#the way I was thinking half way through the gym that why isn’t he here today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grimesgirll · 3 months

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heyy could you write Negan smut, with them both fighting for dominance while they fuck, taunting each other; Maybe because they known each other before the apocalypse so she isn’t as intimidated by Negan like the rest.

you have to be the hottest thing he’s seen in quite sometime.

negan, simon, and dwight had heard the gunshots from your shotgun and stumbled upon you; all alone, fending off a few dozen walkers.

simon had insisted that they leave and not risk their safety for “some broad”, and negan was on board until he realized that wasn’t just any broad - it was you.

the three cut through the horde of walkers at negan's insistence. braving bloated corpses and trudging over the trampled isn't a simple feat - even with guns. minutes pass until you're finally face to face. half dazed, you did a double take once your eyes suddenly met the disgraced gym teacher's.

then you hit the ground.

when you woke up, mr. smith was there. you were shocked to see him and even more surprised to learn that he was the leader of an up and coming survival group.

“what about your wife?” you’d asked. “mrs. smith is really cool.”

made slightly dramatic by age, the pained twist of the former faculty's face has you regretting your question.

mrs. smith was really cool.

mr. smith had once been too. kind as well. negan is looks cool, and you can't deny that there's a cult of personality that can't be beat with him. not kind though.

no, you'd learned your first week that the gym teacher who had once teased you about college partying on the playground was now a certified psychopath. as a teaching assistant and faculty shadow at the school, you'd befriended negan easily. the two of you pulled off witty banter as you dropped the kids off for gym, even accepting invitations to join the day's activity.

mr. smith was no more and negan's now burning faces off. you'd seen that. just like you'd seen the floggings, the beatings, the spankings, and even the wall. waking up one day to see the nurse you'd grown fond of outside wandering as a walker was enough for you to tweak.

“what did she do?”

negan looks up from a map of northern virginia to grin at you. “hey, doll! what’s goin’ on?” he kicks his feet up on the desk. “don’t see much of you around here.”

“yeah, because i can barely get by your goons.”

he shrugs. “seems like you got up here just fine.”

you’d sideskirted fat joey when he left his post to top off his dr. pepper. it was easy enough to walk your way to negan’s office to confront him.

“why is the woman who trained me walking around the front yard as a zombie?” you question, not breaking eye contact with the smirking leader. “what could she have done to deserve that?” you let out an exasperated breath, reigning it in with another deep umhals before asking, “don’t you think that’s fucking extreme?”

if negan softens, you really can’t tell. all that comes from the man is a laugh. “you mean the nurse who was planning on robbin’ us all blind and hightailing it with nearly all of our narcotics?”

you don’t even have the care to gawk at him. “could she not have been rehabilitated?”

he scoffs at you. “once an addict, always an addict.”

a sudden wave of dread comes over you, and for a moment you think it may be your lunch coming back up but one look at your former fellow faculty member and you know it’s purely disgust.

“she was my friend!”

“you’ll make more!”

“she was my only friend here,” the words croak out of your mouth.

negan just chews on his lip and shrugs. “sorry, honey, you’ll just have to start bein’ friendlier then.” a smirk spreads across his leather-like, aged face. “might have to drop the whole resting bitch face.”

you’re fuming. the column of rage growing from your belly pangs with no place to go. “for you freaks?”

your outburst has fat joey huffing and puffing his way through the threshold of the door.

“everything, okay, boss?” the grunt looks from your red face to his relaxed leader. “sorry bout’ her. she shouldn’t be up here.”

negan waves a hand. “don’t worry about it, joey. i can handle her.”

joey nods when a “handle me?” is flying from your mouth and negan just shoots him a cheeky grin.

“let me walk you back down there, doll.” negan insists.

when he rises from his desk, you realize how he towers over you, something you’d never clocked despite how often you two had been in close quarters back at school. you’re glaring up to meet his dark eyes - the ones that glint in the light like he hadn’t subjected a young woman to the most gruesome death - not including her life after death.

“this way, you,” negan is shepherding you with a hand on your back and all you can do is grumble as you pass his lazy goon.

once the two of you are in the hallway, you slap his hand off of him. “don’t touch me,” you sneer.

he chuckles. “whatever you wish, princess, just stop interrupting me from my important shit with your emotional shit, ‘kay?”

you shake your head. “what would mrs. smith think of all this? surely you don’t think you’re in the right. your wife would’ve hated this.”

negan gestures to the empty, desolate stairwell the two of you are descending. “she look like she’s here?”

“doesn’t matter. what happened to your morals?” you spit, stopping in your tracks to turn and face the taller man, standing on a higher step so that you’re both at eye level. “you were a school teacher.”

“yeah, and you would’ve been dead if we hadn’t brought you in.”

“so i should be happy with the freak show you’re putting on here?”

the expressive leader throws his arms out to motion to the compound. “look around, it’s bread and circuses!” he says simply. “you work, you get a bed, and a safe place to live.” a devious expression overtakes his countenance. “and a show!”

“i hate it here.” you declare nastily.

he snorts. “you hate not being in control, and all the safe little assurances we had before. things are different now.”

“no,” you counter, face coming closer to his. “you’re different now.”

“gotta be to survive nowadays, darlin’, now hurry it up. you need to get back to stitchin’ up my men so they can go out and bring you back ravioli, morphine, soap, toilet paper, all that shit you’re bitchin’ about having.”

“you’re a psycho,” you huff at him as he ushers you down the stairs, another level, and the familiar way towards the infirmary.

“you’re just not adjusted yet. just stick to changing bedpans and we won’t have a problem,” negan instructs with a hand on your back again.

you brush him off once you two have entered the sterile, white infirmary where doctor carson is talking quietly with one of negan’s goons.

“what’s goin’ on here, doc?” negan questions, startling the two.

negan’s man is pale - and sweating buckets. the doctor stands from his bedside to face negan.

“hello, negan, we were just finishing up.”

“finishing up what?”

the pit in your stomach grows when you notice the sickly man on the bed scurrying to fold the fabric of his shirt back over his stomach. the doctor has a pokerface but you didn’t need them to answer to know what was going on.

“what’s goin’ on, dan? feelin’ alright?” negan doesn’t give the doctor a chance to answer before he’s next to his commissioned scavenger, towering over him now.

dan nods. “feelin’ fine. just scraped up and tired as hell after gettin’ back from carolina.”

“i bet!” that loud voice booms throughout the room. “mighty long trip that was. thanks again, man.” the clap to dan’s back from his leader almost has him buckling. “but you don’t look so good, bud. got something to tell me?”

“negan-,” the doctor starts but he’s quickly silenced by a simple raise of the leader’s hand.

“nope, doc. i wanna hear it from dan here.”

the man’s nervous eyes flicker from doctor carson and to you. you want to crumple where you stand. though his eyes are pleading, there’s nothing you can do. only manage your growing disgust as you watch negan reach for his sidearm.

then negan does something that surprises you, he leans down to embrace the man in a hug.

“thank you, it was just a long trip.” dan’s bumbling, but negan shushes him.

“don’t worry bout’ it, dan.”

that’s when the bullet departs the chamber and implants itself in dan’s brain.

the man who’d just been alive slumps down and falls onto the newly bloodied bedsheets. the white wall behind him is sprayed with brains and chrome. the salt and pepper haired leader stands from the bed and yawns, stretching as if he wasn’t leaving a mess of blood and trauma for you and the doctor to clean up and process.

“back to work. keep an eye on her, doc.”

“negan, you sick fuck.”

this time, negan’s holding his council and heatedly harping on gregory.

the man lets out an exasperated breath. “who the fuck wasn’t watching the door?”

his legion of doom is bewildered to see the sullen nurse standing in the doorway. dwight’s apathetic as always, but is the first to offer to escort you out while simon’s telling gregory to “shut the fuck up” and laura’s looking at you as if no one could be more annoying as to drag this meeting on.

“joey!”

one shout and you hear heavy footsteps thudding down the hall. breathing raggedly, the guard wraps himself around the doorway and drops his sandwich at the sight of you.

“so sorry, boss. she really sneaks in!”

the older man just shakes his head. “don’t let it happen again or gregory gets it.”

laughter erupts from the room. everyone at the table is dropping their dauntless demeanor as if on cue. the only one not laughing is gregory of course.

“negan, listen-,”

“ah!” negan interrupts him, straining against his leather jacket when he turns his body towards him. “you shut it! i hate having my shit interrupted, and i hate having supply drops interrupted far more than meetings.” he directs his attention from the man from hilltop back to you. “why don’t you just take a seat, honey? we’ll be done soon.”

you shake your head. “i’m not trying to stay here any longer than i have to. i need this sorted out now.”

“if you wanna talk, doll, you’ll have to wait your turn. i’m talking to gregory right now.”

“i don’t even want to talk to you.”

he exhales flippantly. “then why are you here? interrupting my important meeting.”

“i came for my shotgun.”

negan chuckles, crossing his arms. “you think you’re gettin’ that thing back? after the mood you’ve been stirring up here?”

you do your best to ignore the way he’s laughing and dismissing you or how he’s manspreading all over the chair he’s parked in.

“i need my stuff now. i’m leaving tonight.”

it’s like the air’s been sucked out of the room. you can see negan’s jaw tighten in real time, and the room stiffens. waiting for a reaction is half the angst but you don’t have time for it. don’t even want to defend your decision, especially in front of everyone here.

“out!”

chair legs scrape against the ground as some of negan’s senior partners in psychopathy begin to egress.

gregory is just looking flabbergasted. “but we had a meeting?”

“everyone, out. now!”

all it takes is a “negan doesn’t like to repeat himself” and dwight is shuffling gregory out of the room, simon taking up the rear.

“see you soon, hun’,” he taunts to you.

you don’t have enough time to process his words because he’s shutting the door behind you and probably mentally rescheduling this meeting. you could care less.

“enough, negan smith.” he blinks at the full name callout. “i want my stuff and i’ll be out of your hair. you won’t have to worry about me.”

negan’s off his feet again and sitting on top of the table now. he points to the chair next to the head. “sit.”

“i don’t want to sit.” you insist. “i already told you, i don’t want to talk, i want to go.”

“yeah, well we’re gonna talk first, so sit your ass down.”

you don’t want to spend anymore time in this nutjob factory than you have to but you want your shotgun back. so you walk across the room and you stand at the chair.

“what do you have to say to me?” you inquire.

“god, look at you!”

you roll your eyes.

“a few weeks after getting your life saved, getting your needs taken care of and you’re ready to go back to that?”

“i don’t want to be at your constant mercy.” you say plainly. “not that you can really call it mercy.”

with every retort from him being a laugh, your patience is growing thin. he snickers upon seeing your frown. “so, you want to take your chances out there instead of taking a little time to let me help figure out your problem?”

you throw up your hands. “figure out my problem? i came to you to help figure out my problem and you said to just deal with it. to ‘adjust’. well, i can’t. i can’t live like this. it’s not humane.”

“yeah, and it’s humane out there?”

“better than bitching in here.”

“well, i think i can help with that. won’t be getting your shotgun back.”

“oh, so you can’t help at all?” you snap.

he whistles. “never said that.” his eyes drop from your gaze down your torso to your thighs. he pats the table next to him. “come sit on the table.”

“no. i want to go. now.”

“alright then.”

“negan!”

you exclaim when he scootches off the table to scoop you up by your legs and middle and plop you down.

“let doctor negan see if he can help.”

“what are you-,”

“ah! look at that.”

“ah!”

the sudden sensation of a finger against your denim covered cunt has your face flushing and red. “been touched there in a while, honey?”

“just give me my shotgun,” you breathe, desperately trying with your eye contact to communicate that things aren’t going the way you expected.

“let me give you some reprieve, clear your head, and then we can see if you still want your shotgun.”

you shake your head as he starts pulling down your pants. “you think your wife would be okay with this?”

“she here?”

you curse yourself for giving him such an easy answer. you curse yourself for not doing anything other than pouting and wiggling once he’s at your waistband. you curse the little wet spot soaked though your underwear even more.

“god, i knew confrontation would get you wet.”

“so you planned this?”

the older man shakes his head, taking another moment to fully lock eyes with you, even as he towers over you on the table. “no, i’m thinking that we both walked into this.”

maybe you shouldn’t have walked in, you ponder as negan walks your undies down your thighs with his fingers and walks them right back to your dripping center. the hair you have down there is already slick, a damp curtain pried open by negan’s thick fingers.

“shit,” you rasp when a finger braves the pool of anticipation that’s only growing and delves further against your inner walls.

“want me stop there?” the fucker’s finger stills inside of you and the other dancing just above your clit comes to a halt.

you don’t respond, just lock eyes with negan and try to catch your breath. “that’s not fair,” you point out in a voice just above a whisper. “can’t stop now.”

“or can i?”

you shake your head. “don’t.”

maybe clearing the tension that’s been building like a twentieth century skyscraper inside of you will sort you out. or you could just say fuck it. the world’s ended anyways.

negan surely fucks a finger stationed inside of you back and forth. twisting and testing the waters before adding another. the extra finger curls inside you deliciously while he utilizes another to play around your clit.

the attention he’s paying to your once undisturbed nether regions is enough to have you creaking and moaning like an old door hinge and hinging forward into negan. he’s quick to let you fall forward into his arms. the sudden acceptance is all he needs to speed up.

“i know that feels good, honey.”

“mhmm,” you murmur into his shoulder.

there’s a spot inside of you that he’s massaging just right and another on your exterior; an x doesn’t need to mark the spot for him to rile up your clit. slow, lazy circles have you grinding against him on the table. how can you bemoan him when he’s about to pull the perfect release from you?

you know that because your breath is picking up again and you’re blubbering into his sturdy shoulder. those motions are telltale. mrs. smith’s memory hasn’t kept this man celibate.

the widower has his hand on your back again and the hand beneath you has its own task. the task at hand is executed with more skill than any boy you’d ever fooled around with in college or anyone who came after - not that there were many given how things had gone. you’d like to think that if shit hadn’t hit the fan, you would’ve settled down with someone like mr. smith but younger. this would have to do.

“clenchin’ so tight just around my fingers, baby. you always had the hots for me?”

you shake your head no truthfully. “this is the hots?”

“you feel hot down there baby, and my are you hot.” he lands the compliment with a kiss. you lean in, letting his tongue slip into your mouth because you’re too occupied with the build up brewing inside of you.

one glance down between you two and you see his fingers pumping. your heart rate jumps when you see the addition of another and now you’re being stretched out on his fingers on this table.

“god, you’re gorgeous. what a sweet little thing to have fallen into my lap.”

you curl further into his lap, legs now around him and his fingers knuckle deep inside of you. all he has to do is curl his fingers and you’re yowling. “mhm, they’re deep.” you say, brain just observing.

“too deep?”

“no.”

thus, they plunge further. until the extra finger on the outside is stirring up more than your slick and heat courses through you. you shudder against negan but that doesn’t stop his routine. the shape of his fingers change inside of you and you’re bucking against him to feel each one.

“fuck, i’m gonna come,” you don’t want to say it out loud but you do anyways.

“on my fingers?” negan sniggers. “you poor thing. c’mon now, i know it must’ve been a while.” he presses the pad of his thumb against your clit. “just let go, honey, it’ll help.”

and it does.

letting your lizard brain take the lead is all you need for your mind to go blank. if even for a second, it releases the anxiety and the anger that’d consumed you. you pulse and clamp down around his digits until suddenly he’s not moving at all but you’re rotating your hips against him.

riding out such a feeling, you blink the tears out of your eyes and do a double take once you notice negan removing his fingers and starting on his belt.

“what’re you doing?” you question, pussy still pulsing with a mind of its own.

“if you thought that helped you relax, this will put you to sleep. no more sleeping pills for you, darlin’.”

“how did you know about that?”

“doctor carson doesn’t keep secrets from me. he didn’t need to tell me you weren’t adjusting well either.” negan states matter-of-factly, then dropping his blue plaid boxers.

you’re not sure how you’re going to adjust to the sight you’re met with. the cock in front of you is larger than any you’ve ever seen before. if negan’s fingers had you losing it, this thing will ruin you.

“i don’t think it’s gonna fit,” you admit when his hands land on your hips.

the distance between your needy bare entrance and his thick dick is only inches now. you shudder at the longing that’s whipping you and your thoughts around. you moan when he slides his hard, veiny cock against your entrance, slapping it against you once for good measure.

“nope, you’re tougher than you think.”

you meet his eyes again as if to question him. sure, he feels good against you but this is next level. better than fiction but what would happen after you both got your orgasms out of the way?

there’s no time for you to speculate because his lips are on yours again and you feel him lining himself up against you. “you want me to fuck all those fears out of your head, honey? you wanna feel good?”

how can you say no to that?

one nod of your head and his tip is teasing you. it takes you telling him, “please, put it in. i want it,” and then he’s plunging inside.

your face scrunches as a little burn becomes prominent from his size, but he kisses the lines away from your face. your temple, your nose, your lips, your cheek, he’s kissing you, saying, “good girl. you’re doing fantastic.”

you just eat up the praise and look down to see your pussy devouring him whole. the first two or three inches were a struggle just from lack of use but your lack of pleasure - the near sexual deprivation you’d experienced since shit hit the fan - overcomes it, and is pleasantly fulfilled.

in and out of you, negan works his hips and you can’t be happier. could a man you’d branded a psycho just minutes before be so adept at addressing your pleasure?

seems like it.

“god, you fuck well for a gym teacher.”

negan won’t let the snide comment slide so he wraps up his tour of purple rain against your collarbone to simper at you. “yeah, and for a frigid bitch, this pussy is hot and ready.”

“maybe i’m one of those dumb girls who’s attracted to psychos and serial killers?” you ponder playfully and wrap your arms negan’s neck to pull him in closer.

“oh, i’m gonna fuck you dumb, honey, don’t worry.” and with a roll of his hips, you have no reason to worry he won’t live up to his words.

you whine when he suddenly rams into you. his girth juts along your tight, inner walls. you meet his gaze again and just looking at his smug face has you tightening around him.

“god, baby, did you just fuckin’ squeeze me?”

“can you adjust?”

he grunts. “can you?”

you don’t have time to ask what you could possibly have to adapt to next because negan’s turning you into your stomach onto the table, tossing his leather jacket down for you to bury your face into. his absence from between your thighs brings on another whine but one moment of motion and now you feel him flush against your back, filling you to the brink with his cock.

“yeah, bet that brain can’t even think about an escape plan with that dumb little pussy stuffed so full. you gonna’ be able to walk tomorrow, honey?” he asks you tenderly as if he’s not on the verge of taking out your cervix.

“ne-negan! sto-,”

“-stop what?” he gyrates his hips nice and slow into you, dragging on the sensitive insides of your poor, overstimulated little cunt. “stop fucking you? because the way your pussy is clampin’ down, i don’t even know how i’m backing out of here baby.”

“don’t!” you beg.

“what?” he leans down to take your chin in his hands and see the angsty, pleasure induced tear starting to roll down your cheek. “god, you even look pretty when you cry. fuckin’ face like that.”

hips are stammering and negan’s words burn straight through to your core. he moans like a motherfucker when he feels the squeeze of your clingy little core on him. haywire all of this had gone, and now your climax is taking you over the edge.

“negan, don’t stop. don’t stop. don’t be an asshole,” you’re pleading.

he’s back to spearing you on his cock, leveraging your hips and throwing his head back. “don’t think i could, baby. not with a pussy this fucking fantastic.”

the praise is what does you in for the second time. any thought of undead nurses or public floggings leaves your brain and all you’re left with is the molten hot pleasure exploding inside of you. negan’s hand drifts down to your clit to have you absolutely crushing his cock.

“god, doll, you’re fuckin’ tight. so fuckin’ hot when you come like that. gonna have me doing a fuckin’ one and done for now.”

the huskiness of his voice and the twitch of him against your walls only eggs you on. your eyes are shut tight but you he’s all you can imagine. head on top of his jacket, you breathe in his scent, musky with a hint of the same cologne he wore back at school, and you’re creaming around him.

“fuck, doll!”

and he’s shooting his cream inside of you. the warmth fills you up and you no longer have the energy to move. any gyration of your hips has halted. a few more thrusts and he’s in the same boat. he collapses atop you for just a moment before pulling out and padding towards the table against the wall laden with napkins and refreshments that were supposed to be for the meeting.

you don’t turn your head but you can hear him grabbing some paper towels off the roll and clutching some other things.

“just gonna wipe between your legs,” he instructs and you let him.

your forehead against the table and those pretty eyes squeezed shut has negan rethinking a thing or two. suddenly he’s regretting not fucking you like the sweet thing you are. you deserved better than a table - at least his soft, king sized mattress if not a cloud.

once he finishes, he pats your back and nudges you up where he’s waiting with a water bottle - already open with the cap off. you accept with no issue and gulp the mini-sized bottle down easily.

“listen, why don’t you have dinner with the girls and i tonight? i’m not gonna give you your shotgun back just yet, but might change your mind about some things.”

#the walking dead #negan smith #negan smith smut #jeffrey dean morgan #twd smut #twd #twd imagine #twd negan #negan smith x reader #negan smith imagine #not beta read #i hope you liked this anon! kinda veered off but this had to get out of my drafts #let me know if we want a pt 2! kinda set the ending up for one #writing was lazy af but I haven’t been writing for the past two months so practice def helped #grimesgirll

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headkiss · 2 years

Text

do you think i have forgotten?

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: you loved steve harrington years ago, and he loved you. now, coming back to hawkins, you find that things may not be so different.

word count: 14.1k

warnings: fluff, smut, a little angst, exes to lovers, very much idiots in love!

a/n: here it is!!! i hope u guys like it!!! it took a while but hopefully it was worth it <3

༄

A ‘welcome home’ banner hangs lopsided on the wall.

The party is smaller than the ones you’d become accustomed to at school. That didn’t matter. What did was that your favorite people were around for this one.

It was meant to be a surprise, but Nancy gave you a heads up. She knows you hate surprises, you just don’t have the heart to tell Robin, who absolutely loves surprise parties. Planning them, to be exact. So, you acted shocked, put on your biggest smile.

It was worth it for the beaming grin on your friend’s face, the tight hug as a hello.

You didn’t realize how much you missed home until now. Until you came back.

Small talk isn’t so tiring when it’s with people you really care about. Eddie and Jonathan, Nancy and Robin, even the kids are there to give you the warmest welcome you could ever have. Hugs from some of them, teasing from all of them.

It’s perfect, but there’s an obvious absence. One you’ve tried and tried not to think about. But here, in this room, with these people, you can tell that without him, there’s a space waiting to be filled.

That space has been left open in your life for years. A gaping hole. Then, when the night’s half over and you’re convinced you won’t see him, you hear one word that has memories rushing back to you. Like a flood.

“Ace.”

There’s only one person in the entire world who calls you that. Steve Harrington.

The nickname isn’t the only thing that gives him away. His voice is engraved in your head, the tone, the way it hits your ears. It’s been years since you last heard it, and still, it feels so, so familiar.

You met in high school. Gym class, actually, and you’d been deemed Ace ever since. By him.

It started with friendship, reluctant at first and then impossibly close. It grew into the kind of undeniable thing that pushed you together. Boyfriend and girlfriend. In love.

He was really, really good to you. So good that you didn’t care about who his friends were or what his reputation was. You didn’t care when things changed and he went from King Steve to the best babysitter around. Over a year, you were together.

Then, he was gone.

When you told him you’d be going away for school, he was supportive, happy for you, even. Then, the day before you were set to move he sat you down and broke your heart. I can't be with you anymore, he said.

Not I don’t want to, or I won’t. Can’t. Like he had no other choice.

To this day, you’re not sure why he did it. You called over and over for weeks when you first got to school. He never picked up. You were only able to check on him through your mutual friends. Robin, Nancy, Eddie, all of them.

One day, he was the greatest thing in your life, the next, he’d completely disappeared from it. Like a ghost.

You pushed yourself through school, tried to let go of him. It got easier, but the pinch in your chest when you thought about him never quite went away. You tried being with other guys again, but nothing stuck. It felt like you were cheating, like you could never fully commit to someone else. Your mind, body, and soul still belonged to him.

It got easier eventually. You can’t remember when it did, but over time, thinking of Steve became less like a stab to the chest, and more of a pinch.

When you spoke to your friends, they’d mention him briefly. In passing, like they didn’t want to hurt you with something as simple as a name. You knew he was working at Family Video with Robin, you knew his parents were around even less than they used to be, and you knew he went on dates. Often.

Steve spent every year of you being away trying to convince himself that he did the right thing.

He missed you constantly, but he felt like he’d be holding you back if he stayed with you. A distraction from your college experience, a boyfriend who couldn’t even make it to college himself. Not enough for you.

Now, seeing you at the welcome home party Robin put together, he feels like the biggest idiot in the world. Universe, even. Because how could he have let go of someone that lights up the room like a ray of fucking sunshine.

It’s pathetic that all he could say to you after all the years was his nickname for you.

You turn around after hearing it, the sight of Steve a punch in the gut. He’s just as pretty, if not more, and though he mostly looks the same, he’s grown in ways you weren’t there to see. He’s almost a stranger now.

“Steve,” you manage. “You’re here.”

“Hi.”

It took a lot of convincing from the gang for him to come. Not because he didn’t want to (he wanted to see you more than anything), but because he didn’t want to do anything to make you upset.

Your haircut is different than before, and you hold yourself in a new way, too. But, as soon as he finds your eyes he feels like he’s in high school again, laying in his bed facing you or laughing at the back of the movie theater.

He thinks of the last time he saw you, the tears leaving trails down your cheeks, the way you didn’t let yourself sob until he walked out. His stomach is in knots.

“Hi,” you hold yourself back from reaching out and poking him to make sure he’s real. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Well, surprise,” he sings the second word and throws up some awkward jazz hands. A glimpse of the dork you remember.

