#his mannerisms and the way he is with jane

[aristobun]

am   i   inadvertently   drawing   inspiration   from   this   movie   and   this   couple   for   how   these   predators   handle   my   girls?   apparently   so.   i   fully   love   the   way   tarzan   handles   (   literally   )   jane   in   this   movie,   so   if   all   of   those   mannerisms   slip   into   my   writing,   it   ain't   my   fault,   lmao.

[purrloinqueenyetagain]

my dad has been watching the mentalist and sometimes im in the living room drawing while he is and like

am i insane or is patrick jane autistic

[lordprettyflackotara]

noise || ticci toby x maid!reader (𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓵𝔂pasta au)

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: toby & reader are both switches, toby’s a lil freaky fuck, face fucking, biting, choking, marking, squirting, humiliation fr

If you had been asked what you thought creeps did for fun, you would’ve had a few guesses. Murdering sprees, torture, potential cannibalism. What you would’ve not guessed was partying.

It was a surprise to you that the creeps did in fact like to party, with outside mansion residents as well. Immortal killers of all shapes and sizes were making their way into the mansion, eyeing you like you were candy. Slenderman had made it very clear you were off limits as the mansions official maid, but that didn’t stop the stares or awkward conversations you were forced into. You realized many of them hadn’t interacted with a regular human in so long they forgot social manners. The realization hit you when Laughing Jack asked if you wanted a piece of his lollipop.

Nevertheless you were still having fun, despite cleaning up after everyone constantly. The music was loud and obnoxious, the weed smell burning your nostrils so much you were sure your nose hairs were fried. Thankfully Slender opted to let you wear a more appropriate attire, fearful the guest would go feral at the sight of a helpless human girl with her ass out. A pencil skirt and button up weren’t your forte, but damn did it beat the flimsy halloween costume you wore everyday. You threw some empty red solo cups in a trash bag, many of the creeps in a circle on the floor.

“Hey Y/n! Come spin this shit!”

You looked over in surprise, Jeff’s rough voice one you’d recognize anywhere. It looked like an old fashioned game of spin the bottle. “Uh i’m not sure-” You started to protest, Ben appearing behind you. You jumped in surprise as he grabbed your shoulders, floating behind you shamelessly. “Dont be shy. Besides, it’s seven minutes in heaven, you’ll get some privacy,” He cooed mockingly, pushing you towards the circle. Uncertainly you placed one foot in front of the other, peer pressure obligating you to act cool with this. “Ben’s right. Besides, you don’t exactly have much of a choice maid,” Jeff snickered, taking a swig of his beer bottle.

Begrudgingly you lowered yourself onto your knees, joining the circle. You sat in between Eyeless Jack and Jane the killer, both of whom looked at you like you were a fresh pile of meat. Unsurely you grabbed the bottle in the middle of the circle, spinning it. Glancing around you were surprised to see Masky and Hoodie partaking in the silly game, the two nearly mirroring each other with the way they smoked their cigarettes. Your gaze then landed on the bottle, silently praying you’d get someone from the mansion, not a guest. Your prayers seemed to be answered once the other end of the bottle landed on Toby.

Ticci Toby, a scrawny unhinged killer who twitched everytime he looked at you. He seemed to be the closest to your age, despite being the youngest mansion resident besides maybe Ben. It was hard to tell how old anyone was, the creeps not aging after age twenty five. Jeff chuckled darkly at the match, guiding you both to follow him. “Alright lovebirds, into the closet you go!” He sang cheerfully. Toby stepped inside first, red led lights decorating the top of the closet. You nervously trailed behind him, Jeff grinning mischievously as he started a timer. “Oh and Toby make sure she comes out alive, boss will be pretty mad if she doesn’t. Have fun!” Jeff advised, before slamming and locking the closet door. Although it was dim inside of the closet, it wasn’t hard to see Toby was visibly nervous.

“We d-don’t have to d-d-do anything. Jeff’s just an asshole,” Toby sputtered. His neck twitched after he spoke, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. You both leaned on opposite sides of the closet, only a couple of feet dividing you from touching. You cleared your throat, boldly taking a step forward. It had been a stressful week, your stress pent up and taking a toll on your body. “Have you ever done anything with a girl before?” You asked. Toby’s eyes widened at your question, pushing his goggles further back on his head. “Yes i-it’s just been a long t-t-time,” He answered. You tilted your head to the side curiously, the young brunette boy reluctant to elaborate. “My ex is C-Clockwork,” He explained. For once he was grateful at the red lights in the closet, they concealed the blush that dashed across his cheeks.

You knew who Clockwork was, her presence not as frequent as you would’ve liked. It was easier being around the female mansion residents rather than the males. “Oh I see,” You mused. You grabbed the collar of his hoodie, attempting to straighten it out. “I’d l-l-love to make her jealous,” Toby admitted. A devious grin spread across your lips, your hands sliding down his chest. “Why don’t we do that then?” You asked. You grabbed handfuls of his hoodie, dragging him over to you. Your lips met his, his kisses sloppy and uncoordinated. He grabbed your waist harshly, causing you to groan in his mouth. His lips were eager and desperate, his cock quickly hardening in his pants. “M-move your h-h-hair,” Toby ordered softly. You strayed away from his lips, brushing your hair behind your neck. His lips were quick to assault your neck, sucking harshly at the sensitive skin. You couldn’t control the whimpers that left your lips, his tongue lapping at the hickies he was sucking.

You let out a gasp as his teeth sank into your skin, causing you to whine under him. He pressed you flat against the wall, your back flat against the wood. “Y-you t-t-think i’m going to l-l-let you leave unmarked? Boy are you d-dumb,” Toby chuckled darkly, his hands now slithering to the mounds of your ass. He roughly grabbed the flesh, his teeth sinking into your neck once more. The pain was almost nauseating, thin beads of blood forming around the bite mark. The brunette was quick to lap at the wound, relishing in the taste of your metallic blood. Once he released his hold you pushed him back, his back crashing into the opposite wall. You assertively grabbed his throat, tilting his neck to the side. As harshly as you could you sucked at his skin, the boy beneath you having a hard time restraining his cock in his jeans. You sucked and lapped at his neck, hickies and bruises forming over his greyish skin.

“Y-you can t-t-try to hurt-t me all you want. I don’t feel pain,” Toby laughed. You pulled back from his neck, eyes wide. He found the fear in your blown pupils arousing, his hand finding your cheek. “We d-d-don’t have a lot of time, s-stay still for me,” He commanded. You watched as he undid his belt, pulling down his pants and boxers in one shift motion. You tried to follow his order, his slender hands grabbing you and flipping you upside down. You gasped as he held your waist, your body weight as light as a feather to him. You felt the blood rushing to your head, his hard cock dripping precum dead center in front of your face. “G-get to sucking i-i-if you want to cum,” Toby ordered. Your hair hung in the air underneath you, your body tense as he held you upside down. You felt him shove your pencil skirt ‘down’ and your panties to the side, his bandaged fingers playing with your slick.

“So f-fuckin wet. F-filthy fuck,” Toby commented, bringing his mouth to your clit. You groaned as you stroked his cock, bringing it to your mouth. You bobbed your head up and down on his cock, licking the underside of his shaft as he wrapped his lips around your clit. Your nails dug into his thighs for support, the brunette holding you blissfully unaware of how hard you were truly holding onto him. You could feel yourself becoming dizzy as you sucked his cock, Toby’s fingers dipping into your entrance. You whined around his shaft, the vibrations around his length only making him harder. He released your clit with a pop, his fingers now abusing your g spot. “F-fuckin whore. D-don’t pass out o-o-on me,” Toby barked. Your eyes were screwed shut as you shoved yourself further down his length, his tip brushing against the back of your throat.

His fingers were merciless, his tongue lapping at your folds like a starved man. You briefly disconnected yourself from his cock, a string of saliva still connecting you to his tip.

“Two minutes left!”

Jeff’s mocking voice notified you both outside of the closet door. Toby frowned, flipping you over and forcing you onto your knees. You were dizzy and disoriented as he shoved his cock into your mouth. You gagged as he began to fuck your throat, determined to cum. “C-come on s-slut. The sooner y-y-you make me cum the sooner I m-m-make you squirt,” Toby barked. You whole heartedly sucked his cock, your jaw going slack as he abused your throat. You ignored your desperation for oxygen as well as the tears streaming down your face, determined to make Toby cum. His fingers were roughly lodged in your hair, yanking at it and forcing you to take all of him. “F-fucking s-s-shit,” Toby grunted. He held you down to the base of his cock, your nose buried in his bush as he came down your throat. You struggled to swallow his seed, his warm cum spilling down your throat.

“Swallow it fucking a-all or I swear I-I-I make you lick it off of the ground,” Toby growled. You managed to blink your eyes open, through the tears looking up at the brunette with glassy eyes. You swallowed every drop of cum he could produce, Toby only pulling out when he felt satisfied. He grabbed you by your throat, fingers wrapped tightly around your flesh. He shoved you against the closest wall, his hand digging up your skirt. You whimpered as he abruptly shoved two fingers inside of you, using his thumb to circle your clit. He quickly curled them, abusing your g spot as quickly as he pleased. “Y-you’re a s-s-sick fuck. Enjoying killers u-using you like a s-s-sex doll,” Toby growled. His eyes were blown with lust, but sparkled with something much more sinister. His fingers clamped over your throat tighter, restricting your airway. “G-gonna talk to b-b-boss about making a g-g-glory hole just for you. Since-e that’s all you’re good for,” He purred.

It sickened you just how much his words sent waves of pleasure down to your core. You grabbed his wrist, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as the cord inside of your stomach tightened. “B-bet you’ve never squirted b-b-before, huh?” Toby asked mockingly, tilting his head to the side. You shook your head no, his circles around your clit speeding up dangerously quickly. “Well you’re going to for me. N-now fucking cum,” Toby growled. You felt an unfamiliar feeling wash over you, one you hadn’t felt before. You gripped his wrist as you squirted, your juices soaking the carpet below as well as your skirt. You blushed as your vision went hazy, your head spinning. You hardly felt like you could stand, Toby holding you upright. Through spotty vision you watched the brunette suck his fingers, cleaning off your juices.

“You look like s-shit. Take this,” He said, handing you his hoodie. It smelled like dirt and too much cologne, but you weakly shoved it on. You pulled down your wet skirt, trying to look semi decent. Toby fixed his pants and boxers, relooping his belt. Just in time too, Jeff then opening the closet door. Ooo’s and awe’s spread across the room, your face as red as it could get. Jeff patted Toby on the back, congratulating him. You nervously left the circle, resuming your task of collecting trash. You felt a pair of eyes burning holes into the back of your head, causing you to look behind you. The infamous Eyeless Jack was shamelessly staring at you, wondering if he could make you make more noise than Toby could.

[readsaboutreid]

Could I please request a sunshine! Reader who's a friend of Penelopes, and she goes to drop off some baking for Pen when she asks Spencer for directions to her office, he's a stuttering mess and the reader offers him a cookie as thanks for his directions. And she tells Pen about the cute guy and so she ropes Morgan into setting them up?

YES YOU CAN this sounds adorable and i love it pure fluff and baked goods coming right up! i hope you like it this is my first request and i'm kinda nervous

pairing: Spencer x sunshine!reader

contains: pure fluff, adorable flustered Spencer, another blink and you'll miss it Buffy reference

Lavender Roses | S.R.

Spencer sat at his desk, the stack of folders on it feeling as though each time he completed one another one is added. He takes a deep breath and leans back, taking his glasses off his face to massage the bridge of his nose. Most of the time he was glad to have a slow casework day but for some reason today was crawling by.

He placed his glasses back on his face and turned to resume to his work before he heard a soft voice. "Excuse me?" He swiveled in his chair and found that in front of him stood possibly prettiest person he's ever seen before carrying a couple of small plastic tubs. She was smiling slightly at him, her eyes sparkling even in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the bullpen. She wore a long-sleeved black dress with a white collar and a flared skirt and a pair of black Mary Janes. "Hello?" She asked again.

His eyes widened slightly and he remembered that she had been about to ask him something so he cleared his throat. "Oh, hi! Uh, m-may I have you? Uh, help. M-may I help you?" Spencer shook his head and nearly slapped his palm to his forehead but managed to refrain from doing so. His cheeks burned as he met her gaze again and was met with a smile so sweet that it would have made his knees buckle had he been standing.

"Yes, actually!" She responded, her smile growing wider. "I'm looking for Penelope Garcia's office? I need to drop these off for her." She held up the boxes, which upon further inspection held an assortment of cupcakes, brownies, and cookies in the very top one.

"Oh, oh yeah ! It's just, uh—it's r-right over—just turn around and—," he stammered, his cheeks burning more and more with each failed attempt to organize his racing thoughts so that they'd come out of his mouth fluently instead of in the word jumbles he was currently producing.

"Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt, but you said you're looking for Penelope Garcia?" Derek Morgan swooped in, rescuing Spencer from further embarrassment. "Her office is right this way, I can take you to her." He flashed her one of his smooth smiles and placed a hand on her arm as he began to turn her in the right direction.

"Oh, thank you!" She said gratefully. Before Derek could lead her away she turned back to Spencer and opened the top container, lowering it in front of him. "Here, have a cookie as a thanks for helping me!"

"B-but I didn't even—," he began before being shushed by her in a joking manner, her index finger landing a mere centimeter in front of his lips.

"Uh-uh! I will hear none of that nonsense," she laughed, making his heart skip a beat or two. "You were kind to me so take a cookie."

"O-okay, if, uh, if you insist," he gave a nervous laugh of his own as he reached his hand in and grabbed the first cookie his fingers met. He quickly withdrew his hand and met her eyes once more. "Th-thank you!"

"You're welcome, handsome!" She chirped before letting Derek lead her to Garcia's office, leaving Spencer silently kicking himself for fumbling that interaction so thoroughly. He took a bite of the cookie and was met with the most amazing tasting treat he'd ever had as he went back to working on the pile of folders on his desk.

"Thank you for showing me to Penelope!" (Y/N) thanked the kind man, who had introduced himself as Derek Morgan. She had heard endless stories about him from Penelope so it was nice to put a face to the name. "What, no cookie for me?" He joked, right as Penelope opened the door.

"She better not give you one! These are for my party tonight!" She said immediately.

"Oh, it's fine, Pen, I made like 30 of these things, not to mention the brownies and cupcakes. Plus, I already gave one to your other coworker so it's only fair, I suppose," she opened the top container, allowing the man to pick a cookie.

"Thanks gorgeous," he winked and walked off, taking a bite of the cookie. "Mmm these are delicious!"

They walked into Penelope's office and she closed the door behind them as (Y/N) set the containers down on one of the few surfaces not littered with papers and/or computer equipment. Once her hands were free she hugged her friend and they began catching up. Eventually, (Y/N) couldn't help but ask about the young brunet agent with whom she had shared her first encounter.

"So Pen, who was that tall, handsome agent I met earlier?" She asked, feeling her cheeks burn as she blushed lightly.

"Oh, sweet cheeks, stay away from him! He's mine," Penelope joked back, nudging her friend lightly with her elbow.

"Oh no, not him. He was nice but before he led me to your office, I had asked another agent where to find you. He was younger, wearing glasses, closer to my age, and he had what looked like the softest brown hair and he got all cute and flustered," she gushed to her friend, not taking a single breath until she had finished and took in a large gulp of air.

"Wait wait wait, are you talking about Reid?" Penelope laughed, her hands flying up to her mouth. "Skinny guy, about 6'1", dresses like he shops with my grandpa?"

"Hey, I like the way he was dressed!" (Y/N) responded with a playfully indignant tone. "He looked very cute if you ask me. Truth be told that's why I offered him a cookie!"

As her friend was leaving, a plan started forming in Penelope Garcia's mind. Once (Y/N) was through the glass doors and in the elevator, she rushed over to Derek Morgan, sitting at his desk and working on a case file.

"Derek! Derek, I need to talk to you," she panted, slightly out of breath from her hurrying. "Come to my office with me." The two went to her office where she shut the door and hurriedly asked, "tell me about what you saw between (Y/N) and Reid!"

"Is that your friend from earlier, baby girl?" He asked, tilting his head to the side with an amused smile creeping on his lips.

"Yes and she spent about 20 minutes gushing over him, Derek," Penelope laughed. "She is smitten and their interaction couldn't have been all that long. So, tell me, you beautiful man, what. Did. You. See?"

"Okay, okay!" He put his hands in the air and gave a good natured chuckle. "She walked up to him and got his attention, he fumbled asking her if he could help her with something, she asked how to find you, and he tried to tell her but it sounded like he was about to have a stroke so I stepped in and offered to show her to you. She offered him a cookie as a thanks for his effort and then we went to your office."

"Nothing else?" She pressed, trying to get every last bit of information that she could.

"Uh, she called him handsome, I think?" He added, trying to sneak a second cookie but being met with a slap on the wrist from Penelope.

"Okay so I have a plan," she said, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper as she leaned in closer to Derek. "But I'm going to need your help."

Spencer sat in the café Derek had told him to go to, a single lavender rose in front of him. He had been told to look for a girl wearing a light purple beret, but no such girl had arrived in the 15 minutes he'd been waiting. He checked his watch while his heart beat rapidly against his chest. Why had he agreed to a blind date in the first place? Logically he knew Derek wasn't like the kids he went to school with growing up, he would never intentionally hurt his friends like that, but a part of Spencer's mind was telling him that this was all some elaborate prank that all his coworkers would be laughing about on Monday.

In the midst of his thought spiral he failed to notice that someone had approached his table until he heard a soft throat clearing from in front of him. He started and looked up, his cheeks turning a soft shade of red as he met the twinkling eyes that have been plaguing his thoughts for the passed week.

"Dr. Reid?" She asked with a hopeful look on her face. "I don't think we were every properly introduced the other day. I'm (Y/N) (Y/L/N). May I join you?"

"Oh! Uh, um, s-sure! Please do," he stuttered, realizing that she was wearing a lavender colored beret that from the looks of it was handmade with a lot of care. "I, uh, I'm Spencer." He smiled at her as she sat across from him in the empty chair.

"It's nice to officially meet you, Spencer," she responded with a soft giggle that made Spencer feel like he was about to melt.

"I, uh, I brought you this," he told her as he reached for the rose in front of him, reaching his hand out over the table to hand it to her. Her cheeks tinged an adorable shade of pink as she reached for it.

"I don't know if I've ever seen a rose this shade before," she whispered, twirling it around in her fingers as her eyes widened in awe.

"Different colored roses carry different meanings," He began explaining his thought process behind the particular color he had picked for her. "Lavender colored roses usually represent enchantment, admiration, and carry an air of mystery or mysticism, so I figured it would be a perfect color for the first time meeting you." He felt his cheeks burn as he finished his explanation.

"That's incredibly sweet of you, Spencer," she smiled at him softly, reaching forward to put her hand on top of his. At this point he swore his heart was going to explode. "And even though we've technically met before it also has the added benefit of matching my hat quite well."

"Yes, yes it does," he smiled back as a warm feeling bloomed and spread throughout his chest.

"So what do the other colors of roses signify?" She asked, tilting her head and listening eagerly with the very same smile that had made him tumble head over heels for her during their first encounter as he began explaining each and every color of rose and their multitude of meanings. Not once did she roll her eyes or sigh from boredom. As the night drew on and the conversation flowed Spencer knew that a lavender rose was indeed a perfect choice since what they really symbolized was love at first sight.

[stevie-petey]

episode nine: the good

Soon it’s just you and Steve. You work around one another, anticipating each other’s next move, never getting in the way. Soft music plays from the record player that sits in the den. Steve puts on one of his father’s old records, gentle rock and delicate jazz. You hum to yourself, he hums with you, and it’s a peaceful morning. Until Richard and May Harrington walk in. Neither of you notice them at first. Steve is too busy spinning you around, playfully dipping you as the music comes to a grand crescendo. You’re laughing breathlessly, but soon your laughter turns into a yelp when Steve sees his parents standing in the doorway and drops you.

Summary: the party battles the horrors of high school and leave you stranded, tw: applying for college is harder than fighting literal demons (you would know, youve done it), jonathan joins your nightmare blunt rotation, max worries you, and steve solidifies his position of Best Boyfriend in the World as you slowly fall apart (though is anyone really surprised ??).

