#it will be the next time i have money and an open calendar

[retiredteabag]

soft toji dog-sitting for a generous!reader

pt. 1 - next

synopsis: Toji takes up dog-sitting for you and learns to appreciate his new job, in more ways than one.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Toji was quite accustomed to objectifying himself for a check. And to be frank, far worse actions as well. There was a point in his life where he hardly went a night without desiring to scrub himself clean, erase his mind from the meaningless actions he continually put his body through. Defiling himself for the pleasure of another. At one point he can recall being so jaded he couldn’t even enjoy the act anymore.

This is why he feels so spoiled with the jackpot of a job he found. Dog sitting was something he had never even considered, the previous Toji would have laughed at the thought; but my God, was this a steal.

Feed the beast, take’m for a walk and hang around for an hour or two? And for $75 a visit? Sold. He felt he had fallen into the lap of luxury, he never even had to deal with the rich, prissy owner (who apparently was a workaholic) but no worries, they made sure to leave him dainty notes expressing their gratitude.

“Mr. Fushiguro, I appreciate you stopping by to spend time with my boy, please don’t hesitate to have any of the food in the pantry/fridge! I’ll be back late so please feed him dinner. Thanks a ton!” - y/n

Below the note would be his cash. Sometimes it would be more if they requested him on short notice, or like today, Toji couldn’t quite figure out what they meant.

“Mr. Fushiguro, thanks again for stopping by, I know you said you weren’t busy but I feel bad taking your time on a holiday. Please get yourself a treat!”

What was today? He wondered, meandering the house to find a calendar. The beast followed him everywhere now, tail wagging happily, panting from their earlier walk, he had warmed up to toji’s presence quickly and was now quite fond of the man.

It didn’t take long into his dog-sitting tenure for Toji to feel as though it was too good to be true. The sinking feeling he felt in his gut when one day he was left space at the bottom of the owners note…

“Mr. Fushiguro, thank you for hanging out with my boy today! I apologize, I don’t have much around the house, you’re here so often, please let me know some things you like so I can have something picked up for you when you stay here.”

There was a pen resting on his money and a gap wide enough for a grocery list. Part of him wanted to request some beer, why not? They’re asking. But there was also a sense of dread that filled him.

He had left the space blank then. He was more comfortable than he can remember being, he wasn’t going to make requests. Who knows what they would ask of him?

Toji is fiddling with his money when he finally spots a desk with papers strewn, notebooks open, and a calendar with impressively organized time slots written in. He found today…

February 14… oh, yeah. Valentine’s Day. He can’t remember the last time he did anything for the holiday, now, pointless to him. He crumpled the note left for him. Yeah, he snorted at the thought I’ll get myself a treat.

Rolling his eyes he pats the dog on the head and tugs on one ear playfully. He feels unnerved but he can’t quite place it. He hates the headache he gets when he’s treated so kindly. Watching the clock reach 8 PM he makes his way to leave, grabbing a handful of grapes from the fridge. Damn, someone so wealthy, all alone on Valentine’s Day. Makes him feel lucky.

The old Toji would have killed for this job. Literally. And he wouldn’t have felt bad either. It’s almost laughable, having money in his pocket and fruit in his hand, leaving a house like this one. He won’t let himself get comfortable. Won’t let his guard down. But the time he has before times get tough again, he’ll allow himself to relax on some lonely, rich, persons sofa. Mooching off their supply of food and hot water. Waiting for the day he’s requested to give a little more of himself.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

pt. 2

@textmel8r ‘s toji smau series “sugar baby” lowkey inspired this so thank you ❤️

[woozihaes]

pairing: sorta s.coups x f!reader, but i'm really just writing this to be funny warnings: hockey!au, but i have no idea what i'm doing or what i'm talking about. notes: inspired by @bfwonu's hockey/figure skater au and the short fic that @97-liners wrote for it.

-

hat trick

-

"a bake sale?" seungcheol, captain of the hockey team, has the audacity to laugh. "are you serious?"

"i don't see you coming up with better ideas," you snap, rolling your eyes and slamming your pen on the table of the reserved study room. "i mean, a beefcake calendar? really?"

seungcheol looks personally offended. "you think they won't sell? have you seen my team?"

you shake your head. you had no idea how it was statistically possible that the entire hockey team were probably almost all of the prettiest boys on the varsity roster, but you weren't about admit it. "i'm vetoing this. the boys on the figure skating team aren't going to do this. it's obviously just to show off and stroke the hockey team's members' egos."

"we need money," seungcheol argues, voice rising. "sex sells!"

"we're in college! we're not supposed to be selling sex!" you shriek, horrified.

"just because you're a bunch of prudes—"

you both jump when someone bangs on the door to your room.

"SHUT UP! we're trying to study out here!" someone screams, and you color. seungcheol, for all his cocky bravado, has the decency to do the same.

"sorry!" you say, loud enough for the person to hear, and then whisper-shout, "bake sale!"

"calendar," seungcheol whisper-shouts back, and you know he does it to be petty.

their heads turn when the door opens, and a miffed-looking guy pokes his head in. his hair is shaggy and you can imagine that his canines would be a cute feature of his if he weren't frowning.

"hey, cap, mind lowering the volume?" he asks. "trying to study out here."

"we're just about done here, actually," cheol announces, getting up and gathering his things. "sorry for the noise, mingyu."

mingyu looks surprised, but then withdraws quickly. "oh, okay. thanks, anyway." he shuts the door behind him.

you whirl on seungcheol. "we're not done!"

"yes, we are," he says firmly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "no bake sale."

you sputter. "then no beefcake calendar!"

"see? done." he's halfway through the door when he winks your way. "let's fight about something else tomorrow."

he's long gone before you muster a response.

-

"this," seungkwan—who seungcheol nominated (threatened?) as event organizer, because of course he'd nominate someone else—declares, "is a terrible idea."

"i think it's wonderful," you chirp merrily. you hold out your hand for the payment the girl next in line seems eager to dump into your hand. "your captain said it himself: sex sells."

"on paper!" seungkwan cries frantically, gesturing to the long, long, long line of ladies awaiting their turn. "this is practically assault!"

your eyes dart to the sign above you. kissing booth. "oh, come off it. it's not that bad. besides, it's not like your captain didn't approve of it."

although it is, you admit, pretty bad. you thought it was a good idea at the time when you kind-of-sort-of predicted a decent turn out (you weren't blind to the hockey team's collective good looks). but at this point, the beefcake calendar would have been a salacious, but ultimately safer, option.

you have no idea what seungcheol was thinking, agreeing to this booth.

"mingyu is missing," seungkwan cries. "he's been gone for half an hour! what if someone kidnapped him?"

you flash him a look. "what are you talking about? he's huge. there's no way they could drag a guy like that off campus."

"my turn!" the girl next in line declared. she didn't even wait for you take the money—she simply dropped it on the table in front of you and whirled on her victim. one of the players—whose name you learned was d.k.—shrieked and sprang into a sprint.

"he should be in track," you comment off-handedly. "see him pump his arms like that? he could easily run the hundred meter without breaking a sweat.

“next!" you call, but find surprise when it's not a girl, but a guy lined up. in fact, it's seungcheol. "um. hi?"

seungkwan blanches. "wait—"

seungcheol rolls his eyes. "calm down, kwan. i'm not in it for the hockey team." he turns to you and raises and eyebrow. "i wanna kiss you."

your jaw drops so fast you're sure you hear a comical, resounding clank. "what?"

seungkwan's jaw does the same.

"come on," cheol says good-naturedly. "if you put my boys through it, i gotta put the figure skating team through it, too."

you sputter, "b-but—"

he rolls is eyes. "seriously, your girls got off scot-free with that bake sale you went behind my back for, by the way," he says with a shake of his head. "have to take my revenge somehow."

you're still not comprehending. "but—!"

he rolls his eyes and pulls out enough bills to cover five times the cost of one kiss. "here. you can't turn me away now."

you swallow. that is a good amount of money... "fine. one kiss."

"i'm paying you," he retorts. "i get to make the rules, no?"

he leans forward and it's so sudden that you jump away. "wait, i'm—"

seungcheol grunts. "oh, for—" and it all happens faster than you can blink.

his hand cups the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. his mouth slants over yours, and the first thing you think is his lips are warm and soft.

it's a nice kiss. it's a good kiss. and you find yourself—

someone clears their throat very loudly, evidently very annoyed. you try not to think that that's maybe because you were kissing the captain of the hockey team for long enough a time to consider it "sucking face."

you jump away from seungcheol, dazed, blinking away your confusion. the girl behind the hockey captain is practically glaring at the two of you, and seungcheol sheepishly moves to the side.

in a haze, you take her money and she slides away to find her victim (based on the trill shriek off in the distance, you're guessing d.k.'s a crowd favorite).

"well," seungcheol coughs. "um. yeah."

"yeah," you croak, and you feel embarrassed that that's all you can muster.

"i think, um, i think seungkwan left," he says, a little too woodenly for it to be natural. "i'll, uh. i'll—i'll look for him."

"sure," you say, equally as wooden. you don't look after him when he leaves.

"i'm literally right here," seungkwan declares, but you barely hear him over the pounding of your heart in your ears.

[alchemistc]

Tommy, still a little uncertain despite Evan's very obvious and frequent heart eyes, despite Evan's frequent reassurances, despite the feeling curling under his own ribcage. Tommy's dated a baby gay openly twice before and been subjected to the pain of a partner tucking him away, or a partner more interested in the scene than anything genuine, Tommy who remembers all his time in the closet and how hard he'd had to work to pull himself out and keep himself out.

Tommy who thinks "he's adorable, this will be fun" and cuts a date short for both of their benefit because he doesn't Want That anymore.

Tommy who agrees to meet for coffee because he does feel a bit bad about the closet comment, he does genuinely like Evan as a person, trying to convince himself he'll be good when Evan says thanks but no thanks, I wanted to clear the air so you can stay friends with Eddie, I actually don't know how much I like men.

Tommy who says yes to a date to a wedding and suddenly has a screenshot of Evan Buckley's calendar open on his phone, gaze darting through his own plans to find time in between to meet - next Friday he's out with some of the harbor guys, but he could probably tell them his plans changed - but no, bc they'll know something and he's not ready for them to know something. Tuesday Evan has his niece, but maybe Tommy could bring them dinner? (Christ Tommy Slow Down).

Tommy who takes Evan to a trendy gay bar expecting him to at the very least soak in the experience, even if he's not actively checking out every hot guy (and girl) in the place, only Evan is So Invested in whatever story Tommy is telling him that it actually takes him an hour and a half to realize this isn't a run-of-the-mill dive.

Tommy who takes Evan to brunch expecting him to maybe hit on a server or the cute girl in the sundress across the patio (unfair, Tommy, you've seen literally zero evidence he's like that, except Tommy's still testing the waters and this is still very New) only Evan is critiquing the technique of this chefs pain perdu and gently coaxing a server over because he noticed Tommy's Bloody Mary was running low (They're Bottomless, Tommy, I'm not saying he's bad at his job I'm just saying it's busy and we should get our money's worth out of these bottomless drinks).

Tommy who is startled every time Buck grabs his hand in public, or presses a kiss to his cheek, or leans his forehead into Tommy's jaw with a huff of laughter like he's Enchanted by Tommy's dry humor.

Tommy who forces himself to remember once, twice, three four five times that this is new for Evan and he shouldn't push it, until he maybe forgets that he was testing Evan, a little. Unfair, again, but he's not sure Evan actually noticed.

Until some time after the wedding date, a night out turned hot and heavy in the elevator up to Evan's loft, they're giggling and grabbing handfuls of ass and when Evan slips inside the loft and presses Tommy to the inside of his door and sucks a mark into the skin of his collarbone (he noses aside the open neck of Tommy's Henley so it's not visible without some work, which Tommy appreciates) and darts a gaze up through his eyelashes and asks Tommy if he's passed all of Tommy's tests.

"I haven't --."

"You have, but I get it, Tommy you took me to a bar full of eligible queer people and I was so distracted by you it took me two hours to notice that guy hitting on me every time you went to the well to grab us drinks."

Yeah, he'd noticed that too. A lot more quickly than Evan, apparently.

Tommy who's never really dated someone so Into Him before having to reassess a whole bunch of things about himself and his comfort level with intimacy and pda and lovelorn looks sent in full view of strangers and friends and coworkers because despite best efforts to keep his expectations reasonable he's being romanced and Evan makes it feel effortless to accept it and respond in kind.

[reasonsforhope]

Early mornings are chilly in Los Romero, a village high up in the mountains of western Guatemala. As in other predominantly Mam villages – Indigenous Maya people who have lived here since pre-Columbian times – households come quietly to life before dawn. Isabel Romero, a grandmother with long black hair, used to feel somewhat trapped in hers.

“I was afraid of speaking because I was cooped up at home. I didn’t go out,” she says, explaining that like many Mam women, her days were dedicated to the hard work of running a household with little money, and she rarely spoke with other women. “I worried a lot and had headaches.”

Residents of Los Romero live mainly from subsistence farming, growing maize, beans and squash, or grazing livestock. Almost 50% of the population is Indigenous in Guatemala, Central America’s biggest economy, but they do not share in its prosperity. Indigenous women in particular are discriminated against and dispossessed, with a life expectancy 13 years lower, and a maternal mortality rate two times higher, than the national average, according to the World Bank.

In Romero’s village and throughout the region, a community-based collective of women’s circles has been quietly improving Indigenous women’s lives, empowering them to find voices that have been suppressed through centuries of marginalisation.

It was a long process, but Romero’s headaches and fear are now a thing of the past. These days she gets out to workshops, meetings and women’s circles. She shares her knowledge of weaving traditional textiles on a backstrap loom and has a leadership role in the women’s group she co- founded: Buena Semilla (Good Seed).

The initiative emerged from Maya Mam women’s experiences, when French physician Anne Marie Chomat brought them together for interviews for her doctoral fieldwork in 2010- 2012. The simple act of gathering with others and sharing their experiences had a profound impact on the women, many of whom are still dealing with the traumatic legacy of Guatemala’s civil war.

During the 1960-1996 armed conflict between leftist guerrilla groups and the military, more than 200,000 people were killed, overwhelmingly Indigenous Maya civilians killed by the army. Another 45,000 were ‘disappeared’. A truth commission concluded that the state committed acts of genocide...

“There’s so much chronic stress and other issues that are not being addressed,” says Chomat, Buena Semilla’s international coordinator, who now lives in Canada. “So much healing happened in that space of women connecting with other women, getting out of their houses, realising: ‘I’m not alone’.”

Once Chomat’s fieldwork was finalised, several participants decided they wanted to continue meeting and with Chomat came up with the idea of women’s circles. With the help of a grant, the project got going in 2013 and now more than 300 women in two municipalities participate every week or two in circles, each comprising roughly 10 to 25 women.

Wearing traditional embroidered huipil blouses and hand-loomed skirts, the women gather, arriving on foot via the dirt roads that weave through the villages. They meet in a home or community building, or outside when they can for the connection with nature. The circle opens with a welcome and a prayer and then the group engages in breathing and movement exercises. Next up is discussion of the nahual, the day’s name and energy according to one of the interlocking ancient Mayan calendars, traditionally used for ceremonial practices. “Here in Santiago Atitlán it is only maybe 20% of people who speak about [knowledge of nahuals], so we are reviving it,” says Quiejú.

Then it’s time for the sharing circle. “More than anything, it is speaking what they have in their hearts,” says Quiejú. But every time and each circle is different, even though the leaders all work from the same guide, she says.

Sometimes circles will have a guided meditation. Sometimes they’ll have a workshop to learn weaving, or another skill that can help them earn money. Sometimes they eat together. Sometimes they cry. Often they laugh. No matter what, they generally end with a group embrace...

Only 1% of Guatemala’s national health budget is designated for mental health, and nearly all of that goes to the country’s one psychiatric hospital. Most mental health professionals are concentrated in the capital, offering psychotherapy and prescribing medications. For those in rural areas, there is little discussion of mental health or access to services.

“There is nothing for the preventative side, to work with families, to work with communities,” says Garavito. However, he emphasised that the concept of buen vivir��(good living) among many Indigenous peoples in Latin America, which includes the traditional festivities, ceremonies and community of everyday village life, inherently incorporates good mental health. “Mental health is a fundamentally social concept and that has been a historical and common practice among Indigenous peoples, without them calling it that.”

...Financial constraints also pose challenges. Since 2020, Buena Semilla’s budget has been funded through crowdfunding and small grants. Staff and leaders all work part-time and many volunteer unpaid, but most circles now meet bi-weekly due to a squeeze on funds...

[Note: If you'd like to help, you can find out more and support Buena Semilla here, at their website.]

Despite the challenges, interest keeps growing. Elsa Cortez joined a circle earlier this year, motivated by her sister’s positive experience with Buena Semilla. In her mid-20s, she lives with her parents and as well as helping to run the household, she weaves belts, drawing from a basket full of spools of brightly coloured thread. She did not go out much before.

“There was a mentality that women were only supposed to be in the home or should only do certain things. That’s how we were raised,” she says. “My family was like that too.”

Thanks to Buena Semilla, those dynamics have started to shift in some families, including her own, says Cortez. Now she is exploring the idea of starting a circle specifically for girls, to help build their self-worth and self-esteem.

“It used to be difficult for me to socialise or chat, but now I am starting to socialise more easily,” says Cortez. “In the group I feel like it is psychological therapy every time we meet.”

-via Positive.News, December 8, 2023

[jymwahuwu]

Content warnings: yandere, angst(?), some descriptions of capitalism, you're locked up

Summary: You are a bakery owner and you and your shop are going to be evicted by the IPC. Unfortunately, Aventurine is the one handling the plans.

Note: I suddenly want to write this very much...sorry, I don't know what I am writing...🥹

According to the calendar of your home planet, you spent all your savings and bought a bakery three years ago.

Once upon a time, you had your own ideals, which were woven into unrealistic dreams in your childhood paintings. When you become an adult, you realize that adults use lies to pile up in school and blow up beautiful bubbles. Those lies are probably the beginning of your idealized misfortune. Your dream goes from unrealistic to another. Under consumerism, you want a property of your own, with one room, a large living room, an open kitchen, and a ceiling where you can sleep while looking at the stars. Approximately 8,000,000 credits. You deposit money into the Cosmic Bank. Staring at the rising numbers in the bank account with tired eyes, health has been replaced by some slowly rising numbers and countless nights.

Then, you collapse. Your ideal transforms into a spaceship for 1,200,000 credits. However, classmates and friends of Universe University in the same year shared on social media that they had gotten married step by step, had children, and had a lovely next generation from the artificial womb. The venue for their proposal was on a romantic planet with endless sea, sky and seagulls. A growing sense of comparison creates unnecessary suffering. Others tell you, go ahead, just like others, work, save money, buy a house, buy a car, get married, have children, bring new blessings to the universe, and believe in an Aeon you like.

Best is Qlipoth. They said. Everyone said so.

That's the Aeon that IPC fervently believes in. They may not necessarily know about the walls and protections made by Qlipoth, but people must know that IPC is a huge company involved in the economy of the entire universe. Their golden bodies symbolize enviable wealth in people's eyes.

But spacecraft are out of reach. You figured this out through a cheap and unpalatable 10-credit lunch and a scolding from your boss. You know you should set a more realistic goal.

Then let’s get a car with 30,000 credits. There are also jewelry for 50,000 credits. I'll go shopping after get off work. you said so.

You walked into the store and bought a car that met your expectations despite the salesperson's inner eye rolls and eager sales. Stroking its shell, eager joy surges into your heart, as if your hard work has been transformed into a visible reward. This is valuable. And jewelry, you buy a necklace that sparkles around your neck.

Your face was hot with excitement. There is value in this, keep it to yourself and it will appreciate in value!

Trembling with excitement, there is endless emptiness behind the joyful smile. Cosmic Express is responsible for delivering express delivery to your home. You browse the Internet and buy a list of unnecessary things to fill your misery and pain and stop the bleeding that might come out.

Then one day you quit your job after another scolding, knowing that you are just a cog in the functioning of society. You don't want to live like this anymore, but you don't know how to live without money and without getting married like others. You buy a spaceship ticket and wander off randomly. Romantic, casual and comfortable life. You think idealistically again to cheer yourself up. No matter where you go, you have to start a new life.

You arrive on a new planet, a beautiful and highly developed space society. The dome has a transparent dome woven from Qlipoth that envelopes the entire planet. You have heard that IPC has its headquarters here, but some say it is just one of its branches. Regardless, they obsessively imitated the architecture of Aeon Qlipoth, constructing a towering building with a beautiful transparent glass dome. It is stationed on the planet like a banyan tree, tirelessly absorbing money and energy.

You bought a small, independent bakery on one of the shopping streets, renovated it and prepared it for opening and used up almost all the credit in your bank account. But, you are happy, from the bottom of your heart, practicing your baking recipes and thinking about a bright future. On opening day, you put up a sign with a design on it. And greets all guests warmly. They smell the aroma of bread, follow the traces and step into your store, buying this and that bread and drinks. The aroma of food, warm bread, that is the breath of life.

-

One month after opening, Aventurine stepped into your bakery. When socializing at work, he accompanied his clients to drink and enjoy haute cuisine, with a charming smile. During lunch, he would choose a coffee shop or an elegant restaurant to sit and browse the stock market and invest. Those tens of millions of money came and went, only in exchange for a smile or a sip of coffee from him. Wonderful afternoon. Beautiful gamble. But that day, he smelled a different aroma of bread, and realized that a new store had opened in the commercial street.

He walked into the store and browsed the golden bread. Aventurine spent 2 minutes choosing toast and croissants, listening to the sound of money arriving on his phone. He glanced at you, who was in uniform and busy. It was inevitable that he thought from a professional and utilitarian perspective, wondering how this narrow store did not meet the requirements of modern business. Decoration, bread production, marketing, and store staffing. It would be foolish to hire just one clerk. Hiring just one more clerk can lead to more revenue. You obviously have your hands full.

He spent 2 minutes in line. When it was Aventurine's turn to pay, you gave him a warm smile, as warm as sunshine. These days, you remember some familiar faces of your customers. You're a little surprised by the new-faced customers arriving at the store.

You greet him and ask if he wants a takeout or just enjoy it in the store.

"Right here, thank you." Aventurine replied.

So Aventurine sat down, right in the bakery. He munched his bread and invested his money, living his daily life. Day after day, weeks and months passed. Occasionally, he pays attention to you. You always do all the work in the store, packing the bread, putting it on the shelves, and doing the cashiering. So one day, He asked out of curiosity. “Isn’t the bakery owner going to hire an extra employee?”

You opened your eyes wide and smiled awkwardly. "I-I'm the owner of this bakery."

Ah, so here's the answer. Aventurine nodded, you may not have more funds, but he accidentally started to invest and play, just like the play he had not completed in childhood. He loved investing, which was like finding a pearl in the ocean, playing Monopoly, playing with his assets. A desire arose spontaneously, satisfying his heart. "Have you considered expanding the store and staff? I see your bakery is very popular. I've witnessed many, but none like this, and swear there's some potential here."

"Really?" You were a little shy in the compliment. He was surprised at your naivety. "Thank you, but I have no plans yet."

