I need to know. I’m probably going to break up with him tonight. So it doesn’t matter anyways. Just tell me.”

Rubbing his face with one hand he sighed and chuckled without humor. “Of course you know. Jesus this whole situation is so fucked up.” He turned around and looked at you properly.

“Let’s go find somewhere to sit. This might take a little while.”

To the heart and mind

Ignorance is kind

Geto had left a couple of minutes ago, leaving you sitting on a sidewalk bench organizing your thoughts. Fighting the urge to cry, you were unsure why the pain in your chest was so sharp. You had been almost positive, he was cheating on you, so why did it hurt so bad to have your suspicions confirmed? It wasn’t like the knowledge was anything new to you.

Maybe it was because you now knew that the woman was the daughter of a wealthy family close to the Gojos. Maybe it was because you knew that it had been going on for months, and when Geto found out he had made Satoru promise to either end things with the other girl or break up with you. Maybe it was knowing that after making that promise Geto had found him with the other woman again, leading him to assume Satoru had broken up with you.

Whatever it was, it fucking hurt. Letting out a small sob, you clutched your chest feeling your heart break. Unable to stop the tears from spilling over your waterline you opened your phone and texted him that you knew before you could back out.

But as you wiped your face and headed back to the party because you would be damned if you let him ruin your night, a small part of you wished you hadn’t discovered the truth.

There's no comfort in the truth

Pain is all you'll find

After receiving your text, Satoru watched the entrance intensely, waiting for you to return. The second you step through the door he locks eyes with you, gesturing towards the outside, mouthing that he wanted to talk.

Instead of turning around and walking back outside so the two of you could talk like he had expected, you just strolled into the party and joined a group of your friends. Whipping out his phone, he tried to send you a text, only to discover that he had been blocked.

Then the panic set in as he started trying to make his way towards you. But at that moment a popular song came on over the speakers, and the crowd became rowdy, making it impossible for him to get to you. It was like the crowd was against him, pushing him back towards the edge of the dance floor instead of across it to where you were.

Didn’t they understand that he needed to get to you? That he need to explain himself? He wishes the crowd would just disappear. That it was just you and him, with nothing else in the way.

Tonight the music seems so loud

I wish that we could lose this crowd

As he continues to scan the crowd for you, he finally catches sight of you dancing with your friends, laughing and singing along to the song. Shouting your name, he waves frantically, but the venom in your eyes when they meet his make his voice die out.

Maybe it was for the better that the two of you didn’t talk right then. You didn’t seem like you were in a place where you would be able to talk reasonably. Turning, he decided to head out for the night and give you the space you so clearly needed. He would just talk to you tomorrow.

Maybe it's better this way

We'd hurt each other with the things we'd want to say

The next day when he went to your place to talk, Satoru was greeted by a box of all of his things sitting outside of your apartment and a post-it note declaring that the two of you were over. And despite all of his screaming and pleading and banging on the door, you didn’t come out that day. Or the next. Or the one after that.

Now it’s been months, and he’s given up on winning you back. It’s clear you have no interest in hearing him out. And in those three months he had come to realize just how much you had meant to him. You were his better half, the one he truly loved. The other woman he had cheated on you with couldn’t hold a candle to you.

If only he hadn’t been such an idiot. Maybe if he hadn’t been so conceited and cocky he would have seen the value in what the two of you shared and the two of you would still be together. Maybe the two of you would have spent the rest of your lives in happiness together. But that’s not what happened, and now he was all alone.

We could have lived this dance forever

But now, who's gonna dance with me?

Years had passed, and he was still alone. At first he had tried dating to get over you, but after realizing that the first girl had a similar smile to you, the second had the same shade eyes as you, the third your hair color, he stopped.

It didn’t matter how hard he subconsciously tried to find girls to replace you. None of them were ever going to be you. And the guilt he harbored over the way he treated you would follow him into the grave. He lost the best thing that ever happened to him. There was no recovering from that.

And I'm never gonna dance again

Guilty feet have got no rhythm

Note: to the people who asked to be tagged on the poll, i haven't added you to my event taglist yet, it was just for this fiic dw. however if you would like to be added, let me know!!

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vinvantae · 1 year

Text

Unmasked

Part 1/16

Word count : 2.1k

You chewed nervously at the inside of your cheek as you waited for everything to calm down outside. The final race of 2021 had been an absolute disaster and you couldn’t help but feel at fault for it. It was your crash that caused that final safety car, a desperate attempt from George at the restart ended up with you both out of the race.

All you wanted to do was to go and apologise to Lewis, but you knew you couldn’t. You had to wait for the dust to settle before you slid out of your driver’s room and pretend to be a normal member of the Ferrari team, but you were far too shaken up to put on an act. You knew the feeling of having a race win that was supposed to be yours, torn out of your grasp - but that loss had never taken a championship victory as well.

There was a light tap on the door, followed by the Monegasque voice you’d grown so used to. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

You cautiously approached the door, opening it just enough to let your teammate slip in - your back pressing against the cold wood as he turned to face you, concern written all over his face. It was hard enough to fight back the tears when you were alone but now that Charles was with you, you could feel your chest tighten.

His eyes flickered over your face, his expression shifting to concern when a tear finally escaped - slipping down your cheek.

“…I did this, Charl.”

“No. This wasn’t on you. It wasn’t on George either. This was all Masi.” He said, taking your shoulders in his hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I wanted to check on you, it was a pretty nasty bump.”

“I’ll be okay, a little shaken up. I want to say something to Lewis I…” you huffed, your brow furrowing - breaking eye contact. “I know you said it’s not my fault but I can’t even begin to imagine how he feels and to not even be able to apologise for my part in it?”

Your teammate shook his head. “He wouldn’t want you to. We should get you out of here while everyone is distracted, I have to get back down to the media pen.”

With a solemn nod you began to gather up your things, your race suit swapped with standard team wear. “That’s one thing I’m not jealous of. You lot are so good at holding your tongue with the press… how you’ve never accidentally called me by my name or used she or her…”

“It’s tough, believe me. Especially when I just want to shake off all those dumb theories that you’re Nico Rosberg or, as I heard recently, Michael Schumacher who never actually got into an accident.”

“Oh wow. I mean, that’s a compliment but yikes.” You grimaced. “Can you check if there’s anyone out there?”

He nodded, before giving you a hug. He fished his phone from his pocket and waved it a little. “I’ll text to give you the all clear, drive safe.”

“Thank you.”

After receiving Charles’ text, you slipped out of Ferrari hospitality, no one even batting an eye at you as everyone moved around for the weekend - your pass listing you purely as Admin, but allowing you access wherever you needed. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flicker to the Mercedes garage, everyone crowded around the doors, clearly desperate to get a word out of Lewis but he was either already gone or hiding away like you had been.

You watched as your fellow drivers walked through the paddock towards the car park - some of them glanced at you but you knew they had no idea who you were. And the way George didn’t even spare you a glance as he walked passed with Toto only annoyed you for a split second. He couldn’t apologise to the person without a face for ending their race prematurely. He couldn’t apologise to someone simply known by their number, Thirty.

After a few races, they all settled in referring to you as such - you weren’t entirely sure where it started. You were sure Ferrari wanted something more gripping but it was the number that stuck.

It was lonely, being faceless. Everyone around you had history, something more than just a competitive relationship. To them you were nothing but another number they had to get passed on the grid. You were jealous of the way Pierre and Yuki laughed together, of the way Carlos and Lando spoke in hushed whispers. You didn’t just want to be an F1 driver, you wanted to feel like one.

It was then you saw Lewis exit out of a side door of the Mercedes building, a hood up over his head and before you could think - your feet were carrying you in his direction. Revealing yourself was not on your agendas for today but, fuck, it was tempting. You climbed over a small fence and lightly cleared your throat.

“Lewis?”

His head snapped up, clearly suspecting he’d been spotted but when he saw a girl in a Ferrari kit - his features softened a little but the confusion remained. “Hi, sorry, I’m just trying to get out of here…”

“I know I’m…” you sighed. “I just want to say sorry for the crash.”

The Brit tilted his head a little. “Hey if anything, that crash was on Williams, not you guys. George was the one who hit Thirty.”

You wanted to tell him, everything about him just made you feel like you could trust him. I am Thirty. But when you opened your mouth to speak again, your words betrayed you. “You deserved to win today… but, uhm, if you want to escape unseen? There’s another exit tucked behind the maintenance building. We’re not supposed to use it but our passes work there anyway.”

He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes flickering over your stance for a moment - pausing at your badge, taking a moment to read it. “Thanks, y/n. I’ll see you around.”

A buzz in your pocket distracted you as he slipped out of sight, so you pulled out your phone and wiped the dusty screen on your trouser leg before cupping your free hand around the screen to read the message.

MB - People are getting suspicious. May need to move to plan B. Meeting tomorrow at 8:30am.

Until recently, there was only plan A - but now, at the end of the season, you felt like they’d created the whole alphabet of plans. You remaining a secret was as big to them as it was to you; the hype of a mystery driver brought more attention to the team than anything else. And despite you being in the sport for several years now, it remained as exciting. Motorsport’s biggest secret was not going to slip away from them now, not without their permission.

You weren’t 100% sure which situation ‘plan B’ was, Mattia and the rest of the team had thrown so many strategies out there - not unlike a race - and must have decided to designate each of them a letter. You considered texting Charles, to know if he had a clue, but you knew he was out with the boys and there was a chance they’d see. He had you saved in his phone as Ferrari Admin, so maybe the text wouldn't seem so bizarre but…

Fuck. Stop overthinking.

Instead you shoved your phone back into your pocket and climbed back over the fence to join the crowds. You slipped out of the paddock with ease, blending in with the last few dribs and drabs of the teams heading back to the hotel. The driver’s parking lot was nearly empty, except for a single bicycle propped up against the rack - Sebastian leant against the wall on the phone. You took a cautious glance around before heading over to him. He was with the team for years, so you always told yourself that it wasn’t weird for you to go over if you were wearing a team kit - he talked to people from Ferrari all the time.

“Hey, y/n. Long time no see.” He smiled knowingly. “Thought you’d be long gone by now.”

“Was waiting for everything to ease off a little, been a bit chaotic with the crash.” You hummed, trying to keep your language as vague as possible - trying your best not to burst into tears from the guilt. “So, they’ve decided to do plan B.”

“Plan b?” The german raised a brow. “Do we know which one that is?”

“Not a clue, but I’m finding out at 8:30am.” Your voice lowered as a small group of Alpine’s team walked passed to get to their vehicles. “Can I call you after?”

He gave you a genuine smile, nodding earnestly. “Please do. I worry about you, kid.”

The older driver watched your demeanour shift as another group of engineers walked by - you cowered away a little, lowering your head. Sebastian was never for the whole faceless driver schtick they were putting you through; when you were on track you were fearless, triumphant but as soon as the helmet came off you disappeared into yourself. It was almost as if Thirty was a different person. He’d had you over for dinner a couple of times and truly got to see you shine and he wanted nothing more than for the rest of the paddock to see the real you.

He cautiously reached out and gave your bicep a squeeze. “Never hesitate to reach out, y/n. I know you feel lonely, but you’re not alone. I’ve got your back.”

“Don’t start, you’ll set me off.” You said, cheeks flushing a little. “I do miss you.”

“We’ll try to have dinner during the break.” He smiled, pulling his helmet on. “Call me.”

Meanwhile, across the city, Charles was sitting in a hotel room with Pierre and Max, his two fellow drivers both nursing a strong drink after the dramatic race. Max wanted to hide away a little while before joining in the celebrations - his win was not how he’d pictured it at all, so he wanted to get some liquor in him before facing everyone.

“For the biggest drunken blabbermouth…” Pierre hummed, making Charles lift his eyes from his phone. “I am truly shocked you’ve never let slip who Thirty is, mate.”

The driver shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “They could sue me if I did. Not worth the risk.”

“Yeah but c’mon, it’s us.” Max added, nudging his shoulder against Charles’. “Don’t you think we can keep it a secret?”

“I can’t burden you with it. It’s a lot… you don’t understand how much I want to share it. Tell everyone just how amazing they are, y’know?”

Whilst Pierre completely missed it, Max never did. He never missed the way that Charles never said him - not once had he inferred that Thirty was a man like the rest of them. And that intrigued him. If one of his biggest competitors was a woman, he was definitely impressed.

“Well, whoever he is… his driving is very impressive.” Pierre said, leaning back into the sofa. “Some of the overtakes he did before the crash? Wow.”

Charles simply nodded, opting not to correct Pierre in this situation. “Well, do you want to go out for a bit? I have an early meeting tomorrow with Thirty and the rest of the team so I can’t stay out too late.”

“Oooh mysterious. What about?”

Pierre was definitely one of the most nosey about your identity - being the grid’s biggest gossip, and despite being one of Charles’ best friends, he could never get him to slip and it drove him crazy. On more than one occasion he wanted to just go up and talk to you but with a specialist team surrounding you whenever you were in the paddock, it was impossible.

“I don’t know. Just that it’s early.” The Monagasque brushed his friend off. “Let’s just go okay?”

Max gave his friend a sympathetic pat on the back before the three of them head out for the night. Charles trailed a little behind, trying to shake off his nerves. One thing he hated more than you being faceless, was that outside of meetings and sneaky visits to your drivers room, he wasn’t allowed to spend time with you.

You intrigued him and, merde, you were beautiful. It felt unfair that he had a secret teammate that was not only insanely talented and passionate but looks to boot. You had enough on your plate without one of the people you trusted crossing the line by admitting any feelings.

He also had no idea how you felt. So he convinced himself that being your confidant and friend was enough.

Little did he know, the universe - or more specifically, Mattia and the team - had different plans for you.

****************************************************

Next part >>>

Here it is! Hope you enjoy ❤️

I will not be doing a tag list for this fic but appreciate the support you’ve all already shown regardless!

#f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 #formula one #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x reader #leclerc x reader #f1 driver x reader #Unmasked Fic

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youkissedareaderinthedark · 9 months

Text

Nothing is Easy

Synopsis: Y/n gets into a crash in Mexico, and it keeps her from finishing the 2023 season. It’s a long road of recovery, but it pays off in the end

female driver reader x F1 2023 grid

(reader is 24 in this one, and she drives for aston martin)

“And here she is now! Y/n L/n, we were just talking about you, how are you feeling about Mexico?” Martin Brundle approaches you while you’re walking through the paddock.

“Oh, hi Martin!” You greet the commentator with a smile.

“I’m feeling good, it’s nice out, there’s a lot of fans here, and the team is looking good today” You shrug.

“So, we can expect big things from Aston Martin?”

“Yeah, me and Lance and the team are all confident in the car and we’re hoping for a good finish in the points” You speak for your teammate, Lance Stroll, and the rest of the Aston Martin garage.

“Alright Y/n, thank you for talking with me and good luck on the race” He nods and places a hand on your shoulder before walking off to his next interview-ee.

All of what you said was true; you were just coming off a P6 finish at the Austin Grand Prix, it was a calm, sunny day in Mexico City, the stands were packed with eager fans, and everyone in Aston Martin had confidence in their driver lineup.

You and Lance first became teammates in 2021 when Racing Point became Aston Martin and as a part of their rebranding, they named you, the 2020 F2 World Champion, as a part of their 2021 Driver Lineup.

It took a bit for you to get used to the car, frequenting P10 and P9, but was fairly successful in 2022, getting used to taking P7 and P6. You and Lance worked together quite well, being the same age and having the same goals in Formula 1.

You felt less nerves and more anticipation as you completed your usual race day routine. It was the 20th/23rd race of the year and you’ve completed the same routine for three years, so your body is on auto pilot all morning.

A tap on your shoulder from your race engineer, Ben Michael, brings you out of your daze. “30-minute warning, Y/n. We have the get the cars out and onto the grid” The older man says to you.

You nod and pull off your headphones before replacing them with your helmet and balaclava. When you turn, you’re surprised to see your teammate mirroring you. “Good luck, we’re going to do great, yeah?” Lance sticks out his hand in a fist bump and you raise your arm to meet it.

“Yeah, of course. Good luck” You both move to get into your respective cars and wait for the signal to exit the garage.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, we’re about thirty seconds away from light’s out now. All twenty cars are out and completing the formation lap, here’s what our top 10 of the starting grid looks like;

“Lance Stroll, P10. Y/n L/n, P9. Oscar Piastri, P8. Lando Norris, P7. George Russell, P6. Sergio Perez, P5. Lewis Hamilton, P4. Charles Leclerc, P3. Carlos Sainz, P2, and starting at pole position is Max Verstappen” David Croft commentates for the viewers.

“71 Laps ahead of us, let’s see what unfolds, it’s light’s out and away we go! Verstappen and the Ferrari’s get away with no problems. Hamilton is off, trying to get away from Perez behind him”

“Russell is scrambling away in attempt to bring a gap between him and the two McLarens. Both Aston Martin’s start flawlessly, DRS isn’t available until Sector 2, but it looks like L/n is already trying to get a bit closer to Piastri in front of her”

“Okay Y/n, once DRS is available, push to catch up to Piastri and try to overtake him. We’re looking to advance early so Lance can get some overtakes done as well” Ben becomes audible through your radio.

“Understood” You reply before refocusing on the orange car in front of you.

“Lap 4, no changes in the lineup so far, but I wouldn’t speak too soon. Y/n L/n is gaining on Oscar Pisatri in front of her. Just leaving Turn 7, she’s going down the inside, wheel to wheel as they go into Turn 8, leaving Turn 9 does she have a lead?

Yes, she does! Y/n L/n has a McLaren beat, and I don’t think she’s going to hesitate in moving onto Lando Norris”

“Lap 12, now. Verstappen is, predictably, still leading, both Ferrari’s persistent behind him. Lewis Hamilton in P4 with his teammate behind him, trying to get away from the Aston Martin’s of L/n and Stroll, both just overtook the two McLarens of Norris and Piastri”

“Lap 20 and tension is starting to rise here. Most of the race today has been between Y/n L/n and whoever is in front of her. Right now, George Russell has his foot against the gas, taking every opportunity to try to extend the gap between him and the Aston Martin”

You’re trailing Russell as you approach Turn 2. Turn 3 is the last corner before the long straight and if you want to get up into P5, you have to catch up with him before the next bend.

“Y/n, you have more pace. You are faster than Russell, push and you’ll beat him” Ben speaks. “Understood, I’m trying” You reply shortly.

“Here we go, DRS is enabled. She’s gaining on him, trying to at least go wheel-to-wheel before the long straight. L/n’s moving aside from behind Russell and going around the outside”

The front of your car is aligned with the middle of his and you move to the right to avoid contact.

“They’re almost wheel-to-wheel! L/n’s front left tire is right behind Russell’s front right tire, George is not backing away from this”

You try to move closer to finish the move and before you can shift to the right again, your front left makes contact with George’s front right tire.

“There’s some contact in the tires and Y/n is spinning! She makes contact with George Russell and spins across the track!”

You see a blur of dark green and a mess of orange pass you, probably cars swerving around your collision.

“George Russell continues fine, moving ahead. Martin, I don’t even think he’s realized what happened” Croft speaks to the man next to him while staring at the track in front of him with worry.

You’ve managed to stop your car, but you’re in the middle of the track, so just as you’re about to turn your head around to look for the perfect opportunity to set yourself right, you feel a world of pain on the left side of you.

“Esteban Ocon did not see Y/n L/n’s car in front of him! He’s hit into the side of her Aston Martin! I think he tried to swerve to avoid her, but he was going too fast!” Crofty shouts.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Esteban Ocon’s Alpine has T-boned Y/n L/n’s Aston Martin and it’s a red flag”

Your eyes are closed both in fear and pain, causing you to miss all the other cars weave around the collision in the middle of the straight. The other 18 cars were guided into the pits by the safety car, so when Esteban climbs out of his car and runs towards yours, he doesn’t have to worry about other cars on track.

Your five senses are scrambled. All you feel is the pain in your hip, the only scent you smell is fuel, and while usually the scent will remind you of your karting days, it now just clouds your brain’s attempts to figure out what the hell happened.

A metallic taste fills your mouth, and you assume you’ve bit your lip so hard in pain, it started bleeding. Your eyes are closed and all you can hear is the combination of a voice in your ears, someone shouting near you, and the buzz of the crowd around you.

You force your eyes to meet the harsh Mexican sun and the distressed frame of Esteban Ocon hovering above you. You realize the voice in your ear is Ben through your radio, and it takes you a worrying amount of time to refocus your attention on the steering wheel your hands still clutch and answer the question your race engineer has been asking non-stop.

“Yeah, I’m okay. For the most part. I think” You radio back to the Aston Martin garage. You realize that that buzzing in your ear is only half because of the crowd, and it takes a moment for the humming to calm down so that the Alpine driver is audible.

“Y/n! Can you hear me? Are you okay?” He shouts and you quickly lift your hand to meet his resting on the side of your car in hopes he will stop yelling. “I’m okay, Esteban” You shift uncomfortably.

“Actually, I think I hurt my hip. I can’t move my left leg at all”

The Frenchman looks slightly relieved. “Do you need help getting out? I can-” You interrupt quickly.

“No! Please don’t do anything, I’ll just wait for the marshals” You weren’t very good friends with Esteban, but you appreciated his care for a fellow driver.

The marshals you spoke of arrived a few minutes later in another safety car and an ambulance. You told Ben that you couldn’t move, and the medics arrived prepared to lift you out of your crash car and onto a gurney. Once the marshals assured Esteban you would be okay, he was escorted into the safety car and back into the paddock.

The radio messages in team garages were confidential, so viewers and drivers only knew your status because of David Croft’s commentary.

“After a few minutes of uncertainty, it’s clear that Y/n L/n is okay and out of her car. According to the Aston Martin race engineer, Ben Micheal, she is off to the medical center and in good hands” Crofty says with clear traces of relief in his voice.

You ride in the elevator clutching tightly onto your race suit. Now that the shock of the crash is gone, the only thing you can feel is pain in the left side of your hip. It’s a searing pain that has spread across your body, but it burns the most above your thigh.

