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daeniradraconis · 2 months ago

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omg i love your stories so much!!! you're such a great writer. i'm so glad i stumbled onto your fics somehow. can i please request prompt number 10 "i'm pretty low maintenance" with jack hughes?

Thank you so much for your kind words! 💖 I’m so happy you’re enjoying my stories! And thanks for the request! I hope you will love this as well! 😊✨ --- High Maintenance & Low Expectations

“I’m pretty low maintenance.”

Jack leans back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, looking very pleased with himself. He’s wearing a sweater that probably costs more than your rent, and his perfectly styled chestnut waves look like they were arranged by a professional hairstylist rather than just existing naturally. You, on the other hand, are elbow-deep in mashed potatoes, sweating like you’ve just run a marathon.

The kitchen is a battlefield—flour dusted across the counter, butter slowly melting near the stove, and the unmistakable, sharp scent of something definitely overcooked lingering in the air.

Luke snorts from his spot at the island, where he’s lazily peeling a carrot. He’s managed to peel more of his own skin than the actual vegetable, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. The occasional "aww" and "oops" are the only clues that he’s once again being clumsy with the knife. "That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard," he mutters, barely looking up.

Jack gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Excuse me? I’m the easiest person to live with.”

You burst out laughing, not even trying to hide it. You jab your wooden spoon in his direction. “Jack, you literally refused to eat a bagel last week because it wasn’t from your ‘preferred’ bakery.”

“Because it wasn’t real cream cheese! It was that weird, low-fat nonsense—”

Luke cuts in, his smirk widening. “Also, you order groceries like you’re a Michelin star chef, but can’t even make toast without setting off the smoke alarm.”

Jack lets out an exaggerated huff, shrugging his shoulders. "I just like quality ingredients," he says, a teasing grin on his face. "Sorry I have taste."

“Ohh, shut up!” you groan, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand as you turn toward the stove. The gravy is on the verge of boiling over. You lower the heat, hoping it’s not too late. The turkey’s still in the oven, but the stuffing smells like it’s burning. The mashed potatoes have lumps, and the cranberry sauce—oh god—is now all over the floor. How the hell did that happen?

Luke looks genuinely concerned. “Do you, uh, want help?”

You whip around so fast Jack actually takes a step back. “No. Absolutely not. I need to impress your mom and dad because it's Christmas, and if you two help, this entire meal will end in a flaming disaster.”

Jack blinks, insulted. “I resent that.”

“You once confused salt with sugar when making cookies,” you say, raising an eyebrow like this is a fact everyone should know by now.

Luke winces, his face going pale at the memory. “Oh yeah, that was bad. I could still taste it for days—even after brushing my teeth.” He shudders, as if the very idea still haunts him.

Jack pouts, arms folded defensively. “That was one time.”

“And,” you continue, pointing at Luke, “you somehow managed to burn a salad. A salad Luke!”

Luke goes bright red, practically sinking into the counter. “It was a pasta salad! And you promised you’d never tell anyone!”

Jack’s jaw drops in disbelief. Then a grin creeps across his face. “Dude, how do you even—?”

“Tough luck, Lukey,” you say with a smirk. “Some secrets just aren’t meant to stay buried.”You wave them off with a flick of your wrist. “Again, no help. I’ve got this. Just—just go be useless somewhere else.”

Jack smirks, leaning in to kiss your forehead, completely undeterred by the fact that you look like you just ran through a hurricane. “You’re so hot when you’re stressed.”

Luke makes an exaggerated gagging noise. “I’m leaving.”

Jack just grins, like he’s having the time of his life. “Love you, babe.”

You groan, shooing them both out of the kitchen with your spoon, praying to every holiday deity that Ellen and Jim will see the effort you put into this meal and not the absolute disaster it’s turning into.

—

Jim and Ellen finally say their goodbyes, wrapping things up with warm hugs and reassurances that everything was great—despite the cranberry sauce never making it to the table and the turkey being a little on the dry side. You exhale, sinking into a chair at the dining table, swirling your glass of wine, feeling relieved that the dinner is finally over.