"Oh, you're eating Brioche today." You looked down at the bread he selected. "You are a familiar face. Let me give you a discount. It only costs 200 credits."

Aventurine was about to refuse, but heard your question. "If you don't mind, could you tell me what you do for a living?"

He didn't understand the specific reason. Aventurine didn't want to reveal his work in front of you, so he muttered vaguely. "I'm in the gambling business."

"You mean the casino?" You blinked.

"Yeah, yes," he replied.

"That must be hard…" You recalled the casino in the drama, where the gamblers seemed likely to fight. He must have been mediating frequently there. After thinking about it, you gave him extra drinks and bread. “Here’s today’s special offer!”

Aventurine held the drink at a loss, feeling that the cold drink was radiating heat.

-

On a rainy and windy afternoon, Aventurine won't sit at your outdoor table. He returned to the IPC with the bread and pressed the button for the lift. One of the members of Ten Stonehearts saw him and asked caringly. "I can't see you eating in the office lately. Can you be full just by eating bread?"

"It's okay. I fill up easily." He smiled politely, even though he had eaten some more bread… He didn't refuse your offer.

He finished chewing the bread while scrolling through your bakery’s social media feeds on his phone. You like to update the bakery's social media and have accumulated about a few hundred likes per post. In the photo, you shared a new type of bread, and your passion for life is reflected in your eyebrows and eyes.

The department meeting is just after lunch. The holographic screen fluttered IPC's business plans and developments. IPC announced that one of its small plans was to acquire a new commercial street and all the businesses would have to move out. His eyes reflected the glowing words- your bakery is on that commercial street.

-

Gradually, that friendly customer who works at the casino becomes too busy to visit your bakery, or he finds a new restaurant. There's something empty inside you, like a piece is missing.

New signs were posted in the neighborhood, and other store owners who often borrowed flour and other supplies from each other knocked on your door and told you that the Interastral Peace Corporation was buying the street and that every store was going to be evicted. This will be the place where a new type of space commercial city will be built. Many companies will settle in and open stores. It will be beautiful and modern, just like other space commercial cities. You'd better discuss a compensation plan with IPC now and strive for better terms.

IPC may compromise, but with other economic systems of the entire planet, not with a small commercial street. They do what they say they will do.

Like a bolt from the blue, you repeatedly confirmed and asked questions. Why does it have to be here? Why? What are their plans? How much will the compensation be? The IPC wants the compensation to be as small as possible, and the shop owners will fight for it, but the court is on their side. So don’t be too tough in your attitude, be more diplomatic, be more worldly, and seek more benefits for you. they said.

Many shop owners have signed up for the compensation plan. You are one of the few shop owners who are too stubborn to embrace the world. Guard this shop like a dragon guarding the last treasure. As the deadline gets closer, you notice more rude customers, the ingredient supplier says they can no longer serve you, and some negative messages and reviews appear to smear you. There are also people in all-black uniforms looking outside your store. That's downright creepy.

But you are not afraid, what you are afraid of is that something will be taken away from you again. Those capitalists are used to taking something from you and then giving you something in compensation. Before it was salary, now it's compensation plans.

Occasionally, you bow to reality and pay attention to some new stores, but those prices cannot be bought with compensation.

One night, before you close the shop, you hear the sound of construction work, destroying the original shops. It's not loud and noisy, it's a new space construction technology, but you're terrified and just want to pack up and go home. You have filed a complaint with the court. Once again, you place your hopes on the ethereal, and then you see a figure appear at the window of the bakery.

Ah, it's that customer. He must be here to support you and buy bread.

You maintained your smile and greeted him, "I haven't seen you recently. Where have you been?"

Aventurine just stared. There was some compassion in his expression, and his features were soft. He knew that the gentlest of measures would not work. “…let me talk to you about the new compensation plan.”

You were stunned for a while. "…What do you mean?"

He hands you a card with neatly printed handwriting and the IPC logo.

“Aventurine, Senior Manager in the IPC Strategic Investment Department”

You held the card and read it for a while before looking up at him. Your throat was dry but tears were streaming down your face. The holographic screen projects a new plan, specially prepared for you stubborn, idealistic people, to provide better compensation.

"…Go away, I don't want to see you!" You paused for half a minute before getting angry and pushing him out of the store. What flows inside is anger at the betrayal, even though you know he doesn't have to support you. Aventurine's arms opened up to embrace you. You were shocked, struggling, and sobbing. "I don't want to see you…you are with them…I have nothing, and you still want to take it away…"

Halted like an emotional kitten, you whimpered, tired from sobbing, sleep overtook you and darkness enveloped you.

You opened your eyes and found yourself in a luxurious room, with stars visible on the ceiling and a soft quilt covering you. Pillow supports your head. You adjusted to the light for a few seconds, frowned, and moved your hands, but the sound of the chain sounded. You looked at the chains on your hands, stunned, shaking and struggling. "What-what's going on?"

"Ah, you're awake." Aventurine opened the door and came in. He touched your forehead, and you realized that the clothes you were wearing had also been changed. They were a set of pajamas. "What happened?" You shook the chain in your hand in confusion. "Someone attacked us last night?" "Um, it's not like that actually."

Aventurine comforted you and shushed you. "You're locked in. Shhh...shhh, don't scream. I know this may be hard to accept at first, but you'll see the benefits."

He explained, to your expression like a frightened little animal. "…For business purposes, I looked into your background. You've been having a hard time, haven't you? Now you finally have time to relax. This is one of my houses, and it's yours, too."

"I didn't ask you..." Tears welled up in your eyes. Are you going to be locked up? "I know." Aventurine stroked your head gently. "I know, now just relax. I'll take care of the bakery. We'll open a new one somewhere with the ocean, you know, new plans."

You noticed that he used the word "we," which made your heart feel strangely warm. You were speechless, closed your eyes, turned around, a tear flowed down your cheek, and the chain creaked.

This is your new reality, but at least you can rest, right?

[logoleptic-since-06]

Lessons in Love

In which Satoru Gojo seems to fall for Megumi's new tutor.

MDNI

Summary: You look for a private student to tutor for some extra money and end up as the private tutor of Megumi Fushiguro, a high school student and the adoptive son of Satoru Gojo.

CW: Non-Sorcerer AU, not proofread, Satoru is a single parent, kind of bratty Megumi, mentions of death

Part 1

"Hello, is this Ms. Y/L/N?"

You put down the pen you were marking papers with. "Uh yeah, that's me. Who's speaking?"

The feminine voice waves through the phone, "I'm Yui, I saw your advertisement for private tutoring online. Are you still looking for students?"

Your attention is now fully on the call, the half-marked exam sheet almost forgotten, "Yes, yes, I am."

"Great," Yui replied, "Are you open to tutoring a 9th grader?"

"Yeah, any grade from 5 to 10 is okay."

"Alright then, could you give me some information on how you conduct uour sessions?"

"Alright so, I'm a teacher myself, so I am free any time after 5 PM. I can come by your house for two hours, thrice a week."

"That sounds perfect. When can you start?"

You glance at the calendar placed on your desk. "It's the start of the month today, I can come by your house at around 6 PM, if that's okay with you."

"Okay then, I'll text you the address. The student's name is Megumi Fushiguro. If the security stops you, just tell them you are his new tutor."

And that's how you end up in front of the 5-Star hotel. Your student lives at the penthouse of this hotel. If extravagance had a look, it would be this place. With long iron gates securing the entrance, the high technology security, and the almost shiny exterior make the place look like something straight out of a wealth-centric movie. 

As you step into the penthouse, you are greeted with a kind looking woman, "You must be Ms. Y/L/N. Megumi sir is in his study room."

She leads you to the room and knocks at the door. "Come in," a voice grumbles from inside.

As you step in, you are greeted with a teenage boy with dark messy hair. He sits up straight on his chair when he spots you. He gestures at the chair next to him, asking you to sit. You have dealt with multiple brats in your teaching life, but something about him screams spoiled to a whole new level. Maybe it's the private school effect.

"Hi," you plaster a smile on your face, hoping it masks your insecurity, "I'm Y/N. You new tutor."

He gives you the slightest nod, "Megumi."

You sigh. This isn't going to be easy.

---

Two hours, 4 subjects, and the littlest conversation later, the tutoring session comes to an end.

"So we can end the session for today," you tell him, packing up your things, "Can I talk to your parent?"

"My parents are dead," he says bluntly, taking you by surprise. "You can talk to Gojo. He's... my guardian. He should be home by now." He gets up from his chair and leaves the study room, causing you to follow him subconsciously.

Soon, you find yourself in the lavish living room, a large chandelier hangs at the centre of the ceiling, beneath it is a long velvet couch, and on top of the couch is a man sitting.

Not just any man.

The most beautiful man you have ever laid your eyes on.

His white hair falls on his face- the same face that seems to carry the most charming smile known to mankind. His eyes... his blue eyes so bright even the Sun would be jealous. He gets up from the couch and approaches you, offering his hand.

You shake it almost hastily. Such pretty hands... wonder what it would feel like around your neck-

FOCUS.

"I'm Satoru Gojo," his smooth voice ripples through the air, breaking the silence.

"I'm Y/N Y/L/N. Megumi's new tutor."

His smile doesn't fade as he tilts his head sideways, "So I've heard. You'd spoken to my assistant earlier this morning, yes? Yui?"

"Oh," you say, remembering the previous conversation, "Yes, I had spoken to her."

"Great. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"That wouldn't be necessary-" Megumi begins, but shuts up immediately as Gojo flashes his dimpled smile at him.

"How about you go back to your room, Megumi?" Megumi rolls his eyes subtly and leaves you both alone.

"Please, have a seat, Ms. Y/L/N." He tells you, gesturing at the velvet couch. You oblige politely.

"So, Yui tells me you are a teacher?" He asks you.

"Yes," you inform him, "I teach at a middle school."

"Ah, I see. And you are capable of tutoring a high school student?"

"Yes, yes, I am. I've been teaching since I graduated college. It's been almost 4 years now."

He nods thoughtfully. "Megumi can be... difficult at times. He's a smart kid, and he took a few advanced classes. But now he's struggling to keep up."

You nod. "Yes, he's told me that."

"Good, good. So you'll be here thrice a week for a two hour session, am I right?"

"Right."

"And Megumi is your only student?"

"Right."

He gives you a cheeky smile. "Relax, this isn't an interrogation. I'm just making sure." 

You hope with all your being that there's no blush crept on your face as you chuckle nervously. "Yeah, of course." 

He checks the time before continuing. "It's late. Will you able to get back alone?"

"Yes, it won't be a problem, thanks for asking." 

"Do you live far?"

"A little."

"Allow me to drop you off."

"What?! No! It's fine, really."

"I insist."

"You really don't have to, but thanks."

---

And that's how you find yourself in the passenger seat of Satoru Gojo's car.

A/N: This is the first time I'm sharing any of my writing online, and I know this isn't even that good. But I'm trying to get back into writing actively and I thought sharing it would motivate me further.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

[clairewritesjjkxreader]

Sukuna’s Wife and Yuuji’s Onee-chan (Sukuna x Reincarnated!Y/N) Part 4

Part 3

Request from @gojodeluluwifeu

Yuuji Itadori slowly awoke. With only the flames of several candles to illuminate this prison-like room with paper seals, he almost felt like a doomed protagonist in a horror movie. For better or worse, he had a companion sitting across from him.

Satoru Gojo wore a nonchalant, expectant grin. “Yo.”

“You are… !” The memories of the monster attack hit him like a train and he fussed around in his seat, soon realizing that his arms were bound behind him. He whipped his head towards Gojo. “Where is my sister? What happened to my friends? Are they still alive–”

“Hm, you’re not really in a position to be worrying about other people. Actually, you know what, I guess we should talk about your sister. Though I already know she’s just a neighbor.”

“Huh?”

Gojo pulled out a tablet and opened a file for Yuuji to see. At first glance it appeared to be your resume, as it had a 2x2 ID photo of you in formal wear and your basic information written right next to the image, but the more Yuuji read, he realized that it was far more terrifying than a simple resume. 

Gojo used his finger to scroll down the document, which had to be around fifty pages at least. “Age, birth place, height and weight… even her three measurements are here.”

Yuuji stomped his feet. “Why do you–”

Gojo turned the tablet around and began to read, “No clubs or extracurriculars. All her grades are either slightly below or slightly above the school average. Only two instances of getting called to office, once in middle school, and again in high school, both times were because teachers suspected that she was being bullied, but both times she told the adults involved ‘not to worry’ and that she ‘just doesn’t like socializing.’ 

Other notes from previous teachers were similar: ‘That kid was always quiet, never caused trouble,’ ‘She doesn’t seem to be hated but no one ever approaches her… she doesn’t approach anyone either,’ ‘I don’t know if she’s shy or maybe she really likes her space, either way, she won’t go far in life if she keeps to herself like this,’ ‘She never skipped class, though whenever she called in to say that she couldn’t come it was due to a family emergency,’ hm…

Her classmates and former employers didn’t have much to say about her, too. They kept using the same words: ‘keeps to herself,’ ‘doesn’t cause trouble but doesn’t talk either,’ ‘I don’t remember much about her,’ uwah–there is even a detailed calendar here full of her class and work schedules. Let’s see… apparently she missed school whenever you or your grandfather were sick or hospitalized. Same thing with her part-time jobs.” 

Gojo read on, nodding his head.

“Ichiji is surprisingly talented at this. It’s almost creepy.”

“Wait! What’s going on? Why do you have records on Y/N-nee?!”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“???”

“According to the other people in your neighborhood, you’re not blood-related and she’s not even your step-sister or adoptive sister, she’s literally just the girl from next door. And you’ve heard the things other people have to say about her, there is nothing special about that person. If anything, she has to be one of the most boring people I know.”

“Don’t insult her! S-sure she’s quiet and doesn’t like interacting beyond the bare minimum, but towards me she’s kind and selfless and even a bit overprotective! She’s not perfect but she’s not boring or average or horrible!”

“... Do you know what happened to her parents?”

If he were thinking more clearly, Yuuji would’ve kept his mouth shut but he was furious and couldn’t help himself. “They’re abroad. They send money regularly but Nee-chan has always been alone in that house. That’s why grandpa and I let her sleep over sometimes. She’s always been…alone.” Wait. Yuuji scrunched his eyebrows. Alone? That can’t be right.

“‘They’re abroad,’ is what she said to you.”

“That’s right.”

“Itadori, there are no records of her parents ever leaving the country.”

“Well, you’re wrong. Grandpa said that she told us that the first day we met her.”

“Hm. Itadori-kun, do you recall the date that you moved in with your grandfather?”

Yuuji didn’t remember much about his childhood before his grandfather, the two of them have always been together for as long as he could remember. It was the same with you. Always together…

Gojo showed him a page from the tablet. It was an affidavit of ownership. “Before that, let me ask you, do you know whose house your ‘sister’ used to live in? The one next to your grandfather’s.” 

“What kind of question is that? Obviously it belonged to her–her parents, of course. That’s her last name.” 

“This house belongs to a family with the last name L/N. But look here.” Gojo scrolled down and showed a picture of a family of five. There was a father, a mother, two young boys in middle school, a boy no older than two, and a dog. “This photo was taken back in 2003, a year before your birthday. They’re the only family members who lived in that house.”

“So? She’s probably a distant relative.”

Gojo shook his head. “We actually asked the other neighbors. Everyone also believes that she’s some cousin from the province. But it’s strange that you all believed that she belonged to that family when no one should be living there in the first place.”

“You just said that that family owned it.”

“Yup, you’re right, they owned that house.”

Yuuji blinked. What?

“I hope you have a tough stomach.” Gojo scrolled down. 

Yuuji’s stomach stirred and he bent over as far as his bondage would allow him. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. He refused to look up, the image of those poor parents hugging their children will forever be burned in his memory. “Why are you showing me this?”

“This L/N family was brutally murdered on the night of **** **, ****.”

“That… that’s…

“That’s the same date your grandfather took you in, isn’t it?”

Yuuji doesn’t remember it himself, but his grandfather told him once and you often mentioned that date when you brought up his toddler days. 

He reluctantly opened his mouth. “Did… did she…” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t even think about it. Memories of you smiling, laughing, taking care of him and grandpa, and welcoming him home flooded Yuuji’s senses. 

“Ah,” Gojo interrupted, “she didn’t kill them if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Eh?”

“The doggie bit one of the burglars. Hard. And she bit him in the *ahem* boxers. He and his partner were caught almost immediately.” Gojo showed him the mug shots.

Yuuji: ??????

“She had nothing to do with this murder, but after the funeral, the house was bought immediately. After further investigation, we discovered that it was bought under a fake name. She was a child when the land was purchased, but it couldn’t have been her parents, and there are no signs of other people having lived there other than her. Not to mention, the whole neighborhood bought into her lie that she was a visiting cousin. Isn’t that odd?”

Odd? Major understatement. There were many holes. Number one thing was that no one seemed to remember the murders. Even if it was fifteen years ago, Yuuji would’ve heard of it, if not for his grandfather then from the other kids. Children love horror stories after all. And yet…

“You’re telling me that…Nee-chan has been sleeping, eating and bathing in a murder house?”

“Well, I assure you, there are no curses or ghosts in that area. Luckily, the family passed on without any grudges, perhaps because they were with each other when they died? Anyway, normal humans have no way of knowing that the house is clean. Usually, unless you’re dirt poor or an idiot, you would never even consider living in a potentially haunted house.”

“That’s…!” Yuuji stopped himself. “Wait. What did you mean earlier that her parents couldn’t have possibly bought the house?”

Gojo tilted his head. “Because they’re dead.”

He presented an old newspaper article. It was dated a few weeks before the family’s death. The headline read: COUPLE FOUND DEAD IN THEIR OWN HOME, ***-OLD DAUGHTER NOWHERE TO BE FOUND.

“The bodies were described as having been ‘torn apart from the inside,’ but there were no weapons that fit the wounds. There was only a large puddle of water soaking the corpses… ‘Based on testimonies from neighbors, the couple were suspected of abusing their daughter, whose current whereabouts remain unknown. It is likely that she has been kidnapped.’” Gojo glanced at him. “You get it, right? The couple mentioned here are Y/N’s birth parents. They lived in a rural area with a town population of less than 5000. They don’t even have a convenience store–or a mall. Ouch.”

Gojo looked at Yuuji. ��The murder itself was brutal but it never reached national news. Still, a lot of things don’t add up.”

“...I-if they’re dead then…” then why did you act like they were still alive and well? How could you smile and walk around as if everything was fine?

“Well, anyway, those things are minor.”

“Hah?!” Minor?!

“The crux of the matter is this: you ate a finger of a cursed spirit known as Ryomen Sukuna, and he called Y/N his wife. Not to mention, just before passing out, she called you her child.”

“...!”

“From what I can tell, Sukuna seems to treasure her a lot, and yet there is nothing about her background that points to her being any more special than the average Jane. What are you? And what is your relationship with that woman?”

Yuuji gritted his teeth. ‘That woman’ was his precious older sister, who took care of him when Grandpa was at work, who cleaned up his wounds when he got hurt playing, who loved him so much she couldn’t stand by as a monster attacked him.

“She…”

***

Over a decade ago, in a tiny house by the foot of a mountain, you watched as gigantic icicles–bigger than yourself–tear through your mother. She was arguing with your father, who was now on the floor, gasping and clutching at his chest. He too had large pieces of jagged ice pierced all over him. 

When he caught you in the corner, a wry grin made its way to his face, that was the only time you ever saw a semblance of a smile from him. He reached out his arm towards you. “H-hurry up, c…call s-s-someone–ARGH!” 

The hand reaching out to you was cut by a blade of ice. 

He squirmed and screamed before another cold knife cut his face in half. The kitchen fell silent. 

At that time, did you feel afraid? Did you feel sad? You couldn’t remember.

“This servant deeply apologizes for being so late.” A handsome woman, or maybe they were a pretty man, stepped out of the shadows and walked towards you. 

The doll-like person with snow white skin and wearing traditional clothes knelt down. They offered you a small smile. “I offer my greetings to the madam.”

“...are you… going to kill me, too?”

He shook his head. “This servant would never.”

“Then…” 

“I came here to ensure that you were living peacefully until the lord’s return, but regretfully, even in this life you are treated like this. I tried to make them suffer before dying, but my temper has gotten the best of me. This servant apologizes.”

The person said things you didn’t understand, but you at least knew this much: they weren’t going to hurt you. 

“My lady, I’m afraid you can’t live here anymore.”

The beautiful, doll-like creature that introduced themselves as “Uraume” packed what few materials that belonged to you and led you away. Their skin was colder than the air of a fridge, yet you never felt more safe and warm than when they held your hand on the way to your new abode.

“Uraume-san–”

“Please just call me ‘Uraume,’ my lady, this servant doesn’t dare to be referred to in any other way.”

“R-right. Uraume, you said that I will be living in a different neighborhood.”

“Yes. I handled everything. Though humans have evolved into being more efficient, the paperwork was too much.”

“Will I be living alone?”

They gave you a sad smile. “It would be the highest honor to wait on the lady, but I still have much to prepare for Sukuna-sama’s arrival.”

“Sukuna…sama?”

“He has never tired of searching for you, I’m sure he will be very happy to know that you are now safe and well.”

“Does that mean… that he cares for me?”

Their eyes seemed to sparkle. “Such words are too light to describe the weight of his feelings. Sukuna-sama has devoted every part of himself to you. When you died, he never remarried, and when other sorcerers or village chiefs offered him brides, he would slaughter them all without hesitation. He was especially mad when the women looked like you in any way, be it height, skin color or hair color. This servant personally put their severed heads on poles to be displayed for all to see as a warning. One time, he…”

You didn’t really get it. This person spouted out a lot of information that you didn’t grasp, like a hardcore fan talking about their idol to a normie. 

They seemed to be having fun so you let them talk the entire trip to your new house. 

“Do you like it, madam?” Uraume asked as you examined the residence from outside. “It’s small, but putting you in an apartment complex was out of the question. It would’ve been nice if we got you a mansion but the people I spoke to claimed that only this house was available. Unbelievable, Sukuna-sama would never have tolerated this–”

“I like it.”

“Hm?”

You turned to Uraume and smiled. “I like it, Uraume. Thank you for your efforts.”

Uraume blinked. Then they slowly covered their mouth. “M-my lady, your smile is as radiant as I remember.”

“Are you crying?”

“This servant will go and organize everything so please relax as much as you like!” They then dashed inside.

What an odd person, you thought. But you didn’t want to go inside just yet, not because you were afraid of potential ghosts. Uraume explained the truth about the house before the drive here, and they didn’t seem bothered with it so why should you? 

However, the house was still full of movers carrying furniture and whatnot, and you’d rather avoid people. 

As you thought about where to pass time, something tugged the hem of your dress.

“Fwah…”

You glanced down and found a toddler pulling on your skirt. “Huh? Go away.”

“Mm?” The baby raised his head and met your eyes, and time stopped.

Your head felt heavy and everything around the toddler turned blurry. 

“Yuu…ji?” 

Huh? Did you say something just now? 

“There you are, Yuuji! You almost gave me a heart attack. I’m pretty sure I locked the door, how do you keep escaping?” An old man came over and picked up the child from the ground. “What on Earth am I going to do with you…hm?”

