#feeling more positive about it all today :) like its obviously been worth it but it was just a rough couple days lmao

[volfoss]

Pains been less bad today :) very ready to get these drains out and be able to have at least a like 10 minute break from my vest when I get a shower Wednesday or Thursday

[maxknightley]

on the one hand I do understand where people are coming from when they respond to The White American Desire For Authentic Culture by going "you already have a culture" and pointing out that this desire often has reactionary undertones

that being said, I think it's largely sidestepping the actual issue, which is that American culture fucking blows chunks. American culture is strip malls and military worship and the elevation of mass-market pablum to Bold Artistic Statements.

and subculture is only partially an escape from this, because most subcultures exist within the same constraints of American culture as a whole; they are captured and redefined by capital on such a frequent basis that it often feels impossible to hold onto them in any meaningful way.

moreover, even the parts of American culture that aren't complete garbage are more or less inextricable from the colonial, imperialist, and racially-stratified history of the country. like, I think of that post that went around a while ago talking about "America sucks but has some good parts," and one of the things it listed was national parks, and people (rightfully!) pointed out that the national park system is fundamentally flawed and tends to shit on indigenous nations by design.

the only thing I can think of that's even sort of an exception is pop culture - jazz and rock music, superhero comics, Hollywood. and all of those are, again, captured and defined by capital, and in one way or another have historically been built on screwing over the artist.

so we come to a position, one way or another, where a lot of people say something like: "I'm alienated. I'm surrounded by traditions and institutions I think are shit; I have no way to meaningfully undermine them, and I can't escape them without effectively destroying my life. the culture I was born into is a gravestone on top of another gravestone, lifeless and miserable, and people are constantly shouting that I should be grateful because it's The Greatest Country In The World."

at that point, one seeks an escape, and I think there are three major routes here.

one is to become a weird lib obsessed with the Real Soul Of America. America is really about the good parts, not the bad parts which outnumber them and which they are built upon.

another is to fixate on the Exotic, for lack of a better word. cultures which you do not have an obvious "connection" to, but which fascinate you or appeal to you. obviously this can be pretty fucking fraught, though I would argue that taking an interest in other cultures is a good thing if you aren't shitty about it. (That's its own conversation.)

the third is to fixate on the culture(s) you feel you "ought to have" had, that which was sacrificed on the altar of whiteness by grandparents or great-grandparents who, frankly, had different concerns. to look at a culture that may still be defined in many ways by cruelty and stratification - the way I would argue most human civilization has been - but that seems to have had something else going on, at least. a culture that may not have been recognizable 500 years ago, but at least it existed.

again, none of these impulses is beyond criticism, and I think it would be naive to say that the last one can't have reactionary undertones. I also doubt these impulses are unique to the USA! alienation is extremely common in today's world, and it's not as though the USA is the only settler state in existence.

what I am saying is more that I think the conditions that lead to these fixations are worth paying attention to, and that dismissing them with "you already have a culture" kind of misses the point in favor of getting in a zinger. people wouldn't want a different culture if they were happy with the one they had. like so many other things, people want one that Doesn't Completely Suck. failing that, they'd probably like to not be defined by any culture at all - but that, tragically, is just as impossible.

[munsonsreputation]

I THINK THERE'S BEEN A GLITCH

CHAPTER TWO - MY PART OF TOWN ON A WEEKEND

↢ chapter one | series masterlist | chapter three ↣

🎧 soundtrack

steve harrington x fem!baker + artist

word count: [15.7K]

warnings: no use of y/n, breaking and entering (not in a bad way lol), talks mentions of self deprecation, steve opening up about his parents, cursing, mutual pining.

summary: Roane County soon becomes a place that Steve finds himself attracted to, especially for that one special person. Meanwhile you find it hard to believe that Steve and your new friends actually make the effort to show up for you in more ways than one--even if tonight it's just you and Steve. There's a newness yet comfort between the both of you that has been brewing since your first meeting, it's just a matter of when and where things will start to pick up...in his car, in your living room, or in your wildest dreams?

Steve didn’t know when he started becoming so prompt when it came to time, possibly when he picked up the duty of dropping off and picking up the kids from school. But nonetheless, he hated running late, and he also hated the fact that other people would be waiting on him. Today was no different, and he wasn’t planning on breaking a promise to a very special person whom he said he’d show up for. 

He had specifically told Robin to be ready on time and to even call Eddie to remind him of today’s plans, seeing as though he was so forgetful, but obviously it just always had to be them and his horrible time managing friends.

Steve couldn’t wait, impatiently tapping his foot on the Wheeler’s driveway waiting for the rest of the kids to show up so they could get going, but of course if one was taking too long to get ready, the other wasn’t ready at all. Nancy and Jonathan had told him to get going first—that they would all meet up there eventually when everyone was ready.

And that should’ve worked out, except for the fact that Steve was the only person out of the group to make it past the “Welcome to Roane County” sign before city troopers closed the roads due to a bumper to bumper accident. The bouquet of flowers sitting in his passenger seat and the white top you had left behind in his bedroom in the backseat hoping to find its way back to you tonight. 

With his foot on the pedal, he pressed down harder, watching each minute go by on his dash clock, hoping he’d be able to catch you in time before it was too late. 

You sat on the wooden crate, elbows resting on your knees as you looked both ways watching bystanders walking through the halls of the almost empty gallery. It was a slow day, not too many people showed up, probably because it was a Sunday night and most times people had better things to do than walk around and observe art but part of you wished at least some would care.

To top it all off, you’d only gotten three sales out of the thirteen paintings you had brought to the event—not like they weren’t any good, but they were meaningful in your eyes and you wished others would see it too.

You had spent the last few days thinking about something other than Steve, knowing good and well that you were an adult and there was surely more to life than a guy. Bills had to be paid and the last thing you should be doing was kicking your feet and blushing like a high schooler with a crush on the pretty boy.

Plus, you realized that it didn’t do you any good thinking so hard about him and what he felt for you because it could be all in your head. 

You needed to realize that banking and hoping he would feel the same just wasn’t worth your time or energy. If you kept digging yourself into this hole of feelings for him and those feelings not be reciprocated, you’d just bury yourself there in a pit of embarrassment.

You had learned long ago that holding out hope for something you weren’t positively confident about would only hurt you, and you were sure this was just something you were going to sweat out and laugh about later.

Both you and Steve were adults, and if there was a chance for more, then you’d just have to wait it out until you were sure. 

The only thing keeping you going tonight was heading home and spending the rest of the night thinking about the next week and how much work you needed to get done. So much to be done, but so little energy and inspiration you had left to get it finished.

People always had this idea that your mind was constantly running with ideas too fast for your paintbrush or pen to catch, which in some instances could be the case, but for you it wasn’t as easy. You’d hit a drought in muse, barely having the spirit to get up and actually create something that was your own. 

It was taking everything in you not to give up and call it quits because you worked too hard to get here. You had spent too many years proving and fighting towards a goal of following the dream that you envisioned for yourself. It was the voices of people telling you that your passion was “childish” or “just a hobby” that put a fire under your ass to get out of this artist block. That giving up this easily meant giving them the last laugh and you sure as hell weren’t going to do that. 

“I’m not too late, am I?” 

The pair of shoes coming into your line of sight followed by the voice you could never mistake broke through the barriers of your thoughts. You looked up and there he was, trying to catch his breath from the quick jog from the parking lot to the inside, not wanting to miss you before you packed up and left.

A wave of relief filled your anxiety ridden senses finally seeing someone that you recognized for the first time tonight. 

“Steve.” You beamed up at him through your sad eyes, instantly standing up and wrapping him in a tight embrace. 

“Hey.” He grinned against your head, pulling away somewhat to see your face, the sadness clearly fading with each second you two spent in each other’s arms.

“You’re not too late.” You exhaled before hugging him again and finally letting him go. 

“And these are for you.” 

He grinned handing over the small bunch of roses that you hadn’t noticed when he first walked in just relieved to see him here. 

Your hands wrapped around the brown paper, shielding your palms from any stray thorns as you held them close to your chest and inhaling the clove scent that radiated off of the blossoms. 

“Thanks!”

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets while you fidgeted with your hands. The two of you holding eye contact filled with happiness yet nervousness behind them—both of you trying not to let it show though.

Steve smiled broadly, seeing the artwork behind you, “I’m glad I made it on time, I wouldn’t wanna miss it. I was just stuck in traffic for a little. That’s why it took me a while to get here.”

A part of you felt terrible for the hassle he must have gone through, considering the fact that Roane was already an hour away from Hawkins. Adding traffic meant it must have taken longer than usual. If you had known, you would’ve told him it was alright for him not to make it today.

But the other part of you felt smitten that he had sat through that hour of traffic just to be here. It showed that he was committed and didn’t like breaking promises, even if it was as little as something like this.

God, you were totally forgetting that inner monologue you had about Steve and relationships doing you no good.

You reached out a hand, skimming his arm appreciatively as you grinned so widely it took up most of your face.

“You really didn’t have to, Steve.”  

But your reaction told Steve that you felt otherwise from your words. More than elated with the fact that he had made the effort to show, and he was glad that he delivered. He wiggled, swinging his head, as your hand fell from his skin, wishing it would stay there longer so he could never forget it.

“I wanted to, and so did the others, but they were a little behind. You know, Will was really looking forward to coming tonight.” He mentioned wistfully.

Steve just now reminding you of the others who were not here beside him. It had totally slipped your mind that the rest of your friends weren’t here and greeting you tonight at the gallery.

But was it really wrong to admit that you also had totally forgotten that you had invited them in the first place?

It wasn’t like you didn’t care if they showed up or not, but you always learned to never set your expectations so high when it came to people showing up for you. Therefore, you always tried to not take it personally when others didn’t follow through with their words or commitments.

Back when you were still dating your ex, you used to invite him and your then friends to your galleries, expecting they’d just pop in to show some support, but they never did. So you just learned to suck it up and accept the fact that even if someone you loved said that they would show, there was always a possibility that they weren’t. 

Yet here you were, with Steve being the one to show up, and now actually hearing how the others made an effort to want to show up tonight, too. It made you feel soft inside, like a plate of mush which would reduce to nothing because the tenderness was too much for you to handle and fathom for yourself. 

“Oh…” You murmured under your breath, letting those words and his actions sink in for a second. 

Steve caught it, the way you glassed over once he told you that information not knowing what you were feeling deep down.

“Buuuuttt I’m here so I hope it’s still ok.” 

You snapped out of the glassed over expression the second you heard his voice coming to you again. It wasn’t just a dream of someone actually showing up for you…Steve was really here, and if it wasn’t for the damn traffic accident, the others would be here too. Friends who actually showed up for you for once.

“More than ok.”  You grinned, nodding more to yourself than to him.

He smiled once you came back too, your free hand reaching out to grab his arm and lead you to the canvas that you propped up against the walls. Your fingertips only fell off his skin as you took the time to rearrange the canvas so that he could see them all clearly without them overlapping one another. 

Every piece was different, yet the same, a collage of colors and techniques that worked together to make such a sight for the eyes. And for the first time in Steve Harrington’s life, he came to appreciate art and almost felt like he could see every brush stroke that you had put into them.  

His own fingertips strung free from his pockets, reaching out to feel the paint over his skin. There was a texture in this specific painting, the one of a bright blue sky with pastel clouds, something out of a lover-like fantasy world.

“Wow… so this is all you, right?” 

You nervously squeezed your hand tightly around the stems, nodding your head “Yeah, and they’re not my best work but—“

At the admission of hearing you tear yourself down so quickly, he jumped in headfirst and didn’t let you finish that sentence. Instead, he looked at you like you were totally mad — furry brows bunched together as he pshed and gestured back to Lover painting he was now going to coin it.

“No, these are amazing… I mean like seriously, the details are so realistic.”

You laughed lightly, whispering a soft “thank you.”

You watched him, the way he didn’t skip a beat, grabbing the next painting beside the pastel sunset. There was a visible contrast between the two canvases. Unlike the previous one that was filled with bright colors, this was gray and black. A forest somewhere that you had made up in your imagination, with tall trees and an ominous fog that you could only dream about what was on the other side of it.  

“How much?” Steve asked you, turning his head to look your way where you raised your brows confused. 

“What?”  Your eyes squinted, trying to understand if he meant how much time you took to paint it.

“For a painting. This one looks really cool and I think it would look nice on my wall. The car poster is getting a little lonely up there all by itself.”

He chuckled, looking back at the painting and holding it far out towards the wall to try to picture it in his room.

You couldn’t take him seriously. There was no way he was asking you how much a painting was. None of your friends ever bought a piece of your artwork, and never even voiced want to own something that you had taken the time to make. Which is why you never really had a lot of friends anymore, but let alone believe what you heard coming from Steve’s mouth.  

“W-what?”

He looked at you, raising his brows then going to pick up another, “No?  Then what about this one? I think it would be a nice contrast because the colors of my walls are actually—”

You stopped him, clutching onto his wrist because you couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t have to pity you and purchase something just to be kind. You didn’t want him to go out of his way for that. 

“Steve, you really don’t have to buy one.” Your voice was full of trepidation and uncertainty, something he didn’t understand. 

He placed the piece down prompting you to let go of his wrist as you shuffled back awkwardly, not meeting his eyes and instead boring holes into the pieces you had made, judging every detail and how Steve couldn’t possibly own one of them, let alone hang it on his wall. 

“Why not?” He sought gently, his fingertips grazing your hands that you tugged on, halting you for a moment as you finally looked up to meet his eyes.

You swallowed, wiggling your shoulders as you struggled to find the words.

“B-because, I don’t know…they’re really not my best work and it’s embarrassing—“ 

Again, he shook his head with a look of reassurance accompanied with a deep frown that was unhappy about the way you were talking about yourself and the things you created.

“Hey, nonono, they’re all so beautiful. I’m serious. And I seriously want to buy one, so please?”

You took a deep breath, tightly pursing your lips and nodding, “Fine, ummm, just pick any you want… let’s say, $20!” 

He finally let up, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out more than a $20 bill and placing it in the palm of your hand, “You’re selling yourself too short.”

The contact of your hands touching already made your heart race a little faster, but it was the squeeze that he gave you that made your knees weak, along with the signature toothy smile that was a burning image in your head.

His hand retraced a few seconds later allowing you to stuff the cash into your back pocket, “No one buys art from an amateur over $20.”

“Then they don’t deserve your art because this is worth way over $20.” 

“Thanks, Steve.”

There was a few seconds of silence, watching Steve examine the piece he had picked out and you trying to see what wheels were spinning in his head. Probably him thinking about which wall to hang it on or worse, where the nearest garbage can was so he could dump it out and forget about it. 

You pinched your eyes shut for a minute, silently cursing yourself out of these stupid self-deprecating thoughts that always seemed to come out for no goddamn reason at all, even after the nice things Steve had said.

“I should pack up, everyone is leaving.” You cradled the bunches of flowers in your arm getting ready to clean up and get going, but of course, Steve beat you to it. 

Flipping over the wooden crate you were once sitting on, he tucked his purchased canvas under his arm while he carefully began to grab the other canvas, standing them upright in the wooden box. 

He always did this, and you weren’t sure if it was just when it came to you, or maybe it was a thing he did with the rest of his friends. But he was always willing to help—at least when it came to you. Always springing into action before you could even ask for help and even if you didn’t, he wanted to. 

“Will these fit in your trunk, or should I put them in the backseat?” He asked, beginning to walk towards the exit doors, ignoring your protests to try to carry the crate yourself. 

You eventually gave up, a small snicker coming from him that you picked up on as you caught up with him.

“Umm neither? I took the bus today.” 

He held the door open for you with his foot, listening while you walked out into the brisk night air. 

“I could give you a ride back home?” He suggested, looking at you, trying to decide.

“Are you sure?” You bit your lip, looking up at him where he nodded and fished his keys out of his pocket, dangling it in the air. 

You smiled softly, finishing into your own pocket, fingers spreading the cash he had given you just a few moments earlier, “I’ll take it if you let me pay for dinner?”

He shook his head with a chuckle before devotedly nodding his head.

“We have a deal.” 

The maroon BMW was easy to spot in the parking lot. Steve clicked the unlock button as the car offered one, two beeps before he popped the trunk open and carefully placed your things in there. You were already making your way to the passenger seat as he shut it, ready to pull the door open, but his hand reached forward first. 

Your eyes jerked to his, where he hovered closely behind you before pulling it open, “let me.”

Was Steve always this gentleman-like? Did he always open the door for his passengers? Maybe for Robin, but you weren’t quite sure about the others. Though you didn’t have much time to ponder his chivalrous, the door slightly closed after you had gotten in and the driver’s door opened as he jogged over.

“Where are we headed?” He tugged on his seatbelt, clicking it in as his eyes remained on yours.

“Do you like breakfast for dinner?” You asked, fingers brushing over the floral petals sitting in your lap before you flickered your eyes up at him. 

“Show me the way.” He grinned, putting the car in drive and letting you give him directions to your favorite spot. 

Maybe it was the fact that Steve had done a good job at preparing himself to not look and sound like an idiot when it came to you, but today he was more at ease which was surprising considering the fact that it was your first time alone without the rest of the crew actually around. All of the nervousness and built up anxiety from the last encounter seemed to have melted from both of your minds, just focusing on the now and savoring it.

When you and Steve finally arrived, you had beat him to opening your door, however he did walk a few milliseconds faster just so he could hold the front doors to the diner open while you brushed past him with a giggle. 

“Hi, sweetie pie!” 

The voice of your dear friend and favorite waitress, Dorothea, came barreling out the double doors of the kitchen as she caught your entrance through the tiny window sliver. Dorothea was a lot older than you, but she felt like the only friend and mother figure you had here in Roane. 

You immediately wrapped your arms around her, hugging her closely with a squeeze, “Hi, Dorthy! Missed you!” 

She laughed at your nickname for her, rubbing your back warmly before pulling away and turning her curious sights to Steve, “Missed you more, pumpkin. And who might this be?” 

You backed away, just enough to stand beside Steve and gesture to him, “A friend of mine! He came by to stop at the gallery and I had to take him here.” 

He waved at her, stepping forward with a hand lent out for her to shake, but in Dorthy’s overly-friendly manner, she wrapped him up in a hug, a tight one just like she had you in a few moments ago. 

“Oh—well this is nice.” He mumbled, making you stifle a laugh as he shyly hugged her back and patted her shoulder stiffly.

Finally letting go, she took a good look at him, almost inspecting every detail of his face with her brows slightly raised, trying to intimidate him and send him running out the door. It was safe to say that Dorothea was protective of you, just like a mother would to a daughter, and to her, you were the one she never had. It meant a lot to see you walking in for the first time in a year with a boy whom she had never seen by your side. But seeing as though Steve didn’t seem to be scared or cower backwards, she laughed, giving his shoulder a firm pat. 

“Your name?” She ordered plainly.

He swallowed, glancing at your not so fazed self, “Umm, Steve. Steve Harrington.” 

“Nice to meet you, Steve!” She patted him on the back, before turning to you with a wink, “C’mon, your favorite seat is open.” 

You screeched softly, clapping your hands to yourself quietly. Dorthy guided the both of you to a secluded booth in the back of the diner, the one with the only working jukebox machine and motioned for you to slide in and take a seat.

“Wanna take a look at the menu, hun?” Dorthy pulled out a copy of the menu from her apron, passing it to Steve who thanked her. 

“Do you know what you’re getting?” He proposed, looking up at you from the menu. 

You nodded with a smile, your eyes drifting up, seeing her pen drifting over the notepad just awaiting your confirmation.

“The usual,”  you responded as she bowed and began jotting it down.

As she wrote, you turned your attention back to Steve, filling him in on what you ordered all the time.

“A Spanish omelet. A side of French toast smothered with strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce. And a small decaf and water.” 

“A meal fit for champions.” Dorthy quips as Steve laughs, not bothering to look at the rest of the menu. 

“I’ll get the same thing, but instead of strawberries can I do the blueberries?” 

“Sure, hon,” she says, doubling the order and making a note from the fruit substitute.

Steve handed her back the menu as she finished up, watching the ballpoint pen point towards the wall of the booth where Strawberry Shortcake and Elvis were singing next to a road sign that read, “Music and Food Ahead!”

“You know she did the mural in here?”

Dorth wore a proud expression, watching Steve’s eyes go wide, and twisting his head around at the restaurant that was covered in your art. 

You rolled your eyes lovingly, shoving away at her hands, “stop it, Dorth!” 

“Holy shit…you did all this by yourself?”

Steve leaned closer to the wall, getting a good look at the meticulous detail that you put into the whole thing. His eyes shuffled between going wide and squinting to take it all in.

Dorothea didn’t give you time to respond to his question, instead speaking for you, “Yep, in 113 hours.” 

“131”  you corrected with a smirk as she rolled her eyes sarcastically and clicked her pen shut.

Steve let out another expletive under his breath, tearing his eyes from the wall leaning back into the seat to look at you in amazement that you hadn’t told him this sooner. If he had known you had painted and designed a mural for a diner as big as this one, he would’ve asked Jonathan if he could borrow his camera so he could take pictures of it.

“131 hours… she’s talented, you know.” She raised her brows at Steve with a hand on her hip. 

He beamed, patting the walls and not letting his eyes leave yours, “Insanely.” 

Dorothea was warming up to him, a giddy laugh erupting as she nudged your shoulder with her elbow.

“I like him!” She buzzed not so softly to you as you giggled and hung your head down shyly away from Steve’s gaze.

The ripping of paper came from her notepad, ready to head back over to the kitchen and get your dishes started,

“Food should be out in twenty. Try not to break the jukebox in the meantime.”

You looked back over your shoulder shouting out, “I would never!” as she waved her hand in the air mindlessly at you

Steve’s eyes were still glued to you, filled with awe at hearing just how much work you put into doing this all yourself. But you, on the other hand, were too busy scanning the songs on the marquee, wondering which one you would pick to play first. 

“I still can’t believe you did all this.” Steve shook his head in disbelief, fingers tracing the outline of the road that you painted on the adjacent wall. 

You grunted, wiggling your shoulders as you began to tell him more of how you got in that position in the first place.

“Dorothea and I met because she used to stop by the gallery from time to time and when she got the job here, she told the owner about my work.” 

“Really?” Steve asked, watching you finally take your sights away from the jukebox and look at him. 

You nodded, resting your chin on your fist, “Originally they just had the checkerboard pattern in here,” you pointed to the black-and-white tiles that were on the ground, his eyes following your finger.

“But then Dorothy reached out and asked if I was willing to come in and do a custom 50s mural.” 

“But in that many hours? How’s that even possible?” He crossed his arms over his chest watching you closely.

You looked behind you suspiciously before leaning closer towards him, your mouth covering one side of your mouth as you whispered.

“A ton of coffee and a promise of free food for life….but the owner doesn’t know that.”  You confessed, watching him throw his head back and cover his face as he laughed. 

“You’re gonna milk them dry of coffee and pancakes one day,” He joked

You shrugged your shoulders, relaxing back into the booth and sighing, “They’ll survive just like how I survived painting this piece of crap.”

The insult towards yourself slipped without hesitation, masked with faint laughter while you looked around the too colorful restaurant where the walls were littered with everything that came from your hands.

As soon as it left your mouth, Steve’s laughter stopped watching your eyes drift over the rest of the diner, shaking your head to yourself as if you were disgusted with the masterpiece you made. He didn’t know why you were so hard on yourself, your own worst critic at times even when it came to little things that he would die to be praised upon.

But you hated it as if you hated yourself.

“Why do you always do that?” He sought, leaning on his elbows, seeing you turn to face him.

Your forehead creased up, silently asking him what he meant.

“Why do you always tear yourself down? I—I noticed that about you.”

His voice was quiet, mixed with a hint of concern, obviously. The crease in your forehead fell, and instead you looked almost bewildered, as if you didn’t know how to answer it rather than why he was questioning you in the first place.

“I don’t know, i—it’s easier for me to be critical than to be nice to myself.” You admitted, swallowing and looking down at the jukebox like the list of songs would distract you from his stare you could feel.

“Why?” Steve asked again simply, not trying to prod but just trying to understand.

You shrugged again, not meeting his eyes this time around, “It’s what I’m used to hearing — how I need to do more instead of being satisfied with what I did.”

“Then why not just think about what you did in the moment and be proud of that?”

You scoffed, not with any harsh intentions but just at the irony, because you always tried but had those other voices eating away at you. The devil living rent free in your consciousness, tearing you down at every opportunity.

“You mean what wasn’t enough?” You respond dryly, and Steve rolled his eyes, tutting at your response.

He offers you a stern look, but at the same time a gentle kind that tells you he truly means what he’s saying.

“Stop that. You’re doing it again and you know that it’s not true.”

“It kinda is…I mean, just look at me. I haven’t painted anything in days. You bought a canvas that I haven’t been able to sell in months. I’m practically the epitome of a failure right now.”

You looked just as stressed as you sounded. Hands running from your forehead to your scalp, threading your fingers through your hair and giving them a slight tug. Lips parted as you took a deep and long breath out. Eyes pinching closed accompanied with a shake of your head before they snapped open and met his apologetically.

“S—sorry, I’m rambling. I just…it’s been so hard to actually get stuff done, y’know?”

He nodded sympathetically as if he knew exactly what you were talking about, but in his head, the most stressful thing that happened with his job was getting tapes returned after the deadline and having to deal with complicated customers who didn’t want to pay the late fee.

Still, he just wanted to make you feel better.

“I mean, I get it,” He started, swallowing, trying to gather his thoughts into a clump of something that would make sense.

“…I can’t even imagine how stressful painting this entire restaurant must have been, and on top of that, I know it’s probably a lot of pressure to keep producing those pieces of art—but it’s gotta be worth a little more than money, you know?”

Steve’s words intrigued and perplexed you in the best possible way. Letting up on the tug you have on your roots, you brought your fists back down to your chin as you raised a querying brow at him. He understood, nodding as he licked his lips and peers up again, trying to muster the thoughts.

“Like—it’s like you don’t realize that people are actually so captivated by what you make. I swear, if you told Robin or Will that you painted this place, they’d go batshit crazy and run around here complimenting everything you did. So would everyone else.”

There is truth to every single word he’s saying and Steve knows that, yet you still sit across from him, wondering if that’s really true. As if there was a possibility that he’d ever lie about something so small yet incredibly important to you, because this was a habit of self-deprecation that was planted by someone who was the opposite of Steve.

The person who would nit-pick at everything you did and made you feel like the things that you enjoyed doing and were proud of shouldn’t be on a pedestal and appreciated. Instead, it was knocked off and shattered into a million tiny pieces where every single flaw was showcased.

And while the person wasn’t in your life anyone, there was a permanent mark that you couldn’t erase and the habit that you never got the chance to grow out of — being so judgemental and critical of yourself.

“I’m sorry…did—did I say something?”

You were quiet for less than a minute, but it was enough to fret Steve and regret what he had said, thinking he must have hit a little too close to home.

Why was he always like this? It happened just a few days ago when you both were separated between his bedroom door and now sitting here in front of you actually seeing you go silent felt even more anxiety inducing.

But you shook your head quickly, glazed eyes coming back to life, full of reassurance just like the words that you spoke a little too fast for your liking.

“Yeah…I mean no! I mean, yeah, you said something, but not in a bad way. In a good way, actually! I just… sorry, I’m thinking.”

Steve replied with a small tight-lipped smile, nodding his head as a way to say, take all the time you need and think away… but just be sure to think good things about yourself.

You turned your head on your hands, deliberately making a round through the diner that you painted and poured your heart and soul into. That sure, while Dorthy had to bribe you with some coffee and food because the owner didn’t meet your price, it was actually decent and if you weren’t the one who painted it, you would’ve been praising it every time you walked in here.

Even if you painted Strawberry Shortcake’s lashes a little too full that it looked like spider legs or made Elvis’ hair so tall it could be mistaken for a wave, it all came together and like Steve said it was worth more than what you were paid.

It gave you experience.

Spending days going back-and-forth sharing sketches with the owner and even his little daughter that begged and pleaded with her dad to include Strawberry Shortcake despite the 50s theme.

Multiple trips back over to your favorite art store in Hawkins to pick up the paints that you liked to work with in too many shades to count.

Long days and even longer nights with your headphones blasting the same tape on repeat when you just started outlining the whole thing.

Hunched over in awkward positions and standing on a creaky ladder to make sure you didn’t miss filling in a spot with color.

On goers on the other side of the windows peering in to admire the art inside the diner that would soon be a grand opening to them.

Signing your name teeny tiny-ly in pink right beside Strawberry Shortcake’s hat when you finally finished the whole piece.

Getting the biggest hug from the owner’s daughter once she stepped in and saw her favorite character painted included on the mural.

Getting even more compliments and praise from the staff and customers who were impressed by the sheer talent that was depicted on the wall.

Steve was right.

It was worth more than money and sure as hell was worth a lot more than your critiques when you did the very best you could with the deal you had in front of you at the time.

Why were you always so mean to yourself when all you wanted was to just be nice?

You were nice to Dorthea.

You were nice to Robin.

You were to all of your new friends.

You were especially nice to Steve.

But you weren’t nice to yourself.

You had to start making an effort to be.

Your eyes made its last round of the diner, ending with your orbs meeting Steve’s, whose didn’t seem to tear away from you during your thinking time. He watched every second, seeing the way you’d pinch your eyes tight to see something better and how he could tell there was happiness behind them when they landed on a particular part you were proud of.

The wheels were turning in your head and he hoped what he said stuck because he wanted, needed you to know his words were true. You were everything in a way that was too profound for him to ever describe.

“Whatcha thinking?” Steve pondered out loud as your eyes finally landed on his.

You smiled gingerly, shrugging your shoulders, “That I ought to be nicer to myself.”

“Yeah?” Steve grinned heartily, content with the fact that you were seeing it through the way that he was.

You nodded assuringly before your hands trailed behind you, reaching into your pocket and pulling out your wallet. He watched you, hearing the zip from a compartment being opened followed by the clank of the coin dropping onto the table.

“Annnnnnd I’m also thinking about what song I’m gonna play.”

He chuckled, shaking his head at how short and sweet you kept it when it came to what you were really thinking about just then. But to him what mattered the most was that you heard him out and something inside you lit up bright enough if you had told him that you were really going to start being nicer to yourself.