The medics inside the ambulance do the work of pulling your race suit down your body to make your hip visible and you try your best not to wince every time a hand touches the left side of your body, but you do it so much it becomes subconscious.

You get wheeled through the medical center and into a room where two doctors immediately start working around you. You hear one talking about x-rays and having a proper ambulance being called to take you to the closest hospital once they examined your hip.

Your eyes are shut in pain, but you look up when you hear the voice of your PR officer and best friend in the paddock, Addison, asking the doctors for an update on you. “We can’t be 100% sure but from the looks of it, it might be a fractured hip” The female doctor says. Addison sighs and frows before going to your side to replace your clinched race suit with her hand.

“Are you okay?” The British woman asks. “No” You grimace “Am I going to the hospital?”

“Yeah, the ambulance is on its way, should be here in a few minutes”

You’ve never been in an ambulance before, and the underwhelming expirience does nothing to cheer you up. You enter the hospital through the ER entryway, but it doesn’t stop everyone in the waiting room from staring at a woman they find familiar.

You get x-rays done first and then a different doctor comes into your room to update you on the results about an hour later. Apparently, you have a femoral neck fracture in the left side of your hip, meaning you broke the top of your femur bone.

In order to prevent further injuries, you needed surgery as soon as possible. You’re 24, so you’re beyond eligible to deal with your own medical incidents, but that didn’t mean it was easy. Addison helped you figure it all out and within three hours, you were being wheeled into the operating room.

You were put to sleep while surgeons placed three steel screws through the top of your femur and into your pelvis. It took three hours, but it was successful; you were still in a daze once they took you for another round of x-rays.

It freaked you out a bit, seeing and knowing steel was screwed into your body but your hip didn’t hurt nearly as bad as it did before, so you count it as a plus.

While you’re sitting in your hospital bed after your surgery, your doctor and surgeon knock on your door. “Hey Y/n, how’re you feeling?” The surgeon says.

“Eh, I’m okay. The anesthesia has mostly worn off but I’m still kinda tired. My hip doesn’t hurt as bad, though”

“That’s good. So, we’ve printed out all the necessary information for taking care of your fracture in here” The surgeon holds up a packet of papers. “But I’ll give you the gist of it now” He continues.

“You’ll have to stay in the hospital until Tuesday night and because you still need to get home, but because you can’t travel normally with your fracture, you’ll need to leave in a scheduled airliner. That means that you’ll fly on a stretcher installed in the plane with a medical flight attendant looking after you”

“When you get home, you’ll have to book a follow-up appointment to follow bone healing. All the wound care and pain medication information are in here” He pauses to hold up the packet as the man next to him continues

“You’ll be able to walk and sit and lay down just fine, you’re just going to experience some pain when you do. Physical therapy is recommended, and it will take about 3 months of training to regain total range of motion and strength”

“Now, I know you are a Formula 1 driver, but for the sake of your hip, I instruct you don’t drive for six weeks at least”

In all the information he gave you, that was the one sentence that stuck out to you. Six weeks means you won’t be able to race for the rest of the season.

Shit

Addison squeezed your hand and sent you a sympathetic look. You think the two doctors said a few more things but the only thing you noticed was when they left. “I-I can’t drive?” You said in disbelief.

“Y/n, there’s only three races left, you won’t be missing much-” Your PR officer said but you interrupted.

“It’s still three races! I was doing great; I was scoring points for us and now I’m just out?”

“Y/n, maybe this is a good thing” She shrugged and picked up the packet on your night stand.

“It says that after these types of car crashes, your reaction time will be slow, and we don’t want you out there when you’re not ready”

You were about to continue your argument, but instead you just sighed and threw your head back into the pillow, grumbling, “Fine”

Your two days in the hospital were filled with answering messages and daily checkups. A lot of people had contacted you with worry, and you had a few discussions with the engineers at Aston Martin.

Expectedly, they were as frustrated as you once they heard of your condition and set up a time with your PR team to announce it. You talked to your family and friends first, ensuring you were okay and would be heading home soon.

Most drivers on the grid heard that you were going into surgery and texted to make sure you were alright, and once you replied to them, you went on social media to see what everyone was saying.

On Tuesday night, you packed up all your things and changed into the clothes Addison brought you in preparation to leave for the airport. All the excitement from the Grand Prix was gone from Mexico City, so you had no trouble navigating through the airport.

The flight was a bit strange; having to lay down the entire time and have an attendant checking up on you every hour, but you managed.

It was relieving to finally get home after an exhausting week away, and you realized you should get used to being at home. Like the doctor advised, you made a follow up appointment and scheduled physical therapy appointments to fill two months.

The doctors you met at the follow up appointment removed the staples used to close up your wound and a few days later, you were going to your first therapy appointment.

The worst part about being bed ridden was the fact you could not watch the races in person. Along with not driving, you weren’t supposed to travel for 6 weeks.

From your couch you watched Felipe Drugovich race your car in Brazil, Las Vegas, and Abu Dhabi. You watched Max win the 2023 Championship and Lance finish 9th in the driver’s standings.

As soon as you could, you were on a flight to the Aston Martin Headquarters in Silverstone and included in many meetings regarding your injury and how to advance. You spend a few days in England on the simulator and being analyzed by race engineers.

You do the same once you arrive home, and your off-season schedule becomes fairly structured. You wake up, do the most amount physical training you can with your fitness trainer, go to physical therapy, race on your simulator, and go to sleep to do it all again tomorrow.

You travel to the Aston Martin headquarters a few more times but you don’t see anybody outside of your team until the pre-season testing session in February. You’re walking, without any pain, to the Aston Martin garage with Addison by your side when you feel two hands on your shoulder.

“Y/n!” A French voice exclaims. “Hey Esteban!” You turn to find the Alpine driver grinning. Since your crash, Esteban has checked in regularly asking about health updates and it became the beginning of a friendship between you two.

“It is so nice to see you in the paddock again. You are feeling better, yes?” He brings you into a hug as you walk together.

“Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better. I finished physical therapy last month and I was cleared to drive a few weeks ago”

“That’s great, I’m so happy you’re okay. I will see you later, Y/n” Your friend bids you goodbye and turns to walk to his own garage.

“You say hello to Esteban and not me?”

A voice comes from behind you, and you wheel around to see your teammate. “Hi Lance” You bring your teammate into a hug with a smile.

You’ve seen Lance a few times at Aston Martin HQ and it’s common for you two to train on your simulators at home together.

“How’s your hip, metal man?” He teases as you laugh. “It’s steel, actually, and it’s okay. Doesn’t really hurt anymore” You nod.

“Good. Be careful today, I want my actual teammate with me this year” Felipe adjusted well to your car and sudden promotion, but your contract was solid, and the Brazilian remains as your reserve driver.

“Don’t worry, I will be. See you later, Lance” You waved as he said goodbye and you both entered your garage then to your drivers' rooms.

The testing session proved to be successful, as both Aston Martin’s traded taking fastest laps. Both of the new cars had several upgrades done on them over the winter break and you’re glad to see they’ve paid off.

Pre-season testing is fairly low-key, so after finishing your run, there was no media for you to complete and you were free to go back to your hotel to prepare for tomorrow.

Both green cars performed strongly on Friday and Saturday, and you left Sakhir Track confident.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen, to the first race of 2024. After a few months of winter break and three days of pre-season testing, we have all twenty drivers in their new cars, 30 seconds away from lights out.”

“And, for the first time since Mexico 2023, Y/n L/n rejoins the grid after a hip fracture. She’s healed splendidly after her surgery in the beginning of November and with the Aston Martin’s looking fast, she’s expected to do well here in Bahrain” Martin Brundle introduces today’s race.

“Here’s our top 10 on the grid today; Max Verstappen, P1. Charles Leclerc, P2. Sergio Perez, P3. Y/n L/n, P4. Carlos Sainz, P5, Lewis Hamilton, P6. Lance Stroll, P7. George Russel, P8. Lando Norris, P9. Pierre Gasly, P10. It’s going to be an interesting race, the light’s come on, and its light’s out and away we go!”

You’ve waited five months to get back in your car and you’re not about to waste the opportunity. Instead, you win.

“1st race of the year, her first race in five months, her first race win, Y/n L/n goes P1! She went through a Ferrari and two Red Bull’s, and now she goes through the checkered flag first!”

And you win again.

“For the second time, Y/n L/n wins the Grand Prix! She started P5 and worked her way up to P1! What a battle between her and Verstappen! Ladies and gentlemen, we’re only in Saudi Arabia, but it’s safe to safe I would follow those two cars wherever Formula 1 takes them if we get more races like that!”

And again.

“She does it in Miami! As her fourth race win, Y/n L/n beats Max Verstappen to the checkered flag with her teammate behind her in P3!”

And again.

“Martin, I can’t believe it. Y/n L/n wins her fifth Grand Prix in Monaco! It’s only the 8th race of 2024 but we are looking into a very exciting racing season ahead of us”

“So, Y/n” A reporter asks you during a press conference in June. “Max has won six races” She gestures to the Red Bull driver next to you. “And you’ve won five, looking to make it six this weekend in Austria. Is it safe to say that it’s going to be between you two for the 2024 Driver’s Championship?”

“Well, I mean it’s never good to speak too early, but we’ve both been looking promising this year and according to our stats, that’s where we’re headed”

“It’s Max Verstappen’s home race here in the Netherlands, but it’s not going to be easy to win. Y/n L/n has been right on his tail all race, her teammate Lance Stroll behind her in his own fight with the other Red Bull. My, if you asked me if this year’s rivalry would be between Aston Martin and Red Bull, I would not have believed you”

“And it’s the first 1-2 for Aston Martin! Lance Stroll goes P1 with his teammate right behind him! Great day in Singapore for the Canadian, outstanding day for everyone wearing green!”

“We are back in Mexico today, the very race she crashed at last year, but if she’s nervous she doesn’t show it. It’s Y/n L/n for her 9th win in Formula 1 and in the 2023 season! Verstappen in P2, Stroll takes P3, Perez, P4, and Sainz, P5”

“In the November air, Daniel Ricciardo goes P1 in Las Vegas after Max Verstappen and Y/n L/n collided and retired! An amazing day for the Australian, a frustrating one for the Red Bull and Aston Martin drivers”

“After Verstappen took his ninth win in Quatar, he and L/n are now tied with wins and very close in points for the Driver’s Championship. Max starts P1 today in Abu Dhabi, and if Y/n can get in front of him, Formula 1 will have its first female World Champion”

You’ve come way too far to lose like this. It’s been probably the most stressful season you’ve driven in ever, there’s no way you’re going to lose after it all.

“Y/n, relax” Your teammate places his hands on your shoulders.

“You’re going to do great. You’re going P1, trust me. You don’t need it but good luck, we’re all rooting for you” Lance sends you a smile and you’re struck with gratitude for your teammate.

“Thanks Lance, you’re going to do great too”You hug your friend before pulling your balaclava and helmet on.

“It’s an anxious day in Abu Dhabi, this race could go either way, it’s lights out and away we go!”

You remember Daniel comparing the 2021 Abu Dhabi race to a flip of a coin, and you think history has repeated itself. All 58 laps, you and Max take turns overtaking each other.

This time, it’s not just Sergio playing a team’s game; Lance helps in whatever way he can, whether it’s taking your spot when you’re in the pitlane or defending against Max so you can pass him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, after the most exciting season yet, Y/n L/n overtakes Max Verstappen and becomes the world champion! It took a long road of recovery, but the reward is sweet! L/n takes the checkered flag first and the arena is booming with noise! The coin has landed on her side today, and she accepts it happily”

The Aston Martin Garage is just as happy as you are, bringing you into hugs and jumping up and down, grins never leaving their faces. Lance joins you on the podium in P3 and you two soak each other in champagne. You shake Max’s hand politely but continue to beam as you wrap your home country’s flag around your shoulders and wave at the crowd.

With steel screwed into your hip, you stand on the podium with your trophy held above your head, looking down at everyone who has waited for this moment as long as you have.

#formula 1 #reader insert #driver reader #f1 grid x reader #platonic f1 grid #f1 imagine #female driver reader #recovery #aston martin #aston martin driver reader #platonic lance stroll

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longtallglasses · 6 months

Text

“I’m gay,” he blurts out suddenly, because if this is how his life is going and he’s gonna die in the next 12 hours he at least needs to let Mike know that.

“What?!” Mike whips around so hard he almost loses all balance and falls to the ground. He catches himself thankfully right before he does.

“I’m gay,” Will says again when Mike is in front of him. Mike’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open just a bit. Will doesn’t feel any emotion to his confession at all, it’s not news to him obviously, but whenever he imagined finally telling this to Mike he thought it would feel so dramatic. That it would feel like he was ripping open a part of himself, but given everything it feels like he’s just letting Mike know what his star sign is.

Mike however looks like he’s gonna have an aneurysm. He’s short circuited. He’s dumbfounded. Will is honestly a little surprised this is so shocking to him like did he never even consider-

“Uh-.. uh I know.” Mike stumbles on his words like bambi.

Wait what?

“What do you mean you know?”

“Uh, that I know… I know you’re- you’re gay.” Mike stammers out like he’s never said the word in his life.

“Did Lucas tell you?” Will accuses. He doesn’t want to think about the state that Lucas must be in but if he told Mike anything…

“No! Wait, Lucas knows?”

“Yeah, I told him. How do you know?”

“Well, I..” Mike struggles, “I just assumed… No! Not that I assumed, I just inferred.” Mike rubs a hand over his face, “Well, you know, I figured it out, kind of… like I just realized you didn’t really like girls, which is okay! I mean I get it girls are whatever… but then you know how obsessed you were with George Michael… well I just put two and two together and-”

“Ok, Ok,” Will stops him there, “how long have you known then?”

“I don’t know.. Um, like since last year?”

Will lets out an internal sigh of relief. Ok, he can work with that. He would’ve thought it was earlier given when Mike had started to stand farther and farther away from him, this trip excluded for obvious reasons.

“And you’re cool with it?” I mean he has to be at least pretty cool with it if he’s with him here right now.

“Of course! Of course I’m cool with it, I lo- I- I, you’re- you’re perfect.” Mike settles on and Will sees the look of strained cringe Mike just can’t disguise, and he can’t help but laugh at how utterly ridiculous and pathetic his best friend is.

Mike chuckles at himself too. Sheepishly running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, you know what I mean..”

Will forces himself to not laugh in his face any longer, at least they can still do this. He might be dying soon and a ghost of a witch might be after them and their friends, but this can still feel nice.

“Yeah I do, it’s okay. You’re perfect too.” He still blushes as he says it even if it's supposed to be half a joke. The huge megawatt smile that blooms across Mike’s face after he says it is pretty worth it though.

Mike tries to tamper it down by looking away and clearing his throat, but he’s not too successful, so Will helps him out.

“Let’s, uh, let’s get this stuff up,” he says to break the moment, and Mike is happy to spring to action to not talk about this anymore.

from my blair witch project wip mostly spoiler free lol things are getting spooky but you gotta come out to your crush before you die...

#byler #byler fanfic #bylerween2023 #mike wheeler #will byers #blair witch project #stranger things #writing #longtallglasses #my blair witch

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russellsppttemplates · 2 months

Note

Could you do a Lance blurb one where Addalynn and Margot are the official AM mascots since everyone on the team loves them

"Hey, little Strolls!", Michael greeted the two little girls as you walked through the garage, saying good morning to everyone you encountered.

"Hello, Mikey! Are you building daddy's car?", Addalynn asked him, "yes, we are, do you want to take a peek inside?", he asked the eager toddlers, flickering his eyes quickly at you to make sure you were okay with it as he pulled a stool for Addalynn to climb up on and then holding Margot on his arms so she could see, too.

"This is so cool!", your oldest cheered, asking about all the different pieces and tools as Margot was happily helping one of the other mechanics apply the stickers, "mummy, it's like the one's I did with daddy in my bedroom!", she smiled, remembering the wall decals she has on her bedroom walls.

"Do you mind if they show up on a video?", Laura from the media team wondered, "I won't show much of her faces, but everyone on the team loves them and that would be a cute concept", she said, "sure! At this point they love coming to the races not only to watch Lance race but also because everyone showers them with attention and compliments", you chuckled.

"You and Lance made the cutest little girls ever, what else did you expect?", she smiled.

The Driver's Parade was always exciting for anyone watching, getting a first glimpse of the drivers before the main event happened. Today, Lance had Addalynn and Margot with him, "is it still as calming as it usually is?", the interviewer asked Lance as he was looking for his two daughters, "yes, sharpens my senses and reflexes too - Margot, careful darling!".

"I think it's quite cute actually", Charles said as George nodded, "do you think we could bring all the kids here one day? Let our wives have a little bit of time without them, I bet they'd love it!", the British driver added, "I bet I could convince Matilda to join - she's a little shy usually, but with her friends here, she will be a little bit more at ease!", Lando chirped in.

(Thank you for submitting an ask ✨️)

#lance stroll blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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stobinesque · 11 months

Text

talking could, if we'd just dare (you know that i'll forgive you), pt. 2

@steddie-week day 7: Free Space / "Freedom" by Wham! title from both "You Lookin' At Me, Lookin' at You" by Ozzy Osbourne and "Freedom" by Wham! part 1 (this is a follow up to day 6's "misunderstandings" prompt!)

There was a pressure behind Steve’s eyes that hadn’t been there since Halloween of 1984 and Nancy Wheeler drunkenly calling him and their love bullshit. What was it about him that meant he kept falling for people that thought his love affection and care were meaningless? He’d really thought that Eddie was different—that he could see the bones and marrow of him, and not the cardboard cutout he’d spent the first seventeen years of his life playing. Maybe Robin was the only person who would ever know him that well. (And that could be enough, couldn’t it? To be known so completely, even if only by one person.)

Steve rubbed at his eyes, trying to push away the tears that were threatening to start back up. He didn’t know who he was hiding from, but if he started crying again he thought he may never stop.

His “I’m heartbroken but pretending it’s okay—listen to how upbeat this song is!” mixtape that Dustin had made for him a couple years ago was playing on a loop in the background—he was taking advantage of the empty house to blare it across the stereo system.

Listening to George Michael sing I can't escape until you love me wasn’t doing anything to improve his mood, but that wasn’t really the point. It was nice to lie there and feel sorry for himself, just for a bit. He’d have to pick himself up and patch up the scrapes and bruises tomorrow. He’d have to paint on a smile for the customers at Family Video (the fact that he and Robin had managed to keep their jobs was already enough of a miracle without scaring people away with his bloodshot eyes), and put on an act of detached nonchalance for kids. If they got wind that anything was amiss, they’d all go digging, and as angry as he was with Eddie right now (and underneath all the self-loathing and heartbreak, he was pissed), he didn’t deserve to be outed like that—or at all.

The ring of the doorbell pierced through You take my hand and tell me I'm a fool, and Steve contemplated just lying there and letting whoever it was stand there awkwardly, knowing they were being deliberately ignored.

It’s not like it was anyone important—it couldn’t be one of the kids, because any of them would have opened with a flurry of repeated bell-ringings. It couldn’t be Robin, both because she had a key, and because she wouldn’t make him have to stand up and greet her at the door right now. He supposed it could be Nancy, or Jonathan, for some reason—except if there was an emergency they would at least try to call first, and Steve couldn’t think of any good reason that they’d show up on his doorstep unannounced that he was inclined to deal with right now. The only people he thought it could possibly be who he wasn’t better off leaving high and dry were Joyce or Mrs. Henderson—and that was actually enough to get Steve standing, because if Claudia was standing on his doorstep with food and an open smile and he ignored her when he was obviously home, it’d break her heart.

There was already enough of that going around.

Still, he made a detour to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face, and at least attempt to mitigate some of the “I’ve been mired in self-pity for the past 48 hours” that was clearly visible in his face, his hair, and his clothes.

The doorbell rang for a second time, punctuating the lilt of Part time love just brings me down, and Steve huffed a frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” He was going to the door just in case it was Claudia, not because he really thought it was her, and he was predisposed to being annoyed at every possible alternative to Claudia Henderson (or Joyce Byers) who could possibly be on the other side of the door.

None more so than the person it actually ended up being when he dragged open the double doors devoid of any of his typical flair. “What are you doing here, Munson?” he asked flatly.

Eddie stood framed in the entryway, curls pulled back into a neat bun, earnest expression on his face, and wearing what looked to be a threadbare black button-down under his usual leather jacket. He had one arm folded behind his back, the other half extended toward the doorbell—which he promptly dropped down to his side when he registered Steve standing before him. He looked unfairly good, and Steve wanted to die about it. (Or commit a murder—he wasn’t feeling overly picky right at that moment.)

“Did you not hear me?” Steve bit out. “What are you doing here?”

Eddie’s face fell, and his cheeks flushed a bright red. “I—”

Steve cut him off with a twisted sneer. “Did you come to really rub it in? It wasn’t enough to shoot me down the first time, you wanted to come and twist the knife again—just real up close and personal this time? Did you wanna revel in how far the 'king' has fallen?” In the background, you’re hurting me baby, hurting me baby ricocheted down the halls and rang in Steve’s ears.

“No, I came here to apologize, Steve, I—” Eddie cut himself off with a tilt of his head, and wrinkled his nose as the next line rang out clear, But you know that I’ll forgive you! “—are you listening to Wham!?”

Steve stared at him, incredulous. “Are you making fun of my music taste right now? Is that really what’s happening?”

Eddie shook his head frantically. “No, that’s not what I—! Fuck, I’m doing this all wrong.”

Steve scoffed. “What else is new?” he asked, the bitchy curl to his lip forming unbidden.

Eddie flinched, and Steve almost felt bad about it, but it was buried too deep under layers of hurt and bitterness. “I’m sorry,” Eddie said, looking contrite. “That was…a dumb thing to say. Which I am apparently full of this week.”

“‘Apparently’?”