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: cursing, allusions to previous character death

Words: 11.2k idk how or why i needed to say so much

Before you swing in: we're here !!! FINALLY at the end of season 3 <3333 im so so so excited to present to you the groundwork for what i have planned for season 4 ;) it will be ... a lot. the season is huge, its difficult and scary, and i did my best to try and capture its dread and ominous sense of doom in this chapter. please enjoy and bear with me as i prepare for season 4. unsure when i will be done planning her, but i PROMISE itll be worth it !!

-

“Are you sure Ms. Bote is nice?”

“Yes.”

“And that Mr. Cune won’t question the hat?”

“Yes, Dustin.”

“And you’re absolutely sure we have lunch together?”

“Yes.” You tighten the straps on your mary janes and give your brother an exasperated look. All morning he’s been freaking out about his first day of high school. You understand his fear, it’s scary starting at a new school, but you’ve answered all his questions a million times by now and Steve is supposed to be here any second. “We need to go, buddy.”

Dustin shoves a pancake into his mouth, wiping his face with the back of his hand in a disgusting manner. “Wait, but what about my backpack–”

“I have it, Dusty!” Your mother walks into the kitchen and hands it to him. She kisses his mess of curls and strokes your cheek. “Are my darlings ready for their first day of school?”

“No.” You and Dustin say at the same time, which your mother frowns at. 

Dustin adjusts his backpack and gives you an odd look. “Why are you nervous? It’s not like you’re being blindly thrown into a den of hormonal creatures out for blood. You’re old now, they’ll leave you alone!” 

“Trust me, the college admissions process is a worse monster than school bullies.” You grab your own backpack and start heading towards the front door. “I have to start planning what to write, I–I need more clubs, and projects, and–”

The anxiety overwhelms you. It always starts like this: talk about college, you fall down a hole of uncertainty and dread and fear. It’s been like this ever since Jonathan moved away. The minute the Byers moved, you threw yourself into preparing for college. Rationally, you know it’s your poor way of coping with all the sudden change in your life. You don’t need a psychological research journal to tell you that. In a futile attempt to control your future, you’ve become obsessed with college. 

New York University, specifically. 

Jonathan has always dreamed of attending, and when you met him, it became your dream, too. 

“Okay, dear. Settle down, now.” Your mother places a hand on your shoulder and laughs nervously. She has about five seconds before you collapse into a mess of college admissions rambling and despair. “Let’s go outside and find that wonderful Stevie!”

Your body is shoved out the front door alongside Dustin’s. Steve’s car is parked, he stands outside it, arms crossed and a grin on his face. Your body relaxes when you see him, the buzz of anxiety dims. He’s wearing his Family Video vest, the green makes his tanned skin glow.

“She’s doing it again.” Dustin tells him, tossing his backpack into the backseat.

Steve winces. He knows exactly what your brother is referring to. He’s been at the other end of far too many anxious phone calls at three in the morning. “College?”

“Yeah, she almost had a meltdown in the kitchen.”

“I can hear you both, you know.” Though you try to seem fine, keep up the annoyance, you stand next to Steve and rest your head on his shoulder anyways. He wraps an arm around you and kisses your forehead. 

Steve rubs your arm and makes a sympathetic noise. Your mother, seeing how he holds you, squeals. “Oh, stay just like that, hold on!”

“Mom, what–” But your mother ignores you and runs back inside the house. You look at Dustin, terrified. “She’s not…”

He shakes his head at you. He leans against the car next to you and crosses his arms, mimicking Steve’s earlier stance.  “She’s mom. Of course she is.”

“What are you guys talking about–” A flash of light momentarily blinds Steve, and he flinches. “Woah, alright.”

“Smile, kids!” Another camera flash, and your mother coos as you, Steve, and Dustin awkwardly shuffle into frame. It’s not that the three of you dislike being near the other, it’s the fact that it’s seven in the morning and neither you nor Dustin are ready for the day ahead. Steve smiles, though. “That’s it! Everyone say, ‘happy first day of school’!”

A mess of incoherent mumbling follows your mothers command, but she doesn’t let it bother her. She takes a million pictures, preens when she sees Steve smile even wider, and she has to hold back tears. Her babies are all grown up. Dustin is a freshman now, and you’re a senior.

“Alright, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve has to quickly blink, trying to regain his eyesight. He adores the woman, he knows he’s become her favorite, but he really needs to get you to school before his shift at Family Video starts. “I have no doubt you’ve already taken the best picture ever.”

“Aw, just one more–”

“Mom.” Dustin clears his throat, urging her to stop, and she sighs. 

Your mother kisses Dustin’s head, then yours, and wishes you a good first day before getting into her own car to drive to work. “Bye, kids!”

You all wave at her, and Steve opens the car door for you. Once you’re seated, he goes to the driver’s side and tells Dustin to get in the back. The engine starts, soft music plays from Steve’s radio, and soon the three of you are driving towards Hawkins high. 

“No Robin?” You ask Steve after a few minutes of silence. He’s grown rather close to the girl, working together all summer, so you had expected her to drive with you guys to school. When you and him officially got together, Robin made the two of you promise that you wouldn’t abandon her. It was an irrational fear, you love Robin dearly, but you made sure to spend time with her and Steve equally anyways. 

“She has band practice this morning,” Steve responds. “So it’s just me and the Hendersons today.”

Dustin shoves his head in between the two of you. His seatbelt strains against his chest, but he doesn’t care. He’s on a mission to get as much information as he possibly can. He refuses to go into high school blind and pathetic. “Steve, you were once popular.”

“Why the past tense? I mean, I’d consider myself still pretty well liked–”

“I need you to tell me what you did that led to your demise so I can avoid doing the same.”

You snort and Steve sighs. The kid really keeps him humble. He stops at a light, looks at Dustin through the rearview mirror, and shakes his head. “What makes you think it was anything I did?”

“Kid’s got a point,” you say from the passenger seat. Steve gives you an offended look and you raise your hands in surrender. “Hey, all I’m saying is that I also don’t really know what happened. You’ve got a track record of pissing off the wrong people. One minute you were King Steve, the next you were shunned.”

Steve groans. “You people have no faith in me.” He can feel you and Dustin staring at him, unbelieving. He hates when the two of you team up against him; it makes it harder for him to lie. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to tell you what happened. Not because he’s embarrassed, or ashamed, even. 

He knows it will only upset you. Reopen wounds. 

But you and Dustin keep staring at Steve and there’s still at least ten minutes left of the drive. Weighing his options, Steve figures it’s best if he just tells the truth. Like ripping off a bandaid, knowing the pain will be there regardless of how long you stall. “Okay, fine.” He scratches his nose, clears his throat. “It was, uh. Because of Billy.”

The temperature in the car drops. It’s suddenly ice cold. 

Dustin slowly leans back against his seat. Steve faces ahead, eyes on the road, but he watches you from his periphery. No one has mentioned Billy since his death, at least not in front of you or Max. 

Especially Max. 

They wait for you to react. To tense up, ball your hands into fists and wipe away tears. They expect the guilt you’ve barely kept hidden to resurface, but you don’t do any of that. Instead, you surprise them. “Can’t believe you let a mullet defeat you.”

Steve isn’t sure if he’s allowed to laugh at first, worried it’s some bizarre test of yours. But he sees the smile on your face, albeit forced and terse, but he knows you’re trying. So he plays along, relieved that you’re doing what you can. “I don’t know, I thought the mullet looked pretty good.”

“Get a mullet and see how fast I leave you.”

Dustin nods in agreement, Steve shakes his head with a laugh, and the temperature in the car returns. There’s still a slight chill in the air, there will always be a slight chill, but you pull your jacket tighter around you and ignore it. 

When you get to the school, Dustin stares at the hounds of teens all walking through the parking lot. He gulps, tightens his hands around his backpack, and you try to ease his apprehension. 

“Hey, look at me.” He does, and you extend your arm, offering a handshake. Dustin eyes you wearily, but reluctantly he shakes your hand. You nod at him, hand firm around his. “It’s just you and me. And Lucas. Max, too. Unfortunately, possibly Mike. Copy?”

“Copy.” Dustin releases your hand and salutes you. He pushes his hat down, takes a deep breath, and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Let’s go.”

“Good luck, little Henderson.” Steve salutes him as well before turning to you. He presses his lips to yours, hums, a soft smile on his face. “And good luck, angel.”

Ignoring Dustin’s dramatic gagging in the back, you squeeze Steve’s hand and smile back at him. “Thanks, honey. Have a good day at work.”

Dustin nearly falls out of the car with how fast he scrambles out of it. He’s about to ban all forms of physical affection between you and Steve. It’s disgusting. No one wants to see any of that. You follow after your brother and exit the car.

You only make it a few feet before Steve rolls down the car window and shouts, “I love you!”

A few students in the parking lot turn, and their faces contort into shock when they see none other than Steve Harrington. He waves at them, cocky as always, and you’re both mortified and so in love. He may have lost his crown, but he will always be the king. While Dustin ducks his head down in embarrassment, you wink at Steve. “I love you, too!”

“You’re going to be the reason I end up getting thrown into a dumpster on my first day.”

“Aw, is Dusty-bun jealous?”

“Go die.”

–

The entire day it feels like you’re missing something. 

When you get to homeroom, there isn’t a seat saved for you at the front. When the physics teacher drops his chalk five times within the first five minutes, there isn’t anyone to tease you for your poorly contained snicker. In the library, you’re forced to sit in a corner because there’s no one to share the plush sofa with. 

There’s no one who whispers answers to you during calculus. No one who hooks their foot around your desk’s leg. No one who doodles in your notebook just to get you to laugh. 

Jonathan’s absence is palpable. 

You knew it would feel weird, starting senior year without him, but you didn’t think it’d feel so lonely, either. Empty. Unfinished. 

By the time lunch comes, you’re slowly losing your mind. You need someone to talk to. Robin and Nancy don’t share any classes with you, Jonathan had been your only real friend at Hawkins, and now you’re paying the price. 

You’re the first one at the lunch table, which you figure is a good thing. Earlier in the week you and the party had all agreed to sit together at lunch, you’d been excited to finally share the same school building as them. However, you hadn’t wanted to hover over them. You wanted them to branch out, meet new people, so lunch was your agreed upon time with them. 

The lunch room fills with students and you wait anxiously for the rest of the party. You’re excited to see them, ask how their days are going, maybe even gossip about the freshmen, but when they arrive it’s almost as if a tornado rips right through you. 

“There you are!” Dustin finds you first and slides into the seat next to you, nearly causing you to face plant into the ground. “Look, we gotta talk.”

You frown. “Okay, is everything–”

“We can’t stay and eat.” Mike cuts to the chase, not even bothering to sit down. Lucas stands behind him, quiet and nervous.

“What, why?”

“Eddie Munson wants to meet us.” Dustin says the boy’s name as if you should know him. But you don’t, and now you’re really confused. What does he have to do with any of this?

“Eddie…?”

Mike rolls his eyes at you. “Eddie Munson, Hellfire club, DnD?” When he sees that nothing he’s saying makes any sense to you, he huffs. “Seriously, do you not know anything?”

You throw a chip at him, hurt. “I was in choir, not some stupid DnD club.”

“Hellfire club isn’t stupid–”

“Anyways!” Dustin cuts the fight short. There isn’t time for you and Mike to argue right now. “Eddie is the dungeon master, and he’s recruiting us to join his party! We–we gotta go and meet him, Y/N. He doesn’t just let plebe freshmen like us join.”

“He’s legendary.” Mike says, and sadly you know he means it. It’s not often someone has the boy’s full admiration. Mike is hard to impress, and this Eddie guy seems to have him wrapped around his finger already.

Dustin stares up at you, eyes pleading to understand, and you know you can’t ruin this for him. Only hours ago he had been terrified of his first day, and now he’s almost vibrating with excitement over the possibility of joining some club. There will be people there like him, others interested in what he loves, and you can’t let your own loneliness ruin that. 

“Well,” you clear your throat, try to appear excited for the boys. “Go see Eddie, then.”

“You sure?” Dustin doesn’t want to just leave, he knows you were looking forward to lunch today. He’ll stay if you need him to, he’s sure Mike can talk his way in with Eddie. 

You smile at him, force your voice to be light. They’re growing up. You all are. “I’m sure, it’s your first day. You’re supposed to be joining a bunch of clubs, it’s a good way to make friends. I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

Dustin isn’t entirely convinced, but Mike has already grabbed his arm to go and find Eddie. He turns to Lucas, beckons him to follow. “C’mon, dude.”

“I’ll-uh. Follow in a sec.” Mike gives him an odd look, but Lucas is already sitting down next to you. Seeing this, Mike gives up and leaves with Dustin. As soon as they’re gone, Lucas lowers his voice and leans in close to you. “Hey, do you, uh. Know Jason Carver?”

The scent of chocolate ice cream infiltrates your nose, the sound of it colliding into the teen’s pants rings in your ears. The memory of it is tangible, and you have to hold back a laugh. Yeah, you know Jason Carver. “I mean, we aren’t friends, but we know each other. Why?”

“Do you…” Lucas looks around, making sure Mike and Dustin really are gone, before he continues. “Do you think he’d let me join the basketball team?”

You’re surprised. Sure, Lucas has always shown an interest in the sport. He plays with Steve sometimes, they trade cards, but you didn’t think he’d be interested in the school’s team. “Oh.” Then, you realize why he’s stayed behind. “You don’t want to join Hellfire, do you?”

“I know I’m just a freshman, and–and Mike would probably call me dumb for wanting to even try out, but. I don’t know. I think… I think I could be really good on the team. Might make high school easier.”

“Then you should go for it,” you reassure Lucas. He’s always been so careful to not upset others. He’s loyal, down to his very core, you understand the fear that doing something for yourself brings. “Jason isn’t so bad. A bit much, but kind. He’s a team player, and I think they'd be lucky to have someone like you.”

Lucas smiles shyly at you. “Really?”

“Really. Now, go and find the guy. Ask him when try-outs are, and I’ll talk to Steve about practicing more with you. How’s that sound?”

“You’re the best!” Lucas gives you a quick hug, already getting out of his seat, and runs right into Max. They collide, he manages to save her from falling, and he laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, you okay?”

Max nods, silent, and immediately you and Lucas know that today is one of her bad days. Her eyes are sunken in, it doesn’t look like she got any sleep last night. She sits down next to you, and you nod at Lucas, signaling to him that it’s okay if he leaves. You’ll take care of her. 

Lucas hesitates, unsure, but reluctantly leaves when you nod at him once more, urging. If it was anyone else, he would stay, but it’s you. Besides Lucas, you’re the only other person Max talks to. You’ll stay with her, Lucas deserves to go and branch out like Mike and Dustin are.

“So, did you know about Lucas wanting to join the basketball team?” You turn to Max once the boy has left. She shrugs, picks at the food in front of her. It’s the most response you’ll get from her, and you sigh. “You don’t want to be here either, do you?”

She looks up at you, alarmed that you caught on so fast, and you just shake your head at her. You dig into your backpack, take out some cookies you baked the night before. They were supposed to be for all the kids today, but they’ve all left and Max needs them more right now. “Here, take these. Go to the left stairwell, next to the choir room. No one goes there during lunch, it’s quiet.”

“Thank you,” Max exhales with relief, taking the baked goods from you. Tears lump in her throat, she doesn’t know how you always manage to do this. To see through her, always say the right thing. 

“Of course, my dear.” You risk touching her face, she’s cold, but she closes her eyes and breathes in at the comfort. “I expect to see you at Bookstrordinary after school today, though.”

Somehow Max laughs, and the action hurts her to do so. It’s becoming harder and harder to bear the sound of her own happiness. But she nods at you, understanding that it’s an order she can’t disobey, and leaves. 

Then it’s just you at the lunch table. Alone. 

Nancy is at yearbook, she’s told you all about her grand plan of reforming the club into something more than just homecoming polls and gossip panels. Robin is at yet another band practice, preparing for the annual back to school pep rally later this week. Steve is at Family Video, bored out of his mind, both of you wishing he were here instead. 

And Jonathan is across the country, at an entirely different school, aching to be near you again. 

The thought of him in California only intensifies the loneliness that you feel. The feeling overwhelms you, and before it can swallow you whole, you dig through your backpack once more. Your fingers shake as you rustle through the notebooks and textbooks, and they clutch desperately at your walkman when you finally find it. The mixtape Jonathan made for you before he left sits within it. 

You quickly place the headphones over your head, muffling the sounds of the cafeteria around you. Your fingers find the play button with practiced ease, and soon the beginning notes of the Beatles play through the wire and into your headphones.

The song soothes you, it quiets what you don’t want to hear; it makes you smile. The mixtape is all you’ve been listening to ever since Jonathan left. Though it can never replace his presence, it’s enough for now. 

You stare at the empty seats around you. John Lennon’s voice floats through your ears. 

Welcome to senior year.

– 

Miraculously, it’s Nancy you lean on the most as the autumn leaves turn orange and the summer’s heat dies down. She finds you later during your first week, grabbing lunch from your locker, and she stops you. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to spend another lunch alone.” Nancy has never been one to greet someone. She always gets straight to the point, a quality that you normally admire.

However, you feel embarrassment rise within you, slightly off put by the cruel words. Sure, you’re not necessarily thrilled that you’ve spent your first few days of senior year alone, but you didn’t need Nancy reminding you of that. “Hello to you too, Nance.”

“Shit, I didn’t mean to offend you.” She holds her notebook close to her chest and looks down in shame. It’s weird, there’s a distance between you that has only seemed to widen despite how hard the two of you try to bridge it. For a while things were good, great, even. She was genuinely your friend, but sometimes insecurities can hurt the ones people love the most. 

“Not really sure how I was meant to take that.” You close your locker and try to excuse yourself. You’re exhausted, you hardly slept the night before. “Look, I should go. I stayed up all night working on stupid college applications and I just… I’m tired.”

Nancy’s posture straightens, eager to grab onto any opportunity to amend things with you. “I can read over whatever you have.” When you raise your eyebrows at her, she quickly backtracks, worried she’s overstepped. “I–I mean, that is, if you want. Not that you need the help! It’s just–”

She forces herself to stop. She’s rushing her words, messing it all up. Her shoulders drop, Nancy takes a deep breath and looks you in the eye. She never apologized for her words earlier this summer. The way she sneered venom at you, but she’s carried the guilt of it ever since. “I’m… trying. I promise I am.”

Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers have never handled vulnerability well. It’s what made you stand out against them, set you apart, and you can’t help but find this quality in them endearing. You know that Nancy is trying to go back to how things were, before one phone call between the two of you revealed the unspoken resentment she held. 

You never blamed her for any of it. But you know she blames herself, and Jonathan’s absence doesn’t help; both of you miss him, neither of you can afford to lose anyone else. 

So you try as well.

“I’ll let you read over what I have only if you let me read what you’ve written as well.” You nudge her shoulder with yours, getting her to finally smile. “I’m curious to see what that brain of yours has thought of already.”

Nancy laughs, relieved. “Definitely nothing as creative as whatever you’ve written.”

“We’ll see about that, Wheeler.”

Soon you find yourself in the yearbook room. Nancy introduces you to some kid named Fred, who moons over her the entire time you’re there, though she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy reading through your ideas, and you find yourself admiring her side profile. The way her eyelashes kiss her brows, the soft cherry on her lips.

Nancy is beautiful. You understand how Jonathan and Fred and Steve and countless other guys in Hawkins have lost their minds over her. 

You read through portions of Nancy’s writing, and the two of you sit quietly side by side editing the essays. She marks some things down, crosses out some lines, and you do the same. It’s lovely, being by her side again. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed her following the events of this summer. 

“So, New York University, huh?” Nancy eventually breaks the silence.

You nod, humming as you skim over a line that you particularly like. Circling it, you respond. “Yeah, it’s been my dream school ever since I was young.”

Though you’re applying to other schools as well. A few state schools, some in Virginia, close to your father. But New York is truly where you hope you’ll be next fall.

“Jonathan mentioned that you like psychology, right?”

“Yup,” you cross out an extra word. “Particularly child psychology. Figured that after everything we’ve been through, especially the kids, it’d be useful if at least one of us has any idea what’s going on inside our minds.”

Nancy chuckles. “Fair.”

It falls quiet again, but you don’t want the peace to end. “I heard from Jonathan that you’re looking into Emerson.”

“He tells you everything, doesn’t he?” Though this time Nancy’s question is asked with fondness, slight exasperation and humor mixed in.