The old man finally noticed you. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

You kept your eyes on the child, who was clapping his hands. “I…I just moved in.”

“Moved in? Where? Oh.” He scratched his stubble when he realized it. “That’s unfortunate.”

You stared at the baby in his arms. Its cheeks were so chubby. You wanted to pinch them until he cried. 

“It’s not my place to say this but… maybe you and your family would be better off going someplace else…” The man whispered.

“What do you mean?” You finally looked away from the toddler.

He sighed. “It’s complicated, but since your parents bought the land they probably already know. It’s a pity. This little one and I will be moving out soon and you could’ve gotten our house instead.”

“Moving out?”

“It’s nothing a kid like you should concern yourself with. Let’s just say that after everything, it’d be bad luck to stay here, right, Yuuji?”

“Ehehe,” the baby garbled out a laugh, making a spit bubble. 

“You can’t leave…” 

“What’s that?” The man turned to you.

You gazed deep into his eyes and repeated, “You can’t leave.”

“We have to, little miss. It’s the best thing for us. I’m not sentimental but I don’t believe in tempting fate. I don’t know if you’re aware but living in this street feels wrong after the mur–ahem, after the incident.”

“What incident?”

“Like I said, you’re too young–”

“There wasn’t any incident.”

“What’re you talking about? Ah, I guess your parents didn’t tell you, after all.”

“There wasn’t any incident,” you said again, never breaking eye contact. “Nothing happened, everything is fine. You’re not going anywhere.”

Your mouth was moving but you couldn’t hear yourself. Your mind was muddied. 

The old man stared back at you, unblinking and silent for a whole minute, before his lips moved, “I haven’t seen you before.”

“No. I just moved in with the L/N’s.” You pointed at your new house. 

“Ah, I see. Are you a visiting cousin or something?”

“Yes. My parents are working abroad so my aunt and uncle decided to take me in.”

“Aha, I see. They’re good people, your aunt and uncle, though their sons are a bit rowdy.”

“Yes, they are.” You turned to the baby who was now looking at you with curious eyes.

The old man noticed and proceeded to introduce himself and the kid. “I’m your neighbor, Wasuke Itadori, and this one’s named Yuuji. His parents are… not here, so I’m in charge of him.”

The baby beamed before reaching out his fat sausage arm towards you.

You offered him a finger and he grabbed it tightly as he giggled.

“Nice to meet you. My name is…”

You opened your eyes, a bit groggy from a dream you could no longer remember. 

“Finally awake?” A woman asked. She had long brown hair and wore a lab coat. A doctor. “Hello, I’m Shoko Ieiri. Do you remember who you are?”

You rose to a sitting position, but didn’t answer. 

“Do you know today’s date?”

You stared at her. “Where is Yuuji?”

“Hm… how do you know that name?”

“Yuuji is my neighbor but we’re more like family. Where is he?”

“He was right…” Shoko murmured as she wrote something on her clipboard. When she noticed you glaring, she put it away and grinned. “Don’t worry, he’s indisposed but otherwise in good health. You’ll be able to meet up with him in a few minutes. We need to focus on your condition right now.”

“I’m perfectly healthy.” You raised your arms in an attempt to show how fine you were. “Nothing hurts and I remember my own name and the date today. Please let me see him.” 

Before she could reply, her phone buzzed and she excused herself.

As she stepped out to answer the call, you stared at your hands as they pulled on your blanket. 

“Yuuji…”

@shadowywizardarcade @hannya-exists @nineooooo @lilachaeyo @pumpkindudeishere @jessbeinme15 @fluffy-koalala @cringeycookies @frogzxch @isimpfordanielpark @marvelsgirl4ever @sanzusmom @sheccidoscar @alastorhazbin @satosuguswife @lumanii @leahlovesreading @blackstaw @boba–12 @certainduckanchor @langweile @amitiel-truth @qualityprincessrunaway @thatoneweirdgirl17 @lilith-snape

A/N: This took longer than expected. But anyway, happy human holidays, everyone! Comments are always appreciated.

[adoresmiles]

His. Concealed Obsession.

Chapter three.

Tags: @violetmuses @onlyrealjoy @unicorndelulu @neloOwesker @liatreads @sunrisesfromthewest @deja-r @leahnicole1219 @jacobscipioswoman

AN: Y’all I’m out here making my own gifs and it’s stressing me out lol but I hope you guys enjoy chapter three! Please give feedback on how you feel about the book. Love you guys 🫶🏽

The following day.

"Conseguiste las huellas de las manos del cristal?"

"We are in the process of laminating it now. The tracker was placed underneath her car before she left to meet up with her friend yesterday."

"Perfect, Catalina  did you get the background information on her and her family?"

"Yes , Ms Powers who full name is Kanani Souline Powers. She is the youngest daughter of Noelani Storm and Daniel Ramos Powers. Her mother is a Seasoned 9-1-1 operator , while her father is a captain on the swat team. Kanani is also the sister to Jaxon Tyree and Keith Makana Powers. Jaxon is the lieutenant for the Miami fire department and Keith is a detective."

"Realmente sabes cómo elegirlos"

"Shut it."

"Alongside with her brothers , Kanani was born in Honolulu Hawai'i . She graduated from University of Michigan with a masters degree in Aerospace. Wow ... she's extremely intelligent. Base off of her social media, her hobbies include cooking, dancing , shopping and spending time with her family and friends. She is currently working on opening up her own business."

"Tell me about her past. What's the deal with that?"

Armando asked the young female as she clicked away on her mouse. A mixture of pictures showed across the screen of Kanani,  her family and friends . From what he was being showed , he can see that she was raised in a big , blended and loving family. He learned that her father had a son within his previous marriage . Which made sense to why he was seeing  the slightest bit of difference between the three siblings.

"Well she was in a relationship with the judge son who put your mother away behind bars. He also has a history of domestic violence and multiple of charges. He does have two existing restraining orders against him one is from Kanani and the other his now ex girlfriend."

"When does the restraining order ends?"

"It expires in two days boss."

"Kill him in two days , but let's make it brutal"

"Are you sure about that? He's pretty well known around in Miami."

"I killed the neighbor, I killed the others and I shot my own father. Do you think I care about him being well known ?"

"Clearly not , you are still killing people even when your dad cleared your name. How would you think he will feel if he found out about you doing this to his coworker daughter?"

"Again , do it looks like I care about what him or anyone thinks ? No it doesn't , so as I mentioned before kill him in two days and this time you do it."

"So I have her hand print laminated down, you'll be able to have access to her house once we are able to test it. You just have to figure out when her next outing is going to be."

"That shouldn't be to hard , based off her calendar in her phone she has zero meetings. I checked her emails and nothing is scheduled, she's a sitting a duck. Her meeting that she had with Galena today went right through, isn't that right Gal?"

"She's smarter than what everyone thinks. Her store is going to be extremely valuable for us to use. The only thing is that her best friend will be be helping her run the store. We need our own people in there to make sure the drugs are coming in and out."

"So you and Catalina will find some people who has the similarities of Kanani and her best friend. Send them to the store for interviews and they should get hired on the spot. This is the only we can keep the money flowing in fast and in a discreet manner."

"Catalina and I can most definitely do that. Her best friend is tough to break down though, she doesn't do funny business. So we have to do this carefully and be on our toes with this. But other than that , we're locked in with her business. Plus there's going to be a celebration tomorrow for her accomplishments. I was invited to it the dinner and the after party."

"What after party?"

"Her family will be having a cookout at the park for her and then after she will be going out to celebrate."

"Interes-"

"Boss we got movement coming from inside Kanani home."

Catalina called out to him as she expanded the screen that displayed Kanani on it. Placing his arms over his chest , he watch as the young woman dance around her kitchen without a care in the world. Which either meant that she was cleaning or was simply in a good mood. It was something he picked up on since he started watching her. On certain days she would wake up at exactly nine in the morning to start cleaning or just to put on her favorite song and dance around her house.

At first he thought it was childish but after awhile he found it interesting in way. Watching her smile and laugh as she twirl around in her home always gave him peace. Knowing that she was happy made him happy. Seeing her at peace, made him feel at peace. Armando was dangerously infatuated with her and seeing and holding her in his harms the day prior made him realize that he couldn't allow her to get away.

"Wow I'll hate to admit this but she's definitely a looker. I see why you are obsessed with her man."

"She's off limits man."

"Kanani belongs to me , she's mine and I'll gladly put a bullet through fucking your head behind her."

"He didn't mean it Armando , he was just joking . We all know that Kanani is yours and only yours."

"Galena please get him out of here before ends up dead and on his parents front porch in a gift box."

"Let's go kid , you know your mouth is going to get your ass in trouble..."

"Hey Armando I think you want to check this out."

"What is it Catalina?"

"Did you drop something yesterday? Like an earring a chain or something?"

"Why?"

"Because if I'm mistaken your babygirl is wearing your chain as we speak and it seems like she has a visitor that is fine as fuck."

"ellos son nuestros padres. Her father and family is close friends with Marcus and Mike.”

“Do you think they’re talking about what happened yesterday?”

“No doubt that they are , turn the audio on Catalina.”

Armando leaned forward onto the table as his request was answered. A soft voice filled the room followed by deeper voices. He watched as the two men take turns to hug her. Seeing their hands on her rubbed him the wrong way. Armando didn’t want anyone else but only him touching her . He didn’t care if the man on her screen was her father or not, he didn’t want him touching her. At all.

Translation

"Conseguiste las huellas de las manos del cristal?: Did you get the hand prints from the glass?

"Realmente sabes cómo elegirlos" :  you really know how to choose them.

"ellos son nuestros padres": They are our parents.

[ghosttotheparty]

a place where i belong

also on ao3 // 13k words cw: verbal abuse; gaslighting; family angst; smut/nsfw

He’s in the kitchen when he hears it. Standing by the sink and downing a painkiller, shoes on, jacket on, car keys in hand. He pauses when he hears it, hypervigilant as always, freezing without swallowing the gulp of water, the pill floating in his mouth for a moment as he realizes.

A car pulls into the driveway. 

He swallows, closing his eyes and sighing heavily, and he sets the glass in the sink. 

He’d forgotten they were coming back today. It’s been on the calendar, marked with a vague, innocuous red dot that he’d begun to look past, to look through, to ignore without meaning to. He’s been too focused on everything else, on his own messy handwriting reading Lucas basketball - 3pm and kids theater - noon and Max physical therapy - 1pm. His weekly hours are jotted down on a piece of paper that’s stuck to the wall next to the calendar, updated every Saturday evening. Robin’s handwriting is just as bad as his, but he’s gotten better at reading it, the same way she’s gotten better at reading his. 

Steve rests his back against the counter by the sink, taking a breath, steeling himself. He crosses his arms, clutching his keys in his hand so tightly the teeth bite into his palm. He looks at the ground. Follows the lines between the tiles with his eyes like he’s mapping out a maze. Or an escape.

He hears the front door open. Hears some shuffling, some muttering, the clunking of suitcases coming through the entryway. 

And then he hears, “Steven, your car is filthy, when was the last time you had it washed?”

 His eyes get stuck on a tile, at the corner of it. The tiles used to be a pristine, shining, sparkling white. When Steve was a little boy, they were always sparkling. Glistening. Always freshly mopped, scrubbed, waxed. They don’t look like that anymore. They’re dull now, still white but just barely grey. The one Steve is looking at has a crack in it. It’s a tiny crack, thin as a hair, branching off from the corner, but he sees it from where he’s standing. 

“A few weeks ago,” he says, even though he knows it’s been months. “I don’t know.” 

The house has aged with him, he thinks. His parents stopped making sure the floors were being taken care of when they started leaving. They stopped making sure the chimney was cleaned, the pool was cleaned, the walls were sturdy. Steve gave up on keeping everything in order when he started high school. When he started to question whether or not they were coming back at all instead of what day they’d show up. 

Steve stares at the tile. Traces the crack in it. 

“Steven, I paid good money for that car, I expect you to take care of it.”

He nods at the floor. 

Quiet. 

Good. 

He hates when they come home. It’s like the house gets a little colder, like the echoes of the kids’ laughter get sucked out the windows. Like the last burning embers in the fireplace have turned to ash. 

It doesn’t happen often, them coming home. But when it does…

“Goodness, this floor is filthy. We need to get these tiles replaced.” 

He blends into the walls. Turns to mist that they look right through. Fades back into the little boy he used to be, too small to look into his father’s eyes or to reach the liquor cabinet, quiet and well-behaved and good. 

They keep talking. He doesn’t hear his name. He keeps looking at the floor. He decides he likes the crack in that tile. He kind of wishes they were all like that. It took almost twenty years for that crack to appear, that tiny, thin crack. He wonders how many tiles there are in the whole room, wants to multiply that number by twenty. See if he’ll still be alive when they’re all like this one, damaged so subtly he has to look for it. He imagines it, the tiles grey and dusty with age, cracks spreading across them like a spiderweb across the floor. In his head, it’s beautiful. 

And then he remembers that they want to replace them now. Because they’re not as shiny as they used to be. 

Steve doesn’t feel very shiny. He doesn’t think he’s ever been shiny. 

They’re still talking. Steve exhales. 

His eyes find a scuff on his shoe. He blinks at it, trying to remember where it came from, and for an awful, awful second he thinks it’s from gym class, from basketball practice, from fucking around in alleyways, before he remembers. 

He thinks it’s from the Upside Down. From running, hiding, fighting. 

The keys bite into his palm, and he loosens his grip, inhaling sharply as his brain registers the pain. He looks at his hand, holding his fingers open to make sure he isn’t bleeding. He isn’t. His skin is red, indents from the teeth of the keys sharp in his skin, in the creases of his palms. 

Fuck. 

He looks at the clock across the room, and for a moment he wants to just leave silently, to walk right past them to the front door. But he doesn’t. 

“Uh,” he says, quietly enough that he isn’t really interrupting them. They both look at him, turning their heads a little but still glancing at him out of the sides of their eyes, and he finally looks at them. Sees them. They look older than he thought they did, lines around their eyes and mouths and on their foreheads. His father’s hair is mostly grey now, his mother's still dark red. It looks fake, just like the pearls around her neck. “I need to… go.”

“Go where?”

“To— To pick up some kids.” He stutters. He hates stuttering. “And take them home, I— I told their parents I’d get them home by six.”

Walter sneers. 

“Why are you driving children around?” he asks. But he isn’t really asking anything at all. He’s just… commenting. Like he always it. Your grades are shit. Your car is dirty. Why are you driving children around?

“I’m their babysitter,” Steve says. He used to hate that word. It felt so demeaning. He remembers his babysitters from when he was little, teenagers that only took the job for the money instead of for Steve, teenagers that would spend hours in the living room smoking or nursing beers and watching movies while Steve played by himself upstairs or in the corner. 

But he doesn’t mind it now. Being the babysitter. Driving the kids around. Making sure they’re okay, they’re safe and healthy and happy. Even though he tells them to shut up, he likes hearing their laughter and relentless bickering from the backseat. Even though he calls them little shits, he thinks he loves them. 

“Babysitter,” Walter repeats dryly. He’s making that face again. He’s always making that face at Steve. Like he smells, like he’s a stain on the carpet. Like he’s a dirty floor tile. Walter sighs, shaking his head like he’s disappointed. “We’re going to need to discuss your career plans, Steven, you can’t go on with your life babysitting.” 

Steve stares at him blankly. He won’t meet Steve’s eye. 

He’s wearing a suit. He’s always wearing a suit. Steve can’t remember the last time he saw him in anything else. 

And now, come to think of it, Steve can’t remember the last time he saw him. 

It’s been months that they’ve been away. Months since they’ve stepped through the front door into the boring entryway, through the boring hallway, into the boring kitchen. With no greeting, no Hi, Steve, how’ve you been? No We missed you, how are your friends? What happened with the earthquakes and the serial killer? Are you okay?

Nothing. 

A comment about the dirt on Steve’s car, and the dull floor tiles, and Steve’s future career. He wonders if they even know what color his eyes are. 

“Right,” he says finally, his hand clenching around the keys again. “Well, I’d love to have that conversation with you, but I really need to go, so…”

“We just got home,” Catherine says sharply, looking at him from where she’s sitting at the table, unbuckling her high heels. “You haven’t seen us in months, Steven, and this is how you greet us?” 

Steve looks at her. At her hair. It’s stiff with hairspray, piled up on top of her head in fake curls. Her makeup is creasing in her wrinkles, and her lipstick is faded around the center of her lips. Steve blinks. 

“I didn’t know you were going to be here right now,” he says carefully. “And I already told the kids’ parents I’d have them home by six, it should only take a few minutes.” He pauses, looking at her but feeling Walter’s eyes on him. Like he’s analyzing him, looking for faults. He can’t see the scars under Steve’s shirt. “I can’t just leave them there,” he says, pausing, thinking about how worried the kids would be. How they’d blow up the walkies trying to contact him, calling Eddie and Robin and even Nancy to ask if they know where he is, if they’ve heard from him. But he knows Walter would just laugh. “I’m responsible for them,” he finishes. 

And he starts toward the door. 

“When did you turn into such a little adult?” Catherine says lightly behind him, teasing. Careless. 

He stops walking, fist tightening on the keys again. He’s facing the doorway, and the room is quiet except for the soft shuffling of her shoe on the ground as she undoes the buckle. And he feels like his whole body is aching and sore, because he was nine. 

The first time they left him home alone. It was just a few days while they went to Indianapolis, but he remembers how quiet the house was. How he suddenly missed the smell of cigarettes and weed, how he missed the indistinct chatter of the television, of his babysitters’ voices muffled through the walls while they talked to their friends on the phone. He sat on the stairs for a while after hearing their car pull out of the driveway. Like he was waiting. 

He realized after a few hours that without a babysitter, he could go outside. It was his first time outside without supervision. 

He just tried to catch the fireflies. 

Steve turns around and looks at them. They’re both looking back at him, eyebrows raised curiously at the way he stopped short, at the way he froze. 

“Probably when I turned into an actual adult,” he says, his voice quieter than he intends. 

Walter scoffs. 

Steve feels like he just plunged into Lovers’ Lake again. Ice cold all over, in the dark. Eyes straining to see what’s ahead of him. 

“You’re an adult when you finish high school, Steven. You’re a child.”

Steve blinks. 

His gaze shifts over to him, to that fucking expression, at the earnestness in his eyes. The fucking ignorance. And Steve, inexplicably, laughs.

It’s a short laugh, but it’s almost hysterical, and he really just doesn’t know how the fuck else to react, to respond. They’re looking right at him. And they can’t see the age in his eyes, in his height, his face. They don’t even know him. He’s a stranger in their house. 

They’re strangers too. 

“I’m an adult, Dad,” Steve says dryly after the laugh, still half-smiling, even as the expression on Walter’s face deepens. Condescending, and mean, and judging, and even with the grey hair and the wrinkles, he’s the same man that Steve used to look up at as a child. “I graduated high school,” Steve says before Walter can say anything. “Two years ago.” 

Walter blinks, making a face and looking at Catherine, who just raises an eyebrow at Steve. 

“You were in Italy,” Steve says, trying as hard as he can to remain light, nonchalant, to keep his voice soft and sweet and quiet and good. “I sent you an invitation to the ceremony.”

“Oh, Steven, you know we never check our main when we’re abroad,” Catherine says lightly. 

Steve looks at her. The faux kindness in her eyes. The smile gracing her red lips. Like it’s Steve's fault. Like he’s a child.

He hates her. 

“Right,” he says softly, nodding slowly, looking away. “Silly me.”

“So you think finishing high school makes you a grown-up?” Walter says, amused. Steve looks at him. 

“Isn’t that what you just said?”

“...Steven, you have no idea what it means to be an adult.”

Steve looks at him. At his face. The condescending shine in his eye, like he’s talking to a kid, like Steve isn’t his height. (Maybe taller. He’s too far away to tell right now.) 

Stranger. Stranger. Stranger. 

Steve nods. Puts his keys down. 

“I’ll be back in a second.”

The phone is in the living room, near the doorway, and he closes his eyes as he picks it up, taking a deep breath before he dials the number he memorized within a day of learning it. 

“Munsons.”

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. “Uh, would it be cool if you picked the kids up from the arcade for me?”

“The arcade…” Eddie repeats, his voice more distant like he’s leaning away from the phone. “Weren’t you getting them today? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve lies easily. But Eddie’s always able to know when he’s lying. Steve doesn’t know how he does it. Every time Steve lies that he’s fine, that No, my head doesn’t hurt, and I didn’t have a nightmare, I just wanted to get some water, and I feel fine. Eddie just… looks at him. 

“Steve.”

And Steve always breaks. Lets the brick wall between them crumble to dust. 

“Uh.” He pauses, glancing down the hall. He feels like they’re listening. “My parents came back a minute ago. We’re talking.”

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says. “Is everything okay? Do you need backup?” 

Steve smiles into the phone, closing his eyes as his stomach flutters. 

“No, just… It’ll be fine. We’re just talking.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment, and Steve can practically hear the gears in his head turning. 

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll get the little shits, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Steve says, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“‘Course, Stevie.” Steve’s stomach flutters again. “Good luck with your parents.”

“Thanks.”

They hang up. Steve presses his face to the wall for a moment, taking a slow breath before he exhales. 

He goes back to the kitchen. 

Leans against the counter by his keys. Crosses his arms and looks at the floor. Finds the cracked tile and stares at it. 

It feels farther away now. Like he’s gotten taller. 

“You don’t think I know what it means to be an adult,” he says. 

“No, Steven,” Walter says lightly. Jovially. Condescendingly. “I think you’ve lived a very sheltered life. You haven’t seen the world, or experienced anything that could push you into adulthood. But that’s okay,” he adds like it’s reassuring. “You’re fortunate, you know.”

Steve's jaw twitches. He grinds his teeth. Stares at the tile, then the scuff on his shoe. 

“Do you wanna know what I think?” Steve asks quietly. 

Walter scoffs again. 

The sound grates at the inside of Steve’s skull, and his stomach twists. His lungs feel constricted, like they’re too tight. 

“What do you think?” Walter asks. His voice is gentle, so gentle it sounds like he’s talking to a five-year-old, humoring him, playing along. Steve lifts his head and levels a gaze on him. 

And across the kitchen, in the soft late afternoon sunlight, Steve looks at his wrinkles and his grey hair and his goddamn suit, and he’s just a man. And Steve wonders how the fuck he used to look up to this man, how the fuck he used to think he was anything more than this.

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” Steve says softly. 

Walter’s eyes widen, and he tilts his head in shock as Catherine lets out an Excuse me!

Steve nods, staring, and staring, and staring, and he can’t look away. 

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” he says again. “I think I have been… through hell. And you weren’t here.”

“Steven—”

“You weren’t here,” Steve snaps, his voice a little louder. He uncrosses his arms and stands up straight, and he thinks he is taller than his father. His stomach twists again. “You wanna know when I became a little adult, Mom?” 

She stares at him, eyes wide. 

“I became a little adult when you left me home alone to fend for myself,” he says forcefully. “When I was a child. And I should have been off playing with my friends, and memorizing multiplication tables, and getting my knees scraped on the pavement.” His heart is pounding now, and he can barely hear himself over it. “I wasn’t doing any of that. I was learning how to fucking cook, because there was no one else to do that for me. I was learning how to reset the heat in the house, and I was growing up when I shouldn’t have been.” 

