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psychotic-nonsense · 2 months

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In October of 1967, Steve Harrington is born in Hawkins, Indiana.

He's raised there, forced to live under the strict expectations of his parents, Richard and Samantha. Barely escapes their clutches, freedom fueled by the kids and adults that take the role of guardian and family when the time is right. Keeps himself in check with the always impending apocalypses that arise beneath his feet.

In June of 1985 - when Steve Harrington is 18, while Richard and Samantha Harrington are visiting New York for an extended work trip - Veronica Harrington is born.

She was carried and raised in secret from their hometown. They take care of her between their business hours, dropping her in the hands of nannies and babysitters galore. They don't even think of Indiana during Veronica's early childhood, too focused on work and making sure their daughter starts up right.

In October of 1986 - when Steve Harrington is 19, aged further by ending the Vecna War, yet tamed by his newfound love in Eddie Munson - Richard and Samantha Harrington return to Hawkins.

They don't ask about what happened to their son. They don't ask about the town. They don't ask questions, just give responses to them. Sneering at Steve's friends, complaining about the state of the house, commenting at the disfunctional chaos their home has become.

In November of 1986, Richard and Samantha Harrington disown Steve.

They just let him go. They at least give him a folder of his legal documents, but otherwise just tell him to get out of their house and never use their name again. Claiming Steve doesn't need anything from the room because the Harrington's own everything in it. They don't call him son, they don't say goodbye, they don't acknowledge who's actually taken care of the house, they don't admit most of Steve's former room has changed with money Steve earned himself, they don't dare to give him any money or care where he goes. They just say they're sick of dealing with an unworthy mistake of a child, and force him out of their house.

In November of 1986, the Party's adults adopt Steve.

He runs to them first after everything happens. Held himself together at the start, but broke down the second the words were out. While everyone was trying to comfort Steve, Wayne Munson and Jim Hopper were the first to succeed. They know firsthand that this family would never be the same as blood, no matter how much that blood has boiled and burned before, but the love will be stronger and it will be here. When everyone seconds it, Steve finally accepts it. He becomes a child of the Party - he's everyone's son and everyone's brother, taking whatever surname he sees fit.

In November of 1986, Steve Henderson and Eddie Munson leave Hawkins.

Despite all this good, Steve can't bear to stay in this damned town a second longer, where everyone knows who he is and will soon know everything he isn't. And it's not like Eddie was looking forward to sticking around Hawkins either, especially without his Steve. The kids are the first to agree, surprisingly, and the adults promise to find a way for the boys to get out. Later that week, when Richard and Samantha leave the house to prepare for Veronica, Steve and Eddie break in to take everything that's rightfully theirs. While they're there, not sure what prompts him, Steve makes a bag of his clothes with shoes and his wallet tucked within it, shoving it into his closet. Dustin's mom uses an old favor to get the boys an apartment in Chicago, the Party has one last farewell, and the two boys are gone.

From 1986 onward, Veronica Harrington is raised in Hawkins, Indiana.

Richard and Samantha are adamant in their daughter coming out exactly how she should. They steadily convince the town to forget the Harringtons ever had a son and lock the room on the second floor next to the stairs without ever touching the inside. They raise her with formality and pride at the top of their expectations, wanting at least one child to come out right.

But Veronica is the spitting image of Steve's honesty and care. She puts on a facade when needed, but even at a young age, she wants nothing more than to be someone's light in the darkness. She plays with every lonely kid at school, and tries to make people laugh at the business parties she's dragged to. It's not received well by her parents, but Veronica is much too strong willed and stubborn to let it phase her.

In April of 1991 - when she's 6 and they're so much stronger around their hearts - Veronica Harrington meets Steve and Eddie Munson for the first time.

It's the year Erica is set to graduate high school. Steve and Eddie have been making the drive for every holiday this year, ordered determined to give her the best senior year she could have. It's Easter Sunday, and Wayne somehow managed to drag his boys away to church - a Munson custom, as even Eddie insisted they go.

While at the snack table post sermon, a little girl comes up to Steve, mistaking him for her father. He and Eddie gently comfort the girl, introducing themselves and offering to help the girl find her parents. That's when Veronica introduces herself, striking Steve deep in his heart. Still, he keeps quiet, even gifting her a little origami crane made from napkins at the table. He calls her "chickpea" for the color of her dress, tells her to keep the crane secret and safe, "If ever you need to find your way back home, you hold that close, and it'll tell you."

Meanwhile, Wayne has come across Richard and Samantha in the crowd opposite the kids. Exchanging formalities, Wayne mentions his son and nephew are in town, news the Harrington's are surprised at, as Wayne didn't seem like the father type. However, trying to keep face, they remain civil and insist on introducing their daughter.

Cue Veronica running to her parents with Steve and Eddie in tow. Cue Steve calling Wayne dad right to Richard's face. Cue the Harrington's immediate leave from the church, Veronica waving behind her with a crane placed carefully in her pocket.

From then on, Veronica Harrington's life changes indefinitely.

Her parents' expectations grow tenfold. She finds out she's horribly allergic to chickpeas. All of her friends must be approved by her parents, and any that don't fit their image are ordered to leave her.

Veronica takes these changes in stride - is her class's top student, captain of the softball and volleyball teams in junior high, keeps the friends she wants in secret from her parents - but she can't help but keep the crane in a little box in her room. Gets a necklace with a little origami crane pendant, holds it whenever she needs to make a hard choice. Can't help but expand herself in secret, learn things her parents would never approve of - lock picking, other languages, sleight of hand, a clothing style that's nothing like the dark blues of her family, all warmth and light. She explores every room in her house, yet is unable to find her way into that room upstairs next to the steps.

In May of 1998, Veronica Harrington discovers the truth about her brother.

She's about to be a freshman. Her class was touring the high school in preparation, and while passing the athletics hall, her eyes hit the swimming trophies. Each row stuffed with trophies, and each one with a name that stabbed her right in the stomach: Steve Harrington.

After that, she couldn't bear all the secrecy anymore. Late that same night, she finally uses her lock picking skills to break into that room. And though it's devoid of life, it is a bedroom, so evidently lived in. It's frozen in time, twisted sheets covered in dust, old papers crinkled from being stepped on but not picked up, old clean clothes still sitting in the hamper. It's a boy's room, clearly, and Veronica is careful walking around this place of memories.

She does still explore, quietly clicking on lights around the room, too cautious to touch the overhead lights. She looks under the bed, finding a bat and a trash can lid, both embedded with rusty nails. A shirt that still smells like fresh laundry yet has a back stained permanently with long red lines down the shoulders. Dozens of stapled documents labeled NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT, detailing horrific events that each have that same name signed at the bottom.

With shaking hands she checks the closet, and finds it mostly empty. All except for a deep green graduation robe and cap, a cream Hawkins High letterman, and a duffel bag hidden in the back corner. The cap has a 1985 tassel, and the letterman has Harrington branded on the back with basketball and swimming patches galore. And the bag, when she checks it, looks like a survivalist pack someone would make in an apocalypse. At the top sits a wallet, and inside is an ID for a Steve Harrington, who has the same face as the one in her origami memories.

And Veronica is done. She wakes up the next morning and throws Steve's jacket on the kitchen table, startling both her parents mid sip of coffee. She finds herself in a screaming match with her father, demanding them to quit lying to her, begging to know who her brother is.

In a fit of rage, Richard tells her. Tells her everything Richard and Samantha never saw in Steve, about Veronica's secret birth, the disownment, Steve's disappearance from the Harrington house and Hawkins. She's reminded of that one Easter Sunday, and is told how Richard and Samantha faked Veronica's allergy to keep her mind from being tainted by whatever curse befell their bloodline before. Orders her to never say that name again.

In a fit of rage, Veronica bites back. Calls her parents cruel and overly expectant. Comes clean about her secret freedom. Says she'd rather be nothing than ever carry the burden of the Harrington name ever again.

She hides away in her room after the fight. Cries in her closet with her origami box cradled tightly to her chest, begging it to take her home because this place isn't anymore, maybe never was. Cries for the brother she never even got to meet, who went through so many horrible things yet still got put through this same punishment. Cries for the future she won't get to have, losing her hope for a new beginning that will now never be.

At the start of June, 1998, Veronica runs away.

She makes it through the rest of May in near silence. She writes notes for all of her friends at the end of the school year, and one for her parents to inevitably find. Finds 75 dollars in Steve's old wallet, stuffs the duffel bag the rest of the way with her belongings, and says goodbye to Hawkins.

She takes the first bus she can find out of town. Doesn't care that it's going to Chicago, doesn't really care where she's going now. She befriends an old homeless man riding the bus as well, becomes another interesting name in his "Book of Wanders (Pronounced as Wonders)." As Veronica's telling the story about unknowingly meeting her brother, she remembers the crane in her bag. She reaches in to retrieve the little box, then the crane, nearly crying seeing how disheveled and unfolded it is. Broken and doomed, just like her. But looking at it now after so long, she thinks she sees something written inside it. Despite it shattering her heart pieces, she carefully unfolds the little crane.

At its center, in old, bleeding blue text, reads, "Find the Swooping Bat if you've lost your way."

The old man laughs then, taking Veronica's hand and placing it onto her chest, over her heart. "It's fate," he whispers in the dark bus. "There's a place called that in Chicago."

Veronica uses her money to rent them both a hotel for the night, giving the old man a warm bath for the first time in weeks. She gifts him the clothes as well, saying it's, "an honorary thanks from my brother, for helping me get here." They bid each other farewell in the morning, the old man telling her to keep hold of fate.

She finds her way to the Swooping Bat easily, hand on her necklace guiding her way. It's a quaint little diner, popular enough to be comfortably warm when she walks in. A young lady in a wheelchair - Max, says her nametag, with pins saying things like, "Summer work blows" and "USC grad or bust!" resting on her collar - guides her to a booth next to the sunrise.

"Anything I can get you today?" Max asks when Veronica's seated.

Veronica's fully ready to order everything on the menu, what with how delicious this place smells, but then she remembers her funds. 5 bucks, if she's lucky. "Just a chocolate milk, for now. Biggest one you have, please." She somehow plays off Max's skeptical look, her eyes sweeping over Veronica's no doubt disheveled and no-food-in-36-hours appearance.

It somehow works out, and Max is wheeling away. Veronica allows herself a moment to collapse, stomach growling in pain and eyes burning with the realization she has no idea what she's going to do now. She just has this last bit of hope to hold onto, and without it, she'll be nothing but a husk.

She's not sure how long she sits there, staring at the sunrise and letting sound and AC whisk her mind away, but there's suddenly a little knock on her table. Her head snaps up, and there's Max again, setting down a giant glass of chocolate milk... alongside a loaded breakfast plate.

"It's on the house," Max rushes to explain, all fondness when Veronica scrambles to get her wallet. "Courtesy of the owner. And between you and me," she whispers with a wink, "just take the damn food, kid."

Veronica stumbles over herself for a moment, rendered near speechless, before she finally comes back. She begs Max to thank the owner profusely, before rushing to dig into the pancakes before her. She's halfway done dousing the stack in syrup by the time Max wheels away, when there's suddenly someone laughing.

"Of course," says a choked-up voice behind her. "Can't have any chickpeas starving in my booths."

Veronica nearly drops her fork. She turns so sharply she gets dizzy. Seven years can't change a person that much, surely, because though he's bigger in the torso and he has glasses on the bridge of his nose and his hair is cut so close, he still has the same softness in his voice and the same slouch in his stance and the same moles around his eyes and his smile is so bright despite the tears in his eyes, and though Veronica can barely see through tears herself, it's not like she needs them anyway to know it's-

"Steve!" she cries, scrambling out of the booth to meet her brother halfway. The relief of it all working out has the rest of her restraint collapsing, forcing harsh sobs out of her and into Steve's shoulder. The siblings hold each other in the middle of a restaurant, a voice in the background asking everyone to leave them be. Steve doesn't stop whispering, even as his chest heaves with broken gasps between tears, "You're save, Veronica, I got you, I got you, it's gonna be okay, you're safe here, it's okay, sis, it's okay..."

"That you, lil' chickpea?" whispers a different voice once they've calmed down. Veronica reluctantly pulls away and finds a man kneeling beside them, a hand on Steve's shoulder and similar tears in his eyes. His hair and tattoos remind her of the tamed wild from seven years ago, covered in black in the middle of church yet glowing brighter than the stained glass, the one that Steve looks at in past and present with a glowing love Veronica never saw between her parents.

"Yeah," she whispers, wiping her tears away before placing a hand atop her necklace. It catches Eddie and Steve's eyes and make them beam with pride and relief. "Yeah, it's... it's me...."

#the harrington parents: birthing awesome children yet doing dick all to raise them since 1967 #wanna write this out into a full fic but i'd probably just be expanding these exact scenes and shoving a load of dialogue into them #anyway my shower thoughts went a little too hard the other day #who do yall think the old man is btw? i was gonna make him tommy h at first but i wanna know your thoughts #also yes context - steve and eddie's diner was just about to open around the time they first met veronica #stranger things au #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #original female character #technically i guess ????

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justlemmeadoreyou · 4 months

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3. protectively watchful (restaurant owner!harry x chef!reader)

(part 1 here) | (part 2 here)

summary: you take up on the mantorship offer, but it creates more tensions and turmoil within you than were before. an incident in the kitchen makes harry go into protective mode, and you can't help but get turned on by this man more and more.

words: 4.8k

warnings: sexual tension (like A LOT), inappropriate behaviour, protective!harry.

***

"You wanted to see me, Chef?"

You gave a light knock on the open door of Harry's office, trying to sound polite and professional. It had been a few weeks since you had that talk with Harry about keeping things strictly business between you two. During that time, he had been a perfect mentor - giving you advice and guidance without any flirting or suggestive comments.

His coaching had really helped improve your cooking skills as you soaked up all his knowledge and experience. You were grateful to have a normal working relationship again, focused solely on culinary training. And yet...you couldn't ignore the faint lingering tension between you, that subtle underlying charge.

Harry looked up from the notebooks on his desk, his eyes crinkling in a warm smile when he saw you. "Ah, there you are. Come on in, have a seat."

