#“maybe the four of us can go out sometime you me Jonathan when he's back”

[jonathanbyersphd]

Steve rolling up to Jonathan & Nancy in that ambulance in s3 like "you guys seen back to the future?"

[findafight]

Kinda want to write a one-sided ronance post S4 au (within a fix it obvs) where the older teens start actually hanging out and Stobin (eventually + Vickie)confuse literally everyone. They greet each other with cheek kisses, call each other babe (or "Stevie Baby". Listen. Robin calls him bud or buddy or bub or bubba or babe and it's like why so many B's?? Argyle is vibing with it though and joins the bud train) and one time at two in the morning had a coordinated ramble about the names of the cats they will eventually get. (Sassafras, moonshine, and Garborator)

Nancy and Steve haven't really talked about anything, other than Steve saying "hey. I'm sorry if whatever I said weirded you out. I was definitely a bit delirious and Robin and Eddie AND Dustin were all making comments about winning you back or whatever which is stupid, you made it clear where you stood with me. Which wasn't with me. That's fine. and like. Okay yeah when we were together I'd daydream about you being beside me in the motorhome but thats-- it was a daydream. I was sort of thinking I was gonna die and. I wanted to share a little dream that made me happy. And then got everything confused in my head and made it weird and I'm sorry. what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry for being weird and making things uncomfortable. I'm over you. I loved you then, and you were my first real love, and maybe if things were different I could love you like that again but. But neither of us want that or the same things out of life. And we'd crash and burn again. Plus you and Jonathan are together which is a non-starter. Cannot believe I forgot that when it was happening. Jesus. So. Yeah. Sorry for being not a great friend and hitting on you in the Upside Down." And Nancy had nodded and told him not to worry about it. He had been sort of bleeding out and planning on going back into the upside down. They could both be normal about it.

Sometimes Nancy and Robin try to have "girl time" at Nancy's suggestion because they're the only girls in the older group (sometimes. But Robin is not going to let that slip out) but it's awkward without a buffer. Robin is too nervous and rambles and Nancy is too annoyed by it. But they do get on well in group settings, and Steve and Argyle are actually the keenest to smooth over any awkwardness.

Robin laughs more with the group, and grins at Steve and smirks at Eddie and has a sharp tongue Nancy can admire. She's more comfortable with Steve around, insisting he sit beside her or on the ground in front of her so she can play with his hair. (And Nancy is shocked the first time she sees it, because Steve was notoriously protective of his "best feature", but she'd asked and he'd hummed quietly as she takes her fingers through his hair and put tiny, lopsided braids in it.) It's nice to see Robin less jumpy, and wonders what it would take to see more of the side of her Nancy only sees when Steve's around. She just wants to get closer to Robin. Wants a friend.

And somehow, beyond Nancy's notice, Steve and Robin's friend Vickie slowly joins the group. She wasn't involved at all in the spring, but has been hanging around Family Video and a movie night or two often enough that when she settles more permanently in the group it isn't a very big surprise. Eddie and Argyle welcome her in with open arms, Jonathan is only his normal amount of weary of new people, and obviously Robin and Steve are excited for their friends to be friends.

But it just doesn't sit right with Nancy. She can't pinpoint why, it just doesn't. When she sees Robin and Vickie giggling together, or having some back and forth banter that seems to feed into both of them smiling, or Steve throwing his arm over her shoulder, or Vickie leaning into Robin's space as they talk. She always sits beside Robin, Steve on the other, with Eddie beside him. It's usually a tight fit for whatever couch they're on, but the four seem happy as clams to not have any personal space. Once Argyle decided to lay across all their laps, and they just...let him. Finangled themselves so everyone was mostly comfortable.

Nancy figures she is uncomfortable with it because she hasn't ever had a close friend since Barb, and was possibly hoping she could be close to Robin along those lines. So seeing her so close with the others and mildly uncomfortable around her hurt, and seeing her and Steve incorporate someone unversed in the Upside Down into their little trauma club also hurt. Because what did Vickie have that Nancy didn't? That made Steve and Robin and now Eddie stick to her like glue? That made them want her there when she didn't know anything about what they'd been through and could probably never understand?

What made Vickie Summers so special that she's taken what should have been Nancy's place beside her friends? Because that's what really bothered her. It wasn't that Vickie didn't know, it's that Nancy felt she took her place. That Nancy wanted to be where Vickie was, and she didn't know how to ask for it. Asking, trying to talk about how Steve and Robin had bonded so well after Starcourt while she ignored them and then how they bonded with and absorbed Eddie halfway into their bizarre dynamic after vecna, would feel too much like begging or admitting that she isn't quite sure how to make friends.

Nancy is jealous. Jealous that she isn't friends like Vickie and Eddie and Steve and Robin are. That she isn't the one making Robin smile and giggle so cutely. So. She tries harder. Tries to be the friend that Robin and Eddie and even Steve deserve. She tries not to be annoyed by Robin rambling (it really isn't that bad, just. Not relevant. She likes heading Robin's voice, but thinks she could really work on having a filter.), or the way Steve always asks clarifying questions when he should really have known better, or Eddie talking half in different character voices. She thinks it's getting better, her relationship with them. But, still, Vickie is always there, glued to Robin's side almost as much as Steve is, and that always annoys Nancy. Niggles at her brain, that she doesn't deserve to be there because she didn't know what Robin had lived through and fought. Nancy did.

Eventually, Nancy figures out that she wants more from Robin. Doesn't want to be a friend she smiles at occasionally, wants to be the reason she smiles all the time. And that's terrifying. Because Nancy had never considered liking girls, never thought liking girls was a thing she could do. It was something other women did, not Nancy. She liked boys and always had, but. But maybe she always liked girls...too. maybe it wasn't something she that was one or the other. Being different in a town like Hawkins puts a target on your back, being queer in a town like Hawkins even moreso.

She's leaving Hawkins in the fall. But she thinks she wants someone to come home to. She wants Robin to come home to. Robin and Steve seem to be okay with it, from what she can glean of some veiled comments they've made that she's only caught now she's looking for them. They've made some remarks around the kids that make it seem like they'd be safe to come to, no matter what. And sometimes, some of the comments Robin makes about actresses seem a little...well. admiring.

They probably, hopefully, wouldn't hate her for this. And now Nancy and Robin have a friendship, she thinks she can. It's early July, and Nancy is going to ask Robin out.

She gets her alone, bites her lip, and asks Robin in no uncertain terms to go out on a date with her. Robin stares, mouth agape.

"oh," she says.

Nancy smiles, a little. "Yeah. So. What do you say?"

Robin blinks, and takes a shuddering breath. "Oh my god. I. Nancy I'm really flattered but I'm no-i dont- uhg. I'm dating someone." she groans, rubbing her hands over her face.

And oh. Nancy read the situation wrong "oh. Steve. It's fine! You don't like girls, thats--thats totally fine! Id just, um. That is,-"

Robin waves her hands. "No, no! I'm not dating Steve! You clocked me correctly. Definitely gay! Don't worry about that! Hah."

Something in Nancy twists. "Oh?"

"yeah. Yep. Not only am I a lesbian in a small town, I'm a lesbian in a small town that somehow also has a girlfriend." Robin says the word dreamily. Like she still can't believe it. Nancy's brain fills with static. She was too late. Too caught up with how she missed so many chances in the past, that she missed her chance now.

But Robin keeps talking. "And, like. Even if I didn't, I don't think it would have worked between us anyways. Too different, y'know?"

"what?"

Robin gestures with her hands between them. "Well, like. I like being your friend. But, I mean, I wouldn't date you?"

"why not?"

Blinking, Robin tilts her head. "Because of Steve?"

Something bubbles hot in Nancy. "What the fuck does Steve have to do with wether or not we would date?"

"Nancy. Steve's my best friend." As though that explains anything.

"yes? And?"

Robin looks uncomfortable, shifting sideways. "listen, Nancy. You're a good friend. And I've just rejected you. Maybe we should just. Ah. Leave this? I'm really sorry. I'll give you some space, just find me when you're ready?"

"no. What do you mean that we couldn't date because Steve is your best friend? Why would that have any effect on how you date?"

"it doesn't! Not really! Just. Nancy, you broke his heart. His soft, squishy heart! You kinda sorta cheated on him-details very unclear-and then just. Moved on. Pretended like nothing happened. I couldn't do that to Steve. Dating a friend's ex is a bad move. Dating an ex that broke a friend's heart is just cruel." She sighs. Looks sad. As though she isn't the one rejecting Nancy and tearing her apart for how a relationship ended almost two years ago. What did that matter, now? "You're my friend, Nancy. I like you! But even if Steve has moved on, forgiven and forgotten, and if things were a bit different given his full support for us dating if that's what I wanted, I think I'll always remember how he-- how much it hurt him."

"oh"

"I'm. Nancy I'm really sorry. I know how scary it is to put yourself out there, especially like this. It's not fair. I'm just sorry. But. It was true. Steve's the most important person to me. I couldn't ever hurt him. Not like that. Not even if he said he was fine with it."

Nancy stands and walks away. She doesn't cry until she locks her bedroom door.

[artiststarme]

Don't Call Me Stupid

Can I make you cry four times in one day @pyrohonk? I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

Now with a Part 2!

~*~*~*~

Steve was used to being the dumb one. He was the kid in class that would ask stupid questions that the other kids and sometimes even the teacher would laugh at. He never quite understood what teachers were saying in class or what the words written on the board were supposed to mean with their squiggly letters that jumped around. Eventually he learned not to raise his hand at all. Better to be confused than embarrassed, right?

Nancy, when they were dating, would always call him an idiot. He brushed it off at the time but looking back, it made him wonder. If he was a little bit smarter, a little more astute, would things have gone differently? Would Nancy have sought comfort in him instead of running off to Jonathan? Would he have noticed Barb’s disappearance from his yard that started all of this in the first place? He had to wonder but even that wouldn’t change anything. 

His stupidity was also a highlight point for his parents to focus on. He once was the popular jock, an airhead but one that was popular and good at sports. Now, he was just a deadbeat that barely graduated high school and certainly couldn’t get into college. He was a loser working at a dead-end job that was going nowhere in life. Ah, what pride he brought to his parents now. He could only grieve the life he used to lead every time he saw his parents staring at him in disdain. At least he had the Party… right?

It was a well known fact throughout the Party that Steve was a little slow. His brain worked at a different pace than the rest of them, a concept woefully apparent to everyone. His brain was focused on the music underlying the Russian code and the Black Widows underneath the floorboards. He was the last to connect the dots and truly only helped the Party by taking hits to the head. They only kept him around to take the hits after all. 

Even Robin, his best friend in the world, his platonic soulmate with a capital P, called him a dingus on a near hourly basis. Sure, it was affectionate now but it started as a derogatory term to poke fun at his intelligence, or lack thereof. He was a fool in her eyes, affectionate or not. Even still, he was just the dumbass that slept around with half of Hawkins, a sassy soundboard for her to bounce lesbian crushes off of. 

He was used to being called stupid but it still hurt every time. 

So in the first fight he and Eddie have as a couple, it really hits a sore spot when Eddie hisses, “what are you, stupid?”

All of the fight drained out of Steve in an instant leaving a broken, empty shell in its place. His anger melted away to reveal the hurt hidden underneath. “You should go.”

“What? No, we’re talking this through,” Eddie shook his head, giving him a look of confusion. 

“I probably won’t understand anyways since I’m so stupid. So you should go, save your breath. Whatever you think is probably right anyways.” With that, Steve walks up the stairs to his bedroom and locks the door behind him. He pulls his old Walkman over his ears and lets the sad tones of Queen’s All Dead, All Dead wash over him. 

He was sick of being treated like trash by everyone he talked to. Everyone that was supposed to love him; his parents, Nancy, Robin, Eddie, the kids. They all thought he was a dumbass. He’d tried so hard to be better, to be smarter, to be more useful to everyone else. But in his quest, he lost everything that he once was. He lost his charisma, he lost his old friends, and his hobbies to become this loser who still no one liked. 

So, he ignored his boyfriend’s knocks on his door, turned up his tunes, and planned his move away from Hawkins. If he wasn’t appreciated here, maybe he would be anywhere else.

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[alias-sam]

Pierced by a Golden Soul

Chapter 28. Close Encounter

Platonic Jojo's x Reader

Summary: Fate is a bizarre concept with countless more bizarre implications. In life sometimes such extraordinary events happen that the only reasoning left must be fate. The tragedies that constantly befall the Joestar bloodline for example may be the unluckiest series of cards drawn in human history, or perhaps the work of a greater power. There is no way to tell for sure. Had Dio Brando or Jonathan Joestar moved slightly on a divergent path the world itself would be left very different. The fate or luck of the noble Joestar bloodline has led to destruction of evil likes of the Pillar Men and DIO. This story is of a similar caliber to that of the other Joestars (as I am sure you are familiar with them). This is a story of lost souls, compassion, hope, and above all fate.

Word Count: 1,411

(Crosspost from Wattpad, full fic is already posted there.)

"Are you really sure about this Y/n?"

"Of course I am." You said, Tim was walking behind you on the way to the back of the school. "Besides, if you're scared you can always just leave." You offered.

"No, I'm definitely staying." Tim's expression hardened. Really, you weren't a big fan of him tagging along. Even if he said he wasn't scared, you could sense he was nervous. You glanced back to look at Tim.

"Remind me again why you brought that along?" For some reason Tim was lugging his guitar along with him.

"I'm your backup, aren't I? With luck, I won't have to use it."

"Okay?" You muttered, still confused. "Are you sure Learco will be here?" You asked as you neared the back of the school. Hesitantly, you took out your stand. Through the wall you spotted four auras, all of which you could tell belonged to stand users. You recognized three of them.

"Y/n?" Tim asked. You quickly motioned for him to stay quiet, and then waved for him to keep following you. Carefully, the two of you snuck to the corner and stopped when you could hear the murmur of conversation. You carefully poked your head past the wall to survey the situation. First, you noticed Learco leaned against a dumpster, it was somewhat surreal to see him in the flesh. He looked tired, and maybe a little irritated as the others seemed to be interrogating him.

"I already told you!" He yelled, his short temper just as prominent as always. "I don't remember what happened." Learco scowled and averted his gaze from the group.

"What can you remember?" Blaze sighed with a steely expression. He had a few crudely applied bandages stuck onto his face, arms, and leg. If you had to guess, this group didn't have any kind of healer among them. Even if it wasn't helpful in the moment, you could probably take advantage of it in the future.

"I don't know..." Learco trailed off, looking at his older brother helplessly. "I was going after the girl like planned, and then my memory kind of goes black. Then I woke up in the hospital."

"That doesn't help us." The third person said sternly. It had been a while since you had seen him. There was no doubt in your mind, it was the guy with the toy soldier stand. He attacked you in your own home from the street a while ago. It was dark then, but there was no mistaking his voice, it was very distinct with a bit of an accent. This was your first time seeing his face, but he was exactly how Tim had described him. He was blonde, tall, and wearing an odd black outfit you had never seen before. It almost looked like a uniform of some kind. The fourth and final person was wearing something very similar. He was the only one you didn't recognize. "You almost lost the arrow during that little stunt. You're lucky Jones didn't take it."

"Oh don't start with that again!" Blaze groaned. "If you see Y/n as so much of a threat, take them out yourself, or better yet, have him do it." Blaze pointed over to the boy you didn't recognize. "I don't see why you have us to do everything when you have him."

You kept eavesdropping in on the conversation with your stand activated, and it was a good thing you did. As Blaze and the blonde guy started arguing, you sensed something small near your foot. You glanced down to find a very familiar toy soldier sneaking around underfoot. There was no time to react before the compact stand jumped onto Tim's sneaker. It pulled out what looked like a tactical knife and started stabbing it into your friend's ankle. Tim gave a surprised and pained yelp. You immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late.

"Did you guys hear something?" Learco asked, already moving towards where you were hiding.

"Let's get out of here." You whispered. "Before-"You couldn't finish your sentence because Quiet Riot had slithered its way over to you. The stand extended it's tentacle like straight jacket straps your way.

"They found us!" Tim screamed.

"Yeah, I noticed." You sighed, having Golden Soul knock away Quiet Riot as it tried to attack. "Run!" You yelled, grabbing Tim's arm. The two of you made a brake for the front gate. As you sprinted, you both heard a low seismic noise. You glanced back to find the unknown fourth person was chasing. He was using his stand, it reached out in front of itself with its right hand and scraped at the air. Every time it did so, the stand, and user, got closer. Not far behind was Quiet Riot. Tim slowed down slightly and turned around.

"Y/n! Get behind me!" He yelled; Radio Star already perched on his shoulder. You didn't have the time to hesitate and just trusted he had a plan. "Cover your ears!" Tim held his guitar in front of himself and strummed down hard. A loud and harsh power chord erupted from the instrument, despite it not being plugged into anything. You remembered Tim mentioning his power related to waves, and not just technology or electricity like you originally thought.

The enemy stand user was knocked back by the powerful and deafening soundwave.

Adrenaline pumped through your veins; you heard your heart beating in your ears because of how tightly you were covering them. You looked around; the front gate was way too far away with how fast the enemy was gaining on you. Nearby, you spotted a chain-link fence that separated the school from a bordering forestland. Quickly, you summoned Golden Soul. Your stand grabbed the fence, and with some difficulty, you managed to rip the thin metal apart, making a hole. As the enemies were slowly getting their bearings, you gripped the back of Tim's shirt and dragged him through the fence behind you.

While the sound of yelling and cursing faded away, you and Tim dodged and dipped past trees. After a few minutes of nonstop running, Tim begged to stop. He leaned tiredly against a tree while trying to catch his breath. You weren't nearly as winded, but then again, you weren't lugging an instrument around.

"That." Tim heaved through shallow breaths. "Did not go well."