Surprise indeed.

“I can leave,” he offers in your silence. He even turns to do so before you stop him.

“No! No, it’s just- it’s been a while.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. It’s too late for that, and as much as you want to know what happened, why he ended things and just… vanished, you aren’t so stuck on that anymore. Four years is a long time.

You aren’t mad about it, it just never fully left your head.

“How was school?” He asks. Safe, easy.

“Well, I graduated. So, that’s something.”

A wink of a smile has the corners of his mouth twitching up. You’re different, but you’re also the same girl he knew. It’s nice to see again, to have hope that he didn’t destroy you.

“I knew you would,” he scratches the back of his neck. He’s not used to feeling so awkward around you. “You can write your own essays, after all.”

That one makes you huff a laugh, makes you think back to late nights spent helping him fix up his writing. Red pen doodles and way too many distractions.

“One of my many talents,” you say.

There’s another pause, a stillness that feels so wrong for the both of you. He put the distance there, and he hates himself for it. “I’ll be seeing you around then?”

“Yeah, Steve. I’m home.”

Yes, he thinks. You are home. Hawkins was missing something without you in it. Or maybe that was just him. Missing something without you.

Just as you’re pulled away into a conversation with Robin and Max, Steve grasps your wrist gently. Your skin burns with the familiarity of his touch. Aches with the memory.

“It’s good to see you, Ace.”

Then, in a blink, he lets you go.

When you turn away, Eddie comes up beside Steve, claps a hand on his back. “Nice, man. Not weird at all.”

“Shut it, Munson.”

Steve has a hard time keeping his eyes off of you. He searches for you when he hears you laugh, can feel his pulse jump when you throw your head back the way you always have. He lets his eyes linger when he knows he shouldn’t.

You catch him once. You can feel his stare on you like a breeze, tickling the back of your neck. When you turn towards him your eyes lock, just for a moment.

Hawkins is mostly the same. The stores on Main Street still have worn awnings, letters faded and colors dimmed. The arcade sign still flickers, Enzo’s is still the best restaurant. The movies where Steve used to take you on dates, his house with his BMW in the driveway.

It’s hard to be back and not let Steve bleed into everything.

At school, it was easy not to think about him. You’d bury yourself in studying and projects. Here, he’s everywhere you look. The town is painted with memories of you and him. He’s written all over the place.

You thought you were over what happened, that you could come home and not let it phase you. You had no idea it’d be like this.

Despite it all, you’re glad to be home. You like waking up to the peacefulness of light wind and leaves rustling. It’s a lot nicer than a dorm building full of students and the constant noise of the city.

You’re tremendously happy to be so close to your friends again, too. There’s no more worrying about whether or not you’ll see them anytime soon, no more sporadic phone calls that just make you miss them more.

But still, there’s that empty space. Steve-shaped.

The next time you see him you’d decided to visit Robin at work. It took you about a week of being home to get yourself to go into Family Video, knowing Steve works there. You have to get used to him again.

Sure enough, when you walked in, there he stood. Green vest and all.

When the bell above the door jingles to signal your entrance, Steve turns to look at you. He sets down the box of stock he’d been holding, and your eyes follow the way his arms flex before you can tell them not to.

“Ace, hi.”

“Hey,” you send a short wave his way, rocking on your feet. “I’m just meeting Robin for lunch.”

He probably knows that, but you say it anyway, trying to fill the void of silence that hums between you.

“Yeah. She’s in the back already,” he says. “I can show you.”

“Sure, thanks.”

He almost places a hand at the small of your back to guide you, just like he used to. It’d be so natural, so simple. Instead, he clenches his fist by his side and shuffles in front of you, nodding his head for you to

follow.

“So, um,” he stops in front of the door to the back, turning to face you. “We still do movie nights. All of

us, like we used to. You should come.”

“Are you sure?”

Movie nights are always at Steve’s, and you don’t want to be there if it’ll cause any problems, as much as you’ve missed the sense of tradition. Routine.

“There’s an open spot on the couch for you anyway. Always has been.”

When you were away, you worried your friends would replace you. Forget about you, even. That clearly wasn’t the case.

“I’d love to go. If you’re sure it’s okay.”

“As long as you still don’t mind Eddie talking through the important parts.”

You shake your head, a small, close-mouthed smile on your face.

“Wouldn’t be a movie night without it.”

The bell above the door rings again, and Steve turns to see the customer. “I should get back.”

You nod. You watch him go, watch him greet the woman who walked in with his classic smile.

You just have to get used to him again, that’s all.

Walking the steps up to the Harrington’s front door is something you’ve done time and time again. So, it shouldn’t feel so odd, really.

It used to be an almost daily occurrence. Now, it takes you some mental preparation before you can bring yourself to knock on the door. This time, it isn’t Steve who answers, it’s Robin. You’re grateful for it, because stepping into his house again is already a bunch to take in.

“You came!” She says, grinning.

“Of course I did. I missed movie nights a bunch.”

You really, really did.

While you had a couple of friends in Indianapolis, the connections were shallow. Especially compared to what you have here. There, they were friendships formed from convenience. Roommates or project partners. It was a lot lonelier than you let on.

“We missed you, too.” Robin walks you into the living room, where cheers of your name ensue.

“Look who it is,” Eddie speaks from where he sits on the ground in front of the TV, setting things up.

There’s a shift from the loud, giddy greetings when Steve walks into the room, bowl of popcorn in hand. It’s like everyone’s waiting for one of you to burst.

“Hey. You made it,” Steve says. No bursting, just some sort of tension that hasn’t gone away since you saw him at your party.

“Yeah. Thanks again for inviting me.”

“Surprised one of them didn’t beat me to it,” he nods at your friends that are scattered across the couches. Your friends whose eyes are ping-ponging between you both.

It’s almost like you can feel everyone take a breath of relief when you plant yourself by the armrest of the sofa. When you shoot Steve a small, barely-there smile. A peace offering.

Halfway through the movie—broken up by constant Eddie commentary, and various ways of someone telling him to stuff it—Steve notices the way you’re curled up, cardigan pulled tight over your body.

He reaches across Robin to hand you a blanket wordlessly. She nudges his shoulder when you aren’t looking, gives him a look that tells him she knows something, even if he doesn’t.

He’s always been attentive, but you’re surprised when the soft fabric is passed over. You wonder if he realizes it’s the blanket you’d always reach for when you were over. If he realizes he handed you the one you’d cuddled him under countless times.

He doesn’t, you’re sure. Why on earth would he remember those things? Or even care?

After that night, the group slowly becomes whole again. The others stop planning separate things with you or Steve. It’s like they waited for you to get acclimated to being around each other again, tested the waters.

It’s as sweet as it is sad. You never wanted to mess anything up, make anything harder.

Though you see Steve a lot more often, your interactions with him remain short and distant. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to feeling so far away from him.

While you were away, over time, the memories became less vivid, as did the pictures that still sit in your bedroom at home. Sun damaged and faded. Your feelings, though, they never really dimmed, only pushed to the back of your mind and shoved into a box labeled Steve.

That box has been bursting at the seams.

Still, you try to keep it shut, to push it all aside and be friends with him again. Or, friendly, at the very least.

Steve keeps a framed picture of you in a drawer in his bedside table. Maybe that’s weird. It used to sit atop of the table, but he moved it when it got too hard to look at your face without thinking of how it looked when you cried.

Having you around again is hard, but it’s more so a relief. He’s missed you so, so much, and even though things aren’t the same and they might never be again, he’ll take you in his life any way he can have you. And this is a start.

The hardest part, he thinks, is burying all the things he never got to say. I’m sorry, I just wanted what was best for you, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s no use now, he knows that, so he swallows the words down. They make his stomach ache.

He needs to distract himself from it all, because it’s too much. Seeing your face almost every day again, not being able to reach out and hold it like he used to.

It’s way too much.

You got a job at Enzo’s to keep yourself busy.

While you’d love to stay buried in your bed all day, or walk around aimlessly until you end up at Lover’s Lake, sitting by the water and listening to it move, your parents decided it’d be better for you to do something valuable with your time.

Besides, waitressing isn’t so bad. You mostly work nights, allowing you the sleep-ins you love so much, there’s not so much pressure when you already know most of the people you serve, and the tips are always nice.

It’s mostly a breeze—besides a spill incident—until Steve shows up there on a date. Seated in your section.

Your coworker had warned you, “new table for you. Looks like a date.” And there he was. His hair done like always (does he still use Farrah Fawcett spray?) and his dress shirt a little wrinkled.

When it’s time to head over, you shut your eyes and take a grounding breath, slap on your customer service smile. You introduce yourself like you always do, the ‘I’ll be your waitress for this evening’ spiel.

Steve looks up from the menu as soon as he hears your voice. He’s stunned, eyes wide and mouth ever-so-slightly agape while he looks at you. He tries to recover quickly. If he’d known you were working tonight he never would have brought his date here, never would have subjected you to that on purpose. He feels like shit.

“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” You say. Waitress persona engaged, praying your face doesn’t look forced.

She orders first. Her voice is sweet, and she’s pretty. Why'd she have to be so pretty?

“Just water for me. Thanks, Ace,” Steve says, letting the nickname slip. It’s like he can’t hold it in around you.

“‘Course.” You turn quickly to get their drinks.

“Ace?” Steve’s date, Becky, asks.

“We’re friends. From school. Just a nickname.”

He simplifies it. There’s no point in telling the whole story. It’s over—he’s had to remind himself of that constantly—and it’s his fault. Not the type of thing he needs to share on a first date, that’s for sure.

“Oh, okay. So, what are you getting?” Somehow, she accepts the answer easily.

You shouldn’t feel so shaken by this. Really, you shouldn’t. You were with Steve ages ago, and it’s been over. You don’t have any sort of claim over him anymore. None.

So why is your stomach twisting every time you catch him smiling at something she says?

All you know is that it won’t do you any good to think about that too much. You busy yourself with getting their drinks instead. You approach the table carefully, not wanting to spill anything.

“For you,” you set her drink down. She thanks you. She’s nice, too. “And, water for you.”

“Thank you.”

“You guys ready to order, or do you need a couple more minutes?”

It’s like you’re on autopilot, repeating the same phrases you do to every single table, hoping that it comes out sounding natural.

“I think we’re good,” Steve says, gesturing for his date to go first.

He almost feels like he should apologize to you. Then again, maybe he’s reading into things too far. As much as he feels like he can tell when you’re uncomfortable, when your smile is forced, he has no idea if your habits are the same as they used to be.

You’re cautious not to let your hands touch when you collect the menu from Steve.

The rest of their dinner is much the same, and you’re grateful any time you can distract yourself with a different table. Your actions are stiff, your words practically robotic.

Still, before he leaves, Steve leaves you a tip and a scrawled note on a crumpled receipt: ‘Thank you. Sorry for the ambush. -Steve.’

You still have notes from him, in that same, charmingly messy handwriting, buried in a shoebox in your closet. Notes you didn’t have time to get rid of in your rush to move. Notes you should probably get rid of.

Not only did he leave you a note, he was outside waiting for you when your shift was over.

He wasn’t going to wait. He was going to leave it at the note and hope that you weren’t bothered as much as he thought you might be. Maybe it was stupid to think you’d be affected by him being with someone else in front of you after all this time, but he couldn’t ignore the instinct he got when he saw the look on your face. The guilt he felt.

He catches you as you walk out the door, startling you a bit, “Ace, wait up.”

“God, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

“Sorry,” he says, falling into step beside you as you walk to your car. He’d parked two spots over. “Actually, I just wanted to say that. Sorry, I mean.”

“You already said that,” he tilts his head, a question. “On your note.”

“I didn’t want you to think I did that on purpose. I didn’t know you worked at Enzo’s until tonight, actually.”

“I haven’t been for long,” you amend. “I’m not upset with you, Steve.”

The words hold a lot more meaning than you expected. You really aren’t upset with him, not over tonight, and not over what happened years ago. You’re more upset with yourself for letting it get to you even now.

“Good. That’s- I never wanted to hurt you.”

His words are heavy, too. You’re too tired to hold the weight.

“What about your date?” You stop next to your car. He stops, too.

“I drove her home already. Came back after.”

Really, he was halfway home after dropping off Becky, but he couldn’t shake his worry that he’d caused even more strain on your relationship. He turned around without a second thought.

“She seems nice,” you say.

“Yeah,” he looks around the parking lot, stares at the streetlight for a second. “So, we’re okay?”

“We’re okay,” you confirm.

You can’t help but hope that saying it out loud will make things feel better with him. That maybe, you could be some sort of friends again.

He nods, “okay. Sorry again,” he searches for his keys in his pocket, “have a good night, Ace.”

He walks the short distance to his car while you fumble to unlock yours. Climbing in and shutting the door, you let your head fall against the steering wheel, forehead pressed to it.

What a night.

Steve’s seen Becky a few times since the date at Enzo’s.

She is nice, and he does like her, but he hasn’t been able to let her kiss him anywhere other than the cheek. So far, she hasn’t said anything, but he knows that he won’t be able to dodge her without question for much longer.

When you were gone, though it took time, he was able to be with other people. It never lasted long, and he rarely went through with things without thinking of you at least once. He can’t even give someone a peck on the mouth.

It’s like as soon as he thinks he can lean in and do it, his mind is all Ace Ace Ace, and he finds he can’t.

He’s trying his best to ignore it, to hope that in getting used to you being back, he’ll get used to not being with you, too. So far, it hasn’t been working very well. He dreams more often than not, and even in sleep, he can’t seem to escape your face.

Instead of digging into whatever mess he’s sure that’ll cause, he’s been seeing Becky.

It’s unfair, he knows it is. To her and to you, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He isn’t thinking straight because you’ve rushed back into his life so quickly he can’t catch up. He’s trying to bury the feelings he has for you by focusing on someone else.

Though, maybe focusing isn’t the right word, because his mind still wanders to you. A bunch.

He’s confused and he’s scared and he misses you. He doesn’t know what to make of everything that’s pushing to the surface once again now that you’re home, and he doesn’t want to because he’s afraid of what it’s sure to become. What might’ve never even left.

He misses you but he can’t do anything about that. So, Becky it is.

The breeze tickles your cheeks as you make your way through the trailer park in search of any of your friends.

Somehow, Eddie and his band managed to make their own gig out by the picnic tables, and, of course, he’d invited the group to come watch. When you first became friends with Eddie, he was reluctant to let you all in on his music. Now, though, he lets everyone know there’s a spot for them saved at every performance.

You follow the noise, finding where a small crowd of people has formed by the tables that have been pushed together to serve as a stage. Probably an unsafe one, at that, but it’s Eddie. He cheers when he spots you from where he stands on the middle table.

“She’s here!”

“Can't miss the first show I’m back for, can I?”

“The rockstar would not have that,” Robin says, giving you a quick side hug.

“Thank you for calling me a rockstar,” Eddie replies.

You say your hellos to the others, Nancy, sitting on the bench attached to the table Eddie’s stood on, Jonathan, fiddling with his camera.

“Is Steve not coming?” You ask. Hopefully in a casual way.

“No, he is,” Nancy says.

“Likes to be fashionably late,” is what Robin has to say.

You nod, turning your attention to Eddie, “so, how many of these songs are new?”

“To these fools, none,” he points lazily around the group. “To you, all of them.” He smiles, and it makes you smile, too. You’ve missed being able to support him in person.

“Can’t wait to hear them, then.”

“Dingus!” Robin yells happily.

You know she’s talking about Steve. You turn around to find him. Probably too quickly.

“Hey guys,” he waves. It’s then you notice that he’s not alone. His date that he took to Enzo’s is with him. She waves, too, her arm curled around Steve’s. “This is Becky.”

She’s met with polite greetings. Your mouth, for some reason, stays shut.

Robin comes to stand beside you. She looks at your expression, the shock that you shake your head to clear, the tiniest bit of hurt that lingers in your eyes. You look at her, and she raises her eyebrows at you, are you okay? It’s silent, but you know it’s what she’s asking.

Isn’t that a question. You don’t know why your stomach sinks when you see her with him. Again. Well, maybe you do know, you just don’t want to accept it. The feelings you’d had for Steve were meant to be long, long gone.

Only, since being home, you’ve realized they aren’t.

Even though things with Steve have been far from the same as before, even as when you were friends, he’s still Steve. He’s the kind boy you knew, only older. He still cares about the kids the way an older sibling would, he still puts his friends before anything, and he’s still the greatest person you know.

You simply shrug at Robin.

Then, Becky’s in front of you, “we already met, right?”

“Yeah, um, hi.”

“Hi. It’s nice to at least have a familiar face here.”

God, you want to dislike her so bad, but you really can’t. She’s kind, and she’s clearly making an effort to make a good impression. It’s annoying.

Steve knows he probably shouldn’t have brought her with him, but she’s been asking to meet his friends so frequently and he figured that Eddie’s gig would be as good a time as ever. At least here, there’s a crowd to hide in.

He really does like Becky, just not in the way he’s supposed to. He thinks he might’ve spent all of those feelings on you, and there’s no way he’s getting them back.

Eddie jumps down from the table and pulls Steve aside, “what are you doing?”

“Dunno what you mean.” He does, actually. Only, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“Come on, man. You can't tell me you don’t see the way she looks at you,” Eddie’s not talking about Becky. He’s talking about you.

“She doesn’t look at me. Not like that.”

“Sometimes you really are an idiot, you know? She looks at you like you put the fucking moon in the sky, all melty and shit.”

“She used to look at me like that. I fucked it up. That’s gone, okay?”

“Is it gone for you?” Eddie says.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says. When he looks at you, however, it feels like it matters. A lot.

“Just saying. Think you might’ve brought the wrong lady.”

Steve already feels bad about what he’s trying to do with Becky. Seeing her to distract himself from you. He hates that even his friends are seeing through it. Is it really that obvious?

Eddie turns away to finish setting up with the band. Steve sees Becky talking to you of all people and he almost smacks himself right there. He’s so, so stupid. He walks over, into the mess he’s created.

“Hey, Ace,” he nods at you quickly, then turns to Becky. “Why don’t we go find a spot to sit?”

“We aren’t watching here?”

Steve looks between you and her quickly. Really, he’s just trying to save you from having to talk to her. He can still tell when you’re itching to get out of a conversation.

“Think the speakers might be too loud for you, babe.”

You miss whatever reply she gives him, stuck on his use of the word babe. The last time you heard it come from his mouth, he was saying it to you. It stings even though it shouldn’t.

It’s over. It’s been over. So why is it so hard to forget about it?

You never really got used to seeing Steve with Becky.

He didn’t bring her around often—maybe for your sake—but when he did, you’d find yourself keeping your distance. At least one person between you and them, like a buffer.

It felt like the progress you’d made with Steve, with not feeling so far away around him, was disappearing every time you saw her standing with him. You hated it, how you let things affect you.

A couple of weeks went on that way. Then, you got a phone call.

You’d been sitting on your bed, back against the headboard, doing absolutely nothing. The shrill ringing came from your bedside table, and you leaned over to pick it up mindlessly.

“Hello?”

“Ace.”

It’s Steve. He hasn’t called you since you’ve been back. His utterance of your nickname sounds like a breath of relief.

“Steve? What’s going on?”

“Can I come see you?”

“What?” You’re convinced you misheard him, or that something’s wrong. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, promise,” he pauses. “Well, I broke up with Becky. But I’m good, okay?”

He broke up with Becky? He broke up with Becky and decided to call you. You’re not quite sure what to do with that.

“You- did something happen?”

“No, no. Just- I’ll explain everything. Let me see you.”

It's hard to say no to him, and you can’t help but be worried. You say yes, a quiet word whispered into the phone.

“Thank you,” he says. “See you soon, Ace.”

“Bye.”

You barely get the word out before the sound of his phone being hung up echoes in your ear. It’s only then, in the silence of your room, that you notice your heart pounding, a heavy thump in your chest.

Steve knows it’s selfish to want to see you now, after he’s just broken up with someone. It’s the first actual breakup he’s had since being with you, and yet, he’s not even upset. He just wants to see you.

Sure, he liked Becky, but she could never really erase his thoughts of you. He felt awful about staying with her for the reasons he did. So, he broke it off.

Now, he's knocking on your window.

The tapping wouldn’t be so noticeable if you hadn’t been waiting for it. He never did like using the front door.

You open the window for him, move backwards a couple of steps to give him enough room to stumble inside, hair a little messy, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, devastatingly pretty.

It brings you back to high school. Steve, sneaking through your window at night just to fall asleep with you, his arms a safety net, his steady breathing a lullaby. Steve, peering at you through the glass with that grin of his. Steve.

“You know you can use the door, right?” You say.

“Not my style,” he takes a second to look at you. “Hi, Ace.”

You shift on your feet.

“Hi.”

“I know this is…” He trails off. There’s not really a single word for it. “Thanks for letting me come.”

“I’ll always be here for you.”

You mean it. Even after everything, he’s Steve over it all. Your Steve, who was the greatest friend you ever had and, somehow, an even better boyfriend. He’s never been horrible to you; not even close.

Sure, he broke your heart and fell away from your life right after that, but you know him. You know there’s something he hasn’t told you about that, and if letting him in through your window again is a step closer to hearing it, you’re willing to take it.

“Even after what I did?”

“I don’t think you could ever really lose me, Steve.”

That hits him in the gut, a painful twist. Because he thought he did. Yes, he broke up with you (he regretted it very quickly), but he’d fought the urge to pick up the phone and call you at school more times than he can count.

“You’re a good person, Ace.”

He’s tiptoeing around whatever he wants to say to you. You talk softly, “why’d you want to see me?”

“I just needed to make sure you knew something.”

“What is it?”

“Just- I never kissed Becky. I haven’t kissed anybody since we, um, broke up.”

It’s the first time either of you have said it so plainly. There’s a wince on his face when he does. Small, but you catch it all the same.

“Robin said you were dating people, though.”

“Yeah, but I never kissed them. Ever. I couldn't.”

He slept with people—which was still hard—but to him, nothing feels as intimate as a kiss. He could never bring himself to cross that line with someone else. Not after how you would kiss him. The way everything else would melt away.

“I need you to know that. And I broke up with Becky because I couldn’t be with her without thinking of-” he stops, shakes his head, like he can’t get the words out. His eyes are holding onto yours when he says, “-someone else.”

“You climbed through my window just to tell me that?”

“I guess I did.”

He hadn’t thought about what comes next, what to do or say. Hell, he could barely even say what he meant in the first place. He wanted to say he’d been thinking of you, but the word got stuck in his throat. He hopes you can still read him enough to know what he meant.

“So, you were with Becky… why, exactly?”

“I thought- I don’t know. I thought I’d be able to push, um, someone else out of my mind if I was with her. I wasn’t, obviously.”

You’re practically speechless. Never would you have imagined that Steve was still thinking of you in any way, let alone so much so that he couldn’t fully give himself to anyone else.

Then again, you were never able to do that, either.

“I don’t know what to say,” you shrug, shoulder to your cheek.

“You don’t have to say anything, really,” he says, though there’s a sadness in his eyes that makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. You hate to be the one putting it there. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Steve. We aren’t together, I know that.”

He hasn’t been able to forget about that for a day. It’s like his life without you in it was a permanent winter. The snow never melting, the cold sinking into his bones. He hadn’t even realized it until you came back.

The wind picked up, frostbite ate away at him. Then, just like that, the sun was shining again. He hopes the snow will thaw soon.

He feels like an idiot right now. An idiot who can't spit out the right words and who can't leave you alone even when he knows he should.

“I should go.”

“Steve-”

“No, I’ll go. I’m sorry for dropping all of that on you.”

He’s turning his back to you, opening the window, worrying you all over again.

“You can stay.” Please, stay.

“I’m really sorry, Ace.”

Sorry for letting you go, sorry for disappearing, sorry for being a coward, sorry for fucking things up even now.

By the time you gather your wits enough to walk to the window, he’s crossing your lawn quickly. You watch him go until his figure fades into the night, the wind a low whisper in the air.

You do a lot of thinking that night, replaying the conversation over and over in your head. After what might be twenty minutes or two hours, you find you aren’t upset with Steve in the slightest. If anything, you’re worried.

And maybe, selfishly, a little hopeful, too.

It’s not even the breakup itself. It’s the way he spoke, the way his eyes lingered and his frustration seemed to soften just a little when he looked at you. It’s the way he had to make sure you knew he hasn’t kissed anyone since you, that he called and came over just to tell you that.

Maybe you should be angry, but all you feel when you think about Steve is something you’d convinced yourself was long gone. A feeling with wings, fluttering.

You decide that you need to talk to him again.

That decision has you walking through the door of Family Video early the next day, when you’re sure it won’t be busy. You had to double check with Robin that Steve was the one opening (you could practically see her knowing smirk through the phone), and sure enough, he stands behind the counter.

The bell above the door jingles, cutting through the silence of the store. Steve glances up to find you, rubbing his tired eyes to make sure you’re really there.

“Am I dreaming?” He says.

Steve was convinced you’d never want to see his face again after the shit he pulled last night. After dumping information on you that you hadn’t asked for, then leaving as soon as he got scared.

“If you are, so am I.”

“Robin’s not here.”

“I know. I wanted to talk to you, if that’s okay?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to after…” he trails off, like he’s embarrassed to have to bring it up.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I feel like I should be asking you.”

“Steve.”

His name still sounds the best in your voice, he thinks.

“I’m okay, promise. Last night, I guess I just- I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. While I was gone.” Every single day since I left, I missed you.

You’ve both felt it for a long time, but now’s the first time someone’s been brave enough to say it. The words settle in the air for a moment, hanging between you.

“I’m sorry, Ace. For everything.”