Whatever you were thinking and keeping to yourself was fine by him, just crossing his fingers that he wouldn’t need to hear you tear yourself down any longer because if he did, he was sure that he was going to tell you all the reasons why he thought you were so great.

Your fingernail traveled down the list of songs, beaming excitedly when you saw your favorite as you hastily inserted the coin and punched in the number and letter that got the tune ringing through the restaurant speakers.

Steve couldn’t help but smile as the piano crescendoed through the diner and your head thumped to the beat while your mouth moved along with the lyrics. Last summer he had taken the kids to watch Top Gun at the theaters and for a week straight they couldn’t stop singing the song. He had almost grown annoyed with it until now.

He was going to be sure to thank them for singing it so much that the lyrics were now ingrained in his brain so much so that he didn’t miss a beat mouthing along with you as you giggled through the tune, surprised he knew it so well by heart.

Though you were sitting, Steve could tell that you were letting go in some oddly cute way that he hadn’t seen you before. Your shoulders grooving to the beat and your hair tousling with each shake you gave to accompany the rhythm. You looked like you were having the time of your life here with him even if it was just at some diner in your part of town with your favorite song playing in the background.

His palms rested against the cool table top, sliding himself out of his seat and holding out his hands towards you as the music continued. Your head bops stopped for only a few seconds, eyeing the hand he held out to you before trailing to his face.

“Let’s dance?” He asked, wiggling his brows while his head thumped.

You bit your lip, looking back at the nearly empty diner knowing that it didn’t matter if this place was full or not, you were going to take his hand and dance for the next two minutes. Being nicer to yourself meant many things and not caring what others thought was one of them.

“Sure, why not,” you breathed, taking his hand as he pulled you up out of your seat and began moving the both of you to the beat of the music as you sang along.

Your hands holding onto his as you both jumped around looking like complete love sick fools in the back of the diner where the few customers way up front smiled at the sight. Laughter intertwined with the singing and hair moving in every direction with each sway and turn.

All the care in the world that you could give right now went out the window with Steve’s hand in yours. Not even in the romantic or platonic sense, but in a human way that was too complex for you to describe. Like some sort of sorcery that sucked you into an alternate dimension where you could just be free of judgment and anxiety.

At one point in your life, you used to sit across the table with someone who would tell you to stop wasting your quarters playing dumb 50s love songs while you devoured pancakes. And here you were playing those stupidly dumb love songs with someone who got up and asked you to dance not caring how many quarters you’d use for the remainder of the night.

Steve wished that he had ordered more food because maybe then it would take longer for the order to come out and cut the dancing short, but still he kept it going. Pouring out all his change into a pile near the jukebox as you two ate your dinner, taking turns picking songs while he resisted the urge to ask you to dance with him again.

If he did, however, you were sure you’d drop your fork in a snap and take his hand all over again.

A snap back to reality is what Steve took instead, instantly flooded with a hug from Dorothea as she walked you two out of the diner and wrapped her arms across his body snuggly.

“It was nice meeting you, honey bun! Get her home safely and I hope I see you around soon!”

Steve snickered, nodding against her shoulder before he pulled away and stepped aside, giving you ample room to hug her.

“Bye, Dorth, I’ll see you! Thanks again for dinner!”

You kissed her cheek lovingly before pulling away, waving one last goodbye to her before you and Steve walked towards his car.

It didn’t surprise you that instead of heading towards the driver’s side; he jogged up to the passenger door, holding it wide open for you as you trailed a bits behind him. You shook your head halfheartedly, watching a smirk splay over his face still holding the door for you.

“After you,” He said in his best English accent, making you giggle as you slid into the seat and he shut the door before you could give him your gratitude.

A few seconds later, he was already in the driver’s seat, buckling in and starting up the car, ready for the drive back to your place. You watched him check his mirrors one last time before he shifted the car to reverse, his head turning back to the rear as his hand rested behind your chair as he backed out.

“Did you need me to give you directions?” You shifted your body towards him.

He shook his head, turning back around and moving the car into drive, “I think I know the way from here, but a little tour guide would be nice.”

The radio wasn’t needed for the car ride back, instead the air was filled with gasps and pointed fingers in different directions as Steve drove and you happily gave him a brief tour of your part of town. Not that it was any different from Hawkins with the small-town feel to it, but in a lot of ways Roane just felt more cozy.

Steve picked up on that right away, feeling the sense that Roane was more like you in many ways, but especially the scenery. Even in the night, he could see the rose bushes that decorated the side roads and the endless turns into different mom-and-pops that were slowly dying out in his town.

You pointed out the small park down the road which held your town’s weekly farmers’ market that you grocery shopped at most of the time. A lot of the produce was from local farmers and gardens. You even mentioned that during the fall, Merrill Wright who owns the pumpkin patch in Hawkins, occasionally stops by and donates pumpkins for the town’s annual carving contest.

But your favorite part of town seemed to be a small cafe called Taylor’s, or that’s just what Steve was assuming by your reaction.

“And that’s my favorite coffee shop!” You blurted, pointing at the quaint store on the corner of the block you and Steve drove past. 

You began to trail off, telling him about the place that you found yourself always going to, “They have this honey rose latte, and it’s like the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life… you need to try it! And they make these things called cronuts—” 

“Cronuts?” Steve peeked over at you with a soft smile playing on his lips, captivated by your enthusiasm over a baked good that was foreign to him.

“Yeah! So it’s basically like if a croissant and donut had a child. Perfectly flaky on the outside, yet soft and buttery on the inside. They make a couple of variations every morning, but they usually sell out so quickly before I can get my hands on any.”

You sighed sadly, sulking back into the seat, knowing that you were never really a morning person and with their early opening time, it would be impossible to drag yourself out of bed to snag a dozen, no matter how heavenly they tasted.

“Have you ever tried making your own? I’m sure you could do it,” Steve spoke, turning the wheel into your complex.

You shook your head. “I tried a few times, but I can’t seem to get it down. I even tried asking the owners to share the recipe, but I think it’s one of the family ones that they want to keep a secret.”

He turned into a parking spot directly in front of your unit where the motion sensor light sparked up, casting a gentle golden glow around the both of you.

“That’s a shame. You know, I could always try to sneak in and steal their secret recipe for you?” His voice was laced with playfulness.

You couldn’t help but giggle, scrunching your face up with laughter, “I don’t think I’d have enough to bail you out for trespassing and robbery, Steve.”

His eyes drifted up in the air, while his fingers pointed at you. “But if I get the recipe for you, then you could open up your own place and outsell them, then you could bail me out.”

You reached out to poke at his arm gently, shaking your head. “Don’t entice me! Though I don’t think I’d be able to sleep or bake knowing you’re locked up.”

The car had been placed into park a little while ago, yet here you and Steve sat, still looking at each other with awfully wide smiles that didn’t have any plans to disappear anytime soon — the two of you wanting to stay in the sweet warmth that enveloped you.

Steve shrugged his shoulders and his eyes sparkled with adoration, “Oh, you don’t have to worry about me. The guys would totally be scared to mess with me after hearing how far I went to get a recipe for the best baker in Roane.”

You blushed stupidly at his words, “I’m just a regular person that enjoys baking!”

“Nope! You’re like on some Julia Child level. I won’t be surprised if you have your own baking show one day.” He said genuinely.

Crackling your nose, genuine humor and horror flashed over your face, “Ew god no! She’s amazing and I’m terrible on camera. I’ll probably freeze up and forget that I’m supposed to be talking the audience through every step.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, scolding you softly, “Hey, be nice to yourself.”

Your eyes widened at the realization, totally letting the comment slip by accident, “Sorry! Sorry, I forgot! But like seriously, I’m camera shy and that’s a fact, not an insecurity thing.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, when I was seven the local reporter asked me what my favorite ride at the county fair was and I froze up and I asked for my mommy.”

He pursed his lips, blinking his eyes closed and nodding his head admittedly while you slapped a hand over your mouth in shock. You tried to stifle your laughter but you couldn’t, convulsing down with endless giggles erupting in your chest.

“Steve! God, I’m so sorry! You must have been traumatized!”

He joined in on the laughter, rubbing his hand behind his neck, “I refused to watch the news! Every time my dad would turn it on, I would sprint towards the remote and change the channel because I was terrified of seeing myself on there.”

“I guess that would make two of us dorks on camera.” You settled down, eyes lingering on him where he nodded with a smile.

Neither of you wanted to say goodnight.

“I-I had a really great time tonight.” You started, rubbing your hands together in your lap, the slight wrinkling of the brown wrapping paper around the flowers making the only noise in the car. 

He hummed in agreement, “So did I…the most fun in a while, but I’m probably going to be dreading sitting in traffic all the way back home, but it was worth—”

“Why don’t you stay over at mine tonight?”

The offer came out a little quick for your liking, even without you fully thinking it through, but it just seemed like the right thing to say.

“Really?” Steve asked, lifting his brows

You nodded, gulping down quickly, “Yeah! I can take the couch and you can take—”

“I’m not letting you take the couch.”

You breathed out, rolling your eyes, “Fine! You can take the couch and I’ll be sure to give you plenty of blankets and fluff up the pillows extra nice.”

“Hmm, it sounds tempting. You sure? I really don’t mind sitting through the traffic.”

You nodded firmly again, “Positive! Plus, they take forever to reopen the roads here, but they’ll probably be open in the morning and it’ll be just right.”

After having reassured him of his stay, he removed the keys out of the ignition before following your lead as you exited the car. You remained on the pavement, subconsciously waiting for Steve and digging into your jean pocket for your keys. Steve was quick, making a pit stop at the trunk to grab your crate of paintings you had forgotten about.

“Oh, thank you!” You whispered as you felt him behind you.

He simply smiled, following step by step to your front door and lingering close by as you worked the key into the lock, twisting it open. You entered first, your hand blindlessly pushing the door to keep it open for Steve as he stepped through. The dark entrance quickly lit up with the yellow fluorescence from when you flipped the light switch on.

You tioed your sneakers off, placing them on the small rack near the door and tossing your keys in the small pottery bowl.

“You can just give those to me.” You said, holding your arm out to finally take the crate from Steve as he obliged and worked on unlacing his shoes and placing them next to yours.

You walked deeper into your apartment, setting the crate down in an empty corner in the living room before you began turning on the rest of the lights to brighten up the place a bit. Surprisingly, you kept the place pretty tidy over the last few days, just a couple of paint bottles that you had left on the coffee table as you attempted to paint this morning before the gallery — unfortunately, that was unsuccessful.

And while Steve kept to himself, watching you quietly as you walked around and picked up a few things you had lying around, he couldn’t help but notice the vase of flowers he had previously given to you, still thriving in the middle of your coffee table. 

Soon you were already heading towards the kitchen, walking past him with the new bunch of flowers in your hand ready to get them in another vase before they began to wilt. 

“Do you want something to drink? Tea or anything?” You called out, tearing off the brown wrapping and tossing it into the rubbish before reaching for a glass jar to store them in for the meantime. 

Steve didn’t miss a beat, crossing the short distance between the kitchen and the hallway watching you place the roses upon the kitchen window sill hoping they’d catch some much needed sunlight in the morning. 

You turned on your heel, reaching for the fridge and opening it to retrieve the pitcher full of cold water. 

“Just some water.” He said, grabbing clean glasses from the dishrack and held them out for you as you poured.

Steve waited until you closed the fridge before pushing out your glass first, letting you get your sip before him. To you it felt like a nice flow with him here, like a harmony of domesticity that you didn’t know you had been missing out on. 

You leaned against the counter, watching him gulp the remainder of his water as you spoke, “Should I shower first, then you second? I think I might have a pair of sweats that could fit you, but I don’t think I’ll have a top or anything like that.”

He swallowed and nodded, “That’s fine, just some pants will be good enough. You don’t mind if I use the phone to call Robs? Just wanna let her know that I’m staying the night before she spam calls my house.”

You laughed, pointing towards the living room where the rotary phone sat on a small table near the couch, “She must be worried sick, so you better call soon. I’m gonna go shower really quick. And I swear I won’t use all the hot water!”

“No, please, don’t stop your hot water hogging in my presence.” He called out as you laughed out loud on your way to your bedroom to fetch a clean pair of pajamas for the night.

He heard the bathroom door shut and the water from the shower start up. Reaching back into the fridge, he poured himself another half cup of water, and finished it quickly before grabbing both his and your cup and heading towards the sink. After giving them a brief wash and setting them upside down on the rack to air dry, he plopped onto the couch, picking up the phone and dialing the numbers he knew by heart.

One, two, two-and-a-half rings, then the line picked up.

“I am so sorry we didn’t make it tonight! I swear, I was telling Eddie to drive faster, but then the stupid city troopers just started blaring their sirens and stepping out onto the road and before you know it, the road was closed, which is why—”

Maybe he had gotten accustomed to Robin’s rants, but he was almost about to let her finish before he had realized that she thought it was you on the other line and not her.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to suppress his laughter as he cut her off, “Robin, jeez, slow down, it’s just—”

“Steve!”  she exclaimed, nearly damaging his eardrums, “Why does it say you’re calling from Roane County?”

“Because I’m in Roane, dingus. I’m spending the night at her apartment. Traffic is still way too backed up for me to make it back to Hawkins tonight.”

There was a sharp gasp that came from her, followed by a hand hitting something, or actually someone who was sitting beside her, and shrieked out a “What!” in response.

Not that Robin was a great liar or anything, but Steve just knew she was doing a bad job at trying to hide the fact that Nancy, Max, and El were also in her bedroom, as he couldn’t mistake their familiar voices and gasps — especially Robin’s not so quiet whisper.

“Steve is spending the night with her at the apartment! Holy shit, he finally made his move!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose again, stretching the phone away from his ear as the sounds of girly screams and giggles came loudly from the other side. Rustling followed, which sounded like the phone dropped before it was picked up, and Robin’s voice echoed again.

“Steve? Steve, hello, are you still there?!”

“If I say yes, will you guys stop screaming like six-year-olds?” He asked with a heavy sigh, followed by a grunt by Robin.

Steve swore he could see the rolling over her eyes, just by the sarcastic scoff she offered him, “Don’t be ridiculous Steve, we’re more like ten-year-olds. Still in our youth, yet on the brink of teenage dirtbag status.”

“You have to stop hanging out with Eddie, I swear—you know what, whatever. I’m staying at her place as a friend. Did you get that? Friend.”

Again, there was that knowing sarcastic scoff that she responded with that would be followed with her classic banter.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Stevie. Just make sure you wear a rubber if you and her plan to “spend the night” as more than friends! I don’t need my friend knocked up with baby Harrington before her and I got the chance to go bar hopping.”

“Can we come too?” He could hear the two eager voices of El and Max in the background.

“No.”

Max jumped in, leaning in closer to the receiver, “To which one exactly? You and her sleeping together or us going to the bar?”

Steve hissed, shutting his eyes tightly “Robin, take me off a speaker! And that’s a no to both, by the way!”

There was laughter erupting from the other side again, before he heard a click and Robin’s voice came in a lot clearer as she pressed the phone to her ear, cutting Steve off from the rest of the gals.

“I’m just poking some fun at you, dingus. Your sex lives are none of my business, but I’m just trying to preach safety. How was the gallery by the way?”

He took a deep breath of relief, finally escaping to what he hoped would be a normal conversation with the uncomfortable comments towards him and his sex life that really was zero to none. 

“Great. I actually bought something off of her, plan to hang it on my wall right next to the car poster above my desk.” He answered.

“Honestly, if I were you, just ditch that lame car poster and buy the rest of her art and flood your walls with it.” She half joked.

“No, that would be creepy — like a stalker level creepy or something. I don’t want her to think I’m creepy.”

Robin snorted. “The fact that you even considered it shows me how badly you actually want to get rid of that car poster.”

“Whatever…gonna throw it out next weekend or something.” He sighed, realizing that he had grown out of the lame car poster since he was sixteen.

“Or we could donate it to the Salvation Army? Maybe some pretentious twelve-year-old will think it’s another man’s treasure.” Robin suggested half jokingly.

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Anyway, after the gallery we went for dinner at her favorite diner—”

She gasped as if she knew exactly what he was talking about, “The one with the French toast smothered in strawberries?!”

He chuckled, nodding his head to himself. “Yeah, that one. She got hers with strawberries and I got blueberries.”

“Do you have something against strawberries?” She accused suspiciously.

“I thought I told you they’re too tart for my tastebuds — now can I tell you about the rest of the night?”

“Please do.” She responded, dropping the whole spiel about fruit and forgetting why she asked in the first place.

“Before we got our food, we talked, then we danced, then we ate and then we ended up here. She’s in the shower right now.” He looked down the hallway still hearing the shower going in the bathroom.

“Danced? Since when did you like dancing and may I ask what song?”

He pshed, rolling his eyes but he knew she could feel it, “I always liked dancing just not with you because you always step on my feet, and it was Great Balls of Fire.”

“Dude, I stepped on your foot like twice and it was actually your fault because you got the routine wrong! And I thought you said you hated that song?”

“Well, I don’t hate the song… at least not anymore.”

There was a gag on the other side of the line, making him chuckle before she spoke, “You’re so in love it makes me physically sick.”

His eyes widened, turning his voice down to a whisper, “Don’t say that! I’m not in love, I’m just…just, shit, I’m just—”

“Just really whipped by her, trust me we alllll know, but hey, if you want to play the long excruciating game before you finally see it through, then by all means go ahead, but the day you two finally stop dancing around these feelings will be the best day in my—”

“Steve, do you think these will do?” Your voice came barreling into the living room and his hand clasped over the receiver of the phone, cutting your voice off from Robin's side.

Your hair was wrapped up in a towel and you were dressed in some baggy sleep shorts and a tank top to match. You held a pair of gray sweats in your hands, along with a dark blue towel folded right beneath it.

Steve removed his hand from the phone, “Uh shoot, Robin, hold on,” he then placed the phone down, standing up and taking the pants from you.

He unfolded it, checking it out before nodding, “Yeah, these are fine. Thanks.”

You clapped your hand together cheerfully, “Okay, great! Sorry, I threw out all of my ex’s old stuff that he left, but you probably wouldn’t want to wear anything that douche owned, anyway.”

He nodded and watched as you gestured back to the bathroom.

“I left a new toothbrush in the bathroom by the way. And you can use my shampoo and body wash, I don’t mind! But you’ll probably smell like a florist by the time you get out, so just beware.”

Steve grinned, shrugging his shoulders, “Nothing I’d rather smell like — oh! Robin’s still on the phone by the way.” He looked down at the device, slight static that could be heard as you nodded.

“Can I talk to her for a bit?” You asked, walking over to take his spot on the couch.

He nodded and tucked the items under his arm as he began walking backwards towards the bathroom, “Tell her I said goodnight.”

“Will do.” You saluted, taking his previous spot on the couch as he spun around and headed into the bathroom.

“Robs?” You picked up the phone, bringing it to your ear.

“My favorite person in the entire world, hi! Sorry the rest of us couldn’t make it tonight. It was a whole thing with half the kids running late, Eddie not driving fast enough, then the road closed. Total chaos, but we’ll make it to the next one for sure!”

Her voice bursted with energy, excitement, and sincerity despite the late hour of the night, but you wouldn’t expect anything less from her. For some reason, she was always energized and ready to go, something you secretly wished you had too.

You giggled, shaking your head with a fond smile on your face, “Don’t even worry about it, I totally understand! And if it makes you guys feel better, it means a lot that you guys even remembered to come in the first place… it means a lot — more than you’ll ever know.”

“Stop! Don’t get all sappy on me because I don’t know if I’ll be able to take it without crying!” Robin warned with a sense of warmth laced in her comical tone.

You giggled again, playing off her teasing, “No, don’t you dare cry! You can’t cry when I’m not there to hug you and make it all better.”

She sighed dramatically, “Fine! I’m saving my tears for when you’re here to hold me and bless me with a homemade dessert.”

“Good, let’s keep it that way. I really missed you guys tonight.” You confessed, resting your head back on the couch as you could hear her apologetic sigh on the other side.

“We did too, but Steve told me you guys went out for dinner and he even danced with you?”

You hummed contentedly, “Yeah, he asked me to dance and it was great… the food and the dancing, duh.”

“Did he step on your toes?” She couldn’t resist taunting, knowing Steve wasn’t the best at footwork and probably skimped out on the deets of how he definitely stepped on your toes.

You laughed heartily and shook your head despite her not being able to see you, “God no, but I’m pretty sure I kinda scuffed up his Nikes.”

“He’s got a few more pairs at home. He’ll live.” She quipped, making the both of you laugh before she continued.

“Sooo did anything happen? Yenno besides dancing? Kissing perhaps?” Her voice was low and teasing, probing for more juicy details of the night.

Your eyes widened, feeling a slight blush creeping on your cheeks not wanting for Steve to stumble out on a conversation like this.

You cupped your hand over the receiver, eyes glued to the hallway to make sure he wasn’t going to come out of the bathroom anytime soon as you whispered.

“Jesus, no! W-we just dance and… sorta held hands while doing so but—”

Robin cheerfully interjected, happy that things were finally getting a move on with you and Steve, “Progress. We love to see it!”

“I thought we agreed on friends—” You started, before she quickly cut you off again and dismissed the thought of you and Steve just being friends.

“Yeah, whatever, be delusional and blind if you want. Just don’t act so surprised when the day finally comes when you both wake up and get together already.”

“You know, you’re so lucky that I love you.” You sighed half heartedly, half thankful and half terrified of her friendly meddling.

She gasped dramatically, holding a hand over her heart, “We’re already in the “I love you” stage? This is the fastest I’ve moved with a girl who isn’t even my girlfriend.”

“Well, consider me the first to say it after a few weeks, because it’s true. I love you… and all of your delusions.” You declared proudly, truly feeling that Robin was your platonic soulmate that you had been searching for since forever.

“I’m honored and I love you too! Speaking of “I love you’s”, do you love me enough to let me and the gal pals take a visit to Roane tomorrow?”

You thought for a minute, shrugging to yourself as you didn’t have much going on and it would be nice to have a girl’s day. After all, Max and El had been talking about wanting to explore Roane, and Nancy and Robs just wanted more quality time with you.

“Yeah, that’s fine, but I don’t have anything baked or prepared, but I can probably whip somethi—”

“Nancy and I got it covered! Just be up and ready. Let’s saaaayy around ten?” She assured you, clearly excited and ready for the visit.

“Okay, sounds like a plan, but I should probably go now. I still have to set up Steve’s bed for tonight, which is the couch—” you explained, ready to say your goodnights to her before being cut off again.

“You could always let him sleep in your bed?” she teased, earning a chuckle and eye roll from you.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m hanging up! Goodnight and I love you again.”

There were kissy sounds on her end, making you giggle before she spoke,“Night Night! Don’t forget protection and I’ll see you tomorrow…Oh! and tell Steve I said don’t let the bedbugs bite!”

“Night, Robs!” You said one last time before ending the call and looking forward to actually seeing her in person tomorrow along with the other gals.

Heading towards the small storage closet that housed plenty of household items, you grabbed a few things Steve would need for the night. An extra throw pillow and two blankets, a thicker one to keep him warm, and a thinner one to layer over the top if it got colder during the night.

You removed the decorative pillows that took up space on the already cramped couch, hoping it would magically make the space bigger to fit him. You fluffed up the throw pillow to the best of your ability, not wanting him to catch a cramp in his neck from the uncomfortable sleeping position. Not bothering too much with the blankets, you left them folded on the end of the couch, letting him decide how he wanted his makeshift bed to be for the night.

Still, even with the useless pillows thrown to the floor, the couch itself still looked too small for Steve. He was taller than you and the couch just barely housed your body when you laid straight on it. Though most times you would have to curl yourself into a ball to not feel so cramped.

Now you were really regretting just getting the damn couch for the looks rather than the spaciousness, but you had no idea years ago that a nearly 6 foot guy would be staying over the night. You were debating on just convincing Steve to take your room, knowing he’d have a much better night’s rest on your bed, so much so that you hadn’t realized that the bathroom door had creaked open.

“Why are you looking at your couch like that?” Steve’s amused voice broke through your anxious thoughts.

Turning your head over your shoulder, you were met with the sigh of Steve Harrington clad in only the gray sweatpants you had lent him. The top half of his body was exposed to your eyes and the four walls of the apartment that would most definitely never forget the sight. 

“Umm, I uh, sorry… what did you say?” You stammered, feeling your cheeks turn red with embarrassment.

You were sure you looked like a tomato, eyes tightly shutting and trying to erase the image of him shirtless so you could stop acting like such a schoolgirl, however the freckles that sat across his skin were engrained in your mind — never could be wiped out. 

He chuckled, arms instinctively wrapping across his chest to conceal bits of him, as if that would make it less awkward than it already was. 

“It’s cute…” he remarked casually, brushing over your original question.

You opened your eyes slowly, a confused look plastered on your face because while you were totally distracted by his body, you knew for a fact he didn’t say anything about something being cute. 

“Huh?” 

He shrugged his shoulders, jutting his chin in the air towards you, “When you get all blushly.” 

You gulped, running your hand over your neck and collarbones, feeling the heat radiating off your body.

“I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, but you were kinda just standing right there and I didn’t expect to see you looking like that.” You paused, watching his brow raise jokingly before you backtracked and stumbled upon more word salad. 

“Wait no, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean like that, in a bad way, but I meant like that in a ‘holy crap, I didn’t know Steve had so many moles and freckles’ kinda way.” 

Steve smiled, biting back for it to cover his entire face, knowing it would make you even more blushier and though he found it endearing he didn’t want to tease you for it. 

“They are kinda everywhere, huh?” He settled, looking down at his arms and inspecting the beauty marks that covered the expanse of it. 

You nodded, resisting the urge to count how many he had alone on his left shoulder alone, and the hair that sprawled over his chest, “Y-yeah, everywhere.” 

Steve didn’t let a second of silence go to waste, referring back to the original question he had asked you. 

“I asked you why you were looking at the couch that way.” 

Turning your head back at it, you gestured towards the length of the couch, sighing heavily before letting out a weak laugh. 

“There’s no way this is going to be comfortable for you, Steve. You’re like a tall giant and when I nap on here, I curl myself up like a worm in order to fit on it.”

He tsked, giving you a shake of his head before going around you and plopping stomach down onto the couch. Steve tries his best to look comfortable, though you can’t mistake the way he’s bending his knees and squeezing his shoulders in to fit on the piece of furniture. 

You giggled, settling on the floor and crossing your legs as you sat within eyesight of him. Your hand moved up to your head, removing the towel from your hair as you squeezed the fabric between your ends to soak up the remaining water as he watched.

“Steve, just take my bed tonight, please?” 

He closes his eyes, humming out a “Nuh uh.” 

“You’re going to wake up with horrible back pain tomorrow.” You warned voice lifting to something that was almost chiding. 

Yet he remained rigid, peeking his eyes open and shaking his head against the cushions, “I’m not taking your bed and if it makes you feel better I’ve slept on worse. Mike Wheeler’s dusty basement carpet, for example.” 

You scrunched your face up in disgust, nose instantly sniffling at the thought as Steve chuckled and maneuvered his palm under his chin to watch you. 

“I’d probably have a sneezing fit.” You mumbled under your breath.

He nodded, “I practically sneezed myself to sleep that night, but hey, it was better than being home with my parents there.” 

You grimaced, bunching your damp towel in your lap as you played with the fabric, wondering if you could ask him a question about his personal life. Sure, you had shared things with him, but you never wanted him to feel like he owed you part of his life just because you did.

Still you asked with caution and softness, “Sorry, if this is crossing a line, but… do you know when your parents get back in town or do they just show up unannounced?” 

He gave you a reassuring smile, swiping away the hesitance on your face that was scared you were going too far. And while Steve had told you a bit about his tumultuous relationship with his parents, you weren’t quite sure if he would be open to talking about it more – his perspective and everything. 

Usually he wasn’t, but with you he felt like he could. 

“Usually I can guess when they’re leaving and coming home. My dad has a lot of business trips and conferences during the summer. They host them at fancy hotels and resorts and my mom likes mingling with the other wives that go.” 

He explained and you nod, bringing your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on the caps as you continue to listen. 

“Yeah, so, in the summer they’re gone for like a week, then they come home for a few days. But during the day my dad is at the office and my mom hangs out with her lady friends so I can usually avoid them, but it’s harder to do at night… y’know ‘cause where else is my mom and dad going to sleep right?” 

He laughed uncomfortably, trying to make a joke out of it, which you totally understood because of the stipulations of him living under his parents’ roof and all, but still you knew that his home didn’t feel like home to him — at least not when his parents were there.

“And that’s why you prefer sleeping in Mike’s prehistoric basement, to avoid seeing them.” You speculated, but more so landed on the dot with.

He nodded, a tightlipped smile at how easily you saw through it and how you probably understood why he jumped at the offer at staying at your place tonight rather than going home and having to deal with running into his mom and dad.

Steve felt like, for the first time, he could go on and on about him, not terrified of making his family sound horrible, knowing it was embarrassing enough, but with you he knew you came with no judgment.

“I know it sounds crazy. Like why I can’t just suck it up and face them, but it’s so weird and dehumanizing. I can just tell that they’re judging me. I’m the only son they have and here I am still selling tapes at Family Video while my dad manages his own firm–” 

“But you’re happy, right?” You didn’t mean to cut him off so suddenly, but you knew that this was the most important question of them all.

He furrowed his brows, staring at you confused before spitting out an answer, “Happy? I mean…it’s kinda difficult always trying to evade my parents, but it does kinda feel like I’m a secret agent sneaking into a Russian base trying to get my uniform at seven in the—” 

You couldn’t help but interject again with a giggle, “I meant happy working at Family Video. You’re happy there, right?” 

His smile grew wider despite misinterpreting your question for the second time around, but still you didn’t grow irate with him, just patient and more than happy to ask again and that alone made him feel no judgment and embarrassment alone.

“Oh! Well yeah, I guess at first it was a little boring, but after Robin and I started to get the groove of it, now it just feels like we’re hanging out and doing chores to pass time. And we get to watch movies and eat in the backroom snack bar.” 

You smiled, lifting your shoulders up and letting them relax back down, happy with the sight of Steve in front of you. Sure, you knew that his parents were really hard on him, but he was the person who had to face it every day. Yet seeing him talk about how happy he was working with his best friend, that made up for a piece of the sadness that you could still tell was gnawing at him.

