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jaeyunluvbot · 2 months ago

Text

goodnight n go

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 vernon x fem!reader, kind of secret romance, college au

word count 𝟅𝟈 7.1k

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The campus library hums with quiet activity: the scratch of pens, the faint tapping of keyboards, and whispers barely above a murmur. You’re in your usual corner, earbuds in and pretending you’re too absorbed in your screen to notice the commotion around you.

But you do notice. How could you not?

A burst of laughter draws your attention to the table just a few feet away. Of course, he’s there. Vernon Chwe.

He leans back in his chair, all lazy confidence, a backwards cap perched on his head like it’s an extension of his body. His hoodie looks soft, worn, perfectly slouchy, and it’s infuriating how good he looks without even trying. You force yourself to stare at your screen, typing nonsense just to look busy. He’s not even your enemy—not directly. But Vernon is part of Mingyu’s crowd, and that’s enough to keep him firmly on your ignore at all costs list.

You still remember how Jennie looked after her breakup with Mingyu—eyes puffy, voice breaking on every other word. She hasn’t explicitly told you to steer clear of Vernon, but loyalty doesn’t need to be spoken. Besides, you have no interest in frat boys who probably spend more time planning parties than studying.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You freeze. His voice cuts through the library like it has no regard for social norms—or the very clear quiet zone sign on the wall.

You don’t look up. Maybe if you pretend you didn’t hear him—

“Y/N,” he says again, louder this time. A few heads turn in mild irritation. You want to sink into the floor.

Reluctantly, you pull out an earbud and glare at him. “What?” you hiss.

He holds up a battered blue binder. Your binder. Your name is scrawled across the front in black Sharpie, unmistakable.

“I think you forgot this after class,” he says, his tone casual, almost playful.

You stomp over and snatch it from his hands. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he replies, grinning like you just made his day. “Oh, and nice presentation today in Dr. Kim’s class. You really knew your stuff.”

Your chest tightens, and not in the way you’d like to admit. Compliments shouldn’t feel like this—not from him, anyway. You shrug, keeping your voice neutral. “Thanks.”

You turn to leave, eager to put as much distance between yourself and his stupidly charming face as possible.

“You know,” he calls after you, his voice light, teasing, “I’m not as bad as you think I am.”

You stop mid-step. Slowly, you glance back at him. “What are you talking about?”

He leans back in his chair, his grin widening. “I mean, you don’t have to avoid me so much. I’m not the one who broke Jennie’s heart.”

Heat floods your cheeks—half embarrassment, half fury. “I’m not avoiding you,” you snap, even though the words feel like a lie.

“Sure you’re not,” he says, his tone maddeningly smug. “See you around, Y/N.”

You hate the way his voice lingers in your head long after you’ve stomped back to your seat.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The house is packed, music thumping so loud you can feel it in your chest. You’re clutching a red solo cup—not because you’re particularly in the mood to drink, but because it gives you something to do with your hands. Jennie’s off somewhere, probably gossiping with Irene and Seulgi, leaving you to hover near the snacks, pretending you’re not awkwardly alone in the middle of a frat house.

You don’t even know why you came.

Actually, that’s a lie—you know exactly why. Jennie had heard NCT was throwing the party, and you didn’t want to spend another Friday night alone in your dorm. But now, as you watch the endless crowd of people, you’re questioning your life choices.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You don’t have to look up to know who it is.

Vernon Chwe.

His voice is casual, but when you glance at him, he’s smiling, almost like he’s been waiting for this moment. He’s ditched the usual hoodie for a plain black t-shirt and jeans, his hair falling messily over his forehead. It’s ridiculous how effortlessly good he looks.

“Didn’t think I’d see you either,” you reply, your tone sharper than intended.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Why’s that?”

“I didn’t think frat parties were your thing.”

“Really? I live here.”

Your face heats up at your own stupidity. He just laughs, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m kidding. I don’t live here, but I might as well with how often I’m around. The brothers in NCT are friends of my frat”

You roll your eyes. “Of course they are.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to feel awkward. You glance at the door, contemplating an escape, but before you can bolt, Vernon leans a little closer.

“You look like you’re having a terrible time,” he says, his voice low enough that it feels like a secret between the two of you.

“I’m fine,” you lie.

“Come on,” he insists. “I saw you glaring at the chips like they personally offended you.”

You almost laugh despite yourself. “Maybe they did.”

He grins, taking a sip from his own cup. “Tell you what—let’s make it less terrible. There’s a quieter spot upstairs. Wanna come?”

Every sensible part of you screams no. This is exactly what you’ve been trying to avoid. But something about the way he’s looking at you, his smile soft and unassuming, makes you hesitate. Against your better judgment, you nod.

Vernon leads you to a room at the end of the hall, far enough from the party that the music feels like background noise. There’s an old couch in the corner, and he flops down, patting the seat next to him.

You hesitate, but sit down anyway, keeping a safe distance.

“See? Much better,” he says, leaning back and stretching his arms across the top of the couch.

“You didn’t bring me here to murder me, did you?” you joke, crossing your arms.

He snorts. “If I wanted to murder you, I wouldn’t have picked a frat party. Too many witnesses.”

“Good point.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. It’s not the awkward silence you expected. It’s…comfortable.

“So,” he says, breaking the quiet, “why do you hate me?”

Your head snaps toward him. “I don’t hate you.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“It’s fine,” he says, shrugging. “I get it. Jennie’s your friend, and Mingyu’s my friend. Guilty by association.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

“I just think it’s kind of unfair,” he adds, his voice quieter now. “You don’t even know me.”

Something in his tone catches you off guard—he sounds almost…vulnerable.

You glance at him, and for the first time, you let yourself really look. He’s not grinning or teasing. He’s just sitting there, waiting for you to say something.

“I guess…I never gave you a chance,” you admit, the words feeling heavier than they should.

He smiles, but it’s small and almost shy. “Well, I’m glad we’re fixing that now.”

You’re not sure why your chest feels so tight, or why your heart is beating so fast. All you know is that Vernon Chwe might be a problem—a very, very big problem.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You’ve never been one to lose track of time, especially not at a party. But as you sit on the worn couch in that quiet upstairs room, hours pass like minutes.

Vernon has a way of talking that catches you off guard. He’s not loud or overbearing like you imagined a frat boy would be. Instead, his words are thoughtful, his voice calm, like he’s actually listening and not just waiting for his turn to speak.

Somehow, the conversation flows from harmless small talk—classes, shared professors, and how the campus coffee shop is ridiculously overpriced—to deeper things.

“You know, when I found out you were friends with Jennie I was surprised,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“Oh, really?” You arch a brow, leaning back into the couch.

“Yeah. You don’t have that… sorority vibe, you know?”

“And what vibe do I have, exactly?”

He grins, his eyes flickering to yours for a moment before he looks away. “You seem like you’ve got it all together, but there’s a lot more going on under the surface. Like, you’re the type of person who stays up all night overthinking things.”

Your stomach flips at how accurate that is. You cover it with a laugh. “What, did you take a psychology class or something?”

“Nah,” he says, still smiling. “I’m just good at reading people.”

“Then why didn’t you read that I don’t like you?”

It’s meant to be a jab, but it comes out softer than you intended.

He shrugs. “Because I don’t think that’s true.”

You scoff, but he doesn’t back down. His gaze lingers on you, not in an intimidating way, but like he’s trying to figure out how you work.

“Okay, fine,” you say, breaking the tension. “Maybe I didn’t like you before.”

“But now?” he asks, his tone teasing but his eyes serious.

You roll your eyes. “You’re…less annoying than I thought you’d be.”

“Wow, high praise,” he says, grinning.

You can’t help but smile back.

At some point, the conversation shifts to childhood memories. You tell him about the time you broke your mom’s favorite vase and tried to blame it on your cousin, only for your little brother to rat you out. He laughs, and it’s this deep, genuine sound that makes your chest feel warm.

In return, he tells you about the time he got his head stuck between the bars of a park fence and how Mingyu had to call their RA to get him out.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” you say, laughing, “the fact that you got stuck or the fact that you had to call for help.”

“Hey, I was, like, eight,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Cut me some slack.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye.

Before you realize it, the music from downstairs starts to fade, the party winding down. You check your phone—it’s past midnight.

“I should probably get going,” you say, though you don’t really want to.

“Yeah,” he says, standing up and stretching. “Me too.”

As you head downstairs together, the air between you feels different. Lighter. For the first time, you don’t feel the need to keep your guard up around him.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, he turns to you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “This was…nice.”

You nod. “Yeah, it was.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to say something else, but instead, he just smiles. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Vernon.”

As you walk home, your thoughts race. You still don’t know what to make of him, but one thing’s for sure—he’s not at all what you expected.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next morning, you stumble out of bed and drag yourself downstairs to the kitchen, still in your pajamas. Your mind is hazy, last night’s events with Vernon replaying on a constant loop. You’re still trying to piece together how you ended up talking to him for hours, completely forgetting you were supposed to dislike him.

As you enter the kitchen, the lively chatter of your sorority sisters fills the air. Jennie, Irene, Seulgi, and Chaeyoung are crowded around the table, coffee mugs and half-eaten bagels scattered in front of them.

“Finally! Sleeping Beauty decided to join us,” Jennie teases, raising her mug in your direction.

“Morning,” you mumble, grabbing a mug for yourself and pouring some coffee.

“So, where did you disappear to last night?” Chaeyoung asks, looking at you curiously.

You nearly drop the coffee pot. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Irene says, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “One minute you were with us, the next you vanished into thin air.”

“Yeah,” Jennie chimes in, narrowing her eyes at you. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

Your brain scrambles for an excuse. “I, uh… I left early. I had a headache.” You force a casual shrug, praying they won’t press further.

“Really?” Jennie asks, her voice skeptical.

“Yup. Didn’t want to ruin the vibe for anyone, so I just went home,” you say quickly, pouring yourself some coffee and taking a long sip to avoid their gazes.

Thankfully, Seulgi changes the subject. “Honestly, I don’t blame you. Those frat boys were so obnoxious.”

“Right?” Irene says, rolling her eyes. “Especially Mingyu’s friends. They’re the worst.”

You freeze, your stomach twisting.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Jennie groans. “Mingyu’s bad enough on his own, but all of them together? They’re insufferable.”

You stare down at your mug of coffee.

“Who even invited them anyway?” Chaeyoung adds.

“Probably Jaehyun,” Jennie mutters. “I think he’s like, friends with Mingyu or something.”

You sit in silence, staring into your mug as their voices swirl around you. They have no idea what you were doing last night—who you were talking to—and guilt settles heavily in your chest.

But why should you feel guilty? It’s not like you did anything wrong.

Still, you can’t help but think about Vernon’s laugh, his surprisingly thoughtful responses, and the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his favorite movies. He didn’t seem like the person they’re describing.

“Y/N?” Jennie’s voice pulls you back to reality.

“What?”

“Are you coming with us to brunch later?”

“Oh. Uh, maybe. I’ll see how I’m feeling,” you say, your voice distant.

Jennie nods, not entirely convinced, but doesn’t push. As the conversation shifts, you force yourself to focus on anything other than Vernon.

But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about him, a fact that has guilt eating you alive from the inside.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few days pass, and despite your best efforts to keep Vernon out of your head, he somehow keeps finding ways to slip back in. It doesn’t help that he texts you memes or random thoughts like, "Do you think penguins get cold?" throughout the day, making you smile when you shouldn’t.

You try to bury the guilt. You really do. But when Vernon suggests sneaking into your sorority house for a movie night—because his frat is too loud, and “your room probably smells better than mine”—you can’t seem to say no.

“Fine,” you whisper-yell into the phone. “But if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“I can live with that,” he replies with a laugh.

A couple of hours later, Vernon is sprawled on the rug in your room, munching on chips he insisted on bringing while you sit cross-legged on your bed, watching Shrek 2. You hate how easy it is to be around him, how natural it feels to laugh with him like this.

“You know,” he says, turning to look at you, “for someone who supposedly hates me, you’re pretty bad at showing it.”

You roll your eyes, throwing a pillow at him. “Shut up and watch the movie.”

But just as he’s about to throw a chip back at you, there’s a knock at the door.

“Y/N?” Jennie’s voice cuts through the playful atmosphere like a knife.

Your heart leaps into your throat. You practically leap off the bed, gesturing frantically for Vernon to hide. He scrambles behind your bed just as you crack the door open, trying to look as casual as possible.

“Hey, Jen,” you say, forcing a smile.

“Are you coming to dinner with us?” she asks, peering into your room suspiciously.

“Oh, uh… maybe later,” you stammer. “I’m just… talking to my mom.”

Jennie raises an eyebrow. “Your mom?”

“Yeah, she called, and we’ve just been catching up,” you say quickly, holding up your phone for emphasis.

“Okay,” Jennie says slowly, clearly unconvinced. She glances behind you, as if she can sense something is off. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yep, totally fine!” you say, practically shoving the door closed. “Have fun at dinner!”

You shut the door and lean against it, your heart pounding.

From behind the desk, Vernon’s muffled laughter bubbles up. “Your mom, seriously?”

“Shut up!” you hiss, glaring at him.

He emerges from his hiding spot, grinning like an idiot. “That was smooth. Really convincing.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe this,” you mutter, flopping onto your bed. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault?” he says, sitting cross-legged on the rug again. “You’re the one who let me in.”

You throw another pillow at him, which he easily catches.

“Just admit you like me,” he teases, leaning back on his hands with that stupid, cocky grin.

You grab another pillow, ready to hurl it, but his words hit a little too close to home. Your grip loosens, and the pillow falls to your lap as your cheeks flush.

“See? You can’t even deny it,” he says, his voice softer now, his teasing tone giving way to something more genuine.

You hate that he’s right. But admitting it? That’s a whole other thing.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It’s been a whirlwind of late-night sneaking, secret hangouts, and way too much Vernon. Not that you’d admit you enjoy it.

Vernon has gotten way too comfortable invading your life. He texts you constantly, calls when you’re least expecting it, and—when he’s feeling particularly bold—throws in a casual, “Miss me yet?” with a winky face. You hate that the answer is always yes.

To make matters worse, Jennie has been clinging to you like never before. She’s always suggesting lunch dates or study sessions, and you can’t say no without feeling like the worst friend in the world.

Balancing both is exhausting. It feels like you’re living two lives: one where you’re Jennie’s loyal best friend, and one where you’re Vernon’s… whatever you are.

One afternoon, when the stress feels like it’s going to eat you alive, you knock on Chaeyoung’s door, desperate for advice. She’s lounging on her bed with a sketchpad when you walk in, looking up with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s with the dramatic entrance?” she asks.

“I need help,” you say, collapsing into her beanbag chair.

“Uh-oh. Is this about Jennie or Vernon?”

Your head snaps up. “How did you—?”

Chaeyoung shrugs. “It’s obvious. You’ve been weirdly busy lately, but you look way too happy for it to just be school. Plus, Vernon keeps staring at you in class.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m doomed.”

“Okay, spill,” Chaeyoung says, setting her sketchpad aside.

You tell her everything��how Vernon wormed his way into your life, how he’s not the annoying frat boy you thought he’d be, how you actually like spending time with him.

“But Jennie,” you say, throwing your hands up. “She’d kill me if she found out. And I don’t even know what this is with Vernon. It’s not like we’re dating, but…”

“But you want to,” Chaeyoung finishes for you.

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Chaeyoung leans back, thoughtful. “Well, Vernon didn’t do anything to Jennie. That was all Mingyu.”

“I know,” you say quickly. “But it’s not that simple. She hates Vernon by association. If she knew I was hanging out with him…”

“She’d be pissed,” Chaeyoung finishes with a sigh.

“Exactly,” you mutter, slumping further into the beanbag.

