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punkshort · 7 days

Text

i know who you are | 7. the week

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel is on a mission to win you back. You struggle with your feelings and visit an old friend for some perspective.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, physical violence, wounds/blood/injuries/gore, vague reference to suicide (Joel remembering his incident after Sarah), alcohol consumption, non-descriptive smutty memory, mentions of murder (adults and children), mentions of pregnancy (not reader)

WC: 7.7K

A/N: I took some liberties with the background of the Fireflies, it's not exactly canon.

Series Masterlist

Somewhere in Northern California

It took two days.

Two full days of freezing temperatures and frigid wind as he traversed up and down mountains, through snow covered forests with little to no shelter, but he finally made it. Right before nightfall, he approached the edge of the town you grew up in. The town your parents still lived in ten years ago. The town that holds a history of you and everything you hold dear.

It was too dark and he was too tired to enter the town and go any further, but fortune smiled upon him for the first time since he left Jackson when he spotted a dilapidated woodshed tucked into the forest. It was small, no bigger than a bedroom, but it would do. It would be the first time in two days he would get to sleep with a roof over his head, and he desperately needed it.

He grossly overestimated his ability to survive out in the wild. He did it before, of course, but life in Jackson made him soft. Made him complacent. Made him weak.

Time took its toll on his body. His age was an offensive reminder every time his knees creaked or his back twinged. He wasn't as fast as he used to be, nor as strong. But he was determined and stubborn, two things that would never change.

With hands trembling from the cold, he jabbed his knife into the lock and broke it with ease, a small triumph in an otherwise unforgiving journey. The shed was mostly empty, save for a pile of wood and an axe. Plenty of room for both him and the horse.

After he scattered some oats on the floor, he grabbed his rifle and marched back out into the snowy tundra to do a perimeter check, knowing he would fall asleep the moment he allowed himself to slow down. By the time he deemed the area safe, he retreated back into the woodshed and lit a fire in the tiny furnace to warm up a bit.

Once he got feeling back in his fingers, he cracked open some stew and ate it cold straight from the can, too impatient to warm it up and too eager to get some rest. The wind howled outside, practically screaming at him with every gust: How could you say that to me?

The horse nickered softly, her head lowered, one back leg cocked as she began to doze off. He laid on the wooden floor, partially resting inside his sleeping bag, ready to strike if there was an intruder. The back of his wrist laid against his forehead while he stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering for the umpteenth time if what he was doing was even going to work. If he would even be capable of finding your house in this town, let alone finding any pictures still in good enough condition to bring back to you.

But it was all he had.

You had mentioned to him when he was sick, after you saw the photo of Sarah, how you wished you had pictures of your family. You looked so somber and distant and he was once again reminded that even though you lost them ten years ago, in your mind you only lost them months ago.

He couldn't imagine losing Sarah twice. Waking up one day, thinking she was alive and healthy and late for school just to be told she was killed mercilessly ten years prior and died in his arms. You were so much stronger than him. You always were. You were told your whole world changed, your family gone, and then tossed into a house with him, pressured by everyone every damn day to regain your memories and become a completely different person when he knew deep down if the same had happened to him, his answer would lie at the end of a barrel. But unlike before, he might not flinch.

You really fucking hurt me, Joel.

He rubbed his face aggressively, the pain and anguish in your voice haunting him. This trip left him with too much time to get lost in his thoughts, too much time to wallow in his grief and replay every single painful memory from the past several days.

Sighing, he dropped his hands to his chest and tried to think about something else. Letting his eyes drift shut, he let his mind wander back to before. Before your accident, before he fucked everything up, back to a time when you were happy and stupidly in love.

"What's cookin', good lookin'?" he heard your voice behind him.

He grinned as he stirred a pot of sauce on the stove while you wrapped your arms around his midsection, burying your face against his back.

"My accent rubbin' off on you now?"

You giggled and let go, walking over to grab the bottle of whiskey and pouring you each a glass.

"Maybe."

You handed him his glass and clinked them together before taking a sip.

"How was patrol?" he asked, turning his attention back to the pasta.

"Boring," you replied, hopping up onto the counter next to him, swinging your legs back and forth. "Jesse has a lot of work to do. He's not seasoned enough to be out there without one of us."

He nodded thoughtfully and lifted the spoon up to your lips to taste the sauce. "Needs lemon," you said, licking your upper lip while he snatched a lemon from a basket in the corner of the kitchen and sliced it in half.

"Yeah, I know, but he's got potential. Just gotta get him to focus a bit more. Gotta be more aware of his surroundings."

You hummed and rubbed the back of your neck with a wince.

"You hurtin'?" he asked, but you shook your head immediately.

"Just tired."

"You sure?" he said while he strained the pasta. "I can rub your neck later."

"Oh, well in that case, yes. I'm absolutely aching over here," you said with a smile.

"Don't tempt me, baby," he told you, setting down the pot before wedging himself between your knees, his hands rubbing over your thighs. "Might not stop at your neck."

"Is that right?" you teased, pulling your lower lip between your teeth playfully.

"Mhmm. First it's your neck, then shoulders," he said, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips, "then your back," he dragged his hands up your back and pressed you forward, nearly pulling you off the counter.

"Then what?" you asked breathlessly, arms loosely draping around the back of his neck.

"Before y'know it, you'll be pullin' at my belt, tellin' me you got an ache someplace else 'n you need me to stuff you full of my cock." His hands dragged up and down your back, his mouth nipping gently at your throat as you tipped your head back with a gasp.

"You know me so well," you murmured, a lazy smirk spreading across your face when you felt the urgency behind his touch.

"Yeah I do, baby," his words getting lost against your skin, "know you like the back of my hand. Know what makes you tick. What makes you feel good. Know what makes you scream my fuckin' name." His lips slotted over yours urgently, the pasta cold and long forgotten as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him close.

"Take me to bed, Joel," you begged after you pulled your head away, breaking the kiss and then quickly latching onto his neck. "Need you. I want - shit!" you cursed when one of you accidentally pushed a plate off the counter and it smashed into pieces against the floor.

"Leave it, don't care," he said, picking you up and pulling your attention off the shards of ceramic littering the floor. "I'll clean it up later."

His eyes popped open, the echo of your giggle from that night bouncing around his skull. It was almost laughable now, thinking he felt lonely before compared to how he felt in the middle of fucking nowhere with only a sleeping horse to keep him company.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he would need to do more than bring home some pictures to convince you to forgive him. But it was a start, and maybe, just maybe with time, you would come to understand what you meant to him.

And if he was really lucky, he might end up meaning something to you, too.

It was stupid and it didn't mean anything.

That's what you kept telling yourself ever since Joel left and you found yourself curling up in his bed at night instead of yours.

His bed was more comfortable. His room didn't store the bad memories of your fight. It was simply easier to sleep there.

It certainly didn't have anything to do with the way the sheets still smelled like him. Like the soap you both used combined with the outdoors and a hint of his sweat. And on the third night when you picked out a flannel of his from the closet and wrapped it around yourself, it was only because it was a particularly frigid night.

You didn't miss him.

Well, you missed having another person in the house, sure. But you didn't miss him on some deeper level. Maria and Ellie were wrong. They had no idea what they were talking about. They had no idea what was going through your head, what you were feeling, what you were struggling with.

There was no possible way you could have feelings for Joel. Not after everything he did and said. Not after the lies and the cheating and the deception.

But then why, when you were struggling to fall asleep at night, did your mind always wander back to the way he looked at you in the meadow, or the way his arms felt wrapped around you on the back of the horse, or the way he made you laugh when you played Monopoly?

And why did it feel like a part of you left with him that night?

"Pathetic," you muttered to yourself, pulling the sheets tighter and rolling over onto your side, his soft, worn flannel like butter against your bare skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the memories from your mind and instead, replaying what he told you about the hospital.

He almost killed you. He was seconds away from putting a bullet in your head and only after presumably begging for your life did he let you go, and then he had the nerve to keep that information from you not only once, but fucking twice.

He was protecting Ellie.

But he still shouldn't have lied.

With a groan, you rolled onto your back and stared up at the ceiling, sleep so far out of reach you didn't even feel like trying anymore. Then a thought occurred to you:

You weren't the only one he let live. There were two other people in Jackson who were there, who were shown mercy and didn't appear to hold any resentment towards him for it. In fact, they seemed rather happy with the second chance they were given.

You hadn't seen Ben or Lisa in a long time. The opportunity never presented itself for you to seek any perspective from them about that day.

Perhaps it was time to change that.

It took him a few hours to scope out the town and venture out of the woods, but by late morning he was heading down what looked to be one of the main thoroughfares in town, eyes squinting against the blowing snow as he tried to pinpoint the location of town hall.

All he remembered was your street name but he had absolutely no idea how to find it, so his plan was to break into the town hall and find a map. From there, he prayed Ellie's drawing was truly accurate enough to narrow down your parents' house.

He was freezing. His face was numb and his back was fucking killing him from riding so much, but he was so close. If he was lucky, he could find your house, get what he needed and head out all before nightfall. Maybe he could even spend another night in the woodshed. It wasn't so bad. At least he was warm.

As he continued to steer his horse down another road, he couldn't help but think Tommy was right about the storm. It was providing him some cover, just in case there were survivors around that wouldn't take kindly to his intrusion. He just hoped it would blow through in a day so his ride back would be clear.

After another thirty minutes of wind whipping at his face, the cold penetrating his coat and several layers underneath, he finally saw it. It was a smaller building than he imaged it to be, but the sign was clear. Hoping that the town size was as small as the town hall, he steered his mare down the drive and through the parking lot, making sure to take in his surroundings, confirming he was truly alone before he slid down from the saddle and trudged through the snow to the front doors.

He wiped away the snow from the window, peering inside before heading to another one and doing the same. It appeared to be empty so he tried the door, unsurprisingly finding it locked. He pulled out his knife and worked on the lock, his fingers stiff and his ears so cold he could barely feel them anymore. Finally, he broke the lock but when he shoved the door, there was something blocking him on the other side.

"Shit," he muttered, glancing around, kicking and dusting snow off the surrounding area, looking for a brick or a rock. Giving up, he grabbed his rifle from the saddle and angrily made his way to the nearest window, smashing the butt of his gun against the glass repeatedly until it shattered. He gasped for air, not realizing how much energy he was exerting before he continued, knocking out as much of the glass as he could.

Sticking his head inside, he looked around. The place seemed empty. It was quiet, covered in dust and debris. Untouched dust was good. It meant nobody had been there in a while. Human or otherwise.

He crawled through the window, taking great care to not catch on any jagged edges. He held his breath, ears straining for any noise that might give someone away, but all he heard was the howling wind outside. This is your fault. Still, he kept his guard up. He walked room to room, finding his way to the lobby and searching the front desk for a map.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he grumbled as he opened and shut each drawer in the desk, only pausing to snatch up an old protein bar and shoving it in his pocket.