"I'll say." You muttered, scanning the surrounding area with your stand. Your assailants were far enough away you couldn't sense them with Golden Soul. "Are you okay?" You asked, moving to Tim's side. His foot was bleeding slightly, but other than that he seemed fine.

"I will be." Tim replied. "I wasn't prepared for so much cardio." Tim glanced around at your surroundings before focusing on you. "You do know how to get out of here.... right?"

..............................................

A breeze passed through the trees as you and Tim trudged through the forest. Your friend had gotten extremely tired, so you decided to carry his guitar for him on your back. Tim Buggles, while an intimidating stand user, was not the athletic type. You had never had the time to work out, but still managed to keep up a bit of muscle, you always attributed it to moving heavy ingredients for Senora Jones.

"Hopefully." You said, breaking the long silence between the two of you. "We'll end up close to the condos near the beach."

"You think those guys will keep following us?" Tim asked quietly.

"Not if we keep moving." You shrugged. "My ability can also help with making sure nobody tails is." The two of you continued walking until Tim jumped and grabbed your shoulder, forcing you to stop your stride.

"Did you hear that?!" He whisper-shouted.

"Hear what?" You whispered back, summoning your stand. "I don't sense anything big around here, just some squirrels and bugs and stuff." Despite your attempt at reassuring him, Tim still gazed around at the forest worriedly. "What are you hearing exactly?"

"I don't know...its like a squelching." Tim answered. "You don't hear it?" You closed your eyes and tried to listen past the sound of birds and windswept leaves. Just as Tim had described it, there was a faint squishing sound emanating from the forest around you.

"Now that you mention it, yeah, kind of."

"What the hell is that?" Tim asked. The two of you immediately lined up back-to-back, looking for whatever was hiding in the green scenery.

"I'm not sure but lets get out of here." You felt the ground under your foot shift slightly. "I don't have a good feeling about sticking around."

[calypsodivum]

love letters to the dead (e.m.)

summary part two part three part four

it’s been a month since eddie succumbed into death’s hands in the upside down but nobody seems to care. he didn’t run away this time. you wish he did.

you write a letter to eddie every day. secretly hoping he’d get a chance to read them.

disclaimer

gif and photos used are not mine. all credits go to their respective owners!

warnings

mentions of loss, bl00d, and depression. if you are uncomfortable with any of the topics mentioned, please don’t proceed.

a/n

this has a little twist at the end because i’m thinking about doing a part 2 👀.

i apologize for the colors but trust me, i HAD to do it

———————————-———————————-—————

i want to sleep but every time i close my eyes, i see you. you smiled through blood-stained teeth as if you didn’t feel pain at all.

“i didn’t run away this time, right?”

no, you didn’t. god knows what i’d give for you to be here. to hear you hum the songs you’ve written for me. see your fingers tap against the steering wheel as you drive. to feel your warmth again.

“you’re going to be alright, princess”

maybe. every one looks at me with pity buried deep within their eyes. i’m so tired of people apologizing for you.

“i’m sorry for your loss”

“he’s in a better place now”

“do you need to talk?”

“i’m here whenever you need me”

you would have laughed at all the things they said at your funeral. after everything they did. chased you down with torches and pitchforks. called you a freak. i can list down a hundred more. they said you are a hero. sacrificing yourself to save us. oblivious about what we really went through. no one really understands. not even wayne.

a month have passed and it still hurts. everyone seems to have moved on. steve and robin got a new job at the new pizzeria right across family video. nancy went to her dream college, jonathan went to his.

hellfire is still here with dustin being the new dungeon master. they also seem to have acquired new members. they have a picture of you in the club’s room, you know? like a weird shrine of some sort. they miss you, especially dustin. i gave him your notebook. the one you wrote your d&d notes in. he comes over with it sometimes, asking me if i can read some of your handwriting. you were never really one for writing neatly or legibly at the very least.

the world seems to have moved on pretty quickly but i’m still here. wondering what i could’ve done. wishing you ran away, wishing it was me. i graduated with my class, you could’ve graduated too; could’ve looked principal higgins in the eyes and flipped him off. i could wish all these things to happen but they’d just stay that way. so, what’s the point?

i don’t know what to do, eddie. i can’t sleep most of the time and when i do, all i dream about is you knocking on my window at ungodly hours for god knows what reason. your ring-clad fingers wrapping around mine. your laughter. god, the sound of your laughter. i want to stay there, in my dreams, just so i can spend a little more time with you. i don’t want to wake up most days. i don’t want to be reminded that i won’t ever have you back

i need you.

———————————-———————————-—————

last night in hawkins. i’m going to college, eddie. i’m not so sure if i’m ready but i know this is what you would’ve wanted. you would’ve been proud.

we always talked about this. the future. you and i getting an apartment somewhere far away from hawkins. me in college, you squeezing your way into the music industry and becoming a rockstar. we had it all planned out. it’s crazy how i’m doing all of it without you.

the nightmares are mostly gone. you don’t look all bloody in my dreams anymore. you look like you. each dream more vivid than the last. thankfully. i don’t want you to become a blur. you are part of me, eddie. always.

i’ve packed all my stuff too. the ring you gave me, the one i thought i’ve lost? it was under my bed all along. now i have two of your rings on my chain. every time i breathe, i feel them resting against my chest, the way you used to when you were still here.

i also saw some candid photos i took of you. so unbelievably beautiful. the very same set of eyes that drew me in, staring back at me. nose i used to pinch playfully whenever i wanted you to look up from your notebook or your guitar. cheeks i used to stamp with gleeful kisses. lips i would love to kiss again. i miss your hair too even though fixing it was a nightmare, i would gladly do it all over again in a heartbeat.

i fly to michigan first thing tomorrow, i told you that, right? i’m scared, eds. what if everything goes to shit? i won’t have you to cuddle with. i won’t have someone to take me out for milkshakes. can you drop by later in my dreams and tell me it’ll all be okay?

———————————-———————————-—————

i wish i came back sooner but i was scared you’d be terrified of what i am. a monster. i’m not sure if i’m still the eddie you’re writing these letters to. i want to see you, hold you.

i don’t understand anything about the place i was in but i heard you. not just your voice, i heard your thoughts too. it kept me going. you were waiting for me. my heart broke when i heard you wishing it should’ve been you. i had to find a way back.

i want to tell you how proud i am of you. my strong girl. my legs want to run to you. i don’t want be just a part of your past, i need to be there now. i want to be a part of you, not a dream, not a memory.

and so i run towards you.

[voiceless-terror]

More than Enough

For @tma-mspec-week Day Three: Polycule

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Sasha James/Tim Stoker/Martin Blackwood

Rating: Teen

Summary:

“But what if-” Once again, Jon struggles to find the right words. He knows their situation is unorthodox to most people, and the thought of Martin looking at him differently is too much to bear. “What if he doesn’t understand?”

“Then explain it to him,” Sasha relays patiently, her hand never leaving his. Things are always so clear to her, Jon envies that. “You’re my partners, you’re dating Tim, sometimes me and Tim have-”

Or: How One Became Four.

It starts with Sasha and Jon.

She’s fresh off six months in Artefact Storage, shell-shocked and stand-offish. Jon starts a few months later and they learn the ropes together. She warms up, divulges little tidbits of her time in the other department that Jon devours. He’s young, hungry for answers and Sasha’s already jaded by her few years in academia. This is just a transitional job, she assures him. It pays better than most research gigs and allows her to keep up a certain lifestyle. 

“I’m looking at other places, putting out feelers,” she confides in him one day over coffee. It’s become their daily ritual, a mid-morning break where they can commiserate on the staid academics that ask too much of them and the fanciful statements that end up on their desk. “Whatever you do, don’t get stuck here.” She leans back in her chair, gives a cynical little smile. “Or maybe you should. It’ll be different for you, you’re a man.” He starts a protest but she cuts him off. “It’s an old boys club and you know it. Besides, I know all about your extra meetings with Bouchard. He’s never done that with anyone else. Who knows - in a few years you might be my boss!”

He scoffs at that. Jon feels like he’s treading water. He’s a great researcher, sure, but he hasn’t exactly made himself popular among the others. He’s quick to bite, dismissive, blunt. It’s why he and Sasha get along so well, tucked away in their own little world. Of course she would notice the attention from Elias; Jon’s flattered by it, even if he stammers his way through every interaction. Elias seems to find this amusing, but Jon wants to impress him. 

Though not at the cost of his friendship with Sasha. “I always mention your work to him. I’m rubbish with technology, but you-” She rolls her eyes.

“Don’t, he’ll see right through that. Manipulation’s not your strong suit.” Jon stares down at his rapidly cooling drink, an embarrassed flush spreading across his features. But her hand reaches out to grasp his and a fond smile lights her features. “Thank you, though. It’s sweet of you.”

Jon likes Sasha. Their personalities occasionally clash, but never for too long. Jon’s quick to forgive and Sasha’s too fond to hold a grudge, though she’s loath to admit it. So when her roommate suddenly moves out and she’s left in a bind, it’s only natural for Jon to take her place. He’s been rent-poor, living paycheck to paycheck in a shitty studio that’s still an hour’s commute. Sasha’s closer and her flat’s substantially nicer; she offers and he accepts, easy as that. It’s a practical move, and Jon has to admit his lonely little flat is starting to feel suffocating. 

They fit together easily, like pieces of puzzle slotting in place. Sasha’s brutally efficient in her personal matters; bills and maintenance that Jon finds overwhelming and confounding she takes care of with ease. He’s heard her on the phone in that light, practiced tone of hers as she casually threatens the landlord for necessary repairs. Jon finds himself relaxing bit by bit, feeling comfortable in his own skin as she snarks at the dinner table over a dish he’s made. He used to cook for Georgie like this. Now he cooks for Sasha.

“You’re good at this,” she comments one night over chana masala. “Loads better than the frozen meals I’m used to.”

“It’s nice, having someone to cook for. Harder to do it for one.” He feels a bit uncomfortable with the admission, though he knows he shouldn’t - this is what it’s like, when you love someone.

He’s never said that to her, of course. He gets attached too easily but never knows quite how to show it. And it’s not his usual sort of love, he doesn’t want to date her. She’s more than a friend, and Jon’s never had many of those; he has no metric to measure this against. He thinks he could stay in this flat with her forever, so long as he could see her smile every morning and yawn every night. 

On a Saturday morning she stumbles out of bed and makes her way over to the kitchen. “Morning,” she grumbles, as she reaches for the coffee pot and kisses his forehead. Jon doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

On a Wednesday night Jon drinks too much. 

“Sasha,” he slurs, her arm the only thing keeping him from falling off his stool. “I want you t’ know…”

She smiles indulgently, takes a sip of her drink. “Yes, dear?”

“I-I love you.” She pauses and Jon’s heart drops. “N-Not like that, but like friends. Good friends. Very good friends. But m-maybe not.” She’s still smiling, that’s got to be a good sign, right? “I-I just love you, okay?”

And then she laughs, puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close. “I love you too. Stay with me forever, okay?”

He takes her hand between his and promises, with all the solemnity a drunken man can muster, that he’ll stay with her forever and then some. The next morning, while they’re both nursing massive hangovers, Jon broaches the subject again.

“Did you mean it?” he asks tentatively, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “What you said last night. Do- do you want me to stay forever?” She turns to look at him, bleary eyes suddenly alert.

“Yes.” There’s no tease in her words as she leans into his side, a warm weight on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything more.”

Jon stays.

______

Two years later, Tim joins the Institute.

He’s handsome; charming, but subdued. He’s been assigned a desk near theirs, invading the quiet little corner that had become their world. Tim greets them both with a smile and a perfunctory handshake before settling down at his desk and powering up his laptop. He doesn’t speak to them again.

Jon watches as he goes back and forth between circulation and his desk, building an impressive stack of books- The Pantomime Life of Joseph Grimaldi, The Congress of Clowns and Other Russian Circus Acts. Sasha told him he worked in publishing, Jon knows she got that information through her usual nefarious means. Perhaps he’s writing a book, Jon says. Sasha thinks otherwise.

“He’s one of those,” she says over sandwiches and tea. She invited Tim, but had been turned down with an apologetic smile. 

“Hmm?”

“Like you.” She sets her drink down, eyes him with her steady gaze. “He’s got a reason.”

Mr. Spider doesn’t like it.

Jon shivers at the reminder. Sasha never brought it up after he initially confided in her one vulnerable night last year; she just held him through the shaking and the tears. He’s only told the story twice; once at eight, again at twenty five. It never got easier.

“No one believed me,” he whispered, tucking his face into her shoulder as his body itched from phantom legs skittering across skin. She squeezed him back.

“I do.”

They’re friendly enough to Tim, giving him his distance while still trying to be helpful. Jon points him in the direction of texts and scholars who might be useful, Sasha teaches him a few of her more invasive tricks that Jon refused to learn. Slowly, bit by bit, he opens up. Never shares his story, no- but he smiles, jokes around with them, accompanies them on their lunch breaks and eventually entices them to after work drinks. 

He’s handsome when he smiles, Jon thinks to himself as Tim regales them with stories of dates gone wrong. Sasha catches his eye and winks. He wonders if she’ll tire of Jon now that Tim’s around. He’s everything Jon’s not; good-looking, confident, secure in his intelligence. Sasha laughs so freely around him. He could ground her where Jon cannot- they can be a chaotic force, the two of them. It’s why they keep to themselves.

But at the end of the night it’s Jon’s hand she takes, swinging it gently with hers. “Stay with me forever?”

He smiles. “Forever.”

They invite him over to their flat one night in spring, when the trees are blossoming and Jon’s allergies are acting up. He’s sniffling miserably on the couch, Tim sprawled next to him as Sasha pours some wine. Despite his misery, Jon’s content.

Tim nudges him with his foot. “So what’s your deal?” he asks in a wheedling tone, though his smirk betrays an almost imperceptible anxiety. It’s strange. “You and Sash. Dating, roomies…?”

It’s Sasha who answers, handing Jon a glass of wine and standing before Tim, tall and proud. “Jon’s my partner.” It’s matter of fact, and Jon can’t help the warmth that floods him. “We’re not dating. I’m not interested in that.” She hands him his glass with a smirk. “But if you want to romance Jon, feel free.”

Jon sputters as she laughs- he’s transparent, as usual. They’d talked about it briefly- Sasha’s fine with him dating other people, but Jon’s never felt the need to. Sasha’s enough. She still is, but he can’t deny the way his heart swoops whenever Tim aims that smile in his direction. Sasha likes him too, in her own way.

Tim’s still gaping at them and Jon can’t help but join in on the laughter, as embarrassed as he feels. “Is the great Timothy Stoker nervous?” Sasha says in between giggles. “Guess we know how to shut him up now.”

“L-Look, can you blame me?” Tim says, a smile growing on his face. “You two can be very intimidating, not to mention gorgeous-”

Jon kicks at his leg. “Don’t joke.”

“No, we are.” Sasha interrupts, daring him to disagree. She turns that deadly smile back on Tim, delighting in his falter. “So what’ll it be, Stoker?”

There’s silence, Jon can feel his heart racing. They’ve got this all wrong, Tim doesn’t want him, Tim’s going to leave, Tim doesn’t understand-

“Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?”

Jon blinks. “Uh, yes?”

“He likes Thai!” Sasha calls as she walks over to her bedroom, leaving the two of them on the couch, laughing nervously. 

“So you’re bi, then?” Tim asks, scooting closer to Jon and throwing a blanket over their legs and an arm around his shoulder. It’s warm in all the right ways and Jon leans closer, the awkwardness dissipating at the touch of his hand. 

“I prefer pan,” he replies. It’s the first term that felt right to him. Georgie used to make some stupid joke about a ‘gender buffet’ and him ‘having one of everything.’ It still makes him smile. “And- and you should know I’m also ace. So there’s some things I won’t be able to do for you.” He looks for disappointment in Tim’s eyes and finds none. “I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course.” Tim smiles like he means the words and Jon feels light, almost dizzy. “Are kisses alright?”

He nods shyly, and Tim takes this as his cue to pepper him in obnoxiously loud smooches- one in his hair, another on his nose. Jon manages to bat him away after Tim almost gets him in the eye. 

So Tim and Jon are dating. Tim takes him out to dinner, the movies, one memorable night of karaoke. Sasha joins in when she wants; they go to museums and lectures. One night she laces her fingers through Tim’s, smiling at his wide eyes.

“What?” she says innocently, doing the same with Jon. “I’ve got two hands.”

On Wednesday nights Tim goes to the gym. Jon sits at the table, passes Sasha a bowl of reheated spaghetti before settling down in his chair. He fidgets, not touching his fork.

“What is it?” Sasha asks, setting her own fork down. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“I-” he stutters, sighing as the words won’t come. Just tell her like you practiced. “I’m not trying to, well- hmm. I don’t want to insinuate anything-”

“You would never.”

“But, I’ve noticed- I’m not- Tim is very handsome.”

Sasha smiles indulgently. “Mhm. Go on.”

“And I’ve noticed. I don’t- if you wanted to-” Goddamnit. Pull yourself together. “I wouldn’t mind it, if you were to - that is, if you’d like to engage in-” He closes his eyes, purses his lips in frustration. “Please stop me.”

“Why Jon,” she replies, her voice coy and teasing. “Are you giving me your blessing?”

Jon sighs, his face warming as he opens one eye- she’s grinning, just as he expected. “...Yes?”

Six months later, Tim moves in.

_______

“Jon wants to bring a boy home!”

Jon smacks him in the arm and scowls. “Tim, don’t-”

“What, it’s true!” He leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Jon wants to knock the smile off his face and maybe onto the floor, if he can get a good kick in. “I don’t blame you and in fact, I encourage it. Martin’s a catch-”

“Martin?” Sasha perks up. “Finally!”