Chaeyoung looks at you sympathetically. “Okay, but hear me out. Do you really think this is sustainable? Sneaking around, lying to Jennie, sneaking Vernon into the house… You’re gonna crack eventually.”

You don’t want to admit she’s right, but you know she is. The thought of coming clean terrifies you, though. What if Jennie takes it the wrong way? What if she gets mad and it ruins your friendship?

“I just… I don’t know how to tell her,” you admit quietly.

“Well,” Chaeyoung says, smirking a little, “if Vernon is as crazy about you as he seems, maybe it’s worth taking the risk.”

Her words stick with you longer than you’d like. But are you brave enough to actually act on them?

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

This time, your sorority is the one hosting a party, the kind of event where you can already feel your exhaustion just from the noise and the amount of people packed into your sorority house. It’s loud and flashy, with your sisters dancing and laughing, and—against all expectations—Jennie has begrudgingly invited the Seventeen frat. You know why she did it. Drinks, snacks, and the usual frat chaos that she’s come to rely on for a good time.

But you? You’re stuck. You’ve spent most of the night glued to Jennie’s side, unable to sneak away, unable to make any excuse to disappear into the crowd where you could catch a glimpse of Vernon. The tension in the air is thick, and you can’t avoid the prickle of guilt as you glance across the room and catch sight of him. His eyes meet yours for a second, and you can almost feel the way his smile falters. He tries to move closer, but Jennie’s hand tugs you away, her chatter drowning out everything else.

“Come on, let’s dance,” Jennie says, pulling you into the middle of the room, and you can’t help but notice how she deliberately blocks Vernon from your line of sight.

You nod and force a smile. You hate this. You hate the way you’re pretending, the way you’re avoiding him, as though everything that’s been between you suddenly doesn’t matter. But Jennie doesn’t know, and you can’t risk it. Not when she’s this protective of you. You’d never hear the end of it.

Vernon, on the other hand, doesn’t let it slide. As the night stretches on, you can see him trying to talk to you. A quick chat, maybe a dance, a little smile. Each time, you have to turn away, pretending you don’t feel the pull in your chest. He’s not buying it.

Finally, he steps back, his lips curling into a sharp smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Okay, cool,” he mutters, the hurt clear in his tone. “I see how it is.” He turns away, disappearing into the crowd.

Jennie notices. “Haha, that’s weird. Why is he only talking to you?” she asks, a tinge of knowing in her voice.

You force a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as fake as it feels. “Yeah, definitely. I don’t know why he was talking to me either.”

The words burn in your mouth, and you want to kick yourself. It’s all a lie. A lie you’ve been feeding to Jennie, to yourself, to everyone. But the guilt is too much, and you just need to get through tonight.

When the party dies down, and you finally find an excuse to leave, you head upstairs, your heart heavy with a mix of guilt and regret. You barely get your door closed before you pull out your phone and start typing to Vernon.

Hey… I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to be weird. I just didn’t know what to do.

You wait, staring at the screen, hoping for the buzz of a reply. But it never comes. A few minutes pass, then thirty, then an hour. Your thumb hovers over the screen, ready to type again, but no new message comes in.

Finally, you give up, tossing your phone aside and heading into the bathroom. You turn the shower on, trying to wash away the anxiety that’s coiling in your stomach. It doesn’t work.

You curl into bed, the sheets cold against your skin, but nothing can stop your thoughts from swirling. You feel horrible for betraying Jennie, for lying to her. But then there’s Vernon, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve betrayed him too. What’s worse is you can’t even tell Jennie the truth because it would hurt her, and you can’t risk that. You feel like you’re suffocating under the weight of it all.

The knock on your door comes hours later, and when you open it, Jennie is standing there, still in her outfit from the party, her expression soft.

“Hey,” she says, her voice quiet. “Can I come in?”

You nod silently, stepping aside to let her in.

“I know something’s up,” she says, sitting on your bed. “You’ve been acting weird all night. You can tell me, you know. I’m your friend.”

You stand there for a moment, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill. You want to tell her. You want to be honest. But the truth feels impossible to say.

“I can’t,” you say, shaking your head. “I just… I feel awful. I don’t know what to do.”

Jennie sighs, looking at you with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone. But it sounds like you need some time to figure things out. Just know I’m here if you need me, okay?”

You give a shaky nod.

Jennie stands and pats your shoulder gently. “If you need to talk, I’m here. But take your time. Just don’t keep it all in too long, okay?”

You whisper, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” she says softly, offering you a small, knowing smile. “But you’ll figure it out.”

As she walks out, you close the door behind her, burying your face in your hands. The guilt is suffocating, but you also know that Jennie is right. You have a lot to figure out—and soon.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Everyone is packing up, signaling the end of another lecture. You grab your things quickly, your thoughts racing. This is it. You can’t keep avoiding him, and you can’t let things stay awkward between you and Vernon any longer. You know he’s been hurt, and you can’t just let it fester.

As you walk out of class, you spot him talking to a few of his friends, his back turned to you. You hesitate for a second, wondering if you should just leave it for another day, but then you square your shoulders and head toward him.

“Vernon,” you call, and his shoulders stiffen before he turns around to face you. The moment his eyes meet yours, you see the flicker of wariness in them, the same hesitation that you’ve been feeling.

“Hey,” he greets you, his voice neutral but with a hint of something else. He’s not mad, but it’s clear he’s still hurt.

You bite your lip, knowing this is going to be a bit of a confrontation. “Can we talk?”

His gaze flickers to his friends, who are still hanging around, laughing and joking. He looks back at you, eyes narrowed slightly. “What about?”

You take a deep breath. “I just… I want to apologize for what happened at the party. I shouldn’t have ignored you like that.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You’re serious?” He laughs dryly, a little incredulity in his tone. “After everything, now you want to apologize?”

You can tell he’s holding back, trying not to sound too hurt or too bitter, but you know him well enough by now to catch it. You step closer, lowering your voice so only he can hear. “Yeah, I’m serious. I messed up, okay? But can we talk about it, like, without everyone else around?”

Vernon hesitates, glancing at his friends again, who are still chatting, not paying much attention to either of you. He seems reluctant to leave them, but then he sighs and looks back at you. “I’m not sure what we’re gonna talk about that’s so urgent, but fine. Let’s go.”

You lead the way to the small café off-campus, the one where you both have shared stolen moments before. It’s always been a place for you to get away from everything and everyone. Just the two of you. You can’t help but hope this conversation will get you back to where you were before everything got so messy.

When you get there, Vernon still seems distant. He orders a coffee and takes a seat at one of the far booths, clearly not thrilled about being there, but you don’t let it stop you. You sit across from him, feeling the weight of the silence pressing down between you.

“So?” Vernon asks after a beat, his voice softer, more vulnerable than before.

You swallow hard, the guilt rushing back in full force. “I didn’t know how to handle it. I thought if I just ignored everything, it would be easier. I didn’t want to hurt Jennie, and I didn’t want you to think I was picking sides or something.”

Vernon leans back in the booth, clearly not convinced, but willing to listen. “And now? Now you’re ready to make it right?”

You nod, your eyes meeting his. “I don’t want to keep avoiding you. I never should have ignored you, Vernon. I care about you. I’m just… trying to figure things out.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge whether or not you mean it. Finally, he lets out a breath and looks away, taking a sip of his coffee. “You know, I didn’t expect it to be like this. I didn’t expect you to pretend I didn’t exist, Y/N.”

The words sting, but you know he’s right. You were too afraid of what it could mean to let yourself be real with him. You glance down at your hands, suddenly feeling the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “I know. And I’m sorry for that. But I’m here now. I’m not running away anymore.”

Vernon doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at you, as if weighing your words. Then, slowly, he gives you a small nod. “Okay. I’ll take that.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank you.”

He looks at you, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But you still owe me something.”

You raise an eyebrow, confused. “What do you mean?”

His grin widens, the playfulness in his tone returning. “A little honesty. You can’t just tell me that you’re not running away and expect me to believe that everything’s all good now. I want to know why you were so damn scared of me.”

Your cheeks heat up, and you look away, embarrassed. “Vernon, stop.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying teasing you. “Come on. Just admit it. You like me.”

You groan and shake your head, trying to hold back a smile. “Oh my God, you’re impossible.”

He leans forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “Just admit it, Y/N. I know you like me, at least a little.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the flutter in your stomach. “Fine, I like you a tiny bit. Happy now?”

Vernon’s grin softens, and he sits back in his seat, clearly satisfied. “Much better.”

There’s a shift in the air between you two, something lighter, more comfortable. You both know things aren’t perfect yet, but you’ve crossed a bridge, and it feels like a good step forward.

For the first time in a while, you’re not dreading what’s to come. You’re just here with him. And, for now, that’s enough.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The cold of winter had been relentless lately, and you’ve been spending most of your time bundled up in layers of blankets, trying to stay warm while surviving the stress of exam season. Between your studies, your sorority obligations, and the pressure of keeping everything balanced, you’ve barely had time for anything else.

But tonight, when you were in the middle of reviewing your notes, your phone buzzed with a message from Vernon.

Vernon: Yo, I’m locked out of the frat house. Can I crash at yours?

You bite your lip, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one is around. Technically, you’re not allowed to have overnight guests, but you can’t help but feel for him. The cold night air must be unbearable, and you know Vernon well enough to know he won’t ask for help unless he really needs it.

You: I’m not supposed to have anyone here, but I’ll make an exception for you this time.

Vernon: Thanks. I swear I’ll be out of your hair by morning. Promise.

A few minutes later, Vernon’s at your door, his face a little red from the cold, looking as casual as ever in his hoodie and jeans. You step aside to let him in.

“You’re lucky I’m a softie for you,” you tease, but the warmth you’re offering him is genuine as he steps inside.

“I know. I owe you one,” Vernon replies, smiling that crooked smile of his that always manages to make your heart skip.

You show him to your room, where you pull out the air mattress you keep tucked away in the corner for emergencies like this. “I’ve got this, but it’s not the most comfortable thing in the world. You’re welcome to it.” You hand him a pillow and a blanket.

He frowns slightly, eyeing the air mattress. “It’ll do.” He flops down on it with a huff, and you return to your side of the room, trying to focus on your notes again.

But the chill in the room isn’t just from the weather. The heating’s been out in the house for the past few days, and no amount of blankets seems to be helping. After a few minutes of shivering under your own covers, you turn to Vernon on the floor.

“You’re probably freezing down there,” you say, already feeling guilty.

He shrugs, but you can tell from his expression that he’s cold.

“I don’t want you getting sick,” you continue. “You can join me in the bed, if you want. It’ll be warmer with both of us.”

Vernon looks at you for a beat, hesitating, but ultimately nods. “Ok. But no funny business.”

“Of course,” you say, trying to hide your grin, but your heart is already racing a little.

He slides into the bed next to you, and you both lie there, staring up at the ceiling, neither of you speaking for a long while. The silence is oddly comfortable, but it’s also loaded—with so many unsaid things.

The two of you just lay there, listening to the sounds of the night, the quiet of your room feeling oddly intimate with him so close.

Finally, Vernon breaks the silence with a sigh, his voice just above a whisper. “You know… we’d be great together.”

You snap your head toward him, caught completely off guard. “What?”

His eyes are already on you, his expression serious. “I’m tired of always having to say goodnight and go. I like you, and I want to be with you.”

Your heart does a flip in your chest. You stare at him, your mind scrambling to make sense of his words, unsure of how to respond.

“What?” you repeat, because you can’t think of anything else to say. Your voice is shaky, a mixture of disbelief and something else you can’t quite name.

Vernon sighs, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “You heard me.”

He shifts closer, his hand brushing against yours under the covers. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze that makes you feel like your heart might just fall out of your chest.

“I’m tired of pretending,” he adds quietly. “I can’t keep doing this—acting like I don’t want more than just late-night talks and goodbyes.”

You feel your chest tighten, a swirl of emotions crashing into you all at once. You want to say something, but words feel inadequate, too small for the way you’re feeling right now.

Instead, you just stare at him, your breath catching in your throat. He’s close now, so close that you can feel the heat from his body, and his eyes are filled with an intensity that you didn’t know he could have.

You open your mouth, but the words get stuck. What is there to say when everything between you feels so... complicated? So dangerous? You can’t let this happen. Not now.

But before you can respond, Vernon speaks again. “You don’t have to say anything. I just—” He pauses, shaking his head slightly, like he’s unsure of how to finish his thought. “I just needed you to know.”

Your heart is racing. You want to pull away, but something about the way he’s looking at you keeps you rooted to the spot. There’s no denying it anymore—there’s something between you and Vernon. Something real.

But the reality of your situation sinks in like a stone in your stomach. You can’t let it happen. Not now, not like this.

“I—Vernon…” You trail off, unable to finish. It’s like your brain is in a fog, fighting against your heart’s instincts.

Vernon’s hand brushes against yours again, his fingers almost touching yours. “I’m not asking for anything right now. I just want to be close to you. And I want you to know how I feel.”

For a moment, all you can do is lie there, lost in the weight of his words. You don’t know what to say, but you know that the longer you stay in this moment, the harder it’s going to be to walk away from whatever this is between you.

All you can do is look at him, and in the silence of the room, let his confession hang in the air.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The weight of the secret has been hanging over you for so long, and you've finally had enough of pretending. You’ve been running from this, trying to keep your two lives separate, but the pressure is starting to get unbearable. You know you can’t hide it anymore, not from Jennie—especially not now.

You find her in the living room of your sorority house, sitting on the couch scrolling through her phone. The warmth of the fire crackling in the background is a sharp contrast to the cold you’ve been carrying in your chest for weeks. You take a deep breath and sit next to her, your heart racing with anticipation.

“Hey, Jen?”

She looks up, a soft smile forming on her lips. “What’s up?”

“I—I need to tell you something,” you start, your words tripping over each other. “About... Vernon. And me.”

Jennie quirks an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Finally,” she says with a knowing look.

You blink, completely caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

Jennie laughs softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I was wondering when you’d come clean.”

You stare at her, dumbfounded. “You knew?”

Her laugh grows louder as she shakes her head. “You’re really not the best liar, you know. I could tell something was up, and you weren’t exactly subtle about it.”

“I—" You cut yourself off, unable to form a coherent thought as the realization hits you. “So, that whole time you—?”

Jennie shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, I kept bringing up how much I hated his friend group because I wanted to see how long it would take you to crack. Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long.”

Your mouth drops open in shock, but then, something inside you relaxes. You laugh, feeling the tension inside of you dissolve for the first time in ages. “I can’t believe you knew this whole time and didn’t say anything!”

Jennie smirks, her eyes softening. “You needed to figure it out on your own. And hey, you did. So I’m happy for you.”

You feel lighter, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. All the guilt, the secrets, the tension—all gone in an instant. Jennie is happy for you, and you didn’t have to hide anymore.

With a deep breath, you pull out your phone and send Vernon a quick text:

You: Come over. We need to talk.

The moment your finger leaves the send button, you can’t help but feel a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. Jennie notices your expression and gives you a soft, knowing smile.

“You’re doing the right thing,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “Go after what you want.”

The doorbell rings a short while later, and you almost jump out of your skin. Jennie watches you go with a teasing smile, and you roll your eyes before heading to the door.

When you open it, Vernon’s standing there, a little unsure, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His eyes search yours, as if he’s waiting for you to say something.

You pull him up the stairs once again, except this time, you don’t have to hide or worry about someone finding out. It’s strangely freeing.

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping aside so he can come in. “I, uh… I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and about everything.”

He steps inside your room, looking at you with a mixture of curiosity and hope in his eyes. And for a moment, you just stand there, the space between you two thick with unspoken words.

You take a deep breath, your nerves getting the best of you for just a second. “Vernon, I—I didn’t want to keep lying to myself anymore. Or to you. I told Jennie about us.”