With a sigh, he looked around the room. There were a couple benches, chairs that were moved and tipped over, papers scattered about but his eyes were drawn to the portraits on the wall. There were a few paintings of men he would never recognize, unknown sheriffs and mayors, and some framed pictures of the staff, but the one that really drew his attention was the large map on the wall next to the front doors.

It was a road map of the town. Simple, but it was all he needed. He rounded the desk and shined his flashlight over the map, studying it, searching for where he was before looking for your street.

"Grant Street."

"Grant?" he repeated, his fingers lightly skirting up and down your bare back.

"Mhmm," you confirmed, eyes closed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips as you buried your face into his neck.

"That's funny," he said, his hand wandering past your waist and over your ass.

"Why's that?"

"Grant's my Mama's maiden name."

Your eyes opened and locked onto his. "Maybe it's fate, then."

Maybe it was.

Grant was only four blocks north. It didn't look like a very long road, either.

He could do this.

He was so close.

Lisa answered the door with the same look of surprise as before, although this time she was clutching needles and yarn in her left hand while the fire quietly crackled behind her.

"Hey," you said, arms wrapped around yourself as the snow storm continued to swirl behind you. "Can I come in?"

"Oh! Of course!" Lisa said, stepping back, "how rude of me. Can I get you something warm to drink?" She closed the door behind you and took a step towards the kitchen. "I just boiled some water for tea, it's still hot."

"Tea sounds lovely, thank you," you said as you hung up your coat and scarf, trying your best not to make a mess of melted snow all over her floor.

She told you to make yourself comfortable while she prepared your tea, so you wandered into her tiny living room, the space seeming a little larger now without your two imposing men.

"Where's Ben?"

"Working," she said, setting down a teacup and saucer next to hers. "I put a little sugar in it."

"Oh, thank you, that's perfect. I like it sweet," you replied, sitting down on the same couch as before and bringing the cup to your lips.

"I know, I remember," she said, and when she sat down and fixed her billowy top, you noticed for the first time the small bump protruding low on her hips.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and she followed your gaze.

"Oh, yes," her tone soft, "I'm due this spring."

"Wow. Congratulations, Lisa. That's wonderful, I had no idea. I thought I would have seen you from time to time at the infirmary," you explained, setting down your tea.

"Nick agrees to see me after hours, sometimes he makes house calls," she said, picking up her needles again.

You titled your head to the side. "Why do you want to be seen after hours?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes fixed on the yellow blanket she was making. "I still find it difficult sometimes to face some of the others in town, I suppose. I know I shouldn't but the guilt sticks with me."

"Guilt?"

Her eyes flicked up to yours and she shifted her weight. "I know Ben mentioned the Fireflies to you." She held out her wrist, showing you the small moth-like symbol tattooed there. "I'm not sure how much you know or remember-"

"Actually, that's why I'm here," you said, taking a deep breath. "Joel told me everything. About the Fireflies. About the hospital."

Her eyes widened, the needles abandoned in her lap.

"Oh."

"Yeah," you said, chewing on your lip and glancing at the fire. "He told me what he did there. Told me he spared us, let us go."

"Yes, he did," she agreed softly.

"Can you tell me more about that day?" you asked, dragging your eyes back to meet hers. "I'm having trouble understanding how I could have known this before and still managed to fall in love with him."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

You laughed dryly and shrugged. "I mean he almost killed us. He killed countless innocent people, friends of ours I'm assuming, and I'm expected to believe I just looked past it? We just looked past it?" You motioned between the two of you. "He's a murderer, Lisa. He-"

"We're murderers," she corrected, and you fell silent. "We killed innocent people. We helped lead a revolution that resulted in hundreds of deaths, and where did that get us? Nowhere! People weren't any better off. In fact, they were worse. Friends and family killed, caught in the crossfire, tangled up in this idea of freedom and safety and giving their lives to an empty cause."

You swallowed as you watched Lisa's face, her eyes fiery and her tone hardened, transforming into a different version of herself before your very eyes.

"What Joel did..." she trailed off as she thought back to that day. "We did bad things. So did he, but he single handedly cut the Fireflies off at the legs. He stopped the insanity, stopped the war, stopped the ridiculous experiments and half baked ideas to save the world, regardless of the lives lost along the way. You don't remember, I understand, but allow me to explain."

"Please," you begged softly, "please tell me everything."

She rested a palm against her swelling stomach and leaned back. "We realized we made a mistake pretty early on," she began, "but we didn't have anywhere else to go. We had been living in the wild for so long. We were tired and hungry and weak and we fell for it. Fell for the sales pitch when they found us. We were told we wouldn't have to fight, but they didn't tell us what they expected us to do."

"W-what did we do?" you stammered, sitting on the edge of your seat.

"We killed people. Innocent people, point blank. FEDRA soldiers. Civilians who ratted out our location for extra food for their family. Children-" her voice wobbled a bit as she looked down at her stomach. "Children who were experimented on, vaccine prototypes tested on, who became horribly disfigured a-and screaming in pain, begging to be put out of their misery-"

"Okay," you said, cutting her off and taking a deep breath, unable to hear much more. It was becoming clear why Joel kept this from you, and although you had a right to know, you were beginning to understand his motivation. He was trying to protect you.

"Anyway," Lisa continued, flicking a tear from her cheek, "we planned on getting out. We couldn't do it anymore. Then, Joel showed up."

You held your breath, waiting for her to continue.

"We were doing perimeter checks. Loosening a spot in the gate so we could sneak out later that night. Then we heard the gunshots. And at first, we thought some infected got in. It was the perfect distraction, so we grabbed our gear and made a run for it."

She paused to take a sip from her tea, her eyes looking miles away.

"We almost made it. We were in the parking garage loading up a vehicle when he snuck up behind us. Told us to lay face down on the ground with our hands behind our heads. We never saw him and it wasn't until later we found out he was all alone. The whole time we were convinced it had to have been a group of men. It seemed impossible for one man to do what he did, but somehow..."

She trailed off again and cleared her throat.

"He gave us a second chance when we didn't deserve it," she said solemnly. "You and Ben dealt with the weight of what we did far better than me. I still struggle with the guilt, I can't..." she looked up at you, "I hope you never remember."

A chill went down your spine and you nodded.

"Try not to hold it against him," she said, offering you a small smile. "We've all done terrible things. It's not all black and white."

It ain't black and white.

"Yeah, okay," you replied quietly, standing up from the couch, your mind reeling. "Thanks," you added, motioning to the tea before she walked you to the door, "and congratulations again."

"Thank you," she said, rubbing her belly, her green eyes sparkling. "I'm glad you stopped by. The truth is sometimes ugly, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve to understand the whole picture." You nodded and bent over to shove on your boots. "Joel's not a bad man. I'm sure he was just trying to protect you by leaving some things out about our past. He would have told you eventually."

When the whole goddamn world ends and all you got left is one or two people you care 'bout, you'll do whatever you gotta do to protect 'em.

"Yeah, I'm starting to realize that now," you said, shrugging on your coat with a wry smile.

The whole way home, you practically kicked yourself for not visiting Lisa sooner. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe not. But it finally felt like a missing puzzle piece was back in place and you could begin to make sense of your confusing feelings for Joel.

Ellie was incredibly talented.

He needed to make sure to remind her of that when he got home because even through the blowing snow, in near whiteout conditions, he was still able to figure out which house was yours because Ellie's drawing was so detailed, so accurate that it almost felt like he had been there before.

He was eager and impatient. He just wanted to get inside and get what he needed and leave, but before he did, he peered inside the windows and did a walk around the whole house three times, just in case. It was a small brick ranch and if the snow wasn't so thick, he would be able to see the black shutters framing the front windows, just like in the drawing.

He shouldered open the side garage door first, a pile of fluffy snow spilling over the hard concrete as he stumbled in and shimmied open the roll top door so he could bring his mare inside.

He pat her between the eyes, murmuring his thanks for being so damn tough and sprinkled some more oats on the ground before slipping inside the house.

The door from the attached garage led right into a kitchen, which, by the looks of it, was rifled through on more than one occasion. No doubt some survivors had come through over the years and turned the place upside down for anything useful, but that didn't matter to him. What he needed wouldn't be stolen.

Glancing at the fridge, he paused when he saw some photos stuck to the door. He leaned his rifle against the wall and shook his head, curls flinging melted snow over the dusty floor, then bent over to examine the pictures. Most of them didn't have you and he began to worry he was in the wrong house after all, but then he saw it: at the very top was a picture of four people, all wearing summer clothes and Mickey Mouse ears with the Cinderella castle in the background. A middle aged man and woman bookended a young man, lean but muscular with his arm draped around your shoulders.

You were younger, maybe still in high school, and your hair was longer and lighter, but he would recognize that smile anywhere.

He carefully plucked the photo from the fridge and brought it closer, his eyes raking over every detail of the picture, from the brightness in your eyes to the cotton candy pink sky behind you.

You looked so happy.

Nothing like the way you looked when he last saw you: broken and bruised. Ruined and dejected. Because of him.

You spared my life just to break my heart.

He blinked and pocketed the photo before turning around. The living room was in worse condition. It appeared someone must have stayed there at one point because the couches were shifted around, an armchair wedged in front of the door, cushions flung around haphazardly.

He had to move furniture out of the way, dig around a bit through broken bookshelves, but he managed to finally unearth an old photo album. Resting on one of the couch cushions with a huff, he took a few moments to flip through it, smiling now and then when he saw an especially cute picture of you. The wind outside was howling so loudly, the old house creaking with every gust that he couldn't hear when footsteps slowly crept up behind him and knocked him unconscious with the butt of his own rifle.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He knew better. He should have scoped out the inside of the house before getting distracted. But he was too excited and too eager to get what he came for that he forgot his own rules. And he took for granted the snowstorm would hide his tracks.

Now he was hunched over on the living room floor, leaning against the wall with his wrists tied behind his back while five raiders went through his things.

"Hey man, don't you like peaches?"

"Fuck yeah I do, give it here."

Joel groaned, the back of his head throbbing, thick, sticky blood slowly trickling down the back of his neck.

"He's waking up."

"Hey, princess, how's the head?" one said with a sinister laugh. Joel ignored him.

"You got some nice shit. Wanna tell us where your camp is?"

Joel opened his eyes and glared at the man in front of him, wearing a leather jacket and leather gloves and a black bandana pulling his dark, wiry hair off his scarred face.

"Fuck you."

The punch came fast and hard across his jaw, making him see stars for a moment. The other men chuckled and got back to dividing up his things.

"You wanna try that again?" the first man asked, crouching down in front of him. Joel tugged on the rope holding his wrists together. The knot was tight but it wasn't foolproof. He just needed a little time to loosen it up.

"Don't got a camp."

"Bullshit," the man barked, spitting against the wall next to Joel's head. "Ain't nobody out here with this kinda gear and a goddamn horse roughing it all alone. Now, just tell us the city and we'll take it from there. We'll even let you live."

He heard one of the other men scoff but the rest remained quiet, and if Joel wasn't already convinced they were planning to kill him either way, he definitely was now.

"Boise."

