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sheisjoeschateau · 7 months

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART VII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, ruthless banter, mentions of death, injuries, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency (but like it's healthy imo also it's valid lmao) jealousy. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this chapter is honestly a gahdamn MF feast. a favorite of mine NGL, for a multitude of reasons. Murray high key pops the fuck off like the boss bitch he is and takes us on a long lecture of a journey to visit the lordt of truth bombs. Eddie has zero chill. Robin is the bestest-best-fwend and platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmate to our boy. Dustin is a dingus. LUCAS BE SEEIN' THINGS. Hopper is Joppering. Nancy and Jonathan get a clue. Mama Steve and the kids are in full swing. We get a cutie cameo from Harrington's signature yellow sweater.

And our lovebirds finallyyyy......well.....say the magic word that they're feeling hehehe:)

ISSA LONG ONE. PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

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Steve knew he would have to face downstairs again at some point before the morning. Definitely before everyone else went to bed. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Not yet.

Because right now, you were fast asleep in his arms. Laid carefully on your back for the sake of your bad shoulder, with your head turned into his chest. Steve was propped up on an elbow, facing you with his other hand gliding his fingertips to trace your arm draped across your chest. He drew shapes up your arm, now adorned with his yellow crewneck, up to your jawline so that he could tuck your hair behind your ear.

And all the while, he just stared at your chest – comforted by the steady rise and fall. It kept him sane. It kept his eyes open. It kept him from letting the nightmare return. You slept so peacefully, he might never have known you’d been dead in his arms earlier that day.

“You are beautiful, Steve Harrington.”

Your words from last night ran through his mind on a loop, like a VHS tape on replay.

“I can’t stand you.”

You’d said it in the warmest voice Steve had ever heard in his life. Somehow, those words meant more to him than I love you. Because when he said it back, he realized it meant the same thing.

“I can’t stand you either.”

I love you too.

Steve carefully placed his forehead against your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breathing you in. Something danced inside of his stomach. It ached, it burned and it warned him of all the things he feared feeling the most for anyone except the girl downstairs who had made love seem lost. He never wanted those feelings to return again for anyone else but her – Nancy. And yet here he was: every one of those feelings rushed back tenfold, for the girl upstairs in his guest bedroom lying beside him. The girl who had ruined the chance at a life for him with Nancy Wheeler. The girl he swore was the reason he was robbed of all things good. Robbed of love. True love.

But he no longer loved Nancy Wheeler.

Steve Harrington loved you.

Downstairs, everyone is quiet but productive.

Joyce is organizing the last of the stashed supplies. The kids are eating some bowls of hot soup, served up by Murray. He had to stay busy and shake off the frayed nerves. Otherwise, he’d go berserk. Completely berserk. Joyce gently helped him but knew better than to baby him. She was surprised to find Erica walking over, offering to help serve up some glasses of water or sodas for everyone. To everyone’s surprise, they operated well. Like chef and sous-chef. What an unlikely duo.

Hopper and El were talking in the living room about the potential new plan, and Mike moved from the table where he sat with the kids and teens to join them.

Steve could hear them all down there, the ambience muffled on the other side of the closed door separating you both from the rest of the world outside of each other's arms. He could have fallen asleep right there with you if he let himself.

But a soft knock on the door made him crane his head to look towards the source of the noise. With one last look at you, he carefully slipped his arm out from underneath you. You never stirred, the rhythm of your breathing still intact and your mind lost in sleep.

Steve wasn’t sure who to expect on the other side of the door. But as he ran a hand through his hair, he found himself not caring.

Turns out, it was Murray. He stood with two bowls of hot soup, now staring into the eyes of Steve Harrington — who he begrudgingly noted still looked dashing, despite his towel-dried bedhead and tired eyes.

Seriously, no one should make a t-shirt and sweatpants look that good.

Your uncle cleared his throat. “Uhh, I made some soup.”

Steve gave him a timid but grateful nod, taking one of the bowls. Glancing back over his shoulder, Murray followed Harrington’s gaze — back at you, sleeping in bed.

“She’s still out,” Steve told him.

Murray nodded. “I’ll keep hers warm downstairs.” An awkward silence fell over Murray and Steve, but finally your uncle continued. “Listen, why not come down? Let her rest, get yourself some water or — a sandwich maybe, to go with the soup. Erica says she’ll make them but I'm reallllly not feeling confident about that.”

Steve allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, biting his lip and glancing back at you.

“She’s alright,” your uncle assured Steve. “Trust me. I keep having to remind myself that, too.”

Steve was glad that the two of them could relate on that — endlessly worrying about you. He was also glad that your uncle wasn’t giving him shit for it, and honestly Murray was extremely pleasant when he wasn’t being an ass. It took Steve by surprise. No wonder you two were related. With a reluctant sigh, Steve agreed to follow Murray downstairs for some more grub.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve’s eyes first landed on Nancy sitting with Robin and Joyce. She looked over at Steve with her big blue eyes, which danced with longing. Steve’s doe brown eyes didn’t return it, but he lightly smiled in her direction anyway. Robin immediately perked up, jogging over to Steve from her seated position on the floor. She grabbed him for a tight hug, and he made sure not to spill his bowl of soup.

“Sorry sorry, I’ve just — been worried sick.”

“S’okay, Robs,” Steve murmured, appreciating the comfort. She pulled back to look at him, giving him a sad smile. She wanted to ask him a million questions, but knew it best to save it for later.

“C’mon,” Robin told him, tilting her head towards the kitchen. “Let’s go grab some crackers or something to go with that soup, which you need to eat. Don’t even think about not eating, Steve. I’m serious, okay?”

Steve listened to her keep rambling on as they walked into the kitchen, where Erica and Lucas were bickering about PB&J’s, and Murray stepped in to take back his title as head chef. Eddie and Jonathan were sitting at the dining table, clearly in deep conversation but ceasing once they noticed them walking in. Jonathan gave him a pitying look, while Eddie flashed a dopey grin to try and hide whatever serious talk was just going down.

Dustin, Mike and Will all rounded the corner as Steve moved to sit at the bar. They all sat next to him happily. YAY, MOM’S HOME.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair absentmindedly as he sipped on his soup and stared down at his spoon. Erica was shoving a very haphazard looking sandwich in front of him while Lucas told him he’d spit it out after the first bite, which sent all the kids into a frenzy of bickering, lighthearted insults and witty comebacks. Steve sighed, content as he ate several mouthfuls of the sandwich while listening to his kids squabble.

Jonathan was shaking his head over in the corner, observing this. “Guy’s a hero to those kids,” he murmured, only loud enough for Eddie to hear.

“Babysitter turned full-time mom turned hero,” Eddie smirks, amused. “Dude’s a legend.”

Jonathan scoffs, amused but also not. “Wasn’t always...”

Eddie clocks what he means by that. He knew King Steve, too. But Eddie can see a twinge of something else in Joanthan’s eyes, surprised to see it. Jealousy. It’s subtle. Not toxic, or even remotely a threat.

That is, until Jonathan sees Nancy moving to take a sandwich from Erica — her eyes wandering over to Steve and the kids. She looks enchanted, melancholy. Is she sad? Why is she sad?

…why is she sad looking at Steve?

Jonathan’s brow furrows. Eddie decides he better speak up and interrupt whatever he’s thinking. Because he sees it too. Uh oh.

“Trust me, he was a dick. I know. Told him so myself.” Eddie tries to make light of it, grinning. “But I think sometimes…some folks just need a big thump on the head. Shit, I did. I used to run away from alllllll my problems. Hell, I…I’ve even had my share of making others feel small, just so I can feel big. Not in a bad way, though. Never mean. Just…immature. Y’know? Point is, I’ve been there too. Maybe not as big a dick as Harrington…” He snorted. “No pun intended.”

Jonathan whipped his head in Eddie’s direction. What did that mean?

Eddie quickly tried to cover up his reference to the Hawkins High heartthrob’s manhood. “I just mean, I just mean — like — we’ve all been dicks. You know? Big ones. Small ones. Medium…sized…ones.”

He counted at least 5 perplexed blinks from Jonathan. Eddie sighed, exasperated with himself. “The point, the point. We uhh…we live and we learn. Right?”

Jonathan finally let his tense shoulders loosen up at that, but he glanced back at Nancy – who was still watching Steve as she got herself a glass of water and letting Robin ramble to her. And Jonathan also watched Steve, who was now telling Dustin to share the box of crackers with everyone and not hog them from everybody.

It began to click for Jonathan. The longing stares. The unusually strained affection between him and Nancy, ever since he got back. He knew that was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, given him pulling away from her after moving to California. But then he got back to Hawkins, and realized the second he saw her that he’d been a fool to think he would ever be better off without her, or convince himself that she could be better off without him. One look at her made it all go away. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jonathan was definitely aware of that now.

But had it made Nancy’s heart grow fonder, too? For Jonathan?

…or had distance made her heart grow fonder for someone else…

Someone else who she had distanced herself from once before, when she found love and comfort in Jonathan Byers’ arms. Harrington had been away from Nancy when she was around Byers, and then Byers was away from Nancy when the world went to shit again, putting her back around Harrington again. No Byers in sight.

…was this karma? Jonathan Byers was beginning to wonder that. Was this what he got for so confidently whisking Wheeler away from Steve back in high school? Is this what he got for thinking he was safe?

…maybe that is what Steve meant when screaming at him earlier, as they tried to pump you back to life.

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.” Jonathan would never forget the way that Steve’s sounded as he spewed at him. Broken, anguished and betrayed.

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” Jonathan had wept bitterly. “IT’S TOO LATE.”

When Nancy had chosen Jonathan, Steve never got mad. He never got mad at either of them. He told Nancy he got it; that it was okay. And he never said anything to Byers about it. Next time they ran into each other, it was just tense silence. Steve might have picked a fight with Jonathan once before, that damn morning in the alleyway when Will was still missing. But that was 2 years ago now, and it felt childish compared to everything that had happened since then. Steve’s anger then was so subdued to what it could have been, and he never explored anger towards Jonathan once he had successfully managed to take his girl.

But the way that Steve Harrington looked at Jonathan now, while you were dead beneath their hands, was fueled by anger. Red hot and flaming. He looked ready to finally unleash on Jonathan, ready to blame him for his existence and how it only brought Steve grief. For once, Steve Harrington looked rightfully angry with Jonathan Byers for being the source of his pain. Steve looked ready to punch him square in the jaw and beat him up the way he’d had his own face beat up by not just Byers, but also Billy Hargrove and the Russians.

“DON’T SAY THAT. NO ONE GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP ON US NOW? THINK ANY OF US WANTED TO STOP WHEN WE THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE? FUCK YOU, BYERS. FUCK YOU.”

Jonathan deserved it. He completely deserved it. All of it. It had been a long time coming, and while it was over 2 years past due…he took it. All of it. Even what was still left unsaid. Jonathan let Steve verbally rip him to shreds before Eddie took over and brought you back to life with Steve instead of him.

And that’s why now, as Jonathan watched Nancy catch him staring at her — looking caught as she tried to give him a smile — he let it happen. He just gave her a reluctant smile back, accepting his fate. Because now, after what he had seen today, he realized that Steve wasn’t even a threat. Maybe a month or so ago, he would have been. But that wasn’t the case now, which he only knew after seeing the way that Steve clung to you and sobbed uncontrollably over your lifeless body – then afterwards, when you were alive again.

Steve no longer pined for Nancy Wheeler. He pined for you.

Not for long, though. Honestly, it was as clear as day that whatever was going on between the two of you was mutual. The way you held Steve earlier, comforted him — assuring him that it was alright, you were alright — and how you stroked his leg in the living room before he helped you upstairs and disappeared for a couple of hours into your assigned guest room… Jonathan knew, along with Eddie, that Steve Harrington’s heart was in your hands, and yours was his.

It’s what Jonathan and Eddie had brought up at the table. Not the whole “why hasn’t Steve unleashed his anger on me until today” aspect of things. But the fact that you and Steve, who seemingly could not stand each other, now seemed like a pair.

Nancy moved to sit next to Jonathan, who awkwardly poked at his soup bowl and did his best to fake a smile. Eddie watched them, knowing. Man, he could really use one of his guitars right now to pluck out the tension…

Lucas was saying something about Max needing to be checked on upstairs, which made Steve quickly shove the last of his sandwich into his mouth so that he could come help him and Erica along with Will, El and Mike. They all made their way up, and Dustin stayed behind. He moved over to the big kids table, bringing the box of crackers over with him. He plopped down next to Eddie, who was grateful for the comic relief after the tense talk at the table. Robin moved to bring over fresh cups of coffee, sitting between everyone.

“So uhhh, we gonna talk about it?”

Dustin’s question made everyone freeze.

Robin cocked an eyebrow, leaning onto her elbows to sip her coffee. “About what…?”

“About Bauman and Steve, and how we all clearly did not see it coming.”

Robin choked on her coffee. Nancy stiffened next to Jonathan, which he didn’t miss — considering her hand was resting on his forearm. Eddie drummed the table awkwardly while nodding and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing.

“Yeeeeeee-up, caught me off guard,” Eddie said. “I’m normally good at picking up on that shit.”

Robin was still working on clearing her throat. “Look, we don’t know anything yet —”

“He’s literally your best friend, Robin,” Dustin accused with an eye roll. “If any of us know, you do.”

“Well my strange, tiny friend,” Robin quipped wryly, “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark on this as you are.” She sighed, leaning back in her seat with a flash of concern in her eyes. “I really should have seen it coming, though. I was so sure he was just gonna keep on hating her guts.”

“I still don’t understand why he hated her at all,” Dustin said, adorably naive.

Eddie smirked, uneasy. “Meh, not important.”

“Seriously, they got along just fine whenever we fought the demodogs,” Dustin continued, oblivious. “And at the snowball, but then after that he just – went at it with her all the time, even though they would both still hang out with us. Like an old married couple.”

Nancy listened intently, trying to keep up and put the pieces together. Because truly, she herself had been wondering what changed. But she had been so focused on her life, in her own world with Jonathan and their jobs, she really hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that you and Steve had gotten along at the start, then not at all, and now…well…

Robin puffed out a breath of air. “Maybe they’ve just…gotten closer. You know, found a way to get along. Murray’s an ass, and even though she’s not and I love her, Steve’s not exactly the easiest to get along with even though I love him —”

Dustin scoffed. “Robin. He kissed her.”

Eddie clicked his tongue, trying to think of Metallica lyrics and avoid looking in Nancy or Jonathan’s direction.

Robin stared. “What?”

“When?” Nancy’s voice startled the room, and Jonathan seemed to cringe at it.

“Dustin,” Jonathan sighed.

“Today,” Dustin kept talking. “Whenever we…brought her back. He — he kissed her. He literally bawled on top of her and wouldn’t let her go.”

Dustin’s eyes lost all of the annoyance, now looking sad as he thought back on it all. Robin stared at him along with Nancy, barely breathing. Even Eddie looked over at him.

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen him that upset,” Dustin murmured. “Steve’s never sad. Not like that. I’ve never even seen him cry. Not once. Robin, did he ever cry while you both got tortured in the Russian chambers?”

Robin thinks back on that, gnawing at her lip, deep in thought. She shook her head, realizing… “No. No, he didn’t. Just – panicked, but not…he didn’t cry.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says. “Because he’s awesome. He’s brave, and cool, and awesome. Steve doesn’t cry. Today? He bawled.”

“Seeing someone die in front of you does that, man,” Eddie pointed out, melancholy. “I know I did whenever Chrissy died… You cried today. I did. Byers did.”

“Not like that,” Dustin insisted, voice firm. It made everyone go quiet again. “Not like that,” he repeated. “That’s how I would have cried if…like, if Suzy died. Or how Lucas did when Max died before we got her back. How Hopper and Joyce would. How Jonathan and Nancy would.”

That made the present couple go stiff. But Jonathan nodded, eyes boring a hole into his coffee mug. “S’true,” he mumbled. “If that were you, I would.”

Nancy looked at him, eyes guilty. Of course, it was the same for her. But she couldn’t focus on that right now. Not now that her collective thoughts and observations were confirmed. Now that she knew for sure…

“It’s not a matter of if they’re into each other,” Dustin kept going, certain. “It’s a matter of when. When did it start and how were we blind?”

But no one could answer that. Robin couldn’t, and she was shocked that she couldn’t. She knew her best friend all too well. How had she not seen this coming? How could she not have sensed that his never ending hatred towards you was slowly developing into liking you? Maybe even loving you…?

Eddie had only started sensing it that day. Until then, he had been the one to encourage Steve to go after Nancy. To get her back, win her over. But that stopped whenever Jonathan came back into the picture, of course. He knew better than to cross that line. Still, he knew that Harrington loved her and pined for her. He also knew why Harrington couldn’t stand you, along with Robin. They adored you, hoping at some point that you both could just become friends who tolerated each other. Eddie never thought it would become more than that: a civilized friendship.