Vernon’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I’ve been hiding how I feel for so long,” you continue, stepping closer to him, “and it’s stupid. I don’t want to keep pretending. I like you. I really like you.”

A smile starts to tug at the corners of Vernon’s lips, and without thinking, you rush to add, “I’m not expecting anything, but I just—”

Before you can finish, Vernon cuts you off, closing the gap between you and pulling you into a kiss that feels like the weight of everything falling away. All the confusion, the guilt, the fear—it all melts as his lips find yours, soft and warm.

When he pulls back, his eyes are shining. “You don’t have to say anything more. I already know.”

You smile, your heart beating wildly. This is it. This is what you’ve been wanting, and now you’re finally getting it.

He pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, and you can feel everything shifting between you two—like the world is finally falling into place.

The kiss is everything you’ve been wanting and more, full of tenderness and passion, but also full of understanding. You’ve both been waiting for this moment for a long time, and now it’s finally here.

When you break away, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you smiling like you’ve just found something precious.

“I think this is the start of something good,” Vernon murmurs, his voice full of certainty.

You nod, your heart full. “Yeah, I think it is.”

And for the first time in a long while, you feel truly happy, knowing that you’ve let go of your fears and embraced what you really want.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

author's note 𝟅𝟈 i love vernon and i love this song

masterlist.

#jaeyunluvbot #vernon #vernon chwe #chwe hansol #kpop #seventeen #seventeen x reader #vernon x reader #vernon x y/n #y/n #college au #vernon x you #Spotify

256 notes · View notes

maretinelli · 13 days ago

Text

STRAIGHT FROM THE 80'S

Ollie Bearman X Nurse!fem!reader

Summary: To which, Y/n is a true nerd of the 80s, of Marvel heroes, books, music, and sports. And Ollie falls more and more in love with his authentic and original girlfriend

Words: 9.2K+

Warnings: Make out session, mention of 80's music, cute, passionate, mention of many things from the 80's and I think that's it.

Author: English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes that may be in the story. And here Y/n is me, and I am Y/n hahaha jokes aside, I just wanted to say that the protagonist was created with my 'personality'. So there might be physical specifications too. Like hair color and height, but the rest is Y/n.

MASTERLIST

Ollie knew from the moment he met Y/n at the age of 10 that she was unlike anyone he had ever met. He knew the tall, brunette-haired girl had stolen his heart.

It wasn't just that she had a unique style, always flashing a genuine smile while wearing her vintage jackets or carrying a bag full of Marvel comics, but the way she navigated the world, always staying true to herself.

Y/n had a passion for life that was contagious. She didn't need filters to express herself, but she knew how to do it with a grace that never hurt anyone.

Ollie's fame never seemed to bother her. While others were dazzled by the world of racing, Y/n remained focused on her own life. To her, Bearman wasn't just a Formula 1 driver; he was just her Ollie, the man who made bad jokes, left his shoes scattered around the house and who, every day, made her feel special.

And Ollie felt that in the six years they had known each other and the four years they had been together, he loved her more and more each day.

That morning, the sun had barely risen when Y/n opened her eyes and felt Ollie's arm still wrapped around her waist. They were in no rush; the racing season was on hiatus, and that meant they could enjoy a routine they both loved.

Minutes later, they were in the kitchen. Y/n opened Spotify and put on her favorite 80s playlist. The melody of 'Send Me An Angel' began to fill the mood, and Y/n, with calm energy, began to sway her body gently as she separated the ingredients for breakfast.

"Will you send me an angel? Here I am" She hums softly.

"You're going to end up distracting me like that" Ollie commented with a grin as he picked up the frying pan. He was wearing a slouchy t-shirt and sweatpants, his messy hair giving him a casual charm.

"Distract you from what? You just need to flip the pancakes before they burn," Y/n replied, unable to contain her laughter, as she cut fruit for the table.

"Oh, but you know I can't take my eyes off you." He put the spatula aside for a moment and walked over to her, hugging her from behind. His face met her shoulder, and he whispered playfully, "I should make a playlist of just you singing softly."

She laughed, but her heart was racing. "You'd fall asleep."

"I doubt it. I'd stay up all night just listening to it" Ollie replied, giving her a quick kiss on the neck before returning to the stove.

Y/n laughed and placed the bowl of fruit on the table, as the music changed to 'Cheri Cheri Lady' by Modern Talking. She couldn't resist and started to sing louder, gesturing exaggeratedly as if she were on a stage.

Ollie stopped what he was doing and watched, completely enchanted. No matter how many times he had seen this scene before, each time was like the first. It was her energy, the way she made everything seem simple and full of life, that made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

"If it continues like this, I'll be the one who turns into a pancake" he said, catching her eye.

"You should be more focused on breakfast, Bearman," Y/n joked, grabbing two mugs for coffee.

"It's hard when you're the best thing in this kitchen." He smiled at her, and Y/n rolled her eyes, even though she was smiling too.

When they finally sat down at the table, with pancakes, fruit, and coffee, Ollie reached out to take her hand. "I like this," she said, sincerely.

"Me too." Y/n says oblivious to the subject. "I like it when I mix honey with the bananas in the pancakes..." She points to the ingredients, and when she's about to continue speaking, Ollie interrupts her with a laugh, "What's up, love?"

"I wasn't talking about breakfast." He laughs.

Y/n stops chewing, while looking at him curiously. The college student swallows the food while placing a hand in front of her mouth and questions.

"What then?"

"Of us. Of our routine. Of you here." He confesses, looking at her in love. The same look he had held for so many years.

Y/n squeezes his hand affectionately and smiles. A smile that softens the Haas driver's heart. "You know. I love it too."

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The night was chilly outside, with the winter wind whistling through the apartment windows, but inside, the room was warm and cozy. Ollie was sitting on the couch, dressed in a cozy wool sweater that Yin's mom had given him last Christmas, his legs stretched out on the rug and his head propped up in his hand.

He watched his girlfriend with a calm smile, the kind of smile that only someone completely enchanted could display.

Y/n was standing in front of him, with a book with a worn cover in her hands. She held the copy carefully, as if it were a treasure. His eyes shone as he enthusiastically told the plot of the last novel he had read.

"So, they meet at first completely by chance, you know? That typical cliché scene of a stumble on the street, but with an irresistible charm," she said, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. "But what I loved was how they didn't fall in love right away. It wasn't that forced love at first sight, you know? It was... slow, built, full of little moments that make you sigh."

"Like when you spilled coffee on my shirt our second week together?" Ollie asked, chuckling softly.

"Exactly! Only in their case, it was red wine," Y/n replied, rolling her eyes but with a smile on her lips. "And, look, let me tell you, the way the author described their first kiss... My God, Ollie, it was so perfect! He writes as if he was painting a picture."

Ollie just nodded, looking at her as if she was listening to the most important thing in the world. And for him, it was. He loved the way Y/n talked about the books she read - with passion, detail, and an energy that made it impossible not to be interested, even if he would never read them.

Suddenly, Y/n stood up from where she was sitting and began pacing around the room. "And then," she continued, pacing back and forth, "there's this scene where he finally realizes that he's in love with her, but he doesn't know how to say it. He just... stands there, staring at her. Like she's everything he's ever wanted, and I was like, 'Oh my God, this is so...' Oh, you get it, don't you?"

The way she spoke about the character was just like Ollie was. Only totally in love with his girlfriend of years.

"I think so. But honestly, I think you explain it so well that I don't even need to read the book."

"No, you have to read it! It's perfect!" Y/n paused for a moment, pointing the book at him as if giving him an order.

"I'd rather hear you tell it" he replied with a smile, leaning forward a little. "You make it sound much more interesting."

She shook her head, walking back around the room, still holding the book. "You're just too lazy to read, that's all. But seriously, Ollie, the way they build the novel... it's so subtle and delicate. Every word feels like it has weight, you know? Like the author knew exactly what he was doing."

For Ollie, he could spend his entire life listening to Y/n talk about books, comics, or even college papers that she read. There was an indescribable beauty in the way she talked about the things she loved.

"You know," he said softly, breaking the silence, "I think you'd make a great writer. You make any story seem more interesting just by the way you tell it."

Y/n stopped walking and looked at him, surprised but with a shy smile. "You think so?"

"I'm sure," Ollie replied, opening his arms, a crooked smile on his lips. "Now...about their kiss...how about recreating it? You said it was this passionate."

Y/n rolls her eyes and falls onto the couch next to him. Ollie's hands go to her cheeks. "But you know, don't you? That you're more captivating than any book or character!" She says with a mischievous smile.

"I know," he says and she laughs, before he attacks her lips in an electrifying, passionate, and heated kiss.

And Ollie, in that moment, knew once again that he was exactly where he was supposed to be: beside her, listening to her talk about the worlds she loved so much.

••••••••••••••••••••••

The Belgian GP was marked by low temperatures and a cloudy sky that made jackets seem essential. It was still early when Ollie gently shook Y/n awake.

"Honey, get up, I need to take you somewhere," he said, his voice filled with an enthusiasm that, to her, seemed exaggerated at that time of the morning.

Y/n, still half wrapped in the duvet, picked up her phone and looked at the time. 7 in the morning. She quickly grumbled to her boyfriend: "Oliver, you know it's still early in the morning, right? And it's freezing outside. Can't we wait a little longer?"

He just chuckled, slowly pulling the blanket away as he said, "If I wait, the surprise will lose its charm. Besides, you'll like it, I promise."

"Surprise? What kind of surprise makes me get out of bed in this cold?" She arched an eyebrow suspiciously.

"A surprise is a surprise," Ollie replied with a mischievous smile. "And you'll thank me for it, even if you look grumpy right now."

Y/n got out of bed, reluctantly of course, but got ready and left the hotel with Ollie.

"And seriously, Ollie, how do you stand this cold? It's like you don't even feel it," Y/n said, putting her hands in her coat pockets.

"Maybe it's because I'm too busy hugging you," Ollie replied with a playful smile, squeezing her a little tighter against him.

After a few minutes of walking, Ollie stopped in front of an open-air market, with several stalls that looked straight out of the 80s.

The vibrant, retro decor caught Y/n's attention instantly, and her eyes lit up as she saw the paintings of old bands, vintage posters, and collector's items scattered throughout the tents.

"Did you plan this?" she asked, looking at him in surprise as her eyes danced between the stalls.

"Maybe," he replied casually, kissing the top of her head. "But that's not all. Come with me."

They walked a little further until they entered a record store. It was an 80s paradise: shelves full of vinyl, CDs, paintings of iconic bands, rock t-shirts and even vintage decorative objects. Y/n stood there for a moment, taking in everything around her, completely enchanted.

"This is amazing," she muttered, not taking her eyes off the shelves.

Ollie leaned closer and said close to her ear, with a smile, "Take what you want. Anything you want."

Y/n immediately narrowed her eyes and glared at him, crossing her arms playfully. "You've got to be kidding. Ollie, these collectibles are expensive, and my birthday isn't far away. And our anniversary has already passed. Which, by the way, you already gave me a gift for."

Bearman chuckled, reaching out to hold her hands. "I'm not kidding." He smiled. "And hey, having you by my side every day is reason enough to celebrate. Now go ahead and pick out your trinkets."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile before she started walking down the aisles. She carefully looked at each item, picking up only the ones she truly loved.

When he left the store, he was carrying an original Queen vinyl, a Funko Pop of his favorite superhero and a small framed painting of the cover of The Breakfast Club.

"You didn't exaggerate, huh," Ollie joked, looking down at her hands as they walked back to the hotel.

"I didn't mean to bankrupt you," she replied, laughing. "But seriously, thank you, Ollie."

The pilot pulled her close and left a kiss on her forehead. "Seeing you happy is worth it. Now let's go back before you complain about the cold again.

And as they walked back through the city streets, Y/n felt that it wasn't just because of the 80s items that her heart was warm on that freezing morning. It was the way Ollie always made a point of showing how much he cared about the things she loved.

••••••••••••••••••••••

The new apartment was everything they had ever dreamed of: bigger, airier, and with an incredible view. It was in a quiet neighborhood and close to Ollie's parents' house, something he knew would be special for him and Y/n.

The boxes were scattered across the floor, and the space still smelled of fresh paint, giving it that fresh air.

Y/n was sitting on the floor, wearing her typical 80s vibe outfit: a colorful striped blouse, high-waisted jeans, and a pair of new Converse. She was organizing one of the boxes marked 'Decor', but her mind was already racing, wondering where everything would go.

The apartment door opened, and Ollie entered carrying several bags and a large box in his arms. He looked a little tired, but he still had a smile on his face when he saw Y/n busy on the floor.

"You could have called me, Ollie!" Y/n said, quickly standing up and walking over to him. "I would have come down to help."

"You didn't have to, love" he replied, his tone casual as he walked to the center of the room. "It was nothing. And honestly, the weight of these things is nothing to me."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but gave a small smile as she helped him put the bags and box on the floor. "Okay, Mr. Muscles. But what's all this?"

She sat back down on the floor, straightening her blouse as she stared at the box curiously. Ollie, in turn, gave her a small smile and began to open the box.

"These are some things I bought for decoration," he said, opening the lid and revealing the contents.

Y/n laughed lightly, crossing her legs and resting her elbows on her knees. "Ollie, we have enough stuff to fill this huge space."

"Ah, but I thought it would be cool if you put a little more of your passion for the 80s in here" The pilot replied, pulling several items out of the box that immediately made Y/n's eyes shine.

The first item was a framed cover of Guns N' Roses' Appetite for Destruction album. He then pulled out small collectible superhero figurines, vinyl records, classic movie posters, and even a wall clock with a totally retro aesthetic.

"Oh my God, Ollie, this is awesome!" she said, laughing as she picked up one of the posters to take a closer look.

“Wait, there’s more” Bearman continued, pulling out a small decorative kit with miniature stethoscopes, syringes, and other nursing-related items. “I thought you might like to put this on the shelf in the hallway, you know, something that’s more you.”

Y/n felt her eyes water as he showed the items. It was more than just decoration. It was as if Ollie had collected pieces of her and put them into gifts.

"Hey, hey" he said, noticing the tears rolling down her face. Ollie walked over, crouching down next to Y/n and gently wiping away the tears with his thumbs. "What's wrong, love? Did I do something wrong?"

Y/n laughed through her tears, shaking her head. "No, of course not. It's just... My love for you is so big that sometimes it feels like it's going to overflow, you know? And now it's overflowing." She said, smiling, as she held his hand.

Ollie smiled back, a warm, loving smile. "You're amazing, you know that? I just wish our home was like you: unique and special. And that there was a little bit of your soul in every corner."

Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him into a warm hug. "Thank you, Ollie. Really. For everything."

"You don't have to thank me. I love you," he replied, kissing the top of her head before pulling away slightly. "Now... how about you start telling me all those brilliant ideas I know you already have? Don't hold back. I want to know everything."

Y/n laughed, wiping her eyes and starting to talk about where they would put each thing, her energy infecting the environment.

Ollie listened to her attentively, in love with the way she spoke with enthusiasm, and knew, once again, that he was exactly where he was supposed to be: With the woman of his life, building a home full of love and memories.

••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a busy day in the GP paddock, as always. Y/n, as a good friend and a great kind person, had promised to help Kelly, who had to fulfill a series of media commitments and meetings with sponsors.

Meanwhile, Y/n would be responsible for taking care of Penelope, Kelly's 5-year-old daughter. For the dark-haired girl, it wasn't a big sacrifice, she adored the little girl and, honestly, found it fun to spend time with her.

Ollie, on the other hand, was in a meeting with the team. So she lovingly sent a message to her boyfriend, saying that she was at the coffee shop with Penelope, so that as soon as she left the meeting she would go and find them.

And as always, Y/n had something related to her personality. Underneath the Haas jacket that Ollie had given her that morning because of the wind, she was wearing a black t-shirt with the print of her favorite hero on it. Spiderman. It was a drawing from the comic versions.