You sat down in one of the chairs across from him as Harry neatened up the loose papers into a stack. Up close, you couldn't help noticing how well-fitted his black button-down shirt was, or how his tousled hair looked very touchable.

Firmly reminding yourself this was just a professional meeting, you averted your eyes politely until Harry cleared his throat.

"So as you know, the big Martin gala fundraiser is coming up in a few weeks," he began, shuffling through some folders. "It's one of the biggest events of the year for underprivileged culinary education programs. I'll be preparing the featured dish for their live auction, and I'd love for you to assist me on it."

Your eyes went wide with surprise at this prestigious opportunity. The Martin gala was a hugely famous event in Chicago's culinary scene, attracting all the wealthiest and most notable diners. For an up-and-coming chef to collaborate on the centerpiece dish was an amazing honor and chance to get exposure.

"Wow, yes of course!" you replied enthusiastically. "I would be absolutely honored, Chef. Thank you for this incredible opportunity."

Harry's dimples deepened as he smiled approvingly. "Don't thank me yet. We'll be under a huge spotlight to deliver an amazing showstopper dish. I expect you to rise to the challenge."

You quickly nodded. "You can count on me to give it my absolute best effort. I'm ready to do whatever work is needed."

"Excellent," Harry said in a slightly lower, huskier tone. "That's exactly what I like to hear."

For a moment, his voice had a heated quality that hinted at other situations where your eagerness might be welcome. You ignored the shiver it sent through you, reminding yourself this was strictly business now between you two.

Harry seemed to realize he was skirting the line, as he abruptly straightened up and all hints of flirtation disappeared as he switched fully into mentor mode. "Right, well let me walk you through my basic vision so far..."

You leaned forward attentively as he outlined preliminary ideas for a highly ambitious and avant-garde dish blending molecular gastronomy techniques with classic French cuisine fundamentals. It was wildly cutting-edge, even for a showpiece event like the Martin gala. But the more details Harry provided, the more that same thrill of adrenaline rushed through you whenever presented with a new culinary challenge to conquer.

For the next hour, the two of you bounced ideas back and forth in that unique creative flow state that chefs share. Harry's presence was magnetic, but you refused to get distracted by more physical aspects - like the stretch of his biceps against his crisp sleeves, the hint of toned abs beneath his open collar, or the raspy timbre of his voice dipping into that lower register as he passionately discussed certain techniques.

And oh, his damn tattoos.

No, you sternly told yourself as the conversation began wrapping up. Those days of getting flustered around him were over. Harry had made it clear where you stood, and you fully accepted those boundaries. Anything else was just self-torture.

"...but of course, those are just preliminary thoughts," Harry was saying as he collected the scattered folders into a neat pile. "We'll have plenty of time to refine the details over the next couple weeks."

You nodded, filing away the mental notes you'd taken during the discussion. "Absolutely, Chef. Just let me know whatever you need for prep or testing different ideas to get a head start."

"Will do." With an air of finality, Harry gathered up the pile and rose from his seat. You quickly stood up as well, not wanting him to loom over you in the enclosed space. For a beat, you both hovered awkwardly, the air seeming to thicken between you.

"Well then," Harry said, making no move to step past you towards the door. "I'd say this calls for a drink to celebrate our new collaboration, wouldn't you agree?"

Before you could reply, he turned and went to a small antique cabinet tucked in an alcove you hadn't noticed before. With a practiced hand, Harry selected a heavy glass decanter and two tumblers, placing them on the cabinet and expertly twisting off the stopper.

"Let's go with Lagavulin," he mused aloud, carefully pouring two generous glasses of the amber scotch whisky. "A good Scottish whisky seems appropriate for the occasion."

"I really shouldn't, Chef," you said reflexively, already picturing your lightweight self getting sloppy and unprofessional after even a single drink.

But Harry just chuckled softly. "Loosen up a little. It's a celebration, after all."

He emphasized this by bringing one of the heavy tumblers over and pressing the cool glass into your hand. You frowned down at the coppery liquid, worrying your lower lip uncertainly. But before you could protest further, Harry gently clinked his glass against yours in a silent toast before taking a sizable sip.

The whisky's smoky, peaty aroma seemed to wrap around you intimately. Despite your hesitation, you couldn't help giving an appreciative inhale before taking a small, tentative sip yourself. Bold, layered flavors of vanilla, caramel, and charred oak underscored by an earthy smokiness burst over your tongue. You let out a soft sigh of indulgent pleasure at the decadent taste.

"Good, isn't it?" Harry's gravelly voice made you start slightly. He was watching you with amusement, whisky glass dangling casually from those large, handsome fingers. "It really hits you in the back of the throat, makes you slow down and savor it fully."

You suddenly realized the suggestive implication behind his phrasing and felt a flush of heat bloom across your face and chest. Harry watched the play of emotions flickering over your features with relish before taking another indulgent sip. This time, you noticed the way his full lips pursed delicately to drink, the tiny furrow of concentration between his brows as he savored the flavor before swallowing.

Unconsciously, your eyes tracked the mesmerizing flex of his throat as he swallowed, the hint of stubble grazing along his chiseled jawline. A twinge low in your abdomen accompanied the thought of feeling that scratchy burn of beard between your thighs, that talented mouth working magic elsewhere on your body.

Mortified, you shut down that wayward trail of thought through sheer willpower. Your cheeks grew even hotter as you realized Harry had caught you staring, his own gaze darkly amused.

"Easy there," he murmured huskily, stepping a bit deeper into your personal space. "This dish is a marathon, not a sprint. Best to learn to savor every indulgent morsel along the way."

With a pointed look and arched brow, Harry raised his whisky to those plump lips once more, holding your gaze as he placed the rim against that full lower lip and let out an obscenely gratifying groan of pure delight.

Moments after, the tension had subsided, but the flush and blush that had creeped up your cheeks wasn’t going away anytime soon–you were sure of that.

***

You tried to push aside the lingering thoughts about the “Celebration” that were now implaed into your mind, and the way tiny droplets of the drink remained on his lips till he licked them off with his tongue–

You wanted that tongue to be yours.

Shaking your head, you focused on prepping the ingredients for the evening service. The dinner rush would be starting soon and you needed to have everything ready. As you worked, you were vaguely aware of the dining room filling up with patrons being seated. The sounds and aromas of the bustling kitchen surrounded you in a familiar, comforting way.

You were so engrossed in your tasks that you didn't notice the man approach until he cleared his throat loudly. Looking up, you saw a smartly-dressed diner smiling at you in a way that made you instinctively uncomfortable.

"Well, hello there," he said in a syrupy tone. "I was just admiring the delicious-looking fare over here." He raked an obvious look up and down your body. "The menu selections have my mouth watering already."

You stiffened, recognizing the overly familiar leer. This wasn't the first time you'd dealt with an obnoxious patron hitting on you. Keeping your expression neutral, you replied in a polite but firm tone. "I'm afraid you'll need to return to the dining room, sir. The kitchen is off-limits to guests."

Rather than taking the hint, the man leaned nonchalantly against your prep station. "Don't be like that, sweetheart. I was just hoping you could suggest something...special for me to sample tonight." He punctuated this with an exaggerated wink.

Suppressing a grimace, you turned away to continue your work, hoping he would give up and leave. No such luck. The lech sidled closer until he was nearly pressed against you. "What do you say? I'd love for a tasty little thing like you to--"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the kitchen area immediately." Harry's firm baritone cut across the man's words like a whip crack.

You looked up in relief to see your boss standing with arms crossed, jaw clenched as he glared at the offending patron. Even from several feet away, you could sense the potent force of his displeasure rolling off him in waves.

The diner seemed to shrink slightly under Harry's censorious scowl. "Oh, uh, my apologies. I was just trying to get some personal recommendations--"

"The kitchen is off-limits and you're making my staff uncomfortable," Harry interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "I won't ask again. Return to your table or you'll be asked to leave the premises."

Looking sufficiently cowed, the lech swiftly retreated with some mumbled apologies. You exhaled slowly, trying to dispel the anxiety brought on by the unpleasant encounter. Harry stepped closer, his expression softening as he looked you over with concern.

"You okay? That asshole didn't go too far, did he?"

You managed a faint smile, oddly touched by the protective edge in his voice. "I'm fine, Chef. Just another boorish customer thinking the uniform is a dinner invitation."

His jaw tightened again as he scowled in the direction the man had gone. "That type of behavior is completely unacceptable. You let me know right away if anyone hassles you like that again, understand?"

Nodding, you found yourself blinking rapidly against the unexpected prickle of grateful tears at having Harry firmly in your corner, despite the complicated dynamics between you lately.

For a long moment, he watched you carefully as if gauging your equilibrium. Then Harry surprised you by reaching out and briefly squeezing your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. The warmth of his large hand seeped through your uniform, leaving a tingly imprint even after he pulled away.

"I've got your back, [Y/N]. You focus on doing your job and let me deal with any assholes who get out of line."

The gruff tenderness in his words made your heart do a traitorous little flip in your chest. You nodded again, not trusting your voice enough to respond properly.

With one final pointed look, Harry turned and headed back out to his front-of-house duties. As you watched his broad-shouldered form disappear through the swinging doors of the kitchen, you felt a complicated tangle of gratitude, protectiveness, affection...and yes, a lingering undercurrent of attraction that you couldn't seem to fully extinguish despite your best efforts.

You spent the rest of the dinner service determinedly pushing aside any lingering thoughts about Harry or the earlier incident. Focusing fully on your work was the only way to get through these confusing emotions that had you all over the place..

The rhythm of prepping, plating, and coordinating with the other line cooks settled into a familiar, reassuring routine. The constant flurry of chopping, sautéing, and barked orders provided a sort of meditative escape from your muddled headspace.

By the time the last diner had been served and the kitchen was winding down for the night, you felt pleasantly drained in that satisfying way that comes from a job well done. As you began breaking down your station for cleaning, Harry emerged from his office looking satisfied.

"Excellent work tonight, everyone," he called out in that effortlessly commanding tone. "Front-of-house said the new salmon dish was a huge hit. We'll definitely want to keep that one on the seasonal menu."

A chorus of tired but pleased murmurs went around the kitchen at the praise. Harry's eyes found yours amidst the small crowd, holding your gaze a beat longer than strictly necessary before moving on to the other cooks. You tried not to read too much into it.

With the nightly pep talk concluded, Harry rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white chef's coat, joining everyone in the evening breakdown and cleaning duties. You watched surreptitiously as he expertly broke down one of the grill stations, muscles in his broad forearms flexing enticingly with each efficient movement.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself, quickly refocusing on scrubbing down your own prep area. This was exactly the kind of distracted, unprofessional behavior you were trying to avoid lately around Harry.

Despite your best efforts, however, you couldn't fully ignore him moving about the kitchen, checking in with each station to oversee their sanitation. At one point, he paused to examine some utensils that hadn't been properly cleaned, tsking in displeasure before batting them aside to be re-scrubbed.

"That's never going to meet inspection," he chided the sheepish-looking young line cook in his trademark gruff tone. "Do it again, and do it properly this time. We're not running a greasy spoon here."

As much as his uncompromising attitude could be intimidating, you also found it oddly...thrilling to witness Harry taking charge so authoritatively. Not to mention the visual of those powerful hands deftly at work was sending your thoughts in an unprofessional direction yet again.

Sternly redirecting your focus, you turned your back to give the area behind the grill station a thorough scrubbing. You were so engrossed that you nearly jumped out of your skin when Harry's low voice sounded directly in your ear.

"Everything looking good over here?"

You whirled around to find him looming directly behind you, near enough that you could smell the spicy notes of his subtle cologne mingling with the lingering kitchen aromas clinging to him. Up this close, you couldn't help noticing how the top buttons of his coat had come undone at some point, offering a teasing glimpse of the toned chest beneath.

Trying not to stare, you quickly averted your eyes as you nodded. "Y-yes, Chef. All clean on this side."

"Hmm." His assessing gaze slowly raked over your work before returning to your flushed face. The tiniest of smirks played about his lips as if he could read the direction of your thoughts.

"Well, then. Carry on," was all he said before turning and strolling unhurriedly back towards his office, burgundy cargo pants slung enticingly low on those lean hips.

You let out a shaky breath, mentally cursing how easily flustered you still became around this man, no matter how much you tried to enforce boundaries. Resolutely, you refocused on finishing your cleaning tasks, determined to get out of there before any more distracted lapses in professionalism.

By the time the kitchen had been scoured from top to bottom, you were one of the last few staffers remaining. Wearily peeling off your apron, you were just reaching for your bag when Harry reappeared, looking unhurried and relaxed now that the nightly duties were done.

"Heading out?" he asked as you approached, one thick eyebrow raised questioningly.

You stifled a yawn with the back of your hand. "Yeah, I'm beat. Gonna try and get some extra sleep before the morning prep shift tomorrow."

He made a noncommittal sound, falling into step beside you as you headed for the employee exit out back. For a few moments, you walked in silence, oddly aware of the warmth radiating off his body this close to yours.

When he finally spoke, it wasn't at all what you expected. "You did good with that asshole customer earlier."

Your steps faltered slightly at the praise before quickly recovering. "Oh...uh, thanks, Chef. You really didn't need to step in like that."

"The hell I didn't," he countered gruffly. There was an edge to his tone that made the tiny hairs at your nape prickle. "No one treats my staff like piece of meat, especially not in my own goddamn kitchen."

Harry shook his head in disgust at the very idea, causing a lock of mahogany hair to fall rakishly across his furrowed brow in a way that really shouldn't have been as distracting as it was.

Swallowing hard, you refocused on the matter at hand. "I've dealt with guys like that before. Just comes with the territory sometimes, y'know?"

"That doesn't make it acceptable," he insisted, mouth setting into a grim line. You found yourself unable to look away from the sharp angles of his frowning profile, chiseled jaw ticking faintly with irritation, that he tried to mask.

He fixed you with those intense pale eyes, all traces of humor gone. "No one - and I mean no one - gets to treat any of you with disrespect while I'm in charge around here. I won't stand for that shit under my roof."

The ferocity in his tone sent an involuntary shiver rippling through you, though from wariness or...something else entirely, you couldn't say. All you knew was the low, authoritative resonance of Harry's voice carried an unmistakable air of command that raised goosebumps along your arms.