“Mhm, we’re a package deal. You tell one of us something, then the other is bound to know eventually.” You look up at Nancy and lightly touch her arm. “Though he still keeps some things from me when it comes to you, don’t worry.”

She laughs again, and finally you allow the silence to settle upon you. It’s a comfortable one. There isn’t a tension underlying it. For the first time in a long time, you’re able to simply sit next to Nancy and feel that she wants you there with her. 

After that day, you and Nancy spend almost every lunch period helping each other with your applications. 

Steve helps you, too. In his own ways. 

While he can’t help you write the essays, he lets you call him at two in the morning to rattle off application ideas so you won’t forget them. He doesn’t complain when you wake him up and he has an early shift the next day. Instead, he listens. Steve offers you his own tired input and indulges in whatever you need to feel that you’ll succeed; he’s the most doting, patient boyfriend you could ever ask for. 

And, secretly, Steve adores it. Especially when you call him some nights just to have him come over and hold you. 

Those are his favorite nights. Tonight is one of them.

“Why does college exist?” Your cheek is pressed against Steve’s chest as you lay in your bed together. The steady rise and fall of his breathing is melodic. 

He plays with a strand of your hair, you feel him shrug. “‘Dunno, but you’re almost done.”

“Yeah, just have one more application to send before I get to spend four agonizing months waiting to find out if I even get in. How fun.” Sarcasm drips from your lips. You’ve spent the last two months obsessing over it all, which words to write in your essays, which clubs to join, which teachers to beg for recommendation letters. 

And now you have one application left. Then you’ll be forced to wait, without any control of the inevitable outcome. 

You’ve never been someone comfortable with letting go of control. 

“Everything will be fine, angel. NYU would be stupid not to let you in.” Steve reassures you with a kiss to your temple, then to your cheek, the tip of your nose, the dip of your brows. As he kisses you, he envisions doing this a year from now, in a small, rundown apartment with sirens wailing outside and a fire escape that creaks in the wind. The song of New York City. 

Eventually Steve’s lips will find yours, and the conversation will be long forgotten. It’s how most of your nights end now, lost in the kisses as his breath mixes with yours. Hands will wander. Sighs will leave parted mouths. Quiet, soft, aware of the precariously thin walls. 

You haven't slept with Steve, at least not yet. Though you’ve been together a few months now, it still feels too soon. He’s your first boyfriend, your first kiss, your first real love, and Steve doesn’t want to rush you. If all you ever do together is lazily kiss and breathe each other in, then Steve will happily part your lips with his and draw soft sighs out from you.

In the morning you’ll awake with Steve’s lips on your neck, his eyes shining up at you, and in the morning sunlight, before you’ve fully woken up, the air between you is sacred. 

–

“I sent in my final application,” you’re whispering, not wanting to wake up your mom who has fallen asleep on the couch. It’s nearly midnight in Indiana, but in California it’s only nine and Jonathan has just finished his school work for the night. “NYU, it’s done.”

On the other end you hear shuffling as Jonathan leans against his kitchen wall. Will sits at the table with El, he sketches the early stages of a painting and she studies grammar. Jonathan watches them, his mom is in bed, and he forgets for a moment that he’s on the phone with you.

“Bee?” You say the childhood name so softly, so tenderly with concern, and it brings Jonathan back to himself. 

“I’m here, sorry.” He clears his throat, his head is still slightly muffled. Jonathan met a guy in woodshop this week, his name is Argyle, and somehow during lunch he found himself in the back of the guy’s van with a blunt hanging loosely from his lips. The smoke dulled the ache of missing Nancy, of missing you. Jonathan can’t tell you this, though. You’d kill him, and he hates disappointing you. “What were you saying?”

You frown slightly, he sounds different. There’s something in his voice, it’s raspy and he sounds distant. The sound is lonely, he sounds lonely. Jonathan isn’t really here, despite the fact that he’s talking to you. The last few phone calls have been like this. You don’t know what to do.  

When Jonathan left, the two of you promised to call each other every Friday, a compromise. A way to create distance, yet tether you to each other. Jonathan calls you every Friday, Nancy gets him every day the rest of the week, and it works. This is how it’s always been ever since early September.

At first you guys would talk about how your weeks had gone. Jonathan would complain about the California heat and you would tell him about how Mike and Lucas had crashed your date with Steve one night. Laughter would float over the telephone lines. Teasing, whispered “I miss you’s” and spoken goodbyes with the promise of talking again next week. 

But last week when you called, the teasing was gone. The laughter was minimal. You had complained about an exam that day and Jonathan had given one word responses that had worried you. It had been odd, but you thought that maybe he’d been tired that day. Everyone has a bad day, you know this.

Yet it’s Friday again and Jonathan couldn’t feel farther away from you.

“I mailed my NYU application in, bee. You send in yours yet?” Voice light, cheery. You do what you can to try and keep him afloat. You try to grasp at the good that’s left between you. Remind Jonathan that you’re right here, still with him, without scaring him away. “You remember our plan, right? Me and you in New York, together.”

Since you were kids the plan has always been to go to college together. Back then, neither of you could fathom a reason to ever be apart. You were invincible, the same way all kids think they are before the world tells them otherwise. 

But you and Jonathan aren’t invincible, you never were. 

You can hear the way your question suffocates him. The breath that he holds, stilted and torn, suffocates you as well. 

Nausea punches Jonathan, the smoke from earlier suddenly fogs his throat. He doesn’t know what to do. Nancy wants him to go to Emerson with her, he promised you NYU when he was twelve, and California has his mother and Will.

“Yeah, yeah. I–I mean, I sent mine in. Last week.”

Jonathan is lying. You’ve known him for almost six years; he always stumbles over his words when he lies.  

Part of you wants to ask him why he’s doing this, lying to you and pulling away. Another part of you, the larger, more naive part, doesn’t want to believe it. You clear your throat, swallow down the hurt, and choose naivety. “Oh,” your tone is too pinched, too put together. You clear your throat again. “That’s–that’s great! I, um. Surprised you didn’t read the essays to me. Have me edit them, like we’ve always done.”

Jonathan leans his head against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s never been able to lie to you, he knows you’re desperately trying to overcompensate, as you always do. He hates it. He hates himself. “Yeah, well. Got excited, I guess.”

You hum, words failing you, and the line goes silent.

Dread replaces the laughter that night.

– 

Before you know it, it’s Halloween and the party has infiltrated Steve’s house. 

The holiday falls on a Saturday, and the party deems itself too old to trick or treat. When they find out that Steve’s parents won’t be home that weekend, they demand to spend the night at his house and watch horror movies.

Steve fights back, complains that he doesn’t want them taking over his living room, but his complaints fall on deaf ears. That, and Dustin ropes Robin into their plans. 

“Oh, God. Don’t open the door!” Dustin shrieks, throwing popcorn at Steve’s TV as he covers his eyes with a blanket. He cowers against Lucas, who shoves him off, and Mike snickers. Max sits on the couch, outside of their fort, and watches the boys. None of them try to get her to sit with them. They know they’re lucky that she even showed in the first place. 

“I can’t look.” Robin’s voice carries over, you can almost picture her cringing as she holds a pillow to her chest. Mike chose a particularly gory movie, and the kid’s mind frightens her.

A loud crash sounds, then a woman screams. You figure the protagonist did open the door and has now died, though you can’t be sure. You’re in the kitchen with Steve, taking out the final batch of oatmeal raisin cookies from the oven. The smell wafts through the home, bringing warmth to a house that Steve has always found cold, and he places his hands on your hips. 

“You spoil the kids too much,” he presses his nose against your cheek and kisses you. “They invade my home and you bake them delicious goods.”

You set the tray of cookies down onto the counter. “As if the cookies aren’t for you, too.”

“That isn’t important. We’re focusing on my hostage house, Y/N.”

“‘Hostage house’, quite the alliteration there.”

Steve now kisses your neck, distracting you as you plate the cookies. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.” 

“Don’t make me come in there!” Dustin screams, and Robin echoes him with her own disgusted yelling. 

You laugh at their theatrics while Steve rolls his eyes. He really hates that his house has become the party’s source of entertainment. He just wants to compliment his beautiful girlfriend in peace. Who would punish a guy for that?

In his moping Steve almost misses you walking back into the living room. He follows, stumbles over his feet, never wanting to be more than a few inches away from you. You’re magnetic, always pulling him in. 

Mike is the first to grab a handful of cookies. Lucas and Dustin follow quickly after. They shove the food into their mouths and you scoff at their lack of manners. They’re such boys, growing taller every day, and they’re just as disgusting as they were when they were kids. 

“Want one, Max?” You hold the plate up to her, noticing that she hasn’t moved from her seat. She shakes her head at you, eyes never leaving the screen. Lucas and you share a look, the same concerned expression on your faces. 

The moment is broken by Robin, who grabs a cookie and practically melts. “Holy shit, Y/N. You bake these regularly?”

“Usually once a week,” you shrug at her. “Though I once baked six batches during finals week.”

“God, that was a good week.” Dustin hums, lost in the blissful memory.

Robin grabs your arm, eyes wide with enthusiasm. “I will give you my firstborn child in exchange for my own batch of cookies.”

Steve pokes her shoulder. “You already promised your firstborn to me after I agreed to cover your weekend shift.”

“I can have twins.”

You laugh at her. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

Robin sticks her tongue out at you, causing you to laugh even more, and Mike puts the next movie on. Everyone settles back down, you lay with Steve in the lovechair with Robin in front of you. Max has the couch to herself, the boys are sprawled on the floor in a mess of pillows and blankets, and for the first time in months you feel a certain warmth having your family together. 

Sometime during the night the clock strikes twelve. 

It’s November 1st, 1985. 

Steve’s nineteenth birthday. 

Robin snores softly on the ground, arm underneath her head as a makeshift pillow. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas are all curled up against one another, their faces young again. Max sleeps softly on the couch, her hand dangles over the edge, grazing Lucas’ outstretched arm and open palm. 

Steve lays beneath you, he isn’t quite asleep yet. You’ve come to learn the rhythm of his breaths as he sleeps. The way they slow, the pattern steady. You lift your head up, wanting to admire him, and find that he’s already looking at you. 

“Hi, angel.” He whispers, smiling sweetly. 

You smile back, you always smile back at him. “Hi, honey.” Doing your best to remain quiet, you crawl up the length of Steve and nuzzle your way into his neck. You kiss the dip just above his collarbone, causing him to shiver. “Happy birthday.”

Arms encase you, pull you deeper into the body you lay on. Steve’s body heat warms your face, warms your bones, and you wish you could stay like this forever. In Steve’s arms, the scent of him overwhelming your mind, his touch calming you. 

“Thank you,” he kisses the top of your head. He lingers, his lips soft. The two of you stay like this, his head against yours, your chin tucked into the alcove of his neck. Your breathing syncs with his, his fingers trail up and down your spine. Your fingers splay over his chest, warming his ribs. 

In the morning, Max wakes everyone up. 

“My mom will be worried,” she kicks Mike, nudges Lucas’ shoulder. “Wake up, idiots.” 

Steve groans, squinting his eyes against the morning light. He tries to roll over and block it out and nearly shoves you off the seat in the process. “Steve!” He manages to catch you in his sleepy state, but his movements are slow. 

“Sorry!”

You clutch your chest, heart pounding. “You’ve done that way too many times now. I’m starting to think you want to throw me onto the ground.”

“Lucas once promised he could catch me if I jumped into his arms.” Max says, then she points to a scar on her knee. “Turned out he couldn’t.” 

“Hey!” Lucas sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I really thought I could do it.”

Mike stretches. “Your fault for trusting him, Max.”

Lucas shoves him and the two start to wrestle on the floor. They’re a tangle of lanky limbs, knocking into Dustin who still hasn’t woken up yet. They roll on top of the boy, and he wakes up to Lucas’ knee in his face. “What the hell?”

Dustin joins the fighting now, and Robin throws a pillow at them. “Guys! It’s too early for this!”

They don’t listen. 

It takes a lot of pleading, negotiating, and bribes in order to break the fight up. It takes even longer to wrangle the kids out of Steve’s home, much to his dismay. They leave a mess of strewn popcorn all over the carpet and pillows missing feathers. You stay behind, offering to help clean the mess, and Robin rushes out an apology and happy birthday to Steve as she runs out the door to get to work. 

Soon it’s just you and Steve. You work around one another, anticipating each other’s next move, never getting in the way. Soft music plays from the record player that sits in the den. Steve puts on one of his father’s old records, gentle rock and delicate jazz. You hum to yourself, he hums with you, and it’s a peaceful morning.

Until Richard and May Harrington walk in.

Neither of you notice them at first. Steve is too busy spinning you around, playfully dipping you as the music comes to a grand crescendo. You’re laughing breathlessly, but soon your laughter turns into a yelp when Steve sees his parents standing in the doorway and drops you.

“Dad!” Steve immediately bends down to pick you up, endlessly apologetic. He ducks his head, eyes on you, though his body doesn’t turn from his father. “I’m sorry, angel. You alright?”

You reassure your boyfriend that you’re fine, more worried about the fact that you’re dressed in clothes from yesterday with horrendous bedhead meeting his parents for the first time. Richard eyes you in Steve’s arms. He has a look of disinterest on his face. “Son.”

“What, uh.” Steve clears his throat, curls a protective arm around your waist. He didn’t mean for this to happen. His parents were supposed to be gone until Tuesday. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” 

“Right.”

Father and son stand in front of one another. Neither speaks. Steve feels like a little boy again, scrutinized underneath his father’s intense gaze. Never good enough. Never worthy of anything other than berating and lectures. 

You wring your hands nervously, unsure what to do. The air is thick. Steve looks so much like his father, it’s almost uncanny. They have the same build, the same moles that dot along their handsome faces. Only his father is dressed in a suit, the lines in his face are hard, weathered. He’s who you picture Steve would’ve been, in a different universe where you were never his friend. 

May Harrington gave her son all of her delicate features. The soft turn of his nose. The plush, pink lips. His doe eyes, his smile. The only feature that separates her from her son is her honey blonde hair. She’s beautiful, elegant and poised, and when she steps towards you, you can smell lavender perfume. “You must be Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Harrington.” You’re quick to meet her where she stands. You’re nervous, you have to discreetly wipe your hand on your pants before shaking hers. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. Your banana bread is lovely.”

The woman smiles, it’s so much like Steve’s that you want to cry. “Thank you, dear.”

“Of course, and I apologize for meeting like this. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Richard makes a mean, gruff sound. He shakes his head, steps next to his wife. He doesn’t like you, you can feel it by the way he blocks his wife’s view of you. “Oh, no. I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Dad–” Steve steps forward as well, blocking his father’s view of you. He’s angry, his shoulder blades close together. He doesn’t like how the man is treating you; you’re too good for such cruelty.

“What did I tell you about bringing your hookups to the house, son?” Richard sneers, turning his nose up at you. That’s all he sees you as. Just another one of Steve’s flings, one of the girls from his past. 

“Y/N is not just some hookup,” Steve clenches his jaw, tries to steady his breathing. He doesn’t want to fight with his dad in front of you. Not when he was having such a good morning, spending his birthday with your hands wrapped around his neck and your giggles singing in his ears. “She’s my girlfriend, and I love her.”

Richard chuckles, he doesn’t believe his son. “Okay, you love her. I’m sure your mother and I will walk in on you with some new girl next week.”

“Dear,” May places a hand on her husband’s shoulder. She sees the way you shrink into yourself at the man’s words. The insecurity that he brings. She sees how her son’s eyes ignite with fury, she watches as he does whatever he can to put the flame out for her sake and your’s. “It’s Steve’s birthday today.”

“Is that why you insisted on coming home today?” Richard turns to her, she has his full attention now. His eyebrows are drawn together, annoyance paints his body. “You told me you had a board meeting tonight.” 

“Why don’t we talk about this upstairs?” May suggests, relieved that she’s turned her husband’s anger onto herself rather than her son. Richard sighs, but he doesn’t argue as he marches up the stairs without so much as a second glance towards you. When he’s gone, May smiles at you sympathetically. “I apologize for my husband’s behavior. We had a long flight, I’m sure he’s simply jetlagged.” 

“Yeah, that’s why he’s such an asshole.” Steve scoffs, tired of his mother’s excuses for her husband. He can be cruel to Steve, he doesn’t care. He’s been cruel to him his entire life. But if his father so much as breathes near you again, Steve will hurt him. 

Your hand reaches for Steve’s, sensing what he’s thinking. You return May’s smile, you’re not at all angry with her. “It’s okay, really. I was an unexpected guest, and I should go.”

Steve pulls you into his chest. “What, no–”

“You may leave, if you’d like.” His mother gently interrupts him. “Though I must admit, I really do wish to know you better. If you’d allow me to, that is.”

“I’d love that more than anything.”

“Then I will plan a dinner for the next time my husband and I are in town.” May tells you, admiring your honesty. She can see why Steve has become so infatuated with you. There’s nothing hidden within you; you wear your heart on your sleeve, your sincerity a welcomed rarity. She turns to her son, rests her palm delicately against his face. “Happy birthday, my beautiful boy.”

Steve leans into her touch, weak for his mother as any son is. You turn away, it doesn’t feel right to watch this moment between them. 

In the car Steve profusely apologizes for his father’s behavior. Over and over again, he laments how sorry he is and that you’re more than just some fling to him. “You’re everything to me, angel. I love you so, so much.”

“I know, honey.” You grab his hand that rests against the stick shift. His father’s words had hurt, but you knew that they weren’t true. Steve is your’s, he has been for longer than either of you realize. Nothing will ever undo the love he has for you, the foundation of trust it was built upon. “You’re everything to me, too.”

When Steve pulls into your driveway, you tell him to park and come inside. His birthday gift is in your room. You had planned to give it to him later tonight, but his parents’ unexpected arrival had soured things. “I know you have to go home, but…”

“I’ll never say no to you.” Steve’s already unbuckling his seatbelt to follow you inside. He greets your mother with a kiss to her cheek, ruffles Dustin’s hair as he sits at the dining table doing homework. His movements are easy, leisurely. You notice now how at home he is in yours, far from the boy who cowered before his father only twenty minutes ago. The realization is bittersweet. He deserves to feel at home in his own house, not just yours. 

Inside your room Steve sits on your bed and holds his hand out, eager. “Okay, wow me, Henderson.”

“You really know how to talk to a woman.” You tease him, rustling through your drawer to find the gift you’ve hidden. Steve is nosy, he’s been trying to find his gift for at least two weeks now. When you’ve found it, you clutch the gift in your hand and hold it behind your back. “Alright, you know the drill by now. Close your eyes.”

Steve complies with a smirk, biting back suggestive comments. He loves this tradition with you, making the other close their eyes before their gift. Something light is placed in Steve’s hand. It’s circular, sturdy. He thinks he can smell leather.

“Okay, open.”

In his hand is a bracelet. It’s a simple strip of leather, nothing embellishes it besides a button to secure it. Though it’s plain, Steve can tell that it’s expensive. The leather is supple, its color is dark and polished. The silver button that clasps the two ends together is heavy.

He loves it, he does, but he can’t help feeling like that there must be something more to it.

As if reading his mind, you gently prompt Steve to turn it over in his hands. “Look what’s on the inside, honey.”

He does, and his heart stops.

The leather has been stamped. The word constants is spelled out across the length of the band. It’s a hidden message, only for Steve to know, and while he’s sure you have your own explanation for why you chose the word constants, he loves it already. “Oh.”

You sit next to him and laugh softly. “You’re my constant, Steve. Everything in my life has changed, or will change, but you… You’ve always been there, I know you’ll always be there. With me. My love, my lucky charm, my constant.”

Tears well in Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t bother wiping them away, too busy admiring the bracelet in his hand. He can’t believe you’re real, that you’ve thought of this for him. That you see a future with him… It’s everything he could’ve asked for. A security he’s always longed to have. His entire life he’s been told he’s too much, too overwhelming, and yet you want him to stay anyways. 

“And you’re my constant?” He asks you, fingers grazing over the letters again.

You nudge his shoulder with yours. “Well, I’d like to think that I am.”

He laughs, wet and full of love, and he can’t take it anymore. Steve throws his arms over you and you collapse into your bed, laughing together as he presses his lips wherever they can reach. 

“You are,” he says in between kisses. Your laughter lights him. “You’re my constant, too.”

–

The autumn leaves fall and the trees are barren as winter arrives. 