Eddie swallowed. “I am completely, one hundred percent, full of bullshit.” Steve couldn't quite hold back a flinch at the word choice, but he didn't think Eddie caught it. “And—” Eddie unfolded the arm he’d been holding behind his back to produce a bouquet of flowers with a small flourish. “—I’m really sorry.”

Steve stared down at the flowers for several long moments, blinking slowly as he tried to parse out what he was seeing in front of him. Because it clearly wasn’t some premade drug store arrangement. The arrangement was a bright mix of purple, green, and white—a few large hyacinths dominated the bundle, mixed together with green carnations; sprigs of ragweed and fairy lilies filled in the empty spaces. A lot more thought and effort had gone into this than Steve’s own hasty purchase of a dozen red roses for Nancy two years ago. And while there was a florist in Hawkins, the chances that Eddie could walk in there without immediately causing a scene were pretty slim—especially if he’d been even a little too honest about the reason for the arrangement. Steve’s eyes drifted back up to meet Eddie’s. “Where did you get those?”

“There’s a, uh…there’s a gay florist? Up in Indy. That's how I was able to get a bouquet with green carnations so last minute.”

Steve nodded along as though that made perfect sense, even though he had no idea why green carnations would be of any particular significance to gay people. His gaze dropped back down to the bouquet, and he plucked it from Eddie’s hands, turning on his heel to make for the kitchen without saying a word. If Eddie was really so eager to apologize, Steve figured he could keep him on his toes. A moment later, Steve could just make out the sound of Eddie’s tentative footfalls, followed by the sound of the front door snicking shut.

Steve bent down to open one of the cupboards next to the underside of the sink, digging around until he found an old glass vase his mom never used anymore. He deposited it on the counter, before turning to pull open the miscellaneous tools drawer (his mom always hated it when someone tried to call it the ‘junk drawer’) to grab a pair of scissors.

“So. You’re sorry.” Steve kept himself faced away from Eddie as he filled the vase with water, unwrapped the bouquet, and trimmed the stems. There was a hurricane brewing in him, and having something to do with his hands kept him still at the center of it. If he had to look at Eddie’s face right now it’d all come flying apart. “What are you sorry for, exactly.”

“I’m sorry for lying to you.”

Steve carefully set down the scissors, and pressed his hands flat to the countertop. He didn’t let his head fall. He didn’t let the small, sad gasp that was stuck in his throat escape. He could keep the mask on. He could keep all of his insides from spilling out around him. “What do you mean?” Apparently he couldn’t keep the rasp out of his voice.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Eddie repeated. His voice was closer now.

“What are you talking about?”

“When I said I wasn’t interested in you. That was a lie, and I shouldn’t have said it.”

“And–and the other part?” Because what did it matter if he had some hollow, surface-level interest in him if it meant—

“What other part?”

“Munson—” Steve was gritting his teeth. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have let him in, he shouldn’t have—

“Oh, I—the ‘it didn’t mean anything’ part?” Eddie let out a blustery sigh, and Steve fought against the impulse to spin around and see what kind of gesture or expression might have accompanied that. “That’s…complicated. I–I think it did always mean something, but I wasn’t exactly lying when I said it was it was all ‘in good fun.’ That’s what it was supposed to be, at first, but then…I didn’t expect to like you.”

Steve laughed. “Thanks, Munson.”

“Please, Stevie—”

“Don’t call me that!” He snapped. And that was too much, he was giving to much away—

“Okay, I won’t.” Steve could almost hear the way he raised his hands and backed away. “But…please. Stop calling me that, too, okay? I thought we’d moved past that.”

“Yeah, well, I thought we had too,” Steve spit back through gritted teeth.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. He wanted to say it. But if he did, he’d melt away. He’d succumb to the hook and line tugging at his gut that told him to try, to trust, to open up. But there was only one person who was allowed the keys to the castle anymore. He should have learned long ago to stop making copies.

“I know, Steve, and…I really am sorry. I–I didn’t mean to—”

“Then why did you?” His patience—such that it was—was rapidly dwindling.

“I— What?”

“If you didn’t mean what you said, if you didn’t mean to hurt me, if you didn’t mean to like me—then why? Why did you flirt with me? Why did you try to get to know me? Why did you bother?” Steve wanted to throw something. He didn't want to break something, exactly, but he also didn't want th echoing chasm of silence opening up between them.

Steve’s shoulders were shaking with the effort of holding himself upright, and Eddie still wasn't saying anything.

“Would you look at me?”

“I don’t know if I can, Eddie.” He coughed up the name like he was choking on it.

“I don’t think I can keep having this conversation to the back of your head.”

Steve closed his eyes; pinched the bridge of his nose to help fight back a fresh wave of tears. “Fine,” he bit out. “Have a seat.” He gestured loosely behind him before heading to the fridge, still keeping his back to Eddie as the sound of a stool scraping across tile echoed in the space. “Want a beer?” he asked. He could have this conversation sober, or with eye contact—but it could only be one or the other.

“Sure,” Eddie whispered back.

Steve nodded into the cold air of the fridge, and came back up with two bottles, which he promptly uncapped against the bottle opener affixed to the wall. He sat one down in front of Eddie, before seating himself in a stool on the opposite side of the island. It was all about keeping distance. If Eddie was going to come picking at his walls, he would just have to keep throwing up physical barriers to slow him down.

Steve took a pull from his beer. “So?”

Eddie took a breath, like he was steeling himself for battle. “I thought I was going to die.” Eddie laughed, and while it certainly wasn't hollow, it was entirely empty of humor. There was irony, maybe. Or hysteria. “At best I thought I'd end up in prison for the rest of my life.”

Steve frowned. “What does that have to do with—?”

“It has to do with everything, Steve!” It burst out of him like a dam cracking—and after the first crack, so came the flood. “No matter what was gonna happen on the other side of all that shit, I thought—one way or another—that my life was already over, man!

“So, yeah, I flirted with the pretty jock who made my heart beat a little too fast and my pants a little too tight—who looked fucking divine with blood dripping out of his mouth—and I didn’t think too much beyond the cute little smiles and flustered looks you sent back, because it wasn’t going to go anywhere. Because it didn’t mean anything.

“Not because you don’t mean anything—not because you’re worthless or unlovable or whatever other crap is circling the drain in your head—but because I thought you were straight! I thought I’d have a harmless bit of fun in the dying light of the end of the world. I thought I’d get a laugh and a smile out of it—I thought I could carry that sweetness with me into the afterlife, or–or have a warm memory to hang onto after I got locked away. Because there was only ever one of two ways that was gonna end, right?”

There were tears tracking down Eddie’s face, but he wasn’t sobbing—there was only a slight hitch in his breath to give him away—and he barely seemed to notice them; he just kept going. “And then we made it. We made it out, and then I had to figure out how to fucking live—how to piece back together all the shattered remains of what Vecna took from me. And you were in the hospital, and you were barely conscious most of the time, and when you were you could barely even look at me. And I thought…”

“You thought I’d figured you out,” Steve whispered, clarity taking shape.

“Yeah, man. I thought you’d figured me out.” Eddie scrubbed a hand over his face. “Not right away, though. At first I thought…I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that you’d realized you’d been flirting back, and that’s what made you uncomfortable?” Eddie reached as though to grab at a strand of his hair, only for his hand to drop back to the countertop when he remembered it was pulled into a bun. He took a swig of his beer, instead. “But you just kept getting weirder and weirder, and then it just…it hit me. That maybe you’d realized that I was gay, and hitting on you, and that maybe you thought that…I don’t know. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t a threat. And—at that point, I don’t think I’d even fully realized that I do like you like that—I just knew that we were starting to become friends, and whatever else was true I didn’t want to lose that. And if keeping your friendship meant denying whatever else I was feeling, that’s what I was going to do.”

Steve blinked at him slowly. “You’re an idiot.”

Eddie laughed, eyes crinkling up in the corners to indicate there was some actual humor behind it this time. “So I’ve been very reliably informed. You know that every single woman in your life is fucking terrifying, Harrington?”

Steve shook his head and couldn’t help the wry smile that broke across his face. “Believe me, I do.” Steve smirked at Eddie, allowing himself the flirtatious edge of glancing up at him from beneath his eyelashes. “So, what, Robin read you the riot act? Did she actually bring the nail bat?”

Eddie sputtered, and a spray of beer landed on Steve’s face. “I’m sorry, the nail what? And you knew she was gonna come after?”

Steve laughed, open and loud, as he wiped the spittle from his face. “Oh, yeah, I guess you’ve never seen it before.”

“Seen what, Harrington!” Eddie shrieked. “Why in the world do you have something that can be called a ‘nail bat’?”

“There are monsters in Hawkins, dude,” Steve said simply. “Were,” he corrected with a shake of his head. “There were monsters in Hawkins.”

“Yeah. I’ve only seen them once and I still don’t believe they’re really gone.”

Steve nodded.

Eddie exhaled, and then steepled his hands under his chin like he was considering evidence. “Okay, so: you have a freaky bat filled with nails, and your freaky life partner stormed into my trailer so that she could threaten my freaky ass with it. Great, awesome. What the fuck is my life?” Eddie dug his fingers into his hair, heedless of the way it yanked some strands out of the bun entirely, and left others in disarray.

Steve shook his head. “I’ve been asking myself that for the past four years, man. If you come up with an answer, let me know.”

“And—And!” Eddie jumped up onto the stool so that he was perched atop it, balancing on the balls of his feet. He started gesticulating wildly into Steve’s face. “On top of all of that I’m supposed to believe that strait-laced Steve Harrington was acting all weird and evasive because he was working up the courage to ask me out?”

“You know, for someone who talks a good game about nonconformity, you’ve sure got a lot of preconceived notions about what other people are supposed to be like.”

Eddie dropped back down onto the stool like the wind had been taken out of his sails. “I know,” he said, expression serious. “I just…sometimes you’ve gotta jump to quick conclusions to keep yourself safe.”

Steve nodded, staring down at his hands as he picked at the label of the sweating beer bottle. “Yeah…that makes sense. And it’s not like I always would have been a safe guy to flirt with—jokingly or not.”

Eddie shrugged. “Maybe not. But that was a while ago. I think this version of you deserved for me to give you the benefit of the doubt. I could have at least fucking asked why you were being so cagey around me, instead of jumping to conclusions.”

“You can now,” Steve offered.

Eddie smiled. “Okay…I’ll bite: Steve, why’d you keep acting like a skittish little rabbit around me?”

“I did not—”

“You totally did! Always vibrating, looking like you were seconds from hopping off.” Eddie bit his lip, glancing down with a shy smile—and then Eddie got to pull off the flirtatious glancing-through-the-eyelashes thing. God, what a classic. Steve felt himself flush in response. “It was kind of cute, honestly.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if you must know…” Steve trailed off, the light tone slipping away. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever wanted to ask out.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, staring off to the side. “I was scared too, you know? I was pretty sure you liked me—I mean, at least I didn’t think you disliked me—but even with all the flirting, I couldn’t be sure, you know? It’s all so…different. From what I’m used to. Even beyond that, I haven’t—” Steve cut himself off, not sure he could give away this last piece of the puzzle.

“You haven’t…?”

“I haven’t felt this strongly about someone since Nancy. And I can’t—I don’t think I could stand something else blowing up in my face the same way that did.”

Eddie was quiet for several beats. “How’d things with Wheeler blow up?”

Steve turned back to meet Eddie’s gaze. “I think that’s a conversation for another day. This one’s already got me beat.”

Eddie nodded, and let silence fall between them for a bit. For the first time since Eddie’d come in, he didn’t feel like he could taste ash on the air. “Hey Steve?”

“Yeah, Eddie?”

“You wanna try now?”

“Try what?”

“Asking out a guy for the first time.”

“Oh…” Steve studied Eddie’s face carefully for a few long, silent moments, before determining there was nothing to find there beyond a simple and honest certainty. “I think I’m still a little mad at you.”

“Do you think you’ll forgive me?”

Steve smiled sadly with a tilt of his head. “You know I will.”

“Man, I’m not holding you to the contents of fucking Wham! lyrics just because they were the soundtrack for your gay wallowing.”

“Oh, but if it was a different song playing in the background you would?” Steve asked.

Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Yeah, ‘course I would.”

“I thought we’d established that now was a bad time to be critiquing my music taste.”

“I don’t fucking care if you listen to, Wham!, Steve—I just don’t wanna listen to them.”

Steve smiled and leaned forward. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m kinda ambivalent about them, but Dustin made that mixtape for me when I was getting over Nancy.”

“Huh. There’s…a lot going on there. And I think I’ve probably stuck my foot in it enough times today to avoid trying to wade in.”

“You’re a smart man, Eddie Munson.”

“Tell that to Ms. O’Donnell.” Eddie grabbed one of the strands he’d pulled out from his bun earlier and pulled it in front of his face. “So, are ya gonna do it?”

Steve smirked, leaning further into Eddie’s space. “Am I gonna do what, Eddie?”

“You know what, Harrington.”

“I thought I told you to call me Steve.”

As Eddie opened his mouth to reply, Steve closed the space between them and drew him into a kiss.

When Steve pulled back a moment later, he was rewarded with the sight of Eddie’s eyes fluttering back open as he breathed out Steve’s name on a sigh.

He reached up to tuck the strand of hair that had fallen from Eddie’s slackened grip behind his ear. “So, Eddie Munson—would you like to go out with me?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

Eddie’s apology bouquet:

Hyacinth (purple): “please forgive me”

Green Carnations: symbol of love between two men, popularized by Oscar Wilde wearing a green carnation as an accessory

Fairy lilies (Rainflower): “I love you back” / “I must atone for my sins”

Ragweed (Ambrosia): love is reciprocated

Meanings pulled from Wikipedia’s “List of plants with symbolism” (although I did already know the green carnations one before writing this). I did not do a whole lot of research into properly constructing bouquets so as to convey messages/meaning, so if you’re an expert floriographist, please don’t look at me (or: feel free to point out everything I got wrong, because I do actually find the language of flowers really interesting).

Also, we are hand-waving away the fact that it probably would have taken Eddie more than a day to get a custom bouquet, okay? We are also ignoring the fact that most people are allergic to ragweed—if it tickles you I'm declaring that Steve is not but Eddie is and made himself sneeze the whole way over to Steve's house.

Why did Steve know the names of all of the flowers? Because I said so, that’s why. (That, or, if you please: in the world of this fic Steve’s mom is a hobbyist gardener and he used to help her out in the yard during the summer.)

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie week #steddieweek2023 #unlike part one this one is entirely steve's pov #there wasn't a natural point at which to switch to eddie's but at some point I may go back and do the whole thing from eddie's pov #(if i do that will be at a point that is not tomorrow)#read writes

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sergeantbuckybarnes · 1 year

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we are who we are // fred weasley

Summary: You feel you’re unworthy of love, and Fred proves you’re wrong.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: mean comments towards the reader, self-esteem issues, angst with a happy end

A/N: As always, please remember English is not my first language. Thanks to @coffee-jelly544 for proofreading this!

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You stormed out the Great Hall, running through the corridors ignoring the glances other students were giving you. You stumbled toward your usual spot, your favorite tree. You liked how it lifted his branches to the sky as if his mere existence were enough to drive away the gloom and command the sun to shine on his waxy leaves. His bark glistened like the perfect type of gold, the kind that lifts the mind to dizzying heights of imagination, opening doorways to wondrous realms. It was no surprise that you went to the tree when your spirit needed to recharge; the touch of the trunk and thick branches felt like a hug from the gods above. This time, though, was different. You couldn't get the pain to go away even as you slid down its trunk into a curled position, tears flowing down your cheeks.

Your mind was filled with the echo of his nasty remarks. Again and again. Never stopping. Mocking you. Making you feel stupid. Aiming to hurt you, even if he didn’t know you were listening.

“Y/N? She’s a freak.”

“Have you actually seen her?”

“I’d rather shag Eloise Midgen, than ever go on a date with her.”

You knew you weren’t the best looking girl at Hogwarts, and you weren't going to win a beauty pageant anytime soon, but you liked to think you were passable to the eye. Perhaps you were mistaken. Maybe you needed to do more than remove your glasses and put on makeup to grab Michael Corner's attention. Or any guy’s for that matter.

As the years went by, you witnessed your friends get boyfriends, and go on dates, while you remained the supportive friend in the background, giving them advice and helping them get ready for their dates, staying in your dorm waiting for them to return, eager to hear about how everything went, wondering when it would be your turn.

You couldn't help feeling envious. Wanting what they had— a boy who stays up all night talking to you; a boy who calls you beautiful; a boy who holds your hand when you are nervous; a boy who doesn’t like you for your body or face, but for what’s inside you; a boy who wants a future with you; a boy who supports you fully, throught all your rights and wrongs; a boy who wants to have tickle fights instead of arguments; a boy who asks you how you are and check up on you; a boy who likes you without makeup on; a boy who would you anything to see you happy; a boy who cuddles you when you’re cold; a boy who doesn’t act different with you around his friends; a boy who shows you off to everyone; a boy who is proud of calling you his girl.

You just wanted someone who made you happy. Were you asking for too much? Weren’t you deserving of love?

You were tired. You were tired of crying. You were tired of pretending everything was okay. You were tired of being there for everybody but nobody being there for you when you needed them.

“Y/N?” A voice called your name. When you looked up, your puffy red tear-filled eyes met the worried brown eyes of Fred Weasley. “What happened?”

You met Fred and George Weasley in your first year at Hogwarts. You were proud to say that they were the first real friends you ever made. They kind of became your protectors, always defending you when someone picked on you and pranking them as a revenge, making everyone aware that if they messed with you, they would have to deal with them. You couldn't put into words how grateful you were to have them in your life.

If you asked Fred and George, they would tell you that you were their number one best friend and their biggest supporter. Most people didn’t seem to keen on their dream of opening a joke shop, but when they initially told you, you were enthusiastic about the idea and even volunteered to assist them develop their products.

So, certainly, you were very important to Fred and George. That’s why Fred wasn’t having any of it seeing you in such distress.

Fred tucked a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen in your face, and he tenderly wiped your tears with his thumbs, but it was of little use because your tears kept coming like a never-ending waterfall.

“What happened, love?” Fred's voice, though mild, was commanding. You were not the type to cry for no reason. Someone had obviously done something to upset you, and he demanded a name. This individual, whoever they were, was going to wriggle in Bulbadox powder and break out in boils.

“H-he said mean things, Freddie,” you wailed. “Why did he say such mean things?” You buried your face in your friend’s chest and Fred wrapped his arms tightly around your frame, attempting to shield you from the outside world.

“Who, Y/N/N? Who said these mean things?” Fred whispered softly as his long fingers ran through your hair.

“M-Michael.”

“Michael Corner?” He asked for confirmation. He heard you reply a muffled “yes” against his chest.

You pulled away and looked at your best friend. “I wanted to ask him out.”

Fred frowned. He didn’t know you fancied anyone. And as if you had read his mind you explained, “It’s not like I have a giant crush on him or anything. I just thought he was cute and I wanted to go out with a guy.”

“Why?”

Fred didn't have many female friends. He had small chats with Hermione every now and then, and he was close to Angelina Johnson, but these friendships didn't provide him with enough information to understand why you would want a boyfriend all of a sudden, and why you would choose someone like Michael to fill the role.

You could do better than that tosser.

“Because I feel left out, Freddie. Kendra and Jeanine don’t stop talking about their boyfriends and they are always on dates and I- I want to know what if feels to be liked by someone.”

“Is that the reason you did this?” He queried, taking a look at you. You frowned, unsure of what he meant.

“What do you mean?”

“The makeup, and your glasses— where are they?”

You shrugged. “I was trying to be pretty.”

“You are pretty, Y/N. You don’t need to change to get a guy’s attention. If they don’t like you for who you are they are not worthy.”

You looked at Fred. He had these eyes that were just so warm that you could get lost in them. The kind of brown that's actually gold underneath and carries the sun’s light. Soon after meeting him, you noticed that he has two smiles. There’s his soft lazy smile, when his eyes half close. It's your personal favorite. They captivate you, and you find it difficult to look away. Then there’s the one when he finds something fine. When he laughs. The big one. The one where he slightly lifts his shoulders. Someone would think that with all of this, you'd enjoy staring at him, but instead, you just feel sadness because you know he’ll never be yours.

“Well, that’s the problem, Fred; no one likes me for who I am. I'm a freak.” You spat, using the word that Michael used to refer to you with his mates.

“That’s not true. You’re not a freak,” the ginger said defensively. Fred had never heard you speak so negatively about yourself before, and he didn't like it. “Is that what that git said?”

“Among other things.”

Fred squeezed his fist, feeling his knuckles turn white. He felt wrath take over his body, and his thoughts wandered to places where he made Corner pay for hurting your feelings, for making you feel unworthy when all you wanted was to be shown love.

He cupped your face in his hands, “You’re beautiful, Y/N/N. You are smart, witty, funny, and a great friend. Any guy would be lucky to have you as his girlfriend. You don’t need to change for that. You hear me?”

Your eyes started to tear up once more but for a different cause this time. “You really think that?” Your voice was small, still vulnerable.

Fred couldn't remember when he stopped seeing you as a friend, but it was a long time ago that his feelings for you were no longer platonic. However, he had kept his emotions to himself because he was a coward. He never imagined that his choice would backfire and result in someone else hurting you. If he had confessed, he couldn't help but wonder if you would be in this circumstance.

Maybe you reciprocated his feelings.

Maybe you would be together, and you wouldn’t be crying over Michael Corner.

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Well—” You were about to begin recounting the narrative when he cut you off.

“You promise not to mention that ever again,” he protested, feigning indignation, which made a giggle come out of you. At this, he smiled.

“Thank you, Freddie.” You cracked a small smile, and even though it didn't reach your eyes, Fred was relieved that you were feeling better.

Fred gifted you your favorite smile. You noticed how he was still holding your face and how close the two of you were. You could feel his breath against your face, and had a perfect view of the freckles adorning his features.