Maybe it was the late hour, or the fact you were walking in such close proximity out of public view. Or hell, maybe it was just the sheer presence of this man who could flip between stern taskmaster and something rawer, more carnal in the blink of an eye.

Whatever it was, you felt that subtle spark between you ignite and suddenly, you desperately needed to be alone to process the yearning that flickered to life low in your belly. Before you could consider the impulse further, you were blurting out the first excuse that came to mind.

"Well, thanks again for that. And for the whole mentorship thing too. I, uh...I actually have some errands to run, so I'll just catch you tomorrow morning, 'kay?"

You didn't even give Harry a chance to respond before ducking through the exit, muscles taut with confused tension. As the cool night enveloped you, you drew a deep, shuddering breath in an effort to steady yourself.

Whatever weird atmospheric flux had momentarily enveloped you back there was too dangerous, too distracting from the tenuous balance you and Harry had only just reestablished. No, it was better to put some space between you before things got muddied again.

With a fierceness born of sheer force of will, you wrestled your turbulent, wandering thoughts back under control. You were a professional, with goals to work towards. Getting pulled into Harry's electrifying orbit again would only derail you.

Still, as you hurried to your car, his shape-shifting countenance kept flashing unbidden across your memory - the dazzling smile, the brooding intensity, the simmering promise of authority barely restrained. All of it provided an infuriatingly potent combination that had your body humming with repressed longing despite yourself.

This was going to take more effort than you'd anticipated.

***

The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of grueling practice runs and preparation for the Martin gala. You and Harry spent nearly every waking hour in the kitchen, iterating endlessly on his showpiece dish concept.

With the prestigious event date rapidly approaching, any lingering awkwardness or tension between you had been shifted firmly into the background. The shared urgency of perfecting this culinary masterpiece became an all-consuming focus that left little room for anything else.

Still, that didn't stop you from noticing...things.

Like how the sleeves of Harry's whites had an endearing tendency to get shoved up his forearms in a way that displayed those tanned, sinewy muscles to distracting effect as he worked. You definitely didn't linger over the sight of his strong hands deftly wielding a knife, making precise, practiced cuts. And you absolutely did not imagine those dexterous fingers trailing across your skin instead of the cutting board.

At least, that's what you sternly told yourself in an ongoing effort to maintain focus.

For his part, Harry was all business during these preparation sessions - issuing clipped instructions, evaluating ingredients with a critical eye, pushing both of you relentlessly to get every component just right. Only rarely did you catch hints of something more underneath that professional veneer.

Like the time you were bent over a burner, carefully spooning out the orbs of flavored olive oil onto the waiting plate. Harry stepped up behind you to examine your work, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. As he leaned in closer to inspect the delicate orbs, his low murmur caressed the fine hairs at your nape in a way that made you shiver.

"That's it...go nice and slow with a deft touch," he rumbled in that raspy timbre that never failed to send tingles shooting straight to your core.

Heart pounding, you risked a sidelong glance to find his pale eyes already locked on yours, glittering with an intensity that contrasted sharply with his deceptively neutral expression. A charged moment stretched between you as that underlying spark you'd been determinedly ignoring flared, sudden and molten.

Just when you thought you might spontaneously combust, Harry blinked and cleared his throat brusquely. "Carry on, then," he instructed in his normal crisp tone before turning away to focus on another component.

You stood motionless for several heartbeats, fingers clenched around the spoon, skin flushed and tingling in equal measures of arousal and disbelief. Did that really just happen or had the endless hours in the kitchen started affecting your mind?

Too skittish to ponder it further, you dove back into your tasks with even more single-minded focus, the uneasy moment shelved and locked away tight. No matter what fleeting tension arose in isolated pockets, you couldn't afford to unpack it right now - not with the enormity of what was at stake.

The days ticked down in a relentless march until finally, you and Harry stood in the solitude of his spartan office the night before the big event, taking a breather from your marathon final prep session.

An ungodly number of mise en place containers filled every available surface, each holding fussed-over components of the highly elaborate and conceptual dish that would make its debut tomorrow. Harry had pushed you both to your physical and creative limits, drilling the execution repeatedly until he was satisfied you could plate it flawlessly under the anticipated scrutiny.

Now, having quality-checked and prepped every last possible element, there was nothing further to do except rest up and bring your sharpest mental game tomorrow. Harry seemed to deflate slightly as the backdrop of mounting pressure decreased for the first time in weeks.

Propping his hip against the desk with studied nonchalance, he quirked one eyebrow in a sidelong glance. "You ready for this?"

Despite your weariness, you felt that familiar thrill of adrenaline stir at those simple words - as well as a contradictory quiver of nerves. This event was a make-or-break opportunity of the highest magnitude, especially for someone like you just starting out. Either you nailed your responsibilities tomorrow, or it all came crashing down in front of Chicago's most elite gourmands.

Shoving aside the sudden flutters of doubt, you met Harry's inscrutable gaze head-on, straightening your spine. "You know I am. We've put in the work, and this dish is gonna blow them all away."

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his sculpted mouth as he studied you appraisingly. "That's what I like to hear. Just remember - all the technique practice in the world won't mean a thing if you panic out there."

The subtle warning made you bristle defensively, never one to back down from a challenge. "I'm not going to panic," you scoffed. "I eat massive amounts of public pressure like this for breakfast."

Harry's eyes danced with amusement, and not for the first time, it struck you how effortlessly he could switch between imposing and playful. "Is that so?" he drawled easily. "In that case, would you care to make things a bit more interesting?"

Before you could respond, Harry kicked off from the desk in one sinuous motion to prowl closer. Despite your weariness, you felt your heart rate kick up several notches as he invaded your personal space, long body coiled with a loose, predatory grace.

"Let's say we raise the stakes a little," he proposed in a tone of studied nonchalance that was completely belied by the heated glint in his eyes boring into yours. "If you can prove you've got the chops to keep a cool head under fire tomorrow, I'll take you out afterwards to celebrate. Just you and me, anywhere you want to go."

Your mouth went instantly dry at the implications behind his offer. Were those...the unmistakable undertones of flirtation coloring his invitation? After the weeks of him keeping things strictly professional between you, the sudden shift was dizzying - and left you dangerously intrigued.

"And what if I choke?" you heard yourself countering recklessly before you could reconsider. "What do you get out of it then?"

His answering smile was pure blistering sin. "Oh, sweetheart. If that happens...I get to take you out too - but somewhere a bit more private."

Harry paused to let the suggestive proposition linger, backing it up with a slow, heated raking of his pale eyes over your body that left zero doubt as to his implication. Heat bloomed furiously across your cheeks as forbidden images flooded your mind unbidden - flashes of tangled limbs, straining muscle, sweaty exertion of a far different sort...

Then, just like that, the provoking spell was broken. Rocking back on his heels, Harry shrugged one broad shoulder in an easy, dismissive gesture. "But that's not going to happen, is it? You've got all the skills, you've put in the time - no reason to buckle tomorrow."

He threw one final weighted glance in your direction before pivoting on his heel towards the door. "Get some rest. I'll see you at the venue early to do our final walkthrough before we get this show on the road."

And with that parting comment, Harry strode casually out, leaving you rooted there in dumbfounded silence. What the hell had just happened? One moment, you'd merely been steeling yourselves for tomorrow's high stakes challenge - and then suddenly he was issuing some bizarrely flirtatious...proposition.

Or was that really what it was? As you stood there chasing replays of his words, his tone, his body language - the whole previous interaction kept taking on a slinkier, more salacious cast. Like maybe your presence of mind was slipping already, causing you to read into things that weren't really there.

No...no, you decided as you hefted your bag, determined to put it all out of your head for now. Harry was just his usual aggravating self, trying to rile you by dangling some imagined reward or punishment to keep you on your toes before the big event. This whole...suggestive semiflirtation thing was just the product of your own exhausted mind playing tricks.

Firmly shoving aside all unsettling thoughts, you focused on the immediate challenge awaiting tomorrow. You would plate Harry's showpiece dish to absolute perfection, prove yourself under the brightest lights, and decisively seize this career-making opportunity.

Everything else could be dealt with later.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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thatone-brightstar · 1 year

Text

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Bear meet Fox

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Out of everyone in the vast city of Chicago, Carmen was glad it was you who stumbled into his rundown restaurant.

a/n: I'm too in love with this man to not write about him, so I'm contributing to our shared obsession with my silly little ficcc.

Also reader is Latina in this and yes it's partially self indulgence.

You couldn't believe you were about to do it.

Not due to excitement but mostly dread, and a bit of self loathing, that the lowest point in your life had brought you here of all places in the city. Might as well call it point Nemo because there was no way you could get any further away.

Pulling your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, you kept your eyes still on the rundown building across the deserted street, afraid it would dissipate and take with it your only chance of employment in a 200 mile radius. The phone screen lit up with the last message from your brother a few days ago and you wanted to punch him square in the face at the way he worded his stupid attempt at “helping” you find a job.

‘So you stop moping around the house cuz its getting pathetic’

Read the text under a picture of a ‘HELP WANTED’ sign, poorly taped to the inside of a surprisingly clean window, stark contrast to the grimy brick that surrounded it. A second text had also been left on read, with a maps link to the location where you stood, balancing on your feet out of nerves. You contemplated your options, as if you had any; turn around, head home and lay in bed until you withered and died of misery. God, your brother was right, you were getting pathetic.

You took a very deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then blew it out into the cold surroundings. ‘You can do it. It’s just another interview, you've done those before. More in the past month than your whole life sure, but who cares? This is the good one.’ You tried psyching yourself up. It could always be worse, you remembered, though lately it seemed more true everyday.

You forced your feet to move from their petrified state and walked towards the building, made sure that the sign was the same one your brother sent, then stood with an outstretched hand about to pull the door open when a voice coming from the left side of the building called your attention.

“Yo, sweetheart! We open at noon!” A man wearing gray joggers and an over washed shirt stood with his head peeking against the corner of the building. If it weren’t for the apron tied around his waist, you’d assume he’s some stranger sticking his nose in other people’s business, but with the bags under his eyes and the cigarette hanging from his mouth, you recognized the trademark of a tired restaurant worker.

“I’m here for the help wanted ad?” You said more like a question, raising a manila folder and shaking it so he could see that you weren’t there for sandwiches, or whatever it was they sold.

“Why?” He asked skeptically, scanning you from head to toe and taking a drag from his cigarette without using his hands. Show off.

You couldn’t come up with an answer on the spot, out of nervousness and intimidation, so you chose to shrug. You could have said you needed the job or literally anything else, but that answer seemed to be enough for him. The guy took another drag then gestured with his head for you to follow him around the corner. With a doubtful turn to the glass door, you moved to the left and followed the man into the parking spot between buildings where, you hoped, another entrance to the restaurant would be waiting for you.

You moved slowly over the gravel, making your way deeper into the empty space. A breath you didn’t know you were holding left your lips at the sight of a long metal door opened ajar, with the man finishing his cig keeping it from closing. He made a circular impatient motion with his hand while staring at you and that was enough for you to quicken your pace towards him.

“Hurry up babe, we ain’t got all day” He said with a loud voice despite being less than three feet away. “C’mon, I’ll see if I can find my asshole cousin. He’s the one who put that stupid sign up anyway.”

You fully entered the building and were immediately welcomed by the familiar scent of roasted meats and sauteed vegetables, the buzz of old vent pipes and the scraping of metal pans against the burners slightly numbed the anxiety growing in your stomach. This was familiar, this you knew. Down to the Bachata beat playing somewhere inside from an overworked radio and the blinding white lights reflecting off the even whiter tiled walls.

The man seemed to have disappeared somewhere past the kitchen, leaving you stranded in the middle of the Steward station with nothing but a half assed ‘wait here’. You clutched your folder containing your resumé near your chest and tried to make yourself as small as it was possible in the already tiny space, so as to not interfere with anyone who were to pass by in a hurry. It felt like minutes had passed and the guy had not returned. You tried to keep yourself entertained by counting the stained steel pots hanging from the hooks above the sinks, then moved to count the beat up escoffier containers that rested on the rack in front of you. When that was done, you checked your surroundings in search of someone else to help you, as the asshole had been gone for some time and it didn’t seem like he’d be back soon.

About to give up hope and ready to push the exit door, you hear a loud ‘Corner!’ headed your way and turned just in time to see a mountain of pots and pans being carried to the sinks by a faceless body. His head was turned to the other side, probably doing his best to keep an eye on the path ahead. You tried to say something but the words were stuck in your throat, so instead you stepped back out of his way and waited until he dropped the cookware. The faceless person dropped everything inside with a loud bang, then rested his arms against the metal edge, sighed and let his head hang low. From your position, scooted by the door in silence, you waited expectantly for him to turn around so you could say something; maybe explaining why you’re there would be a good way to start. But it took him some time to move. All you saw is the flexing of strained muscle on his arms as he gripped the sink like a lifeline. The movement of his tensed back as he breathed under the thin white shirt he wore brought a warmth to your cheeks and you knew you’re starting to be creepy so you forced yourself to talk.

“Hi-” Is all you get to say before he jumped back startled, wide blue eyes with a wild expression and a hand clutching over his blue apron where his heart was.

“Jesus fuck! Don’t fuckin’ do that!” He shouted at you with a hand raking through his hair.

“Sorry!” You yelled back. Your heartbeat pounded in your throat and ears and the warmth from a few seconds ago had turned scorching hot over all your skin.

He leaned forward and rested his hands over his knees trying to calm his pulse, then chuckled lightly and regained his composure. “No no you’re good, I-uh I didn’t mean to yell like that but you scared the shit outta me.”

He passed his hand over his face then left it over his mouth, contemplating you for a solid minute. He looked over at you unsure of what to say as you stood holding your folder to your chest and balancing on your feet.

“Right… so'' He leaned against the sink. “Who are you?”

“Yeah sorry, I saw you were asking for help up front and wanted to see if it was still available.” You said pointing to where you assumed was front of house. In the small space, you couldn’t really make out the layout of the place. “Some asshole guy let me in but then left me here.”

“Fuckin’ Richie” He says under his breath. “Yeah, yeah it still is. You got any papers on you?”