And Nancy felt something heavy sit on top of her chest that she really could not seem to accept yet: the truth. She lost Steve.

“Alright, guessing game is over.”

Murray’s voice rounding the corner made everyone jump, and he eyed down everyone at the table as he walked in with his empty soup bowl. He made for the sink, turning on the faucet with his eyes still glued to the five people seated at the dining table, who stared back awkwardly. Finally, he looked down as he washed his dish.

“Take it from the witchdoctor of love: those two had it coming.”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, completely amused.

Jonathan, however, was not. This was so karma.

“...had what coming?” Dustin asked.

Robin shot him a look — bless his little naive heart.

“Psh, c’monnnn,” Murray said, rinsing the bowl. “The sexual tension. The incessant arguing. Harrington’s personal utmost disdain towards her.”

Nancy spoke up, unable to help herself. “But…why though? She didn’t do anything wrong. Why would he have disdain towards her…?”

Jonathan hated how irritated Nancy’s question made him feel towards her. It irked him deeply, but he just let it fester quietly as he sat there staring down at his cup of black coffee and having no choice but to listen.

Murray looked at Nancy with the most condescending expression, uncensored as fuck. “Honey…really?”

Off Nancy’s clueless expression, Murray rolled his eyes in the back of his skull as he slapped the faucet off before whirling to face them.

“Once upon a time, two years ago: you and Jonathan came over to my bunker — uninvited — waltzing your way into my business, along with my niece’s. Thankfully, to our benefit, you helped us crack the case and — not so much to our benefit — onboarded us into your mess. But rewinding back a few slides, you two stayed over because of the vodka coursing through all of our veins and tried to convince the two of us — AKA yourselves — that you two were just friends. Which was the biggest load of unbelievable bullshit you both could have told me, and that’s after you told me everything pertaining to the absurdity and pure insanity regarding the upside down. But really, it was a great belly laugh for me and my niece, so thank you. Thennnn, my niece offered to let you both take her bed — not buying a lick of it, and suggesting you both stop being in denial. On top of that, as a former student at Hawkins High, she knew King Steve very well. She knew how Wheeler and Harrington both started dating, and how much closer the two of you —” (he gestured between Jonathan and Nancy) “— had gotten since Will Byers went missing then got rescued. Because my niece isn’t stupid. She could’ve been class valedictorian if she’d wanted to, but — being like her cynical uncle — she didn’t wanna. She’s a street-smart annnnnd booksmart cookie. She knew you both were bound to let the trauma bond get you both together, and that genuine love had formed between the two of you way more than it had between her and Steve. So she called it out, after being fed a bunch of coo-coo-bananas nonsense from you guys in my casa about being 'platonic.' "

Eddie's jaw was practically touching the table. This was literally the best story he's ever heard, and it had just freaking started.

Robin felt like she was watching a movie in her mind, one in which her best friend was the main character and she was rooting for him like life depended on it.

"Fast forward to the lab, El’s grand return, Will’s exorcism, the demodogs, the Snowball, and our little house party that followed —” (he pointed at Dustin) “— you forgot that part — turns out, Jonathan Byers can’t take his liquor, so what does he do? He goes over to my niece, who’s standing in the kitchen — like so,” (he gestured to himself) “ — and starts profusely thanking her in a string of loud, slurred, drunken words, about how he was chosen one, and how he got the girl, alllllll thaaaaannnksss toooo myyyyyy niiiieeeeeccccce."

Nancy's blood ran cold. What?

"And because it was such a small house, no offense Henderson, unlike Casa Harrington — the king himself heard it all. Every lick of it. So of course, who’s he gonna hate with a fiery burning passion more than he ever could hate Jonathan Byers for stealing his girl? The person who told him to do it. Myyyyyy niece. Because he can’t hate Nancy Wheeler, never-ever-ever could he hate the girl he swore was the love of his life. And he couldn’t even hate Jonathan, because what had he done except be the victim of King Steve’s incessant bullying and his horrible posse of friends in high school while his brother was missing in another dimension? But Steve had to hate someone. To loathe someone, blame someone, more than himself. So he chose her. He chose my niece — and by extension me, but mainly her. Because she was a part of the gang now, and around way more than I ever have been around you kids. Which is to be expected. So blah-blah-blah, hate-hate-hate, fight-fight-fight — soooo muchhhh traaaauma.”

Murray paused for dramatic effect, soaking in everybody's faces, then continued.

“...and what happens when there is trauma?... bonding. Trauma bonding. Forced alliance. The need to put aside your differences, so that you all can just get along and survive. And that leads to talking…which leads to more fighting…eventually, tears. Lots of ugly words that can’t be taken back. And then…suddenly…” Murray snaps his fingers. “Common ground.”

No one has made a sound, hanging onto Murray’s every word.

“Vecna ends the world. At least, Hawkins. We all somehow manage to survive it. We all need somewhere to goooo…and we wind up here. In a house, all underneath the same roof. Forced to coexist. Therefore, newfound respect and understanding is acquired when in close quarters. Just as the two of you, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers, found in my bunker. Steve and my niece found themselves forced to live with one another, the space between them closing in. Gap by gap, inch by inch…until…”

Murray made a gesture that looked like that of a magician, everyone’s eyes following. “Magic.” He walks closer, slowly. “Some small talk becomes bigger talk. Some childhood trauma that decorates the walls of Harrington’s house becomes the topic of conversation. My niece just so happens to be a really good listener, and Steve happens to be in need of one. They both discover they’re the only child in both their families. His parents are absent. Hers were barely ever present, before surrendering her to both mine and my mother’s care. But she doesn’t mention that yet, no — why? Because she’s listening. Relating. Understanding. Meanwhile, Steve feels heard. Seen. Relevant. Important. Like maybe whatever he has to say matters. Fast forward some more, blah-blah-blah…some more co-parenting later…which honestly, is the only reason those two maintained some sort of peace in the first place — aside from the inevitable perils that we all have had to face and be paid to keep our mouths shut about…”

Murray points to Dustin, who stares at him — agape.

“You kids are the damn glue holding those two doomed enemies-soon-to-be-lovers together. Not that you knew that. You’re kids, and you don’t know that shit yet. Which is good. And they love that. Steve might hate her, but he’s not gonna make you kids hate her. And she finds him infuriating, but she isn’t gonna let you all know that by persuading you to feel the same. Because he loves you rugrats, and you all love him…and you rugrats love her, as she loves you. Fast forward to a night when all the kiddos are fast asleep, and the adults get a night to themselves with some cups of chilled vodka that fuels everyone’s laughter and newfound liquid courage — but just enough to give a light buzz, rather than sloshed drunkenness — the enemies, who’ve now become somewhat of friends…realize that they feel more. Or at least, that’s what I observed. Grilled my niece about it, that night before bed — and next thing you know — she is the victim of Uncle Murray’s love-talk lectures. Just like you two were. She’s swearing up and down that she cannot stand Steve, and that he cannot stand her. She insists they are mortal enemies. That he hates her. Will forever hate her. And then…that rambling turns into truth. Admittance. Denial, still. But it’s enough to go off, allowing me to paint the picture and speak the truth into the world out loud: WE DO LOVE STEVE.”

Nancy freezes at that, eyes wide and heart blue. She swallows thickly, and Jonathan feels sick.

Murray's conductor waving hands settled down, ready for the grand finish.

“...someone had to love Steve. But it wasn’t you, Ms. Nancy Wheeler. Not forever, anyway. Not in the desperate, novel-esque ways we all read about or see in the cinemas. But it was her. You liked Steve, so that she could love Steve. And he loved you, so that he could hate her…only to realize that he loved her. Deeply...madly...and truly.”

Murray leaned back, letting his rant come to a full stop. The air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Mouths agape, brains fried and heartbeats racing. They were stunned into shocked silence. With a sigh, Murray made for the fridge.

“Do me a favor…” He grabbed some juice, along with the vodka, pouring himself a cup. Then, with a severe look in his eye, he faced the group again.

“Don’t make a damn fuss about it yet, yeah? Not yet. Not to them. Wanna do it with each other, go ahead. But maybe lay off them for a bit, will you? Hmm?”

Everyone was surprised at the uncharacteristic parental tone in Murray’s voice and the look in his eyes. They felt parented now.

“Maybe let the shock of this newfound realization they both just came to accept barely before my niece stopped breathing today…I dunno…simmer down a bit, yeah?”

Dustin gulped, nodding. Robin did, too. Eddie had pretty much bitten his nails down to stubs at this point, and Jonathan had shrunk so far down into his chair he was practically on the floor now. Meanwhile, Nancy looked like a heartbroken child who’d just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real. With that, Murray raised his glass of jungle juice and exited the kitchen — vanishing, leaving the group to sit there in their own unsettled energy.

So when Lucas, Erica and Steve all shuffled back down the stairs, it alarmed them. Robin stared at Steve and the kids, while Eddie rose to stand and grab the box of crackers from Dustin. Jonathan swigged his coffee. Nancy just stared at Steve helplessly.

“Alright, who needs more food before we all turn in for the night?” Steve asked as he moved to put away the sandwich fixings with Erica.

Nobody spoke, making Lucas look at them with a quizzical expression. Erica did the same, stopping as she went to put the sleeve of bologna back into the snack pan. Steve had been busy picking up discarded bowls and plates before he finally looked at everyone, too. He cocked an eyebrow, confused.

“You, uhhh…you guys okay…?”

Robin tried to speak, choking on air. Steve squinted at his best friend. Finally, she found her voice. “Sorry. Got the jitters. Too much coffee.”

She stood up hastily, collecting everyone else’s cups — even Jonathan’s, who was mid-sip. Robin avoided Steve’s gaze as she dumped them into the sink with a very fake, wide toothy-grin. She hummed while rinsing the cups, and Eddie clapped his hands together when rising to stand himself.

“Better, uhh, go re-dress my, uhh — dressings.”

“I got you,” Robin said, splashing the hot water and dropping the sponge so that she could hurriedly dry off her hands and follow Eddie out of the room – giving Steve a quick kiss on the head. He watched her go, curious.

But then he saw Jonathan and Nancy sitting over at the table still, along with Dustin — who was staring back at him sheepishly. The curly-haired kid stood up, clearing his throat and shuffling over with the now very-empty box of crackers. He whistled while tossing it into the garbage and moved to finish the dishes. That definitely made Steve raise an eyebrow. But he figured it was out of pity, so instead he just gave the kid a pat on the back and ruffled his hair before going back to tidying up the kitchen.

Nancy felt queasy. Really queasy. And looking at Steve was not helping, especially being seated next to Jonathan. She rose to stand, making him look at her back with queasiness of his own. He watched the back of his girlfriend as she started to turn to look back at him…and when she couldn’t, it made his heart sink. She walked towards the living room, disappearing behind the wall. But not before passing by Joyce, who made her way into the kitchen to give Steve a motherly touch on the arm.

“Dr. Owens will be here first thing in the morning,” she told him, reassuringly. “Real early. Probably 6AM. Hopper’s letting Murray know.”

Nancy refused to let herself cry that night about Steve Harrington and her newly unrequited love.

Jonathan watched his mom comfort Steve, and while it made him grateful it also made him sad. Steve sighed with relief as he thanked Mrs. Byers, and when his mother began to help him find some temporary pain medication that Dr. Owen’s instructed her to give you, he decided he couldn’t listen anymore and left.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her, do you?” Dustin asked. “You know, heart-wise or anything…?”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Joyce told him sweetly, rubbing Steve’s back as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a tense back. “Her heart, her shoulder, her mind. Everything.”

Steve took deep breaths, and Erica would have hugged him if she weren’t so profusely against giving anyone any sort of physical affection.

Lucas, however, did move to squeeze Steve’s shoulder next to Joyce. After all the comfort he’d gotten from him after Max died, then got brought back…and still received, with her being in a coma…Lucas understood Steve’s pain.

No one knew it, but Lucas had secretly caught onto Steve’s feelings for you whenever he went to visit Max in her room one morning but heard you both sitting in there. Selfishly, he’d stayed behind the cracked door to listen in…and it made him freeze in place. They way you and Steve bonded, despite all the rivalry between you both. The way you both spoke to one another in Max’s presence, like she was keeping the storm at bay despite being asleep. Lucas felt as though he was listening to a conversation taking place between two fighting parents, who were finally finding common ground. He had secretly listened like a little kid, leaning against the wall, giddy and heartbroken at the same time. Lucas wasn’t sure why, but he knew. He just knew. You two were crazy for one another. Maybe because he and Max had their struggles, too. Maybe something about the way Steve pushed you, and you pushed Steve — maybe it reminded him of them, just as older teens. Steve was his hero, and you were Max’s. He would give anything to talk with her about it, to hear whatever she had to say about the two of you…the unlikely duo…

But he didn’t say anything about it. He felt it best not to push anything. Not yet. When Max woke up, he would. But maybe now, he wouldn’t have to. Because Steve had been faced with the possibility of losing you. And if he was gonna mess that up, then that's preposterous. Then Lucas would say something.

***

That night, Steve crawled back upstairs and ran into Robin coming out of his bedroom, having just discarded Eddie’s only wound dressings in the hallway bathroom and changing into her pajamas. She was staying in Steve’s room, per usual. And she wondered if she might have just caught him coming upstairs to sneak into your room and not his. At this rate, nothing was a surprise anymore. Thanks, Murray.

“Hey, dingus,” she grinned. Steve grinned back.

“You gonna finally get some sleep?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, gesturing to the blankets in her hands. “Was just gonna go give Eds some fresh blankets.”

“Lemme know if you need help with that, seriously. His wounds, I mean. I’ll have Dr. Owens check on him tomorrow too, whenever he comes to check on Bauman.”

Robin nodded, biting her lip. God, she wanted to ask him so many questions. Hug him. Tell her best friend to spill the damn beans. Demand him to cry, to break down in front of her. To scream. To laugh. Anything.

“Robs, you good?”

“Steve, I love you,” Robin blurted. “Like – love you to death. Best friends forever. Just — just…” She bit her lip some more, trying really hard to think before she speaks. Steve waited patiently, a bit nervous. Robin sighed. “Just know that…I’m here. And I’m always gonna be here. Supporting you, with…whatever you need. Even if that’s to shut up and just help you with something and not ask you any questions. Alright…?”

Steve’s eyes sparkled, and he stitched up the distance between them to give her the tightest of hugs. His best friend of a soulmate. Platonic with a capital P. Robin hugged him back fiercely, dropping the blankets. She sagged with relief. Thank God.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Steve mumbled into her hair.

“Cool.”

“Bed’s all yours. Spread out. Starfish. Steal all the covers.”

Robin snorted into Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter. “Okay. Cool, yay.”

Steve chuckled too, squeezing her to death. He really did have the best friend in the world. They swayed a bit like that for a moment, content and comforted in each others’ embrace. Then finally, Steve pulled back and Robin ruffled his hair. He rolled his eyes, swatting at her lightly as she grinned wide. Scooping down to pick up the blankets, he handed them back over to Robin. She smirked.

“Is she a cover hog, too?” Robin teased.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask questions?”

Robin saluted, making her way towards the stairs. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Steve could finally breathe for the first time all day, aside from whenever you were safely in his arms. Knowing that he had his best friend on his side without needing to have a full blown conversation about anything yet…that really helped lighten the load a bit. He exhaled deeply, letting the relief seep into his bones as he made his way to his bedroom door.

***

Once inside, Steve felt his heart swell. There you were, tucked in bed still, sleeping peacefully. Steve walked over to crouch over and kiss your forehead, gently stroking your hair. He noticed you seemed to still be in the same position. Almost like you hadn’t moved at all. He looked at the clock. It’s…been hours. Several hours. At least 4. He looked back down at you, seeing how still you were in the dark.

His heart stopped. Were you too still?

Steve placed a trembling hand underneath your nose, too shaky to be able to tell. But when he felt nothing, he frantically grabbed your wrist — yanking it off your chest to feel for a pulse —

You moved, stirring awake and looking at him groggily. Steve just about collapsed, clutching your hand and bringing it to his lips as he sunk down onto his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and another to your palm.

You groaned lightly, moving to turn towards Steve and yawning. He melted.

“How long have I been out…” you asked him sleepily.

“Hours,” he told you. “Which is good. You need sleep.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering tiredly. “M’hungry.”

That made Steve grin ear to ear. “I can fix that. Want me to bring it up here?”

A grin slowly made its way onto your face too, and you nodded gratefully. Steve squeezed your hand, leaning forward to peck your forehead and your nose and your lips before promising you he would return.

When he did, he came back with the bowl of hot soup that your uncle had kept warm for you along with water and some pain medication. You were sitting up now, leaning against Steve’s chest as he sat with his legs caging you in and leaned up against the headboard. You had just taken the medication a few minutes earlier, now sipping on the hot soup and a tall glass of water that Steve held onto for you.