Penelope had complimented her as soon as she saw her. "Do you like him because he's strong or because he makes those cool webs?" Penelope asked curiously as she threw a sheet of stickers on the table.

Y/n laughed, sitting in front of her, while placing the hot chocolate she had bought for the child, on the table.

"The webs. Definitely." She says smiling.

Penelope laughed, shaking her head. "Do you have other heroes' clothes?"

"I have. A lot. I think Ollie is used to opening his closet and seeing a bunch of superhero shirts or stuff from the 80s."

At the mention of Ollie's name, Penelope stopped and frowned slightly. "Have you and Ollie always liked each other? I mean, have you been together for a long time?"

For a 5 year old, Penelope was very smart.

Y/n laughed at the direct question. "We've known each other since we were ten years old. But we've been together since we were sixteen. So I think so, if we've always liked each other and we've been together for a long time"

Penelope smiles contentedly, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. But ready to ask another question. "Are you two going to get married someday? Because mom always says that when you love someone so much, you end up marrying them."

"I think so." Y/n bites her lip a little. "We talk about it. But we never know when it might happen." She smiles gently and P nods.

Penelope seemed satisfied with the answer. Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she pulled a deck of UNO from the backpack she had brought. “Do you know how to play?”

"Of course I know!" Y/n replied excitedly. "But I'm warning you now, I'm really good at it."

"I doubt it!" Penelope exclaimed, laughing as she began to deal the cards on the table.

The two lost themselves in the match, laughing and teasing each other in a friendly way. Penelope loved to shout "UNO!" with a victorious smile, while Y/n pretended to feel defeated.

During the game, Penelope continued to ask random questions about Y/n, from what she thought about living in London with Ollie to who her favorite superhero was.

"Do you miss your mom while you live with Ollie?" She asks genuinely.

Y/n laughs, but Penelope doesn't mind her older friend's laughter.

"No." She smiles. "My parents live about 10 minutes away from us and Ollie's parents live in the same neighborhood as us. So there's no time to miss them." She smiles.

"Cool!" She plays a card. "We've known each other for a while and you're friends with my mom, but I don't think I've ever asked you what you do. Like, do you just take care of the house and Ollie or do you work?"

Y/n smiles. "I'm studying nursing and I work at a hospital."

Penelope frowns. "Hospital has a bad smell"

Y/n laughs out loud. "You get used to it, after all the hours you spend there."

Penelope smiles.

Ollie then left the meeting and saw his girlfriend's message. Smiling knowing how much she loved spending time with the little girl. Going to where they were, the pilot stands outside, appreciating his girlfriend as she smiles and plays with the girl inside the coffee shop.

He stood there for a few seconds, watching Y/n laughing as Penelope celebrated yet another victory.

Ollie smiles and enters the cafeteria, making both of them turn their heads towards the door. He approaches and, with a bigger smile, says: "Looks like someone is humiliating you in UNO." The pilot pokes his girlfriend's side, making her laugh at the tickle.

Y/n looked up at him, feigning indignation. "I'm letting her win. Of course."

Penelope laughed out loud. "No, you're not! I'm the best!"

Ollie ruffled Penelope's hair lightly and sat down next to Y/n, looking at the cards spread out on the table. "Looks like I missed out on the fun, huh?"

"You can enter the next round," Y/n said, handing him a deck of cards. "But I warn you: I won't let anyone else win."

Ollie and Penelope laugh in sync.

"So? What were you talking about?"

Penelope lets out a small laugh. "From you!"

Y/n smiles and the pilot lets out a laugh in mock surprise. "From me?"

"Yeah. Y/n was saying how cool it is to be with you."

The college student feels her cheeks flush with courage and smiles slightly, as she shuffles the cards to play again.

Ollie turns towards his girlfriend, placing his elbows on the table and looking at her, with a smile on his face, even provocative.

"Ah? It's nice, huh?" He stands a few millimeters away from Y/n's face.

"Shut up." She laughs, pushing his face away with her hand. "We're in front of P!" Y/n says through gritted teeth and Ollie understands, laughing as he watches his girlfriend hand him the letters.

"I love you" Ollie whispers in her direction. She smiles shyly.

••••••••••••••••••••

The apartment door opened softly, revealing Ollie carrying a few bags of groceries. He barely had time to step inside when an unusual, yet completely adorable scene unfolded in front of him: Y/n running around, completely focused on something.

"I already told you it's rude to fight with your sister, Bagheera! And you, Izzie, are no saint! Get back here, now!" Y/n shouted, running after the two kittens they had recently adopted, Bagheera and Izzie, who were now running in circles around the room, meowing indignantly.

Unaware of Ollie's presence, she ran past him, her hair flying and a look of pure frustration on her face. She followed the two puppies into the kitchen. Ollie followed the three and just leaned against the wall with a smile of pure amusement, watching the scene attentively.

When she managed to reach the two, she crouched down on the ground and began talking to them as if they were small children.

"You two need to learn to behave! I told you it's bad form to fight. Bagheera, apologize to your sister, now!" She pointed her finger at Bagheera, who let out a small meow, while Izzie stared at her with curious eyes.

Ollie, who was now at the entrance to the kitchen, with his arms crossed and a goofy smile, continued to watch. He refused to interrupt that hilarious and cute scene.

Y/n picked up the two kittens, holding one in each arm. "You two are going to make up. Now! Come on, make up." Bagheera raised his paw and, in a slow movement, gave Izzie a light slap on the head, who let out an offended meow.

"Hey! That's not an apology, Bagheera!" Y/n scolded, putting the two down again. The kittens went back to running around the house as if nothing had happened.

When Yin turned around, she finally noticed Ollie leaning against the wall, chuckling softly. "How long have you been there?" she asked, crossing her arms, though there was a smile on her face.

"Long enough to watch you raise our children" Ollie replied, still smiling.

She laughed out loud, shaking her head as she walked over to the stove to heat some water for tea. "If they're our children, you should talk to them later too. Maybe they'll listen to you better than they listen to me."

"I can try," Ollie teased, stepping closer to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in for a soft kiss. When they pulled away, he looked into her eyes, his smile now softer. "You're brilliant, you know that? I love you. You're going to be an amazing mother one day."

Y/n tilted her head in surprise and looked at him with slightly wide eyes. They had talked about children before, but Ollie’s confident and determined tone seemed to warm something inside her. “Children?”

"Yes" Ollie replied, with a calmness that seemed natural. "You and I married, maybe with three kids. Girls. Three girls. Because I can only imagine you being a mother of little girls."

Y/n's heart melted completely at those words. She threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly, as if she never wanted to let him go. Ollie smiled against her brunette hair, caressing her back.

"Three girls?" she asked softly, chuckling softly.

"Three girls" he confirmed, kissing the top of her head. "And I will take care of each of them as you take care of me."

She closed her eyes, feeling her heart overflow with happiness. The idea of a future with him seemed as perfect as could be.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a lazy afternoon at Ollie and Y/n's apartment. They were both on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, with a bowl of popcorn on their laps shared between the two. On the TV screen, an 80s classic was playing Y/n's choice, obviously.

"See, Ollie?" Y/n pointed at the screen excitedly. "Now that's a real movie! Impeccable script, practical effects, and a soundtrack that makes you want to live in the 80s forever."

Ollie, munching on a handful of popcorn, raised his eyebrows. "Okay, I'll admit, The Goonies is good, but you can't deny that today's movies have special effects that the '80s couldn't even dream of having."

Y/n turned to him, hands on her hips, or at least as close to that as she could get under the blanket. "Oh, please, special effects don't make a movie good! Anyone with a computer can make an explosion look real these days, but what about the soul? The heart of the story? That's from the 80s, honey."

Ollie chuckled and tilted his head. "So you're saying Avengers: Endgame has no soul?"

"I'm saying that Avengers: Endgame is a generic movie that will never top Ghostbusters. And don't get me started on the '80s superheroes. 1978's Superman is still the best superhero adaptation ever made."

He threw some popcorn at her, laughing. "You're ridiculous! Don't you even consider Iron Man to be the best character ever created?!"

"Oh, don't make me laugh!" Y/n snapped, grabbing the popcorn and throwing it back at him. "Iron Man could never compete with the original X-Men from the comics! Not to mention his costume in the first movies is so... boring. I prefer the practical effects they used in the 80s. More realistic!"

"More realistic?" Ollie laughed. "Do you really think rubber dolls are better than CGI?"

"Yes! They had personality, okay?!" Y/n was now completely turned towards him, the passion for the subject evident in the sparkle in her eyes and the challenging smile she gave.

He stared at her for a few seconds, trying to keep the argument alive, but he couldn't resist. Ollie started laughing and leaned towards her, holding Y/n's face in his hands. "You're impossible. How am I supposed to win an argument with you when you're this beautiful?"

"Is this your way of escaping defeat?" she asked, laughing softly.

"It's my way of surrendering," Ollie replied, pulling her into a slow, tender kiss. When they pulled away, he smiled. "Okay, you win. The '80s are awesome. But you have to admit, Marvel from the last few years is good, too."

Y/n narrowed her eyes, pretending to consider the idea. "Maybe... but only because I love you. Not because you're right."

"I accept," he said, laughing, before stealing another kiss.

••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a typical and tiring Thursday for Y/n. College seemed to have sucked all of her energy with endless classes and complicated papers. When she finally arrived at the apartment she shared with Ollie, all she wanted was a hot shower and her bed.

Upon opening the door, however, she was surprised by a completely different environment. The lights were slightly dimmed, small LED bulbs decorated the room, and the irresistible smell of freshly made popcorn filled the air.

In the center of the room, the sofa was covered in pillows and blankets, carefully arranged to look like a real cozy movie theater.

Ollie appeared in the kitchen entrance, with a wide smile and a bucket of popcorn in his hands. He was wearing a Ghostbusters themed t-shirt. Which he had taken from Y/n, which made her let out a hearty laugh.

"Welcome to our private cinema, love," he announced, as if he were the master of ceremonies for the evening.

Y/n looked around, surprised and delighted. "Ollie, what's all this?" She smiled.

"I know how exhausting college is for you," Ollie said, walking over to her and putting an arm around her shoulders. "So I thought you deserved a special night. I've put together a marathon of your favorite movies. We've got Ghostbusters, The Princess Diaries, and of course, The Chronicles of Narnia. I thought you'd enjoy it."

She blinked a few times, processing his dedication, before throwing herself into Ollie's arms with a huge smile. "You're the best boyfriend in the world, you know that?"

"I'll do my best," he teased, kissing her forehead. "Go take a quick shower while I finish organizing everything. The popcorn is ready, and there's chocolate on the table. Oh, and I made some tea too, because I know you love watching movies with hot tea."

Y/n let out a light laugh and ran to the bathroom, leaving her things along the way.

When she returned, wearing a comfy pair of her boyfriend’s sweatshirts, she found Ollie sitting on the couch, a remote control in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. He was waiting for her with a relaxed smile, patting the space next to him.

"Come, the session is about to begin"

Y/n settled in next to him, pulling up a blanket and placing her legs on Ollie's lap. "Which one should we start with?"

"Ghostbusters, of course," he replied, as he pressed play on the movie.

Throughout the night, they laughed together, commented on the scenes and even argued about which character was the best in each movie. Ollie knew that Y/n needed this moment to disconnect from her responsibilities and just be herself, immersing herself in her favorite stories.

As The Chronicles of Narnia came to an end, Y/n looked over at Ollie, who was absentmindedly eating the last of his popcorn. "Thank you for this," she whispered, touching his face gently.

Ollie smiled and tilted his head to the side. "So what?"

"For always thinking of me and making everything so special. I love you more than anything, Ollie."

"And I love you more than all the 80's movies combined," he replied, eliciting a laugh from her. Ollie leaned in, sealing the moment with a sweet kiss as the TV in the background rolled the end credits.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a rare Sunday off for Ollie, and he had planned to spend the entire morning in bed next to Y/n. However, when he woke up, he realized that the space next to him was empty, he frowned and stretched before getting up.

The apartment was silent except for a distant sound coming from the living room.

As he walked down the stairs, he found the most unexpected and, at the same time, so typically Y/n scene.

She was standing barefoot, in long pajamas, and she held one hand up, clearly trying not to smudge the nail polish she had just applied. Her eyes were fixed on the TV, where a football match was playing with increasing tension.

"Come on, take this, please!" Y/n muttered to herself, completely oblivious to Ollie's presence.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get any words out, a frustrated scream echoed through the room.

"Oh no! What the hell!" Y/n exclaimed, stomping her foot on the ground. "That goalie is a joke! How did he miss that?" She rolls her eyes, as if the players can see her. "Ha, if that was me, we'd be winning," she mutters.

Ollie leaned against the door frame with a wide smile on his face, watching his indignant girlfriend.

He cleared his throat, getting her attention. "Care to explain to me what you're doing standing in our living room watching football at eight in the morning... on our vacation?"

Y/n turned to him, her hand still in the air so as not to smudge her freshly painted nails. "Oh, good morning to you too." She replied with a mix of sarcasm and humor. "My team is playing, Ollie. How could I miss that? You know how fun those matches are!"

Ollie laughed, walking over to her and stopping beside her. "What about the nails? What does that have to do with any of this?"

“Multitasking” she replied with a mischievous smile, raising her hand to show off her bright red nail polish. “I get to support my team and take care of my manicure at the same time. Isn’t that brilliant?”

"You're one of a kind, you know?" Ollie murmured, wrapping his arm around her and kissing the top of her head. Her dark hair smelled of grape shampoo. "But I didn't know morning football was part of the package."

"You're just complaining because the goal wasn't from my team," Y/n retorted, pointing at him with the nail polish brush in her hand. "And by the way, it's Sunday. Is there anything better to do than cheer for the team you love?"

"Maybe stay in bed with your boyfriend?" He suggested and Y/n laughed, shaking her head. "But well, you're more passionate about your team than I'll ever be about any sport outside of motorsports. I think I'll let that slide."

Y/n gave a low laugh before looking back at the TV as Ollie pulled her closer to him. "Now sit down and explain to me who these guys are. I want to understand why you screamed so loud."

They sat on the couch, Ollie's right arm around her shoulders as she finished painting her nails and explained everything she knew about the team, occasionally pointing at the TV with the brush from the nail polish tube.

Ollie smiled, even though he didn't understand anything she was saying, but he was clearly paying attention and feeling his heart fill with even more love.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The afternoon was quiet in the apartment, the sweet smell of cookies baking in the oven filling the air.

Y/n was in the kitchen, wearing a floral print apron, swaying slightly to the sound of 'Games' by the band Nazareth, which was playing on the apartment's speakers.

Ollie was in a meeting, which luckily was in London. And when he saw the time, Y/n's smile grew, knowing that he would be home in a few minutes.

As she mixed the ingredients for another batch, she softly sang the chorus, completely immersed in the melody and nostalgia that the song brought.

"You are not just ashamed of yourself. You're a part of the scenery, damned to hell." She slams her hand on the counter, completely immersed in her favorite song.

Ollie arrived at the apartment silently, opening the door carefully so as not to make any noise. He left his backpack near the couch and walked towards the kitchen, attracted by Y/n's sweet voice and the irresistible aroma of cookies.

Upon hearing the song, he recognized the familiar melody. The same favorite song as Y/n since she was 10 years old. Ollie smiles, knowing he's memorized that song inside out since the day they met. When they were still naive children and friends.

When he reached the kitchen entrance, he leaned against the wall, with his hands in his pants pockets and the wide smile that he never let go of when he was around his girlfriend.

He hummed softly, but Y/n didn't notice. For he had his back to Ollie's spot and was singing loudly.

"Can't you see. We are not going to play at your games. We are not going to ask you for names. Or for some of your history" Ollie approaches his girlfriend and hugs her from behind. Singing along with her.