You want to fall into his arms as easily as you used to, to squeeze him and tell him it’s okay, it can be okay, if you try hard enough. The counter standing between you stops you from it, maybe for the better.

“Do you think- do you think maybe we can be friends again?”

I don’t know if I can just be your friend, he thinks. Not after knowing what it’s like to kiss you and wake up beside you, to touch you and love you. If it’s the only way to keep you around, though, he’ll give it all he has.

“I’d like that.”

Your smile is almost shy, but it’s there.

“We used to be better at this. Talking, I mean,” you say, trying to be light.

“We’ll get better again.”

It’s quiet again, save for the murmur of whatever movie Steve chose for the morning playing on the TV.

“I hope you know I haven’t been, like, holding a grudge, or anything. I forgave you a long time ago.”

You had to, even when it still hurt, even when you still wonder why things changed so quickly. He’s a human as much as you are, and letting things fester for years wouldn't do either of you any good.

Still, like any wound, it still bleeds from time to time.

“Doesn’t change that I’m sorry, Ace.”

You shy away from the sincerity in his stare, from the brown in his eyes that could so easily draw you back into him completely.

He bends to catch your eye, though, making sure you know he means it.

Letting yourself get close to Steve again is easy, it’s the friendship that’s hard.

He’s a good friend, you see it in his interactions with everyone around you. He’s a good friend and still, you can’t stop thinking about the kind of boyfriend he is. Caring and loving, full of touches to give, a hand on you whenever it could be. You miss the warmth of that hand.

You keep that to yourself , though, because things are better. So much better.

You and Steve don’t avoid each other anymore, the smiles aren’t so forced or small, the words not so careful. The only subject you stay away from is the breakup, and even then, you don’t think about it so much now that he’s around again. You think about everything before that. The good and the in love, sticky and sweet.

Tonight, he’s convinced you to come along and chauffeur the kids to the arcade. In turn, you’ve convinced him to go inside with you.

The various neon lights bathe your skin, blues and oranges, pinks and greens. You can't help but think they glow a little nicer on Steve’s face.

“What’s the first game gonna be?” You turn to look at him over your shoulder as you walk between the rows of games.

“Your choice, Ace. This was your idea.”

“Fine by me,” you shrug a shoulder, grinning.

Falling into conversation with Steve proves to still feel natural. You’ve gotten the chance to spend time with him more since you talked that morning at Family Video, and it’s paid off. Light teasing and check-ins are what they used to be before.

The part that still makes your heart beat faster, almost like it’s trying to find his, is what hangs in the silence. There's knowledge there; the silence used to be comfortable, and now, it’s full of questions and tension. What’s too much? What crosses the line of friendship you’ve had to draw?

If you’re being honest, being Steve’s friend almost makes you miss him more. You had to do it this way, though, if only to protect yourself from losing him ever again.

You’ve been pushing away any thoughts of Steve as a boyfriend as far away as you can.

“Okay,” you stop in front of Pac-Man.

“A classic,” he nods, putting change into the slot. “Ladies first.”

“Scared, Harrington?”

“Of you?” He shakes his head. “Never.”

Of what he feels for you, maybe.

You play well, and Steve watches your hands move as you do. He watches your eyes as they flit about the screen, your tongue poking between your lips in concentration. Watches, still, when you throw your head back and groan when you lose.

“My turn,” he says, bumping you over with his hips.

Despite his confidence, Steve loses really, really fast.

“It’s broken,” he declares.

“It’s not,” you say. “Try again.”

“You just like to see me lose.”

You wiggle your way in front of him so that his arms cage you in, one on either side of you, leaning on the game. “I’ll show you.”

He hopes he isn’t breathing as hard as he thinks he is. He can feel the ghost of your back against his chest, so, so close. He slips another coin into the slot and lets you guide his hands to the controls.

His hands are just as warm as you remember. Solid and softer than they look. You refrain from interlocking your fingers with his and focus on guiding him through the game. It’d be so easy to hold his hand, though. Muscle memory.

This time around, even when the screen tells him ‘game over,’ Steve feels like he’s won something at the slightest bit of contact you’d initiated.

Dustin finds the two of you, still playing Pac-Man, and taps his wrist. Duty calls.

After dropping the kids off, the car much quieter, you let yourself look at Steve as he drives. His side profile, the slope of his nose and line of his jaw, the way he squints at road signs.

“You should be wearing your glasses,” you say. You’re not even sure if he still has them.

“You know I hate those things.”

It’s true, you do know that. He barely even wore them around you when you’d been dating. They made him shy, even though you told him he looks pretty either way, any way.

You find that you still know a lot of things.

You still know him. You know that he owns a pair of reading glasses. You know that he scratches the back of his neck when he’s nervous. You know that he knuckles at his eyes when he doesn’t get enough sleep. You know that he sunburns easiest on his nose, cheeks, and shoulders. You know him. All the small things, some he may not even know himself.

You might’ve missed some stuff, but really, you still know him. You still love him, too.

That realization hits you, a gust of wind strong enough to knock you off-balance if you weren’t sitting. You’ve been trying and trying to keep it all away. Yet, here you are, looking at the strand of hair that falls over Steve's forehead, realizing you love him all over again in the passenger seat of his BMW.

Maybe you never really stopped.

“Ace, did you hear me?”

“Hm?” You blink and suddenly he’s looking at you, too. And the car’s not moving. When did that happen?

“You zoned out on me, I think,” he runs a hand through his hair, pushing that strand you'd been focused on back into place. “We’re here.”

Your house, he means.

“Sorry. Thank you for driving,” you say, reaching for the handle and popping the door open. You bonk your head in your haste to get out.

“Shit! You okay?” He says, his hand reaching for you even though you’re too far to touch.

“Yup! Never better.”

Terrified by the four letter word that hasn’t left your head since it came back in, you can’t help but try to get away from Steve, from the boy who’s drawn the feeling from you in the first place without even trying. You hurry to the door with a rushed ‘bye!’

Steve stares at your front door even after you’ve closed it, eyebrows scrunched and mouth in a confused pout. He wonders what you were thinking about as he tried to grab your attention the whole way home.

Steve’s made a habit of visiting you at work.

If you’re working during the day, he’ll drive over on his lunch breaks and be sure to be seated in your section. If you’re working evenings, he’ll make some excuse about not wanting to cook dinner and still, he requests your section.

He‘s been coming so often that the hostesses don’t even wait for him to ask, they just nod and seat him at one of your tables.

You’ve had a lot of time to let your rediscovered love for Steve simmer, but it’s always there, making you smile like an idiot when you see him, making you stop yourself from reaching for his hand whenever it’s close enough.

It was naive of you to think you could limit yourself to friendly feelings for him. You know that now.

Walking out of the back, you find him sitting at what has become his usual table. A small round one, usually for two. The chair across from him empty. You like that better than when Becky was the one sitting in it.

“I’m starting to think you have no kitchen at all,” you say, standing behind the empty seat, leaning a hand on top of it.

“You caught me.”

“Seriously, you know you don’t have to come here to see me.”

“I want to come here to see you.”

Really, at this point, Steve thinks he’d be happy to visit you anywhere. Because of that, he’s definitely spending way too much money at Enzo’s.

“Okay then,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, then grab your notepad to write down his order. “What’ll it be this time?”

As much as Steve wishes you could sit down with him, he knows you have a job to do, so he gives you his order and takes any minute of conversation you can give him.

He watches you tend to the other tables you have, your smile and the way you talk, your mannerisms and the pattern of your steps. Often, he wonders if he’d still be sitting here, watching you with something in his eyes that can only be described as longing, if he never broke up with you that day. He likes to think he would be, only he’d be allowed to kiss you goodbye the way he so often wants to.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking to believe he could get to do that again, one day.

Since he felt your hands over his those weeks ago at the arcade, he’s decided he’ll do whatever it takes to win you back. He’ll wait as long as he needs to, and do his best to prove that he won’t hurt you again.

Steve’s never stopped loving you, not for a second, and seeing your face again only reminded him of that. Being your friend again only amplified it.

Even worse, all of your friends are well aware of this. They never let him hear the end of it.

“Here you go,” you say, putting his food in front of him.

He shoots you a quick smile, “thank you.”

“‘Course. And don’t bother paying this time, it’s on me.”

“Don’t do that, I’m paying.”

“I already did it, okay? Just shut up and let me.”

When you walk away, he shakes his head and smiles at your retreating figure. Classic Ace, he thinks, so insistent on doing nice things. Yeah, he’ll wait years if he has to.

You chat with him when you can, telling him about a customer who’d yelled at you earlier in your shift over something so small, you can’t even remember why they were angry in the first place. He laughed through your story and offered to find the person and beat them up for you.

You reminded him that he usually loses fights.

A stern talking to, then, he’d said.

You giggled. Laughs like that came easy with Steve.

You were busy when he left, but when you went over to clean his table you’d found enough money left behind to pay for his food and give you a tip. You rolled your eyes at that. That’s Steve, always being the one to take care of everyone else. He can’t even let you pay for one damm meal.

He’d also left a note scrawled on a Family Video sticky note.

Thanks for letting me bug you again. Hope you’re not sick of me! -Steve x (and keep your money, please).

You folded it into a neat square and put it in your back pocket. This was a habit of his, too; leaving notes behind after he’d leave. So far, you’ve kept them all, in that same shoebox in your closet from high school.

You’re absolutely hopeless.

Steve didn’t have an excuse to call you, he just really wanted to see you. Or, hear your voice, at least.

“Hello?” You picked up after a couple rings.

“Ace. You busy today?”

“Mmm apart from laying down all day, no.”

“You wanna come lay down all day here?”

If he couldn’t hear you then, you would drop your face into your pillow and squeal. Instead, you press your free hand to your cheek and try to suppress your stupid grin.

“I guess I can shuffle some things around.”

“You’re awful,” he says. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Yep.”

A click and it’s quiet again.

It’s not even half an hour later that you’re knocking on the Harrington’s door. Steve opens up quickly (he’d been standing near the door waiting for you) and moves aside to let you in.

Steve scans your outfit as you walk ahead of him. You’re clad in slouchy sweats. He thinks you look beautiful. He thinks it all of the time, but there’s something about you being comfortable enough with him not to dress up that warms him from the inside out.

It reminds him of how you used to walk around his house, whenever his parents weren’t there, in your underwear and his softest t-shirt.

Baby steps, he thinks.

“Are you hungry?” He asks as you plop down onto his couch.

“I'm okay. A little tired.”

“I did ruin your plans of laying around, didn't I?”

“Ruin’s not the right word,” you say. You’d much rather be in his company than buried in your bed, anyway.

He sits next to you after turning on the TV, letting whatever’s playing stay on. There’s a respectable distance between you, your thighs close, but not touching.

“Are you happy you came back here?” Steve turns his head toward you. Here, as in Hawkins. Here, as in with him.

Your head pivots toward him, cheek on your shoulder. Your eyes find his. “Yes. Really happy.”

“Me too.”

There are a million things you could say, but then, in that moment, it feels like you don’t have to. Something silent is being shared. You look back at the TV and sink into the cushions.

As time goes on, your eyes grow heavier, blinking slowly trying to stay awake. Steve notices when your head falls forward a little and you force it back up.

“You’re tired.”

“Worked the closing shift last night.”

“You can lay down. I meant it when I said you

could do that here.”

“I’ll fall asleep.”

“That’s kinda the point.”

You frown at him. “But then you’ll be all alone.”

“Just lay down, Ace.”

You roll your eyes but do it anyway. You’d actually been ready to nap when Steve called, but figured sleep could wait.

He tries not to overthink it when he gently places a hand on the side of your head, urging you to use his lap as your pillow. You go easily and blame it on your sleepy mind.

Instinctively, once you’re settled with your cheek on his thigh, Steve pets your hair from your face. He pulls his hand back, afraid of overstepping, but you miss his touch.

“No, don’t. Feels nice.”

“Okay,” he almost whispers.

Steve’s hand goes back to your hair, pushing it from your face, letting his fingers get tangled in it before pulling them back and doing it again. You fall asleep quickly, surrounded by Steve’s scent.

You nap for about forty minutes. Steve’s hand doesn’t stop at all, afraid that you’d wake up. He hasn’t paid much attention to the TV. Instead, he’s been tracing the details of your face over and over with his eyes.

Your eyelashes kissing the skin of your under eyes, the slope of your nose, the way your lips are slightly parted and pouting. He’s known it for years now, but you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

All soft and, by his standard, absolutely perfect.

Self-indulgently, he lets his hand wander from your hair, the back of his index finger tracing a delicate line from your forehead, down your nose, and across your cheek. You stir and he feels guilty.

“Did I wake you?”

You blink your eyes open and squint, turning so you lay on your back rather than your side, looking up at him. “Nuh-uh,” you say, even though he did.

If you were woken up like that every day, well, you’d become a morning person.

“Liar.”

“Am not.” He shakes his head, you yawn. “How long did I sleep?”

“Not long. You feel better?”

“Much,” you nod, even though there’s a kink in your neck from the way you had it perched on his lap. You don’t care, it was the best sleep you’d had for a while.

You sit up and stretch until something cracks.

“Thanks for being my pillow.”

“Steve Harrington, human pillow, at your service.”

You push his shoulder lightly, “dork.”

You both laugh lightly. The sound fades when you realize how close your faces are. You reach up and brush the skin under his eye with your thumb.

“Eyelash,” you explain.

“Make a wish.”

When you were young, you wished on every birthday cake candle, every shooting star, that you’d find your person. Then, in your time with Steve, you wished to keep it. Now, as you blow the lash off your finger, you wish to have it back.

“Done.”

“What’d you wish for?”

“If it ever comes true, I’ll tell you.”

He nods, the tips of your noses brush. You can't stop your eyes from flicking to his mouth with him this close, you can feel his breaths, warm puffs of air against your skin.

Steve’s hand creeps up to cradle the back of your neck so gently you could cry. He uses it to guide you forward until your forehead is pushed against his.

“Steve.”

The whisper of his name is what snaps the rubber band. Steve tips your head up and kisses you.

It’s everything you remembered, and everything you’d forgotten, too. His lips are still soft, they still fit with yours the way puzzle pieces click together. Over time, you forgot how his feelings poured out of him when he’d kiss you. Now, he’s shy with it, slow-moving.

He pulls away, just for a second, to look at you, to check that you’re okay. You chase his mouth and he’s a goner, diving back in and inhaling deep at the feeling.

You can feel yourself melting into him, getting lost in the press of his lips against yours.

It hits you that Steve hasn’t kissed anyone since he was with you. That it’s been years since he’s last done this. I haven’t kissed anybody since we, um, broke up.

This is a big thing. Kissing Steve again is a big and scary thing. His free hand laying itself on your thigh jolts you out of it. You pull away, breathing heavy.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, pulling his hands away. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s just- I shouldn’t have done that.”

You’re supposed to be pushing your feelings aside. You’re supposed to be friends, that’s it. You’re not supposed to let it get to this point again, because you know how it feels when it ends. That can’t happen again.

“No, Ace. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be sorry, okay?” You stand up, almost dizzy. “I’m just gonna go, I think.”

“Hey, come on. Stay. It won’t happen again.”

“I just need to, um, clear my head.”

You hurry to the door, trying to slip your shoes on as fast as possible. Steve catches your wrist loosely as you reach for the door.

“You can talk to me. You don’t have to leave.”

“I need to think, Steve,” you open the door. This time, he lets you. Before you close it you turn to him, “I’m not mad, I promise.”

All he can do is nod slowly and stare at the door long after you’ve closed it.

You meant it: you’re not mad. Well, not at Steve. You’re mad at yourself, really, for letting yourself fall for him again, for making yourself remember exactly how it feels to kiss him.

You’re not mad at Steve and yet, you haven’t been alone with him since that day. It’s for your own good, you hope. You don’t want to let yourself be with him again because you know what it feels like to lose him. It hurts and it sucks and you’d rather love him quietly than feel that ever again.

It’s game night at the Wheeler’s now, and so far, you’ve lost pretty much every game. You find it doesn’t bother you all that much when you’re around such good people.

As Nancy shuffles Uno cards, you stand, “skip me this round. I gotta pee.”

“Thank you for announcing that,” Dustin says.

“You’re welcome, Dusty,” you ruffle his hair on your way to the bathroom.

Once you’re washing your hands, you inspect yourself in the mirror. Your hair’s frizzier than you’d like and your mascara’s smudged under your eyes. You use your pinky, wet with tap water, to wipe it away.

You unlock and open the door and find Steve leaning against the wall in the hallway. Not expecting anyone to be there, you jump.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, laughing lightly.

“Why’re you standing there?”

“Waiting for the bathroom.”

You don’t point out that there are more than one bathrooms in the Wheeler’s house. Instead, you move out of the doorway and let him go in. Only, he doesn’t move.

“Okay, I lied,” he confesses. “I was waiting for you.”

“Oh. Well, here I am.”

“Yeah,” he looks you over, like he can’t help it. “Will you come home with me? So we can talk about…”

As much as you wish you could just forget about that kiss, you can’t. It hasn’t left your mind for more than five minutes at a time. Often, you find yourself pressing your fingers to your mouth, searching for the ghost of his. Besides, how can you say no to Steve saying the words ‘will you come home with me’?

“Okay,” you say quietly, then, more sure, “okay, sure.”

You walked there, and though you’d usually much prefer the comfort of the BMW, you can’t help but worry about what he wants to say the rest of the night.

Once you’ve said your goodbyes and walk towards Steve’s car, you can almost feel Robin’s knowing smile as she watches you climb into the passenger seat.

The drive feels like a dream in the sense that you blinked and it ended. You suppose time can fly when you’re lost in thought, in what-ifs.

You only realize you’ve made it to Steve’s house when you hear the click of the gearshift and the quiet of the engine shutting off that follows. You follow him inside, watching the way he fiddles with his keys, his hand flicking on the lights inside.

He leads you to his bedroom. He knows he could’ve stopped in the kitchen or the living room, but he’s most comfortable in the only room that feels completely his in the house. He needs to be comfortable for this.

You sit on the edge of his bed, and he leans on the dresser across from you.

There’s an anticipation almost humming in the air. Who will speak first, what will they say.

“So-”

“Listen-”

You speak at the same time.

“You first,” Steve offers.

“I’m sorry for running out like that. I was just overwhelmed, I guess. Had to think.”

“Don’t be sorry, please. I feel like I should be apologizing to you.”

For so much more than just that kiss. Then again, he’s not really sorry for kissing you, he’s only sorry for possibly hurting you with it.

“We were doing so good.” He furrows his brows at you in question. “At just being friends.”

“I don’t think I could ever look at you as just a friend, Ace. Not after knowing what it’s like to have you.”

You want to tell him you feel the same, you want to tell him so bad. The words are stuck in your throat. You’re so afraid, so nervous, for what could happen if you try this again.

“Do you regret kissing me?” You ask instead.

“I know I should, but I can’t regret anything with you.”

“I don’t regret it, either.”

The room seems to shrink, the air thicken. Steve’s hands clench on the edge of the dresser, holding himself back, almost.

You don’t think you want him to hold back. You want to slap yourself for it, but you’ve missed the way his kiss melted you every day since you felt it. Maybe, if you can’t tell him, you can show him how you feel.

“Kiss me again,” you say.

“What?”

He must have heard you wrong. Only, when you repeat yourself, he knows he didn’t.

“You’re sure?” He checks.

All you can do is nod, almost eagerly. He pushes off from the dresser and stands in front of you. Your knees brush against the fabric of his jeans as he moves closer. His hands gently cup your face, tilt it up so you’re looking at him.

His eyes flick between yours, and when you nudge your cheek into his hand, like an encouragement, he bends down to place his lips over yours.

It starts gently, like the last one. Steve’s lips glide over yours slowly, making sure you don’t want to pull away. It feels like high school and sneaking through windows, like popcorn kisses at the movies and the feeling of Skull Rock behind your back. It feels like the past and yet, there’s an emotion there that wasn’t before.

Longing, knowing what it feels like to lose this.

It’s gentle until your hands snake their way under Steve’s shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the sunshine pouring out of him. That’s when his hold on your face becomes a bit more firm, one of his thumbs pushing on your chin to get you to open it for him.

That’s when the dam seems to break.

Steve kisses you deeper and deeper, pushing himself closer and closer until you’re being laid down on the bed. He pulls away from you, his lips kiss-swollen and pink, to give you space to push yourself up to his pillows.

He tugs his shirt off before climbing over you, his hands digging into the mattress on either side of your head, his brown eyes darkened.

“You okay?” He checks.

“Yes,” you nod, “I missed you.”

You wind your arms around his neck and pull him back to you, his mouth finding yours easily. It’s been a long time since you’ve done this with Steve, but the rhythm of it all comes easily. It’s hard to forget someone when you’ve spent so long learning what they like.

He kisses you enough to feel dazed, your head a jumble of SteveSteveSteve and your hips canting towards his unconsciously. He’d been holding his weight off of you before that, but feeling you brush against him had him pushing his hips against yours, pinning you to the bed.

You broke the kiss only to catch your breath, and Steve took the time to push wet kisses down your jawline, to your neck, breathing heavy in between them.

Selfishly, possessively, he tugs the neckline of your shirt down and sucks a hickey into your collarbone, licking over it when he’s done. Your hands have buried themselves in his hair at some point, and you feel his groan against your skin when you tug.

He moves down still, pushing your shirt up to bunch underneath your bra and peck his way across your stomach.

“Steve,” you almost whine.

He peeks up at you, “yeah, baby?”

Baby. He hasn’t called you that in years. The sound of the pet name in his voice is enough to have the dampness in your panties grow.

“You’re teasing me.”

“You used to like that,” he pouts.

“It’s been too long. Please.”

He’s trying to act composed on the outside when really, the word ‘please’ leaving your mouth is enough to have him push his crotch into the mattress.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says. His hand pauses on the waistband of your pants, “can I?”

“Yes.”

He unbuttons them and tugs down the zipper, sits up on his knees to pull them down and off your legs, your socks and underwear follow.

Steve can’t believe this is happening, he can’t believe you’re there, on his bed, looking so pretty for him. He resists the urge to pinch himself.

You grow shy under his stare, his eyes focused where you’re embarrassingly wet all because of him. You try to shut your legs, but he stops you with a hand on your knee, “you’re beautiful, Ace. You don’t need to hide. It’s just me.”

You’re not sure how to tell him the reason you care so much is because it’s him of all people. Steve who you’ve known for so long, Steve who you used to have, like this. Steve, who you love.

He lays down between your legs, his arms wrapping around your thighs, thumbs running back and forth soothingly across your skin. He kisses up your thighs and pauses when his breath hits your cunt. He glances up at you for permission.

You nod, a hand finding one of his on your leg and weaving your fingers together.

You try to keep your head up to be able to see him, but as soon as he runs his tongue up your slit it falls back into the pillow, a gasp escaping you. You squeeze his hand in yours.

Steve works you quickly, so much so that it’s clear he hasn’t forgotten a single thing about you.

His tongue runs over you again and again, your slick surely all over his mouth. When it hits the bead of your clit, your free hand is in his hair again. He grunts into you at the pull, and you can’t help but moan at the feeling of it all.

When your hand squeezes his even tighter, Steve moves his free hand to your entrance, his mouth hit around your clit. He works a finger in, then a second. He curves them and searches until he finds the spot that makes you whimper out a noise he wants to hear again.

“Steve,” his name a breathy moan.

“Go on, baby. I can feel it. You wanna come?”

“Yes, yes, please.”

“I've got you.”

He works his fingers quicker, puts his mouth back on you and flicks his tongue and just like that you’re being pushed over the edge, your eyes squeezing shut and your hands holding him even tighter.

He watches as you come down, his cheek against your thigh, “so pretty.”

You manage a lazy smile, taking your hand out of his hair, “sorry. Did that hurt?”

“I liked it. You know that.”

He moves back up until his face is above yours, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on him.

Your hands trail down his back, his muscles shifting as he holds himself up. They land on the waistband of his jeans, tracing it around to his stomach, letting your fingers go further, feeling the skin just above his underwear.

You pull back from his mouth to glance down to where your fingers run back and forth over his skin, pausing to undo the button of his jeans.

“Who’s teasing now?” He says, voice low in your ear.

A shrug is your reply, followed by his zipper being pulled down slowly. His head bends to watch your hands work his pants and boxers down enough to free him, his cock hard and pink at the tip, pretty as ever.

You wrap a hand around him, “better?”

“Much.”

You work him slowly, like you’re trying to remember the feeling of him, your hand pausing at the tip to let your thumb run over it.

Steve tried to remember the way your hand felt against him when he was desperate and alone. Now, having you again, he knows his imagination could never do you justice. You’re soft in a way he never could be.

When you squeeze him a bit tighter, moving a bit quicker, he drops his head onto your shoulder, groaning.

“Ace.”

“Uh-huh?”

“If you keep doing that I’m gonna come,” he picks his head up, sets his eyes on yours, “I don’t wanna come like this.”

“Feels nice in my hand, though.”

“I can make it feel a whole lot better, if you’ll let me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want you, Ace.”

“I want you, too.”

He pecks your lips quickly before standing to take his pants off fully. You take your shirt and bra off at the same time. It makes you nervous to be naked in front of him again, and the way he looks at you doesn’t help. It’s a searing gaze, almost burning your skin.

“Look at you,” he whispers, almost like he was saying it to himself.

He climbs over you once more when you make hands at him. His skin is warm, mirroring the way you feel all over. Steve tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, trails his hand down your neck, to your chest. He cups you in his palm, squeezing lightly then letting a thumb run over your nipple.

You bite back a whimper.

His mouth gives the tit that isn’t in his hand attention, pecking and sucking and licking.

“Steve,” you push your hips up.

“Sorry, baby. Missed these girls, too.”