“So you’ve been through hell because you had to learn how to use the stove,” Walter says dryly. Steve looks at him. 

“God, you really have no idea who I am, Dad.”

“I’m your father,” Walter says, an amused smile teasing his lips. 

“Is that what you call yourself?” Steve asks. “Is that what you tell people? That you’re a father? Because, I…” He scoffs and shakes his head, and maybe he’s more like his father than he’d hoped he’d be, but he doesn’t care right now. “I gotta tell you, man, that’s gonna be really misleading when people hear that.”

“You don’t think I’m your father,” Walter says. He’s starting to get angry, and a part of Steve feels vindicated. Good.

“No,” Steve breathes. 

“How on Earth is he not?” Catherine interrupts, and Steve had almost forgotten that she’s even here, looking up at them from the chair she’s sitting in. “You have his DNA.”

“Right,” Steve says. “So we’re related. Biologically.” He looks back at Walter, and they’re closer than he thought they were, but he can't tell how close they really are. Concussions and trauma do wonders to one’s depth perception. “You didn’t raise me.”

“I didn’t raise you?” Walter says, his cheeks flushing red. Something in Steve cheers. 

“No,” Steve says calmly. “You left me alone with teenagers that didn’t know shit about how to take care of children, and you left me home alone. By myself. In the middle of the fucking woods.”

“You weren’t that young, Steve—”

“I was nine.” He looks at Catherine, silencing her. “I remember.” He looks back at Walter. Their eyes meet. They have the same eye color. Steve hates it. “Fathers know their children,” he says. “You don’t know me.”

“Of course I know you,” Walter snaps. “You’re my son, Steven, how could I not—”

“How old am I?”

The room falls quiet. 

Steve stares back as Walter looks at him. He can hear his own heartbeat, his own breaths. The water tapping in the sink. A bird chirping outside. 

And he nods. 

“You don’t know me,” he says quietly. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’re still our son,” Catherine says haughtily.

“...When’s my birthday?” he asks. When they’re silent, he says, “What am I allergic to? What’s my favorite color? Who’s my best friend?”

“The Hagan kid,” Walter says, like it’s an accomplishment, answering one question incorrectly. 

“I haven’t talked to Tommy Hagan in three years,” Steve says. “And you didn’t know that.”

Walter huffs and rolls his eyes. 

“How was I supposed to know that?” he mutters. “Look, Steven, this…” He gestures aimlessly at Steve, making a face. “Your favorite color, your friend’s name, they don’t matter.” He laughs lightly, dismissively. “You wanna be treated like an adult, but these are the things you care about, Steven, they’re irrelevant.”

“It doesn’t matter that they’re irrelevant, Dad,” Steve snaps, his voice louder. “It matters that you don’t care. I’m your kid, you should care about the things I like, and— and about my friends, and about my fucking birthday.”

“Don’t you raise your voice at me,” Walter says, his eyes darkening with anger, and Steve aches. 

When he was six, he was watching Looney Tunes on the television on a Saturday morning. He laughed a little too loud, and he was sent to his room for the rest of the day. Because his father needed quiet to focus on his work. Walter’s always hated hearing Steve speak, so Steve has kept quiet. Seen and not heard. Fading in the background, hiding in plain sight. But Steve is fucking sick of being looked through. Ignored. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head, almost on the verge of delirious laughter. “No, I’m gonna raise my voice at you. Because I’m pissed, and because you never had a problem raising your voice at me.”

“You were a child—” 

“So that made it fine? To yell at me? To tell me to keep my fucking mouth shut? That’s all fine to tell a child?” He stares at Walter. “You wanna talk about the shit that actually matters, fine. Let’s talk about the shit that actually matters.”

He’s shaking now, breathing hard and trembling with twenty years of anger that's boiling and spilling over his edges. 

“You guys know about Hawkins,” he says, crossing his arms and looking at the floor, avoiding their gazes as he takes a breath. 

“About Hawkins,” Walter repeats. 

“Hawkins, yeah,” Steve says. “The shitshow that is my hometown, you know all the shit that’s happened here, right? The missing kids, the— the fires, the lab.”

“Of course we know everything about this town, Steven,” Catherine says curtly. “We’ve lived here twenty years.”

“You really haven’t,” Steve says lightly. “But that’s fine. You know about everything.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “You know the girl that went missing?” he asks, looking up at them. “Barbara. And the whole conspiracy with the lab and the chemical spill and everything.”

“Yes,” Walter says. “We heard about all of that.”

They’re both staring at him curiously now, quiet while he looks back. 

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “I was involved in all of that.” He watches their confusion deepen the wrinkles on their faces. “She was my ex-girlfriend’s best friend. She went missing from here, from—” He gestures out the window, toward the pool that’s covered with a blue tarp. The water is probably swimming with dead leaves. 

“You know anything about Billy Hargrove?” 

Catherine blinks. 

“The… The boy that passed away in the fire,” she says slowly, remembering. “At the mall.”

The fire. 

“The boy,” he mutters to himself before he bites his lip, pausing. “Yeah. The year before he ate shit, he almost fucking killed me.” 

They both blink at him, blank. 

“And he tried to kill me,” he continues, “because I stopped him from killing a thirteen-year-old.” He takes a shuddering breath, uncrossing his arms, looking at them, and his vision wavers as he remembers it, as he remembers the glass smashing over his head, the floor against his back, Billy’s laughter. The kids’ shouting. “He beat… the shit out of me. Gave me a grade four concussion.”

He looks back at forth between them, waiting for a reaction, but they keep staring. Catherine’s eyes are wide, but Walter just looks angry. Like Steve is wasting his time. 

“It took me three weeks to recover from it,” he says. “And you were in fucking Spain.”

His voice shakes. 

“The mall fire,” he continues before they can say anything. “You know about it. Fourth of July, thirty dead.” 

“Yes,” Catherine says softly. 

“Take a wild fucking guess where I was.”

Silence. 

Until Catherine’s voice says quietly, “...The mall.”

“Inside,” Steve says softly, looking at her intently. “With my friends, with the kids I babysit— and it wasn’t just a— a fucking fire.” He takes a shaky breath. “I can’t tell you what really happened, because I signed a goddamn nondisclosure agreement—”

“Steven, what—” 

“But I can tell you,” he interrupts loudly. “That I got the shit beaten out of me again.” 

A flash of light. A fist cracking against his face. An ache in his ribs, a sharp pain in the side of his neck. His own voice, rough from screaming, broken and pleading. 

“Another grade four concussion. The medics asked for my home number so one of you could come to pick me up,” he says, his throat tightening, his eyes stinging. “And I had to tell him that you were in Chicago for a fucking business trip.” His breath shudders, and his vision blurs, and his hands are trembling as he gestures aimlessly, pointing to nothing. “I was driven home by a fucking government agent, because you weren’t here.” 

“Steven—”

“You heard about the kids in town that were murdered?” he says, his voice breaking, tears sparking his eyes. “The kids that were fucking… broken?”

“...Of course we heard about them.”

Steve exhales shakily. 

“...There was a serial killer loose in town,” he says, fingers curling into fists. “And you never even called.” 

“We were working,” Walter snaps. 

“You’re always fucking working,” Steve says strongly. “I got used to you not being around, but it didn’t make it any fucking easier. You weren’t here when I had concussions, when I couldn’t fucking see, or when my hearing started going, you weren’t here when I could barely move because my injuries were infected, you were never fucking here.”

“Oh, Lord,” Walter says, rolling his eyes and scoffing, glancing at Catherine. Steve’s stomach twists, and he can’t see clearly. Everything is too bright, swimming in his tears. “How were we supposed to know you were hurt?” 

Hurt. 

He makes it sound so… little. Like Steve had a papercut. Like he needed a band-aid and a kiss on his forehead to feel better. 

“That’s not what I’m saying, Dad,” Steve says adamantly. “Obviously you wouldn’t fucking know, that’s not the problem— The problem is that you weren’t here for any of it, for anything I’ve gone through, and even when you knew what the fuck was happening in this town you couldn’t even be bothered to call, to— to make sure I was okay.”

“You said you’re an adult, didn’t you?”

Steve exhales. 

He doesn’t feel like an adult right now. 

He feels like a child. Like he’s five years old, searching for his parents’ attention, their affection, anything. Like they’re looking past him, through him, ignoring him in the hopes that he finally shuts up. 

Seen and not heard. 

Seen and not heard.

“You said you signed a nondisclosure agreement,” Walter says. “Let’s say you really did— You have to be eighteen for contracts to be legally binding. So you’re an adult.” Walter looks into his eyes, like he’s sizing him up. “You shouldn’t need mommy and daddy to take care of you.”

Steve’s lip quivers. He blinks tears back. And he’s stuck here. A kindergartener in the body of a twenty-year-old, the way he was thirty when he was twelve. Unmoving. 

Walter scoffs again, looking at Steve trying not to cry.

“Are you done with your little temper tantrum?” he asks dryly, turning slightly. “It was a long trip back, I’d like to take a shower and rest.”

And Steve longs to tell them. About the monsters, the dark, the flickering and flashing lights. About the Upside Down. To show them the scars that cover his skin. 

“You weren’t here when I was a child, either,” Steve says, stopping him before he can leave, and Walter turns with a heavy sigh, giving Steve a bored look. Steve’s fists tighten. His nails bite into his palms. 

“Steven,” Catherine says, standing from the table like she’s bored too. “That’s quite enough.”

“You weren’t here when I was injured,” Steve says shakily, his vision blurring again. “You weren’t here when I was concussed, and when I couldn’t see, and you weren’t here when I turned twenty, or when I graduated high school, and you weren’t here when I learned how to ride a bike, or how to swim, and you weren’t here when I got my first A, and you weren’t here for parent-teacher conferences— I went by myself,” he adds roughly, gesturing at himself, hitting his own chest. 

“Steven—”

“You weren’t here when I had nightmares or when I got sick, I took care of myself.”

“It made you strong—”

“I was a child!” 

He’s never raised his voice at them like this. Never yelled. But he’s crying now, tears falling freely down his cheeks as they stare like he’s grown another head, and he can’t help it. 

“I didn’t need to be strong,” he shouts. “I needed to be loved, and I fucking wasn’t.” 

“How…” Catherin huffs, her face red, and Steve looks at her, taking a hiccuping breath. “You think we didn’t love you,” she says. “But we provided a roof over your head, and—” 

“A roof wasn’t enough,” he says, holding back a sob. “I used to— I used to wait after school, fucking waiting for you to come get me, to— to drive me home, I used to watch all the other kids with their moms and dads, I used to watch them laugh, and smile, and hug them, and I fucking waited for you. I waited until nighttime once, and you never fucking came.” 

“Steven, that’s just irresponsible,” Walter says, and Steve hiccups. 

“I was nine,” he says. “I waited for you, all I fucking wanted was my parents to drive me to school, and you were off in fucking Paris or wherever the hell you were. I had to teach myself how to ride a bike, and I had to take myself, because you weren’t here—”

“I have responsibilities—”

“I was your responsibility,” Steve finally screams. “I was your son.”

He takes a gasping breath as they stare at him again, and he wipes his face so roughly it hurts. 

“I missed you,” he chokes. “I needed you.”

“You clearly didn’t need us that much,” Walter says, huffing, gesturing at him. His wedding band sparkling in the sun and Steve wants to melt it. “If you’re doing just fine now.”

“I’m not,” Steve says before he can stop himself. 

He’s never said it before. That he’s not fine. Even when he was concussed, when Robin was concerned, he insisted he was okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad, Robbie, don’t worry. And he went home. Turned off the lights. Covered the windows. Laid in bed. Cried. 

It’s some cruel, cruel irony that these are the first people to know. 

“I’m so fucking far from fine,” Steve says. He covers his face for a moment, and for a brief second, he wishes he was bruised, purple and blue and bloody. He doesn’t know why. Maybe so they could fucking see it. So they’d believe him. 

“...The first time my best friend said I love you to me, I laughed.” He looks at them, and he suddenly wants to crumple to the floor, to lean against the wall, to go to bed. Exhausted. “I never fucking heard it from you guys. Never heard it from my girlfriend. I didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t know what it fucking meant.”

He looks at them across the room. They’re both near the doorway of the kitchen, both turned slightly toward each other like they’re leaving, hesitating to watch Steve. Like he’s putting on a performance, like he’s pretending.

“You really fucked me up,” he says weakly, tiredly. 

 They’re quiet for a moment. And he doesn’t know what he expects. An apology. We’re sorry, Steve, we’ll be better parents from now on. We’ll be present in your life. 

“I really don’t like the language you’ve been using today, Steven,” Catherine says. Ignoring him. The tears on his face. “It’s really no way to speak to your parents.”

But he supposes he should have seen this coming. The deflection. 

He looks away, blinking tears back and exhaling, but before he can say anything, a car pulls into the driveway. He turns to look out the window, wiping his face as he catches the end of Eddie’s van before it’s hidden from view, and in spite of it all, he smiles. 

That was quick. 

He should have anticipated Eddie coming over as soon as he could. He probably sped on the way here. 

“Who…” Walter starts, but he’s interrupted by the front door swinging open. The doorknob hits the wall with a muffled bang, and a moment later, Eddie appears behind in the entry to the kitchen.

Walter and Catherine part, looking him up and down, looking, scandalized, at the rips in his jeans, the swords on his t-shirt that form an upside down star, at his hair. And he isn’t even wearing a jacket or any jewellery, and Steve’s stomach flutters with the realization that Eddie really didn’t waste any time. 

Eddie’s eyes find Steve, and he crosses the room, pushing past Walter. 

“Are you okay?” he asks Steve quickly, his eyes scanning over his face, his body, lingering on the tear tracks on his cheeks. “Did they touch you?”

“No,” Steve says softly, wiping his face again, and Eddie’s eyes follow the movement. Steve thinks he must be holding himself back; usually after nightmares, he wipes Steve’s tears for him, the same way Steve wipes his. “No, I just…”

Eddie exhales, looking into Steve’s eyes, looking for a lie. He’s out of breath, like he ran here instead of drove, and Steve smiles weakly. Until Walter interrupts. 

“Who the hell do you think you are,” he says forcefully, and Eddie and Steve turn to look at him. “Coming into my house.”

Eddie looks back and forth between Walter and Catherine like he’s trying to memorize them both, scanning their clothing the way they scanned his. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips are pursed, and even though from here Steve can’t really see him, there’s a warm pit in his stomach, because Eddie’s so beautiful, and he came for Steve, and he’s stepping forward a little bit like Walter is going to try to lay a hand on Steve, and Steve’s never felt so fucking safe before, and he doesn’t know what to do with this, and—

Catherine gasps. Steps back with a slight stumble even though she’s not wearing her high-heels anymore. Clutches at her pearls. 

“You’re that boy,” she says, touching Walter’s arm and pulling. “That Hellfire boy, you—”

“Eddie didn’t do anything,” Steve interrupts, his stomach dropping, but Walter recognizes him too, and he turns red, glancing at Steve and then looking back at Eddie. 

“Get out of my house,” he says, his voice too loud, and Steve feels so fucking small, and he hates feeling small.

But Walter starts toward Eddie when he doesn’t say anything, and Steve remembers suddenly that he isn’t small anymore. 

He steps in front of Eddie, knocking Walter’s hand aside before he presses his fingertips to his chest, pushing him back gently. Walter stares, wide-eyed, red-faced. 

“You lay a finger on him,” Steve says too calmly, “and I will fucking kill you.”

Walter blinks, shock coloring his face darker before he laughs, but it’s a forced laugh, and Steve’s never been more serious in his life, his hands shaking with adrenaline, his heart pounding, and Walter doesn’t seem to know that Steve will do whatever the fuck he needs to for Eddie. 

“You think you can kill me, Steven?” Steve looks into his eyes. 

He’s smaller than Steve. Not by much, but when Steve lifts his chin, he has to look down at him to hold eye contact. 

“We just had a whole conversation about how little you know me,” he says quietly. “Do you really wanna fucking test me?”

He hears Eddie exhale behind him, but he doesn’t look away, staring into Walter’s eyes, challenging him, and his hands almost itch. He hasn’t had any fights in a good long while. 

Walter looks past him, breaking eye contact, staring Eddie down now, but his eyes flicker like he’s looking across Eddie’s face, analyzing him. Steve knows what he’s looking at. The scar on his cheek, the mangled skin. Steve loves that scar. It had to be stitched together, but it makes Steve think of the constellation Cassiopeia, almost W-shaped. He longs to trace it someday. To thank it. 

Walter backs up finally, and Steve exhales, watching him go back across the room to stand with Catherine, who’s still watching, wide-eyed, a hand on her chest over her heart. 

“Sickening, Steven,” Walter says, shaking his head and glaring at Eddie. “Really. I thought I raised you to associate yourself with better—”

“You didn’t raise me,” Steve interrupts. “Stop… acting like you were some fantastic fucking father that a fucking stand-up job of raising a son, you didn’t do shit.” He stares, breathing hard, his back tingling with some sort of anticipation. “I did. Not you.”

“So you think you’re so independent?” Walter says with that awful fucking laugh again. 

“I had to be,” Steve says softly. Eddie is closer now, still behind Steve, but less like Steve is protecting him, and more like Eddie is here. “You didn’t give me a choice.”

Walter looks at him. At Eddie. He’s holding the back of a chair, exasperated, and he shakes his head. 

“Never thought I’d be so disappointed in my own son.”

Steve looks away, hesitating. 

“Eddie.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. His voice is so kind. 

“...Can you go upstairs and pack me a bag?”

“‘Course.”

Eddie touches the small of his back gently as he passes by toward the entryway, where he passes Walter and Catherine with a faux polite nod that’s so on brand for Eddie that Steve wants to smile. 

Walter glares at Steve while Eddie goes upstairs, and Steve can hear him breathing heavily. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw him this angry. 

And then Walter is standing up straight abruptly, muttering something about fucking trash in my house under his breath as he leaves the kitchen, and Steve’s stomach drops as he follows, his vision blurring as his blood courses in his veins, fingers twitching. But instead of going up the stairs, Walters passes by them, headed toward the master bedroom, and Steve stops, watching. He scoffs when he realizes where he’s headed, and he leans against the wall. He hears a thump upstairs. 

“Steven, you really…” Catherine shakes her head in disappointment. She’s got her arms crossed, twisting the plastic pearls of her necklace. “This is all very disrespectful.”

Steve looks down at her. 

“...You think you deserve my respect?” he asks quietly. She looks at him like she’s alarmed. “You think I care if you think you do?”

He looks away before she can respond.

Eddie is coming down the top steps just as Walter appears again. 

Steve looks up at Eddie.

He’s carrying a duffel bag on his shoulder, carrying the nail bat in one of his hands, and he raises an eyebrow as Walter yells at Steve from across the room. 

“Where is it?”

“Nowhere you’ll find it,” Steve says lightly, lifting a hand to catch the bat as Eddie tosses it to him as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Walter is huffing, and puffing, and it’s kind of ridiculous now. 

“What’s he looking for?”

“Gun.”

“Ah.” Eddie is almost smiling. The gun is in the back of his van, taken for target practice when Nancy taught Robin how to shoot.

Steve turns back into the kitchen to grab his keys, swinging the bat. It scratches the tile floor. When he turns back around, Walter and Catherine are staring at it, at the rusted nails and the blood-stained wood. 

“What the hell…”

Steve swings it again, moving his keys so he’s holding the one for his car between his fingers. 

“You don’t know me.”

Eddie is by the door with the duffel bag when Steve gets to the hallway, and he looks into Steve’s eyes. The light is dimmer now. The sun’s starting to go down. 

“Come to my place, yeah?” Eddie says softly, touching Steve’s arm gently, his thumb brushing over the fabric of his jacket before he squeezes. His eyes are shining earnestly, and Steve’s chest aches. He nods. 

They both step out onto the porch. It’s cold out, the air biting at Steve’s face, but it feels refreshing, like inside the house was stuffy and claustrophobic, like he’d been trapped under a blanket for too long. Eddie goes to the van, tossing the duffel bag in as he gives Steve one more look. 

“Is there anything else we don’t know about you?” Walter says behind Steve, who turns to look at him again. 

Walter’s eyes are lingering on Steve’s arm, like he can see Eddie’s handprint on it, and then he looks into Steve’s eyes, shining with disgust and judgement and hatred, and Steve

doesn’t

fucking 

care. 

“You’ll never get to know,” he says quietly. 

And he leaves. 

He’s vaguely aware of Catherine saying something, her voice high-pitched and wavering, and Walter shouting something about the car, but Steve ignores them, blank and empty as he gets into the car and pulls out of the driveway. He glances at the house in the rearview mirror as he leaves. It occurs to him that with the location of it, hidden by trees, away from town, Steve could live in Hawkins all his life and never have to look at the house again. 

He smiles. 

Eddie and Wayne live in an apartment in town now. It’s two floors above a cafe that opened a little after Starcourt, and sometimes when Steve is going to the door, he smells coffee and baking pastries. It’s nice. 

He doesn’t smell it at this time of night, though. 

He and Eddie arrive around the same time, and they’re quiet as Steve parks next to the van, grabs the bat and silently follows Eddie to the door. Eddie leads him in, up the narrow stairs, and they’re quiet as he unlocks the apartment, as they step inside and kick their shoes off. Steve leaves the bat resting against the wall by the door in Eddie’s room, and Eddie tosses him his bag. 

Steve looks into it, rummages through the bunched-up, hastily-packed underwear, jeans, shirts, sweaters. His fingers brush cold cans that he recognizes as his hairspray, and he smiles, his stomach fluttering because Eddie remembered where they were. 

“Steve,” Eddie says softly. He’s leaning against his dresser. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says easily. 

“Steve,” Eddie says again, almost whispering. 

“I am, Eddie,” Steve says, looking up at him, his hands falling still on top of the bag. Eddie’s eyes are shining with concern, and his arms are crossed. “I really…” He trails off, looking at the ground. 

It’s hardwood, the wood faded and creaky, and there are a few gaps between the floorboard. He can see the nails in them, shining in the dim light of Eddie’s room, and it makes Steve think about the tiles in the kitchen at his parents’ house. Faded and dull and cracked because they’ve been walked on. Used. 

“I feel great,” he says, looking back at Eddie, half-smiling. 

Eddie’s expression softens. 

“Just tired,” Steve adds, looking away. “I haven’t… cried. In a while.”

“You wanna lay down?”

Steve hesitates. 

“...Can I borrow a sweater?”

Eddie smiles. 

“‘Course, Stevie.”

Steve likes it when he calls him that. 

It makes him feel little, but not in the way his parents make him feel. Not little like a little boy, like he has to stay quiet, stay still, like he can’t ask for a second serving of dinner or turn the volume of the television up past three in case he pisses them off. 

Little like Eddie will take care of him. 

Which he does, even though he has no idea how it really affects Steve, how it makes butterflies erupt in his belly every time he touches him, every time he calls him Stevie. He has no idea how hard Steve is crushing on him, and a part of Steve hates him for it. For how sweet he is, how kind. 