"Boise?" he repeated, and Joel nodded, twisting his hands behind his back, feeling the coarse rope burn against his skin. The man in the leather jacket sighed and hung his head before landing another blow, this time across the mouth. Joel's lower lip got snagged on his teeth and tore. Blood trickled down his chin as he angrily whipped his head back towards the raider.

"I told you what you wanted!"

"You fed me a bunch of bullshit is what you did," he said, kicking Joel in the ribs. He gasped for air, doubled over against the wall, coughing and spraying blood across the faded floral wallpaper. He wondered if your parents did the wallpaper themselves, if your mom picked it out, or did the house already come like that?

Joel tugged harder on the rope, feeling it start to give. He needed to stay focused. He needed to make every move count if he wanted to get out of this alive.

The raider pulled a revolver from the back of his pants - Joel's revolver - and flipped it over in his hands. Back and forth, back and forth. Then he leaned forward and pressed the barrel against Joel's forehead.

"I'll give you one more chance, asshole," he said, his dark eyes boring into Joel's, "tell us where your camp is or else I shoot you in the fucking head."

"What the hell was he doing here anyway?"

"Shut up, Mike," the guy in the leather growled, eyes still trained on Joel.

"No, but seriously. There's nothing in this house worth taking. We've been through this neighborhood months ago."

The raider's eyes flickered around the room and Joel tugged harder on his restraints when he looked away. Then the man spotted the photo album lying face down on the ground.

"What's this?" he asked, lowering the gun and picking up the album. He began to flip through it and Joel felt the rope finally give. The raider let out a low whistle and slid a photo out to look at it closer. "Don't tell me you came out in the middle of a storm just to find something to jack off to," he teased, holding up a photo of you in a yellow bikini by a pool. He flipped the picture back around and grinned. When he went to stuff it in his pocket, his attention momentarily diverted, Joel took his opportunity to strike.

In the blink of an eye, he snatched the revolver from the raider's fingers and shot him in the temple, his body immediately falling limply to the side. Wet, sticky blood sprayed all over Joel's hand but he just tightened his grip on the gun, taking aim and bringing down another one of the men while they were still too stunned to move.

"Fuck!" one of the remaining three men screamed as they scrambled for cover. Joel ducked behind the couch and held his breath, straining to hear the scuffling of their boots, trying to pinpoint where they were in the small room. When he heard one of them accidentally knock against the kitchen table, the wooden legs scraping against the linoleum, he straightened up and took aim, taking out another man with a bullet right between the eyes, but unfortunately one of the last two men got a shot in as well.

The bullet grazed against his left bicep. Joel hissed and ducked back behind the couch. He would deal with it later.

"Come on, man, we can work something out," one of the men called out after a minute. "Let's just go our separate ways. Act like this never-"

Joel jumped up and shot the man in the cheek, the bullet traveling through his mouth and out the back of his head, leaving brain matter that looked like globs of gelatin dripping down the kitchen cupboards after he fell lifelessly to the ground.

Joel stepped towards the kitchen, now only one on one. He got cocky. He was feeling too confident with how quickly he took out the group. He didn't even see it coming when the knife lodged into his side, just above his hip. Without thinking, he yanked the knife out, twisted around and jammed it into the final raider's throat, watching as he fell to the floor, choking on his own blood, and didn't look away until he stopped twitching.

Adrenaline still coursed through his veins and he used it to his advantage, his left hand pressing weakly against his wound, the wound in his arm preventing it from being very effective while he searched the dead bodies of the men for anything useful. He had brought some first aid with him when he left Jackson but he was too far from home, he would need antibiotics, at least, if he was going to make it back.

Of course, he came up empty, so he snatched his first aid kit from the table and stumbled down the little hallway, searching for a bathroom. He knew it was a lost cause, the raiders already admitted to clearing the place out months ago, but he had to try.

He flung open the medicine cabinet with a grunt, the pain beginning to set in now. Pressing his bloody fingers against the stab wound as hard as he could, he rummaged around the cabinet, leaving paths of red everywhere his fingers touched, then tried the drawers under the sink.

Nothing.

"Fuck," he muttered, collapsing onto the cool tile floor as he began to sort through his first aid kit. There were no towels left but he was sitting on an old bathmat. He groaned in pain when he lifted his hips to pull the bathmat out, shook out the dust and dirt, then pressed it against his side, bringing his knee up to hold it in place.

With trembling fingers, he threaded a needle. He wiped the blood from his hands on his shirt, but they were stained red. Ripping open his jacket and flannel, he lifted the two other layers he had on underneath and lowered his leg to get a look at the wound.

It was deep and he was losing a lot of blood, but he was fairly certain the knife wasn't long enough to knick any organs. His stomach wasn't swelling, that was a good sign.

He only had a small bottle of antiseptic, so he used most of it to clean the wound and then the needle, saving a little bit to use on his arm later.

He took several quick breaths in, hyping himself up, then paused when he first shoved the needle through his skin. Tears sprung up, blurring his vision, but he blinked them away.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

In and out, in and out, he slowly stitched himself up. The angle was awkward and the stitches were ugly, but it got the job done: the bleeding stopped. His heart was hammering in his chest, sweat poured from the sides of his head, mixing with all the blood drying on his face and beard. He slumped to the ground with a pained groan, lying flat on the floor in a pool of his own blood, staring up at the ceiling. He just needed a moment to rest, a moment to catch his breath and then he would go.

Would he ever see you again? Would you ever even know why he came out there? Would you always wonder what happened to him? You told him you cared about him, but was that even true anymore? After what he did?

"C'mon, baby, gimme a sign," he whispered to himself, "gimme a sign that I still got a chance in hell 'cause if I don't, I'm not sure I got the strength to make it home." Tears welled up in his eyes again and this time he let them fall. He sniffled and waited. For what, he wasn't sure. Divine intervention? Genius to strike? A brilliant idea to form? But all he heard was the blowing wind outside.

The tile felt so cool against his burning hot skin. A small voice in the back of his head told him the longer he stayed there the weaker he would become, but he was just so tired. He rolled his head to the side, his eyes about to slide shut when he saw it: a dusty, opaque orange bottle rolled all the way against the wall underneath the sink.

Blinking a few times, he wondered if he was imagining it.

He wasn't.

Stretching his arm out, he slowly reached underneath the vanity and pulled out the half empty bottle. Holding it above his face, he squinted at the letters on the faded sticker.

Penicillin. Use as directed by your dentist.

His breath caught in his throat when he read your name on the label.

He finally got his sign.

"What happens when we die?"

"What?"

You rolled over onto your side to face him, wrapping your arm around his waist. He looked so peaceful, lying in bed like that. His eyes closed, face relaxed. You repeated your question.

"Don't know," he said, cracking open one eye to look at you. "Haven't died yet."

You giggled and he smiled, pulling you closer. He smelled so good. Like the rain and sex and smoke from the fire.

"I mean... do you think there's a heaven?"

He hummed and kissed the top of your head, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your bare arm.

"Yeah, I do."

You swallowed nervously and drew invisible circles into his skin, making him shiver.

"Do you think..." you trailed off and he froze, picking up on your tone.

"What, darlin'?"

"Do you think we'll make it? To heaven, I mean?"

His eyebrows pinched together. "Why wouldn't we?"

"You know why," you replied softly, "we've done bad things, Joel."

"Yeah, but we ain't bad people," he reminded you, then rolled over, pushing you onto your back so his arms caged you in. One knee slotted between yours and you spread your legs, hooking your ankles around the backs of his thighs.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he said, dipping his chin down and pressing his lips firmly against yours. You sighed, your shoulders finally relaxing. "Besides, this is heaven right here," he murmured against your mouth, feeling you smile.

"Ain't nothin' better than this."

You awoke with a gasp, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. That was the first time you had a dream about Joel, and something about it made you uneasy.

You had slept in his bed the entire week, wrapped in his clothes, and today was the day you had expected him to come home. Shrugging off the dream to no more than your subconscious fixated on his return, you forced yourself to get out of bed, fixing the sheets so it wouldn't look like you had been sleeping there and then headed to your room to change and freshen up.

The past couple days you had secretly hoped he would come back sooner but you refused to let it show. If Ellie or Dina or Maria asked you about it, you played it cool, or at least you thought you did. But every night you stayed up as late as you could, curled up on the couch all alone, waiting. Every time someone walked by, your body stiffened and your pulse raced, expecting to hear his heavy footsteps walking up the porch, but they never came.

But today was the day. The seventh day. His note said a week, and you knew if Joel was alive, he would stick to his word.

His absence afforded you a lot of time to think. Time you didn't realize you desperately needed, and now that you were able to process everything clearly without his overwhelming presence muddying the waters, you felt confident you knew what you wanted now.

All day at work, you were distracted. Nick had to call your name repeatedly to get your attention on more than one occasion, and by the fifth time you felt guilty. He didn't say anything, though. He understood. By then, most of the town knew Joel had left. Word spread like wildfire, especially once the storm passed through. It didn't take a genius to figure out how difficult it would be to survive all alone in those conditions.

Then the rumors started.

You tried to ignore them, but it was hard. When people began drinking and getting loud in the dining hall, it was impossible not to hear.

When you heard a man claim he saw Joel's horse frozen in a river during patrol, you stopped going to the dining hall to eat.

It was dark, it was just a deer, Tommy had told you later after he went out to the river to check, but it still shook you up.

When the sun set on Jackson on the seventh day and Joel still hadn't returned, the fear began to take hold. Your stomach churned, making it impossible to eat the following morning. You had hardly slept, the bags under your eyes dark and heavy. Nick begged you to take the day off but you insisted you needed to stay busy, although it didn't help much. On your lunch break you tried to casually walk by the main gate, the one near the stables, hoping to catch a glimpse of him returning, but you had no such luck.

So you went back to work. You kept your hands busy, tried to keep your mind occupied, but it was impossible.

I'll spend the rest of my life makin' it up to you.

You couldn't get those words out of your head. The guilt was weighing you down as you grew worried that was going to be one of the last things he ever said to you.

"Went on a date the other night."

"With who?"

"Cindy, from the kitchen."

Ricky laughed heartily and Andrew smacked his shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Shut up, man. We're on watch, we can't be giving ourselves away."

"It's the middle of the goddamn night and we haven't seen any infected in weeks. It's too cold for them, they're all frozen somewhere waiting to thaw in the spring," Ricky said, shouldering his rifle.

"Yeah, but still. You never know. There's more than just infected out there."

Ricky chuckled and shook his head. "Tommy telling you ghost stories again?"

"Raiders ain't ghost stories, asshole," Andrew shot back.

"And raiders never make it this far up the mountains, asshole," Ricky replied, mocking Andrew's tone.

Andrew grumbled under his breath and strolled away from the tower, towards the gate, his eyes scanning the treeline. He couldn't see a damn thing. It was pitch black and deathly quiet.

He turned on his heel and began the slow walk back towards the tower where he could see Ricky unwrapping a granola bar and pulling a paperback book from his back pocket.