You roll your eyes.

He kisses your cheek and takes the hand off your chest to hold himself, running his head up and down your slit, wetting it with your slick. When he pauses at your entrance, he looks at you.

“You’re still okay? Still want this?”

You nod, hands running in circles on the back of his shoulders, “yes. I’m ready.”

He’s big, and the stretch of him pushing into you is sharper now that you’re not used to it. He soothes you with sweet words and soft kisses to your neck.

Halfway, he checks in, “good?”

You wrap your legs around his thighs and pull him in the rest of the way, whining when his pelvis is against yours.

“Fuck,” he says into the skin of your neck, just below your ear. “You’re heaven, Ace.”

“Move, Steve,” your hands tighten on his shoulders. “Please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, pulling back slowly only to push in again. You can feel everything, you think. Maybe because it’s been so long or because sex with someone you love is better than any other sex. Maybe it’s just Steve.

He’s all over you. His hair tickling your chin, his mouth open against your neck, breaths hot against your skin. He’s in your mind and in your heart and in you, deeper than anyone else. You feel so full. Of him, of emotion, of memories of nights you used to have just like this one.

Full of him in every way.

“God, you’re perfect,” he says. “There’s nobody like you. No one, Ace.”

“I-” love you, you almost say. “Steve.”

The pitch of your voice tells him to go faster, and he lifts his head to see your face. Mouth agape, soft moans and breaths spilling out, eyebrows scrunched, eyes falling shut when he finds your spot.

“Open your eyes,” he says, softly. “Come on, baby.”

You do, blinking them open and looking up at him. His hair is a mess around his head, sweaty strands falling over his forehead, his cheeks are flushed pink and you’re sure they’d be warm to the touch.

He drops his forehead against yours, your sounds and breaths mingling between your mouths, your noses nudging against each other with every push of his hips.

Your arms go around his neck, one hand tangling itself in the hair at the nape of his neck. You’re getting closer and closer and by the way his movements grow just a bit faster, a bit sloppier, he is, too.

“Ace. Baby, you’re there, yeah? I can feel you squeezing me,” his lips brush yours as he speaks.

“So close, Steve.”

He’s holding himself up on one elbow, trailing his free hand down to rub circles over your clit. “Come on.”

You finish with a cry of his name, your eyes squeezing shut. It’s overwhelming, the feelings that blind you. The pleasure and the affection, the heat and the love you really don’t think you could imagine. So much so that tears slip from the corners of your eyes.

He’s not far behind, “shit. Where do you want me?”

In your haze, you can barely manage a reply, “tummy.”

He pulls out and jerks himself until you can feel him coming on your skin. He moans and it’s a beautiful sound. You run your hands over his skin through it all, grounding him and yourself.

Your foreheads are still together, slick with sweat.

“Fuck,” he pecks you once, twice, three times. “You okay?”

“Really good.”

“Will you stay?”

You hadn’t even thought of leaving. You wouldn’t dream of it. Not now, at least, in your post-orgasm daze where fears and worries don’t reach you.

“Mhm,” you hum your agreement.

Steve’s grin splits his cheeks, wide and toothy and infectious enough to make you smile, too.

“I’ll be right back,” he rolls away from you, standing beside the bed. Before walking away, he bends to peck you again. He heads to the bathroom after that.

You note the freckles that dot his back and shoulders as he goes. A constellation you never forgot; burned in your memory. One you used to play connect the dots with in the mornings.

He comes back with a wet cloth, wiping his come from your stomach and then cleaning you up as gently as possible, giving a soft apology when you whimper in sensitivity.

He tosses the cloth aside when he’s done and searches his drawers for a clean pair of boxers. He tugs them on then finds a baggy sleep shirt for you. You watch him the whole time, the way he moves and the way the streetlights seeping in through the window light his skin.

Coming back to you, he tells you to sit up and puts the shirt over your head. He didn’t even have to ask, he knows what you like to sleep in. When you look at the shirt he picked, you find it’s one that used to be your favorite.

You bring the fabric to your nose and hide your grin in it.

Steve pulls the blankets over you, then himself when he lays down beside you. He doesn’t even hesitate before tugging you closer with an arm around your waist.

“I really missed you, Ace.”

“Missed you, Steve,” you reply sleepily.

He kisses your forehead.

You fall asleep easily, Steve’s fingers running back and forth over your skin, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

Steve wakes up before you do.

You’ve both moved in your sleep. Now, you lay on your stomach, face turned towards him and cheek squished into the pillow. He lays on his side, propped up by his elbow, looking at you.

He looks at you, asleep and pretty, and wonders how he could ever give you up.

His free hand tucks your hair behind your ear, away from your face, brushes his knuckles across your cheeks as lightly as possible. He moves to your arm and traces the words ‘I love you’ into your skin.

He draws the words over and over, only pulling his hand away when you rouse.

You breathe in deep before opening your eyes, moving your head on the pillow to look over at Steve properly. His eyes are already set on you, puffy with sleep and full of something you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

“Hi,” his voice is different in the morning, lower.

“Hi.”

“Sleep okay?”

“Mhm,” you stretch your legs and turn onto your side. “You?”

“Better than I have in a while, actually.”

You can tell that there’s something he wants to say, that he’s thinking of the words. It makes you nervous, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. Maybe he regrets it. Almost worse, maybe he doesn’t.

“Can I say something?”

“Steve-”

“No, let me say it. If you hate it, we can forget about it, okay?”

His eyes are soft, pleading. You can tell that whatever it is, it really matters to him and there’s no way you can ignore that.

“Okay.”

“I still love you.”

His words hang in the air, your chests both rise and fall a bit quicker, hearts beating faster in tandem.

You’ve been dreaming of him saying it to you, and yet, hearing it out loud, you can’t help but be terrified. You love him, you know you do, and it scares you. It’ll hurt worse the second time around if you lose him.

“I still love you,” he continues in your silence. “I miss you so much, Ace. I want to do it again. I want to be with you and do it right.”

“I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You didn’t. You won’t. I’ve thought of you every day since you left,” his hand finds yours atop the sheets, fingers linking. “I didn’t want to break up with you, and I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Why did you?”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second. Squeezes your hand, too.

“I thought I was doing the right thing. You were going off to school and I’d be here and I didn’t want to hold you back. I wanted you to go and to do it fully.”

Your heart pinches in your chest. Steve really believed he’d been doing you a favor by letting you go.

“It hurt for a long time, Steve. I don’t know if I can do that again.”

“I’m not gonna hurt you again, Ace,” he swipes away the tear that falls from your cheek. “Just answer one thing for me?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you love me?”

It’s the most obvious answer in the world.

“Of course I love you, Steve. I would’ve stayed if you asked me to.”

“That’s why I did it,” his thumb runs over your cheek gently. “I couldn't let you give it all up for me. But you’re back now, and I love you and you love me. Let me try again.”

You want to say yes. So badly, you want to be with him. So why can't you just say it? It’s like glue’s been dropped down your throat, sticking all the right words in it so that nothing useful comes out. You try anyway.

“I’m just scared.”

You shut your eyes.

“Will you look at me?” You do, and right then it’s hard to feel scared anymore. He’s looking at you like he’s never been more sure of anything. “You’re my forever. I know you are. Let me show you.”

You focus on his hand in yours, his touch on your face. You focus on the fact that this is Steve. Steve who you love, who you know you want to be with past all the fear and worry.

“Okay,” you nod.

“Okay? Like, you’ll be my girl again?”

“Yes, yeah.”

His grin spreads wide enough to have his eyes crinkling at the corners. He rushes forward to kiss you, three quick pecks broken by your smiles.

“Can I tell you something?” You ask him, suddenly brave, like his kiss fixed everything.

“Anything.”

“I wished for you. On that eyelash. The day we kissed.”

He kisses you again for that.

༄

thank u for reading! if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought it would mean a bunch <3

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ipegchangbin · 6 months

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Imagine this: Changbin hiding the fact he tried to masturbate thinking his lover was out for too long..forgot to take out the vibrator in him and he tries to lie while holding back the noises..the whole night it's in him moving around and he keeps holding back..but when they are about to sleep his lover asks him if he's hiding anything..this has been in my head and it turns me on

anon. oh my god.

🏷️ sub!changbin. dom!gn!reader. established relationship. sex toys.

it’s so good. way too good to stop. changbin keeps the vibrator inside him while he fists his cock for what seems like forever.

he wishes that the vibrator was being controlled by you, so he recreates your cruelty — and sweetness — by hiding the remote under his pillow while he uses yours between his legs.

but before he could hump the pillow, hell seeps through the crack between the door frame once changbin realizes you’re at the door.

knock, knock, knock.

“binnie, i’m back,” you yawn, stretching your arm as you swing the door open.

oh fucking shit.

changbin isn’t quick enough despite your slow movements. he pulls up his shorts but forgets to turn the vibrator off, so he simply clamps his legs shut with your pillow instead. he looks all sorts of weird, face fully flushed and sweaty, his body covering more than half the bed, curly hair tousled although he hasn’t slept, face shocked as if he didn’t expect you home — though he should have, it’s just that he didn’t check the time.

so much for jerking off. rather, so much for thinking about you.

“how’ve you been?” you tilt your head, curious at your suspiciously flushed boyfriend.

thank god that the vibrator that you got for changbin is silent, but why did it have to be so strong? changbin

“i just…worked out a bit,” he huffs, “uhh, did some cooling down exercises here.”

“didn’t you just come from the gym?”

“i did! and…i was bored, so i did jumping jacks…” changbin cuts you off a little too excitedly.

there’s a star in changbin’s eye when he winks at you as a distraction from the fact that the little toy is fucking him on the highest setting. he struggles not to whine, so he coughs a bit after shooting you a reassuring smile.

you’re not really buying it though, but nothing shows on your face. he mistakes it for the coast being clear. he kind of hopes you’d briefly get out of the room, though.

“oh well. i also have some unfinished work.” you sit down on the edge of the bed beside his legs, reaching for your laptop from your bag. “mind if i just finish this?”

he minds. a lot.

firstly, you look way too hot. you’re just in everyday semiformal, but that’s the exact type of clothing changbin imagined you in while he was abusing his cock earlier. secondly, you’re right there and way too close. it makes the butterflies pool in his stomach, but the butterflies fly in tornadoes until they burst into flames. he figures it’s from both from the close proximity and from the sickeningly unforgiving vibrator.

and thirdly, the said vibrator found its way through changbin’s sweet spot, giving him a full body shiver. you could feel him quivering through the comforters.

“is my binnie okay?”

“i’m f-fine. just tired.”

you silently question whether muscle spasms can cause vibrations as big as that. they could, but not like that. in fact, he shakes eerily similar to the time you tried that vibrator for the first time.

he was a screaming mess. his ass was moving on its own, in the air and quivering from the sensations inside him. he kept begging for you, unclear with what he desired specifically, but you knew that he just wanted you. all of you. he wanted more of what you were doing, whining your name with no aim of a demand, drooling onto the bedsheets while his fists grabbed helplessly onto the pillows as you put the vibrator into the highest setting for seconds on end, making him cum.

it’s too bad he can’t do any of that now.

so he stares. he stares at you and what you’re working on while awkwardly trying to shift positions on the bed. he tries helplessly to stop the vibrator from hitting the spot that gets him cumming the hardest, but it only goes further in. his walls clench and tighten around the toy while he watches your fingers. he catches your reflection in the laptop screen.

he’s so fucked, literally and figuratively.

you look back at your pitiful boyfriend.

the poor pillow between changbin’s thighs and the vibrator is suspiciously wrinkled, but you think nothing of it as your boyfriend shifts his position slightly again. you think he’s just acting naturally cute like this, thighs squeezed against the fabric while the curvature of his ass peeks from behind his hips.

it looks delicious. so plump that not even the facade of his body can cover it. it looks especially full, and you know this even if you’re unaware that it’s literally filled.

you can’t help the urge, and so you slap changbin’s ass.

what a fucking mistake.

the boy’s eyes widen as he successfully bites back a supposedly loud whine. that’s what he thinks, as a little whimper betrays his lips in the process.

but you try to think nothing of it, smirking at him instead.

“so cute,” you coo.

if only he could run to the bathroom without cumming in his shorts. everything affects him to such a high degree that he’s red, warm to the touch, and sweating buckets. he merely digs his head into his pillow and clenches his ass instinctively, hopelessly looped back into the never-ending cycle of suffering that he got himself into.

then you get up from your spot. you slam the laptop down and stretch, putting the device lazily on the bedside table without a second thought. you toss your accessories off and simply stretch your back until it hits the bed, lying down beside changbin.

shit, shit, shit.

“i had a long day,” you start. “can we cuddle?”

“ah, uhm, sure, b-but i’m…a little sweaty and sore, yeah.” changbin fails to keep his cool.

“but we always hug even if you’re sweaty and sore.” you pout and squeeze his bicep. “we even fuck like that.”

god, if you don’t stop talking to him like this.

changbin lets out a small whine, attempting to hide his face in the pillow again. that’s when your suspicion ticks. you could feel a strong vibration against the bed and you’re not sure if it’s your boyfriend or your overheating laptop by the bedside table.

“are you sick?”

“no…”

“then what’s up?”

he looks away and that’s when you notice how watery his eyes are. his face is fully flushed, his ears are red. sweat gets his bangs sticking to his forehead. he looks like he’s quite literally heated up.

and he is. the vibrations of the machine inside his ass heats him up, which doesn’t help his already warming walls. his plush ass keeps it in and the more he involuntarily clenches, the more that he feels it whirring and hitting his insides. it almost hurts but it’s so good, and you’ve been at this for so long but he can’t blame you.

he wants to just admit it.

“are you hiding something?”

but he can’t.

“n-no…”

“binnie, you’re stuttering. you don’t look okay. is anything bothering you?”

he could cry. from the pain, from the pleasure, from the fact that you care so much about him that his heart swells as much as his sweet spot is swelling at this point. he can’t help this insane amount of love but fuck, if he could just turn it off.

but a part of him doesn’t want to.

and when you find out, you don’t either.

you yank your pillow out of changbin’s thighs and the vibrator slips out from the force.

you’ve been thinking about it since earlier: your pillow was sitting between his legs for seemingly no reason. though, you know him better than he does, and you know that’s a sign that he’s horny. he always masturbates with your pillow between his legs. you could only guess why, but your intuition serves you right as changbin stares in horror at the vibrator whirring outside of him.

for some reason, the emptiness of his ass hurts, but your reassuring smile cuts through it as he stares at your face.

“if you wanted me to help, you should’ve asked, binnie.”

#sub!skz #skz smut #sub!changbin #changbin smut #dom!reader #💌 ipeginbox #<3 a lovely anon #💬 z is writimg

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bengals-barnesbabe · 2 months

Text

Date Night

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Black!Nurse Reader

Warnings: mdni, mentions of sex, jokes about age.

Main Masterlist

WC: 1.3k

✧༺♥༻∞

Being at the Avengers Compound on your day off used to be weird. Avengers are cool and all, and you’re very appreciative for the chance to be considered ‘part of the team’ even if you only worked in the Medbay. No one wants to hang around their place of work when they don’t need to be. Then you started seeing a certain blue-eyed brunette super soldier.

So here you are walking through the main hallways to the the gym and passing a good amount of agents and techs enjoying their breaks. Then you hear your name being called. You look up from your phone and see Aaliyah, a friend of yours that works in the special equipment department (aka Avengers Weapons Only). You walk up to the cafe where her and some other work mates like to frequent.

“Hey Liyah, I didn’t know you were working today.”

She brings you in for a side hug. “I know, I’m not supposed to be, but Mr. Wilson just had to call me on my day off about fixing redwing.” Her cool demeanor shudders as the Falcon’s name coasts out of her lips.

You smirk. “I think he would prefer if you just called him Sam or your boyfriend. Your pick.”

She covers her face and shakes her head. “How about we talk about why you’re here on your day off? The Medbay is about 6 floors up and on the other side of campus.”

“Hey, I’m completely fine with saying I’m here for my man.”

The light cockiness in your voice paints a mischievous grin on her lips. “Oh speaking of your boyfriend, does Barnes know how to use a pc- no a toaster- nope a smartphone?”

“Oh fuck off, is that what yall actually think?” You scoff as a people 10ft away from you shake their heads. “No fucking way, you can’t be serious!”

“Girl half of these people have never even seen him in person and they work in the same building he lives in.” Kyla, another nurse, says from the end of the table.

You roll your eyes and look at Aaliyah. “For real?” She nods her head.

“You know he wasn’t frozen for 70 years straight right? He couldn’t be a spy if he didn’t know how to blend in.”

“How does he work a phone with the metal arm though?” She asks as someone comes up behind her.

“He has a flip phone, gotta remember he’s an old man.” Sam chuckles as she jolts out of her skin.

“You asshole! I told you to wait downstairs.” He shrugs and throws an arm around her.

“You said you’d be back by 2:30, now I’m a punctual man baby. I waited a whole 5 minutes before tracking you down.” She buries her face in his chest to hide how he flustered her with the pet name. So cute.

“You should be going too, the old man has not stopped talking about you since we got here. I swear I’m gonna ask for a new mission partner.” You smile then hug them goodbye.

The walk from the break center/ cafeteria to the weapons testing arena and gym is a 5 minute straight shot. It also where you’d more times than not find your boyfriend. In the miniscule chance that he isn’t, you could probably find him in a conference room, with Captain Rogers outside lapping civilians or his suite. The kitchen exactly because those soldiers can eat.

But the second those sliding doors open to his personal gun range, you see him just like you knew you would. He sat on a stool at a table with his muscular back adorned in a form fitting black henley and black jeans that emphasized his ridiculously thick thighs. His neck length brown hair is tied up in an adorable blue silk scrunchie as he dissembles his favorite rifle to clean it. You lean against the door frame just admiring the man’s beauty for a while more. He most definitely knows your behind him thanks to his enhances senses and experience as a spy, but that would not stop you from-

“Enjoying the view pretty girl?” Exactly, he gets it.

You smile and walk up to him, “absolutely.” You hum hugging his back and tracing your short almond acrylics across his abdomen.

A strong warm hand covers yours as he chuckles, a deep almost gravely laugh that electrifies every cell in your body. “I’ll be done in a couple minutes, then we can go.”

You watch from over his shoulder the way his hands work in tandem to polish each nook and cranny of the gun. His vibraninum fingers curling around the body of it cause a shiver down your spine as you think about the nights you spend withering in his bed thanks to them. You shake those thoughts away and lay your head on his shoulder.

He brings one of your hands up and places his soft lips to your knuckles. “Fuck you smell so good. I knew you were coming before you hit the door.” He groans extending the kiss to your wrist before placing your hand back on his stomach.

“It’s your favorite, and you haven’t even seen the whole outfit yet.”

He lets out another one of those heavenly chuckles. “Aw baby, did you get all dressed up for me?” The gun clicks shut and you feel yourself spinning around to face him.

“You like?” He takes your hand and you beam as he spins your once more.

Since you were just going to a drive in movie, you paired a simple black top with your his favorite pair of dark gray baggy jeans that hug your waist and accentuate your ass just the way he likes. You couldn’t go wrong with some gold jewelry that shines beautifully on your brown skin. The whole look complimented itself.

Your 4c hair on the other hand didn’t want to cooperate this morning, the week old braid out was at its wits end and desperately needs all the mousse and gel washed out of it. So you did what you had to, found a giant hair tie, slicked your edges back and finger coiled a few strands in the front to give the look back some of it’s life.

He nods biting his lip and looking you up and down. “You look just how you smell: decadent, like one of those death by chocolate cakes you love. And like you want to spend the rest of this weekend in my bed naked.” He smirks.

You hook your arms around his neck, step into the spot between his strong legs. “Well Mr. Barnes, we can’t have that. You promised me dinner and movie and the look’s not complete yet.”

He raises a brow and dips his face to yours. “Oh yea,” he says huskily. “What could possibly be missing? You already have the body glitter.” The takes an imaginary bite out of your glazed arm. You nod at the leather jacket hanging on the hook by the door and he grins instantly.

“Go walkin’ around in that and everyone will know you’re mine.” He growls, his crystal blues deepening in hue flickering from your eyes to your lips.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want.” You whisper against his lips tilting your head to connect them to yours.

His soft lips melted into yours perfectly, your hands pull on the hair tie locking away his silky locks and gently pull at them. He groans languidly licking into your mouth and swiftly lifting you into his lap, his hands holding firmly on your ass. Just like that it feels like the first time. Your heat beating heavily against your chest while you learn each other mouths. Tugging at his roots a bit more you nip his bottom lip and smile.

“You love playing with fire love.”

You cheekily chuckle pulling back, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He squeezes your cheeks then playfully smacks one inciting a gasp from you. “A dangerous, dangerous game that could cost you your night.”

“Aw but my favorite movie is playing.” Your fake pout morphs itself into a smirk. “Or maybe I wanted to makeout with my hot Brooklyn boyfriend in public without anyone knowing.” He bites his lip as you look at him with siren eyes.

“And people wonder why I can’t stop talking about you, my girl is a damn minx. Fuck it, lets go.” He sighs as you jump off his lap and grab his leather jacket.

While he’s securely putting away his rifle, you look over at him and smirk putting on the jacket. “Thanks daddy.”

His eyes go wide as you walk out the door giggling.

Gotta love date night.

♥*♡∞:｡.｡

AN: I was missing the character that brought me back to my passion, so this was really for me but yall can enjoy it too xox

as always likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated

#black reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky x reader #sam wilson #nurse!reader #bucky barnes fluff #fluff #bengals barnesbabe #bucky #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #comfort fic #comfort character #date night

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jbaileyfansite · 4 months

Text

The Wall Street Journal Interview (2024)

The 36-year-old English actor Jonathan Bailey is one of Hollywood’s newest heartthrobs. From Shonda Rhimes's Regency-era courtship dramas of “Bridgerton” to the decades-long romantic-political saga of “Fellow Travelers” to the Met Gala red carpet, he has earned admirers with his goofy charm and deep looks of longing.“

Being acknowledged as a heartthrob is incredibly flattering,” Bailey said. “It’s a big compliment, not just to you as an actor but everything around you.”

It has been a life-changing few years for Bailey, a stage actor turned screen darling. After “Bridgerton” launched him to global fame, he wrote up a document with tips to help prepare his younger castmates for the attention their on-screen romances would earn. “I think it’s about how to approach the work in a way that allows you to feel yourself and grounded,” he said.

Bailey, who’s been acting since he was a child in the Royal Shakespeare Company, reprises the role of Anthony in the third season of “Bridgerton” this month. Later this year, he’ll appear as Fiyero in the film adaptation of “Wicked” with Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. He lives outside of London. Here, he talks about his favorite tea, doing gymnastics and the advice he got from Sir Ian McKellen.

What time do you get up on Mondays, and what’s the first thing you do after waking up?

I try to get up between 7 and 8. Then I try to not look at my phone, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. If it’s a good day, I drink loads of water, have a bath and then just get out because I need to get outside. I’ll go for a walk, always with my headphones. If I feel a bit excited or my brain’s sort of alive, I’ll listen to a podcast because that keeps me quite calm. If not, I’ll listen to some drums and bass.

How do you like your coffee?

I love tea. Earl Grey tea for me. I love coffee as well.

What do you do for exercise?

I’m currently training for a half marathon. Then I do gymnastics at a local gym with loads of lovely, brilliant people. I’m part of that community, which I’m very proud of. I do handstands.

How long can you hold a handstand for?

I’ve gotten up to a minute.

Do you meditate or journal or otherwise practice mindfulness?

Walking outside is meditation to me. There was a Buddhist center I loved when I was living in London, and I’d go there regularly to learn the practice of meditation. I believe in taking bits and bobs that work for you. I do write stuff down in a book that I carry with me, lessen the load in the brain when I can.

Do you have any hobbies or habits that might surprise your fans?

Probably playing loud music and dancing around naked.

“Fellow Travelers” follows your character, Tim, as he falls for Matt Bomer’s Hawk over the course of several decades, from 1950s McCarthyism to the AIDS crisis in the 1980s. How did you get into character?

With Tim, I felt like there was so much understanding that was in my bones already just from being me. Understanding the character who you’re playing opposite is also really good. Me and Matt, we didn’t really talk about it but we had that understanding of the experience of what these queer, gay people were experiencing.

Beyond that, I think about my forefathers and what an incredible opportunity it was to an academic, hands-on research of gay life in America. As a Brit, there was so much to learn, so the preparation was kind of nerdy in that respect. In another, it was incredibly emotional and spiritual.

You’ve become very famous for the looks of longing that you’ve perfected. Do you practice them in the mirror?

No, unfortunately, I probably practiced them in real life all the way through my childhood. It’s funny, isn’t it? I can totally understand why people say that, but I think maybe what fascinates me most about humans is there’s always a distance between what you want and what you have and who you are and who you want to be. I mean, if I’m still longing and 92 years old, then I’m going to be very happy.

How did you prepare to model swimwear for Orlebar Brown? Was there any part of you that was nervous?

I had been doing gymnastics, so the swimsuit-model aspect of it required a couple of weeks of doing more handstandy stuff. But no, I was excited.

There were some cute photos of you and Ariana Grande released from the set of “Wicked.” Do you have any favorite memories from filming?

I went to CinemaCon and it was the launch of all of us together. I watched the trailer for the first time, I’m so glad I waited to see it in the big cinema. I just watched Cynthia [Erivo] and I was, like, God, Cynthia’s just going to blow everyone’s mind. You care so much about her in it. And Ari redefines Glinda in a really fun way, it just expands.

There’s so much love for the original material. It was really fun and silly and great. Jon M. Chu [the director] just mines the emotion and is quite sincere about the truth of what’s going on with the characters.

What’s your most prized possession?