Because there are nights he’ll call after a nightmare and Steve will look out at the moon while he listens to him cry, while he listens to Eddie tell him he called because in the dream he lost Steve, because he needed to make sure he was okay. 

Because Eddie touches him in ways no one else does, in ways no one else ever has. In ways Steve wouldn’t ever let anyone. 

He blushes every time he remembers that night, the night he’d spent after staying up too late watching movies with Eddie. He’d had a gruesome nightmare, but as soon as his eyes opened he couldn’t remember what had happened. But Eddie was there, tentatively touching his hand, eyes wide awake, saying Stevie. Stevie. I’m right here. You’re okay. And Steve had just cried, reaching out to Eddie, who took him in his arms. 

He held Steve until he stopped crying. And then he kept holding him. Steve had pushed his face into Eddie’s chest, gripping his shirt, listening intently to Eddie’s heartbeat. It was a little fast, but it still helped. 

And then Eddie pushed a hand into Steve's hair. 

Steve was already falling asleep, and he had let out a soft hum. Eddie pulled his hand away, apologizing. 

Sorry, I know you don’t like your hair being touched.

And even half-asleep, Steve spoke. 

Only you. Please.

Eddie pushed his hand back into his hair gently. Steve hummed. Eddie’s fingers twisted around the strands carefully as his other hand slid up Steve’s back, and Steve just fucking melted. He let out a whine that he could barely hear, and Eddie’s fingers curled into a fist, gripping his hair in a tightening fist until it almost hurt, and Steve groaned. 

Too hard?

Mm. Feels good.

Eddie kept doing it until Steve fell asleep, pulling his hair, squeezing his fist in it, tugging until Steve’s scalp ached dully, and when Steve woke up, Eddie was still asleep, his hand still in Steve’s hair. And then it was normal, every time they slept in the same bed or sat too close on the sofa during movie nights, Eddie’s fingers would find Steve’s hair again.  

They both change. Eddie tosses Steve some sweatpants along with the sweater, and Steve smiles, glancing up at Eddie as he changes, facing away from Steve. He’s paler than Steve, and Steve kind of wants to see what their skin would look like side-by-side, pressing close. His scars are mesmerizing. Steve wants to trace them with his fingertips, with his lips and tongue. 

Eddie beckons to Steve when they’re climbing into his bed, and Steve sighs. They move into their normal position, Eddie leaning against the wall, Steve between his legs, back to his chest. 

He feels little again. 

Eddie’s arms wrap around him, hugging him tightly, and Steve lets his head fall back to his shoulder, sighing. He slides his hands over Eddie’s forearms. He’s wearing a sweatshirt, and the fabric is soft. Steve plays with one of the folds, looking around the room, and he realizes they haven’t communicated at all about how long Steve is staying here. 

His bag is on the floor by the dresser. It blends right in with Eddie’s dark clothes littered around the floor and hanging out of his drawers, with the dark rug that Eddie bought when he moved in. 

Steve’s eyes trail across the wall, across the sliding doors of the wardrobe that are partially open, the interior hidden in shadows. At the CORRODED COFFIN tapestry that’s pinned up, the Judas Priest poster on the back of the door. The photos and magazine pages and posters that are covering the old, faded wallpaper. Eddie’s lamps have a golden glow, and it makes everything look warm. Steve loves it here. 

“How long am I staying here?” Steve asks softly, and Eddie snorts, arms tightening, burying his face in Steve’s neck. 

“Forever?” he says. “I hope?” 

Steve’s stomach flutters. 

“You want me to stay forever?” 

“Mm.”

Steve exhales when Eddie’s hand finds his, and he watches, spreading his fingers to lace with Eddie’s. His hand is a little cold. 

“Sounds nice,” he says quietly. Eddie hums. He sets his chin on Steve’s shoulder. 

“You still feel okay?” he asks softly, his voice soft and breathy next to Steve’s ear. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He feels so okay. Here in Eddie’s room, in his clothes, in his arms. “I feel good.”

One of Eddie’s arms reaches across his chest like he’s keeping him secure, and he rubs Steve’s upper arm, squeezing gently. 

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

Steve takes a breath, unlacing their fingers to trace the back of Eddie’s hand. 

“It was kind of, like. A lot of stuff.”

“Tell me, Stevie.”

Steve closes his eyes. 

“They, uhm. Came back and just… started telling me my car was dirty, started saying the— the kitchen floor was dirty, that they should get the tiles replaced. They didn’t even say hi.”

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes. 

“And when I tried to leave, I had to, like, explain I had to pick up the kids, and Dad started, just, berating me for babysitting, and Mom made this… comment. That I was acting like an adult. And when I said I am one, Dad…” He exhales, pressing closer to Eddie, whose arms tighten. “Said I’d be an adult when I graduated high school.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment before, 

“What?”

“Yeah, they don’t— they don’t even know how old I am.”

“Holy fuck, Stevie,” Eddie says softly, squeezing him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Steve ignores the butterflies that erupt in his stomach. 

“It’s…” 

“You don’t have to say it’s fine.”

“...It’s not fine.”

“‘S right.”

“I tried… I tried telling them, like— showing them how they just don’t know me, but they just— everything I fucking said, they just… Tried to make it so it wasn’t their fault. Pretended it was no big deal, even though— even though it is, I…”

“It is,” Eddie murmurs softly. “It matters to you, they never treated you right, Stevie.”

Steve exhales shakily, relaxing against him again. 

“They’re so fucking condescending,” he says after a moment, his voice softer. Eddie rubs his arm gently, reassuringly. “He always does this thing, where, like… If I point something out, or I— I do something, he pulls this bullshit, and he’ll say, like, Oh, let’s say that’s true, as though I don’t fucking know, like I didn’t just fucking tell him.”

Eddie lifts a hand and reaches to touch his hair, running his fingers through it gently. 

“He said I’d be an adult when I graduate high school, and then as soon as I told him I did, and I am, suddenly I actually know nothing about adulthood and I haven’t experienced the world, and I’m— Whose fucking fault is that? They never took me along on any of their fucking trips, they left me in fucking Hawkins, Indiana.”

Eddie plays with his hair, listening to him talk. His fingers are so gentle. 

“He said I was having a temper tantrum,” Steve says, looking across the room. Eddie’s hand tightens, tugging gently. “I just… They make me feel like— like such a child. And it’s bullshit, because how can I feel so fucking little when they never treated me like I was little when I was?” he rambles. “They acted like I was a grown man when I was a kid, they acted like I knew how to live my life, but they were never there to show me how. And now I am grown, but they tell me I’m disrespectful, and that I’m having a tantrum, and…”

“Take a deep breath for me,” Eddie says softly. 

Steve inhales slowly, closing his eyes, and he exhales after holding it for a moment, relaxing against Eddie again, who murmurs a soft, “There you go.”

“Can I tell you something?” Eddie asks quietly. Steve nods, holding his forearm with both hands as his fingers drag through his hair slowly. “...You did everything fucking right, Stevie.”

“...You think?” 

“Jesus, yeah. They’ve never treated you the way you deserve, Steve, you have every fuckin’ right to stand up for yourself, to— to tell them to go fuck themselves.” 

Steve exhales again, a feeling settling in his chest. 

“I hate them,” he says quietly. 

“Me too.”

“And I hate that fucking house.”

“You’re here now.”

Eddie tightens his fist in his hair, and Steve sighs, closing his eyes. 

“Love you,” Eddie says softly. Steve squeezes his eyes shut for a second. 

Eddie says that a lot. Every time they say goodbye, every time Steve does something stupid, every time either of them has a nightmare. 

It was a nightmare that prompted it the first time. Eddie had slept over at Steve’s, and Steve woke up to Eddie crying in his sleep, his body shaking as he cried into the pillow, whimpering and clutching at the blanket. Steve woke him up carefully, touching his face, his hands, his arms, squeezing as gently as possible, whispering his name. Eddie woke after a minute, his eyes finding Steve in the dim moonlight, and before Steve could even say anything, he was reaching out for him, sobbing and pressing his face into Steve’s chest as Steve pulled him into a hug. He whispered it when he stopped crying, as they were rocking back and forth, as Stee combed the tangles out of his hair. 

I love you, Stevie.

And Steve’s world flipped inside out, and he was in pain, every cell in his body on fire, because he was hearing it, because Eddie told him, and because only Robin had ever said it to him like that, all three words, carefully annunciated, intentionally said. And also because Steve knew how he meant it. 

I love you too, Eddie.

“Why’d you come?” Steve asks. “After taking the kids home?”

“Wanted to make sure you were okay,” Eddie says. “...Had a feeling.”

“...Thank you,” Steve whispers. 

Eddie takes a breath, tugging again before he turns his face and presses a kiss to Steve’s temple. 

He’s never done that before. 

Steve feels almost sick with butterflies, and he can feel his face flushing with heat, but he can’t suppress his smile. Eddie looks at him for a moment, and then he does it again, slowly. Deliberately. 

Steve exhales, letting himself feel it, Eddie’s lips on his skin, his breath warm and close. Eddie’s hand tightens again, his fist squeezing in Steve’s hair before he lets go. 

And then Eddie’s lips press to his cheek, slowly and softly, and then again, and again, slowly moving down toward Steve’s jaw. Steve tilts his head, his eyes closed, and he’s scared to open them, scared he might wake up. 

Eddie’s lips press under his jaw, sucking a soft kiss into his skin, and when he pulls away, his lips brush Steve’s skin as he murmurs, “So fuckin’ proud of you.”

And Steve whimpers. 

He’s gripping Eddie’s arm tightly, and he feels like he might start crying, but Eddie just kisses him again, moving down to the side of his neck, gently pulling his hair out of the way. 

Steve bites his lip to hold in another sound, squeezing his eyes shut as he listens to it, to Eddie’s lips on his skin, to Eddie’s soft, slow breathing, as he feels Eddie’s fingers tug at his hair. He feels fucking weightless, like he’s floating in the air, like nothing in the world exists right now except for them. 

“So proud,” Eddie breathes against his neck, kissing him again. 

“Did I do good?” 

Steve wants to jump out the fucking window. 

His voice comes out weak and breathy, quiet and so fucking desperate that he flushes with embarrassment, and he opens his eyes like he’s going to look for an escape, to leave even though he just got here, but Eddie…

“So fucking good, Stevie,” he whispers without hesitation. “You did so good, I’m so proud of you.”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut, and he exhales sharply, his head falling back as Eddie kisses his neck again. It’s wet this time, and Steve keens at the thought of Eddie’s open mouth against him, of his tongue and his teeth and his spit. 

“Eddie,” Steve whines breathlessly, squeezing his arm. 

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks quickly, his hand pausing in Steve’s hair. 

“Don’t stop,” Steve says weakly. Eddie hums softly, his hand tightening, and Steve lets out a soft noise before Eddie kisses a slow line up the side of his neck until he finds his earlobe, where he pauses, kissing it before he sucks it between his lips as gently as possible. “Eddie.”

“Alright?”

“Mm. Feel so good.”

Eddie hums quietly, and Steve keens as he nibbles at the shell of his ear, his teeth nipping gently, tenderly. His arm tightens around Steve’s torso, his other hand squeezing in his hair so hard that it hurts, and one of Steve’s hands finds Eddie’s leg next to him, gripping just above his knee desperately. 

“I got you,” Eddie murmurs into his ear, like he just knows how overwhelmed Steve is, how his whole body is flooding with this feeling. 

“You got me,” Steve repeats absently, head lolling back onto Eddie’s shoulder. 

“‘S right, Stevie.”

He kisses his neck again, harder, more confidently, his teeth and tongue on Steve’s skin, and Steve fucking hopes he leaves marks in his path. He wants evidence of this, proof that it wasn’t all in Steve’s head like some fucked up wet dream. 

Eddie tugs on his hair, moving his hand to the back of his head before twisting his fingers in it tightly. Steve lets out a broken noise, biting his lip to muffle it. 

“Eddie—”

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes. 

“I…”

“What is it?” Eddie whispers, kissing his jaw gently. “Tell me.”

“Need more,” Steve says weakly, his face hot with embarrassment. 

“More what?” Eddie murmurs, and Steve wants to be annoyed, to roll his eyes and tell Eddie not to make him say it, but he can’t, because his head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and his limbs feel heavy, and he feels fucking high, just because of Eddie’s mouth on him, because of Eddie’s sweet words. 

“You,” he chokes. “Please, Eddie, I need you, please—”

“Fuck,” Eddie exhales, tugging Steve’s hair so his head tilts before he leans down and kisses his neck, his lips brushing his skin as he speaks. “I need you too, Stevie.”

Steve stifles a whine, pressing his lips together as Eddie sits up a little, leaning closer to kiss his neck, and he’s almost kissing his throat now as Steve’s head falls back, and Steve reaches up to his head, pushing his fingers into Eddie’s curls messily. 

“Eddie, please,” he says softly. “More.”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses, breathing hard against Steve’s neck. “Turn around, come here.”

Steve turns, aching when he has to leave Eddie’s chest, and he tries to keep his balance on Eddie’s soft mattress that’s covered in blankets. Their legs tangle, and Steve has to take a moment to sort them out, and Eddie giggles softly, reaching to push Steve’s hair out of his face. Steve smiles hopelessly, moving forward. 

Eddie pulls at his legs, tugging him so their legs are wrapped around each other, so their chests almost press, so their faces are close. Eddie looks wrecked, his cheeks flushed, hair messy, eyes shining like he’s going to cry, and Steve knows he can’t look much better. He exhales, reaching up to trace his scar. It stretches when Eddie smiles. Eddie closes his eyes, turning his head to let him.

His hands slide up from Steve’s legs to his hips, his waist, pressing and firm and gentle on Steve’s sides. Steve slides his hands to hold his face, leaning close enough that their noses nudge together. 

Eddie exhales, his eyes fluttering shut, and his hands slide to Steve’s back, pulling him closer as he murmurs. 

“So fucking proud of you, Stevie, I can’t even tell you,” he says softly, nudging their noses together again. “No fucking words.”

Steve’s body flushes with heat, and he melts, his hands slipping to Eddie’s neck. He can feel the scars under his fingertips. 

He tilts his head, his eyes stinging as Eddie keeps talking, keeping whispering and murmuring about how proud he is. 

No one’s ever told Steve that they’re proud of him. He’s never heard it before. 

But Eddie says it so earnestly, like he’s fucking reverent, and Steve listens. 

And then Eddie is kissing him between words, his lips gentle and a little chapped against Steve’s, and Steve feels like he’s going to fall over with it all, his lips parted because he can barely kiss back. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his chin, whispering to him. 

“So proud of you, Stevie, you did so fucking good. So brave.” 

Steve’s hands find Eddie’s head again, his fingers pushing into his curls, and he sighs, listening and listening and listening and absorbing the feeling of Eddie’s lips pressing to his softly. 

His hands tighten in his hair after a moment, and he pulls Eddie in, shutting him up with a hard, lingering kiss. Eddie’s hands tighten on Steve’s waist, his fingers pressing into the scarred skin, and Steve’s whole body aches. They part with a slick sound and a gasp, but Steve pulls him back in before he can say anything, tugging his hair. 

Eddie kisses him back desperately, clutching at his back, tilting his head to kiss him deeper, and Steve thinks he might be dying. It feels so fucking good, and the way Eddie is touching him…

His fingers dig into the knit of the sweater he’s wearing, holding him close as his legs tighten around him, and after a moment, one of his hands slides around Steve’s side, up over his chest slowly until it reaches his neck. It feels like he’s being so careful, gentle like Steve is delicate, and Steve’s never wanted to feel delicate before, but he’s basking in Eddie’s touch like it’s sunlight. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, and their chests are almost touching as Eddie nibbles his lip the way he did with his ear earlier. 

It feels kind of silly, really, in the grand scheme of things. 

That they’d survive the end of the world, stop the end of the world, live through horrors beyond comprehension, and Eddie is proud of him for yelling at his parents. And now they’re making out, kissing each other stupid in Eddie’s bedroom, surrounded by his posters and blankets and the glow of his cracked lamps. 

But Steve can’t think of a single place he’d rather be. 

Eddie is holding the side of his face now, his fingers gentle on his skin, and Steve holds in a groan when Eddie’s tongue slips past his lips, his chest tightening. 

Eddie pulls away and they both gasp for air. 

“Baby,” Eddie breathes. 

“God, yeah.”

“Was that okay?” Eddie asks quietly, brushing his thumb over Steve’s cheek, and Steve closes his eyes as they start to sting. He doesn’t want to cry right now. 

“Yeah,” he says weakly, almost choking the word out. “It was so okay, Eddie, I… Please.”

Eddie kisses him again. Pulls away to breathe, resting their foreheads together. 

“Want you,” Steve says softly, whispering. 

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but he can’t take it back. 

Especially when Eddie is kissing him like this, like he’d die if he didn’t, like he’s drowning and Steve is air. Steve’s arms tighten around his neck, and he’s shivering, chills spreading over his skull, down his spine, as he listens to the soft breathy hums Eddie is letting out as he listens to the wet sounds of their lips, their tongues. Eddie licks into his mouth, licks his lips and his teeth and the roof of his mouth, and Steve lets him, even though their lips and chins are wet now, slick with each other’s spit, and it’s a little gross. Steve doesn’t fucking care. It feels good. 

He lets out a whine, letting his jaw drop for Eddie to suck on his tongue for a moment, and his cheeks flush with heat. Eddie smiles against his mouth, kissing him again. 

“You still want more?” Eddie murmurs, caressing his cheek. Steve exhales, nodding. 

“Please.”

Eddie presses wet kisses over his jaw, down his neck, and Steve melts, his head falling back to give him room. He shivers, tightening, when Eddie’s lips find his throat, pausing to suck on his skin lightly before he continues, kissing across the scars on his neck. 

His scars are lighter than Eddie’s. Shallower. A metallic, faded pink that only stands out against his skin when he tans. 

His parents didn’t notice them. 

Or the scar on his chin, which Steve forgets about himself a lot of the time. It’s from that night at Starcourt. He used to stare at it in the mirror, hating it, hating himself. It’s faded so much it’s barely noticeable, but everyone knows it’s there. Steve knows it’s there. 

Eddie knows it’s there. 

He kisses it when he finishes with Steve’s neck, holding Steve’s face in place as he presses kiss after kiss after kiss to it, softly and tenderly, and Steve wonders if he looks at this scar the way Steve looks at his scar. 

“Eddie,” he breathes. 

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

Steve bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut, and Eddie presses his thumb to his lower lip, pulling it free before he kisses him gently. 

“Do you wanna take your sweater off?” he asks quietly, whispering. Steve nods.

“You too,” he whispers, opening his eyes and meeting Eddie’s gaze. He looks so… tender. His eyes are shining at Steve, and he’s almost smiling, just barely, and his face is so relaxed, more at peace than Steve thinks he’s ever seen him while awake. “Please.”

Eddie nods, kissing him again before pulling his hands away from his face, and he reaches for the hem of the sweater Steve is wearing. 

They have to separate for him to pull it up over Steve’s head, and Steve shivers when it’s off, the air in the room colder than he expected. Eddie tosses the sweater aside, his eyes skimming over Steve’s body, and he feels shy suddenly, overcome with the desire to hide his chest, his scars, the soft rolls of his belly. 

Eddie pulls his sweatshirt off, and Steve watches, crossing his arms over his stomach as he looks at Eddie’s pale skin, at the scars that mark his sides, his chest. The art that’s inked into his skin. One of the tattoos is almost gone, the bare edges of it rough around the skin graft on his chest. 

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says softly, like he’s scared of disturbing the quiet air. He reaches for Steve’s hands, pulling them away from where they’re hiding his stomach, and he leans in to kiss him, pulling his hands to touch Eddie. “Wanna see you.”

Steve kisses him back, squeezing his eyes shut, and he slides his hands across Eddie’s chest to touch his neck. Eddie hums, pulling his mouth away to look at him, and Steve blushes as Eddie’s eyes scan his chest, his arms, his belly. 

“So fucking gorgeous, baby,” Eddie murmurs against his mouth. 

Steve whines. 

He pulls Eddie into another desperate kiss, and he shifts onto his knees, leaning over him, holding Eddie’s jaw so he tilts his head back. 

“You too,” he says breathlessly, into Eddie’s mouth. “So fucking pretty, Eddie, you’re so beautiful it fucking hurts.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie pants, and he wraps his arms around Steve’s legs, holding him as they kiss, and it’s messy and sloppy and desperate, and Steve feels like Eddie is touching him everywhere, his callused hands rubbing away every bad feeling Steve’s ever had. He tilts his head, sliding his tongue along Eddie’s, and Eddie’s hands tighten, squeezing his thighs. 

He slowly shifts onto his knees too, moving up so they’re face to face, and he hugs Steve’s waist, pulling him against himself. Steve groans softly, stifling it, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck again before he slides his hands over his shoulders. 

And they can’t keep their hands off each other, palms and fingers sliding and pressing and touching. Eddie’s hand pushes into Steve’s hair, tugging sharply as he sucks on his lip, as his other hand slides across his back, gentle on his scars, and then he’s running his hands over Steve’s waist and chest and reaching down to his thighs, murmuring beautiful into Steve’s mouth, and Steve believes him. 

They kiss until Steve’s mouth is sore, until his legs are tired from kneeling like this, until his chin is wet again, and Eddie is smiling against his mouth, still fucking talking, still telling Steve how proud he is, how good Steve was. 

He kisses Steve’s neck, and Steve’s head falls back. 

“God, baby,” Eddie breathes, panting as he kisses his neck again, and his tongue slips over Steve’s skin. “You’re so fucking good, shit.”

“Eddie,” Steve chokes, pushing his hand into his hair and pulling. “I need— Fuck, I need you, baby, Eddie, please, I—”

Eddie lowers so he’s kneeling, and he pulls at Steve’s thighs again, pulling him so he’s straddling his hips. Steve wraps his arms around him, letting out a sharp breath as he lowers, as Eddie licks a line up his neck. Eddie’s hand runs over Steve’s stomach until it reaches his sweatpants, and he touches him over them, gently pressing against his dick. Steve chokes, hiding his face in Eddie’s neck. 

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks breathlessly, his other hand running up his back and holding the base of his skull. Steve nods. “Baby, I need words, please.”

“Yes,” Steve gasps. “‘S okay, it’s so okay, please, just… I need you .”

Eddie does it again, pressing and squeezing, and Steve is so hard it almost hurts, but Eddie is so tender with him, rubbing his back as Steve clings to him. They’re both breathing hard, and Steve is biting his lip to stay quiet, but it’s hard when Eddie whispers. 

“Can I take it out?” 

“Fuck,” Steve breathes. “Yeah. Please.”

He holds his breath. 

Eddie’s hands are warm. And gentle. Eddie pulls away just enough to glance down to look, carefully tucking Steve’s sweatpants out of the way, and he’s smiling. Steve tugs at his hair, making him tilt his head back so he can kiss him so hard their teeth clash. Eddie is still smiling, his hand moving slowly, carefully. 

When they part, Steve is gasping for breath, eyes squeezed shut so hard he might get a headache, and Eddie notices, reaching up and rubbing the spot between his eyebrows with his thumb. 