The little bedside table lamp cast a soft glow in the Harrington’s upstairs guest bedroom, and the sound of light rain outside of the window filled the room along with the plink of your spoon against the soup bowl. Steve felt grounded as he kept his arms around your waist, circled around you as he held you close. His chin sat on top of your head, and the scent of his lavender shampoo in your hair filled his senses with peace.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Steve’s question surprised you as you slurped another spoonful of soup, but you swallowed and felt the corner of your lip twerk up into a little smile.

“Yellow.”

Steve felt himself smile at that, squeezing you a little tighter. “Guess this shirt was a good choice, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you bought two. Rich kid perks ain’t so bad.”

There was lightheartedness to your tone that Steve found himself adoring. Craving, and yearning to hear more of – should time be on all of your side, in this godforsaken town.

“I wonder if Vecna’s rockin’ my other one down there.”

“Nah, the dogs are.”

Steve snorted, giving your hips a little squeeze and pressing a kiss to your temple. You sighed against him, sinking back and placing the bowl of soup onto your lap.

“What’s yours?” you asked him curiously, watching the shadow of the raindrops on the ceiling as they slid down the window.

“Blue. Sky blue.”

You hummed, placing one of your hands that sat on your stomach onto his and interlacing yours fingers. “Like a pretty, non-upside-down clear blue sky?”

“Schyeah, that.” Steve rested his chin back on top of your head as he glanced out the window, the black sky and rainfall sending a shiver down his spine. He wondered if the world would ever feel normal again…

Steve decided to ask you more normal questions, wanting to pretend that none of the dystopian reality just outside his house was real — just for one night. He asked you what your favorite movie was, shocked to find that you loved romcom’s. Especially Endless Love, Pretty in Pink and Working Girl. He wasn’t sure why he thought you’d say dark movies, or maybe sci-fi hits. Maybe Steve didn’t know what he expected you to say. But regardless, your answers fascinated him. He loved learning why you thought Sigourney Weaver’s character was misunderstood in Working Girl, which led to you both discussing women in the work force and how they should receive higher pay – equal to the men. Steve agreed with you, liking how passionate you were about it yet graceful and humble at the same time. You were smart, but somehow underestimated. It was strange. You were strange. Turns out, he loved ‘strange.’

And it also turns out, Steve liked not only action flicks — but dramas, too. Footloose and Baby Boom were on his list of guilty pleasure movies.

“Baby Boom??” you asked incredulously. But you weren’t mocking him, rather genuinely intrigued and amused.

“Hey, it’s adorable,” Steve defends himself with a fake scoff. “She adopts a damn baby and raises her as her own. Be nice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, tilting your head back to look at him. “God…no wonder you love those kids so much. You’re a natural born mother.”

“Okay but seriously, since when did I become mom and not dad?”

“Apparently, I’m dad.”

“Again: since when?” Steve's tone made you chuckle deeply.

You and Steve talked until your tongues were tired, eventually having moved to lean back onto the pillows. He rested his head into his palm, propped up on an elbow and stroking up your side as you both enjoyed innocent pillow talk. Softly spoken voices, hushed just enough to hear one another. Real hearty laughter that you both muffled into your palms, or each others’ necks, so that you wouldn’t wake anyone. Sweet confessions about food preferences, least favorite holidays, questioning religion while wanting to believe in a god. How Steve thought that vodka was the kiss of death, while you found cigarettes to be disgusting. Steve craved strawberry ice cream, while you were a sucker for plain old vanilla. He loved diners, and you did too. He swore pancakes over waffles, and you made it very clear that French toast was the clear winner. It was a give and take conversation, and you both found it resulted in far more agreements than not. It was the loveliest conversation that either of you’d had in years. Maybe ever. Not just with each other…but with anyone at all.

“So…six kids and a Winnebago, huh?”

Steve’s eyes danced in the moonlight, looking at you with pure adoration. Shyly, he tucked your hair behind your ear, slowly nodding. “Heard that, huh?”

You gave him a little smirk. “It was a pretty small Winnebago.”

He shook his head fondly, then — “Yeah. Turns out being an only child gets to you.”

You nodded sadly. “Yeah. It does.”

Steve hated that you knew that same loneliness. But then again, was that what made you both see each other so clearly? Is that why you knew his deeply rooted longing and misery better than anyone else? Is that why maybe, just maybe…in telling Nancy to run off with Jonathan…you were protecting him? He wondered these things as he looked into your angel eyes, not knowing how in the world he could have not looked at them like this before…especially right when he met you.

You told Steve how you’d always wanted a dog growing up, which led to his immediately confessing he wanted a lab or golden retriever. You nodded eagerly. Yes. Those, or a border collie. A dog that felt like a true family member. Even a stray mutt who needed a home. You both laughed at the funny names you both wanted to name them as kids. Winston, Jeffery, Petunia, PeeWee, Pumpkin, Count Duku. When Steve suggested pancakes as a name, you had to literally turn your head into the pillow to keep your laughter from roaring through the room and waking the household. Even Steve felt like he’d pee himself from laughing so hard, watching you laugh so hard.

God, you were beautiful. You were so beautiful.

…when you smiled up at Steve, bashfully, he realized that he’d said it out loud. “So are you,” you breathed.

Steve shook his head. “I’m not, though.”

Your brow creased. “Yes, you are. You know you are…and if you don’t –”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you are,” you said simply.

Steve pressed his lips together, self-conscious. How had he felt so damn confident all those years in high school, even middle school, but not now? You reached up to push back some of his perfect hair, caressing his cheek.

“I haven’t been,” he confessed, almost in a whisper. “Not to you. I’ve been ugly. Really ugly.”

You looked into his guilty eyes, but Steve couldn’t find any anger or sadness in yours. Just understanding and forgiveness.

“I was, too,” you admitted.

“No,” Steve shook his head, adamantly. “Not like me.”

“Steve, I wrecked your life. Well, your love life. But still, I wrecked it.”

“No, you only wrecked it when you left it,” Steve confessed, bitter at the memory but not at you.

Never at you. Never again.

“Telling me I deserve better, and I…told you that you deserved…nothing.” He visibly winces at his own words. “God, I’m so sorry —”

“Steve,” you stopped him softly, cupping his cheeks. “Don’t. I’ve forgiven it. Really. You didn’t know. You were hurt.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve whispered, looking at you with those beautiful doe eyes that shone in the moonlight. “I actively made a point to stop hurting people, and I did it again anyway. Worse. Way worse than my stupid King Steve days.”

You shrugged, trying to make him smile again. “King Steve was pretty amateur compared to the hard ass you became.”

Steve bit back a laugh, maybe even some tears. Still, he let the joke land. You crane your neck up to nuzzle his nose, making him sigh and return the eskimo kiss. Then you hissed in pain, letting out a little groan.

“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly, brow pinched.

“Stupid shoulder,” you muttered. “My ribs, too, damn…”

Steve looked down at your ribcage sadly, splaying his fingers there against your skin underneath his yellow crewneck. He sighed. “That’s because of me,” he confessed sadly. “Pounding on you nonstop today with the compressions.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take it. Pain’s good.”

You winked at him, and Steve tried to let that comfort him. It did, for the most part. Your oxygen intake really made it worth it, in the end. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you did the same.

“I don’t know where we’re headed,” Steve whispered against you. “Hawkins. The country. The world.” He paused, breathing you in. “Just know I want you there. All the time.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart fluttering. “Good. You’re stuck with me, Harrington. Bothering the ever-living shit outta you.”

“Bother me till I go insane,” Steve breathed, nuzzling his nose against you and grinning like an idiot. He felt happy. Absurdly happy. Who thought that was possible?

“...Steve?”

He opened his eyes slightly, finding yours were already looking into his. He waited, pulling back nervously. Which is stupid, considering you’d just told him you felt the same way. That you wanted to stay by his side, no matter what happens. So why was he thinking that just changed within a 3-second timespan? Why was he suddenly worried that you —

“I love you so much.”

19 years flashed before Steve’s eyes at that moment. His childhood. His pre-teens, and all the teen years that followed. He thought back to every single I love you that had been spoken to him. It hadn’t been many. At least not many that meant anything to him. He could count on one hand the amount of I love you’s that meant something to him over the course of 19 years. But now, he could count on one finger the one that meant the very most to him.

“I love you so much, too,” Steve breathed, eyes glassy and mesmerized as they looked back into yours. “God, you’ve no idea, I…”

Steve felt overwhelmed. He scrunched his eyes shut, resting his forehead to yours again and caressing your cheeks. He pecked your face, every inch of it, slowly. Little kisses peppering your face. “I love you so much.”

He could have bawled on the spot if he weren’t so completely entranced, swept up in the tidal wave of joy that splashed across his heart, mind, body and soul. Steve could bawl about it later. Right now, he simply leaned into your touch and vowed to never let you go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

bless Murray and his impeccably uncensored madness. about time he set everyone straight, damn.

as alwaysssss, thank u for reading :) this series is so much fun. please comment, it always makes my day.

TAG LIST [if I forgot u, pls lmk and pls forgive me]

@xprloki @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00 @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst @goosy-goose

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington one shot #stranger things fanfiction #enemies to lovers trope #joe keery #baron marmalade #jkeeryedit #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #mishas masterlists #Steve Harrington is a mother #mom steve

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amyispxnk · 10 months

Text

Best Idea You’ve Ever Had

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel’s job is boring so you help make it a little more exciting ;)

A/N: I actually don’t have anything to say this time (goes on to ramble) I kind of like it and I’m like ‘oh I wrote a decent smut for once’ but I feel like I’m gonna read this again tomorrow and be like ew. I don’t really feel like I did this justice if you get what I’m saying. Feels very basic boring but anyway please read lmk and all the shit!!

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: established relationship, SMUT - blowjob, face-fucking, cum eating -, pet names, kissing, good girl used once, mm i think that’s it

DO NOT COPY THIS WORK IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

Joel adjusted the reading glasses which were close to falling off his nose, head tipping downwards as he tried to not fall asleep during this damned meeting and actually take notes which he needed for later.

His job was great, paid well, had reasonable enough hours - compared to his last job, where he could be working until anytime between 5 and midnight - and wasn’t too difficult, but god was it boring. He’d much rather be doing anything at all with you. You, who were probably sat downstairs, nose buried in one of those books you always read, legs curled beneath you as you laid on the couch, without him. It was the weekend, you were supposed to be spending time together and instead he was forced into work again, missing out on spending time with you again.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, looking back up to the computer screen when he heard a quiet knock on his office door.

“Joel?” Your small voice asked from behind it, keeping caution to not disturb him too much during his meeting.

He checked his microphone was muted before turning slightly. “Yeah, sweetheart?” He replied, watching as you walked in and gently shut the door behind you. You walked past his chair and sat on the small couch which was to the left of his desk, just behind it.

“You ‘member what we were talking about last night?” You asked.

He pondered it for a moment, furrowing his brows and cursing his age for not remembering that thing you were discussing the night before. You always talked a lot at night, save for a few times when he’d been close to sleeping on the couch and you could barely manage sleeping back-to-back, so his mind was replaying the most recent, lengthy conversation you’d had. When he remembered, his expression flickered with surprise before his lips curved into a smirk.

Last night, you two had talked about plans for the weekend during dinner when his meeting came up.

“I wanted to spend the whole weekend with you, we barely get time anymore..” He said with a frown as he finished telling you about the meeting and how long it would certainly take.

“Because we’re workin’ our asses off.” You quipped, trying to lighten his mood a little bit and internally melting at just how distraught he seemed at not being able to be with you the entire day tomorrow.

“That’s true.” He agreed with a little smile.

You let a moment of silence pass as you both finished eating quietly, when a devilish thought crossed your mind - a grin broadening on your face to pair with it.

“What you smirkin’ ‘bout?” He questioned as he took a sip of his water and stood up to go put your dishes away, you following behind him into the kitchen.

“Your meeting’s gonna last pretty much the whole day then?” Dodging the question as you still mulled over your idea in your head, not wanting to straight up ask him in case it made him feel awkward.

He nodded, uncertainty now painting all of his features as he looked at you. “What evil plot’re you cookin’ up in there?” He tapped on the side of your skull before his arms crossed over his chest and he leaned back against the counter, watching you and waiting for you to speak.

“What if I sucked you off during the meeting?” You blurted out, unable to stop yourself from laughing after you said it. “Sorry- if it’s weird, I just thought it might be fun, you’re always saying your job is so boring and annoying and-”

He quickly cut you off from your rambling. “Best fuckin’ idea you’ve ever had.” He told you, mind reeling at the prospect and his eyes genuinely seeming to light up as he thought harder and harder about it (something else getting harder and harder with it).

You were not expecting such an enthusiastic answer, nor such an enthusiastic kiss from him which made you feel like you were being swooped off your feet.

You giggled into the kiss as he finally broke apart from you, chest rising and falling heavily. “That’s settled then, I’ll add it to my checklist for tomorrow.” You smiled before going to get a glass of water and getting ready for bed.

“Yeah. I remember.” He said slowly, eyes narrowing as he thought it over in his head. “I gotta speak too though, might make it difficult.”

You walked up to him, lips pushed forward in a pout as you leaned forward to look over his shoulder, confirming his camera was off, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his lips. “Please, Joel. Jus’ wanna make you feel good.” You spoke in a sultry tone.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as his jaw clenched and praying to the lord nothing would go wrong, also asking for some more resistance against you because you could honestly get him to do anything anytime you wanted just like that.

“Okay.” He nodded, pants growing tighter as he watched you lower yourself beneath his desk, making sure you didn’t knock your head and settling between his legs. He adjusted his positioning in the chair so he could spread his legs a little wider for you, giving you the go-ahead.

You reached for the waistband of his pants, pulling them down and letting them pool around his ankles as you took his throbbing cock in hand, pumping him a few times and savouring the sight of him literally tearing the fabric of his office chair, digging his nails into it as he resisted the urge to move, grab you, touch you, pull you closer - anything.

You pressed kisses around his groin, a hand reaching up to massage his balls gently as you teased him and waited until it was his turn to speak.

He groaned at your touch, brows furrowed as he panted heavily. It was his turn to speak now, and he cautiously turned on his mic, putting his left hand on yours to still your movements for a moment as his right shakily grabbed his notes and he cleared his throat, starting to give the run-down on all the work that had been completed or needed to be done from the past fortnight.

You waited for a moment, listening to him talk before pressing a small kiss to his tip, making his cock jump in response as he choked on his words, eyes widening as he tried to mentally prepare himself for this.

Your lips gently closed around the flushed head of his cock and you sucked, making him cough abruptly as he tried to cover his moan. This was going perfectly.

You ease the rest of his length down your throat, nose coming flush to the coarse hair at its base as you begin to move back slowly, still toying with his balls as you do so.

“God- damnit.” He grits, having just come to the end of his bit, immediately turning his camera and mic off and grabbing a fistful of your hair. He leans back so he can get a better view of you and notices that one of your hands slipped down past your shorts and into your panties, your finger rubbing harsh circles onto your clit as you blowed him.

“Fuck.” He groaned, meeting your eyes. “You get off on this? Sucking my cock?”

You nodded so quickly your head could fall off, eager for him to release his grip so you could get back to what you started, but he had other plans.

“Y’gonna let me fuck this pretty throat, sweetheart?” He asked, pulling your head backward a little so you could give him proper consent.

“Y-yes, Joel. Please.” You breathed, head spinning as he immediately shoved his dick back into your mouth, making you work extra hard to not gag around his length as he began fucking it with earnest. His head fell back against the seat as his hips started moving on their own accord, chasing the wet heat of your mouth as he got closer and closer to his climax, thrusting one final time before stilling and spilling his hot load down your throat with a moan of your name.

You swallowed it all, sticking your tongue out to show him.

“Fuck, such a good girl for me, aren’t ya?” He groaned at the sight of you, pushing his chair back so you could get up from beneath the desk. His meeting finished and the call had ended, his computer screen now completely black and reflecting the pair of you in it.

Your legs wobbled slightly as you got up, and you could feel your heartbeat in your pussy as you stood between his spread legs, waiting for him to speak.

He pushed himself out of his chair and met your lips in a passionate kiss, tongue immediately darting out to meet yours as his hands roamed your body, one of them pulling your shorts down and getting them off you before he picked you up and started walking to your bedroom.

“Let me repay the favour, darlin’”.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated and requests are open! 💞

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gumisgirlfriend · 9 months

Text

CHAPTER 3:: COMMITMENT

PAIRING:: fem!reader x college au stoner megumi fushiguro

SUMMARY:: against your better judgement, you go to megumi's apartment alone, and he opens up to you.

C/W:: no nsfw content, but MINORS DNI or you get blocked! weed usage. reader is #hopelessromantic coded A/N:: *shoves this into your hands* for you, pookie :3

The moment replays again in your head.

“Let me show you what a real good high feels like sometime.”

“…. What?” you muttered, dumbfounded. “What is that supposed to mean?” You cock your head at him curiously.

Megumi stared at you blankly, raising an eyebrow. “Are you trying to be cute right now?” he grumbles. You shake your head frantically.