Just as he was about to chastise him for letting his guard down, he heard twigs snapping in the woods. He whipped around, bringing his rifle up so he could get a better look with his scope.

"What the hell was that?" Ricky's whisper materialized in his ear.

"Dunno. Something's out there."

Ricky lifted his own rifle and scanned the trees as well, both of them holding their breath, waiting for another noise.

"Maybe-"

Then they heard more twigs snapping and pine trees raking against fabric. Louder this time.

"Fuck," Ricky muttered nervously, his palms growing sweaty inside his gloves.

"There," Andrew said lowly, and Ricky followed his aim. Something was approaching in the dark. Something big.

"I got it."

"No, just wait a second," Andrew said, squinting through the scope. Then his jaw went slack when he realized what it was.

"It's a horse."

"What?"

"It's a fucking horse, bro," Andrew repeated, his voice rising a little.

When it finally emerged from the forest, they saw the rider slumped over, covered in snow, their face buried in the horse's mane.

"Holy shit," Andrew said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and racing towards the ladder. "Radio Tommy!"

"W-what do I say?" Ricky stammered, fumbling with the radio dial.

"Tell him it's Joel!"

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flowercrowngods · 2 months

Text

it's yearning steddie get high with the others and make out about it hours (smut-ish)

Eddie hates being reminded that making promises to himself, and only himself, is pretty much useless if the only person holding him accountable to stick to his promise is one Eddie fucking Munson. Because that guy can’t be trusted.

Especially not when it comes to Steve and his stupid perfect hair, his stupid perfect dimples, his preppy fucking everything, and — perhaps most importantly — the breathy note his voice gets when the boy replaces his beautiful piece of brain with Eddie’s finest weed.

Steve in all his sober glory is unbearable at best, sure, that’s old news. But high? When the pained frown he’s not even aware of until he complains about a headache smoothes out and the tension in his shoulders disappears? When his scars no longer pull at every movement and he can hold himself again in the way he used to before everything — broad movements with a clumsy little edge to them that have Eddie’s heartstrings play rope skipping with his sanity.

That. That’s it. That’s it for Eddie.

And it’s no surprise that it’s also what leaves him helpless in the face of Nancy hopefully suggesting they get high again tomorrow night; all of them. Offering Eddie the chance at getting to see that tension fall away again, and that pale smile be replaced with an easy, genuine, lingering one — dreamy and so fucking pretty.

Luring Eddie with the most beautiful insanity.

So he says yes, despite having promised himself that he wouldn’t. Not after what happened last time. With Steve all the way up in his space, brushing his hair behind his ear with wonderment, trailing his hand down that lock until he forgot what he was going to say. What he was going to do.

Forgetting, too, that Eddie was sober, because he wanted to watch Steve without getting caught — but Steve, all high and sweet and tactile, apparently decided to do the same. He looked. And touched. And smiled and breathed and stayed right there. Fingertips dancing around the frayed ends of Eddie’s hair.

Something shifted — first between them, then around them. And then between them again when Eddie stepped back and turned away, in desperate need of a cool drink to stave off the feeling of being caught, of being trapped, of being so fucking gone on the prettiest god-damn boy in all of Indiana. And of having said boy look at him like that.

They shouldn’t get high again. They shouldn’t.

But he knows it helps with the pain like their meds never do; he knows it helps Nance sleep better, breathe better, exist in this post-apocalyptic world that doesn’t even remember the apocalypse, whose only reminders lie in the scar tissue of some teenagers and some graves that nobody knows are empty.

He knows that if he says no, they’ll find someone else to provide; and he doesn’t like the thought of that. Not one bit.

So it’s not even the thought of Steve’s dazed little smile that gets him to agree, nodding at Nance with an easy smile, saying, “Sure, let’s do it.”

But it is the thought of Steve’s dazed little smile, his breathy voice, his tactile nature that comes out even more when he’s high out of his mind like he knows he’s floating and needs someone to anchor him, and the memory of that stolen little moment, that makes Eddie curse himself to all hells once Nancy’s blooming smile is out of sight and he’s free of judgment to kick the kitchen counter beside him with a hearty curse.

He can do it. He can. All he needs to do is not stay sober this time, take the edge off and get out of his head about all of this, because he’s actually far less likely to do anything stupid under the influence, and also not look at Steve All Eyes On Me Harrington.

Easy.

Right?

Totally.

Except, as it turns out, ignoring Steve is both easier and harder than Eddie expected. The thing is, he’s good at diving into any conversation with just about anyone, making it larger than it needs to be until everyone in the room will give him funny looks but still roll with it, because Eddie Munson is just Like That, right?

But Steve doesn’t give him funny looks. Oh, they’re far from fun. There’s something in there that reminds Eddie of a kicked puppy in those fleeting moments that he lets his eyes meet Steve’s, never letting them linger, never letting them take him in and hold him and bask in the sunlight that is stored in those… Those beautiful, beautiful eyes. And that pretty, pretty face.

A face that shouldn’t look so sad.

He wants to ask what’s wrong, ask him if it’s a bad pain day, ask him if he didn’t sleep last night either, or if something happened. But how is he supposed to ask, to let any words come out of his mouth, when Steve just won’t look away. When he’s looking at Eddie like that again, when the little something that has shifted between them suddenly becomes massive enough to steal all the air away from his lungs and make his arms tingle in a way that he knows will only get better if he gets to wrap them around Steve.

He can’t. So he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask. But he doesn’t look away either, and he knows he’s already lost. He knows he broke this promise he made to himself.

But it’s fine, maybe, if the slight twitch in the corners of Steve’s lips is anything to go by. Like he, too, wants to say something but can’t. Like he knows Eddie is the same. Like his heart is racing, too, and he tried not to look but they’re so stupid and looked anyway and now they can’t—

“Guys?” Robin interrupts their little moment, the bubble bursting with a loud snap of her fingers that makes Eddie physically flinch.

He looks at her, spooked to shit and gasping because he does not do well with sudden loud noises or the impromptu bursting of bubbles — not after everything that happened.

“Shit, sorry, oh my God!” Robin’s there immediately, reaching for his hand, Nancy laying hers on his shoulder, Jonathan making himself known with a gentle little, “You’re fine, man.”

Eddie regains his footing and breathes away the panic, thinking that maybe getting high today wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He hands Robin the baggie and stuffs his hands into his pockets, making himself a little smaller by muscle memory alone.

Steve’s hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades — reassuring and warm. Like a flower, Eddie rises to follow it. He catches Steve’s smile out of the corner of his eyes and wants to rest his face against it. Wants to feel it against his skin. Wants to feel it shift into something deeper. Something real.

God, he’s so hopeless.

Good thing that Robin’s got the blunt under control, because Eddie does not trust his hands right now.

They grab the snacks and drinks and head outside to where Steve and Robin laid out pillows and blankets on the lawn, framed with dimly glowing white Christmas lights that Robin insists upon whenever they do this. Makes it feel a little less fucked up for her. Like we’re doing this because we want to, and not because we need it to sleep or to cope with the pain or whatever, you know? Put pretty lights anywhere, and it’s a choice.

Eddie has to admit that she has a point there, but the truth is he’ll smoke anywhere, fairy lights or no. Although there’s something, a capital-s Something about watching Steve framed by a thousand little lights smoothing out the worry lines on that beautiful face and making him seem all the more angelic for it.

Eddie actually called him angel once — the first time they did it like this. Made Steve smile like nothing else Eddie’s said to him since. Or anyone else for that matter. If he were any better at feeling the ground beneath his feet and the air in his lungs, he’d call him that again. Make him smile like that again.

But the ground is shifting and air is always scarce these days, with Steve’s hands on his body so fleetingly, so accidentally leaving marks on scar tissue, making Eddie wish he could feel more of Steve’s warmth there.

Making him wish he could ask. Touch me higher. Lower. Longer. Make it last. Make it count. Let me feel it, just for a second. Let me feel it where they didn’t steal chunks of my skin and my soul and, apparently, my sanity.

Argyle is the first to spread out on the blankets with a hearty groan that leaves everyone with a fond smile, gathering around him in a semi circle of amusement. He makes grabby hands at Robin, or maybe at the unlit joints she’s safekeeping — but either way, she follows suit, cuddling up to Argyle and in turn making grabby hands at Steve, who does as he’s told and laughs in that gentle, melodic way that they so seldomly hear these days.

Steve’s eyes fall on Eddie then, but a surge of worry and panic overcomes him, half expecting Steve to follow Robbie’s and Argyle’s example and reach for Eddie next. Or not reach for him. Either way, Eddie doesn’t want to find out, his heart beating in his chest at the endless possibilities stowed away in his overactive imagination. Instead of waiting for Steve’s next move, he sits down right here at the opposite end of the blanket, reaching for one of the pillows so he can hug it to his chest and have something to hold on to, just to keep his hands busy.

“Just don’t crush the goods there, birdie,” he grins, watching Nancy and Johnathan find a place to sit, too. He scoots over to make room for them, moving further from Steve in the process and feeling the distance in his chest. It’s so stupid. Fucked up, really.

“Oh, the goods are plenty safe, my dude,” Argyle says, earning himself a giggly groan from Robin that sounds a lot like, Gross!

Jonathan throws a pillow in Argyle’s face, which he deftly catches with just as salacious a grin.

Eddie tunes them out for a moment as he catches Steve’s eyes boring into him. He cocks an eyebrow and inclines his head, silently asking him what’s up in way less magical a way than he has with Robin.

He doesn’t really expect Steve to react in any way other than maybe a shrug or a brief, reassuring smile that really has no meaning other than, I’m fine, except for all the ways you know I’m not.

But Steve doesn’t smile. And he doesn’t shrug. He keeps his eyes on Eddie and fucking pouts. Looks like he’s not even aware of it, his eyes a little glazed already, seeming far away. Far away and right here and looking so fucking sad about it. About the few feet between them and Eddie being all the way over there.

It’s a bit like the moment they shared earlier, with Steve looking so sad and Eddie wanting to do something about it. He couldn’t then. But now…

Eddie’s breath hitches a little as he mirrors Steve’s position, falling backwards and leaning on his elbows., never once dropping his eyes. Stretching out his legs until he can nudge Steve’s ankle with his foot. Watching as those eyes snap down to the briefest contact in surprise, watching as Steve looks caught. And watching, too, as his lips twitch and his foot slowly, incrementally moves closer to Eddie’s like he can’t help it. Like he needs to touch him. Always, always needs to touch him.

And Eddie can feel it there, so he doesn’t move away. He wants to hold his hand, wants to run his fingers through his hair and for Steve to do the same. He wants to breathe him in, wants to live in a Steve-filled world and feel welcomed in it.

But he can’t. Because they’re not like that. And because this moment is not like that. And Steve is… Well, he is like that, he’s pretty sure. But maybe not for Eddie. Maybe not like that.

Steve’s foot is warm against his, pristine white baseball socks so stark a contrast against Eddie’s; threadbare and black, with more holes than fabric these days. He can’t really help the wave of embarrassment that washes over him, or the urge to pull back his feet and hide them in his shoes again. Sacrifice the warmth for safety.