You hand him the folder you had been clutching to your chest. He looked at you one last time then opened it to find your wrinkled resume inside. While he analyzed the information you peeked another look at him. Ashy blond hair framed a strong jaw and nose. He had a broad back and strong arms, likely from all the physical effort it took to work in a kitchen, and even though he took up some space, it seemed like he tried to shrink into himself. The pale skin on his arms was littered with designs that you couldn’t make out from the distance, but you could see the hyper pigmentation of a few scars.

“Oven?” You ask, pointing to a small angry red mark across his forearm.

“What? Oh fuuuck.” He said as he turned his arm. “That’s the first time I see it, honestly.”

You laughed lightly under your breath, before he turned to you with a small smile.

“C’mon.” He guided you out the Steward section and you assumed he’d take you to whoever was in charge of the place.

Your nerves had settled due to the familiar ambiance, as he conducted you through the different sections where a few cooks turned curiously, then settled by the expo that stood tall facing the small window opening into the dining area.

“Mind if we check it here? The office is a shit hole right now.” He looked down at you with expectant eyes.

You swallowed dryly, you weren’t expecting him to be the one in charge. Does that mean you were checking out your future boss? Fuck. You nodded, afraid to trust your own voice. He nodded back then looked at the worn out paper.

“You have a pretty cool resume.” He started. “You’ve been all over the place. Hostess, service, line cook. Private chef for two years, where was that?”

“Uhm, some rich folks up in Lincoln Park. Just dinner and meal prep.” You said as nonchalant as possible.

“Well listen, I don’t think I can pay you as well as they did.” He joked. “We’re not that big of a place and in all honesty, business’ a little tight right now.”

And there it was, the last rejection you were expecting. You looked down at your hands and did your best to calm the bile climbing up your throat.

“But we could really use the help, so maybe I can offer you to help out up front and once we’re back on our feet, you can move back here. The pay’s not the best and the hours are crazy long but it’s just in the meantime.” He stayed quiet waiting for an answer.

Your head snapped up to look at him after the first half, still surprised it wasn’t a rejection. You didn’t notice you had been quietly staring until he raised his brows expectantly.

“Wait, so that means I’m hired?” You questioned, still cautious.

“Yeah, you think you can start today?”

“Yes, yes thank you so much!” You cleared your throat to hide the too obvious excitement. “Yeah, I’ll just need a place to drop off my things.”

“Great, well we gave Sydney our last empty locker, but you can keep your bag in the office. It’s pretty safe.” He pointed to a closet sized door to the left and asked you to follow him while he explained that family was served before opening and that he’d introduce everyone then.

After dropping your bag inside the dimly lit room, that was indeed a shit hole, he guided you back to the kitchen, then through a white door that pushed into the front of house. You saw the asshole leaning against the long counter separated from the tables, telling a very engaging story to a shorter man in a backwards cap who appeared to just want to finish fixing a broken tap. When the door slammed behind you, they both turned towards you and the chef, who you had yet to know the name of. The taller of the two’s eyes grew in realization and his hand flew to his mouth in a fist to try and hide his laugh.

“Shiiit, my bad doll. I swear I went lookin’ for ‘em but fuckin’ Fak here couldn’t keep his pipe shut and started talking!” He said, using the back of his other hand to slap at the chest of the other man who turned offended to him.

“I didn’t say shit! You came running to me talkin’ about the pretty girl you had in the bac-”

“Both of you shut the fuck up and listen” The man behind you interrupted impatient, he placed his hand lightly on your lower back and pushed you further into the room. The placement of his hand did nothing to subside the growing shade of pink in your cheeks from the comment. “This is… shit sorry, I never asked your name.” He turned to you, hand still on your back.

A quiet ‘it’s okay’ left your lips and you introduced yourself to the group of men. The chef repeated your name to himself as a way of memorizing it, then spoke back to the group.

“Richie, she’ll be helping you up front.”

“Fuck you, I’m not babysitting!” He turns to you. “No offense sweetheart, but this,” He said signaling the bar, “is a one man symphony, okay? I can’t have you screwing with my system.”

You did your best not to roll your eyes at him, because of course you expected him to be defensive about it. Enough experience in the service industry had shown you that older people tended to be quite resistant towards change, especially if the change came in the form of barely 5’3 and female. Sure you were young, you had barely graduated culinary school two years ago during the pandemic, but you had been working since your third year so you were more than familiar with the business.

“Well you have a shitty system.” Said Fak under his breath as he finished unscrewing something.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Richie said, offended.

“I’m just saying man, you could use the help. I saw you jump at a customer the other day cause he was asking for ketchup.”

“Cause only idiots ask for ketchup with a sandwich!” He threw his hands in the air and turned his back to Fak.

“He was ten!” He shouted back.

“Look, I don’t have time to argue! Richie, you imbecile, take the help cause you need it and stop jumping on people before you catch a case, all right?!” He turned to you, rubbed your back with his hand still there and smiled slightly. “You’ll do great.” He says finally before turning to Richie and pointing up at him while walking back. “Don’t fuckin’ scare her off.”

And he was gone out the door. Richie made a gesture with both his hands pushing from under his chin to where the chef had disappeared then turned to you. He stayed silent, one hand on the bar and another on his hips as he stared at you in intimidation. You held his gaze, not cowarring now that you knew he wasn’t going to murder you. An ‘Aha!’ from Fak brought him back and he slapped his hand on the bar.

“Alright c'mon. I’m gonna need you to organize back here while I sweep around the tables. We open at 12 so we got enough time. Got it? ” He finished.

You salute with your right hand, rolled up your sleeves and walked behind the bar to start working on the task. “Yes, chef.” You mumbled out of habit.

“Nah, don’t fuckin’ start with that ‘chef’ thing with me, I’m already up to my balls with Carmy sayin’ it all the time.” He replied exasperated.

“Fine. Yes, asshole. Whatever.” You respond, rolling your eyes and starting to take things out from the fridge at the bottom of the counter.

You heard a snicker from Fak a few feet away, followed by a smacking sound and an ‘Ow! Fuck you!’ before Richie’s sneakers squeaked away into the other room. What you didn’t see was the small smirk on his face as he started walking away. You had balls, he’d give you that.

You powered through the absolute rat’s nest the bottom of the counter was. An empty jar of pickles, two moldy sausages and a single slab of cheese without the wrapper were only a couple of things you found while trying to clean the mess. You took anything useless and dumped it into a black trash bag Fak was nice enough to get you, before showing you where they kept all the cleaning supplies so you weren’t in the dark. It took you two trips to the supply shelf, a sponge, a rag and half a bottle of dish soap to ultimately get rid of the stale grease that gave the impression to have been there since the opening of the place. Once you were satisfied with the way you organized the station, you moved to scrub the top of all the counters and even give a little swipe with the rag on all the stools.

You had baby hairs sticking to your forehead and cheeks by the time you were done, even your jacket had been discarded and thrown under the now clean bar, but a satisfied smile rested on your face despite all that. God, you really missed working. You finally took some time to admire all the framed pictures littering the surrounding walls. Most were of sports players you weren’t familiar with; one, because you really weren’t a fan of any sport, and two, because the pictures looked so old that most of the specific features had been erased from too much exposure to the sun. There were also football jerseys hanging by a corner near the unlit menu and a big ‘Beef Deli’ sign on the wall behind you. You saw a couple cooks moving around behind the window under the sign and a little knot formed in your stomach at the thought of having to introduce yourself in a while.

You checked your wristwatch on your left hand while you wiped the sweat from your forehead with your right, hoping you still had some time to kill. But before you could look down, a voice by the door called your name. You looked up to see the chef, Carmy you had learned his name was, looking at you with a small smile.

“Front of house looks good, chef.” He complemented, clear blue eyes scanning the counters as he leaned against the door, hands playing with a spoon.

You took a deep breath and smiled back, holding onto your wrists behind your back, “Thanks, chef. I-uhm hope you don’t mind that I took some Fabuloso to wipe down the counter by the window. It smelled like shit.” You finish, pointing at the purple liquid in the spray bottle beside you.

“Yeah, no that’s fine.” He answers, a small laugh stuck in his throat. “But that was actually Tina’s so don’t let her see you used it.”

Your mouth opened slightly as your eyes grew, and you were afraid to ask how bad it would be if she found out. He straightened up with a smirk and tapped his spoon twice on the metal counter before signaling for you to follow him with his head.

“C’mon, family’s up.”

You turned on your heel to follow him into the other room, but jogged back, jumped over the counter high enough to slap the spray bottle with sufficient force for it to fall and roll under the counter. You did not know Tina, but you were sure as hell you also didn’t want to get your shit rocked on your first day on the job.

You tried tidying up your hair back into a less messy ponytail and combed all the stray baby hairs before entering the adjacent room where the other workers were getting ready for family. Some faces stared from their seats, questioning the presence of the stranger invading their space. A few you had met on the rush while taking the garbage bags out or crossing the kitchen to the supply shelf. Marcus, the pastry chef, waved with a simple smile and pointed to an empty space beside him. The simple action brought a wave of relief over your shoulders as you advanced towards him, hands interlocked in nerves. You mumbled a ‘Thanks.’ and served yourself a glass of water from the pitcher in front of you.

Once everyone was sitting with a container of food in front, the chef introduced you to the table and let everyone know you’d be helping out up front with the service and that if they had any questions, they could ask you directly. The first one to jump at the opportunity was an older man with dark skin, asking you in a thick accent if you were related to Tina. There was a burst of laughter around the table, but he seemed to be serious about his question.

“Ebra, not all latinos are related you racist fucker.” Responded a small woman sitting beside him with a slap to his arm. Okay, so that’s Tina, you thought. “That’s like me saying you and Marcus are related cause you’re both black.” She finished pointing at the tall man sitting beside you.

“We are related.” Ebra responded with a teasing smile, staring at Marcus and you immediately knew where this was going. “I am his grandfather- his mom called me daddy last night!”

Another roar of laughter shattered along the table and you had to stick a spoonful of rice in your mouth to hide your smile. You heard a ‘C’mon man, that’s not right.’ from Marcus as he shook his head, but the creeping grin let you know that it was all in fun. The conversation flowed between comments on the food and stories they all recounted, glad to have a fresh pair of ears to hear them.

One of Richie’s was from a few weeks ago, when they had set up a video game tournament at the restaurant to make some extra cash and the nerds in line had gone so bat shit crazy, that one punched Carmy on the jaw and he had to go out and ‘beat their asses into shape’. You slowly swallowed the bite you had taken and stared at Richie sitting at the end by Carmy.

“Was he dressed like a giant carrot… By any chance?” You ask mortified.

“No shit! You know the fucker?!” He yelled, slamming his hands on the table. Everyone turned to you like you were holding a new piece to a worthy puzzle.

You covered your face with your hands then crossed them in front of your chin. “Yeah… I think that fucker’s my 19 year old brother.” You affirmed scrunching your face in disgust. Fuckin’ Joshua.

The table went wild with jokes about how Carmy had almost gotten knocked out by a teen and through the hysterics you could still make out Richie’s voice saying “Oh my god, sweetheart. Thank you, really. You just made my WEEK!” All you could do was pick around your container as heat crept up your neck.

You peered up through your lashes at Carmen sitting with a mortifying look and mouthed a heartfelt ‘Sorry’ for what felt like the tenth time that day. He was leaning back with his arms crossed, smiled with an ‘it’s okay’ and let everyone take a jab with their jokes. You looked back down to your food and did your best to drown out the teasing noises from everyone, but were unaware of how the chef raised his brows and swallowed dryly with his gaze still on you.

After minutes of teasing, everyone picked up their empty dishes and separated into their areas. You stayed in the dining room wiping down the tables that were left to clean before opening service and a couple of ideas came to mind on how you could decorate them to reduce the depressing feeling. At least for now, napkins and holders would do, the rest would have to wait. You power walked to the front where you remembered seeing a packet that looked to be from napkins, but once you reached inside all you found were a bunch of wrinkled brown pieces of paper.

“Richie!” You yelled from your crouched position.

“Yo!” He yelled back, head popping above you over the counter.

“I can’t seem to find any napkins.” You spoke while still searching hopefully in the space.

“You’re holdin’ em.” He stated, matter-of-factly.

You stand fully and shake the supposed napkins in front of you. “Richie, these are stained and say Starbucks on em!”

His grin grew wide on his face as he walked back with extended arms. “Welcome to The Beef, kid!” He laughed, then leaned down to unlock the glass door where you could already see some people forming a line.

You quickly dropped the napkins, grabbed the blue half apron you had been given and tied it around your waist as fast as possible. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A fuckin’ heads up would’ve been nice, you thought as you plastered on a soft smile for the clients.

“Alright, fuckos! We’re open!” He shouted into the restaurant and wiggled his brows towards you. “Goodluck.”

Fuck.

*****

He was worried for you for the first fifteen minutes after opening. Afraid you’d see the mess you had stumbled upon or that his idiot cousin would say something that would have you grabbing your bag and leaving without as much as a goodbye. He wouldn’t blame you, hell, he would’ve even done the same if his name wasn’t in the lease now instead of his brother’s.

He stopped worrying however, when he saw the way you managed yourself around the floor and customers. Empty plates were picked up with ease and replaced with warm ones that spent less than five minutes on the counter, the orders were taken within minutes and served with a kind smile. He was even surprised when you walked away from the other side of the expo with three plated sandwiches balancing in one hand and a forth plate in the other.

“Can you manage, chef?” He even asked when he saw you trying to find the perfect space between your fingers that could balance the plate, your lip caught in concentration.

You looked at him with your head still bowed and a breathy smile. “Yeah, thanks.” Then turned your back to deliver the dishes.

It wasn’t his intention for his gaze to linger longer than it did as your hips swayed naturally with every step, or when despite the hectic sound of the kitchen he could still hear you laugh politely at a joke from one of their regulars. But it was only until Syd elbowed him in the side that he noticed he was being a bit creepy. Jesus, it’s like your 14 again, he thought.

“You’re worried Richie’s gonna scare her off but you’re the one giving me the creeps with all the staring.” She said after reading the printed ticket for another order.

“Heard, chef.” Was all he said, cleared his throat and went back to work, doing his best not to look up every time you walked to receive a new order.