My headphones. If I lose them, I feel crazy. But also in 2017—I saved up and it felt incredibly frivolous—I started collecting the Yves Saint Laurent love prints, the original prints of the years that my sisters were born because there are four of us. Annoying actually, one of my sisters was born in 1982, and I don’t think there is a print for that year, so I might have to do a stickman or something.

What’s one piece of advice you’ve gotten that’s guided you?

Always do theater. That was actually from Ian McKellen. It’s in my bones anyway.

Source

#jonathan bailey #jonny bailey #interviews #interviews:2024 #the wall street journal #the wall street journal interview #fellow travelers #wicked #cynthia erivo #ariana grande #NEW!

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munson-blurbs · 2 years

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Just the Way You Are (Eddie x Fem!Reader)

Eddie’s girlfriend struggles with body image issues, but he can’t understand why.

Warnings: insecurities, mentions of weight, skipping meals, very brief allusion to sex, a lil angst but mostly fluff, Eddie, Reader, and the gang are in their 20s

WC: 1.1k

A/N: This is heavily based on my own experiences with body image issues and EDs. I never liked the trope of “partner fixes your insecurities,” so this isn’t wrapped up with a bow, but I think it’s pretty realistic.

“Hi, baby,” Eddie comes up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist. He places small, soft kisses to the back of your neck. “Work was so stressful. Wanna help me relax?”

You put down the pitcher of water you were midway through refilling and gently pull away from his touch. “Maybe later, Eds,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice your discomfort.

“Dinner first?” he asks, reaching for one of the pamphlets on the fridge. “What are we feeling for Takeout Friday? I’m thinking...Chinese.”

“’M not hungry.” You try to sound casual, though you’ve never been good at lying to Eddie. There’s something about his beautiful brown eyes and sweet smile that makes you feel comfortable enough to bare your soul.

Luckily, he can’t see the guilty look on your face as he peruses the menu. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie again. Well, half-lie; you technically don’t feel sick, but your skin hurts from where you’ve been pinching your stomach, upper arms, and thighs. You wish you could blame the magazine articles that flaunted headlines about losing 10 pounds in 3 days or the stick-thin models that graced the covers. Those didn’t help, but the real problem is inside your head.

You worked out consistently, mostly ate a healthy diet, but you hated your body. Even when people said you looked fit, or in-shape, or even thin, you still felt it wasn’t enough. You’d never look like a supermodel or the girls on TV.

Eddie catches on to the defeat in your voice and sets the paper down. “Talk to me.” He take your chin in his hand, tilting your head so you’re looking at him. You avert your eyes as quickly as you can.

“Nope,” he shakes his head, “you’re not getting out of this.” He scoops you up bridal style and sits on the couch with you in his lap. His fingers toy with your hair and you rest your cheek on his shoulder.

“‘S nothing,” you reply quietly. “Just don’t want dinner tonight.”

“Please be honest with me,” he murmurs, lips on your temple. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

The floodgates open, tears wetting your cheeks as your façade cracks and your vulnerability pours through. “I hate how I look,” you admit between sobs.

Eddie’s brows furrow in genuine confusion. “Wha...how?” he sputters. “Baby, you’re so beautiful...”

“I want to lose weight, I don’t like my stomach, my arms look huge, and my hips are too wide.” You could go on, spend hours listing your various imperfections, but you end there.

“Am I missing something?” he asks, thumb caressing your bicep. “Your body is perfect. Wasn’t Robin just asking you if she could go to the gym with you so you can show her your workout routine?”

“But I could be thinner,” you tell him. “I still have some fat that I could get rid of.” You fidget slightly, grabbing your stomach between two fingers and pulling at it. “Like right here.”

Eddie yanks your hand away and laces his fingers between yours, preventing you from pinching yourself again. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s gonna be there whether I do that or not,” you protest, trying to wriggle your hand out of his grip, but he’s too strong.

He sighs, and it looks like he’s blinking back tears of his own. “I don’t understand,” he starts. “When I look at you, I see the most stunning, sexy, gorgeous woman. I’d keep you in my bed all damn day if I could.” He gives you a small smirk. “How can I make you feel the same way?”

You brush a hand against his cheeks. “You could support me losing weight.” Your voice is barely audible.

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you lose weight,” he argues firmly. “You’d have to, like, starve yourself.” His face falls when you don’t even flinch, and he realizes that you’re not opposed to the idea. “Oh, no. No, that is not happening.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you stand up and head into the bedroom. You swear you can feel every fat cell in your body.

Eddie knows that this is beyond him; he’s way out of his element. So he goes to the experts. Nancy Wheeler and Robin Buckley sit in front of him, sipping on steaming cups of coffee. He relays the whole story to them as they consider their responses carefully.

“This is more than just some insecurities,” Nancy says finally. “I think she needs to talk to a professional about this.” Robin nods her head in agreement.

“Like therapy?” Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Isn’t that for...?”

“Crazy people?” Robin fills in with a laugh. “No, therapy is for anyone who’s struggling with anything.” She lowers her voice slightly. “I went to a therapist after I came out to my family, and she really helped me accept myself, even without my parents’ approval.”

“Do you, uh, still have her number?” Eddie asks her. He feels some pressure lifted from his chest.

“I have her business card at home,” Robin tells him, reaching over the table to grab his hand. “You’re a great boyfriend, Munson.”

“I just wish I could fix it,” he mutters, “take away all the hate she has for herself, y’know?”

Nancy gives a small smile. “I know,” she says, “but being there for her, supporting her while she works through things...that means more than you realize.”

He’s nervous about presenting the idea of therapy to you, worried that you’ll be offended. But you don’t get upset; in fact, it feels like something clicks. Like there might possibly be a day when you aren’t repulsed by your appearance.

“And I’ll still be here to listen,” he rambles, parroting what he went over with his friends, “but I think it’ll be really good for you to have someone who can help you get to the root of this.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small beige card. “Robin recommended her; said she’s excellent.”

You cautiously take the business card, the ten digits daunting. You swallow your pride, your fear, and look into his doe eyes. “I’ll call right now,” you say, heading for the phone.

But before you can, Eddie takes your wrist and pulls you close, pressing a long, soft kiss to your lips. “I’m so proud of you, baby,” he murmurs. “I got you, every step of the way.”

And then he hugs you tight, intent on never letting go.

@waitalice @your-mom18-05

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

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cowboyemeritus · 1 month

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Il Suo Campione (Copia/Reader)

Chapter Seven

Series Masterlist

Summary: An exhibition match.

Warnings: violence, blood, descriptions of injury, gang violence, death

Read on AO3

Notes: i was originally going to have this chapter end somewhat differently but for the purposes of Plot changed my mind, so if parts are clunky... whoops. not sure how i feel about this one.

thanks again everyone! i'm glad y'all are enjoying the story so far. y'all are so sweet :)

feedback is always welcome!

Copia has the uncanny ability to get people to do what he wants. You probably wouldn’t be in this position if not. Maybe that white eye is magic, imbued with the power to bend others to his will. If that’s the case, then it’s no wonder the Emeritus Family has been able to carve out such a large slice of the city for themselves in only a few decades.

Whatever… gift Copia has, whether it be luck, natural charm, or some sort of animal magnetism, it’s at work tonight. The noise from the crowd is thunderous, bouncing off the walls of the old gym and magnifying to an almost intolerable degree. Based on the sound alone, this is for sure a new attendance record. Under normal circumstances, that would be enough to satisfy him for the night, regardless of the outcome of the fight.

He’s trying not to look nervous, leg bouncing as he sits on a folding chair nestled between his two brothers. You’re not the only one who notices. Secondo nudges Copia in the side, uttering something to him. One of the bookies passes by, obscuring your view so that you can’t read his lips. When Secondo looks back up, your eyes accidentally meet. A chill runs down your spine.

“He can be rather aggressive when he is upset about something,” Copia explained over breakfast after your trip to The Pinnacle. “I don’t know what set him off.”

You have to tear your gaze away from the second Emeritus brother, your skin crawling. Instead, you look to Copia. There’s still nervous tension on his face, but when he sees you he forces a smile, throwing you a little wave before sitting back in the chair and doing his best to look nonchalant.

“I promise you did nothing wrong, cara. You were perfect. Me?” He sighed, poking at a piece of pancake. “Do you think I sold them on it?”

The pressure is on, just as much for him as is it for you. Awkwardly, you wave back.

Terzo has been chatting with his guests, Cumulus and the silver-haired woman you saw dancing. Why either of them would want to be here is beyond you. His younger brother’s restlessness catches his attention. Seeing that Copia’s eyes are still on you, he turns and shoots you a wink. You cringe, the taste of licorice and bile burnt into your memory. Now, with three pairs of green and white eyes trained on you, you’re starting to feel a little uneasy.

The bell rings.

You’re half-listening to the announcer prattle on about this evening’s show, checking and double-checking your wraps to make sure they’re secured. When he steps back you know it’s time to go, rising from your seat in one of the corners, your opponent mirroring you. Through the building rush of adrenaline, you feel anxiety, like pins and needles, in your stomach. This woman is at least a head taller than you. Unlike legitimate boxing, there are no weight classes here. Although, as Copia says, it makes for a better show when the fighters are evenly matched, that isn’t always feasible. Sometimes, you just have to put your head down and fight whoever’s in front of you, even if it means getting your shit rocked.

This isn’t one of those times, though. Copia is counting on you tonight.

Your opponent is bouncing on the balls of her feet as you approach, the two of you sizing each other up. From between her raised fists you can sort of get a look at her, something you neglected to do before. She’s pretty in a rugged sort of way, with well-sculpted muscle and bronze skin like an well-polished statue. A valkyrie, versus the feral animal thing you’ve got going on. She looks down at you with sympathy, maybe even a little pity, in her eyes. Both of you know this match-up isn’t fair.

“No hard feelings, yeah?” You respond by throwing the first punch. She’s able to tilt her head to the side in time, the blow glancing off her cheek. Again you swipe at her, and this time she blocks you with a raised arm. When your fist connects, she doesn’t budge at all. She’s rock solid.

You dance around each other for the rest of the first round. Your opponent takes a few swings at you, but you’re able to dodge them. Still, her speed is worrisome. At the beginning of the second round you go to block a punch and her fist connects with your left wrist. Something pops. If it’s supposed to hurt, the pain is drowned out by the blood racing through your veins.

You certainly feel it the next time she gets you, socking you right in the eye with fifteen seconds left in the round. The full force of the impact is brutal, momentarily throwing you off balance. As you stumble she’s able to hit you twice more, each blow harder than the last. With the first punch you feel your teeth cut the inside of your cheek. When she hits you again you’re able to turn your head to the side, your brow ridge taking the brunt of it. The skin splits, and blood begins to pour down your face, hot and sticky. It gathers in the grooves around your already swelling eye, making it nearly impossible to see.

The round ends with a heavy, uneasy feeling settling into your gut. Even considering the size difference, you’re performing poorly. It’s not like you to be this jittery. Taking a short, life-giving sip of water, it does little to wash away the coppery taste in your mouth. As you’re catching your breath and trying to steel yourself, Copia ducks under the ropes, a washcloth in hand. You simultaneously wish he’d go away and wrap you his arms. You’re angry at him for putting you in this position, and yet you can’t help but want to please him. He needs you. It’s hard to look at him as he wipes away the blood gumming up your eye; he’s trying to play it off but you can tell by the slight scrunch of his eyebrows that he’s nervous. Neither of you say anything, and the break ends dreadfully soon.

You go into round three with a plan: evasion. Move around as much as possible and tire her out. Not a strategy you’d normally opt for, but these are desperate times. The bell chimes and she comes at you fast, leaving you scrambling to avoid her. When the opportunity presents itself you take it, ducking under her arm to hit her in the torso. Your wrist complains with each blow that lands but you ignore it, the rush starting to take over. Miraculously, you go to fake her out and she falls for it, giving you a clear shot. You deliver a vicious right hook to her face and her nose immediately begins gushing blood. She pays you back in kind almost instantly but you’re so caught up in a sense of smug satisfaction that it hardly fazes you.

All you needed to do was turn the gas on. This is fine, actually. You can do this.

You go blow-for-blow until the last thirty seconds of round four. The laceration on your eyebrow is still bleeding and no matter how many times you wipe the blood away, you end up blind in that eye. Both of you are sweaty and breathing hard, keen to make the other drop as soon as possible and finish this. You’re trying to focus on making that happen, planning your next strike, but it’s hard now that your vision has started to go double. The sense of urgency builds inside you, your heart hammering as you fight to control your breathing.

The mat beneath you is soaked with blood and sweat. Trying to evade one of your opponent’s blows, you step in one of the small puddles, your foot nearly sliding out from beneath you. It’s all the opportunity she needs. Before you can even raise a fist in defense she swings, catching you in the jaw. The roar of the crowd is only surpassed by the thump of your pulse. Like carrion birds, they can sense the end drawing near. Your vision narrows as you stumble, black spots dancing around the room.

The round is almost over. You can make it through this. You have to make it through this.

You’re off balance, swaying as you try and plant your feet again. The gym is spinning. If you could just lay down, even for a second, you’re certain you could make it stop. You don’t dare look at the time, not when your opponent is so close. Why won’t the round end already?

She steps towards you. You can see her clear as day, but your brain, fogged up, is light-years behind. By the time you register what’s going on, her fist is already coming at you. The best you can do is turn your head to the side. You can feel the nerves light up as she makes contact by your ear, but you’re already unconscious before the real pain sets in.

I am a fool. A miserable, pathetic fool.

The crowd goes wild as you crumple to the ground. Those who bet right scream with excitement, while others groan and hang their heads.

How could I do this?

When presented with the size difference between you and your opponent, Copia had turned his head. It didn’t matter. He thought — he knew — you would be victorious. You always are. And what a better way to win over his brothers than by taking down someone twice your size? Everyone loves an underdog.

Things had gotten off to a rocky start, but you were turning it around. What happened?

The count begins. Perhaps you’ll get up. It’s happened before, you rising like the dead to claim your rightful victory. It’s unlikely, given the way your body fell limp, like a rag-doll, but Copia clings to that hope nonetheless, riding the edge of his seat. If anyone can pull it off, it’s you. It’s his campionessa.

One, two, three-

“Come on, girl,” he hears Cumulus murmur. “Get up.”

Four, five, six-

“Get up!” From the seat next to him, Secondo scoffs.

Seven, eight, nine-

Terzo places a gentle hand on Copia’s shoulder.

Ten.

He sighs. “That is really too bad, fratellino.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Copia’s stomach, like he’s falling over the edge of some vast, inescapable chasm. Disappointed and more than a little regretful, he sits, overthinking, as the crowd begins to disperse. He can still salvage this, he just needs to-

“She’s still not moving,” Mist observes. Copia is torn away from his train of thought. In the ring, a small crowd is gathering around your prone form, more than a few people looking expectantly in his direction.

“Shit,” he mutters, immediately rising from his seat. “Shit.” Every atom of his being screams at him to run to you, but he knows he can’t. He has to maintain the usual illusion of calm and detachment. It’s a performance he puts on not only for his clients, but for himself. He settles for a hurried jog. His heart pounds, not from the exertion, but with fear at what he might find beyond the ropes.

What have I done?

You’re lying flat on your back. If not for the blood on your face, still gushing from your eyebrow, you could be asleep. The referee is trying, with no success, to rouse you, lightly tapping your cheek with a flattened hand. Your victorious opponent is surrounded by a gaggle of admirers, but observes out of the corner of her eye with clear concern. She’s more sportsmanlike than you, that’s for certain.

Copia comes to kneel by your side. He jostles you with a hand on your shoulder but still you remain unconscious. Anxiety, like a hot iron, pokes and prods the inside of his stomach.

“Dolcezza.” He shakes you again. “You have to get up.” For a moment he’s considering blowing the lid off this whole operation and calling for an ambulance but you groan, eyes cracking open. You squint hard under the old fluorescent lights, like you’re looking directly into the sun. “Oh, meno male.”

You perk up a little more at the sound of his voice. “Papa..?” The ref gives him a suspicious look but says nothing. Copia laughs, suddenly uncomfortable, pulling the washcloth out of his jacket pocket and dabbing at your bloodied face.

“I’m here,” he says, fighting the urge to go full mother hen. “You scared me, cara.” Your eyebrows scrunch together.

“Have to go to work,” you mutter weakly. “Where’s Mary?” There’s a pinprick of something in his chest — he doesn’t dare call it jealousy — at the mention of your brother, but it’s quickly drowned out by worry, bordering on panic. Not good. Not good at all. He scans the crowd of remaining spectators, knowing at least a few of his regulars are doctors. There are none that he recognizes, but he notices Aether placed tactically among the swarm, monitoring the flow of people. A paramedic in his past life, surely there must be something he can do for you. Copia is about to call for him when your opponent approaches. She’s got some welts on her face and twisted cotton balls stuffed in both nostrils, but otherwise looks to be in decent shape. She’s gotten off miraculously easy. He still thinks you could have beaten her.

“Is she okay?” The woman asks, a fearful edge to her voice. You jolt, grimacing as you try to get up. There’s a wild look in your eyes. Copia has to coax you to lay back down, one hand supporting your head, the other pushing down on your shoulder.

“Easy,” he warns. “The fight is over.” The look of confusion on your face transforms into something else. It’s a myriad of emotions: pain, anger, sadness, shame.

“I lost…” Copia nods. Your eyebrows knit even further together as you stare at the ceiling, unable to meet his gaze. “‘M sorry.”

It’s like his heart is being torn from his chest.

“I- No, dolcezza.” This is my fault. I made her do this. I put this pressure on her. “It’s okay.” It’s not entirely a lie. Not knowing what else to say and not having the bandwidth for it, he calls for Aether, shooing everyone else away. This has been enough of a spectacle already.

“Boss.” The large man gives Copia a nod as he ducks under the ropes. He kneels on your other side. “Hey, love.” Copia wants to reprimand him for calling you that, but lets it slide for now. “You got knocked about pretty hard. I’m just gonna check a few things, okay?” Using his thumb and forefinger, he pries one of your eyelids open. Your pupils are blown out, hardly dilating under the harsh light. You grunt, grabbing Aether’s wrist. He easily pries your fingers off, repeating the process with the other eye. It has the same reaction. “You know what day it is?”

“Thursday,” you mumble, sounding more with it and clearly irritated by Aether’s pestering. He nods in approval. Copia has never felt more useless in his life.

“Yeah, that’s it. Very good. Think you can sit up?” You nod, starting to rise from the filthy old mat. Before Aether can try, Copia places a hand on your back to support you the rest of the way up. Your right hand goes to your hairline, fingers massaging the area around your tight braids. The other arm hangs limp by your side. Aether gently picks it up, inspecting your wrist. It’s already deep purple and the shape of it is… wrong. He pokes at where a bone protrudes awkwardly under the skin and you frown at it. “I can pop it back in. ’S gonna hurt, though.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Do it.”

Terzo picks the perfect time to butt in. “Well, fratellino- Ahia!” He recoils as Aether manipulates the joint just right, the bone slipping back into its normal position with an audible crack. You remain unfazed other than a wince. Terzo blinks once, twice, before motioning Copia over. Hesitantly, he obeys, glancing worriedly over his shoulder at you as he heeds his brother’s call. Terzo leans against the ropes, looking up at him with a smug smile. Dread burrows into Copia’s stomach, clawing at his insides like a horde of starving rats.

“Let me guess: just a fluke?” Copia scowls down at his brother.

“As a matter of fact, it was.” He chooses not to mention his part in it. Terzo laughs.

“Always so serious. All of you.” At least he seems sober tonight. There’s a pause, Terzo glancing over to where Aether is triaging you. “I do not know what you see in the girl. No offense — we all have different tastes.” Copia scowls at him harder. Terzo makes a sweeping gesture around the room. “But, I can see the potential in all this.” Relief, like a tidal wave, crashes over him. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from breaking out into an idiotic grin.

“Well, good,” is all he says.

“Secondo left already. He may need more convincing,” Terzo notes. “But I will work on him. Call it a favor, from me to you.”

“That’s fine.” Copia doesn’t like the idea of being indebted to his brother, but he can survive it if this works out.

Terzo claps Copia on the back. “We will be in touch. Go take care of your lady friend.” He’s going to protest the use of that vocabulary but before he can blink he’s gone, collecting his girls. He exchanges a few words with them, at which point Cumulus jogs over.

“We brought this,” she reaches into her purse and pulls out a bright orange sports drink, “for her.” Copia smiles. He goes to take it, grabbing one end, but she holds on tight to the other. Her eyes narrow. “You’re gonna take care of her, right, C?” It’s both a command and a threat. Gulping, he nods.

“Yes, ma’am.” Cumulus lets go of the bottle, smiling sweetly.

“Great! Thanks for having us!” She gives him a quick peck on the cheek before skipping away, turning and waving as she follows Terzo and Mist out the door.

Copia scratches the back of his head. “Yeesh…”

He’s in a much better mood as he returns to you, even when Aether tells him you’re concussed. You’re no longer confused and the cut on your eyebrow has stopped bleeding, but that frustrated, ashamed look in your eyes remains. He tells you the good news as he cleans the blood and sweat from your swollen face, and it seems to elevate your mood the slightest bit. Still dizzy, you lean against Copia for support as you file out of the old gym with the rest of the stragglers. Aether had offered to carry you, but you had politely refused, cheeks pink. Copia is relieved; he likes the weight of you on his arm — substantial, but not overly burdensome. It’s like you were made to be there. He’d be loathe to have anyone else squander that, even someone he trusts as deeply as Aether.

The street is dark and quiet, most of the buildings on it also abandoned. These are the times we live in, Copia thinks, eyes darting from one run-down storefront to the other. We all must steal to survive. That’s not important right now, though. Not when he’s one step closer to realizing his goal, to making the old man acknowledge what he’s done.

Tonight didn’t turn out exactly how he wanted, but this is still a victory. Copia decides he’s in a celebratory mood.

“Do you think you will be able to eat, cara? I was thinking about making-“

About ten yards down the street, a car explodes. The shockwave sends you both tumbling to the ground. Tiny pieces of debris pelt Copia’s back, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s thrown himself on top of you. His ears are ringing. Around you the scene descends into chaos, tires screeching as people begin to flee. The cops will undoubtedly be here soon. He looks down at you, knowing the fall couldn’t have been good for your head. You appear unharmed but are staring, wide-eyed, at a point behind him.

“Are you alright?” You don’t answer. Copia gets up and off of you, turning to see what it is you’re looking at. A man is lying on the scorched pavement, convulsing weakly. Based on the remaining scraps of clothes it’s Diego, one of the bookies longest in his employ. His body is covered in burns and he clutches at his throat, a large shard of glass jutting out between his fingers. Copia turns back to find you fixated on the dying man, eyes glazed over as you watch the lifeblood pour out of his neck. He goes to shake you, but thinks better of it. “Dolce-“

“We need to go,” Aether yells, running over to help you both up. You’re unable to rise to your feet until both men grab your arms and pull. The whole time you remain staring at Diego, who has now stopped moving, tripping over your feet as they drag you across the street to the vehicle you’d arrived in. Copia dives into the back seat with you, scrambling to buckle your seatbelt as Aether throws the already started car into drive. The wreck is in flames as he peels away. That thing had been Diego’s pride and joy. He was a good guy. A wife, a few kids; he was just another person trying to make ends meet.

Copia tries not to think about that, or about how his car was nearly identical to the vehicle you’re riding in right now.

#my writing #the band ghost x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iv x reader #frater imperator x reader #copia x reader #i'm also going to make a series masterlist soon so bear with me

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jinxquickfoot · 1 year

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@badthingshappenbingo prompt: "You said you would let them go" Find the fic on Ao3

"You said you would let him go.”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut—the only part of his body he can move—at the sound of Tony’s voice. He’s lost track of how long it’s been since he’d woken strapped to this table, the scents of chemicals and ocean heavy in the air.

“That’s when I thought I was ransoming an intern,” Osborn replies, running a finger down the side of Peter’s cheek. Peter manages to glare at him—the most he can do when he’s unable to pull away. “But he’s more than that, isn’t he, Stark?”

“Whatever narrative you’re trying to spin to wring more cash out of me, save it. You have the money you asked for. Now let him go, or I’m going to stop being civil about this.”

“Civil?” Osborn muses. Even from this end, Peter can hear the distortion from the tech Osborn is using to disguise his voice. “Civil would be returning what’s yours, Stark. Which was the plan before I realized that you stole this specimen first.”

“He’s a high-schooler. Only thing he’s been stolen from is gym class.”

Osborn bends his finger, causing the nail to catch on Peter’s skin. “A high-schooler, yet you gave him access to your personal labs. He must be very special.”

“Rumours, and half-baked ones at that. Get better sources.”

“Don’t lie to me, Stark. It wasn’t hard to run some blood work. This kid isn’t human, not by a long shot, so the price just tripled. Have the money in the same account by midnight, or I’m putting him on the black market in pieces.”

“Or,” Tony counters. “I figure out who you are, come pick the kid up myself, and you can face me head on. How does that sound?”

“Is that an UN-approved mission, Stark? Heard you’re on a tight leash these days. Good luck getting a rescue mission signed off in time to save the kid.” Osborn grins down at Peter, the expression all teeth. “Either way, I get paid for him. How much pain he goes through during the interim is entirely up to you.”

“Listen, you do not want to—”

But Osborn has already hung up. “So, Peter. Looks like we have a few more hours together. How do you want to spend them, huh? Shall we have a little more fun while your dashing hero decides if you’re worth paying for?”

Not being able to throw quips at bad guys sucks. Peter tries to move his tongue, but it’s as immovable as the rest of him. When he’d first woken up, he’d been terrified that the paralysis might be permanent. But he regains feeling every couple of hours or so, just enough to strain his limbs against the restraints, which is exactly when Osborn gives him another dose of whatever drug is keeping him immobilized.