But then Steve seems to notice just a second after Eddie does, and he smiles. Huffs a little with it, like it just bubbles out of him. Eddie wants to lean across the blanket and chase it. Chase the fondness and keep it there forever.

And that’s another thing about Steve that is so very fucked up: he doesn’t let Eddie hide. He doesn’t let him trade warmth for security, because — smile in place — Steve slowly moves his feet along the side of Eddie’s like he’s playing fucking Connect the Dots with the holes in his socks. It’s ridiculous.

It’s ridiculous, and Eddie is helpless. He’s so gone, a hundred percent. He’s so fucked up over that silly boy and the way he smiles at the most lamest of things.

It’s not his fault that he leaves his feet where they are, the warmth of Steve’s slow, teasing touch shooting electricity up his legs that leaves him with goosebumps and a sudden case of uncomfortably tight jeans.

He’s glad there’s still a pillow in his lap. And he’s glad, too, that the night is dark enough, the fairy lights not bright enough, to reveal the flush rising to his cheeks as it feels like the bravest thing he’s ever done stay like this. To have Steve looking at him like this. Eyes hooded and intense. Like he sees right through Eddie. Like he likes what he sees.

With a dull click, Robin’s Zippo pulls him back to reality in what must be the gentlest of ways, and Eddie manages a smile as he watches her gently place the doobie between Steve’s lips before she lights it, one hand on his cheek. Their faces light up, leaving the rest of the world in the dark, and Eddie is struck with how good they are together.

There’s something in the way she lights the joint for him, some kind of love language from the girl who burnt down the hell dimension below them and left it in ashes, and the boy who held her hand through it.

She holds his eyes as the flame dies and something passes between them as Steve slowly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Takes that first hit.

Eddie’s smile falters as he watches, the glowing cherry coming to life and lighting up Steve’s face, revealing that relaxed little smile on his lips as he holds it in for five, six, seven before exhaling around it in a slow, drawn-out way. He blows it in Robin’s face like he always does, and Robin laughs and shoves him back, like she always does.

And Eddie wants to trade her place. Like he always does. Eyes transfixed on Steve as he takes the next hit and pulls the joint from between his lips. Holding his breath again. And Eddie wants to be held like that. Wants to fill Steve’s lungs like that, wants to leave an aftertaste that is both sweeter and biting as he does to Steve what that first hit does to him. Leaving him all soft and gentle and so, so at ease, his eyes droopy and all those lines of pain and worry smoothed out by him. Eddie. On his lips. In his mouth. Fuck, anywhere, really. Everywhere.

He follows Steve on his exhale, his head getting a little dizzy with the lack of air, but still he is slow to breathe in again. It feels strangely intimate, watching him like this. Watching as that tension falls away and he hums a little around the bud — relaxed and relieved and appreciative. It feels like they’re the only people left in this town, in this state, maybe in the whole world.

Eddie wants to stay alone like this forever, chase Steve’s breath and wish it would hit his face like that, caress his cheeks until the air around them claims it and erases all traces of Steve; but not from Eddie’s skin. Never from his skin.

But they’re not alone. And Steve opens his eyes. And Eddie is caught.

Still he doesn’t move, doesn’t look away as Steve blows out the smoke, sweet and earthy in the air between them as it slowly finds its way to him across the blanket. He imagines that he can feel it as the smell grows stronger, imagines the smoke to feel warm against his cheek as he breathes it all in, holding those hazel eyes in the dark that refuse to look away from him.

It’s like that moment the other day in Steve’s kitchen when he was so close Eddie could smell all of him, frozen as he was, rooted to the spot — too scared to move and reveal himself, reveal all of himself, all the ugly truths and dreams. His wishes. His desires.

Why do you keep looking? Eddie wants to ask. What are you looking to find? Am I just an experiment to you, are you looking at yourself through my eyes? Say something. Anything.

But Steve doesn’t. He never does. Steve Harrington isn’t really the type to just say what’s on his mind, too used to Robin by his side to just read it all and react in her own way. Too used to Dustin, who’d do the talking for him. Too used to just letting his eyes, his arms, his posture convey his message.

Too used to people knowing him. Getting a good read on him. But not Eddie, because Eddie never learned how to fucking read people like Steve Harrington cast in pretty light and relaxation. Angry, he can read him no problem. When he’s pissed, when he’s annoyed, when he’s sad. Tense. Worried.

But not this. Never this. This intensity, this steady gaze resting only on him. He never looks at Robin like that, and he doesn’t fucking look at anyone else lately.

It’s driving Eddie insane.

It’s too much.

He snaps when Steve passes the joint back to Robin, and sits up to pull his feet back to himself, covering them with his hands to pretend the warmth is still there. Frowns at the holes in his socks, feeling more exposed than ever. He curls in on himself a little, pretending to be very fascinated with a little thread that’s come loose in the blanket beneath him while the others hold casual conversation around him.

This was a bad idea. He’s so fucked.

Part of him debates if he should leave, if he should just call it a day and bid them goodnight. The other part of him wants to just close the distance between him and Steve and settle in beside him so the weight of that gaze won’t fucking wear him down any more.

But knowing Steve, that wouldn’t work.

Knowing Steve, nothing works.

Feeling pathetic and small, Eddie lets himself fall to his side, hiding his face behind Nancy, whose hand comes to rest in his hair, combing through it just a little bit. Allowing him to collect himself. This isn’t new, and they don’t really question when Eddie just randomly lies down anywhere, or if he just stops talking all of a sudden.

It’s why they do this, after all. No judgment. No questions. Just the sweet, sweet release of Mary Jane.

It helps, having her hands in his hair like this, grounding him. It helps, finding no question or worry in her eyes as she looks down at him with a little smile — her way of including him in the conversation. He smiles back, just a little bit, and closes his eyes to better focus on her hand rather than the moment. She chuckles when he begins to purr, and then the smile stays a little longer.

After a while, when she offers him the joint, Eddie shifts to lie on his back and gazes up to find the clouds have cleared and revealed the night sky behind them. It’s pretty, the summer sky, and he takes a long drag trying to think of nothing else. A hot wave of smoke hits his lungs, and it tickles a bit just like it always does, but the urge to cough it back out has been gone for years. These days, his lungs allow the warm embrace of the smoke and allow him to hold his breath as long as he wants, feeling a pleasant buzz after the fifth drag. It’s the good stuff after all. Munson’s Finest.

He passes the joint back to Nancy, too comfortable to get up and pass it to anyone else, trusting her to do it without complaint. She does. She’s an angel like that. Puts her hand back in his hair and plays with his overgrown bangs a little while Eddie just stares up at the sky.

Steve’s talking, but the words don’t really translate. It doesn’t matter, though. Just hearing his voice is enough for Eddie to sort of drift into a pleasant sphere of nothingness, his chest tightening a little with it. Always, always tight when he hears that voice. Like his heart has grown three times its size and his ribcage didn’t get the memo that Eddie Munson is hopelessly, helplessly, endlessly gone for a boy who refuses to look away.

The thing is, Steve has always looked. Always. Even in the Upside Down. The first time, and the second. And then, the third. And Eddie wants it to mean something. Wants it to mean everything, or at least carry that possibility.

But there’s no way to find out. There’s only him and the stars and Nancy Wheeler’s hand in his hair after his life took several wrong turns that left him with more scar tissue than skin these days, and the horrible realisation that, after the world ended and rebuilt, he can fall in love. That he can want. That he can have these cravings that he’d always heard everyone else talk about, wondering if that was just another layer of freak to him, or if he was simply Like That.

They’re lonely realisations, he finds. Alienating, in a way. Because not only does he not know how to navigate Harrington, no, he’s a riddle even to himself right now.

All he knows is that he wants to touch. To hold. To kiss. To crawl into him, on top of him, beneath him, and pull his own name from those lips in tiny little gasps that have nothing in common with the frantic gasps of panic after their first stint with the hell dimension. He wants a do-over. He wants a chance. A real fucking chance to have all these smiles, all these looks mean something.

Arm outstretched, he reaches for the blunt again, taking it from whomever has it right now, aiming to shut off his brain a little more. Not to suppress it, but to shut it off. Even if that means he has to finish this thing. It’s fine. They have more. They always have more, because Jon and Argyle have an unreal fucking tolerance.

With a chuckle, Nancy bypasses his hand and puts the joint between his lips and ignores his indignant hum.

“Treat yourself”, she says, her voice wonderfully slow and lower in pitch. “I’ll be right back, yeah?”

“‘Kay.”

The warmth of her hand leaves his scalp, and with her body gone — getting up in way too swift a motion even for sober people — the night air seems a little colder. Eddie shivers a little, refusing to look at anyone, and just takes drag after drag, deciding he’ll finish this one. It’s his weed after all.

By the sounds of it, Robin is already lighting the next one. Good girl. Smart girl. Best fucking girl in the whole wide world.

Thick clouds of hot smoke waft through his lungs and all the way through his body up to his brain, leaving his arms and legs with a tingling feeling and his head with a pleasant buzz and tunes out most everything else around him. It’s great. It’s good. It’s wonderful.

It’s why he doesn’t realise that the air is warm again and a body shielding him from everyone else until there’s a hand in his hair again. He opens his eyes to snark at Wheeler, but—

It’s not Wheeler. It’s Steve. Knees pulled to his chest, chin resting on top as he smiles down at Eddie.

Neither of them says a word, but Eddie’s breath hitches. Stops, stutters. Just like his heart. And yet all he can do is stare up. Wonder if it’s real. Wonder if it’s real.

“Is this okay?” Steve whispers, fingers barely touching Eddie’s skin as he sort of plays with his hair.

After a beat or two, Eddie nods, careful not to move too much. Careful not to chase those fingers and all the things they could mean.

“Good.”

And then Steve pulls the joint from between Eddie’s lips, and Eddie wants to warn him because this one’s close to the end and bound to be stronger, but it doesn’t seem to faze Steve as he just sucks in the smoke like it’s the first lungful of air he gets after a long day stuck inside. Smiling around the bud as it dies between his lips, he presses it into the grass beside him, extinguishing the last of it.

He exhales, and Eddie can make out a tiny cloud of smoke against the night sky, watching as it wanders toward him. He waits for Steve to say something. There is what feels like intent in the movements of his hand, in the sudden appearance by his side, and in the way he— he fucking looks at him again. The sky is full of stars, the backyard full of fairy lights, and Steve Harrington is looking at him.

“You okay?” Eddie asks at last, breaking the silence, wondering if his voice always sounds so small, so quiet, so endlessly tiny. Wondering if Steve even heard.

But he did, because he smiles again. He did, because his hand stills. Touches Eddie’s skin. His scalp, his temple.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, looking from Eddie’s eyes to his own hand with something akin to wonder. Or marvel.

And Eddie shivers again when that hand travels down. Caressing his cheek, definitely with intent. Electricity shoots through his body again, and the intensity in Steve’s eyes leaves him with goosebumps. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t dare. Barely even swallows as Steve bites his lip absently and moves on, trailing from Eddie’s cheek down to his...