It was only when the lunch rush died down and he was in desperate need of a cigarette, that he saw you sitting down with your head resting against the cold bricks of the adjacent building and eyes closed peacefully. He didn’t want to bother you, but he also didn’t want to waste the opportunity of telling you how well you had done in the first half of the day. Besides, the heavy door behind him slammed closed and startled you slightly, so there was no going back now.

“Hey.” You smiled softly, stretching your arms above your head and your legs straight forward, then relaxed altogether.

“You smoke?” Carmy asked, offering you a cig as he sat on the empty crate a few feet away from you, elbows resting on his knees.

You shook your head no, but thanked him anyway. “I quit a few months ago.” You said just as he flicked his lighter on and the tip grew bright orange.

“Shit, sorry. If it bothers you I can turn it off.” He offered. He wanted to say ‘I can go somewhere else’ but he didn’t want to give you the idea that he didn’t wanna be there.

You shook your head no again still smiling and pulled one of your legs to your chest, turning to him. “So…” You asked curious. “How’d I do for my first half?”

Carmy chuckled lightly as he exhaled smoke into the air. He turned to you from his crouched position and for the fifth time that day, he took a good look at your face. Jesus fuck, how could someone as beautiful as you end up in his dump of all places? Despite your overworked expression and a few small bags beneath your eyes, he was sure he had never seen anyone’s face glow with such brightness as yours did now. His eyes danced around your face, taking in every single freckle he could before he tore them away after what to him felt like an eternity of staring- no- admiring your features.

“You did way better than I expected. Truly, chef. Thank you.” He whispered and, despite the noisy Chicago surroundings, you heard every word.

Your smile beamed brighter for what felt like the first time in months and the fist that had been constricting your heart for a while now seemed to give you some much needed space to breathe.

Carmy finished his cigarette in comfortable silence, now laying back against the cold brick wall that helped ease the rising temperature in his body, while you played with the aquamarine ring on your pointer finger that reminded you too much of the chef’s specific shade of blue eyes.

“What’s Carmy short for?” You asked all of a sudden, pulling him out of his internal thoughts.

It took him a couple of seconds to process the question, then smiled down to the gravel under his feet. “Uhm- it’s short for Carmen. It’s a family name. " He responded.

“Oh.” Was all you said, nodding your head. “It's nice. I have a cousin named Carmen.” You continue with a smile on your lips.

“Yeah?” He asked, turning down towards you, only to see you stand up and clean off the dust from the back of your black jeans and readjust the apron around your waist.

You stood with your hands on your hips and stared down at him for another second before smiling and making your way to the tall door. “Yeah, but she’s a girl.” You reply without turning back and push your way into the restaurant, leaving the chef with a snickering grin and a lightheaded feeling he wished wasn’t just from the nicotine.

Chapter 2.

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atimeofyourlife · 10 months

Text

A group thing?

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: no upside down au | rated: t | wc: 944 | tags: no upside down au, pre-steddie, steve x corroded coffin Steve gets a job in a record store in Chicago, and a familiar group of guys come in looking for a place for their band to play. Who knows where it could go

Getting out of Hawkins was the best thing that had ever happened to Steve. The plan had been cemented between him and Robin when they started working at Family Video after the freak fire at Starcourt, the result of an electrical fault caused by the cut corners and corrupt construction. They were both going to work as many hours as possible at Family Video, so they could save up ready to move away after Robin graduated high school, with Steve planning to follow her to wherever she went to college.

The plan led them to Chicago, with Robin getting accepted to study linguistics at the University of Chicago. They found a small, relatively affordable two bed apartment, and did everything they could to make it theirs. While Robin worked on her degree, Steve found work at an independent record store. Even though it was still retail, he found it much better than working at Family Video and Scoops Ahoy had been. There was no uniform, the manager was pretty chill, and employees could choose anything from stock to play over the store's sound system. Steve did tend to play a lot of Queen when it was his turn to pick, but he was learning a lot about other genres from his coworkers' tastes in music.

But Steve's favorite part of the job was the live music. There was a small stage area that local bands could book and come in and play for free, in a chance to get more experience playing. Some of them weren't the best, but some of them were amazing. It was something that made it feel less like work. Some bands were pretty regular, and Steve was starting to form a real friendship with some of them.

"Hi, how can I help?" Steve asked as he came back to the counter from the stock room where he'd been processing a delivery with his coworker. There were a group of guys all waiting around, so he assumed that they were a band wanting to get a play spot. There was something familiar about them, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.

"Er, hi. We've just moved to the area, and a buddy of ours told us you let bands play here for free." The guy at the front with long hair said, seeming to be the leader.

"Yeah, we do that. Just give me a moment." Steve ducked down to grab the folder from under the counter. "So the boss is the one who makes the final decisions on all the bands, so I'll just need to take your details, and she'll call you back to arrange everything. And I can give you the information sheet with everything you need to know."

The band took the sheet, and murmured a little amongst themselves.

"Okay, so if I can start with the band name?" Steve asked, pulling out a sign up sheet.

"Corroded Coffin." One of them replied.

Steve wrote it down, and tried to make conversation as he did. "You said you guys just moved here? Where'd you come from?"

"This shitty, small town in Indiana. You've probably never heard of it."

"Uh huh. And a phone number we can contact you on?"

The number got rattled off for Steve to note down.

"That sounds a lot like where I'm from. You wouldn't be from Hawkins, would you?"

"Yeah, we are."

"I thought you guys seemed familiar. We probably went to high school together." Steve said. "And your names?"

Each said their names as Steve wrote them down. The last one, who had seemed to be the leader, "Eddie Munson."

Steve looked down at the sheet, before looking up at Eddie. "You used to sell, right? At a picnic bench in the woods behind the school."

"You used to buy? Then do we get your name, big boy." Eddie asked, leaning on the counter.

"Steve. Harrington." Steve replied, watching hesitantly as they all seemed surprised.

"King Steve, what brings you to working in a place like this?"

"Trying to make rent. My parents cut me off after I graduated, and I'm pretty sure it would be a total disownment if they knew half the shit I got up to now. So me and my best friend moved up here after she graduated. She's in college and I'm making sure we can afford our shitty two bedroom apartment."

"Now I want to know what you get up to." One of the others said, Steve was pretty sure he'd said his name was Gareth.

"Let's just say I know what the bandanna in Munson's back pocket stands for." Steve winked as he said it, and couldn't help laughing as they all spluttered slightly. "I've got all the information I need, and I'll make sure to put in a good word with the boss for you."

Steve was working when Corroded Coffin were playing at the store for the first time. He was on hand to help them get set up and make sure everything went smoothly.

"I think that's everything, you guys can start playing when you're ready, and I'll let you know when your time is nearly up. Do you need anything else?"

"How about a kiss for good luck?" Eddie asked.

Steve smiled before pulling Eddie in by the shirt and kissing him deeply.

"Hey, what about the rest of us?" Gareth called from behind his drum kit.

Steve just shrugged, before going around and kissing each of them softly on the lips.

He made his way back behind the counter, looking forward to what could come between him and the band. Friendship, or maybe even something more.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #pre steddie #steve harrington x corroded coffin #no upside down au #steddieholidaydrabbles #atimeofyourwrites

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satelitis · 6 months

Text

꒰ CAN'T GET RID OF ME THAT EASILY ꒱ . . . f reed !

pairing(s) : fulton reed x fem!portman!reader (romantic) , dean portman x sister! reader (platonic)

in which before the game against varsity, the portman siblings have a surprise up their sleeves.

requested : yes or no.

!! content warnings : fluff, yelling, swearing

robin chirps : erm so im out of my writing slump and ziggy and i nonstop talk about tmd and our boyfriends, so i decided to surprise her since she kinda got me out of my writing slumps and introduced me to my bf charlie and one of the most amazing movies of all time <3 ily zigma!! [@spaceagebachelormann]

"your'e playing hard, i'm proud of you guys." coach orion reassured as he patted russ on the shoulder.

"they're cheap shotting us to death!" luis groaned.

"i know they are, i know they are." orion sympathized.

"It's gonna take a miracle for us to hold on." averman replied. little did the ducks know that "miracle" would be a little more unexpected then they thought.

suddenly, the door burst open revealing a tall brunette with a bandana around his head. dean portman.

"dean portman is awarded a full athletic and academic scholarship to the eden hall academy," dean read off his maroon folder. "i found this lying around at home in chicago, my attorny thought i should sign it, and i agreed." he continued. "it's offical boys, im back!" he exclaimed as all the ducks cheered, especially fulton. his heart broke the day that his best friend dean, and the love of his life, y/n had to go back to chicago. he was ecstatic at the sudden appearance of his fellow bash brother. but if dean was here...then where was y/n?

"hey you ass, where'd you go?" a voice spoke in the doorway. fulton could recognize that voice from anywhere. y/n. the voice was further identified when she herself wandered into the room. fulton was beyond shocked, jovial and he felt that he might have a heart attack because of how much was happening. in no time at all, y/n was in fultons arms their lips interlocked.

"did you miss me?" y/n teased, as fulton rolled his eyes, kissing her once again. dean looked partially disgusted.

"what the hell. why didn't i get one?" dean joked, activly trying to piss y/n off. the girl gave her brother the bird as the ducks laughed and watched the cute reunion. russ and averman made jokes in the background and snickered.

"oh, fulton! i missed you so much mwah mwah mwah." averman said in a feminine high pitched voice, as he faked kissing noises. russ continued with the bit presumably as fulton.

"i missed you too, babe." he said also mimicking kissing sounds. the ducks snickered. fulton proceeded to threaten the two.

"will you shut the hell up before i give you pucks for teeth?" he said. averman and russ laughed, as they stopped the bit. fulton turned his attention back to y/n now answering her question. '

"of course i missed you, you were gone for like ever." he exaggerated. but that's what it felt like for the couple.

"the phone calls weren't the same." he frowned softly.

"yeah, 'specially WHEN DEANS BREATHING ON THE OTHER LINE." y/n raises her voice as she turns back to dean.

"why didn't you call me and tell me you were coming?" he asked her,

"cause this was way more fun." she replied, a goofy grin on their faces. "you can't get rid of me that easily." she said.

'i'd hate to intrude on your little love fest but we got a bunch of temperamental man children's asses to kick." russ chimed in.

the ducks all cheered as they made their way on the ice.

"is that dean portman?" the teenage announcer asked. the crowd was in unbelief, "oh and his sister, y/n! they're both back!" he exclaimed.

"who are those kids? they cant play!" tom exclaimed. "they're on scholarship tom, my hands are tied." dean buckley replied.

"so you're the big enforcer, huh? well its nice to meet you, see, we have a lot more in common then you think-" dean rambled.

"shut up." the warrior spat, "lets play hockey," he said.

"whatever you say sunshine," dean shrugged, the game continued as dean ended up making cole go through the glass, shattering it.

dean and fulton cheered as they banged their heads together. "the bash brothers are back and they're here to stay and so is "y/n "the firecracker" portman, as she scores goal one for the ducks!" the announcer called out and boy was fulton beyond happy with it.

#quill to paper (rowan's version)#fulton reed #fulton reed x reader #the mighty ducks #the mighty ducks x reader #d1 #d2 #d3 #fulton reed x fem reader #fulton reed x yn

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neverlookatthisblog · 1 month

Text

Bad for business

A/n: I was very inspired hope you enjoyed this let me know what you think I haven’t wrote anything smut related so I was very excited to write this 🥴🥴

GIF from @harlowgifs

Smut

Scalvo x reader the instigators

Life in Boston wasn’t how you expected it to be when you planned to move there with a couple of friends just for a few years later not to even be in touch with them anymore

With your Family back in Chicago you had no one yes you could always go back home but you knew you had to make a life of your own now

You were a successful lawyer working on cases sleepless nights Ironically enough this is how you met Scalvo you’re off and on boyfriend

“I’ve got another case for you” Amanda said handing you the file yawning taking the file ‘Another one’ you thought it never ends with your job you reading the file you wanted to know more about him who he was

“Scalvo” you asked Amanda

“Yup I heard he’s a tough one” she said

“Great” but it only made you more curious about him

You’ve worked for lots of people,Scalvo was different to you in your eyes you loved the way he looked at you even though it felt like he hated everything and everyone

To say the least you were stressed

Turns out Scalvo got himself into some trouble beating up some guy and needed a lawyer and it happened to be you,you took the case

“Why why why” you said to yourself as you made your way inside the building

You approached a tall man sitting down with fluffy hair,jacket,with a hat

“Are u Scalvo??” you asked holding his folder

“Yea let’s just get this over with “ he said getting up

“Hold on wait you can’t just get this over with this takes time especially after what u did” I said making him raise his eyebrow

He groaned sitting back down

“So tell me how you go yourself in this situation” I said taking out my note pad

“Are you really about to write this down” he snickered

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m serious about my job” you said

“Fine” he said

You ended winning case got him out of that shit hole you guys started talking getting to know each other he wasn’t someone you’d date usually it was date nights for you but with Scalvo it was joining him on robberies and much more……

•••

(Present day)

You had the day off spending time at home you made yourself comfortable on the couch seeking into the cushion but that didn’t last it wasn’t for long until Scalvo busted through the doors straddling you

“Hey we need to talk” he said

“Talk about???”