Y/n stopped immediately, turning to face him with wide eyes. "What? You know that song?" She asked, surprised, a smile already appearing on her face.

Ollie shrugged. "Of course I know. I've heard you sing it every day since we were ten!"

She felt her cheeks flush. But she smiled, dropping the cloth on the counter and wrapping her arms around her boyfriend.

"There's just one thing..." He begins, an amused smile on his face and his hands snaking around her waist. "Don't you think this song is a little 'dark' to be your favorite?"

She laughs loudly, throwing her head back. Making her strands of brunette hair fall. Ollie took the opportunity and planted a kiss on her exposed neck, before Y/n returned to her original position.

"Dark? Just because she talks about fighting manipulation and mind games?" She teases.

"EXACTLY!" Ollie says loudly, with an amused tone in his voice.

"Okay, okay. The lyrics might be weird, but I love the instrumental." She smiles, then puts her arms tighter on the pilot's shoulders. "You need to feel the music. Close your eyes and focus on the instruments..."

Y/n closes her eyes and tilts her head to the side. Ollie, on the other hand, has his eyes open, admiring his girlfriend. He thinks everything about her is perfect, from the beauty mark near her mouth to her unruly brunette hair.

He hadn't confessed yet. But with each passing day he felt his love grow. If he could, he would marry this girl right now. There, in the kitchen of their apartment, with her in an apron and the smell of cookies in the air, while their cats brought the rings. Which was clearly impossible, since the puppies had the energy of four-year-olds.

"Are your eyes closed?" She asks, her own eyes closed.

"Yes..." Lie.

He starts to get closer to her face, and she notices, as she feels his warm breath on her neck and his firm hands on her waist tighten. Ollie starts with kisses on her neck, which move up to her jaw and reach her mouth.

"I'm feeling the music," he declares, before bringing their lips together in a slow, passionate, heated kiss.

Y/n smiled between the kiss, her hands now running through his curls. While trying her best to swallow the sighs that wanted to escape her throat.

••••••••••••••••••••••

Ollie always made sure to bring a little piece of the 80s to Y/n, especially during the races she couldn't attend because of college. He knew how much she loved everything related to that decade and loved surprising her with little gifts that captured her passion.

That week, Y/n was unable to accompany Ollie to the Austrian GP. So, as soon as he landed in London, relief took over knowing that in just a few minutes he would be in the comfort of his apartment and in the loving arms of his girlfriend, whom he hadn't seen for a week.

As soon as he entered the apartment, he found Y/n sitting on the couch, with her college books scattered around her. She smiled when she saw him and jumped off the couch to hug him.

"How was the flight, okay?" Ollie nods and kisses her. "And more importantly, how are you?" She asks, looking at him with curious eyes.

He laughed and took her hands in his. "It was okay. It would have been great if you were there, because..." He began pulling a bag that was resting on his suitcase. "I found something... for you!"

"One thing?" She asks curiously.

"Yeah. I actually bought this for you and when I was walking back to the hotel, I ran into a certain person who could sign it for you."

Y/n's eyes widen in curiosity and then Ollie hands her the bag. From it, she pulls out a fairly large box. She smiles curiously, looking at Ollie and the box as she opens it.

Inside, there was an original Guns N' Roses poster in a frame, autographed by none other than Slash, the band's guitarist.

"SHUT UP!" She yells and Ollie laughs out loud. "ARE YOU KIDDING?"

Ollie shakes his head. "No, Antonelli and I found him outside the hotel. Apparently he was staying with us and we only realized when he was leaving." He laughs. "Seriously! At that moment I almost cried because I wanted you there!"

Y/n's heart races and she smiles. "I love you so much." She pulls him into a passionate, appreciative kiss.

After that, Ollie hands over some more stuff he bought for her, which he thought she should definitely take back to their flat in London.

"Where did you find these things?"

"It was in a little shop near the hotel where we were staying. I thought you would like it," he said, watching her reaction with a proud smile.

While she had her collector's items on the table near the door.

"Like it? I love it! This is perfect" She said, hugging him tightly.

"I knew you'd love it," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

Which was hard, since she was as tall as him. Which made him love her more.

Y/n pulled back a little, still holding the presents, and looked at him with an amused smile. "You're going to end up turning our apartment into an 80s shrine, you know that?"

"If it's going to make you happy, I don't see any problem with that," Ollie replied with a calm smile.

She shook her head, laughing, and pulled him onto the couch. "Fine, but now you're going to help me choose where to put this iconic poster!"

And, as always, that small gesture from Ollie was further proof of how much he loved making Y/n happy, even in the smallest details.

Which this time was extremely big for Y/n. Well, look, she got an original Guns N' Roses poster signed by the band's guitarist from her boyfriend. That was incredible!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/n arrived home after another long day at the hospital internship. As soon as she opened the door, she was greeted by the welcoming smell of something Ollie was cooking - or at least less trying. She smiled when she saw him in the kitchen, wearing an apron that said 'Chef for a day.'

"Hi, love," she said, throwing her bag on the couch and walking over to him in the kitchen for a quick hug from behind.

"Hi, favorite nurse," he replied, turning to kiss her and face his girlfriend. "How was your internship today?"

"It was amazing!" Y/n replied enthusiastically, already pulling up a chair at the kitchen table and sitting down. "Today I gave a preemie a bath in the thermal crib. He was only 2 kilos, Ollie. He's so small, but so strong!"

Ollie wiped his hands on a cloth, grabbed two glasses of water, and sat down across from her, leaning his elbows on the table and watching her intently as the food cooked.

"And how is that? I mean, how do you bathe a baby that small?"

Y/n smiled, loving his interest. "Oh, there's a whole technique! We heat the water to the perfect temperature and, while holding the baby firmly, we wash with very gentle movements so as not to scare him. It's very delicate. And the best part is when he starts to relax and even smiles!"

Ollie tilted his head in amazement. "I didn't know premature babies could smile. That's... amazing."

"It is, isn't it?" Y/n agreed, her eyes shining with passion. "They are so fragile, but they have an impressive strength. And you know what? Today one of them squeezed my finger with his little hand. My heart almost melted!"

Ollie laughed, imagining the scene. "I think they feel they're in good hands with you."

"Do you think so?" She asked, tilting her head, a little shyly.

"I'm sure," Ollie replied with a tender smile. "You're so dedicated. I can barely follow half of what you say, but I can see how much you love it. And that just makes me love you even more."

Y/n bites her lower lip in shyness, the pilot notices and laughs, caressing her hand. "I love you, so much" He says.

"I love you more" Y/n smiles and blows a kiss in the air. He chuckles softly.

"So? What adventures did you have with these little ones from the neonatal unit?"

Y/n rested her face on her hand and smiled, as if reliving the day in her mind. "There was a special moment... One of the babies started crying very softly, and when I put his little hand on my finger, and he stopped right away. Like he needed a little comfort, you know?"

Ollie smirked, resting his chin on his hand, watching her carefully. "You really do have a magical touch, don't you? I don't think it's possible for anyone not to feel comfortable around you."

She laughed. "It's not magic, love. It's just affection and patience. Things you have too, you know?"

"Me? I don't know if I would have the same patience with babies. I would be afraid to hold them, because they are small." He makes a gesture as if he were holding a baby and Y/n laughs. "I only have patience because, well, I have you. Who calms me down."

Y/n laughed, throwing a napkin ball at him. "Silly."

"Hey, it's true!" Ollie said, holding up the ball and smiling. "You have a passion for taking care of people, and that's one of the things I love most about you. I can't wait to see you taking care of our own children one day."

Her cheeks turned slightly pink, but the smile remained. “Are you thinking about kids yet?” she teased. “What about marriage?”

"With you? I always think about that," he replied matter-of-factly, as if it were obvious. "What about the wedding? I'm working on some things for the proposal."

Y/n rolls her eyes laughing, thinking that comment was completely provocative and playful. But the truth was that Ollie was already looking for an engagement ring, he just hadn't found the perfect one yet.

"Thank you for always listening and supporting me, Ollie. I'm so lucky to have you."

"Lucky me" he replied with a smile, intertwining his fingers with hers. "Now, before the food burns, how about you tell me if my dinner will pass Chef Nurse Y/n's test?"

She laughed out loud, feeling completely at home next to him. Because after all, he is her home.

••••••••••••••••••••••

The rain gently tapped against the windows of Y/n and Ollie's London apartment, creating a relaxing melody that filled the room.

It was one of those days when the world seemed to slow down, allowing them to enjoy the simple, cozy moment of each other's company.

In the room, the smell of fresh paint mixed with the aroma of coffee that still hung in the air. Y/n was sitting on the floor, with a children's coat neatly laid out in front of her, her brushes and paints scattered around her.

She was working on a special project for her niece, delicately painting colorful flowers and butterflies on the back of her coat while softly humming along to 'Californication' playing on her phone.

Ollie, who was initially on the couch playing with his cell phone, looked up to observe the scene.

He smiled when he saw her so focused, her eyebrows furrowed on her forehead, as if she was angry about something. But it was just a trait he loved whenever she was completely absorbed in something.

Standing up, he walked over to where Y/n was.

"You're really good at this, you know?" He commented, kneeling down beside her and watching her progress.

"Thank you," she replied, not looking up from her work, adding a finishing touch to one of the flowers. "But don't you think you're a little lazy up there? Why don't you grab one of my canvases upstairs and do something with it, too?"

Ollie raised his eyebrows with an amused smile. "Do you think I'm good at painting?"

She finally looked at him, her eyes shining with a hint of teasing. "No," Y/n says sincerely and Ollie laughs out loud. "But it doesn't hurt to try." She smiles.

Ollie smiles and then agrees with the idea and gets up to go up to the 'mess room' that she had declared would be the place where they would throw all the things they weren't going to use for a while.

Walking upstairs, Ollie had an even more brilliant idea. After grabbing the canvas and a paintbrush from the junk room, he walked to the room they shared, reached into the closet, and grabbed a velvet box. Putting it in his sweatshirt pocket, he walked downstairs smiling.

He came back and sat down beside her, dipping his brush into the black paint. "Prepare to be amazed. You are in the presence of a true artist."

Y/n let out a laugh, tilting her head. "I can't wait to see that."

While she went back to customizing the coat, Ollie began working on his 'Artwork'. Only, instead of drawing a picture like she expected, he started writing something.

Ollie worked carefully, making sure the letters were perfect, while Y/n, completely oblivious to what he was doing, remained focused on her project.

After writing, he tried to draw a ring and a couple. But it came out more like a stick figure couple.

But for someone who didn't know how to draw, it was great.

A few minutes later, he wiped his hands with a cloth and leaned back, admiring his work, the canvas in front of him. "Done!" he announced excitedly.

Y/n looked up from her jacket, curious. "Are you done yet? That was quick."

"Come here," he said, holding the screen in his hands. "I need you to see it up close to understand the genius."

"Okay then!" Y/n smiles, and gets up from where she was to sit next to Ollie.

He, in turn, began to get nervous, his hands began to sweat and then he decided to put the box he had found in his coat pocket.

"Okay, handsome. Let's see this work of art of yours!" Y/n chuckles softly, sitting next to him.

And then, Ollie turns the screen over and shows it to her. The smile on her face fell, her body froze, but her heart began to beat faster and faster. She felt the tears begin to fall, as she took the screen from Ollie's hands.

There, written in elegant letters and surrounded by little hearts, a ring and a drawing of a couple of sticks that he improvised, was the phrase: Will you marry me?

Y/n's eyes widened, her hand covering her mouth, leaving the screen on the floor, as her heart raced. "Ollie..." She turns to him.

Ollie smiles widely, taking the ring out of his sweatshirt pocket. His gaze had nothing less than love and a little nervousness. He kneels in front of her, while she still has her hand over her mouth in shock and tears falling.

"Y/n, know that you've been everything to me since we were 10 years old. You bring color to my life. You have a way of looking at the world that makes me want to be a better person, just to deserve to be by your side. What I want for my tomorrow, for the rest of my life, is to be with you in every step, in every journey, celebrating every victory and facing every challenge, always together. Every moment with you, be it painting, cooking, or just watching 80's movies, it's perfect. I love you, Y/n. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me? Do you want to be mine, forever? Do you want to marry me?"

Tears were now streaming down the girl's face, but she had a sweet smile on her lips. "Of course! I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be yours forever and I want to marry you!"

Ollie smiles, wiping away his own tears now. "I'm the happiest man in all of London!" He smiles in relief, and then pulls her into a passionate kiss, sealing that promise.

Y/n smiles between kisses and laughs when they fall onto the carpet in the living room of their apartment. "You caught me by surprise," she said with a smile, wiping away her tears. "I would never expect a marriage proposal like that. A true work of art, huh?!"

He laughs.

"Well, I wanted it to be special, just the way you are. And I knew that if it was during an afternoon like this, with something we love to do together, it would be perfect."

She looked at him in awe, feeling more loved than ever. "It was more than perfect, Ollie."

The two spent the rest of the day in the living room, laughing, talking about the future and, of course, finishing their painting projects - now with even more love in every detail.

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #one shot #formula 1 #formula one #fem reader #ollie bearman x reader #imagines ollie bearman #ollie bearman #ollie bearman x y/n #ollie bearman x you #lovers

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doodlegraveyard · 5 months ago

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Finished commission for Reci - some sleepy morning SeroIida. I cant believe they paid me to draw something i 100% would have drawn anyway <3 [Image description: A digital drawing in shades of orange-pink. An older Iida Tenya is embraced from behind by Sero. Iida is in boxers and a goofy Garfield t-shirt, cradling a cup of coffee. Behind him, Sero rests a chin on his shoulder. He has his scraggly facial hair from the epilogue and slouchy sweatpants on, his arms wrapped around Iida and hands getting under his shirt, exposing his tummy. End description.]

#sero hanta #iida tenya #seroiida #seriida #boku no hero academia #iisero #iidasero #my hero academia

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shieldofiron · 10 months ago

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Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977

Part 1/3 Also on Ao3 here

For @harringrove-relay-race. Very happy with how part 1 turned out, and there will be more to come. Thanks to @foxxtastic for the intro and next up will be something stunning from our fearless Relay Race leader @half-oz-eddie

Rated M / 5k words / Part 1/3

Part 1: Into Hades

Rolling Stone Magazine - May 2002

Billy Hargrove arrived after I did, in his lovingly maintained blue Camaro, the subject of his song, “Lady Blue.” “Lady Blue” was recently named #93 on Rolling Stone’s Top Love Songs of the Century.

“I wrote, ‘She’s the wind in my hair, the rumble in my soul.’ I thought it was so obvious,” He laughed, his blue eyes still boyish. “My niece made it her wedding song, I said ‘Really? It’s about a fuckin’ car!’”

He showed me several pictures of his niece, the supermodel Tyler Sinclair. It seems good looks run in the family. He suggested the diner and he ordered waffles, winking when I mentioned that we’ll be here a long time.

The decades have been kind to him, maybe a few more lines. It’s not hard to imagine him stepping right back onto the stage, as if no time has passed at all.

“A little extra glitter on the eyes,” He said with a smile, “to hide my crows feet. That’s all I need.”

I ask what he’s going to wear to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony for Kaleidoscope's induction and his smile dims only for a moment.

“I think I should pull out some old costumes. You know, the butterfly still fits.”

He was referring, of course, to the sheer butterfly cape costume that nearly had him thrown off the stage in Houston Texas in December 1976. He caved to putting on a pair of silvery shorts rather than the nude underwear it was designed with. He later wore it with the nude underwear on the inside cover of Kaleidoscope, the album that will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in just a few short weeks. Kaleidoscope was his last album with the iconic Glam Rock band Pretty Boy, which famously broke up at the height of their career while touring for the album, onstage.