He’s touching his lips, and Eddie doesn’t breathe. Steve runs his forefinger along Eddie’s bottom lip, and in another world would he open his mouth and nip on his fingers or gasp at the touch and be better at this, be so much better at everything. But in this one, he lies motionless as Steve just fucking… explores.

And his touch is so light, it’s so gentle, so sweet on the rough scar tissue, and yet so absent, it doesn’t have to mean anything. He could pull back his hands now and claim that Eddie had something there. He could pull back and live his life unchanged. Leave Eddie behind in this state of paralysis, changed irrevocably, and be safe.

But that’s not what Steve does.

Steve was never one to choose safety over bravery, and he has the scars to prove it now. The permanent stiffness of his back that barely lets him feel anything these days. The set in his jaw when he breathes through the pains phantom and real, the crease between his brows when the memory pains flare up.

But his back is hunched in comfort now rather than in pain, and his shoulders are at ease. His lips are lightly ajar around a barely-there smile, and the skin between his eyes is smooth. Eddie wants to reach out and trace it, wants to caress it in the hopes that it’ll stay smooth forever.

He’s so pretty. Golden light catching his skin in all the right ways, leaving him positively glowing with that look he gives Eddie. That look.

Eddie’s never felt so exposed. So vulnerable. Laid bare, ready for dissection and willing to be taken apart in the hopes of letting him find what he wants and take it. Rip it right out of his chest. Now that he has Steve’s hand on his skin in the lightest of touches that’s anything but fleeting, he knows he would let him take anything he wants. Knows he would be helpless to stop him.

Helpless in the face of that gaze that trails down to his lips now, if only to follow his fingers.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes, barely moving his mouth at all around that single syllable.

Golden hazel eyes flit back to his, and they widen a little. Like suddenly it’s Steve who’s caught.

What are you doing? Eddie wants to ask. What are we doing? Don’t stop. Never stop.

But words are for moments lighter than this one. Words are not meant for a world that’s changing.

Maybe that is why Steve puts his hand on Eddie’s chin, tipping it up and turning his face toward him in a gesture so tender it’s almost possessive. Electricity shoots through Eddie again and the air between them is sizzling with it, sizzling because Steve is moving, shifting, dipping his head, his hand coming to rest on Eddie’s throat to keep him from moving away — except there is no force in his touch, and Eddie could still run.

He could. He should, maybe. Like last time.

But he is suspended in time, chained to the ground by the weight of Steve’s gaze and the hand on his throat, and his heart is beating so hard, so fast, that he is sure Steve can feel it. Imagines that those fingers move to find his pulse. Imagines that they find their home there, imagines that they hear the tales of stolen hearts and desires that leave his blood rushing.

Imagines that Steve falters a little, hovering just above Eddie. Dreams of it all, dreams that this is real and that he can have this, just for tonight. He nods, and it’s a tiny little thing, far from enough to ruin this moment or wake him from his dream.

But then Steve captures his lips with such care that Eddie snaps back into his body and realises that this is no dream. Steve is kissing him. Hovers above him with one arm resting in the grass above Eddie’s head, his other hand pulling Eddie’s face towards himself and being oh so gentle about it.

A whimper escapes him when this new reality settles inside his body, leaving him reeling and pulled towards a world of possibilities as those lips, those warm lips, rest so indulgently against his.

No longer chained, Eddie carefully lifts a hand to Steve’s head, because Steve can feel him there, too, and because he doesn’t want this to end. Because he needs to touch. All night, all week, all this time he has needed to touch. To cradle. To hold.

To keep.

Steve hums, and those lips pull into a smile before closing around Eddie’s bottom lip. The first touch of Steve’s tongue has jolts of electricity and arousal zinging through Eddie’s body again, lingering this time and making a home in his legs that begin to tingle with want.

Eddie opens his mouth, tilting his head a little to get a better angle, and is rewarded with the careful, addictive touch of Steve’s tongue against his. It makes Steve smile again, just for a second — but long enough to make Eddie’s heart jump.

He chases those lips when they pull back, capturing them with a little hum as he realises he comes more and more unchained, regaining feeling and control over his body, his mind, his scared little heart. Steve doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, pushing Eddie’s head down into the grass again with an urgency that Eddie is beginning to understand matches the hunger he’s feeling.

The hunger that is reserved only for Steve. It leaves him breathless, leaves him with the sudden need to gasp for air, but then Steve’s tongue is in his mouth again and maybe he doesn’t need to breathe ever again.

He loses himself in the wet slide of their tongues that feels so sensual it’s almost obscene, and all he can do is tangle his fingers in Steve’s hair and keep him right where he is while Eddie himself lies boneless, all the blood rushing down, down, down. Every nip of Steve’s teeth as he devours Eddie so entirely and yet so innocently, so sweetly, so carefully, and every time he sucks on his lips or his tongue results in another wave of intense arousal. And Eddie is stuck in the riptide of it.

It doesn’t take long for the first moan to break the silence, a gasped little thing, almost like an afterthought, and he’s not sure if that was him or Steve; but he doesn’t really care either way, because he’s so hard, he feels like he can come from just Steve sucking on his tongue alone.

And isn’t that an enticing thought.

“Steve,” he whispers, not entirely sure what he’s going to say, or if that’s really all he needs to say. All that’s left to say. Steve, Steve, Steve.

The only response he gets is a breathy little, “Fuck,” and it sounds like a revelation. Like an epiphany. And Eddie wants to hear it again, wants to swallow all the little noises and murmurs and everything Steve will give him.

“You’re so—“ Steve begins, interrupting himself with another deep, hungry kiss. “Fuck. You’re…”

“Yeah?” Eddie counters, breaking the kiss by pulling on Steve’s hair a little. “I’m what?”

Steve hesitates, panting breaths dancing over Eddie’s skin and he smells so fucking good. Eddie wants to lick the aftershave and perfume and sweat off his neck and keep the taste on his tongue for days. Dark, blown eyes wander over his face, and the hand that was on his throat comes up to rest on his cheek again in a gesture so gentle that it almost gives him whiplash. The hunger is gone — or, not gone, but unimportant now.

Steve smiles, hazy but genuine and so, so sweet, eyes zeroing in on Eddie’s no doubt swollen lips.

“Been wanting to do that forever.”

Eddie’s heart jumps, falters, falls. Just a little. Just the rest of the way. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wanna kiss you forever.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie breathes, voice barely there because his breath has well and truly been taken away, and this moment feels so fragile. So easily broken by quick movements or thoughts that are just a little too loud, just a little too soon. “‘M not gonna stop you.”

Steve’s eyes snap back to his, and there’s something in there that not even the weed could ease away. “Yeah?”

Eddie nods, frowning a little, wondering what makes him so unsure.

“Cool,” Steve says, and it’s almost nonchalant and definitely charming in that way he always is. Makes Eddie laugh a little, his other hand coming up to wipe a strand hair out of his eyes. “So…” He trails off.

“Hmm?”

“Wanna stay here? Or go inside, or…”

And then it’s not arousal that overcomes him but worry. And guilt. And a bit of fear, because that’s not what this is for him. Not like this. Not when they’re high, not for the first time.

He swallows, schooling his face to cooperate and not give it all away right now, not give away how helplessly gone he is for that boy and how he would do anything Steve wants, how he would take anything he can get and try to make it be enough. But instead of choosing the easy thing and betraying himself, he moves his hand from Steve’s hair to his cheek, melting at the way Steve leans into it, moving his face to press a kiss to Eddie’s palm.

“Steve,” he says, and his voice is shaky again. And small. So, so small. “That’s not what this is for me. I don’t… I wanna kiss you forever. And more. Much more. But not… I don’t—“

“Not while we’re high? Inebriated?” He says the word with a chuckle, referencing the way Robin will always use big words when she’s hammered. There’s a gentle sort of understanding on his face after the chuckle, though, and Eddie melts a little again. “Wanna do it right, hmm? Wanna treat me right and make sure I won’t regret it, angel?”

Eddie whimpers at the sudden use of that nickname, because he’s not, but he does. He didn’t realise until Steve said it how scared he was — is — that Steve will regret this. The kiss. And anything that might follow.

Not trusting his words right now, he can only nod, wondering if his eyes are as blown as Steve’s are. If Steve thinks he’s pretty, too.

“God, you’re unreal,” Steve whispers, coming down again to press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead, brushing them down to the tip of his nose. He leans into those kisses, tips his chin up to chase it, but Steve pulls away again, his thumb tracing the pout he leaves behind on Eddie’s lips.

“You’re one to talk,” Eddie grumbles, watching the delight on Steve’s face and deciding that he’s addicted now. Fuck the weed, fuck everything else. Steve can get him just as high.

Along with that thought, reality works its tendrils into Eddie’s consciousness again, and he looks around the backyard around them — but there’s only him and Steve out here on the blanket, framed as they are by the fairy lights.

“Hang on, where are the others?”

Steve huffs, his face shifting into an expression of fond amusement and gentle annoyance. “Last time I checked, Robin and Argyle were raiding the fridge, Nancy was lying on the living room carpet, marvelling at how soft it is, and Jonathan was just kinda spaced out on the couch with a bowl of chips. Don’t think they’re gonna come out here again in the next half hour or so.”

“How convenient,” Eddie grins, wondering just how obvious the two of them had been all this time. Wondering, too, if it can really be that easy. If he can have this. If they can; after everything they went through.

“Hmm,” Steve hums, his body shifting so he’s half lying on top of Eddie now, positively vanishing any and all thoughts Eddie could have spared anyone else. He would worry about the hard-on he’s sporting, but it becomes obvious very quickly that Steve has the same predicament. It’s enticing, feeling him against his thigh like that, and Eddie has half a mind to do something about that, especially when Steve keeps shifting against him. “So. Do you wanna make out some more before we light the next baggie? It’s fine if not. We can just… I don’t know, cuddle or something.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, pulling on his hair a little bit to underline his deadpan. “What about I wanna kiss you forever was unclear?”

“Hey, I said that first,” Steve retorts, digging his fingers into Eddie’s sides, making Eddie squeal and squirm right into his arms. “I also kissed you first,” he continues, sounding so damn smug about it. Eddie’s never wanted to kiss him more. “So I’m winning.”

“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” Eddie murmurs, pulling Steve all the way on top of him, his hands finding his way to those magnificent thighs, so firm underneath his grip. “‘M feeling pretty lucky right now.”

“You think you’re so smooth,” Steve hums, dipping his head to hover just above his lips.

“Is it working?”

“Unfortunately.”

They’re both laughing when their lips meet again, but that doesn’t deter them from kissing and tasting and swallowing moans like they’ll find new purpose in each other. Like they’ve already found it.

Just like Steve’s hand finds his, weaving their fingers together and pressing him further into the grass. Eddie holds on tight, not ready to let him go anytime soon, and marvelling at how sensitive his hand has become.