You spend winter break trying to maintain your promise to Joyce. After finishing the hell that was applying to college, you have so much unexpected free time that at first you don't know what to do. But then her words echo in your mind, the promise to live the life that you deserve, so you start doing things for yourself.

Slowly you read through all the books in your room that you hadn't had time for before. You start running again in the mornings, the winter air crisp in your lungs. You and Dustin do homework together at the kitchen table, making sure neither of you get left behind. You try new recipes to bake, delivering the treats to the ones you love. It’s nice, rediscovering the pleasures you once had long before the Upside Down came into your life. 

Christmas comes and you do your annual rounds, delivering everyone’s favorite treats on Christmas Eve. It’s during your run to the Sinclair home that Lucas asks you to come inside to talk. 

“What’s up?” You ask him, unwrapping your scarf and warming your hands in your sleeves. Lucas gestures to his kitchen table, silently asking you to sit. When you do, he takes a deep breath and joins you. 

Something’s bothering him. You can see it in the way he carries a weight on his shoulders. How they droop as he sits, exhausted. You reach across the table and grab his hand, offering whatever comfort you can give him. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

“It’s…” Lucas purses his lips, his breath shakes. “It’s Max. I’m–I’m worried about her.”

He tells you everything. He tells you how distant she’s been, more than she’s ever been before. He tells you how she’s missed dates he’s planned for her, how she refuses to talk to him anymore. She hasn’t been to any of the party’s hangouts, Mike and Dustin haven’t seen her ever since winter break started.

Max has had bad days, weeks, even months since losing Billy. But she’s never had the bad days without at least one good day following. To break the monotonous cycle of self-loathing and grief and guilt. She would always come back, even if for a moment, alive and bright and reminiscent of the girl had been. 

“I can feel her slipping away,” Lucas looks down at the table. He’s afraid that if he looks at you then he’ll start crying. He doesn’t want you to worry, he knows how much you already deal with and do for them, but he’s terrified. “I know… I know that you helped Will, after he was flayed. Do you think you could maybe talk to Max? Just… Remind her that we’re here for her? I can’t–I can’t lose her.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours, trying to stem the stream of tears he fought so hard to force down. Lucas loves Max with everything within him. Anyone can see that. You’d do anything to bring the girl back to him, to bring her back to all of you. “I’ll talk to her.”

I’ll keep an eye on her. Watch her when you can’t. 

Lucas hears it. He exhales, nods his head.

You leave. Max was the next one on your list of deliveries anyways. 

It’s nearing dusk by the time you get to the trailer park. You haven’t seen Max’s new home, she’s only recently moved. She had been too embarrassed to tell anyone that her mother lost their old house. The only reason you even know she moved in the first place is because Lucas and Dustin stalked her walking home. 

A dog barks as you bike past. Snow has started to fall, tomorrow will be a white Christmas.

“Oh, hello, Y/N.” Susan Hargrove’s skin is pale, her eyes sunken in when she answers the door. Her voice is thin, her frame is strained. The death has been hard on her, too. Billy’s father leaving only made everything worse. 

“Hi, Mrs. Hargrove.”

The woman winces. “Please, Mayfield will be fine.”

You immediately correct yourself, apologetic and ashamed, when Max’s voice calls from within the home. “Just let Y/N in, mom.”

Susan sighs, and you wish you could do more. Instead, all you can offer her is the container of coconut bites you’ve made for them. Max told you they remind her and her mother of California, and you always make sure to have some ready every week for them. Offer some semblance of joy in the gray of their lives.

Max sits at the kitchen table. Her head is down as she works on something. She has her walkman next to her. Susan leaves the two of you alone, excusing herself to go lay down after a long shift. 

You sit next to the girl and take a deep breath. This won’t be easy. Max is prideful, stubbornly independent, and has never accepted sympathy from anyone. You’ve always admired her fiery personality, but the fire has dimmed and the smoke is beginning to choke her. Talking to her will be like pulling teeth out. 

“Brought you your favorites.” You shake the container in your hands. It serves as a peace offering, almost a bribe to start the conversation. 

“Thanks.” Max doesn’t look up. 

You swallow, tuck your hair behind your ears. “Of course. I was doing my usual delivery rounds. I, uh. Stopped at the Sinclair’s.”

The pencil in Max’s hand freezes. Her knuckles tighten, though the shift is subtle. She’s always been too smart for her own good. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Erica likes my brownies. Mrs. Sinclair, too.”

“And Lucas?” She knows why you’re here.

“I made him chocolate chip cookies. You know how much he loves them.” Max doesn’t respond. Of course she knows how much Lucas enjoys chocolate chip cookies. She knows everything about him, but she doesn’t say anything and goes back to writing. Faintly you hear music coming from the walkman. You point at the device. “New song?”

“Kate Bush.”

“Oh.” This is going worse than you imagined. “Look, Max–”

She doesn’t waste any time. “I know Lucas sent you. I don’t care.”

“He’s just worried about you, we all are–”

“I’m fine.” The tip of the pencil snaps. “Shit.”

“Max.” You’re pleading with her to listen. Her skin is fluorescent now, paler than you’ve ever seen. The bags underneath her eyes are swollen, dark and ghostly. She’s lost weight. You can’t remember the last time you saw her eat. “Please.”

“What do you want me to do?” Though there’s anger in her voice, Max’s eyes plead with you, too. Her mask slips for just a moment, but you see it. Underneath her indifferent exterior, she’s just as terrified as everyone else is. She can feel herself fading, the guilt of Billy’s death slowly eats her alive. She doesn’t know what to do, though. How do you continue to live after death has infiltrated your home?

The chair beneath you scraps against the hardwood floor. You stand up, walk over to Max and kneel in front of her. You keep your movements slow, worried you’ll scare her away if you get too close too suddenly. “I think you should talk to someone, honey.”

Max turns away. She can’t. If she told anyone what goes on inside her head, they would never forgive her. You would never forgive her, and it would break her. 

Your hand falls to Max’s knee. The warmth from your palm combats the ice in her veins. You’re looking at her as if she’s worth something. As if she didn’t wish for her brother’s death. As if she hadn’t sent a grieving father into a spiral, a desperate mother into a trailer park. But Max allows your touch, so you try to get through to her again.

“You know, I was actually talking to Ms. Kelly a few weeks ago. The school’s guidance counselor.” She had met with you to discuss your grades and college options. When she had seen how you picked your nails until they bled, she suggested seeing her every few weeks. Alleviate some of your never ending stress. You had denied, uncomfortable with the idea. But maybe she could help Max. “She seemed nice enough. I’m sure she would be open to talking with you.”

“I don’t want to see some shrink.”

“Hey, I want to work with kids your age someday. Don’t call future me a shrink.” You poke Max’s leg playfully, and the corners of her mouth twitch. She doesn’t want you to see that it’s working. “C’mon. Have at least one meeting with her. When winter break ends, all I ask is that you try. For me and Lucas. We’re your favorites, after all.”

“If I agree, will it get you to shut up?”

You’re fine with this. It isn’t ideal, you aren’t sure Max will even actually try to open up to Ms. Kelly, but it’s a start. For too long now you’ve stayed silent, allowing Max to grieve on her own. Grief is hard, it takes and it takes and it takes. Yet it’s been almost six months and you’re not sure how much left grief can take from Max. “I think I can be okay with that.”

You’ll take whatever you can get. You’re worried. You got too caught up in your own life, you had gotten lost in your own haze of grief and anxiety. Missing Jonathan, grappling with change and growing up as you applied to college. You weren’t there for Max like you should’ve been.

But you’ll fix this. You always fix things. It’s what you do. It’s what you have to do. It’s how you love; you take care of those around you.

And who are you if you can’t?

–

Jonathan calls you high for the first time in late January. 

Though he doesn’t tell you that he’s high, you know. His words are slurred, slowed, incomprehensible. It’s late in California, even later in Indiana, and the stark feeling of guilt slices into your ribcage the same way the Demodog’s claw did. The feeling cuts deep into your skin, nicks your bone. 

“Jonathan?” You hope your voice brings him back to you. You try to cut through the smoke that fills his mind, that leaves him stumbling over his words. “Bee, can you hear me?”

“‘M here.” Jonathan sniffs, smacks his lips, yawns. “Where’re you? Can’t find you, bug.”

You close your eyes. He’s looking for you, and you aren’t with him. “I’m in Hawkins.”

“Thas’ far.”

“Yeah,” you choke out a laugh. It constricts in your vocal chords, but you can’t let Jonathan know how much it hurts to hear him so disoriented. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. California sucks.” He hiccups, you’re surprised he’s managed to call you tonight. Even in his drugged up state, he still somehow remembered to call. “Don’t think Nance will like it.”

He’s referring to the spring break trip. Nancy told you about it earlier today, how she and Mike will spend the week in California to see Jonathan and El. She had been a bit hesitant to tell you, afraid you’d be upset for not being invited, but you reassured her that it was okay. 

You’ve had a road trip planned with Jonathan ever since you were fifteen. The moment the two of you graduate, you’ll drive all across the country for one final adventure before college. 

Nancy can have spring. Summer will be yours. 

“She’ll love California because you’re there.” She talked about the trip nonstop today. Her glow had come back, momentarily, her eyes alight. She truly loves Jonathan, she misses him even more than you do. 

“Only disappoint her.”

“What do you mean?” You’re not sure where this is coming from. You know Jonathan is high, that his thoughts may not be coherent, but he sounds distressed about Nancy. You thought things had been good between them. They were planning a future together. 

“Is’ hard, with her.” Jonathan manages to get out, but his speech is becoming harder and harder to understand.

You frown. “What’s hard, bee?”

The line disconnects. Jonathan doesn’t bring the conversation up again, the next time you call. You don’t ask him what he meant. You don’t think you want to know. There had been something deeper behind his words.

Will calls you a few days later in tears. The kids are meaner in California than they are in Hawkins. They tease El, make her life hell, and he’s upset that he can’t do anything to stop it. He cries to you, his tears soak your face through the landline, and the guilt creeps back in. 

It will never truly leave.

You do your best to console him, offer him advice, but that’s all you can do. All you have are your words. Will and El are hours away, hundreds of miles separate them from you. It's nauseating, feeling so useless. For as long as you’ve known Will, you’ve always been able to protect him. To help him, dry his eyes.

You’ve always been there for your boys, for Jonathan and Will. For El. But you can’t get to them, they’re too far away, and it kills you. You’re sixteen again, trapped in Jonathan’s car and frantically trying to keep yourself together as everything around you falls apart. 

Steve becomes your lifeline. 

He always answers when you call. Every time Jonathan, high and lonely, hangs up your conversations, you call Steve. He answers, he hears the exhaustion in your voice, and he always sneaks in through your window later that night. He knows it’s the only way you’re able to sleep these days.

He sings to you when you wake up from a nightmare. They’ve become about Max, losing her. She’s only met with Ms. Kelly a few times, but you can tell that she already wants to stop. That you’re pushing her too far, pushing her away from you and everyone else. 

Steve takes you for drives when you get blisters from pacing your room, anxiously waiting for your college decision letters to come in. Soon your entire life will be decided for you by one single piece of paper. 

Two weeks before spring break, Jonathan calls you. He’s sober.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve spoken to him sober. The thought alone depresses you, makes you yearn for childhood again.

“I think Nancy wants me to come to Hawkins,” he tells you. “Would you… would you like that?”

More than anything.

You press the phone against your ear and imagine that it’s Jonathan’s hand instead. Your skin hasn’t forgotten how his felt against it. “Of course I want you to come to Hawkins, bee.” But it can’t be that easy, you know nothing ever comes easily. “Can you afford it, though? I–I mean, God. I miss you, you know that, but I know it’s been hard for your family these last few years.”

Jonathan’s head falls back against the wall behind him. You always understand. He hates it, sometimes. “It’s worth looking into if it means I get to see you and Nance.”

There’s an air of authority in Jonathan’s voice, as if he truly believes what he’s saying, and it surprises you. He’s taking initiative after months of floating away. Hope sparks within you, the cold hand of dread lessens its grip around your neck. 

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic.” You say. Jonathan laughs, you’ve missed the sound. It’s been so long since you last heard it. 

Conversation drifts after that. You tell him about the latest Spider-Man arc you’re reading, he inserts his own opinions, and it’s lovely. You haven’t had Jonathan like this in months, all to yourself, his smile aligned with yours. Sober, steady. 

The phone call with Jonathan reminds you of all the good that is still yet to come. 

College decision letters arrive next week. Your best friend might be visiting for spring break. Your boyfriend has planned a picnic for your anniversary tomorrow. You have your first meeting with Ms. Kelly the following day. It was your idea, figuring it was only fair that you see her since Max has agreed to keep going. 

And Joyce made you promise that you’d live your own life. You’re trying to get better, you really are. 

It just takes time. 

-

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[calumfmu]

divorce lawyer steve is the loml 😍

could we see him finally meeting the husband you’re divorcing? 😉

Shorter one, but you know--had to do this to build the little universe better.

Divorce Lawyer!Steve x Reader [part one. part two.]

cw: smut-ish (interrupted), vulgar language, slut shaming, older!Steve, two idiots in love

“What are you doing here?”

Steve stood in your doorway, semi casually dressed—to his standards. White button down, pushed to the elbows, navy blue pants, brown loafers. His glasses were missing from his face, hair disheveled as he seemed to be more dressed down.

“I was in town?” His voice was gravelly, as he hadn’t expected you to open the door before he even knocked. You were on your way out, a normal visit to the inner city to drown out the past few months with partying.

“You live on the other side of New York.”

“Ah.”

You two sat there, staring into each other’s eyes. It was the first time around him you had felt uncomfortable, if you had even wanted to call it that.

“What’s that?” Your finger pointed to a box, wrapped in black paper, glossy, with a single bow.

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

He was acting suspicious, not quite meeting eye contact as he stood in your doorway, looking like a scared cat that could flee at any moment. You grabbed the box anyways, snatching it from his hands before turning on your heel to go into your living area, plopping down on the couch.

As you began to unwrap the gift, he remained at the door, hands shoved in his pockets. You eyed him, raising an eyebrow as you took off the last bits of paper on the box.

“Stop being weird, old man,” an exasperated sigh left your mouth as he grumbled to himself, not pleased with your comment referencing his age.

It had been about a month of being his client, discussing paperwork, the details of separation, fucking him behind closed doors. The last part shouldn’t be apart of the equation, but one look at him, you couldn’t resist the temptation.

As the door to your apartment closed behind him, he stepped in, taking a wide look at the room around him. Moving boxes were still present, shoved into the corners of the room, scribbles of your name on the cardboard. You didn’t know what he was expecting—you to be living this lavish life in a lavish apartment, but it was home to you. Home to you at least for now.

You gasped loudly, slapping your hands to your mouth as you finally took a look inside of the box. Manolo Blahnik Mary Jane’s, patent leather shiny as ever, sitting there and dying to be worn.

“Steve!” Your mouth was wide open, surprise evident as you were had no idea was even aware of this side of heaven—shoe heaven. Grabbing the shoes, you immediately toed off your others, trading them for the gifted heels. Perfect fit. “You shouldn’t have!”

Giddy with emotion, you ran over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. A sloppy kiss landed on his cheek, the grimace in return as your entire body weight leaned on him. Slowly his arms came to snake around your waist, gripping the skin around your middle section.

His eyes met yours as he stared down at you, warm, chocolate brown with a whole world to offer. In this lighting, you could truly see his beauty, how age only made him more angelic, filled with fine lines and moles dotting his cheeks.

“You said I owed you, so…” he shrugged, a smug look crossing his face as he took in how grateful you truly were for the gift.

“You didn’t actually have to,” you replied, trailing your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “The other pair wasn’t actually ruined, and these are so… so-”

“Think of it as an early separation gift.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth. Just as you turned to lean into the kiss, he pulled away, a slight dip of his eyebrow in teasing manner.

“Steve Harrington, what am I going to do with you?”

He looked away from you, smiling into the distance as you looked down at your shoes once more, squealing with delight. This was all too domestic, too inappropriate for what your relationship should be with him, especially only a month in—yet not a relationship at all, but who was anyone to tell you differently?

Sinking down to your knees, you were careful to not scuff the gifted shoes, settling on the balls of your feet. You reached for his belt buckle, hastily working the metal between your fingers. His hand instinctively came to your head, tangling in the hair as he gasped.

“What-what’s—no, you don’t have to-” His words became jumbled as you smirked up at him, blinking through long lashes.

Faux pouting, you freed his zipper, slowly pulling it down with the lightest touch of your fingers.

“I could tell you about this Ferragamo dress I’ve been eyeing,” you whispered, biting your lip as you began to palm his through his exposed underwear. His head dipped back quickly, his eyes rolling shut. “Or—I could show you how grateful I really am.”

He nodded down at you, tightening his grip in your hair as you pressed a kiss to his groin, staring up at him through it. A shuttered breath escaped him, slow and jagged, his eyes watching the quick dart of your tongue dampening the material.

Just as you pulled him out of his restraint, a rapid knock was heard at the door. Steve craned his head back, silently cursing to himself as you wrapped a hand around him, moving slowly over the velvety skin of his shaft.

“Should you get that?”

“They’ll go away.” An open mouth kiss was pressed to his head, licking away the beaded pearl at the tip. The salted skin had you drooling, already craving more.

The knock was more urgent this time, a male voice heard through the thick wood of the door. It made the both of you pause in your tracks, Steve’s eyes widening, your mouth half way around him.

“Is that-?”

“You think-?”

It took only one more knock before the two of you were making haste, Steve’s pants sliding up with a jump, you wiping the corners of your mouth. The both of you were trying to appear normal, appear like actual lawyer and client inside of whatever this was.

Rushing over to the door, you have one last look at Steve, him lingering over the kitchen island as he grabbed a random folder, grateful that it had been documents relevant to the divorce settlement.

Your soon-to-be-ex’s eyes were small as he took you in, eyes dragging down your figure. His looks, those in which you had once thought were beautiful, seemed devious, up to no good while he stood before you.

“New outfit? Looks slutty,” he muttered, pushing his way into your apartment. He looked around, focusing on the boxes in the corner of the apartment, taking in every minuscule detail of the room.

“Aw damn, I was hoping for more tramp-y,” you were firm in your words, but insecure nonetheless. You felt exposed as he stood there, nervous that he would instantly know what you and Steve had previously been up to.

Taking notice of the older man in the corner of the room, your ex adjusted his suit, shirt unbuttoned down to below mid-chest exposing firm muscle that had your eyes rolling. He put on a bravado-type show, puffing out his chest like some animal trying to intimidate its prey. Steve didn't notice.

You leaned a hip against your couch, arms crossed against your chest, eyes rolling back as your ex continued to do whatever he was doing.

"Is there a reason you're on my side of town?"

Steve finally turned around at the sound of your voice, pulling his wire frames out of his pants pocket and sliding them onto his face. If there was just the privacy of you two, you would've jumped him by now. Barely looking at the younger man, his eyes focused on the papers in front of him.

"Your side of town?" His NY accent was thick, home to the city you now call home. "Didn't realize that was on the table for the divorce."

"Speaking of terms of settlement, I don't think it's quite appropriate that you're here right now," Steve's voice drew the staring competition that you two began, two stubborn attitudes gnawing at each other. You were reluctant to pull your eyes away from the man, noticing just how cheap his expensive suit looked on him.

Your ex turned towards Steve, hands on his hips, chest poked out, styled hair coiffed on his head. Its style didn't compare to the older man—and he had about 20 years on him.

"And who might you be, old man?"

Steve's reply was a tick of his jaw, tongue smacking against his teeth as he walked up to meet the man. A hand shot out for him to shake, although it was left unmet. Your ex-partner just stared down at it, thumb reaching out to rub against his bottom lip.

"Harrington, Steve Harrington. Representing the young lady over here." Sighing, Steve tucked the hand into his pocket, stifling his own eye roll at the rude gesture. He shared a brief look with you, understanding now why you wanted out of the marriage so badly. Even by this barely thirty second interaction.

"Mm, bet you're sleeping with her, grandpa," your ex's words had you stifling a giggle, your teeth digging into the palm of your hand to stop the sound. It wasn't that his words were funny, but more so Steve's reaction to it.

He had cleared his throat, rather loudly, tugged at his collar that hung loosely at his neck. Obvious wasn't the word to put it, just a surge of an uncomfortable feeling that overcame him. One thing you could count on was your ex-husband being dense as ever, grateful that he hadn't caught the movement he had made.