It’s not often that a band is inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and there’s a question if all of them will even show up.

“I’ll be there,” Hargrove said, fiddling with the silver band on his middle finger. “I have no problem with seeing him.”

The him is, of course, the lead guitarist and other lead singer of Pretty Boy, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington invites me to his oceanfront house in Malibu later that afternoon.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to go,” He said thoughtfully, his brown eyes darting around the room.

When I mention that Billy is going to go, he seems surprised.

“He didn’t say he was going to punch me, did he?” Harrington smiled, but it doesn’t seem like much of a joke.

For one of the most famous rock stars of the 70s, Harrington is shockingly low key. He wears a t-shirt and slouchy linen pants, and he jokes that he ought to have shaved when I take out my camera. The house is stunning but empty, with miles of blank white walls and overstuffed white furniture.

“I’m looking for a little peace,” He shrugs, “I used to have all these pictures up, all this furniture… It was too much.”

It was hard not to see him as an artist without a muse. He drifted listlessly, picking things up and putting them down as we talked. So it was a surprise to me to hear that he’s been recording.

“I may never release it but… Yeah,” He laughed, “Music. After all this time. Bet you didn’t know.”

He picks up a rare photo from the piano. It’s from the early days of Pretty Boy, before Billy Hargrove. Harrington has his arm around his bandmate, Eddie Munson. Their drummer Chrissy Cunningham is balanced precariously across their shoulders, laughing and cringing at the same time. Bassist Robin Buckley smirks from the corner of the frame, messy bangs in her eyes.

“Who knew, right?” He asked no one, shaking the frame a little.

There are no pictures of Billy Hargrove.

“That’s a… a long story,” He said, when I asked.

But I have time. I tell him Rolling Stone will pay for it. At least that makes him laugh.

It was just by chance that Pretty Boy’s last concert was filmed.

“We were meant to just film in Vegas,” The director, Argyle Molina-Zapata, sat down with me after a private screening of Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977, “But there was a freak rainstorm, and I couldn’t get my camera’s out of the back. The crowd was digging it, refused to leave. I remember when Billy hit the high note for ‘Mother Make Me,’ there was this lightning crack… brilliant.”

Molina-Zapata shook his head, “But the footage, what I got of it, was awful. Awful! So I begged Murray to let me come with them to Santa Fe.”

Murray was Murray Bauman, famed tour manager, who handled the Boys, later Pretty Boy from their first album Starfire, all the way to Kaleidoscope.

“And I was lucky,” Argyle nodded, “They had that extra tour bus.”

The tour busses are featured in the first few minutes of the film. They roll around the corner, one reading Billy Blue (Billy’s original stage name was Billy Blue before he dropped the Blue), and the other, Steve’s Six (Named after Steve’s best friends from his hometown.)

“They were nightmares,” Murray Bauman’s voice crackled over the phone, “Nightmares on tour. Separate buses. Separate hotels. Fuck me, I swear to god at one point they wanted separate stages. And the label caved on almost all of it. Fucking nightmare.”

It’s almost impossible to imagine it when you see them on stage together. There’s something electric that passed between Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington, something that drove crowds wild. They gravitate towards each other on the stage, orbiting like planets until they can share the same mic. They can’t seem to stay apart.

It’s hard to see exactly what happened that night.

“I’ve watched it a million times,” Argyle laughed, “But the only two people who can really say what happened are Billy and Steve.”

What you can see is this: Steve tearing into “Pride & Prejudice”, the lead off Kaleidoscope and the last song of the night.

Billy was trembling, visibly shaking as he sang and Steve harmonized along.

What can I say, if you ask me to walk away?

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Billy danced closer, joining Steve, his handheld mic loose at his side.

Can you ever put away your pride?

Is it worth it to not have me at your side?

I guess it must be, because I’m yours,

Regretfully,

Baby.

Billy leans in, sharing Steve’s mic for the bridge.

Is it really a mystery?

What I mean to you, and you mean to me?

Is it really, baby?

Billy shook his head, curls bouncing. He looked into Steve's eyes. He smiled. Steve looks at Billy, and Billy looks at him. It almost looks like Billy mouths something, but bootleg footage also has appeared where it looks like Billy just nodded. Steve goes a little shell shocked, hand freezing on his guitar, falling out of sync.

And then Steve turned away and left the stage, handing his guitar to a stagehand. Billy turned to the crowd, his expression strangely triumphant. He was always magnetic on stage, but this moment transcends that. It somehow feels like he’s getting everything he wants.

So I guess I’m losing you,

You promised me you would and it’s true.

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Steve Harrington hasn’t performed in public since 1977.

“None of us knew what was going to happen that night,” Chrissy Cunningham curled up next to her husband, Eddie Munson, on the large white couch of their Seattle home.

They’re a handsome couple still, draped in rock and roll finery. He toyed with the edge of her scarf, and she curled his long hair around her long fingers.

“We had some of our own shit going on at the time so…” Munson shrugged, “Maybe we were distracted.”

Their living room was crowded and verdant, every spare flat surface covered in plants. Their partner, former record executive Jason Carver, puttered in the kitchen in an apron that read Plant Papa.

“Yeah,” Chrissy smiled, “We had some stuff going on at the same time. But still… It seemed like they were getting better. Didn’t it seem like they were getting better?”

Munson shrugged, “The thing about Billy and Steve… they were soulmates. You don’t write music like that and not… it was like they had a second language, just for them. They were soulmates, I really believe that. Everything they did, everything that happened… they could only hurt each other that badly if… yeah.”

When I ask what they did to each other, Eddie and Chrissy just scooted closer together, like teenagers in a slasher, hiding from the killer. She laid a hand over his leg, her two stone diamond ring catching the sunlight.

“Steve never wanted Billy to be in the band,” Eddie shook his head, “but Jim had a soft spot for Billy. And Steve had… I mean Jim was…”

“Jim was like a father. To all of us.” Chrissy’s knee jiggled.

“We were this little tiny band from Nowhere, Indiana,” Eddie nodded, “And Jim believed in us.”

“I was just a junior exec at the time. I was put on the Kaleidoscope tour in case of catastrophic failure, which by the way it was,” Jason Carver is making risotto while we speak, the steam curling the lock of hair that falls over his face. “But it wasn’t my fault although I was high as hell on coke half the time. I guess I deserved to get fired. But Jim was the real deal. Gold records out the ass, best wife in the world, and his daughter, I mean… she was something else.”

They’re referring, of course, to Jim Hopper, producer on Kaleidoscope as well as Billy Blue and The Boys’ records, and the father of pop superstar Eleven aka Jane Hopper.

“Jim was…” Steve Harrington’s eyes always got a little misty talking about Jim, staring out over the ocean. “Yeah, I guess he was a little like my dad. My own parents were always gone. Which is like… I grew up so privileged so like I’m not saying… I just mean I grew up mostly by myself. And we were just so lucky he even agreed to listen to us when we got to LA.”

“I remember that night,” Joyce Hopper’s voice was raspy, cigarette-y in the way only old movie stars are. She’s a gorgeous woman in jeans and a gardening hat, speaking to me while she tends to her garden at her home in Castellammare. “He came home and said, ‘I have the next ones, the next big ones. Fuck, Joyce, they’re brilliant. Unpolished, but brilliant.’”

When I ask about when Jim discovered Billy Hargrove she just laughed.

“If Steve and the rest of The Boys were unpolished, Billy Hargrove was a fucking ten carat diamond,” She said. “But Steve’s band was Jim’s, and he could polish them up how he wanted. And then when he thought they were just right for it… he set the diamond.”

Jim Hopper was a big man, larger than life both in appearance and in personality. His fingerprints are all over some of the best hits of the decade.

Watching him on old interviews, there’s an immediacy to his presence that leaps off the screen.

“My daughter is the one who really found him. She snuck out with her sister and wandered God knows where. And she just… found him. Called me the next morning, saying ‘Dad, you have to hear this guy.’ He was playing in this… terrible club,” Jim said, tapping his cigar on the table of Merv Griffin’s set. “Absolute shithole, pardon my french. And he’s got a great voice, you’ve heard his voice, right?”

“I have,” Merv said.

“I had to get him out of there. He was a star.”

Billy Hargrove was a teenage runaway from San Diego when he came to LA in 1971.

“I had a girl’s backpack from my stepsister, eight dollars, and an extra pair of underwear. By the end of the next week? I had two more dollars,” Billy laughed. “But I got lucky. I met Heather.”

Heather Holloway was a showgirl at Wildwoods, a nightly revue. She found Billy at the backdoor, and took him to her apartment.

“She saved me,” He frowned. “Whenever I needed her most.”

Heather Holloway, Billy Hargrove’s first and only wife, died in 1979.

“I got a job singing at Sugar, this great gay club downtown. It was in the late afternoons, so I had a crowd of about… two. But those two brought two more,” Billy smiled, “Heather would talk me up to all the promoters. He’s a singer, he’s great, you’ll love him, he’s so cute.”

“He was an instant hit,” Sugar’s manager, Bob Newby, tells me by phone as well. “I did have to keep a couple of creeps off him, when he just started he was only nineteen. But even if you closed your eyes… he was a hit.”

“Guys used to think that because I was a part of the entertainment, I was fair game. And let me tell you, the novelty of that wears off mighty quick,” Billy shakes his head.

He shares a diary entry from his late wife of a night in April 1972. He came to her home with blood all over his face.

“Some guy thought because I was a fag…” Billy’s mouth twisted, but he went on, cradling the little marble notebook in his hand. “He could do whatever he wanted to me. When I fought back… he cracked a bottle over my head.”

He’s not just a piece of meat. He’s a person. I don’t understand these people. I just don’t understand, Heather Holloway wrote. I cleaned him up and he’s sleeping now.

The next diary entry is from a day later. April 12. Billy and I drove to Vegas and got married. When we spoke in the morning he said he was afraid for me too, even though I’m careful with the girls. He’s afraid of the cops trying to bust up the Wildwoods and picking me up. At least this way, he says. He and I can come home to each other. Look out for each other. Always. The groom wore band aids and his great velvet pants. The bride wore lavender. It was perfect.

“And lucky too. Because within a month… I met Jim,” Billy smiled. “And my whole life changed.”

Upside Down Records signed Billy Blue, unagented, in1972 and he spent the next year working on his debut album with Jim Hopper.

“I didn’t even realize, when it happened,” Billy shook his head. “A couple of girls came by after a show, wanting to talk to me, wanting to meet me. That wasn’t that unusual. But they were young, far too young to get into the club. And the little one, she was asking all these weird questions. Did I have an agent? Did I know if I had enough songs for an album? Weird fuckin’ questions. And then she said I have to meet someone. To be honest, I thought she was coked out of her mind when she said, ‘You have to meet my dad.’”

“I was not,” Eleven promised me, “coked out of my mind. But that’s just Billy.”

Eleven aka Jane Hopper, meets me backstage at one of her shows. She’s dressed in slouchy leather pants, to match her sister and drummer Kali Hopper.

“I knew he was something special. My dad was always talking about the IT factor. That thing that made a person something special. But I didn’t get it until I saw Billy Blue singing on that tiny stage,” She smiled. “He didn’t just have the IT factor. He was IT.”

It’s odd then, that Billy Blue’s first album had a surprisingly tepid response. His first single, in 1973, “Let Alone,” came in at only 26th for the month of April on the pop charts.

“People liked it,” Billy shrugs, “But I don’t think they knew what to do with it. You have my songs, these like… little pop love songs and ballads. I wasn’t that strong of a writer at the time. It was like half my songs, half covers. And so they’d book me, expecting fucking… Peter Frampton. And here comes this big queer with glitter on his nipples.”

But the lyrics of “Let Alone” would hint at his later songs, a hallmark simplicity that shone off his raw voice and poetry that hinted at a troubled past.

And if you were meant to care for me

You would, and that’s how it has to be

You said I couldn’t go on without you

Ha, look at me, looking brand new

At the same time, The Boys’ song “Paper Girl,” penned by Harrington, was number one.

She’s my paper girl

Wakes me up every morning, right on time

She got me smiling, got my head in a whirl

Picture perfect, paper girl

“Billy didn’t have much commercial appeal. Sex appeal, yes,” Jason laughed, toying with Chrissy’s hair. “But for sales? That’s where The Boys came in.”

“I hated that name,” Eddie said, “To start with we were half girls.”

The Boys had already had a somewhat successful tour under their belt by the time Jim suggested a collaboration with Billy Hargrove.

“It was a nice, short tour,” Steve Harrington glances away when I ask about the first tour.

“It was a nightmare. Balls to the wall nightmare,” Robin Buckley’s voice is a warm crackle over the phone. “Steve went on like thirty overlapping benders at once.”

Her partner, soap actress Vickie Carmichael cackles behind her, at their home in Salt Lake City.

“The thing about Steve is… well… he’s never found a good way of coping with himself,” Robin huffs. “Music was about as close as he ever got. But in those early days, he just kept looking for more and more.”

“You don’t think it was about-” Vickie asked, just barely into the phone.

“No.”

“It was about Nancy,” Eddie said confidently when I mentioned their first tour. “Nancy, Nancy, Nancy.”

The Boys got their start in the late sixties, beginning with Eddie and Steve. Eddie gave Steve guitar lessons, which turned into some talent show performances. They used to practice at Eddie’s Uncle’s trailer.

“That’s where we got the name,” Eddie nodded, “My uncle used to just call us that, and it stuck.”

“I don’t even remember,” Chrissy said.

“That’s not how we got the name,” Steve shook his head, when I mention Eddie. “It was our first gig, after we got Chrissy and Robin. Robin put it down after the headliner kept asking when ‘you boys’ would go on, and kept addressing it to Chrissy’s chest. She blew him out of the fucking water.”

Nancy Wheeler was there that night, writing about local bands for a tiny column in the school paper.

“She was beautiful. Smart. So smart. Could hear her talk forever,” Steve said, eyes falling.

Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were married in 1972 after they graduated high school.

“Steve made his own choices,” Chrissy shook her head.

That summer, the Boys plus one drove to LA and Nancy Wheeler took a job at Women’s Day Magazine and later, Rolling Stone. Steve Harrington and The Boys got a “steady gig” at La Bonita Rosa on the strip, playing for drunks every night from seven to eight.

“I really liked playing at La Bonita,” Steve said. “The audience, right there. You could smell the sweat. You could see on their faces if you were bombing. And we used to bomb. A lot. But it was a great place to try things. Experiment. We played there for about a year but… it felt too short.”

Within the year they had met Jim Hopper, who got them into the recording studio and sold their demo nearly on the spot to Upside Down Records.

“They had a great sound. They had got this way of playing. Smooth like a polished stone. Everything sounds good sitting in a frame like that,” Jim said in an interview with Rolling Stone in 1981. “Their songs were… catchy, but basic. But they had the sound.”

Upside Down records set the Boys on a US tour after “Paper Girl,” and “Joy to Love You,” both charted.

“It was like… overnight. One day we’re in a studio, messing around. Kid stuff. I was nineteen,” Steve Harrington shookhis head. “But…”

“That tour,” Chrissy trails off, playing with her ring again.

“I…” Steve Harrington scratched his nose. “I was losing it. Majorly losing it. It felt like we had just moved to LA and we were already neck deep. I mean, I had a number one fucking song. And for some reason I got it in my head to call my mom. She told the maid she wasn’t home. And I could hear her over the phone. My mom. So yeah. I lost it. Lost about half my damn mind on that tour. And people will say it was because of Nancy, because we got married just out of high school, and she wasn’t supportive… but that wasn’t true. Nancy saved me.”

“Nancy never wanted him to be in the band. But… she also didn’t seem to care that much either,” Eddie shook his head, “It’s… complicated. Love is supposed to be. Simple. Like the chords of a song. 1-3-5.”

Jason Carver rolled his eyes at that, “Then what are we?”