There is no urgency in the way Steve slowly begins to move against him, grinding their crotches together in slow, sensual motion like waves of the ocean gently lapping at the shore. Eddie meets him right where they both need it most, not once breaking their kiss even when it becomes open-mouthed panting and moaning that the other is trying to chase and swallow and keep only for himself.

“You feel so good,” Steve rumbles, catching Eddie’s tongue between his teeth and pulling a high-pitched whimper from him. “So fucking good, Eddie.”

“Don’t stop, Stevie, fuck.” He’s panting, his legs tingling with want and need and a weightlessness he’s never known before. “I know I said— We can stop. We can stop, we can, but— fuck, I’m close.”

“Yeah?” Steve taunts, and oh, there’s purpose now in the the way he’s lifting his chest off Eddie, putting his weight behind the way he’s grinding into him. “You gonna come in your pants, baby? While the others are still inside? Means you’re gonna do this with me again later, right? Try again when we’re not high, hmm?”

“Yes,” Eddie rushes to say, working his fingers into Steve’s belt loops to keep him from stopping. “God, yes, I wanna—“

“I’ve got you,” Steve says, kissing the words right out of his brain, chasing his own pleasure, too. “God, you’re so pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, Eddie. Wanna come with me?”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie can only nod and moan around all the words he wants to say, all those cheesy fucking words that leave him all the more vulnerable for how true they are. The tingly feeling builds in his legs, climbing to his core, and he wonders for a split second if Steve can really make him come like this — worries that somehow it’s not enough and that he’ll ruin this, that he’ll fuck it up and make it awkward between them because he doesn’t actually have any idea how his body works when someone else is taking the reins.

But then Steve kisses him like that again, sucking his tongue into his mouth, holding his hand and groaning when Eddie moves in just the right way, and the sizzling pleasure finally finds its release.

Eddie comes with a broken groan that Steve swallows greedily, panting into his mouth as, shortly after, his hips begin to stutter in their movements and he follows Eddie off the brink of this beautiful madness. Steve was always beautiful, there’s no question about that. But like this, face slack, kiss-swollen and spit-slick lips open around a silent moan as he grinds his trapped cock against Eddie’s, wrecked with aftershocks as his orgasm washes over him? He’s a fucking revelation that makes Eddie’s eyes roll into the back of his skull, over sensitive as he is and yet so helpless against Steve’s aborted little motions.

Getting high on weed doesn’t compare to getting high on Steve. It’s a high Eddie wants to chase forever, and he starts by wrapping his arms around Steve and pulling him down onto his chest again, just to hold him. Steve purrs as Eddie’s hand finds its way into his hair, combing it away from the sweaty skin it sticks to. He cages him with his legs, too, tingly as they remain on either side of Steve’s body.

It’s stupid, maybe, and a bit much, but he wants to keep Steve like this for a little longer. Putty in his hands, his weight on top of him grounding him after that high, and allowing them both to come down slowly.

“Man,” Steve says after a while, just letting that word hang in the air as he regains conscious thought.

Eddie hums, prompting him to say what’s on his mind even though he’s scared he won’t like what he’s about to hear. Still, it’s only fair to let Steve say what he wants.

“I like you so much.”

Eddie holds his breath as he waits for the but. For the regret. But none follows. That’s really all Steve’s saying; and soon Eddie can’t fight the wave of giddiness that overcomes him.

He hugs Steve a little tighter, not entirely ready yet to look him in the eyes and face this new reality they’ve kind of just created, needing to be a little scared for just a bit longer. But still he laughs, because scared is no longer all he’s feeling. There’s so much more now. So much more.

“I like you so much right back.”

Now it’s Steve who hums, shifting to lift his head and look at Eddie, but Eddie closes his eyes before Steve can catch them.

“Said it first again.” A hand lands on his cheek again, just above the ugly scars that Steve doesn’t seem afraid to touch. “So I win.”

And Eddie is looking now. Dares. If only to drive his point home when he says, “God, you’re so fucking lame.”

“Is it working?” Steve grins, and Eddie never stood a fucking chance.

“Unfortunately.”

@izzy2210 here you go darling hehehe 🤍

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #the spicy six get high together #spicy six #yearning hours #yearning hours but make it smut #steddie smut #i like this one so much #high yearning makeout fic #this takes so many turns and i blame the flu for it actually #tone consistency?? don't know her #dio words

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andvys · 1 month

Text

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter nine ⭐︎ And I'll show you if you let me, girl

Warnings: 18+, minors don't interact. smut, unprotected sex, mentions of jealousy, mentions of weed and alcohol, a sliver of angst. this is written from Steve’s pov only!

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: While Steve yearns for more with you, you seem to feel differently...

Word count: 10k+

Author's note: @hellfire--cult we're getting closer to all the good stufffff, thanks for putting this idea in my head and helping me with this hehe

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter

♡

The warmth of the sun is a welcoming feeling on Steve’s face as he wakes from his slumber. The sheets that are covering him, feeling soft on his bare body. The pillow beneath his head holds a scent that makes it smell intoxicating. He feels as though he had been sleeping on a cloud, the bed feeling more comfortable than his own.

He slowly opens his eyes, only to shut them again when the brightness shines into them. A groan falls from his lips as he throws his hand in front of his face.

The smell of clean sheets, vanilla and something flowery fills his senses, making something in his chest flutter.

The weight of something holding down his right arm, wakes him a little more and he opens his eyes again, a little more careful this time as he holds his hand up to protect his eyes from the sun.

Pictures of last night start flashing in his mind when his eyes find you, cheek squished against the pillow, hair in front of your face, eyes closed and a relaxed look in your features as you’re still sleeping peacefully.

He looks away from you when he notices your hand around his arm, fingers wrapped around it as you hold on tightly, even in your sleep. His lip twitches as he stares at it, at your soft hand, at the size of it and how much smaller it is compared to his.

He watches you for a moment, eyes tracing the spots that aren’t hidden by the covers. His fingers itch as he stares at your soft skin. He notices the scar on your shoulder, the one that a bat left, the one that you ripped off of him, saving him from a wound it would have left on his abdomen if you hadn’t saved him – you took the scar that was meant for him.

Your lashes flutter a little, a sigh falls from your lips before you snuggle deeper into the pillows, still sound asleep. He can’t help but hold his hand out to move some of the hair out of your face, his fingertips grazing your nose ever so slightly, you don’t even budge. He wonders if you are always such a deep sleeper or if you’re just worn out from the night before.

A smirk tugs at his lips as his thoughts reminded him of the desperation in your eyes, the needy moans that fell from your lips when he devoured you, when he fucked you, when he touched you in a way he never thought he would.

He can’t help but react to those memories, feeling something inside of him burning with need and a deep longing to repeat the previous night with you.

Who would have thought that Steve Harrington would ever end up in your bed?

What would his 17 year old self think of him now?

While his teen self was very well aware of your beauty, he never was good at accepting his attraction towards you, especially when you were so mean to him – now it only turns him on.

Steve turns on his side, about to sink deeper into your comfortable, warm bed when his eyes fall on the alarm clock on your nightstand. It’s almost 10am. Which isn’t bad… if he didn’t have to be at work an hour ago already.

He shoots up with wide eyes, cursing. He turns back to you in panic, placing his hand on yours, “Blondie,” he whispers, trying to shake you awake, “hey… psst!”

All that you do is turn around in your sleep, holding onto the sheets as you stay deeply asleep.

He rolls his eyes, sighing as he opens his mouth again, he looks down and suddenly, every word gets stuck in his throat when he eyes the light pink sheets and the little bows on them.

He furrows his brows and lifts his head, looking around the room that he realizes he had never been in before until last night, but he was too busy with you to focus on his surroundings or the girly room.

He doesn’t know what he imagined your room to be like, but he certainly never imagined this. Light colors and lots and lots of girly decorations, aside from the band posters and the horror movie collection by the TV stand in the corner.

The shelf across the room is littered with books and plants, tiny bottles of nail polish and perfumes. There’s pillows and a blanket on your window nook, along with a plushie that makes him smirk, the little bunny being something new he can tease you about.

He scratches the back of his neck as he looks to his left, the nightstand on his side is littered with fashion magazines, candles and a few lip balms that are lying in a tiny bowl – strawberry and cherry flavored ones.

The poster behind your closet door catches his eye next, he can’t help but snort, “Jon Bon Jovi,” he murmurs as he stares at the long haired singer wearing a leather vest.

Steve looks nothing like him.

He doesn’t have the same hair nor the style.

Is that your type of man?

Long hair and leather vests? – Eddie surely isn’t your type, and Billy was only a friend, and yet… there was something more between you and him.

His eyes fall back on the TV stand and the tapes, reminding him that he should be worrying about other things, right now.

He throws the blanket off himself, his feet hit the floor and he rushes towards the clothes he discarded last night. He hastily puts his boxers and his jeans on, clinking with the belt as he struggles to fasten it in a rush. He throws on his shirt before he bends down to put his Nike’s on, not even trying to be quiet as he jumps around in a hurry, hoping that you will wake up before he leaves, not wanting to just leave without saying goodbye.

He rushes into your bathroom, not even bothering to look at his reflection. He quickly washes his face before he looks around in search for mouthwash, you surely won’t mind. His brows rise up when he finds the bottle behind all the lotions.

He walks back into your room after freshening up, halting in front of your bed. He feels surprised that you still haven’t woken from all the noises he made.

You are lying on your stomach now, your bare back exposed to him as the sheets are low on your hips.

He clenches his jaw, shutting his eyes for a moment, hating that he has to leave when all he wants to do is to get back under the sheets with you.

What will you think when you wake up to an empty bed?

Will you get angry with him for just rushing out that door without saying goodbye?

Are you even gonna care?

You slapped his hand away when he tried to touch you last night, before you fell asleep. You probably won’t care about him leaving.

He can’t wake you, he doesn’t want to disrupt your sleep and he can’t wait any longer, knowing that he will get in trouble with Keith if he shows up late, especially on a Sunday.

And it’s not only Keith he has to worry about, it’s also Robin, who will throw one question after the other at him.

He has no choice but to go, he steps out into the hallway and turns back to take another look at you, hesitating as he does so.

He will explain and apologize later, that is if you even care.

With a sigh, he tears his eyes away from you and he leaves, rushing out of the house and into his car.

Robin is already behind the counter when he steps inside Family Video, her nose in a magazine as she taps her nails against the wood, an impatient, annoyed look in her features when she reveals her face to him after dropping the magazine on the counter. She pushes the sleeve of her flannel up, taking a look at the watch around her wrist.

Steve rolls his eyes at her, throwing on the vest as he rushes in.

“You’re almost an hour late, dude.”

“I know, I know,” Steve sighs, moving past her and into the backroom to clock in before he comes back to her.

She is still standing in the same spot, arms crossed over her chest as she eyes him up and down, snorting at the mess on his head. It is a rare sight to see, he knows that.

He rolls his eyes again, holding a finger up at her as he shakes his head, “don’t say anything.”