"Hardly ever professional," Steve answered, clasping his hands in front of him. "Even to joke about, young man."

He was met with a response similar to his original, a tick of the jaw and eyes cut towards him. The younger man hated the turn of the namecalling back, even despite calling Steve everything other than the word 'geriatric' itself.

"I can bet you want to. I mean, look at her."

"Sir."

The irritation that stemmed from the nicknames towards him geared towards the comments made about you, Steve pinched his nose bridge. He shoved the papers to the side, tugged on the sides of his jackets, straightened his posture. Taking a step towards you, he brushed past the younger guy.

"I have a meeting starting up soon," he said, crowding your space. One of his hands brushed against the side of your thigh, a gesture that went unnoticed by the other party in the room, definitely noticed by you. Butterflies began in the pit of your stomach, tingling lower as your skin burned with the touch of his hand. "We can meet at my office, our scheduled twelve."

As you began to answer, your ex spoke up for you, waving his hands in the air as he made his way towards the door instead.

"I'm heading out, you can relax, geezer," your ex opened the door, lingering for a moment more. "I was just stopping by to see what more my lawyer can collect."

He threw a wink towards you, nodding in Steve's direction.

"Better suit up well, pal. It's only going to get worse from here."

The door shut behind him, silence hanging heavy in the air as the two of you sat there—stunned silence. It took only seconds for you to start laughing as soon as that door closed, leaning against the couch with your hands covering your mouth, feet in the air as you sat on the back of the furniture. Steve shook his head at you, running his hands through his hair.

"Really? Him?"

You nodded, cackling at the mess that was left behind by the few words that were shared between the men. Taking a step in your direction, Steve found space between your open legs, hands resting on the couch outside of your thighs.

"There's no way he could've been anything other than that," Steve huffed a laugh finally, hanging his head as your giggles finally came to a stop.

You ran your hands up the front of his chest, the fabric of his shirt running between your fingers. Tugging at the material, you brought his face closer to your own, inches away from each other as you stared up into his eyes. That chocolate brown had you smiling softly, comfort easing the anxiety that had settled at your chest from the earlier interaction.

"Shut up and kiss me, old man."

Steve smiled widely, eyebrows shooting up. Humor found him at your words, different than the earlier reactions given. "Oh, you guys were perfect for each other."

You pressed your lips to his, slotting perfectly into his shape. It was a chaste kiss, a subtle press of lips that warmed your core.

"But I think you're perfect for me now."

Masterlist. Inbox and requests are open! <3

[perfectsunlight]

[21] ALL THESE YEARS

warnings: estranged familiarity, reunion discomfort, mentions of absent parenting

when jieun said she couldn’t make it to paris because she got sick, ivory felt as if she was going to explode. now, with her grandmother out of the picture, she was going to be alone with her mother for the first time in her life. the thought made her stomach churn.

the idol wasn’t sure how to feel either. the idea of spending time alone with jane was something she had longed for, but now that it was actually happening, she felt unprepared. 

jennie’s home was more of a showpiece, not the kind of place where she imagined raising a child.

as she walked up the driveway, ivory clutched her suitcase tightly, willing herself not to throw up from the nausea. the house loomed ahead, its sleek modernity a stark contrast to the cozy, lived-in comfort of her grandmother’s home. she could see the large windows, the clean lines, and the intimidating scale of the place. it was beautiful but cold, and it made jane feel even more out of place.

when she reached the front door, she hesitated for a moment before ringing the bell. the sound echoed through the empty space, magnifying her sense of isolation. after a few moments, jennie appeared, her face lighting up with a forced smile as she opened the door.

“hi, valentine,” jennie smiled, her voice tinged with nervousness. she had practiced that greeting for almost an hour beforehand. “come on in. i hope you didn’t have too much trouble finding the place.”

the younger girl managed a weak smile, her throat tight. “it was fine,” she said, stepping inside and dragging her suitcase with her. she glanced around at the immaculate interior, feeling a sense of discomfort. 

everything was so pristine, so perfectly arranged, and she felt like an intruder in this seemingly perfect world that her mother had built for herself.

the blackpink idol watched her daughter with a mixture of concern and helplessness. she had hoped for a smoother transition, but the anxiety written on jane’s face was obvious to her, even if her daughter didn’t know it.

after all, she was still her mother, and jennie could see the strain in jane’s posture and the uncertainty in her eyes.

“let me help you with your things,” the older woman offered, moving to grab the suitcase’s handle. “thank you,” jane replied softly, minding her manners and trying to steady her trembling hands. she followed jennie down the hallway, the silence between them heavy and almost oppressive. the house felt enormous, every room more intimidating than the last. 

it was clear that jennie had never intended for jane to come live with her here, and the reality of that unspoken truth was becoming increasingly apparent.

the atmosphere was thick with the awkwardness of two people who knew they were supposed to be close, but didn’t quite know how to be. it was spacious, tastefully decorated, and almost painfully neat—all those possible due to her absence.

there was no way the house would have been this clean if she had grown up here.

as they walked through her mother’s immaculate home, the silence between them grew heavier with each step. the stark contrast between this cold, polished space and the cozy, lived-in warmth of her grandmother’s house made jane feel even more out of place. 

she couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t belong here.

jennie, on the other hand, was painfully aware of the tension hanging between them. she glanced at jane, hoping to catch some sign that her daughter was okay, but jane’s face was a blank slate, betraying nothing of what she might be feeling. 

the distance between them felt almost insurmountable. thankfully, someone special was waiting for ivory just around the corner.

the little pomeranian bounded towards jennie, his tiny legs moving with enthusiastic energy. despite the chaos of the day, kuma’s presence was a welcome burst of normalcy. he bolted past his owner and ran straight to the younger version of her.

kuma barked excitedly, his tail wagging furiously as he reached ivory. she crouched down, arms open, and kuma leaped into her embrace, his fur soft and warm against her skin. the familiar smell of him, mixed with the faint trace of his shampoo, almost brought tears to her eyes.

“kuma!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion. she hugged him tightly, her earlier nausea momentarily forgotten. kuma licked her face, his little paws resting on her shoulders as if he understood just how much she needed him.

jennie couldn’t help but smile softly at the scene. she always remembered how much of a fit jane threw the day kuma left. the separation had been tough on both of them, and it had taken a considerable amount of time for both of them to re-adjust. seeing her daughter now, hugging kuma with such relief, reminded the woman of just how much ivory had missed him.

“kuma can stay with you in your room,” the blackpink idol suggested as she motioned with her hands towards the hallway. she led the way, her footsteps soft on the polished floor.

young cat-like eyes brightened at the offer. kuma trotted eagerly beside them, his tail wagging with renewed enthusiasm. jennie could see how much the little dog meant to her daughter, and she was relieved to see a genuine smile on ivory’s face for the first time since they arrived.

as they reached the room, jennie pushed open the door, revealing a space that was carefully decorated but had a slightly impersonal feel. the walls were painted a gentle shade of ivory, and the room was furnished with a large, plush bed and a few framed prints of abstract art. it was clear that jennie had tried to make it comfortable, but it still lacked the personal touches that would make it feel like home.

“this is your room,” jennie said, stepping inside and setting down the suitcase she had been pushing. “i know it’s a bit different from what you’re used to, but i hope it’s comfortable enough.”

jane took in the room with a hesitant smile. she set kuma down on the bed, and he immediately jumped up and started sniffing around. the young girl sat beside him, her nerves beginning to ease as she watched kuma settle in.

“it’s nice,” ivory said quietly, glancing up at jennie. “thank you.”

jennie hovered in the doorway, unsure of what to do next. “if you need anything, i’m just down the hall,” she pointed with her thumb in the direction of her bedroom, trying to sound reassuring. but the words felt hollow, even to her. “we could—um, we could order something for dinner later if you’re hungry.”

“okay,” jane replied, her voice barely above a whisper. she didn’t know how to act around her mother, how to fill the silence that stretched between them. “that’s fine.”

“i’ll, uh, let you settle in,” jennie said, forcing a smile before retreating down the hall. she mentally cursed herself for still not knowing how to make things less awkward. her own daughter was 18 years old and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still failing at the one thing she had always wanted to get right—being a mother.

jane sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at her hands. the room was beautiful, but it didn’t feel like hers. it felt like a space designed for someone else, someone who belonged in jennie’s world. maybe a manager or a stylist. she sighed, wishing her grandmother were here to bridge the gap, to make everything feel a little less foreign.

a few hours passed in uncomfortable isolation. jane stayed in her room, pretending to unpack her things, while jennie busied herself in the kitchen, scrolling through her phone, searching for takeout options, and making sure there wasn’t even a speck of dust to be seen. every so often, she would glance down the hall, wondering if she should go check on jane, but the thought of their stilted conversations made her hesitate.

finally, jennie mustered the courage to knock on jane’s door. “dinner’s here,” she called out, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “i got us some sushi. i wasn’t sure what you liked, so i got a little bit of everything.”

jane nodded, trying to ignore her heart sinking at the thought of another awkward meal. the pair sat across from each other at the dining table, the beautifully arranged sushi laid out between them. the atmosphere was painfully strained as they picked at their food, both searching for something to say but coming up empty.

“so, are you excited about paris?” jennie asked, trying to break the silence. it was a safe topic, something neutral, but even that felt forced. “yeah, i guess,” ivory replied, not quite meeting her mother’s eyes. she wanted to be excited, but the discomfort of the situation was overshadowing everything else. “i’ve never been before.”

“you’ll love it,” jennie smiled, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice. “it’s beautiful, and there’s so much to see and do. i’ll make sure you have a great time.”

jane nodded, but the words didn’t have the desired effect. instead, they only highlighted how out of sync they were and how this trip felt more like a chore. on top of that, it’s not like they were going to spend any time together. 

kuma sat underneath ivory’s chair as he looked up at her with curious, sympathetic eyes. it was almost as if he could sense the discomfort. jane absentmindedly scratched his head, drawing a little solace from his company.

as they continued eating in a more comfortable silence, jennie glanced at jane, considering her next words carefully. she didn’t want to push too hard or make her daughter uncomfortable, but the thought had been on her mind since they arrived.

“valentine,” jennie started, her voice gentle, “i was thinking, if you’d like, you could change your flight and come with me tomorrow instead of flying out the day after. we could fly out together?”

jane looked up, surprised by the suggestion. the idea of spending even more time alone with her mother was daunting, but at the same time, there was a part of her that wanted to try. maybe flying together would help ease some of the tension, give them more time to figure things out.

“oh,” ivory answered gently, biting her lip as she considered it. “i don’t want to mess up your plans.”

“you wouldn’t be messing up anything,” her mother reassured her quickly. “i think it might be nice. i’ve always wanted to go to paris together and now we can.” 

ivory hesitated, her brow furrowing as she thought about the reality of the situation. “but how are we going to do this?” she asked cautiously. “i mean, no one knows about us.” 

the older woman’s smile faltered slightly as the weight of her daughter’s words sank in. it was true—her relationship with ivory had always been kept under wraps, a secret known only to jieun and teddy. having her daughter by her side in the eye of the public seemed daunting, but there was something about this moment that made jennie feel like it was worth the risk.

“you’re right,” jennie admitted softly. “it could be complicated. but maybe it’s time we stop hiding. i don’t want us to keep pretending like we’re not a family.”

the look on jane’s face was indescribable. the color drained from her soft cheeks, leaving her looking pale. her hands clenched slightly in her lap, knuckles turning ivory. she shook her head, eyes wide with alarm. 

“no,” she said firmly, her voice soft but resolute. her eyes met her mother’s before she continued speaking. “we can’t do that.”

jennie blinked, taken aback by the intensity of her daughter’s reaction. “i mean it,” ivory added, her words spilling out in a rush. “i don’t want the world to know about me. it’s too much. they’ll tear me apart. they’ll tear you apart.”

her mother opened her mouth to respond, but jane kept going, her voice growing more serious with each word. “i’ve seen how they treat you, how they talk about you. the rumors, the pressure—everything. if they knew about me, it would just make things worse for you. i don’t want to be the reason your life gets even harder.”

jennie felt a knot form in her chest. she hadn’t fully considered how overwhelming the public reaction might be for ivory, how cruel the spotlight could be. it was one thing for her to face the scrutiny, but for her daughter to be thrown into that same world—it wasn’t something she could force on her.

“i’m sorry,” ivory whispered, her eyes downcast. “i just can’t do it.” her mother reached across the table, gently squeezing her daughter’s hand. “you don’t have to be sorry,” she said softly. “i didn’t mean to push you into something you’re not ready for.”

jane nodded, her shoulders sagging in relief, but the tension still lingered in the air between them. the idea of stepping into the public eye and finally being labeled as “jennie kim’s daughter” was too terrifying to even consider. 

she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be ready for that.

but she was still a daughter, and she wanted to be around her mother. 

“i’ll change the flight, but i won’t go in with you. i’ll go in after.” ivory said softly, her voice laced with a quiet determination. she looked up at her mother, trying to gauge her reaction, hoping that her mother would understand.

jennie’s heart ached, but she nodded slowly. “okay,” she replied, keeping her voice steady. “whatever makes you comfortable.” her daughter gave a small smile, relieved that her mother wasn’t pushing the issue. 

the older woman sighed softly as ivory said goodnight and left to get ready for bed, a mixture of relief and sadness swirling within her. she had hoped for a different outcome, but she knew this was the best compromise for now. as much as she longed to openly share her life with ivory, to show the world her daughter and the pride she felt in her, she also understood her fears.

the yg idol sat on the couch in the dim light, the soft glow of the nearby lamp casting a warm circle around her. jennie held the photo album in her lap, her fingers tracing the edges of the worn cover as she hesitated before opening it. it had been a long time since she had allowed herself to look through these photos, each one a fragment of a life she had missed out on.

with a deep breath, jennie slowly opened the album. the first photo she saw was of ivory as a newborn, swaddled tightly in a soft pink blanket. her tiny face was barely visible, just a glimpse of her round cheeks and button nose. jennie remembered that day vividly—how small and fragile ivory had felt in her arms, how she had promised herself that she would protect her daughter no matter what. 

but that promise had been easier said than done.

she turned the page, revealing a series of photos from ivory’s first birthday. ivory was sitting in a high chair, her face covered in frosting as she reached for the cake in front of her. her eyes were wide with excitement, her mouth open in a toothless grin. jennie had been there that day, but she had left early for a performance, missing the rest of the celebration. seeing the joy on ivory’s face in those photos made jennie’s chest tighten with regret.

the next set of photos showed ivory taking her first steps, her tiny legs unsteady as she wobbled toward the camera. jieun had been the one to capture that moment, her voice encouraging ivory in the background of the video that accompanied the photos. as usual, she hadn’t been there; she had been on tour, performing on the other side of the world. she had watched the video later, tears in her eyes, knowing she could never get that moment back.

even now, it still brings her great disappointment knowing she couldn’t be there.

as the idol continued to flip through the album, each photo seemed to teleport her back to those earlier times. there was a picture of jane on her first day of school, clutching a bright pink backpack that was almost as big as she was. her smile was shy, a mix of excitement and nervousness, and jennie remembered feeling a pang of guilt when jieun had sent her the photo. she had wanted to be there, to walk her to her classroom, but her schedule had kept her away once again.

another photo showed ivory dressed as a black cat for halloween, her face painted with a smile as she held a pumpkin-shaped bucket full of candy. jennie had been at a photoshoot that night, once again missing out on the chance to see her daughter’s costume in person. 

the album was bittersweet, a reminder of how many moments she had sacrificed for her career.

they held memories of holidays spent apart, birthdays celebrated without her, and milestones that jennie had only experienced through photos and videos. there was a photo of ivory with jieun, the two of them standing in front of a christmas tree, their faces lit up with laughter. jennie had sent gifts that year, but she hadn’t been there to see ivory’s face light up as she opened them.

there were many years afterward where jane didn’t even open anything she sent her at all.

finally, jennie reached the last photo in the album. it was one she had taken herself, a rare moment where she had been there, present and in the moment. ivory was about six years old, standing on a beach with the ocean behind her. her dark hair was windblown, and she was laughing, her arms outstretched as if she were trying to catch the waves. jennie had taken that photo during a brief break from her tour, a few stolen days where they had escaped to the coast. 

it was one of her favorite memories, but even then, the time had been too short.

jennie closed the album, her heart heavy with the weight of all the memories it held. she wished she could go back, that she could have been there for all the moments she had missed. but as she sat there in the quiet darkness, she once again was reminded that she couldn’t change the past. 

all she could do now was try to make the future better, to be the mother that ivory needed her to be, even if it meant continuing to hide her daughter from the world.

exhausted by the emotions that the memories had stirred up, jennie leaned back against the couch, her eyes growing heavy. she didn’t even notice when sleep finally claimed her, the photo album still resting on her lap, a silent testament to the years that had slipped through her fingers.

and she also failed to notice the younger version of herself, now all grown up, quietly padding into the living room. ivory had been restless, unable to sleep as the weight of everything settled over her.

she knew why her mother had missed so much—jennie was an idol, a superstar with the world at her feet. but that knowledge didn’t make it hurt any less. it didn’t make up for the nights she had cried herself to sleep, wishing her mother was there to tuck her in. 

it didn’t make up for the times she had needed her mother’s guidance and had only found jieun’s comforting presence instead.

but as her cat-like eyes landed on the album, jane couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt she had never acknowledged before. it was the same feeling that had plagued her sleep this very night. it was impossible to ignore now.

was she a bad daughter for resenting her mother all these years?

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CLOSED.

[fandomnerd9602]

The One I Want

Laura Kinney x Spiderpool!Reader

For @deafeningsharkslimeempath

Do you know that one moment where you just feel like you screwed everything up spectacularly? well that happened to me rather recently. Oh sorry where are my manners? my name is (Y/N) (L/N) and on my world I’m known as the spectacularly annoying Spider-Pool. The spectacularly annoying part is debatable.

You see it all started when the TVA zapped me into the void, something about being an anomaly, a profane and unholy combination of both Spider-Man and Deadpool. Honestly, it’s just the best of both worlds in my book or it would be a book if I wasn’t more than just one panel in comic book of the spider verse. True story look it up.

Or it could’ve been the fact that I killed Jared Leto, oh not Morbius. I’m saying I literally killed Jared Leto. It was an accident. I thought I was going after Morbius but oh well.

To make a long story short, I was forced to team up with X-23 or Laura as she likes to be called. One of my all time favorite X-Men characters by the way!

Anyway we found ourselves at an agreement, if I got her back to her timeline and out of the Void she would help me do the same. A good deal all things considered. The only downside is the TVA is so flip floppy. I mean one show it’s the villain the next show it’s good? Fiege, please make up your mind about what the TVA is?!

“You’re sure this plan of ours will work?” Laura told me as we drove thru the woods towards the reported base of the resistance found in the Void.

“If it works, I’ll be happily back in my world by this time tomorrow, Fun Size” Laura’s eyes went wide and she slammed on the brakes, nearly sending me flying into the windshield.

“If?! What do you mean if?!” She was screaming at me. My mind could only formulate the truth. I thought truth telling was Captain America's problem?!

"The TVA are hunting me and I need to get back home to save my world." Oh yeah it all came out like a big old truth salad. A truth salad that you order from Pizza Hut and immediately regret.

Laura began screaming and banging her fists against the steering wheel, "Are you fucking kidding me?! Out of all the spider totems to get stuck in the Void with and I end up with you!"

Oh I knew exactly where this was heading. A teenage superhero such as myself could only baton down the hatches and listen as this beautiful teenage fighting machine chewed me out. How is this both the most embarrassing and fulfilling moment of my life?

"I end up with the biggest fuck up in the multiverse! A spider-deadpool equivalent that couldn't save his Aunt May or Uncle Ben. Twice!"

It's true. I even somehow got my universe's Sean Bean killed. Yes. That Sean Bean. He wasn't even playing my Uncle Ben or anything!

Laura continued her little tirade, "No wonder the Spider Society turned you down! And the Avengers too! You can't save anyone or anything. Your world hates you! The girls you were supposed to love hate you! Mary Jane couldn't stand you. Gwen probably enjoyed death more than you!"

I could feel the anger rising up in the pit of my heart.

"The greatest joke is that no matter how much you wish for death to be with Gwen, you can't die! And it's one of God's greatest jokes on us instead of you!!!"