You weren’t sure if you could solve it, and you were sure that you couldn’t, but you could at least make it better for him.

“So who cares what your parents think? You’re happy and it’s working out for you, so what’s the big deal? Is daddy mad that his son doesn’t want to carry on his business legacy?” 

Steve laughed, a genuine laugh that he half stifled into the pillow before settling his cheek on it and shaking his head with a smug smirk.

“Oh, he’d jump for joy the day I put on a suit and walk out the house with a briefcase up my ass.” 

There was laughter in the air again, a sort of connection that was made purely off of the both of you opening up about something so deep and personal. In the diner it was him comforting you and here in your living room it was you being there for him in a way that no one else could.

It’s not that he didn’t want to open up to Robin or the rest of his friends about it, and truth be told they already knew. They knew that Steve had a rocky relationship with his parents, and Steve never hid it, but he did stray away from talking about it because why would he need to in the first place?

After all he had friends, true friends that cared about him the way that he wished his parents did, and he cared about them the way he always wanted to be appreciated for. Not tolerated just because his mom and dad were purely his blood, but celebrated because he found people who loved him in a way he didn’t think was possible.

But enough was enough for Steve. There was only so much he could hold in and after years of suppressing it and trying to act like it didn’t phase him the way it did when he was a teenager, it was now time to confront it and let it pass here…with you.

You settled from your laughter, slowly watching as Steve did the same, wrapping his arms over the pillow and propping his head up slightly supporting his chin.

You purse your lips, your fingers drawing circles on your knee as you spoke to him, “I know what it’s like. Unsupportive people and whatever, but you gotta just stick to it and they’ll back off eventually…or you can leave. Start a new chapter without them.” 

He seemed to ponder your words for a second before replying, “Is that what you did?”

With a knowing smile, you shrugged, “Yeah, I guess you could call packing up and leaving without telling anyone would count.” 

“That sounds like the dream.” He sighed, closing his eyes at the thought of packing up and running away to start his life without his parents in his.

You could tell he was thinking of it, dreaming up the thought of a life where he could live it the way he pleased without trying to please his mom and dad. You used to do the same thing, waiting for the day to finally get the courage to live your life and dreams unapologetically, without the weight of your ex that would only make you feel less than.

Instinctively, your hand reached out and softly tapped on his hand, prompting him to open his eyes and stare at yours resting upon his before meeting your eyes.

“It’s really nice, and hey, if you ever need a place to stay, you’re always welcomed here. I just can’t promise a comfier couch next time, but I can assure you I vacuum and mop the floors weekly.” You offered graciously.

“Thanks, that’s really nice of you.” Steve replied, the gratitude and sincerity evident in his voice.

Your thumb moved over his knuckles warmly, feeling the pulse point of his vein before retracting, “Of course, and thanks for today. Showing up and giving me a ride. It really means a lot.” 

Part of Steve wished you kept your hand there, knowing it was the thing that was keeping him grounded here with you, like a promise that you would keep forever. Instead, he settled for a smile, maneuvering his body and sitting upright to see you clearly.

“Yeah, no problem. I had a blast, and I’d love to come to the next one, whenever that might be. I’ll make sure everyone is on time this time around.” 

You grinned, standing up and throwing your damp towel over your shoulder, “I’ll let you turn in for the night, and please, don’t hesitate to wake me up before you leave.” 

“And ruin your beauty sleep?” He joked, standing up and holding his arms out towards you.

You giggled, shaking your head as you walked into the frame nuzzling your face into his warm chest and feeling his warmth envelope you. His bareness left little imagination to your sense of feeling, but just as you suspected, his skin was soft and the fuzz on his chest tickled your neck in a comforting way that you didn’t want to shake off.

Taking a deep breath of him in, and feeling his arms tighten around you, you whispered loud enough for him to hear, “Nighty night, Steve.” 

“Goodnight, sweet thing.” He replied in a soft murmur, his fingers leaving indents in the small of your back where he hugged you tightly before releasing and letting you go.

You had to find it in you, to finally pull away, giving him one around smile before you turned on your heel and headed towards your bedroom. The slight ruffling of the blankets and his body moving against the cushions as background noise on your short walk to the door before you took one last glance back and saw him smile at you, fingers ready to pull on the lampshade to turn the place dim.

Your fingers twiddled at him, before you finally shut your door, and only then did you hear the click of the lamp, darkening the rest of the apartment as you threw your towel into the hamper.

Slipping beneath your covers and turning to tuck your face into your pillow is where you finally let out a squeal – one that you had been holding back for the entire night. 

Steve had made you feel things, maybe things not so foreign because after all crushes were a normal part of life, but he made you feel a kind of way where the light bulb in your head lit up and stayed on when you were around him. Almost like a constant realization that he was always so good – good to you and good to everyone else in his life. 

He never wanted or asked you to change, but just wanted you to see things through in a way that would benefit you for the better. You never knew what this was like, accustomed to feeling like you had to shapeshift into being something that was pleasing for men, yet here you were not being asked for that by Steve. Just being asked to be nicer to yourself, because he knew you were worthy and capable of it.

Something in you was holding on to each and every single one of his words, hoping that he meant it in a way that was more. More than friends. More than everything that you believed you two were just destined to be. 

A sweet thing. Something so sweet that only you wanted with him, yet didn’t know if you could have. A kind of sweetness that could only be dreamt up in your wildest dreams.

And so dream you did, of the sweet things you and Steve could be in another world.

A word where you and him would switch off weekends at each other’s homes.

A world where you would stop in at Family Video just because you missed him.

A world where you could pick up the phone and hear his voice on the other line because he wanted to see what you were doing.

A world where you two would take turns washing dishes and drying.

A world where you could sit in your living room or a half empty diner and just talk without being afraid.

A world where it was just you two against whatever obstacle that you both were facing.

A sweet, sweet, sweet world where it was you and Steve, hand in hand, chest to chest, lips to—

“Wakey wakey, gorgeous! You forgot to set your alarm, didn't you?”

Your eyes snapped out, instantly letting out a shout as you saw Robin hover above you with your alarm clock in her hands. She flinched, stepping back and giving you room to breathe as you sat up and caught your breath.

“Robin, what the hell! How did you even get in here…and what time is it?” You gathered your comforter closer to your chest, closing your eyes and sighing, not believing this was real.

She shrugged her shoulders, placing your alarm clock back on the bedside table before plopping back first at the end of your bed and turned her head towards you.

“Max apparently has a talent for picking locks, and it’s almost a quarter to ten. We were going to just wait outside until you woke up, but I almost had a heatstroke out there so breaking and entering it was.”

Despite the suddenness of it all, you couldn’t help but close your eyes and let out a laugh as you fell back into your pillows. You definitely forgot to set your alarm last night and the last thing you wanted was your friends who drove all the way here to be waiting outside in the hot Indiana heat.

You felt Robin crawl up the space and settle beside you, her hands resting on the pillow where she laid her head as she smiled at you cheekily, “Not mad are you?”

You shook your head and bopped her nose before she crinkled it, “Nope! But you do owe me by making my bed.”

She groaned, stuffing her face in the pillows as you got up and stretched your arms out wide feeling the tension release in your limbs as you walked out of your room and headed to the living room to greet everyone else while Robin’s groans died down.

Max and El, sat on your couch flipping through comics. The blankets that Steve had used the night before neatly folded and placed on the arm of the furniture. Meanwhile, Nancy moved across the kitchen table setting out plates and utensils keeping to herself and knowing where everything was it seemed.

“Morning, pretty ladies.” You greeted, watched their eyes fall on your less than sleepy and surprised state.

El popped up from the couch first, easily clinging to your side with a hug, “Good morning! Sorry we had to break in, but Robin was dehydrated.”

You grinned, draping your arms around her and hugging her warmly before she pulled away, “We can’t have our dear Robin dying of dehydration can we?”

“Definitely not, especially not before she gets the inside scoop on you and Steve’s date last night.” Max chimed in, giving you a side hug as you rolled your eyes playfully and pushed her shoulder gently.

“It was not a date!” You retorted making your way to the kitchen to greet Nance who was smiling to herself as she still set the table.

You wrapped your arms around her shoulders, bringing her to a stop as she threw her head back and hugged you tightly, “Sorry about breaking and entering… but Robin and I brought some breakfast so I hope it helps!”

You looked over her shoulder, seeing the take out boxes of pancakes, link sausages, toast, and other goodies that they had picked up from a place in Hawkins.

“This totally makes up for it, and I’ll just give you guys a copy of my key. That way, no more breaking and entering and then you guys can bring me breakfast forever!”

“Sounds like a better idea than picking the lock every time,” she quipped pulling away from the hug, “do you have any orange juice, by chance?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab it, no worries,” You said heading towards the fridge and going to open it, before you noticed the bright yellow post-it that stuck to the appliance.

Messy and rushed handwriting filled the small square and your fingers ripped it off, reading it to yourself…

Thanks again for letting me spend the night, it means a lot! Didn’t want to leave before you got up, but I promised Eddie I’d help him and his uncle Wayne with something at their trailer.

Anyway, I hope you don’t mind that I started the washer with the pair of sweats you lent me and I left the top that you forgot at my place folded on the dryer. I also woke up early and got a honey rose latte, and you were right, it tastes heavenly. I asked them to make yours with almond milk and no ice, and I left it on the second shelf in the fridge. Managed to snag a dozen of those cronuts and I left them in the microwave to keep them warm. Hope you don’t mind that I took the blueberry one.

Enjoy, and I hope we see each other soon, sweetheart.

- Steve <3

There was a wide smile on your face, stupidly reading his words over and over again and hyper-fixating on him remembering your milk of choice and the tiny crooked heart drawn next to his name.

Steve Harrington didn't seem real at all, someone that you could only think up to be that perfect and attentive to small details. And no guy would ever go as far as this for you, but there you were opening the fridge to see your favorite latte sitting on the second shelf of your fridge and when you turned to look at the microwave, you could see through the transparent glass, the bakery box that held the delectable treats in.

You probably looked just as silly, frozen in your kitchen staring at a piece of paper and smiling to yourself like a maniac. It was only a few more seconds until Robin came sliding in next to you, creeping over your shoulder.

“Oooo, did the lover boy leave a note!” Robin wiggled her brows, attempting to peek at the note before you quickly clutched it to your chest for safe keeping.

You blushed, and turned on your heel, grabbing the orange juice and your drink and placing it on the table, “That is a secret that will not be revealed!”

“He did!” The younger girls shouted from the couch as you blushed and shook your head

“I’m going to go brush my teeth and then I’ll be out!” You called out, walking back to your room with the note still in the palm of your hand.

“Then you’re going to spill the date details!” Robin shouted, pouring orange juice into the glasses.

You could hear Nancy jokingly scolding Robin, “Give her a break, will you?”

Quickly, you slipped into your quaint laundry room on the other side of the hallway where the slight rumbling from the washing machine was beginning to slow down. There was your white eyelet top that you had worn and left behind the first time at Steve’s place sitting folded on the washer with another note placed on the top of it.

Forgot to give this to you the last time I was here. I read the label and the machine washed it in cold water then put it in the dryer on low. Hope I didn’t ruin it or anything!

- Steve :)

You picked up the garment, assessing it and seeing that the stain was fully gone and instead it was perfectly clean and now reeking of everything, Steve. The sandalwood, mint, freshness, and warmth — everything him. The scent filling your senses and going back to the hug you two shared last night, wishing it were his arms wrapped around you again.

Now you definitely knew what you were going to be wearing today and who was going to be running through your mind — even if this was your town and your place, he had already left a mark too big and permanent for you to erase. 

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: chapter two is finally here!!! originally this chapter was supposed to be longer but for organization and trying to avoid lag purposes, i decided to shorten it a bit and save the next major scene for the next chapter! again, i have to say a big big big thank you to my bestie and ultimate favorite person everrrrr...MISS EFFIE!!! she's amazing and she is constantly encouraging me to write and helping me with proofreading and setting up the storylines itself! i love her so so so much (I LOVE YOU EFFIE BABYYYYY)!!!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @scoopshxrrington @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss

[inventors-fair]

From Nothing, Victory: The Origin Winners

~

Our winners this week are @genericaura, @horsecrash, and @nicolbolas96!

@genericaura — Nilix, Scholar of Nothing

First up is this curious specimen, taking a distinctly mathematical approach to the idea. D'you think their associates ever tease them about their title? At any rate, this is a fascinating piece of design. Copying spells is by no means untrodden ground in these colors, but the requirement for the spell to have been free is such a bizarre wrinkle that I can't help but be enthralled. It's a pretty hefty buy-in to get the effect online, too, so the card feels more fair than you'd think something centered around cheating mana costs to be. There's a decent amount of depth to the use cases, too. Sure, chaining this into a Mind's Desire is positively rapturous, but there are plenty of spells that are already free, or cast something for nothing as more of a formality, and suddenly those become worth their weight in gold. This really got the wheels in my head turning, and I can't really ask for more. Although, it is kind of odd to have a bird without flying. An ostrich aven, perhaps? That's just nitpicking, though. Good show!

@horsecrash — Hogaak, Tide of the Dead

Hogaak's back, baby! And hopeful not about to ruin a format this time. I saw a design like this tossed around several times this week, a card with a cost reduction mechanic that gets a bonus if you manage to shave it down to zero. None of them require quite this much reduction, though! The chance to get a huge beater that also traumatizes you (which is a sentence I don't get to say often) is a supremely tasty carrot on the end of the stick, though, and it sets my self-mill loving heart aflutter. Consume makes a fascinating companion to convoke here (although I'd also be interested in seeing what you can do with it by itself), allowing a real scale of quite how hard you want to commit. That's assuming you want the mill in the first place; an 8/8 trampler on the cheap is nothing to turn your nose up at. I appreciate the reminder text clearing up any confusion around the intersection of the mechanics, and I could see plenty of times when you'd rather tap but not sacrifice something. I'm not quite as sure about the inverse, but it's always good to keep the option open. My one concern is that the fact that any way to get this onto the battlefield without casting it (so reanimation, blink, or what have you) also counts for the effect feels a bit against the spirit of the card, but it's hardly a dealbreaker.

@nicolbolas96 — Desperate Necromage

Yeesh, desperate is right! This is one of those beautiful cards that completely reshapes the game around itself the second your opponent is aware of it, because now every single decision they make has to be made in respect to it. Cards with both first strike in deathtouch can often be unblockable if they don't give your opponent a compelling reason to interact with them, and while that's true of this for most of the game, boy does that flip on its head the second your life hits zero. It really does crystalize that feeling of being on the brink of death, but just one more good hit and you can take them out! I do really think the life loss on attack is deceptively important here. Obviously it advances the card's win condition, but by doing that it encourages you to be aggressive with a card that would otherwise sit back as a deterring blocker. Even more than that it introduces a real sense of riskiness, because if this is removed too early, even before you hit zero, you can suddenly find yourself in a very bad position. After all, a deck designed to lower your life total probably isn't packing many tools to raise it, and the lower you go, the more risk you run of being abruptly blown out. All in all, this is the kind of intersection of flavor and gameplay that just captivates me.

Runners-up to follow shortly, then commentary (hopefully) later today. See you then!

@spooky-bard

[modern-day-bard]

Worth The Feeling

Content Warning: 18+

This story includes explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (MC is 26, Javi is in his 40s). Minors, do not interact.

Chapter 5:

"Anna, you should have seen the size of my cheeks!" Emma gushes, much to the makeup artist's dismay. "I mean seriously, I was so swollen and I couldn't even swallow. Who knew they put mustard in wasabi?" Sophie, the makeup artist, and I exchange a knowing look.

"Well I'm glad you're alright Emma. It's good to have you back. Now do you have any questions on the directions I got from Naomi? She should be on the set with you both today but Lloyd wants to roll directly into shooting."

"Oh I got it. Look for the tape on the floor, hands on chest, hit the desk, yada yada yada. This one is easy. Fade-to-blacks are way less intense," Emma waves her hand dismissively.

Yeah, way less intense. When Emma is all set in hair and makeup, I escort her to the soundstage before making myself as scarce as possible. I've been in the room during an intimate scene once before, and I don't remember most of it. I was too busy making a mental to-do list. But something about seeing Emma in the same position I had been in yesterday makes me feel uneasy. I radio Dwayne to see where else I can make myself useful.

"You're all good, Ava. They're going to break after for lunch so you may as well hang tight there so you can run errands for Lloyd if he needs anything." I clench my jaw hearing his response.

"Copy. Thanks, Dwayne." I try not to sound as irritated as I feel. I simply don't want to watch this.

"Hey babes," Lana appears next to me, giving my arm a gentle squeeze.

Obviously I called her last night to debrief. She was busy laying sound mats on the ground in another part of the studio during yesterday's escapades, otherwise I wouldn't have heard the end of it. As if my own thoughts last night weren't enough to keep me awake. I actually still hadn't Googled him, but I could tell he was older than me. Definitely more experienced than I was. And, I mean, he's a movie star. Granted I might not have recognized him, but still. I was starting to feel like I was back in school, crushing on the popular boy who didn't know I existed. I didn't like that feeling then, and I detested it now.

I told Lana all the details, knowing that she would have tortured them out of me one way or another. But as giddy as she had been last night hearing everything, I could tell she knew I didn't want to be here right now.

"Hey," I give her a small smile. "Everyone mic'd up and ready to go?" I feel like talking about work-related issues will make this weird feeling go away.

"They're ready," She leans in a little closer, "But are you?"

"I'm fine. These things are always awkward, you know?"

Lana gives me a look that lets me know she isn't buying my nonchalant act.

"Quiet on set!" Lloyd yells at the top of his lungs. Not exactly necessary, but definitely a very Lloyd thing to do. "Places!" Javi positions himself in the doorframe, just like yesterday. Only now his hands are on Emma's back. Her bare back, as I now realize just how short her backless dress is.

"Aaaand, roll camera. Action!"

I feel my body tense up. I think any sane person would look away, but this feels like a car wreck created purposefully to toy with my early on-set jealousy, and I can't look anywhere but that fake hotel room.

But then, my jealousy is put on the back-burner when I see Javi truly devour Emma. I'm shocked she can even stay standing. His hands are everywhere, not just on her back like they were with me yesterday. He's kissing her everywhere, too. Her neck, eyelids, forehead, and the way he attacks her lips... I feel as though I can't breathe. When he backs her up against the wall, Emma remembers to arch her back like I instructed, but now Javi slips his thigh in between her legs. Something he didn't do yesterday, I can feel a heat beginning to pool in my belly, trickling its way toward my–

"Hot damn, he's good." Lana whispers next to me. I blink rapidly, as if trying to wake up to the present moment. All I can do is nod.

"More noise, both of you!" Lloyd barks. As soon as he does, Javi lets out a groan that makes my knees weak.

The pair make their way to the desk, wreaking the same amount of havoc on my emotions and libido before moving their way to the bed.

"Tell me you missed me." Javi demands of Emma, beginning to crawl over her. His expression is just as serious as yesterday, and his vocal register is dangerously low.

Holy. God. I didn't read the pages for today's scene, and I'm not even sure if that was improv or not.

"I missed you," Emma whines as Javi hovers over her. He kisses her lips lightly before dragging one of his large hands down her torso.

"The problem, my darling, is I don't quite believe you," Javi kisses her neck before speaking directly in her ear, "You're going to have to tell me again. Louder this time."

Javi slips his hand in between her legs and Emma arches her back off the bed, sighing.

"Cut!" Lloyd yells, causing me to take several much-needed deep breaths.

"Good job you two. Reset, we're going to do another take. This time, more noise from the beginning."

I cannot watch that again. The mixture of jealousy and heat in my stomach is too much to bear.

"Lana, I need to go on a walk." I whisper.

"You can't. The red light is on, you're not supposed to–"

"I know," I say, already heading toward the door. I go out the side entrance, ignoring the dirty looks of at least five crew members. I know that it might be dramatic, but I hate how envious I am of Emma's position. It's ridiculous. How long have I known this man? A couple of weeks? We made a few jokes, stood close together for a few minutes and now I'm jealous of his co-star? I really do need to walk this off.

- - -

I'm on my fourth loop around the wardrobe trailer when Dwayne, the Key-PA, radios my walkie.

"Ava, we need you back to soundstage one."

"Copy. What for?" I really hope they are almost done by now.

"Gutierrez asked for an escort again. We're about to break for lunch."

Dammit. "Copy. On my way back."

I enter the building, and to my pleasant surprise, they're not in the middle of taping. Javi, Naomi, and Emma are chatting in the middle of the set.

"Alright folks, that's lunch." Lloyd announces.

I take that as my cue to jog up to the stage.

"Oh, Anna! Thanks for the tips. It made taping a breeze." Emma says, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

I smile at her. "I'm glad I could help Emm–"

"Her name is Ava. Not Anna." Javi said, glancing Emma's way.

"Oh," Emma looks surprised, "I didn't realize, sorry Anna. A-Ava."

"Ready for lunch?" Javi asks me, stepping away from Naomi and Emma. We're walking off the stage before I can reply.

"How are you?" Javi asks, holding the door for me to step out into the bright light. The mundane question catches me off guard.

"I'm alright, thanks. How are you?"

"I saw you disappear for a bit. I wasn't sure if you were feeling well. You looked sort of..." he trails off.

When did he even have a chance to see me leave?

"Oh, no I just had some other stuff to do around set. I can get a lot done when you all are taping."

"Ahh." Javi nods, but his expression doesn't seem fully convinced. "Didn't care to watch the end of the scene, huh?" He definitely wasn't convinced. I'm not the one with the acting chops.

"No, I just already know how it ends," I point out, "Though I didn't know the lines. That took me by surprise."

I probably shouldn't have said that. I'm not sure if it in any way implied how I had been feeling.

"What did you think?" We're almost at his trailer now, but his tone seemed genuinely interested in my feedback.

"It was...convincing." That seemed like the right choice of words. I think.

"Mmm." He muses. "It didn't feel as convincing as I wanted it to."

"How so?" I can't help but ask.

"It's difficult to explain. Sometimes it's simply the chemistry. It doesn't pan out the way you want it to."

"The chemistry seemed pretty palpable to me." Ouch, my tone was a lot harsher than I intended.

We've arrived at his trailer, and instead of walking up the steps, he just turns and looks at me for a long moment. I try not to fidget. He looks as though he's deliberating something.

"Sometimes the chemistry is stronger with someone else," he glances down at my lips, "it makes it difficult to feel successful during the takes with the new partner."

I gulp. Is he implying what I think he is implying? Or am I so warped from these newfound feelings that I'm orchestrating this in my head? Best to err on the side of caution.

"Can you let me know if your food has arrived? If not, I can grab something from crafty for you."

Javi takes a step back, looking at me with a new curiosity. He looks like he's going to say something, but he just walks up the steps to his trailer and peaks inside.

"Yes, it's here," he pauses before continuing, "I actually ordered two this time. I was hoping to keep my fries to myself." He smirks.

"Oh. You wanted me to eat with you again?"

He shrugs. "I told you. I like the company. If you have other things to do though, don't let me keep you."

We haven't eaten together since I escorted him back to his trailer almost two weeks ago. I haven't even been asked to escort him since then. I have too many thoughts running around in my head, and being in his presence is only complicating things.

"That's kind of you, but I do have work to do. I'm sorry." The fact that I did actually have work I could be doing made this lie a lot easier to sell.

His face falls, and I regret my decision immediately.

"Give us a call if you need an escort back to the soundstage, though. I'd be happy to walk you." I smile, hoping to soften the blow.

To my surprise, Javi takes the three steps back down from the trailer until he is standing in front of me again. Looming in front of me is more like it.

"Have dinner with me then," he says quietly, "Please."

"What?" My bewilderment must be as present on my face as it is in my words.

Javi smiles. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, Ava. If you say no, everything will continue as usual. But I would like to take you to dinner, if you're interested."

I blink a few times, trying to find my bearings. It becomes obvious, very quickly, that I do want to have dinner with him. At the same time, I don't actually know if that's something that would be frowned upon. But despite all of the thoughts circulating around my head, and despite the nervous knot in my stomach, I simply look up at him and say,

"Yes. I'm interested."

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

[chimscake]

Sorry for the little rant you're probably about to read but I'm like speechless (or like the opposite i guess since im about to rant my heart out). This isn't negative stuff btw, only positive rants here on my blog.💕

Today something really big happend for me: a perfect bridge of events happened that allowed me to be at a point were one of my most important manifestations is basically done, and while it is not done done, it's just really close and I'm really positive about it.

I wish I could share more details about this not to sound so shady but I have to respect the decision of the other people involved and keep everything lowkey, I hope you can understand.

Everytime I'm successful in manifesting something this big I feel happy and excited obviously, but more than that, I feel like I'm reborn into a new better person, who has a better understanding of the law and A LOT more faith in it.

Today I feel like sharing some positivity and hope with you guys, especially those who have been struggling lately.

Yes, the law works. There should be no doubt in your mind by now, but in case there is, let me clear this up for you:

THE

LAW

WORKS

I have seen it plenty of times, you have seen it plenty of times... all you need to do is learn how to use it to your advantage.

When you are in a state where you are confident in the fact that you can get what you want and you don't worry about your desires too much, you see them as something that is part of your life already, a part that makes you deeply happy, a part that you could totally live without because no matter what nothing is more important than your own self...

That's when it clicks, and everything goes to its place.

It may take a second, or it may take days and days of discipline and effort. You decide. But it's all worth it.

At the beginning of my journey I remember wasting months and months with trial and error, spotty results and giving up; but now I look back at the moments when I was "wasting my time" like the failure I felt I was, and I see how precious that effort I put actually is.

The main point here is: at whatever step of your journey you are at: don't give up, keep going, I guarantee you that you will be met with not only exactly what you want, but also the most divine calm and tranquility that you will ever experience.

Getting to feel this calm and confident in the fact that everything is always going to go your way is worth literally everything, and I love how this feeling gets renewed so strongly everytime something amazing happens.

I created this account because once I experienced this thing for myself the first time I thought that if everyone got to feel this way the world would turn into heaven. I want each and every one of you to feel this way every day.

Love you all, im always here for you💕

Chimscake

[ihateeverything101]

you're amazing. i'm sorry i will be posting a lot of text today and in the next upcoming days. i found a technique that helps me write what i'm feeling, i've always had a hold up on how much time i spend talking to you. i enjoy it and want more time but i cant. anyways. here is the main post.

Things are hard. I want to talk to you all the time and tell you about everything that is happening. I know I can but it also takes time and effort, I wish we could talk. I know I say that frequently but I feel it frequently! I’m not sure it will work but I am actually typing this on my work computer because I can type faster and I look like I am actually working haha. I’m not on tumblr, only writing this in a word doc then going to copy and paste it from my phone.

The girl that is being added to our relationship, her name is Katie, shes at our house. I am not sure how much I’ve said about it but yeah she flew in yesterday and then is leaving Tuesday, she is staying 6 days. I like her and interacted with her a little bit after work yesterday. She's cute and fun but there are some aspects of her I don't like but I think that is the reality of being in a relationship or meeting new people. There are positives to it but I do feel conflicted and not nice. For example, I had to wake up and get ready and go to work. Char got fired a few months ago, I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to be even more frustrated with him, but I shouldn't protect him, at least not here.

So he hasn't had a job for awhile, he is lightly looking for jobs but for awhile he kept saying that he would commit to it more intensely after Katie left next week. I guess I need to be more of a hardass but it is hard for me and he makes it even harder because he gets emotional and reactive. I do that too but I wish he would have more patience or I'm not sure. He should've been applying to jobs the whole time since he got fired. There were obviously more steps than this but - he started talking to Katie.. I didn’t know how serious it was, they were video chatting and talking all day everyday. He mentioned her visiting and / or moving in eventually but said it as if it would happen in like a year. He didn't give an exact time frame but he did make it seem like that wasn't the plan currently. Then he tells me that she is looking at flights to come and visit, that feels fine to me because it still feels far away. I don't know how serious she or he is. I could've asked but I trusted that he was telling me accurate updated information. The next day he tells me she's booked her flight and trip for 6 days. I get upset and we talk about things. I'm glad we talk about things but I also feel small and idk. I dont have the words for it. Its not like if i didn't want her to move in, that would happen. no. even if I said I dont want this, it doesnt matter and things would continue going. Because that is basically what is happening, ive told him how unhappy i am with this situation and he has asked me when i would be ok or happy with the situation. I dont have an answer for that so I go with the flow and allow him to do what he wants because I feel like my answer is unreasonable. I want another year at least, I want her to move in 2024. Even then it seems too soon, especially with everything happening with Steff. tumblrs being silly and deleted some of what i wrote so imma start another post.

I haven’t read your longer post this morning about not being content with life. I relate and I am sorry you're feeling that way. You're not dating anyone but I feel like we both were in similar “honeymoon” phases of life. We had moved and things were different and better, and they still are, but after a year or so of living the life - it is mundane and normal now. Now we have to try and put in energy to make our lives worth living and fulfilling.

[keefwho]

March 23 - 2023

4:21 PM

It is mental health day and since I can’t think of anything I need to read up on, I should stick with an exercise or behavior change. I inadvertently gave myself a small challenge with lunch. I decided to make lentils with my rice a roni but the lentil I have are pretty old and an unfamiliar food in general. The reason I ate them though is because They are nowhere near their expiration date and from what I read, beans don’t really become bad after that anyways. Moreso inedible. So I had a full serving of the beans and I will not let myself think anything was wrong with them. I’m actually excited because I’m starting to figure out how to work with more raw ingredients. CHEAP ingredients that have a long shelf life. I’m interested in learning how to cook in my own way. I enjoy just putting simple things together like peasants did back in the 18th century. 

12:15 AM

Im up late but for a good reason. I wanted to spend time with someone very important before she’s gone all next week. Definitely worth sacrificing a little bit of sleep for, and having a late dinner. 

Earlier this evening I was in a position where I was prone to thinking nobody liked me. A CLASSIC problem. But I think I’m noticing the pattern enough to nullify it, at least sometimes. I literally just didn’t go down that rabbit hole of thinking. I knew that if I feel disconnected from others, the real problem is that I’m disconnected from myself. And I’m starting to find ways to deal with that. An effective method is to express myself however I know how. Basically to play, and I mean really “play”. Like Im a child again. Having some creative time where I actually don’t hold back helps me pinpoint what I “want” in an abstract sense. It really is all about expressing my feelings and getting to know them more. 