Jack, however, has made it his personal mission to ensure you don’t lift a finger for cleanup. “You did everything,” he insists, “now it’s our turn.”

Big mistake.

Luke’s at the sink, sluggishly stacking plates, while Jack wipes down the counters like he's trying to scrub away the entire kitchen with one swipe. The clinking of dishes and the lingering smell of burnt stuffing fill the air.

“Luke, if you’re going to load the dishwasher like that, you might as well toss the plates in the garbage,” Jack says, his voice dripping with mock horror.

Luke rolls his eyes. “It’s not a big deal, dude. They’ll get clean. Chill out!”

Jack gasps, as though Luke has committed a cardinal sin. “You can’t put the knife facing up! That’s how people lose fingers.”

You take a sip of your wine, watching the chaos unfold like it's your own personal reality show. You loved Jack—really, you did—but you couldn’t deny that dealing with him required an extra dose of patience. And you knew Luke well enough to sense he was running low on that.

Luke sighs deeply, way too loudly, as he sets the plates down. Uh-oh. Here it comes. “You are so fucking high-maintenance, dude!”

Jack scoffs, his voice full of offense. “I am not! I just like things done right.” He drops the towel he’s been aggressively wiping the counters with.

Luke raises an eyebrow. “Jack, you rearranged the sponge at least three times.”

Jack crosses his arms, baffled by why his brother finds this so problematic. His genuinely confused expression makes it hard for you to keep a straight face. “It has a drying position and a scrubbing position,” he says, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Luke smirks, and you catch that mischievous glint in his eyes. Oh no. You’ve seen that look before. This is the calm before the storm. The smile just before all hell breaks loose.

And then, without warning, Luke flicks a few drops of water at Jack’s face, his grin spreading wider. “Oh, I understand,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I just don’t give a shit about it.”

Jack freezes, staring at him in disbelief. “Did you just—”

Luke, still grinning like a maniac, flicks more water at him. “Oops.”

Jack narrows his eyes, looking way too calm. “Oh, you are so dead, Lukey.”

Before Luke can react, Jack grabs the sprayer from the sink, aiming it at Luke with deadly precision. The stream hits Luke right in the face, and he yelps, ducking behind the island. “HEY! Did you just spray me with the cleaning stuff?!”

Jack laughs, clearly enjoying the chaos, but there's a brief moment where his brow furrows as he watches Luke’s reaction. Luke sticks his tongue out, squinting in disgust at the taste of the rosemary cleaner. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ugh, that’s disgusting!”

Jack quickly checks the bottle in his hand, his smirk flickering for a moment. “Don’t worry, it’s organic!” he says, his grin widening. “You can thank my high-maintenance nature, you little shit."

“You idiot didn’t even check what you sprayed me with! You just grabbed it!” Luke’s voice is rising with each word.

Jack shrugs, still grinning like he’s just won some kind of battle. “Should’ve thought about that before you disrespected the sponge system!” He winks, patting the sprayer like it’s his prized possession. “Now run!”

Luke, now fuming and ready for payback, spots another bottle on the counter. Without missing a beat, he snatches it up and sprays Jack with it. The organic cleaner hits him right in the chest. The two of them laugh maniacally, both dripping with rosemary-scented spray as they tumble around the kitchen, completely lost in the moment, like a couple of kids in a water fight.

You lean back in your chair, wine glass in hand, watching the chaos unfold. They’re so wrapped up in their little spray battle, you can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

“Careful, you’re going to slip on the water or…” you start to warn, but, of course, neither of them listens. No sooner do the words leave your mouth than one of them knocks over a stack of glasses on the counter, the sound of glass shattering echoing through the kitchen.

You roll your eyes, taking another long sip of your wine. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

Jack pauses, wiping water off his face, then turns to you with that mischievous grin. He’s soaked and sweaty, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. Slowly, he makes his way toward you, his eyes gleaming with playful confidence. “You love us,” he teases, pulling you close by the waist, before leaning down to kiss you.