“N-No, I just don’t understand—“

He interrupted you with an exasperated sigh, “My place, tomorrow. Be ready by 6:30. Got it?”

“S-Sure?”

The memory makes you stuff your face back into your pillow. What kind of an answer even was that? You sit back up, checking the time to see it’s early in the morning, and Maki still hasn’t returned yet. Out of excitement, your first instinct is to text Maki and Nobara, and tell them about it, but on second thought, it’s probably not too great of an idea, and you remember the last thing Megumi said to you before you got out of the car.

“Just don’t tell the others ‘bout it, kay?

You toss the covers off yourself, stomping as you get up to go to the bathroom. You can’t help but worry about a possible ulterior motive. I mean, everything about him tells you to run away. He smokes, has a beat up car, dirty apartment, and Nobara clearly doesn’t approve of you going after him. Hell, his best friend Yuji is even in a fraternity, but you owe him, and he offered a way to repay him. You ponder it over as you aggressively splash your face with cold water.

Suddenly, your front door opens, and Maki peeks into your shared bathroom. “There you are. You feeling alright?” she asks, her brows knitting with concern.

“Yeah, I think I just had too much last night.” you mutter, drying off your face with a towel.

“It happens. Happened to ‘Gumi once too, back when we were sophomores.” She says with a chuckle, grabbing her toothbrush from the mirror compartment. You flinch from the sound of something toppling over from outside the bathroom.

“Who’s here?”

“Just Yuji and Nobara. Megumi kicked us out cause he has a shift at the campus library. Last time we were left alone at his apartment, Yuji ransacked his fridge.”

You chuckle lightly, “Makes sense.”

Every little detail you find out about Megumi only makes your curiosity pique. You consider heading to the library just to catch a glimpse of him, but then you realize you’re also starting to sound like a stalker. Your phone buzzes in the back of your pocket and you whip it out haphazardly.

“Got a favorite kind of food?”

A giddy smile spreads across your cheeks as you read it.

“sour gummy worms!!! :)” you type back.

You receive another notification, “Okay”

You roll your eyes. Maybe he’s just not fond of texting..

“We’re probably going to head to the library to get some studying out of the way, you wanna come?” Maki asks, toothbrush still hanging from her mouth as she pours herself some mouthwash.

“No thanks. I have a class in twenty minutes.” You say while you slip on a pair of sneakers. As much as you’d like to go give him a visit, it would probably spoil your excitement for later.

Maki nudges you in the rib, “Seems like Megumi has taken a liking to you. That doesn’t happen often.”

Your cheeks fill with heat, “You really think so?” you say hesitantly, chewing on your bottom lip.

Your dorm mate shrugs, “I mean, yeah. It’s weird though. I never thought that you’d be his type.”

You raise your brow confusedly, “.. What is that supposed to mean?” you ask.

Maki sets a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Don’t take this the wrong way..” she says, “But.. you’re sort of a goody-two-shoes.”

Your smile melts into a frown, “Is that.. a bad thing?” you ask awkwardly.

She sighs deeply, “Forget about it. Just be careful with him. He’s not exactly the.. committal type.” She pats you lightly on the back before leaving you in the bathroom with your thoughts.

Your mouth sets in a hard line, and for a second, you’re starting to regret your decision.

Of course, you spent extra time getting ready today to look as good as possible. Two hours, in fact. Today you chose to wear a cute backless top, and shorts, regardless of the freezing weather. You snatch your purse and check the time. “Only 6:25..” you mutter. “Might as well.” You head outside to wait, but you spot a familiar, beat up car in the corner of the parking lot, and an even more familiar face leaning against it.

“How long have you been waiting here?” you ask sweetly, Megumi’s gaze rising from his phone.

He shrugs, “Just got here, actually.” he says, holding the car door open for you before you slip inside. He sits down beside you in the drivers seat, grabbing a bag of sour gummy worms out from the console. Your eyes light up as he drops it in your lap.

“Oh! Thank you.” You say with a wide smile as you tear open the bag, stuffing a few into your mouth.

He nods, “Save some for later. You’re probably gonna be hungry.” You nod back, smiling all giddy like a happy child as you stuff your face with sour gummy worms.

“Want one?” you ask, muffled from your cheeks stuffed with gummy worms. He waves you off, and you put on an exaggerated frown.

His gaze flickers from you back to the road, “Fine. I’ll take one.” Megumi mutters, rolling his eyes. You gladly hand him one and he pops it into his mouth. His face contorts, “Way too sweet.” he comments, shaking his head.

“I think somethings wrong with your tastebuds.” you say with a small grin, crossing your legs.

“I think somethings wrong with you.” he says nonchalantly.

You pout at him, “Hey! That's not very nice..” you reply, tossing a gummy worm at him.

His typically neutral expression shifts into a slight smile. “I’m just kidding. I’m glad you like them. Didn’t know which ones I should get..”

After a couple minutes of silence, besides the sound of the radio, you interrupt, “So.. why do you feel the need to do this?” you ask, fumbling with the bag of gummy worms in your lap.

Megumi’s gaze flickers back to you for a split second, “Don’t have a reason. Just wanted to.” He clears his throat, sitting up a bit straighter. His fingers tap on the edge of the steering wheel to the beat of the radio as you turn the next corner.

You sit comfortably on Megumi’s cold leather couch, shivering. Oddly enough, you swear his apartment looks a lot cleaner than before..

“Do you not have a heater or something?” you mutter, your teeth chattering. You didn’t expect it to be so cold.

Megumi shakes his head. He pulls off his hoodie over his head, and you catch a glimpse of his V line as the shirt underneath lifts up. He tosses it in your direction. “Take that. There’s a blanket under the coffee table, too.” he replies gruffly as he opens the fridge.

These few minutes of silence with him feels.. comfortable. You don’t feel like you have to force yourself to speak, or scan your mind for any possible topics to bring up. You just sit there idly, a faint smile on your face, tracing shapes on the leather couch while you wait for him to return. He comes back to the couch shortly with a plate of brownies.

“Brownies?” you utter with confusion, pulling his sweatshirt over your head. It smells of lavender, cologne, and sweat. An oddly comforting scent. You relax on the couch as you wrap the blankets around your freezing legs.

“Yeah. They’re edible brownies. Made them myself.” he says with confidence, setting the plate down on the coffee table.

Your mouth hangs open for a few seconds with admiration, “Really? Thats.. cool.” You smile earnestly as he plops down beside you.

He raises his eyebrows, “Yeah, I guess.” he says quietly, cutting off a small piece for you.

“Hey! Why do I get such a small piece?” you ask, flicking him on the arm playfully.

“Cause you’re still new to this, idiot. And I wanted to make them strong enough for me, too.” He holds the piece out for you, and you hesitantly pop it in your mouth.

You raise your eyebrows as you ponder the taste, “Mm, tastes funky..” you say as you chew it up. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it doesn’t taste bad necessarily.

Megumi snorts, “Yeah, there’s weed in it, idiot.” he says with a grin, before taking a bite out of the whole brownie, and you swear that’s the first time you’ve seen him smile in front of you genuinely.

You shake your head, “What happened to the nice guy who saved me at the party?” you tease with faux disappointment, wrapping yourself in the blanket.

Megumi scoffs, “He’s sitting right front of you.” Megumi kicks his legs up on coffee table, stretching out comfortably. He holds the plate of brownies in his lap, popping another in his mouth. His fingers tap idly on the edge of the plate, “These will probably take a while to kick in, so..” He grabs a tv remote from his coffee table compartment, along with two gaming controllers. He tosses one into your lap, “You any good at Mario Kart?”

“I think I can feel it now..” You whisper, slowly turning your gaze to him as an unfamiliar heat pulses throughout your body.

Megumi narrows his eyes, “Why are you whispering?” he asks, sneaking a quick glance at you before turning back to his phone.

You pause for a minute, before sputtering out; “I-I don’t know..”

He laughs, “Yeah, you’re definitely high right now.” he says with a shy smile, setting his phone down beside him. “Feels better than yesterday?”

You nod and your mouth uncontrollably curves into a cheesy smile. “Yeah. Feels good.” you giggle out, hiding the lower half of your face in the blanket. You curl up, holding your knees to your chest.

He nods back, “Good,” he mutters softly. “I felt bad about last night. As much as I like those guys.. they tend to be even a bit much for me, sometimes.” he says, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. For the first time, you really take in his appearance. His blue eyes, long eyelashes, and messy hair. He’s gorgeous, really. You wonder how you’re even breathing the same air right now, or even in the same room. A slight blush creeps up his neck, “You okay?” he asks nervously. You realize you’ve probably been staring at him for at least 30 seconds.

You feel a flutter in your stomach, similar to when you had first met. “Sorry. Spaced out.” you say with an awkward smile, clasping your hands together in your lap. Finally, your intoxication gives you the courage to ask what you’ve been wondering. “So.. question.” you ask hesitantly.

He quirks his brow, “Ask.”

You lean your hand into your palm, “What happened between you and Nobara?” you ask. He responds with a deep sigh, that leads you to guess it didn't go over well. Maybe it was too personal a question. "S-Sorry, you don't have to answer. I don't know why I asked that, really-" you stammer, before he interrupts you. "Its fine. I assumed she'd probably tell you eventually." he says lowly, massaging the back of his neck. "Its.. difficult to explain." "I'll listen." you say with a small smile, nodding understandingly. Megumi leans his head back, staring at the ceiling as if he's trying to recall the relationship. "It was nothing to do with Nobara. I just don't like relationships." he says bluntly, combing a hand through his raven hair. "The commitment it requires. The energy, the time." You bite your lip as you listen to his every word, each one driving you further to disappointment. "Its hard to see myself with someone for the rest of my life." You avert your gaze, "Yeah, I understand what you mean." you say with a forced smile. Realistically, you don't understand it at all. You had dreamed for so long to have a partner. Someone to treat you right, make you feel loved and cared for, and right when you think you've found a possible contender, you get your heart crushed. He curls a lock of his hair around his finger, fidgeting with it. "Maybe that'll change, though. I don't really know yet." He shifts his gaze back to you, lips pressed into a line. "Anyways, enough about me." He sits on his side, facing you. "Tell me more about you." Of course, high out of your mind, you spill every little detail about yourself that comes to mind, including nearly your whole life story, but the whole time he just.. sits there and listens. Never interrupting, unless to ask a clarifying question. He nods attentively, watching you explain your life up until this very moment, sometimes even a faint smile tugging at his lips. Eventually you realize the sun has set outside, you can barely see him with the dim light of the Mario Kart game paused mid-game on the TV screen, and you've completely forgotten about your gummy worms. Your eyes start to drift closed every few seconds involuntarily, before snapping awake again. Eventually, he drifts off to sleep too, his legs intertwining with yours beneath the blanket as you both rest, and you dream of your black-haired savior over and over again.

— TAGLIST :: @diogodxlot

* ˚ ✦ CHAPTER 1 :: black-haired angel: you get invited by your best friend nobara to your first college sorority party, and after being harassed by a college student, a black-haired stranger swoops in to your rescue.

* ˚ ✦ CHAPTER 2 :: green out: after being invited to your first smoke sesh with your friends, you green out, and megumi helps you out once again.

#* ˚ ✦ lana writes #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu megumi #megumi x y/n #megumi x you #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi fluff #megumi imagine #megumi my beloved #megumi fushiguro

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hsakuras · 5 months

Text

cw: angst, unrequited love, you and Levi have been friends for a long time

a/n: we are having heartbreak for dinner pals

“I’m right in front of you.”

You can’t look up at him— you don’t want to look up at him. It wouldn’t be fair for him to see that you’re the one crying even though he’s the one whose heart broken.

“I’m sorry.”

Why are you even apologizing? It’s meek, a sad attempt to bandaid your lack of awareness. It doesn’t even begin to soothe the rejection Levi is facing.

You can’t help but be a little upset too, you’re trying to keep your breathing even. You even imagine the box breathing technique he had taught you when he came over one night you were anxious.

“You had all this time, Levi”

“I know.”

You’re getting married. He knows this, but it’s not his fault his chest hurt and his eyes widened when he saw you in your wedding dress. He meant to keep his affection towards you completely platonic in the best way he could and he would have if he never saw you in your dress.

It’s not right, he’s had years to tell you how he’s felt. He knows this, but he can’t help the bitterness that builds in the back of his throat, harsh words threatening to spill because he doesn’t understand how dense you are. It has been so obvious to everyone except you, he’s frustrated at how oblivious you have been.

“I can’t leave him standing there waiting for me. He’s so kind, Levi, and his whole fucking family is waiting. My whole fucking family is waiting—so is yours!”

He doesn’t reply. He knows this would be the outcome, it’s the most logical. You wouldn’t ever break a promise so fragile.

Everything was fine until now. He planned your bridal shower, he planned your bachelorette party, he helped set up your fucking proposal, he sat with you through every heart break until you met Erwin.

It was him, it was all him.

“Levi”

“I know, it’s okay”

He makes his way over to the vanity where you were getting ready. Sees the necklace that his mom had given to you as a gift, you don’t need to know it was his idea.

He picks it up gently and places it around your neck, the pendant sits beautifully on your chest. He’s fidgeting with the clip to fasten it, the tiny lever difficult to move.

“I remember you asked me once after a break up you had in college, why was it so hard to find someone to love you.”

He hooks it on to the loop that he knows you like the majority of your necklaces on.

“I’ve been right in front of you this whole time.”

His fixes the veil in your hair. He places it so gently into the updo that his mom had spent so much time on. You wonder if she knew.

“I love you so deeply” he whispers, looking you over.

You’re his favorite bride, so perfect.

You start to cry. You feel the tears spill, unable to focus on anything expected his confession to you.

“Don’t cry. I had all this time right?” He pats your tears away with a tissue and gentleness that’s foreign even to himself.

He pulls you towards the door, it’s time.

You place your hand into the crook of his elbow, he promised to walk you to Erwin. You can’t help but begin to tear up again. Fuck, you said you weren’t going to cry.

To everyone it looks like you’re just extra sentimental; your closest and longest friend giving you away at your wedding would bring anyone to tears.

The music doesn’t do any good to drown out the thoughts in your head or to stop Levi’s confession from replaying over and over again.

When you’re walking down, everything is blury due to your tears. You start to wonder what would have happened if you had picked up on Levi’s feelings—if he would have told you sooner. Would you be happy walking to Levi instead?

You both stop when you finally make it to your soon to be husband. Levi let’s you go and Erwin takes your hand. You turn to look at Levi who avoids your gaze. It’s too much for him, truly. He already has to sit through the wedding of the one person he loves. It sends you into another bout of tears.

“It’s okay, I’m right in front of you, baby” Erwin is trying to be comforting when he says it.

You wish he would have chosen different words.

#levi ackerman x reader #erwin smith x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #snk x reader #aot levi #snk levi #aot erwin #snk erwin #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x y/n #angst #levi ackerman #erwin smith

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wynnyfryd · 1 year

Text

Eddie had Steve’s number in his pocket.

Eddie had Steve Harrington’s number in his pocket.

The slip of paper felt heavy somehow, like he’d stuck an iron plate in there instead of a folded sticky note. (It was possibly not the best mental image to be mulling over; made him think of hands around his biceps and sinking to the bottom and no no no no—)

He wrestled the note out of his pocket. Smoothed the creases out against his thigh and dialed before he could overthink it.

Or think about it at all, apparently, because the second Steve finished his bizarrely polite greeting, Eddie blurted: “Hey, uh, this isn’t just some weird ploy to, like, lure me over to your house and drown me in the backyard as some sick sort of free entertainment, is it?”

“Okay, what the fuck??”

“Um.” Yeah. Yeah. He winced as he replayed his own words in his head. “Shit, sorry; I don’t-”

“Jesus, Munson! You think I’m gonna drown you?”

“No?” Eddie tried.

Steve made an offended noise in the back of his throat. “I literally just did the exact opposite of that, if you recall.” His voice was so flat that Eddie could practically hear the eye roll through the phone.

Eddie’s voice, on the other hand, only rose in pitch, climbing up and up with each response until he was squeaking like a frightened mouse. “Mmhm! Yep. Yes, I do.”

Then Steve demanded to know why the hell Eddie thought he would do something like that, and Eddie screeched, “Well, I didn’t, but it felt important to confirm!”

Silence down the line for a long moment. Steve cleared his throat. “…Are you high right now?”

@thefreakandthehair context for the sentence game lmao, poor boy is having a terrible bout of stoner paranoia mixed with negative twelve impulse control right now

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie wip #steddie drabble #steddie fluff

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blindmagdalena · 1 year

Text

Eat Your Ego, Honey (Ch7)

homelander x oc 18+ escort services, sex work, voyeurism, stalking, Homelander in general. see ao3 link for detailed tags. chapter index. check out the playlist!

chapter summary: Following Homelander and Layla's disastrous morning after, she bumps into another hero at Vought Tower. Upon seeing the state of her, Starlight offers solace and the opportunity for Layla to put herself back together before she faces the world. Shortly thereafter, Homelander erupts on live television, changing public perception of him forever.

additional tags: unhealthy/codependent dynamics, panic attacks, references to sexual assault, excessive drinking. this is where all major canon deviations begin! 🖤

Halfway down the hall, Layla hears something crash and shatter in the penthouse behind her. She nearly loses her footing, but by some kind of miracle, she maintains her composure through the walk to the elevator.