“Breathe for me,” Eddie whispers. Steve exhales slowly, looking at him, watching as he nods, and lowers his head. A moment later, he’s letting a line of spit drip out of his mouth to Steve’s dick and Steve groans quietly, pulling him back into a hug as Eddie slides his hand to spread it. Eddie’s other hand presses to Steve’s back securely, holding him close. 

“Do you like it?” he asks softly. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Steve says, and he doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s so high-pitched, weak and shaky and breathless and so vulnerable he wants to hate it, but he also doesn’t care, because Eddie is holding him like this, touching him and letting him tremble. “I like it, I like it so much, Eddie.”

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs. 

And fuck. 

Eddie moves his hand slowly, and after a moment he shifts so he’s sitting, and they’re back to how they were before, their legs wrapped around each other. Steve keeps his arms around his neck, hiding his face. Eddie slides his other hand into his hair. 

“You want me to pull?”

“God, yes,” Steve chokes. “Please.”

And Eddie definitely noticed how it made him feel just a moment ago, because—

“Good boy.”

Steve can hear his smile. 

His hand tightens, his fist squeezing in it, and it’s a slow, dull ache that grows on Steve’s scalp. He stifles a groan, pressing his lips together. 

“Stop doing that,” Eddie says breathlessly, his hand loosening, and Steve exhales with relief, his mouth falling open. A moment later he processes Eddie’s words, and he hums in confusion. 

“Keeping yourself quiet,” Eddie says. “Stop, I wanna hear you.”

Steve blinks his eyes open, his eyes blearily finding the Slayer poster above Eddie’s bed. His vision is blurry, and he feels like he’s cross-faded, out of his damn mind with the feeling of Eddie’s hands on him. 

“You don’t want me to be quiet,” he mumbles absently. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud. 

“No,” Eddie says softly, twisting his hand. Steve’es eyes close again. “I don’t want you to be quiet. Let me hear you, baby.” He moves his hand a little faster, tightening his fist, and Steve lets out a whine, burying his face in Eddie’s neck. 

“Louder,” Eddie says, moving his hand faster, his other hand tugging Steve’s hair sharply. 

“Fuck,” Steve gasps before he moans weakly. 

“Louder,” Eddie whispers, his hand tightening in his hair. Steve lets out a sob. 

“Eddie.”

“There you go,” Eddie whispers, tilting his head to kiss his jaw, and it sounds almost condescending, but it wraps around Steve like a blanket. “Good boy. You don’t have to be quiet, baby.”

So he isn’t. 

His mouth stays open, panting against Eddie’s neck and shoulder, letting out soft moans and whines and whimpers and Eddie’s name as Eddie pulls at his hair again, his other hand jerking Steve off, alternating between rapid and fast and slow and tender, squeezing and tugging and drawing it out. 

“I love how you sound,” Eddie murmurs after Steve lets out a sob. “So fucking pretty, baby, God.”

“Eddie,” Steve whimpers. 

“I got you, honey, ’s okay.” He scratches Steve’s scalp, pulling his hair. 

“Fuck, I love you.”

Eddie lets out a soft noise, and he pulls at Steve’s hair sharply, tugging him away from where he’s resting his head, and he kisses him. Steve kisses back after a moment, almost lightheaded, and he clutches at him, at his hair, his arm. 

“I love you too, baby,” Eddie pants when they part, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you so much.”

Steve lets out a long groan, squeezing Eddie’s wrist. 

“Eddie, I—”

“You can come,” Eddie murmurs. “It’s okay.”

He kisses Steve’s cheek, murmuring as Steve buries his face in his neck again, moaning as Eddie’s hand speeds up again, and Steve is crying into his neck, sobbing as his body floods with heat, as he comes.

“There you go, baby,” Eddie whispers, fingers still working, jerking Steve until he finally slows down. “Did so good, Stevie.”

“Fuck.”

Eddie’s hand finally stops, and he lets go, his other hand running through Steve’s hair comfortingly as Steve catches his breath. He tucks Steve back in his sweatpants carefully, patting his crotch when he’s done, and Steve snorts.

“You okay?” Eddie asks softly when Steve is breathing slowly. Steve hums. “That good, huh?”

“Mm. No one’s ever wanted to hear me before.”

“No?” Eddie says, running his hand over Steve’s back, tracing his spine. “But you sound so good.”

“Hm. I don’t know,” Steve mumbles. “One girl commented that I was noisy and it just… made me self-conscious, I guess.”

Eddie hums softly, sliding his hand up to hold the back of his neck, and it feels protective, possessive, and Steve could die happy here. 

“I like hearing you,” Eddie says. “Don’t ever want you to be quiet.”

“Okay.” He takes a breath, nuzzling into Eddie’s neck before he kisses him gently under his jaw. “Can I get you off?”

“Mm. Yeah. ‘S not gonna take much, though, I almost came just listening to you.”

Steve giggles, lifting his head and reaching for the hem of Eddie’s sweatpants as their eyes meet. He pushes his hand under them, watching Eddie’s expression shift, watching his eyes flutter shut and his lips part, watching his shoulders slump. He’s still holding the back of Steve’s neck, and his hand tightens. 

“Can I take it out?” Steve whispers. 

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie breathes. “Go ‘head.”

Steve does, licking his lips, and Eddie pulls him in to rest their foreheads together. Steve lifts his hand to his mouth and spits on his palm before reaching down again, touching him. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, laughing lightly. “Fuck.”

“You always this easy?” Steve asks softly, whispering. Eddie hums.

“Only when I have the… hottest boy in the world touching my dick.”

Steve giggles, sliding his hand up and down slowly, listening to Eddie breathing heavily. He’s having fun. He’s never had fun like this during sex. It’s always felt like something to just do, to get done, to make his partner feel good. But even as he focuses on Eddie, he can’t stop smiling, watching his own hand on Eddie’s dick, listening to the soft moans and hums Eddie lets out. Eddie’s other hand finds Steve’s thigh and squeezes tightly, gripping so hard Steve wonders if he’ll leave bruises under his fingertips. He kind of hopes he does. 

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps after a while. “I’m gonna come.”

Steve kisses him. Messily, desperately. 

“Come for me.”

Eddie grunts, his hand slipping to hold the base of Steve’s head, and he pants, breathing hard against Steve’s cheek as Steve watches, almost mesmerized by the come dripping over his fingers, his knuckles. 

“Jesus,” Steve breathes as Eddie comes down, his grip on Steve’s leg and head relaxing. “You’re so…”

Eddie hums softly. 

“So…”

“I don’t know,” Steve says quietly, pulling his hand away as Eddie softens, and he tucks him back into his sweatpants, imitating him with the gentle pat. Eddie laughs. He has a beautiful laugh. 

“I’ve heard I’m a lot,” Eddie says. 

“You are,” Steve says, looking into his eyes. He smiles, and Eddie tilts his head curiously. “In a good way,” he adds. “I like it.”

Eddie smiles bashfully, his cheeks pink, and Steve nudges their noses together, closing his eyes. 

“...Are you gonna talk about it?” Eddie says after a few moments. Steve exhales, swallowing. 

His hands are in his lap, and he looks at them, at the come on his hand. 

“...I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Eddie touches Steve’s chin, gently prompting him to lift his head. He’s smiling when Steve looks at him, and he leans in to kiss him softly, chastely. Familiarly. 

“Cool,” he says, his lips brushing Steve’s. “Same.”

And Steve laughs. 

Eddie kisses him again, smiling against Steve’s smile, and Steve wraps his arms around his neck, keeping his dirty hand in the air as his other hand pushes into Eddie’s curls. Eddie’s hands slide across Steve’s back. 

Steve pulls away. 

“You are getting come all over my back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Eddie says sarcastically, and Steve snorts. “What do you think about a shower to clean you up?”

“Ah, that was your master plan, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, my goal was to get you naked by getting you mostly naked.”

“Pure genius, Eddie.”

“I know…”

Steve follows him to the bathroom after they get clothes. (Eddie just gives him more of his own) 

It feels nice when Eddie washes his hair. Even though he forms it into a mohawk with the soap. He’s grinning as he does it, his eyes sparkling, amused, and Steve lets him. It also feels nice when Eddie washes his body, which he does without saying anything, scrubbing him gently, tenderly, washing the soap away with the showerhead and pressing kisses to his wet skin. Steve does the same to him. It feels nice to do this, to help him even though he doesn’t really need it. 

Steve kneels to do his legs, and as he does, he kisses his scars. Eddie holds a hand out, blocking the water from hitting Steve’s face. And Steve somehow falls in love all over again. 

The tile wall is cold as Eddie pushes him against it to kiss him, but he doesn’t mind. 

They separate to dry themselves off, and Steve stops him when he starts to scrub his hair dry with the towel. He scolds him lightly, pulling close and taking over, scrunching the ends and drying it gently, noting that he wants to get some product for him. Eddie just gazes at him silently, his hands on Steve’s hips. 

“I love you,” he whispers when Steve hangs the towels. 

Steve hugs him, and Eddie hugs him so tightly that he lifts him up a little bit, his toes touching the ground. 

“I love you too.”

Over his shoulder, Steve can see them in the reflection of the mirror. It’s fogged over from the shower steam, but he can see the shape of them, their dark clothing in the bright light of the bathroom, and Steve sighs. 

They go back to bed, arms around each other as they find their places again, Steve’s back to Eddie’s chest. Eddie kisses his neck. Steve closes his eyes. 

“So what do you say about forever?” Eddie asks quietly as Steve is starting to drift off. He hums, turning to tuck his face into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie pushes a hand into his hair, holding him gently. 

“Forever sounds nice.”

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[lestappenforever]

Lestappen fic - Ice cream shop owner!Charles AU

I don't typically get excited by AU ideas for Lestappen because Lestappen in canonverse is so appealing to me in and of itself. But, while AO3 was down yesterday, @thearchercore received and answered a whole bunch of asks from lovely anons about a Lestappen AU fic where Charles owns an ice cream shop (as inspired by the news that the man is actually going to open an ice cream shop in Milan.) And, well, for the first time ever, I got excited about a Lestappen AU. So, I wrote something.

This is, obviously, dedicated to the incredible @thearchercore, a true pillar of the Lestappen community, and to each and every anon who has sent in asks about this AU. And because this was entirely inspired by people on Tumblr, you can read the whole fic in this post. ❤️

---

Max realizes that he has probably let this whole thing go too far. Way too far. 

What had started as a chance encounter after the Monza Grand Prix, where Max had gone on a drive and ended up in a small, lovely ice cream shop - LEC - in Milan that served the most delicious vanilla ice cream Max had ever tasted, had spiraled and developed into what was now practically a weekly occurrence. Every chance he got, when the race calendar, his PR and training schedule would allow it, Max would fly to Milan, spending ridiculous amounts of money and contributing an unnecessary amount to further pollute the environment, just to go back to that ice cream shop.

And yes, although the vanilla ice cream was divine, that's not the real reason Max kept coming back. 

No, the real cause of his travels was the ridiculously beautiful shop owner, with the fluffy brown hair, the captivating green eyes Max kind of wanted to drown himself in, and dimples that Max saw every single night when he closed his eyes. And what’s more, the shop owner — Charles — didn't even seem to like Max, because the Monégasque was a die-hard Ferrari fan and he seemed to have made it his personal mission to put all the blame of Ferrari’s lack of success for the past fifteen years on Max. Even if Max hadn’t been in F1 for the entirety of those fifteen years.

Not that he was surprised, really. The passion of the Tifosi did, on more than one occasion, seem to seriously impact their sense of logic and capability of rational thinking. 

And apparently, the beauty, sass and stubbornness of the shop owner did the exact same thing to Max's. 

The irony of that is not lost on him.

The fact that the two of them had discovered they were on the same page about the superior ice cream flavor the first time Max had been in that ice cream shop — “vanilla is my favorite” Max had said at exactly the same time Charles had said “vanilla is the only right choice” — had not been enough to endear him to Charles. His allegiance with Ferrari and Max currently on yet another dominating winning spree with Red Bull was too strong. (Even if there had been the flicker of something in those green eyes when Charles had learned that he and Max were on the same page about vanilla ice cream.)

After yet another failed attempt at charming Charles a few weeks ago, Max had gotten so desperate that he had genuinely started considering a move to Ferrari, even starting to subtly ask around about the possibility, Red Bull’s superior car and strategies be damned. But then word had reached GP and his race engineer had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he would not be moving to Ferrari to impress ‘some ice cream guy in Milan’. Which Max had taken offense to, because Charles was not just ‘some ice cream guy in Milan’, thank you very much.

(Max really had to learn how to keep his mouth shut around GP.)

So yes, his obsession with the ice cream shop and its owner has gone way too far. And yet, on a warm August afternoon, Max finds himself walking back into that ice cream shop. 

Summer break has finally arrived, and Max had genuinely considered renting an apartment in Milan for the next three weeks so he wouldn't have to fly back and forth so much. But then he had come to the conclusion that that would be excessive. 

(Because flying back and forth between Monaco and Milan definitely wasn’t excessive. No, sir.)

Charles is there when Max walks in, as he is every single time Max walks in. The guy never seems to leave his beloved ice cream shop, and Max finds himself wondering if the other man gets enough sleep. Or if he even goes home to sleep, or if he has a bed set up in the back somewhere so he never has to waste time going back and forth between the ice cream shop and his home. 

He may not know Charles all that well, despite seeing him regularly for the past few months, but he does know that the man must have an incredible work ethic. 

The little bell above the door announces his arrival, and Charles looks up from behind the counter. For a brief second, Max is sure he sees a flash of excitement cross those gorgeous features, but the Monégasque quickly schools his expression into one of exasperation and indignation, complete with an overly dramatic eye roll. 

“No Red Bull Racing team members allowed,” Charles tells him with a huff, as he puts a brand-new tub of chocolate ice cream in the display freezer. 

Max snorts as he walks towards the counter. He had expected a frosty — pun intended — reception following Ferrari’s double DNF in the last race before the summer break, so Charles’ grumpy demeanor doesn’t deter him.  

“Hello to you too, Charles,” the Dutchman sing-songs, ignoring the way a couple of teenage girls at a table by the window gape at him. “Let me guess, Ferrari’s double DNF in Belgium was somehow my fault?”

Charles meets his gaze and narrows his eyes. He points an ice cream scoop at him. “I am not sure how, but yes.” He waggles the scoop accusingly. 

It’s Max’s turn to roll his eyes. “Right, because the two of them crashing into each other in turn two, while in P8 and P9 respectively, while I was at the very front definitely had something to do with me?”

“Obviously,” Charles confirms with a sniff. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Max laughs, shaking his head in a manner that can only be described as fond. He comes to a halt in front of the cash register at the counter, and waits for Charles to ask him what he wants. 

But Charles never does; instead busies himself with rearranging the different bowls of topping on top of the display freezer, wiping down the counter, and restocking the ice cream cones, all the while completely ignoring Max’s presence. Or general existence, even.

Eventually, Max runs out of patience.

“I’d like three scoops of vanilla ice cream, please.”

Charles doesn’t even stop what he’s doing. Doesn’t even look at him. “We’re all out of vanilla.”

Max stares. At Charles, then at the almost full tub of vanilla, with its little sign labeling it as vanilla sticking out of the fluffy ice cream. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Charles, I can see the vanilla ice cream. It’s right there,” Max insists, pointing at the flavor through the display glass. As if Charles isn’t completely aware of its existence, as if he’s not just being a little shit and punishing Max for something that isn’t even remotely his fault. 

Charles pauses in his bustling to look at Max. Then, he follows the length of Max’s arm to where his finger is pointing directly at the vanilla. His gaze returns to Max’s eyes as he says, deadpan: “That is only a display ice cream.”

Max blinks repeatedly.

“A display ice cream?” he echoes incredulously. 

“Yes,” Charles confirms, raising his chin. “It’s only for display, it is not to be served.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, it’s like this,” the Monégasque says, lifting one shoulder in a careless shrug. 

Max doesn’t know if he wants to smack him or kiss him. 

(That’s a lie, he knows damn well that he wants to kiss that smug look right off of Charles’ stupidly beautiful face.)

“Fine,” the Dutchman sighs, moving his finger slightly to the right. “Then I would like three scoops of the chocolate.”

“I’m sorry, but that is also only a display ice cream,” Charles tells him with a completely straight face. 

“You’re not serious.”

Charles raises one full eyebrow. “Does it look like I’m joking?” he asks.

And, well, Max has to admit that it absolutely does not. 

He stands there in silence for a while, wondering why the hell this infuriating man has been the object of his deepest desires for the past few months. Wonders why Charles’ face is the only thing he sees when he closes his eyes to sleep at night, and why he is the one person that keeps appearing in the majority of his dreams. Wonders why, when his mind wanders as he has a secure grip around himself in bed, it keeps wandering to the mental images of what Charles would look like, feel like, sound like if he was there with Max, when all Charles seems to want to do is get under Max’s skin and infuriate him in ways and for reasons Max hadn’t even known he could let himself be infuriated. 

Oh, who is he kidding? Those reasons, coupled with Charles’ overall appearance and being, are exactly why his mind never seems to tire of Charles whatever-the-fuck-his-middle-name-is Leclerc, and only him. 

Max has always been a sucker for challenges. And Charles is definitely a challenge. 

Had Charles been an F1 driver instead of the owner of an ice cream shop, Max just knows their on-track battles would have been epic. Their rivalry would have been one for the ages; their names and lives so intertwined that people could not have mentioned one without also mentioning the other. Because Max is sure that Charles’ passion, his stubbornness and his outright refusal to give in to anything or anyone would have translated into a fierce, unyielding, unapologetic driver. 

Forcing himself out of his reverie, Max gives a quick shake of his head to clear is racing mind. Then, he fixes Charles with a hard stare. 

“Let me guess, these are all ‘display ice creams’?” he asks, gesturing with a hand at the numerous tubs of flavors in the display freezer. 

“Of course not,” Charles scoffs, as if that’s the most ridiculous statement that has been made in the ice cream shop in the past few minutes. “That would be a horrible way to run a business. We have one flavor that is not only for display.”

Max is almost afraid to ask, but he does anyway. “Which is?”

Charles doesn’t answer the question with words, just points to the bottom tub at the far left. The little sign reads ‘Mint chip’.

“Who the fuck eats mint chip ice cream?” Max asks, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “That’s like eating toothpaste.”

For the first time since Max stepped through the door, Charles smiles. A beautiful, self-satisfied, mischievous smile that does things to Max’s body, mind and soul. It makes his heart rate pick up and his skin tingle with an excitement he has no business feeling. 

Pathetic. He’s absolutely pathetic. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Max. That's all I have to offer today.”

And Max, proving just how completely gone he is on this ridiculous man, lets out a long, tired sigh. 

“Three scoops of mint chip, please,” he requests in a voice that is completely resigned. 

Charles’ face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree, and he scurries to get one of the small glass bowls reserved for customers who want to eat their ice cream in the shop, not even needing to ask if that’s what Max is planning to do, or if he wants his ice cream in a cone. And although Charles is doing his damnedest to make Max believe that his general existence on this earth is causing Charles physical pain and emotional turmoil, the fact that Charles remembers his preference doesn’t go unnoticed by Max. 

He won’t even entertain the idea that Charles might just be adamant on making Max sit in his shop and eat his mint chip ice cream so Charles can watch him suffer with every spoonful. 

Charles is generous with the scoops — incredibly so — and Max is sure those three scoops he requested actually equal the size of at least six regular-sized scoops. He realizes that he probably should have asked for one scoop instead of three. He watches as Charles sticks a spoon in the ice cream and places the bowl on the counter in front of Max with the biggest grin on his face.

“It’s on the house,” Charles tells him, probably just to further add to Max’s suffering. 

The Dutchman eyes the bowl of ice cream warily, quietly cursing it and himself, before picking it up with a hesitating hand. Charles watches him expectantly the entire time as Max makes his way to a small table in one corner of the shop. Behind him, a small child, probably around five or six, had entered the shop with his mother while Max was waiting for Charles to finish scooping, and Max hears the boy ask for two scoops of strawberry ice cream. And Charles — the fucking asshole — makes a point out of saying ‘coming right up’ in both Italian and English just to fuck with Max some more.

Max takes a seat with his back to the window so he can face Charles. Because if nothing else, he’s not going to let Charles win.

The first spoonful really does taste like toothpaste with a hint of chocolate, and it’s an awful combination. It takes every ounce of willpower Max has not to let the disgust he’s feeling show on his face. He lets the ice cream melt in his mouth for a long moment, before swallowing the disgusting liquidized ice cream, all the while maintaining a completely unaffected expression. 

Charles watches him eat the entire bowl of ice cream, and Max never breaks eye contact. With every expressionless swallow, Max can see the thinly veiled disappointment on Charles’ face and the satisfaction he gets from that is enough to motivate him to finish every single bite. He even makes a point out of scraping the melted remains of the ice cream from the sides of the bowl, scooping it up into a mint green coloured soup in his spoon, and eating it. He even briefly considers licking the bowl clean just to get a rise out of Charles, but the Monégasque turns away from him with a huff before he can put his plan into action.

Which, thank fuck, because Max is starting to feel a bit sick from the ridiculous amount of toothpaste-flavored ice cream he has just consumed out of spite and spite alone. He pushes the bowl forward and away from himself on the table with a frown.

Charles goes back to ignoring his presence for the next fifteen minutes, and Max waits. Just because he can — just because he knows this wasn’t the outcome Charles had expected and he wants to revel in the satisfaction of finally getting under Charles’ skin for once for a little while longer. 

Eventually, Charles comes to collect his empty bowl and gives Max a disapproving glare. 

“Well? How was it?”

And Max, unable to resist, gives Charles his biggest, brightest smile. “It was delicious, thank you.”

If looks could kill, Max would have been dead. Then, Charles turns on his heels and walks away with Max’s empty bowl and spoon. 

Taking the win, Max gets to his feet and waits for Charles to look over at him from behind the counter. When he does, he gives the other man a wave. “See you tomorrow, Charles.”

“You’re not coming back tomorrow!” Charles shoots back.

“Oh, but I am,” Max counters. It sounds like a promise, and it is. 

As he walks out of the ice cream shop, feeling Charles’ gaze boring into the back of his head as he does, Max pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts looking up hotels in the area with available rooms.

***

Max stays in Milan for two weeks, and he goes to Charles’ ice cream shop every single day. 

Every day, Charles tells him the only flavor he can serve him is mint chip. By day three, Max has stopped trying to argue with him. By day five, Max orders vanilla and Charles responds with ‘three scoops of mint chip coming up’. And every day, Max sits at his little table by the window to eat his ice cream while Charles stands behind the counter, watching him eat the entire time. 

Every. Single. Day. 

And every single day, Max can see Charles’ resolve crumbling, little by little, convincing him that his tragic efforts are not in complete vain. They might be mostly in vain, but Max is in far too deep at this point to care.

On the eighth day, Max stays until closing and Charles spends the majority of his free moments actually hanging around Max’s table and engaging him in conversation. It's a step in the right direction, even if Charles does end up kicking the Dutchman out when he has to count the register.