‘He’s so handsome’

You were so preoccupied with admiring the boy in front of you that you didn't see Fred had narrowed the gap between you and tentatively brushed his lips against yours. You felt a swift surge of confidence overtake you and leaned forward, your lips meeting his.

You had thought about kissing Fred more times than you’d like to admit. The kiss was nothing like what you had imagined it to be. Fred’s kiss was gentle and soothing. As his lips moved slowly with yours, you felt a sense of warmth. As you continued kissing, Fred’s left hand remained cupping your face while his right hand made its way to your waist.

When you pulled away you noticed Fred’s cheeks were flushed a bright pink. “Be my girl?” He inquired. “Let me love you like you deserve.” Although the older twin exuded confidence, he appeared nervous now, as though the chances of you rejecting him were very great.

“Yes.” You smiled, and he pulled you against him again.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fic #fred weasley one shot #harry potter imagine #fred and george weasley

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m1ssunderstanding · 4 months

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Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day Four

"Lennon's late again" says Paul, as he walks in late. And sweet Ringo just gently, "between ten and eleven is the time" Which means: "Chill babe. He'll be here."

One thing that always gob smacks me is how bored George and Ringo are watching Paul pull Get Back out of the ether. They literally see him do this shit all the time which is insane to me.

His voice is so so so pretty!!! And he's just so completely in his own world. The hunched shoulders. The twitching. The gibberish. The tapping. The twisting.

Obviously this is a song with the original central feeling being let's go back to before everything went wrong but he wants to make it into a meaningless song with both story bits and almost walrus-esque bits. But why is the first lyric he comes up with about gender? Thinking of @scurators posts on Paul and gender.

Ringo's customary quiet really does add significance to his voice, so him singing along with this so quickly says something I think about his support for the song and for Paul in general.

When John walks in he's greeted with a little cocky nod and smile like "look what I've just done while you were late." And then Paul sings "get back to where you once belonged" directly at him before breaking the eye contact. It's one of those heartbreaking Lennon/McCartney miscommunications because Paul is doing this to get John back, but actually it's scaring him away, you know? Paul thinks he has to prove to John how good he is, but John's exhausted with how good Paul is.

STFU Michael Lindsay Hogg

Paul really does love the idea of being forced out of parliament by cops and honestly so do I. Would've been iconic and might've kept them together.

John's so quiet today and also Yoko is not here. Correlation or causation I wonder.

"They say don't they say charity begins at home?" I love you forever, George. His humor is always so well-placed and so dry (even though he's clearly cracking himself up here). And it steers the conversation away from a direction he was not happy with without poking any bears. In fact, everyone's laughing. Clever boy.

"I've decided that the whole point of it is communication. And to be on TV is communication and we've got a chance to smile at people like all you need is love or something so that's me incentive for doing it." Wise, egalitarian John making a lovely appearance.

And then there's Paul. "I'm here cause I wanna do a show." Lol I love them.

Why do they say "Mr Epstein?" Is it because they're on camera and they want people to know who they're talking about? Does it have something to do with the maharishi telling them certain ways to talk about Brian? Does anyone have any thoughts about that?

Okay so you know how I just said last time how emotionally mature George was? I still think it's generally more true of him than the others, but this right here? This is not it. "I don't want to do any of my songs in the show because they'll all just turn out shitty." Man has issues.

I think it's important to recognize that George and Paul have both said the literal word "divorce" and it's NBD. But when John does it, Paul takes it as "the groups really over and I have to go into hiding and not get out of bed and maybe od who knows." Why? There's another puzzle piece here that we're missing.

"Should we leave you for a while?" "YES!"

On the one hand I'm like "working on Maxwell is the last thing you guys should be doing with this time alone." But on the other thing maybe it's the only thing they can do at this point.

"Mal? You should get a hammer. And an anvil." As he's walking away. Main character in a contrived mad genius biopic. Except it's real.

"Joan" sounding suspiciously like "John" ... And then he goes "fool, Maxwell fool." Aka one of their ~special words~ New theory. John hates Maxwell because he dies in it. And Paul's the killer.

"Take it away Johnny." Even though it was George and John whistling before wasn't it? Did George get cut from the whistle chorus? Another straw on the camel's back.

I LOVE that John just does not know any of his own songs. Across the Universe my beloved!

On the glyn/Paul moment featured below, I have three thoughts. 1. Whore. 2. John Lennon villain origin story. 3. The fact that glyn didn't just tell John is striking.

"I wish it fucking would". "Cause I'm down." This lyric going from a self-soothing reassurance that his people aren't going to leave him that he'll always have this beautiful dream he's created with them. To this? I hate it here.

So there is a big emotional and energy difference between their Beatlemania selves singing "Rock and Roll Music" and their current selves. And part of it is due to the fact that they're just not as happy as they were then. But I think most of it is really just that they thrive when they're performing for an audience.

#Sorry for the scarcity of shitty pics to break up the block of text in this one.#Hopefully the next one will be better #paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #Get back

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mypoisonedvine · 2 years

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𝙼𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽𝚂 - chapter 3: louder than hell.

𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 - living with eddie continues to have its ups and downs, but maybe you two can find an understanding. or, maybe not.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 5.3k

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 - mentions/description of deceased parents, descriptions of drug use/smoking, mentions/description of hard drug abuse and overdose, ridiculous sibling arguments, fluff and wholesomeness and excessive transcription of scenes from a real episode of the partridge family

You groaned as you wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, a thin sheen of sweat having formed from all the effort you’d been putting into trying to clean your room.

Eddie had all but trashed the place, random junk all over every surface; he seemed to have a habit of setting something down the first spot he could find when he was done and just leaving it there. When you told him to clean up, he usually ignored you— or pretended not to hear you since he either had headphones on to listen to a tape or was practicing his deafening guitar— so you’d gotten into a habit of doing it yourself. You were on your knees on the ground now, trying to separate the dirty clothes, unfinished homework, and trash into three different piles.

“Liquor store receipt, trash,” you mumbled to yourself. “First page of an essay about… General Custer? Homework. I mean, kind of trash but… technically homework.”

You made your way around the room, eventually getting to clear off your desk and vanity; of course, when he got home from Hellfire, you were doing the one thing you didn’t want him to catch you doing— thinning out the shelf of albums. You were in the middle of pulling one of his records out when he slammed his hand over it to push it back in. “Hey!” he yelped, glaring at you. “Don’t touch my stuff!”

“My room, my stuff,” you replied, trying to pull another record out, but he grabbed your hand this time which startled you.

“Our room,” he corrected, “my albums. No touchy.”

“Your records are crowding mine!” you explained. “There’s no room!”

“Yeah? Your records are tainting mine!” he replied indignantly. “I mean, Escape and Frontiers I’ll forgive, Journey has a few bangers but come on— your Make It Big next to my Animalize is criminal. It’s going to infect it with its… suckiness, somehow.”

“Okay, I’m gonna stop you there because George Michael is a god,” you sneered, “that your little pea brain simply can’t comprehend!”

“George Michael is a hack!” he spat back, and you gasped— like he’d put out his cigarette on a statue of baby Jesus or something. Except that this was infinitely worse.

“You take that back,” you ordered.

“Prove me wrong,” he offered instead, “or admit you just think he’s hot and don’t even care about the music.”

“Oh— oh!” you yelped, laughing in pure frustration as you turned and knelt down in front of the stacks of records. “I’ll prove you wrong.”

“I swear, if you try to make me listen to Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go—” he began to warn you.

“No, no way,” you shook your head, “we’re listening to his masterpiece.”

The drums started, and already Eddie was trying to turn the record player off.

“No,” you insisted— not quite a bark, but very stern— as you grabbed his arms. He stilled and looked at you again, swallowing as your fingers dug into the sleeves of his jacket. “Just listen. Wait for the bass line.”

It came in a second later. You watched his face as he listened: he didn’t react too visibly, but you waited in anticipation for him to be forced to eat his words.

“Somebody told me—” the lyrics began, in George’s beautiful voice, and you saw Eddie’s eyes narrow. The bass was more prominent as the first verse continued, and you smiled as Eddie nodded slightly.

“Okay, that’s…” he trailed off, smiling as he met your gaze. “That’s actually kinda sick.”

“I know!” you agreed.

“Man, that bass with some guitars would be so good!” he whined. “Why did he have to make pop and not metal? He would’ve been amazing.”

“He is amazing,” you frowned.

“Fair enough,” Eddie nodded. “I don’t know about a god but, sure, he’s pretty good.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled as you reached to take the needle off the record, but his hand suddenly landed on your wrist.

“Uh, you don’t— um, have to turn it off so fast,” he stammered, and you smiled.

“Do we have a new Wham!-head on our hands?”

He scoffed. “No way. Just giving them a fair shake is all— after this song’s over I wanna play you something by Poison that I think you’ll like…”

Your mom pulled her translucent shawl up over her shoulders as she stepped out onto the porch.

"Have her back by eleven, mister," Eddie wagged his finger at Wayne, who chuckled along with your mom as they walked down the steps together.

He waved one more time before shutting the door, and letting out a quick breath as he turned to look at you.

"We throwin' a rager or what?" he prompted.

"A rager that ends by eleven?" you raised an eyebrow, though you didn’t look up at him for more than a second from where you sat on the couch— you were too busy reading Persuasion for far from the first time.

"I was just kidding," he smiled, "but next time we'll get them to stay out all night so we can really do something."

"I don't like the idea of them out all night," you shuddered, focusing on the book in front of you— but of course, you couldn’t really focus with him bothering you still.

"Don't be a prude, they're engaged," he crossed his arms. "It's not like they haven't—"

"Stop," you groaned.

"It upsets you that much?" he laughed.

"I'm not saying they're not allowed to do it, I'm just saying I don't want to think about it."

“Then just be thankful their bedroom’s on the other side of the house from ours,” he grinned as he hopped over the arm of the couch to sit next to you. You scooted further away.

“They should be, too; they don’t have to hear you snore,” you returned, still looking at your book as you turned the page. Unfortunately, after that, you had one of those thoughts that, once you had it, you had to ask. “Oh god,” you groaned, looking up from your book and grimacing slightly at him, “my mom stayed over at your place some nights, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugged.

“You didn’t… hear them…” you trailed off, widening your eyes and leaning your head forward a bit.

“What, fuck?” Eddie laughed. “No— when Wayne was bringing her over he’d let me know in advance and I would… find other lodgings for the evening. You know, give ‘em some space, crash at Rick’s or something.”

“How… considerate,” you offered, though it was mostly sarcastic. You didn’t like imagining this ‘gentleman’s agreement’ Eddie and Wayne had concerning your mother.

“I mean, that’s just common courtesy,” Eddie smirked, “you know— when the trailer’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’, and all that.”

“Gross,” you frowned.

“He’d do the same for me,” Eddie explained.

“If you were actually getting any,” you added.

“Well,” Eddie clarified, “if I had a girlfriend, I mean.”

“Oh,” you grinned, “so you don’t just bring any girl back to the trailer, huh?”

He snorted. “No, definitely not.”

“Because she’d turn and run as soon as she saw how filthy that place was?”

“Hey,” he frowned, “it wasn’t filthy… there was just a mild griminess.”

There was a long pause, but it was only awkward for one of you— he was rubbing his hands on his jeans and looking around while you paid attention to your book again, hardly noticing he was there anymore.

“So, what are we doing tonight?” he wondered.

“We?” you repeated.

“I mean, house to ourselves has to be good for something.”

“You better not smoke any fucking pot,” you snapped.

“That was only one of my ideas,” he smirked. “You’ve really never smoked?”

“I never said that,” you mumbled, and you saw him peer at you over the top of your book with a glimmer in his eyes.

“Oh, I wanna know that story,” he pleaded. “Was it high school? Wait, did Rick sell you stuff?”

“No, and no,” you sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Matters to me!” he insisted.

“So do a lot of things that don’t actually matter,” you shrugged.

His finger hooked around the top of your book, in the spine’s crease, and he pulled it down to meet your unamused stare. “C’mooooon,” he whined, “I’m curious what occasion would make a good girl like you decide to get stoned.”

“It was after I broke up with Gary,” you explained, sighing as you shut your book and set it down. He pulled his legs up onto the couch like he was waiting for some juicy, riveting story. “I went to a party with some people from my Intro to English class.”

He blinked at you as he waited. “And?”

“And, we smoked.”

“Oh my god!” he groaned, his head falling back dramatically. “That’s so boring! You skipped the good part.”

“What good part?”

“Why you did it,” he answered.

“I wanted to fit in, I guess? They were passing it around, I felt weird being the only one not smoking.”

“Did you cough?”

“Of course I did,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m not a professional pothead like you.”

“Hey, I’m cutting back,” he defended, raising his hands defensively. “Just nights and weekends now.”

“Just— just nights and weekends?!” you repeated. “So… what?”

“So, I don’t get stoned at school anymore,” he explained confidently.

“Wow,” you congratulated flatly, “better start writing your valedictorian speech.”

“Don’t need to be the best, unlike some of us who are terminally competitive,” he grumbled, “just need to graduate. Sick of being in fucking high school.”

“I’m sure,” you nodded.

“Is college cool?” he wondered. “Like, are the people chill?”

“Uh, I guess…” you shrugged. Not that that’s something you need to be worrying about with your grades.

“Do you have any friends?” he asked, point blank, and you kicked him semi-lightly in the side.

“Shut up!” you frowned.

“Okay, that’s a no,” he widened his eyes as he looked away.

“I mean, I have friends,” you disagreed, “just not like, close friends? I guess?”

“You never have anybody over,” he recalled. “And you never call anybody.”

“Not when you’re home,” you corrected. “I can’t ‘cause you’re always on the fucking line with your Hellfire pals.”

“You could talk to them!” he offered. “Might be the only chance some of them would get to talk to a girl at all.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you rolled your eyes. “Believe it or not, I’ve kind of outgrown high schoolers. Unlike some of us who are terminally immature.”

“Aw, look at us,” he clicked his tongue, tilting his head as he smiled at you. “The witty repartee, the flinging of insults— this is better than throwing a party.”

You groaned and pulled up your book again, opening it to where you’d left off. “Okay, I’m done,” you mumbled.

“If you say so,” he shrugged, but he was smiling mischievously.

“In fact, now that I know it’s fun for you, I’m never arguing with you again,” you decided. “Conversation over.”

“Don’t say that,” he pouted, but there was a dark shine to his stare as he continued. “You know it’s never over with us, sweetheart.”

You really, really hoped he couldn’t see the way you shivered when he said that…

Before you could worry about how to respond, he got up— your eyes couldn’t help but follow him, lingering on the bandana dangling out of his back pocket— before he turned around and you shot your eyes back to the pages of your book. Why is he so distracting now, just standing there? I can’t even tell if this book is in English anymore, I swear it was before…

“I’m gonna practice guitar,” he informed you.

“Not while I’m trying to read, you’re not,” you frowned. “That thing is so goddamn loud—”

“Acoustic,” he explained with a small, condescending smile. “Won’t offend your delicate little ears.”

“Great,” you hummed in reply, and he disappeared back into your shared bedroom as you focused in on your book again.

You could just barely hear him, but it wasn’t so bad, so you didn’t shout for him to shut the door. He tinkered around with a few songs, none of which you thought much of until halfway into his practice. Your mind was so occupied with reading Jane Austen that you didn’t even really consciously realize that you were listening to the riff he was playing, or that you recognized it in the back of your mind.

You didn’t even notice that you were quietly singing along.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older,” you mumbled, “then we wouldn’t have to wait so long…”

The music stopped, and you swallowed as you realized you’d sung; his head popped out of the doorway, smiling wide. “You have a nice voice,” he offered.

“Sorry,” you cleared your throat, “I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to interrupt.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he smiled, setting the guitar down against the wall and stepping up to the couch.

“I’m surprised you know that song,” you admitted.

“It was one of the first ones I learned,” he recalled. “My mom really liked The Beach Boys.”

You glanced down awkwardly; you were pretty sure he wasn’t using the past tense because she stopped liking the band…

“Sing along to whatever you want,” he offered.

“N-no, I’ll just keep reading,” you decided. “But you can keep playing… you can play here if you want.”

“Really?”

You shrugged, and he grabbed the guitar by the neck, sitting down and setting it up in his lap oncemore.

You only recognized a couple more songs after that— Hotel California, Tangerine by Zeppelin, and You Can’t Always Get What You Want— but didn’t sing along to any of them. Occasionally, you heard him humming the melody or mumble-singing the lyrics, and you smiled to yourself.

After a while, you weren’t even reading anymore, just listening.

You furrowed your brow as you listened to him singing something, only able to make out a few words. Something about she’s so lovely and she’s so fine and take me home— pretty vague, could be anything.

“What song is that?” you finally asked.

“O-oh,” he choked, “um, I wrote that one, actually.”

“You write your own songs?” you realized, impressed. He shrugged. “Is that what Corroded Coffin plays?”

“Oh— not this one,” he shook his head, “too sappy. But yeah, sometimes we play stuff I wrote.”

“That’s cool,” you smiled. “Is it about a girl?”

“Let’s talk about something else,” he blurted out suddenly.

“Aw, come on,” you teased, “it is, right? Is it about a specific girl, or just… a hypothetical girl?”

He laughed a little. “Um, a real one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you guys ever go out?” You tilted your head when he scoffed and looked away. “Really? Maybe if you played her the song, she would’ve wanted to go out.”

“Does that work?” he wondered, looking at you again.

“I mean, seems to work on most girls,” you shrugged. “She’ll forget that the guy’s a total dog or a douche or just a good old fashioned loser— so long as he’s a sexy guitar player or whatever.”

“Which one of those am I?” he laughed.

“All of the above,” you decided, “except sexy.”

Of course, one instance of Eddie practicing quietly couldn’t last. The next day, he was back to the abrasive, headache-inducing squeals of his electric guitar on the amp, impossible to block out even as you covered your ears and put all your mental effort into studying. Finally, when you were frustrated with trying to ignore it, you stood up defiantly from your seat at the kitchen table and marched across the hallway.

You swung the bedroom door open, hit with a wave of even louder sound, and the sight of him strumming quickly— his head was hung low at first, though it fell backward as he continued and you could see that his eyes were closed.

“Hey!” you barked. “Eddie!”

He was still playing, starting to rock his head back and forth and sending his hair flying every which way.

“Munson! Pencildick!” you tried to get his attention, but you couldn’t even hear yourself with how loud it was. “COULD YOU TURN IT DOWN?!” you screamed. He either couldn’t hear you still or was simply ignoring you; you stormed across the room, interrupting his headbanging, and grabbed the neck of the guitar tightly. The sounds came to a literal screeching halt, leaving only the ambient buzzing of the amp to fill the air.

“Hey!” he defended. “I was shredding.”

“Yeah, shredding my eardrums,” you spat. “I’m trying to study. I have a test coming up.”

“Oh wow, big photography test?” he rolled his eyes. “What studying do you have to do, making sure you know which button actually takes the picture?”

“No, it’s for my math class,” you frowned, “now could you please keep it down!”

“This is just the volume of metal, my dear,” he sighed, “can’t help you, sorry.”

You groaned as you turned around, kneeling quickly to find the volume knob on his amp and spin it to the left.

“Damn it!” he snapped, bending down and turning it back. “What did I tell you about touching my stuff?”

“Do it more ‘cause you love it so much?” you guessed.

“First my records, then you grab my guitar, now the amp?” he sneered. “Is nothing sacred? How would you like it if I touch your stuff?”

You thought it was a hypothetical until he took the guitar off over his shoulder and set it down, the motion making a slightly-melodic buzz come out of the speaker. He stormed across the room to your closet, throwing it open as you tried to reach around him to stop him. “Get out!” you whined as he dug around through your clothes, taking a pink dress off the hanger and tossing it over his shoulder. “Hey!”

He found another dress, a black one, and he snickered at it. “Cute,” he decided before throwing it, too. You ran to try to pick up your clothes from the floor, but when you turned back to look at him, he was holding onto your stuffed bear.

“Don’t touch that,” you warned him.

“Who’s gonna stop me?” he grinned.

You ran up to him and reached for it, but he held it up high above his head and watched you struggle with a proud smile. "Eddie, give it back!" you whined, jumping up to try to grab it.

"Nuh uh," he laughed.

"Stop!" you groaned.

"You can come get it for yourself, sweetheart," he taunted, knowing you couldn't reach. When you almost managed to grab it, he held you back with his free hand to keep you away.

"Just give it back, Eddie," you begged, starting to get really upset, "my dad gave me that!"

He brought his arm down in a split second, and you snatched the bear from him to hug it to your chest. "I'm sorry," he said instantly, clearing his throat and looking around sheepishly. "I didn't know… I was just trying to— I didn't know."

You sniffled a little, and he looked at you again, eyebrows tilted with a guilty, almost pleading look. "It's okay," you assured quietly. "Just don't take my stuff anymore, please…"

"I won't, I swear," he promised.

You nodded, resting your chin on Barry's head. Eddie sighed a little, looking at you more gently than you could ever remember him looking at you before.

"How old were you when your dad…?" he asked quietly.

"Twelve," you answered. "He got sick when I was eleven, but he died a week before I turned thirteen."

"That's a hard time for that," he nodded. "Not that there's any good time for that but, damn, thirteen is hard enough."

You widened your eyes and blew out a breath as if to say, yeah, no shit.

"I wish I had my mom that long, though," he added, and you looked up at him. He scratched behind his ear for a second, looking off to the side and staring at your wall. "I was nine."

"Was she sick?" you wondered.

"Yeah, something like that," he sighed. "She got better for a while— for me— but she started using again, she didn't know her limits… I found her, actually, and she still had the needle in her arm."

"Oh, god," you breathed, "Ed, I'm so—"

"Don't worry about it," he shrugged, looking at you again and wearing a more familiar, playful expression on his face. "I got to go live with my dad after that, and he was buckets of fun. It was like summer camp with the Boy Scouts, but less knots and more crime."

You snorted a small laugh through your nose. "Sounds cool."

"And now that you know my sob story, you can't get on my case for being a delinquent anymore," he grinned.