“Not you too-”

“Jon, he’s a very sweet boy-”

“-good-looking, too!”

“And if you want to bring him over, please do.” She reaches across the table to give his hand an encouraging, if condescending, squeeze. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other.”

“But what if-” Once again, Jon struggles to find the right words. He knows their situation is unorthodox to most people, and the thought of Martin looking at him differently is too much to bear. “What if he doesn’t understand?”

“Then explain it to him,” Sasha relays patiently, her hand never leaving his. Things are always so clear to her, Jon envies that. “You’re my partners, you’re dating Tim, sometimes me and Tim have-”

“I don’t think I’ll need to go into that much detail just yet,” Jon cuts her off, ignoring Tim’s snicker. “It’s just...what if he thinks it's weird?”

“Weird can be good. And if he doesn’t agree, well - he’s not worth your time.”

If only it were that simple.

It’s been about three months since he first ran into Martin in the break room. He’d seen him around plenty of times, but despite his hulking form, the man can make himself very, very small. It wasn’t until he quite literally ran into him, causing him to drop his newly organized files, that Jon got a good look at his face.

It was a nice face. Soft, kind, with big blue eyes and curly red hair that fell across his forehead. He wanted to touch it, tuck it behind Martin’s ear and he almost did, despite the man’s rambling apologies and meek demeanor. He stood there, frozen, even as Martin handed back the file with a bashful smile.

“Sorry, I’m pretty clumsy. Are you alright?”

Jon was fine. He should probably say that.

“Y-Yes. I’m Jon.” Wow. Smooth.

“I know.” Martin put a hand behind his neck, nervously chuckling. “You’re quite known around these parts.” His eyes widened and his face turned red. A nice red. “N-Not in a bad way, of course! You’re- you’re just very smart and- and direct- and oh Lord, that’s not a compliment, is it-”

“Thank you for my file,” Jon replied robotically, his eyes trained somewhere over Martin’s shoulder and not on his very, very blue eyes. “I have to take my leave now.” Why are you talking like this?

Their next few encounters were similarly stunted and awkward. Martin made tea at ten every morning, coincidentally when Jon got his yogurt from the fridge. He started making Jon a cup as well; he wasn’t sure if Martin was particularly excellent at making tea, or if it just mattered that he was the one making it. Jon tried not to dwell on the sentimentality of it all. 

He shouldn’t want another partner. He’s got Sasha, who he loves, and Tim, who he also loves, albeit in a different way. They should be enough for him. They are enough. But Martin makes him tea and asks him how his day is going and smiles at him and people don’t do that. He tells himself he just wants a friend, but he finds his mind wandering- Martin’s hand in his while they walk down the street, Jon nestled into his side on a movie night and Tim’s there too, because Martin is very comfy and handsome and warm. Sasha’s in her armchair reading a book because tonight they’re watching a romantic comedy and she hates those. Jon hates them too but Martin likes them, of course Martin likes them-

No. He’s getting distracted. And he’s standing in front of Martin like an idiot, saying nothing. This is going terribly. Why did he ever think this would not go terribly-

“Jon? Are you alright? You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”

“I’m not having a stroke,” Jon responds on auto-pilot. “I’m trying to think of a clever way to ask you out but you are very distracting.”

Shit. Martin stares at him, mouth open in shock. He’s got nice teeth. Very straight.

“Um- I-I thought you were with Tim?” Martin squeaks out. Oh God, I’ve scared him. Do I keep going? “Or- or Sasha, oh! I’m not accusing you of -”

“No, you’re correct,” Jon grinds out, willing himself to be calm. He doesn’t want Martin to think his frustration is aimed at him. “Sasha’s my partner and I’m dating Tim, and sometimes Sasha and Tim-” No! Abort! “-sorry. We’re together. But, um, I-I also like you, and I think Tim likes you but he hasn’t said- I’m sorry, this is going all wrong.” He looks down at the floor, clenching his jaw. “I understand if you say no.”

“I’m not saying no,” Martin’s voice is lower now and Jon feels a hope rise in his chest. He’s not? “So it’s, it’s like an open thing? You’re accepting applications?” Jon would laugh at the joke if he weren’t so paralyzed with fear.

“Not really? It’s, we aren’t dating around or anything, but I suppose it is open, in a way.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “Open for you.”

Martin’s smiling like he can’t believe his luck, and it confuses Jon because who wouldn’t want him? Kind, handsome Martin who makes him tea and doesn’t laugh at his stupid jokes but rolls his eyes affectionately and tells his own in turn. Jon doesn’t think he’ll ever understand his humor but it makes him smile and that’s important. And now Martin’s taking his hand and he- oh fuck Martin’s taking his hand Martin’s got his hand and it’s warm, just like he knew it would be-

“I-I think I’d like that.” A squeeze. Jon dies but only a little. “Wow, this is sort of crazy for me, y’know? You’re all so, so intimidating and good-looking-”

“Yes, we are,” Jon agrees, squeezing his hand back. “But we’d like to buy you dinner, if you’re amenable.” Martin laughs and says yes, he’s very, very amenable. It feels right holding Martin’s hand. It feels right to see him with Tim and Sasha, smiling and joking. It feels right to lean into him at the end of the day, to nudge his side in the night and apologize in the morning.

Martin’s lease expires in seven months. They start looking for a new apartment after three.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29032062

[beclynn-herondale]

“I'm Jace,” said Jace. “I'm Kit's big brother.”

“And I'm Kit. I'm the smart one,” Kit grinned.

Jace glowered. “I'm smart.”

“Sure,” Kit said.

“He's four and is so mean,” Jace pointed out. “But I love him.”

“Aww, what a softie,” Kit joked.

Jace sighed.

“If only someone loved you,” Kit grinned.

“That's taking it too far.”

“Is it, Mr. I'm afraid of ducks?”

Jace and Kit started wrestling.

“Boys, why don't you go play in your bedroom,” Céline suggested. “Just be careful and don't hurt each other.”

They both shrugged and ran off to one of the bedrooms.

“Being the mother to two Herondale boys is hard," Céline said. "And when your wife is a Herondale who only encourages them. . .it can be even harder.”

"I don't encourage them," Rosemary said defensively.

Céline gave her a look. “So it wasn't you who cheered Jace on in the argument against that kid on the playground?”

She shrugged. “We can't help that our son has a sharp wit. He beat that kid into the ground.”

“It's an exhausting job. I love my kids and my wife,” Céline smiled.

“Of course she loves us,” Rosemary crossed her arms and smiled.

“Raziel give me strength,” Céline said.

“Jace and Kit are great,” Rosemary said. “Always pranking each other. What more could you want in your kids?”

“What about how bird poop always ends up somewhere in the house,” Céline pointed out.

“We sanitize everything.”

Céline sighed.

“Where most people say ‘I can't.’ Our boys say ‘I can.’” Rosemary chuckled. “I love them. One time someone told Kit he couldn't climb up a set of stairs and he ran up them so fast. Jace was told he couldn't master piano in a half a year, and he mastered it in two months. They're unstoppable.”

“The boys often play with Michael Wayland's son and Robert Lightwood's kids,” Céline said. “We think Michael and Robert are dating, but we aren't sure.”

“Robert got a divorce a few years ago, couldn't keep a queen.”

“Rosemary,” Céline gasped and hit her arm lightly.

”Anyway, Michael has liked Robert since forever,” Rosemary was gesturing with her hands. “I said we should get them together. But Céline said we shouldn't get involved.”

“Because it isn't our business.”

“Baby, if I hadn't messed around with things that weren't my business, I would have never gotten you,” Rosemary winked.

Céline blushed.

Rosemary smirked. “Is that all? 'Cause I got some other business to attend to.”

They were done, Rosemary pulled Céline toward her and kissed her hard.

______

“I'm Michael,” Michael waved.

“And I'm Robert,” Robert mumbled, never being one for this kind of thing.

“So the big question everyone has is ‘Are we dating?’ We're both single dads. I tragically lost my wife and Robert tragically got a divorce," Michael said. And the answer is; I don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know?” Robert asked.

“I don't know. Are we dating, Robert?”

Robert turned away.

“I don't know, either,” Michael admitted.

Robert stared out the window.

“But we do watch our kids together a lot, and I like to pretend we're a family,” Michael smiled. “It's nice when we have all the kids here. Alec is the eldest and he's just the best boy, so precious, so well behaved. Isabelle is the next Lightwood, she's a rebel, and is competitive. Then there's Max, he spends most of his time looking at books, which is odd since he's like almost three. And finally, we have my son. Jonathan is a well behaved boy, so sweet. But so naive. He would get in the van with a stranger. Luckily Alec's here. So when me and Robert are taking care of two kids at once, Alec keeps an eye on the other one.”

“I don't what we'd do without Alec,” Robert finally spoke.

“Well, I mean. . . there's me too,” Michael pointed out.

“Oh, yeah? You.”

“Are you messing with me?” Michael demanded.

“Maybe,” Robert smiled a little.

Michael started to wrestle with him, and ended up on top of Robert, they then gazed into each other's eyes.

(the interviewer left.)

______

“Hello, I'm Maryse,” she said. “I'm in a relationship with an amazing man. His name is Kadir. And I have come to the realization that I love him. Which kind of pissed me off a little, but also he's just amazing. And the kids love him. Don't you, Alec?”

“He doesn't talk much. I don't talk much, We have a mutual understanding,” Alec said.

”He's a little blank and quiet for my taste,” said Izzy. “But he loves mom. So, he's all right.”

“He cool,” Max said.

“But yes, I filed for divorce from my husband when I was pregnant with Max. I'd had enough, and I didn't want a new baby in the environment we were creating for our children.”

“Thank God,” Alec mumbled.

“Yeah,” Isabelle coughed.

Maryse stared.

“Maryse?” called Kadir.

“I'll be back.” She got up and left.

_

(One on one with the Lightwood siblings.)

“We're glad our parents got a divorce,” Alec said.

“They always fought. It got really bad at the end,” Izzy added.

“I wasn't born.” Mac continued to stare at his picture book.

“We aren't sad about it. Which might seem cold, but they're both much happier since the divorce.”

“Yeah, and we have two houses. And besides, Michael is awesome,” Izzy smiled. “I think him and dad are secretly dating.”

Alec looked into the camera. “It's uncertain.”

______

"Luke and I grew up together," Jocelyn said. "But I was married to an asshole before him. My two kids are from my first marriage. Luke loves them as his own, though."

"They're my kids," Luke smiled.

“Luke is our dad,” Clary said. “He does my hair. And he always hangs my drawings on the fridge.”

Jonathan nodded. “He also lfits us up really high and helps us pick apples.”

Clary rolled her eyes. “That's not the point, Jona.”

“It's a point to me,” he argued.

“Kids,” Jocelyn said, “behave.”

“I'm just saying,” Clary shrugged, “it's not the point.”

“And I'm saying that I like to be held up high,” Jonathan said.

“Yeah, it's your pride that needs to come down,” Clary stuck her tongue out.

“Says the one with a bad temper,” Jonathan shot back.

“Kids, enough. Behave we're on camera,” Jocelyn scolded.

“I'll get you a book, Clary. And I'll get you a new music CD, Jonathan. If you both behave,” Luke said.

They both stopped bickering.

Jocelyn hit him on the arm. “You can't bribe them every time.”

“It works, doesn't it?” Luke shrugged.

Jocelyn sighed.

______

“Yeah,” said Céline, flushed. “We have neighbors that live a little ways out. There's the Lightwoods, the Waylands, the Fairchilds and Luke. Maryse and Kadir live in the city.”

“Sometimes we have dinner with Maryse and Kadir,” Rosemary chimed in. “They're a cute couple. And Maryse is so chill, now.”

“That's true,” Céline nodded. ”To be honest, we were all happy when Maryse and Robert decided to get a divorce ”

Rosemary cringed. “They were really bad at the end.”

“Yeah,” Céline cleared her throat. “They're better now.”

“Now, we're hoping Michael and Robert get together,” Rosemary said. “Then we'd have a same-sex couple to go out with.”

“Well, and for them both to be happy,” Céline pointed out.

“Yeah. That too.” Rosemary looked into the camera.

Jace and Kit came running in then, they both jumped on Céline and Rosemary.

Rosemary started laughing.

[psychiatristreturning]

four times steve harrington knew he loved you and the one time he told you (steve harrington x henderson!reader)

a/n: for anon. this is my longest fic so far. i worked real hard on this. i really like it.  word count: 2.6k warnings: violence, language

5. 1975

Steve didn’t know what love was. All he knew is that his parents didn’t have it. Crushes were a different story, but Steve wanted to know what love was. 

You knew what love was, it was your mom making you your favorite meal after a big test. It was your brother smiling at you, even though he was toothless. Love was your cat purring when you pet her. But you never knew romantic love, not with your parents or yourself. 

Moving to Hawkins had changed your life. You had some friends back home, but this place? No one wanted to be friends with you. Nine-year-olds were brutal. Though at school there was one boy, who, even at nine, had established himself as quite the ladies man. But he seemed sweet, no matter how much of a jerk he could be sometimes. 

At recess one day it all changed, for both of you. 

The swing set creaked in the wind, it’s cold metal seat under you, bending under your weight. A group of rowdy boys ran past you, and one, ran directly into you. Tumbling face forward into the concrete you yelped in surprise, your face stinging. Blinking back tears you suddenly become aware of the boy behind you, who wanted to help. 

“Are you okay?” his oddly timid voice sounded.

“Yeah, I’m good.” you turned to him, “Is it bad?” you questioned as he grimaced. 

“Um, I think you’ll be okay. But I’ll take you to go get some band-aids.” he kicked a loose rock on the concrete, “I’m sorry.” 

“No worries.” you stood up, realizing your knees were cut too. 

Steve quickly stuck his arm out and wrapped his hand around your bicep, helping keep you steady. A teacher who was wondering haphazardly around called over, “Mr. Harrington! Where are you taking  Ms. Henderson?” 

The young boy looked at the teacher, dumbfounded, “To get some band-aids.” Couldn’t he see all the blood? 

“No, she can do it herself. It’s not a man's job to care.” all Steve heard was his dad, and he didn’t have the courage to stand up to his dad, but he did to his teacher. He knew what was right. 

“She needs help.” he stated, flat out. Steve didn’t understand what was wrong with helping you. 

Now, you were uncomfortable in this stare off with the teacher, Steve’s grip becoming tighter. The teacher locked eyes with Steve, “You help her I’ll give you detention.” 

Steve gulped knowing his dad would yell at him, but you, a person, needed help. Leaning over you whispered, “Go,” to him. He shouldn’t get in trouble for helping you. 

“No.” he said firmly, helping you walk inside, the teacher screaming about his detention or whatever. The boy seemed unbothered, you admired it. 

“Okay, well thank you.” you squeaked out. You knew he was probably only helping you because he bumped into you, but part of you wanted it to be different, and maybe it was. 

He helped you into the school and into an empty bathroom, Steve was not the smartest per se, but he knew to clean the cuts. Which there were a lot of. “Steve,” he looked down at you from where he was cleaning a cut on your forehead, “Why did you do this?” 

Steve looked adorably confused at you, “Do what?” 

“Help me. Was it because you bumped me?” 

He took a deep breath, thinking, “No, you deserve to be helped, you’re nice Y/N. And, yes, I hit you, but, you shouldn’t have to help your self up.” 

You stared ahead, feeling something, feeling loved. 

Steve wondered what this was. Why did he help you? Maybe, just maybe, because he loved you. 

4. 1983

Who knew what was going on anymore? You had no idea where your brother was, and some reason you were with Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers, trying to summon his brother or something. Not that you would ever admit it, but you were truly terrified, lights flashing around you, yelling, fake bodies. You didn’t know what to do. The world was coming apart at its seams. Nancy, Jonathan, and you sat in the Byers house on the couch, shaking, worried about what would happen next. The weapons in your hands were clutched tightly, ready for action. 

No one dared speak, when a knock came at the door. Startling all of you out of your skin. Nancy jumped up pointing her gun at the door. The banging on the door continued, when you heard, “Jonathan, man! I’m sorry! And I feel terrible! I wanna help!” 

“Steve!” Nancy hissed quietly. 

Jonathan walked up and swung open the door to stop the incessant banging. Steve practically falling into the house, but he quickly straightened up, seeing Nancy point her gun squarely at him. Steve raised his hands quickly above his head, “Hey, Nance, I’m sorry! You don’t have to kill me-” 

“Steve get out.” 

“I’m just here to talk to Byers.” 

“Nancy, put the gun down!” you shouted at her. 

Steve’s head whipped to you, his eyes widened, “Y/N! What are you doing here? Holy shit!”

No matter what Steve said to you, you didn’t look at him, knowing you’d get distracted by his stupidly perfect hair and crooked grin. Instead, you continued to walk slowly toward Nancy, “Put the gun down.” she was shaking, conceivably using every muscle in her body to get Steve out. To help him. 

The lights started flashing irregularly, that’s when Jonathan started yelling. “Nancy! Stop it!” almost like she was in a trance, she snapped out, “He’s here.” 

Steve’s eyes widened, “Who’s here? What’s here? What’s going on?” 

At that moment it burst through the walls, the same thing you and Nancy saw in the Upside Down. They went to run to the back room, but you tripped, Nancy and Jonathan were already running, and Steve who was behind them stopped, and looked at you, and without hesitating, ran back to you. Grabbing your arms and lifting you up, helping you off the hard floor and clasping your hand, guiding you quickly into the back bedroom. 

He kept holding your hand in the dark, your backs pressed against the door. Once you realized you were holding his hand, you hastily let go. Looking across the room at the blank wall, you remembered years ago, Steve helping you up, selflessly. And once again he was ready to save you. 