“I know you don’t like this next heist but I have to do it there’s money involved” he said you shook your head

He hurried around the house grabbing his bag

“No… scalvo you’re not doing that” you said eagerly following Scalvo around the house as he gathers things in his bag him doing this kind of stuff was normal to you even when it shouldn’t be

“Are you fucking serious scalvo” you said

You knew he was bad for you but that’s what made it exciting for you loving the thrill and you loved him you knew it wasn’t safe being with someone like Scalvo but you couldn’t resist it

“Y/n please just shut the fuck up I have to do this I made a promise !!!”he said continuing to put stuff in the bag

“No..,Promise to who??? I’m not letting you do this! And if you walk out that door that’s it” you said stopping him he gave you a glare dropping his bag

“The fuck did you just say” he said backing you up until your back hit the wall

“You heard me I said we’re fucking done I’m tired of your shit” you said

“You don’t mean that….” he said making eye contact with you

“Yes I do I’m tired of your shit we’re done” you said pushing him but he wouldn’t move

“And I want you to be done with me too scalvo I’m seri-“before you could say anything he crashed his lips onto yours fighting it you eventually gave in pulling away

“Well I’m not” he said before He picks you up eagerly entering your shared bedroom throwing you on the bed kissing your neck his hands made its way to your button up shirt roughly ripping it

“Scal” you said

“Shut the fuck up” he said kissing your lips his right hand roaming your body until it made its way inside your pants his fingers lightly rubbing circles around your clit

“If you meant that then you wouldn’t be letting me do this to you” he said

“Oh my god” you moaned gripping on to his arm gasping as he continued his movements

“Right??? But your not shit talking now are you?” He said you moaned as he continued on with his movements

“Answer me” lightly chocking you feeling two of his fingers push in and out of you

But you knew you couldn’t You could barely answer mumbling words

He kissed you knowing that you were on edge

You kissed him harshly gripping his tightly

“I can’t….im gonna-“ you cut off by his movements as his fingers repeatedly pushed against your spot

“I know”he said kissing you until you came

Slipping his hands out your pants licking his fingers he hummed as he sucked them clean

“You taste good” he said

“ I’ll be back” he said making his way to the bathroom

He finally came back you wasted no time flipping him over now on top of him you kissed him your hands roamed his around his body but before you could continue he stopped you for a second looking into your eyes you smiled at him

“I know you don’t want me to do this but….”

“Yeah but what??” You said your smiled faded getting off of him

“I’m sorry y/n but I have to do this” he said turning to you both laying on your side

“I knew you would still do it anyways”you rolled your eyes

“Well what did you expect”

“I expected you to not go through with it” you said

“What you thought just because you said we might be done that was gonna scare me” he snickered

“I’m not bluffing scalvo If you do this….” you said shaking your head

“I’m doing this whether you like it or not” he said looking at you

you knew you couldn’t trust him because no matter what you said or did he would’ve did what he wanted to do anyways

that’s just the part that hurt the most was knowing that he may not come back…

#jack harlow #jack harlow imagine #jackharlow #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow smut

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hitlikehammers · 7 months

Text

on the radio

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness, love beyond the boundaries of what it even meant to love before the spring of ‘86 ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, teacher!steve, rockstar husbands, tour dates coincide with summer vacation because Eddie can't sleep without his Stevie thank you for your cooperation with this policy, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day fourteen: Love is being late to work because you can’t ever say goodbye in a reasonable amount of time (@sharpbutsoft)

more codependent rockstar!husbands of the je ne regrette rien variety, you say? oh, well, I mean: I guess ♥️

Steve can fucking taste freedom, he swears.

He looks at the list of student records he needs to close out to transfer to the high school before he can pack away the last of his office and sign the hell off for the school year—and start the summer tour cycle with his husband through the Midwest, up and down the East Coast, and then they’re fucking breaking Europe, got signed on to a couple festivals, and Steve is goddamn vibrating with excitement and shit, just: are there parts of your heart that like, fit together? Like bones where they connect and shit, or is it all just one piece?

Steve thinks is more like one piece, but he is gonna go with that it’s more like stitched together or something, just so he can fucking say exactly what he feels, which is that his whole goddamn chest—heart and ribs and lungs and all the other fucking bones and shit there—all of it’s seriously bursting at the seams just with so much fucking pride, okay, because his Eddie’s goddamn made it. This dream of his isn’t just gold records; it’s a plane across an ocean to play for tens of thousands of people who don’t even all speak their language and that’s…that’s just like…

Steve’s so goddamn proud he’s split between wanting to scream about it from the top of the school and maybe sob about it with all kinds of sappy declarations peppered in as he messy-cries, so: bursting at the seams. Heart in his chest so full it’s primed to just explode like a goddamn confetti cannon.

Though time has kind of served as testament to the fact that that sensation’s less exclusively about Eddie’s music, or his success, and more just about Eddie.

Eddie, and loving him beyond the boundaries of any understanding Steve ever had about what it meant to love before the spring of ‘86.

He’s almost through the ‘V’s at the end of his alphabet of names when he notes the time—shit, he almost missed it.

He reaches for tiny radio in the corner of his desk that literally just lives there for the purpose of Eddie and the boys doing interviews on local stations every so often, and tunes it in 93.9.

…elcome to most of the infamous lords of midwestern metal, Corroded Coffin, the DJ’s introducing and good, Steve sighs and flips through his…fifth-to-last folder—just in time, he can listen to the interview the guys are squeezing in before hitting the road, then he can get home while the band’s getting their flight to the first venue in Chicago, they’ve got a couple of days there and he and Eddie are planning to look at some houses; Erica’s out of high school they’re ready to make the leap, and Steve will take the 6:10 flight and head straight to the show like the often do, it should work perfect; it’s great to have you guys back but Jeff, I gotta ask, the maybe most…colorful?

You can say obnoxious, Lenny, if anyone knows, we do, Jeff’s shooting playfully, and Steve snickers, distracted by closer folder-number-five and flipping open number-four.

I would never, the DJ gasps theatrically to laughter, and Gareth’s muted holler almost like he’s here! and then he continues on; that does open the line of inquiry, though: where’s your notorious frontman, Mr. Munson?

Steve’s hand slips on the folder; he barely catches it before it falls to the floor.

Eddie…Eddie’s not, not there?

Steve tries to talk down the adrenaline response that’s never wholly died at the idea of the love of his fucking life gone missing, and worse, the idea of something happening to him while unaccounted for: Jeff was playful. Gareth was teasing. They have to at least have known somethingabout Eddie’s absence, Steve talks down his racing heart to something just a little anxious as he listens for clues, and doesn’t have to mine little hints or anything even, it’s clear and plain:

Eddie’s got a sore throat, so like the diva he is, he’s resting it before showtime, Dougie chiming in and yeah, two points to that: one, the only reason Eddie’d have a sore throat would have been fine by sun-up, yeah, and it was, because Eddie was all sunshine and manic energy when they parted ways that morning, and then two: Steve actually knows these guys well enough to be able to tell when they’re talking out their asses.

And Doug is maybe the worst liar of the three on-air.

Steve’s chewing hard on his Bic, trying hard to keep a level head about this: if anything drastic had happened, he’d have heard, they all have his office number, they all know where he is, it would—

Steve startles when he hears rubber squeaking down the hall outside the office; as far as he knows, though, he’s the only person here—everyone else takes at least a week free from this place after classes end, but Steve has a timeline, and a flight to catch, so y’know: sacrifices must be made and whatnot.

He barely gets to turn in his chair to consider getting up to check when the culprit and his perpetually-trashed Reeboks skids to a halt in the doorway.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie beams at him, a little breathless, hair a fucking mess but smiling so big, those dimples popped so deep: shit, if Steve’s heart hadn’t been quick already, that’d fucking do the trick.

“Eddie,” Steve stands, and meets him in the middle where Eddie’s already crossing to him, kissing him immediately and hungrier than the maybe-five-hours since the saw each other really fucking merits. “What, you, why aren’t you at the station?”

Eddie’s eyes flick to the radio as he clocks the question and of all the reactions Steve could predict from him, the fake-sheepish grin with the glimmering fucking eyes?

Probably could have guessed that one.

“I forgot something.”

“You forgot something?”

“Yeah, something important,” he nods fervently and Steve frowns.

‘Babe, you could have called, I’m meeting you at the arena, I could drop it with security if needed to,” he offers, argues: but not really, and not like it fucking matters, because here Eddie is, and the boys were planning to run straight to the airport from the interview, both of which are in the city but Steve’s not, and Eddie’s gonna have to be fucking quick, here, if he doesn’t want to be late for his goddamn flight; did he already swing by the house for whatever it is he needs, it—

“Nope,” Eddie pops the denial like a bubble; “can’t leave it with security.”

Steve squints at him, because now it’s a puzzle. Now it’s Eddie being…kind of a little shit.

And Steve doesn’t even begrudge him the momentary panic before; he’s too adorable. Steve’s too fucking in love.

And now he’s curious.

“You kissed me goodbye.”

“Oh, always,” Eddies almost offended by the suggestion he could have forgotten that. As in: ever.

“Said you loved me.”

“Bigger than the universe,” Eddie says exactly what he came up with that morning, like he does every morning, some new outlandish way to describe the scope of his affections and Steve rolls his eyes but eats it up every fucking time; “and the universe is always expanding so I love you bigger than what it’s expanded to since this morning, too.”

Steve can’t help but kiss him for that, because; well.

Because.

“What the hell else then?” Steve asks, because Eddie has a fucking timeline here and then his husband’s grin stretches slow, and sly, and then he’s drawing Steve in, and kissing him deep, licking as far as he can reach and wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist tight, knocking him a little off balance by design and Steve goes with it, because he fucking loves it, and then—

“Goddamnit, Edward,” Steve growls between them into Eddie’s shit-eating fucking grin as he smacks Steve’s ass, again, and keeps his hand there to squeeze while he pecks at Steve’s lips with feeling.

“It’s good luck, baby, for the journey!” Eddie protests between kisses. “It would curse the whole shebang if I left without showing the appreciation duly accorded to a goddamn masterpiece,” and then he leans in and goes deep one more time, draws a moan out and drags it slow from Steve’s lips before breaking away to declare emphatically:

“Unthinkable.”

And Steve…Steve fucking loves this man bigger than the whole expanding fucking universe or whatever, so he kisses him back until Eddie’s the one moaning, then pushes him away, kinda hard.

“Get out of here, you fucking lunatic,” but then he’s quick to drag Eddie back for one last kiss to mouth against him: “have a safe flight, I’ll see you tonight.”

And Eddie smiles against him, and makes to actually listen, but.

Not before Steve slaps that ass as it makes its way out the door.

Turnabout’s fair play.

Or whatever.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

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lamaery · 10 months

Text

100 Portraits Training | Part 1 In autumn 2021 I started a series of practice portraits to get a better feel for different kinds of facial features. I wanted to get better at drawing people of colour of all kinds and variations and also at different variations of skin colours. My plan was to do a more fully rendered image from reference and then try to draw it a second time in a more simplified comic style to find the essences of what gave each face its own characteristics. The series didn't progress continuously (I hope to finally do 92 to 100 until the end of the year) and, as you will see, went very obviously through my reference folder for various Stormlight Archive characters :D This first page is still a vague starting point it features:

1) Brenda Myers-Powell from the documentary Dreamcatcher which follows her work of assisting sex-workers in Chicago

2) Iranian actress Shohreh Aghdashloo in the role of Chrisjen Avasarala in The Expanse

3) East Asian female presenting model from a fashion photography on Behance…

4) The incredibly fashionable Billy Porter

5) A young woman that was interviewed for German documentary series in an episode about Uzbekistan. Sadly I could not find out retrospectively which ethnic group she is part of, since I could not find the episode online.

6) Chinese-American actress Ming-Na Wen as Melinda Quiaolian May from Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

7) Kavinthida, a young woman from Thailand that appears in the series of portraits at the airport by Mustafa Çankaya, a photographer from Istanbul (link to the series , Kavathinda is number 8) Also on the side I tried to collect links and articles that discuss representation of PoC in media in a broader scope. I might share some of these in case other people find them interesting, too. If you have any good sources, please add them in the comments, reblog or tags :D Hmm, let's start with this wonderful and extensive article about understanding how to light and paint darker skintones ------------------ Part 2 – Kaladin Part 3 & 4 – Adolin and Renarin Part 5 – Dalinar Part 6 & 7 – Shallan and Jasnah Part 8 & 9 - various people and skin tones Part 10 – a little bit for The Lopen Part 11 & 12 - Wit and Navani Part 13 - ofmd und Dev Patel :) Part 14 - more ofmd and Patel

#art practice #portraits #procreate #sketches #art challenge #art advice

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copperbadge · 10 months

Note

Hi Sam! Recently diagnosed midlife ADHDer here. First, thanks for talking about your ADHD & sharing what you’re figuring out. It’s super helpful to someone on a similar trajectory.

I just saw a reference to your photo books for the first time & it seems like a great way to help with memory issues that come with ADHD (like I know I did [x thing] but when?). Could you talk a little about the process of collecting photos & such all year & then how you create one?

Thank you!

Ey, happy to have helped! Congrats and sympathies on your diagnosis. And honestly it's good for me too, talking all this out, it helps me get my thoughts in order. I often namedrop you guys to Therapist, you are "my readers" :D

The process of putting the photobooks together is...well, it's a lot, so this is going to be a super high-level overview, but basically yeah I wanted to have records of where I'd been and what I'd been doing that were more concrete than just digital photos on a hard drive or a cloud. But I didn't really want to just print the digital photos and put them in a box, either, so I started making photobooks. Usually I go through Walgreens or Shutterfly for printing, whichever has the good coupons when I'm working on it.

So, here's the weird, kind of obsessive part: a huge help in making a yearly photobook, for me, is the fact that I take my photos off my phone at the end of every month. I have some that live on the phone -- my growing collection of photos of my niece, a selection of photos from my Europe trip, some memes -- but those live in their own folders. The main camera roll gets downloaded every month, and I put them all in a file labeled with the month and year (2023-01, 2023-02, etc). It's a recurring task in my to-do list, that I offload the photos on the last Saturday of each month. You don't necessarily have to do it this way, though -- it's just what works best for me, and I encourage people to find a way to do things that will actually be functional for them.

Across the course of the year, although really moreso in October and November, I go through the photos and remove any I absolutely know I don't want to keep. Once I've done that, I save a copy of the whole year's worth of photos to my digital archive, and I take another copy and label it "FOR PHOTOBOOK" which allows me to do more culling of them than I otherwise would, because I know anything I delete is still in my archive. And this all has the advantage of me knowing that the photos in my archive are at least SOMEWHAT organized.

So I go through all the year's photos in the For Photobook file, month by month, sort them into folders by event (so there's, like, 01-Polar Vortex, or 04-Europe, or 09-Birthday) and clear out all but the photos I know I want most. My photobooks are generally longer than the default length they give you at most sites, so I usually do have to add a few pages (they're like $1/page or something) but not too many. Often these days I have some stuff that's events, like the Europe trip, and then some stuff that's just like....a folder of funny shit I saw in Chicago, or a folder of all the food I photographed that I want to save. The cats generally get their own four-page spread at the back. :D

In 2020, I will say, there were only two themes: CATS and COVID. I alternated pages.