"But can I still silently judge you?" you pouted.

"Of course," he winked. "Anyways, point is— sorry for taking the bear. I guess I just wanted to try out some of the annoying-older-brother classics."

"Don't apologize to me," you suggested, "apologize to him."

You held the bear out with one hand, pointing it right at his face.

"His name is Barry," you informed him, something he could incorporate into his apology.

"I'm sorry, Barry," Eddie spoke to the stuffy, "you were collateral damage in my war on my sister. Won't happen again. If you want, I can make it up to you by setting you up with this saucy little throw pillow from the living room—"

You giggled briefly, and Eddie's eyes darted over at you for a second, with a glimmer in them that made your heart skip a beat.

He looked at the bear again. "We square?" he asked and after a pause, he reached up and pinched Barry's right paw, gently shaking it.

"Give him a kiss," you demanded suddenly, and Eddie crinkled his nose in disagreement.

"Uh, I think the handshake oughta do it—" he began to argue.

"Give. him. a kiss." You wiggled Barry in front of his face a bit, emphasizing your demand.

Hesitating for a second first, Eddie pursed his lips and gave Barry a kiss on the head. You pulled the bear back into your chest with a smile.

“I’ll try not to touch your stuff,” you offered.

“I’ll try to keep the music down,” he replied.

“Great,” you sighed, and you slowly turned and left the room, shutting the door behind you. You grabbed your textbook and took it outside to study on the porch— it was a little warm outside for it, but sunset was coming and you knew it would cool off quickly. The silence was so precious after all the noise, and you found yourself losing focus on your practice questions so you could admire the way Hawkins looked bathed in fading purple light. You didn’t love living here all the time, but it had its perks— and really, you weren’t sure if you could ever bring yourself to leave.

Having to tell Eddie about how you got Barry brought the memory to the forefront of your mind— that must’ve been why you dreamed about it that night, about your dad.

Maybe some people who lose a loved one enjoy dreaming about them, it’s like the last way they can see them anymore. But you hated it; it was easier just to not think about him. It was easier to pretend none of those happy memories ever happened, so you wouldn’t have to remember the worst ones too— the medications, the hospitals, the surgeries… the deterioration, right before your eyes.

The dream itself was fine, really; it was sweet. It was waking up that you hated, because for a split second, you forgot. And you had to remember all over again that your dad fucking died when you were still just a little kid.

Barry was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes, by your pillow, and you grabbed him as you sat up to go do something other than lay here and cry.

Of course, when you sat up, your head slammed into the fucking bunk beds again. You crinkled up your face, more from the frustration than the pain, and let a little fuck slip out as you held your forehead.

Still, you ducked down and got out of bed, navigating your way to the living room. You glanced at the clock— 1:17 AM. Something’s probably still on, you thought to yourself. You grabbed the remote and the folded blanket off of the couch’s back, throwing it over yourself as you flipped it on and turned the volume down to something quiet enough for the wee hours of the morning.

Yes, something was still on— after flipping a couple channels, you found something funny and comfortable to hopefully lull you back to sleep, and you adjusted yourself on the couch as you cuddled up with Barry.

Maybe it was the TV that woke him up, or your head injury on the underside of his bed, or maybe just his instinct to show up and bother you at all times; regardless, within a few minutes, you heard the bedroom door open again. Eddie’s shadow moved through the dark until you could just barely see him in the light of the screen, sporting his classic pajama combo of soft plaid pants and his necklace and nothing else.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly. You shook your head, pulling the blanket up higher on your chest.

He sighed a little, crossing the room and standing at the end of the couch— he made a little shooing motion until you moved your feet out of the way and he could plop himself down by your scrunched up legs.

“Whatcha watchin’?” he asked.

“Partridge Family rerun,” you shrugged.

He laughed a little. “You were totally in love with David Cassidy when you were a little girl, weren’t you? Shoulda known.”

“Dude, I never stopped loving David Cassidy,” you snorted. “That’s my man.”

“Uh huh,” he grinned. “And does Detective Sonny Crockett know about this?”

You smirked. “He understands. I loved him first.”

“Yeah, never forget your first love,” he agreed.

“Who was yours?” you wondered. “You know, on TV.”

“Is that even a question?” he scoffed. “Wonder Woman— Lynda Carter.”

“Really?” you giggled.

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, sticking his lips out a bit. “I had it so bad for her and the little, uh… the little thing she wore…”

He gestured to his waist and crotch vaguely as he tried to think of the word. “Hotpants?” you offered.

He grinned and snapped his fingers at you. “Hotpants!” he agreed. “Yeah, anyways, I watched that show way too much for someone who really isn’t into comic books.”

“You’re just into everything else geeky,” you assumed.

“Hey, listen— I’m not some kind of nerdery slut,” he corrected with raised hands. “I like D&D. And Lord of the Rings. And metal, if that counts.”

“The way you like it? Definitely,” you nodded. “I’m afraid you’re gonna wear that new Metallica tape out, you keep listening to it over and over.”

He smiled proudly. “Okay, yeah, I’m a metal geek, then.”

The commercial break ended and with that classic sitcom musical sting, the episode continued.

“Hey, there’s your man,” Eddie nodded at the TV, “and his glorious mullet.”

“Mm,” you hummed appreciatively. “He does have great hair.”

“Uh, hello?” Eddie prompted, and when you looked over at him, he fluffed his hair with one of his hands.

“Yours is okay,” you offered, “but doesn’t have the same, you know… lusciousness.”

“Pfft,” Eddie scoffed, but he offered no defense as both watched the show again.

It was Keith— aka David Cassidy, your preteen awakening himself— and his middle brother Danny walking to school together. “I got one!” Danny pointed at him as they strolled. “You’re so ugly your face oughta be arrested for littering.” The canned laughter offered support for the mediocre joke, and you smiled a little. “Top that one.”

“Alright, uh…” Keith replied, “you’re so dumb—”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Not another ‘you’re so dumb’ insult, not very original.” Keith frowned as he tried to come up with something better.

“I always wanted a family like that,” Eddie admitted quietly.

“Like what, a band?” you wondered.

“That too,” he nodded.

You frowned as you adjusted on the couch, struggling to get comfortable. “Can you get up? I can’t stretch my legs out,” you pouted.

“Yeah you can, just put your feet on my lap,” he offered.

If you were entirely awake, you would’ve questioned that more— but it was that time of night where even the strangest ideas seemed sort of fun, and so you stretched out a bit to let your feet slide across his thighs. With one arm up on the back of the couch, his other hand came to rest on your ankle, and it made your breath catch slightly (though he didn’t seem to notice) before you relaxed. Once you accepted it, it was actually kind of soothing— yeah, your heart raced for a second, but then your eyes kept getting heavier as you tried to blink them open to look at the glowing screen.

Sleep overtook you quickly, like a weight that sunk into you and just kept pulling you down. You didn’t have any more dreams that night.

After you’d dozed off, Eddie’s gaze lingered on your still face for a moment; he smiled to himself, looking down at his hand on your ankle. Gently, he stroked your skin with his thumb, checking your face again to make sure it wouldn’t wake you up.

He turned down the volume on the TV two more clicks, focusing on the scene before him again— something about Laurie having a date coming over to pick her up. Mrs. Partridge greeted him at the door, before he joined Keith on the couch.

“Boy, glad that’s over,” the date sighed as Mrs. Partridge went upstairs to fetch Laurie.

“What?” Keith asked him.

“Meeting the mother,” he answered. “But your mother’s pretty cool… yeah, they usually give you the third-degree— you know, ‘where are you taking her’, ‘what time are you gonna bring her home’...”

“Ah, I know what you mean,” Keith agreed, not looking up from whatever he was reading— Eddie obviously hadn’t been paying enough attention to keep track of that. “Where are you taking her?”

“Huh?”

Keith shut his book and narrowed his eyes. “What time are you gonna bring her home?”

“Early, after the movie,” the date replied defensively.

Keith scooted closer to the other young man. “You, um, taking her to a walk-in or a drive-in?”

“A drive-in,” he answered. Keith immediately began shaking his head. “A walk-in?” the other offered instead, and Keith nodded approvingly.

“As long as it’s rated for the general public,” Keith added.

Eddie looked at you again, watching the blanket swell and sink each time you took a slow, deep breath. He thought about getting up and going back to the bunk bed to sleep, but he was too afraid to wake you up if he tried to move your feet away. Yeah, that was definitely the only reason that he wouldn’t get up now, now that he had you so close and you weren’t awake to try to push him away or tell him to fuck off. Not that he didn’t enjoy that a bit… he just liked this more. So, he’d stay for now and hold onto your ankle until you woke up and told him to stop. Just because he could.

#eddie munson x reader #stepbrother!eddie munson x reader

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davidtennantgenderenvy · 2 months

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ROLES I WANT DAVID TENNANT TO PLAY IN MUSICALS: THE MASTERLIST

Okay so I've divided this into three categories, which you shall see below!

Roles I Think David Could/Should Play NOW:

Charlie Guiteau in Assassins

someone in Brigadoon bc it would be funny

The Emcee in Cabaret

Ryuk in Death Note

The Man In The Chair in The Drowsy Chaperone

The Dysquith Family in A Gentleman's Guide to Love And Murder

Herbie in Gypsy

Hades in Hadestown

Frollo in Hunchback of Notre Dame (okay give him like five years)

The Baker in Into The Woods

Lord Chancellor in Iolanthe

Albin or Georges in La Cage Aux Folles (either one as long as the other is played by Michael Sheen)

Trunchbull in Matilda OKAY HEAR ME OUT (he could also do Mr Wormwood)

Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady

Fagin in Oliver

Tateh in Ragtime

Riff Raff OR Frank N Furter in Rocky Horror

Shakespeare in Something Rotten

Squidward in SpongeBob (im so serious)

Sweeney Todd (utterly delusional but I need it to happen)

The Wizard in Wicked

Roles I Think David Would Have Nailed When He Was Younger

The Balladeer in Assassins

anyone in Cats please it would be so funny (especially Munkustrap)

Connor Murphy in Dear Evan Hansen (like Campbell era come ON)

Motel in Fiddler on the Roof

Marvin in Falsettos (he MIGHT get away with that now not sure)

Monty in Gentleman's Guide

J.P. Finch in How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying

Molina in Kiss of the Spider Woman

Emmet in Legally Blonde

Seymour in Little Shop of Horrors

Edgar Allan Poe in Nevermore

Leo Frank in Parade

Narrator/Cat in the Hat in Seussical

Georg in She Loves Me

any character Christian Borle played in Spamalot

Tobias Ragg in Sweeney Todd

Roles David Quite Doesn't Have The Instrument For But I Would Watch Him Do Them Anyway Bc He Would Act The Hell Out Of Them:

Any Elder in The Book of Mormon (Younger)

Robert in Bridges of Madison County

Bobby in Company (Younger)

Jervis in Daddy Long Legs (Younger)

Lucheni in Elisabeth (Younger)

or death. Rudolph too tbh

Bruce Bechdel in Fun Home

Edward Rochester in Jane Eyre

Henry Jekyll/Edward Hyde (younger)

Judas in Jesus Christ Superstar (younger)

Javert in Les Miserables

Christian in Moulin Rouge (Younger)

Pierre in Great Comet (this one actually kills me bc he and Phileas are so similar)

OR ANATOLE HOLY CRAP

Gabe in Next to Normal (Younger)

Erik in Phantom of the Opera

Mark Cohen in Rent (younger)

Noel Gruber or Ricky Potts in Ride the Cyclone (younger)

Archibald Craven in The Secret Garden

Joe/Josephine in Some Like It Hot

BURRS IN THE WILD PARTY OH I WISH THIS WERE REALISTIC IT WOULD BE SO GOOD

GOD this is long please spill the opinions so this was worth it

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alovesongtheywrote · 6 months

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i feel like everyone's gonna be asking for this but i'm gonna need a nightmare academia part 912828277 if that's how long it'll take for those two to finally kiss

♥ Summary: will you settle for them very briefly holding hands? in this chapter of nightmare academia, reid and the reader shut down a party and lie to the police. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings: the reader cries over the two-headed calf poem, spencer wants to throw himself out a window, the cops show up and. are cops. discussions of sex, drug use and alcohol consumption in passing, and i think that's it?

♥ A/N: ough, this is gonna be the last happy chapter for a while- but it isn't gonna be sad in the way you're expecting :/

♥ Word Count: 3341

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

So. You were right. Reid’s friends wanted you to fuck- and they weren’t the only ones. They weren’t the only ones by a long shot.

Since the first bet had been placed, the betting pool on whether or not you and Reid were doing it had only grown. There were more things to bet on now, too- who topped, who bottomed, whether the two of you used handcuffs from Reid’s FBI days, etc. Your students were degenerates.

Your co-workers were running their own bets. Professors Evans and Peters had a running bet on whether or not the whole affair was a friends with benefits thing. Other professors made a game of seeing how many times a day you and Reid would visit each other’s offices.

The head of the criminology department, Professor Belker, assumed the two of you had some sort of secret relationship- and she was generally fine with that. She just wished you and Reid wouldn’t cause so many disturbances about it.

About a week after the George Michael incident (which only ended after you and Reid got someone to smash the musical mechanism) you and Reid were called into Professor Belker’s office for a meeting about your behaviour.

The meeting took place later in the evening. Reid arrived fifteen minutes early. You arrived five minutes late. You were also crying.

Upon seeing you, your co-workers stood. Concern rose in Belker’s chest, but panic rose in Reid’s. You were crying. You shouldn’t be crying. Reid decided there and then that he didn’t like seeing you cry.

“Professor (L/N)? Is everything okay?” Belker asked as you took a seat next to Reid.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Professor Reid just put that one poem about the two-headed calf in my office.”

It had been a prank- just a prank to lower your mood. He knew that the poem would upset you, but it wasn’t supposed to do this. You weren’t supposed to cry-

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine in like-” you checked your wrist. When you noticed your lack of watch, you grabbed Reid’s wrist instead, “Five minutes.”

“Reid.”

Spencer had heard that tone before- it was the one Hotch used when he got a little too invested in cases, or when he acted out of line and spit hard facts at local cops.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you-”

“Reid, it’s fine, I swear, I just-” you sniffed, “The cow is just a baby, you guys. As he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual. No matter how many times I read that damn thing, I always end up crying. I don’t know why.”

You were trying to be professional, but it was really hard. That poem is so fucking sad.

“Did- did you know that crying has a self-soothing effect? It activates your parasympathetic nervous system which helps you to relax-”

“Reid, please-” Belker held up a hand, to stop him, but you held up a hand to stop her.

“No,” you took a deep breath, “Let him talk, I brought this on myself. Besides, it’s helping.”

Spencer perked up at the instruction. He quickly looked to his superior for permission, but before could even begin to nod her consent, he was spouting off facts about tears in a way that only Spencer Reid could. He didn’t stop until there was a smile on your face.

He smiled back.

“Well, now that you’ve calmed down, can we move on to the true purpose of this meeting?” Belker raised her eyebrow. She had posed her words as a question, but you both knew that she was making a statement.

“Yes, we can, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, just- maybe don’t read that poem during any classes.”

You tapped at your chair sheepishly, “Absolutely.”

Belker nodded at you and drew in a long, slow breath, “Now, I understand that the two of you have a… unique working relationship.”

She paused. In the space she left behind, you and Reid nodded.

“Now, this is fine. Whatever is going on between you is none of my business. As long as everything is reported to HR in an appropriate and timely manner, it doesn’t matter to me. With that said,” the woman leaned forward, eyebrows rising again, “I need to be sure that the two of you can work together- without disturbing the student body at large.”

“Of course we can, I apologize for previous inconveniences,” Reid kept his voice calm, though internally, he kinda wanted to fling himself out the window- it would spare him of any and all future embarrassment. It might also spare him from making you cry again.

“I apologize also- and I would like to make it known that I didn’t know the George Michael music wouldn’t stop. The mechanism was supposed to shut off once the cabinet closed, I don’t know what-”

Belker gave you a look that stopped you in your tracks.

“Again, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just as long as the two of you can-”

Then, from the distance- a funky pop beat cut off the distinguished professor halfway through her sentence. The song was loud enough to make you jump, but quiet enough that you couldn't quite make out what it was.

Belker rose from her desk and turned her gaze to the window, glaring off into the night. You followed her gaze. There, standing out in the middle of the darkened campus, was a rainbow glow of light. It radiated out from one of the frat buildings. If you focused, you could hear the cheers of drunk students echoing off the various buildings and into the dark.

You expected Belker to give an exhausted sigh, or to roll her eyes at the nature of college kids, but when she turned, a smile lit up her face.

“This is the perfect opportunity. (L/N), Reid, I want you to take care of this.”

“Excuse me?” you asked, tilting your head. Belker ignored your question.

“Professor Reid, you have a history with law enforcement, yes?”

Spencer nodded, not saying a word. Belker’s smile grew, reaching her eyes and setting tiny fires inside them- or maybe that was just the reflection of the lights outside.

“Perfect. If the two of you can take care of this without incident, then I’ll know for sure that the two of you can work together, and no one will have to be moved to a different department.”

“Was that on the table?”

“Don’t mind that now. Just go deal with this before someone in the neighbourhood calls the police.”

It was a valid concern. You stood quickly, giving your superior a two-fingered salute. Reid followed behind you with less enthusiasm. Once the two of you were out of her office, Belker grinned to herself. Was this whole thing an effort to make you and Reid go out to a place that was not college? Perhaps. Whether or not it was, that was something she would keep to herself.

You and Reid wandered through the darkened campus side by side, heading to the rainbow-coloured lights of the frat house. Honestly, they were pretty hard to miss- and even if you had, you could always follow the sound. Music blared, echoing in the air with the excited shouts of students. You still couldn’t make out the song’s lyrics. At that point, you were pretty sure they were Swedish.

In opposition to the noise of the party, you, Spencer, and the rest of the campus were mostly silent. Your footsteps echoed off the various buildings. The pavement before you was illuminated by shitty outdoor lights, the rainbow light from the frat house, and the few classroom windows that remained lit at this hour.

Your tears had long since dried, but your skin still felt a little tacky in the light evening breeze. Beside you, Reid’s gaze was glued to the ground. He had been silent since he made his apology, and you were mostly fine with that. In your opinion, there wasn’t much to talk about.

“I’m sorry I made you cry.”

Apparently, you were wrong. “Hey, don’t mention it. You fixed me, remember?” you gently rammed your shoulder against his, “All your crying facts made things better. Besides, I’m gonna get you back for it. That’s a promise.”

“Good.”

When you turned to face him, he had a small smile on his face. You counted that as a success. You shifted your gaze back to the pavement in front of you, walking with an extra spring in your step.

“Do you think Belker was serious about making one of us change departments?” he asked.

“Probably not. But if she was, you don’t have to worry. I’m the one that would have to move.”

“Oh?” Spencer raised an eyebrow. He knew about your degrees. He knew you were a good professor. He just didn’t know why you were so confident that you would be the one to switch departments.

“Mhmm. You have how many years of experience in law enforcement? A million? Two million?”

“Hey, I’m not that old-”

“You dress like you’re that old. Seriously. I can imagine you teaching dinosaurs about the concept of psychopathy. I’m sure they’d all come away much smarter.”

Reid paused before letting out a very confused, “Thank you?”

“Don’t mention it.”

The two of you walked in silence for a few moments before Reid turned to face you again, “For what it’s worth, you could teach anything. You could teach the phone book and your students would learn something.”

“So could you. Quick, give me a fact about the phone book.”

He didn’t even hesitate, “The first phone book was published in 1878- hey, wait-”

“See? Honestly, if they let you, you could probably do both our jobs and teach a course about the phone book.”

“I doubt that. Besides, if anyone were to teach a course about a book, wouldn’t it be the person with a doctorate in English?”

“Don’t accuse me of being literate. Besides, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of dumb. I got into teaching by mistake. Honestly, I kind of got my doctorates by mistake. So if one of us is going to teach a course about a phone book-”

“Wait, what do you mean you got them by mistake?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really- it didn’t feel like I put in the same amount of effort as everyone else. It just kind of happened to me,” you stopped walking, “Anyway. Here’s the source of the noise.”

On your left, the frat house stood in all its rainbow glory. Spencer was so invested in your conversation that he had almost missed it.

“So,” you leaned towards him slightly, just to make sure he could hear you, “How do you want to do this?”

“Should we find someone and ask them to turn the music down?”

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow, “You can try that. I’m just gonna turn the music down myself.”

Before he could stop you, you had already disappeared, vanishing behind the massive doors of the house and leaving Spencer alone and out of his element. He wasn’t alone for long. About two minutes after you left, a chant rose from inside the house. At first, he couldn’t quite make it out, but then he heard it clearly-

The second you got inside, you felt the overstimulation starting to creep in. There were bodies everywhere. The stench of alcohol and weed hung in the air like a cloud of smog. It was bright- far too bright, and the strobe effect that the lights took on was almost enough to trigger an epilepsy attack. The music was deafening, but you could somehow hear snippets of conversation over it as you wandered through the house.

“Oh, they’re totally fucking.”

“Hey man, pass the chips!”

“WHERE IS MY BOOOONG?”

“Don’t speculate on them, they’re your professors!” that was Opal’s voice.

“Let’s stay in the building. It’s too fuckin cold outside.”

“It’s fall. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know, man. The elf subplot in those books is so fucking weird.”

“Dude, you wouldn’t even have to pay me to fuck him. Professor Sexy is just that- Professor Sexy.”

“He looks like a long Victorian child, dying from the plague.”

(Technically, if he were Victorian, it would be tuberculosis. You kept the thought internal and continued to search for the speakers.)

“Dude, I got pulled over the other day and I hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. Why? Oh, you already know why.”

“Fuck the police!”

The sound was small- and it was so loud in the room that you assumed if you repeated it, no one would hear you. Your opinion would be lost among a thousand screaming voices.

So, you said it.

“Fuck the police.”