“I’ve got all the blood I need,” Osborn is saying, moving over to the table that Peter is trying very hard not to look at. “But if we have time, why don’t we go a little deeper?”

If he could move, Peter would flinch at the sudden whir of what sounds horribly like a bone saw starting up. He might not be able to move his body, but the past few hours have certainly proved that he can feel it.

“Aw,” Osborn coos at him, the sound of the saw growing closer. “Don’t be scared, kiddo. You heal quickly enough. And after all, I’m only taking back what was mine in the first place—” He breaks off, turning to a bank of monitors that Peter can just see out of the corner of his eye. There’s a green dot traveling towards them at breakneck speed. “Well, would you look at that? I guess Stark isn’t as stupid as that goatee makes him look.”

A breath punches out of Peter as the saw switches off, hoping Osborn’s words mean the one thing he’s been praying for since he first woke up here. Tony’s coming.

Osborn sweeps Peter’s hair off his forehead in a mock gentle gesture. “Looks like I’m about to have an unexpected visitor, which means I’m going to have to put you away for a while.”

Peter narrows his eyes at him, trying to look as intimidating as possible while unable to move on a surgical table.

Osborn just laughs. “I see. You think he’s going to find you. Ah, Peter—where I’m about to put you? No one will even think to look.”

Somehow, getting cut open with a bone saw might have been preferable to this.

It’s freezing. If Peter’s body was cooperating, he knows he’d be shivering violently right about now. It’s pitch black, the oppressive darkness making him want to scream. And none of that compares to the overwhelming claustrophobia of being chained to an anchor deep, deep underwater.

Peter’s not sure a normal human would have survived the plunge into the ocean’s depths, even with the diving suit Osborn had stuffed him into. He can breathe, at least, but he’d caught a glimpse of the oxygen tank before Osborn had tipped him overboard. It had already been half-empty.

He’s tried to slow his breathing, to make whatever air he has last, fighting the instinct to panic and attempt to strain against the chains. Logically, he knows it’s no use. He’s still paralyzed. Even if the drug wears off, he’s not going to be strong enough to swim to the surface. He’s down here until Osborn pulls him up or until Tony finds him. If Tony finds him.

“Wow,” Osborn’s voice crackles in his ear. The earbud had been jammed in before Osborn had secured the diving mask purely, Peter knows, so that Osborn could keep taunting him. “He got here fast, little spider. Guess he really cares about you. Too bad he’s not going to find you, though.”

Peter closes his eyes, even though it doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference to what he can see. If anyone can figure out where Osborn’s hidden him, it’s Tony Stark.

It’s the thought he holds onto as he hears the distant roar of thrusters, right before Osborn whispers over the comms, “Show time.”

A stomp of boots and the crack of a door being kicked open. “Where is he?”

“Stark. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Osborn. That line about a stolen specimen? I know you have him.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I’ll have you know that there are security cameras all over this boat. It would be a shame if the UN saw the Accords’ greatest defender attacking without so much as a warrant.”

“I don’t need a warrant if I have probable cause of harm.”

A surprised laugh. “Probable cause of harm? I am merely out here alone, enjoying a little me time.”

“Uh-huh. So you won’t mind if I search your toy boat, then?”

“Go ahead.” Osborn is all confidence. “Search away.”

More sounds—footsteps, mostly. The sounds of doors opening. The noise of a search.

Please, Peter sends up to the boat, as though if he projects through sheer force of will Tony’ll hear him. Please think to look down here, Tony. Please.

“I have to say,” Osborn speaks up, and Peter wants to punch him for the undisguised glee in his voice. “You must have lost something very important to go to all this trouble.”

“Don’t play the ignorant card, Osborn. It’s not a cute look on you.”

“Simply making an observation.”

“And you know what I observe? The room you have hidden below the ship.”

Peter’s heart skips. That has to be the room he had woken up in, where the surgical equipment, where Peter’s blood is.

“Not hidden,” Osborn corrects him. “The door is simply an aesthetic design, I assure you. I’d be more than happy for you to take a look.”

A sudden ocean current sweeps past Peter, knocking him hard against the anchor. It steals the wind from him, and there are a few terrifying moments where he can’t catch his breath, he can’t breathe, he can’t—

“Interesting space you’ve got in here. Very… clean.”

Peter latches onto the sound of Tony’s voice, using it as a much kinder anchor than the one he’s bound to. He doesn’t know how much oxygen he just wasted. He doesn’t know how much he has left, either. It belatedly occurs to him that if Tony can’t find him, then the more time his mentor spends searching, the longer Peter’s going to be stuck down here.

“I hardly use this space,” Osborn says. “The previous owners used it for fishing equipment, so I had it scrubbed to get rid of the smell and have barely touched it since. And I believe you’ve now seen the whole boat. Satisfied?”

I’m not on the boat, Peter thinks desperately. I’m below the boat.

“Not really,” Tony answers. “So, he’s not here. You’ve got him somewhere else.”

No, no, no, I’m here, come on Tony, please figure this out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Stark.”

There's an ugly pause before Tony says, “Don’t make me make you tell me, Osborn. You won’t enjoy that.”

“Go ahead,” Osborn challenges him. “Threaten an innocent man on camera. Let’s see how that holds up under the Sokovia Accords.”

Peter’s breath catches. At first, he thinks it’s just the tension burrowing its way under his skin from the dark, the cold, the oppressive weight of the water. Then he takes another slow breath. And another.

He’s not imagining it. The air feels a little lighter than before. As though he’s already scraping the bottom of the oxygen tank.

“I paid what you asked for,” Tony snaps at him. “Tell me where he is, Osborn. Now.”

Peter slows his breathing, trying desperately to make whatever is left in the tank last as long as possible.

“How many times do I have to say it? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not leaving here until you tell me. I’ve got all night.”

Barely an hour ago, those words would have been music to Peter’s ears. Now, they’re a death sentence.

“All night, huh?” Amusement radiates from Osborn’s words. “Sure, I’m not busy. Can I offer you a drink?”

“I’m taking a second look around the ship.”

“Please, be my guest. Take all the time you need.”

Peter’s next breath rattles in his lungs. He’s definitely on dregs, and it’s not as though Osborn can pull him up while Tony’s still there. Osborn doesn’t need him alive, either. He’s made it clear that Peter’s body parts will sell just fine.

Peter listens helplessly as Tony continues to search, refusing to leave without answers that Osborn isn’t giving him. This is it. Peter’s going to die down here.

“Sure I can’t get you that drink, Stark? You did come all this way.”

Even over the comms, Peter can pick up Tony’s frustrated sigh. “This isn’t done with, Osborn.”

No, be done with it, Peter pleads with him. Go, Tony. Please just leave.

“I’m not sure what this even is,” Osborn replies, his tone all congeniality. “Of course, you did just invade my private property, which I will have to report. We all have to do our bit to keep the community safe.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Another sound of frustration, and then Peter hears the joyous sound of an Iron Man suit starting up. Tony’s going to leave. Osborn is going to pull him up.

And then cut him to pieces and sell him.

Peter barely has time to register that last thought before he tries to take his next breath, and finds that he can’t.

“Goodbye, Stark,” Osborn is saying. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Peter forces himself not to panic—to preserve the last molecules of oxygen he has left.

“Oh believe me, Norman. I will.”

Just go just go just go just go just go—

There’s silence for far too long before Peter hears Osborn speak again. “Just making sure he’s out of sight, kiddo. Can’t take any chances.”

Peter’s lungs are on fire. Instinct finally kicks in and he jerks in the chains, the paralytic drug wearing off far too late. A very different kind of darkness from the undersea depths is creeping in around him, and he can’t hear Osborn anymore, and the anchor isn’t moving, he’s going to die down here and he doesn’t want to die he doesn’t—

The last thing Peter’s aware of before he passes are strong arms on his, and the sensation of rising, rising, rising…

“Peter? Come on, kid, don’t do this to me.”

When Peter’s eyes open, he doesn’t see darkness. He’s not strapped to a table either. He experimentally shifts his arms and legs, breathing a sigh of relief as they move, only to realize that they’re shaking beyond his control.

“That’s it, Pete. Hey, look at me. Peter.”

The blurry shapes around him finally coalesce into the face of one very worried-looking Tony. “Oh, hey Mr Stark.”

“I need to stop pulling you out of freezing waters, kid.”

“S-sorry.” Peter can hear his teeth chattering, trying to wrap his arms around himself, only to realize that they’re oddly heavy. He peers down at himself, realizing he’s encased in red and gold metal. “Woah, that’s so cool.”

“Don’t get too excited, the suit’s a loan. Just getting you warm.”

Peter frowns. “Don’t feel warm.”

Tony’s brow creases. “We’ll get there. Don’t want to shoot your temperature up too quickly with your funky thermoregulation. Once you’re good I’ll fly us home.”

“Home sounds good. Away from…” Peter suddenly tries to sit bolt upright. It’s more of a half-sit-up before he collapses back with a groan.

“Woah, kid, take it easy.”

“Osborn, he’s here, he’s—”

“I got him. You’re safe, kid. I promise.”

Peter stills. “Really?”

“Really really.” Tony places a hand on Peter’s forehead, and Peter sighs at the warmth. “Sorry, kid. This one’s on me.”

“But you found me.”

“Yeah, that was one of my better brainwaves. Still, I don’t need villains kidnapping my intern because they think it’s an easy payday. We’ll work on it.”

Peter’s beginning to feel something other than completely frozen, the violent shivers abating a little. He pulls in a full breath, savoring it. “Yeah, that sucked.”

“Agreed.” Tony checks his forehead again. “I think we’re okay to turn it up a bit, FRIDAY.”

Heat suddenly bursts from the Iron Man suit’s interior, and Peter sighs in relief. “Thanks.”

“Any time, kid.” Tony lays his hand on Peter’s arm, finally seeming to relax as Peter’s temperature climbs. “Any time.”

#irondad #tony stark #peter parker #hurt peter parker #protective tony stark #kidnapping #hostage situatons #tw: claustrophobia #bthb card #bad things happen bingo

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afterdarkprincess · 1 year

Text

The Devil’s in the Details (But You got a Friend in Me)- Part 2

Samijey Fic- AU From the Royal Rumble

So just a heads up- I’ve changed a few things in this fic from when Part 1 was posted. Nothing major, but if you notice anything’s different that’s why :) Those updates and edits will show up on the full version of this fic when it goes up on AO3.

Thank you SO much to @elementaldoughnut12 for letting me use her chubby Sami prompt, I hope I’m doing it justice 🥰

And thank you to @feelschicken for always being my sounding board when I need it and letting me drag you into new fandoms!

Some warnings for this fic because it is Explicit and reminder as always that my blog is 18+

This part contains: Conversations about weight gain (zero shame involved) a small Panic Attack, Oral Sex, Body Worshipping, and Coming Untouched (mostly)

Part One Here

—-

That nights' Smackdown passes in a blur, a fight between him and Jimmy and the Alpha Academy that they easily win, taking Gable down with the 1D for the pin.

Roman hasn’t given them any explicit direction since they’re still riding on the momentum of Sami’s injury, which really doesn’t sit well with Jey.

After Smackdown, the rest of the weekend is booked up with House shows, and endless hours in the car with Jimmy and Solo driving between cities.

Despite being crammed into a car with the two people he’s supposed to be closest to, Jey feels more alone than ever.

He has another week and a half before a 3 day break when he can return to Sami. It can’t come soon enough.

---

This pattern continued for a few months, Jey going to the house in Florida whenever he has a break to see Sami. The visits are never as long as he wants them to be, and the time in between when he’s working and traveling seems like torture.

Jey ostensibly has a separate home, an apartment he keeps for mail and tax stuff. But the house where Sami stays rapidly replaces it as “home” to him.

Sami has put on some weight in the meantime, what with being so well fed from Chef Uce-ardee and not being able to do much in the gym other than bulk up his arms, but it makes Jey happy to see Sami so clearly well cared for. His pale skin glows with health, who cares if there’s more of him?

Sami moans about his shirts not fitting, so Jey makes sure on his last few trips to bring lots of merch oversized. He tries his best not to think about why it makes him so pleased to see Sami swimming in a 2XL shirt with his face on it.

Jey has a tight schedule with Wrestlemania coming up, their feud with the Brawling Brutes now heating up to a fever pitch. Jey’s gonna make those bastards pay for what they did to Sami, and he’s gonna do it on the biggest stage of them all.

But that means a solid 6 week stretch through March and April where he can’t make a trip home to Sami, between press and fan appearances and shows.

Jey’s miserable. They text and call each other of course, but it just isn’t the same. Jimmy gives him a hard time whenever he steps out of their hotel room to call Sami, with a teasing “Say hi to your girl for me, Uce!” to which he just rolls his eyes and grumbles for him to shut up.

It’s hard to argue with that logic though, when just hearing Sami’s voice over the phone is the only bright spot of his days.

Somewhere along the way Jey’s feelings for Sami have became more than just a brotherly bond that comes from fighting together. Sami understands him in ways that no one else does, makes him smile and laugh when he’s had a shitty day.

He’s the last person he wants to talk to before going to sleep, and in the dark of shared hotel rooms, Jey’s mind wanders to think about what it might be like to really share a home with Sami, to share a bed and a life together. To always have the other man in his corner.

The only thing that gives Jey pause is the ever looming presence of Roman.

There’s a reason he only calls Sami from the safety of hotel rooms and the cover of night. Roman’s used Jey’s devotion to his brother against him before, made it crystal clear that if Jey doesn’t follow orders, Jimmy would pay the price.

What would Roman do to Sami if he knows how Jey feels? If Jey puts a toe out of line or talks back, would it be Sami’s neck this time?

In his mind’s eye he can see Roman with his hands around Sami’s throat, choking the life out of him as he struggles and reaches for Jey, frozen and powerless to do anything.

Would it be worth it? To love Sami but never be able to keep him safe from his own family?

“You don’t have to do this alone anymore, you know,” Sami voice on the phone cuts through the doom and gloom of his thoughts. “Whatever’s on your mind, we can work through it together.”

Jey laughs ruefully, how does Sami always know?

“Jus’ really miss you, Sami. Things been real intense lately, dunno, worried over nothin’.” Jey rubs his face with his hands, trying to keep himself together.

“It’s not nothing if it’s botherin’ you like this, Jey. Is it Roman? Is he giving you a hard time?”

It really wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, being ordered to take out opponents during Roman’s fights, taking it like a good guard dog.

“The usual, jus’ tired of fightin’ his fights, you know? Got my own fight to deal with. Gotta kick Holland’s ass for even thinkin’ bout touchin’ you.” He tries for a light tone to brighten the mood, but he really didn’t meant to sound so possessive.

Sami is quiet for a moment, and Jey thinks maybe he’s fucked everything up.

“Wish I could be there to help, you don’t always have to fight my fights too. And I gotta teach that asshole a lesson for coming at you like that.” Sami laughs, but Jey can hear the frustration in his voice.

How can Jey tell him that it’s never a hardship to fight Sami’s fights? That he would volunteer to go to war with him before being commanded to do anything by Roman ever again?

Jey’s silent for too long, because Sami’s voice comes over the line again.

“Miss you too, Jey- Just a few more weeks, yeah?”

Jey blinks away the tears that threaten to fall, trying to push down the ache in his chest.

“You just miss my cookin’, I knew it.”

“I got plenty of your food in my freezer!! I’m gonna be up a few weight classes when I come back as it is.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with that, Uce,” Jey can imagine Sami in the house, sitting up on the couch, big t-shirt barely covering his boxers and thighs, the picture of comfort and home. “M’coming home as soon as I can,” He can hear the naked longing in his own voice.

“I’ll be waiting here,” Sami might have meant that as a joke, but Jey hears the same longing in Sami’s voice and it makes the distance hurt all the more. “You should get some sleep, it’s late.”

“Yeah, you right…”

Jey trails off, but he really doesn’t want to end the conversation.

“Go to bed, Jey!!” Sami laughs, “And tell your brothers I said Hi.”

“Those clowns ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from me,” Jey grumbles. “Night, Sami.”

“Night, Jey.” Sami’s voice is soft, and there’s the sound of his breathing before finally the line goes dead.

It would be smarter for Jey to put some distance between them, to give this up to keep Sami safe and not give Roman another bargaining chip. It’s what he would have done a year ago, two years ago.

But Sami is right, he’s not alone in this anymore. And Sami isn’t a damsel to be saved. They can fight for this together.

He’s got weeks to decide how to do this, but the next time he sees Sami, he’s going to make sure Sami knows he’s in his corner too.

---

The week before Wrestlemania arrives before he knows it, and while Jey is thankful that his time without Sami is going quickly, he’ll really only feel better once the event is over and done with.

He calls Sami almost every night, and gets text messages throughout the day of little things happening back in Florida; the birds that hang out on the feeder out the window in the kitchen, little snippets of what’s happening on whatever show Sami’s decided to watch.

This time it’s a picture of Sami in the bathroom mirror, flexing his definitely bulked up arms, the stripes of stretch marks on his full soft belly visible and tantalizing.

Jey nearly chokes on his lunch.

He’s scheduled for a one on one match against Ridge Holland on Raw, and it’s an opportunity to make a big statement and set the tone for their tag match.

It’s also a chance for him to get some well earned payback for injuring Sami. The big show will be for Sofi, but if he can get some shots in he will.

Jimmy comes out with him of course, but Solo is nowhere to be found backstage, and of course Ridge brought that mangy dog partner of his so chances of interference are high.

Jey steels himself in the corner of the ring while Ridge eggs on the crowd that’s booing him.

Technically the Brawling Brutes are supposed to be good guys to the crowd, but Sami had endeared himself to more than just the bloodline over the last year, and the WWE universe was about as forgiving for Sami’s injury as Jey was.

As the ref comes in to start the match, Ridge took a few hulking steps toward him, and spit down at Jey’s feet.

“Make sure ya tell yer little boyfriend I said hullo, been a lot easier around here without ’im. Shoulda taken ’im out sooner.” The taller man sneers.

It’s clearly meant to rile him up and get him off his game, and he tries his best not to let the rage that boils in his blood overcome him, but he sees red as he goes for a super kick that immediately gets caught in Ridge’s giant hands, tugging him off his balance and starting the match in his opponent’s favor.

It’s an uphill battle from there, with Butch taking his opportunity to mess with his fingers, which always hurts like a bitch, but he’s knocked away pretty quickly by Jimmy and no lasting damage is done.

Jey finally gets the upper hand with a splash, but he takes the time to drag the man to the corner of the ring to get one Helluva kick in before making the pin.

The crowd goes wild, and the arena is filled with his entrance music, and the cover buys him a few moments to lean close to spit next to his face.

“Keep Sami’s name out yo’ damn mouth.” He grabs the back of Ridge’s shirt, raising his face up a few inches before slamming him back into the ring. “And if you ever so much as THINK ‘bout touchin’ him again, yo’ gon’ have a lot more than a busted knee!”

Jey stomps his foot down onto Holland’s knee, relishing in the howl it emits from the other man. It definitely crosses a line to do that unscripted, but Jey can’t find it in himself to care.

He stalks out of the ring, victorious, rejoining with Jimmy before they exit together.

It doesn’t take long for him to get cleared by medical and get back to the locker room to his phone, where he finds a slew of text messages from Sami.

I’ve got Raw turned on, kick his ass, Uce! 7:19pm

I don’t know what he said to you, but it’s not worth losing the match over- you can do this! 7:40pm

WOOOO-Way to go, Jey!! Hope you don’t get chewed out for that stomp though! 7:57pm

Just headed to bed but still awake- call me when you get to the hotel? Wanna tell you good job over the phone! 8:15pm

It’s almost midnight on the east coast, but knowing Sami he’s still awake waiting for him to call.

He shoots him a quick message, letting him know it’ll be about a half hour if he doesn’t want to wait up.

No worries- I can wait up for you :) 8:56pm

Jey doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve Sami, isn’t sure that he deserves him at all given his past and the things he’s done. He’s never known this kind of unconditional support before, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it.

“What you smilin’ at, Uce?” Jimmy shoves a hand at Jey’s shoulder playfully, knocking him from his train of thought and alerting him to both of his brothers’ presence.

“Jus’ thinkin’ bout how that dick Holland sounded when I put my boot in his knee,” It’s a white lie, but it’s better than showing all his cards. He’d like to trust in his brothers not to run off and tell Roman his every move, but some days he’s not so sure.

Solo nods, arms cross and face unreadable, and Jimmy laughs as he gathers up his bag.

“Serves that douchebag right for takin’ out our dawg! Glad you got a shot in ‘fore Saturday anyway, Uce. Make takin’ them down that much easier.”

Jey shrugs his own bag over his shoulder, “Can’t wait to put ‘em down for good, tired of seein’ their ugly mugs.”

“No Joke! Especially Butch,” Jimmy shakes his head, as if trying to dispel the image from his head. “I think that dude bites, for real.”

They all pack up into their rental to head back to the hotel, and despite the chatter that streams out of Jimmy’s mouth and the occasional grunt from Solo, all he can think about is hearing Sami’s voice as soon as possible.

Jey wakes up early for Day One of Wrestlemania, determined to face the day head on.

He gets through a few hours at the gym before making himself a protein shake for breakfast and checking his phone. He generally tries to avoid social media before a big match other than the stuff he’s required to post, but there’s a few messages from Sami, just a good morning and encouragement for the show tonight.

Even with the time difference, it’s a bit early for a text from Sami, who’s been using his recovery time to get into the sleeping habits of a teenager on summer vacation, often not waking until 10 or 11, but Jey doesn’t pay it much mind.

The rest of the morning is taken up with interviews over the phone before he’s taken off for a photo shoot and press op with Jimmy before finally heading to the stadium.

They’d done some dry runs in Sofi yesterday, but the sheer size of the place is still overwhelming. It’s still hard for Jey to believe sometimes that he went from wrestling with his family in their living room to all this.

There’s a pang in his chest that tells him that Sami should be here too, that he would have had his own Wrestlemania moments under these lights if it hadn’t been for his knee.

But at least Sami was away from Roman and his schemes and the pressure to perform.

The Tribal Chief had been particularly demanding in the last few weeks as he made appearances on Raw and Smackdown, making Jey wonder if it wasn’t better when his cousin only deigned to show up for Live Events.

This feud with Cody Rhodes was sure to be ended after this weekend and hopefully they could all move on from the damn Royal Rumble, and Jey could enjoy some breathing room from his family.

It would be another two weeks before he could go home to see Sami, but after enduring the last four, two weeks seems like nothing.

He just has to get through the match tonight, get rid of the Brawling Brutes and deal with everything else after.

---

The bell rings, signaling the end of the match.

Jey stares up at the lights above, the chorus of boos from the crowd is deafening. He rolls out of the ring to join his brother, grasping his hand like they were children again hiding from a thunderstorm.

They’d lost.

Sheamus had interfered, delivering a painful brogue kick to Jimmy’s chest and taking him out of the equation 30 minutes into the match, when Jey was exhausted and well past ready for a tag after a brutal bout with Butch. Holland made the tag when his back was turned and plowed into him like a truck.

Jey could barely tell which way was up, but he could hear the other man spitting words into his ear.

“Ya couldn’t protect ‘im then, and ya can’t now. Stay down, ya piece o’ shit.”

In his delirium, Holland’s thick accent turned to Roman’s smooth tones and his heart is frozen in fear, watching as his cousin gave the order for Solo to hit Sami with the spike. The scene twisted to his new recurring nightmare, Roman choking Sami as he cries and reaches for Jey, who is stuck, immobile, a failure again.

He felt the cover, felt his leg in the air and the count, but he was frozen and numb until he rolled out and felt the contact of Jimmy’s hand.

They failed.

He failed.

The walk backstage is long and painful, his lungs protesting with each step. There will be hell to pay for losing the tag titles, and his mind is already racing with thoughts of how this conversation with Roman will go.

Jey gets cleared pretty quickly, his ribs were a bit bruised but otherwise fine. Jimmy’s taken back to get his shoulder checked out, so Jey returned to their locker room alone.

But when he arrives, the Tribal Chief and the Wiseman are nowhere to be found.

Solo is unwrapping the tape on his hand slowly, he’d taken Sheamus out, but it was too little too late.

Solo nods at him, “Sami’s here,”

Wait, what?

He stares at his younger brother blankly, “What you say, Uce?”

“Sami’s here,” Solo nods again, and Jey twists to look behind him.

Like a mirage in the desert, Sami stands there, knee in a thick brace still but without the scooter contraption that helped him around the house. His face is drawn with worry and he stares at the hand Jey has braced against his ribs.

“Jey-“ He starts, taking a step forward, but Jey closes the distance, holding Sami’s shoulders like a lifeline and using every ounce of restraint not to wrap his arms around him.

“You’re here,” Jey hears the words tumble out of his mouth.

Sami laughs softly, “Yeah, Uce. I’m here.”

So many emotions are tearing through him, the relief and feeling of home at seeing Sami again, the exhaustion and frustrations from the match, combined with the leftover terror at Holland’s words, that Sami wasn’t safe and never could be as long as he’s by his side.

Sami gently removes his hands from his shoulders, gingerly stepping around him and pushing Jey to sit on the couch.

“Solo, can you take Jey’s papers to management for me? And tell Jimmy we’ll meet up back at the hotel?”

The enforcer gives Sami a raised eyebrow but nods, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him without another word.

They’re alone, no prying eyes. No brothers, no Roman, no Paul Heyman.

Sami turns back to him, approaching slowly and sitting down on the couch next to him, so similar to the nights back in Florida, watching trash TV until late at night.