And on the eleventh day, as Max is about to leave after finishing yet another disgusting, massive portion of mint chip ice cream, Charles finds himself looking at the blond from behind the counter, watching as Max smiles down at his phone. Those piercing blue eyes are crinkling in delight, causing adorable smile lines to appear at their corners, his full, inviting lips stretching to expose his straight, white teeth. A wave of something — jealousy, Charles would define it as if he wasn’t a pigheaded dick when it comes to four-time F1 World Champion Max Emilian Verstappen — washes over him at the thought of whatever or whoever it is that puts that smile on Max's face. 

It makes the Monégasque realize that all of his attempts over the past few months to convince himself that he doesn’t find Max attractive or charming as hell, and that he definitely doesn’t want to find out whether Max likes vanilla in bed, too, have been for naught. 

And so, with an overwhelming feeling that he's losing a battle he's been fighting for months, Charles throws away the paper towel he had been using to dry his hands and resigns himself to his fate. Because sometimes, perseverence needs to be rewarded.

And he's not just referring to Max's.

“You can take me out to dinner tonight,” he tells Max, and it sounds like the statement pains him. Which it kind of does.

Max stops dead, one hand on the door handle, half-turned to face Charles. The look on his face is one of utter surprise.

“Really?” he asks, and he sounds so fucking hopeful that it should probably make Charles change his mind. But instead, it makes him want to close up the shop immediately and let Max take him out to dinner right fucking now.

Which is pathetic, really. But then again, so is the way Charles has been waking up every day hoping Max Verstappen would walk through the door of his ice cream shop for the past few months.

But, having no intention of showing his hand, Charles maintains a stoic expression as he nods. 

“Pick me up here at nine.”

Max's smile is so wide that Charles wonders if it makes his cheeks hurt. He also wonders if said cheeks will feel as warm to the touch as they look.

“Okay,” Max says, still smiling. “Then I'll see you again at nine.”

And with that, Max turns, pulls the door open, and walks out of the shop. 

When Charles can only just see the back of the Dutchman through the window, he sees Max stopping briefly on the sidewalk and pumping his fist in the air in the same celebratory manner Charles has seen after so many victorious races over the years.

He looks ridiculous, and Charles might just be falling a little bit in love with him.

Charles doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

***

It turns out that Max's preferences in bed are far more adventurous than his taste in ice cream.

Which turns out to be yet another thing they're on the same page about.

[hermitadaymay]

-Removed double name tagging. This year, all submissions for each day's Hermit will only be tagged with the shorter version of their name (where applicable). For example, fanworks for Stress will be tagged "#stress," not "#stressmonster101, #stress." Notably, fanworks featuring Joel SmallishBeans will be tagged #joel.

=Updated desktop blog theme. (please look at it I did actual coding for this)

=Changed Bonus Days to Sundays.

=Time of rollover between dates will now be 12:00am US Central time (6:00am GMT).

+Added credits page.

+Added people to credit! HADM24 comes to you with the help of boatloads of my friends both online and irl and even some names you might know (keep reading).

+THE BIG ONE: Added a secondary goal for the Hermit-a-Day May event: a complete fundraiser for Gamers Outreach.

The way this community comes together to celebrate the Hermits and each other is incredible. There are something like 1,800 fanworks on this blog from last May and early June! And that's not counting what was posted on other social media platforms as the prompt calendar spread.

I wanted to do something with that momentum - something with a little more substance behind it than last year's spontaneous "hey we should all donate $14!" So I've partnered with two amazing fandom artists you may remember from their daily posts last year - @belmarzi and @rendiggitydog - so that as a community, we could make even more awesomeness come from this event.

I have created a Tiltify campaign so that donations can be made directly to GO - I will never touch the money - and tracked for our incentives:

GRAND TOTAL INCENTIVE: For every $150 we raise for Gamers Outreach (to a minimum of $300, and a maximum that is yet to be determined, but we currently have support for up to $2,100), belmarzi will make 10 seconds' worth of animatic, featuring as many Hermits as she can fit into the time frame. You can expect to see the animatic published in early July.

INDIVIDUAL DONATION INCENTIVE: For every $65 you personally donate to the fundraiser, Rae rendiggitydog will draw you a shaded flats commission of a Hermit of your choice. These will be finished in the order in which the donations are received, and may be sent to you in May or early June.

I've put a lot of work into making this happen, and I cannot tell you how excited I am for May to arrive! The campaign will be opened in mid to late April together with the posting of this year's prompt calendar.

We've got some great stuff cooking up for y'all this year, between the whole month of fanart and the fundraising incentives! Thank you all for being a part of it! The askbox is open for questions, if you have them.

Next time: the official release of the prompt calendar!

-Mod Luna

[sweetbbyshion]

untitled

-> Toji Fushiguro x Reader (gender neutral)

characters: Toji Fushiguro

genre: fluff

summary: uni has been stressing you out and your boyfriend is as tired

warnings: established relationship, age gap, this was written while i was stressing over assessments and i just needed a big strong sexy man to make me take a break, might be ooc

network: @eveningatthemoviesnetwork

Toji thinks he might smash his head against the wall if he hears you sigh loudly one more time. He turns his body on the couch to peek at you, hunching over a bunch of papers at the kitchen table. He can see two word documents opened on your laptop, one full of words and the other still blank. Next to it, his laptop that you begged to use has google opened and he can vaguely see the numerous windows in the tab. You sigh again, like you have been in the past hour, and drop your head on your arms.

Toji has no idea what you’re doing. He guesses it must be some university project but the calendar displayed on the fridge doesn't have an exam coming up soon. He gets up from the couch and makes his way to you. He puts his hand on the back of the chair, leaning down a bit and squinting his eyes to look at the tiny words on the laptop. Toji feels a bit too dumb when he doesn't understand all of the fancy words you used but your boyfriend can tell you're writing your interpretation of a poem.

“You need to start wearing your glasses.” you murmur, looking at the older man, your head lazily resting on your hand, as he keeps squinting. He scoffs, Toji would never wear those ugly glasses he got. It makes him look stupid, even after the amount of times you denied it and no matter how many times you sloppily made out with him wherever he wore those horrible glasses, a fire suddenly lighting you up when you saw the frames on his face. “Don't come complaining when your head starts hurting again.”

“What you got there that got you stressing out so much?” He decides to ignore your comment, changing the subject to the reason for your stress.

You sigh once more, resting your head on his forearm. “Gotta start writing one of my assessments for one of my classes. The professor is making us write about everything we’ve learned in class with our opinions and academic research to support it. It absolutely sucks and I wanna drop out.” you ramble. Toji’s chuckle has you frowning, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing. How about you take a break?” As good as that sounds, you shake your head denying his proposal. “Take a break. Not asking. Sit on the couch with me and relax for a bit.” His tone suggests that you would probably regret your decision if you choose to go against him.

Reluctantly, you get up from the uncomfortable chair and stretch your arms above your head. You feel your back crack from being in the same position for so long and you just want to lay in bed and sleep. Toji places his hands on your hips where the shirt isn't covering, squeezing the flesh as he pulls you a bit closer to him and you throw your arms around his shoulders as you sway a bit from side to side. Toji smiles a little when he hears you giggling, happy that you stopped sighing and stressing for a little bit. “ Should I be an old man’s sugar baby? I’ll share the money with you.” You tease, planting a kiss on his cheek. Toji rolls his eyes at your teasing tone. You lean back a little to look at the man, his big hands placed on your back to support your weight. “I'm starting to think you have a type. Like old men that much, doll?”

“Only one.” You reply, playing with the soft ends of his hair that are almost reaching his shoulders. “Unfortunately my old man isn't a billionaire that will give me a yatch for my birthday.” You press a small kiss to his lips. “I can't complain much though, my boyfriend is really sexy.”

Your boyfriend arches a brow, smirking at your remarks. “Yeah? What can I do to steal you away from that grandpa?” You pretend to think for a bit, a small pout appearing on your lips that Toji wants to kiss away more than anything. “Cuddle with me on the couch and watch a few episodes of a crappy reality show before I start feeling bad and go back to my assessment?”

Toji thinks for a bit. He wants you to relax for a while before you (and himself) go crazy with the constant sighing but you have a gift for choosing horrible shows that have Toji wanting nothing more than to punch the TV. Your boyfriend knows he can’t deny your request when he looks at you and you’re staring right back at him. Even if he had it in him to refuse your proposal, your tired eyes and the way you’re looking at him with so much adoration is enough for Toji to pull you to the couch.

You sit as close to him as you can and pull his arm to wrap around your shoulders. You snuggle comfortably on his side while pressing a few kisses on his jaw and neck that make Toji get goosebumps. This time, he doesn't act all dramatic like he usually does when you’re this close to him. He doesn't tease you or calls you clingy while playfully pushing you away just to watch you crawl back to him. This time, Toji lets you push and pull him until you’re comfortable. He doesn't even complain when he sees you open netflix and select a reality show with a weird name and an obnoxious couple on the cover.

Toji thinks all of this is worth it when you place a small kiss on his cheek and whisper “I love you” before falling asleep five minutes after in his arms.

[hauntingkiki]

Home

Venture x Reader

OverWatch

2nd POV

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

"you're coming home saturday, yeah?" you asked your partner over the phone, taking your calendar that was hung up on your fridge. you placed it on the island, pulling your phone away from your left ear and switching it over to your right, your elbows propped up on the counter as you leaned on it, grabbing a nearby pencil and twirling it around in your fingers.

a sigh escaped the others lips, a faint 'i'm telling her right now.' makes its way through the speaker of the phone. "no...no, no, not tomorrow." the huffed, clearly annoyed.

you perked up at the news, dropping the pencil as you pushed yourself off of the counter, wondering around your apartment. "what?! what do you mean, 'not tomorrow', sloan?" you cried, disappointed in the news. you ran your free hand through your hair, stopping at the top of your scalp as you gently pulled at your hair. "w-why are you guys staying longer? i thought you guys found enough artifacts at the site!”

"apparently, the boss found another site he wants to visit, it'll take us all day saturday to get there, sunday is our rest day, then we'll start exploring monday through friday." your partner, sloan explained, looking at the written schedule that was in front of them as they spoke, bouncing their leg.

“ANOTHER site?!” you scoffed, walking back to the island and taking a seat, snagging the calendar and pencil to fix the dates. “are you fucking kidding me?! this is the fourth one you’ve been too! in what- the span of three weeks?!” you pulled your phone away from your ear, putting it on speaker as you placed it carefully on the marble countertop as you erased the pencil marks.

sloan scoffed, humming in agreement on how stupid the whole thing was. even though it bright in good money, enough to feed you two, pay rent, go out on dates and travel, it pulled them away from you more than they would like. “tell me about it.” sloan huffed, standing up from their seated position. "we should hopefully be home by next sunday, and have that dinner with the crew at that one joint..."

you groaned, remembering the celebratory dinner. "right! i forgot about that." you muttered, biting on your thumb nail.

the line was quite, besides the loud laughter that came from sloan's end. it suddenly went dead silent, a door clicking shut was all you heard as you sat at the island. "what do you want to do?" sloan asked, taking a seat at their bed that was freshly made, their clothing, toiletries and other things they brought with them packed in their suitcases.

"what do you mean?" you asked, scribbling down the dates sloan mentioned a few minutes prior.

"with the reservations! and the plans we made." they waved a hand around, sighing as they hunched forward. "should we just move them until i get back? or you can go with your friends or whoever and we can go another time."

you pressed the eraser against your lip, looking at the name you had sloan saved under as well as the picture of the two of you that was saved as their profile. “i…i uh, let’s just move the dates.” you sighed, sliding the pencil behind your ear. “i’ll call the restaurants and whatnot to move them to next week, it won’t be a big deal.”

sloan softly nodded, whipping out their wallet from one of many jacket pockets they had and opened it single handedly, pinching their phone in between their right shoulder and their face. “okay…text me when you get the new reservations.” sloan meekly smiled, opening one of the wallet pockets before pulling out a polaroid of the two of you, small hearts doodled the white boarder that surrounded the picture.

you hummed, muttering a small ‘will do’ under your breath as you click the speaker button to cancel it before bring the phone up to your ear. your eyes darted around the kitchen, a mess of pots, pans, and silverware was no where in sight in your sink, which you grew fond over. you always loved seeing sloan in the kitchen, cooking away at their family recipes which had the place smelling like the amazing spices for weeks on end. sure, you had stocks of food that they cooked before the mission in the fridge from weeks prior, but it wasn’t the same, since all you had to do was to warm them up, either on the oven or in the microwave.

it never tasted the same as when your lover made them for you.

your eyes started to become glassy as your lip quivered, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip before any noise sneaked its way out of your throat. it’s been three weeks since you’ve seen sloan, going on four since sloan is staying longer. you were missing them like crazy, the apartment was unbearably quite without them home. you wanted to voice your opinion out about the matter for a while, but they’ve been working there since they’ve been sixteen-ten years at the same company! you couldn’t and wouldn’t do that to them in your wildest dreams, they meant so much to you for you to do that.

you softly shook your head, telling your brain to cut it out and save it for when you were off the phone so they didn’t feel the guilt of hurting you. but, that plan was quickly abandoned as tears rolled down your cheeks, shaky breaths filled the silence and alerted your partner on the other end of the phone.

“cariño?” venture gasped out, their attention snapping away from the photo and towards the sounds of your sobs. they placed their wallet and the photo to their left side, the mattress slightly creaking as they shuffled around on the bed. “what’s wrong?”

you wiped away your tears, choking on a sob as your hand holding your phone began to shake against your face, focusing most of your attention onto that in oder to make it stop. “it’s just…” you swallowed a lump that clogged your throat, making it hard to speak. ‘might as well tell them.’ you let out a cry, sniffing before looking down at the marble countertop. “it’s so hard to be away from you. especially for four weeks, sloan! like-it’s absolutely crazy!”

sloan nodded softly, taking your words into consideration. their attention snapped to the door that creaked open, covering the bottom of their phone as they locked eyes with zane, one of their coworkers.

zane took the hint and quickly left the room, shutting the door behind him.

“but.” your voice startled sloan back to reality, their undivided attention back to you. “i didn’t want to say any of this because this is your dream! you love this job and i don’t want to stop you.”

the two of you went silent, besides your faint sobs and sniffles.

sloan ran a hand through their hair, their fingers twirling around the hairs of their undercut before stopping at the base of their neck, gently massaging at the muscle. “i…i get it.” sloan reassured, dropping their hand that was at their neck back to their lap.

you blinked, your lashes soaked in your tears as they brushed against your brow bone. “really?” you muttered, your voice soft.

sloan nodded, their attention glued onto their boots. “yeah! i miss you so much, you’re all i think and talk about!” they chuckled, smiling warmly at the sound of your faint snicker. sloan’s smile faintly dropped, becoming serious as their eyes darted over to the picture of you two that was to the left of them. “these long and far trips suck. and-and i know this year has been full of them, but i promise you that there won’t be as many later in life.”

“promise?” you bit back a small smile, your heart slightly fluttering at the sound of sloan’s chuckle.

“promise, mi amor.”

•••

today was the day.

sloan camron was coming home.

you were practically bouncing off the wall as you paced around the living room, phone in hand as you reread the long message that was sent in the wayfinders groupchat that you were so grateful to be added to (as well as other’s family and spouses).

hello members and family of the wayfinder’s society,

as you all know, today is the day we’re all coming home from a four week exploration that took place in australia. during these four weeks, we were thankful enough to visit, explore and research five sites scattered around the land. with great discoveries of artifacts, gems, rocks, fossils and much more, we have decided to come home, and let our members have a six month ‘break’ from traveling. during this ‘break’, members, and family members, will be called to our company building for meetings, dinner parties, and other events we will be hosting during those six months before we start up traveling again.

we will, hopefully, arrive to the airport at 7:10 PM. it’ll take about 30 minutes to an hour before we’re all off the plane, then you all will be expected to be at our celebratory dinner at 9:20 PM, at the local bar and pizzeria uptown. (oliver will provided the location when we land)

when we arrive to the airport, we will be leaving the plane in alphabetical order by last name. so family, please do the following:

if you have someone in the A-K range, show up to pick up your person then immediately go home to get ready for the dinner.

if you have someone in the J-Z range, be ready before you pick up your person. you should have time to let your person freshen up before going to the diner. if not, bring a change of clothes, cologne/perfume and whatever’s necessary for them to look somewhat presentable.

members of the wayfinder’s, please wear your jackets to the dinner. we need to represent the company while we’re out having a good time tonight.

- thanks, ben (the boss)

you bit your lip as you grinned, throwing your arms up as you cheered, jumping around with a laugh.

you snapped out of your trance and made your way to the shared bedroom, checking-for the tenth time- that you had everything laid out for the two of you.

a cute outfit for you laid on the bed and some makeup was already out of your makeup bag and lined up in order along your desk. you also had some jewelry laid out, your shoes and a bottle of perfume.

a fresh pair of clothes was laid out for sloan, just a simple jeans and t-shirt for your lover. you also placed some of their rings, a matching necklace that you two had and their cologne bottle on the mattress for them.

as of now, it’s 6:32. if you leave now, you’ll get to the airport by 6:52 if you were lucky, 7:05 with the light traffic that was on the freeway.

smiling, you grabbed your keys and made your way to your car. you locked the door behind you before practically skipping down the steps and towards the parking lot. you, shockingly, got to your car within two minutes. unlocking it, you got inside and into the drivers seat, putting the keys into the keyhole and starting the engine. taking a deep breath, you put the car into reverse and backed out before shifting gears and driving out of the parking lot.

••• (i ain’t writing the drive)

chitter filled your ears as you walked through the building, the clicks of shoes were drowned out by the voices, but if you listened hard enough, you could hear it. you gently rubbed your hands up and down your arms, trying to keep yourself slightly warm from the cold air. the roars of engines echoed through the building as airplanes flew overhead or as they made their way down the runway.

you glanced around the airport, people waiting at their gates with their luggage or people walking to and fro with suitcases dragging behind them filled your view. it surprisingly not too crowded, but you guessed it was because of how late it was.

“y/n!” a voice called out, snapping you out of your trance. there stood a girl who was about 5’7, she had green-hazel eyes with tan skin, dark freckles covered certain areas of her skin, as well as a faint, natural blush on her cheeks. she had gorgeous, wavy dirty brown hair that fell a little past her mid back, faint pops of orange peeked through her hair as well. she wore a beautiful, light orange sun dress with a plaid pattern that fell a little short of her knees. she also had simple white flats on with her gold anklet.

“katie! oh, my god, hi!” you beamed, jogging over to the girl and engulfing her into a hug. as the two of you hugged one another, you got a strong scent of orange blossom. ‘man, does she love orange.’ you joked to yourself, the two of you pulling away from the hug. “how have you been?”

she faintly waved a hand around, rolling her eyes in a playful expression. “ah, you know. bored out of my MIND!” she laughed, gently pushing your left shoulder. her smile softened slightly, her brows knitting together as she gestured a hand in your direction. “but what about you? this is the longest sloan and you have been apart- the two of you are a packaged deal!…how are you holding up?”

you sighed, biting the insides of your cheeks as you remembered last week; you crying to your dear partner about their work and how hard it’s been on you. you blinked a few times, chuckling awkwardly before clearing your throat. “it’s hard, but um…i’ve managed.” you confessed, feeling a little embarrassed that you were getting vulnerable in a fucking airport, but you’ve seen worse things; both online and in real life. “definitely different then the two week trips.”

katie nodded with a hum, crossing her arms. “no, i totally understand. it still bugs me when zane’s gone for anything longer than a week.” she reassured in a way, placing a hand on her chest.

you let out a sarcastic sigh, throwing a hand on her shoulder which made her let out a laugh. “FINALLY! someone who gets it!” you joked, laughing along with her.

a taller man, about 5’11 with black, shaggy hair and light blue eyes walked over to the two of you, a faint smile on his lips. “i hate to interrupt…BUT the planes here and they’re making they’re way out.” he beamed, gently nudging you both over to the crowd that started to form around the door.

katie gasped, throwing her arms around the man as she jumped up and down in excitement. “ugh, thank you travis!!” she grinned, letting go of the man before turning back to you, placing an arm around your shoulder so she wouldn’t lose you.

members of the wayfinders started to make their way out of the jetway, immediately looking for their family, friends and significant others.

as you watched the faces walk by, you realized something. you slowly turned to katie, opening your mouth to point out your observation before shutting your mouth when you saw her pale, wide eyed expression. “hey…hey abby?” you called, slipping away from the dirty blond and making your way over to the ginger.

abby smiled brightly, waving at a nearby group before turning towards you, her eyes going wide when she saw you. “y/n?” she gasped, walking over to katie with you at her side. she ran a hand through her hair when it clicked in her head, groaning faintly. “did ben not send the new message?!” she snapped, adjusting her bag that she held in her right hand.

katie glanced over to you before going back to abby with a quirked brow. “what new message?” she asked, shaking her head softly to finalize her thought.

abby sighed, darting her attention between the two of you. “ben changed the order of how we get off-it’s by first name!” she huffed, jerking her head to the side as she walked off, the two of you following after her. “so since you’re here for zane and your here for sloan, you two have to go back home to get ready and whatever.”

you groaned, slapping a palm to your forehead. “fucking ben.” you spat under your breath, making abby click her tongue in agreement.

“will we have time to leave?” katie asked, tilting her head softly.

abby nodded. “yeah, it’ll take way more than an hour for everyone to get out of the plane.” she shrugged faintly.

“alright, but thank you for the heads up, i greatly appreciate it.” you smiled, nodding at the advice that she gave.

abby smiled softly, pulling you into a quick hug. “anytime! it’s nice to see the two of you again.” she gushed, pulling away and taking katie into a hug before making her way over to her family.

katie sucked in a breath, turning on her heels towards you. “let’s ride together, yeah?” she offered, gently taking your hand into her and she dragged you towards the parking.

you nodded catching up to the girl before you two ended up running out of the airport doors.

•••

“thank you for letting me use your flat iron! you’re a life savor!” katie sighed in relief from the small bathroom, ironing her hair until it was somewhat straight.

you hummed somewhat loudly for the girl to hear you from the bathroom, brushing your eyeshadow onto your eyelid. it was a simple, light shimmer, faint f/c sparkles peaking through when you blinked. you threw your brush into your makeup bag, snatching your mascara before twisting the bottle open and applying it onto your lashes until you were satisfied. “you’re more than welcome to touch of your makeup, too!” you called out, adding some highlighter to your inner corner and your nose. “feel free to use my makeup if you’d like!” you grabbed your lipstick, popping the cap off before twisting it up and swiping it onto your lips.

“awe, thank you, y/n!” she cooed, turning off the flat iron and sliding over to your room. she walked over to your desk, grabbing your mascara tub and applying the product onto her lashes. “we’re cutting it super close, we should probably get ready to go soon.”

you nodded in agreement, fixing your hair and outfit before standing up. “yeah, i think we should go now.” you made your way over to the bag that held sloan’s clothes, picking it up and throwing it over your shoulder.

katie closed the mascara, nodding with a hum before following after you, grabbing the bag with zane’s clothes before the two of you headed out of your apartment and towards her car.

the drive back to the airport was quick and tense, the two of you anxious for if you missed seeing your partners coming out of the jetway.

once you two arrived at the parking lot, you grabbed the bag you packed and made your way to your car, throwing it into the backseats when you unlocked it before locking it and running into the building with katie in tow.