Steve looked at you, shoulders pressed against each other, you looked amazing, and you were brave. But, Nancy, he had slept with Nancy, and they were something, hopefully. And at the moment, he realized there was something he felt for you that he didn’t feel when he thought of Nancy. But, now was not the time for that. If he told himself he loved Nancy, he would feel that eventually. So sure, he loved Nancy, he didn’t care about you. Never would. But part of Steve knew he was in deep shit.

3. 1984 

Oh boy, you were a part of this mess from the start. You should’ve known it wasn’t going to go well from the second Dustin said that he had found a ‘lizard’. But that wasn’t even the weirdest part of it all. It wasn’t Billy. It wasn’t Eleven suddenly showing up again. It was, at least for you, Steve Harrington. Not him, but the way he was acting. He was acting, sweet? Steve was attempting to give your brother shitty dating advice which you had to cut into, saying “Just don’t ignore her. I mean, girls like some attention.” 

Dustin looked back at you and questioned, “How many boyfriends have you had?” 

You slapped his shoulder, “Shut up.” you grumbled. 

Steve shrugged, “I mean, you are the girl here.” 

“Thank you for the acknowledgement.” 

“But are you?” 

“Dustin shut up!” Steve looked at you with a face that if anyone saw they could only categorize as lovingly. But as soon as he saw Dustin smirking at him, he turned away, flustered, tripping over a stick on the path. Steve was confronted with remembering  thinking, that he couldn’t care about you. Nancy was there. And while, yes, he grew to love Nancy, she didn’t love him. And that’s not her fault, but Nancy had broken his heart, and for the first time in quite sometime, his heart felt complete, and it was because of you. Not that he would tell you. Steve was content, for the first time in a long time, to sit back, and fall in love slowly. But, truly, deeply in love. Farther than he thought he could ever feel.

2. 1984

You had all recovered, somewhat, from what had happened. And life returned to a sense of normalcy. But that morning Dustin woke up, practically bouncing around the house, for the Snowball dance that night. You were chaperoning, so you had to look marginally good. But, what you weren’t prepared for was Steve Harrington coming over to help your brother get ready. 

Hiding in your room getting ready, you heard a knock at the door, Dustin racing downstairs, and the unmistakable voice of Steve. While it was definitely nice to hear Dustin this happy, you realized that Steve would see you like this and that was not ideal right now. 

You could hear the two of them walking upstairs and the voices getting closer, then a loud bang on your door, “Steve’s here! And we’ll have to go soon!” 

You could hear Steve say quietly behind him, “The dance is in an hour and a half.” 

“Okay and an hour and a half!” 

“Alright Dusty!”

You turned your attention back to the mirror, and you heard Steve say, “Dusty? I’m gonna use that one.” the smirk was evident in his voice. That was followed quickly by a loud “Ow!” guessing Dustin hit him. 

As you finished your makeup you couldn’t help but wonder why you had a new pit of anxiety in your stomach now that Steve was here. Why did that change the dance so much? What was it about him? 

~~~~

Sure enough, an hour and a half later, as promised, Dustin was banging on your door. You could hear Steve hyping Dustin up, telling him how great he looked, and how all the girls will dance with him. And taking one last deep breath, you opened your door and walked downstairs. Steve was absolutely in awe of you. Steve knew he was over Nancy Wheeler, you were so wonderful, smart, and beautiful. God, he thought you were the most heavenly creature, and he didn’t believe in God. You walked shakily on the godforsaken heels to Dustin where you smirked at him. “Nice hair.” 

“Thanks, it’s pretty cool.” he nodded slowly trying to be cool. 

Steve was still gaping at you, “Uh, you, um, ready to go?” 

Dustin giggled at Steve’s red face, and you answered, “Yeah, thanks by the way.” He just awkwardly nodded, shoving a free hand in his pocket, the other opening the door, you called out to your mom, “Mom we’re going!” 

“Alright kids, have fun!” she called back from the kitchen. 

You guys shuffled out of the house and began the awkward drive to the school. 

~~~~

Once you guys arrived you and Steve began the final pep talk for Dustin. “Alright, now remember, you want to care but not to much.” 

You stopped Steve, “But do care.”

“Not to much.” 

Leaning forward you retorted, “He’s not going to by her a house or something.” 

“I’m just saying!” he threw up his hands in defense, “All the girls are gonna love you, I mean,” he stopped for a minute, “you look great!” 

“Yeah! Looking great!” you attempted to back him up. 

“They won’t be able to resist me with these pearls.” he purred and both of you began a chorus of ‘No’ and ‘Don’t do that’.

He got out of the car and looked back at you, “Are you coming?” 

“I’ll be in a minute.” Steve’s eyes widened realizing he was in a car, alone, with you. “Thank you, Steve.” 

“Oh it’s no problem-”

You cut him off promptly, “I mean for everything. This year, last year, you’ve really changed. In a good way,” looking into his sweet, brown eyes, you smiled, “I really appreciate you.” 

“It’s the right thing to do, plus, I was an asshole. It was a real low bar.” 

You laughed softly, “I’m going to go, but I think you should come in and dance with me.” 

Steve’s stomach flipped when you said to dance with you. You wanted him to come. With you. “I wouldn’t want to-” 

“Please.” he couldn’t resist your pleading eyes. 

“Sure.” Steve was very busy trying to hide his smile while stepping out of the car. 

You slid out of the backseat the Dustin had forced you into, and as soon as you stepped out onto your heels you tripped and began to fall. But someone's arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back up. Steve.

“Thank you.” you replied breathlessly, “I’ve gotta stop falling around you.” you made a lame attempt at a joke. 

He let go, and you walked in a little bit ahead of him, and under his breath he whispered, “I’ve already fallen for you.” no matter how cheesy he might sound. 

Steve Harrington loved you. 

1. 1985

All you wanted was ice cream. You didn’t want to end up taking care of two teenagers high on Russian truth serum. Trying to keep Robin and Steve collected when they’re not high is difficult enough. Robin was at the absolute goofiest you’ve ever seen her and Steve, oh, Steve. Over the past year you had harbored an extreme crush on the idiot. However, this was just sad. You were glad they were alive, but this was definitely the finale of any part of his old personality. You sat with Robin and Steve in the movie theater, Steve bopping your nose continuously. “Boop!” you grabbed his hand and moved it away from your face. 

“Shush.” 

He dropped his head onto your shoulder, and he looked up at you with his chocolate brown eyes, “You’re pretty,” he whispered, smiling like an idiot. 

“Thank you.” you whispered back, trying to act stern even as your stomach erupted in butterflies. All of a sudden Robin rushed out of the theater, mumbling something about water. You followed, Steve stumbling after you, he gripped your arm again and leaned into your side when he said to you;

“I’m in love with you.” 

You stopped in your tracks, Steve going on without you, a stupid smile on your face. Then it hit you, he’s high. It’s not him. You shook your head to rid the idea of Steve loving you. And you walked after him. Steve and Robin were drinking water manically when you got out of the theater. Both talking nonsense about Back to the Future. 

You stood, leaning against the wall. Looking lovingly at Steve. In their haze they stared nonsensically at the ceiling. Suddenly running to the bathroom, you ran after them. 

The two of them were curled over toilets, throwing up. You sat back, feeling horrible for what they had to endure. 

After what you can only describe as traumatic sickness, the three of you sat on the floor in stalls, Robin leaned her head onto your shoulder, and you spoke to Steve, knowing you couldn’t say it to his face. “Do you mean what you said, Steve?” 

Somehow in his mind, Steve knew what he admitted, “Yes.” he answered quietly. “Yes, I love you.” Robin smiled at you. And you felt hopeful, “Did I overstep?” 

“No,” Robin nodded her head quickly telling you to keep talking, “I, uh, I love you too.” 

Steve slid under the wall and next to you in the stall, “I would kiss you right now, but I just threw up.” 

“I got that.” 

“I’ll make it up to you soon enough.” 

“You two are disgusting,” Robin said, smiling at the display of two people obviously in love next to her.

[write-orflight]

Galileo. Prologue

**Gif Not Mine**

Next Chapter

Pairings: SpencerXReader, enemies to friends to lovers trope

Rating: M

Words: 1.5K (She’s a smol Prologue)

Warnings: None right now. but will eventually be smut. 

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Y/N is an astronomer with her head constantly in the stars. But when a serial killer is threatening NASA’s top scientists, she is left in the protective custody of a man who’s gravitational pull threatens to pull her back down to earth.

A.N Hey, my children! This is an idea that’s been plaguing me for weeks and I just had to get at least the prologue out (This series is mainly just my excuse to get my pointless knowledge about space out there). I’m probably not going to update this until I finish ‘trouble’ which should be in this next coming week. I’m just really excited about this one and wanted to put it out there too. Message to be on the taglist! -Cia

                         Prologue: Mercury 

There are 400 billion stars in the galaxy. 

Some insignificant, some small, some large, and some with great potential. 

Humans were the same way. Though most were insignificant to you, which is why you didn’t indulge in the trifles of relationships and companionship. The stars were far more interesting to you. 

And you spent your life studying them. 

Ever since your dad bought you your first telescope at age 7, you knew exactly what your purpose was. To study and find out what else was out there. And for a while that was all you did, all through school, no time for boys, friendship and trivial prepubescent things, your mind was literally in the clouds. That carried you all the way to Yale where you graduated Summa cum Laude with 3 Phds in Astronomy, Engineering, and Physics. 

Getting the job at NASA wasn’t surprising to you at all. 

Meeting Jonathan was. 

Your first day together had been uneventful, you had been introduced and told your assignment which was to just track the movement of a comet that came every fifty years. A couple of months in and by pure accident you saw her. 

It couldn’t be. 

You immediately yelled at him to come over, to confirm that you were just crazy but he had seen it too. You had just discovered a planet. And not just any planet one that through your research could very well sustain human life. Jonathan, though not knowing you long, picked you up in a giant hug and swung you around. You couldn’t help the smiles and tears that had fallen from your eyes. This was exactly why you were doing this, for the art of discovery and the overwhelming feeling that came with it. 

After weeks of convincing the boards and getting funding, you and Jonathan were now heads of your own department solely designed for tracking and finding new information on Gaia, the planet the two of you graciously named. Now your nights were filled with solving equations and trying to get more than a glimmer of Gaia from your telescope. Alas, as much as you loved her, she was very slow. Jonathan would play his old jazz records and sing off-key dancing around the planetarium gifted by NASA. You didn’t know exactly when they happened, but you started to feel like maybe all humans weren’t insignificant and you started to feel like that about Jonathan. You found yourself watching his bright smile as he danced and singed around, often asking you to please dance with him, which you always declined. 

Now you wish you had. 

If you knew it’d be the last time, you for sure would have. 

But no one could’ve predicted a serial killer coming after NASA scientists. 

And no one could’ve predicted you walking into work and seeing your best friends throat slit ear to ear. 

————————————————— 

The months following Maeve’s death were hard on Spencer. He was a man of science, he knew probability and often relied on statistics for his job. The predictability of it was what made it easy to cope.  

But sometimes it wasn’t. And sometimes he hated the unpredictability of his job. 

Losing Maeve had definitely been one of those days. 

On one of his first couple weeks back, he’s called into the briefing room. 

“We don’t have to go far for this case.” JJ says manning the slides to show the team “Four NASA scientists at the Goddard Flight Center in Maryland have been found in their offices, throat slit and hands bound with duct tape behind the back.”

“Execution style…” Morgan says with a grimace. “Brutal.” 

“Obviously someone angry too.”  Emily adds. “To just do it like that, no sign of remorse. But the jaggedness of it makes it look passionate.” 

“The police and NASA believe they know who the next target is as well.” JJ adds moving to the next slide which showed a beautiful girl standing in front of a whiteboard of equations. Long silky hair tied up in a bun, glasses on her face and bright white teeth shown through the smile. You could obviously tell the picture was taken for an article or sort. Spencer thought she was cute but didn’t dwell on it long. “This is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. She worked alongside Victim #4, Jonathan Brewer as co-head scientists of the Terra-Mora project.” 

“They think the Unsub is specifically targeting her department and people who have done work for her department. And if he’s already killed the partner...” Hotch trails off. 

“He’s escalating…” Spencer adds. 

“Which puts her under extreme risk. Which is why I’m putting her in protective custody.” Hotch adds. “Reid, I’d like you to do that.” 

Spencer looks confused. “Why me? Shouldn’t someone like Morgan or Prentiss go?” 

“I’ve been told Dr. Y/L/N is very reluctant about having security. I figured having someone as intelligent as her would cushion the blow.” 

Spencer leaned back in his chair. Great… just what he needed. 

————————————— 

“No, Clifton.” 

“It’s not up for discussion, Y/N.” Cliff says walking away from you down the hall. You speed up to catch up with him. 

“I’m 31 years old! I don’t need a babysitter.” You said, angrily. 

“You’re not getting a babysitter, Y/N. The FBI is being gracious enough to provide you extra security. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you people are dying.” 

“You know you don’t have to remind me! I lost Jon!” 

“Then you know why you have to take protection, Y/N. You know what important work you and Jonathan were doing. You’re the only one left to finish it. Please just let someone take care of you while they catch the sick man who’s doing this.” You sigh, Cliff takes that as compliance. “Now get to work. I’ll show him to your office when he gets here.” 

You walk into work and look at the time, 10:30 PM, peak time for planets to be seen. And if you were lucky, you’d probably get a glimmer of her again. You were right because just as soon as you stepped up to the telescope there she was, or more like there was a sliver of her. You’ve never been able to get a full look at Gaia, but just past Saturn was the curvature of the dwarf planet you adored so much. You pick up your tape recorder, and begin to speak into it.

“January 16th, Terra-Mora logs. This is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Dr. Jonathan Brewer has passed and will no longer be making logs.” You choke up a bit but clear your throat and keep going. “Gaia’s Southwest region is visible from earth tonight. Seems her clouds are finally dissipating, and you can see some of her icy plains, I am pretty positive it’s a lake. Hopefully with the Approval of SPOT, we’ll be able to know for sure what’s up there.” You look at your door to see your boss, Dr. Clifton and a man standing watching you. “Y/L/N out.” You say into the tape recorder. 

You get up to walk over the two men. 

“You know everyone does their logs into the computers now, no one uses an actual tape anymore.” Clifton says. 

“I’m old fashioned.” You cross your arms. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. He will be watching you while we figure out what’s happening.” 

“This is who’s supposed to be protecting me?” You ask. “You look like a strong wind would blow you over.” 

The man looks at you annoyed. “I can assure you, I’m more than capable of doing my job, Miss--” 

“Doctor.” You say. 

“Excuse me.” 

“It’s Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. And I worked very hard and paid a lot of debt for the title so I’d prefer it if you used it.” You looked annoyed right back at him. Something about the man rubbed you the wrong way. 

Dr. Clifton looks at the both of you uncomfortable. “Well I’ll leave you both to it.” He nods at you both before leaving you alone.  

“I think we got off on the wrong--” 

“Listen Dr. Reid.” You cut him off. “This is probably going to be hell for the both of us. I expressed heavily to my boss about not needing protective custody which of course fell on deaf ears, so I’m going to make one thing clear. We’re not here to be friends. I’m here to do important work that I now have to do single-handedly because you guys failed to do your work in the first place and my coworker had to die because of it.” Tears threatened to choke you but you didn’t let them. “And to be frank, I don’t know what exactly you’re here for besides being a pain in my ass so I suggest staying out of my way and not fucking touching anything. Keep that in mind and we’ll get along swimmingly.” You say, turning your back to him, heading back to the telescope and looking at him as if daring him to challenge you. For a second it looks like he might, he’s standing trying very hard not to look like he’s completely fuming. Then he just blows a frustrated breath and sits in a chair halfway across the room. 

You didn’t know why, and you didn’t have a real reason. 

But you decided that you hated Dr. Spencer Reid. 

Which you guessed was another thing humans could be.   

Message to be tagged!

[gloomyhearts]

That's life || Steve Harrington

Chapter five

November 6, 1983

Y/N POV's:

My brother just called and told me that he's arriving in half an hour. He slept the whole weekend at Mikes so I got the house for myself.

I did homework and chilled the weekend; Nancy came over and we talked.

Of course I hide my letter I wrote to Steve; I don't want to cause any trouble with Nancy I mean she's a nice girl and her little brother is a friend of mine so I can't break that.

Meanwhile I was making the diner Dustin and I will eat. Mom isn't home yet; dad and her are in New York for another week.

I heard music and sang along the lyric until the doorbell rang.

I opened the door and a very familiar face was in front of me.

"Steve?! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I just thought Nancy would be here she told me she'll stays the weekend at yours and I wanted to drive her home but seemingly she isn't here anymore."

"Yeah cause she left yesterday."

"Oh okay. I'm sorry that I disturbed you. See you around Y/N" with that he left and drove in his bmw away.

Asshole. But the asshole I love..

"So you guys played the whole weekend?" Dustin nodded while he puts some more noodles in his mouth. "That's insane. You guys are crazy."

"Yeah..we know" he talked with all the noodles still in his mouth.

"Dustin. Don't talking while eating" our mother always taught us.

"And the others are home? Safe?"

"Yeah they are. I'm finished can I leave?"

"Just put your plate into the sink. And clean your room please that's hell boy"

"I will. Mm Y/N."

"Yes Dusti?"

"Thank you. Love you" He was on his way to his room but came back and gave me a light kiss on the cheek.

"Love you too dipshit"

I cleaned the dishes and went upstairs into my room. I laid on the bed while I was reading a book; more the book Carrie.

After a while there were knocks on my door as soon as I said, "yeah come in" Dustin stood in my room.

"What would you say if we repeat our movie night?"

"I would love to but tomorrow is school again and mom will kill me if she finds out."

"One movieeeeee pleeassseeeee" he said with puppy eyes to convince me but oh duh that doesn't works.

"No Dusti. And now go and get ready." He left my room and mumbled something to himself. He's stupid.