She swallows back the taste of her own blood, wipes the tears from her cheeks, and viscerally feels the looks she garners from the handful of bewildered Vought employees she passes. The building isn’t nearly as empty as she would have hoped it would be on a Saturday. Such as it is when the heroes all live in-house.

She presses the button and waits, bitterly musing all the while how utterly ridiculous it is to have two elevators for a building with one hundred floors.

It’s been years since Layla has faced a walk of shame like this. She’s been so careful to curate her experiences–her entire life–in order to avoid this dreadful humiliation. She knows the picture she paints: a skewed and wrinkled dress, her jacket draped haphazardly on her shoulders, bruises scattered on her body, mascara tracks down her cheeks. It’s an ugly, empty feeling.

However, it’s easier to focus on that ugliness than it is to process everything that just happened. She isn’t ready to replay the events in her mind just yet, to backtrack the descent from a blissful morning-after to the bloody mess she stumbled out of.

She touches her tongue to the stinging slice on the inside of her mouth, closing her eyes.

You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot.

Looking up, she sees a mural above the elevator depicting the heroes of the Seven. Never in her life has she wished more for Transluscent’s power of invisibility. She stares at the painting of Homelander. It doesn’t really look like him, the jaw too wide and too square. His hair is too blonde, lacking his darker undercut. It’s like some kind of caricature of him.

Then again, she’s hardly the expert on the man. This morning taught her as much.

Unfortunately, she isn’t invisible. That much is clear when she physically feels someone stop near her, senses the tentativeness in the air as she hears them take a breath before addressing her.

“Uhm, I’m so sorry, excuse me,” comes a gentle, feminine voice. Layla screws her eyes shut, and forces herself to remember how to be a person. “I’m not trying to be rude, but you… Is there anything I can do for you?”

Opening her eyes, Layla prepares her best placating smile, but she comes short of it when she actually looks and sees who’s talking to her.

Starlight is beautiful. Flaxen locks tumble over her shoulders in loose curls, and she stares with such warm, big brown eyes–so overwhelmingly full of empathy and concern–that Layla is temporarily stunned. She’s thoroughly embarrassed to be seen in such a state by someone so lovely, so widely adored, so much younger, that she flushes.

“You’re so sweet, no, I’m okay,” she says, self-consciously adjusting her coat. She lowers her voice when she says, “It’s worse than it looks, I’m…” She hesitates, trailing off. Starlight has taken a small step closer since she started talking.

She looks wholly unconvinced, and if Layla were in her position, she knows she would feel the same. She pushes out a strained smile, and gives a small shrug, fighting desperately against another bout of tears the longer she’s stared at by those mournful, painfully understanding eyes. The connection is so immediate. It’s raw and human in a way Layla realizes she desperately needs.

“Listen, I’m not trying to overstep, it’s just that I’ve been where you are,” she says gently. Layla recalls the Deep, and Starlight’s very public campaign against him. It’s no wonder she’s responding so urgently. “And if you want, you can come to my apartment,” she offers, standing right next to her now, her voice hushed. “You can get cleaned up, get changed. I have lots of clothes. You’re totally safe, okay? I promise. I’ll be there the whole time.”

Layla wants to tell her that it’s a misunderstanding, but the words don’t come to her. She glances at the illuminated dot on the elevator. Still over forty floors down. The thought of withstanding the ride all the way back down, pretending not to notice the way people are staring at her, makes her nauseous. Fearing that if she opens her mouth, she’ll lose her poise completely, she only nods.

“Okay! Okay, come with me,” Starlight says, putting a hand on Layla’s elbow to help guide her. Starlight walks with impressive command, seeming tall despite her relatively diminutive stature. As they walk together, it isn’t Layla that catches their attention. It’s the shining star at her side. She’s grateful for the cover of her glow, feeling less and less like she wants to disappear into herself.

They don’t speak on the way to Starlight’s suite, but her hand does remain on Layla’s arm. She swaps sides with her when they pass a group of employees, offering them a friendly greeting, throwing in a wave. She makes for a radiant distraction, every move purposeful.

It’s the kindest thing Layla can ever remember a near perfect stranger doing for her.

They reach a distinguished door that perfectly suits Starlight’s ensemble, embellished with white paint and accents of gold. She inputs a passcode that she doesn’t seem concerned with obscuring from Layla–0163–and the door automatically swings open. She leads the way inside, and the door closes behind them.

Only then does Starlight leave her side, walking ahead of her. “Let’s grab you some things really quick, you can just pick whatever, I’ve got a ton of promotional stuff if you don’t mind looking like a walking advertisement for Vought, but really, take whatever you want,” she says, gesturing for her to follow.

Starlight’s apartment is stark and modernistic, full of sharp angles and sleek lines. The archway to her living room is made of thick speckled marble, and beyond that, an accent wall of pure gold. It’s intensely opulent, and while it may suit her hero colorscheme, it’s considerably colder than Starlight herself seems to be. It’s not unlike Homelander’s penthouse in that regard: it speaks only of the image Vought wishes to present.

Following along, Layla says, “Thank you, Starlight. I’m Layla, by the way.” That causes Starlight to stop dead in her tracks, turning around. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, right, hi. You don’t have to–you can just call me Annie,” she insists, laughing at herself. “Wow, I am so tunnel visioned sometimes.”

“Annie,” Layla repeats with a smile. The name suits her far more than this apartment does. “Thank you.”

Annie returns a warm smile before resuming the task at hand. Her room is just as luxurious and sleek as the rest of her apartment, but unlike the other rooms, it’s clear she’s made this space more her own. There’s a pinboard hanging above her dresser with over a dozen photos pinned to it. Below that, a framed photo of Annie in her younger years, donning her classic Starlight attire, standing next to a woman Layla assumes might be her mother.

Etched into the frame is: “He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.” Psalms‬ ‭147:4

“Okay, so, for real, help yourself to anything,” Annie says, gesturing broadly to the closet. “It’s kind of funny that I even have all of this when they only ever want me in the Starlight get-up.”

Upon closer inspection, sure enough, Annie’s closet is largely of a variety of high-end brands, specifically in crossover with Vought’s brand. Ever prone to opulence herself, Layla can’t help but touch the sleeve of a cardigan that catches her eye. It’s white with a faintly shimmering metallic trim, and slightly bulbous gold buttons. It looks designed very specifically for Starlight, and by a renown French designer no less.

“Go for it,” Annie encourages.

“This is a Balmain,” Layla says, looking at her in earnest astonishment. “This is easily worth thousands of dollars.”

Annie turns a slight shade of pink, looking just as surprised. “Oh, uh… Well, it was–it was a gift, you know. Promotional stuff. A crossover thing, I think, I just… It’s not really me. It’s nice, though! And if you like it, you should take it. I don’t think I’ve ever paid more than fifty dollars for a sweater. I’d just get it dirty,” she says, the words tumbling from her lips like marbles rolling down a flight of stairs. “You seem like you’d make better use of it than me.”

“Have you worn it before?” Layla asks, easing the garment from the velvet hanger that it rests on. Annie shakes her head. “Have you even tried it on?” Another shake of her blonde tresses. Exhaling an amused little breath, she puts the cardigan into her hands. “You should. It was made for you.”

“It was made for Starlight,” she corrects, but there isn’t any trace of disdain in her voice. Instead, Layla recognizes a sense of melancholy in the way Annie stares at the garment.

Starlight–Annie–provides a stark and mystifying contrast to Homelander. There is an aura of disconnect between who she is, who she wants to be, and who the world has made of her. Layla had expected her to be something of a princess: sweet, but aware of her royalty. Not embarrassed by it.

Homelander desperately wants to be the king of his kingdom, but the crown has fallen around his throat, and he chokes violently against it.

“I’m sorry, that sounds ungrateful now that I’ve said it. I just mean that it was made for me to wear, but it wasn’t made for me. It’s–I don’t know, it’s strange being me, but… Not me,” she says, holding the cardigan between her hands, absently moving her thumbs along the smooth, exquisitely soft fabric.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Layla assures her, turning back to the closet. There are more Balmain pieces, as well as a handful of Cucinelli, and even a Burberry gown. There must be hundreds of thousands of dollars hanging in this closet.

“You have a strong sense of yourself. That’s good. This world will eat you alive if you don’t,” she says, combing her fingers through the rows of clothing. Her hand stops on a simple white blouse–still costly, she knows from the feel of it that it’s made of viscose–and plucks it from the rack. She finds a long patterned skirt to match it. “For what it’s worth, I was happy to see this look of yours come back,” she says, gesturing to Starlight’s current ensemble, her signature cape and dress returned to her. The body suit with a plunging neckline and thigh high heels had looked ripped straight out of a playboy magazine, not a superhero lineup. “It suits you,” she continues, finally looking back at Annie, who’s smiling up at her with those big warm, shimmering brown eyes of hers.

Annie nods, idly hugging the cardigan to her middle. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

Layla smiles, folding the clothes she’s selected over her forearm. “That said… it’s okay to enjoy your spoils a little bit,” she says, nodding her head towards the closet. “You’re not any lesser for indulgence. I know, I know–strong women don’t care about pretty clothes, the ones who do are vapid airheads, hell on earth because Eve ate the apple, yada yada. But I’ll tell you a little secret,” she says, leaning in conspiratorially. She whispers, “Sometimes an apple is just an apple, and apples… are delicious.”

They both laugh, the undercurrent of unease that had been lingering since the moment they met finally abating.

“Has anyone ever told you that you're, like, dangerously easy to talk to?” Annie asks, hanging the cardigan back up in the closet. Layla notes that this time, she moves it amidst the clothes she regularly wears.

“Yes, people love to tell me things,” she muses, following when Annie beckons her towards yet another room. She’s made an entire career off of making people feel comfortable enough with her to divulge some of the darkest, most secret aspects of themselves. A little girl talk is a welcome reprieve.

The bathroom is as lavish and impersonal as the rest of her apartment, feeling more like a hotel than a personal residence. There are tiny wrapped soaps and Vought branded bottles on every shelf. There are neatly folded stacks of pristine white towels, all of which are embroidered with a golden S. The level of detail to the place is almost unnerving, especially given how very unlike Annie it all is.

Much like with Homelander’s penthouse, it’s like walking through a meticulously crafted custom enclosure, not a home.

“Again, help yourself to whatever, I’ll be in the living room if you need anything,” Annie says from the doorway, offering a little wave.

Layla thanks her, and once the door shuts, she lets out a long, deep breath, her eyes falling shut. Her whole body feels heavy and aching, more exhausted than she can put into words. All she wants to do is lie down and never stand back up, but beneath her dress her skin feels tacky, and her muscles are yearning for the soothing caress of hot water.

She scrounges up the will power to undress and climb into the shower, taking her time to wash away the events of the last 12 hours from her body. The same can’t be said of her mind. Her fingers linger over bruises that have only grown darker, pressing lightly against her tender flesh. Homelander may as well have written his name, these marks ensuring she won’t forget their night any time soon.

It was so very nearly perfect.

She plays it over in her mind again and again, her body on autopilot through washing her hair. His son, the mother of his son, his relationship to them, his relationship to Layla herself, to his own name, it was all… “Complicated” was what he’d called things with his child. That seems to perfectly sum up just about everything in his life. She had tried to spare them the mess of an argument, falling back on familiar coping mechanisms–disconnecting and evacuating to find perspective–but the situation had escalated so rapidly from that point, she can barely track it even in hindsight.

“Please don’t leave me,” he had begged, looking smaller than she'd ever seen him. ”It’s my birthday.”

She doesn’t know how true that is. She’s always assumed the yearly birthday bash Vought celebrates on July 4th was a corporate thing in line with his personification of America, not his actual birthdate. She doesn’t know if this is a further entanglement of John and Homelander, or if there’s something deeper–something more sinister–at play.

Perhaps Starlight can shed some illumination on the matter.

Finishing the shower leaves Layla refreshed, albeit still weary. She draws her hair into a sleek updo and applies her favorite red lipstick as both comfort and armor. She won’t let any more of the world see her in shambles.

Stepping out into the living room, she finds Annie waiting patiently at the circular dining table, pouring over what looks like a script, though she closes the binder when she sees Layla approaching. “Hey!” Annie greets brightly, looking equal parts relieved and delighted. “Hey, wow. You look amazing,” she says, standing.

“I have you to thank for that,” Layla shoots back, reaching to take her hand, which Annie readily offers. “Thank you, Annie. Really. This meant more to me than you’ll ever know,” she says, squeezing her hand between both of hers.

Annie flusters, making a handful of noncommittal, dismissive noises. “No, no, it was the least I could do–and I mean that, okay? Like, the least. I could do more. I’m technically co-captain of the Seven now, and if you… You know, you wanted to–” Layla squeezes her hand again, smiling. “I understand. Thank you, Annie.”

She smiles back, but it doesn’t entirely reach her eyes. Layla can tell that she desperately wants to do more. She’s a hero, after all: she’s looking for a villain to defeat. Unfortunately, there isn’t one in this story. There is no clear cut antagonist for Starlight to conquer.

There are just two people whose jagged edges failed to line up, cutting them both in the process.

“Okay. Okay!” She says, but it’s clear that she’s having trouble dropping it by the way she keeps hold of Layla’s hand. “Okay, but if you change your mind, you can call me. I’m kind of a big deal,” she says playfully, leaning in as if it were a secret. “And I can pretty much guarantee you I can kick their ass. It’s not like it’s Homelander.”

Layla’s expression falters, her smile falling from her lips. Annie recognizes it before she can recover, and the dawning look of horror that comes across her face is one that Layla will never forget.

“Oh my god,” Annie whispers. “It was Homelander? Homelander?”

God damn it.

“Please don’t say it like that,” Layla pleads, expression imploring. “It’s not what you think, it was consensual, it just… It ended poorly, and we fought,” she continues to explain, but Annie only looks more and more bewildered as she goes on. “Please don’t tell anyone. My–our relationship is complicated, and it’s better that no one else knows.”

“Relationship,” she echoes incredulously. “Your… relationship with Homelander,” she says, clearly processing the words as she says them. “Holy shit.”

“Yes, and you’re very sweet to want to help me, and you have, but there’s no villain for you to unmask here,” she says, pulling her hands away.

Annie barks a sharp laugh at that, but catches herself quickly. “Sorry, sorry, that, uhm… Okay. I’m sorry, I just… I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Please,” Layla says again, leveling her with an even stare. “I need you to promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. It’s not something I can afford to be embroiled in,” she says, hoping that Annie’s desire to protect her will extend into this plea for secrecy.

Reluctantly, Annie nods. “I get it, I swear, but are you sure you’re safe? I don’t think you understand who he really is,” she says, her shock and incredulousness fading into a very urgent concern that makes something in Layla’s stomach twist up. “He’s not safe, Layla. Like, I mean really, really not safe. He’s freaking unhinged,” she whispers, as if he could be listening right this moment.

It occurs to Layla that he actually could be.

That twist in her gut sharpens, and her brows furrow. Instead of concern, however, she recognizes it as a sharp jut of defensiveness. Her lips part, but she takes a pause. “Is today his birthday?”

Annie’s expression smooths out in a wave of surprise. “What?”

“His birthday,” Layla repeats a touch impatiently. “Is today really his birthday?”

“Oh, uhm,” she frowns, clearly caught off guard by the abrupt switch in gears. “I don’t know. He certainly seems to think so.”

Huh. Does he truly not have anyone?

“I should go,” Layla says, reaching for her jacket where it hangs off of the back of one of the dining chairs.

“Wait, I’m sorry! I’m reacting badly, I know that, I’m just–I’m worried,” she says, an edge of panic audible in her tone.

“I know, I know, it’s okay. I’m not offended. I just have a lot to think about,” she says in turn, offering a slightly strained smile. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I really do, but I need time.”

She finds herself needing a lot of that lately.

Annie looks wounded and young at this, making her difficult to walk away from. After a beat, Layla moves closer and takes her into her arms, closing her eyes as she squeezes her tightly. “You’ve been a friend to me today, Annie. Thank you.”

The embrace is returned by strong arms that remind Layla this is no simple young woman. She has a similar gravity to her grip as Homelander, but her hold lacks his tangible desperation for touch. When they part, Annie doesn’t leave claw marks.

“I can still be your friend,” she says softly, pressing something into Layla’s hand. Opening her palm, Layla finds a folded posted, and unfurling that, a phone number. “The offer stands. If he… if… Just call me, okay?”