I was left in stone cold utter silence. I could feel my vision beginning to turn as red as my outfit.

"What?! No witty comeback?!"

"I'm going to fight you now" was all that left my mouth. And you know what? I meant it. Every. Last. Fucking. Word.

"Oh are you-?" THWIP! I shot one of my web guns, a web flew right over her mouth. The anger immediately flared in her eyes. Next thing I knew she lunged at me, claws out.

She grabbed my head and slammed it several times against the car radio. I grabbed her and gently pushed her against the driver seat. Hey I may be in a fight for my life but I’d still never hurt a woman.

Laura took one of her claws and ran it over the web, cutting it. I really should have taken Fictional Chemistry to understand that admantium is stronger than webs.

“This is ridiculous! I can’t hurt a girl!”

“A girl can hurt you!” She retorted before driving her claws in my lungs.

I kicked her straight thru the windshield of the Odyssey and into the forest in front of us. She simply smirked and dove right back thru. I had to admire her tenacity and endurance.

That admiration was interrupted with the familiar feeling of Adamantium being driven straight thru me, over and over.

She began muttering something in Spanish. Sadly I didn’t have the subtitles on so I couldn’t exactly know what she was saying. My Spanish only goes as far as my name: la piscina de aranas.

I pinned her to the second row seats, which were flattened like my heart was after the dog’s death in John Wick.

Laura simply laughed and kicked me straight thru the roof of the Honda. I landed on the roof with a sickening thud and rolled off, hitting the forest floor.

Laura, ever the tease, looked at me thru the window and gave me a come at me signal. “I am a teenage superhero,” I found myself wondering, “how am I terrified and yet so turned on?”

I pulled out my punch daggers and dived right thru the side window.

We traded blows and slashes. She let out a few huffs and groans. She straddled me and begins driving her claws repeatedly, coating the interior with a lovely shade of my blood.

She paused and looked at me in concern, “is that a Glock in your pocket?!”

“I never keep a Glock in there” I laughed before pulling out another gun, “I keep a Desert Eagle!”

Blam! Blam! I fired off several shots at her, one of which hit her rib and the other hit one of her claws.

“That all you got?” She asked me thru gritted teeth.

I grabbed my web gun and shot off several shots, encasing one of her arms in a giant web. She cut right thru it and lunges at me again. She forced us into the remaining back third row. Yeah the Odyssey has three rows. Three rows of get your freak on.

Next thing I knew Laura was looking at me with those brown eyes of hers. It had a mixture of anger and... Wait what was that? Is that lust?!

Well I guess it was. Because the next thing I knew she was driving her claws into the sides of the seats to my left and my right and then she kissed me full on lip lock with teeth hitting mine lip lock. Holy Stan Lee!

Each little growl that escaped her mouth was like a bit of heaven, a symphony to my ears, and quite possibly a fear of hell.

“I…uhh…” my brain tried to comprehend the exact situation that I was going through. It was something so great and yet so terrifying and couldn’t help it intrigue me even more.

“You talk too much” was her only response before she continued her onslaught of kisses. And boy was she right.

She shoved me down onto the remaining back seat, her lips never leaving mine. I began rubbing little circles into her back as the Honda continued rocking back and forth.

It was night by the time we had worked thru all of our differences…and no we did not go any farther than a PG-13 would allow.

Laura nuzzled me, laying against my chest. We shared a bottle of Coke that we found earlier. I gotta admit, besides the whole trying to kill me thing, I could really see a long partnership with her. Both crime fighting and in private.

“I’m sorry” she whispered. “It’s not your fault. The TVA is just the worst.”

“Yeah” I agreed, “sorry I shot you with a Desert Eagle”

Laura simply smirked and held up the bullet before dropping it on the Honda’s floor. “I’ll help you get back home”

“I’ll make sure you have a home to get back to.” I smiled at her and gave her forehead a little kiss.

“Aww” a new voice broke the silence. Laura and I turned to see Deadpool and Wolverine staring at us from outside the Honda.

“Young love” Deadpool chimed in.

OK, so not exactly how I was expecting this whole date to go, but I gotta say turn out better than I thought it would. And what can I say the Honda Odyssey really fucks.

[taradactyls]

Something I love about how Pride and Prejudice is told through an omnipresent narrator, aside from the witty remarks and insight into other characters it allows even though it's usually focused on Elizabeth, is how it plays on the audience's own prejudices and assumptions.

The narrator tells us very early on, chapter 4, that Darcy is "haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting." We've already seen that when we meet him the previous chapter, and will see more of it in those following. But it's the readers, along with Elizabeth, who take that observation as not only a list of flaws (despite only the first actually being negative) but presumes even more damaging flaws must be attached to it. Darcy can be off-putting, especially so in the setting we meet him in: he dismissed Elizabeth within earshot of her, didn't engage with people attempting to converse with him, etc. It's easy to assume the worst of him in a world so driven by social niceties, and because we follow Elizabeth, who is so lively and playful amidst the rules which govern society. Elizabeth thinks he's bad tempered? It would make sense - he hasn't shown consideration for others much socially, why would he care when he's angry? He acted from resentment and jealousy and went against his father's will? That's not such a jump after the conclusion of a bad temper, his own acknowledgement of implacable resentment, and evidence of pride. The awareness of one offensive trait so naturally leads to prejudice against it, that we easily assume still worse qualities must exist. We are as mistaken as Elizabeth.

Even the idea that 'No, Darcy was never haughty or rude, he was just shy and misunderstood, the narrator is wrong' is just magnifying that prejudice. Yes, we do find out later that Darcy is not at ease among strangers, and was always intrinsically good; his morals and core values meant he was never as bad as Elizabeth believed. But that doesn't mean he was without flaws, and it's so fascinating that some analysis of his character seek to completely remove the negative traits which he eventually overcame after acknowledging them in himself. The logic seems to be that they feel if he had them in the start that he isn't actually such a good person. It's just another example of being so prejudiced against certain flaws that it's impossible for some people to reconcile that there doesn't have to be more serious failings attached, and someone can still be a good person despite being arrogant and not always nice. It's, ironically, being prejudiced in the exact same way that Elizabeth was at the start of the novel. It's amazing that Jane Austen was able to tap into that aspect of human nature so deftly, and invoke in both in her main character, and readers to this day.

Now, of course, the story is so well known it's rare for anyone to read it blind, so it's less likely anyone will be unaware of Darcy's good qualities despite first seeing his worst. Even if they do, Pride and Prejudice has become so genre defining that new readers who are the slightest bit genre savvy will be more aware than contemporary audiences were. But even if we know the story it's still so understandable why Elizabeth feels the way she does. We see what she sees and feel her conclusions make sense. Just as, even though the narrator tells us Darcy is starting to catch feelings for Elizabeth, we fully comprehend her not noticing and believing there's a mutual dislike. And though that is concrete evidence of Elizabeth not reading Darcy and his motives correctly, we are still so sympathetic of the basis of her prejudice that her continued belief in Darcy's lack of virtues makes sense from her point of view. We can see, as she later will, that she takes it too far, and should have noticed evidence to the contrary, but her prejudice against him based on his early behaviour and her pride at reading people correctly is so understandable.

Basically, in a story about the characters' pride and prejudices, I love, love, LOVE how the narrator's voice brings out those same traits in readers the exact same way we see it presenting in Elizabeth. We're all on that journey with her, and we can likewise learn the same lessons about ourselves as she does. Pride and Prejudice feels timeless, because even though society and thus the nuance changes, the book is about human nature, and that remains essentially the same.

[bethanydelleman]

Bingley was at fault too.....

Bingley's "modesty" is mostly just the result of Darcy's bad influence on him . Darcy said it himself; Bingley kept relying on him so much because it made life for him easier, he knows that he's impulsive and instead of dealing with his flaws, he just relies on Darcy to check him. He knew Jane loved him and the only effect that Jane acting like a lady should act is simply him not knowing how much she liked him, he knew love was there. And because Darcy thought she did not , he decided that she does not love him after all.

Both Darcy and Bingley are irresponsible; Darcy knew Bingley falls out of love all the time and yet he did not think that Jane might form a serious attachment because of his advances. He only cares about Bingley because it's HIS friend not out of a desire to help others.

Bingley hits on Jane immediately and courts her in front of everyone ; then left her after knowing everyone was expecting marriage ; if he wanted to leave, at least he shouldn't make it seem like he was running away from her, this might affect her reputation . I know he had planned to return but Darcy convinced not to; but he should at least claim an excuse that had nothing to do with Jane so he would not embarass her.

I disagree with most of what you are saying here. I don't think Bingley could have possibly been that confident or known that Jane loved him.

Elizabeth admits that Jane is hard to read and no one would have been entirely sure of her love:

He declared himself to have been totally unsuspicious of her sister’s attachment; and she could not help remembering what Charlotte’s opinion had always been. Neither could she deny the justice of his description of Jane. She felt that Jane’s feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there was a constant complacency in her air and manner, not often united with great sensibility.

And also, Jane & Bingley don't spend a ton of time together in the two months that Bingley is at Netherfield. This is not modern dating:

“Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses.”

I think you are greatly overestimating how well Bingley would understand Jane's heart. He can't ask if she likes him either, it's all about subtle encouragement. We don't know what Darcy and his sisters said to him, but I can see how someone would be persuaded that Jane didn't actually love him. I think modesty is one of Bingley's strengths, not a fault. And, he's also not as persuadable as people sometimes say, we see him stand up to both his sisters and Darcy.

Mrs. Bennet said that Jane was ill-used, but she doesn't suffer any reputation damage. Mrs. Gardiner basically says, "These things happen" and moves on. We have no evidence at all that it hurt Jane in any way except emotionally. Also, Bingley & Jane don't act like Marianne & Willoughby or Wentworth & Louisa, we do not hear that everyone who saw them expected an engagement. It did not go that far. It was a fervent hope, not an honour-bound expectation. It was also a lot of Mrs. Bennet telling everyone that it would happen.

Darcy was wrong, but after the Bennets' display of vulgarity at the ball, he thought he was doing the right thing for his friend. Was he biased? Yes, the narrator tells us so, but that doesn't mean he was irresponsible. If Bingley hadn't been truly in love, he would have been doing the right thing.

That said, both Bingley and Darcy do have flaws, but Bingley is young and being impulsive when you're 23 and filthy rich isn't that bad. Darcy protecting his friend isn't a flaw, though his reasoning wasn't without bias. And I'm sure he does often have a good influence on Bingley.

[mysunfreckle]

When it comes to adaptations of Pride & Prejudice, especially modernised versions, it's always quite clear that Jane Austen is a lot harsher towards Lydia Bennet than we are generally comfortable with nowadays. She's barely sixteen and yet is held fully responsible for all of her actions and thereby deserving of how she ends up (with Wickham).

But there's something else that I think is integral to Lydia's character and her treatment in the narrative: she is not sorry and she is not miserable. And while her gleeful "Lydia was Lydia still" attitude just after she got married could be just another piece of evidence that she's simply too unprincipled to feel any sort of shame, all the information we get about her future implies that she pretty much stays that way:

Whenever [Lydia and Wickham] changed their quarters, either Jane or [Elizabeth] were sure of being applied to for some little assistance towards discharging their bills. Their manner of living, even when the restoration of peace dismissed them to a home, was unsettled in the extreme. They were always moving from place to place in quest of a cheap situation, and always spending more than they ought. His affection for her soon sunk into indifference: hers lasted a little longer; and, in spite of her youth and her manners, she retained all the claims to reputation which her marriage had given her. Though Darcy could never receive him at Pemberley, yet, for Elizabeth’s sake, he assisted him further in his profession. Lydia was occasionally a visitor there, when her husband was gone to enjoy himself in London or Bath; and with the Bingleys they both of them frequently stayed so long, that even Bingley’s good-humour was overcome, and he proceeded so far as to talk of giving them a hint to be gone.

It is very likely Lydia does not enjoy being poor, but she has no qualms about asking her sisters for money. And while I presume Wickham isn't faithful to her (especially not when "enjoying himself" in London or Bath), it says in the text that her affection for him only lasts "a little longer" than his for her.

It is remarked upon that Wickham and Lydia's characters "suffered no revolution from the marriage of her sisters" and, although she is always refused, she keeps trying to get Kitty to visit her with the promise of balls and young men.

Compare this to how Maria Betram's future is sketched at the end of Mansfield Park:

It ended in Mrs. Norris’s resolving to quit Mansfield and devote herself to her unfortunate Maria, and in an establishment being formed for them in another country, remote and private, where, shut up together with little society, on one side no affection, on the other no judgment, it may be reasonably supposed that their tempers became their mutual punishment.

No such promise of punishment for Lydia! If she really stays "Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless", perhaps she is allowed to skip through her unsatisfactory marriage with the same energy she skipped into it: flirting left and right, spending all her money, and thinking only of her own enjoyment.

Which is probably the kindest ending the story can give her, considering she insisted on marrying Wickham.

[anghraine]

Random thought before back to defense prep:

Something I find interesting and enjoyable about P&P is the way that Austen both foreshadows various revelations about Darcy and complicates them before they ever happen. This is typically done through subtle asides or quick interchanges that don't necessarily register as that significant at the time, but still gives the readers a chance to pick up on what's really going to happen.

Just a few examples:

1- Elizabeth and Charlotte briefly discuss how difficult it would be for an outsider, and perhaps Bingley himself, to detect Jane's true feelings:

It was generally evident, whenever they [Jane and Bingley] met, that he did admire her; and to her [Elizabeth] it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the preference which she had begun to entertain for him from the first, and was in a way to be very much in love; but she [Elizabeth] considered with pleasure that it was not likely to be discovered by the world in general, since Jane united with great strength of feeling, a composure of temper and an uniform cheerfulness of manner, which would guard her from the suspicions of the impertinent. She mentioned this to her friend, Miss Lucas. “It may, perhaps, be pleasant,” replied Charlotte, “to be able to impose on the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded.”

2- Darcy tries to warn Elizabeth at the Netherfield Ball:

“I can readily believe,” answered he, gravely, “that reports may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.”

3- Charlotte tries to "read" Darcy at Rosings:

He [Darcy] seldom appeared really animated. Mrs Collins knew not what to make of him. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s occasionally laughing at his stupidity proved that he was generally different, which her own knowledge of him could not have told her; and as she would have liked to believe this change the effect of love, and the object of that love her friend Eliza, she set herself seriously to work to find it out: she watched him whenever they were at Rosings, and whenever he came to Hunsford; but without much success.

4- literally the next chapter, one of the funnier miscommunications between Elizabeth and Darcy in Kent:

More than once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within the park, unexpectedly meet Mr Darcy. She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that should bring him where no one else was brought; and, to prevent its ever happening again, took care to inform him, at first, that it was a favourite haunt of hers. How it could occur a second time, therefore, was very odd! Yet it did, and even the third. It seemed like wilful ill-nature, or a voluntary penance; for on these occasions it was not merely a few formal inquiries and an awkward pause and then away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. He never said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking or of listening much; but it struck her in the course of their third rencontre that he was asking some odd unconnected questions—about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr and Mrs Collins’s happiness; and that in speaking of Rosings, and her not perfectly understanding the house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she would be staying there too. His words seemed to imply it.

Very mysterious!!!! Definitely none of their communications here could justifiably be misread!!

[guyfieriii]

We’re going out in style, babe (I)

God, it’s been a WHILE. I really lost all zeal for writing for a little while, until recently I watched the tv series ‘Mr. & Mrs. Smith’ (it’s so so good, you guys!! everyone go watch it) and it got the ol’ wheels turning. This was supposed to be a one and done thing but I got carried away and I lack the stamina to write a big whole thing so this’ll be a two-parter.

Anyway. This is my little version of it with Price. Angst and some stuff. The usual business. Haven’t written anything in months so please read this with the lowest possible expectations. Ya girl’s rusty.

Pairing : John Price x F!reader

Trigger warning : Explicit Sexual Scenes

It’s almost romantic.

The sight of husband and wife lay bare, broken and bloody. Look closely enough to see past the gore, past the ugliness set in a halo of ichor to see a sense of deliverance. The gift of release knowing they’ve met their end, and they’ve met it together.

Well, almost.

You choke out a wretched cough seeped in blood. One you’d feel rip into you, bullet holes and all, if you just weren’t so tired. You can taste it, though — coppery and astringent.

Punctuating.

This is it, you think, feeling the curve of your spine slacken at the relief of what’s coming.

I’m sorry, John.

The words spume against your lips, the only sound making it past them is a wet gurgle.

You’re grateful, for once, for the tears mar your eyesight. They keep you from seeing the true extent of his pain. You can feel it though, his agitation, his helplessness simply in the feather-light brush of his fingertips against your own. It can’t be easy, watching his wife slowly bleed to death beside him while he does the same. Seeing the way your lips turn ashen under a cochineal film of blood, watching the space between each breath lengthen gradually until all that’s left is the in between.

It’s slow. Painful. Each passing second permeated in struggle.

But better him than you.

Let me be first to go, you think in your typical manner of self-service.

It’ll all have been worth it, if only you’re the first to go.

“Oh,” It’s the first thing you can think to say,

“You’re English.”

It’s not the first thing you notice about him, though. No the thing that catches your attention at once is his eyes. Clear, calm and oh so blue. The sheer depth of them, though. Stare into them much longer, and you might not be able to find your way back out.

“Disappointed?” The question is dipped in jovial cadence. Thank God. He’s not offended.

“No. Not disappointed. I was only expecting—.” You pause, uncertain on what expectations you had starting out. Whatever they were, you can’t really remember now.

“What were you expecting, love?” He asks, simply and you know without a shadow of a doubt that it’s sincere. It echoes in the resting timbre of his voice, in the sharpness of his gaze which is dulled only slightly by something you might confuse for affection if you didn’t know any better.

You can only stare in response. Wait for the punchline that never comes.

Jesus Christ. He really does wants to know.

It’s unfamiliar territory for you to be in. To hold someone’s concern in your grasp the way you do his. However, as hard as it is for you to accept, it seems just as easy for him to simply give it away.

The weight of it makes your heart beat faster. Harder. Suddenly your mouth is too dry and you fight the urge to blink and break the spell. If he notices your discomfort, he says nothing about it.

An odd thing, really. That the two of you were matched.

“I’d like for our first day of marriage to not be a complete disappointment.” He prompts, still expecting your answer.

“Listen, uh—”

“John.” He supplies with a tone that makes you think you’re missing out on a joke.

Yeah, it’s a fake name. Haha. I get it.

“Jane.” You reciprocate, awkwardly.

“I’m Jane. And you’re perfect — er, John.” You declare with a sharp inhale only to be met with the scent of him. A bonfire is the first thing that your mind puts up front and centre. A bonfire doused out by a the lightest drizzle, so the smell of smoke still lingers. Along with it, the wafting aroma of cinnamon. Chocolate. All things warm and inviting.

You decide, in that moment, that you really really like the way he smells.

“Starting off with perfection, am I? At least give me till our silver year to really nail it.” He states, yet again, with such utter sincerity you almost miss the joke entirely.

“Till our—? Oh. Right.” You glance away, sheepish.

“This is yours; I believe.” Through your peripherals, you see a ring dangling at the top knuckle of his little finger. A delicate gold band. Simple and suited to your style. You glance at the finger right beside and see that he’s already worn his.

Right. Fuck.

“Uh, yeah. Thank you.” You reach out to take it, but he curls his finger back into his palm.

“Oh no, darling. Let me.” With the utmost care he grabs hold of your wrist, his thumb closing around your pulse — which much to your dismay is racing. It looks so slight, enclosed in his grip — which is paradoxically unyielding and yet so unbearably soft. A cushioned cage you might not mind being held captive in. You can’t bear to meet his eyes, so you keep your gaze downcast, intently focused on the way he slips the ring on your finger.

It’s not supposed to mean anything. Just work. Practicality more than something romantic. You’re spies and being married only makes it less likely that one of you will defect.

But for some reason it doesn’t feel that way. A moment shrouded in solemn intimacy. A promise. It feels that you’re bound to him, a stranger , just with the simple decent of a golden band down your finger. A covenant not meant to be entered into lightly — it’s an undeclared forfeiture of your life into the hands of another. So no, it’s not exactly romantic.

It’s something so much more.

“It’s official, eh? Mr. And Mrs. Smith.” Your hand still rests against the back of his and he makes no movement to release it.