In the morning I woke Dustin up after I made the breakfast.

"Do I have to drive you to school?"

"No. I'll drive with the bike I'll meet.." He gets disturbed through the ringing phone.

"Wait" I stand up and walked over to it.

"Henderson's?" I heard an agitated Joyce Byers.

"Will? No he isn't here. Was he not home yesterday? That's strange. Yeah maybe." I turned around to eye Dustin.

"Do you know if Will wanted to be at school earlier?" He just shakes his head and eats again.

"No Dustin doesn't know. Maybe he is. Yeah anytime. Bye" with that the call was ended and I sat down again.

"So you really don't know?"

"No Y/N. We drove until the corner like always and then I was home"

"okay Dusti if he's really at school then it's good but when he isn't go to the secretary and let her call Joyce and tell her. That's serious ok?!" He nodded. "Okay good. Should I make you lunch packet?"

"If you're asking like that, yeah please."

When I arrived at school the students walked into the buildings. Next to me a girl parked and when I turned to see her I saw Barb.

At the same time we exited the car and said our greetings.

"How was the weekend?" She asked as she arrived at my car.

"I did homework and then Steve stood in front of my door"

"he what?" She was shocked.

"Yeah he wanted to take Nancy home but she wasn't there anymore"

"Nancy was at yours? And I wasn't invited?"

"You told me you have plans that weekend when I asked you guys weeks ago" I laughed lightly.

"I thought we wanted to do a Pyjama party but obviously not. I had time Saturday"

"I'm sorry Barb we'll make it this weekend" I hugged her and throw my backpack on my shoulders.

We walked into the building as well and met Jonathan who was seeming in fear.

"Jonathan hey" we arrived at his locker and he was frightened.

"Where's Nanc?"

"With her boyfriend? I don't know. And I don't care" his voice was full of anger.

"what's wrong Jonathan" Barb asked surprised by his bad mood.

"Nothing okay? It's nothing!" He had thrown his locker closed and walked faster away from us.

"Do you know what's wrong?"

"He's a boy who's in love with someone who's in a relationship and if they make out in front of him" I pointed over to Nancy and Steve who were leaning against her locker. "I would be like that too"

"but you're" I laid my hand over her mouth.

"Don't say it okay? Only the four of us know and that it's way too much okay?" She nodded and I took my hand down.

"Good. Let's go"

I'm kind of a badass; that's what my brother always tells. Some would says I'm egotistical but I'm not I care for a few people and that's enough. I'm honest sometimes too honest if you ask me but okay.

First period was math a good way to start the week; I'm not even sarcastic. Every other girl in my math class except Barb and Nancy hate this subject but I don't know why. The four of us sat down in the middle of the class we always talked to each other or helped at some questions.

After maths I've got biology an other class i like but now my friends wouldn't be with me sadly.. I'm a bit relieved that I haven't all my subjects with them. Until the lunch I won't see them.

On the way over to the biology room I run into Steve but we didn't talked; we didn't even looked at each other.

At lunch Nancy would usually sits with us but since three months -three months ago Nancy and Steve started to date- she sits next Steve.

But this break was different.

"Dustin what are you doing here?" My brother stood in front of me with a worried expression on his face.

"It's about Will" he whispered.

"excuse me." With those words I left my friends in suspicion.

"So what's going on?"

"Will. He isn't in school"

"did you called.." our conversation was disturbed because of the speakers... more the voice in those.

"What is Hopper doing here?" Dustin and I looked at each other in confusion.

Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler and Lucas Sinclair please come to the office of the director.

As soon as his voice appeared so it was gone.

"What have you done Dustin?"

"I.. I don't even know myself. But I have to go. See you at home okay?" I nodded and he ran to the office.

As I walked back to the table my friends were everyone watched me.

"What's going on why does your brother have to go to the director?"

"I don't know but hopefully he'll tell me later what's wrong" Barb nodded. Jonathan wasn't there anymore. He had left when I talked to Dustin outside the cafeteria.

Back at home Dustin told me everything

"okay. Joyce went to Hopper this morning and now Will is called missed. So Hopper wanted to talk what we did and if Will seriously wants to run away and that we could have seen signs for that and all those stupid things. They have to search Will not to talk to anybody they have to go out there and search them. Jesus" Dustin began to grow upset some tears formed in his eyes;

I mean Will is one of his best friends and I'd feel the same if I'd be in this situation.

"Dustin. Hey, hey. Everything's okay. They'll find him" I gave him a long hug and I felt that the tears are rolling down his cheek.

"But what if not. What if Will died out there. It's all my fault."

"Why would that be you fault Dusti?"

"Because he asked if you would take me home and if you could drive him too. I should had called you to drive us. I'm so sorry"

"no Dustin. It's not your fault trust me" I gave him a kiss in the forehead.

"Do you wanna sleep in my room?" He nodded and we went upstairs.

After getting ready we laid in my bed and cuddled up.

"Dustin"

"Yeah?"

"Don't think it's your fault okay. They'll find Will. I'll help you and the other boys. If something's wrong tell me okay. I'm here, always"

"thank you so much. I'm so happy to have you as my sister."

[bluejayblueskies]

pragma

n. a mature, enduring love; focused on common interests, commitment, and dedication; a love that knows no bounds

Words: 3.5k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood Tags: Scottish Safehouse Period, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Kissing, Tenderness, Sex-Repulsed Jonathan Sims, Sex-Repulsed Martin Blackwood Warnings: none

|| Ao3 ||

.

They’ve been at the safehouse for a week and a half when Jon discovers the vinyl records, tucked away between the back of the couch and the wall and with a thick layer of dust coating the top of the box that makes Jon cough as he extracts it. There’s a record player in the spare bedroom, his mind supplies, and he hesitates only a moment before retrieving it.

 To say that Daisy’s selection of records is eclectic would be putting it mildly. Jon picks up Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue and reveals underneath it Prince’s Purple Rain. There are two separate Beethoven records, Abbey Road sandwiched in between them, and Jon can’t hold back a surprised laugh when he unearths three Britney Spears albums in quick succession. He wonders how many times, when Daisy would start humming something while they worked or would tap her fingers against his desk to the rhythm of a song only she could hear, she was thinking of one of these records.

 Maybe never. According to Basira, Daisy hasn’t been here for a very, very long time. A small voice in the back of Jon’s mind that he recognizes as not-quite-his whispers that it’s been exactly three years, eleven months, and twenty-two days since Daisy’s forgotten about the records in Jon’s hands.

 He puts one on all the same, lining up the needle with careful precision and setting the record spinning before dropping it. The sound is warbled and raspy, little pops and clicks in the music highlighting the age and wear of the records. Jon leans back against the side of the couch, tucks his knees into his chest, and listens.

He’s still there when Martin gets back from the shop, having worked his way through Earth, Wind & Fire and The Rolling Stones. The sounds of warm piano, brassy trumpets, and vocals that push and pull like the tide cover the shuffling of Martin’s feet as he kicks off his shoes and the rustling of bags as they’re set on the counter and emptied. Then, the couch dips near where Jon’s sat on the floor, and Martin says softly, “What are those?”

 Most of the records are out of the box now, spread out in front of Jon in an array of technicolor images. Jon picks one at random—Red Hot Chili Peppers—and holds it out to Martin. “Daisy’s record collection,” he says, feeling the gentle bump of Martin’s knee against his shoulder as Martin takes the record from him. “It’s… quite varied.”

 “I can see that,” Martin says, amused. He sets the album down next to him and inclines his head toward the record player. “What’s playing now?”

 “Our Love Is Here To Stay,” Jon says with a certainty that surprises him given that he’s fairly certain the record had been in a blank sleeve. “Er, it’s a- a compilation album of various Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong recordings, released in 1998—though the individual tracks were recorded before that. It’s funny, really, the- the pianist on track four was meant to be Bill Evans, but he—”

 There’s a small chuckle, and Jon cuts off mid-sentence, twisting slightly so he can see Martin’s face; it’s split nearly in half by an amused smile. “What?” Jon says, and he doesn’t mean for it to sound so fond, but he supposes that’s rather par for the course lately.

 “Sorry, sorry,” Martin says, waving a hand at him. Then: “It- it’s just, jazz? The Eye can’t tell us whether or not it’s going to rain tomorrow or- or what’s happening back in London, but it can help you recite the Wikipedia page about a jazz album from the 1990s?” Another giggle escapes Martin, and he clamps his hand over his mouth as if to pull it back in. “God, sorry, I- I don’t know why I think it’s so funny.”

 Jon watches Martin for a moment more before the bubble of affection within him bursts and he laughs—a small, breathy sound. “Yes, I- I suppose it is a bit amusing,” he says, leaning his head gently against the side of Martin’s knee. “The music is nice, though. It’s lovely, the quiet we have here, but sometimes the silence can get a bit…”

 He waves his hand absently. “Oppressive.”

 Martin lets out a small exhalation. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

 They sit for a moment, what would have been silence filled instead with the gentle hum of a jazz ballad. Then, the couch dips again as Martin stands and says, quietly, “Dance with me?”

 It really shouldn’t be this easy to make Jon flustered, but he feels his face grow warmer as he takes the hand Martin’s extended toward him and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Jon hadn’t danced much with Georgie when they’d dated; she’d always said that he had two left feet, and their few attempts had resulted in crushed toes or helpless giggles when Jon inevitably tripped over a piece of furniture or his own feet (or, on one rather memorable occasion, the Admiral). He worries, for a brief moment, that he won’t remember how—that the right steps have been lost to the years, replaced with records of terror. Then, one of Martin’s hands closes around his, his other resting gently on Jon’s hip and guiding him closer until their bodies are almost flush, and Jon’s lost in the soft sounds of jazz and the feeling of Martin’s breath across his cheek as they begin to sway.

 When they’d first gotten to the safehouse, Martin’s hand had been clasped firmly in Jon’s, a grounding presence that had begun in cold, choking fog and that Jon was quietly terrified to relinquish lest that fog seep back into the gaps between Martin’s fingers without anything there to chase it away. Standing in the entryway and staring at dust-covered couches and hazy yellow light filtering in through the windows, Jon suddenly became very aware of the feeling of Martin’s hand in his, of the shattering of the space between them that had been carefully cultivated over the span of so many months.

 The thought came to him unbidden, insistent, and anxious: how much of that space was he allowed to occupy? How much of Martin would he be allowed to touch?

 The answer had come during their fourth night in the safehouse, when Jon had awoken sometime in the early morning hours to find himself pressed into Martin’s side, one arm slung over Martin’s chest and his head tucked in the space between Martin’s shoulder and jaw.

 Jon felt a flush begin to crawl up the back of his neck, and he made to move away.

 “Jon,” Martin said, voice soft and husky from sleep. “You- you don’t have to go.”

 And so Jon stayed. His hand tentatively curled in the loose fabric of Martin’s shirt, his nose brushing against the line of Martin’s jaw. He felt more than he heard Martin’s sharp intake of breath, the way that Martin shifted ever so slightly so that Jon fit more comfortably against his side. Hesitantly, like a child dipping their toes into the ocean to see how sharp the cold would be, Jon let his hand wander further up, tracing the lines of Martin’s chest, shoulder blade, and collarbone. His palm came to rest feather-light against Martin’s cheek, his fingers brushing against the whisps of ginger hair (now streaked with white) that curled just past the shell of Martin’s ear. Martin stiffened under his touch, but before Jon could pull his hand away, Martin said, in a voice cracked through with something aching and tender, “Jon.”

 Then, Martin’s hand was on Jon’s jaw, tilting his head up with the gentleness one would use when handling a priceless, fragile thing, and Martin’s eyes were so close that Jon nearly drowned in the blue of them, a blue that once might have reminded Jon of swirling fog and stolen moments but that now seemed like wide-open sky and the ocean just before dawn. Jon could barely breathe; he’d spent so long not giving those eyes any consideration at all and had then spent what seemed like an eternity wanting nothing more than for those eyes to look at him with something other than remorse and regret. Now, they were inches away and Jon found himself lost in them, consumed by an endless expanse of blue yet anchored to the man who was now brushing his thumb against the line of Jon’s cheek, leaving a burning heat in its wake that elicited a shiver from Jon.

 He almost didn’t hear it when Martin said, softly, like a prayer, “Can… can I kiss you?”

 Jon couldn’t find the words within him to answer. So, he slid his hand back into the mess of curls at the nape of Martin’s neck, leaned forward, and kissed him.

 Jon could touch Martin’s lips, he found, and so he did. He could touch Martin’s jaw and cheek and neck, and so he did, peppering feather-light kisses along the line of Martin’s jaw and down his collarbone, smiling into the hollow of Martin’s neck when Martin let out a keening laugh and said, “Hey, th- that tickles!” He could touch Martin’s fingers and palm and knuckles, and so he found Martin’s hand with his and held it tightly, finding that his fingers fit in the gaps between Martin’s with ease. He could run his fingers through Martin’s hair and along the inside of Martin’s arms and down the gentle swell of Martin’s stomach, trying to learn in a moment what he’d been wanting to know for what felt like decades.

 His hand met the hem of Martin’s shirt, and he hesitated. His eyes found Martin’s again, briefly lost in swirling blue before he came back to himself enough to say, “Is this… can I…?”

 Martin nodded, so small it was almost imperceptible. Then, he worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before saying, haltingly, “I… just- just the shirt, though?” He paused, clearly considering his next words, before continuing, “I- I don’t know if, um. I don’t want to imply that… that you, er, were…”

 “Martin,” Jon said, kind but firm. “Please, just—whatever you want to say, you can say it. I promise, I… I want to listen.” A pause, then: “I want to know you. The- the old-fashioned way, that is.”

 Martin drew in a shaky breath; Jon wasn’t sure if it was born of nerves or of something else. “Right.” There was another pause, and Jon waited, letting his hand rest lightly against Martin’s hip and taking the time to begin the process of memorizing every single inch of Martin’s face. There was a trio of moles under his left eye, almost hidden by the spattering of freckles across his nose and cheekbones, and the smile lines at the corners of his eyes were not quite so deeply etched as the horizontal lines of worry across his brow. Jon was considering closing the distance and pressing a kiss to those lines in an effort to smooth them when Martin said quietly, “I don’t… I don’t really like anything that involves…”

 He made a vague gesture with his hand, and Jon was starting to think that he understood. Still, he said, meaningfully, “Martin.”

 “Sex, Jon,” Martin said, all in a rush, like the words had been expelled from his lungs by force. “I don’t like sex.” A pink flush was spreading over his cheeks, a color that Jon found rather lovely on Martin. “I’ve never really been comfortable being touched, er. Below the waist? So, the- the shirt is fine—more than fine, actually, but just… not… you know.”

 “Your genitals,” Jon said helpfully.

 Martin made a sputtering, choking noise, looking at Jon like he’d just told a lewd joke. “Jon!”

 Jon let out a small, breathy laugh. “It’s what they’re called, Martin.”

 “Yes, but you don’t need to—”

 Martin cut off with an aborted noise, something akin to frustration but with infinitely more fondness. “Eugh, I just hate that word. It sounds so- so clinical.”

 “I mean, I can use other words if you’d like—”

 “No, no,” Martin said quickly, pink quickly overtaking the rest of his face. Jon found that he quite liked making Martin blush, and he tucked that information away for later. “That’s quite all right. Let’s just- just go back to the kissing. The kissing was nice.”

 Jon hummed in agreement, leaning forward and pressing a soft, closed-mouth kiss against Martin’s lips. Then, almost like an afterthought, he pulled back slightly and said, “While we’re on the subject, I… I also would prefer to keep all touching… above the waist.”

 Martin’s breath was soft against Jon’s lips when he said, “Oh.” Then, after a small exhalation that might have been a laugh or might have been a sigh of relief: “G- good. Great. That makes it easy then, I suppose.”

 Jon made a noise of agreement. Then, with a small smirk: “We’ll keep genitals out of the equation entirely, then.”

 “Jon!”

 “Sorry, sorry.”

 Jon pressed another soft kiss to Martin’s mouth, feeling Martin’s lips fold into a smile against his after a moment, and all was forgiven.  

 It’s been nearly a week since then. Now, Martin’s touch is almost second nature as he presses his hand against Jon’s hip and guides him into an imitation of a waltz, the music having shifted without Jon noticing into a lilting three pattern. Jon’s long-since memorized the details of Martin’s face and has moved on to his hands; he catalogs the way that Martin’s right hand feels folded around his in this way, fingers slightly rough from a childhood spent doing household chores and, for the span of a few years, working as a house painter between semesters. Martin’s left hand fits neatly against the bone of Jon’s hip, his fingers creating gentle points of pressure against Jon’s skin that Jon recognizes from the dozens of times Martin’s placed his hand against Jon’s back, only the tips of his fingers touching Jon’s spine as he looks over his shoulder at the pot he’s stirring on the hob or the book he’s reading at the kitchen table, hunched over it in a way that can’t be good for his spine. Jon tucks both sensations neatly away in his mind in the folder labeled Martin’s hands and focuses on the music, on the way that Martin seems to know all the right steps, the way he carries Jon through them effortlessly and doesn’t flinch when Jon inevitably misses a step and lands, instead, on Martin’s left foot.

 The up-tempo swing track that comes on after the waltz is a different story. Jon pulls back slightly, suddenly unsure. He’d tried swing dancing exactly once with Georgie—had gone through the trouble of watching videos to learn the steps and practicing awkwardly by himself before hesitantly bringing the idea up to Georgie. It had gone predictably terribly, with the added downside of knocking a vase of flowers off Georgie’s kitchen table where it had shattered against the tile floor into a million tiny shards that took ages to clean up. Needless to say, they’d stuck to slower songs after that.