“Okay,” Layla relents, doubting she’ll get out of here if she doesn’t. She slips the paper securely into her purse. “I will. I promise.”

There’s a touch of relief in Annie’s expression at last. She manages a weak smile. “Thank you. Will you text me so I know you got home safe?” She asks, sounding every bit like a fretful mother hen.

“Sure, yes, of course,” she assures, mirroring Annie’s smile. The tension in the air is undeniable, an anxious thing that lives and breathes between them, but there is no fix for it. Layla does what she does best, and turns to flee from it, unprepared to face Annie’s ominous warning head on. The split behind her bottom lip stings when she touches her tongue to it.

All the while, Annie watches her go, her perfect brows pulled into a tight pinch. She has the ache in her gaze of someone who desperately wants to do more, but has been left at a loss for how to do it. Layla almost feels guilty for the distress in her eyes, but currently finds herself lacking the emotional bandwidth for it. She’s stretched so thin, she barely finds the strength to pull the door open.

That little piece of paper in her purse feels heavy, but not as heavy as Annie’s desperate words tumbling around in her head like bowling balls.

“He’s not safe… really, really not safe.”

Layla orders herself an Uber, and this time around garners significantly less attention walking the halls of Vought tower, glancing warily over her shoulder. She can’t shake the anxious–or in some small and twisted way, hopeful–feeling that she might see him looking back at her.

However, he remains a phantom possibility in her periphery. She slides into the car that pulls in to pick her up, and somehow manages to keep herself together on the drive back to her apartment.

It’s already 10am by the time she makes it inside, slipping out of her shoes and her jacket, dropping her purse on the floor, leaving them like a trail of breadcrumbs from her front door to her kitchen. Her head is throbbing, so she grabs a Tylenol from the shelf above her microwave and pours herself a modest glass of a rich dark merlot to wash it down. If she had any sense left in her she would serve herself a mimosa to at least pretend to herself she’s drinking responsibly this early in the morning, but the heavy tang of the red on her tongue makes her temples tingle and soothes the fray of her nerves.

Exhaling a rough breath, she pulls a container of semi-questionable leftovers from her fridge and sits down with it at her computer. Her empty stomach leaves her buzzed from the single glass, but she’s determined to put her mind anywhere else. She eats cold pasta with a spoon, and opens several emails with the intention of answering them, though after about an hour all she has is several half-hearted drafts and a perpetually churning stomach.

Certain that she won’t manage anything more productive, she pours herself another glass of wine and plants herself on the couch in front of her TV. Turning it on, she winces at the immediate flash of Homelander’s face, staring proud and determinedly down at her in an advert for his newest film. Quickly, she flips to another channel, letting out a long suffering breath before taking another swig of wine. She puts on something she’s seen before, something easy, and sinks back into the couch, pulling her blanket off of the back of the sofa and into her lap.

She doesn’t watch so much as she dissociates to the sound of her television, nursing the too-full glass she’d poured, taking the occasional sip as her mind circles the drain of the events of the morning over and over and over.

Homelander crashed into her life like a meteor. In such a short burst of time, he blew a hole in her life the size of a continent, and as she sits by herself day drinking to old episodes for comfort, she realizes how achingly empty the thought of his permanent absence leaves her.

By the time she finishes her glass of wine, she’s slumped almost completely horizontally. She sets the glass on the floor and completes the descent, curling up under her blanket. She passes out in the clothes Annie gave her and falls into a deep, troubled sleep.

Hours later, Layla wakes in a fugue state. Her apartment is silent, the television paused on a prompt that wonders if she’s still watching. The way that almost feels like the warmth of concern for her wellbeing is slightly alarming. With a groan, she pushes herself upright and digs both thumbs into her temples, looking around. 5:42pm.

“Fuck,” she sighs, swinging her legs off the couch. She knocks the wine glass she’d left there flying, and gives another emphatic fuck as she gets up to fetch it. She walks it to the sink, but upon seeing the mostly empty bottle of merlot still open on the counter, she decides she may as well finish it off, and pours the rest into her already wine-stained glass. She carries it to her fridge, where she digs around until she manages to assemble a plate of shredded mozzarella, a pepperoni sausage and a jar of pickled mussels.

She brings her assortment back to the couch and settles right back down in front of the television, taking a sip of her wine before she finds something slightly more stimulating to watch while she piles cheese on the end of the pepperoni with each bite.

The process of eating feels entirely mechanical. She’s only half paying attention to anything, but when she hears her phone alarm suddenly going off, she startles. Untangling herself from the blanket, she goes to where she dropped her purse near the front door, and fishes her phone out of it. Her stomach drops. BIRTHDAY BASH her screen reads. She’d promised him that she’d be watching from home. She forgot that she’d set an alarm.

Layla chews her tongue indecisively on the walk back to the couch, settling down with an uneasy sigh. It’s starting now. She taps her nails incessantly on the back of her phone, stomach twisting. The wine glass is empty and there’s a slight spin to her vision. Sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth, she picks up her remote and flips the channel. She’s met with the middle of a performance, a hero she doesn’t recognize singing some kind of boy band pop ballad.

Her stomach flips wildly. There are golden statues of Homelander on either side of the stage, and she finds she can focus on little else. It’s not hard to understand why he thinks himself a god when he is surrounded by golden effigies of himself and feverish, screaming worshippers. The world has created an impossible standard for all that he is. She absently touches her bruised lip, pressing on it until it stings.

The performance ends, and she recognizes the next hero–A-Train–who emerges on stage. He lends credit to Supersonic for his performance, answering her earlier quandary. She’s taken heroes for granted most of her life, considering herself removed from their fame and services. A part of her had even resented them for a long time. If the world was so full of heroism, why hadn’t any of them saved her parents?

Christ, the wine was really getting to her.

She snaps back to attention when A-Train announces the man of the hour, a severe looking portrait of Homelander flashing on the screen behind him. Her mouth feels dry, and she suddenly wishes she had another tall glass of wine in her hand, but she finds she can’t unglue herself from her seat. She sucks in a shallow breath, paying careful attention to his body language as he steps out onto stage.

Despite the celebration centering on Homelander, the camera favors Starlight as the two make their entrances. It’s surreal to remember that just this morning, she had shared space with each of them respectively. That she was wearing bruises from his hands and clothes from her closet. That feels like another lifetime entirely.

Homelander hasn’t stopped nodding since he stepped on stage. His smiles are tense and fleeting, flickering on and off like a sputtering flame fighting the winds around him. Starlight speaks, conducting herself well, but the look on her face when she’d realized who Layla had been with haunts her, coloring her perspective now. Annie looks like an entirely different person on that stage, voice tight and guarded. She’s not sure how much of that is an echo of He’s not safe. Really, really not safe, though.

Regardless, the announcement is going well right up until–

“Hey, Homelander! Your nazi died!”

Layla’s jaw drops. Anxiety hits like a chunk of ice falling into her gut. The camera remains painfully still, focused on Homelander’s frozen expression. His smile is too wide, full of teeth, and his eyes hollow. The silence left in the wake of that man is chilling.

Starlight intervenes, breaking the tension with an attempt at mediation. “Homelander, he’s just–he’s a human!”

“No,” Layla blurts aloud, standing from the couch. She pushes her hands into her hair. “Oh, Annie, no, no, stop.”

“He’s just like the rest of us. And we all make mistakes, right?”

It’s all wrong. She can see it in Homelander’s face, in the rapid way he’s blinking, in every twitch and spasm of his jaw. He looks like he’s about to explode.

To her mortification, he does.

“I’m not ‘just like the rest of you.’ I’m stronger, I’m smarter… I’m better. I am better!”

There’s so much fury and righteous vindication in him, but so too is there pain. His eyes are glassy, and she feels as if she can hear the wardrum pound of his heart even from here, see the vein throbbing in his neck. He looks like a caged animal lashing at the bars, roaring, demanding that the spectators see him for what he really is. See how tired he is of pacing for them, pretending he isn’t a wild creature that could rip them apart if he simply chose to.

Layla’s sick to her stomach. It feels like watching him rip himself apart in real time.

“You people should be thanking Christ that I am who and what I am because you need me!” He looks directly into the camera, and Layla feels it to her core when he says again, “You need me!”

The broadcast cuts abruptly into a glaringly loud ad, and Layla collapses back down onto her couch, breathing as if she’d just delivered the impassioned monologue.

“Oh god…” she exhales, covering her face. She isn’t egotistical enough to think herself the sole cause of such a catastrophic meltdown–it’s clearly been a long time coming–but witnessing it, she can’t help but feel like she may have been one of several straws that broke his back. The desperation in his glassy eyes from this morning haunts her. His image is everything to him.

What happens to a man like that if he loses it? What happens to the world?

Her mind spirals on a series of progressively more dire theoretical scenarios, and whether or not she could have avoided all of this had she just stayed with him. Talked him down. Her lip doesn’t sting anymore, but the repercussions of this will echo a great deal further.

She winds up pacing for nearly an hour, unable to settle her mind. She tries calling Chris, but after two failed attempts, she remembers their conversation about his honeymoon in Italy with Jason, and she curses under her breath. The other bottles in her bar cabinet are looking progressively more tempting when a distinct thump outside catches her attention. It almost sounds like something landed on her balcony. She thinks it must have fallen from an above neighbor, or maybe a bird, until she gets close enough to realize there’s a person out there.

“Oh my god, Homelander,” she rasps, frozen still in her place. He perfectly silhouettes her own reflection, staring at her through the glass, his expression gnarled in terrible anguish. It’s hard to tell in the dim lighting, but he looks as though he’s been crying.

After a beat of hesitation, she walks to the balcony door and twists it open just enough to stand in it, staring at him at a loss. “Can I come in?” He asks, voice reedy and thin. Pleading. It’s a shocking contrast to the anger she witnessed on the broadcast, but hardly surprising. She could see this torment lurking beneath it even then. It breaks her heart nonetheless.

She can already feel her own eyes beginning to prickle hotly in sympathy tears. “I don’t think that’s a good–” “Please,” he interjects, teeth locked in a tight grimace. “Please, Layla, I don’t… I don’t have anyone. Do you understand? I-I fucked up tonight, I fucked up bad, and I have nothing. If any of it was real, if you care just-just one fucking bit about me, then please. Please let me in,” he begs, bringing up his gloved hand to brace above her head on the doorframe, subtly rocking back and forth.

With every breath she takes, Layla feels the jagged edges of her aching heart pierce her lungs. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she takes a tentative step backwards, and then slowly opens her door to him, adrenaline pumping through her veins a mile a minute.

Of course she cares. She cares so much it makes her feel sick.

With a small nod, he steps inside, shaking out his hands. “Did you… Did you…?” He trails off, seemingly unable to bring himself to properly ask, but she knows what he’s trying to say.

“I saw,” she says gently, closing the balcony door.

“It’s over. It’s over, I’m fucking-I’m fucking finished,” he says with a wild gesture, running his hand through his already mussed hair.

She remains in place, keeping a subtle distance between them. “You’ve been under unfathomable stress. You were mocked on live television for something you’re still grieving, something that wasn’t your–” “It doesn’t fucking matter!” He snaps, both hands in the air. “No one cares about that, no one gives a fuck how I feel,” he hisses through his teeth, fresh tears welling in his eyes. He screws them shut, as if willing the tears to disappear. “I’m not their god, I’m not their hero, I’m-I’m nothing,” he says, starting to tug at the collar of his suit as if it’s choking him. He exhales a rough, mirthless laugh that sounds closer to a keen of pain.

He hooks the fingers of both hands in his collar, sucking in a strained breath, and Layla realizes with a start that he looks like he’s having a panic attack. She moves swiftly to him, gingerly taking hold of his wrists. “Shhhh, let go, let go,” she says kindly but firmly, knowing he responds best to a mix of the two. Thankfully, it works, his eyes meeting hers, his breaths a shallow frenzy.

“I can’t breathe,” he tells her, his confusion obvious in his tone and the furrow of his brow. If this has happened to him before, it’s been a long time.

“You’re panicking. Let’s take this off you,” she says, unfastening his suit top. “Listen to me breathe, alright?” She takes a deep breath in, and then on the exhale, counts out, “One, two three…” Another inhale, then, “One two three…”

She’s seen this happen before. Sometimes her sessions get intense. They can unlock memories and triggers her clients didn’t even know they had. This is far from her first time talking someone down from a panic attack.

He still looks confused, but he lets her disrobe him to his undershirt, the padded suit sliding off of his shoulders. They fight with his gloves briefly, slipping those off first, and then the top falls to the ground with a particularly heavy thud. He keeps his focus on her, and after a few rounds, he’s breathing with her, lips very faintly following along to her repetitive countdowns.

“That’s good, you’re doing so well,” she praises, cupping either side of his head. With her thumbs, she massages his temples. “Little longer now, breathe in, one two three four five…” She counts, holding a longer exhale, and then a deeper inhale. He follows her lead, leaning into her touch, and eventually his eyes fall shut, his breathing even.

Relieved, Layla tenderly pets down either side of his face, relaxing the muscles in his face, hoping to ease him back into himself. When he opens her eyes, they’re dreamy and tired. He looks more devastated than she ever could have imagined him. His eyes nearly close as he leans in towards her, but she turns her head away before he can kiss her. He lets out a strained little whimper, forehead coming to rest on her shoulder. He clutches desperately at the fabric of her shirt like he wants to pull her closer, agonizing for the reassurance of touch.

“What am I gonna do?” He asks morosely. She can hear the tightness in his throat like there’s a hand choking him.

“Sleep,” she tells him, taking his hand in hers. “For right now, all you need to do is sleep.”

With that, she guides him to her bedroom. He’s perfectly malleable in this state, moving when and where she leads him without an ounce of resistance. She sits him on her bed and kneels down to unfasten his boots while he watches her, dazed. She never could have imagined their places swapped like this when she first had him before her, fastening the heels he’d bought her.

Tugging his boots off, she sets them aside. His belt comes next, much too clunky to sleep in. He stands back up for this part, helping her, but he pushes his pants off, too. She supposes the padding likely isn’t very comfortable to sleep in, either. She stops him when he moves to push off his undergarments as well, though.

“Leave those,” she says gently.

“I can’t,” he says tightly, paused with his thumbs hooked under his shirt. “I can’t sleep with… I can’t,” he says, struggling to articulate himself. She wonders if it’s a sensory issue.

“Okay, alright. It’s okay,” she says, helping him to take off his shirt, too, followed by his underwear. Giving his hand a squeeze, she uses her opposite hand to pull back the covers, and gestures him into bed. He goes easily, but when she begins to pull the covers up over him, he stills her hand with his own.

“Aren’t you getting in, too?” He asks, brows furrowed over top of large, watery blue eyes.

She hesitates. “Homelander, I–” He flinches so hard that she stops. His gaze drops from hers, shame written clearly in the lines of his face.

“...John?” She attempts, but he shakes his head wordlessly.

He’s in shambles, and despite the little voice of reason demanding that she create distance, she aches too badly for him to leave him like this. Swallowing, she gives him a gentle pat. “Okay, darling. Move, move in. Roll over,” she says, which he does readily, sliding to the center of the bed. She slips in behind him, and after only a brief hesitation, slides her arm around his middle.

He greedily accepts her touch, laying his arm over hers and interlacing their fingers, letting out a shuddering breath that sounds like relief. He squeezes her hand, and she presses her forehead to the nape of his neck.

Their bodies slot together with such ease, it nearly feels like they were made to. Embracing him like this, she finds she better understands the story of Icarus and why he was so compelled to fly to the sun, even as it scorched him.

There is an inexplicable feeling that comes along with holding close something that burns so hot, that feels so much grander than yourself.

They lay like that for hours. Layla’s not sure how much of it he actually spends sleeping. She drifts in and out herself, rousing when his shoulders shake with silent sobs. She soothes him each time, hushing at his ear while she strokes his thumb with her own. He always settles. Eventually, she manages to drift into a deeper sleep, lulled into it by the heat of him in her arms, cradled preciously to her chest.

Unsurprisingly, he fits perfectly into the craterous void he left in her.

Chapter eight.

#homelander x oc #homelander #homelander fanfiction #my writing #eat your ego #AAAAAA my god i FOUGHT with this chapter #but it's here and it's almost 7k lmao #a thousand blessings on everyone who still cares about this fic and has stuck with me

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hagaishi-sama · 13 days

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themysticaldrumstick · 4 months

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truly a unique plot, not everyday u see a IF wip bout being a hot divorced parent, and im truly invested on this one, looking forward to it, best of whishes <3

btw, i truly love the fact that theres gonna be a bunch of flavor text, cuz thats what makes a player want to replay the IF again and again and again just to have he satisfaction of what certain traits can change certain lines in the story, and it is proof that an author really enjoys their wip, cuz well i dont have any knowledge about coding and the like, so i think its truly admirable that people have the determination and the pacience to do it. have a nice day/night!