Within seconds, the house devolved into chaos. Kids were standing on tables and couches, doing the worm and grinding on each other, all while yelling, “Fuck the police.”

By the time you found the speakers, you were laughing too hard to properly turn the music down.

So at first, you turned it up.

Outside, Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. This had to be your payback- your revenge for him making you cry. Honestly, he wasn’t even upset. Just impressed. Then he heard the sirens. Blue and red lights flashed against the house, against the other buildings on and around the campus. Someone had called the police.

Students swarmed out of the building, running across the campus and back to their dorms with bongs, beers, and snacks in hand, all while chanting, “Fuck the police.”

Spencer didn’t see your face among the crowd. As the officers stepped out of their cruiser, their faces red with emotion at the chant, Spencer darted into the house. He slipped between students, searching the faces that passed him for you.

He used his height to his advantage. It helped.

When he found you, you were slumped over a speaker, cackling so hard that you couldn’t stand straight. Your face lit up when you saw him. Spencer could feel something warm fill his chest, and he tried very hard to kill it, just as you tried very hard to school your expression back to something less luminous.

You both failed.

“Are you hearing this Reid? I didn’t even plan it, they just started saying, ‘Fuck the police.’”

“That’s great, that’s so cool, the cops are here.”

In less than a second, the smile dropped from your face. When you spoke again, the joy had been stripped from your voice. You sounded terrified.

“What?”Without another word, Reid grabbed your wrist and pulled you outside. There, you watched as the police tried their very best to stop any students they could. They didn’t manage to catch many- they did, however, manage to grab Opal.

You watched as one of the cops grabbed her arm, her face screwing up in a wince at his grip. Her braids flew out behind her as the officer pulled her closer. You jumped down the stairs, practically running towards your student. Without a word, Spencer followed you.

The cop saw you coming. Opal saw you, too. He let her go, and she ran towards you, stopping a few feet ahead.

“Are you okay?” you asked, just brushing the top of her shoulder with your fingertips in an effort to keep her steady, “Is everything okay? Can you get back to your dorm safely?”

She nodded at you, quickly reaching up to pat your hand.

“Okay, go. Don’t be afraid to call campus security.”

Like a flash, the girl was off, racing towards her dorm. When you turned back, Reid was staring at you.

“What?” you asked, pulling your arms across your chest protectively.

“It’s nothing.”

The cop- the one who had grabbed Opal so harshly- did not agree with that statement.

“Just what do you think you’re doing? I could bring you in on obstruction of justice!”

“Shutting down this party,” you answered, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Responding to a noise complaint,” the officer spoke to you like you were stupid, “I was going to apprehend that subject for questioning. Can you not smell the illicit substances?”

“Okay, well, she’s gone now. And the source of the noise has clearly gone silent. The party has dispersed, so it looks like you won’t have to apprehend anyone.”

You were right. The campus had gone dead silent. Someone had shut off the lights, too, leaving you, Reid, and the cops with only the shitty campus lights and the blue and red glow from the police cruiser.

Still, the cop glared at you, “And what do you know about police work?”

“Well, y’know. I just have doctorates in criminology and law. No big deal.”

The man looked you up and down, clearly judging you, “I have a hard time believing that.”

“Why is that?” Reid stepped forward, putting himself between you and the officer, “Dr. (L/N) is well respected in their field. They’ve written numerous in-depth papers on the benefits and downsides of various policing policies and criminal justice strategies. Their conclusions are always brilliant, and your field would improve if officers like you would bother to examine their research.”

A blush crept onto your face as you listened to Reid. Did he really think so highly of you? Of your work?

“If you ask me,” the cop spoke again, “All you academics are a bunch of useless degenerates. I have half a mind to-!”

“OH MY GOD, YOU’RE THAT FBI GUY!!” the cop’s partner cut him off, “You were on the team that took down The Silencer!! And the Seattle Strangler!! Oh, I have so many questions.”

Beside you, Reid noticeably tensed up in discomfort. Without thinking about it too much, you grabbed his hand.

“Unfortunately, Dr. FBI guy is currently suffering from a bout of retrograde amnesia- sadly, he remembers nothing from his FBI days. If you want your questions answered, I recommend contacting Derek Morgan, he’s lovely to criminal justice students!”

You pulled Reid away before either cop could respond to your final cry of, “Have a nice night!”

Neither you nor Spencer realized you were still holding hands until you reached the main building. Until then, his long fingers sat intertwined with yours like they belonged there.

Your face burned as you pulled away from him. In the quiet of the atrium, you both fell silent. The only sound was the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above.

“I fucking hate fluorescent lights,” you weren’t sure why you said it. It really came out of nowhere, and you were just starting to regret it when-

“Really? So do I. That's why I can’t stand hospitals.”

“Oh, I get that.”

The two of you smiled. You had probably agreed on things before, but for some reason, this felt like the first time.

“Hey, thanks for having my back earlier,” you crossed your arms and swayed back and forward slightly.

“Ah, it’s no problem. I meant it.”

Heat rose to your face again, but before you could ask him if he really did mean it, he was speaking again.

“Thanks for getting us out of there when you did. I’m not in the mood to answer questions about grisly murders right now.”

“Damn it,” you grinned, “I was just going to ask about the worst cases you’ve seen. Oh well, I’ll leave it for another night.”

“I appreciate your sacrifice.” “My sacrifice? It’s basic decency, Spencer.”

The smile on his face matched yours.

Meanwhile, back at Quantico, Penelope Garcia was not smiling. In fact, she was grimacing. She had accidentally gazed upon some gorey case details and it had kind of ruined her night- at least, it had until she saw just where the murders had taken place.

She dialled a number into her phone- Morgan picked up on the first ring.

“What’s up, baby girl? Do we have a case?”

“We do! And you’ll never guess where.”

♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #x reader #nightmare academia

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ambrossart · 2 years

Text

DANCING WITH MYSELF

— PART SIX

summary: eddie crashes senior prom hoping to steal a dance with his dream girl, chrissy cunningham. instead, he spends the night stuck in the women’s restroom with you—her snarky, insecure best friend. ❖ pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader ❖ word count: 3,511 ❖ genre: fluff with some angst ❖ series status: complete ❖ warnings: no season 4 spoilers, some coarse language, body image issues, allusions to eating disorders, typical teenage insecurities, angst, jealousy, anxiety, secret crushes, childhood memories, happy ending, lots of 80s music one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten

You shoveled chocolate cake into your mouth while George Michael crooned “Careless Whisper” into the cold, dark depths of your soul: “I’m never gonna dance again… Guilty feet have got no rhythm…”

You sang along with your mouth full, crumbs spewing from your lips, stopping only to take another bite, another swig of punch. You were drunk on your own misery because nobody had bothered to spike the punch bowl. Yeah, apparently you were attending the one dry prom in the entire country, but that was A-okay because this smooth, melancholy sax was sending you swirling into despair and nothing mattered anymore.

You finished one plate of cake, licked your fork clean, then reached for another. That’s how Chrissy found you: three slices deep in chocolate cake, with frosting smeared all over your face. She came up to you like a mother approaching her paint-splattered toddler and said, “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you know, just eating my feelings…”

“Yeah, I can see that.” She surveyed the damage with a frown. “Where’d you get all the cake?”

“I stole it off that table over there.” You gestured with your hand. “Not my proudest moment… and yet, somehow, not my lowest tonight, either.” You sliced through the stolen cake with your fork, another huge chunk, and—down the hatch!—stuffed it all into your mouth.

Chrissy sucked in a breath through her teeth, grimacing as she watched you. “Oh boy,” she said, and sat down beside you. “Okay, sweetie, tell me what happened.”

“I took your advice. I tried to talk to Eddie, I tried to be nice, and I went down hard in a giant blaze of glory. Like, it was cataclysmic, Chris. You should have seen it. We’re talking ‘Mount Vesuvius erupting’ bad, ‘meteor killing all the dinosaurs’ bad. Like, I just single-handedly wiped out an entire civilization in a matter of seconds. Total carnage. No survivors. He yelled at me, Chris. He actually yelled at me, and you know, I always thought I’d be turned on by him yelling, but I wasn’t. Honestly, I’m kinda traumatized by the whole thing, and… uhh, yeah… now I’m sitting here eating cake with my good friend George Michael. He has a lovely voice, don’t you think?”

You went back for more cake, and Chrissy snatched the fork out of your hand. “Okay, that’s enough sugar for you.”

You snorted. “Don’t worry, I’ll just throw it up later.”

Chrissy winced.

“Oh—” You slapped your hand over your mouth and sank into your chair, a shameful blush engulfing your face. “Oh my god, Chris, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… you know, all the lactose, it’s gonna make me sick later, that’s all I meant. I swear, I wasn’t trying to…”

Chrissy’s smile was warm and forgiving. “I know. It’s okay.” She scooted closer to you, then handed you a napkin and told you to wipe your face. While you were doing that, she said, “All right, just out of curiosity… when you were talking to Eddie, were you talking to him like you and I talk? Or were you just making a lot of jokes at his expense?”

“That’s not fair, Chris. I’ve known you my whole life.”

“Just answer the question.”

You puffed up your cheeks and blew out. “Fine, I was making jokes, but they weren’t mean or anything. I just…” You hung your head. “I don’t know how to talk to him, Chris. It’s like, he looks at me and my heart starts beating really fast and I just go into panic mode, and I start hurling insults like hand grenades. It’s like World War II in my head, and I’m deep in the trenches. And I know I’m messing it up. I can hear myself messing it up. All the warning bells are going off: Abort mission! Abort mission! But I can’t stop myself! I insult his clothes and his music, and I sacrifice him to demons.”

Chrissy said, “Wait, what? Demons?”

“Yeah… I kinda sacrificed him to a demon back in middle school—well, his character, not him. This didn’t happen in real life or anything. It was in a game: Dungeons & Dragons. I dunno if you’ve heard of it, but… it’s surprisingly fun. You get to make your own character and everything.”

“And sacrifice people to demons, apparently.”

“Yeah—well, no, you aren’t really supposed to do that. I kinda went rogue and ruined the whole game.”

“That sounds more accurate.” Chrissy giggled into her hand, then tipped her head at you and smiled. “Oh… what am I gonna do with you?”

“Trade me in for a newer model?”

Chrissy shook her head. “Nah… I’ve grown kinda attached to you.” She took your napkin and carefully dabbed some frosting off your chin. Then she put her hands on your knees and said in a calm, reassuring voice, “Hey, listen to me: it’s just Eddie. You’re not exactly talking to Steve Perry here.”

“Well, at this point I think I’d have a better shot with Steve Perry.”

“Yeah… he’s a famous rock star, so somehow I doubt that.”

“Well, you don’t know how charming I can be.” You pressed your hand to your chest and fluttered your lashes.

Chrissy laughed at you. “Actually, I know exactly how charming you can be, which is why it breaks my heart to see you like this. Seriously, what are you so afraid of? Him not liking you back?”

“Oh, he definitely doesn’t like me back. Yeah, I’d say him yelling in my face kinda solidified that.”

Chrissy said, “Well, then you have nothing to lose, right?” and you went quiet. “Just talk to him. Don’t overthink it. Don’t make jokes. And please, for the love of God, don’t insult the guy. Just walk up to him and be honest. Say, ‘Eddie, I’m an idiot—I’m an adorable idiot, but an idiot. I’ve been in love with you for six years, but I never knew how to express my feelings. I’d very much like to marry you and have your babies’—Ha!” She absorbed your half-hearted slap, giggling as she did.

“Just talk to him,” she said. “I promise you’ll feel better once you do.”

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say. You confess to a guy and he’s basically winning the lottery. I do it and it’s like, Sorry, son, there’s been a death in the family.”

“Oh, that’s not true, and you know it. You’re the lottery, too.”

“Yeah, maybe the penny scratcher…”

Chrissy shook her head. “Now you’re just being silly.”

But you weren’t. You weren’t joking at all.

Silence fell over the table as the music seamlessly transitioned into The Dream Academy’s folksy cover of “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want” by The Smiths. Another slow, painfully depressing song, but this one was even worse because it carried this pathetic sense of yearning that stabbed and twisted into your heart like a dagger.

You braced yourself for another three minutes of torture when, out of nowhere, a phantom voice said, “Wanna dance?”

You looked to your left and felt your stomach flip. It was Jason Carver, standing beside you with an outstretched hand, looking like a damn Ken doll in his prom tux. (You had made that joke more than once. Chrissy always hated it: “I swear to God, if you call me Barbie, I’ll kill you.”)

You flinched away from him, blushing. “Oh… no thanks, I don’t really—”

“Come on, it’s our last prom. You gotta do at least one slow dance.” Jason’s smile was confident and irresistibly charming.

You stared at his hand for a minute, your stomach twisting into all kinds of knots; then you glared at Chrissy. “You put him up to this, didn’t you?”

She put up her hands and backed away from the table. “Hey, don’t look at me…”

And before you could further protest, Jason took your hand and effortlessly lifted you out of your chair, making your knees buckle as soon as you put weight on them. The anxiety was hitting you like a train now and dragging your body over the tracks. What if you stepped on his foot? What if you scuffed up his shoes? They looked like some really expensive shoes. Could you actually afford to replace them? What if your breath smelled terrible? What if you had chocolate cake in your teeth? (Oh my god, you definitely had chocolate cake in your teeth!) You two were going to be standing face to face, practically nose to nose. He was going to see everything. The peach fuzz on your face. The huge pores on your nose. What if Jason saw all these glaring imperfections and thought, Wow, she’s somehow even uglier up close?

Well, then you would simply die.

Panicking, you pulled your hand out of his grasp. “Wait, Jason, I…”

Jason chased your hand, caught it, and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Hey, come on. Just relax, okay? I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

“Yeah, but I…” You saw your reflection in his dazzling blue-grey eyes and suddenly lost your will to resist.

The next two minutes felt like two hours.

Here you were, slow dancing with Jason Carver in the middle of the dance floor. His hands were around your waist, holding you close like you were his real date and not just some last-minute tagalong. Your arms were draped around his neck, stiff and awkward at first, but gradually loosening as you swayed to the music. It was surreal, being this close to him: feeling his heart beating against yours, feeling the heat of his breath on your face whenever he spoke, whenever he laughed at one of your jokes.

Ten-year-old you would have been so happy right now. She would have floated home on a cloud, spent the rest of the night daydreaming about Jason Carver and gushing about him in her diary. Savor that sweet naivety, kid, because in a few years it’ll all be gone. You couldn’t remember the last time you let yourself daydream, get so caught up in your fantasies that you had to pinch your arm just to bring yourself back to reality. You tried, but you could never seem to get your feet off the ground. They were just so heavy.

Then after a while, you just stopped trying.

“You know, I used to be really jealous of you,” Jason said after a while.

“What?” you said. “Why?”

Jason looked at you like you were insane, like it was so painfully obvious. “You’re Chrissy’s favorite person in the world, and you always will be. Whenever something good happens, you’re her first phone call. When she’s upset, she goes running to you for comfort. And that just kills me because I wanna be that person for her too, and I’m scared I never will be.”

You frowned. “Yeah, we kinda have a weird codependency thing going on. It’s probably really unhealthy, actually…”

Jason laughed. “It’s not, it’s great, and I’m so glad she has you. Honestly, I am.” His smile was so sincere and sad, it broke your heart a little. “Look, Chrissy is amazing, easily the best thing that ever happened to me, but I know she only shows me the good side of her. The happy side. She smiles for me and cries for you. She doesn’t trust me enough to show me her ugly side, and I don’t know how to change that. I’m scared to bring it up because I don’t wanna push her away, but I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Jason, trust me, you’re already doing exactly what you’re supposed to do.” When you said this, you felt your chest tighten. “Maybe I just need to step back a little, give you two some space.”

“What? No, that’s not what I—”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “Jason, it’s fine, really. Honestly, I think that’ll be the best thing for both of us. I mean, we can’t lean on each other forever, right?”

You laid your chin on his shoulder and stared across the dance floor to where your best friend was sitting with a huge smile.

Of course Chrissy wasn’t jealous watching you dance with her boyfriend. No, that hideous emotion was reserved just for you. You were the one who was never satisfied with what you had. You were the one constantly comparing yourself to everyone else. Judging yourself. Weighing yourself. Hating yourself.

Here you were, slow dancing with Jason Carver, being the envy of every girl at prom, and all you could think about was how badly you wanted to switch places with Chrissy Cunningham, to be sitting right where she was.

Because that’s where he was going.

As you watched Eddie approach Chrissy, as you watched them talk, Jason started singing under his breath: “Please, please, please… Let me get what I want… Lord knows it will be the first time…” and you buried your face in his shoulder and squeezed your eyes shut real tight.

Chrissy stared at Eddie Munson with knitted brows. “You’re asking me to dance? Why?”

“Uhh… because I want to? I don’t really know how else to answer that.” Eddie scratched the back of his neck, feeling both nervous and bashful as he stood before her in his suit jacket and ripped jeans. “Umm, look, you don’t have to say yes or anything. Seriously, just say the word and I’ll get outta your way and leave you alone. I just thought, y'know, since it’s the last prom and all…”

Chrissy cut him off. “Yeah, but why? I never even talk to you, so why would you wanna dance with me?”

“Well, I uhh…” Eddie cleared his throat a few times, then let out a nervous chuckle. “Wow, you’re really putting me on the spot here, aren’t you? Umm, okay, well… that’s a little difficult to answer, and I’m probably gonna shoot myself in the foot for saying this, but... Wait, are you okay?”

Chrissy was staring off towards the dance floor, where her boyfriend was dancing with her best friend, and as she did, her whole expression just kind of wilted into this guilty, miserable look that cut Eddie to his core.

“Oh shit,” he said. “Hey, look, I’m not trying to get in the way of anything here. I know you have a boyfriend and that’s totally cool. I just…”

Now Chrissy had her hands cupped over her mouth, appearing on the verge of tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, to seemingly no one at all. Then she looked up at Eddie, her blue eyes sparkling like two gorgeous sapphires, and she said the words he had been dreading most of all. “Look, I’m really sorry, but I can’t dance with you tonight.”

She pushed past him and walked away, leaving Eddie gutted and standing alone with his heart in his hand.

“Okay,” he said after the initial shock had worn off, “that was fucking brutal.”

When you finally opened your eyes again, you were facing the opposite side of the room and staring at a wall of familiar faces. But one in particular caught your eye. It stole the breath from your lips and made your face go white with terror… as if you were seeing a ghost.

Your legs felt so heavy as you broke away from Jason and stormed across the dance floor. Once you got close enough, you opened your mouth to yell, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper.

“I thought you had food poisoning!” You hissed the words like it was a curse, like you were trying to banish his spirit back to the grave.

Chance Gallagher turned toward you with a cup of punch in his hand and a pretty girl at his side. “Oh shit,” he said, looking like a rat caught in a trap. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? What are you doing here? I thought you were sick.”

“Yeah, well, I uhh…”

“You got better, huh?” There was a lump in your throat as you watched Chance fidget with his tie, loosening it so he could breathe more easily. The color of it matched your dress perfectly, but it also matched the dress of his pretty new date, along with the corsage that dangled from her wrist. It was your favorite flower. You figured it was hers, too.

You rubbed your brow furiously, struggling to fully grasp the situation. “Wait, I think I’m a little outta the loop here… If you didn’t actually wanna go to prom with me, why did you even ask me in the first place?”

Chance’s shoulders went up and down uncaringly. “Because Jason asked me to.”

His words hit you like a sucker punch to the jaw. You staggered back and shook your head. “What? Jason asked you to…?”

Of course, you thought. Of course, Jason put him up to it. Why else would someone like Chance Gallagher ask you to prom? Chance was popular, Chance was on the basketball team, and who the hell were you but Chrissy Cunningham’s bitchy best friend? You knew he wasn’t actually interested in you. Hey, you? The guy didn’t even know your name! That little voice in your head tried to warn you—it was practically screaming at you!—but you didn’t listen to it. No, you let yourself wish and dream and get swept up in all the grandeur of prom, but it was all bullshit. Fake, plastic, bullshit. And you shouldn’t have come in the first place.

You ran into Jason and Chrissy on your way out. As soon as you saw Jason, you pointed your finger in his face and screamed at the top of your lungs, “YOU SELFISH SONOFABITCH! YOU TRIED TO PAWN ME OFF TO YOUR FRIEND!”

Chrissy’s face scrunched up with confusion. “What? Jason, what is she talking about?”

Jason opened his mouth and closed it again. His stormy blue eyes were writhing with guilt.

“He forced Chance to ask me to prom, Chris. He made him do it. What, did you have to pay him? How much was I worth, Jason? Twenty bucks? Thirty? Did you get a good deal out of it, at least?”

Jason exploded: “Oh, come on, of course I didn’t pay him! I would never insult you like that!”

“Right, you would just force me onto your friends like some chore!”

Jason shook his head furiously. “No, that’s not what it was! I swear to God it wasn’t. Look, all I did was ask Chance to do me a favor, that’s all. I didn’t know he was gonna flake on you like that. If I’d known, I never would’ve asked him to do it in the first place.” He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the dirty blond roots. “I just wanted everyone to have a good time. That’s all I was trying to do.”

“I don’t believe you,” you said as a tear escaped your eye and rolled down your cheek. “No, you wanna know what I think, Jason? I think you wanted to have a good time, and I was in your way. Well, don’t worry, Jason, I’m getting out of your way now, so you go ahead and enjoy your perfect little prom, okay? I’m done.”

You turned to leave and Chrissy was at your elbow, crying and begging you to stay.

You said to her, “No, please, I don’t wanna be the one that ruins your night, and I really don’t wanna cry anymore. And I know if I’m around you, I’m gonna completely fall apart and… I just need some time by myself, okay? I’ll be fine, I will, I just… I really need to get outta here.”

You tore away from her and saw dozens of eyes bearing down on you. Preps. Jocks. Nerds. Cheerleaders. Sally, Sarah, and Stacy, standing there looking so damn pleased by your misfortune. Like this was just perfect, wasn’t it? Like it was exactly what you deserved.