 Jon looks warily at the record player, then back at Martin. He’s about to apologize, to reluctantly put an end to the feeling of Martin’s hand on his waist and Martin’s body flush against his, when his mind strays idly back to the music, to the motions that should accompany it, and he realizes with a start that he Knows. It’s as clear in his mind as the name of the bass player for the track (Ray Brown) and the exact tempo of the music (100 beats per minute to the half note, a song more easily felt in two than in four).

 It might be the one and only time the Beholding has ever given him knowledge that’s been useful. He decides not to look too closely at it and simply pulls Martin in close once again.

 Soon, they’re spinning around the living room, having several near-misses with the couch and various tables but never quite losing their balance. Martin’s steps are a bit clumsy—”I took a class back when I worked in the Library,” Martin had said with a sheepish smile, “but between not knowing anybody there and it being a good thirty minutes from my flat, I ended up dropping it”—so they keep it simple, just the basic steps with an added turn. Occasionally, they’ll break out of closed position and Martin will spin Jon, sending Jon’s skirt haloing around him in a whirlwind of yellows and blacks and whites. Once, Jon’s heel hits the edge of the couch and it’s only the quick press of Martin’s hand against the small of his back that keeps him upright. The smile Martin gives him at that is breathtaking, and the rest of the room blurs around him until all he can see is Martin’s face as they dance, smile lines prominent around his eyes and cheeks flushed red with exertion.

 Jon’s told Martin that he loves him, in words but also in a million different ways as they’ve lived their lives in the safehouse, through feather-light brushes of fingers and sleepy morning kisses and quiet moments shared over tea and toast. Now, as he holds Martin’s hand tightly and steps in time with him around and around and around, he can’t help but feel that same love in the brassy singing of trumpets and in the way that Martin anchors him as they spin, his hand in Jon’s like a lifeline.

 The song ends—as all things do—and as the last few lingering piano notes die down into clicking static, Jon finds himself quite literally swept off his feet. He makes a noise of surprise as Martin spins him once more and uses the momentum to guide Jon into a low dip, a steadying hand on Jon’s lower back keeping him from falling to the floor. Martin’s eyes, endless oceans of blue, are inches from Jon’s, and his breath ghosts across Jon’s lips as he says, softly, “And you said you were a terrible dancer.”

 Jon blinks for a moment before saying stiffly, “Yes, well, I can’t always have the eldritch equivalent of YouTube in my mind showing me the correct steps.”

 Martin hums. “Perhaps we should learn the old-fashioned way, then?”

 Jon’s heart, already thrumming from exertion, stutters a bit in his chest. A bit more breathlessly than he’d like, he says, “Yes, I- I think that would do just fine.”

 Martin hums again. Then, he closes the distance, capturing Jon’s lips in a kiss as sweet as honey and just as dizzying as Jon had felt when they’d been dancing. Jon lets his arms wind around Martin’s neck, fingers tangling in the coppery curls there and keeping him steady as Martin uses the gravity of the dip to deepen the kiss in a way that Jon very, very much likes.

 When Martin finally pulls back, Jon feels like all the breath has been drawn out of his lungs, leaving him light-headed and dizzy. Still, he finds enough air within him to say, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, “I love you.”

 Martin smiles like starlight and presses another closed-mouth kiss to Jon’s lips. “I love you too,” he murmurs against Jon’s mouth. Then, just as suddenly as he’d been dipped, Jon finds himself swept up entirely off the ground, one of Martin’s arms slotting underneath his knees and the other behind his shoulder blades.

 “Martin!” Jon exclaims, face flushed red-hot with embarrassment and affection in equal measure, as Martin begins to carry him bridal-style into the bedroom, pausing only briefly on the way to lift the needle off the record. “Martin, what are you—”

 He cuts off with a surprised noise that, if asked, he will maintain was certainly not a giggle as Martin deposits him onto the bed, his skirt bunching up under his knees. The sound he makes when Martin clambers onto the bed after him, straddles his waist, and kisses him soundly is embarrassingly close to a moan.

 “Martin,” Jon says breathlessly when Martin finally pulls back, the need to breathe overtaking them both. He searches for the right words, and finding none, he simply says, “What?”

 Martin brushes his fingers across the curve of Jon’s cheek reverently. “While dancing has been lovely,” Martin says, “my legs are quite tired, and I’d very much like to keep kissing you if that’s all right.”

 Jon’s cheeks are fully overtaken by flame; the warmth spreads to his chest, where it curls around his heart and heats Jon from the inside out with a love so potent he can barely breathe around it. “Yes,” Jon says, his voice cracking around the word. “That- that would be quite all right indeed.”

 And when Martin dips down to meet Jon’s lips once again, it’s piano chords and spinning skirts and eyes the color of the sky, calling him home.

[eternalgoldfish]

u got me so horny (part one) | (part two) | (part three) | (part four) | (part five) | (part six) | (part seven) | (part eight) | (part nine) | (part ten)

(now all on AO3)

what r u wearing

It’s so fucking tacky. So fucking Billy. And Steve would normally oblige him, would really fucking love to get into some obliging right now, but Aunt Cynthia has just started passing around the peas, and Steve kind of doesn’t have a death wish.

(Okay, sometimes it’s not so obvious, when he does dumb shit like look at his phone over Christmas dinner, but he doesn’t really wanna die, not really, because if Billy’s texting him like that, it means Billy’s got his hands in his pants. Thinking about Steve. Getting off on Steve. So.)

He sends, 

Nothing. 

Fuck. What he meant to send was, Not now. And Nothing is a lot different than Not now. 

Steve is a moron, maybe, because his jeans are growing a little tight, palms a little sweaty, and. He’s got to set his phone to silent, got to set it face down on the table. Because if he thinks about Nothing for too long, he’s going to think about how Billy looks with his fist around his dick, about what Nothing will mean to Billy. And if he’s thinking about that at the table, about what he wants to do about that--

Aunt Cynthia tilts her head as she offers him the gravy, purses her lips like, “Something the matter?”

“Oh, no,” he says, uses too much gravy. “One of my profs just put up their syllabus early and I’m not prepared to think about that.”

He’s never been a very good liar, but Cynthia seems to accept it, handing him the bread rolls next. She shares a look with Aunt Krista, which is bad news, no bueno, abort mission, too late.

“How is school going, anyway?” Aunt Krista asks. 

“Pretty alright. I found this semester challenging, but I kept on top of all my courses, so I think I’m getting the swing of things. Nancy and Jon got in there too, so I think that’s helped, you know, with the transition.”

“Nancy, your girlfriend?” Aunt Cynthia asks. “I was wondering where she was.”

It’s been a year, but Steve guesses that’s fair. His aunts only give a shit on holidays. He clears his throat, says, “Yeah, no, uh. I thought I’d mentioned that she started dating this other guy, Jonathan? It’s totally not a big deal. College, uh, is a land of opportunity, right? Lots of people to meet?”

Krista nods like she gets it, until she proves she maybe doesn’t. “Have you found a new girl, then? I doubt the ladies could leave a handsome man like you alone.”

“Not that I’ve heard of,” his mom chimes in.

And Steve’s been trying to do this thing where he’s more honest with his mom, because he’s on a journey of personal growth and all that, but. 

He’s not really lying anyway.

(But it feels like he’s about to, like maybe his mom will be able to tell that he’s guilty of something. Like she deserves to know about the things he’s learned about himself, his sexuality, who he’s been sleeping next to, who probably just sent him a video covered in come, and.)

(Billy’s not his boyfriend, anyway.)

“I’ve gone on a few dates. Honestly, I’ve just been focusing on keeping my grades up.”

---

“You just left me hanging,” Billy says, voice never as deep over the phone as it is in person.

“I was at dinner!”

“So was I. Don’t act like you’re new to sexting, amigo.”

Which. That is not what Steve was expecting, but he’s pretty sure it’s not better either. “They didn’t give you shit for having your phone at the table?”

“No one gives a fuck about what I’m doing if all the cousins are there. I’m still at the kids’ table. It’s a fucking bore.”

“You sext at the kids’ table?” Steve asks, can’t help but crack up a little as he flops down on his bed. “Lucky. I got grilled.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure it’s coming to me.”

Billy hadn’t shut up all last week about going to California, about seeing his high school friends and walking the beaches. About how shitty it was in Indiana, even though he’d chosen a school there. 

On the phone, Billy doesn’t sound so eager to be in California, and Steve can’t quite put his finger on why.

“I gotta go back down for dessert soon,” Steve says, because he remembers Billy’s tone that day in the library, knows better than to ask.

“Thought this was your dessert,” Billy says, voice low, slick.

He knows how to make himself sound like a sin, and Steve should know better, knows he doesn’t have time for this. The problem is, Billy is probably lying on his own bed, a hand in his hair and his shirt rucked up, and Steve’s never had very good impulse control.

“What are you wearing?” Steve asks, aims for leg-spreading charm. Wishes he could see Billy laugh.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on.” Steve laughs. “You’re not.”

“I am. I mean, I guess my dick is wearing my hand, but.”

Steve’s dick twitches, and it shouldn’t be so easy.

“So, you’re jerking off?” He asks, unzips his jeans, prays he’s got more time than he bargained for.

“I was waiting for you, princess. What’re you wearing? Since I’m guessing it’s not nothing.”

“No, uh.” Steve shucks his underwear and jeans to tangle around his thighs. “I’ve got that green cashmere sweater on, the one you give me shit about, and my good blue jeans.”

“You still have them up?”

Billy must be palming himself, same as Steve. Probably has his stupid head tipped back, skin covered in gooseflesh as he smears precome over his slit with his thumb. 

“I’ve pushed them down.”

“Past your ass?”

“Yeah.”

“You getting on your knees for me?”

He’s not, but he can play along.

“Yeah. If you were here, I’d be letting you fuck me.”

“With your parents downstairs?”

“With everyone downstairs. Would you do it? Just -- shove me over on the bed, fuck into me before they notice?”

Billy’s breaths are growing more laboured, soft groans catching in the receiver. Steve’s trying hard to keep his own sounds soft, words silent and even. Keep his moans to himself when Billy is naked and glorious.

“Shit, baby, yeah. Are you fucking yourself? Think you should fuck yourself, for me.”

It’s a good idea, has Steve fighting off his jeans. “What’re you doing?”

“Stroking my cock. Got a hand twisting my nipple, just for you.”

That should not be so hot. It’s unfair. 

“I’d suck your cock.”

“Would be kinda hard for you to do that while I’m fucking you with it,” Billy says, and his laugh is unfairly hot, too.

“Shut up. It’s the idea.”

“I know, pretty boy. Shit.” Billy hisses. “You fingering yourself, yet?”

“Yeah,” Steve lies. Now that he’s got his legs spread, skin flushed pink and cock heavy, it’s occurring to him that he doesn’t have enough hands.

He’s not putting Billy on speakerphone like this. He’s not. 

But Billy must have him on speakerphone, to have a hand for his nipple, and. 

This is complicated, alright? 

He fumbles with his phone a second to get Billy on the speaker, turns the volume down low, begs every god he knows to keep anyone from coming up to knock on his door. 

“I’m, uh. I’m on my stomach, fucking into a pillow, while you -- rail me?” he says with a wince. He’s got lube in his suitcase. It only takes a moment for him to fetch it and return to bed, lying on his back with his legs spread, slicked fingers working his cock, teasing at his hole.

“Letting me take you from behind? Shit, baby.”

And Steve doesn’t know why he’s lying about that, either. Why it matters to him if Billy knows he’s on his back, thinking about how good Billy looks over him when they’re chest to chest. Why he loses words when he starts to fuck into himself, thinking about Billy’s cock.

“Bet you look so pretty,” Billy murmurs. Rambles, really. “Fuck, Steve.”

For a moment, Steve just listens to Billy breathe, hears every little hitch at the back of Billy’s throat. Then Billy says, “Shit. I’m gonna come.”

The sound Billy makes almost breaks Steve. Almost, because he’s still not quite there, feels like he’s going to rip apart at the seams waiting, because he’s so, so close.

“Steve? Dessert is out!” His mom calls up the stairs.

“Fuck,” he whines, soft. Then, “Be there in a minute!” 

“Shit, pretty boy. They probably all know you’re getting fucked, if you sound like that.”

And that shouldn’t be the thing that does it for him, because that’s really fucking embarrassing, but. Steve comes with a curse, making Billy laugh. 

“Shut up. You’re the fucking worst.”

“Baby, go on. You’re keeping the family waiting.”

[msfcatlover]

Me: *rereads my old Portal fics*

Me: “Y’know, some of these are still pretty good! Maybe I should replay the games, and give writing these another shot...”

My brain, always ready with AUs and my latest hyperfixation: TMA crossover with Jon as Caroline, but he doesn’t lose himself in the upload process.

Me: “I... I don’t know if that would work...”

My brain, refusing to be derailed: His robot name could be “Self-aware Intelligent Machine Simulation.” SIMS for short.

Me: “That’s not a great robot name.”

My brain: No worse than “Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System.”

Me: “.......Fair.”

My brain: Testing is like statements; he doesn’t want to like it, but it’s addictive and eventually he kinda needs it to stay sane. He regularly gets in trouble for trying to make the tests less dangerous for the test subjects, because like... draining the acid out of the acid pit ruins the integrity or something.

My brain: It actually makes no difference, but obviously Jonah is Cave in this crossover. He’s researching immortality, and this is just one of the ways he keeps Jon under control.

Me: “Elias was his first attempt?”

My brain: Yeah, but it was just a brain transplant. Now he’s worried about the integrity of his brain itself, I mean, physically it’s getting pretty old. And it’s not like aging is fun anyway.

Me: “So, I assume Martin’s Chell then.”

My brain: Obviously.

Me: “Obviously. Where does everyone else fit?”

My brain: Daisy and Basira are trying to get the whole company shut down for horrible human rights violations, but are struggling to find evidence. They go undercover as test subjects, only to realize they’re in too deep and have to fight for survival.

My brain: Melanie’s a reporter, supposedly doing a profile on Jonah, but secretly investigating all the disappearances that keep happening amongst the staff. Georgie brought her in on the case when Jon stopped answering all calls.

Me: “Tim and Sasha?”

My brain: Scientists, were on the same team as Jon. Might get kicked down to test subjects for asking too many questions about his “transfer to the AI department.”

Me: “Wait. All of this is pre-fall-of-Aperture. Doesn’t that take a lot of the punch out of making Jon our GLaDOS equivalent?”

My brain: ..............................

My brain: Mid-fall-of-Aperture. Terribly understaffed, running out of money, the “AI department” is literally just Jon on the paperwork, Jonah’s desperately pushing the testing/experiments to figure out the limits of brain-uploading before he loses access to the equipment.

Me: “I don’t think that scans.”

My brain: Sure it does! What’s the testing in the games even for anyways? It’s all cognitive, the portal gun itself only gets used in a handful of different ways.

My brain: Now the testing is specifically there to stress Jon out and test the stability of his personality matrix; no point in uploading yourself if the first major issue you run into corrupts your code or causes a major error. It puts Jon through the wringer, even zapping him with viruses and stuff, to ensure the process works, because Jonah doesn’t have the time or supplies for more than one test subject.

Me: “......huh.”

My brain, getting more excited: Merge the Eye-pocalypse and Prentiss attacks! Some sort of biological agent gets loose in the facility, and Jon hacks the security system to try and stop it. Any hermetically sealed area of the facility gets locked down, and he gasses the rest of the facility to keep the contaminants from spreading.

My brain: But they’re underground and the ventilation system isn’t the best maintained, so he can’t risk letting anyone out for fear they’ll get poisoned too. Just has to wait for the gas to rise up out of the facility on its own.

Me: “OH! So from the perspective of everyone in the testing tracks, this AI has just gone completely rogue and taken over the facility, killing a whole bunch of people and trapping them inside!”

Me: “I bet Jonah’s office is basically a fortress, and he still has security access to cameras and intercom, so he just eggs them on. Because this is an insurance nightmare, he wants to upload himself ASAP, so Jonah tells them there’s a manual override procedure for SIMS, but he can’t do it alone. They need to get through the testing, reach the central control chamber, and help him deactivate SIMS before they’ll be able to leave the facility. But actually, he’s planning to delete Jon entirely and replace him in the mainframe!”

My brain: Like the bastard he is.

Me: “So now, everyone’s in this weird limbo of trying to figure out what to do and who to trust. I mean, obviously in the AI apocalypse you want to trust your fellow humans, and SIMS did just gas the whole facility and trapped them in the testing tracks, but on the other hand ‘Elias’ is a shady bastard and SIMS isn’t always that bad?”

Me: “Like, sure, it can be pushy about testing and you can’t expect a robot to be good at emotions, but sometimes it’ll do something like ask for a verbal check-in because they’ve been down there a while and that can be psychologically hard on most humans? Someone complains about food, and SIMS sounds almost genuine when apologizing for not having anything else that can be safely transported to the testing tracks at this time. Once, Martin found a corner away from the cameras to take a nap in, and he’d swear SIMS was actually panicking over not being able to find Martin when he woke up.”

My brain: Tim and Sasha make snide, tired jokes about Jon giving the damn thing all his social awkwardness, as well as his name and voice (for some god-awful, unknowable reason.) They don’t want to let SIMS endear itself to them, knowing it probably killed Jon.

Me: “No, no, knowing that it killed Jon. They absolutely ask at some point if Jon’s okay and are told that amongst the however-many living staff members that are left, Jonathan Sims is not amongst them. What else are they to assume, other than that Jon’s been gassed by his own creation?”

My brain: Oooh...

Me: “Martin’s the only one who actually feels endeared to SIMS by the time they meet up, partially because he’s the only one who was trapped alone. Tim and Sasha were together, and already have reason to hold a grudge. Daisy, Basira, and Melanie met up early and spend a lot of free time fantasizing about smashing the damn computer when they find it.”