I'm looking forward to the plot too, trust me. I'm just as clueless are you are 👌

Jokes aside(am I actually joking tho?), thank you. It's been a rough couple of days and reality gets in the way of daydreaming sometimes. I really want to finish the first chapter with the prologue "to get the full experience" as a wise woman once said(you know who you are 👺), for you guys by end of this month, but it's been hard. I'm somewhat done with the prologue and working halfway on the first chapter but the coding and errors have my ass.

100% will try my best, thank you for all your supports guys. Much love. Have a great week.

#asks #7DIP

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whitherwanderer · 14 days

Text

9 // lend an ear

// 970 words. Pyrite is going to get her VueTube account suspended. Again.

For all their provisions and comforts, the architects of Everkeep in all their genius didn’t fully account for such a thing as human as a circadian rhythm. Insomnia was a common malady for which any number of supplements and aids were available for down at the Nexus Arcade or, if one needed the stronger stuff, True Vue.

Pyrite preferred a simpler remedy to ill-timed bouts of fatigue: a warm cup of black coffee.

All the more lucky that her organization was staffed by a not-inconsiderable number of self-professed coffee snobs who made sure they kept the very best in stock, and as such, the small kitchenette behind the Backroom was a popular spot to idle away while catching something on the holo. The backroom behind the Backroom, they jokingly called it.

She dragged herself out of her bunk, shaking off the fog of a nap that wouldn’t stick and shuffled into the kitchenette where a pair of off-duty operatives, a young hyune lad and a shetona woman, sat on a sofa against the wall, chattering away about something she didn’t quite catch.

She gave them a lazy waggle of her fingers as she dove into the cabinets for a cup she could take with her—

“How old do you think he is, then?” “I don’t know, he can’t be older than forty.” “You’re assuming he’s hyune.” “Well, he doesn’t have a Xak Turali accent, so he’s not shetona or tonawawtan. Certainly not a milala. What do you figure he is?” “Eldite.” “Eldite? Rusty Reforger is not eldite.”

Pyrite’s cup clattered onto the counter and the two paused to glance at her. She made a show of sighing to herself and chuckling as she retrieved the cup and walked it over to the dispenser, muttering to them. “Long night on recon.”

She paused. Her head tilted and her brows furrowed at the two of them, but at least her conspicuous smile seemed genuine. “...What’re you two on about, now? New Arcadion fighter?”

The hyune lad immediately brightened. “No, no! He’s a reforger. Records himself climbing, finding things out in the old kingdom, and then he posts all of it to his feed. Fascinating stuff.” “And he’s anonymous. No one knows a thing about him save for his voice,” the shetona woman adds with a shrug of one arm. “Has considerable knowledge of antiquated electrope tech that I find interesting.”

Pyrite filled her cup while she kept head turned to follow their description of this reforger, and when she had her fix, she walked over to lean against the sofa to look at a small display the hyune carried. He held it up for her to take and tapped it to start the replay of one of this Rusty Reforger’s climbs into a crumbling facility somewhere out in the ruins of Archaeo Alexandria.

“Alright. Got pointed here by a friend of a friend, said they’d been scroungin’ in here for scrap when the floor started givin’ up under ‘em. Somethin’ about how that’s right up my alley, seein’ as nobody was gonna dispatch a hovercraft out here…”

Pyrite watched from the reforger’s perspective as an electrope tether was swung in a quick circle with a flick of his wrist, and she huffed a singular laugh.

“Huh. Ain’t that somethin’,” she remarked, handing the display back. The hyune nodded in enthusiastic agreement as he leaned back to enjoy the rest of the video.

“You heading out, Pyre? New op?” he asked her. Pyrite shook her head. “Not ‘til intelligence comes back with security bypasses. I got errands to run, anyway.” “Ahh, shame.” “Get some sleep while you can, too,” the shetona called after her, and she gave an appreciative wave as she made for the door to the Backroom proper with her coffee in hand.

—

Perched high up above the promenades of True Vue, Pyrite sat with her back to a wall and clutched her own small display, coffee still steaming in her opposite hand. She pressed the cup to her lips and tilted it back, her eyes glued to the POV of the Rusty Reforger repelling down an exterior wall with finesse that made it look as easy as walking.

Today’s upload. She almost missed it. Insomnia was good for something, at least.

“I think that does it for this one, folks,” he sighed, satisfaction evident in his tone as he tugged on the electrope tether and let it retract off-screen.

She set down her coffee to flick through the replies from his watchers as he ran through his usual sign-off; mostly effusive praise and questions about unaddressed curiosities in the ruins featured, but one particular reply gave her pause.

this is so stupid he just walks into old buildings and describes what he sees? why do people watch this??

Pyrite sucked her teeth, then drew the display in to furiously tap at it for a few moments.

there’s always some envious little shite who’s upset they don’t have half the skill RRF does.

She tapped the reply button and slid the display away in her coat before she could spend another thought on crafting the most potent vitriol to unleash on this faceless commenter. She could get her blood boiling for hours if she let herself get caught arguing back and forth with some of the Rusty Reforger’s less courteous viewers. Not that the man himself ever seemed bothered by it.

At least, Galena never brought it up to her. She wasn’t about to ask him directly either. Like him, she also enjoyed a certain degree of anonymity when it came to his adventures behind the mask. Although he knew she watched his feed, she wasn’t sure he knew that, in the nights they spent apart, his voice was a salve to sleeplessness better than any other the keep could offer.

#[ ffxivwrite2024 ]#[ reflections ]#[ GnPy ]#if rusty reforger has a million fans pyrite is one of them #if rusty reforger has one fan it's HER #if rusty reforger has zero fans her regulator is on so just give her a sec to rez

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readyforthegarden · 10 months

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Breakable Heaven - Part Three

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Female Reader

Synopsis: Being the maid of honor in your best friends wedding is already stressful enough without the best man being the ex-boyfriend who tore your heart to shreds. Stumbling across a dating app with dates for hire, you take a chance, inviting a perfect stranger to pretend to be your boyfriend for the weeklong celebrations. But how long can the charade last when the champagne starts pouring and feelings start growing?

AN: posting early for my lovely @gretavanfleetposts and because danny posted today while I was writing part four so it’s meant to be 😌

Warnings: Conversations alluding to sex, mentions of drinking 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

WC: 3495

“Did you see this itinerary?” Danny asked you as you yawned the next morning, walking back into the living room after brushing your teeth. There had been an early wake up by room service with coffee and pastries. You watched from the bed as Danny had brought the tray back into the living room, and for a brief moment, you thought you fell in love with the sight of the tall man, curls disheveled and holding an apple danish.

Sitting next to him on the couch, you glanced over his shoulder at his phone screen, watching him scroll through the imported calendar. Monday, today, was low-key, as more people arrived at the vineyard. There was nothing for the bridesmaids as some were missing still, while the groomsmen went golfing at a nearby course, and then another dinner at the vineyard restaurant.

“Mike invited me out to golf with the guys today,” Danny picked up a note on the tray with the coffee and handed it to you.

“That’s really nice.” you leaned forward, setting it down after reading it and pouring some coffee into a mug from the fancy carafe. You poured in your cream and sugar, stirring it and taking a long sip. “Do you like golf?”

“I actually love golf.” Danny smiled, biting into a danish. “I may have done a little research about the area and was planning on going to play while you were busy with wedding stuff.“ you set your mug down and reached over, grabbing a danish of your own. As you chewed, you pulled up the itinerary on your own phone, looking through the days.

“Uh, we have a field day??” you asked rhetorically, furrowing your brow. “A campout? Olivia didn’t say anything about camping.”

“It’s just one night, and look, the next day you’re at a spa all day getting pampered.” Danny mentioned, tapping the side of your phone with his long pinky finger. You did feel a small sense of relief that it would only be one night. “Dang, that massage sounds really nice.”

“Mm, hot stones, I cannot wait.” you nearly moaned at the idea, your body already feeling a little melty. “What time do you have to be downstairs?”

“‘Bout an hour.” Danny sipped on his coffee, leaning back in his seat. “Enough time to shower, get dressed and kiss my honey goodbye.” you froze for a moment, until the nickname conversation replayed in your head. Then you realized what he said and near-stammered.

“Oh, you want me to go with you down to the lobby?” Shrugging, Danny gave you a small smile.

“You don’t have to,” he began. “But it may make us look as hopelessly in love as we proclaimed to be last night.” you nodded and thought about it. In all your worries, you hadn’t realized that you and Danny had shared a kiss already. And in front of Gavin, no less. It felt like it was supposed to happen, once your surprise had worn off. His lips had been warm and soft, the memory of the faint trace of beer on them made you lick your own subconsciously.

“No, that’s a good idea.” you nodded. “We’re still in the honeymoon phase, after all. Do you mind if I go get dressed before you hop in the shower?” Danny shook his head and you got up, going into the bedroom and shutting the doors. You dressed quickly, throwing on a light, soft sweater and some jeans before slipping on a pair of socks and going into the bathroom, running your brush through your hair. The green of your sweater was one of your favorite colors; it made your eyes pop and your skin glow. The color boosted your confidence in a way that gave you a little more bounce in your step as you walked back into the living room.

“Oh, you look nice.” Danny complimented when his eyes raised from his phone screen to you. Smiling, you gave a little spin as he stood up and walked closer to you.

“Thanks, I love this sweater.” you replied. Danny was close enough now, he reached out, gently pinching the fabric on your upper arm and rubbing it between his fingers, feeling the softness of it. “Olive green is one of my favorite colors.” Danny’s eyes raised to yours, a tender smirk playing on his lips.

“Well, I don’t like olives,” he said softly. “But I do like this sweater.” as he departed to go get ready himself, it felt like he had finished his sentence early. If he had continued, he would’ve let slip that he possibly only liked it because it was on you.

While he stood under the steaming water of the shower, Danny questioned why he had just done that. He felt a quick friendship budding with you, that was for sure, but to flirt like that with no audience wasn’t a part of his job description. It just happened, he hadn’t even realized he was touching your sweater or standing that close until he was walking away, leaving you to stare at his retreating back.

You were doing your best to busy yourself in the living room, putting the empty coffee mugs back onto the tray, wiping up any crumbs of the table, even though you knew housekeeping would be in to straighten up. Danny was a very, very good actor, you decided. A method actor, who had to stay in some form of character in order to properly perform when the time came.

When he was ready, you and Danny headed out, his hand sliding into yours in the hallway swinging slightly between the both of you as you walked. There was no need for assistance down the stone steps in your sneakers, but he made sure to slow his gait as you both descended.

Mike, Gavin, and the other groomsmen were already downstairs, a small, black van idling in front of the doors. Olivia was standing next to Mike, doing her best not to glare at Gavin as the two men spoke.

“Hey! Glad you could make it!” Mike grinned, waving Danny over. Danny let go of your hand as Olivia cut through them, coming to stand by you.

“Thanks for inviting me, this will be more fun than playing by myself.” Danny thanked Mike, before being introduced to a few groomsmen he didn’t get to meet at the dinner before.

“I was thinking we could go into town while they’re out golfing.” Olivia turned to you. “I need a few things I forgot back home and my mom is already driving me insane.”

“Sure, I just have to run upstairs and grab my bag.” you replied, motioning back towards the room.

“Danny, did you do this on purpose?” Tom, one of the groomsmen, laughed. “Your socks match her sweater!” Looking down, you realized Danny had adorned his long legs with argyle socks, patches of olive green in the pattern.

“It’s for good luck,” Danny wrapped an arm around your shoulders. You leaned into his side, looking up at his grin. His crooked smile charmed everyone around him, and you found yourself included under its spell. “Matching my girl makes me play better.”

“Sure it does.” Mike patted Danny’s arm with a laugh. “We should get going, our tee time is in an hour.” Danny squeezed you closer before pulling back a little.

“A kiss for even better luck?” his hazel green eyes sparkled down at you and you couldn’t help the small smile and nod you gave him back. You hopped up onto your tiptoes, pressing your lips against Danny’s before he pressed back, holding your cheek to keep you in place a few seconds longer.

“C’mon lover boy!” Danny pulled away with a laugh, giving you a quick peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, honey.” he winked back at you as he walked out the front doors, leaving you standing there with a breathless feeling.

“Damn, he’s good.” you murmured to yourself, forgetting Olivia was right next to you.

“Yeah he is,” she agreed, a smirk on her face as she watched you.. “Go get your bag and drink some water, babe. We’ll leave in ten.” nodding, you went back upstairs to grab your purse. Meeting Olivia back downstairs, she ushered you into Mike’s sports car, and whisked you off to town. The small town was straight out of a hallmark movie, the street lamps done up for the nearing autumnal season with warm white lights and fall leaf garlands wrapped around them. Everyone on the streets seemed to know one another, stopping for a chat or smiling pleasantly.

You and Olivia popped in and out of a few stores, gathering some last minute items, various spools of white threads in case something tore on her dress or veil, inserts for her heels she’d be in most of the day, anything and everything Olivia was starting to panic about. Stopping off at one of the small diners for lunch, you recounted the items on the list she rattled off in the car, trying to see what was left.

“I wonder how the boys are doing,” Olivia cut you off, pushing the grilled chicken from her salad around the plate with her fork.

“Well, they’re probably a few beers in and having trouble seeing the tees.” you laughed under your breath, remembering the time Mike and Gavin came back from a golf day with the guys plastered. “If that group makes all eighteen holes, I’d be impressed.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Olivia giggled. “But I was talking more in terms of getting along.”

“Why wouldn’t they get along?” you turned up from your phone, marking off one of the last items you knew you had gotten on the notes app. Olivia narrowed her eyes at you, pursing her lips to keep from smiling.

“Because, Mike told me Gavin thinks Danny is a prick.”

“What?!” your mouth fell open in shock. “They’ve spoken to each other once!”

“Well apparently, Gavin tried to talk to Danny at the bar last night, and he completely ignored him.” Olivia shrugged. “Said he was trying to congratulate him on getting a girl like you.” you rolled your eyes so hard, you nearly severed your optic nerve. “I know, I don’t believe it at all.”

“Gavin went up to Danny and tried giving him advice about me,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Told him that he was surprised we lasted as long, that I was boring and to try and cut his losses early.”

“I swear to god,” Olivia was fuming across the table. “When I get my hands on that piece of shit-”

“Danny took care of it.” you told her. “He told him to drop it and from the looks on their faces when I came up, I’m pretty sure Danny scared him a little.”

“Good, that bastard deserves to be scared.” Olivia stabbed the piece of chicken now. “I don’t know what Mike sees in that man.”

“Beats me,” shrugging you picked up a fry from the plate you were sharing with Olivia, dragging it through the ketchup on your plate. “I’m sure nostalgia is clouding how different they’ve become.”

“Oh for sure,” Olivia agreed, finally eating more of her salad. “Speaking of Danny, I want to know more.” you froze internally. Olivia was never one for simple, non-invasive questions. No, she was a true interrogator. If she could waterboard answers out of people, you felt that she fully would.

“Like what?” Now it was Olivia who rolled her eyes.

“Everything! What’s he really like? He’s in a band, are they any good? You’ve kept me in the dark and I need to know everything!!” you felt a pang of guilt twist your stomach when Olivia said that. Lying to her was hard, she was your best friend, the biggest secret you’d ever kept from her was her birthday and Christmas presents.

“His band is really good,” you nodded, the fibs starting to flow through your teeth. “They’re a rock band, so talented.”

“You’ll have to send me their stuff, I’d love to hear it.” Olivia smiled, her eyes wide and sparkling. “Oh! We should go to one of their shows together! When I get back from my honeymoon!”

“That’d be great!” you faked a grin. You wouldn’t know Danny anymore after the wedding, there was no chance of that. “Um, I mean I don’t know what to say, he’s just…he’s really great, Liv.” your friend leaned forward, lowering her voice.

“Okay, but how is he?” she wiggled her eyebrows at you.

“Liv!”

“Oh come on, I know all about Gavin’s dick and how that was, give me something good!” she whined. “I’m about to be with the same penis for the rest of my life, I need to live vicariously through you!” Blushing, you sighed. What Olivia took as you trying to decide where to start first, was you trying wrap your head around talking about sex with a man that you had only kissed twice, and were never going to go farther with.

“He’s incredibly…attentive.” you finally answered. “I have no complaints.”

“Oh come on!” Olivia pressed, stomping one of her feet under the table. “You have to give me more than that!”

“Liv, really, I…” you pursed your lips together. “He’s different…he cares, and he’s good. I’ve never been with anyone like him.” Olivia grinned, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

“One day I will get a full play-by-play out of you.” she replied, snatching a fry off the shared plate. “He must really be something if you of all people aren’t giving me every sinful detail.”

“He is,” you smiled softly. The two of you finished your lunches, heading back out to the shops for the afternoon, finishing off the list and shopping for fun. The ride back to the vineyard was filled with anticipation. You were excited and nervous to see Danny, not knowing how he’d take the conversation you and Olivia had at lunch, but hoping he would laugh, especially at the way you blew it off.