You laugh, trying to pull away from the damp mess of him. “Jack! You’re gross! Let me go!”

But he’s persistent, kissing whatever he can reach—your lips, your cheeks, your forehead—his grin never fading. You giggle and squirm away, attempting to escape. But Jack’s not done yet. He grabs your arm to pull you closer, pushing his body against yours, his hips pressing into you.

“You’re not the girl who runs away from a little sweat, sweetheart,” he says between kisses, his voice teasing but affectionate. “I remember when—after practice—you licked…”

You press your hands against his lips, laughing in disbelief at his idiocy. Your face flushes instantly, the heat creeping up your neck. Of course, he just grins wider, that same stupid, adorable grin.

Jack pulls back slightly, his sparkling blue eyes locking with yours. As his hand gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, he brushes his thumb across your cheek. “I love that you do all the wild things with me in the bedroom without hesitation,” he says, his voice still low and tender. “But just mention the most vanilla thing we’ve done, and you turn into a blushing mess. You’re adorable.” His smile softens, his gaze deepening as he looks into your eyes.

Luke, standing off to the side trying to maintain some distance from the kitchen, turns around with a look of pure disgust. He glares at the two of you, arms crossed tightly across his chest. “Oh, no. Not this again. Can’t you two go five minutes without turning everything into a romance movie set?”

You and Jack just giggle, completely unfazed, while Luke dramatically turns his back to you both. “I swear, if I see one more kiss today, I’m going to lose it.”

Jack doesn’t even acknowledge his little brother’s complaint, leaning in for another kiss. And you don’t protest—not really. You’ve always been a sucker for his sweaty, silly kisses, even if Luke’s gagging in the background.

#jack hughes fanfic #jack hughes imagine #jh86 #jack hughes fic #jack hughes #nhl imagine #luke hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #luke hughes imagine #lh44

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thisapplepielife · 4 months ago

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Written for @steddiebingo.

Black Velvet, If You Please

It's tacky. Kitsch. An oversized eyesore.

And it's perfect.

Steve couldn't be more pleased. It's exactly what he envisioned and more when he commissioned it.

He watches the artist carefully wrap it, then with their help, Steve picks up one side of the frame, both of them wrangling it carefully so they don't drop it, and carry it out to the waiting car. Gareth's behind the wheel, engine running, like he's the driver of a getaway car.

He kind of is. Eddie's gonna consider this a crime.

And Steve loves it.

They very carefully place it in the folded down backseat of Gareth's ridiculously huge SUV, which for the first time in history actually came in handy. Steve shakes the artist's hand, and then climbs in the passenger side.

"Well. Let me see it," Gareth says.

"It's wrapped, you can see it when we get it to the house," Steve explains. He's definitely not unwrapping it until they get it home safely.

Gareth mutters, but agrees, and puts the car into drive.

Heist over, bounty secured.

Once it's safely hidden away inside the pool house, Steve gently peels back the brown paper and cardboard that has been protecting it.

Gareth leans forward, as if that'll help him get a better look. It's huge. He could see it from across the lawn.

"Holy shit," Gareth says.

"I know," Steve laughs, delighted.

"It takes talent to craft something so magnificently ugly," Gareth says, and Steve agrees. It's ugly because it's on black velvet. That's kind of its thing. But it's not technically bad, nowhere near. It looks just like Eddie, and cost a pretty penny, but Steve definitely got his money's worth. Because the painting is damn good, and exactly what he commissioned.

But utterly and completely ridiculous.

Eddie — on black velvet.

Christmas is gonna be so good this year.

"Why are you talking all the pictures off the wall?" Eddie asks, laying on the couch, eating popcorn, watching the annual A Christmas Story marathon. He's said he isn't moving today, and Steve is taking advantage of that. Eddie won't ask too many questions, for once in his life. Because if he does, he's scared he'll have to help.

"Gonna dust the frames, maybe change things up," Steve says, clearing off the entire wall behind the couch.

Eddie just shrugs, and goes back to watching the Bumpus hounds wreak havoc on the turkey dinner.