Anyway, once I've got the photos sorted, and deleted any I don't want to include, I get on Shutterfly or Walgreens Photo and start up a new photobook project. I upload the first folder of photos, place them on the page with suitable captions, then upload the second folder of photos, etc etc, until all the photos are uploaded and placed in the book. I don't caption extensively -- often it'll just be a page that'll say like "TEXAS IN JULY!" and all the photos from that trip. But it definitely does help me keep track of what I was up to. And it's kind of soothing to review the year and see all the stuff I accomplished.

So that's the bare bones -- by all means feel free to ask questions, although if you guys wouldn't mind asking in comments or reblogs if possible, that should keep the discussion contained as necessary. :)

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mvltisstuff · 1 year

Text

solitude - e.b

summary: the only people who hear hen and chimney out about jonah are y/n and buck, but little do they know the hell it’ll rain down on them.

evan buckley x reader

a/n: ok but like imagine all four of them working tgt bc this storyline was actually rly good… this is literally just buck, y/n, hen and chim acting like the mystery gang for a day!! 3.4k wc 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

“claudette and perry both had no other symptoms before full cardiac arrest,” hen starts, scanning over the patient charts left by the new paramedic. “he’s administered nebulized albuteral during transport.”

“hen, look,” chimney points to the computer screen. “he’s been at four different locations, chicago, miami, dallas, and denver. now he’s hitting up LA.”

the station sirens buzz in their ears, alerting that they could be discovered any second. hen shoves the files into her jacket as chimney logs out, and they shuffle out quickly attempting to go unnoticed. hen looked for any details in the files that she could, trying to confide in karen.

clearly, there was a pattern of extreme suspicious in jonah’s patient files. these patients had no reason to be going into arrest when they were not showing previous symptoms. hen was the best paramedic there, in medical school. she just hoped that everyone would see the obvious wrongdoings. it was painfully evident that he was a dangerous person to be placed in the system.

hen and chimney banged repeatedly on buck and y/n’s apartment, knowing that they’d be the ones to believe them. y/n’s taken note of jonah’s behaviors, but she tried not to think anything of them, just as magical saves.

“hi?” buck says, answering the door. “are you two ok?”

“we need to talk to you and y/n,” hen tells him, inviting chimney and herself in. both y/n and buck hadn’t expected visitors, so they were clearly not dressed in presentable clothing.

“hey, hen, chim,” y/n comes down the stairs. “what’s going on?”

“you two need to look at these,” hen slaps the folders down onto their kitchen counter. buck takes one as y/n reads the other.

“what’s wrong with them? aren’t these just patient files?”

“and why are they all jonahs?”

“buck, you saw claudette before she died.”

“y-yeah, i did. she was fine, though. there was probably something underlying the inhalation,” buck grows more confused at the paperwork and the accusations from his friends.

“look,” chim points. “he’s administering drugs that have nothing to do with patient conditions.”

“meaning… he had no reason to push any meds at all,” buck speaks slowly, starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“protocol dictates that the only treatment used in that situation is respiratory, and we looked at claudette’s autopsy report. there were incredibly high amounts of potassium in her system that would’ve been present in the tests we did on scene,” hen informs the group in front of her.

“so is he some murderer paramedic?” y/n asks, looking up from the file. “i believe you, but how do we even get this to question? do we bring it to bobby?”

“i don’t know where we go from here,” hen starts. “but he needs to be out of the LAFD before he purposely kills someone else.”

buck, y/n, henrietta, and chimney had all piled over to athena’s house. they presented the activity of greenway to bobby, explaining that he has documented his cynical moves.

“i’m not approving any of your suspicions, but we have to be careful with these accusations against him getting out,” bobby tells his workers.

“listen, cap,” chim says. “he’s got a history of this. we can’t confirm what was in that syringe, but it sent claudette collins into cardiac arrest.”

“he’s been bouncing around to different cities the last few years, way too many to be looked passed.”

“so he’s just killing people for mercy?” athena asks, holding bobby’s hand and intently reading over the patient files.

“it’s way more complicated than that. when jonah was a kid, he played the hero. he’s reliving that by trying to play god and bring them back,” y/n adds, standing beside her boyfriend. buck doesn’t want to overthink this, but he’s so conflicted about the whole situation. he knows bringing up something like this is incredibly risky when dealing with a person like jonah. if things were to go awry, then he’d feel like it was his fault for not believing it.

“we tried getting news footage, but it’d be more suspicious that way,” buck tells bobby.

the group was sent away to leave bobby and athena to their own investigation, letting them work this out on their own. in the driveway, they stood by the two cars they used to come here.

“come back to my house,” hen suggests. “we can look some stuff up there on jonah and pick out any details we can get.”

“i can grab my laptop that has the proper software on it. it’s back at my place, though, i’d have to grab it,” chim states.

“ok, guys,” buck begins. “don’t you think we might just have to leave this alone? there’s only so much we can do with this.”

“who else can deal with this, though? we have the resources and the upper hand with this, buck,” hen replies back at his worries.

“look, buck,” y/n places a reassuring hand on his arm. “i’ll go with chim to get his computer, and then we’ll be over. just try and hear her out some more because this is something way deeper than what we might think.”

buck agrees, allowing himself to listen to hens convincing. she rants on about more details, slowly but surely opening up his mind to the possibility. as she portrays her concerns to him passionately, her sentence is brought to a halt when her phone rings through her car’s speaker. the unknown number is thoughtless to henrietta as she presses the green button. “hello?”

“i heard you’ve been asking people about me,” the cold, dark voice echos through the car, causing buck and her to tense up.

“jonah?” buck whispers, to not let him hear.

“got the weirdest call, something about an investigation about that dispatcher. did you four file a complaint against me?”

“jonah, i don’t know what you think is going on, but-“

“i think that you never gave me a chance. to show you what i’m capable of,” he speaks eerily into the phone, making bucks eyes widen. “so i’m gonna do that now. i’m going to show you, henrietta and evan.”

the phone beeps, signaling the hang up from the other end. “what was that?” buck panics. “hen, what is he showing us?”

“he said us four, right? he’s gonna show us four?”

“so are we next?”

“next? who’s first?”

buck heart drops to the floor, frantically reaching for his phone and dialing y/n’s number. his shaky hands slowed it down, but the prolonged ringing was painful to hear. if jonah was going to show them what he can do, he’s going to go for that group first. as evil of a man as he is, he’s amazingly smart. he’s not going to begin with buck and hen, he’s starting with y/n and chimney before going down the line. the sweet sound of y/n’s voicemail goes into bucks ears, his heart thumping against his chest. “hen, go to chimneys apartment. now!” he yells, and she presses on the gas, redirecting the two of them in his direction.

buck called y/n repeatedly, completely petrified of losing the one person he’s loved more than anything. he would be so defeated if she was hurt because of his disbelief. he called chimney, maddie, karen, and anyone who might be able to reach them. unfortunately, no one had good answers for them.

he sprinted up the stairs of the building, hen rushing behind him. the door was unlocked, and the room had an unfamiliar feel to it. the orange lighting and silence was strange to the two, searching for her best friend and his girlfriend. “chim?” hen shouts out. she gives buck an unsure look, one containing an expression of fear and confusing all mixed into one.

before buck can even turn, the thick footsteps behind him rush up. he looks at hen, ready to pounce and run out, but the man is too quick on his feet. buck is injected with a needle right where his shoulder and neck meet, twinning with hens own needle in her skin. the syringes are pushed down, forcing an unnecessary liquid into their bodies.

they recognize the feeling all too well. the fading of their hearing turning into ringing. the scene in front of them disintegrating into black dots. their bodies became heavier and heavier, before turning light again as they thumped to the ground below.

the two awoke at the same time, feeling like they were suffering with sleep paralysis. their arms were restrained behind their back and their eyes were dry and tired. their ankles were connected to the legs of the chairs, but the sight in front of them was worse than any demon that could haunt them.

jonah towered over chimney on the table, pushing more probable toxic fluids into his veins. hens heart was beating obnoxiously fast, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the drugs or from the scene that was unfolding. chimney lay shirtless and almost lifeless on the table with alarmingly slow beeping coming from the portable machine.

y/n was laying across from him in the opposite direction, the two being smushed together. she had matching IV’s in her arm and patches on her chest, the only remaining article was her bra. buck could swear he was screaming, but nothing was coming out. his face was still, but his eyes were full of tears and panic at seeing y/n unconscious. everything was completely out of his control. he glanced over at hen, complete terror in her eyes while trying to calm jonah.

the room they were placed in was unfamiliar, almost completely darkened beside the light above his two victims. or in jonah’s mind, his patients. jonah craved validation from people around him, but also from himself. he remains hungry for the feeling he had the day he saved his bus driver. he was a hero, and he had to make sure everyone knew it.

as soon as the flatline ricocheted in the room, jonah scooped up the paddles and shocked the two until the beeping commenced again. “look who decided to join us,” jonah teases. “i was too generous with the propofol, you two were out longer than i expected!”

“why are you doing this, jonah?” hen begs to know the answer. bucks dying just to give him a piece of his mind, but hen has regained more of her strength.

“you know, you can get anything on the internet these days, like medical equipment, drugs. the real answer is that you gave me no choice, henrietta. snooping around and checking up on me when we are supposed to be on the same team.”

“we are not, on the same team,” hen mumbles. “we don’t put our patients in danger.”

jonah moves over to y/n. “one sec,” he says while pushing another dose of adenosine.

“no,” buck manages to push out.

“jonah, please, you’re stopping her heart,” hen cries out.

“don’t worry, nothing a little epinephrine can’t fix, right?” he nodes with a ring of excitement in his voice. an maniacal, twisted voice. as soon as his hands move to the paddles next to him, buck frantically shuffles in his chair. he places them to her chest, her body flailing up before restoring a normal heart rhythm. “woo!” jonah screams. “nothing like it, huh? the rush of watching someone walk right up the deaths door and snatching them right back. it’s like being god.”

“we are not god,” buck replies to him, regaining some of his fight. “i swear to god, let them go right now-“

“alright, alright,” jonah says. he grabs the needles and bottles while pouring the drug into it. he injects it into both y/n and chimneys skin.

“jonah, please don’t do this, jonah!” hen yells.

“oh, my bad, i thought you wanted me to let them go…” he tells them, slyly.

“you son of a bitch, you lay another hand on her an-“

“and you’ll what? you can’t do anything, buckley,” jonah steps closer to the restrained people. “you both need a partner like me. someone more your speed.”

hens eyes land on the movement on one of the tables. chimney twitches and his eyes are squinting from weakness in his brain. he’s playing around with the machine while getting a good grip on one of the electric shock paddles. “you are not my speed. you’re sloppy, and even if i wanted to commit these heinous crimes, you think i’d let myself get caught?” hen starts to mock the man in front of her while trying to distract him to give chimney time. bucks eyes have never separated from y/n, his soft gaze was planted on her aching body, lacking life in all forms.

“you might’ve been a hero once, jonah,” buck begins to play along with the distraction act, knowing they can’t take anymore of the brunt of it than y/n and chimney have. “but now, well you’re nothing but a fucking murderer,” buck hisses out at him. as jonah begins to move over, hen gives chimney a convincing look as he presses a button on the vital machine.

“no, i’m not,” jonah laughs sarcastically.

“then why is chimney not breathing?” buck spits at him as jonah whips around, looking at the flatlining man on the table. he runs around, and chimney silently hypes himself up to act. it’s now or never, it’s live or die, and it’s jonah’s turn to taste his own medicine.

chimney shoves the paddle into jonah, causing him to shiver and collapse on the floor in front of him. “chim!” hen gasps. “oh, my god. are you ok?” chimney grunts his way over and off the table, stumbling to the ground while he crawls over to hen. he starts pulling at the ropes around her feet, letting them go as she is able to maneuver her hands out of the ropes. she wobbles over to buck, who is then released and limps over to his girlfriend.

“y/n? hey, baby, c’mon wake up,” he shakes her in a desperate attempt to bring her senses back and wake her from this nightmare. when he eyes finally begin to slowly open, he releases a heavy breath.

“buck, please tell me she’s ok!” hen says, comforting chimneys panting self.

“she’ll be ok,” he leans down, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“b-buck,”

“hey, hey, it’s ok, we’re all ok.”

the red and blue lights are hard to miss behind them, reflecting in the windows and onto the walls. they hear the ruckus of the officers clattering their way into the room, placing chimney and y/n on a stretcher as buck and hen follow out. jonah is summoned away to the new reality of the back of a police car. buck finally sees another familiar face, running over to bobby as he pulls him into a strong hug. bobby’s anger is fueling in his system, not being able to control himself before his fist is connected with jonah’s face.

“hey, cap,” chimney says, clearly on some new type of drug that will actually help him. “nice punch.”

“i am so sorry, you guys. im just so happy you’re ok,” bobby rants out in pure relief at his team. hen climbed into chimneys ambulance, as buck stood in complete denial about the situation. “hey, buck.”

“she died, bobby,” buck says, glaring into the distance. “her heart stopped and now she’s pumped up with all this stuff and i couldn’t save her and he almost murdered her-“

“listen, kid,” bobby grabs bucks shoulders, trying to ground him. “she’s ok, what she needs now is you next to her. we got him, he’s going away for the rest of his life. now go get checked out, please.”

buck releases yet another exhale as a matching teardrop falls down his cheek. buck walks off, grabbing onto y/n’s hand as she’s lifted into her own ambulance. he still looks at his girlfriend in complete disbelief that she’s alive, and that he is too.

the hospital air was dry and they knew it like a best friend. the smell, the feeling, the white lights that make you think you’ve died when you wake up. they’ve walked in and out of so many hospitals, almost having no fear that they’ll never come out. until buck sees y/n in the bed is the first time he’s completely shaking in the one next to her.

“c’mon, doc,” chimney complains. “i’m fine, i don’t need to stay here.”

“it’s good that you feel good, but it’s just overnight. we want to keep an eye on you and y/n to make sure nothing changes in your blood levels,” the doctor explains.