“think we made it on time for them?” you asked, yelping when you almost pumped into someone. you called out an apology, spinning around them before running alongside your friend again.

“i hope so!” katie gulped, the two of you slowing down. the two of you started to walk over to where the wayfinder’s where at, katie pointing to a group before excusing herself over to them, leaving you with a wave.

you swallowed nervously, peering over the crowd of people while you stepped onto your tippy toes. brushing some of your hair behind your ears, you glanced around the surrounding area before stopping in your tracks.

there they were.

standing ways in front of you was sloan camron. or someone that looked like them. they looked so different, but so familiar at the same time. maybe it was the uncut, poorly kept hair and the new scars that imprinted into their tan skin.

the two do you stared at one another in shock. this couldn’t be real, it didn’t feel real to you. you felt lightheaded, overwhelmed at the sight of them.

you slowly inched forward, your feet dragging against the white tile underneath you. tears started to prick at your eyes, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks, and soon, you were sobbing and picking up your speed, running straight at them.

sloan also had tears in their eyes, dropping their heavy bags of equipment and of clothes onto the tile before also making their way towards you, tears streaming down their face.

the two of you quickly met in the middle, the two of you almost falling over from sloan’s brute strength. the two of you clawed and gripped at each other, both of you sobbing uncontrollably into each other arms.

you pulled away, reaching out and cupping sloan’s cheeks, rubbing your thumbs under their eyes which smudged their tears into their skin. your glassy eyes darted around their face, noticing a few small scars scattered around. but the things that’s stayed the same where their dimples, the chip on their tooth, and their eyes. oh, how you could get lost in their deep caramel eyes.

sloan leaned into your hands, a weak smile twisting in their lips as their eyes sparked in the airport lightning. they leaned their face into yours, your lips connecting with a small desire, a small hunger between the two of you.

your hand snaked around their neck, pulling them closer into you and deepening the kiss. sloan pulled you closer by the waist, crouching down slightly and picking you up, their arms hooking around your upper thighs and spinning you around slightly, making the two of you break the kiss with a faint laugh.

“i’ve missed you so much, mi amor.” sloan sighed shakily, nuzzling their face into the crook of your neck, softly kissing around your neck and up to your jaw.

you pressed your lips on the top of their head, tears still slowly rolling down your cheeks. you gently nudged their head back to make eye contact with them, your eyes darting in between theirs. “i still can’t believe you’re here.” you whispered, chuckling softly as you were placed back onto your feet, their hands still around your waist.

sloan nodded faintly, smiling as they kissed your temple. “it’s feel so great to be back.” they murmured against your face.

the two of you leaned into another kiss, pulling back sooner than you’d both liked as a pair of hands were pressed onto your shoulders.

“hey, i’d hate to be that guy.” zane meekly smiled with a shrug. “but we got a dinner to get to in like…hmm…i dunno-20 minutes?”

“hey, if we’re late,” sloan pointed between the two of you before pointing at zane and katie. “then you’re late, too.”

“hey, you’re lucky ben changed the time for the dinner.” katie jabbed back, zane and her waving before walking off.

you pulled at the black tshirt that was almost fully caked in dirt and grime. “cmon, you smell like dirt and sweat and you need to change out of these clothes.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

YIPPIEEE IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR TOO LONGG BUT IM FINALLY DONEE!!

I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED!:) SORRY IF ITS A LITTLE CRINGE OR ANYTHING😓

but im cringe but free

[a-little-unsteddie]

stuck in your throat || 1.2

1.1 | [here] | 1.3 | 1.4 | 1.5

if this seems familiar, it is because this contains part of the initial preview, if not all of it. next part will have all new content and be nearly as long as this one! woo! i’m pretty sure there’s 5 parts to chapter one, but i may be wrong, so i’ll correct it if necessary later.

The next few days passed in a blur of submitting applications and answering calls from random numbers, hoping that it was one of the places he applied to and not some scam call trying to get money out of him. It happened more than Steve thought it would, but unfortunately it did not surprise him, given he usually had unknown callers blocked.

“Hello?” Steve answered, having learned to not open the call with who was answering without knowing who was calling from one too many scam calls

“Is this Steve Harrington?” A soft feminine voice asked, taking Steve by surprise.

“May I ask who’s calling?” Steve asked, not willing to concede his identity until he knew it wasn’t someone looking to sell him ‘Alpha Pills’ or something just as ridiculous.

“Of course! My name is Chrissy Cunningham, you sent in an application for being a full time nanny and tutor?” She responded with a cheerful voice. “I can’t really go much more in depth without an NDA being signed.”

Recognition zapped through Steve’s body and he sat up in his seat. “Oh! Yes, I’m Steve. Um. I’d be happy to sign an NDA, just may I ask why?”

“Yes, you may! My client is a big fan of privacy and only agreed to hire someone if they were under an NDA for the protection of their pup.” aaand all of Steve’s anxiety surrounding the NDA pretty much melted away. Sure, maybe it was a bit much to do, and sure, now he was dying with curiosity to know just who he had ended up applying to, but the knowledge that the NDA was for the protection of the pup soothed any anxiety Steve had originally felt about signing an NDA. In fact, it kind of made his omega perk up. He shook off the feeling, focusing on Chrissy.

“That’s actually really relieving to hear,” Steve said with a laugh. “When or where can I sign the NDA?” he questioned, wondering when Robin would be home so he could tell her.

“Well, first, you and I will do a preliminary interview, just like any other job interview. Then, if all goes well, I’ll send you an email containing the NDA for you to review and sign,” Chrissy explained clearly and cheerfully. “After you sign the NDA, my client will perform an in-person interview and then we’ll go from there.”

“That all seems pretty straight forward so far,” Steve replied, standing from where he had been lounging on the couch. He walked to the kitchen, where he and Robin had put up a magnetic whiteboard calendar to fill with each of their schedules and plans. He grabbed the blue marker, his color, and prepared to jot down when they’d have the interview.

“Perfect! Happy to hear it,” Chrissy said with an audible smile.

“When will the interview with you be?” Steve asked, biting his lip as he stared at the calendar, which had sparsely been marked with his blue marker, even since starting this job hunt. Robin’s plans were in red, and was much more abundant due to having three part time jobs.

“Well, as soon as possible, really. If you’re available now, we could take care of it right away.” the woman responded, sounding like she was walking into another room.

“Oh!” Steve exclaimed, recapping the marker and returning it to the pen holder. “Yes, of course. I’m available now.”

“Perfect!” Chrissy’s voice sounded from Steve’s phone as the omega walked back to the living room and sat on the couch. “So, starting off pretty easy here, what made you apply for this position?”

Steve thought back and grimaced at the reminder that it was Robin who had submitted his application to this particular job. He wasn’t about to admit that, though, and quickly found a more appropriate response.

“Well, I love taking care of pups, and I just got my teacher’s license a month ago,” Steve explained, which wasn’t a lie, so he figured it was probably as good of an answer as any. “I also saw that this job traveled, and my best friend thought that it’d be good for me.”

“Yes, that was going to be part of this conversation, too. So, you’re obviously alright with the traveling, then?” Chrissy asked and Steve heard what he thought could be pen scratching as she wrote notes. He swallowed thickly, suddenly anxious about what she was writing. He decided to ignore his anxiety, even as his scent soured around him with it.

“Oh, yes, traveling is more than okay,” Steve agreed immediately, “but it’s more important to me that I’ll be taking care of a pup, if I’m honest.”

This statement seemed to pique Chrissy’s attention, as the writing stopped for a moment. “Why is that?” she eventually asked.

Steve winced, wondering if he should be up front about it or not. If Robin were here, she would insist that he was honest. He decided on a half-truth.

“I’ve always wanted pups, and a lot of them,” Steve admitted, fidgeting with a loose piece of thread on the couch. He switched which arm was holding the phone, as he had started to get a little sore from holding it up for so long. “But I don’t have a partner, so I can’t really have my own right now. I discovered through babysitting for one of my neighbors that I have a knack for taking care of pups.”

The scratching noise was back as Chrissy listened to his responses. Steve was nervous he wasn’t doing well, but figured that it wasn’t going bad if she wasn’t suddenly calling the interview short.

“Your resume says that you’re good in high stress situations,” Chrissy said after a couple seconds of silence as she wrote down whatever notes she was taking. Steve briefly wondered if he should be doing the same thing. “I’m going to give you an example scenario, and you’re going to tell me how you’d respond.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Steve agreed, trying not to let his voice betray how anxious he was.

“For the sake of simplicity, we’ll say the pup’s name is Rosie,” she informed him before she continued to describe the scenario. “You’re taking Rosie to the park, when suddenly there is a crowd of people surrounding you and you lose sight of her. What do you do?”

Steve thought the scenario was odd, but not ‘out there’ enough to alarm him. He thought about his answer for a moment before replying.

“I would try to follow her scent, first, because that will usually lead me to any pup I’ve babysat. If that doesn’t work, I will call out for her. If the situation is bad enough, I would contact the authorities, and either you or Rosie’s father.” he paused for a second before continuing, trying to make sure he covered all of his bases. “But honestly? If Rosie is small enough, I would have rather carried her once I saw the crowd, or hold her hand, for the reason of lowering my chances of separation.”

Silence that’s only broken up by the scratching of pen against paper followed, and Steve was suddenly anxious that he answered incorrectly. He answered what he would do if it were his own pup, but what if that wasn’t right? What if he wasn’t cut out for this job?

“Alright, next scenario,” Chrissy said, moving swiftly onto the next one without commenting on his answer; Steve didn’t know if he preferred her not acknowledging it or if he would prefer to be told his answer was shitty up front. The next few scenarios were just as oddly specific, but Steve answered them exactly as he did the first one. He tried to not overthink his answers too much because between each one there would be a stretch of time that Chrissy used to presumably write his answers down.

“One last question and then we should be good to move forward.” Chrissy said a good twenty minutes of questions later. “When would you be available to start working?”

Steve’s eyebrows raised, surprised that he was seemingly, maybe being offered the job. “Um—immediately. I would need time to pack, but other than that, I’m free.”

“Wonderful,” Chrissy said cheerfully. “Alright, now it’s your turn. Do you have any questions for me?”

Steve hummed, trying to go through his usual list of questions he asked during interviews that hadn't already been answered and came up empty. “Not at the moment, but I’ll make sure to write any I think of down, if I do.”

“Perfect! So, I will consult with my client, and I have a few other applicants that are interested, but so far, you are my top pick, but I don’t make the decisions,” Chrissy laughed, as if Steve was in on the joke. He laughed with her, not knowing what else he should have done. So, maybe not a job offer, but it sounded promising anyway. “I will be in contact in a few days, three at most.”

“Sounds good, thank you so much for considering me, Chrissy,” he responded with a smile, hoping to leave one last good impression.

The line went dead, and Steve was left sitting on his couch, staring blankly at the tv, which was frozen on some dumb reality show that he had put on to fill the silence before he’d gotten the call. He wanted to jump up and dance around, but ultimately decided he would wait until he could do it with Robin.

tag list: @marklee-blackmore @paintsplatteredandimperfect @steddie-as-they-go @disrespectedgoatman @lingeringmirth @hyperfixated-on-stuff @swimmingbirdrunningrock @littlewildflowerkitten @sani-86 @thegingerrapunzel @adventures-in-mangaland @missingmalfoy1 @yellowdevilkitten @extra-transitional @queen-stevie @stevesbipanic @crypticcorvidinacottage

[zeroeightzeroone]

your heart and my anchor - han jisung

love collection

genre: hurt/comfort

pairing: fem!reader (infp) x idol!han jisung (intp)

warnings: descriptions of anxiety and of a panic attack

wc ~2.6k | moodboard

notes: if this looks familiar, it was originally posted to my secondary blog @zerothreetwentyfive so i'm republishing everything here on my main blog.

originally requested by @pcchacoseung

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

sometimes, you wonder why you decided to work and be a university student at the same time, that is until you remember the money that goes into tuition fees and the fact that you needed to move out in order to attend school. you're privileged enough that your parents are able to help pay your tuition whilst you pay for your rent and the other necessities you need to live in the city but that doesn't lessen the amount of stress that plagues you on and off again throughout the semesters. especially at the end of the year when exams are creeping up on you, figuring out how to move your schedule around to accommodate studying, working and finding the time to take a breather and relax; the latter option is usually dropped from the equation. 

when you aren't on campus or at work, you've locked yourself up in your room. sitting behind your desk and stuck to your laptop, your textbooks and notebooks sprawled and spread over the surface, multiple pens around the area. sometimes you lose all sense of time when you're so hyper-focused on the task at hand that you only get a couple hours of sleep before you rush to get ready for work. you're done work when the sun goes down and once you get home you're back behind your desk, working till the sun comes up. the routine only repeats whether you like it or not. 

jisung has been pretty busy as well. behind-the-scenes work with writing, producing and directing songs that may or may not end up on the next album, attending schedules and practicing day in and day out. it's been a while since you've been able to see each other, the both of you exchanging a few texts here and there.

j.one<3: i miss you baby i wrote some lyrics today thinking about you

you: i miss you too :,) a lot, a lot a lot

j.one<3: how have you been love? school and all?

you: it's been good

whenever he asked how you were doing, you'd always tell him that things were going fine, that it's okay, that you've got everything under control; acting like everything is a hundred and ten percent fine and dandy and you aren't on the verge of a breakdown every couple of hours. you didn't want him to worry about you. you didn't want to add to jisung's own current struggles, not wanting to burden him with your own.

j.one<3: hmm ok love you know i'm here right whenever you need me

you: of course and i love you for that

j.one<3: i love you more you got this, i believe in you baby

after your short text conversations, you'd turn on 'do not disturb' mode and a little message would pop up on jisung's side that you've switched it on.

j's one and only has their notifications silenced

a little signal for both you and him to get back to work. 

…

j.one<;3: hey love i'm gonna be in the studio all day working you wanna come by and do your work here too?

and that's how you ended up sitting on the couch inside the studio. your laptop rests on your thighs, two browser windows opened up alongside each other on the screen with a notebook and pen sitting next to you. across the room, jisung sits at the recording desk in front of the computer with the program opened up on the screen, a headset over his ears and a notebook sitting in front of him, twiddling a pencil between his fingers.

although, the longer you're seated inside the studio, with your laptop displaying your calendar on one side and schedule on the other; showing off tasks that need to be finished today whilst the other side shows off the tasks and events coming up in the week.

the more you're convinced that you're going to have a mental breakdown with each passing minute. 

you thought that maybe, just maybe, being in the same room as jisung would help as motivation, as comfort. having your person in the same room might hold you back from taking cover inside a hole, alone, curled up into a ball and ignoring the stresses life's currently throwing at you. 

but instead, as the time passes you feel deep envy growing for your boyfriend who is seated at the recording desk. you find yourself envying the way jisung is twirling his pencil, bopping his head to whatever track is playing through the headset and the way he is able to—unlike you—focus on the tasks at hand.

how were you supposed to focus on anything when your mind continues to relentlessly remind you of all the work that needs to be done today? that you'll wake up tomorrow, only to repeat the process of slaving to get the work done.

how could you even try to focus when that tightening sensation in your chest, the one that restricts your airflow, only gets worse as the time passes?

you couldn't—you can't and you hate it.

you absolutely hate how you feel right now.

how you're mentally and emotionally trying to calm yourself down. trying to talk yourself back onto the ground and out of your frantic mind to breathe.

your heart's racing, the pulse only picks up as the time passes. it beats so loudly you can't seem to hear anything other than your own heartbeat, your hearing completely zeroed in on it. 

your chest not only feels heavy but it starts to hurt, a throbbing sensation begins to come and go. it's like there is someone sitting on your chest and no matter how hard you try to get them off, you just can't. the harder you struggle, the more you feel suffocated, as if the air inside this vast recording studio only occupied by you and jisung is being sucked out, the walls closing in on you.

that painful feeling of your breath caught in your throat only leads to your heart rate picking up double time, your body feels restless while your mind repeats the same shit over and over again. the angel on one shoulder tries to calm you down, telling you to take a breather, take a break but the devil on the other only talks over her. overpowering her completely, as she reminds you that you aren't deserving of a break or a breather right now; seeing as you haven't completed any significant amount of work since entering the studio. 

unbeknownst to you, your body trembles as your hands come together in front of you, fingers fiddling and picking at the skin on the opposite hand. 

y/n, you think to yourself, come on, pull on your big girl panties and get on with it.

you're distracted trying to calm yourself down.

trying to bring yourself back down to earth instead of currently being inside your own head, you feel like you've lost any semblance of control you once had. god, you hate this feeling, you absolutely loathe how your heart quickly palpitates beneath your heavy chest, gradually getting dizzy as your restlessness only builds. however, no matter how anxious you feel, your body is nailed to the couch—you're frozen and unable to will yourself to get up on your feet.

it's like everything around you is speeding up and leaving you behind. they're leaving you behind in a state where your self-control slips away and causes your fear to grow tenfold. 

you're scared. you're terrified that you won't come down from this— that you don't know how to come down from this, how to regulate everything inside you. the dread slowly sinks in as you slowly convince yourself that you will never be free from this state of overwhelming emotion that consumes you as the minutes pass. 

jisung's hands move to adjust the headset, moving one cup away from his ear as the track has finished playing a moment ago. initially, he wanted to note something down in the notebook in front of him but the moment that one cup is off, he completely removes the headset and places it down in front of him on the desk. for a moment, he stills, listening to the room:

the echos of you clicking around on your laptop isn't heard.

this leads jisung to wonder if you've dozed off in the middle of working prompting him to spin around in the rolling chair, only to be met with you sitting on the couch wide awake. 

when his brown eyes are laid on your figure, jisung's heart drops at the sight; you gnawing at your bottom lip, your chest trembling as it heaves, your whole face is flushed and your eyes are the slightest bit blown. 

jisung immediately knows what's going on, he knows it all too well.

your boyfriend rushes to his feet and towards you, shutting your laptop and moving it on the couch beside you. slowly, jisung is kneeling in front of you as he gently encapsulates your hands in his.

he can feel the way your body trembles beneath his touch.

"y/n, baby, my love," jisung calls for you softly, his chocolate brown eyes sparkle as they gaze up at you, "you're okay, you're safe."

his eyes scan over your face, watching as your own slowly meet his. there's a dullness to your eyes, a sense of apprehension laced in your features as your thoughts plague your body and mind.

"hey, love," he smiles and lightly caresses your hands with the pad of his thumbs, "just keep your eyes on me, i'm here. i'm not going anywhere, okay? just focus on my voice, love."

you fight your own body to regain control, to regain the strength to regulate your own emotions. you've grit your teeth in an effort to stay focused on your boyfriend's voice.

"hey, hey… you're safe love. i'm gonna move beside you, okay baby?" he moves slowly to sit next to you on the couch, careful not to startle you with any quick or sudden movements. 

one of his hands move to your cheek gently caressing you there as well. a feeling of delight washes through his body at the sight of you instinctively leaning into his touch. 

"you're okay. i know it feels scary right now but you're going to be okay. you're going to get through this, yeah?"

the hand on your cheek moves to pat your hair down gently. jisung's gentle touch moves around your body as a physical reminder that you aren't alone and that he is here with you. 

"just keep focusing on my voice."

jisung continues to look over you, observing your current state and identifying how else he could help.

"i'm proud of you, you know?" he says fondly, "i know things get hard and it's scary sometimes but you always find a way to get through it. you're always doing such an amazing job."

a deep, unstable breath leaves your lips. 

"good girl! you're doing great. breathe, breathe with me okay?" he inhales deeply and you attempt to follow him. then he exhales, "...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."

your exhales are shaky, your control not totally regained as you're fighting to get yourself out of your own head. but you feel the tension slowly dissipating from your body.

"one more time with me. concentrate on your breathing, okay?" this time jisung shuts his eyes as he inhales, hearing you take in a breath as well, before letting the air out slowly, "one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten..."

jisung notices your previously blown-out eyes have softened, he then decides to move on another strategy to further help you anchor yourself back down into the present.

"that's my girl, i'm so proud of you," he pats your hair once again, "does my y/n need anything right now?"

your voice is incredibly hushed and strained when you squeak out the next two words, "hold me."

jisung scoots even closer to you. adjusting himself so one arm is around your shoulders, wanting to hold you close to him. his other arm moves your head to rest on his chest and he gives you a moment to adjust as he whispers reassurances that you're okay, that you're safe and that he's here. 

your ear presses up against his clothing as his hand rests on your jaw, caressing your skin with his palm. the warmth radiating off of jisung's body has your body reacting the way it usually does, melting into him as a wave of comfort washes over you. another deep breath leaving your lips, still a bit shaky but an improvement nonetheless. 

"what are three things you can hear right now?"

your eyes flutter close as you try your best to tune into your surroundings, trying to identify noises inside the quiet room.

you hum, "your heartbeat… the vent… your breathing."

"how 'bout three things you can smell?"

"your cologne… coffee… brownies."

"now, can you tell me three things you can see?"

your eyes open slowly with blinks as you adjust to the light before you scan around the room.

"recording desk… microphone… computer."

jisung's hand moves to wrap around your wrist, gradually lifting your hand up in the air in front of you both.

"wiggle your fingers for me," your fingers wiggle, "kick your leg up for me," you kick your leg up slowly, "roll your ankle around." you roll your ankle around, "good job my love, i'm so proud."

your arm moves to wrap around jisung's body, pulling yourself closer to him. a breath of relief leaves your lips at the sense of ease that comes with the action, how you're able to grip onto the fabric of his shirt and nuzzle your face further into his chest.

"inhale," he sucks in a breath and you follow suit, "exhale... one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. do you need anything else, y/n baby?"

you shake your head, melting into his side as you feel your pulse and breathing regulate to a normal pace. you feel like your feet are back on solid ground, in control and in the centre of your mind instead of backed into a corner hiding away from it.

"i'm here," he coos, swaying your bodies back and forth, "you're not alone. never. i'm here. i'm right here with you."

when you shut your eyes, tears fall down your flushed cheeks-- tears that had welled up due to stress and overwhelming bursts of emotions you weren't able to control--but now they fall with a sense of relief.

"i love you," your voice is quiet, trembling the slightest bit, "thank you… thank you for being here. i love you so much."

jisung hushes you, his hands gently running up and down your back, "it's the least i can do. I'm always gonna be here, y/n, always."

you nod, your eyes still closed as you take a couple of moments to yourself in jisung's arms. this time you're trying your best to anchor yourself back down to earth by thinking of what you love, what relaxes you, reminding yourself of the light and the good.

you know this isn't going to be the last panic attack you're going to have but at least you know that you aren't alone, there's always someone willing to help. jisung continues to remind you of that, that he'll be there for you no matter what, in any way he possibly can. at the same time, jisung knows that you'd do the same for him as you've done it time and time again. 

jisung has told you multiple times that he doesn't know how he'd function without you, feeling like he would be completely lost without you. 

you are his heart. 

meanwhile, jisung is your anchor.

in the middle of an uncontrollable storm, when the harsh waves rock the boat every which way, an anchor is vital to stay strong and controlled during such conditions. an anchor is a symbol of stability, a symbol of strength; a person you can rely on to support you to stay strong, to hold on even during the toughest of storms.

you found that person in jisung.