You squirmed away from their eyes, all of their eyes, and ran up the stairs and out the door.

Now here you were, sitting on the dirty floor of the women’s restroom and crying in your prom dress while "Endless Love" sent you spiraling right back to middle school. All you needed was a bucket of pigs' blood dropped on you, and your night was complete.

You ripped off your corsage and whipped it at the garbage can. Then you slumped down, knocked your head against the wall, wiped some of the mascara off your cheeks, and thought, God, this night can’t possibly get any…

The door burst open and—“Oh shit!”—Eddie Munson came stumbling into the bathroom like a drunken idiot after a bar fight. He spun around, catching himself on the wall, and then pushed his back against the door.

His brown eyes bulged as they locked with yours.

“Uhh… hi. How's your night going?”

_____________________

PREV // CURRENT // NEXT

#eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #chrissy cunningham #jason carver #chrissy x jason #eddie x chrissy #stranger things 4 #st4 #ambrossart #dancing with myself #dwm #eddie munson imagine #fanfiction

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kurtie4life96 · 1 year

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Song request: Chateau by Djo with Steve Harrington of course! But with OLD MONEY STEVE. smut if that's okay :) I love you!!

Chateau, Careless Whisper

S.H. × F! Reader

Summary: Steve runs into an old fling from high school at a party. He's very sought after, but she doesn't know about his money and popularity, and he is intrigued to say the least.

CW: MDNI 18+, old money!Steve, fem!reader, old flings, fluff, angst, drinking, jealousy, soft(ish) smut

AN: I decided to add Careless Whisper by George Michael with this, it just fit with the plot in my head, sorry!

Part 2 here!

Standing in the warm, summer night in front of a château style home in August, 1990, you ran shaky fingers through your hair, and tugged your black dress down at the hem, smoothing it, then staring at the large, lit up house before you, nearly having an anxiety attack at the sight of it.

It was gorgeous- a diamond in the rough of Hawkins, Indiana. The exterior of the large home was crafted with white wood paneling, grey steeply pitched roofs and shutters, accompanied with tall, arched windows. You stood in the courtyard, a quaint and simple fountain in the middle, a walkway compiled of stone surrounding it that lead to a similar looking guesthouse towards the back, with lush green grass and trees all around.

Music roared from within it, and you took a deep breath, your skin buzzing with nervousness and anticipation. You took a moment to reach into your small purse, spraying a cheap, but decent perfume on your chest, then began to walk towards the tall, double front doors, your heels clicking under you as you headed towards the black tie event that you'd heard gossip about for nearly a week.

A man you'd never seen before greeted you at the entrance, wearing a black suit and tie, his hair slicked back neatly, carrying a tray of glasses half full of champagne, offering one with a warm smile.

You accepted it, perhaps a little too eagerly, but needed something to calm your nerves. You thanked him with a nod and a smile, and stepped inside.

The interior was lit up brightly with a soft yellow glow, the design of the home elegant, elaborate, yet quite modern with a humble feel to it, tasteful paintings hanging on the walls, and a grand staircase. A large crowd of people dressed in black, designer clothes were scattered about underneath a crystal chandelier, chatting amongst themselves loudly enough to drown out the music.

You took another deep breath, your anxiety nearly taking over, as you tried to calm yourself by remembering the five senses.

What can you taste? The bubbly champagne, of course.

What can you smell? A mixture of unknown women and men's perfumes and cologne- a bit strong and a little nauseating.

What can you hear? Classical music and obnoxious voices.

What can you see? A crowd of people that you could only assume were pretentious and full of themselves, yet cleaned up extremely well.

What can you feel? Goosebumps on your skin. You can feel the cold glass in your hand. You can feel the fabric of your dress as you smoothed it down your body again, feeling self conscious.

Well, that didn't help.

Your stomach did backflips as you made your way throw the crowd aimlessly, apologizing over and over again, trying to compose yourself, feeling exposed, like you didn't belong there.

You stood in the corner, people watching, feeling like a wallflower, a part of you looking for familiar faces, although you knew none would be there.

Another well dressed gentleman walked by you gracefully with another tray of champagne just as you'd finished your first, and you grabbed a second, feeling grateful for the slight buzz that ran through your body.

As you sipped the alcohol, trying to gain the confidence to approach someone in the crowd, someone else approached you to your left to greet you, a familiar voice that startled you, making you gasp.

"Woah, shit, didn't mean to scare you!" He smiled, putting his hands up in an attempt to steady you.

You chuckled, a hint of annoyance and disbelief in it, as you turned to face the old fling standing before you.

He was wearing a black suit and tie like the rest of the men, an expensive looking watch on his wrist, his classic long, sun kissed waves framing his face- and damn it, you couldn't deny that he looked striking, and his cologne of cedarwood and citrus was intoxicating.

"Harrington," you grinned arrogantly, raising an eyebrow and standing up straight, crossing one arm over the other.

Steve slightly bowed, reaching an arm towards you in a cheesy fashion as he held his own glass of champagne in the other.

"In the flesh."

You smirked at his silly action, feeling a little caught off guard.

"What is a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

"Well," he leaned back, taking a sip, "I could ask you the same question."

You gave him a skeptical look.

"Oh, well," he stammered, laughing awkwardly, "not that you're a guy, I mean, obviously you're not- you know what mean, right?"

You took another sip, chuckling at him, "You haven't changed at all, have you?"

Steve shrugged his shoulders, smiling sheepishly.

"You've still got the same big, long hair, same demeanor, still cocky... isn't that right?"

"Yeah, well I never lost my charm, so I guess I haven't really changed," he winked at you, "So, it's been what- four years?"

"Yep, four years since we last saw each other, through all the Upside Down shit. And six years since you... broke my little heart?" You crossed your legs and leaned back against the wall.

He frowned at that statement, making you feel a little bad, but you would never let it show.

"I'm just giving you some shit, Harrington. No hard feelings." You laughed.

He smiled again and nodded, running his hand through his hair.

Couples began to gather around the common area, dancing intimately to a slow song that started to play throughout the large house.

Steve glanced over at the crowd, then back at you.

"Might I say, you look ravishing tonight. May I have this dance?" He set down his glass and reached an arm out towards you, a hopeful look on his face.

"I think that's the weirdest fucking thing I've ever heard you say. What are you, Shakespeare?" You laughed, downing the rest of your champagne.

"Well, no. I just thought that maybe you'd like to talk, over there?" He motioned towards the flock of couples. "Cause, I know you've been kinda wandering around here awkwardly, wouldn't you like to be with a familiar face?"

He held a hand to you again, waiting for your response.

"Fine," you groaned, setting your glass down, "but that was uncalled for."

Steve smiled as he took your hand in his, leading you gingerly through the crowd, and they made note to move out of the way.

He intertwined his left hand with your right, placing the other along your lower back. You rested your hand on his shoulder, as he began to sway you gently.

"You know, you should feel lucky, Harrington," you remarked, grinning at him, "because I don't dance."

He ignored your comment, instead gazing into your eyes, softly smiling at you with his stupid, perfect teeth.

"You know, you should really just call me Steve now." He suggested, a voice of honey.

You scoffed, "Okay, Steve... just still feels a little weird to say your first name."

"And why is that?" He questioned, pulling you a little closer towards him.

Careless Whisper began to echo throughout the room, and the song was a little too fitting for the situation you were in, making you feel a bit unfocused.

"I don't know... maybe it has to do with the fact that you used me as a rebound for that summer in high school, only to tell me you couldn't get over Nancy."

Steve furrowed his eyebrows together, seemingly deep in thought before he answered, "I don't think that's necessarily true."

"And why is that?" You repeated his question, still swaying to the music.

"You weren't a rebound. I really do- I mean, did like you, a lot. I was just confused. I didn't even know what I was feeling. I haven't seen her in-"

"It's okay, Steve. It's been years. I'm over it." You chuckled nervously.

"Are you?" He asked, smirking at you.

You nodded, a hesitant smile on your lips as you took note of each other's faces.

"Best summer of my life," he admitted quietly, "I've always thought about you, was never able to get you out of my head, you know."

Your chest grew warm and bloomed at his statement, "Me neither."

He was a bit taken aback, but beamed at you.

"So," you teased, "considering that you're here, dancing with me, I'm assuming your dream of 6 kids, living life on the road in an RV didn't work out?"

"Nope." He enunciated the word with a pop of his lips, looking around the room.

You heard whispering around you, and looked around too, finding people staring at the two of you, practically gawking.

"Why the fuck are they staring at us?" You asked, glaring right back at them.

"I don't know, they're just weird people, I guess," Steve replied, looking back at you with an amused smile, "so, you never answered my question."

"What question?" You focused back to him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well," you sighed, still lazily swaying with him, "I heard through the grapevine at work that a lot of, you know, big shots were gonna be here. I thought I'd take a chance at talking to one of them, try to score a job. I'm barely able to afford my own apartment. Hard to do that when you're just a waitress."

Steve nodded, motioning for you to continue.

"Obviously, I can't even do that," you laughed, "cause now I'm just here, dancing with you."

He smirked, staring at your face for a moment before responding, making butterflies dance in your stomach, only now realizing the close proximity of your faces.

"I think I can help with that."

"Really?" You perked up, "How?"

The song began to fade away, the crowd of people dressed in black beginning to gather in groups, chatting amongst themselves again.

Steve gently let go of you, pulling a card out of his coat pocket and handing it to you. It had his name and phone number on it, but no other information.

"Here," he placed the card in your hand, "why don't you give me a call in, let's say... tomorrow?" He suggested. "Tomorrow morning."

"Oh, okay," you smiled gratefully, putting the card in your purse, "well thank you, Harrington. I really appreciate that."

"Don't thank me," he took your hands in his as he spoke, "it's the least I can do for you."

You gazed at each other with stars in your eyes, squeezing his hands for a moment, wondering if he felt the same tension as you.

"So," he let go of your hands, "I hear they're shutting this party down soon. You should go before they do, beat the traffic, you know."

"Okay," you nodded, "well, thanks again."

Steve nodded back, and you began to walk away.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, making you turn around to look at him again.

"Yeah?"

"Call me, Steve, okay? Talk to you soon."

You scoffed playfully, and turned around to walk out the door, feeling excited, hopeful, giddy as you walked to your car, squealing in joy as you drove away.

You were awoken by the god awful sound of your alarm clock, groaning as you rolled over in your bed to shut it off with an annoyed smack of your hand. You closed your eyes, getting comfortable for a moment longer, before they shot open again, realizing that you had a very important phone call to make.

You sat up abruptly, snatching the comforter off of you, heading to your small kitchenette to make a cup of coffee, hastily pouring the creamer in, mixing and taking a sip, preparing for the call you were about to make.

A part of you wondered why you were so nervous to call him. Were you worried that he wasn't being serious when he said he'd help you? Was the job going to be a big flop? Or did Steve Harrington still make you feel nervous after all these years?

Maybe a mix of everything.

You picked up his card from the kitchen counter, walking over to the phone on the wall. With a big inhale, exhale, you picked up the phone and dialed his number.

It only rang for three seconds before he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hey Steve, it's-"

He interrupted you, chuckling, "Finally, I've been waiting for you to call all morning!"

You laughed, "What? It's only 9 a.m."

"I know, I know," he emphasized his words, "I guess I've just been absolutely buzzing with excitement."

"Oh...kay," you teased, "why's that?"

"I don't know, just lonely, bored nowadays," he replied, "so, anyway, I've set up an interview for you at that coffee shop, you know, the one on 6th Street? There's this guy that's very interested in speaking with you."

"Oh, sweet, thank you! Um, what's the job again?"

Steve ignored your question, "So be there around 11. Also, give me your address. I'm gonna send a taxi over to your place to pick you up. Don't bring your car."

"Okay," you went on to give him your address, "but why?"

"I hope it goes great! Let me know after, okay? Talk to you later." He stuttered between his words and abruptly hung up the phone.

You removed the phone from your ear, staring at it for a moment, feeling puzzled to say the least, before you reacted.

"What the fuck?"

You hung the phone back up on the wall.

"That was fucking weird," you continued to talk to yourself, heading to your bedroom, "who just hangs up like that? Fucking Steve Harrington. What in the fuck was that?"

You quickly took to getting ready, slipping out of your pajamas, showering, putting on some makeup- not too much, just the right amount.

"Business casual," you reminded yourself, "not too casual, but not too much."

You finished your hair and opted for a pencil skirt, flats, and a simple blouse.

You stood before your reflection in the mirror, repeating comforting words of affirmation to yourself, as you smoothed your outfit down and checked the time on your watch.

10:53.

"Shit!"

You grabbed your purse and ran out the door, down the stairs of your apartment and outside, to see a yellow taxi waiting for you in the parking lot.

You opened the backdoor and got in hastily, anxiety taking over again.

"Hi- hello, sir," you spoke to the driver, "the coffee shop on-"

"6th Street, I know." The cab driver smiled and began to drive.

"Oh, um- thank you." You responded and smiled at him, fumbling with your hair as he drove.

Once he arrived at the destination, you grabbed your purse, reaching in to grab your wallet.

"How much do I owe you sir?"

"It's been paid for, ma'am." He assured. "You have a nice day."

"Oh shit- fuck- I mean, thank you. You too!" You stepped out of the car, facing the coffee shop.

What the fuck?

You smoothed down your outfit again, brushed your fingers through your hair and composed yourself, forcing a smile on your face, though your anxiety was through the roof.

You walked in, smelling freshly ground coffee beans and feeling the air conditioning in the shop blasting as you looked around the room for who you might be meeting.

It was easy to see who it was, considering there was only one person, sitting in the corner of the coffee shop with a shit eating grin on his face.

What the FUCK?

"Harrington?!" You exclaimed, a beyond confused look on your face.

He leaned back, his hair tousled perfectly, annoyingly wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, his hands clasped together.

"In the flesh."

"What-"

"And remember, call me Steve."

You walked slowly towards him, wondering if there was a possibility you were hallucinating.

"Please, sit." He pulled out a chair for you, looking a little too cocky.

You reluctantly did as he asked, setting your purse down, keeping eye contact with him.

"What can I get you to drink? On me." He stood up, still grinning, like he'd won some sort of game.

"Um... just a mocha, thanks."

Steve nodded and walked to the front counter.

You sat deep in thought as you waited. Is he playing some mindgame with you? Is he still just an asshole? Why did he lie to you?

"Here's your mocha," he set it down on the table for you, "and I got one too, though I'm not much of a coffee drinker myself-"

"Why did you lie?" You interrupted him.

He sat down in front of you, furrowing his brows, "Lie?"

You nodded, impatiently waiting for a response, frustration coursing through your veins.

"Well, I didn't necessarily lie. I told you I'd help you, and you'd have an interview," he laughed quietly, "and, it was me the whole time!"

"Yeah, I've figured that out by now." You huffed. "Are you just trying to mess with me, embarrass me or something? If so, I'm just gonna walk out right now-"

"No, no!" Steve assured you, putting his hands up, "no, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to mess with you. I guess it was kinda stupid that I did it like this."

"Then why am I here?"

He took a sip of his coffee, leaning back in his chair, "For a job."

"What job?"

"Well," he sighed, trailing off for a moment, "please just listen to me. Just let me talk, and trust me. Please?"

You leaned forward in your chair, crossing your arms on the table and raised an eyebrow at him, "I'm listening."

He exhaled nervously, running a hand through his hair and scooting his chair closer to you, resting his hands on the table.

"So, during the time we kinda... drifted apart, I inherited some money. And if you remember, my dad had a lot of money."

You nodded, motioning for him to continue.

"Well, and please don't get mad, but that house party last night? It, uh... just so happens that house is... mine." Steve chuckled awkwardly.

"What?!"

"Let me finish, okay?"

You groaned, a look of worry on your face.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you that last night. It was just nice to see you again and talk to you, talk to someone that knows who I am as a real person and doesn't just try to talk to me for... my money, you know? And when you brought up that you needed a job, it got me thinking-"

You cut him off, "Thinking what?"

"Ugh, let me finish!" He groaned, "It got me thinking that I've needed someone to... run my house?"

"Like a house manager?"

"Yeah, like a house manager," he smiled, "you know, travel arrangements, manage my budget, organize parties or social stuff... I'm not exactly good at... those type of things."

"Yeah, I could see that." You teased, finally cracking a smile.

Steve scoffed playfully, "Shut up! I know, I know. The thing is, I've never hired anyone to do it because I don't really trust any random person with things like that. I saw a friend, someone I trust, and I thought, why not?"

He shrugged and smiled, waiting for your answer, his leg bouncing nervously.

"So," you sat up straight, crossing your legs, "would I be a maid, clean up after you? What's the catch?"

"No catch," Steve shook his head, "I already have a maid. You'd have to move in with me-"

"Woah, woah, woah," you interrupted, "move in with you-"

"Jesus, sweetheart, let me talk," he laughed, motioning his hands for you to calm down, "not in my house. I have a guesthouse in the back. It's got a kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms, everything you need for your own privacy. And you'd live in it for free. And I would pay you."

You perked up, "How much?"

"Let's say..." He thought for a moment, "$100,000? Just to start off?"

Your jaw nearly dropped to the floor, your eyes widening.

"Steve-"

"Don't say no." He said kindly, smiling at your reaction. "Unless you want to. That's okay, too. I just thought... it's the least I can do. Win-win situation?"

You stared at your coffee in disbelief, your heart beating so loud, surely he could hear it. Time slowed down, the world coming to a halt. So much so that you hadn't even realized that Steve reached out his hands to hold yours gently through your shock.

"I'll do it." You exhaled and glanced back over to him, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

"Really?" He beamed, squeezing your hands.

"Yes," you squeezed his back unknowingly, "only because I need this so badly. I could go back to school, I could take care of my family... Steve, I don't even know how to begin to thank you-"

"You don't have to," he reassured, "like I said, it's the least I can do."

You gazed at each other for a few moments, smiling so cheesy you almost couldn't stand it, and you again wondered if he felt the same tension between you as the night before.

It was only then did you finally notice that you were holding hands.

"So, um," you cleared your throat, pulling your hands back.

Steve did the same, his throat bobbing as there was an awkward bit of silence.

"So..." you finished your question, "when do I start?"

"Oh, today, if you want." He leaned back in his chair nonchalantly, as if what he just said wasn't a big deal.

"Today?!" You reiterated.

He nodded, a cheeky look spreading across his face again.

"Um, okay, but what about my stuff, my apartment-"

"The movers will take care of all that," Steve assured you, "you don't need to lift a finger. They'll start moving your stuff into the guesthouse today. If you want."

You wondered how any of that could happen so fast, but excitement pushed the thought to the back of your brain.

"Welp," he stood up, hands on his hips, "are you ready to go?"

You stood up after him, grabbing your purse, "Go? To your house?"

"Yep," he pulled his keys out of his pocket, swinging them around his fingers, "let's go."

You quickly followed him out the door, giggling with joy as Steve opened the passenger door of his red Cadillac for you. You got in, admiring the interior as he sat in the driver's seat and started the car.

"Steve?" You asked as he began to drive towards his house, the hot summer breeze flowing through each other's hair.

"Yeah?"

"This isn't gonna be, like... a weird sugar daddy situation, is it?"

He nearly choked on his own spit nervously, clearing his throat, "No, no, definitely not."

"Cause it's almost too good to be true, you know?"

"Definitely not." He repeated, looking over at you with a warm smile, then reverted his eyes back to the road, and you swore you saw a hint of a tense look on his face.

The next four months went by far too quickly. You were the happiest you'd ever been, feeling so grateful for the opportunity Steve had given you. You meticulously orchestrated the most extravagant house parties, took care of his finances, made sure his bills were paid on time, arranged his travel arrangements with perfection, and made his life much easier for him, which he showed great appreciation for.

The guesthouse you'd been living in was much more than you thought it was going to be. Two stories, fully furnished with the finest materials, a large kitchen with marble counter tops, the most luxurious bathroom, and the softest bedding you'd ever had the pleasure to sleep in, not to mention the insane salary, which Steve had already increased greatly on multiple occasions.

You were living the most amazing life, far past your highest expectations, but there was a feeling you couldn't shake, and you couldn't stand it.

Every time you put together a large gathering for a house party, you couldn't help but feel a little jealous when other women interacted with him, laughing at his jokes a little too loudly, having conversations with him a little too intimately, and dancing with him a little too long for your liking. But Steve still took the time to dance with you, of course, in a friendly manner, and you reminded yourself that he was a highly respected, well sought after man, and you just had to accept that. But god, did you hate it.

Every time Steve left for a business trip, whether it'd be a few days or a week, you found yourself feeling awfully lonely, isolated even. You kept busy by managing the house, doing your job, but you couldn't help but to feel insignificant, even abandoned, which you scolded yourself for, feeling embarrassed of yourself. He was your boss, after all. But god, you just fucking hated it.

But Steve did make up for it, of course. You never told him how lonely you were feeling, but he must have gotten the hint, as he would shower you with gifts. He'd bought you a new, much more reliable car in your favorite color. He'd gifted you a wardrobe of designer clothes, shoes and bags. He'd sent you on spa days that he'd pay for, massages, manicures, pedicures, and sent you to luxury salons to get your hair done. You hadn't even needed to touch your own money. You felt bad for all the gifts, telling him it wasn't necessary, that you were just there to do your job, but Steve always insisted, always reiterating that it was the least he could do.

The least he could do. Sometimes you wondered about that statement.

You were facing the fact that you, indeed, had feelings for Steve Harrington. And you wondered if you'd always had, ever since that summer in high school.

You felt ashamed of yourself, as it was so inappropriate to be in love with your own boss. But you'd known him long before he became a big shot, long before all these other people had known him, and so it was a difficult feeling to shake away.

You felt guilty for having these feelings, because Steve had done so much for you. You didn't want to be in love with him, as he showered you with things you'd only dreamed of. What if he meets the love of his life, and continues to be so generous towards you? That wouldn't be fair to them.