I also had a surprising conversation with a friend today. We discussed things like self growth, past traumas, and connections with others. I think it was important for me to have a sort of heart to heart like that with someone I can’t say I’m necessarily close with. Thats exactly the kind of thing I’ve been trying to explore. It also reminded me how effective it can be to just try to have a conversation with someone because you never know where it could go. One of my main initiatives right now is to talk to more people in meaningful ways. 

Another main goal is to be nicer to myself. Not just in my thoughts but with my actions. It can help to pretend I’m someone else giving me permission to practice a little self care. Like if I exited my body and told myself “take a break and watch your favorite stream for a couple hours, you deserve it.” 

On nights like this there is just too much for me to talk about and digest. I can’t get to it all. 

I’ve been worried about dependency a lot in the past but what I think I’m actually afraid of is being abandoned. I’ve been using fear of dependency as an excuse to limit how close I let myself get to people. Obviously dependency is something to keep in mind but I don’t think I have a problem with that. If I’m being honest with myself, I want strong connections. Connections that if they were lost, would hurt tremendously. I’m afraid of that tremendous pain but that fear robs me of the bonds I want to make. The solution I think is to simply let go of those fears and let myself commit to people in the ways I dream of. Its very similar with my anxiety where I just had to trust that my fears weren’t based on anything solid and I just had to trust that I was okay.

[alegitsalvage]

Image description thanks to @prridot

[ID: twitter thread by Rob Heiret @rheiret. Text:

During the localization of #AnimalCrossingNewHorizons, we joked repeatedly that we were building  the next 5-10 years’ worth of memes. WE knew the game would be big, but we obviously couldn’t have imagined the real-world circumstances of its release.

We’ve never had a time like this, where safety and responsibility to one another kept us physically distant, and digital tools have taken the place of face-to-face contact.

But Zoom and Twitter and the other platforms are, by design, rather plain. Animal Crossing is different.

The AC aesthetic is cute. I’ve seen people here observing that even the tarantulas are cute. Even the CHAIRS are cute. But it’s more than cuteness— it’s comfort. It’s positivity. It’s a retreat.

If you’ve played the game, you’re tired of the sea bass joke. I get it. *I’M* tired of the sea bass joke, and I wrote it. But here’s a secret about the sea bass joke: It was originally “I caught a sea bass! Well… maybe a C- bass.”

And when we were workshopping the fish jokes, someone pointed out that, as a joke people were going to see many, many times, generally along with disappointment that they didn’t catch something better, maybe it would be better to spin it positive. Make it a C+ instead.

From a comedy-mechanics perspective, it’s the same joke, relying on the homophones “sea” and “C” to change how you perceive the description of the animal (and, let’s be honest, it would work better as a verbal joke than it does in print, but that fish has sailed).

Anyway, my point is, we were doing our very best, down tot he details you might not have considered, to make this the most positive, comforting, funny game we could. And I know the dev team was doing the same.

So it’s been humbling to see this thing we worked on become so important to people, in part because of the weird accident of history that it was released during this scary-ass time.

I wasn’t *really* surprised when people started having their birthday parties in the game (hell, mine’s next week and I’ll be doing it). After all, the game has specific mechanics to acknowledge your birthday, so it’s a bit of a no-brainer.

But today I saw a screenshot from someone who, unable to visit their real mother’s grave for Mother’s Day, created a place in the game to visit. And that feels important.

Not only is Animal Crossing: New Horizons a safe, pleasant, perpetually smiling space, it’s a world of its now that the player can shape to their whim. Obviously the real world feels very out-of-control right now, so that, I think, is the secret sauce to this game.

When Nintendo first showed off the terraforming options in the game, I saw a lot of jokes about “the last game made you a mayor, this one makes you a GOD.”

But in the time of COVID19, we don’t need to be gods, we just need agency. We need a comfortable bed where we can arrange the blankets JUST how we like them. That feels like the single most important part of the game’s popularity to me.

Anyway, it’s an honor to have been involved in a small way in this thing. Here’s hoping we don’t need the eventual next game in the franchise quite so much.

End ID]

[blessedlance]

pretty baby.

[r18+]

[wc:] 4k

[cw:] sub!atsumu, softdom!reader, femdom, oral (f. receiving), riding, pegging, mommy kink, puppy kink, minor dacryphilia, collar-play, restraints

! haikyuu manga timeskip spoilers. atsumu is 24. !

a/n: oh my god i haven’t written for leisure in literally 10 years i hope this is bearable LOL. @luvsicksubs​ wrote a lil tidbit about sub!atsumu a while ago and i have not known peace ever since so big thank you to ari for the inspo! pls enjoi :9

Atsumu’s been gone lately. A lot.

 Too much.

 You know it’s not his fault. The Jackals' practices have been brutal lately. So when Atsumu does eventually trudge his way back to your shared apartment every evening, he can only muster up enough energy to shower and collapse into bed. You’ve had to wake him more than once, chiding him to get up and at least dry his hair before bed.

“You can’t afford to get yourself sick by sleeping with wet hair, ‘Tsumu.” You’d whisper, shaking him gently awake. Usually he’d just groan in response and bury himself further against your body heat beneath the comforter--unwilling to give up even a second of precious, blissful sleep. You’d even gone so far as to physically pull his heavy, six foot athlete’s body out of the bed and into the bathroom to dry it for him once or twice.

It’s for his health, you reason. You can afford to pamper him a little--especially when he’s been working so hard. And the way his body slumps while he sits, his features softening--long eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks as he dozes off into half-sleep at the feel of your fingers tussling his hair with the gentle heat of the blow dryer… He becomes so soft in those moments, like putty in your hands.

It’s dangerous, because it makes you crave the sight of him like this--fragile and reliant on the comfort of your touch--even more.

You sigh. Reminding yourself again, for seemingly the millionth time since this excessive practicing for the championships started,

‘It’s not his fault.’

He’s been good. So, so good. Trying so hard to make sure you know he loves you and he’s sorry. Texting you to check in whenever he has the chance.

 > how are you today?

> how’s work going??

> what’s for lunch??? ლ(≧ڡ≦ლ)

 Sometimes sending videos of himself and Hinata hashing out new plays (only the ones they’ve mastered, though. You may be intimately familiar with every embarrassing piece of him, but he still wants to try to look cool in front of his girlfriend.)

And it helps. It really does. But you also know the texts are just as much for his own sake as they are for yours. You know how needy Atsumu gets when you two are apart.

 You remember the time he’d called you from his hotel room after an away game in Tokyo. How he whined into the phone at the sound of your voice when you whispered.

“Touch yourself for me.”

The way a soft cry escaped him at your command--your name leaving his lips with a breath.

 You want to feel him like that again. To see him beneath you, squirming and desperate--begging for you to just touch him, just sit on his face, his cock, anything you want just please--

 You abruptly stop your line of thinking--not daring to continue dwelling on this recurring fantasy. Atsumu doesn’t deserve the punishment you crave to dole out on him to relieve this frustration.

 … But he might want it.

 Championships are tomorrow. Just 24 hours stand between you and the feeling of Atsumu Miya’s taut muscles beneath your fingertips.

You take a breath, summoning the remnants of your willpower.

You could do this. You would make certain that the wait would be worth it.

For both of you.

 ---

 The Black Jackals win their first match because of course they do. Honestly, sometimes you feel a bit bad for the opposing teams. Their skill, their teamwork, their passion, their absolute willpower to win is stifling. Atsumu texts you that they’re going out for celebratory dinner and drinks. Bokuto’s idea. (Obviously). He promises he’ll be home as soon as he can. They’ve all got tomorrow morning off, and a whole day before the next round of matches. Some indulgence is well-deserved.

You type out your reply.

 > Take your time and enjoy yourself! You’ve earned it. 💕

 Knowing you’ve got at least two hours or more before the boys’ exhaustion ushers them all home, you decide to spend some time... preparing.

 You’re reclined on the couch, watching something you can comfortably give your half-assed attention to while scrolling on your phone. You hear the front door unlocking, the handle turning, and your heart leaps into your throat. The thought of finally, finally having Astumu all to yourself makes you absolutely giddy.

You turn expectantly, and can’t help the way your lips curl upward into a smile.

Atsumu pushes the door open and turns toward you, already smiling when he opens his mouth.

 “Hey.” You murmur.

 “Hey.” He breathes back, and you watch the way his features relax at the sight of you. The way the confident, assiduous Atsumu Miya--a man who wakes up every single day and strives for perfection in everything and every one---melts into something softer.

Something that’s silently begging for you to tear him apart and piece him back together again.

He slips off his shoes, drops his gym bag to the floor, and brings his long, heavy body to lay over yours on the couch.

His face--tinted pink (presumably from the drinks)--buries itself against your neck, lips pressed to your skin.

Your fingers assume their familiar position, nestled in the blonde locks atop his head.

 “Missed you…” You say lowly against his ear.

The small shiver that runs down his spine does not escape your notice.

 “I’ve been here every night!” He protests.

 “You know what I mean.” Your fingers press against his head, tugging on the strands the slightest bit.

 “Mmm…” He affirms softly--your skin keenly feeling the gentle hum against its surface. He knows what you mean. He’s been here, yes, but it’s felt more like the ghost of him--wisping into your bed for a few hours and gone again in the morning.

 “You were really in the zone today.” You comment. “I felt bad for the other team.”

 He huffs out a small laugh. “Don’t. They played fine. We were just better.”

 “Hmm…” You take your unoccupied hand and run a single finger up the curve of his spine.

 He exhales, and you listen for the tremble in his breath you know will be there.

Just a little more.

 “Either way, you were so good.” You can’t contain the coy lilt your voice takes on. You know damn well what you’re doing--using the very words that always make him quiver. He knows what you’re doing, too.

Atsumu thinks he doesn’t mind.

 It’s quiet for a beat. The two of you simply basking in the warmth of your bodies pressed against each other. You stretch beneath him, and… readjust yourself in a way that presses your breasts against him just a little bit more...

And Atsumu finally, finally breaks.

 He inhales sharply, and lets the subsequent exhale freely pass against your neck. A muffled word that sounds a lot like a plea leaves his throat.

 “What was that?” You ask, purposely grazing your lips against his reddening ear.

 “Please…” He begs.

 You consider being mean for a moment. Consider pushing him to his limit in desperation. The way those sharp brown eyes would turn glassy and tearful, his dark brows pulled together, pleading you to hurry up and take him--touch him--let him touch you--fucking anything. However you want, wherever you want. Make him vocalize that burning desire, and only concede when he well and truly begs.

 But that can always be arranged another time.

You’re far too heady with desire yourself to enact such cruelty on him right now. Not after he’s been so good.

 You shift your weight, moving to switch your positions by sitting up and pressing him beneath you. Your straddle his hips, purposely pressing your weight down against his pelvis ever-so-slightly.

 “You’ve been working so hard, ‘Tsumu…” You murmur, lowering the top half of your body to lean over his. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, running up along the taut muscles that tremble at your touch. “Such a good boy…”

Atsumu’s bites his lip in an effort to stifle the deep moan that leaves his chest. The way his body almost involuntarily reacts to that phrase every. single. time… It’s just too good to pass up.

You wet your lips.

 “Let me make you feel good.”

 And you press those lips ever-so-softly to the juncture between his jaw and neck. Soft touch turning to a light bite, and then back to a soothing kiss.

 Atsumu is crumbling--his hardening length pressing insistently against you.

 “I got everything ready. We can use whatever you want: rope,” and you press a slow open-mouth kiss to his neck,

“your collar,” then one to his collarbone,

“a toy,” traveling down to his pecs,

“the strap…” ending just beneath his belly button.

You look up at him from beneath your lashes, watching keenly for his expression to shift in interest at any certain one.

 Atsumu doesn’t give an immediate answer, his gaze unable to meet your own. Your hands trail back down his body, grazing a nipple with your fingernail just to see the way he twitches at the sensation. 

 “C’mon baby, how am I supposed to treat my good boy if he doesn’t tell me what he wants?” You purr, bringing your hands to the hem of the worn, oversized t-shirt covering your top half down to the juncture of your thighs. You’d snatched it from his dresser earlier to lounge in. Another carefully plotted detail. You knew just how riled up he got at the sight of you wearing his shirts. Even more so if he lifted it only to find those black and gold lacy panties underneath… Or if there was nothing…

Stretching your body, you pull the shirt up and off of your torso, tossing it aimlessly behind you. Atsumu’s gaze immediately returns to you--spotting that very set’s match: a black bra with intricate gold stitching around the lace adorning your skin. His hands are on you in an instant--palms sliding up your ribs to reach your breasts and gently squeezing around them.

Astumu had never been good with the concept of patience.

 Normally, you’d stop those big, calloused setter hands in their tracks--admonishing him for not asking permission, first. But this was about him. About fulfilling every whim his exhausted mind and body had the energy left to want. You could allow a little insubordination tonight.

 “You even wore my favorite.” He grins, that cheeky, self important tone of his sneaking back out. You smile coyly and tilt your hips downward, pressing your bare core against his still-restrained cock. He inhales sharply--dropping the attitude once more.

 “Part of the reward.” You grin. “Now, what does my good boy want?”

 His eyes drift upwards from their fixation on your breasts, meeting your gaze.

 “I want…” He bites his lip. “Wanna make you feel good.”

 Your eyes widen at the admission, but he’s speaking again before you can inquire.

 “You’re always so patient with me when practice gets like this. I just want to... To give you a reward, too.”

 You’re taken aback for a beat, pleasantly surprised at the acknowledgement. Atsumu still manages to surprise you with how observant he is. One of the more unexpected traits he shares with Osamu. Your eyes soften and you reach up to gently cup his face. He turns his head to kiss your hand and murmurs against your palm.

 "Let me taste you. Please."

 He knows how you get when he’s busy like this. How--despite your authority and confidence in the bedroom--you still long for his affection and crave his touch when he’s gone.

And this… This is the perfect way for him to express his gratitude while still pleasing both of you.

 “Okay.” You breathe, moving to kneel over his face. “Whatever you want,” you gently drop your weight toward his mouth. “my sweet boy.”

 He practically preens at the praise, moaning against your core. Again, Atsumu demonstrates his struggle with patience and savoring the moment. In an instant, he’s gripping your thighs and pulling them closer against the sides of his face. You know you could sit your entire weight atop him and he’d thank you, but tonight calls for something gentler. It’s enough to know you’re the only person who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to watch the diligent, cocksure Astumu Miya, one of--if not the--best setters in Japan, become so vulnerable and desperate beneath you.

 He flattens his tongue and runs it slowly up from the start of your opening to the top of your clit.

 “Fuck, ‘Tsumu…” You moan, hands rushing to grasp at his hair. He groans, too, at the sensation of your fingers tugging--the hum sending a vibration through your body. You grind your hips, silently urging him on, and his tongue laves at your clit with small kitten licks. The feeling of those tiny, gentle laps against your most sensitive spot, so diligent and soft--it’s like electricity coursing through you, running up into every limb.

 “Mmhmm.” He hums against you. He knows just how you like it. When he services you like this--like the obedient puppy he is. “So wet… Y’taste s’good...” He says, hot breath fanning against you while he catches his breath for a moment.

 You press yourself back against him insistently. “Who said you could take a break? Use your fingers, too.”

 His mouth is back against you immediately, right hand sliding beneath your thigh to reach your opening. Carefully, he presses two fingers against it--testing the give, while his tongue continues to lick and suck at that sensitive nub. Spit has dribbled down from his mouth to where his fingers are pressed, and he slides his digits against the wetness, adding to the natural lubricant. Then, finally, he pushes those long middle and ring fingers up and into you. They slide in easily despite the way you feel yourself clench around the intrusion. He was right--you’re soaked. He finds a comfortable rhythm to compliment his tongue’s lashings easily and your head falls back, a deep moan escaping past your lips.

 “‘Tsumu… ‘Tsumu, fuck just like that--you do it so well for me, baby… Right there--”

 You’re cut off by the feeling of his fingers curling within you--searching, and then pressing against that spot so nicely.

Your thigh muscles twitch against his cheeks--breath fleeing from your lungs at the sudden rush.

 “Yes, ‘Tsumu--fuck yes.”

 You chance a look down at his face. Those long lashes closed, brows knit together in concentration while he pleasures you. Atsumu’s a pretty boy, but you think he’s prettiest like this.

 Fuck, you want more of that desperate expression. Want to edge him over and over until he’s drooling and can’t remember his own fucking name.

 You’re getting close. That climbing ecstasy rising dangerously high within you. You pull yourself off him before you can climb too high, and the release of suction from his mouth makes a small, wet pop.

 “You eat it so well, baby. So, so good for me, pretty boy.” You coo, caressing the sides of his face. His lips are pink and wet and you return your hips to their place atop his length. His lip wobbles with a whimper, back arching against you in search of more.

 “I think you’ve earned your reward now, don’t you?” Your eyelids fall, half-closed seductively while you lean your chest toward his face. You reach behind your back and release the clasp of your bra. His hands tighten themselves into fists, trying to restrain the urge to reach up and touch. The fingers of your left hand splay out against his chest, holding your weight, while the right moves down to pull off his boxer briefs. Then, your wet folds are sliding against his erect, bare, length. Slowly, up and down.

 “Mmm please can I--can I touch--”

 You interrupt him with a small lick against those still-wet lips and chuckle quietly to yourself.

 Oh, so now he’s ready to ask first?

 “You can.” You affirm, reaching down to line him up with your entrance. His breath is coming harder now, those hardened pecs rising and falling beneath you. The anticipation is rapidly unraveling him. Atsumu’s hands are on your back, tugging your chest back down towards him. As they slide forward around your ribcage to grasp your breasts, his gaze flits up to you.

 “Can I--?”

 “Mmhmm.” You nod--knowing what he wants. His mouth closes around your nipple, sucking with that perfect amount of harshness to tighten the coiling pressure in your lower body. His tip rests right against your opening. You can see the precum dribbling out of him--can feel the way he’s pushing himself slightly further up--desperate to get inside. Were this any other time,  you’d reprimand him for such impertinence. Tie his hands above his head and deny him completely. ‘And you were being so good, too, asking permission and everything. You wanna be inside that bad, maybe I should remind you how it feels to be on the receiving end, hmm?’

But, honestly, he’d nearly tipped you over the edge with just his mouth earlier. You were becoming impatient, yourself. 

 Finally, blessedly, you sink yourself down onto his cock, revelling in the way his mouth falls open and his head flings backward against the couch pillow with a cry.

 “Mmm.. ‘s it that good, baby?” You tease.

 “‘S been a while… So tight…” He hisses, almost like it’s too much.

 “Yeah?” You tease. Your hips are gradually picking up speed. Slowly rising up, up, up, as far as you can go before it feels like he might just fall out of you, and then your hip fall again, taking his full length deep inside.

 “‘Tsumu…” You say, rising back up again. “I wanted to pamper you tonight... “ and you slide back down. “Give my cute, sweet boy a reward for all his hard work.”

 Atsumu keens, whimpering beneath you.

 “But I think I wanna be a little selfish, too.” You breathe, leaning in close enough for your breath to fan against his face. “Is that ok baby?”

 A high pitched moan leaves Atsumu’s throat, and you clench around him.

 “Yes…” He sighs between ragged breaths. “Yes... Please, I--”

 “Please, what?” You interrupt him.

 “P-please…” You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. “Please, mommy…”

 “Ohhhhh, that’s my good boy.” You moan, restarting the rise and fall motion of your cunt around him. “Gonna make you feel so good. Just the way you deserve, ‘Tsumu. But you have to promise you won’t cum until I say so, mmk?” You’re holding his face, running your right index finger along the line of his jaw with a feather-light touch.

 And Astumu Miya shudders beneath you, staring up in reverence. The way those big brown watery eyes look at you… He’d look so cute with a collar clasped around his neck right now.

 He nods. “I--I won’t. I promise. Please.”

 Your hand moves up to stroke his hair softly. “Good boy.”

 You restraighten your back in your seated position atop him. Your hands come to rest against his chest for leverage, and you begin riding him in earnest. Atsumu’s eyelids fall closed again, head thrown back while his mouth hangs open in pleasure.

 “Is this what you wanted ‘Tsumu? Just want to feel me fuck myself on you until I’m satisfied?” You tease as you bounce. You slow to almost a halt and grind your hips in a circle, feeling the way his cock buries itself to the hilt. Atsumu’s hands are balled into tight fists against the couch. He’s moaning freely now--little cries escaping him as your cunt eagerly swallows him down over and over and over again.

“So good… You’re so good inside me, ‘Tsumu. Stretching me out so much every time. I know you know how good that feels.”

 “Ahnn--!” He keens at the memory. The way your soft hands had pressed his legs up against his chest. Wetness from the lube dripping down so tantalizingly slow between his ass cheeks. The cock of your strap buried within him. How utterly full he had felt, stretched around it while you softly cooed praises at him, stroking his cock.

 Fuck he wanted to cum like that again.

 More than that, he just wanted to cum. His hands clench and unclench--mouth hanging open while he revels in memory--in the feeling of your tight, wet, heat sliding up and down him just how he likes--how he needs.

 “I told you it was OK to touch, baby.” You reach down to grasp his hands with your own, bringing them to rest on your hips. “Hold onto me while I fuck myself on you.” You whisper.

 Atsumu’s eyes open at that, watching your body bounce on him. HIs left hand hastily comes up to grasp a breast, relishing the feel of the soft, pliable skin in his grasp.

 You gasp lightly at the sensation of his hand grazing your sensitive nipple. “Fuck yeah. So good for me baby--so good. Gonna make you cum in me like this--”

 Atsumu’s head falls back against the cushions again, his expression knotted in pleasure. “You feel so good. So good… Please… Please I’m-- Ahh!-- I’m getting close.”

 “Aww you’re close already? You wanna cum baby?” You shouldn’t tease. You know you’re close, too. That cresting peak getting closer and closer with every push of his cock into your deepest places. Your breath is ragged from the exertion of your body. You reach behind you blindly, refusing to miss an instant of Atsumu’s delicious expression. Eventually, you find the small bullet vibrator you’d stashed beneath the cushions earlier. You bring the toy to your clit and immediately feel it; that powerful wave looming just behind--threatening to take you over the edge. You steele yourself the best you can, inhaling deeply.

 Atsumu slides his eyes open at the sound and unleashes the mostly ungodly, moan. His voice trembles when he speaks.

 “Can I--can I come? Please--please baby let me come. Let me come.” His hands hold fast to your hips, grip growing steadily tighter as the sensations continue to climb. Faster now--exponentially faster. He’s not sure he could stop if he wanted to.

 “Mmmm hearing you beg like that… Good boy. You can cum, baby. I’ll even cum with you for being so good. Go ahead. Cum in this tight pussy.” Your words are rushed, breath catching here and there. “Give it to me.”

 And Atsumu shatters.

 The way his cry lilts up--high-pitched and unabashed. That wave crashing into him so hard and so completely it takes you down under with him. Atsumu’s mind is empty. Nothing but blinding white as he expends everything he has in him in an instant. His name spills past your lips over and over like a mantra while you ride out your high. The two of you so in-sync, it feels as though your cunt convulses in time with his every pulse. Everything feels so, astonishingly good and intimate.

 You’re both breathing heavily, eyes shut tight as that shared bliss slowly dissipates. You let yourself come down to rest on his chest. It’s suddenly very quiet save for your shared breaths. Eventually you rise onto your elbows, face directly over his.

 “I love you…” Atsumu murmurs, eyes slightly flitting about while he studies the intricacies of your face. He memorized them all long ago, but even in this he is never sated. Your eyes soften, chest fluttering at his tone: so tender and soft.

 “I love you, too.” You say, gently caressing his face. “So much.”

 Atsumu can’t help the smile spreading across his face. In one quick motion, his arms are around your neck and tugging your face down toward him. His head tilts, lips melding themselves against yours when they make contact. The kiss is unusually tender, his lips trying to convey what his words cannot: how he is so thankful and lucky to have you. You, who understands how dear his passion, his career, is to him yet helps him remain grounded so that it does not consume him entirely. You, who remains so, so patient when he is away. You, who is always there to help him take care of himself when he is too busy or exhausted. You, who holds him when he finally fractures under the stress of giving his everything all the time--and who helps him put his pieces back together again and get back at it.

 Your head returns to its resting place on his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath you, lulling you to sleep. You both need to get up, clean up, and get into your actual bed, but the bliss of finally feeling Atsumu’s hard body beneath you. Knowing it is completely yours, at least for a short while… You don’t want to relinquish it for even a second.

There’s another beat of silence before you speak.

 “Wanna go to ‘Samu’s and get tuna tomorrow?” You ask.

 Atsumu groans his approval loudly--so much so one would think he hadn’t just finished a massive meal with the Jackals. That signature cheeky grin returns to his face.

 “Oh my god I love you.”

[apparitionism]

Run 9b

This story is nominally about how advances in running-shoe technology affect athletic competition. (It’s of course really about a Bering and a Wells.) Anyway, near the beginning—which was written in early 2020—I had a character speculate that the shoe companies putting all this new distance-running technology in place would eventually get to developing “skinny little cheat spikes” for shorter distances... and what a surprise, they did. Springy plates. Fancy foam. Super spikes. Et cetera. There’s been a spate of sub-four miles in the past year, and while a causal connection between such times and these new spikes hasn’t been definitively established, the correlation’s pretty strong. But who cares, right? Particularly since things might start happening on the Myka-and-Helena-begin-to-mend-fences front... that is, if Myka can nimbly navigate a minefield of a conversation with Dan Badger... and truly make up her mind about a few things... anyway none of this makes sense without the context of part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7a, part 7b, part 8, and part 9a.

Run 9b

“I’m grateful to you,” Badger said to Myka as she stood once again in his office.

“I’m glad I was able to help,” Myka said. “Glad to have had the opportunity. To have been in a position to do it. To...” She felt herself begin to slide into babbling, and she stopped. Stopped—surprised and pleased that she was able to do so—and waited. If gratitude was the extent of it, he could have sent an email. So what was this really about?

He obliged. “Additionally, I have a question for you, if you don’t find it an intrusion.”

She gave her best noncommittal nod, but she thought, Is it about who’s important to me? Because I have had it with that for today.

He shook his gray mane away from his face, rearranging its waves every so slightly. It made him seem more committed to perfection but also, paradoxically, more... a person. Someone whose hair could displease him, if only in the smallest of ways. Fixing his gaze again upon Myka, he said, “Why don’t you run?”

“I do run.”

“I know you exercise,” he said. That word. Hearing it from him was infinitely worse than it had ever been, coming from anyone else. From everyone else. But then he surprised her: “My question is, why don’t you—why didn’t you—run. Your height-to-leg ratio is ideal; you’d have had an enviable stride. Everyone knows how you can work. Why didn’t you run?”

All she could think was, Because my father didn’t. Had he done that—rather than exercise—she might have thought to do it too. But running (exercising) alongside him, she’d had no way to think it. Apples don’t fall far from trees.

She said that out loud to Badger, who responded with a quizzical lift of eyebrow. “All I know is the Deceits made it clear,” she added.

Yet another quizzical lift.

“Did you run in them?” she asked, feeling the question a real risk.

The eyebrow lowered. His entire forehead lowered. “Yes...” he said. He obviously did not enjoy being unable to immediately discern her intent.

“How did they make you feel?” A further risk.

That got her a turn of head. Had she asked the right question at last? “Like myself,” he said.

“That’s the difference.”

“They made you feel...” he prompted.

“Like an athlete. Like one of you.”

“Oh I see. That’s why you don’t want the public to have them? Because you find this club so offensive?”

“Your club is exclusive,” Myka said. “Rightfully so.”

“And yet you could have been a member,” Badger said.

He seemed to want to wound, at least a pinprick’s worth, and that want gave Myka a slight upper hand. For once. It enabled her to say a placid, “But I’m not.” She was proud of that. She was proud also of being able to follow it with a similarly calm, “So here we are.” Had she been a member of his club, she would have appended a casual “Badge.”

“Indeed, here we are.” As if he wondered why they were still there. Given that he had expressed his gratitude and received an answer—although perhaps not the one he would have preferred—to his question.

But Myka knew she had a task before her; she heard Giselle in her head, saying She lost her job, followed by What are you going to do about that?

Badger would soon lose his patience with her presence. What was she going to do about that? Myka determined to... bring it up.

“Zelus fired Helena Wells,” Myka said, tossing it into what might have been a void.

“I’m aware,” Badger said. And then a void did loom: he made her wait, and she counted the seconds, reaching ten before he said, “She was, alas, shown to be not quite so ‘good at what she does’ as I recall you postulating.” His eyes narrowed again, and Myka felt the pressure of predation. “I witnessed your exchange at the elevators the other night, you know.”

“You know”... what a strange thing to say. Myka didn’t know. How could she have known? The puzzlement of it distracted her, such that it took a beat for her to feel the jolt of the much more disturbing—yet not in the end surprising—fact of his witnessing.

How to respond to that fact? Was this her opportunity to introduce the idea that Helena had made the deal possible? Could she say that Helena had been giving her Ingenumedix? Myka wished she’d come into this with a better plan... with any plan. But Badger interrupted her futile wishing with, “Was she indeed entreating you as she seemed? Rather desperately, and for information, I thought. In light of recent developments, that seems correct. Is it?”

“Entreating?” Myka echoed. That made no sense as a description of any part of what had happened. She could have recounted their conversation word for word, but she would never have thought to read any sort of pleading as a component of anything Helena had said.

What had Badger seen, to attribute to Helena that penitent role? He had to be wrong... as proof, he clearly hadn’t perceived Myka’s own desperate want. Because she would have entreated. If she could have found a way to let herself, oh, how she would have entreated. “I can’t speak to that. But. But.” Don’t spin your wheels, she told herself. Tell the truth. As much of it as won’t do undue damage. To anyone. “You said, before, that you suspected I wasn’t telling you the story in full.”

“I did.”

He didn’t follow that with a question. She gathered herself and went on, “You were right. Some information found its way to me. I think it came from Helena.”

“You ‘think.’” Languid disbelief.

Myka doubled down, with as much force as she could muster: “And I think Zelus fired her for that. Not because she didn’t make the deal they wanted.”

“And precisely why would she want such information—the Ingenumedix wrinkle, I presume—to find its way to you?”