You don’t much seem to mind.

You sleep in different beds, of course.

A habit formed with some difficulty, you’ll admit. There are times when you’ve parted ways in the hall like two men on the opposite ends of a duel — fingers curled around the trigger, waiting on the impulse to pull it. You’ve never given in but you’ve come close.

That fading post mission adrenaline leaves you pliable to your baser instincts, and you find yourself imagining all the ways he could make it better.

All the ways you could.

One night, in a hotel room in Verona, you found yourself skirting the precipice of giving in, with nothing but a 6 inch wall between the two of you.

You pictured it. Some other version of you, ready to take the plunge. This other you having the privilege of indifference in a make-believe realm wherein consequences don’t matter, and you tried to swallow the envy that rose up your throat like bile.

Tried and failed.

Your hands seem to move on their own accord as they slip between your thighs, your mind fabricating the illusion of his own taking their place.

A practiced dance of your imagination and dexterity that takes place often. More than you’d ever admit, even to yourself. You’d brand yourself in shame the morning after, and yet at night, all alone, you come at the thought of all the ways he’d take you.

He’s big. You know it.

You’ve caught glimpses of the outline of his cock in the bugle of his briefs like a voyeuristic pervert. He seemed big enough when flaccid, and you quivered.

You imagine the girth of him, hard and throbbing, promising all the ways he’d make it fit.

You use three fingers, push them deeper still and try to mimic the ways he’d fill you. You’re certain you fall short. He’d stretch you till your cunt had no give left, and then he’d stay there. Let you mold yourself to him, so he’d never feel the need to go elsewhere.

Knowing he’s within an earshot, you’re louder than you normally are. Much to the dismay of the men you’ve slept in the past, you were never vocal in bed. You’d reach orgasm, nearly mute and theatrics for the sake of male ego was something you couldn’t spare the patience for.

Tepid — that’s what they called you, disappointment oozing from each syllable.

You just couldn’t bare to disappoint John.

You put on what can only be considered a barefaced performance for the pure interest of his attention, expressing desires aloud you wouldn’t even dare admit in the privacy of your own self-contemplation. It spurs you on to climax, a fortissimo of vulgarity spewing from your lips.

In the aftermath you lay there breathless, caught unawares by just how far you took this little experiment of yours. Granted, it was all for John’s benefit but somewhere in the middle of it the pretence washed off you to reveal a gleam of authenticity.

Reeling from it, you’re unable to sleep a wink.

“Sleep well, then?” He asks you, the morning after.

“Uh huh. Some of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in my life, John.”

He looks at you like he’s about to call you out on it. Never does.

You resume your compartmentalized way of living soon after. Other than a shared fake name, your home, and the covert particulars of your questionable line of work, you two don’t share much.

Until a mission calls for it, you’ve managed to keep to yourselves a fair amount. You usually cross paths at mealtimes, which you never complain about since he wordlessly took it upon himself to do all the cooking, only letting you help clean.

Quaint domesticity at its finest.

“Safe to assume you chose high risk work as well.” He’d said over breakfast on your first morning there. “Why?”

You’d entered the kitchen to already find him there frying some eggs over the stove. You notice the little dining table to the side already set for two, a glass of orange juice poured for the both of you and toast points standing in their rack in the center of the table.

He gestured for you to take a seat before serving you a duo of over easy eggs and cup of coffee before taking his seat across.

Well, then.

Maybe there were some perks to this life of married domesticity after all.

“I thought I could use a challenge.” You offered him a half answer, as close to the truth as you could.

“And what was it that you did before this?” He asked

“Should you really be asking me that?” You countered.

“I think so, given that you’re my wife.”

My wife.

Enjoying the bit a little too much, aren’t ya John?

So were you, if you were being honest. But honestly never was your strongest suit.

“And why did you—?” You questioned him back in an effort to evade, “Pick high risk, I mean.”

“I’m ex-military, love. Figured I’d choose what I’m used to.” He answered you almost immediately, with not a hint of discomfort or thought of reserve. Either he was a fabulous liar—

Or he trusted you already.

And you didn’t know what to do with that.

“I like my eggs scrambled, by the way.

“Glad to know you feel comfortable your preferences for eggs with me, Jane.”

“Small steps, John.”

Six months in, and aside from a few close calls, you and John seemed to make a good team.

You’ve found that while he’s quick to improvise. Almost always, there’s a wrench thrown in the works, and while you might grapple over a changed course of action, he’s already adjusted to the new circumstances.

You’ve also found that he hates being separated from you in the field. You used to think it to be a manifestation of suspicion, to constantly have an eye on you.

Not that you’d blame him if it was. You weren’t exactly a fountain of knowledge when it came to sharing things of a personal nature. It would only be natural for a little mistrust to brew between a set of spies.

Married, or not.

You were disabused of that theory all too soon.

“Status update?”

“Made it through. I lost them.” You wheeze out, just barely.

“You good? You okay?” The fear in his voice is palpable through your earpiece as you stumble through to an alleyway and try to catch your breath. With the adrenaline waning off you finally feel the bullet that grazed your shoulder.

Flesh wound. You’ll live.

“Jane, fucking answer me.” He rasps, urgent and desperate. Like his sanity depends on your well-being.

It pisses you off, sometimes. Just how deeply he cares. Would you dare call him out on it, though? Now that you’ve been fed on it for months till your belly was ready to burst, like a stray turned house cat. Would you survive without it?

“I’m fucking winded, John. Just need to catch my breath. I’ll be better if we could get the fuck out of here and go—”

Home.

“—back.” You say, instead. “Let’s rendezvous at—”

“I’m coming to get you. Just stay put, yeah?”

“Jesus C—” You hiss through clenched teeth, pressing down the base of your palm into your shoulder to help slow the bleeding down. The pain of it shoots down your arm like veins of lightning, only adding to your irritation. “I’m not a child, for fuck’s—”

“Jane.” The tone of his voice shuts you up. There’s not an ounce of anger or annoyance in it. Only supplication.

Well, shit.

You knew from the very first day you met him — John was a man rooted in conviction. Hard to sway, even harder to deny.

“Fine. I’m waiting.”

He finds you hunched against the wall not 10 minutes later and you can see him visibly sag in relief. The moment he turned the corner and his eyes fell upon your own, his contracted brow-line receded, the rigidity in his stance eased, and the look on his face—

If the deities could speak to a man’s worship, you thought, this is what they would talk about.

“How bad is it?” He offers you a hand to help you stand, the other immediately seeking to find the wound hidden under the crimson blotted front of your shirt, tugging slightly at the neck of it to get a better look.

“I’m sure you’ve seen worse.” You suddenly feel all too shy at the thought of a little exposed skin in front of the man who is your husband. When his thumb grazes the underside of the wound, an unsuppressed flinch jostles you in his hold and his grip tightens.

“You’ll need stitches.” He murmurs, his movements now zephyr-like, fingers mindlessly wandering across the span of your collar bone. You can’t help but imagine the way he’d help you undress, fingers caught at the bottom seam of your shirt being gently lifted. His thumb hooking underneath — maybe just to unassumingly graze against the skin of your abdomen. Maybe to see what the rest of you would feel like against the warmth of his touch.

You’ve caught him staring — whenever you’re dressed bare in nothing but a tank top and loose pair of shorts, the lace hem of which dances so gently across the smooth expanse of your thigh. You’ve witnessed him stop in his tracks, his gaze trained downward for a moment too long to not be considered improper and just then you find it. The effervescent unsheathing of his jealousy, towards a garment of all things. It doesn’t stay long; you could blink and miss it.

But you don’t miss much.

So, when he helps you undress, later that night, and tends to your wound—

Would he stop there, you wonder?

Would you maybe want to find out?

The first time he does fully undress you, is on the eve of your first-year anniversary.

You’re greeted with a gift — a bottle of Laphroaig, 40 and garment bags with a little something for the both of you. Enclosed within an envelope is the note:

Congratulations on a successful first year of marriage.

“Be a shame for rest of it to go to waste.” You say, when John immediately reaches for the bottle. His thumb swipes across the label in an appreciative caress while he tips the cap in your direction as a way of asking drink this with me?

“Keen to dress up for me, love?” He unzips your bag to reveal a hint of luminescent satin — deepened cerulean, to match his eyes.

“I—”

“Because I am.”

You see it unfold before you — the extent of his imagination. Unfurling like an iris in bloom. His eye-line coasting across the length of your silhouette, pausing at slight intervals — the slope of your neck, the curve of your breasts, the pliable swathe of your abdomen. His fists clench in a trice and you feel the pulse of it hammering in your core.

A building reservoir of desire you’ve held back behind a dam of logic that strains beneath the weight furthermore.

He makes you feel at a loss — seemingly unpulsed by this conspicuous display of obscene want. Hunger for what is continuously denied.

Either he takes it on the chin like too good of a sport, or he simply hides it better than you do.

Either way—

You might as well try to even out the playing field.

With a rapid maneuver fuelled only by provocation and guile, you crook a finger along the collar of his button down, the palm of your other hand placed securely over his chest.

“I will, if you will.”

This was it — the fracture in the levee holding back a year’s worth of self-deception. With the curtain drawn on every enciphered impulse, you could finally meet him on equal, honest footing. The kindling that lay bare now set alight and you can only hope you aren’t scorched by it.

And if you are—

You pray it consumes you quick.

The rest of the evening just kind of blends together — three finger pours, a little music, some dancing, if you could even call it that.

John’s generosity with the scotch turned you sloppy, with all your past attempts at decorum now semi-liquid — like a condensed pour of honey out the jar.

“Dance with me, Jane.”

“Just want to get your hands on m’, don’t ya? Clingy fucker.”

Pot, meet kettle, you think to yourself.

Drunk or not, at least you’re self-aware.

It’s in the middle of the night when you jostle awake, with a dry mouth and a hammering in your skull that you feel in your teeth. Somehow, you made it to bed. Still dressed.

You smooth a palm across the creased satin encasing your body, bunching the fabric into your fists absentmindedly.

“Couldn’t bare to take you out of it just yet.”

You’re caught off guard to find John lounging in the chair in the corner of your room, your dulled senses inhibiting the reflex to reach for your gun.

“Never sneak up on a spy, John. Could’a shot you dead if I wasn’t this fucking hungover.”

“Thank God for small mercies. You’d make an awful widow.” His tone bleeds irony but there’s an undertone to it. It’s one you don’t recognize.

He’s since rid himself of his jacket and cufflinks, with the first few buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up and his arms crossed over his chest that rises and falls with every deliberate breath he takes. The picture of nonchalant inertia to the unknowing eye.

Not you, though.

You see the simmering thirst in a man who has been parched for too long, the certainty set in his eyes in search of an oasis—

And something else. An offshoot growing from the root of brackish resentment you can’t quite place.

And maybe, just maybe you worry you’re about to have your heart broken.

Not that you’d ever tell him.

“Fuck you.” You mutter, indignantly, massaging the bridge of your nose in an effort to ease the ache.

With lithe and measured movements, John approaches you. Through your peripherals you watch his feet get closer and closer with every step, until he’s inches away. With a firm-handed pull at your chin, he forces your gaze towards him— that indescribable tincture yet staining his features.

His head tilts imperceptibly, eyes narrowing in determination while he decides….what?

Whether to fuck you? Whether to leave you be and maintain the suffocating, acetic undercurrent you’ve maintained for an entire year in keeping your hands to yourself?

Whether to—

You stop your deliberations straight in their tracks as his hold on you tightens ever so slightly, his thumb disengaging from the rest to glide across your bottom lip.

Pulsing headache aside, you feel your entire being throb in anticipation.

“John—”

“Hush,” He takes advantage of your parted lips, probing the seam of them a little deeper. “Let a man savour a moment, for fuck’s sake.”

Seconds dissolve into minutes, as you wait with bated breath. Each lungful heavier than the last under the stifling pressure of a singular moment being pulled taut beyond belief.

“Jane, darling?” His voice is a mere whisper.

“Hmm?”

“How badly do you want to be fucked right now?”

A sizzle of defiance erupts deep in your belly. The urge to impugn stings the tip of your tongue when you see it. That look. That look that pummels down any defence you could even hope to construct. It demands sincerity, even when you can barely muster it on a good day let alone hungover and painfully aroused.

So, in the place of a rejoinder that would leave you both sexually frustrated and teetering the edge of combustion, you say the truth.

“So fucking badly, John. For months. Possibly from the moment we met.”

What hits you in that moment is disconcerting mixture of emotions: part relief at the unburdening of long-held truths, part self-consciousness at the ease in which just you’ve confessed them.

The latter dissolves almost immediately when you watch the resulting smile that etches itself across his face. A smile that screams pride. Absolution. The kind you’d find on a man who finally reached the peak of his dreams.

You were his Everest. Finally conquered.

“That’s my girl.”

His words leave you breathless. It’s not the first time he’s called you his, so it isn’t the novelty of the statement that floors you. It’s the fact that for the first time in a year, you recognize it to be true.

You’re his — been his for some time now.

The epiphany goes to your head like strong drink — and right on the heels of your previous state of inebriety, it’s all too much to take.

“Fuck, John. Just—” Whatever you might’ve said next is devoured by him in an abrubt dive to kiss you. It’s fervent and messy, all tongue and teeth leaving the viscid traces of saliva across your lips, jaw, and neck.

It’s an unremitting onslaught of his lips and hands — him touching you, tasting you at a pace you couldn’t dream of outrunning. Sometime in the midst of it, he’s managed to strip you both down without missing a beat. I’ll take care of it, my darling, he’d said when you protested to the number of layers that still lay between the two of you.

That was the thing about John. He’d not let a single demand of yours go unsatisfied. A depraved part of you wondered how far you could draw it out, test his endurance. Find the limit and shame him for it.

Needless to say, you never did.

Not out of decency, a trait of which you were always found deficient. It was only out of the fear of having had something unattainable only to eventually lose it. Fact of the matter is, there would be no limit to what you could ask of him.

Onto to simpler requests, then.

“Fuckin’ need you inside of me.”

His cock fills you up just as you’d expected— stretched to capacity, the head of his cock grazing against your cervix with a couple of inches to spare. You hiss through your teeth, your nails digging into his back to recompense for the building pressure.

“Shit, John. Fu—uck—” You pant, lungs convulsing beneath the strain of his weight pressing down on you, skin meeting skin at every possible junction.

“Should’a let me work you out first, then.” He grunts, lips latching on to the shell of your ear.

He forced an arm between the two of you, his fingers find your clit, drawing gentle circles. A direct juxtaposition to the shallow quick paced thrusts, while his other arm snakes around to border the crown of your skull. A preemptive measure for a good and thorough fucking.

Eventually the burn at the rim of your cunt subsides and you take more of him than you could’ve ever imagined. Right to the hilt. He draws back out, just halfway and looks, as if to admire his handiwork before slamming back in with a reverberant so fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ good or some variation of the praise over and over.

A year’s worth of raked up want comes cresting over this one night— he fucks you once more with the privilege of leisure the second time around. When you’re fucked out, slack-jawed with a raw cunt dripping cum, he croons with self-satisfaction and promises you’ll take him again.

You do, naturally. Drunk on the smell of sex which weighs down the air in the room, obedience comes easy.

He’s gentler this time, softer in the way he touches you. Fingers raking over flushed, sweaty skin. His tongue gliding over every inch of you, twice over, like he means to really savour it. Catalogue what every part of you tastes like should this be the only chance he gets. He fucks you slow and deep, a litany of indebtedness perpetuating every movement.

There are things about him you commit to memory, as well. The lingering taste of his last cigar that glides across your tongue when he kisses you. The flickering pulse in his brow when he’s close. The weight of his cock sheathed within you, the sting that comes with it.

When the haze of prolonged unfed lust unfurls with a yawn of satiety, you find all that remains is a sense of premonition.

Of a tragic and bitter end.

[writersdrug]

Ghost x Konig x Reader: I Don't Need You (Ch. 6)

<- Previous - Next ->

Summary: You (surprisingly) get more comfortable with Kortac, and slowly let yourself connect with the team. You subconsciously tether yourself to Konig, who is more than willing to help you fit in. The pain of the past begins to fade into the back of your mind like the end of a long chapter of your life.

Additionally, Konig starts asking the hard questions - it unearths a piece of you that you'd hoped would remain buried, but you still share the memories with Konig.

Chapter warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of rape, cursing, google translate German, shirtless Soap, very EXTREMELY watered-down mentions of sexual themes (we ain't there yet, boiis)

Notes: Sorry it took so long, I've got a lot cooking in the kitchen now and I'm hoping to pump out a lot this week!

Additionally, I've had some comments on this work not being an x Reader. First off, I never want to mislead anyone. I label this as an x Reader because Bonnie is not an OC of mine. I've seen other x Reader fics include callsigns that refer to the reader, so I assumed using Bonnie similarly would be alright. I also mentioned a name ONCE in chapter 3, "Jane Morris," which I thought to be a very generic name, and I haven't used it since and don't plan to. I have a personal preference of writing longer, chapter-by-chapter fics in first POV because it feels more natural to me than second POV. The same goes for using y/n - I like to avoid it if I can because it feels unnatural.

Again, those last two thing are a personal preference. I'm not bashing any fics that use these things at all, I enjoy both ones that do and ones that don't, and I don't enjoy one over the other. When I say one feels more natural than the other, I mean it feels more natural to write, not to read. I'm debating changing the name I used in chapter 3 to just y/n l/n to make this a true x Reader. If you still feel like I should change this to an x OC please let me know and I'll be happy to adjust the tags, titles, and descriptions. Again, I never meant to be misleading, and I hope I didn't make anyone angry. If a mistake has been made I am happy to learn from it. Thanks!

Konig had cracked the code on me. He figured out that after a case of American beers and a long drive, away from the crowd of new faces, my outer shell began to soften.

There was still a wall that I was holding up between me and everyone else, even though it was significantly smaller than usual. When Roze and Castillo approached me at breakfast, I didn’t get up and leave. And when Juno used the empty spot in the gym room right next to me, dropping his bag on the floor and giving me a cautious glance as he set up for his routine - I didn’t grab my things and move to the other end of the room. That was my first instinct, but I fought it. Instead I huffed, facing the mirror in front of me and focusing on my sets.

I’d started going to the common area more often – maybe not every night, but often enough. We’d make it a habit to play poker on the nights I did show up. I was better than most of the group, since none of them were quite used to my mannerisms yet. However, Konig and Horangi still took the lead as the winners, despite most of us arguing that they shouldn’t be allowed to play if they were going to wear their masks. The argument would eventually turn into a casual conversation – I didn’t engage in it too often. I preferred to sit and listen, using the time to slowly learn more about the team. I typically planted myself between Roze and Konig, keeping my legs crossed on the seat and nervously fiddling with my Yuengling bottle.

Although I was ashamed to admit it, Konig had become a conduit for my interactions with the rest of the team. The way he engaged with their activities, yet still managed to stay reserved, struck a chord with me. I respected the fact that it could sometimes be difficult to find him on base, and that at the same time, he was always there when I started to feel overwhelmed. I didn’t need him, no… that was a stretch. But sometimes I felt grateful that he was so eager to accompany me places – especially when he invited me to go on “perimeter checks” with him, which mostly consisted of long drives off base.

I don’t know how I had grown to appreciate him so much – maybe it was because he felt similar to me, in the way that we both needed our alone time, and with how we often found ourselves slipping out of the common area around the same time, with the original excuse being that we were tired. Half of the time, we would sit in the mess hall and talk until the early hours of the morning.

“A sniper?” I asked on one particular night, fiddling with the mouth of my beer bottle. “You’re way to big for that – no offense.”

Konig chuckled. “And that’s what they initially told me.” He took a swig of his (nasty) German beer. “But, despite being handed other opportunities, I proved them wrong. I’m sill a damn good sniper.”

I huffed. “Nah, you should be happy you got promoted to Colonel; you’re lucky, you get to avoid being in the trenches – at least, as much as the rest of us.”

“Lucky? No…” Konig said, shaking his head. “I do not like being a Colonel. I’d much rather be doing the dirty work of soldiers than writing these stupid reports.” He slapped a large hand over the manilla folder that sat on the table next to his beer. “It keeps my head busy, and I don’t have to listen to myself think.”

I nodded while sipping my beer. “I completely get that – If I’m not actively doing something with my hands, my brain gets too loud. Like – like there’s a mini me in my head, and the only way to drown her out is by physically doing something. Anything, really.”