Eddie grinned, “We’re a band.”

Nancy Wheeler met me on a Thursday in New York City, slim sunglasses dominating her small porcelain face. We get lunch at her favorite deli shop, and she perches at the counter, loafers dangling. She’s an editor at The New Yorker now, but she still has a soft spot for rock and roll, as evidenced by the Grateful Dead t-shirt under her blazer.

“That tour. I didn’t even know anything was wrong. He just came home with a funny look on his face, saying, ‘We’re headlining.’ So I said, ‘That’s great, Steve.’ He just kept… saying it. It was starting to piss me off, if I’m being honest,” She shook her head. “I should have known something was wrong.”

“I wish she had stopped me. But how could you know right? Hindsight is always 2020,” Steve Harrington said. “I mean, she was my wife. How could she not want me home? But that’s just… sorry. That’s not fair to put on her. I chose to go.”

“I flew out to meet them when they were in Indianapolis, visited my family, and I came a day early to see him,” She smiled warmly, and then it fell. “He was… Well, first, Eddie Munson tried to intercept me at the hotel, so I wouldn’t see him. I told him, ‘I’m here to see my fucking husband.’”

Steve Harrington didn’t add any more details about the tour, just shrugged when I asked.

“He was coked up like you wouldn’t believe,” Robin scoffed. “She walked in on him with two girls and coke all over his… well.”

“I just asked him. Do you want to come home? Do you want to get help? Or not?” She purses her lips. “And so he came home and we found a rehab place near Hawkins.”

“The tour kind of… fell apart. Obviously. We had lost our lead singer and guitarist to fucking… Hawkins, Indiana,”

Everything stopped for the Boys. Upside Down offered to let them out of their two album contract, but Steve couldn’t afford to pay it down.

“Rehab,” He shrugged. “Is expensive.”

Right as it seemed that everything would be over for the Boys, things were looking up for Billy Blue.

“Jim was always saying, ‘the record is selling alright, the songs are getting there but he needs a… push,’” Joyce said. “‘He’s so close. So close. He’s a star.’”

“He always believed in me,” Billy smiled, toying with his ring again. “Always. Even when I threw a jug of milk at his head.”

Joyce laughed when I asked about that moment, “He came home saying, ‘He milked me, Joyce. But he’ll fix the song tonight.’”

“And I did,” Billy said. “And the album was going alright. I did a little tour, socal and the southwest. And then one night, Jim brings me this song. He said, ‘I want you to tell me what’s missing from this.’”

The song was, of course, the Boys’ biggest hit, “Hades.” Steve Harrington’s first version was called, “To Orpheus” and the chorus goes:

Don’t turn back don’t look behind you baby

I’m close, I’m right behind

The future's so bright, and I want you to take me

Wanna be holding your hand when I make it across the line.

“It was fine, but just kind of… nothing. It was supposed to be about Eurydice, but it was so… nothing. She just loved Orpheus and that was it. There were no insides to her. She was going to follow him to her doom,” Billy shook his head. “That’s not right.”

This was not the version that made it to the recording booth, of course. The Boys’ single, “Hades featuring Billy Blue,” came out in 1975. The actual chorus goes:

Turn back on me and I won’t forgive you baby

Don’t want you to see me like this

Up ahead is bright, and I want you to take me

If you’re strong enough to cross that finish line

“‘Hades,’ was a real step forward for the Boys. Gone were the teenybopper tunes,” Steve Harrington’s biographer and personal friend Dustin Henderson wrote in his book The Pretty Boy. “Their first album got the kids dancing. But the second proved that they actually had something to say.”

“Still hate it,” Steve Harrington said. “I wrote that song in rehab. It was deeply, deeply personal to me.”

“He came out, all ready. He wanted to start recording right away,” Robin sighed. “Like I mean the next day. All these songs, just pouring out of him. But the label had lost faith in us. And they certainly weren’t going to let us start recording with a guy who had only just earned his thirty day sober chip.”

“The song wasn’t ready,” Billy shook his head. “But I guess he was. Jim said he needed this. So Jim asked if I would come and like… pitch some stuff as a personal favor. Songwriting credit, that’s all it was supposed to be. Get the songs moving, get them going.”

Steve Harrington takes a long time to continue speaking about it.

“I felt it, writing for that album. I felt proud of those songs. They didn’t belong to anyone else but me,” He toyed with some piano keys while we talked, and then finally sat down and began to play something tuneless and half formed.

“That album was all about Nancy,” Chrissy said. “I mean. I know it. You know it. Nancy knew it. And she kind of hated it. But-”

“You can’t leave your husband right as he gets out of rehab,” Nancy said to me, toying with her wedding ring. “When he writes all these songs about how you’re the only thing… Steve was always like that. Heart wide open. That’s why when he met Billy. I almost thought… it would all be okay. That sounds fucked up but. I thought they could save each other. That the music could save him.”

“It was just a songwriting credit,” Billy raised his hands. “Jim swore up and down. I was just gonna come in there and sit down with this guy Steve. But when I walk into the studio, there’s two mics set up.”

“I was the Boys’ only singer,” Steve Harrington shook his head. “And to be absolutely honest, I was kind of a jackass about it. So to have some guy come in and say he’s gonna sing me my song… well…”

“Steve was the only one who would ever argue with Jim, And he let him have it that day,” Eddie laughed. “He called him the most low down, dirty, rat bitten bastard in California, and that he would die rather than give up his band to someone else.”

“I did not want his band. I did not know his band. And I did not care. And his song sucked. And I told him so. And then I sang it. Better.” Billy smiled.

“Billy was…” Chrissy shook her head. “Incredible.”

I ask Steve what Billy was like that first day in the studio.

“He was,” Something passed over his face. “Alright. He has a great voice, alright.”

“I was good. Better. Best.” Billy smiled.

“But he didn’t understand the song. He wanted Eurydice to… doubt. To think she wasn’t going to get out,” Steve slammed his hands on the keys. “It’s been… almost twenty years. I still don’t understand it.”

I asked why he let Billy stay. But Steve doesn’t have an answer.

“They were like oil and water, right away,” Chrissy said.

“Yeah, but oil on the water can catch fire,” Eddie shrugged.

“Jim asked me to stay,” Billy looked away from me, down at his waffles. “It was a favor to the label.”

“If Billy said louder, Steve said mute,” Robin snickered. “It was kind of great, actually. Finally someone called King Steve on his shit. One day I came in and they were arguing over how close the microphone should be to your throat. Almost got in a physical fight over a fucking microphone. I mean, I love Steve. But he always thinks he’s like… the babysitter. It’s his job to do everything for everybody.”

“Like who was this guy? Really? He came into my studio with no shirt on, most of the time still half smashed from the night before, and he thinks he can make all these changes. But Jim keeps telling me it’s just business, the label thinks it’s good business.” Steve frowned, and then smiled, and then frowned again.

“Yeah, I never wore shirts back then. Or underwear,” Billy said with a grin. “I was a rockstar!”

“Steve fought for every song on that album,” Nancy Wheeler patted her lips primly with a napkin. “He only lost on one.”

“Billy Hargove has songwriting credit and lead vocals on “Hades.” Dustin Henderson wrote.

“Billy was all over that album. He’d make some minor suggestion, maybe this chord instead of that, this word is better. And Steve would flip out, yell at him, yell at Jim, threaten to storm out… and then two days later quietly tell me to change the chord, he’d start singing the new words. Billy was there with us about every single day,” Eddie said.

“Of course, it was our biggest hit,” Chrissy laughed. “Everything but that song, Steve did what he wanted. Oh we had Billy in the studio, making suggestions. But Steve did what he wanted except for ‘Hades.’ Jim said that song is the album, and he wouldn’t cut it.”

“Jim was always right,” Steve closed the piano. “The bastard.”

Hades exploded onto the radio in late 1975. They didn’t have the same distribution as their first record, but the Boys had another hit.

“Billy had this way of singing it. Still does. He broke four mics when we recorded it. Singing so loud I had to keep an eye on the cymbals to stop them from shaking. You can feel him, right in your chest.” Chrissy giggled. “Like he was trying to wake all the dead from Hades. If anyone could, he could.”

“It’s a really, really great song,” Robin said.

This song belongs to Billy Blue, Rolling Stone wrote in 1976. The only question now is, what will The Boys do next?

“I remember that article. Fucking… Harrington said that he basically wrote the whole song. But he said, ‘the label thought bringing Billy in was a good idea,’” Billy gets tense for the first time. “I’m not saying I was like… I just mean. It would have been nice. To treat me like an equal. I’m more than just a singer. I’m not just… a piece of meat.”

“Billy was really pissed about that article. I remember, the day after the article came out, we were getting breakfast at this tiny place off La Cienega. Steve had this car back then, a big maroon BMW, and Eddie had got him a vanity plate when he bought it. Stupid thing it said, ‘BIGBOY.’ Anyway, We’re having breakfast, and we hear this screech outside, like an accident,” Robin Buckley gets uncharacteristically quiet as she goes on through this story. “Billy’s car is parked halfway out of the parking lot, and he comes in like a bull in a charge. Billy… he wasn’t some wimpy guy. He was small, but he was strong as hell… He came right over and grabbed Steve by his collar and lifted him right off the counter. And he said, I’ll never forget it because Steve used to recite it from memory, yell it at me, ‘Tell me I’m not dreaming. Is that Steve fucking Harrington? The lead singer of the Boys. Hey man, I love your song ‘Hades.’ How’d you get your voice to sound halfway decent for once?’”

“I don’t remember that,” Steve Harrington said flatly when I asked.

“And Steve used to be a fucking dick in high school. So he starts getting real bitchy, shoving Billy off him, asking what his problem is, why he’s such a dick all the fucking time, when it’s not even his band. And Billy said something like, ‘No one wants your shit band. Not with you in it,’” Robin paused for a moment. “And they just. Stare at each other. Like… daring each other to do something.”

Billy just shrugs when I ask, “I was pissed. I gave this guy a number one hit, and he still wanted to treat me like some… airhead singer the label brought in as a stunt. I’m not just a singer. I’m not a piece of meat. I’m a person.”

When I ask Steve about that day he’s pretty quiet, deflated at his piano. He only wants to talk about the song. The music. Can’t seem to talk about Billy any other way.

“He sang it like he not only knows Orpheus can’t save him, but that he won’t. It was supposed to be hopeful. A happy ending.” Steve said.

“So you still hate the song?” I asked.

“No, I don’t. It’s brilliant. And that’s the whole problem.”

To be continued...

Next up is Half-Oz-Eddie's piece at 7:00 pm. GET HYPE!

#harringrove relay race #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #steve x billy #harringrovefic #harringrovefanfic #harringrove fanfiction #harringrove fanfic #stranger things #my writing #DJATS au #Daisy jones and the six au #tw drugs

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janitorhutcherson · 1 year ago

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hey bitches!! it’s e, i’m backkkk. i had a fic idea, something i think i’ll use for a lot of new content if y’all react well to it. to give y’all a run down before we get into it, this is a famous!mike schmidt au.

basically mike is josh hutcherson. reader (you) are his live in PR assistant. not sure the perfect word for it, but basically you manage his social media presence, the way he dresses, how he is in public, attend all events with him to monitor him, etc…… kinda like a babysitter….. also, could technically be a part of olderbf!mike because reader is 22, mike is 31. anywaysss..! it’s a new idea, i just wanted to set the scene. the way i’m writing this is different from usual. plz let me know what you think! if y’all like i’ll write more in this universe🤭

summary: ur actor mike schmidt’s assistant!!

warnings: angsty, just an introduction to an idea.

————————

mike schmidt was a mess, and everybody knew it. that was part of what was so appealing to the public. he was a celebrity, a famous actor, known for various movies, tv shows. he was glamorized, lived in LA just like the rest of them, edits to upbeat songs all over social media with his hips swaying from some random snippet of a trailer. yes, mike schmidt was a heart throb, but he wasn’t your typical golden boy. he wore jeans and raggedy t-shirts to interviews. his brown curly locks were always tangled and sticking in fifty different directions. his stubble was always a little too rough, his hands calloused and bruised to masculine perfection. he wore snap backs and had no sense of what a filter was. he said things as they were on stages, into microphones, or on livestreams, silly phrases coming out of his pink lips. he was carefree, not glamorous nor slouchy but instead some odd middle ground that left women with slack jaws and puddles of drool. he was what every woman actually wanted when they said they wanted a man ‘written by a woman,’ or so they thought he was.

in reality, mike was the biggest pain in the ass to walk the earth. while most 22-year-olds got to save pictures of him to their pinterest boards and kick their feet every time he came into their tv screen, you were stuck managing his every move, saving his ass from letting the wrong thing fall from his mouth in front of the wrong audience. you were his manager, of everything, really. you managed his social media, coached him through what to say during interviews, inspected the clothing he wore before events… there wasn’t quite anything you didn’t do for mike. the two of you had a weird connection since you’d started, not quite foes but certainly not friends. the air was always somewhat tense, something you were all too aware of whenever you��d have an interaction with him. you knew it needed to change, and fast.

you’d gotten the job fresh out of college, extremely eager to take such a high paying position. you were lucky and you were aware, your gratitude something you showed through your endless devotion to being the best manager, and hopefully one day friend, mike could have. when you’d first been offered the position, part of what made it so appealing was knowing not only were you being paid, but you were given a room to stay, in the same home as mike. it was crucial, living alongside your boss in order to keep him in check. when you’d walked into a meeting room after you’d accepted the position, you were debrief about mike, told he was… difficult, to put up with. he tended to push his previous managers to the limit, his somewhat childlike demeanor sending them running the other direction. you accepted this as a challenge, something to motivate you to prove that you were worth more than the other old and dried up pieces of talent they’d had in here.

oh boy, did you have another thing coming. you weren’t any different to mike. sure, you were gorgeous, your eyes a color he could drown in, your laugh something he grew oh so fond of over the past few months you’d lived with him, but you were just another manager… right? it was his job to make this difficult for you. that’s how he saw it. so, you fought like you were pulling teeth, demanding he go change before going out like he was your 14-year-old daughter when he’d come out in a bleach stained t-shirt. you’d have to keep him from posting selfies of him smoking a joint on FACEBOOK just to cause a stir. for gods sake, you didn’t care if he put them anywhere else, just please, not where all the old people were. you’d argue late at night when you’d both head back to his place, your eyes filled with fiery anger after he’d drop some stupid shit in an interview, accidentally saying something about how one of his older costars were a “dried up old fashioned hag who needed to get some.” was he wrong…? no. but that didn’t mean he could say it.

he’d always yell back, his eyes filled with just as much anger. you went about this charade almost every time something had to be done. it could be a red carpet event, an awards dinner, an interview, even simply a live stream, there was always something with mike, something to yell and scream about. you constantly tried your hardest to stress how much you cared about this job, about him even too, sometimes blurring the line between professionalism and feelings as you’d get a little too intimate about the things you’d left behind, desperate for him to understand you, to see you.

it wasn’t until one night you’d finally had enough. he’d changed outfits right before a big interview that could’ve got him in front of multiple big directors, something big, even more groundbreaking for him. he’d been in an elegant outfit that fit his body so well, just like a glove, you could only imagine. of course, he hated it. he hated being coaxed into things, told what to do, to say, and currently, both were happening. when no one was watching, he’d slipped himself into a pair of black jeans and a tank top, walking out just like that, then proceeding to insult every director there individually. you were dumbfounded. no, he wasn’t drunk. no, he wasn’t high, medicated, or under any influence. this was just… mike, and you were starting to have enough.

the moment the two of you entered the house, you’d went at it, your face red from anger. how could he? how could he go out and blatantly go against everything you’d said purely out of boredom? he was a grown man, you’d think he could do better than this. you were embarrassed, not even for yourself as who represented him even though you should’ve been, but for him. you wanted this for him. your eyes locked on his, the moment you slammed the door shut. his big, beautiful brown eyes you most definitely didn’t mind looking into, no matter how angry you were. “mike, what the fuck,” was all you could say before he stuck his hand up. he went to turn on his heel, not even bothering to listen to a word you’d have to say.

that’s when you did something you didn’t think you’d do. this time, you’d let something slip, something you’d wished you hadn’t. “mike, if this shit doesn’t stop i’m fucking quitting, i’m leaving.”

that’s all it took.

that’s all it took for him to turn back on his heel to face you, frozen. his mouth was slightly parted, his eyes wider than you’d seen them before. he looked… angry.. confused.. no, not even. he looked… sad? he fluttered his eyes, his mouth opening and closing a little. you’d known you’d lasted longer than most, but this wasn’t what you were expecting.