“I think she’s interested in competition being fair,” Myka said, telling the truth. Sideways, but the truth. Was that a precise enough why?

To Myka’s surprise, Badger snorted. “Doesn’t take after Wells, then. Thank god that young man competed before the era of performance-enhancing drugs.”

“I’m not saying she’s a saint,” Myka said, in... well, what was it? Clarification? Or was she trying to push aside the possibility that, in this instance, such a label could apply?

Badger snorted again. “Thank you for that.”

Myka castigated herself for not immediately recalling “Saint Dan,” and she hurried to add, “But I think she wanted to bring about an equitable outcome.”

“Interesting motivation. Given her position.”

“Which she doesn’t have anymore,” Myka said. “Because of that motivation. I think.”

“You ‘think,’” Badger said again, again conveying his clear doubt that Myka’s thoughts could be taken as in any way definitive.

It was true that she’d qualified everything she’d said about Helena as being what she thought. As opposed to what she knew.

What are you going to do about that? she heard again in her head. “Bring it up” was by every measure not enough. What was she really going to do about that? Giselle had been implying pretty heavily what she should do... but Myka couldn’t yet manage to go all the way there under her own power. Thinking, knowing. She said, “I think also that Giselle thinks you could use Helena here.”

“Well, Giselle.” His tossed-off tell me something I don’t know aspect, the sense that he was so very familiar with Giselle’s proclivities and what they prompted, annoyed Myka. She barely quelled an impulse to counter with Giselle says she’s out of that side of this game as Badger went on, “Her, I can understand, and yet Pete Lattimer, of all people, made a similar case to me not half an hour ago. Wells’s daughter has a strikingly diverse array of champions.” He stopped—not long enough to provoke a count—then sprang. “You sound as if you might be among them. Are you?”

“If she really helped make this deal happen? Yes.” Easy to say, for it followed, logically. She wasn’t going to think, not just yet, about what else might follow, logically or otherwise.

Now he contemplated—or feigned contemplation. For fifteen seconds. “Do you have any reason to believe she won’t betray us similarly, given an attractive opportunity?”

Was hope a reason? “I think this situation was singular.” There she went with “think” again... but she was trying to be truthful, and all she had were her thoughts. And hope.

Badger contemplated her for twenty seconds this time. These lengthening pauses, these turnings of pressure-screws... they were exhausting. Clearly, the reason the athletes were able to deal so well with Badger was that they had stamina. When he relented, all he said was, “Singular.” This time he waited just long enough to make her question her choice of word. Then: “Why was she in fact entreating you?” As if he knew exactly how “singular” and “entreating” were related.

“I honestly can’t say.” She understood, now, that she was formulating hopes about reasons. But she could not say with any honesty that she knew anything about Helena’s part of that exchange, other than the words she had said.

“I won’t guess,” he said, as if he were doing her a favor, as if his guess would be so revealingly accurate that she’d be unable to bear its articulation. “I’ll observe, however, that when I asked her that question, she wouldn’t answer. At the time, I thought I knew why. In light of recent developments, I’m revising my opinion.”

His guess might have been accurate in just that terrifying way. Myka determined to create some distance—to suggest, however misleadingly, that any connection he might be inferring would be off the mark. “I’ve been reading up on her father,” she said, in defensive deflection: I had to read; I have no personal knowledge. Differentiating herself from Giselle, at least. “Took him more than one try to get it right.”

“As I understand her professional reputation, prior to now, she’s been very like him. Once he did get it right, that is. Enjoying the challenge. That ruthless glint.”

Are you talking only about the Wells family? About yourself as well? About all athletes? This, too, is why I didn’t run. I don’t want to be ruthless.

Not like Helena.

And yet... she had been ruthless. Not like Helena, but with Helena. “Please, Myka” had never ceased to echo in her head. She thought again of what her father did not bequeath her.

“Don’t you want someone like that?” she asked. “Someone who enjoys a challenge? Particularly as set by you.”

“Well.” His pause now returned to the ten-count, an unreadable changeup. “She was a fussy infant, however. Have you seen the photograph?

Helena was a fussy infant, and... there was a photograph of that? But no, not a photograph, the photograph. “The photograph?” she echoed, weak with ignorance.

Badger breathed out audibly through his nose, the impatient exhale suggesting that her lack of knowledge was an insult. “Wells, myself, the infant. Taken for the papers, prior to his initial disaster. It’s quite well known.”

Well known? Myka added “the photograph” to her increasingly long list of what she hadn’t known at all. What she never would have known, had Helena not come to AAI. All she wanted to do now was find “the photograph”... but Badger kept talking: “Quieting that child required what seemed hours of cossetting. I won’t deny it’s colored how I think of her—for good and ill. There’s residual annoyance in the memory of her incessant wailing, yet a real relief in not needing to introduce over and over a silver rattle into her small chub of a fist in order to achieve an outcome.”

That made Myka laugh. “That’s what the past does?” He made as if to answer, with no pause this time, but Myka preempted him, saying, “No, I know.” The saying of it, and the way she’d said it—both were far too familiar for her to have used with him. And yet it didn’t seem inappropriate, because she was again telling the truth: she did know. She saw her own similar culpability. What the past does... what it should do... what it should not do.

How could her attitude have shifted so fast? So fast and so sure? For she was sure. Like a time-lapse video of a bloom opening: she’d gone from not knowing what would happen to knowing exactly what had to happen, here in this office, in this conversation. And beyond.

As the force of had to took over, it kicked a memory of her first instinctive response to Helena’s reappearance in her life: You belong right here.

And then another kick, back to the very beginning, reminding her of her own self-possession. Her power. Her knowledge of what she could have, if she wanted it. What she could have because she wanted it.

Her lizard brain had retained that knowledge, but she had buried it, along with her hunger for excuses, her craving for reasons. She hadn’t expected Helena—via Giselle, and in unknowing collusion with her father—to provide what she needed.

Now Helena was someone to thank. And more, and greater: someone to persuade. You belong right here. Frightening, but... true?

Badger interrupted her lizard-thinking with, “Fortunately, that former infant has no commensurate memory of me.” He quirked a smile. “As far as I’m aware.” It was true, native charm, without any undertone of need, of attempt. His “Saint Dan” sobriquet in that moment made perfect sense: the charm, married to his basic decency, did confer a saintly aspect, certainly as compared to the vast majority of mortals.

Myka felt sure now that Helena, similarly charming in that unforced way, had that bedrock of decency as well. She had disallowed herself any knowledge of it in the past, and she’d let the past stand in the way of her knowing it now... up until perhaps this very minute.

“I’ll ring her in the morning,” Badger said, again followed by a pause, and Myka predicted ten seconds. He averted her count at five, with a wry and impossibly knowing, “I suppose you might do the same. If we’re to obtain the outcome Pete, and Giselle, and you, and a no doubt infinite number of additional champions desire.”

He thought a call from Myka could affect the outcome. His inferences had to be closing in on the contours of the situation—Myka shared a past with Helena, one that was extraordinarily personal—if not how it had affected, or would affect, the present.

Myka herself didn’t in all honesty know anything about how that past would affect the present. She didn’t feel she knew much about the present at all... except, all right, for a couple of very distinct things: one, that Helena was leaving tonight. Two, that she did not want Helena to do that.

So what hope did Myka, motivated by thing two, have of averting thing one?

She was sure that no phone call from Badger, even one placed this very minute, would be enough. For Myka did know some things about the past, or knew some things based on the past, and one of those things—very salient here—was that Helena believed, with near religious conviction, in the persuasive value of presence.

A small conversation from one of their nights together had led Myka to this knowledge.

“But I don’t see why you couldn’t do what you do from elsewhere,” Myka had said. “From anywhere. It’s just meetings.”

“‘Just’ meetings?” Helena had disputed. “No meeting is merely itself. So many observations to be made... you yourself brought up peacocking. Such displays require proximity.” She’d turned a bit pedantic then, saying, “Never underestimate the importance of what takes place when parties to any negotiation are face-to-face.” Helena twisted her mouth into a little cringe then, clearly regretting her unsolicited advice, and Myka had to resist mightily the urge to tell her that even her didactic streak was irresistible. She felt herself starting to say it anyway, but Helena preempted her with the shrug of a naked shoulder, saying, “All that aside, I’ll note that you and I wouldn’t be here now if not for that importance.”

At the time, Myka had worshipped that importance. In the aftermath, she had taken it as punishment.

Now, she was sure it was a lesson.

Maybe Badger’s call would work if AAI were the only entity with an interest in the negotiation, but Myka was—needed to be—a party to it as well. Let me go, she began pleading silently. Let me go. She had time, but not forever; the details Giselle had texted her had included Helena’s flight time. She needed to get to the airport, needed to stop Helena there, needed enough time to plead a case... enough time to show Helena that her own conversion, however rapid, was genuine. She knew that would never work if they were not face-to-face.

“I will,” Myka said. “Absolutely.” Trying to overassure so he would let her go.

“Then you might have a new colleague soon.”

“Sounds great.” Let. Me. Go.

“Not competitive?” Badger asked. He was the picture of innocence.

“That is not part of my motivation or mindset or philosophy,” Myka overemphasized, “at this point. Really not.” She bounced a bit, just a bit, on her toes, a muted version of what she would have done prior to a run. No, an exercise. Whatever—it felt like four in the morning, like the dark early start of a day, that every-morning If I don’t get moving now, I won’t move at all fear of failure.

“You seem anxious,” he observed, in a way that made Myka want to jump out of her skin.

Which would prove him right. “Not at all. I am calm. Placid, even. Not to mention, ready to move forward. In productive ways.” He didn’t need to know what kind of productive—

“Involving portable MRIs?” This he said with a completely annoying—completely charming—twinkle.

“Yes. That is exactly what I’m talking about.” Helena had managed to get her way with Badger when she was an infant, so Myka surely could now. As an adult. Though Badger was making it difficult for her to remember that she was one. Nevertheless: If you don’t let me go I will lose my mind.

The release did come at last, with a still-twinkling “Then I suppose we’re in accord.”

He gave a final nod, as if to express satisfaction both with how he’d toyed with her—batting her this way and that, befitting his apex-predator status—and with how she’d responded. She would have resented that satisfaction, yet all of his questioning and probing and inferring had revealed her to herself, crystallizing her purposes, her aims. Her wants. Their justifications.

She had, she realized, experienced an epiphany. Was he in fact a saint?

****

As she was trying to squeeze into a down elevator so she could finally get on her way, Pete grabbed her; all she could think was Why. Will. Nobody. Let. Me. Leave.

He said, “Hey, I had a really brilliant idea here at the elevators a while ago, and it was—”

“That Helena should work here. And you told it to Dan Badger,” she finished for him.

He gave her the cartoon bug-eyes. “Are you psychic?”

“Yes. Also, my side hustle is running the world.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know. Anyway you have to help get your ex to work here, because it would be awesome, because she seems so totally nuts. Also, is she really that nuts?”

“No,” Myka said, because there were a lot of words that could reasonably be applied to Helena, but “nuts” wasn’t—

“She thinks we’re together.”

“Right. I forgot about that, so I’ll rephrase: yes.”

Pete giggled. “I can’t wait.”

“Look. If you want this to happen, you need to shut up and let me get on the elevator so I can get to the airport and try to talk her into it.”

Now he gasped. “Can I go with you?”

“Oh my actual god no. Also someone has to be here to at least pretend we’re a department that does real work.”

“I think that means I should go to the airport, not you.”

“Which one of us do you think can talk her into even considering staying?”

“Depends. Are you really as good in bed as that nostalgia eyesex made it seem like?”

“I’m leaving for the airport now,” Myka said, and she was, miraculously, able to step into an elevator as she did so.

“That means yes!�� Pete called after her, as Myka thought, I am so glad we did this at the elevators. I am so glad approximately the entirety of AAI will have heard some version of this before I even get to the airport. She fully expected Giselle to text her about it while she was still in the elevator. Probably somewhere near the inauspicious thirteenth floor, given everything.

****

En route, in a cab, Myka called Helena: no answer. She didn’t leave a message.

Once at the airport, she tried a text. I’m outside security. Where are you?

To her outsize relief, she got dots in response, and then Helena responded, with one blessed word: Why.

Because I want to talk to you.

Dots, dots dots dots, for an absurd length of time. Myka might as well have been back in Badger’s office, counting Mississippis.

Then: I’m in the bar at the airport Hilton.

Myka launched herself into action, pushing through throng after throng of people—she had never said “excuse me” so many times, worming and threading and carving her way along, panic beating in her head, which way is the Hilton which way which way where are the signs an airport should have signs—holding her phone before her as she hurtled, the device and her hands forming the knife with which she cut her way through.

Breaking free from crowds for a moment, she stopped and texted, Don’t move.

She received dots in response, so she resumed her sprint, wishing—traitorously, but wishing all the same—that she were wearing Deceits.

The minute Myka entered the bar, her eyes were drawn to Helena, and her body served up a similar surge of desire and pull—the first she’d been able to let herself experience without immediately having to feel guilty and despise herself for it.

Helena’s expression at her approach was noncommittal, but not aggressively so. It beat three blinking dots. Or maybe it was intended to be the equivalent of three blinking dots...

Myka took the barstool next to Helena—for thank god she had no company—and calmly ordered a scotch, on the theory that Giselle wasn’t the only one who could drink amber alcohols. She congratulated herself on her self-possession. She congratulated herself also on her lung capacity; she’d managed to say “scotch” without showing any effects of her mad dash. Hopefully.

Her additional justification for her drink: Even though I’ve just run a series of time trials through an airport for you, Helena, I’m not ready to drink wine in your presence. Not yet. She heard the “yet” in her head. Hearing that, feeling its implications—letting herself feel its implications—mattered far more than the ridiculous airport steeplechase.

She began. “I heard you had a talk with Pete.”

Helena’s dry response: “News travels rapidly at AAI.”

Myka waited to say more until she received her drink. Was she trying to make Helena anticipate, raise the stakes as to what was coming next? Yes... and trying to keep Helena’s interest piqued: that felt like before. But should now be like before? Myka had no idea. She could prolong the anticipation by lifting her glass, by sipping and savoring... but now wasn’t then. Instead, she stared at her scotch while saying, “I heard you said I deserve to be treated well.”

Helena then made Myka wait, but not long; she responded, even more dry, “Extremely detailed news travels rapidly at AAI.”

“No... news travels at AAI like carrier pigeons chirping through tin cans.” Myka raised her eyes. She needed to see Helena’s reaction to what she intended to say next. “For example, I also heard that you heard that Pete and I are together.”

Helena deflected. She looked deep into her own drink, a voluminous glass of a leggy red. “In the interest of accuracy, that is not what I heard. I heard—or rather, I was told—that you have a boyfriend. I inferred for myself that that boyfriend is Pete.”

In that instant, Myka saw herself putting a stop to everything, regardless of new wishes and old wants. She could say “It is,” and that would truly be that.

Instead, after a breathing decision, she said, “It isn’t.”

“I need you to tell me it isn’t anyone else either,” Helena said.

Myka was pretty sure that was about Giselle, and again, she could put a stop to everything...

“It isn’t,” she repeated, for all the truth.

TBC

[edna-skiffens]

The Best Medicine

Summary: You are in the hospital, but you can never sleep in hospitals. Good thing you have a very attractive night shift nurse who is willing to help out.

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: hospitals, light med talk, bad medical writing, fluff

A/N: Please ignore the plot holes or the fact that this isn’t the most realistic and also I know this isn’t how discharge works at the hospital.. It’s called fiction for a reason, darling. Also, I left the reason the reader is in the hospital open ended bc some of us may have medical conditions/reasons that we can attach to this, but if not I tried to keep it vague enough on purpose so that you can imagine whatever. Also if you like Nurse!Tom and have requests for him lmk bc i’m happy to write for him.

Toss and turn. Toss and turn. The routine was getting old. This was your third night in the hospital and sleep just wasn’t coming to you.

Maybe it was the medicine they had you on. Maybe it was the constant symphony of sounds and people passing in the hallway. Maybe it was because you weren’t at home in your own bed.

Maybe it was just because you were in the hospital.

You couldn’t be sure. What you were sure of is that you weren’t falling asleep anytime soon.

Feeling another presence in the room, you looked from the ceiling to the doorway where you saw Tom, one of the night shift nurses, standing cautiously.

“I didn’t wake you did I?” He asked as he eased his way inside.

“Nope.”

“So no sleep again, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Sorry darling. Let’s go ahead and get these vitals over with.” He took your blood pressure, oxygen levels, temperature and wrote it down in your chart. Putting the clipboard back on its hook at the end of the bed, he looked up at your tired face. “Okay. So now about that sleep. What do you think will help?”

“Not being in the hospital.”

He chuckled lightly while walking back towards your bedside.

“I know. You hate it here. You’ve made that very clear and I try not to take too much offense to it.” You let out a slight laugh and held back the fact that he was the best part of this whole experience. He almost made it worth it. “I’m sorry we can’t give you any sleeping medication. Do you think it’ll help if I talk to you?”

“You mean tell me bedtime stories?” You couldn’t help but tease him at the adorable suggestion, though it sent a swarm of butterflies off in your stomach.

“I was thinking more like bore you ‘till you fell asleep. But whatever works.”

“You’re the nurse. If you think it’ll help.” You both sat there smirking at each other for a moment. Something unspoken floating in the air between you two.

“Well, I need to finish my round of vitals first. I’ll come check on you when I’m done and if you’re still up we’ll see about those stories.”

“I’ll be here.”

About fifteen or twenty minutes later you heard a light tap on your door followed by “Still awake?”

“Always.”

“You up for a chat?” Tom asked as he made his way to the stool then rolled slightly closer to your bed.

“Got nothing better to do.” You teased again.

“Okay. Well you should probably lay down.”

“Oh. It’s going to be that kind of story, huh?” His laugh was so beautiful and you were happy you were the cause of it.

“No.” He corrected in between laughs “The goal is to get you to sleep. So sitting up won’t help.”

“Right. Right.”

“Well.. anything in particular you’d like to talk about?”

“Why did you choose to become a nurse?”

“Ahhh. Good question. So I actually went to an art school.” You couldn’t help the brief expression of surprise that crossed your face. “I know. Shocking. I did training specifically in dance and gymnastics and I loved it.”

“Wait, so what happened?” You asked, turning on your side to face him more comfortably.

“Well one day we were rehearsing for a show and I fell. Ruined my knee. Had to do physical therapy for months. I tried to get back into it, but it just wasn’t the same. However, through that process I learned a lot about medicine and the health side of things. It really turned me on to it. And when my Plan A got a bit messed up I thought ‘hey, this could work’. So far it’s treated me pretty well.”

You smiled at Tom, admiring his passion for his career and the determination he had to keep pushing after his accident. You enjoyed hearing him talk about it too. If you didn’t know any better you would say it was helping you relax.

“My story that boring?”

“Obviously.”

“Your sarcasm has no end.”

“Oh… goodness.. you thought that was sarcasm?”

Tom only laughed and shook his head the way he often did with you.

You may just have been his patient and he may have just been your nurse, but you both bonded. He kept you company and gave you comfort. In return, you kept him entertained during the quiet night shifts.

“I’m not going to sleep. I'm just resting my eyes. But still listening.” You told him as you nestled further into the hospital bed, trying to find a position that would make it comfortable.

“Okay, darling.” He grinned at you.

“Tell me more. What kind of-” You had to stop to yawn, “What kind of art stuff did you do?”

“Oh. Well, I was in a few musicals. I really enjoyed dancing. I did ballet ever since I was young and I love the control I have over my body. The tricks I can do with gymnastics or the turns and leaps. I mean I can’t do them to that level anymore, but I try to stay active.” He glanced up and noticed you hadn’t moved, “Are you still with me?”

“Mhm.” You barely respond.

“Okay. Well it was a performing arts school so we really were trained in many areas. We had classes in acting, singing, dancing, all of it. It was a lot of fun and I met my best friends there.”

Tom began telling stories about his time at school. Before he knew it, he lost himself and track of time. He looked back at you, quiet and still.

“Y/N?” You were finally asleep. “Goodnight, darling.” He whispered as he gently made his exit.

Because Tom worked the night shift, you never saw him when you woke in the morning. Instead, Tanya, a sweet nurse that felt like a big sister, or Linda, Nurse Ratched in the flesh, came in for morning vitals and meds.

You counted down the days until your release. Life in the hospital was pretty uneventful with the limit on visitors and limited activity. There’s only so many sitcoms one can take in a given timespan. The only thing that you really looked forward to each night was when Tom clocked in.

“Hi Y/N.”

“Hi Tom.” You would smile at each other.

“How are we feeling today?”

“Better. Ready to get out of here.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you are feeling better and still ready to jailbreak.” He smiled while writing something down on your chart. “They should be bringing up your dinner tray soon and then I’ll bring by your evening meds after that.”

“Okay.”

“If you need me you know what to do.” He called to you before walking out the door.

You were disappointed when Shelley brought your evening meds by later. She was a nice enough nurse. She just wasn’t Tom.

You’d grown accustomed to mainly having him as your nurse during the evening shift. At first you weren’t sure if it was coincidence or on purpose, but after a few nights of staying up and talking, you grew closer to him. You saw less of the other nursing staff and more of Tom.

You tried not to build anything up in your head. You were sure everything he was doing was in his job description and a part of being a good nurse.

He would sneak you extra pudding cups from the cafeteria and bring you an extra heated blanket because you could never stay warm. If you needed a new IV, he held your hand to ease the anxiety. He kept you company and made you feel less alone in such a sterile and intimidating place. And when he noticed you had trouble sleeping he chose to sit with you to help you fall asleep. You couldn’t help the butterflies that built in your stomach.

It became a sort of routine. He checked on you during evening vitals, even if someone else was doing them, and you were always still awake. He would then come and sit with you and chat for a bit, telling you different stories until you eventually fell asleep.

Some nights when you were extra restless he would help you walk the halls.

“The doctors have to see you’re stable enough before you can be discharged. Plus, maybe it’ll tire you out.” He suggested.

He would help get your IV pole ready so you could walk with it. He helped you into your slippers and eased you out of bed after passing you your robe.

Walking the hall slowly, Tom knew he had to remain professional, yet he found a few excuses to graze his hand across your back to ‘steady you’ when you turned corners or he thought you were looking tired.

“It might take me a while to get back to my usual jogs in the park, huh?” You laughed in spite of yourself.

“You’ll get there. Baby steps.” He encouraged, as you turned around the Nurse’s Station. You missed the faces the other night shift nurses were giving you both, but Tom was sure to subtly flick them off. “So, do you like running?” He asked as you headed back towards your room.

Throughout your late nights together, he told you of his three younger brothers and his dog named Tessa. You spoke about what you would do when you were out of hospital. He talked about his friends and flatmates and the adventures they had. He told you many stories, but each morning when you woke up he was clocked out and the day shift nurses were there.

Tonight was your last night. You’re set to be discharged tomorrow and while you are ecstatic to go home, you’re going to miss one thing about this place.

“I bet you’re too excited to sleep tonight. I don’t know if my stories will even help.” Tom said as he sat down next to you.

You smiled up to him sweetly.

“What are you looking forward to the most once you get out of here?”

“Sleeping in my own bed.”

“Well that’s no surprise.” Tom laughed, a contagious sound making you giggle as well. “Isn’t there anything you’ll miss about this place?”

“Yeah.” He smiled “There’s one thing.”

“What’s that?” He asks.

“The pudding cups.”

“Ahh the pudding cups of course.” You giggled while fiddling with the IV line.

“They just don’t taste the same in the outside world.”

His smile grew wider as you giggled.

“No, but really. As much as I give this place grief and say I’m ready to get out of here - which I am,” You gave him a pointed look to which he held his hands up in mock surrender, fully believing you, “it hasn’t been too terribly awful I guess.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad we could make your stay not too terribly awful.. I guess.” He teased. “Do you have anything exciting to look forward to once you’re a free woman?”

“Nothing huge planned, really. The doctors did say to take it easy.”

“That’d be wise.”

“Yeah. I’ll just lay low for a while. My sister said she may try to come visit me though so that would be nice.”

“Oh that would be nice. She’s your older sister right?”

“Right. She moved away last year to be closer to her boyfriend.”

“Ah. Do you like him?”

“Sorry?”

“This boyfriend. Do you like him?”

“He’s alright, I suppose. He makes her happy.” Tom nodded along.

“And do you have a boyfriend that makes you happy?”

“N-No. No I don’t. Not at the moment.” You began fiddling with the IV cord again.

“No boyfriend or not a boyfriend that makes you happy?” He asked.

“Neither.”

“Well that’s a shame.” If the heart monitor was connected you would’ve been screwed. “I just mean someone needs to look after you once you get home. I hope this sister comes through for a visit. You’ve got to take it easy.”

“Oh I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will be.” He smiled.

“How has your shift been tonight? Busy?” You asked, fighting back a yawn.

“A bit busier than usual. There was a slight emergency earlier which is why Shelley handed out meds tonight. Sorry I didn’t come around.”

“It’s alright. I know you have other patients.”

“Yeah, but none like you.” You were sure he said that to all of his patients. After all, you’ve heard similar lines ever since you went to the pediatrician as a child. But it still gave you butterflies.

“Are you getting sleepy?”

“A little. But it’s okay.” He gave you a pointed look but continued to talk anyway. “It’s the last night. One final request for storytime. Make it a good one.”

You thought for a moment before asking your question.

“Do you ever wish that life turned out differently? That you never had your accident and you could’ve followed your dreams to be a dancer?” You asked while turning on your side and getting more comfortable.

“Sometimes. At least, I used to. But I think I’ve accepted it now. And I really can’t see myself doing anything but this.” You nodded taking in his answer “I look at it this way. If it wasn’t for my injury then I never would’ve changed my career path and found my love for medicine. I never would have made so many of the friends I’ve made or the memories I’ve made. I never would have met you.” He finishes with a sweet smile.

“That’s a very positive way of looking at it.” You told him. “Be honest, are you a therapist during the day?” He laughed out loud.

“No. I’m not. I guess I’m a big believer in ‘everything happens for a reason’.” You nodded while covering a yawn.

“So I’ve been curious to ask you,” He began, “Do you usually have this much trouble sleeping? Because you can get help for that you know?” You smiled at him.

“What? I thought a night nurse talking to you was the cure?” Tom smirked and shook his head. “I’m kidding. No, I normally don’t. It’s just the stiff sheets and hospital sounds I think.”

“Darn hospital.” He rolled his eyes and joked. “So this time tomorrow you’ll be sound asleep in your own bed then?”

You knew it was meant to be a happy statement, but you were a little sad at the thought of not having any more late night chats with Tom.

“Yes. Thank God.” You forced a smile.

You felt another yawn coming and tried to hold it back. It was already past the usual time that you fell asleep.

Tom could tell you were exhausted so he launched into a story from nursing school, hoping to lull you to sleep.

You yawned your way through listening, trying to soak up every last moment with Tom. In the morning he wouldn’t be here. You’d leave and likely never see him again.

When he finished, your eyes were half open and he wondered how you were still awake. Or maybe why.

“Why are you fighting it? The point is to sleep. Give in.” He told you gently after another yawn.

You looked up at him, half asleep and rubbing your eyes, not finding the confidence to tell him the true reason you were trying to stay awake.

“I’m happy right now.”

He smiled down at you.

“I am too. But you need your sleep, darling.” You weren’t sure what to say and you didn’t have much energy left in you anyway. “How about this. I’ve probably been in here too long as it is. Let me go check in at the Nurse’s Station and then I’ll come back and check on you soon and see if you’re still awake okay?”

The thought that he was leaving gave you a sad feeling in your stomach. You tried to remind yourself that he was just your nurse. Nothing more.

“Okay.” You smiled at him, sleepily, while settling further into the bed.

He stood up and instead of walking towards the door he walked closer to you. He grabbed the thin, white hospital blanket and pulled it closer around your shoulders.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He whispered before he walked to the door.

“Tom?” You called out just before he opened it. He turned around with an expectant look, “Thanks for everything.”

Even though the room was dim you could see his smile.

“You’re welcome, Y/N. Get some sleep.”

You don’t remember much after that. You don’t know if Tom came back to check on you. You just remember falling asleep with a smile on your face.

When you woke up the following morning it felt like any other morning in the hospital.

The hallways were much louder. Beeps, chatter, and phones were constant. The lights were brighter.

But you were quickly reminded that it wasn’t any other morning. You were going home today.

The door creaked open and Tanya, one of your regular daytime nurses, poked her head in.

“Oh good you’re up.” She made her way inside and over to the gloves. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good. Thanks.” She gave you a smile, something hidden behind it.

“I’m sure.” She said quietly to herself. You gave her a questioning look. “Oh I just mean I’m sure you’re excited to get out of here.”

You nodded as she took your vitals one last time.

“Everything looks good. What do you say about getting this IV out?”

“I say that sounds amazing.”

She took it out and bandaged up your arm while informing you of how the morning would go.

“Dr. McCoy is making rounds now then he’ll be by soon to go over your discharge. You can get dressed whenever you’re ready. If you need help, buzz me. You’ll still have a breakfast tray come, but you don’t have to eat it.” She gave you a wink while taking off her gloves.

“Thanks Tanya.”

“Of course, sweetie. And in case I don’t see you before you go, you’ve been a wonderful patient. Take care of yourself.” You smiled at her as she left you to change into some leggings and a sweatshirt.

You were packing your remaining things into your bag when your doctor walked in.

“Y/N! How are we doing today?”

“We’re doing great because we’re going home.” You smiled while taking a seat to rest for a few minutes.

“I know you’re excited.” He laughed before explaining the conditions of your discharge. You had medicines to take, a follow up appointment, and strict instructions to rest for the next few weeks. After signing some forms he left you with a stack of papers. “Is someone coming to pick you up?”

“Yeah my neighbor should be here within an hour.”

“Sounds good. Don’t hesitate to call us or come back in if you have any trouble or questions.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

A few minutes after he left a nurse brought in your breakfast tray. There wasn’t much of a point for it but since your discharge wasn’t technically until 10:30 am you were still a patient during breakfast.

You took the pudding cup that you requested with every meal off the tray before sliding it away. Smiling to yourself, you tucked it away in your bag. All you had left to do was wait for 10:30.

Tanya came in to check on you again and told you to buzz the Nurse’s Station when you knew your ride was here. At 10:27 you had a text from your neighbor that they were out front in the pickup zone. So you hit the call button.