Konig laughed – almost a snort – “‘A mini you’. I like that, that’s good.”

I huffed a laugh through my nose, turning my head to hide the smirk on my face. Despite being a large, brutish man, he had a youthful essence about him. It was hidden deep beneath the thick exterior of a war-hardened soldier. But, every now and again, it rose to the surface, touching a part of my soul I hadn’t allowed to be seen in a long time.

I pushed my stack of bills into the middle of the table. “All in.” I said nonchalantly.

Gaz narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and looking down his nose at me. “You’re bloody stupid…”

“Or really smart.” I retorted. I folded my arms over my chest, not wavering under his intimidating gaze.

It was unbearably hot in the room – whether that was from the tension of the game or the broken air conditioner (Price eternally insisted it would be fixed, “… by next week…”), I didn’t know. I was donned in my sweatpants and sports bra, Gaz was in a wife beater and sweats, Ghost was covered head to toe in a sweatshirt and jeans (one could ever rarely catch him wearing anything less), and Soap… well, Soap was Soap. Completely shirtless, with only a pair of gym shorts on. Typical for him to be so shameless.

Ghost looked at his cards, his jaw clearly tense underneath his mask. He wasn’t very good at hiding his unlucky hand – it was almost like he wasn’t even trying. Which was a possibility.

“Fucking hell… I fold.” He tossed his hand onto the table, revealing his sour bunch of cards. He walked to the fridge and cursed under his breath, rummaging through the contents.

“Jesus, you’re a load of dry shite.” Soap commented, leaning against the wall adjacent to Ghost. “You could’ve at least tried to intimidate ‘em.”

“You could try shutting your fucking mouth, alright?” Ghost snapped back. Soap raised his hands defensively, leaving Ghost by the fridge.

He flopped onto the couch near me and Gaz. “Miserable sap…”

I did my best to tune out their bickering. I stared down Gaz, tapping my fingers on the edges of my cards. I was relying on the river card – I had a chance at a four-of-a-kind, praying the last card on the table would be another seven.. It was risky, and Gaz was probably right in calling me stupid. But I was never one to back down from a challenge. I craved the thrill of it. Most of the time, I ended up getting lucky.

Gaz chewed his lip. He cocked an eyebrow, slowly pushing all of his cash to the middle of the table. “Call.” He said.

And I heard it – the telltale sign of his bluff. A fraction of a second where his voice had waivered, followed by him grinding his jaw. I knew I had it in the bag.

I was savoring the moment of triumph, watching Gaz stare at his cards, when I felt a hand on my back. I nearly spun around and yelled at whoever touched me, until I saw a gloved hand place a Yuengling bottle to my right, the lid already popped off. I faltered, staring at the bottle, feeling the hand on my back rubbing a thumb back and forth over my spine.

I glanced behind me, looking up to meet Ghost’s eyes. He was looking down at me with an empty gaze. His eyebrows twitched for a brief moment as he continued rubbing his thumb over the skin of my back.

I knew what he was suggesting. What he was asking. Put a woman on a compound with broken, touch-starved men, and eventually one of them will succumb to the temptation. Even so, I was shocked that it was Ghost. I would say he was showing a weakness here, no matter what he decided to call this – it was an admission that he needed something – something from me, specifically – which I never thought would happen.

He continued staring at me for another few moments, waiting for an answer. Keeping my eyes locked on him, I took the bottle and drank; my reply. He gave the tiniest nod, walking away and sitting down next to Soap – who was shuffling the remaining deck of cards, eyes narrowed at Gaz. He knew he was bluffing too.

I turned back to Gaz, smirking as he revealed the river card.

“You ever think about what you would say to those kids now?” I asked, tapping my beer bottle. “The ones who bullied you.”

Konig hummed. “Mm… not really. I don’t hold too much resentment.”

I chuckled. “If only we could all be a saint.”

“Well, it all happened so long ago.” Konig tried to justify himself. “We were only kids, bored and trying to stay on the surface. They just wanted to look tough so that no one would pick on them. Of course, I wouldn’t understand that as a kid. Maybe then, I would have admired what I’ve become, and I would have wanted to boast about it. But now that I am a Colonel – Ich habe besseres zu tun.”

I sarcastically rolled my eyes. “And that means?”

“Ehh…” he groaned, squinting his eyes. “How is it said… ‘I have bigger fishes to cook.’”

I sputtered, turning my head and laughing. Konig glared at me. “Gibt es ein Problem?” he asked, which I sort of understood. He sounded irritated, that much I could tell.

“No, Konig…” I said, standing up and giving him a pat on the shoulder as I walked by. “Just keep up the English lessons, ok?”

He scowled. “Verpiss dich… Start learning German and maybe I will.” He retorted, and I waved at him dismissively from behind my back.

I stuck my head into the fridge, grabbing a Yuengling and one of Konig’s beers. I walked back and placed them both next to him. Like instinct, he took each one and hooked their lid onto the edge of the table, then smacked the side of his hand down on the tops, sending the lid clattering to the ground. He opened my beer and handed it to me, then repeated the process with his, before reaching down and collecting the lids. He added them to the pile, totaling six beer lids so far.

If someone had shown me this image a year ago – Konig and I, sitting up late into the night, chatting like we’d known each other for decades… not to mention the fact that I was so unusually open with him… I would have been insulted. I would have laughed. No one would have been able to convince me that I would become so attached to anyone else after what had happened with the 141. Yet, all of this felt so natural. It was beyond how I felt that Konig and I were kindred spirits… it really did feel like I’d known him before. Maybe, he reminded me of a part of myself that I tried to bury away.

Or, maybe, I was just submitting to loneliness and trying to justify how quickly I clung to the first available soul. That was also an embarrassing possibility, one that I would rather not admit to.

“I have a question for you.” Konig’s voice and the clink of his beer bottle on the table brought me back to reality.

“I might have an answer.” I replied.

He looked off to the side, perhaps wondering whether or not he really wanted to ask the question. “Who did you kill? And why?”

Just like that, I felt the walls being built right back to where I had them. Bonding time’s over. Back to square one.

His inquiry caught me off guard. I froze, my bottle hovering in the air before I could take a sip, my eyes glued to the table. Just the mention of the incident brought the painful memories up to the surface, like claws scraping at the dirt, digging up the deepest roots.

“Lots of people.” I said, deflecting. I took a swig of my beer.

“You know what I mean.” He scoffed. “Why did you end up in military prison?” He leaned over the table – clearly not planning on letting the topic go.

I sucked my teeth, staring at him defiantly – moments ago, it was pleasant talking to him. Now, I was fighting back the urge to leave him at the table and go to my dorm. I felt ambushed at how he had changed the subject so abruptly. Like he had been waiting for me to carelessly stumble into the trap, and now he was watching me snarl from within it.

He leaned back with a sigh. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just thought we were getting somewhere here.”

“Oh?” I said dryly, cocking an eyebrow. “’Getting somewhere?’ What’s that sup-“

“Hey, it’s ok.” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His words were forgiving, but his eyes said something else – I knew what he was thinking.

Weak.

I gave him a hateful stare. Fucker know how to play his cards.

“I killed a sergeant.” I admitted. “My lieutenant’s right-hand man.”

That got Konig’s attention. He leaned forward again, putting his bottle off to the side. “Why?” he asked again.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, as I leaned back in my chair. My eyes fell to the floor as I forced myself to recall the memories. “In Egypt, a while back. Don’t ask when because I won’t tell you.” I warned Konig, and he huffed – but obliged.

I continued. “We were going in to retrieve a hostile target. Everyone was jumpy – me included. It was dark, and we didn’t know what to expect. After the hostiles started to engage, we were scattered. I got stuck in one tower, so I went upstairs to try and make a foxhole.”

I paused. It was now my own hands, covered in dirt, clawing at the roots of the memory. Each word I said was painful, yet somehow felt overshared. Like I was trying to get Konig to pity me. Except I wasn’t – I just wanted him to listen.

And that’s exactly what he did. No comforting shoulder pat, no soothing words… he just listened. He knew that if he stepped on the wrong spot, it would break my openness, like a branch breaking under his foot would disturb the silence of the woods.

“The sergeant – ‘Flare’ – he was up there, too. I thought we’d had the same idea, but… holy fuck…” I ran a hand down my face, feeling my heartbeat grow faster. “At first, I didn’t know what he was doing, I just heard him making those sounds and I thought he’d been hit, but… he was taking advantage of this – this woman – and with her kids right fucking there… she was probably just trying to hide, to hide them, she had to be so fucking scared… he didn’t even stop when I found him, I don’t know if he even heard me screaming at him.”

I paused, almost waiting for Konig to say or do something, but he remained silent. Despite my eyes never leaving the floor, I could see his blue ones watching me carefully. Concerned, patient, and calm.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” I said, my voice faltering the slightest bit. “So I shot him. In the head.” I unintentionally shivered. “Probably traumatized that poor woman and her kids, but… quick decisions aren’t the best ones.”

I ended my rant with a heavy sip of my beer. Konig continued watching me with wary eyes, which I ignored. I didn’t need consolation, or sympathy, or whatever he might try to offer. Somehow, he seemed to understand that.

“I would have done the same thing.” He commented.

Would you?

After a moment, he exhaled. “I don’t understand… I’d say you were in the right. Why did they put you in prison for that?”

I chewed my lip. “There was… some speculation, that I was jealous of his position. We’d been close throughout my time with the team, and when he got the promotion to second-in-command, I was a bit envious at first. People thought I was taking my anger out on him in what seemed like the perfect opportunity to lie.” I took another sip. “But I was happy for him. He worked hard, and he deserved it. But then the pressure got to him – Lieutenant was always depending on him for too much, and Flare couldn’t handle the responsibility. If he slipped up, it was a lot worse than if one of the rest of us did. I guess… the pressure is what got him in the end. Made him crazy in the end. He didn’t have any morals anymore.”

More silence. It felt uncomfortably loud – Konig’s stare seemed to make my head ring, making me fidget and bounce my knee. I wanted to snap at him. What are you looking at? Why are you asking so many fucking questions? But I was able to keep my anger at bay, justifying the situation by assuming his questions were fueled by nothing more than curiosity.

I figured I had said enough for the night, and finished off the rest of my beer. I slapped my leg, the telltale sign that I was getting ready to turn in.

Konig ignored it, or seemed to not notice. “Why did you kill him?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “Why did I? What do you mean?”

“Why kill him? Why not just… disable him for the moment, and let your commander deal with him later?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was a second too late. “Again… in the heat of the moment, you don’t make distinctions like that. You think: ‘shoot,’ or ‘don’t shoot.’ And shooting him was the choice I made.”

Konig’s gaze became scrutinous. He knew I was lying about something… he was hellbent on figuring out what.

He’s going to have to wait a long damn time.

“Goodnight, Konig.” I said flatly. I collected my bottles, getting up from the table. With a clang, I tossed them into the bin by the exit, walking down the hall and leaving Konig sitting alone in the mess hall. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but that’s all they did. It’s all just water under the bridge, y/n. Get it together. You’re alright.

-----

Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix

[faithandfairies]

So, I'm re-watching Rizzoli & Isles and here's what I got. Maura is bisexual, Jane is a repressed lesbian and Maura fully realized that she was in love with Jane when Jane got shot in season 1. She's been treating Jane completely like her wife since then.

I also genuinely believe Maura only stayed with the surgeon as long as she did to make sure Jane got the best medical care possible. Especially after what happened with Frankie. There is no way I think she would have been able to tolerate that insufferable man that long otherwise. She literally left him the moment she realized Jane would be just fine and whatever pain Jane was still experiencing was psychosomatic.

Maura also likes sex. And the only reason she's going after Giovanni is for sex as she's said because as she said herself she loves Italians. The truth is she loves Jane and the only thing she's not getting from their relationship is sex.

It's very interesting because in season 1 Maura was looking for meaningful connections with men. For a man to have it all. Now she either only really pursues superficial connections with men or if they're more meaningful the guy is a male version of Jane.

And something else is hitting me now. I wondered before why they didn't have Jane just get with Dean because I thought they were believable as a couple. With the compulsive heterosexuality Jane was at least somewhat into him.

But they had her get with the soldier and get pregnant by him instead. They had no chemistry and I thought that was the reason. To drive home that she was a lesbian. But she liked him and was pretty comfortable in his presence and I realized just now that he looked like a male version of Maura.

And that now makes me think that the only reason she was with him as long as she was was because of the long distance thing, as in it's easier to maintain a romantic relationship you're not that into from a distance, and because he looked like a male version of Maura.

It's also interesting that he gets introduced in an episode where nothing is what it seems. The homicide victim gets linked to that one guy in the military. There's photographic evidence of their relationship just lying around. And it isn't until the end of the episode that we find out the victim was actually in love with another soldier and the only evidence of it is that they were wearing each other's dog tags. Literally, that's how they deduced those two were in a romantic relationship and they were right. And we don't even get their story from them because by the time the relationship comes to light both parties are dead.

Jane is also very into Maura, truly loves her. She allows from Maura what she doesn't from anyone else, including that Maura bosses her around. She has very butch mannerisms even with her completely feminine physique. And with that she's jealous and protective when it comes to Maura in the way guys often are when they believe a woman is theirs. But she's just completely in denial. Which given what we learn about her upbringing and what her mom is like makes complete sense.

[perfectsunlight]

[01] THE WORLD IS MY OYSTER

warnings: none

part of the series: ivory

“how would you describe ivory?” 

the interviewer, park minho, asked chaewon as the camera focused on her. she chuckled slightly before she answered. “ivory?” the leader took a few moments to think about her response before speaking once again. 

“she’s a very special girl. very sweet, very kind.”

the video cuts to sakura answering the same question. 

“ah,” the japanese girl smiled. “she’s a very rare kind of person, that’s for sure.” yunjin and kazuha are the next to answer, followed by eunchae. 

“honestly, she’s very talented. just super bright and good at what she does.”    “i’d say she’s truly a superstar. i’ve never seen someone like her.”      “ivory is unique. she’s just ivory, and ivory is amazing.”

finally, the mentioned girl appears on screen. final touches are placed on her appearance before the staff disappears off camera. ivory is seated in an empty practice room with the interviewer in front of her. 

“would you like to introduce yourself?”

cat-like eyes found the lens with ease and the young girl flashed a small smile. “hello,” she waved at the camera. “i’m ivory, a member of le sserafim.” she was dressed in a simple yet elegant white blouse paired with black pants, her hair styled in soft waves that framed her face delicately. her demeanor exuded confidence and warmth, making even minho smile.

he shifted in his seat, preparing for a more personal line of questioning. “your name, it’s very unique. could you tell me about where it comes from?” in all of his years of journalism, he had seldom encountered a name like hers, especially in this industry. ivory, unperturbed by the question, leaned forward slightly, her eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement.

“it’s my middle name.” the idol said as she spoke with her hands. “my first name is jane, but my middle name is ivory. i thought it would be cooler to use my middle name, so i just went with that.” 

he nodded, noting the subtle playfulness in her response. her youthfulness was definitely evident in her mannerisms, however the young girl was well spoken for her age. “can you tell us a bit about your journey to becoming a member of le sserafim? what inspired you to become an idol?”

ivory’s expression softened with nostalgia as she recalled her younger self. she could sit here for days and think “i’ve always loved music. it wasn’t something i thought i could do as a career until my grandmother sat me down and said she believed i could do it.”

“at 15, i became part of a project group called new jeans.” ivory continued as she explained her story. “we were just an experiment for about two years, and right after that ended, source music gave me a call. and now, here i am.”

the interviewer nodded, intrigued by her story. he had interviewed many idols before, but they were not always this young. “you’re very young. did that affect your homelife and schooling?” he asked while the camera focused on the two of them.

the brunette paused for a moment, her expression briefly flickering with a hint of introspection before she composed herself with a gentle smile. “it did, in some ways,” she admitted thoughtfully. “growing up, i lived with my grandmother. she supported my dreams from the beginning, but balancing school and training was definitely challenging.”

she chose her words carefully, delicately navigating around the subject of her parents, as she had learned to do over the years. “there were sacrifices, of course,” she continued, her voice steady. “but i've always been grateful for the opportunities and the support.”

the interviewer nodded empathetically, sensing the complexity beneath her poised exterior. he could tell the girl in front of him had definitely worked to get to where she was.

“what do you like to do for fun?” minho shifted the conversation into a more positive direction, allowing ivory a moment to relax from the more introspective topics. her eyes lit up with enthusiasm as she spoke about her hobbies and interests outside of music. “i love writing songs," she began, her smile genuine. “i also enjoy reading—fiction and poetry are my favorites. and, of course, spending time with my friends and like going to concerts”

minho gave the young idol a small smile, enjoying the enthusiasm from the girl. everytime he smiled, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d seen her face before. he chalked it up to possibly seeing her during her time with newjeans. 

“tell me about your first concert. you must have been even younger, i’m assuming.” he asked while the camera shifted its attention to the idol. 

ivory's demeanor softened slightly at the mention of her first concert, a memory tainted with both nostalgia and complexity. she took a moment to collect her thoughts, her mind briefly revisiting the vivid scenes of that day.

“yes, i was quite young,” she began, a faint smile playing on her lips as she recalled the excitement of her first live performance experience. “i was about 7 years old and my grandmother went with me to see blackpink,” she admitted, her voice carrying a mix of reverence and fondness. “it was definitely something i’ll never forget.”

“do you have a favorite song from them?” minho inquired while the camera remained focused on the brunette. her expression hardened for a moment before she managed to force a thin smile.

“no. i don’t really listen to blackpink.”

sensing a bit of tension but deciding to proceed, minho changed the subject back to the group. “you officially debut tomorrow, how do you feel?”

ivory's smile widened, grateful for the change in topic as she redirected her focus to the upcoming milestone in her career. "i'm incredibly excited," she replied, her voice bright with anticipation. “le sserafim has been a dream come true for me. we've all worked so hard to prepare, and i can't wait for everyone to see what we've been working on.”

“we are all looking forward to it. aside from your hobbies, what’s something about you that your fans might be surprised to learn?” he asked while the camera shifted back to him for a moment.

ivory shared a gummy smile along with a playful look in her eyes. “i’m actually left handed. i don’t even think my managers know that. i know eunchae knows because we share a room, but i think she’s the only one who does.”

the interviewer chuckled. “really? are there any challenges or advantages being left-handed in your line of work?” minho’s eyes scanned ivory’s features, still unable to shake the familiarity in each of them.

the brunette shook her head, her smile widening. “when we practice, we use our left side the majority of the time because on stage it’s mirrored and it looks like our right side. so, it just feels more natural for me when i’m dancing.”

“that’s wonderful. i’ve yet to see some of your dancin, but would you consider yourself more of a vocalist or a dancer?”

her cat-like eyes narrowed slightly as she hummed in thought. “i’d say a bit of both, but i gravitate more towards singing. dancing was something i had to learn as a trainee, and i do enjoy it, but i’ve always loved singing.”

the interviewer nodded in agreement. “is there a go-to song you enjoy singing?” he asked as he leaned forward a bit. “or perhaps a favorite song you like to sing?”

“snowman by sia.” ivory said with a grin. “it’s an old song, and it came out when i was like a baby, but i love it.”

“we will all be looking forward to hearing your voice. lastly, what are your dreams for the future, both as an individual and as a member of le sserafim?”

ivory’s eyes glazed over with an aura of determination. “as an individual, i want to continue growing as an artist and exploring different facets of my creativity. as a member of le sserafim, i hope we can reach new heights together, inspire more people with our music, and leave a lasting impact in the industry.”

the interviewer smiled warmly. “thank you, ivory, for sharing so much with us. it’s been a pleasure.”

ivory nodded, her smile radiant. “thank you for having me. i hope everyone continues to support le sserafim.” the video ends after ivory finishes speaking. 

———

minho watched ivory walk out of the room they filmed in before he turned to one of the staff members and asked a question.

“doesn’t she look like someone?” 

the staff member paused, considering the question carefully before responding with a curious expression. “actually, now that you mention it, she does remind me of someone. but i'm not sure who, i just can’t put my finger on it.”

the older man nodded thoughtfully while staring at the video playback of the mentioned idol. there were numerous features about the girl that were familiar, but there was one prominent one that stood out the most.

“i’ve seen her eyes somewhere, i just know it.”

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