“it’s ok, chim. just listen to her because she’s right,” hen reassures him before starting her own complaint session.

“i’m glad you feel that way, because we’re keeping you too for further tests. you as well, evan. it’s to make sure he didn’t put anything else into you guys,” hen groans and looks at her three friends.

“we’re in for a hell of a night, y’all.”

chimney and y/n were placed in one room together, needing the same type of observation as hen and buck were having a slumber party in the other. they were watching whatever crappy reality shows they could find until their boredom got the best of them. hen and buck snuck out in their twinning gowns and IV lines and made their way to the room holding their favorite people inside. when they walked in, they said, “guys, we’re breaking out of this joint.”

“and how exactly do you plan to execute that?” chimney asks, slurping on an almost empty juice box. buck moves over to sit on y/n’s bed, caressing her hand as she smiles at him.

“you two almost did die,” hen says. “you know, i never really liked him.”

“not much of a fan myself,” chimney replies in his always lighthearted spirit.

“well some people thought i was crazy, but you guys were ready to go to battle with me. with no proof, you listened and were on board from the start.”

“um, i definitely was not on board from the start,” buck interjects.

“well look at us now buck! we’re stuck together for life,” hen smiles.

“hens always right, that’s the thing between us. she’s the genius and we were the comic relief,” chimney adds.

“you guys are way more than that. chim, you’re the best friend i’ve ever had. y/n and buck, i can’t imagine my life without you two. you’re like denny’s siblings at this point and i’m one hundred percent bringing this up at your wedding.”

“well, you know what they say about parents at weddings,” y/n hints. “they always pay for it.”

“ooh! got her there,” buck laughs and looks at hen. “you know i love you guys, you’re my family.” he lifts y/n’s hand up, landing a kiss on her knuckles.

“if we weren’t in a hospital room right now, i’d say that was quite romantic, buck. i’m proud of you,” chimney pokes fun at the couple on the other side of him before looking back at hen. “we did a great job raising them, don’t you think?”

“i’m just really happy you’re ok. i cant do this without you, y/n. you’re my whole life,” buck speaks softly to his girl, looking deep into her loving eyes.

“you’ll never have to do anything without me,” y/n says. “you’re stuck with me, love.”

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2btheanswertothequestion · 2 years

Text

She finds out about it a few weeks after her classes start. It happens by chance, and almost seems too good to be true.

But it's not.

The University of Illinois does actually have its own newspaper for gays and lesbians. It exists, made explicitly for them, by them.

And Robin needs it.

It requires some snooping, though it's basically nothing after everything she did at Starcourt. Soon enough, she is $8.50 ($7.50 for a yearly subscription and $0.5 each for the two previous issues) poorer in dollars and infinitely richer in happiness.

People Like Us: News, opinions, and features for the C-U gay and lesbian community it says on the front page. Issues 2 and 3 are both 8 pages long while the first issue is slightly shorter. They have everything. News about marches in Chicago and local gay-friendly businesses. Opinion pieces on places to meet up and homophobia. Roommate ads, reviews, and personal stories. News about AIDS. And, in the very back, a blurb proclaiming LESBIAN CONTRIBUTORS WANTED.

Maybe that'll be her one day. She's no Nancy, but she can write. For now, though, she's content with reading. It's almost overwhelming to hold the papers, knowing that it's made by people like her. That someone like her might be reading the same words at the same time. Less lonely, in a way.

No one else on campus knows about her. Ellen, her dorm mate, seems fine so far, but Robin won't take her chances just yet. She struck gold with Steve, Eddie, and the kids, but someday her luck will run out. So she hides the issues in a hard folder under her mattress whenever she isn't reading.

Then she gets the October issue in her hand and nearly dies of excitement. On the front page, the news section is announcing that "two highly acclaimed gay/lesbian films are set to appear on campus this month". The groundbreaking Desert Hearts and Parting Glances will be screened four times each, one week apart from each other, at the end of the month.

At her first opportunity, she calls and tells Steve about it.

"You have to come and see them with me!" she says. "I can't go alone!"

So he does, and he barely complains about the 3-hour drive.

On Sunday, October 19, he shows up at 7 in front of her building. They catch up while having a bite to eat before the film. It's mostly her talking, blabbing about classes and professors and new people and Illinois and the college experience while he chews his half of the pizza, staring at her with big eyes that scream I missed you, I missed you, I missed you!

She takes every chance she gets to knock their feet together under the table and clutches his arm on their way to the film. Just in case her own eyes don't scream it back loud enough.

By the time Desert Hearts starts, she's giddy. She knows only what the newspaper told her: that it's about a soon-to-be-divorced college professor meeting a lesbian country girl in Reno in the 50s, and that it includes a 'climactic lovemaking scene'. Both facts have her squirming with excitement, her seat squeaking beneath her.

The lights go out and the movie starts. It's slow-paced and atmospheric, using the Nevada scenery to its advantage. Parts of it are actually really slow, but she doesn't mind, especially not as it builds and builds toward Vivian ultimately accepting her attraction to Cay.

Steve is with her from beginning to end, scoffing at the antagonistic stepmother, squeezing her hand when the lovers are separated, and squeezing some more when they're reunited. When they reach the intimate scene, he gasps loudly. Then both of them succumb to a giggle fit and must stifle themselves lest they be thrown out. The newspaper was right – it is pretty hot stuff.

There's no dramatic declaration of love at the end, no the ending is as slow and quiet as the rest of it. Still, it hits hard. A sledgehammer to the chest, shattering her ribs and smearing her heart all over. Because these women look each other in the eyes and say 'I love you'. They say 'I want you'. They say 'she just reached in and put a string of lights around my heart', and they say it like it's normal. Which, Robin knows it is. But her world is small and their world is the silver screen and they say it like it's normal.

Steve turns to her when the credits roll and the lights come back on, saying it was good. But when she looks at him, his face falls. Arms wrapping around her, he pulls her into his lap and guides her face into the crook of his neck. Fingers cramping where they clutch his shirt, she buries herself deep and cries, cries, cries. She thinks she hears someone ask if she's okay, but Steve shoos them off, so it doesn't matter.

He walks her home in comfortable silence. As they stop outside her building he tucks her hair behind her ear and offers to stay with her. But she tells him no – he has work in the morning, so she'll have to make do without him.

The responsible thing to do after waving him off is go to bed, wake up early for class. Instead, she steers her step to the nearest payphone and punches in a California number. Minutes later she's got Vickie on the line, wondering if she's okay and if she's been crying. Robin reassures her, then recounts the evening. Soon Vickie's bell of a laughter envelops her; they discuss who's the Cay to whose Vivian until Robin runs out of coins.

Next week, Steve is back and they do it all over again, except this time they eat burgers. They even snatch the same seats they had the previous screening.

Parting Glances follows a gay couple for 24 hours of their daily life. Because they're established, their intimate scene happens much earlier. Steve's muttering about how unfair it is that it's less explicit than the lesbian scene has pride burn in her chest, even as she shushes him.

All in all, it's a really good film. It doesn't hit her as hard since it's about gay men and no lesbians, but it still hits. Again, because it's presented as something normal. They're people in love, and they have jobs and problems and dreams and friends. The hardest hit of them all is Nick, who has AIDS but not in a pitiful way. He's a rockstar with a sense of humor, still cool and charismatic. Sexy, even, thanks to the oozing confidence and the intensity of his gaze.

Steve is quietly contemplative on the way out. She slips her hand into his and lets him think. It's first when they're halfway home that she breaks the silence. Spinning so she's walking backward in front of him, him holding her waist to steer her away from lampposts and curbs, she asks:

"Did you like it?"

"I did. But it left me a little sad." He shrugs. "I just hope Nick survives and gets back together with Michael."

She chews the inside of her cheek. "I don't know if… I mean, AIDS is-"

"I know, Robbie, I'm keeping myself up to date. Or I try. It's just… It's very…" Steve sighs, shaking his head. "You know."

And she does know. The fear of being targeted and the frustration of being helpless. The fury of knowing diseases are supposed to be cured, until the ones affected are people who aren't supposed to exist in the first place.

Steve says, "I think he'll be okay. Nick."

"Yeah," she says, a little choked up.

"And he and Michael will be happy."

"Yes."

"And Cay will stay on the train, or Vivian will return to Nevada, and they'll be together. For real."

"They will. And even if they don't," she reaches up to cup his cheeks, caressing his stubbled jawline, "they'll have someone else. Someone just as good. Or better."

His gaze on her is heavy and bright, boring through, seeing inside. He nods.

"Or better," he says.

With that, he grabs and swings her around (in a pretty impressive move, not that she'll admit it to him) until she's latched onto his back. Then he carries her home.

It's maybe 50 degrees out, so not freezing but enough to leave you shivering if your jacket is old and getting threadbare, like Robin's. She's not cold, though, because Steve always runs hot. His back is firm and his grip on her thighs is secure; she burrows into him, absorbing his warmth and familiar scent. Lulled, not to sleep per se, but to rest by his even strides, she dreams of all the beautiful things she wants to have, and even more vividly of the things she wants to keep.

------------------------------

People Like Us was a real newspaper. You can find the issues that helped inspire this fic here.

(Oh, and you should really watch both those films if you haven't already.)

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stobin #platonic stobin #robin buckley #steve harrington #just taking a short break from november paramedic to finish this #my writing

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sailoryooons · 1 year

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Suga's How-To Guide | Play | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Camboy!Yoongi x f. reader

☾ Summary: Min Yoongi has been a cam boy for a few years now. The work is easy, the money is good, and he has loyal viewers. When he approaches you and asks if you want to be his muse for a ‘how-to’ series, your view on the infamous Yoongi changes.

☾ Word Count: 820

☾ Genre: Friends to lovers, pwp

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Sex work (cam couple), vaginal fingering, voyeurism, mentions of oral sex (f. receiving) mentions of cum eating, explicit language

☾ Published: May 14, 2023

☾ A/N: I lowkey forgot that I wrote this when I was traveling back from Chicago and seeing Yoongi in the flesh and just came across it when I was editing all my writing folders so - surprise? This is unbeta'd and unedited so please forgive me.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Series Masterlist | Part of Hali’s Happy Agust | Previous Chapter

Keyed up doesn’t begin to describe how you feel, hips jutting forward as Yoongi presses a finger firmly to your clit. You’re breathless, head pressed against his shoulder as he chuckles, mouth pressed to your ear. His breath is hot, making you shiver as he slow circles your throbbing bud, a whine leaving your mouth.

“Can you take it?” Yoongi asks, voice scratchy. His fingers dip down to gather the wetness dripping from your cunt, slicking up his fingers. “Yeah, you can take it. Look how fucking swollen you are.”

You do look. Up, into the laptop screen, where your bodies are a tableau of pleasure that is hard to recognize. Seeing yourself like this still doesn’t feel normal. It doesn’t feel like it’s you on the laptop screen, where comments from viewers flood the side channel. It doesn’t feel like your body, sweaty and pressed against Yoongi’s chest, sitting between his legs with your legs hooked over his knees, butterflied for the camera.

The person who looks back at you is lost in a haze of pleasure, gasping as Yoongi’s fingers circle your clit lazily. His mouth attaches to a delicate patch of skin just below your ear, sucking noisily. Pleasure thrums through you in response, your lids closing, losing the vision on the screen.

It feels like heaven. Body hot, held close to Yoongi’s bare chest. His cock his hard, pressed up against your back, sticky and eager. Your nipples tightend, spit slicked from his mouth early and cold from the temperature in the room.

Yoongi has you wrapped up in him. Melted. Splayed. His.

It feels so fucking good. Yoongi’s touch is reverant but determined. His hands know your body better than anyone else in the world, his fingers intent as he slides down your cunt with his hands, slipping a finger in your hole.

A moan drips out of your mouth and you drip around his fingers, sticky and slow. He smiles against your throat, nipping you lightly as you grip his fingers, wanting more. He doesn’t give you more, though. Not at first. He’s intent to lazily fuck you with one finger, palm of his hand pressed up against your clit to provide pleasure.

“Fuck,” you whisper, head lolling to the side. “Please?”

“You said you’d let me play,” he asserts. You can’t see his face but you can hear the pout. You open your eyes to look at him and sure enough, his bottom lip is jutted out, eyes round. It would fool you if his pupils were dilated and his finger wasn’t buried in your pussy. “You don’t want to let me play?”

Instead of giving him a proper response, you whine. His finger presses up against your g-spot, making your vision go white. He snickers and continues, strokes growing faster and firmer. The wet slap of his hand against you spurs you on, your hands shooting to the arm looped around your waist and the one pulling you apart.

You’ll never get tired of this. The way Yoongi lets you squirm against him, the deep vibration of his voice humming through you as he whispers to you. Such a wet fucking pussy. Just like that, let me hear you.

The room spins when he adds another finger. You squeeze down on them, walls sucking his finger in. He curses and keeps going, keeps playing with you. Teases you a little, teases the audience as he retracts his fingers for a moment, bringing them to his mouth to suck generously and bring them back down.

“So good,” Yoongi murmurs, more to you than the camera. “Gonna let me eat you out after you come, hmm? Gonna let me taste you?”

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“You’re squeezing my fingers holy shit.”

There’s a sound that comes from you that is a blur of almost words. You go taught in his arms as your orgasm inches closer. Legs shaking, locked behind his knees. Nails digging into his skin, eyes clenched, breath held.

When you come, it’s with his fingers buried in you, palm pressed hard against your clit. Yoongi doesn’t stop, the pressure is so strong that your vision pulses on the edge and you can’t catch your breath. All you can do is squeeze until you’re gasping for air, muscles losing strength and melting into him, body twitching.

You’re spent, panting and slack against Yoongi. He’s soft, lips pressing feather light kisses to your jaw. He sneaks in a small nip to your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth and you wine. He laughs and the sound makes you shiver worse than the post-orgasm tingles.

Carefully, Yoongi slides his fingers from your cunt. You’re soaked, thighs slick and sticky and cold where the air conditioning hits them. Yoongi traces your entrance lightly, enough to make your hips wiggle but not enough to overstimulate you.

Yoongi murmurs to the camera, “Now watch what I do with my mouth.”

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#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #suga bts #suga fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #camboy yoongi

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