“Yes?” Linda, the scariest dayshift nurse, answered.

“Um hi. Tanya told me to buzz in when my ride was here so I could go down.”

“Okay we’ll be right in.”

Not even a minute later you heard your door open. Expecting to see Tanya or maybe even Linda you looked up.

An audible gasp left your lips when Tom stood in your doorway with a wheelchair.

“I hear someone needs a ride?” He smiled as he made his way closer to the bed.

“Tom. What are you still doing here?”

“I pulled a double.” You wanted to ask why, but decided against it. You were still in a little bit of shock from seeing him again. “If you’d rather I can go get Linda to walk you down?” He pointed back towards your door.

“No! No.. I’m just surprised s’all.”

“Well come on. I thought you’d be running out of this place once the clock hit 10:30.” Glancing up you saw it was now 10:34. Your neighbor is probably tired of waiting already.

You grabbed your discharge papers and reached for your bag when you heard, “I got it.” Smiling at him, you sat down in the wheelchair. Tom placed the bag around his shoulder and kicked the brakes off the chair. “Ready?” You nodded up at him.

He rolled you out of the room that felt so small for a final time. You passed the Nurse’s Station and waved bye to the staff. He turned by the elevators and when you looked up at him in question, he read your mind. Looked down at you he said, “We’re taking the staff elevators.”

When you made it there he hit the button, turning you around and backing you in once the doors opened. He hit the button for the Lobby and leaned up against the wall of the elevator, briefly glancing at you, as you rode down together.

“Well you made it. You’re a free woman.” He smiled shyly.

“Yippee.” He met your eyes for a moment before looking back to the floor. The dynamics felt different. It wasn’t like your late night talks together.

“Listen, Y/N.” Tom began as he stood up from the wall and faced you. He was about to continue when the elevator ding cut him off, signaling you had reached your destination.

Maybe that was what was different. You had reached your destination.

You had a fun time talking with Tom and entertaining each other when you were both up late at night. He was fun to get to know and you enjoyed having someone care for you. He was easy to banter with and certainly easy on the eyes. But your time at the hospital was up. You knew it would be eventually. You wanted it to be.

Tom was a nurse. He was just doing his job. He was helping take care of you. He was being nice. He was trying to make your stay more comfortable. There was nothing to read into.

Your time being his patient was up and your time with him was up.

You tried to remain realistic, but the sadness still crept up as he rolled you closer to the door.

Once outside, you saw your neighbor exit the car and wave you over. Tom steered in the direction and slowed before rolling to a stop and hitting the brake locks on the wheels.

“Hi, I’m Taylor.”

“Tom.” They shook hands as Tom passed off your bag for Taylor to put in the backseat.

“I’m sorry for the circumstances, but it really has been a pleasure having you as a patient and getting to know you, Y/N.” Tom admitted as he walked around to face you. He grabbed the papers from your lap. “Take care of yourself, okay?” You had shared many smiles with Tom, but this one felt sadder.

“I will. Thank you for everything, Tom. I mean it.” You reached up and squeezed his hand. He gave you a light squeeze back while smiling down at you. Taylor returned from the backseat of the car and Tom turned to them.

“These are her important papers about follow up appointments, medications, what to do at home, all of that so please make sure she doesn’t lose any of them.” He emphasized the point.

“Got it. Thanks.” Taylor held onto the stack while Tom turned back to you.

“If I can’t handle a few papers on my own, then maybe I shouldn’t be going home yet, Tom.” You laughed.

“I know, I just wanted to make sure they made it home with you.” He walked closer. “You ready to get in?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. He helped you up, supporting you just as a precaution. Once seated, you took a moment to catch your breath as you pulled the seatbelt down. He met your hand, taking it from you to buckle you in.

“You good?”

You nodded with a smile, “Just a little tired. No biggie.”

He looked you over before returning your smile, though his didn’t quite reach his eyes, “If you need us, call us. Otherwise go home and rest.”

This was it. This was goodbye.

“Thanks, Tom.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

He shut the door. He walked back to the wheelchair, released the brake locks and headed inside. He looked back only when your car was driving away.

“Here’s those papers that are so important.” Taylor handed you the stack after they got in.

“Thanks.”

“So how are you feeling?”

“Better. Thanks.” You felt them looking at you as they joined traffic.

“You sure? You sound like you feel awful.”

You try to remind yourself to forget the sweet and attractive nurse and start moving forward.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m okay.” You decide to distract yourself by reading through your discharge paperwork, when something caught your eye. On top was a sticky note with the hospital’s letterhead. You were sure it wasn’t there before. Looking closer it read,

Y/N,

In case you need someone to talk to when you can’t sleep.

555-5555

P. S. I have a connection to some pretty good pudding cups too.

Tom

The smile that grew on your face was undeniable. All the feelings you suppressed came flooding in. He wasn’t just being nice. He actually liked you.

One thing you knew for sure was that even though you would be in your own bed tonight, you still would be up, talking to a very special nurse.

Lmk if you want to be on my tag list

[plus-size-reader]

Promise

Henry Bowers x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2264 words

Warnings: Abuse, proceed with caution

Summary: Reader is Henry’s girlfriend and always takes care of him after his dad gets violent

—————————————————————————————————

You hated him.

Butch Bowers was a monster, who got more joy out of beating down his son than actually being any good to anyone as a cop.

Above all though, and perhaps the biggest strike against him for you was the fact that he was absolutely awful to your boyfriend Henry, his son. There was no real reason for it, as being cruel to the younger male did nothing for him, but that had never been enough to keep him from doing it.

It didn’t matter what kind of day he had or what Henry did, nothing could have stopped Butch or his rage, and that wasn’t even the worst part.

The fact of the matter was that no one around would have believed you if you told them about Butch’s violence, considering his high position in the Derry police force and manipulative personality.

To the rest of Derry, you and Henry were trouble, two people who couldn’t be trusted or believed. For all intents and purproses, Butch could do whatever he wanted and nothing was going to change that.

You understood their hesitance to be fair, but that didn’t make it right. Nothing was going to change your hatred for the man or how wrong his actions were.

It was hard not to be a bit biased seeing as you loved Henry more than anything, but even if you didn’t, anyone would be bothered by all the bruises you’d witnessed that he sustained at his father’s hand.

It wasn’t right.

However, your overarching hatred of the man wasn’t your biggest priority right now. You knew from what Henry told you at school that Butch was in a particularly bad mood this morning, and it wasn’t going to go well when he got home.

Henry didn’t come to you every time his dad hit him, of course, as it would be too often, but he did call you over to his home when he needed you. Sometimes, he got really shaken up and needed to be talked down from the ledge.

Something you were pretty good at at this point in your relationship.

It was awful, and something you would have preferred not to have to do in the first place, but if it was going to make him feel even a little bit better, you were glad to do it. You were just glad that he had someone he could rely on.

Henry was a bit notorious for being closed off and harsh, but that was more of a forced persona that he would have let on. You knew a different side of Henry Bowers that most people weren’t lucky enough to see.

With you, he was vulnerable and sad, angry and lost, so many things at once without any guidance that it would drive anyone mad.

By the time he made it to your house that night, in fact, Henry was shaking like a leaf. It was clear to you that he was angry, the muscles of his jaw tight, but also sad, as you caught sight of his tear stained cheeks.

It really was bad this time.

You had previously been working on your chemistry homework when he showed up, stones clanking against your window pane to let you know he’d arrived. However, as soon as he got there, you found yourself swiping your work to the side.

Nothing was more important to you than Henry, like any young woman in love, especially not school work.

At first, you didn’t realize just how bad it was.

You got up from your bed, bouncing slightly off the edge of your mattress as you headed over to the window. A small smile found its way onto your face as you made your way over to pull back your curtains.

...And your smile only grew when you saw Henry standing in the grass below you.

You had just seen him a few hours ago when he and the guys dropped you off at home after school but you wouldn’t have known that based on how you reacted. You loved him, a whole lot, and any amount of time seemed to be too much.

You couldn’t help that.

“Hi handsome” You called, sliding the window all the way up so that you could lean out to see him better. You always greeted him like that, of course, but when he said nothing back, that was when you knew something was wrong.

Henry always greeted you with just as much gusto as you did, but today, he didn’t even bother. Instead, he stood where he was and waited for you to come down, just like you always did.

“I’ll be right down” you decided, wasting no more time than you already had as you made your way down the stairs and out your front door. Your parents weren’t home, again, so there was no need for you to tip toe or sneak around.

There had been some occasions where you had to finagle your curvy frame out your window without falling to your death, an action you had gotten pretty good at over the course of your relationship.

At this point, it was basically second nature for you.

As soon as you were in front of Henry, he was holding you in his arms. It wasn’t a completely unheard of action but it would have been a lie to say that you weren’t a little shocked by it.

Never had Henry been so brazen about holding you before, but here he was, with his arms wrapped tightly around you and his head tucked into the crook of your neck.

There was silence between the two of you for a moment as you held the man you loved so much, silently racking your brain to figure out what you could do for him. You knew that, realistically, there was nothing you could do to improve his situation at home.

However, you did have something you could do for him tonight. While it wasn’t a long term solution, but your house was empty and could be a bit of a solace for him tonight.

“Do you want to come in, it’s just you and me tonight” you suggested, not even really asking, because before he could answer, you had already taken his hand in your own and were heading inside.

Henry wasn’t sure about your house the first few times he’d been there, but it was a nice place to relax, especially when your parents weren’t around. He could finally take a breath, while being about to drop the façade he so often wore.

It was a nice break, especially when he had nowhere else to go. The last thing he wanted right now was to go back to his house, where Butch was still there, fuming and half way through his third six-pack.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” you asked, not bothering to speak until the two of you were safely behind his bedroom door. You knew that there was no real reason to lock the door, or even close it in the first place, but it made Henry feel better.

That way he knew that it was really just the two of you there.

Henry shook his head again, sitting down on your bed with his back to the locked entrance. You always hoped he would open up to you about it, but he never wanted to talk about it after. More than anything, he seemed to just want to exist.

He wanted to know he was safe, and you couldn’t blame him.

You didn’t bother trying to get him to talk, if he didn’t want to then who were you to push that on Him. Even if you had to sit here in silence all night, it would be worth it if he felt even a little better.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now” you hummed, laying back against your bed, a throw pillow between your knees and your stomach as you curled up to look at Henry, who had now taken to staring out the window.

You sat there for a while, just watching him with curious eyes before you finally spoke again.

“There isn’t anything out there that’s going to hurt you” you promise, flinging the above mentioned pillow at his head, although it fell short on the comforter of the bed, not even close to where he was perched.

“You don’t know that” he muttered, his tone lacking the general smartness that was always present there, tossing a look at you over his shoulder before returning his eyes to their original position.

The male was understandably paranoid, doing his best to make sense out of anything that had happened tonight while also worrying about something terrible coming through that window to snatch him up.

“Come on Henry, come lay down” you tried, tossing your arms open for him although he ignored you once again.

You knew better than to take it to heart, you didn’t do anything to hurt him personally. Henry could be a little touchy when he came over here after taking a beating, but you couldn’t blame him. All you could do was make him feel better, which you intended to do as soon as possible.

“Suit yourself, I guess I’ll just go to bed” you teased, flopping down on your side, hiding your face in your pillow in the most dramatic way you could. You figured that unless you got Henry’s mind off of it, he would be standing there all night.

“You don’t get it Y/N, I don’t understand what I did to him” he starts, startling you out of your act with the clear shaking of his words. He had never asked you that before, not in all the times he’d been here, but it was obviously hurting him.

Henry had always wondered that.

He had never had the guts to ask anyone that before, mostly because it was terrifying but also because he was afraid of the answer. Even saying it out loud had practically choked him up, but you were proud of him.

“You didn’t do anything to him baby, he’s violent and cruel, he’s always been that way” you assured, sitting up gingerly before shimmying down the bed to sit on the edge of it, pulling Henry to stand between your knees by his wrist. As soon as you said it, the tears started coming, and while you could tell Henry wasn’t thrilled about that, it was almost comforting to see him expressing himself this way.

“But why?” he hummed, his voice low as he took your hands in his own and leaned down, resting his forehead against your own to stare into your bright eyes, almost as if you would have all the answers.

If only you did.

“I don’t know” you level, lifting your right hand to brace his cheek “But I do know that I love you, and I will never hurt you” you smile, kissing his cheek in the gentlest way you could, licking away the salty taste that found its way onto your lips from his tears absently.

It was one of the most soft, honest moments you and henry had ever had in the history of your relationship and you could tell that you both needed it. Henry went through so much, and he deserved to know that you would always be there.

That he was safe with you.

“You promise?” he muttered, after a few more seconds of silence breathing in your scent. In all honesty, you didn’t know what to say, because you were telling him the truth but something about his words shocked you into silence.

He was so broken, letting you into the deepest darkest crevices of his feelings, and it was a lot of pressure. Thankfully, you were pretty good at talking to Henry and all you had to do was tell him the truth.

“Of course I promise, baby. Do you see anybody else in here?” you tease, trying your best to lighten the mood although you weren’t as successful as you wanted to be.

As much as he wanted to be as upbeat as you, there was still too much heavy on his mind.

“Come on, I wanna snuggle” you sighed, taking his hand in your own once again to urge him to climb into bed with you. If there was one way to make him feel better, it was to get him all snuggled up with you so that he could finally relax.

You were sure that if there was one thing that you knew that no one else in Derry would believe, it was that Henry was a huge cuddler.

Even when he was in a bad mood, or having a hard time, he was always ready for a good cuddle.

Your back hit the plush bed with a light thud before you pulled Henry into you, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. His chest heaved under your touch before he relaxed into your grasp, giving in to what you both knew.

He was safe here.

While you couldn’t do much about the rest of the world, you could always protect him in this place. Right here, curled up in your arms, he couldn’t have been more at home or more protected.

“I love you” he hummed, nothing more leaving his lips as he snuggled in for the night and let his heavy eyes drift closed. For now, all he needed to do was exist, everything else was a problem for another day.

[silkenstarlight]

body is a temple

Summary: Bucky and reader are training when she finds him staring at her ass. She tries to rile him up, but quickly learns that he doesn’t tolerate teasing.

Pairing: Personal trainer!Bucky x reader

Warning/s (18+ only, minors dni): enemies to lovers, dirty talk, degradation, spanking, multiple orgasms

Word count: 2.8k

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Author’s note: i wrote this while wine-drunk, so if it’s extra horny, you know why

“Fuck!”

You tumbled onto the mat, back slamming against cool polyethylene. The breath whooshed from your body in a dramatic, crushing exhale, your lungs desperately trying to pull in air but failing beyond shallow, raspy puffs. Bucky looked down at you, the fluorescent lights of the gym feathering behind his head in a blinding halo, smirking as he drank in the image of you sprawled on the mat below him, completely at his mercy. He let you lie there for one, two, three seconds, before holding out his hand for you to grab onto. It was a kind gesture, something that completely contrasted with his previous rough treatment. You squinted and firmly grasped his hand, feeling your back leave the mat as he propped you upright again.

“Is that the best that you can do, (Y/N)?” He stepped back, walking to the edge of the mat and retrieving your water bottle for you.

You huffed, raspy breathing slowly returning to normal. “Is this really necessary?”

He handed you your water bottle, frowning. “Of course it’s necessary.”

“I was told that you would be my personal trainer. Nowhere in the program description did it say that you were going to beat my ass all day,” you shook your head, slightly incredulous, and took a few grateful gulps from the water bottle. You felt more comfortable talking back to him because you were the last ones left in the gym today, with no one but him to overhear your complaining. You had expected some light cardio, maybe some weight training, when you had signed up for individual sessions with a personal trainer at your new gym. You didn’t think you would be paired right away with Bucky, who seemed to exclusively work with experienced heavy lifters, and you definitely didn’t think he would take it upon himself to teach you self-defense, a skill which he was surprisingly extremely well-versed in. Every day for the past week, you had ended up in a similar supine position on the mat, beaten and scrambling for air, accumulating a mottled collection of nasty bruises and scrapes on your knees and elbows. The most frustrating part was that he remained unscathed through it all. Every time, it was you on your ass, and him helping you up. It made you want to scream.

Well, that actually wasn’t the only thing about this whole situation that made you want to scream. He was incredibly good-looking, exactly your type, all brooding looks and dark eyes. You actually had to pick your jaw up off of the floor when he walked in to your first session last week. But, the worst part was, he was a cocky bastard. He had to know the effect he had on you, and yet, he chose to do nothing about it.

“Well, you’ll just have to do better if you want me to stop crushin’ you every time.” He dabbed at his forehead with the hem of his shirt, and even though he frustrated you to no end, it took everything you had in you not to let your eyes drift down to look at his toned stomach.

“Now I think you’re just trying to make me mad.” You huffed, walking to the edge of the mat and returning your water bottle to its perch, preparing for another round.

“Well, if I’m pissing you off, why don’t you use that anger? Beat me. Just once,” he smirked, as if firmly believing that you couldn’t, that you didn’t have it in you. But, you were just stubborn enough to take the challenge.

“Fine.” You cocked your head and gritted your teeth, digging your heels into the mat and crouching in a ready position. 

“3… 2… 1… start.” The ghost of a smirk still graced his face, but he was concentrating on your movements now, eyes darting as you approached.

Jab, cross, jab. Knee, high kick, and--

“Damn you, Barnes.” 

One quick sweep, and he had you pinned. You wanted to scream, to thrash in frustration, but his body pressing against your back limited any movement on your part. Wonder if he likes having me pinned like this. You tried not to let that thought develop further, lest the heat you had worked up from sparring travelled up your neck for him to see, or worse, somewhere farther south--

“Why are you still panting, (Y/N)?” You could feel a puff of hot breath against your ear as he chuckled.

Fuck. “My, uh… my asthma must be acting up again.” 

“Didn’t think you had asthma.” He flipped off of you, arching a brow as you slowly stood.

“Forgot to tell you, then,” you fibbed, trying at all costs to avoid spilling the truth, that your panting was the effect of an illicit fantasy that you had thought about in bed, alone, on more than one occasion.

“Uh huh,” he said, unconvinced. You both got into a ready position again.

“3… 2… 1… start.”

This time, you took more of a defensive strategy, evaluating him before striking. Maybe, if you weren’t so focused on completing the flourishing movements, on hitting with perfect precision and strength, you could anticipate his attack instead. You circled around each other like sharks, his eyes glinting almost hungrily, but doing nothing to bely his next move. It was like trying to size up a brick wall.

Suddenly, he darted forward with a speed that no man his size should have, and he swept your legs from under you, flipping you with ease. You fell ungracefully in a prone position, cheek smacking the mat, eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. You groaned, aching muscles begging for you to stop and rest instead of getting up and accepting his challenge. You pressed your forehead into the mat, weighing whether it was worth the hassle of asking him to cut your session short today, when you noticed that he was completely silent.

You furrowed your brows, eyes flying open. Every time he had defeated you in previous rounds, he had uttered some sarcastic, infuriating quip, trying to rub in his victory even more. But he hadn’t said anything yet.

You pushed your chest up off the mat, craning your neck to look back at him. He was obviously looking at your body, eyes transfixed on your lower half, but when he sensed your sudden movement, he broke out of his trance. He quickly got up from his kneeling position, clearing his throat and walking to the water jug on the far wall. A smile slowly grew on your face as you realized that he had been staring at your ass.

You stood up, slowly walking toward him, assessing him with a sly expression on your face. “Were-- were you doing what I think you were doing just then?”

His back was to you as he filled a little paper cup with water. “If you mean pummelling your sorry ass into the mat yet again, then yes.” His voice still carried its usual snarky tone, but it shook slightly, as if he were just caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Not exactly what I meant.” You stepped closer until a foot separated you, and he turned around to face you.

“Then what do you mean, doll?” He smiled smugly, but you noticed the pink blush that was creeping its way up his neck.

You hummed a laugh. “What I mean, Barnes,” you cocked your head, relishing how your sudden onset confidence wiped the smirk from his face, “is that you were enjoying the view back there. Isn’t that right?”

Now it was his turn to huff a laugh. “Well, what can I say? You’ve got a nice ass. Gotta get something out of these sparring sessions.”

You scoffed. “Fucking pervert.”

“Call me that again.” His tone was more serious, suddenly bereft of the saccharine sarcasm you were so used to.

You paused, weighing his tone against the risqué direction the conversation was heading, and you smirked, deciding to provoke him further. “You’re a fucking pervert. Beatin’ girls up, just so you have a chance to get a good, long look at their bodies. What the fuck is up with that? Can’t get some like a normal person, can you?”

He let that sink in, head dipped, eyebrows raised. But then, a thought seemed to cross his mind, and a wicked smile crept onto his face. He looked at you with hooded eyes, and your stomach flipped, unsure if you were extremely turned on by your sudden proximity to him, or if you were preparing to balk.

“You’re going to regret saying that.” His voice was low, rasping with something you’ve never heard from him. Your mind was telling you to back up, to leave this encounter before it got messy, but your feet stayed rooted in position as he bridged the gap between your bodies. He grabbed your shoulders and turned you around before pinning you roughly against the wall.

“You know,” he said, breath hot against your ear, “you really shouldn’t be calling me a perv, when I know exactly what goes on in that head of yours during our training.”

“Wh- what do you mean?” You decided to play dumb, hoping that he wasn’t astute enough to deduce your secret, licentious desires.

“Oh, you know. Whenever I pin you, you’re always blushing.” He laughed mockingly. “It’s cute. It’s like you secretly want to be dominated.”

You huffed a breath as his hands traveled down your waist, before settling gently on your hips. His lips dragged across the shell of your ear and down your neck, pressing against your pulse point. You arched your back, grinding against the hard bulge that was forming in his shorts.

“Is that right, (Y/N)? You want me to pin you down and fuck you dumb?” He mumbled against your neck.

A wanton moan tumbled from your lips in response, but it wasn’t good enough for him. His fingers dug harshly into your hips. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, p-please.” You hated how breathy your voice was, but you were too overtaken by desire to care whether he was just doing this to get a reaction from you.

“Please what?” You could feel his mouth curl into a smile as he reattached his lips to your neck, sucking lightly.

“Please, please, please, fuck me, Bucky.” Another moan slipped from your mouth.

“That’s better, baby.” His fingers relaxed against your hips, tracing upwards to the hem of your leggings. He tugged them down with your underwear so that they settled just below your ass, and he pulled back slightly to look at your bare backside.

“Goddamn,” he said, voice gravelly and low. He squeezed one cheek with his hand, kneading it slightly before letting it go and slapping it. “Been dreaming of this ass. It’s just as good as I imagined.”

You gasped, giggling. “So, I was right.”

“Right about what?” He asked, pulling down his shorts and freeing his cock before pressing it against your backside, hot length already dripping with precum.

“You’re a fucking perv, Bucky Barnes.” You smiled coquettishly.

He stilled behind you, and you could feel his glare burning a hole through the back of your neck. You kept smiling anyways-- this was the exact reaction you had hoped for.

He guided the tip of his member down to your slit, dragging it from your perineum to your clit and back again to gather your wetness, before completely sheathing himself inside of you in one motion. You moaned loudly in response to the harsh intrusion, body struggling to accommodate his size.

“Thought you learned not to call me that,” he said, voice level, unbothered by the fact that you were throbbing around him.

“Guess I n-never learn.” Your voice was barely a whisper as he began to move, slowly thrusting to allow your body a chance to adapt to the thrilling ache of being so completely full. It was a harsh sensation, but it felt good, each stroke dragging pleasantly against your tight walls.

“Oh, you’ll learn.” His left hand travelled up your body, drawing under your shirt and flipping the band of your sports bra up. Your breasts bounced free, full and heavy. “Let’s see those pretty little tits, huh?”

He pinched one nipple, rolling its rosy, peaked bud between his cool metal fingers and making you squeal in delight. You ground back against him, encouraging him to move faster inside of you.

“You like that?” He switched to the other nipple, kneading your breast gently in his hand, and you arched into the motion. “That feel good?”

You bit your lip and shook your head, trying to swallow your moans, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart so quickly and completely at his hands. “N-no.”

“You know,” he said, driving into you harder and harder with each thrust, but remaining frustratingly unperturbed and casual, “you don’t have to lie to me. I feel how drenched you are. You can admit how good it feels, baby.” His feigned affectionate tone, paired with the way that the tip of his cock was starting to brush against your g-spot, made you cry out. His permission to let go just made you want to disobey him even more, but the pleasure was slowly overtaking your body, overriding your sense of shame. You rocked on your heels, trying to take back some semblance of control, but when his left hand dragged from your breast to your neck, squeezing slightly, you were a goner. You shattered around him, your muscles fluttering around him and coaxing a gruff moan from his throat. But, he kept his focus, fucking you through your orgasm and watching your face as he did, your eyes scrunched shut and your lips dropped open in a soft “o.” He let go of your throat and you gasped. 

As the waves of your orgasm subsided, he refused to slow down, his unrelenting pace repeatedly hitting your deepest point. You could feel him grinning stupidly at you, proud that he had already coaxed an orgasm out of you despite not cumming yet himself.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, your body limp against his. Though your first orgasm had abated, you quickly felt tension building again inside of you.

“Not so cocky now, are you, (Y/N)?” He said between heavy breaths. You knew he was close, just by the sound, but you also knew that he wouldn’t leave this room without teasing another orgasm from your body. “So docile once I put my dick in you.” He panted, laughing at the way you mewled and gasped around him.

His hand drifted down to where your bodies met, finding your clit in the slippery mess of your combined arousal. He pressed his fingers against it in erratic little circles, your body keening for him, completely at his mercy. 

“Look at that, makin’ you gush around me again,” he said, almost to himself, reveling in your neediness. “Looks like I win at this, too.” And, with that, you were done for.

Your muscles squeezed around him in a sweet, warm vice, and he groaned at the sensation of you cumming around him a second time. You mewled pathetically, body spent with unabashed pleasure. He followed closely behind you, losing himself inside of you and spilling his arousal in hot, vulgar stripes. His head was thrown back, claiming your body as his in sweet, silent throes. Once his hips finally stilled, his body slumped against yours, completely and utterly spent. You stayed like that for a moment, leaning up against the wall, the battle between you clearly over. And then, he grasped your hips, his cock slipping out of you with a vulgar sucking sound.

You bent down, pulling up your pants, when you heard him clear his throat. You looked back, reaching underneath your shirt to pull your sports bra back down over your tits, when he chuckled. You arched a brow, but he just shook his head slightly. “That was… much more fun than beating you up.”

You frowned slightly, but when you saw his goofy smile and suddenly relaxed demeanor, you couldn’t help but mirror his expression. “Does that mean that we get to do that, instead of my training?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said sternly, crossing his arms but smiling slyly nonetheless. “But, we can do it outside of training. As long as I get to take you to dinner first,” he added quickly, his voice almost shy as he averted your gaze.

You smiled, laughing, and he looked up, expression nervous. Now, you shook your head. “Considering how good you just fucked me, I should be the one buying you dinner.”

He smirked, grabbing your water bottle and handing it to you, his fingers brushing against yours. “Now, that’s an offer that I can’t refuse.”

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 11: Blast from the Past (Siblings)

AO3

Prev

Swinging side by side with her father was an amazing experience. Marinette tried hard to stifle her laughter, figuring Batman wouldn’t appreciate it if word got around that the newest vigilante was a giggler. He swings to the next roof and pauses, Marinette frowning as he listens to something on his comm.

“Alright. All hands on deck. Robin, you’ll stay on the roof with Ladybird.” He instructs, Marinette frowns. Was he really sticking her younger brother on babysitting duty? And why couldn’t she go wherever it is he’s going?

“What’s happening?” She asks, crossing her arms.

“There are several crates of weapons and a few dozen armed men in a warehouse a mile out from here. You and Robin are going to stay on the roof to make sure no one leaves before the police arrive.” He instructs before turning and grappling away. Marinette frowns, but follows behind him. Does he really not think that she can handle herself? And she knows this is going to cause problems with Damian. He already doesn’t like her and now he has to stay with her. She watches as he swoops down into the warehouse and she lands silently on the roof.

“I do not appreciate this.” Robin says, stepping out of the shadows with crossed arms. Although she can’t see his eyes behind his mask, Marinette knows he’s glaring at her. She just rolls her eyes.

“I don’t either. I don’t need someone watching me 24/7. I can take care of myself.” She says, and with a sudden jolt, she realizes this is the first time he’s willingly speaking to her. The first time they’re talking and it’s to argue. Lovely.

“If you had simply stayed away, then I would have been allowed to follow Father. Instead, I am being punished for your insolence.” He adds. Is he going to lecture her the entire time Batman and the others are fighting in the warehouse, she thinks, raising an eyebrow. She starts to snark back, but a shadow moving behind him pulls her attention instead. Narrowing her eyes, she watches as a figure steps out of the shadow, a gun raised at her.

“Well well well. What do we have here?” The man asks, a smirk on his face. Marinette glances at Robin, trying to see if he recognizes the voice. She doesn’t see any recognition, so she immediately catalogues the man as an unknown threat. Chances were that he was involved with the group currently fighting in the warehouse and not an actual Batman level villain. But he still had a gun, so she wouldn’t underestimate him. Robin turns to face the man and he immediately takes the gun off Marinette, pointing it instead at Robin’s head. Marinette narrows her eyes. She may not know him very well, but he was still her little brother. And she wasn’t about to let some stupid goon threaten him. Flicking her wrist, she aims her yoyo at the man’s gun, smirking as she manages to yank it from his grasp. She catches the gun as it flies back with her yoyo, holding it carefully and trying to ignore the internal panic. She’d never held a gun before, never wanted to or had a reason to. And she really didn’t want to hold it now, but she didn’t want the man to know that she was scared of the gun, because that would give him an advantage. She just grins at the dumbfounded look on the man’s face, his shock enough so that Robin was able to knock him down without a fight. He pulls a zip tie out of his utility belt and ties the man’s hands together.

“Well that was disappointing. I was hoping for more of a fight.” Marinette teases, hoping that the tension between her and Robin would break. She watches as his lips purse slightly, not sure what the expression meant.

“I hardly think one buffoon with a gun would be much of a fight for either of us.” He finally says, and her eyes light up. Success!

“But if it was the right foe, they could surely take you down.” A new voice says, and this time Marinette can practically feel the tension rolling off of Robin.