“I’d really hoped to surprise you, think I still did, but I thought it’d be in better spirits,” Sami gently puts his hand on Jey’s where it rests in his lap. “Still glad I’m here though.”

Jey can’t think through the fog in his head, caught up in the swirl of emotions and the leftover adrenaline from the match, and his eyes fall from Sami’s worried brow to the plush of his lips.

Before he knows what he’s even doing his lips are pressed to Sami’s, hands cupping Sami’s cheeks in an effort to keep him close.

It lasts just for a few moments before Jey’s brain comes back online and he realized what he’d done.

Panicked, he pulls away, casting his head down, staring holes into the floor and wishing they would swallow him.

“Fuck, Sorry, uce- SHIT, M’sorry,” Jey feels like he’d been dosed in freezing water, the urge to vomit rising in his mouth.

Another fuckup, another way he’s failed tonight. He’s hit with the need to get away, get some air and distance from whatever he just did.

He starts to stand, but is stopped by a firm hand at his elbow.

“Jey, don’t be sorry,” There’s the touch of warm fingers at his chin, so soft and gentle as they guide his head up to meet Sami’s eyes once more.

Sami opens his mouth to speak again, but closes it instead and leans in slowly to connect their lips again, running his fingers along Jey’s jaw before tangling in his hair.

It’s slow, unhurried, and so heartbreakingly sweet. It’s everything Jey’s secretly wished for on the lonely nights on the road, dreaming of when he could return home to Sami.

When they finally part, Sami rests his forehead against his own, sighing out a long breath.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” He giggles, like a child caught with their hand in a candy jar.

“Why didn’t you?” Jey asks, absent-mindedly smoothing Sami’s hair with his fingers.

Sami gently shakes his head back and forth, and Jey relishes in the feeling, the intoxicating closeness.

“Was scared, I think. Didn’t know how you’d react really,”

That Jey could understand, honestly. He doesn’t know how to respond, other than that he really just wants to kiss Sami again, so he pulled their lips together desperately, groaning at the feeling when Sami deepens the motion.

“Seems like I was worried over nothing,” Sami laughs pressing a quick peck to the tip of Jey’s nose.

Jey buckles under the weight of his emotions, burying his face into Sami’s shoulder and wrapping him in a desperate embrace.

“Sorry-M’sorry, Sami,” Jey mumbles the words into the other man’s skin, tears falling and wetting the hoodie Sami has on.

Sami’s hands gently rub circles on his back, “You have nothing to be sorry for, it’s alright.”

“Couldn’t protect you, can’t do anythin’ right,” Jey’s chest heaves with a sob, shoulders shaking as Sami just holds him.

Jey couldn’t remember the last time anyone consoled him like this, aside from his twin, and even then Jimmy usually told him just to get his shit together.

After a few minutes, Jey could finally breathe and gently released Sami from the koala hold he’d had him in, Sami’s hands coming to wipe the remaining tears from his cheeks.

“Feeling better?” Sami asks gently, with no judgement.

Jey nods, feeling the exhaustion of the day settle into his bones.

“Jey, listen-“ Sami starts, keeping his warm hands on the side of Jey’s face so he can’t look away or hide. “You have nothing to apologize for, okay? I appreciate that you want to protect me, but remember when I told you we’re in this together? You don’t have to bear all that on your shoulders. I can protect myself and help you too.”

“But Roman-“

“I’m not blind, Jey. I saw what Roman did to Jimmy before, and I know how that eats at you. But you don’t have to be scared, okay? I’m not gonna let him use me against you or vice versa.”

Sami’s thumb strokes against his cheek, and he wants to believe so badly. “Still, we gotta be careful. Maybe we jus’ keep us between us for a while?”

There’s a frown on Sami’s face, “I gotta be honest here, Jey, I don’t wanna keep you a secret forever. I wanna treat you right.” He sighs, heavily. “But I understand this probably isn’t the best time.”

Jey blinks, trying to keep himself in check.

“Can’t have you payin’ for my mistakes tonight, Sami. I can’t-“ He feels panic rising in his throat again.

He’s cut off by the sensation of Sami’s lips at his forehead, right between his brows.

“Let’s not think about that now, huh?” Sami’s voice is low and soothing. “We have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

Jey feels a rush of heat to his stomach at the implication, and it fuels him to press their lips together, grasping at Sami’s neck to pull him closer, closer. Jey opens his mouth in a sigh, inviting the other man in further and relishing in the feeling of Sami’s tongue tasting along his bottom lip before diving in further to explore his mouth.

Jey angles his head a little, rubbing their noses together and pulls back just a bit, taking Sami’s lip in between his teeth and biting it playfully.

The noise the ginger makes in response goes straight to Jey’s pants, where his dick is quickly getting invested in the situation.

Jey runs his hands down to Sami’s chest, to the zipper of the hoodie he’s wearing, taking the zip in one hand and unzipping it while pushing the material off Sami’s shoulders and down his arms.

Underneath the hoodie, Sami is wearing a ribbed white tank top, one he’s had for a while based on how tight it is over the softness that’s settled on his chest and belly.

Sami’s never been a 6 pack abs kind of guy, but something about how the weight gain has settled on his frame drives Jey absolutely wild. The swell of his round little tits, kept perky by strong pectoral muscles underneath, and how they just kiss the fullness of his belly.

Jey gets up from the couch and kneels down in front of Sami, boxing him in with his arms as he swoops in to kiss the other man again.

“Missed you so much, Sami, you don’ even know,” He mumbles in between kisses. “Thought ‘bout you all the time, every night.” Jey moves to Sami’s neck, pressing little kisses to each faint freckle he finds.

Sami arches his back and neck, letting out a long sigh. “Couldn’t wait two more weeks, I bought the ticket as soon as the docs said I could.”

“M’glad,” Jey’s lips lingered at Sami’s collarbone, nipping the soft skin as he ran his hands along the bottom hem of Sami’s shirt. “Gonna take this off,”

Sami’s hands come down to his to stop him, “Jey-“

“Wanna see you, baby,” Jey moves up to Sami’s face, brushing his lips over each of Sami’s cheeks, then just ghosting over his lips.

Sami’s hands relaxed, and Jey guided both their hands in pulling the shirt off.

Jey’s mouth watered at the sight laid out before him, Sami’s round little nipples kissing the soft squish of his stomach, with a dusting of light soft hair covering all of it.

He zeroed in one nipple, taking it in his mouth and swirling his tongue around the tip, moaning around it as Sami threads his fingers into the hair on his neck. His dick is aching in his shorts, but this is about Sami now and making him feel good.

He drags his nose and licks a stripe across the mounds of Sami’s tits to pay attention to the other nipple as he smooths his hands around the sweet love handles that are a perfect size for each handful.

Sami looked so well loved and cared for and it was intoxicating knowing he’d taken of Sami this good for the last few months.

Jey’s hands travel back down to the edge of the joggers Sami wore, tugging on the elastic.

Sami’s hand stilled in Jey’s hair. “Baby, you don’t have to,”

“Wanna make you feel good,,”

Jey looks up at Sami through his thick eyelashes, rubbing his thumbs into the soft give of belly. Sami’s face is nearly red with blush and there are tears shining in his eyes as he nods, fingers tightening their grip on Jey’s hair. He tugs Jey up for another melting kiss.

Sami lifts his hips up, pushing the joggers down with one hand, taking his boxers in one motion halfway down his thighs and freeing his very hard dick.

Jey sinks back on the balls of his feet to come to eye level with Sami’s waist, touching the ginger’s hips and nudging them forward a touch, mindful of the knee injury. He dips down to press an open wide kiss to the head of Sami’s cock, eating up the loud groan that escapes his mouth.

“Gonna have to stay a lil’ quieter than that, Sami,” Jey laughed before peppering kisses down the length of his shaft, and licking back up with the full breadth of his tongue in one smooth glide.

The chances of anyone overhearing were minimal, but it was enough to send a thrill down Jey’s spine.

He takes his time, dragging his tongue around the head of Sami’s cock and learning all the places that elicit those sweet gasps and whines from the other man.

Sami’s fast breaths turn to pleas for more, and Jey obliges, taking the full length of his cock into his mouth. It’s length is just enough to stretch into his throat and the full weight of it on Jey’s tongue is intoxicating.

He swallows around Sami’s cock and takes a few slow breaths through his nose, moaning to send vibrations through the ginger’s body.

Sami’s grip on his hair is tight, just this side of painful, and it makes Jey’s dick ache. He feels precum leaking out and creating a wet spot in his underwear, and he’s hit with the thought that he might just cum from pleasuring Sami alone.

Jey sucks in and hollows his cheeks, reaching back to put his hand on Sami’s in his hair, pressing their hands and his head down further on Sami’s length, hoping that the other man gets the picture. Which he does, based on the groan he lets out and the tug on his curls that drags him back up to wrap his lips around the full pink head of Sami’s cock.

He lets Sami control his movements, setting a slow deliberate rhythm with Jey’s mouth and tongue, as Jey lets his hands wander again, dragging up over the curve of Sami’s belly and rubbing his thumbs in circles over those sweet puffy nipples.

Sami’s body hair is softer than Jey ever would have imagined, like he could curl up and take a nap right on the man��s chest and never move again.

“So fuckin’ good, Jey- feels so good,” Sami’s words spur Jey’s movements, lightly pinching on his nipples before rubbing his thumbs along the meat of his tits, watching up from below as they jiggle.

Sami’s hips are shaking, and Jey thinks maybe the other man’s knee is aching from sitting in one place for so long, but when there’s movement it’s Sami’s good leg that moves forward to the tent in his shorts, gently putting pressure against the head of his dick.

Jey’s vision whites for a moment at the sudden contact.

“Take what you need, baby, M’not gonna last long,” Sami says, and it’s all the permission Jey needs to rut his hips forward, groaning at the friction of his cock against Sami’s shin.

It’s dirty and desperate, but Jey can’t find it within himself to care.

He’s bobbing faster on Sami’s dick now, bringing his hands back down to steady Sami’s still shaking hips. It’s a heady power trip, feeling how much pleasure he’s bringing to this man that he loves so much.

That’s what this is, what his feelings have become. He loves Sami with everything he has, and there’s no going back after this.

“Jey,” Sami’s nearly whimpering, “Jey, baby- stop m’gonna-“ His fingers tug to pull Jey off of his dick, but Jey’s never been one to see something halfway through.

He takes a breath through his nose instead, pushing forward to bury his nose in Sami’s soft pubic hair, taking the full length of him into his mouth and throat.

Sami cries and its the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, feels the twitch of his dick on his tongue and in his throat as Sami cums.

He bucks his own hips twice more and his cock spurts all over the inside of his shorts, and he’s moaning again, wringing the last drops of pleasure out of Sami before his hands push him off.

“Too much,” Sami’s breath is heavy but he’s smiling, “You’re too much babe.”

Jey licks his lips, savoring the last of the taste of Sami’s skin as he pulls the joggers back up over the man’s hips.

Sami looks down at Jey’s very much no longer tented shorts, eyes wide.

“Did you-?”

He laughs, “Like a damn high schooler, yeah.”

“Lucky for you, I got some extra pants in my bag,”

Jey stands, his knees protesting, especially doing all that after a fight. Probably not the smartest thing he’s ever done, but he can’t find it in himself to regret it.

Sami stands too, bringing him in for another kiss. He can’t believe he gets to do this now, can really have this.

Reality creeps in though as their lips part, Sami reaching back to the couch for his discarded hoodie.

“We’re gonna have to head back to the hotel soon, they’re gonna wonder where we are.”

Jey drops his head to rest on Sami’s shoulder, groaning defeatedly.

“Please tell me you got a separate room from those fools?” He asks, but he knows the answer. There’s no way he could sneak away from his brothers for a whole night. Especially not tonight.

Sami shakes his head and laughs. “Sorry, babe. Had to plan with Paul to even get in here.”

“And when do you leave?” The question hurts to ask.

“Tomorrow afternoon. I’ve got a follow up appointment I need to get to Monday morning, or you know I’d stay.”

“I know,” Their bubble of happiness is about to burst way sooner than he anticipated. “Just wish I could hold you tonight, s’all.”

He feels a warm kiss press to the top of his head, “I know- at least we can get some breakfast in the morning, huh? Some waffles? And it’s two weeks until you get a whole week off.”

The two weeks might as well be two months for all that it helps Jey right now. He pulls his head back up, stopping to give Sami one quick press of lips, that turns to two, then three. Just brushing their lips together.

“We gonna spend every single day in bed, you know that?”

Sami laughs, “I think we can make that happen.” He turns to rummage in his bag, tossing Jey a pair of shorts.

Jey grumbles, “Time to face the music I guess.”

The anxiety of losing the fight, what Roman’s reaction will be to them losing the belts, creeps back in. He can feel his shoulders tensing up already.

“Hey now, none of that.”

As Jey tugs the new shorts on, Sami is there when he gets to full height, dropping another kiss on his forehead. “I told you before, we’re in this together. No shouldering this on your own this time.”

Jey swallows, nodding his head. “Okay, Sami.”

They leave together, taking a rental back to the hotel, Jey wishing each minute were longer as he enjoys the feeling of Sami’s fingers in his own.

Two weeks. Two weeks and he can take his time with Sami. Love him the way that he deserves.

At least he’ll be away from whatever wrath Roman is about to throw at them.

----

Thinking 1 more part to deal with the fallout of Wrestlemania and let Jey worship his man the way he wants to :)

Thank you to everyone reading- it means the world to me 🤍

Happy Smackdown Night!

#samijey #jeysami #sami x jey #jey uso #sami zayn #devils in the details

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redlinereblogs · 2 years

Text

i am feeling too much about our captain tonight

Jonny wonders what it says about the state of things when he gets the call from Brisson instead of Patrick.

The call is brief, professional. Awkward, stilted.

“There’s just–just so much to do. Things are really coming together pretty quickly. He’s actually in the air now. Going back home. He just want–I. I just wanted to make sure you heard from–you know–just heard about it, now that it’s official.” Pat pauses, gathering his thoughts, his courage. Then, more delicately, “He just wanted to make sure you knew, Jon. And he wanted to make sure you knew that this wasn’t...” He trails off with another pregnant pause. “It’s just about hockey. Not..not anything else.”

When Jonny lets that go without reaction, Pat continues–slipping quickly back into agent mode after that momentary detour into something akin to friendship–going on to explain what’s going to happen, at least what the plans are right now. “The paint’s still a little wet but you get it.” Jonny doesn’t get it actually. He doesn’t get it at all. He wants to go back in time three minutes and decline this phone call.

He continues to listen with half an ear as Pat outlines the plans. When the calls are officially going to be made, what the teams are planning to post on their respective socials, the statements that are going to be released.

“We’re drafting some things for Patrick now. Want something for him to review when he lands. Kyle and Danny are both getting something together too.” Another of those loud silences. Jonny hears an inhale of breath and then, “We’ve got some time if...if you wanted to maybe...” Pat trails off and Jonny just lets the unspoken question hang for a moment. And then one more. “Just something to think about. Again, like I said, still plenty of time.”

But there isn’t really plenty of time, is there? Jonny thinks as Pat wraps up the call. There isn’t any time left at all.

The rest of the week feels like a dream––well, not really a dream. But not quite a nightmare either.

He walks from the kitchen into his office and forgets why he came in here in the first place. He then turns to go back only to pivot and head into his bedroom, only wonder why the fuck he’s in there now too.

He searches high and low for his phone to find it on the charging pad, right where he left it before hopping in the shower.

He drives all the way to Fifth Third only to remember that he actually left the house to pick up a grocery order.

He keeps losing count on his reps in the gym so he’s not even really sure if he’s hitting his performance goals but decides he doesn’t give a shit and just puts down the bar. He tries to breathe through a sudden pressure in his chest and behind his eyes and avoids making eye contact with the trainer he’s working with. When he feels like he can breathe freely again, he settles back down for another set and thinks about nothing but the rep count.

He goes to bed early just to spend most of the evening staring at his ceiling.

The days move on, simultaneously quicker and slower than usual, and the trade whispers turn into a roar.

He ignores calls and texts from his mother, his father, David, Dave, Sharpy, Duncan, and Crow.

Brisson sends him a text when more of the finer points have been finalized. Paint’s dry now, Jonny thinks. Brisson’s follow-up text has another questioning nudge about a statement but Jonny leaves him on read.

He waits for something from Patrick–a text, call, hell a fucking email, anything–and is sorely disappointed.

You should reach out, a traitorous part of his mind whispers and he viciously tells it to shut the fuck up as he increases the incline on the treadmill.

He wakes up too early from a terrible night’s sleep, reaching for someone who isn’t there. He hears an echo of laughter as he tries in vain to slip back into sleep. Good morning. The memory filters in, hazy and soft and warm. There’s a smile in those familiar blue eyes and Jonny can feel the joy in it. I know. It’s too early. Go back to sleep, babe. He throws off the covers with a curse and goes to take a shower. It’s quick and cold and he doesn’t think of anything at all.

He finally FaceTimes with Brent after the man threatens to come down and check on Jonny in person. His last text was a screenshot of an airline ticket order page and a lame dad joke about Jonny making an old man use such a significant part of his “fixed” income just because he couldn’t be bothered to answer the phone.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Fixed income,” Jonny demands as the call connects.

“I’m a retired man now, Jonny.” Brent smirks a little. “Gotta watch those pennies.”

Despite himself, Jonny snorts but tries to cover with, “Weak, man. That was weak.”

“Eh, not one of my best but–” Brent shrugs. “Got you to answer.”

“Yeah,” Jonny concedes with a sigh. “Guess it did.”

There’s a pause then and Jonny’s not entirely sure how to fill it so Brent does it for him.

He talks about Dayna and the kids. How coaching is going. How the extended family is fairing. In the middle of some story about Brent’s stoic father-in-law babysitting the girls and getting roped into playing dress-up, Jonny finds himself cracking a smile. It feels awkward on his face in a way he doesn’t want to think about too much.

Eventually their talk, as it always does, shifts back to hockey. They talk about the team a bit. Jonny rants probably more than he should about the state of the locker room. The front office. The press. The fans. The whole fucking mess of the season.

Jonny doesn’t talk about his health; Brent brings it up anyway. “You know I understand, Jonny. I understand what it’s like when your body just won’t cooperate anymore.”

It’s not the same, Jonny wants to snap but he knows it’s true–at least, it’s partly true in a way. They trained alongside each other before the bubble and Jonny saw just how much Brent wanted and how little his body cared about that. But, Brent’s body stopped cooperating with him after injuries. He had something he could point to, something tangible. He had the scars he could show if he wanted; he had something everyone could see and understand and sympathize with.

Some days Jonny feels like no one believes him and he doesn’t know how to make them understand. Don’t they know him by now? Don’t they see him at all? Haven’t they all watched how much of his body and soul he’s given this sport? How much of his heart he’s given to this team? Don’t they know he’d be in the lineup in a heartbeat if he could? Can’t they see how much he’d give up just to be able to make magic on ice again? Don’t they know he’d sacrifice anything and everything he had and more just to hear them cheer to Chelsea Dagger one more time?

Jonny doesn’t talk about Patrick. Brent brings him up anyway. “Jonny, you know it’s not personal, right? You know it’s just about hockey. You know it’s not–not about anything else.”

Why the fuck does everyone keep saying that? Of course it’s fucking personal, Jonny wants to lash out with but he knows that, again, Brent’s probably more right than wrong. More than anyone else, Brent nearly knows all there is to know about the story of Jonny and Patrick. He was there for the glorious beginning and the miserable end and every step along the way. Brent knows that, despite the mess it was at the end, Patrick wouldn’t do something like this to Jonny to be personal. He knows Patrick wouldn’t ever twist the knife in this deeply. And, on some level, Jonny knows it too. He’s just not ready to rise to quite that level just yet. This level is fine, thank you very much and he’s planning on staying a little while.

When Jonny doesn’t offer anything in response, Brent soldiers on. “Have you reached out to him at all?”

“...no.”

A sigh. “Are you going to?”

“...no.”

Another sigh. “Jon.”

“What?” Jonny snaps.

He doesn’t understand why this is his problem. He’s not the fucking chicken shit who made their agent make the call. He’s not the coward in this.

Also, he’s not the one leaving. Patrick’s the one jumping ship and abandoning him. Patrick’s the one leaving him alone with a bunch of glorified strangers in a locker room that doesn’t feel like his anymore. Patrick’s the one leaving him behind in a city that used to fête them both like kings and now treats Jonny like an uninvited house guest overstaying his limited welcome.

So what if their relationship had burned out in a fiery mess of devastating heartbreak? And, so, yeah, maybe Jonny had kinda, sorta, maybe been the one who’d fucked things up between them before. But he’d done that for Patrick’s own good. How could Pat still not understand that? Jon hadn't understood what the fuck was happening to him and couldn’t play anymore and was taking the season off and he didn’t want to hold Patrick back. That’s all it was supposed to be. He was just going to take some time, sort this shit out, and then everything was going to be fine again. It was never going to be forever. They were going to get it back. Are. They are going to get it back.

Doesn’t Patrick know that? Doesn’t he see? Doesn’t he know that the pair of them are always going to find each other again? Why can’t he see that? Why has he forgotten? Jonny hasn’t forgotten. Jonny knows they are it for each other. He knows they were solid once and will be solid again. He knows he fucked them up before but that they are going to find their way back together again. But that can’t happen if Patrick leaves. Hockey had been the miraculous catalyst that brought them together the first time and it was going to do it again, Jon just knows it. He fucking knows it. How the fuck is hockey going to be the thing that helps them bridge the fractured mess of their relationship and find their way back to each other if Patrick goes to fucking New York to play with the fucking Rangers.

“Jon.” Brent’s face on his screen is a picture of patience and understanding. Jonny wishes Brent was standing in front of him right now so he could punch him for it.

“Pat’s the one leaving,” Jonny all but spits out. He’s said it. He can’t believe he said it. “Pat’s the one who decided to get out and didn’t have the balls to even fucking text me about it.” He lets out a sigh and then, “I don’t understand why I have to be the fucking ‘bigger person’ in this.”

Brent waits a beat, considering. “Because you have to, Jonny.” At Jonny’s blank stare, he simply repeats it, “You just have to.”

Jonny opens his mouth but Brent’s quicker. “I know,” he instantly agrees. “I know. It’s all fucking bullshit. It’s fucking low he had Brisson call you. It’s bullshit that management put either of you in this position and you’re stuck in a rebuild you didn’t sign up for.”

Brent takes a beat and waits for Jonny’s eyes to meet his. “And it sucks that you’re out right now. I know you want to be out there playing more than anything. It sucks that you’re gonna come back to a room without him in it. It all just fucking sucks, Jon. But you have to be the bigger person right now. You just–” He shrugs. “You just do.”

Jonny doesn’t really think that the argument that he has to be the bigger person because he just has to is as compelling an argument as Brent seems to think it is but he lets it go. He nods once and makes a few noises of agreement and they wrap up their call.

He lets Brent’s words stew in the back of his mind as mindlessly browses Netflix before giving up and deciding to just start dinner early. As he’s watching onions brown, he decides that he can almost understand Pat asking Brisson to make the call. If Patrick had been the one to basically pull a “it’s not you, it’s me” on him and then shut his phone off for six months, Jon’s not sure if he would want to call him either.

He eats his dinner standing in the kitchen, because pulling out one of the stools or heading to the couch seems like entirely too much work, and flips on the TV. He watches the NHL Network’s talking heads discuss the latest leak in the Kane trade news and wonders why they even bother pretending like they don’t already know what’s going to happen and when. He’s pretty sure Brisson has already sent all the forthcoming statements to the producers already. The facade they are putting up that they are still not 100% sure what’s happening is laughable.

Jonny flips off the TV, puts his few dishes into the sink, and pulls out his phone. He’s pretty sure Brent’s argument is flawed but he also knows that Brent’s advice hasn’t ever really steered him off course before. He opens his messages and types up something quick and to the point. He reads it once and then makes himself send it before overthinking it too much.

not really sure what to say but just hope you know that ill always be on your side. you were always the best in any locker room and youll kill it with them. always rooting for you. go all the way this year. for the both of us

He reads it once more and then quickly adds,

you were the best part of all of this.

There, Jonny thinks as he swipes the app closed and locks his phone. Done.

He goes to turn on the faucet to start cleaning up when his phone buzzes.

thx jonny

i know it was a bitch move to have bris call you.

Jon stares at his phone and debates how he wants to respond when the composition bubble appears. It floats in and away for what feels like hours before another message comes through.

i just didn’t know if i could through with it if i talked to you first and i think i have to try jonny. i have to

Jon’s response is quick.

i know you do. you should do it. you deserve it.

And then he adds,

i meant it peeks. youre gonna kill it. you and breadman are gonna be magic out there

More of the bubbles. we’ll see.

Jonny waits. He's not really sure if that message needs a response. He decides it doesn’t and moves to slip his phone away when another message buzzes in.

you are the best part for me too

Jonny stares at the message for far too long before locking his phone and putting it away.

He turns on the faucet to start his dishes and thinks that he may have been wrong earlier.

Maybe there is plenty of time left after all.

#im not sure what to tag this as...so...#1988 #1988 fic #kazer #(are those the tags?)#idk. i'm just feeling some things so i wrote about the #m. okay. that's it i guess.#(also. i'm rusty to be kind. please and thank you)

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d4djxreaderparadise · 3 months

Note

uhhhhhh Yuka x reader or dalia x reader w a he/they reader? really fluffy and cute... maybe some cuddling stuff if you'd like.

Of course, here you are. There're some mistakes and cliche stuff but hope you enjoyed it (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

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Yuka X GN!Reader

You two meet by a huge coincident when you decided go to the local gym and work out for the first time

When Struggling using the new equipment, a figure suddenly appears in front of you offering a helping hand.