“don’t,” was all he said, taking a couple of steps toward you. you stood there, frozen and tense as who was basically your boss slowly moved towards you, his demeanor different than you’d seen before. he was like a lost and wounded puppy, his dark brown eyes glistening with an emotion you’d never seen in him before. he reached out, touching your shoulder. you flinched, not even because you didn’t want him to but out of instinct.

“just, don’t go, y/n. i couldn’t take it, okay? i-i’m sorry, i’m sorry i fuck around too much, i’m sorry.. i just.. i don’t want you gone,” he said, his voice was low and growly. oh. he wanted you to stay. this was the first time he’d shown any interest in you in any way other than arguing, and you didn’t know what to do. with that being said, you did what you knew how to do best.

“okay,” you simply said, nodding your head as you went to your room. that night, you’d laid in your bed conflicted about the side of the man you lived with that you saw tonight. meanwhile, while you tossed and turned in your own sheets, mike did the exact same. little did you know, you were the only person mike had ever felt a real connection with. you were the only one patient, loving, thoughtful enough to be there for him, even through his hissy fits. he adored you, your style, your walk, your laugh, your humor, and he hated it. you were in his mind 24/7 and he hated it. but no, he could never get closer, because he knew you’d leave, just like the rest, and tonight was proof.

no, if mike were to ever attempt to get closer, you’d be the one to start it. and perhaps.. perhaps you would be, perhaps this encounter would be so engrained into your brain that you think about it daily, dissecting the look on his face. but who knows? maybe next week you’ll change your mind and pack your things, walk out the door. only the narrator knows quite what’s in store for the two of you…

#josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson fluff #josh hutcherson imagine #mike schmidt smut

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bvtbxtch · 1 year ago

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Jealous Guy | Eddie Munson

Day Nine of Kinktober

Summary: Steve Harrington is persistent with his advances towards you during the Hideout's Halloween party. Your co-bartender, Eddie, doesn't like the fact that you don't shoot him down right away.

wc: ~2.7k

Pairings: Bartender!Eddie Munson x Bartender!Fem!Reader, A Steve Harrington Cameo

Warnings: some more porn with a plot y'all so 18+ MDNI!!! Public sex, choking, slapping, oral (f receiving), fingering, hickeys, hate fucking (if you squint), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), cum eating (very briefly), Jealous meanie Eddie, PDA

In collaboration with my darling @darknesseddiem. Please make sure to tune in to their half of Kinktober later in October!!

a/n: hey y'all I have finally caught up to all of my work that I did in advance so this baby was written in the span of two hours and has not been proof read so if there are any mistakes, no they're isn't!

Eddie Munson wasn’t the jealous type. Far from it. His jaw wasn’t clenched because Steve Harrington was flirting with you. And it definitely wasn’t because you weren’t turning him down like most regulars. Maybe you needed the tips? Fuck, Eddie thought he would give you a hundred dollars to stop talking to the retired King of Hawkins high, especially because the Hair’s eyes were like magnets, drawn to your cleavage in your black lace corset. He hated to admit, but the madonna costume you sported for the Hideout’s Halloween Howler suited you. Your tits were pushed up to the gods, your hair big and curly with a bow on the side, and your tulle skirt barely covered your ass. Your legs were lengthened by fishnets and slouchy boots. Your signature smoked out liner and plum lipstick matched your costume perfectly. Steve was dressed up like a werewolf. Eddie rolled his eyes when he saw the jock walking in with Robin and Nancy behind him. But, maybe you were into guys that did costumes. He looked down at his sliced up Hideout shirt and he scoffed thinking about his own pale face. You had laughed at him when Eddie chastised you for not knowing he was a vampire, but now he felt self conscious. He continued to pour tequila for the group of screaming girls in front of his section of the bar while you chatted up the werewolf on your side. Eddie heard you purr “this one’s on the house” and touch Steve’s arm, and the metalhead just about short circuited. Eddie could admit that you were attractive, and that he was thankful that the two of you had gotten closer over the past few weeks. He eyed the blondes in front of him that had been eyeing him the whole night. He hastily poured shots, three for the girls in front of him and one for himself. He pushed the shots in front of them and downed the tequila down his throat. He screwed his eyes shut and the only thing he could see in the darkness was the interaction that the two of you had when closing the bar last week.

Your face was screwed into a frown as you wiped up the last inch of your side of the bar. You leaned against the bar with a sigh. The night had been long and busy, but Eddie’s eyes always found you, whether you were clearing and wiping tables throughout the bar, fixing broken pool tables with a hip check, or serving your regulars at the bar. He also noticed how your eyes raked over him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

“Rough night?” Eddie asked.

“Ah, well, if you consider getting your ass grabbed by that fucking Creel guy over there” you gestured your thumb behind you “then yeah, pretty rough. The prick hasn’t left me alone since. Sincerely thinking he’s gonna be waiting at my car when I leave.” You laughed and shook your head. You didn’t notice Eddie’s face hardened and his cheeks flush red while you recapped your night. He breezed past you, eyes glued on the offender, your eyes followed him and panic made your chest heave when Eddie slipped past you and out from behind the bar.

“Where are you going?” you questioned. Eddie’s eyes met yours but they didn’t soften.

“I’m going to take care of it.” Eddie didn’t give you a chance to stop him. He grabbed the older man by the collars and pulled him out the front door. Within minutes, the mop headed man walked back in the bar shaking his fists which were bruised and covered in blood. You yelled out to Eddie and ran to him, cupping his hands.

“What did you do?” you gulped.

“I fixed the problem.”

You spent the last half an hour of the now empty bar being open with Eddie sitting on a stool with you in between his legs. You smelt like floral perfume and Jack Daniels. Eddie felt his heart fall to his knees as you made purchase in his space. You couldn’t help but steal glances at the boy in front of you. You had always thought he was cute and mysterious, but now that it was just the two of you, he looked soft, almost innocent (which was ironic seeing the situation you were in). His pearly complexion was littered with soft brown freckles. His hair frizzed around his head like a halo. As you cleaned up his hands you noticed the subtle muscle the boy had. His biceps flexed slightly under his black tee and his tattoos flexed as he pulled away in pain. You would squeeze out small apologies.

“You don’t have to worry about anyone touching you again, as long as I’m here.” Eddie murmured, too shy to say anything too loud and scare you away.

“Thank you, Eddie. You didn’t have to do that.” Your eyes flickered to his lips and you pulled yourself in closer to him. He tilted his head down to meet your lips. As they dusted against yours, you pulled away, unfortunately remembering where you were. Eddie cleared his throat and hopped up from the stool and thus ended your encounter and conversation for the end of the night. He didn’t even walk with you through the parking lot like normal - he hopped in his van as soon as the clock struck 3am and screeched onto the highway. Did you do something wrong? Were you making up signals that he was sending you? He wanted to kiss you and you wanted to kiss him - but after work where you could tell him how you felt.

Eddie’s eyes flickered open and he shook his head, erasing the thought from his mind and the alcohol from his tongue. He turned to see you eyeing him. When your eyes met, you rolled yours and turned back to the customers in front of you, Steve not too far down the bar. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, or maybe it was the fact that Eddie was jealous, but he strutted up right beside you and puffed his chest out at Steve, who was, very obviously, making heart eyes at you.

“Hey man, are you finished ordering? Because we got a crowd and you’re taking up bar space.” Eddie grumbled at the perfectly manicured quaff of hair standing before him. He wasn’t lying per se, there were quite a few patrons that night, but they weren’t all waiting for their drinks.

Steve scoffed at him and made eyes at you; you scoffed and rolled your eyes at Eddie and turned back to the older woman dressed up like a devil. You couldn’t stand being close to Eddie since your interaction last week, you thought you might not be able to handle the rejection, or any advancements that he would make towards you. It didn’t however stop you from shutting him out completely and trying to move on. You spoke to Eddie without turning to face him.

“Steve is my guest, he’s allowed to sit at the bar if he wants, Eddie. Take the stick out of your ass.” You chuckled as you heard the man behind you gasp. Eddie looked to Rick, working tables and signaled him to take over the bar. You suddenly felt a bruising grip on your arm as you were dragged towards the back entrance of the bar and to the break room and out the back door.

“What the fuck Eddie!” you spat.

“Tell him to fucking leave.” Eddie demanded. His voice was low and calm, but there was a fire in his eyes.

“Are you kidding me?” You laughed in his face. “Don’t tell me Eddie Munson is Jeal-” Your words were lost in your throat as Eddie slammed his hands against the wall beside your head and caged you within his arms.

“Did I stutter?” Eddie's eyes were dark and you couldn’t read his expression. You searched and waited for him to leave, or to say something to you, but he stilled; his face mere inches away from your face. You had to resist the urge to pull him into a kiss, but your heart thumped and you felt like you were going to suffocate. You needed him to move, to do something. Without warning his lips were on yours. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t longing like your other kiss was supposed to be. This was primal - territorial. He was letting you know who you belonged to.

It was a gnashing of teeth and tongues, but you couldn’t help but moan into him. The release that you had been longing for, that thread between the two of you had gotten so tense, you were happy it finally snapped. Eddie’s mouth trailed down your neck. You whined while he sucked a hard hickey by your pulse point. You hoped Eddie would soothe the pain radiating from the spot, but there was none. This was not about being sweet or gentle. He wasn’t trying to win you over. He knew he had won - he was just taking what was his and making sure you and everyone else knew it.

“E-Eddie” you moaned. “We can’t do this now…” Eddie detached his mouth from your throat and replaced it with his hand. He added light pressure to stop your words in their tracks.

“You don’t tell me what to do. Now you’re going to be quiet and you’re going to listen. Or you’re going to push me off and never fucking talk to me again.” He bored into your eyes, waiting for you to move against him and trot back through the door to the blaring music on the other side. But to his surprise, you grabbed his wrist that was choking you and pushed down harder. Eddie’s expression flickered from domination to surprise to complete arousal. He pressed into your neck, eliciting a moan from your lips as you felt dizzy.

Eddie trailed his hands down your body as he sank to his knees. He hastily pulled your thigh up on his shoulder and pulled your fishnets apart by your core. To his amusement, he could tell there was a wet patch on your panties, even in the dim light. He slapped his ring finger across your clothed pussy, sending shocks up your body and leaving you yelping in pleasure.

“Did I get you all worked up, doll?” Eddie slapped again, making your legs heave. “Or did Harrington get you all hot and bothered?” Eddie’s eyes looked up at you expectantly. “Answer me!” He barked.

“It’s for you, Eddie… All for you” you moaned.

“Good answer,” he smirked. Without hesitation, your panties were pulled to the side and his mouth was on you - and he sucked down hard. You cried out and the man looked back up at you pointedly. You bit your lip as you watched him probe your pussy with his tongue. You looked around hastily, desperate for more contact, but petrified someone was going to drive around to the back of the parking lot and see you - or worse, your boss would come out for his smoke break.

“Eddie” you gasped. “We’re gonna get caught!” Your body language didn’t match the panic in your voice. You bucked against Eddie’s face, making the boy moan. He took one of his big hands and pressed against your abdomen, pinning you to the wall.

“Then be a good girl and cum for me,” Your world went fuzzy when you felt Eddie’s tongue press into your throbbing hole. Your mouth formed a wide o as you gasped for air. Eddie felt like he was going to bust in his pants at the way you clenched around his muscle. He needed to see you fall apart for him and then he needed to mark you as his. He replaced his tongue with his fingers and migrated his mouth up to your sensitive clit. You bit down on your lip as your orgasm barrelled towards you. Eddie reached up and put his free hand in your mouth. You moaned into his dextrous fingers and sucked down hard. Eddie’s pornographic moan sent vibrations through you and threw you over the edge. Eddie lapped at you like you were the last thing he was ever going to taste. He stared up at you, watching how you came undone. When he felt the shaking of your thighs subside, he dropped your leg and flipped you over so your cheek was pressed against the cool brick wall. Eddie’s large hands pressed into your hips, assuring you would have fingerprints to remember him by in the morning.

With a couple of pumps at his angry cock, and he pressed into your spent pussy, giving you minimal time to adjust to his stretch. You didn’t see it, but you could feel that Eddie was exceptionally well endowed. His cock filled you deliciously and your breath hitched against the wall. Eddie gave you a brief pause to breathe when he was fully sheathed inside you. You both paused with heaving chests as headlights passed the side of the building, but turned away from the two of you. Eddie pulled out completely, making you whine at the emptiness; but you didn’t have to wait for long to be filled again, because Eddie slammed fully into you, eliciting a yelp. His veiny hand snaked around to your neck and pressed down again.

“I told you to be quiet,” Eddie chided. “Let me fill you up and you can go back to your fucking boyfriend” Eddie’s words felt like venom in your ear. You felt like you could barely speak, Eddie didn’t let up his pace.

“Hmph… not my… boyfriend” you managed to rasp out. Eddie let out a dark chuckle.

“No, huh? Would you let Steve touch you like this? Would you let Steve taste you? Would you let him choke you, doll? Do you think he could make you cum like I can?” Eddie pounded into you harder and tears threatened to spill out of your screwed shut eyes.

“No, Eddie. Fuck!” You cried.

“You gonna cry over him, doll?” Eddie sneered. He wanted you to feel bad, but more importantly, he needed to know that you chose him - and that this isn’t a one time thing, you will continue to choose him.

“Eddie!” He could feel you fluttering around him again, you were close. He could feel the knot in his own abdomen tightening. He thrusted into you harder, hitting your g-spot and making your hands fly to the wall in a weak attempt to ground yourself.

Eddie thrust with every word he spoke: “You’re. Not. His. You’re. Mine.” You nodded and Eddie put more pressure on your neck. You both groaned as your climaxes hit. Eddie’s hot ropes of cum painted your insides - his dick twitching sending you past pleasure into overstimulation. The hand that was still on your hip helped hold your shaky legs up.

You felt Eddie’s soft hair rest on your exposed back. You both were too fucked out for words. Begrudgingly, Eddie pulled out and flipped you over to face him. You were flushed and your eye makeup looked more smudged than it did before. Eddie traced his thumb over your cheek to wipe a dark blot of watered down mascara off your cheek. You shifted underneath his gaze, his cum spilling out of your spent pussy.

“You’re gonna go inside and finish the night and I’m gonna drive you home so we can talk, okay?” You shook your head quietly at him. He peered down to your lower half. He pressed his fingers back into you to push both of your essences back into you then pushed your underwear back into place. He looked at you once he removed his fingers and popped them into his mouth. You stared aghast, with your jaw slacked.

“And I’m going to serve Harrington for the rest of the night. Got it?”

“Got it” You peeped. You straightened your skirt and rolled your shoulders back as you swung the door to the bar open. The Time Warp bled out into the October air. You turned back to Eddie and flashed him a small smile, then you were gone.

Eddie smirked as he pulled a cigarette out from behind his ear. Yeah… Harrington was going to have a pretty shit rest of his night.

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#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson ff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #bartender!eddie #bartender!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson edit #eddie smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson enemies to lovers

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