“Slade.” He says, obviously tensing for a fight.

“Damian. I wasn’t aware you were in possession of a Miraculous.” The man, Slade, says, turning towards her. Marinette stiffens, uncomfortable by both his words and the fact that she can’t see the man’s face because of his costume.

“I’m not in possession of anything.” He says, his jaw clenched. Marinette shifts into a defensive position, desperately wishing that she had a comm. Surely the rest of the family had heard this man’s intrusion through Robin. But she wished she could hear them. Whether it was giving information about the man or reassurance that the rest of them would be there soon, she wanted to hear them.

“Tell me, little girl, how did you stumble upon one of the most powerful pieces of magic in the universe? And why haven’t I met you before?” He asks, stepping towards them. Glaring at the man, Marinette steps forward so that she’s standing in line with Robin, unwilling to cower behind her brother.

“I don’t think we run in the same circles. And I assure you, I didn’t stumble across anything. I was chosen to wield this Miraculous.” She says, shoving false confidence in her tone when all she wanted was to grab Robin and run. Slade oozed a sense of wrongness and danger. Not a combination she wanted anywhere near her or her family.

“Mmm. Perhaps not. But we’ll never know, will we. I’m going to have to ask you for that Miraculous now, dear.” He says, her eyes narrow.

“I’m not sure if that’s worked for you in the past, but it’s not going to work today. You’re not the first creep in a mask asking for my Miraculous.” She snarks, hand twitching as she analyzes him and tries to come up with a plan. Without any warning, he lunges towards them, a sword suddenly in his grasp. Marinette jumps back, going on the defense as Robin lunges forward with his own katana. Marinette flits around both of them, throwing her yoyo at Slade every time he got too close to Robin. It was obvious the man was well trained, and it was also obvious that he had little patience for the two.

“You’ve improved, but you’re still not good enough.” He hisses, lunging towards Robin, his sword aimed at the boy’s chest. Marinette lunges towards them, shoving Robin out of the way. She shrieks in pain as Slade slides his sword into her shoulder. She can’t see the man’s face, but she can just imagine his smirk. He puts his other hand on his sword, and she just knows he’s going to twist. She can’t let that happen. So instead, she jerks back, screaming as she pulls herself off the sword. Robin launches himself at Slade once again, furiously slashing at the man. Slade lifts his sword up and Marinette flicks out her yoyo, grunting in pain as she irritates her shoulder. But she’s able to wrap her yoyo around the man’s wrist. Smirking, she tugs roughly, pulling the man off balance enough so that Robin can disarm him. Just as she lets her shoulders relax, Slade yanks his arm, tugging her to him. She yelps in pain as he wraps her into a chokehold. Staring at Robin, she tries not to panic. They’re gonna come for them, right? The rest of her family? Surely they’ve beaten those goons by now. They definitely heard the problem on the roof through Robin’s comm, right?

“Unhand her.” Robin says, shifting his position now that he has two swords.

“I don’t think I will. Not for free, anyway. You want her alive for some reason.” Slade says, tightening his hold. Marinette lets out a choked breath, desperately trying to pull in enough oxygen.

“What do you want?” Robin asks, Marinette tries to shake her head, already guessing what the man wants. She’d rather die than give some psycho the power of Tikki. Not only could he destroy the world, but Paris would also be lost without the Miraculous Cure.

“Her earrings. Let me take them, and I’ll let her live….this time.” He says.

“No….don’t...not..worth it.” Marinette manages to say, just barely able to shake her head. She gags as Slade tightens his grip again, black spots dotting her vision.

“Ladybird-” Robin says, and Marinette is certain she’s hallucinating now. Because he almost sounds pained.

“Don’t.” She begs, fighting to stay conscious. As she watches him, she sees a smirk make its way onto his face. That’s good. Good. Smirking brother means….what does it mean? She’s not sure. All she knows is that suddenly, the pressure on her neck is gone. She falls to her knees, gasping for breath and wincing at the burning in her shoulder. Too much. Too much all at once. A hand on her good shoulder shakes her from her thoughts and she weakly hits at it.

“Ladybird, it’s me.” A voice says. She blinks, opening her eyes, wincing at the pain enveloping her. Looking closer at the figure, she sighs in relief, letting herself slump down. She’s safe. Arms pick her up gently and she smiles softly, tiredness hitting her as the adrenaline finally fades. Curling in closer, she mumbles into Batman’s chest.

“Thanks dad.”

---

Bruce Wayne was pissed. And the only person who could piss him off so much was himself. He’d left Damian and Marinette on the roof alone because he thought they’d be safer. He didn’t think the two would be able to get into any trouble up there. Of course he would be wrong. Of course Slade Wilson would choose tonight to come after Damian. And of course the man just had to know about the Miraculous.

Hearing his daughter’s pained screams over his son’s comm would haunt his nightmares. It’d likely become the unholy symphony over the images of Jason’s broken body and Damian’s limp form. Images that’d haunted him for years and would continue to do so until he dies. When he was young, his nightmares were just of his parents. But he had seen things much worse since becoming a father. And now he’d heard much worse. Shaking his head, he tries hard to hold onto the one bright part of the evening.

Marinette had called him dad.

It was the first time she’d called him anything other than ‘Mr. Wayne’. His heart warmed at the thought, but everything came crashing down again when he remembered. Slade Wilson was gone. He’d managed to get away while his focus was on Marinette’s wellbeing. Which means his daughter was now in even more danger. Damian had informed him of the man’s obsession with the Miraculous. It was something they’d need to talk about, but not tonight. After she passed out in his arms, he brought her back to the manor. Alfred stitched her shoulder, and Bruce brought her to her room. It wasn’t decorated yet, but he’d made sure to pick out a room for her after finding out about her. Even if she didn’t want anything to do with them after this, she’d always have a room here.

Sighing, Bruce sticks his head into Marinette’s room, just to reassure himself that she was there. That she was safe. It was something he did with each of his kids, every time they were injured. Every time he was afraid that he would lose them. The sight in front of him makes him pause and pull out his phone to take a picture. They might be mad at him for it later, but he’d curse himself forever if he let this moment slip away. All of his children were piled in Marinette’s room. The girl herself was on the bed, curled into a ball despite her injured shoulder. At the foot of her bed was Damian, his face peaceful for once. Jason, Dick and Tim were all in a pile on the floor, pillows and blankets scattered both beneath them and on top of them. They were an impossibly tangled pile of limbs, guarding their youngest sister. He smiles softly, eyes finally falling on Cass curled up in an armchair that she must’ve pulled next to Marinette’s bed. Satisfied that all were well, Bruce shuts the door gently, not wanting to risk waking any of them.

His children were together, and safe. For now.

Next

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @imarivers8

[no-pucks-given]

TYSON JOST | LIGHT MY WAY HOME

A/N: More than 12.000 words later, more than a month after the initial request from Taylor popped up in my notifications. What a freaking ride. My longest fic I've ever written, and maybe even my favourite one. Thank you, to everyone who hyped me up, send me inspo and send me sweet asks. I couldn't have done this without all of you. Special thanks to @dumb-and-dunner, @chicagoblackhawkslover96, @heybarzy and Chrissy (who doesn't have Tumblr unfortunately).

Warnings: Angst, ‘can I strangle him yet?’ Tyson, swearwords, some major character development and (how could I not?!) a happy ending.

Also: Gabe and Melissa Landeskog play a big part in this fic, so if you aren't comfortable with them, you might want to skip this one.

Word Count: 12.1K

Requested: Yes.

The NHL lifestyle, or the ‘popular’ lifestyle was attractive to all young, hormonal boys. You’d known that for a long time. You stood by Tyson’s side when he got drafted into the wicked world of the NHL. Parties, drinking, sex, training until you can barely move, fights, games, wins and losses. It all had it’s charms, but it also had its dangers. Just like any other guy Tyson wanted to experience it all, the whole package,

You assumed you fell under that ‘whole package’, you were his girlfriend for a reason, right? And you did, for a while. You partied together, came home together, did everything together. But the moment Tyson became older and ‘known’ outside the regular hockey fans, that title didn’t mean much anymore. He became more and more the type of guy you didn’t fall in love with, the type to take you for granted, the type to enjoy the attention of other people, other women in particular. You weren’t the jealous type, you didn’t want to claw out the eyes of every woman that looked at him, but you were at a breaking point. Maybe you were jealous, you weren’t jealous of those other women, you were jealous of the attention Tyson gave them. Attention he should’ve been giving to you, his freaking girlfriend.

You were however the loyal type, the type to come home after a long night. And that’s exactly where things went wrong with Tyson. While you were waiting for him at home with a meal, a warm bed or just simply anything else, he was out. You had no idea where he was exactly, he was simply ‘out’, whatever that might mean. You tried to talk to him, you tried to make him see that this wouldn’t end well for either of you, but he simply waved off your concerns, shrugged his shoulders and moved on.

How do you talk to someone who rediscovered himself? How do you talk to someone who thinks he’s on top of the world? How do you save someone from the downfall of success when they don’t want to be saved? You knew one day he’ll come down from this high, one day he’ll realize that he screwed up. One day he’ll come to the conclusion he let something special slip through his fingers, and for what? Fame? Drinks? A rush of adrenaline? One day. But you knew that it wouldn’t be today.

However today is the day that you’re done. Absolutely fed up with all the bullshit excuses Tyson has been feeding you, all the coming home late or not even coming home at all. You have no idea what he’s been up to these last months, he’s barely home. Even when he’s home it’s like he isn’t really there. You can’t even remember the last time the two of you slept together or the last time you actually went to bed at the same time. Breakfast together? A lifetime ago. A lazy day together? Can’t remember. Date night? Months, months ago. Even thinking about it pisses you off to no end, the pain and hurt slowly making place for a new emotion: anger.

It’s frustrating to say the least. You love and take care of him like he means the world to you, and he does. Tyson on the other hand seems to take you for granted, or forgets you’re here at all. It seems like you’re talking to a brick wall instead of your boyfriend. No matter how hard you try, your words have no impact, your tears don’t make him feel anything. It’s like he’s a totally different person. You barely recognize him anymore these days, he feels like a stranger inside the body of the man you love. It feels like you’re both living your life, besides each other instead of with each other. It hurts, that’s for sure.

Like any other day you’ve prepared dinner, put it on the table and sat down on one of the chairs. All you can do now is wait, wait and pray he’ll show up this time. You even texted him, begged him to come home and simply eat dinner with you for a change. Of course you didn’t get a response, of course it’s complete radio silence from his side. God, you were desperate at this point, you don’t even try to deny it.

With every passing minute your hope disappears little by little. You stare at the food on the table until it’s completely dark outside, no sign of Tyson. Hours passed and you barely noticed it, it isn’t until you try to stand up and your muscles ache from sitting in the same position for a long time that you realize how much time actually has passed. “Fuck this, why am I even trying anymore?” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head. This isn’t worth it, it hasn’t been for a long time. Maybe, just maybe you’re finally ready to admit it to yourself.

Deciding to choose yourself over Tyson is a major decision, one you probably should’ve made sooner. It doesn’t matter, what does matter is that you’re choosing you now. You make the split second decision to just grab your stuff, just the necessary stuff. You remember Gabe’s offer, at the time you waved it off with a smile, pretending it wasn’t as bad as it might look to the outside world, but now? You want nothing more than to take him up on his offer. So what’s stopping you?

Even though you were excruciating calm this whole time, the moment you step into your bedroom, or Tyson’s bedroom, you break. This is real, this is really happening. You grab your bags, filling them with some of your stuff. Some clothes, some toiletries, your makeup, everything you might need. It’s a tough job, it’s even harder when you almost can’t see past the tears. At some point you lose track of things you did and didn’t grab, just shoving random items into your bag.

You let out a frustrated sigh, your body sinking down on the floor. In your hands the box containing all your high school love letters, all the small gifts you made each other. Tyson was quite handy, who would’ve thought that? You smile at the memories, sorting through the box. You frown at the feeling surging through your body, is this how heartbreak feels? Looking down at the contents of the box you sigh, wiping away the tears streaming down your face. Why couldn’t life be as simple as it used to be? It shouldn’t be this hard, right? You grab your prom picture between your fingers, smiling sadly at the two people in the picture, both smiling like they just won the lottery, both utterly in love with the other. How time can change..

You throw the box on the bed, maybe it will remind Tyson what the two of you had was special, maybe he’ll realize what he’s about to lose. If it doesn’t, well, it’s his loss. Hauling your bags downstairs is a full workout, you intended to bring ‘just the essentials’ but you have way more important stuff than you originally thought. You aren’t planning on returning to this house any time soon.

Shutting the car door after you loaded in your stuff gives you some form of relief. You let out the breath you’ve been holding in. You made your decision, it’s time to follow through now. You make your way back inside, and into the kitchen. Cleaning up all leftovers from dinner, which obviously is a lot more than you expected. Although.. did you really think he would show up? You shake your head again, putting the leftovers into the fridge. After you finish the dishes you retreat back to the living room, falling down on the couch with a loud sigh. All you can do now is wait.

You could’ve just left and never look back, but that isn’t your style. If you’re going to leave, you’ll do it the right way. You won’t leave without giving him a piece of mind, letting him know he fucked this up for good. You try to focus on the movie playing on the screen, but your heart keeps beating harder and harder, at this point you wish you would’ve just left instead of waiting for Tyson to show up. God, why did you have to do it the right way? Because you know, deep down, you would’ve wanted him to do it the same way. It’s the humane thing to do, it’s only right after spending such a long time together.

The front door opening brings you out of your thoughts. Honestly you don’t even know what time it is, but frankly you don’t care. All you want right now is to get this off your chest and leave. Tyson’s eyes widen when he comes face-to-face with you, surprisingly he doesn’t seem that intoxicated. You suspected he went out, but at this point he could’ve been anywhere.

“You’re still up,” Tyson says, walking past you and flopping down on the couch.

“Yep, and you missed dinner,” you counter, crossing your arms. Tyson simply shrugs his shoulder, clearly not caring enough to explain his absence. “I texted you to make sure you would be here,” you say, even though you know it doesn’t make a difference.

“Yeah, I was busy,” Tyson answers, looking down at his phone.

You almost feel the need to chuckle, to start laughing at his stupid behavior, but this is anything but funny to you, it fucking hurts. “I’m done, Tyson. I’m fucking done,” you say, shaking your head, trying so hard to keep the tears away.

Tyson looks at you with dull eyes, no emotion visible on his face. “Then go to fucking bed, I really can’t deal with your problems right now,” he sighs, turning his head back to the phone in his hand.

Right now, at this moment you know you made the right decision. This isn’t behavior of someone who’s in love, this isn’t even behavior of someone who loves. “You don’t have to deal with me anymore, because I’m leaving. I’m done, we’re done,” you tell him, emphasizing the last part. Tyson’s eyes shoot to yours, the panic clearly written all over his face now.

“No, we’re not. You can’t break up with me, y/n!” he almost shouts at you, standing up from the couch.

“Yes, I can and I will. You don’t get to act like you care all of the sudden, Tyson. You haven’t acted like a boyfriend in months. You haven’t given me any reason to stay, so I won’t. I’m done with whatever this is,” you say, waving between the two of you. Tyson grabs your wrist, tears starting to pool in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off. “No. No. You don’t get to do this. It’s over. You put on quite a show, but I can’t say it was very entertaining. This curtain fucking closes right now, show is over. You can act like you care, but I know by now that you don’t,” you tell him, ripping your arm out of his grip.

You walk over to the front door, keeping your head high. Now is not the time to break down, your time will come. You hear Tyson behind you, muttering how sorry he is, excuse after excuse leave his mouth. You open the door, turning around one last time to look at Tyson. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry, ‘cause you’re not,” you say while shaking your head. You close the door behind you, not looking back at what you’ve left behind, only looking forward to what’s yet to come.

It’s when you’re in your car mindlessly driving around when you realize you have nowhere to go. You forgot to call Gabe, and it’s probably way too late now. You quickly check the time, 2am, shit that’s late. You doubt he’s still awake, you feel bad for even thinking about waking him up. Two young children, both of them under the age of 2, and being a professional hockey player probably cost him enough energy already, you don’t need to add to that. “He did say I could always call him when I made my decision,” you say out loud, more to convince yourself that it’s okay than anything else.

You easily find Gabe’s contact, immediately pressing the dial button before you change your mind again. The line only rings twice before Gabe picks up. “I’m guessing you either finally broke up with him or there’s a fire somewhere,” Gabe says from the other side of the line. You chuckle, shaking your head. “And since you’re calling me and not the fire department, my guess is on the first one,” Gabe continues, trying to make you smile some more.

“I did it, I broke up with him, couldn’t stand to be there any second longer,” you sigh, brushing your fingers through your hair.

You hear Gabe’s sigh of relief. “I’m proud of you, y/n. I know this isn’t what you had in mind, but it’s better like this, I promise.”

Gabe turned into one of your best friends over time, Melissa is the older sister you never had and you love their children like they’re your own. Gabe and Melissa welcomed you into their family immediately after meeting you. You hadn’t expected to make friends and you definitely didn’t expect to make friends with the captain and his wife, but you’re so grateful you did. The support you receive from them is overwhelming, you couldn’t wish for better friends. So when Gabe first made you this offer, you were thankful he did, although you were still convinced at that point that Tyson would change.

“Uhm, you know.. that offer you made me? Is that still on the table?” you ask, praying he’ll say ‘yes’, praying you don’t have to sleep in some random hotel tonight.

“Of course, the guestroom is already prepared. Melissa expects you to be here as soon as possible, apparently she ‘really needs to cuddle her little sister’,” Gabe chuckles, you can almost hear him rolling his eyes at his wife.

“Thank you, Gabe. I owe you,” you say softly.

“You don’t. You’re family, y/n,” Gabe says, and you know he means every word he just said. Family. “Now get your ass over here, before Melissa starts a search party,” Gabe chuckles, making you laugh some more, because you know she would. You quickly say your goodbyes, promising you’ll be there in a few minutes. It’s just a short drive from your apartment, or Tyson’s apartment now, to Gabe and Mel’s place.

You kept up your appearance, keeping the tears at bay, but the moment you step out of your car and into Gabe’s arms you’re done. “Come here, I’m so sorry,” Gabe says softly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You stand there for a few minutes, simply crying on your best friend’s shoulder, until Melissa squeezes herself between the two of you. “Hush, I need some sister time. Why don’t you grab her stuff?” she says, smiling sweetly at her husband.

Gabe sighs dramatically, sending a wink your way. “Whatever you say, wife.”

Melissa pulls you close to her, an arm around your waist, her head resting on your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you your room,” she softly says, leading you into the house. You’ve been here so many times already, but never like this. You’ve never been in a situation like this before, you’re not sure how to handle this. “I can hear the wheels turning in your head. It will be okay,” Melissa says, rubbing your arm soothingly. You sigh, shrugging your shoulders, not sure what to say.

Melissa leads you to your room, pushing you down on the bed, while she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “I know you’re probably exhausted, but do you want to talk?” Melissa asks softly, her face showing nothing but compassion.

You lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about all that has happened. “I don’t even know what to say, Mel. I don’t even know how I feel right now. I’m just so...” you trail off, not knowing the right words to describe everything that you feel and think right now.

“Confused, relieved, mad?”

You sit back up, looking back at Melissa. “All of the above, I guess? It hurts, but I’m glad I did it. But I also regret it, because I love him, you know? I’m mad he didn’t try harder for me, for us,” you say, trying hard to keep the rush of tears away.

Melissa wraps her arms around you, pulling you close to her. “I know, sweetheart. It will take time, but you’re going to be okay.”

You sigh, knowing she’s right, even though it probably will take more time than just ‘some time’. You did just end a long relationship, it will take a lot of patience and time to work through that. “Thank you, Mel. For letting me stay here,” you mumble against Melissa’s shoulder.

“No need for that. You’re my sister, remember?” Melissa smiles at you.

Gabe softly knocks on the door before opening the door. “Brought your bags, thought you might need them before you go to sleep,” he says, smiling at the sight before him. Your friendship might be unconventional, but he couldn’t care less what other people think about it. Gabe absolutely adores the sister bond you and Mel share, he hoped the two of you would get along, so this? Picture perfect.

“Thanks, Gabe,” you smile at him.

“Do you mind if I steal my wife from you?” Gabe asks, making you and Melissa laugh out loud.

“Nope, she’s all yours,” you chuckle, waving at their retreating backs when they walk out of the room.

You strip out of your clothes, pulling on a sweater. You sigh, realizing you packed some of Tyson’s sweaters out of habit. His smell infiltrates your senses, making it damn hard to keep your emotions under control. It’s right this moment you know exactly how you feel. Heartbroken. The realization that your relationship with Tyson is really over doesn’t give you the satisfaction you hoped for, it doesn’t give you peace, it just fucking hurts. You simply feel hollow, even though deep down you know this was the right choice, this was what needed to happen. You know damn well why you feel so empty, you gave your heart to Tyson a long, long time ago, never expecting to be in a situation you might get it back. You don’t want it back, but you might need it back.

You realize it’s morning when the light softly shines into your room. You sigh, knowing damn well you’re lucky if you slept more than an hour this night. Rolling over you look at the clock on the wall, 9 am, perfect. Deciding it won’t do you any good if you stay in bed any longer, you force yourself out of bed and into the shower. The hot water warms your cold skin, soothing your sore muscles. All the twisting and turning you did all night surely didn’t help the way you feel right now. Why couldn’t life be a bit easier by simply letting the shower wash away all of your hurt, all of your pain? A fresh start, a clean slate.

You slip on some skinny jeans and a soft sweater, not in the mood to even think about doing your makeup. You dry your hair, before making a quick ponytail out of it. You walk down stairs, the chatter and laughter greeting you as soon as you walk into the kitchen. “Morning, guys,” you say, smiling at all the happy faces before you. A round of greetings sound throughout the room.

“How’d you sleep?” Gabe asks you as soon as you sit down next to him with a bowl of cereal.

“Can’t even tell you, suddenly it was 9 am,” you chuckle, shrugging your shoulders at Gabe’s raised eyebrow. “Do you have any idea where my phone is?” you ask Gabe, knowing he grabbed all your stuff out of your car.

“Uhh, I do, but I don’t know if you really want to look at it,” Gabe says, scratching the back of his head before pointing towards the kitchen counter. It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, walking over to where Gabe’s pointing at.

You unlock your phone, quickly checking your notifications. “Oh damn,” you mutter, looking at the absurd amount of missed calls and messages left by none other than Tyson himself.

You sit back down next to Gabe, dropping your head on your arms. “What do I do now, Gabe?” you groan. “Why does he care all of the sudden?”

Gabe rubs his hand over your back before answering your question. “Because he lost you, y/n. He never thought he would.” You turn your head towards Gabe letting his words sink in.

Gabe gets ready to leave for practice shortly after you settle on the couch with Lucas in your arms. The little man has a fascination with your hair, maybe it’s all babies who have that, but you like to think that you’re special. “Don’t pull out all y/n’s hair, baby boy,” Gabe chuckles, giving his boy a soft kiss on his head. He gives you a kiss on your cheek, softly squeezing your shoulder. You open your mouth to say something, but Gabe cuts you off. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry about it, I’m his captain, but I’m your friend, okay? Just relax, make sure Lucas doesn’t puke on you and go do whatever it is that you women do all day,” Gabe chuckles, knowing you better than you know yourself. You mouth a quick ‘thank you’ to him, wishing him good luck with practice before he runs through the house trying to find his girls to kiss them goodbye.

“Your daddy is a good guy, you know that, Lucas?” you smile at the baby on your lap. Lucas coos, his hands grabbing onto the strands of your hair. “Your daddy and mommy make me feel so loved, even though their children like to see me in pain,” you joke, trying to free your hair from Lucas’s small hands. “Buddy, you’re way stronger than you look,” you mumble, when Lucas pulls on your hair again.

Melissa laughs out loud the moment she walks into the living room. “How many times did I tell you that you need to keep your hair away from him and his grabby hands?” she says, expertly freeing your hair from her son’s fists.

“Apparently not enough times,” you chuckle at her. Melissa joins you on the couch, while Linnea Rae plays on the ground with some of her toys, happily showing you what she got every now and then. It’s times like this that you’re extra grateful for Melissa and Gabe, the way they welcomed you into their family has been nothing but perfect.

“So, what’s going through that pretty head of yours?” Melissa asks, while scrolling through series to watch on Netflix.

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know, I’m kind of worried about practice, I think? I don’t want to put Gabe in this position,” you say, keeping your eyes on Lucas.

“You know Gabe would do anything for you, huh? You don’t know how many times he came home utterly frustrated by the way Tyson treated you. He never said anything, because you were still with him, I can’t promise you he will stay quiet this time,” Melissa says, squeezing your shoulder. “He’ll be fine, this isn’t Gabe’s first rodeo.”

You look at Melissa, who simply gives you a wink. “I know, I know. I just don’t want him to get in trouble or anything,” you say, smiling back at her. You trust and know Gabe, so hopefully there won’t be a lot of trouble today.

“If he does though, he probably deserves it.”

Gabe surprises you all with some takeaway when he gets home from practice. It’s been nice eating with other people for change, it’s been way too long. The amount of lonely dinners has been through the roof lately. Gabe nudges you with his elbow, causing you to look up at him. “No frowning at the table.”

Melissa rolls her eyes at her husband while you just stick out your tongue at him. “Sure, dad,” you say, causing Melissa to almost choke on her bite of food before she lets out a loud laugh.

“Yeah, dad. Leave us alone,” Melissa laughs, winking at her husband. Gabe shakes his head at you and Melissa, a grin plastered on his face.

It’s during dessert you find the courage to ask about Tyson. You weren’t sure if you needed to ask Gabe, you weren’t even sure if you wanted to know anything, but now you know you do. “So, did anything happen during practice?” you ask him, playing around with your spoon.

Gabe shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “Not much, just some chirping. Told him I’m his captain and he needs to fucking focus on practice. That seemed to do the trick,” Gabe says, shrugging his shoulders, continuing to eat his dessert.

You look across the table at Melissa who has the same expression on her face as you. Not convincing at all. ‘Sure,’ Melissa mouths at you from across the table. You shake your head at her, furrowing your eyebrows at Gabe’s statement. ‘Nope,’ you mouth back at her, finishing your dessert. You decide to let it go, you don’t even know why you care so much. You shouldn’t, right? You broke things off with Tyson, so why do you care so much what he does and thinks? The answer to that question is pretty simple the longer you think about it. Because you still love him, that’s why.

You thank everyone for dinner and dessert, promising to cook something from them later this week. Right now all you can think about is your bed and a decent night of sleep. God, that sounds like a true dream right now. You strip out of your clothes, crawling into the soft and cozy bed. It doesn’t take long before you fall asleep, showing just how exhausted you truly are.

The weeks that follow are filled with all kinds of activities, the 5 of you falling back into a comfortable rhythm, surprising you considering the situation you’re in. It isn’t every day you take in the ex-girlfriend of one of your teammates, or your best friend, whatever way you want to see things. When you aren’t working you spend a lot of time with the kids, trying to make things easier for Melissa and Gabe whenever they are busy or simply need some time for the two of them. You happily take on some of their care, even if it’s as simple as making sure they get their food in time. Honestly they are two of the sweetest children you’ve ever come across, they always find ways to make you laugh, even though most of the time it isn’t on purpose.

It’s been quiet around the house tonight, Melissa went out with a few of her friends, while she left Gabe and the kids with you. Apparently she needed some ‘alone time’ which didn’t include kids, and definitely didn’t include Gabe after he mentioned he wanted some ‘alone time’ with her as well. You love their friendly bickering, the love they have for each other visible in everything they do. So when Melissa gave her husband a dirty look and flipped him the bird the only logical thing to do was to start laughing at their exchange. “Have fun with them, sweetheart!” Melissa had yelled at you when she walked through the door, leaving the four of you behind.

Together you decide to just have a movie night. It’s late enough for both children to be asleep already, yet early enough to squeeze in a full size movie marathon. “Gladiatorrrrr!” Gabe exclaims excitedly while scrolling through the movie selection on Netflix, pausing on his all-time favorite movie.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Please no, have mercy, Gabe,” you laugh, knowing damn well you’re going to sit through this movie again. How many times has it been already? 12? You wouldn’t even be surprised. This dude really loves his movie. You look at Gabe from between your fingers, seeing the look on his face which makes you groan even more. “Fineeee, one more time, Gabe. One more time,” you whine at him, secretly enjoying his taste in movies, something you don’t plan on telling him ever.

It’s a little after 10pm when the doorbell rings. You look at Gabe, who looks just as surprised as you are. “It’s a bit early for Mel, don’t you think?” Gabe asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Definitely, unless she drank the whole bottle of champagne again,” you chuckle, thinking back at one of the craziest parties you’ve ever been to with Mel and Gabe.

“Oh God, please don’t remind me of that,” Gabe shudders at the memory of that night, standing up to see who’s on the other side of the door.

Gabe hates to say that he isn’t surprised to see Tyson’s face as soon as he opens the door. Honestly he had expected him at his door days, maybe even weeks ago. The moment Tyson found out you were staying with Gabe he broke, Gabe expected him to fight, to yell, to scream, he expected him to do anything except cry. Which is exactly what Tyson did, breaking down in the middle of practice. For a moment the whole place went quiet, only Tyson’s cries echoing throughout the building. No one knew how to act, no one knew what to do, until Gabe realized he’s the captain for a reason. On and off the ice. It was a weird experience, one Gabe still feels extremely conflicted about. He comforted his teammate, his friend, while his other friend was at his home, utterly heartbroken, trying to get over the guy who was bawling his eyes out on the ice.

After Tyson got over the initial shock the anger took over, just as Gabe expected. It made him almost drop the gloves, something he tried to avoid, not wanting to hurt Tyson. He let him say his things, things that absolutely didn’t make any sense, until he got everything out of his system. “Now can we continue this fucking practice, Jost?” Gabe told him after everything calmed down. Gabe tried to avoid the Tyson/y/n topic as much as possible after that, not wanting to get in the middle of things more than he already was. Until tonight apparently.

Gabe raises an eyebrow at the boy before him. “Why are you here, Tyson?” Gabe sighs, already knowing the answer to that question.