At first, you were surprised by her appearance since she looked like a foreign person. You didn’t know what to do since English isn’t your best subject in school, but still got some good marks on it so you gave it a try.

Seeing your attempt in speaking English, she chuckled out as explained, introducing yourself.

After a while of chatting, you finally realized the girl that was assisting you was Sasago Jennifer Yuka, a Peaky P-key member, who you adore their music.

Yuka was nice to you, her smile was bright and you started to admire her out-going personality, which brightened your day after seeing them.

You two exchanged contacts and after that day, you couldn’t stop thinking about her.

The amount of times you visit the Peaky P-key concert also increases, so you take your chance to take photos of Yuka.

It was idolized at first, since you like everything about her, the way she cherishes people, her optimistic persona, her laugh, her voice when she sings, anything related to her. However, after your friend pointed out the problems, you begin to notice it.

You two have been hanging out for a few months now, it’s a platonic friendship, or what do people call that. You enjoyed her company and so did she.

Usually you both go for a run around the park, taking pictures through beautiful scenery that she brings you with, you also pick up the photography hobby because of her.

Both of your English skills are poor so Yuka usually asked for a study group where you assist her with the subject as well as she helps you with training.

After bonding with you for a long time, now that you the idolize of Yuka turn to a bigger admiration, you noticed that you have been taking photos of her alot more than before, to an amount that you need some backup storage to save all of the photos that you have taken.

It was when you realized that you started to have a crush on her.

Yuka is also seriously clingy toward you as well, from the surprised hugging from behind and picking you up to swinging you around (she’s muscular). She also shows you her abs more often, which you sometimes awkwardly turn away due to the embarrassment you’re not used to.

The closeness that she gives you begins to overwhelm as you start to skip workout and hide away since you think that you are her close friend just like her band members while you have a romantic attraction toward her.

It was a weird and strange feeling you are having, your heart beat like crazy as you rolling inside your blanket thinking about the stuff you were doing.

“I messed up seriously…….shit why do I taken so many pictures of her, it make me looked like a pervert person who trying to assault a sunshine”

You jump out and punch the wall out of rage as well as slamming your head toward it, trying to find something to snap out of the thought.

“Hey Y/n!~”

The familiar voice calling from the outside, causing you to jolted up and open the window, seeing the blonde standing outside and waving at you.

“God she is gorgeous”

You think to yourself as realizing you’ve been skipping practice for weeks and haven’t gone to any concert lately. The face she’s making is half happy, half worried by the way you noticed as you begin to change and go out.

“Y/n! I was worried, you didn’t go to our concert yesterday, the week before and the other weeks! Did you feel sick? You didn’t go to the gym lately either!”

Yuka seems to worry for you a lot as she walks forward, checking your forehead. It quickly makes your face turn faint red as you brushed by coughing with a dumb explanation.

“Nothing, I just…..changing the atmosphere a bit by..going hiking and taking some new photos to relax myself.”

That was a dumb sentences to say

You mentally punch your face because lying to her, despite the answer, Yuka gazed still in high focus toward you, it made you gulp, in guilt.

“So, did you take many?”

You did take some quite a few landscapes at the ground nearby so it would be convenient to show her as proof, it wasn’t the truth, but it isn’t a lie either. Giving Yuka the camera that you took out of your backpack and sighed frustratedly, you thought that it would be okay to show her the picture you took to soothe her out since it isn’t anything wrong or scary to give her.

You totally miscalculated the situation.

“Oh? The picture seems lovely. You shot all these Y/n?”

“Yeah it i-”

You turn to her direction, only witnessing her smirking while watching the camera, the moment you realize, you f up. The camera you gave her was the one you shoot her “best” moment, most of the photos are Yuka related.

It’s giving you a second-hand embarrassment as you want to bury yourself right where you stopped and erased all the memories from the event.

“Y..Yuka, I can explain…”

Your face turns red, your word starts to stutter as the girl laughs out with amusement. You think you were doomed since she might have labeled you as a creepy classmate or such. But astonishingly, while stumbling across your sentences, she gave you a brief kiss on the cheek. It was fast, warm and cherished.

It was a swift kiss that you didn’t get a chance to react to, but took advantage of her taking the picture of your flustered moment, in which you snapped out of it by the sound clicking.

“huh?”

“I finally taken your best moment now, we’re even”

“You aren’t mad, at me?”

You were confused, relieved and yet surprised. Yuka seems to be more sparkling after seeing the photos from your camera. It isn’t anything terrible, but it was something awkward for her to know and take it the wrong way.

“Why? You like me right?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Yuka taking a step toward you while you took one back. It was her usual devious grin where she used it to taunt Shinobu, her teammate, but now she is using it with you.

“Since when?”

“Hmm, maybe just now, maybe it a from a long time ago but I didn’t realized it”

“You did?”

“If you were a bit less attractive and too “gentleman” to me it would be different. But, Oh! a gentleman who treated his milady to well, from been soaking wet to keep their princess dry during rainy day, or hugging her from the waist and act as a knight to protect her from predator or maybe accompany her through a journey well she fallen for them due to their charming and caring mannerism”

She suddenly turned on her acting persona as recreating the previous scenarios that happened between you two which recalled the memories within you. From the time we shared the umbrella together where you lead it to the side so that she didn’t get any cold for the show or the time where a man tried to attack her.

Most of them you thought was a normal behavior until now and Yuka was the one who realized it first, it was embarrassed by it now, but return to the present, instead of seeing a raging girl infront of you, it was a totally opposite, she was brighter than before, even brighter more than on the stage.

“What do you want to do now?”

You fell silent, not knowing how to answer correctly, but to be precise any reply right now to her is the correct one.

“Can we hug?”

“just that?”

Another silent pass, Yuka took another step toward you and embraced you, it was like before but now, it’s more warm and filled with happiness. Her scent was vibrant and cozy like a fresh new pillow, mattress coming out from the washing machine. Everything at that moment was just slowing down and you wished it would be forever.

“Not just it”

“Then what do you like me to do Y/n”

She asked with another smirk on her face, but this time, you can clearly see her sparkling eyes that shine like they were on stage, passionate.

“Sasago Jennifer Yuka, would you like to be my girlfriend?”

She doesn’t say anything but suddenly grabbed your collar and pulled down, amusingly replied.

“You know the answer would be yes.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

Dalia X GN!Reader

age up reader!

Similar to Yuka, you two meet at the gym with Dalia requesting in helping you out with the gears.

After a few hours of work out, Dalia asked if you wanted to hit the bar and watch the Merm4id performance from the place. It was a weird request and you did know about the unit sometimes so you decided to go there with her.

You seem to be attracted by Dalia’s appealing calm and collected appearance as well as the femininity aura that she’s having. Despite of the strong aura she spreading out, you doesn’t feel frightening by it but more of a relaxed and secured

After following her to the Lagoon nightclub, which you sees a cozy and energetic vibe from it, after coming in and spotted a group of people, whose were Dalia’s friends and teammate

Staying and exchanging contact, you got the chance to admire the live shows of the Merm4id unit as their performance was breath-taking and majestic.

Of course it still have the sexy ambience in their dj and dance but you couldn’t turn your gaze away from Dalia’s movement as if she was seducing the audience.

After the live show, you were about to get backstage and try to start a conversation with Dalia, who happily waved at you with the others welcoming you in.

Following the event, you seem to be hired as the bodyguard of the club, in which you don’t know how you even get it in the first place.

Aside from that, you usually got into the bar and either becoming the waiter or the backup chef that assisting Dalia with her order

At first it was normal since it was just normal chores and stuff. Yet after a while, Dalia seeming to become attached to your appearance as sometimes she will give you special sake and you returned her with an accessory where she would where during the performance

You would sometimes encounter a rare moment of her being cute around her family members, mostly when spotted her interaction with her brother.

Dalia also enjoyed you making meals for her since she’s strict in her food consumption which you always pay attention and giving the best meal

Your bonding with her begins to grow as you start to fall for her diligent personality and the appealing appearance.

Dalia trusted you with her whole heart when it came to something really important as well as something she was insecure about and you find it adorable.

One time, you two were hanging out by the fancy dinner which you recommended where you decided to confess your feelings for her, however, an emergency pop up at club Lagoon so Dalia apologized and left early.

You didn't get mad at her for that reason because you know how important Merm4id is, but felt unsafe when leaving Dalia going like that so you quickly paid the bill and followed her just a short minutes after.

Of course your prediction was correct since you noticed some hooligans were planning to hook up on her. It made you more concerned whether you should worry about her being touched by them or them being demolished by her. Either thing, you still hated that you couldn’t do anything for her so you decided to pull a plan and use your last brain cell by that.

“Hey! What are you trying to do with her?”

Your figure walks up as you try to pull Dalia closer by her waist, one of the guys starts to inquire.

“Is she ya girl or some? It isn’t your problem if you trying to play hero and saving the victim”

Their words bugged you but you didn’t reacted, you carefully watched Dalia as trying to keep her safe in any circumstances.

“Hmm, I see no concern here though, but are we really dating Y/n?”

“Yes, we’re dating and even not, those guys still have no right to touch or come close to y-”

Before you could say further, a man threw a punch toward you which you could barely flinch and swifty reacted to it. The next thing you know is Dalia took care of all of the gang and the things you could only do is scream the hell of your mind.

“She is so damn cool!”

-You alright Dalia?

Snapped out of the thought, you come to check if she injured herself from the defense, however, she could only chuckled and placed a hand on your cheek.

-I didn’t know we were dating until now Y/n? Are you planning something special?

Her question recalled the moment before which you wanted to smashed your head into the ground with a dumb confirmation.

“Oh I, back then was a-”

“You looked cute when you flustered.”

Dalia cut your statement out and you are glad that she did since you couldn’t even explain any further due to the stutter you’re having.

“You didn’t plan out a special dinner without anything unprepared right?”

You sheepishly nodded toward the majestic woman in front of you, she seemed to be more powerful during the night as you could feel the atmosphere surrounding her become dominant.

She then chuckled toward your action as patting your head, happily offering.

“ How about we come and deal with issues first and continue where we left off from the restaurant?””

Dalia grabbed the tie that neatly being fold under your clothes as pulled your closer, she using her deep voice to whisper as hugged you tightly.

“I looking forward for a the event, make sure make it memorable for both of us so that I could keep it as a souvenir, for us of course”

“Yes…Ma’am”

Your face was red beat as you embraced into her embrace, as well as exhaled the most seductive perfume you ever see her using.

Of course the hug wasn’t only the special gift Dalia gave you on that very special day, but she also has a bonus present that is forever printed in your mind…..

#d4dj #d4dj groovy mix #d4dj x reader #yuka jennifer sasago #yuka jennifer sasago x reader #dalia matsuyama #dalia matsuyama x reader #merm4id #peaky p key #yuka x reader #dalia x reader #d4dj merm4id #d4dj peaky p-key

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camels-pen · 1 year

Text

love is blind (really REALLY blind)

Summary: Wes Weston was 14 years old when his soulmate died for the first time.

Ao3 Link | Chapter 1

Chapter 2

“You’re really smart, y’know?” Danny had said once, clearly delirious from pain. “If anyone deserved to find their soulmate, it’d be you.”

Wes hadn’t deigned to answer as, again, he was delirious, but it was something he thought about from time to time.

If anything, Wes had a better chance than most to find his soulmate. Was one of the lucky ones who even had the chance to find their soulmate. But that wasn’t what he was focused on right now.

Right now, he focused on the first part. Danny thought he was smart, and even though Wes’ numerous failed leads and searches would say otherwise, he chose to believe Danny, just this once, and put that supposed smartness to the test.

…Intelligence. Put that intelligence to the test.

Fuck, he was already screwing this up. Maybe he should just turn around and head home—

“Wes?” He flinched at the sound of his name, halfway to walking off the front steps.

He turned around with a small, awkward wave. “Hi Fen— Danny.”

Danny looked tired. The bags under his eyes heavier, more pronounced than before. “If you’re just here to yell at me again—”

“No! No, I’m here to—” C’mon Wes. You can do this. “I’m here to apologize.”

Danny scoffed. “Sure you are. Or maybe you just realized it’d be harder to get evidence with Phantom avoiding you.”

Wes blinked. “I haven’t been gathering evidence for a while now.” The other boy raised an eyebrow and Wes scrambled to grab his camera out of his bag. “Look see—just look through my pictures.” He waited as Danny did so, watching as he became more and more confused.

“But… if not that, then what?”

“I was a shit friend to you,” he said. “You didn’t deserve that. Especially not when you were just trying to help.”

“You didn’t mean any of it.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Wes said. “But I’m gonna make it up to you.”

They talked a little more and by the end of it, Wes left with one less popsicle in his bag and a promise for a friend to visit him again.

---

It hardly took a few days for Danny to start to return.

Danny had floated into Wes’ room out of boredom one night, completely uninjured. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except, Wes himself was laying on his bed, having pulled a muscle in his left calf in Gym class and was trying to ignore the pain, hands long having grown tired of trying to massage it away. Danny stared at the way his leg was awkwardly propped up and wordlessly started massaging it himself.

They stayed silent a long time before Danny cracked.

“I’ll, uh—” Danny cleared his throat, never pausing in his ministrations. Never looking up. “I’ll help you look for them. Whoever they are.”

“I know I was the one to tell you to start coming over more, but why help me?” Wes narrowed his eyes. “I thought you didn’t care about soulmates.”

“Well, I do owe you for all the bandaids. And the towels. And the rug that you try to tell me never existed, but I know you had at one point, and which you probably threw out because of the ectoplasm stains.”

Shit. Uh. “What rug?”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Point is, I owe you. Plus, it’d be nice to track down another halfa that isn’t a fruitloop or a sort-of younger sibling.” The pain had long lessened to nothing in Wes’ legs and Danny had given up his massaging in favour of drawing figure eights in his leg hair. “Maybe I can get an outside perspective on all this halfa stuff. Or at least get pointers on it.”

Well, when he put it that way. “So, you’ll... what? Go on a cross country halfa-search or something?”

“No way.” He shook his head. “I’m taking a page out of your book. I’ll head to the library.”

Wes raised a brow. “You really think a library is gonna have books on half-ghosts?”

“Well, considering it’s a massive library in the Ghost Zone, I’d say so.”

Wes made a face. “What the fuck is the ‘Ghost Zone’?”

Danny laughed. “I’ll tell you about it someday. For now though, popsicle time.”

Wes groaned.

---

Routine was quick to return. Danny was showing up like clockwork again. Unfortunately, Wes still had homework and soulmate research to do. And Danny was still very distracting.

There was this:

---

Wes pulled a notebook and a small pencil from his pocket, relaxing back in the armchair. He still had to brainstorm ideas for his upcoming creative writing project.

“Hey, Westifer.”

It was supposed to be a picture book story for little kids, with morals to match.

“Westopolis.”

Had to take into account the minimum amount of pictures to include too. He definitely didn’t want to write about some big and detailed land of fantasy and then fuck up while drawing.

“Westeriah.”

Wes threw his pencil at him. Danny caught it. “What is -eriah supposed to belong to anyway?!”

“Westeriah. Obviously.”

He groaned. “What the hell do you want.”

“I’m bored,” Danny said, tossing the pencil in the air and catching it one handed. “You wanna get married?”

Record scratch. What did he say?

“Hey, earth to Westifer,”—Danny poked his knee, a bored look on his face—“I asked if you wanna get married.”

Wes let out a quiet, shaky breath. A joke. Of course.

He tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment in his chest. Tried to ignore the brief flashes of sweeping venues and ringing bells and close proximity in bespoke tuxedos.

“No,” he finally said. “We aren’t even dating. We haven’t even found our soulmates.” A bitter reminder. To himself. To Danny. “And I’m not dating your half-dead raccoon looking ass.”

Danny stared at him a moment, his eyes widening slightly, shoulders drawing together just the slightest bit. He put on a grin. “I’m a little offended. Is this how you treat all town heroes, or just me?” He waited a beat too long to sound natural, unaffected. He continued, “And it’s kinda stupid to be waiting on soulmates, don’t you think? I mean, mine probably thinks I—”

“Fenton. Shut. Up.”

Danny snapped his mouth shut.

Wes glared at him. “You can talk about your own soulmate all you want, but don’t try to convince me not to wait on mine.” He didn’t care how his heart betrayed his soul, Wes was going to be with his soulmate one day and he wouldn’t allow anyone, not even Danny to ridicule his choice.

Danny looked away, hands clasped tightly above his stomach. The pencil stayed suspended in the air. “R-Right, yeah, you’re right. Sorry, Wesley.”

All at once, Wes deflated. The idiot was too hard to stay mad at. “Just. Remember that next time you wanna rant.”

“I will.” His own shoulders started to fall. “I promise.”

Wes snatched the pencil out of the air. “Alright, bed. Now.”

---

It wasn’t. A great day.

Then there was this:

---

Danny held tight to his arm, leaning heavily against his shoulder. “Nooo, I can't go. Not when you’re so warm, so tender.”

Wes fought down a blush and tried to pull away from him. “Stop quoting Ember at me. Bed.”

“Only if you agree to remember my name.”

“Bed. Now. Before I drag you there and sit on you."

He made an overexaggerated gasp. “Wesley, that is no way to invite a good half-dead boy like me to—”

Wes shoved him off the couch.

Danny whined, “I’m injured!”

“You have a mild headache.”

Danny ignored him. “I can’t believe you did that. You should have your first aid certification revoked. I should get compensation—”

“I’m not first aid certified.”

Danny paused, mid-rant. Good. “Then how do you know how to use a first aid kit?”

“I don’t.”

“You do, though.”

“No, I know how to sew ‘cause I used to do it with my mom. And gauze is pretty easy to figure out.”

“Wait wait—” Danny slowly pushed himself up to sitting cross legged. “So what’ve you been doing this whole time?”

“Relax, I kept the stitches simple—and durable, since I’m sure you don’t listen to me when I tell you to take it easy.” Danny whistled an innocent tune. “Yeah, that’s about what I expected.”

“...And the other stuff?”

“Taking care of you is pretty fucking easy.” Wes rolled his eyes. “You whine when you’re hungry, you moan and groan when you get a little bit hurt, you get sleepy and clingy when you get seriously hurt, you like being loud and obnoxious, and you can be trained to do several things in exchange for a little treat,” he said, counting off on his fingers. “It’s just like when we had to dogsit our neighbour’s golden retriever, except you’re a lot more rude to me specifically.”

“Are you calling me a dog?”

“Basically.” He was cute like one too, said an absent thought popping up in his mind. Wes mentally drop kicked it away.

Danny scowled at him before brightening, a mischievous grin slowly spreading on his face. “You know what else dogs do?”

“If you say ‘play dead’—”

“They think they’re lap dogs, no matter the size!” He jumped up on top of Wes.

“Your stitches, moron!”

---

It was better. He had fun teasing Danny with his canine similarities.

And then there was this:

---

Danny hummed, the tone somewhat ominous, and squinted at him. “I’m gonna ask Sam to teach you stuff.”

Wes rubbed a hand down his face. “You’re really gonna be petty about this? You’re the one who started criticizing my skills.”

“Yeah, but if I’m helping you find your soulmate then I’m getting quality grade A first aid. Or, at least, the closest you can come to it.” Danny leaned back against the couch. “Sam’s a wizard with general health stuff.”

---

Then this:

---

“I will suffocate you in your sleep.”

“Gotta get me to sleep first though, dontcha?”

“You really think you can get away from me right now?” Wes pointedly bent down to poke his side.

Danny groaned from his spot on the floor. “Abs-Absolutely. I’m the one with the ghost powers. Watch.” Danny vanished. Wes stared at the empty space. A few moments passed. Wes lightly kicked at where Danny’s legs used to be. Visible sock met invisible hazmat suit.

Danny grumbled, becoming visible once more. “I could move if I wanted to.”

“Mhm, whatever you say.”

---

Then this:

---

Wes’ vision turned black and white.

“Son of a bitch.” Wes ran to his computer, all thoughts of sleep forgotten as he scoured internet forums and ghost hunting websites. One of them had to have reported a spotting. His soulmate was either causing trouble or trying to prevent it. He didn’t really care which, just hoped that someone had finally gotten a video, an image— something.

“Wessss,” Danny called from the bathroom. “You’re out of toilet paper.”

He glanced at his monitor. Glanced at his door.

He sprinted to the hallway closet and left a couple rolls on the floor outside before running right back to his room.

He had hardly two whole minutes before his full colour vision returned, followed shortly by Danny draping himself on the back of his chair and asking about animal crackers.

---

And then, finally, this:

---

“I’ll be up a bit longer,” Wes said, nodding his head towards his computer. “Do you mind?”

Danny shook his head, pulling the hood of his hoodie up. “Nah, go for it.” He pulled on the hoodie strings tightly, shrinking the edges to his face, and turned on his side, facing the wall.

“Cool. Have a good sleep.” With that, he pulled out his desk chair, about to sit down when Danny’s rings came to life and his vision started doing something funny.

As Danny’s rings moved across his body, the colour in Wes’ vision slowly faded in, as it had numerous times before.

He stood there, stunned speechless.

Danny was his soulmate. Danny was his soulmate. Holy crap. He felt something warm curl around his heart. Followed closely by embarrassment.

Danny was his soulmate. Fucking, of course. It was the only thing that made sense. Literally, how did he not notice?!

Wes was torn between screaming like a little kid in a candy store and screaming like a horrified adult who’d just fallen through a gutter.

Both feelings warred internally, but neither displayed externally, it seemed.

“Mh, Wes?” Danny had turned over, perhaps at the lack of clacking from his keyboard. “Why are you staring at me?”

The words left his tongue as he was still processing. “That is the ugliest shade of green I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“If this is about my stitches—” Danny blinked, suddenly much more awake. “What?”

“It’s puke green. It’s gross. Why do you even have it,” he said, the words feeling detached from his brain. “It’s ugly.”

Danny groaned. “I know, but it’s the best thing for covering ectoplasm stains in both forms—” He paused, brows furrowed. He stared at Wes’ eyes. “Did your soulmate change back—?”

Wes grabbed the front of Danny’s sweater and pulled him forward. He smashed his lips to Danny’s and it was awkward, their noses hitting together a little painfully, but it was also the most perfect thing he’d ever experienced.

When the need for air won out, he pulled away, taking in Danny’s wide eyed look and pink cheeks with a smile.

“It was you,” he said with a laugh fully baked in relief, the beginnings of tears building on his lashes. All those times his vision switched during school. All those late nights in grayscale whenever Danny visited as Phantom. That first time Wraith made an appearance. “It was always you.”

“Huh?” Danny said, voice squeaky.

“You’re my soulmate, Danny.”

“I’m—you’re— we’re —” he waved a finger between the two of them. “Holy fuck, for real?” Wes nodded. Danny ducked his head. “And you’re okay with it being me?”

Wes could’ve called him an idiot. Could’ve pointed out the past thirty seconds. Could’ve laid out the evidence just in case Danny didn’t believe him.

Instead he pulled Danny forward again, slower, more hesitant, and kissed him softly on the lips. Danny made a surprised sound, but his eyes quickly closed as he began to kiss back.

Wes threaded one hand through ruffled black hair, pushing down the hood as he went. The other hand cupped a warm cheek. He smiled into it as Danny put his arms around his neck.

They parted. Wes leaned back, abruptly a little nervous, and Danny did the same.

Danny touched his lips, the pink on his cheeks spreading up to his ears. “Does that answer your question?” Wes asked.

The other boy glanced up at him. They stared at each other for a moment, Danny’s eyes only barely flickering to the side. Then the corner of his mouth twitched. “I don’t know. I think you’ll have to show me again.”

Wes smiled, leaning in for round three, when his eyes glanced at the clock. He scowled. “Oh no you don’t.” He pushed Danny to lay down on the bed. “You’re not tricking me that easily. It’s still bedtime. We can talk about it in the morning.” Danny turned away and clicked his tongue. “I heard that.”

He turned back and grabbed Wes’ waist in an unforgiving grip. “Aww, Wes, c’mon, I think I should get a pass on sleep tonight.”

“Unless I read the room wrong, I’m pretty sure you’ll have some nice thoughts to fall asleep to. Plus, it’s not like I’m leaving the room, I’ve just got stuff to do.” Wes said, trying to pull away.

Now that he knew who his soulmate was, he should probably get started on wiping all of those suspicious internet searches in his browser history. And delete all of those accounts on those less than legal websites. Maybe just delete Tor entirely and attempt to wipe any trace of it from his hard drive.

“Traitor. Leaving me to the wolves like this.”

“It’s a bed.”

Danny sighed. “Couldn’t you at least sleep with me?”

“I mean, I’ll sleep eventually, but you’re hurt. The bed is yours—”

“Studies show cuddling helps with nightmares.”

Wes paused in his attempts to pry Danny’s arms off of him. Danny was pouting up at him, his lower lip stuck out and trembling slightly as he looked at him with the biggest pair of puppy dog eyes he’d ever seen.

But no. Wes was stronger than this. He wouldn’t—

Wes found himself under the covers in a matter of moments, a passed out Danny Fenton curled around him, and a desperate hope that Kyle wouldn’t need to use his computer before he cleaned it up tomorrow.

It was surprising how quickly Danny fell asleep cuddled against him like this, but Wes had no problems with it. Just the opposite in fact. And—Wes thought as he let himself focus on the warm puffs of air tickling his neck, the messy black hair against his cheek, and the warm body in his arms—he could certainly learn to get used to this.

He laid a hand on the back of Danny’s head and considered that, maybe it would be worth it if Kyle saw, if he got to keep cuddling with his soulmate like this as long as possible. It didn’t seem like that bad of a trade off.

…No, Wes was definitely wiping his computer first thing in the morning.

#danny phantom #phic #nemo the writing ho #wes weston #ufs

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