And Steve turns back towards the wall, grinning to himself, as he carefully measures, then drills the new holes in the wall to anchor it.

It's like a black ops mission. Steve crawls out of bed just after four a.m. and when he gets downstairs, Gareth, Jeff and Goodie are all standing around waiting.

"Sorry. Overslept. I couldn't set an alarm," Steve whispers, and they just nod, looking tired. He appreciates them all getting up early on Christmas morning just to help pull this off.

Steve stands on one of the dining room chairs, Jeff on another while the other two hold the bottom of the giant frame.

"This is a ridiculous way to spend money," Goodie grumbles.

"Says the man with so many basses that he needs storage units, plural," Gareth banters back.

"Those are for work," Goodie snaps, a little too loudly.

"Sshh!" Steve shushes.

And in an unprecedented move, they stop fussing and fighting.

It's a Christmas miracle.

They get it hung, and the holes Steve drilled yesterday actually work perfectly. He was worried his measurements would be off, and then they'd be screwed. Eddie can sleep through anything, but maybe not power tools in the middle of the night.

"He's gonna shit," Jeff says, and Steve giggles. That about sums it up.

They scatter, back to their own homes, their own families, and Steve goes back to bed.

With no kids, Eddie isn't exactly raring to hop out of bed first thing in the morning, even on Christmas. This will work in their advantage.

Steve stays still in bed, waiting until he hears the first signs of movement from downstairs. They're back. After having Christmas morning with their families, they've all returned to see Eddie's face when he notices this thing for the first time.

Steve gets up, and heads down, and with help gets brunch started. They always do a full spread, the works, and today is no exception. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, biscuits and gravy, ham steak, hash browns, and every burner and the oven are being fired up all at once.

The kids are all screaming at a dull roar, showing each other their new toys from Santa, and Harrington House feels like a home in a way it never did while Steve was growing up.

He loves it.

They finally hear Eddie moving around upstairs. He's loud, by nature, so there was no chance he was gonna sneak up on them.

Steve carefully wrapped the front of the painting after it was hung, anyway, so even if he did, they wouldn't miss his reaction.

"He's coming," Gareth says, stating the obvious.

"He's gonna kill you," Goodie says to Steve, "and I'm gonna tell him Gareth helped."

Gareth makes a noise, and Jeff steps in to intervene. They can't have bloodshed before breakfast.

Then Eddie's coming, heavy feet bounding down the stairs, and they all freeze. Waiting for him to go through the living room.

"What the fuck is that?" Eddie hollers, "Steve?!"

Steve just smiles, and throws his tea towel over his shoulder. When he walks through the doorway, everybody following, Eddie is standing in front of the wrapped painting.

"I don't know. Santa must have brought it," Steve lies, and Eddie turns to look at him.

"What'd you do?"

"Open it and find out," Steve says, and Eddie grabs a corner of the wrapping paper and tears. It doesn't come off in full, but it reveals a hint at what's to come.

"You did not," Eddie says, as he pulls more of the paper loose.

Steve did. He definitely did.

Eddie bends over at the waist and laughs, "I hate you. I hate it."

Then, he stands up, throwing his arms around Steve's neck, "I love it. I love you."

Steve laughs, that's about what he expected. And Eddie pulls away to study it again, as all their friends hoot and holler in the background, riling him up further as they all look at it.

Eddie, painted in his onstage glory, young and wild, on black velvet.

Steve watches as Eddie reaches out to touch the canvas, "Black velvet. Like I'm Elvis."

Yep. That's exactly what Steve had in mind.

Eddie turns back to grin at Steve, "Has Wayne seen this yet?"

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

Notes: The "painting" image is from this statue of Eddie that's for sale. I thought I could make it look more like a painting than an actual picture from the show.

The title come from the song Black Velvet by Alannah Myles.

#steddiebingo2025 #steddiebingo #prompt: velvet #bingo event: 12 days of christmas #steddie #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie fan fic #steddie fic #stranger things #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiebingo #gareth stranger things #corroded coffin #jeff stranger things #freak stranger things

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