Tyson looks around, eyes flickering from left to right, clearly uncomfortable being here. “I, uh, can I talk to y/n? I know she’s here,” Tyson asks, scratching the back of his head before putting them back in his pockets.

Gabe shakes his head at him. “You can’t, if she wants to talk to you she will find a way to contact you. As long as you don’t get your shit together and prove to me, but most of all to her, that you’ve changed, I won’t let you anywhere near her,” Gabe declares, starting to get annoyed with the way Tyson acts. There’s no way he lets him close to you until you feel like you’re ready to see him again, no way.

Tyson opens his mouth, but Gabe gives him a look that immediately shuts him up again. “I’m saying this as your captain, and definitely not as your friend right now. Go home and leave her the fuck alone. You had your chance, you fucked up and now you have to deal with the consequences. How you deal with those said consequences is up to you, but I suggest you leave now and think about everything you did and didn’t do, okay?” Tyson nods his head, turning around to walk back to his car.

When he’s a few steps away from his car he turns around, smiling sadly at Gabe. “She’s my home, Gabe. Home doesn’t feel the same without her. You out of all people should understand that.”

Gabe chuckles low, shaking his head at his clueless teammate. “I do. I do know what home feels like, but I never, never choose anyone or anything over my ‘home’. Never. You sure as hell did, time after time,” Gabe says frustratedly, before shutting the door, leaving behind an even more frustrated Tyson.

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you caught the sound of Tyson’s voice when you walked to the kitchen, grabbing some more popcorn. You didn’t mean to listen to their conversation, but it felt like you were glued to your place, unable to take another step, unable to do anything but listen.

Gabe walks back into the room, the look on your face immediately letting him know you know. “How much did you hear?” he asks softly, approaching you slowly.

“Enough,” you whisper, before breaking down, no longer able to keep the tears locked away, no longer able to keep your emotions to yourself.

With two steps Gabe is in front of you, grabbing the bowl of popcorn you held onto between your trembling fingers. He guides you back to the couch, urging you to sit down, which is a true challenge for someone who can barely feel the ground they walk on. Gabe wraps his arms around you the moment you sit down, allowing you to cry onto his shoulder as much as you want and need. He whispers sweet nothings while softly brushing your hair out of your face, making sure you have room to breath. Time after time Gabe proves what kind of friend he is, always making sure to be there for you when he’s needed, always doing things with the best intentions. Even if it’s just holding you until you calm down, even if it’s just speaking the truth against Tyson, even if it’s just simply being there for one another.

“Sooner or later he would’ve realized what he lost, what he gave up for an evening of clubbing or God knows what. Apparently it’s sooner rather than later, however make sure you make him work for it, if you ever decide you want to give the two of you another chance,” Gabe softly advises you, when you finally calmed down a bit.

“I will, you know I love him, Gabe. But I don’t know if I should?” you mumble, not sure if it’s a question Gabe has the answer to.

“Sometimes the heart wants what it wants. If he’s serious about you, he will work his ass off to earn back your love and trust, I promise you,” Gabe comforts you, after knowing Tyson for so long he’s positive he knows that Tyson goes above and beyond to get what he wants in life.

Maybe it’s Gabe’s comforting words, maybe it’s knowing deep down Tyson still cares, maybe it’s your own strength, but for the first time in a while you feel a tiny flicker of hope, a little bit of light at the end of the dark tunnel. Maybe, just maybe this was all worth it, maybe this is what needed to happen to get better and move forward. Maybe this is how it was supposed to go.

It’s a weird feeling, knowing your ex still cares about you, but also knowing you aren’t ready to let him back into your life like that. You don’t feel like you’re capable of seeing him yet, let alone talk to him. The need to know how he’s doing, how he’s holding up grows, but also confuses you. It’s simply a weird and confusing situation to be in. Choosing between two, maybe even more ways to handle this, while also waiting for Tyson to make a move, which he obviously can’t since you don’t want to see him or speak to him, is a hard task. A task that will require a lot of thinking. You just need a bit more time to gather your thoughts, give all of your confusing feelings a place, while making sure you put yourself first, you need to put yourself first this time.

So when Gabe invites you to one of his home games a few weeks later you say ‘yes’ right away. It seems like the perfect time and place to see Tyson from a distance again, without putting too much stress on yourself, you can just watch and enjoy the game, you don’t have to force anything. Of course your seats turned out to be way closer to the ice than you expected them to be, although... what did you exactly expect with Gabe? You know he’s been talking to both of you, kind of acting like some sort of messenger. He tried to keep it casual, just slipping in some information during a conversation, but you noticed what he was trying to do. Frankly you’re thankful for his meddling.

Steadily your heart starts to beat faster and faster the more players appear on the ice to warm up. When Gabe appears you aren’t surprised to see Tyson close to him, knowing Gabe they probably had a little chat before they went on the ice. Tyson’s eyes shoot to yours the moment he’s close by, completely forgetting the ability to skate. You gasp when he lands on his ass on the ice, earning himself a round of laughter from the people around him, including Melissa and you. Gabe skates over to him, extending his hand and helping him upright again, but not before clearly telling him he’s ‘a dumbass’. Now that’s something you can agree on.

You know Tyson has something up his sleeve when he skates off to the bench, clearly busying himself with something you can’t see. After a few more stolen glances at each other Tyson skates closer and closer to you, until he’s right in front of the glass. His left hand catches your attention, until he gives you a small and almost shy smile. “Look at him, he’s blushing!” Melissa whispers next to you. You shoot her a quick ‘shut up’ look, before you focus your attention back on Tyson.

Tyson shows you the puck in his gloved hand, mouthing to you to catch it. It takes him two tries before the puck lands on the other side of the glass, safely in your hands. Tyson gives you one last quick smile before he skates off to get ready for the game. Melissa nudges you softly, bringing you back from your thoughts. “So, what’s on there?” she asks, knowing damn well you haven’t even checked.

“I don’t know if I want to look, Mel,” you tell her honestly. Melissa gives you a sad smile, throwing her arm around your shoulders.

“Let’s look together?” she suggests. You don’t know why you’re so nervous, how much can you actually write on a puck? He seemed happy to see you, so there’s no need to be nervous that it’s a bad thing. You look at the puck, turning it around in your hands so you can read the whole thing. ‘Talk after the game?’ is written on the puck, you immediately recognize Tyson’s handwriting and his little smiley face, or.. something that should resemble a smiley face.

“That wasn’t that bad, right?” Melissa asks softly, squeezing your shoulder.

“What if I’m not ready?” you ask her, a question that has been on your mind a lot lately.

“Then you take a step back, you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, you don’t have any obligations. But he’s trying, y/n. You’ve heard all of Gabe’s stories, you’ve seen it yourself just now. It can’t hurt to at least talk to him.” You think about Melissa’s words, she does have a point there. Talking is something you should’ve done ages ago, or at least Tyson should’ve done that. So this is progress, he’s at least trying this time, that’s more than he used to do.

It’s hard to keep the smile off your face, you can’t even pinpoint why exactly you’re smiling. Whatever the reason is, it’s a good feeling to smile again. The game sure as hell plays a big part in it, the guys are on fire, scoring goal after goal, never giving the puck away for long. There’s barely any time for you to give Tyson a thumbs up, indicating you’re up for a talk after the game. Whenever you look at Tyson when he’s off the ice he’s smiling, whether it is to himself or to one of his teammates, that smile won’t leave his face.

You follow Melissa down to the locker room after the game is over. You’ve done this so many times, but this time it couldn’t be more different. You greet all the girls who are patiently waiting on their man, getting enough comforting words from them to last you a lifetime. When the door to the locker room opens you come face-to-face with Mikko, someone you haven’t seen in a while. Mikko’s face lights up when he spots you outside the locker room. “y/n! I haven’t seen you in so long,” he says, while hugging you tightly.

“I missed you too, goof. It’s great to see you,” you smile at him, wiggling out of his iron grip. Dude’s definitely stronger than he looks.

“Between you and me, Tyson’s a good kid, he just needed to grow up a bit,” Mikko whispers against your ear, before leaving you alone again.

You raise your eyebrow at Melissa, who just shrugs her shoulders. Weird. After a few more minutes Gabe and Tyson appear in front of you, both of them joking around. Tyson nervously looks around, not sure if he should come any closer. Gabe hugs you swiftly before throwing his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Make sure you bring her home safely, Jost,” Gabe warns him, before quickly saying goodbye to both of you.

You watch them leave, your mouth agape by the way they just left you here. Rude. “Did they just really do that?” you ask no one in particular, still shocked by their actions.

You turn around, looking back at Tyson, who still appears to be nervous. Is he nervous to talk to you? Why would he be nervous? It’s just you. “Hi there,” you smile, looking up at the man in front of you.

“Hi beautiful, it was nice seeing you tonight,” Tyson softly says, giving you a small smile.

Your insides flutter with his use of words, it’s nice hearing them even though you’re not completely sure if he means them the way you hope he does. “It was. You played great, I had a lot of fun,” you say, smiling at the proud look that crosses Tyson’s face for a moment.

Tyson leads you back to the rink, which is now completely deserted, thinking it would be a nice place to chat. For a while the two of you fall back into small talk, ‘how’s life?’, ‘how’s work?’, all that bullshit. You know Tyson and you are avoiding the actual topic that needs to be discussed, or topics? Whatever it is, there’s a lot to talk about. “I missed it here, I forgot how much I loved being here,” you tell Tyson, looking at the lights that lighten up the place, thinking back at the memories full of fun and happiness you both created here.

“I missed you, baby,” Tyson blurts out, completely catching you off guard.

Your eyes shoot back to his, you feel the panic rising inside your body. “Tyson...,” you start, warning him he’s walking on thin ice here.

Tyson’s face falls a bit, seeing the anxious look on your face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Tyson groans, rubbing his face harshly, utterly frustrated with himself and the situation.

It’s quiet for a minute, both of you completely lost in thoughts. “Why is this so hard? We used to be able to talk about anything and everything. What changed, y/n?” Tyson wonders out loud.

You feel a painful pang in your heart, because you know damn well what changed. “You did, Tyson. You changed,” you almost whisper, the truth behind those words more clear than ever before.

You watch as Tyson’s whole composure changes in the blink of an eye, in just a split second he goes from the ‘happy’ guy to the guy who’s just as heartbroken as you are. “I did, didn’t I?” Tyson whispers, the tears pooling in his eyes. “I fucked this up, how could I be so stupid?” he mumbles, burying in face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, I regret this more than I could ever admit to you. I’m so sorry, baby,” Tyson cries, trying to keep his eyes focused on you. It’s hard to keep your own tears at bay when the guy you love so much has a breakdown in front of you, so you don’t. You just let them fall.

You don’t make a move to comfort him, you do give him room to let it all out, give him time to gather his composure again. “I looked through the box, the one you left on our bed?” Tyson says, his voice still broken, still thick with emotion. You nod your head, it was something you hoped he would do. “I had no idea you kept all of that throughout the years,” Tyson smiles weakly at you. “It made me realize what a moron I have been these past few months, maybe even longer,” he continues, shaking his head in disappointment. You listen intently at him, this, this is what you hoped for all this time: realization.

“I’m not telling you that you weren’t a moron, because you absolutely were. But I’m glad you came to the same conclusion.”

Tyson chuckles at your statement, giving you half a smile. “I know, I’m a dumbass. I’m a dumbass for acting this way and a dumbass for letting you go. Any guy would be on top of the world with you by his side, and I just let you slip through my fingers,” Tyson tells you, finally showing he knows he’s been a fool all this time, he knows he let something special go.

“Is it too late for us? Can you give us another chance?” Tysons asks you, his eyes flickering between you and the ground.

You sigh softly, knowing this question would come. It’s something you gave a lot of thought, something that crossed your mind daily. “I don’t know, Tyson. I really don’t know. You really fucking hurt me, you know? I can’t just look past that, I need to heal from that,” you tell him. Tyson nods his head, a guilty expression on his face. “You made me feel worthless every single day. You didn’t even give me a second of your time day after day. All you cared about was being away. Being away from me?”

It’s right that moment Tyson interrupts you by grabbing your hands. “No. No. That’s not true, you need to believe me,” he tells you as fast as he can.

“But how can I believe you when you never gave me a reason to? Your actions showed me exactly that, Tyson. I need answers, I need to know why,” you exclaim, starting to panic again, your anxiety taking over.

“Easy, baby. I’ll tell you everything you want to know, everything you want, but right now I need you to breath. Breathe, baby,” Tyson says softly, trying to calm your shallow breathing back down to normal. “Listen to my breathing, try to follow the way I breathe.” You do as he says, following the rise and fall of his chest, gaining back control of your own breathing.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, while Tyson just shakes his head at you, letting you know it’s okay. “Can you take me home, Ty? We can talk later, okay?” you ask him, suddenly feeling the need to crawl underneath the covers of your bed and just simply sleep for a while.

“Anything you want, y/n,” Tyson says, leading you out of the room and back to his car. You’re pretty sure he mumbled something under his breath, something very closely resembling ‘your home isn’t there, it’s with me’.

The drive to Gabe takes longer than expected, giving you more time to think about Tyson’s earlier question. You still need and want to know how he spent his nights, where he spent his nights, and why he acted like you didn’t exist. That conversation might need to wait until another day, you aren’t up for any more information, any more realizations, you still need to process everything you heard, saw and felt today.

Tyson stops the car in front of Gabe’s house, looking back at you with hopeful eyes. You know he still hopes he gets an answer to his earlier question, and you want to give him at least that. “You need to show me you changed, Tyson. Show me you changed for real and I’ll try to get past everything that happened. I can’t promise you anything,” you tell him softly, meaning everything you just said.

Tyson nods his head, a smile of relief on his lips. “I will, I promise you I will show you I changed and that you’re everything to me. I promise, baby.”

So that’s exactly what Tyson does the next few weeks, every free moment he tries to show you just how much you mean to him, without smothering you. Whether it’s taking you out for dinner, although you’re still waiting for Tyson to actually make you dinner by himself one day, to small coffee dates and fresh flowers at work. It’s been a lot to process, a lot of adjusting to this ‘new’ Tyson, or rather seeing the ‘old’ Tyson again. And you missed him, God you missed him so much.

Tyson seems happier, more at peace with himself these days, it’s a pleasant change. Often you wondered what was really going on inside his head, but you stopped trying after he waved it off again, and again, and again. The late night phone calls, or facetiming during road trips have become a habit again, something you didn’t think you would ever experience again with him. You still take things slow with Tyson, deciding to rather allow yourself to slowly start trusting him again than diving head first into a relationship again. Maybe it will never come that far again, you don’t know how the future will look like for the two of you, but for now it’s enough.

You come face-to-face with a smirking Melissa when you get home from yet another ‘iced coffee and donut’ date, even though you’re pretty sure Tyson isn’t allowed to eat any donuts. “Oh no,” you groan at Melissa’s expression.

“It’s time we have a little sister-sister conversation, don’t you think?” she asks you, ushering you into the living room.

“Do we?” you groan again, not in the mood to handle whatever Melissa wants to talk about now, because you already know it’s either about you, Tyson or you and Tyson.

Melissa flops down on the couch, patting the place next to her, indicating for you to sit your ass down. “Did you already talk to him about it?” she asks, straight to point in pure Melissa-style.

You let your head fall back against the cushions, sighing loudly. “I didn’t. We’re doing great, we’re having fun. I’m going to ruin it if I start asking questions again.”

Melissa stays quiet for a minute, trying to figure out the right way to approach this sensitive topic. “You know you deserve the truth, right? You can’t rebuild a relationship when not everything’s on the table, sweetheart,” Melissa says softly, knowing you’re struggling with this.

“I promise I’ll talk to him after the road trip, I don’t want to create any unnecessary negative energy before,” you promise Melissa, although she gives you a ‘who are you trying to fool here’ look before switching topics.

A few days later you find yourself back at Tyson’s place. It’s weird being here, knowing you don’t live here anymore. Nothing changed, absolutely nothing, Tyson kept everything the way you did, whether it’s out of laziness or out of hope you’ll come back on day. Either way it’s weird coming back to a place that’s no longer your home. You came here to talk, nothing more nothing less. You promised Mel you would, and if you’re being honest with yourself it’s time to know the truth, time to reopen old wounds and finally get some answers. You’ve grown closer and closer to Tyson, without knowing everything, without knowing you’d be able to forgive him if he ever made a misstep. It’s time.

Tyson has been a nervous wreck ever since you called him last night after he returned from the road trip to St. Louis. He knew this was coming, but he prayed you would simply forget, even though he knows that’s not fair at all. He can’t excuse his behavior, and he won’t, not anymore. You deserve nothing but the truth, the full truth. He’s not proud of it, but you leaving him opened his eyes, showed him he really needed to change. Tyson feels like that’s something he truly did, he changed for the better, he can only hope you’ll feel the same way. He can only hope you’re still on the same path after tonight.

“You did great these last games, Ty,” you smile at him. You’re proud of the way he’s been performing these last couple of games, he really stepped up his game.

“I know you didn’t come here to talk about my performances on the ice, so can we please skip the pleasantries?” Tyson sighs, catching you completely off guard with his rather harsh approach. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way, I’ve just been so fucking nervous since you called me,” Tyson curses, frustratedly brushing his fingers through his curls.

“You’re right though, I did come to talk. I think it’s time we lay all our cards on the table,” you tell him, nodding at your own answer.

You nervously bite on your lip, playing with the cup of water in your hand. It isn’t every day you ask your ex these questions. Questions you want the answers to, question you maybe don’t even want to hear the answers of. “I need to know if you cheated on me, Ty,” you blurt out, keeping your eyes on the ground, not wanting to see the look on Tyson’s face.

“Look at me, baby,” Tyson says, urging you to look up at him. “I never cheated on you, I wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.”

You shake your head at him, not knowing what to do with these emotions surging through your body. “It doesn’t make sense, Ty. Where were you all those nights? Where were you every time I lay in bed alone waiting for my boyfriend to come home? Waiting if he actually comes home this time or stays out all night again? Where were you?” At this point you’re past the civil conversations, past the friendly banter, you need answers, you need to know why he did what he did. The reason doesn’t even matter at this point, you need to know why. Why did he leave you alone so many nights, worrying about his well being, worrying about if he would come home at some point?

“Fuck, y/n! I know I fucked up, I know I did. But I swear on everything, I swear on my career, I swear on you that I never, never, touched another woman. I never kissed another woman, I never even danced with another woman, I did not cheat on you,” Tyson exclaims, hoping, praying you hear what he’s saying, that you’ll believe him. He didn’t do anything with another person, it was always you, it still is only you and he’ll do everything in his power to prove that to you every damn day.

“Then where were you, Ty? If you weren’t with another woman, then where the fuck were you every night you didn’t came home? Please enlighten me, because I’m so lost, so fucking lost,” you say, feeling utterly frustrated with yourself, with Tyson, with this shitty situation.

Tyson takes a deep breath, placing his cup back on the table. “Shitfaced drunk to the point I couldn’t even remember my own name, or so stoned I saw freaking elephants running all around town. Spending my money on unnecessary shit at clubs and bars, all to forget, trying to forget the fact that I had a perfect girlfriend waiting for me at home, while I did stupid shit. Fuck, this sounds even worse out loud than in my head,” Tyson groans, burying his face in his hands.

“But...,” you start, before Tyson cuts you off.

“I felt ashamed and guilty, y/n. Ashamed I let it get that far every time, guilty I didn’t tell you, guilty I didn’t come home again. One of the guys would just take me back to their place out of sympathy, letting me crash on their couch, trying to sleep off my haze.”

You try to come up with words to say, with anything but nothing comes out, you just feel.. empty? “I don’t understand, Tyson,” you say, at this point not even sure what you don’t understand.

“I tried, y/n. I tried to just come clean, but I couldn’t when you were so nice all the time, I couldn’t when I knew you would hate it, hate me. You know I’m a fucking lightweight, that makes it even worse. But those are no excuses, there aren’t any. I fucked up,” Tyson sighs, giving you a sad smile, “I couldn’t face you, I didn’t know how to show you my vulnerable side without letting it change the way you saw me. I didn’t want you to see me any different, but I didn’t notice I changed until you packed your bags and left me standing in the doorway.”

You’re absolutely speechless, there are so many things you want to say but you can’t form any sentences, any words. You just stare at him, your mind racing with an unlimited amount of thoughts. “Are you okay, baby?” Tyson asks softly, reaching out to put his hand on your arm.

You shake your head from side to side, wiping away the tears that spilled out. “I’m not okay, I’m definitely not okay,” you tell him. “I feel terrible knowing you didn’t feel like you could come to me, like you couldn’t talk to me. I’ve always been your biggest supporter, nothing would’ve changed that, Ty.”

Tyson gently wipes the tears away from underneath your eyes, scooting closer to where you’re seated. “Come here, baby,” he softly says, opening his arms for you. You hesitate for a second, not knowing if this is the right thing to do. Fuck the right thing, you definitely need a hug right now, and judging by Tyson’s facial expression he needs one as well. You lean forward, putting your arms around his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his body. How long has it been since you hugged each other? You can’t even remember, way too long. Tyson closes his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible to his own body.

“I missed this, Ty. I missed you,” you confess, the feeling of his arms around you, the feeling of Tyson, bringing back so many memories, so many happier times.

“I know we still have a long way to go, but I hope we’ll do this together. I can’t even tell you how great it feels to have my arms around you again, even if it’s just for a moment,” Tyson says, after you both let go of each other.

“We do, but I’m in if you’re in, Ty,” you agree, wanting nothing more than to work through the issues you still have. It’s time to forgive, time to let go, time to change and time to move on.

“I’m all in.”

The talk you had with Tyson that Wednesday evening did wonders for the both of you. You still had a long way to go before you were even remotely close to where you used to be with Tyson, but the most important thing was that you were working on things. Slowly, but steadily the two of you worked on trusting each other again, telling each other important things again, just simply working on being in a healthy relationship again. Although the word never came up, you were nowhere near ready for that commitment, so you settled on something less intimidating. Friends.

It was supposed to be a regular, normal Friday evening with just Melissa and the kids. Gabe and Tyson were playing one of their most important games this season, both of them begged you to come, but it was too late to find a babysitter. Not wanting to be by yourself there and leaving Mel alone, you decided to sit this one out as well, promising to cheer them on in front of the tv. It’s the least you could do. So there you are, seated on the couch wearing your Jost jersey for the very first time again, just as you promised. Weird, like nothing ever changed, even though the exact opposite is true.

You’re bouncing a giggling Linnea Rae on your knee, looking down at her adorable mini jersey. “Look it’s your daddy!” you exclaim excitedly, pointing at the closeup shot of Gabe.

“Daddy!” Linnea Rae giggles just as excited.

You catch Mel softly smiling at your little interaction with her daughter, enjoying the love you share for each other. It’s been a blessing to have you around here, the way you care for her children, but also for her and her husband has been phenomenal. Mel couldn’t wish for a better friend, for a better sister than you.

“Oh no,” you whisper when Tyson gets slammed hard into the glass. Melissa grabs your hand, squeezing softly.

“He’s going to be fine, he’s a tough guy,” she says, trying her best to comfort you. And he is, like the tough guy Tyson is, he gets up again, shaking off the hard hit. The game continues and you’re glad Tyson is fine, skating like he didn’t just get squeezed between a glass wall and a 200 pound hockey player.

All goes well until Gabe decides the best place to smack his stick is directly against Tyson’s face, again. “Not his face, Gabe! Not his fucking face again!” you yell at the screen, thanking Mel for already putting the kids to sleep.

“Shit, that looks bad,” Melissa almost whispers, squeezing your hand again.

You don’t know many things for sure in life, but you sure as hell know Tyson will be spotting a black eye for weeks. But like the tough guy he already proved to be, he just goes on with the game, trying his absolute best to work as hard as he can, giving himself completely to the game, anything to get his team the victory.

“That’s the second time you gave my man a black eye, Gabe. Why do you keep hurting him?” you whine the second Gabe walks into the living room. For a moment the room stays awfully quiet, until you realize what you just said. “I really said that, huh?” you ask, fighting to keep the smile off your face.

“You sure did. But I’m sorry, it was an accident. Again,” Gabe chuckles, shrugging his shoulders.

“Uhu, again,” you say, rolling your eyes at your best friend.

Gabe grins at you, flopping down on the couch next to Mel. “I’ll try not to hurt his pretty face again, okay?” Gabe laughs, shaking his head at you in a playful way.

“Is it weird if I, you know.. went over to check up on him?” you ask your friends, suddenly insecure about the thought of just showing up at his door.

Gabe gives you a soft smile. “I’m absolutely convinced he’d love that, y/n,” Gabe says, pulling Melissa closer to him.

“I know he would, sis,” Melissa agrees with her husband.

“Fine, okay. I’ll be back in a few. Don’t enjoy yourself too much,” you tell the two lovebirds before finding your stuff and almost running out of the front door.

You’re giddy the entire drive to Tyson’s apartment. This could go two ways, either it goes extremely well or this backfires completely. You’re hoping for the first one. Seeing Tyson get hurt gave you some realizations. One of them is that you absolutely hate to see him hurt, and you want nothing more than to be there for him, care for him, to tell him everything will be alright. Which brings you to your second discovery of the evening: you still love him, you’re still completely and utterly in love with Tyson. You can’t, really can’t imagine your life without Tyson in it. It’s your turn to tell him you need him, tell him you don’t want to do anything without him, tell him you still see a future together.

You pick up his favorite comfort food on the way over, cake. You know his nutritionist will hate you for this, but he deserves a treat after taking a stick to the face. You chuckle to yourself when you think of the small cake you bought, it’s stupid and childish, but you love it. The fun you already had makes it absolutely worth it. You park in front of the building, hopping out of the car and quickly making your way over to the floor Tyson occupies.

You rummage around in your coat pocket for the lighter you bought alongside the cake. Quickly placing the cover back into the bag, and lighting up the ‘2’ shaped candle. You snicker to yourself, enjoying this way too much. You knock on the door and patiently wait for Tyson to open up. You hear Tyson approaching, making it harder and harder to keep your composure.

The moment he opens the door his face shifts from slight annoyance, to confused, to happy, and back to confused again. “y/n?” he asks softly, looking between you and the cake, confusion clearly written all over his face.

“Happy second black eye!” you yell, before bursting out in laughter.

Tyson can’t help but join you in your laughter, if there’s one thing he loves about you, it’s your wicked sense of humor. “You really are something special, aren’t you?” Tyson chuckles, shaking his head softly at you, a smile playing on his lips.

“You tell me, Jost,” you say, giving him a wink before walking past him and inside his apartment.

“So you bought me a cake?” Tyson asks you, looking over your shoulder to the cake on his kitchen counter.

“I sure did, thought you’d deserved a treat after what Gabe did to you, again,” you laugh.

“He sure likes to hit me in the face with things. But thank you, this really means a lot to me, baby,” Tyson softly says, squeezing your hip with one of his hands, before grabbing two plates. While Tyson cuts the cake you look for something to drink, deciding water will do for the night.

You flop down on the couch next to Tyson, immediately bringing the fork with a piece of cake to your mouth. “Oh God, that’s so good,” you moan out, you picked some killer cake.

“Don’t make those noises, please,” Tyson groans, stuffing his face with cake.

“I’m sorry I picked such a good freaking cake, mister,” you laugh, nudging him with your foot. Tyson rolls his eyes playfully at you, grabbing your foot with his free hand before you can nudge him again and again.

“Movie?” Tyson asks after you both finished your plates, although Tyson finished the last few bites of your piece. Like he said he’s a needy and hungry man.

“Sure, but just something light and funny, Ty. Nothing dark,” you tell him, knowing he’d love to scare you throughout some horror movie.

While Tyson scrolls through the movies, you make yourself more comfortable on the couch, laying back against the cushions with your feet against Tyson. He looks at you, scanning your body, clearly thinking about something since his eyebrows keep furrowing and relaxing.

“Come here, Tyson,” you softly say when he finally picks a movie to watch, opening your arms for him. His eyes shoot to yours, like he can’t actually believe you just told him that. He gives you a quick smile, before moving towards you, laying down beside you.

He rests his head against your chest, just like he used to do so long ago, his arm wrapped around your waist. “Is this okay?” he asks you, making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, even though you’re the one who suggested this.

“It’s perfect, Ty,” you reassure him.

Halfway through the movie you can’t resist the temptation to run your fingers through his curls any longer. Tyson groans softly when your nails rake over his scalp, sending chill through your body. “That’s so good, please never stop doing that,” he groans out, pulling you tighter against him.

“I wasn’t planning on it, Ty,” you tell him, smiling at the way his eyes shoot to yours.

“You aren’t? Are you serious?” he asks you quietly, eyes still locked on yours.

“I am, love. I came to the conclusion that you’re worth all the risks in life. You’re my light, my guiding light in darkness, my light at the end of the tunnel,” you say, leaving a soft kiss on his forehead. You try to express your emotions towards Tyson, trying to make him feel what you felt when you came to the sudden realization he’s worth taking a risk.

“What does that mean, baby?” Tyson asks you softly, an uncertain smile on his lips.

“It means I’m willing to give us another shot, another go. I want to try again, Ty.”

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips when you look at Tyson’s face, the realization setting in, the happiness and the gratefulness spreading all over his face, the relief flooding through his body.

“How does that work?” Tyson asks again, clearly trying to rid himself of any insecurities, any questions he has. You gladly take those insecurities away from him.

“A clean slate, completely starting over again to give us both a fresh start. How does that sound?” you ask him.

Tyson nods at you, the happiness radiation off him. “A fresh start, I like the sound of that,” Tyson muses. The changes on his face fascinates you, it seems like he goes through a whole range of emotions in just a few minutes. Until he reaches one you know all too well, mischief. He looks at you, the familiar glimmer in his eyes tells you he’s definitely up to something. He sends you a soft and sweet smile, that almost melts you into a puddle right there and then. “Hi, I’m Tyson,” he says, extending his hand to you. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you, this is exactly how Tyson is. Funny, charming, an absolute dream.

“You’re a goof, you know that?” you tell him, softly shaking your head at him, but the big grin on your face tells him you loved that. Tyson intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing softly. When he doesn’t make any other moves you take matters into your own hand, slowly leaning in and softly pressing your lips on his. The familiarity, the rush of emotion flooding through your body hits you like a ton of bricks. The feeling of his lips against yours light something deep inside of you, and just like that you finally feel complete again.