You and Olivia had just started walking from the car back to the stone manor when the van with the men pulled up. They were loud, as soon as the doors opened to let them out, and they spilled out, laughing and talking excitedly with one another. You saw Danny, who looked to have a new hat from the golf course on his head, with his arm around Thomas’ shoulders as they spoke to one another, and you smiled, glad he was getting along with them.

“Baby!” Mike waved at Olivia once he spotted her. At his voice, Danny looked over, an excited grin on his face. Before you could register it, Danny sprinted across the parking lot to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up off the ground.

“I played the best game I’ve played in years!” he cheered. Your hands clasped his strong shoulders as he spun you around in circles.

“I’m glad!” you laughed, your legs wrapped around his waist as he stopped turning, adjusting his hold on you. Reaching up, he took the hat off of his head, plopping it on you. It smelled of new materials and a little bit of sweat, mixed with the shampoo and conditioner Danny used that morning.

“All because of that good luck kiss, honey.” he said softer, before turning to the guys. “You all made fun of me, but who got the best score?” The guys all waved him off, but Danny had turned back to you before he even saw. “I need one before every round from now on.”

“I think you’re a little tipsy, Danny.” you laughed softly as he hoisted you up, feeling you fall a little.

“Maybe, I had a few rounds to celebrate my win.” he shrugged.

“You guys are back in just enough time to sober up for dinner.” Olivia laughed as Mike swayed her back and forth. Danny set you down, sliding his hand into yours as you both walked into the building. “Let’s go, you smell like beer and sweat.”

“A day well spent!” Mike cheered, causing the other guys to cheer in agreement. You laughed as Danny joined in, his eyes glimmering. You and Danny parted ways with the others and headed to your room, where he immediately kicked off his golf shoes.

“That was so fun,” Danny laughed, sitting on the arm of the couch, letting himself fall back. His long legs dangled over the arm, and you shook your head. “Gavin sucks at golf, if it’s any consolation.”

“You know what? It is.” you came around the back of the couch, looking down at Danny, who had his eyes closed, hands laid flat over his chest and abdomen, thumping out a beat that was in his head. “You’ll never guess what Olivia and I talked about today.”

“What?”

“Our sex life.”

“Hmm?” Danny sounded confused for a moment, then laughed.”

“Did you tell her I was huge?”

“No! I tried to stay away from that.” you shook your head. “I did tell her I was completely satisfied and had no complaints.” Danny’s eyes opened as he gave you a goofy grin. The green in his eyes melted in with the browns, reminding you of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Glad to hear it,” Danny laughed slightly. “For the record, I’m amazing.”

“Oh you are?”

“Yeah.” Danny closed his eyes and nodded confidently.

“I’ll take your word for it.” moving away from the couch, you went to the bedroom getting your outfit together for dinner. You listened to Danny start to lightly snore from the couch, and you stilled. Mostly so you could slow your movements, not wanting to wake him as he slept off the sun and alcohol. But also because it reminded you of how you’d woken up in the night. You found out you and Danny both tended to sleep on your sides and stomachs, arms under the pillows supporting. You had felt something touch your hand, and jolted out of sleep, though not enough to rouse your bedmate. Danny’s fingers had been grazing yours in his sleep, twitching like he would hold them if not for his unconscious state.

Something about that memory made your stomach flutter, thinking of Danny’s sharp features having been softened by sleep. You were becoming fond of the young man snoozing on the couch. You hoped that the two of you could stay friends after this ruse was over, pretend to break up, maybe even use the band and his traveling as an excuse, and then just be friends.

You were taking the last hot roller out of your hair when Danny entered the bathroom, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“What time is it?”

“Almost half past six,” you answered. “I’m almost done, and then you can hop in the shower before dinner.” Danny nodded, leaning against the doorframe, watching you turn your attention back to your hair. He watched as your fingers gently fixed and primped the smooth, loose curls before you grabbed a can of hairspray and set them in place.

“You look beautiful,” he smiled, watching your cheeks turn pink under the soft blush that was resting on them already.

“Thank you,” your eyes flickered from his reflection in the mirror back to your hair. “I…”

“Yes?” Danny looked at you curiously after you stopped yourself. Taking a breath, you looked back up at his reflection sheepishly.

“I get that you’re here to pretend to be my boyfriend and to be in love with me, but you compliment me even when we're alone.” Danny felt something bubble up in his throat, trying to clear it before he spoke again.

“Is that a problem?”

“No,” you shook your head quickly, and Danny watched as your hair bounced from the movement. “But it’s just….I don’t know, it’s nice, I guess.”

“Well, knowing how Gavin talked about you, I can’t imagine he was doling them out very often.” Danny near-sneered at the mention of Gavin. He had refused to acknowledge the man during the golf outing, opting to get to know the other groomsmen and Mike a bit more. Danny felt his heart sink as your face told him he was right. “Just because this is fake, doesn’t mean my compliments always have to be. You deserve to be told you’re as beautiful as you are, as many times as possible.”

There was a change in Danny’s eyes that you noted, though what it was you couldn’t guess. He stood there for a few more seconds, locking eyes with you before pushing himself off the door frame and walking back out to the living room. You quickly finished your hair and makeup and left the bathroom letting him pass by you to get ready.

“I’ll be done in fifteen, wait for me?”

“Of course.”

Taglist: (feel free to add yourself!)

@joshsindigostreak @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine @ascendingtostardust @sammysprincess @sammykiszkamyass @belovedsamuel @sunfl0wer-power @indigo-starcatcher @sammyscherub @earthlysorrows @lvnterninthenight @allieisacrybaby @losfacedevil @xserenax-13 @sarakay-gvf @shutupdevvie @myownparadise96 @watchingovergvff @gretavanfleetposts @josiee-gvf @joshkiszkatoothgap @madneedshelp @gardensgatedaisy @demonrat444 @dannyandthekiszkas @tearsofbri @paleshadow-ofadragon @happy-harpy-stuff @like-a-woman-in-a-dream @starshine-wagner @objectsinspvce @josh-iamyour-mama @mountain-in-springtime @cal-a-bungaa @capturethechaos @gvfpal

@allybjt @hippievanfleet @weightofbrokenbells @joshkiszkasbadussy @malany-gvf @ruby0antlers @samofthedawn @sacredjake @aim4thedoublee @diditallforyouu @gvfmarge @highladyofasgard @sammysvanfeet @gold-mines-melting @earthgrlsreasy @mountain-in-springtime @forcebond301 @stardust-and-shadows @llightmyllovee @gretavangroupie @comesofarsomehow @infinisonicosm @indigofallingsky @hellowgoodbye @hearts-hunger @fwzco @dharma-divine33 @lightsofthe-living-gvf @ascendingtothestarsasone @klarxtr @ofthecaravel @musicspeaks @radmads-gvf @madneedshelp @the-starcatcher

#danny wagner #danny wagner x reader #greta van fleet #josh kiszka #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #breakable heaven fic #danny gvf #danny wagner fanfiction

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nuhahani · 1 year

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Hc- Breakup songs

Summary: Your relationship was more than private, the world never knew you were in a relationship until you released your newest breakup song.

Pop star!reader au, Bonten Timeline

Warnings: mentions of drug use, cheating, miscarriage. Angst is you squint really hard.

Ran- bitter ft Trevor Daniel

“So the second verse that Trevor sings is actually the exact text message I got from my ex a bout a month after our split. I sent it to Trevor while we were working on the song and that’s really how his verse came to be.”

“Are parts of you still bitter about the break up?” The interviewer asked holding the mic back out to you. Your hands fiddled with the black sheer bodysuit as you thought about your answer. Normally you loved backstage interviews before award show performances but tonight felt different.

“I feel like some parts are still healing and knowing that he’s been moving on does hurt sometimes.” Your manager queued through your ear piece that you needed to be on stage in five minutes.

“Well thank you so much for stopping to talk with us tonight, we can’t wait to see you and Trevor perform your new song!” The world would be watching your performance tonight and little did you know he would be too, against his new girls wishes of course.

Rindou- escapism

Three years down the drain, three years of giving everything and he still left. Last night replayed in your mind over and over while your friends did lines in the back of the club. He gave you no reason other than he didn’t feel that way about you anymore. You stared at the letter R inked in red on your left ring finger, the same place he had your initial on him. You downed the last of your champagne and headed to the dance floor, your short bodycon dress ride up almost enough to leave nothing to the imagination. You could already see the headlines in mind, what paparazzi would say. ‘Princess of Pop music (Y/n) seen leaving Tokyo club with a new man.’ You knew he wouldn’t see the headline, but you didn’t care. You just never wanted to feel like you did last night when the world came crashing down.

The following morning you woke up in a strangers bed. They were nothing less than attractive but they weren’t him. Your manager had been blowing up your phone as you gathered your clothes and made a break for it before the person next to you woke up. In the mid morning walk of shame to your drivers car, the creativity hit you. You wasted no time getting to the studio and were thankful for the full bathroom and a change of comfortable clothes.

Despite knowing the song is about him, rindou still insisted on playing it in his clubs every night. He knows he messed up, he saw the magazines and trending hashtags about you. He stared at the ring in the little black box, he wanted to marry you but with bonten becoming what it was that just wasn’t possible.

Mochi- midnight rain

“So the song is about my most recent ex who I was in a long term relationship with for the past five years. We had discussed marriage and our relationship many times and I was either never ready to fully settle down or something came up that didn’t allow me to further our relationship. I really love him and I hope for the best for him. He’s truly an amazing man and someone’s going to be beyond lucky to say “I do” with him one day.”

“Now have you ended things on okay terms?” The women asked you. The radio studio you sat in was quite comfortable compared to the past ones you’d been in. Memories of you and Mochi played in your head. Cold winter mornings laying in bed. Hot summer nights when you couldn’t get enough of each other.

“I think we ended on as okay terms as we possibly could. I imagine he thinks I’m a bitch and I don’t blame him for that. At the end of the day we saw our lives going in different directions. It was the least selfish options for both of us.” He watched the interview on the computer in his office, he understood why you couldn’t marry him. He was grateful that you still spoke so highly of him.

“This might be a bit of a reach but it seems like you still have some lingering feelings.” Your face dropped a little at the interviewers comment.

“Yeah, I’m still very much in love with him.” He was also very much in love with you. Just two people madly, deeply in love with someone they can’t have.

Takeomi- hurts like hell

“I don’t want to know who she is.” You rubbed your temples. You had known for sometime that your husband had been cheating, you just didn’t have solid evidence. You were more irritated that he interrupted your work to tell you that he’s leaving you. Sure you wanted to cry but you would never let him have the satisfaction of seeing you like that. You didn’t wait for him to leave instead you walked out of your in-home studio to your bedroom. He didn’t bother to follow you, he didn’t give any explanation just did what he said he would do; leave. You made a few phone calls and within the hour you had changed the locks, listed several of your vacation homes for sale and went straight to cry in the shower. It hurt like hell, you didn’t understand why he did it.

It didn’t take long for outlets like TMZ to notice your wedding band missing. Word spread that you and your mysterious spouse were rumored to be divorced. You kept yourself busy and distracted until your grief turned into anger and you finally wrote your newest single. Takeomi wasn’t the only to hear it on the radio or Spotify playlists. But now those who knew about your relationship all knew what he had done. The harassment from his younger brother was nothing new but now it had been taken to a whole other level. The girl he left you for was no longer with him. She cheated on him not long after the divorce was finalized. You were younger than your ex husband but that did not make you naive enough to reignite your relationship when he enviably came crawling back. You were finally moving on and it brought nothing less than happiness to see him suffering after what he put you through. You guess he should’ve known that how you get them is how you lose them.

Mikey- flowers

“And thats a wrap!” The director yelled. You ran to hug your manager for all the hard work she does. Within the next few days you were watching the video back and you could honestly say it was the most fun you’ve had on set in a while. You filmed it entirely in the house you and your now ex fiancé once shared. He was out of town and was unaware that you were doing more than stopping by to pick up the rest of your things. You couldn’t figure out exactly when the love faded from your relationship. Maybe it was when you won your first Grammy last year. Maybe it was when Bonten struck a million dollar deal for exports and dealings.

You watched yourself dance around the house you once called a home in his favorite lingerie. Your mother once told you that the day he loves you the most is the day you will feel nothing for him at all. She had been right, the relationship grew so toxic. In all honesty you hadn’t wanted to leave him, you wanted to fight for the small spark that desperately clung to life. The breaking point came when you saw him going out of town for business the week of your two year anniversary. You understood that you were both extremely busy but it felt like you were the only one trying in your relationship anymore. You had left long before he got home that day to find your two million dollar engagement ring back in its box on the bed you once shared. He didn’t reach out, he fully understood. You had finally broken, you weren’t coming back.

Just hours after the music video was released a knock on the door of your new penthouse startled you. There was no one through the peephole so when you opened the door to find a giant bouquet of a hundred red roses and your favorite takeout. There was no note but you didn’t need a note to know exactly who they were from. You hadn’t blocked him on any social media but you felt like this, just like your relationship, was a private matter. You chose to simply send a picture of the flowers and take out on your kitchen table with a quick text to him that said thank you.

Mikey stared at the message, he had no intention of replying. There was nothing left to say, he messed up but he was still proud of you and your career. Proud that you put yourself first.

Kakucho- Angels like you

“This next song is the last one for tonight.” The crowd had mixed reactions to the devastating reality that your concert was coming to an end. “I know! I know! But this is an upcoming release called Angels Like You. I hope you guys enjoy it.” Kakucho sat in his private room at the stadium you had successfully sold out in less than ten minutes. The Haitani brothers lounging in the room with him as he listened. You weren’t playing the victim, the lyrics said just as much. You were fully taking all the blame for everything wrong with your relationship. You had no idea he was there but he was more than happy to keep supporting you. He knew you were wrong for each other but he couldn’t help clinging onto the small chance that he was wrong.

Your relationship had never been public knowledge, you knew that everything with him it needed to be private and kept away from the wondering eyes of the public. You knew about his job and what he did. You even had a small letter K tattooed behind your ear. But at the end of the day you had been the problem in the relationship, your ex before Kakucho had done a number on you. He made you beyond insecure, so when you met Kakucho and we’re being treated like the princess he sees you as you almost had a panic attack. But those unresolved self-issues started to shine through three months into your new relationship. Unfortunately, he still stayed but you couldn’t keep letting your problems destroy him. He was truly too good for this world in your eyes.

Sanzu- you should be sad

“Hi, I’m (y/n) welcome to my home!” You spoke softly to the host with his camera crew. You and your band were being featured guest on a streaming segment called ‘Live sessions from home’ where you got to perform several acoustic versions of some of your songs. The three songs you had chosen were from your newest album called Manic. You started off the session with an interview followed by your newest songs Without Me, 3am and You should be sad. The interview itself consisted of background knowledge of the songs themselves such as the inspiration behind them. “So the inspiration for Without Me and You should be Sad are based on the same person. An ex that I recently ended my relationship with. The songs themselves are a back to back response to the same breakup. I really indulged into a more personal look of life in You Should be Sad though. It was really nice to be able to be that vulnerable.

“Can you tell us a little more about the line ‘I’m so glad I never ever had a baby with you,’?” He asked softly.

“That line was the hardest to write actually. I found out about a month and a half before we broke up that I was pregnant. We weren’t planning it, it just happened but unfortunately I had a miscarriage…” You trailed off trying desperately to keep your composure and not cry on camera. Truth is Sanzu wasn’t prepared to be a parent, he can’t love anything unless there’s something in it for him.

Kokonoi- 7 rings

“You know calling her a gold digger is kinda funny since her net worth skyrocketed 20 million above you the second she released her new song.” Takeomi yelled as loud as he could over your new music that Rindou, Sanzu and Ran were blasting through the building. Sanzu had made it a point to twerk on the table in their meeting room.

“I SEE IT I LIKE IT I WANT IT I GOT IT!” The three men yelled. Koko was anything but amused, arms folded across his chest as he glared at the three. He hadn’t meant to let the words slip during the argument but it just happened. He had called you a gold digger and he himself was confused as to why. You had never asked him for anything, you spoiled each other equally, paid for things equally despite him protesting that he never wanted you to pay for anything. He never thought once that you would actually leave him for saying something stupid like that. An argument that started out by you simply asking if him if he wanted to go look at apartments together. Neither of you knew how it escalated to the point of breaking up weeks after deciding you wanted to live together.

Your new album was being released later this week and the argument gave you the final touch to it for one of your biggest hits. In fact the entire album was about Koko, specially your song Imagine. You had written both after the breakup and they were both paying off. 7 Rings was everywhere he went, every club, every store. He couldn’t escape the guilt he felt every-time he heard your voice. He looked over the necklaces in front of him. Diamond, emeralds, and rubies. But the sapphires are what caught his eye. Twenty thousand dollars later he was on his way to apologize. He was still dressed in his suit from work.

He debated turning around and running back to his car when the door swung open. There you were, stunning as you always were in his eyes.

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