But at the same time, you couldn't tell him that you'd fallen for him. He'd always had trust issues, and you didn't want him to feel like you were taking advantage of him, or be accused of it. You didn't want to hurt him and break that trust.

It was all so conflicting, it drove you mad.

It didn't help that the two of you would spend your free time with each other, having dinner together at his large house, watching movies, laughing, friendly brunch dates, all of which included lingering stares, curling up on the couch a little closer together than platonic friends would do, Steve's endearing nicknames for you, his compliments, hands barely touching as you conversed, dancing slowly, warm bodies close together.

And you pondered the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was feeling the same electric buzz on on his own skin, the same butterflies in his stomach, the same fireworks, the same pull, the same tension as you did. Because you swore you could see it in his eyes when he looked into yours, in his smile, his body language.

Surely, you were just imagining things.

It wasn't something you could focus on right now anyway, so you shoved those feelings as far away as you could. You had a Christmas party to plan.

December 18th, 1990.

Steve's house was bustling with large crowds of people, holiday music softly playing throughout the large common area, a 20 ft large Christmas tree tucked away neatly in a corner, decorated accordingly with expensive ornaments, gold and silver lights wrapped around it, with a stupid little angel right on the top.

Five senses.

There was a fragrance of white pine, vanilla and cinnamon in the air. Cheerful, well dressed people chatted amongst themselves with an optimistic tone to their voices. Twinkling lights hung from the ceiling and red ribbons wrapped around the grand staircase in an elegant fashion. Your hand was wrapped around a glass of wine, and damn, did that cabernet taste a little too good.

All of this was happening because of your careful planning, but you definitely weren't feeling the holiday spirit.

You'd been standing by the Christmas tree alone for 2 hours now, sipping your fourth glass of red wine as you people watched with a bitter look on your face.

Despite how you felt, you were looking good. Really good.

You were wearing a satin red dress that hugged your body just right, a slit along the side of the dress to your upper thigh. Your hair was done elegantly, and on your lips was the perfect shade of red just right for your skin tone, fit with diamond jewelry and strappy heels- courtesy of Steve, obviously.

Speaking of Steve, you watched him in your usual wallflower fashion, conversing with people you didn't recognize, laughing, and having a grand old time with his usual black suit and tie, and his stupid perfect hair.

You took another sip, feeling a little forgotten about, and a little vulnerable as you stood alone, watching the party near its end.

A few minutes went by, and Steve suddenly gathered everyone around for a toast. You hesitantly walked towards the crowd, and watched as he thanked everyone for coming, thanked the chefs, the decorators, the butlers, and then thanking you, taking you by surprise.

"And I'd like to thank my beautiful house manager here," Steve gestured towards you, raising his glass as the crowd turned to look at you, "she single-handedly planned every bit of this get together, and I'm so gratetul to her for making this such a wonderful party, and for being my greatest friend. You're amazing."

"Cheers!" Everyone exclaimed, nodding at you in approval, and Steve winked at you.

You couldn't help but smile, your cheeks getting hot, taking another sip of wine, and for a fleeting moment, you didn't feel so alone anymore, so inferior.

That all came crashing down quickly.

Just as you thought Steve was about to take your hand and ask you to dance, another woman practically threw herself onto him, insisting she dance with him. He was a little taken aback, but reluctantly agreed to dance with her, and you swore that she had flashed you the most evil grin you'd ever seen.

Maybe it was the feelings you had for Steve, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe both, but rage coursed through your body at the sight. You felt annoyed, revolted, hostile, jealous.

You began to step backwards from the two of them, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, your lip nearly quivering as you backed away.

You made your way to a nearby table and downed the rest of your glass, setting it down as you glared at the two of them. Steve glanced over to you and caught your eye, his smile quickly fading and a worried, almost remorseful expression taking over.

You didn't want to act out, ruin Steve's party, ruin your friendship with him, so you stormed away, navigating through the large, drunken crowd and walking out the backdoor to head to your own private house, trying not to let hot tears spill down your face.

You walked in and slammed the door behind you, locking it and kicking off your heels. You turned on the lights and headed to your bedroom, sat down on the soft blankets of your bed, and finally allowed your emotions to pour out of you, sobbing to yourself and cursing yourself, mascara running down your cheeks.

Why am I like this? Why do I feel like this? I'm so stupid. So fucking stupid. We dated for 3 months when we were just kids. We hardly even kissed. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'll just have to quit. Tell him I'm moving. Find him a new manager, one he can trust. One that won't fall in love with him. God, how could I be so fucking ungrateful?

You sat up from the bed, absolutely bawling, and stumbled on the plush carpet to your full length mirror. You stared at yourself for a while, taking in shaky breaths, taking note of the expensive dress, the expensive jewelry, the expensive makeup- now a mess on your face.

"So fucking ungrateful!" You scolded the reflection in the mirror.

It was only then did you hear your front door close shut, and Steve's voice calling out your name softly.

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

You quickly wiped the smeared makeup off of your face and tried to compose yourself, taking a deep breath.

You walked out to the living room where Steve stood awkwardly, holding a ring of keys in his hands.

"Hey, Harrington." You tried to muster a smile.

He frowned at your greeting, looking concerned.

"Hey. Uh, sorry, you looked upset, and I heard you crying, so I kinda let myself in."

"Oh." You sniffed.

There was a moment of silence, and you felt that he was standing much too far away from you. There was a lump in your throat, too hard and too much to explain yourself.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, cautiously taking a step towards you.

"Yeah," you wiped another tear from your cheek, smiling, "yeah, I'm okay."

"Are you sure? Cause, you know, you're crying."

Silence again.

Steve sighed, "Do you wanna sit?"

"Um... sure." Your voice cracked.

You both sat down on the loveseat in the living room. You crossed your legs, fumbling with the rings on your fingers and avoiding eye contact with him. He held his hands together.

"I'm sorry for running out," you spoke up, "is everything okay back at the party?"

"Oh, don't be sorry, sweetheart," Steve assured you, "the party is ending now. Mostly everyone is gone."

"Oh, okay. I hope it was a good one."

"It was great, you always make it great," he smiled, resting a hand on your knee, making you feel a little nervous, "but can I ask... why are you crying?"

You attempted to laugh, brush your pain away like it never existed in the first place.

"Honestly, I just felt overwhelmed, and probably had too much to drink."

"Yeah, probably," he agreed, "but... there's something else, too."

You shook your head slightly, tears stinging your eyes again, not responding.

"Was it because of that girl I was dancing with?"

You finally glanced over to him.

"No." You replied in a small, fragile voice.

Steve sighed, leaning forward and gave your knee a squeeze.

"Well... I won't bother you. Maybe you can talk to me about it tomorrow. For now," he stood up, putting his hands on his hips, "why don't you eat something, drink some water, and get some sleep, okay?"

You nodded, still sitting down, "Okay. I'm so sorry, Steve."

He didn't speak for a moment, only peering down at you with an empathetic look, before slowly leaning over and holding your face gently with his hands, pausing as his face hovered yours, and placing a small kiss to your forehead.

"You've done nothing wrong. There's nothing for you to worry about," Steve whispered against your skin, making you look at him in his eyes, "okay?"

You gave him a sad, half smile, still feeling guilty despite his words, "Okay."

He stood back up, and walked slowly to the front door, turning the knob and opening it.

"Good night."

"Good night, Steve."

The next day, your alarm woke you, not having dreamt at all. Your eyes burned from crying, and your lips were chapped from heavy breathing. You turned off the alarm and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought, remembering everything that had occurred the night before. The party. Steve's toast. The woman. Running away. Crying. Talking to Steve. His hand on your knee. His words of reassurance. His kiss on your forehead.

You tried to put the puzzle pieces together in your mind.

Shouldn't he be mad at me? He's my boss. He's given me everything, just for me to throw a drunken hissy fit. He should have fired me. Or at least been upset with me. Is he upset with me? No, he said he wasn't. Wait, does he have feelings for me, too? No he doesn't. There's no way. Is there?

You begrudgingly got out of bed, and walked towards the same mirror you had the night before, looking at the disheveled, emotional wreck in front of you.

Nope. No way.

You went on to do your usual morning routine of coffee, showering and getting ready, thankful that you didn't have a hangover, when there was a sudden knock on your front door.

What the fuck?

You opened it hesitantly to find no one standing there, but a beautifully wrapped gift bag was on the ground, with a note attached to it.

You looked around outside, and grabbed the bag, bringing it inside and shutting the door. You took it to your bedroom and sat the gift on the bed, and opened the note that had your name on it.

I felt like I needed you to know that you're my closest friend above anything else. Take the day off, on me, okay? And please accept the gift I got for you, and don't say no, like you usually do. Consider it an early Christmas gift. Please put it on and meet me in my bedroom upstairs for a movie night at 8. See you then.

-Harrington (call me Steve)

You couldn't help but bite your lip and smile, your stomach fluttering and feeling excited, grateful for his generosity and patience with you.

You placed the note to the side and dug into the gift bag, and audibly gasped and nearly sobbed at the sight of what you pulled out.

It wasn't Calvin Klein, or Ralph Lauren. It wasn't a designer dress, or expensive high heels.

It was cheesy Christmas pajamas, and a pair of fuzzy slippers. Complete with a reindeer and snowflake design, and it was cheap, from JC Penny's.

You could've died happy right then and there, to receive such a humble and thoughtful gift from Steve. The old Steve, the Steve he still was, the one you'd always kept close to your heart for years.

You chose not to go out and treat yourself that day like he'd offered, instead, staying in your home, relaxing with some good books and watching TV. You tried to take a nap, but you were too overjoyed, too overwhelmed in all the right ways to even think about falling asleep as you watched the clock tick by, minute by minute.

At 7:50, you put on your pajamas and slippers, looking into the mirror, this time, with a much more optimistic look on your face. You decided not to opt for makeup, as tonight was movie night- a night of friendship, a night of Steve, a night that had occurred many times before during a summer years ago.

You exited your house and walked towards the backdoor of Steve's, nearly skipping with joy, and let yourself in.

You were surprised to not see any of his other staff around the house as you walked up the staircase, thinking he must have given them the night off.

You tiptoed down the long, dark hallway filled with glee, and saw a dim light coming from Steve's bedroom.

You approached the open door and gave it a little knock, making him turn around.

"Oops, seems as if there's been a wardrobe malfunction."

He was wearing the same fucking pajamas as you.

"Steve!" You laughed, eyeing him up and down as you walked in.

He lifted his arms up in the air and smiled.

"You like?" He motioned at his outfit, and bolted towards you, lifting you up and making you squeal.

"That's what I like to hear," he sighed with relief as he put you back down, "it's good to see you smile."

"Steve, you're such a dork." You giggled and shoved his shoulder playfully.

"The most handsome dork you've ever seen," he teased, "so, what do you wanna watch? I've got everything set up."

He motioned towards the wooden table on the bed. On it was a bottle of white wine accompanied with two glasses, a big bowl of popcorn, and an assortment of candy.

"I grabbed the cheapest bottle of wine I could find, I promise," he chuckled, running his hands through his hair, "tonight is gonna be like old times. Gotta remind you that I'm still a humble guy."

"I never doubted you were." You beamed at him.

Steve's cheeks turned red, and his body language went a little shy.

"So, I know I asked you what you wanna watch, but I picked up your favorite you told me, Heathers-"

"Yes!" You exclaimed, "yes, I love that movie!"

He smiled, "I know you do. Now... let's get comfy."

There was definitely something in the air, and it was heavy, as the two of you watched Winona Ryder act on screen, eating popcorn, laughing, finishing a glass of wine, and bodies increasingly getting closer and closer together throughout the movie.

You both lay back in his bed, eyes glued to the TV under soft blankets, when Steve reached his arm out behind you, and commanded a soft "C'mere."

You glanced at him, wide-eyed, as adrenaline raced through your body at his request, and you hesitantly scooted towards him a bit. You leaned down your head down gently to rest on his shoulder, but you were still much too far away from him.

Steve pulled you closer to his body, and hooked his other arm under your knees, curling your legs on his lap. You lightly gasped and chuckled nervously at the action, but he just let out a hum of contentment.

You reached an arm across him to hold his side, and nuzzled further into his warm chest. He placed a gentle kiss to your hair, and rested his face on your head, holding you closely to him with both of his arms.

Suddenly, it was really hard to pay attention to the movie. Suddenly, you almost forgot how to breathe. Suddenly, you were so close to Steve, but somehow still too far away. Suddenly, the world paused around you as you felt his soft heartbeat against his chest. Suddenly, nearly all your nerves ceased to exist. Suddenly, Steve felt like home.

Steve was home.

The ending credits started to play on the TV screen. You had the nagging urge that you should let go of him, that movie night was over, but you didn't want to move, didn't want to let him ago, wanted this feeling and this warmth to last forever.

He sat up for a moment, and your heart dropped at the loss of his closeness as he grabbed the table from the bed and placed it on the ground.

You pulled away from him, preparing to say goodnight and go back to your own home, when Steve asked, "Where are you going?"

You glanced over to him, lips parted, but didn't respond, didn't know how to.

"Stay."

He took his shirt off, staring at you with soft eyes, and laid back down onto his bed slowly, patting the sheets, motioning for you to join him.

You eagerly did, as you crawled back onto his mattress, laying down next to him. He pulled the blankets over the two of you and pulled you in closer to him with strong arms until your faces were mere inches apart, nearly nose to nose, heads resting on soft pillows.

Steve ran his fingers up and down your back delicately, gazing into your eyes, you gazing back into his own, the only light in the bedroom now coming from the moon through the windows, enough to study the details of each other's faces in comfortable silence.

You traced your fingers along his back, breathing in his intoxicating scent, as he tucked your hair behind your ear and whispered to you, feeling his warm breath on your lips.

"You look so beautiful like this."

"Steve..."

No more words needed to be spoken, as the moment the two of you existed in gave you all the answers you ever needed.

He held the back of your head, and with a shaky breath, pressed his mouth against yours gently. His lips felt like silk as you quickly kissed him back, cradling the side of his face with your hand.

He broke the long, drawn out kiss, opening his eyes slowly to stare into your own, as if to make sure it was okay, before doing it again, his fingers splayed messy along your cheek.

You hummed against his mouth, roaming your hand from his chest, up the soft skin of his shoulder, to the nape of his neck, the both of you kissing between heavy sighs, resting your foreheads against the other.

Steve sat up a bit, grasping your face and pulling it to his, kissing you a little harder, a little faster each time, soft inhales between them, and he pulled at your bottom lip, impatient, hungry, asking for more.

You gave into him immediately, eagerly, deepening the kiss and raking your fingers through his soft hair, pulling him into you as tongues collided, desperate but languid.

You whined into him and Steve swallowed the sound, driving him mad and making his breath shudder, licking across your bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth, letting it go with a pop.

You lightly gasped and grasped at the skin of his back, hands heavy all over each other as he tugged you even closer to him, pressing gentle but eager kisses along your jawline. You threw your head back to give him access, and he leaned his face into your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin. His hands roamed up your abdomen but stopped, and you quickly leaned back and pulled your shirt over your head, exposing your chest to him with needy eyes.

Steve groaned, whispering swears as you gave him permission to explore you, cupping your breasts and smoothing his fingers over your nipples as he continued to kiss and suck down your chest, which only made your body fill with heat, needing more.

You sat up and pushed yourself up against him, your lips finding his easily as you wandered your hands down his chest to the waistline of his pants, giving it a small tug.

He hissed against your mouth and broke the kiss, whispering, "Are you sure?"

"Please," you pleaded softly, "want you."

"Fuck," he let out a breathy laugh, "you're gonna kill me, baby."

You kissed along his collarbone, roaming your hands down again, and sighed as you felt his hard length against his leg, lightly stroking it.

Steve groaned at your touch, and frantically pulled his pajamas and boxers down his legs, throwing them to the side and freeing himself. He leaned down towards you again, making you lay flat against the bed, kisses sloppy and needy as he hovered over you, his hand smoothing from your breasts, down your stomach to tug at your own pants.

"Take 'em off." You whined on his lips.

He snaked his fingers in your waistline, and pulled your panties and pajamas down your legs swiftly, tossing them somewhere in the room.

He leaned back from you, lips parted, as he took in the sight of you, cheeks flushed.

"So pretty."

You bit your lip and reached for him, desperate to feel his closeness, but Steve had other ideas.

He smoothed his calloused hands up and down your thighs, before spreading them open, murmuring helplessly to himself as he leaned down, pressing open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your stomach, trailing his mouth down until he was above your heat, making you quiver underneath him.

He slowly traced his fingers down your lower stomach to the apex of your thighs, gently swiping them between your folds, cursing to himself at how wet you were.

You moaned, voice wrecked, arching into Steve's hand, giving yourself to him, a sign of permission.

He lifted a leg up over his shoulder and slowly slipped a finger inside of you, a second joining quickly, hooking inside of you.

You gasped loudly, and he leaned over and pressed his lips back to yours, an attempt to calm your reaction, to soothe you, as he thumbed at your clit, sliding his fingers in and out of you.

You moaned softly, your hands grasping and pulling at his hair, and he hissed at the action, and you took note of how much he liked it.

Steve pressed one more gentle kiss to your swollen lips, before descending down your body, kissing your heat and removing his thumb, replacing it with his tongue as he swirled it around your clit heavy, taking it into his mouth and sucking on it greedily.

You grinded against his face, coming undone and moaning a mixture of his name and expletives as your orgasm took a hold of you quickly, Steve humming against your heat, working you through your high until you were a panting mess.

He pulled his fingers out of you, sitting up slowly and placing them in his mouth, sucking on them and groaning at the taste of you.

"Good girl," he praised you through whispers, kneading his thumbs into the plush of your thighs, "you did so good."

You huffed, sitting up, your legs trembling and took his hard length into your hand, stroking it and kissing him desperately.

His breath stuttered against your lips as your grip tightened around him, hissing as Steve grabbed your wrist to stop you.

"Sweetheart," his voice was strained, husky, "if you do that, I'm not gonna last long."

His palms smoothed up and down your sides, then groped your breasts, making your breath hitch.

"Me neither," your voice thick with emotion, "need you."

"Sh, okay, I got you baby girl."

Steve laid you back down on the bed gingerly, and just as you thought he was going to hover over you, he laid down next to you, pulling you close to him, face to face, and lifted your leg to rest on his hip.

"Need you close. Okay?" He looked in your eyes, glazed over with lust.

You nodded, breath shaky, cradling his jaw with your hand as you felt his bare length press against your wet heat, squirming for friction. He snaked his arms under yours to hold you tight, his left hand on your lower back, his right grasping your ass.

He shifted his hips to align himself with your entrance, sucked in a sharp inhale, and pushed himself inside of you.

You both gasped loudly at the feeling, clutching at each other desperately, and Steve kissed you, swallowing your moans as he continued to inch inside of you, pushing in and out of you slowly until your walls took him in fully, his cock disappearing inside you completely.

Your bodies were flushed, skin warm as you felt him stretch you out every place you needed so badly, massaging your inner walls, the both of you in a state of utter bliss, euphoria and love, your lips kissing lazy and sloppy against each other, your slick making it easy for him to rock into you at a pace that wasn't too slow, wasn't too fast, but was amazingly deep and romantic.

You whimpered into his mouth as Steve continued to fuck into you, making him snap his hips into your spongy spot abruptly, and the both of you cursed, moaning each other's names, your voices stuttering, and your tongues gliding over each other messy.

Steve wasn't going to last long, you could tell by the way he bit back his moans, the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, his hips jerking as you felt his length grow even harder inside of you.

Thankfully, you were on the edge too- heat beginning to pool in your lower back, your muscles tightening, goosebumps spreading across your skin as he continued to hit that delicious spot inside of you, the friction of his trail of body hair rubbing against your clit with each thrust, making you lose composure.

You raked your hands through his soft, mussed hair and tugged, earning a moan from him as he pressed open mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck, and Steve smiled against your skin when your walls tightened around him, getting the hint.

"You gonna cum?" He panted through thrusts, his voice gravelly.

"Yes- oh, fuck Steve-"

"Me- jesus christ- me too," he rasped, "cum with me, please, you look so pretty-"

His words were enough to send you over the edge as the world crashed around you, tears prodding at your eyes as your gut tightened and shockwaves gripped every inch of your skin, your orgasm bursting within you.

Steve felt you tighten and pulse around him as he rocked into you through your high, kissing you feverishly along your cheek and neck. The sound of your voice when you cried out his name made him bite down on your shoulder.

His hips stuttered and with a few more deep, powerful thrusts, his vision blurred as he spilled himself deep inside of you, groaning against your mouth as you kissed him sweetly until his movements stilled.

You slumped into each other, your limbs liquid, as the both of you tried to catch your breath. Steve pressed his forehead against yours, eyes hooded and heavy, skin warm and sticky, feeling lightheaded, and you both let out a breathy laugh of relief, a content sigh, as if this is what the two of you should have been doing all along.

You both held each other this way for a while, in comfortable silence, enjoying the closeness of each other's presence, the warmth and coziness of one another's bodies, hands smoothing over hair and skin, lips kissing the other's softly until you both finally caught your breath.

Steve eventually slid himself out of you with an exhale, and you shuddered at the loss. He pulled you in tightly to him, cradling you, limbs entangled and he rubbed circles into your cheek.

"Can I talk first?" He asked in a hushed voice.

You nodded, pursing your lips.

"I trust you. I know you. And I don't want anyone but you."

You beamed at him, tears glossing over your eyes, your heart blooming.

"I love you."

You lightly gasped at his confession, and he waited patiently for your response.

You kissed him, long and drawn out before speaking.

"I love you, Steve."

"Really?"

You nodded eagerly, "Really."

"Good." Another sigh of relief.

"So," you traced your fingers along his back, "What happens now?"

Steve chuckled, "Now? Now, you're mine," he cradled the side of your face, "you don't work for me. You're my girl. You're mine."

You smiled, and you could've died happy right then and there.

"And I want to give you everything."

Spicier Part 2 here

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