Me: “Martin was alone and he hates it, so he tries talking to SIMS, and is a little surprised when SIMS talks back. They’re not always pleasant conversations, SIMS can be curt and doesn’t have much personal info to share (being a computer and all,) but Martin does start to get a grasp on the situation as it must have at least appeared to SIMS when he pulled the lockdown-tigger. And for a supposedly evil computer, SIMS can be surprisingly helpful and seems almost as upset by the situation as the humans are.”

My brain: And there was that odd moment after Martin convinced SIMS to stop calling him “Mr. Blackwood,” and SIMS seemed almost flustered before very softly responding, “...Martin, then.”

Me: “Awww... please tell me Jon’s not actually dead, I need them to take him with them at the end...”

My brain: Suspended animation. The brain is still a vital part of the machine, but it never ages or degrades thanks to whatever combo of chemicals and cryosleep Jonah used to preserve him. Part of Jonah’s “manual override” involves adding a high-powered hard drive or four to replace the need for an organic brain, making full digitization possible.

Me: “But where’s he stored? He can’t just be strung up in the middle of the machine, that’d be unsustainable and Jonah would never let anyone within a hundred yards of it lest they realize the truth! A cryotank in a fake computer bank? A stasis tube hidden amongst the wiring, which they could discover while clambering about installing the hard drives?”

My brain: A cold room disguised as a locked closet or something, with the upload chair still inside of it? Only Jonah has the passcode, technically, and he was planning to go in while everyone else had their own tasks to do, just shove Jon’s body out and plug himself in, leaving Jon to finally die on the floor just a short distance from his friends while Jonah replaced him in the machine, removed the safeties, and escaped into the internet?

Me: “Oh, and Jon gave them a universal override or something to get them out of a dangerous situation towards the end! It actually leaves half the group feeling pretty low, having the thing they’re trying to destroy just hand them the key to its destruction out of pure, innocent trust.”

Me: “Then while Jonah’s distracted giving out instructions, Martin (useless with computers,) wanders over and opens the door, letting out a gust of cold air with a hiss. Martin coughs on the escaping gasses, and Jonah rushes to say that the cold room is very delicate, and ought not to be tampered with by people who don’t know what they’re doing—“

My brain: —but Martin blinks back the stinging, shock-induced tears, eyes adjusting to the dark of the closet and gasps.

Me: “And Martin’s only ever seen Jon in passing, really, they never properly worked together. But he was a little sweet on him even back then, and he’s heard the stories from Tim and Sasha, and he’s spent the last several weeks getting to know SIMS...”

My brain: ...He quickly calls Tim and Sasha over to confirm, just in case he’s got it wrong somehow. They’re just as shocked that Jon’s in there, with all his notes tucked away behind him revealing what really happened. Jonah tries to talk his way out of it, but is quickly arrested by Basira and Daisy.

Me: “Sasha finishes the notes first and makes her way back out. She’s shaking, overwhelmed with rage and grief and horror, and punches ‘Elias’ so hard he falls to the floor.”

My brain: Jonah starts to say something about assault, but Melanie congratulates Sasha for stopping him and Basira, completely deadpan, adds, “We all saw him make a break for it.”

Me: “Jonah shuts the fuck up.”

My brain: Part of SIMS’ programming was not being allowed to answer to “Jon” anymore. He never outright denies being Jon, just corrects people that he is the Self-aware Intelligent Machine Simulation. Tim finishes the notes, makes it to the cold room door, looks into the nearest camera and shakily asks, “Jon?”

Me: “For the first time, there’s a solid three beat pause before the intercom answers, softly and less robotically than before, ‘...Yes, Tim?’”

My brain: Tim starts crying.

Me: “Of course he does! He’s been grieving Jon for weeks at this point, trying not to let it show just how sad and angry he was that it all ended like this, and now it turns out that not only is Jon alive, he never actually left them at all! All those months thinking Jon ghosted them, left them behind in R&D for greener pastures, and Jon was all-but-dead in a cold room the whole time, and none of them ever knew! The relief, the joy, the guilt, the lingering bitter grief and rage, it’s overwhelming. Who wouldn’t cry?”

My brain: It takes them a few days to figure out the download procedure to return Jon to his body, especially since Jonah can’t be trusted on this front. Tim and Sasha are the techies, and they recruit Melanie and Basira for extra hands. (Martin’s still terrible with machines, and Daisy needs to watch Jonah to make sure he doesn’t escape.)

My brain: Martin, feeling useless, stays by Jon’s side in the cold room.

Me: “When Jon wakes up, Martin’s the first thing he sees.”

My brain: Martin sees him moving, meets his eyes, and gasps, “Jon?” Jon nods and tries to say something, but his throat is dry and his voice won’t work. Martin scrambles to get him a glass of water and steadies Jon’s hands as he drinks it. When he lowers the glass, Martin cautiously asks if Jon’s feeling better.

Me: “Jon just smiles and answers, ‘You said my name.’”

My brain: Martin’s confused. “What else would I call you?”

Me: “Jon shakes his head. ‘I just... don’t think I’ve heard you say it before. Certainly not to me. It’s... nice.’”

My brain: Martin laughs helplessly and says it again. “Jon.” Jon’s smile brightens, and Martin can’t help stepping closer, repeating Jon’s name again. Jon laughs along.

Me: “It’s on instinct that Martin takes the empty glass and sets it to the side, leans over the chair, touches Jon’s shoulder, cups his cheek. He hesitates when they’re nose to nose, breathing the same air, shockingly warm even when Jon’s skin is still cold to the touch. He meets Jon’s eyes and swallows. ‘Is this okay?’”

My brain: Close enough to feel the small, inaudible gasp before Jon whispers, “Please.”

Me: “They only get one short kiss in before the door opens and Tim makes a scandalized noise before loudly declaring this unfair and blatant favoritism. Martin all but jumps away, but Jon just rolls his eyes and thanks Tim for saving him. As the others pile in —Sasha claiming she did all the work, Basira needing to know if Jon’s up for making an official statement, Melanie both needing to pass on a message from Georgie and wanting an exclusive interview for her expose— Martin can already feel himself fading into the background, even as he and Tim help Jon to his feet.”

My brain: At least until Jon lingers, fingers lightly resting against Martin’s arm, and looks up at him with hope in his eyes. “Later?”

Me: “Martin’s not entirely sure what Jon’s asking (Jon isn’t really either,) but he agrees anyway. He doesn’t even hesitate.”

My brain:

Me:

My brain:

Me:

My brain:

Me: “.....WELL FUCK.”

My brain, smug despite it being 4:30am: Told you it was a good idea.

Me: “I hate you so much.”

[ezgithechaotic]

The Parent Trap | Chapter Four; a stroke of (bad) luck

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

AU: The Parent Trap,  dad!harry

series summary:  Identical twins Benjamin and Edward, separated at birth and each raised by one of their biological parents, later discover each other for the first time at summer camp and make a plan to bring their wayward parents back together.

chapter summary; Y\N gets interesting news, Harry loses something he cares a lot.

author note; I’ve been dealing with my university application for a long time so I haven’t had the chance to write anything lately. And I know it’s pretty short, I promise it will get longer in the next chapters. It’s been a while but here we are.

I’m sorry in advance if I have any fault. English is not my first language. My askbox is always open if you want to talk. Please leave a comment about what you think, love you.  

Taglist is open. (12\20) (You can see the taglist in the comments.)

The Parent Trap Masterlist

It had been a week since Edward left for camp, and Y\N lost herself to work. Despite Nate's tries, Y\N rarely left her study room. All she did was to answer e-mails and design new clothes. Whenever she stopped working, her mind was starting to operate like a mad woman's.  As if worrying about Edward wasn't enough, she had been thinking about Harry non-stop too. She had tried to stay away from the thought of him for a long time, but lately, it seemed like an impossible thing to do. She was thinking about him before going to bed, as she was eating, drinking. The only thing that kept her mind away from Harry was working. 

As she waited for her team, laying on one of the lounge chairs by the pool, Y\N's mind started to work like mad, again. It was the first time in a week that she let herself breathe, but allowing herself to do that only felt like torturing. It's been nearly nine years, but he still had this power over her that she hated. 

As she laid in the sun with her sunglasses on and her eyes closed, she could feel her body and the bottle of coke in her hand warming up. Sometimes Y\N hated California hot. She missed how London was always chill and foggy. Many people despised London's weather, but Y\N never felt that belonging feeling anywhere but in London. Maybe it had been the people. She could never be sure, but if there was one thing she was sure it was that she was, definitely, homesick. Y\N was brilliant and one of the best designers around the world. She had done everything she could to make her dreams come true. She had been working on her upcoming winter collection and the collaboration she was going to make with Gucci. But the only thing she was thinking was the emptiness inside her. 

Why wasn't it enough?

The sound of a car pulling in her front veranda pulled Y\N away from her thoughts. She straightened up and took a sip from her coke. When she heard noises coming from inside the house, she made her way to the kitchen. Nate must have allowed everyone in, she thought. As she entered through the garden door, the cold air hit her body, giving her goosebumps. She put her half-empty coke bottle on the kitchen counter and took her sunglasses out. Her smile widened as Y\N approached her team, waiting for her in the living room. 

Y\N adored her team. She always tried and considered other's opinions on her designs. That's why her team included every type of person. She wanted to make a difference, do something that would affect people, whether the way that they dressed or thought. Y\N wanted to help people express themselves, and the best way to express yourself was through your clothes. So, she created a whole new brand for people who couldn't talk about who they were. 

In the living room, Nate was handing snacks out, and there were clothes everywhere that would fill a wardrobe. Her sketches were laying on the big wooden table, and a few interns were watching with horrified looks. She could see that sweet chaos wandering around the room. One of the interns, Hailey, jumped to her feet as soon as she saw Y\N. 

"Hi, Mrs. Y\L\N! We were waiting for you." Y\N could see she was shaking. So, she smiled at her, trying to ease the tension. "Please, Hailey, call me Y\N." 

Hailey sucked a load of breath and turned to her friend, shocked. "She knows my name," she whispered. Y\N giggled when she heard her. Nate was watching her with a smile on his face, knowing Y\N was finally carefree. She stood in the middle of the room as everyone waited for her to say something. She smiled.

"So, let's start then." 

-

As Harry kept wandering around the room looking for his cardigan, he made Sarah and Mitch more and more annoyed. 

"Enough of it, Harry," Sarah said. "Just accept that it's lost." 

"I was wearing it yesterday. I must have left it here." His frustration grew when he was left empty-handed. Harry slumped down on the closest couch with a puff. He was hoping to find it in the studio, but regardless of hours of searching, he couldn't find it. With closed eyes, he rested his head at the back of the couch, trying to remember where he might've left the cardigan. Harry had been so anxious because he very well knew it was a limited collection. So it wouldn't be possible to purchase a new cardigan if he couldn't find it. 

The door opened and closed after the sound of a few footsteps. Harry's eyes were still closed with a scowl on his face. 

"Is he still looking for it?" Jefferey asked Sarah Mitch was already up tuning his guitar. Sarah slowly nodded her head, turning towards Harry, knowing he was listening. "I don't think this is about the cardigan, though." 

Harry opened his eyes. "What would it be about?" still staring to the ceiling, "I just really loved that cardigan." He whispered under his breath. Mitch sighed knowingly and put his guitar down. "Why don't you guys go find Adam and Ny so we can practice." He said and planted a kiss on Sarah's hairline. "I'll call Jonathan Anderson and see if he can find you one," Jefferey said as he opened the door for Sarah, but his eyes were on Harry. He slowly nodded without saying anything.

"Do you want to talk?" Mitch leaned to the now-closed door.  Harry seemed like he was questioning his whole existence.  "We all know it isn't about the cardigan, H." 

"Do you think I made a mistake?" 

"With what?" Mitch knew, damn the whole world knew. But he let Harry say it because he needed to get it off of his chest. 

"With everything!" Harry leaned forward, cupping his face with his hands. He could feel the coldness of his rings. "With Camille, with proposing her. Do you think I just asked her to tell myself that I got over everything?"

That I got over Y\N...

"I don't think you need me to tell you none of us likes Camille. But it's not up to me or anyone to tell you that you're doing something wrong if you're happy." Mitch knew Harry was suffering despite his words.  "But if you're not happy and trying to hold onto a relationship that doesn't make you happy, you're just fooling yourself, mate." 

"It was going good, you know?" Harry started to play with his ring that was sitting on his middle finger since Y\N gave him for his nineteenth birthday. "I never thought someone could love me after Y\N. Even though nobody knew what happened between us, I was the reason why she left. I guess I punished myself for it by not allowing people to create any bond with me. After all those years, I thought I could finally be free from the burden I thought Camille would be the one.  But now, looking at her, I don't know if she's the one I want." Harry sighed. A million thoughts he couldn't control were wandering inside his brain. "And now ı lost one of the few connections I had with Y\N. It's like the universe saying to me to keep torturing myself." 

"There is no need to torture yourself, H. Maybe the fucking universe is trying to tell you to stop holding onto a carding and hold onto her instead. Believe me. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if you just talked to her." 

-

Y\N could feel her migraine growing at the back of her head. She had been standing and putting clothes together for too long; she even lost her sense of time. Her attention turned to the model in front of her as he heard another click of a digital camera. 

"I don't like the color of this jacket. Do we have a blue one?" The moment she reached forth her hand find the jacket her assistant was holding up. Y\N kindly smiled and thanked her. She took the weird pink colored jacket from the model and threw away. The moment she was about to talk, Y\N heard her assistant talking. 

"Yeah, he's in California," Y\N smirked as she took a step closer. "Your boyfriend?" She asked. But she could see her assistant's face immediately changing, her lips frowning and her eyes having that weird look. 

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to meddle. You don't have to say." Y\N took a step back, turning her old place. 

"No, it's okay." Maggie smiled, even though it didn't reach her eyes. "We were just talking about some singer." 

"He's not just some singer." A younger boy talked. Y\N assumed he was one of the interns. Maggie sent the boy a look, but he didn't seem to understand why everyone was so anxious to talk about him. "He's Harry Styles!" 

Y\N felt like she could blackout at any moment. Her lunch was climbing its way up, and anyone in the room could hear her heartbeat. He could be a block away from her. She could see him when she went out to get some coffee. Let alone coming across to him, even being in the same city, terrified her. The possibilities scared her so much she could run away from the country any minute. 

"I'm sorry, he's just new." Maggie apologized, thinking it made Y\N upset. 

"No, Mag, there's no need to be sorry." She tried to smile and stilling her breaths. "It's not like it's forbidden to talk about him." 

"Y\N," Nate calling her, pulled her away from the conversation. He was holding her phone. "It's Jonathan." Y\N's eyebrows furrowed, wondering why Jonathan Anderson was calling her out of the blue. She took her phone and stepped outside of the living room so she could hear him better. 

"Y\N, I need a favor." Jonathan talked at the end of the line sounding panicked and out of breath. 

"Hello to you too, Jonathan." She smiled, forgetting about Harry for a moment.  "Sorry, I was trying to catch a taxi. À l'aéroport, s'il vous plaît." Y\N giggled to her friend's anxiousness. 

"It's okay, what did you need?" 

Jonathan sighed. "You remember the patchwork cardigan from two falls ago you designed for my collection, right?"

"Yeah, sure. What about it?"

"Here's the thing." He stopped, asking the driver to drive faster. "One of my precious customers lost his cardigan and asking if we could find him one." 

"I thought it was limited." 

"It was. So, I promised to try and find one similar. But I don't have any cardigans in the collection this season. And since it was your design, I thought you could help me." 

Y\N took a deep breath, massaging her temple with her free hand. "You know I haven't put the collection up for sale yet, John." 

"I'll owe you big time." Y\N could hear the desperation in her friend's voice. "Fine, send me his address. I'll make sure he gets a few options." 

-

A day later, Y\N found herself at the entrance of the said man's house in California. Sunglasses resting on her nose, she took a look around the garden as she drove her way to the main door. The house, maybe naming it a mansion would be more appropriate, had a big garden full of Y\N's favorite flowers. The walls were white-painted, reflecting the afternoon sun. As she parked and took the boxes out of her trunk, she couldn't take her eyes off of the pink door. 

She ranged the bell, realizing she didn't even know the name of the man whose house she was about to step in.  A blue-eyed woman with purple pants opened the door for her. Y\N could recognize her design from a mile away. So, when she saw the pants, she smiled up at her.

"Hi, I'm here with the cardigans. Jonathan sent me." 

The moment Sarah realized who she was, she felt her heart racing. "You're Y\N Y\L\N!" 

"The one and only." She giggled. "Nica pants, by the way." 

Sarah couldn't talk for a few seconds. Not knowing if she should be excited or anxious, she invited her in. Harry was a room away, and Sarah had no idea what his reaction would be. She eventually invited her in and introduced herself. 

"Are the cardigans for your boyfriend?" Y\N asked, trying to learn the man's name. Sarah laughed despite her nervousness. "No, they are for my... well, he's my boss, I guess." 

Y\N slowly nodded. She didn't say anything not to be nosey, but a weird feeling was filling her. She stepped into the living room after Sarah. Then she saw him there, standing in his white pants and blue shirt, his hair a little messy, rings on his fingers and without any shoes. 

Time slowed around her, and Y\N could only see Harry for a moment. Out of breath, she tried to have a sense of her surroundings. But her brain stopped working, and the only thing it did was screaming. Her eyes burned from not winking, and she wanted to pinch herself to be sure that it was all real because it felt like a sweet dream. 

Her eyes met Harry's. 

Harry thought he was hallucinating. He had been thinking about her, too much, it was official now. His heart nearly exploded from his excitement. He didn't know if he should be excited. What if she was not real? What if, finally, he lost his mind? He was in a dream until he heard her velvet-like trembling voice.  

"Harry?" 

[mourntheantagonist]

How Long Can You Hold Your Breath?

HWOL Day 1 Prompt: Pool Sex

Rating: E

Word Count: 2.4k

Read on AO3

It didn’t matter what position they were in, it was always there in his view. Turning his head to the right when he was underneath, to the left when he was on top, it was right fucking there. Ten feet back and fifteen feet below held a deep hole in the ground filled to the brim with chlorinated water.

A smell that made him sick to his stomach each time he walked by. Not because of the toxic fumes but because of the bad memories attached to it. The picture taken off of Jonathan’s camera of Barb sitting on the diving board that remains, while she does not, is permanently etched into his mind. Her last moments spent not only alive but in the dimension that they call their own. Lost to the upside down with her true legacy buried deep in the government’s top secret files and all that’s left of her name is a fabricated lie to ease the simple minded and allow them to continue to live in a town that has monsters that kidnap and possess children for no reason other than sport.

No matter how many times he drained and refilled that fucking pool, it never felt the same again.

Guilt and fear combining together to make the pool essentially useless. He could hardly dip his toe in the water without fear that something would emerge from the drain and pull him down into the water. Lost to the world the same way Barb had been.

Sometimes he’d sit on the edge of the same damn diving board to feel what it was like for her. Let himself fall into the water fully clothed, closing his eyes and letting the liquid consume him until the panic set in and he was pulled back to reality. Swimming to the surface, crawling out onto the deck, and just lying there underneath the heat of the sun while his clothes dried and he caught his breath.

He knew the words in his head weren’t true. Knew the words Nancy drunkenly spat out weren’t true. At least the ones where she said “we killed Barb.”

He didn’t kill Barb.

But he didn’t do anything much to stop it either, did he?

So he let the thought linger in his head.

Maybe he deserved the same fate as Barb.

So he avoided the pool like the plague, fearing that one day he may not come back to the surface.

But it didn’t matter what he was doing, the thought was always there. The fear was always there. Didn’t matter if he was balls deep in Billy fucking Hargrove, his head would never fail to make that ninety degree turn and Billy would have to grab his attention by moaning his name or one time just yelling it because Steve would turn away and his movements would become mechanical and fifty percent of the time it would just ruin the moment for the both of them.

Billy knew what it was about, Steve had told him the stories, at least the ones that were already public knowledge. He knew enough to know that it was the pool that was the root cause for the dissociation.

And they tried closing the curtains. Something they likely should have been doing in the first place as it wouldn’t be the first time someone was lurking through the woods with a camera and a strange desire to photograph people through their windows. But even with the drapes drawn, he could still hear it. Hear the water moving slightly, and the drains flowing. In fact, there wasn’t a single part of his entire damn house that you couldn’t hear the ambiance of the pool water.

So that left them two options. Fucking in the cramped Camaro or Beemer parked out at the quarry in the dead of night where monsters were known to lurk, or continue with this charade where they both pretended like it was working.

But Billy was, rightfully so, getting tired of snapping his fingers in Steve’s face to get him to come back to the present.

Steve always said it was because of the memories.

“I have nothing but bad memories about it.”

So eventually, out of a need to help Steve into a life of just a little bit of normalcy, and perhaps a tinge of horniness, he approached him with an idea on his mind.

“What if we made some good memories.”

Steve is surprised he let himself agree. Surprised he let Billy take his hand and lead him out into the back.

It was dusk and the sun was just beginning to set. The sky was littered with pinks and oranges and somehow that calmed his nerves ever so slightly. It was still warm out too. A comfortable seventy five degrees. Everything was perfect except for the one obvious thing that wasn’t.

He was already staring at it.

But Billy quickly pulled his attention away by fishing his hand beneath the waistband of both his jeans and briefs. Cupping a hand around his soft dick nearly immediately feeling it start to chub up at the touch of Billy’s soft palms.

Billy slowly pulls both the jeans and briefs down in one mother. Crouching as he lowers them over his knees until they drop to the ground. Standing back up and holding Steve by his cheeks and kissing him all soft and slow, trying his best to just keep Steve here in the present. Separating only as the hem of Steve’s shirt is lifted to where it meets their chins. Pulling it over Steve’s head leaving him standing there completely naked, slightly shivering as the sudden change in temperature while Billy remains fully clothed.

Undressing Billy? Now that’s something that can keep Steve’s focus.

He’s less slow with Billy than he was with him. Pulling his button up over his head rather than sparing the time to undo the only two he ever fastened. Pulls his jeans down the same way Billy did him, but instead staying crouched on the ground, moving a mouth to Billy’s inner thigh where he gently bit the tender skin.

“Stop.” Billy said, moving a hand to the back of Steve’s neck, gently tugging his hair upwards telling him to stand back up.

“What?” He asked.

“In the pool.”

“Billy I can’t.” He’s looking away again.

Billy pulls him close to him by the grab of his forearms so that they’re chest to chest. Breath hot against his lips.

“Tell me what part scares you.”

Billy kisses the space behind Steve’s ear as he waits for an answer. Urging the response out of him with the movement of his lips against sensitive skin.

“I’m afraid I’ll be pulled under. That I won’t come back up. I don’t want my head going under.”

Billy nibbles on Steve’s earlobe. Pulls until it escapes between his teeth. Steve shudders.

“Then we’ll just keep your head above water. Just let me treat you like royalty King Steve.”

“Would you stop it with that?”

“Never.”

To that Billy just let himself fall backwards into the pool. Splashing water up in the air, some of the droplets finding their way onto Steve’s body like a sprinkle or mist. Billy’s head went under and the way he resurfaced was like a goddamn mermaid. His neck craned backwards so all his hair would flow behind him. Drenched curls still visible despite being soaked. Hair darkened by the wetness but still the effects of the sunset’s shine reflected the golden blonde Steve was so used to seeing dry.

Somehow he found himself looking directly at the pool, but completely entranced by something else. His naked boyfriend as he floated along the surface of the water with the front half of his body completely exposed in a show off fashion.

“You gonna get in?” Billy asked, swimming up to the part of the deck where Steve was still standing in his own nude presence, crossing his arms over his chest like that did anything to protect him. Billy rested his shoulders on the side of the pool wall and looked up at him with his gorgeous eyes. Lashes wet with droplets that the light in the sky reflected so perfectly. Like expensive jewels on his eyes. A playfully pleading look, one that Steve always found difficulty in refusing.

Steve hesitantly climbed down into the water in the four foot end by the ladder. Slowly but surely increasing in depth as his feet hit first, causing him to shiver for more reasons than one. Billy’s hands found their way to resting on his back, not so much to catch him if he were to fall backwards, but to remind him he was right there.

By the time his foot finally reached the pool floor, the waterline sat halfway up his torso. The water was cold, but not too cold. Something given a couple of minutes he would easily get used to. He pressed his back to the side of the pool wall, feeling the warmth of the water heater pressing up against the back of his leg warming him up and sending another shiver up and down his spine.

“You good?” Billy asks, his chest now brought all the way to Steve’s. The combined warmth of his body and the heater alongside the coldness of the pool water is an odd but pleasant sensation.

Steve nods his head and brings his arms around Billy to cup his ass. Staring intently at Billy and almost forgetting where he is.

Almost.

He guesses this is exposure therapy. Associate good feelings with the bad ones. It was worth a shot.

“So what does King Steve want to do?”

He gets a weird feeling in his stomach when the question falls. The idea rattling in his head like a maraca since Billy splashed into the pool.

“How long can you hold your breath?”

Billy gets a way too wide smile on his face and instantly moves in to put his mouth on Steve’s. Hand finding its way to the nape of his neck angling him downward in a desperate interlocking of lips. Separating after a few short moments and kissing the corner of his mouth, the line of his jaw, the crook of his neck. Pausing there to apply suction that has Steve’s head tossing backwards and his hand gripping the edge of the pool.

Billy releases himself from the space above Steve collar bone and follows it up by tracing a wet tongue halfway down the length of his chest before pausing, taking a deep breath, and going down further until his head is fully submerged. His hair flowing up behind him and even with the distortion of the water Steve can see Billy perfectly clear.

Billy bites at the skin of Steve’s hip bone causing Steve to slightly jerk and his now completely hard dick twitch from the sensation.

Steve expects Billy to resurface, to take another deep breath before going in, but he doesn’t. Instead he takes the head of Steve’s cock in his mouth without an extra breath, running still off of the single one he took and had already been holding for at least twenty seconds. A cascade of bubbles from his nose find their way to the surface.

Steve convulses around the warmth of Billy's mouth paired with the lower temperatures that surround him. A quick change from cold to hot sent him reeling. Head tossed back once more as Billy begins swirling his tongue around the tip of his dick, likely tasting the effects of pre on his tongue coupled with the taste of chlorine. He’s down under the water for long enough that Steve’s already gripping the edges of the pool with so much strength he may have permanent indentations in the palm of his hands.

So he grabs something softer. Fishes a hand downward and latches onto a clump of Billy’s wet curls. Fisting them close to the scalp.

Billy finally comes up for a breath once Steve has already begun to feel a release around the corner. Billy’s hand slowly jerking him while he resurfaces and takes another deep breath. Steve forces him into another kiss before he lets him go back under.

This time Billy’s going deeper. Much much deeper and Steve has to kick the urge to buck his hips and instantly come down his throat. Instead pulling tighter at his hair. Not in an away motion that would have Billy stop, but in a tightening of the fist that told Billy to keep doing what you’re fucking doing because he wouldn’t hear him otherwise.

Billy has one hand roughly pressing a thumb into Steve’s pelvic bone while his other finds his own cock as he begins to stroke himself. Moaning underwater around Steve’s cock that pushes Steve to the brink. To the edge.

He tugs on Billy's hair to let him know he’s there. That he’s close and he surges down the length of Steve’s cock until Steve can feel he’s hitting the back of his throat. Steve’s hips buck forward and in one single motion he is coming directly down. Hand gripping Billy’s hair tighter and tighter throughout the orgasm until he eventually lets go and his legs nearly give out on him. Steve’s hands go back to supporting himself on the wall where he attempts to catch his breath, and Billy only follows up with him shortly after. Also out of breath but likely for a different reason.

Billy is still quietly jerking himself when he resurfaces and let his chest fall into Steve’s. Chin resting on his shoulder and dick finding it’s way inbetween Steve’s legs.

He wraps his own hand around Billy and finishes for him. Billy’s fingernails dig into Steve’s shoulders and it doesn’t take much longer before Billy is having an orgasm of his own beneath the water. A stream of come finding the way from the tip of his dick, slowly floating up to the water’s surface. Billy’s chest is heaving against Steve’s while he holds on tight. Letting his feet come out from under him and allowing Steve to be his only support.

“How the fuck did you hold your breath that long?” Steve asks, still breathing heavily.

“I’m a surfer. Also, it wasn’t that long.”

Steve just pushes him back and has him going back under the water. Billy resurfacing with a laugh and another kiss to Steve’s lips.

A good memory finally associated with the damn pool outside. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

[voiceless-terror]

hmmmm if u want angsty prompt that goes with a song: jonathan sims + the song "using" by sorority noise. + some of that good jmart. feel free to take it anyway you like! angst that evolves into fluff, full-on angst, lotsa fluff with a smidgen of angst... its up to you!!

Here you are! A bit late, but better late than never. This is a great song, thank you for introducing me! This mostly takes place in the safehouse, with a bit of season four thrown in. Jon/Martin, fluff and angst, learning to love each other. Hope you like!

Eventually, Jon starts sleeping again.

It isn't like he has much of a choice. Collapsing from exhaustion every couple of days isn’t tenable, and of course he’s much more coherent when well-rested. If he’s going to ‘save the world’ or be of any use, he needs to sleep.

It doesn’t stop the guilt he feels every time he wakes from his little hellscapes, his gifted nightmares. It hurts, the way he feels better after watching the torment of others. But he gives into the need like it’s an indulgence instead of a necessity. Not ‘eating’ makes it worse, makes him worse. Perhaps he won’t prey on people when he’s awake if he does it in his dreams. 

He looks better. He no longer wakes to a blanket on his shoulders or a steaming cup of tea at his side. His indulgence has its own consequences, personal as they may be. But if he’s going to help Martin, he’s got to be at his best.

And maybe he enjoys feeling well, despite the terrible cost.

On his last day in the Archives, he kills someone. He doesn’t mean to. Or perhaps he does. It’s not his fault Lukas wouldn’t answer his questions.

On his last day in the Archives, he pulls Martin from the Lonely. Jon takes his hand like it's worthy of reverence. Martin doesn’t smile, but his eyes are blue again, not the hazy grey Jon had gotten used to.

They run away together.

It’s not bliss.

It’s not surprising. Martin and Jon never really knew each other. Seeing and Knowing are not necessarily understanding. There was no slowly building friendship, no will they/won’t they scenario like something out of a sitcom. Just a series of tragedies binding them together in the approximation of love. They’ll get there, but they have to take it one day at a time.

Despite his ever-present need for company (especially after his time in the Lonely), Martin needs space. Jon never noticed this about him, too busy wrapped up in his statements and being bothered by his assistant’s fussing. So watching as Martin goes on solitary walks and leaves the room to read in silence is quite jarring. He needs space as much as Jon needs contact. But Martin wouldn’t know that about him, how could he? He only saw Jon reach out once he was too far gone. Jon wants to take his hand, wants to rest against his chest as Martin reads god-awful poetry. Is it selfish to want? 

He just wants to be worthy of Martin’s sacrifice, that’s all. 

They learn each other’s awkward habits. Jon hums and taps and makes more noise than Martin probably thought possible. Jon leaves drawers open that he will inevitably bump into, and is fine with letting his dishes ‘sit’ in the sink. Martin walks too quietly, has a habit of sneaking up that Jon finds jarring. He leaves windows open and lets in the chill. He’s more prone to sighing than talking.

Jon finds out that Martin is good at cards and really good at lying. Martin finds out that Jon can actually cook a decent meal, when he’s not wrapped up in work.

Sleeping is where they find their truce. Jon can curl up in his arms, Martin can bury his face in Jon’s hair. Jon still dreams his dreams and Martin is still unnaturally cold, but the touches are grounding. They’re each lost in their own separate ways. But they’re lost with each other.

Still, it’s a delicate balance. Martin and Jon walk on eggshells, each trying desperately to please the other. Jon tries to be what Martin needs him to be, but he feels like he’s doing it wrong.

He doesn’t feel like himself.

_______

Jon smokes outside.

Martin doesn’t like the smell, and Jon won’t fault him for that. But the bite of the cigarette reminds him that he’s human, in some small way. That he has petty needs and vices. A moment’s pleasure, fleeting and simple. A sin with only himself as the victim.

It feels like a choice, but Jon doesn’t think it is.

“Nasty habit.”

Jon startles at the voice- Martin, of course. Quiet and unassuming as he takes his place beside him. His nose is wrinkled.

“I’m sorry-” he begins, stubbing out the cigarette but Martin cuts him off.

“No, it's fine,” he shrugs, digging his feet into the dirt. “You should be able to do as you please. After all you’ve done for me-”

“Martin-”

“No,” Martin says firmly, looking intensely at the ground. “I never really thanked you for that, you know? For getting me out of the Lonely. You saved me.”

Jon leans his head on Martin’s shoulder, hoping the contact is welcome. Martin doesn’t tense. “You spent months in Peter Lukas’s hold. Months trying to save us. I- I never want you to feel like you have to do that again. I know I haven’t always been the best company-” he lets out a chuckle, one that Martin weakly returns. “-but I’d like for us to do this properly, you know? Without all the-the ‘spooky interference,’ as it were.”

“You said spooky!” Martin’s grin widens in delight. Jon returns it.

“Just for you.”

Martin’s face is a lovely shade of red as he turns from him shyly. “What- what do you mean, ‘properly’?”

Jon hesitates, unsure of how much he wants to divulge. How much Martin wants to hear. But it’s been building up for so long- all the tiny things Martin does that he likes, that he loves. All the things he wants to share with him. But also everything he’s been holding back, everything that makes Jon himself. Everything that makes life worth living.

So he speaks.

“I-I want us to stop sacrificing for each other,” he stutters out. It’s his turn to look at the ground. “That- that can’t be all love is, right? I want to buy you flowers. I want to talk to you about your poetry. I want to complain about the songs on the radio that you always listen to.” He hazards a look at Martin’s face- he’s staring at him with unreadable eyes. Jon can’t look away. “I want- I want to buy you dinner and tell you jokes you won’t laugh at. I want to keep waking up to your face for as long as I can.” He takes a deep breath, willing his voice not to shake. “But I don’t want to live just for you. I want to have things of my own. I want to feel like a person again. Choose things. Enjoy them. And I want you to have that too.”

There’s silence. Martin’s eyes have that bright, incredulous look to them, as if Jon’s said something particularly unbelievable. Perhaps he said too much.

“You- you love me?”

Jon pauses, his brow furrowing. “I mean, yes. Obviously.”

Martin barks out a laugh that manages to be both snarky and joyous. “You never said, you dolt!”

“N-No, I swear I did-”

“You didn’t!”

They stare at each other, Jon attempting to catalogue every one of their exchanges thus far (the Eye is occasionally useful for such things).

He hadn’t, it turns out.

“Fuck.”

Jon can’t help but match the laughter that Martin’s currently choking out. It takes them several minutes to get it under control, but by the end of it Martin’s got an arm around his shoulders and a hand in his. “I’d like that too, you know,” Martin says softly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into Jon’s shoulder. “I really would.” Something in Jon’s chest warms at the words.

Martin’s taste in music never improves. Jon never gets the hang of doing the dishes. They bicker. A lot. Jon buys Martin dinner and tells him jokes he doesn’t laugh at. Martin goes on his walks. Sometimes he brings Jon along. 

And one time, he leaves Jon behind. Promises to tell him if he sees any good cows. And Jon just smiles, gentle and in love. 

The tape recorder clicks on.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673300