He tried to tame the mess on his head when he was in his car, but the only thing that will fix the tousled hair is a shower.

“I see the date with Heidi was worth it,” she teases him, a smirk tugging at her lips the longer she stares at the look in his eyes, they are practically glowing.

Steve looks into a box that has been placed on the counter, he opens it to find new tapes inside, he eyes the horror movies.

“Did you have fun?”

Yeah, just not with Heidi.

He never had that much fun with her, he never had that much fun with anyone.

“Mhmm.”

Robin squints her eyes at him, eying the way his cheeks flush a little, the way the blush deepens as she steps closer and stares at him.

Steve never blushed because of Heidi, he also never came late to work after a night with her.

“Did you stay the night?” She asks, knowing that he never stayed with any of his girls before.

He purses his lips, and looks away from the tapes and back at her, he sees the skeptical look on her face and it makes him nervous. She knows everything about him, she knows he never stays.

He runs his fingers through his hair, leaning against the counter as he tries to appear calm.

“Yeah, I was really tired after we uh… you know,” he explains, shrugging a little.

“Hmm,” she nods, furrowing her brows.

He takes a step back, taking one of the tapes out of the box, “did you uh… did you guys have a fun time, last night?”

“Yeah,” she nods as she looks down at her rings, twisting them, “Eddie was pretty annoyed with you though.”

“Was he?” Steve frowns.

“Yeah, said he couldn’t believe that you’d ditch your friends to get your dick wet.”

He snorts, “like he wouldn’t do that.”

“He wouldn’t,” she shrugs, “oh and uh, your Blondie seemed pretty upset too, she left early.”

Steve raises his brows, “oh?”

Steve had wondered how you reacted to his date with Heidi but given your attitude towards him when he came over tells him that you must have been really upset about it – but he didn’t know that, last night. He just thought that you were having a bad day, he didn’t really connect the dots until now.

Were you jealous?

Were you jealous that some other girl was getting the attention that he was giving you in the past few weeks?

“Yeah, I don’t think it had anything to do with you though.”

It had everything to do with him, he knows it, he can feel it. He felt it last night, how you melted into him, how your anger began to dissolve the moment he told you that it was only you in his mind.

But you don’t like him, he’s sure of it. You don’t like him. You just want to keep this game up, and have him all to yourself.

“I’m sorry for bailing on you,” he sighs, trying to steer the topic away from you before he accidentally spills everything to her.

“Apologize to Eddie or Blondie – actually maybe not to her, you’d probably just humiliate yourself in front of her the way you always do.”

He snorts, nodding at her, “right.”

“You could invite us all for pizza though, make it up to us, dude.”

At the mention of food, Steve’s stomach growls a little. He hasn’t eaten since his afternoon snack yesterday. He was supposed to eat dinner at Enzo’s, but he didn’t even get past the drinks with Heidi.

“I could eat some pizza,” he murmurs, “I’ll call Eddie on my lunch break. You’re free tonight, right?”

Robin brushes past him and walks around the counter, taking the box that he just opened, “yeah but Eddie isn’t, he’s got a date tonight,” she wiggles her brows, a smile tugging at her lips, “a real date, you know? Not a sex date.”

Steve places his hand on his hip, sighing as he rolls his eyes at his best friend.

“I go on real dates!”

Robin’s blue eyes flicker with amusement, “yeah right, Dingus,” she snorts.

She steps away with the box in her hands, “I’m stacking these up, you can just… chill here and wait for another potential date to walk through the door. Oh and by the way, Nancy and Jonathan are busy tonight as well, but you can call up Argyle, I’ll call Vickie and your arch nemesis.”

If only Robin knew that he was in his ‘arch nemesis’s’ bed last night, tangled in the sheets after your bare skin touched his and your lips met more times than he can now count, your fingers dug into his back, scratching the skin and blessing him with a pleasant kind of pain, he feels the marks that you have left on him, burning beneath his shirt and he can’t help but crave more of it, more of you.

As everything begins to really sink in, he can’t even fight the smile off his face any longer.

Weeks of frustration, of sexual tension and lust have brought him to a moment you both have been craving for a while now and normally the high should now be over, last night should have been enough but… it could never be enough, this has only just begun.

And he really hopes that you feel the same.

All day, he walks around with nothing but happiness in his features, a smile he can’t seem to hide, not even when Robin confronts him about it, teasing him about something she knows nothing about.

He almost feels bad for lying to her but he can’t help but want to enjoy this moment and keep it all to himself. It’s only his.

His excitement only grows when Robin tells him that you will come over later.

After work, Steve drops by the store to get some snacks and drinks before he makes his way home. He throws the keys on the counter and walks into the kitchen, putting the grocery bag on the table, he takes out the beers and soda’s and places them into the fridge before he makes his way upstairs and into the bathroom, finally taking his long awaited shower.

He puts on a pair of gray sweatpants and a black shirt, taking his time styling his hair while his mind is still all over the place. He puts on his favorite cologne, hoping that it will drive you crazy just the way your perfume drives him crazy.

It’s almost 7pm by the time Steve makes his way back downstairs, knowing that everyone will arrive soon, he picks up the phone to order the pizzas.

Excitement flutters in his stomach and he can’t even find it in himself to sit still.

He opens a window in the living room to let some fresh air in, he turns on the music and goes back into the kitchen to fill up bowls with chips and other snacks that he bought, he carries them over into the living room, when the doorbell rings two times and then another a few seconds later. Steve doesn’t even bother to go and open the door, knowing that it’s Robin.

“Hey Dingus!” She shouts through the house the moment she opens the door.

“Hi Steve!” Vickie greets him more quietly and a little more kindly.

He turns around the moment the two girls step inside the room, with more snacks and beer in their hands.

“Hey guys,” he smiles.

Robin throws the bags of candy on the coffee table before she reaches for the beers in Vickie’s hands, “I’m gonna put these into the fridge for now. Did you order the pizza already?”

“Yes I did, pepperoni for you,” he points at Vickie who gives him a thumbs up as she sits down on the couch, “and extra cheese for you, Robs.”

Robin tilts her head, a grin appearing on her face as she turns to her best friend, “aw, you memorized our orders, Steve.”

He rolls his eyes at her teasing.

“Aren’t you the cutest?” She chuckles, winking at him before she walks out of the room.

He shakes his head, shooting a playful glare at Vickie when she continues to laugh at Robin's teasing.

The doorbell rings again and Steve almost sprints towards the door, knowing that this must be you now.

Vickie’s face flashes with amusement when he runs his fingers through his hair a few times before he leaves the living room. He takes a few deep breaths as he inches closer to the front door. He wraps his hand around the handle and opens the door, biting back the smirk that already threatens to break free.

“Hey man!” Argyle grins at him as he stands next to you, “look who I found on the side of the road,” he jokes, snorting as he looks down at you.

Steve licks his lips as his eyes find yours, his cheeks begin to hurt when he struggles to hide the smirk.

“Hey guys.”

“You said that like I’m some stray cat,” you snort as you look away from Steve, looking up at Argyle instead, giving Steve the perfect opportunity to take you in.

A denim jacket is thrown over your shoulders, a simple white shirt underneath it, paired with a short pink skirt, the color almost matching the one on your glossy lips – the ones he had been thinking about all day. And then he looks at your neck, feeling disappointed that there is only a faint outline of the hickey he left the night before. You covered it with makeup, lots of it.

“You are not a stray, but you are a cat, girl,” Argyle says to you as he steps inside, patting Steve on the shoulder, “always got her claws out, right man?”

Steve chuckles in amusement, nodding in agreement.

Argyle walks away from the two of you, greeting Robin and Vickie joyfully as he walks into the living room.

Steve places his forearm on the door, looking you up and down with a smirk on his face. He feels warmth in his stomach, one that makes him crave you more and more.

“Hey Blondie,” he murmurs.

You eye him up and down just the way he did to you, and it does everything to set his insides on fire, even more.

You look up at him through your lashes as a suggestive look flashes in your eyes before you innocently tear your gaze away, your shoulder brushing his when you finally walk through the door.

The smell of your perfume invading his space so pleasantly.

“Hey Lego Head.”

Lego Head.

It almost sounds funny to hear you call him that after the night you spent with each other.

He closes the door without tearing his eyes away from you and reaches for your hand before you can walk away from him.

He doesn’t like the way you look down at his hand, the way your brows pull together, the way confusion flashes in your eyes before you look up at him with a look that gives him absolutely nothing.

Suddenly, as though something had washed over your face, taking every bit of the emotions that were just behind your eyes, you look at him like you always did – before last night, before you both began playing your little game, before all the teasing.

“Yes?”

Steve feels a little taken aback by the sound in your voice, by the sudden change but he tries to keep his cool.

“Did you sleep well?” He smirks.

He doesn’t expect you to roll your eyes at him, removing your hand from his and walking away without a word, leaving him standing in the hallway, feeling more confused than ever, making his chest sting with rejection.

The look you gave him before you stepped inside, certainly didn’t match whatever just happened.

He shakes his head, sighing.

Is that another part of the game?

Or are you just trying to act like normal so no one will notice anything?

It turns out that there is something else.

After he follows you into the living room, he quickly realizes that you aren’t playing any games, that you aren’t acting ‘normal’ either.

Your kindness is there, just not for him, which normally wouldn’t hurt as much if your ‘friendship’ hadn’t evolved into something better in the past few weeks.

You talk to Argyle, Robin and Vickie, and you talk to him when you have to, but all that you give to him are glances filled with nothing but frustration and forced smiles, making his skin crawl with annoyance.

He tries to act normal, he tries to not give anything away but it’s really hard when his eyes keep moving back to yours every few seconds or so, growing more and more irritated with you and your little ignorant act.

He tries to approach you, even as more time passes, he keeps trying to throw jabs at you, talk to you, make jokes but you only give him the smallest reactions while your friends get the better end of the stick.

You laugh at Argyle’s jokes, you laugh at Robin when a pepperoni slides off her pizza and falls into her lap, you act normal with your friends but not with him – in fact, you act like nothing happened and it makes him angry.

There goes his hope for more.

The fire that you lit inside of him, quickly dissolves, making it all feel unpleasant now and he suddenly can’t wait for this night to be over.

How can you sit there and act like you didn’t spend a passionate night with him?

Like you didn’t moan his name and begged for more, like you didn’t kiss him as though it was your new form of breathing, like you hadn’t left behind marks on his skin and on the inside of his chest.

He stares at you, at the way you sit on your knees, skirt riding up as you lean closer to the coffee table to reach for your drink, you flip your hair over your shoulder and take a sip, moving to face him when you notice his staring.

Steve doesn’t even bother to hide that he was looking at you.

“How was your date last night, man?” Argyle asks as he rolls a joint for Vickie. “What was the chick’s name, Helga?”

Robin bursts into laughter, being the last one to still munch on the pizza, “Helga!”

Vickie can’t help but also giggle, shaking her head.

“Her name’s Heidi,” Steve corrects Argyle, still keeping an eye on you, and boy is he happy that he didn’t look away, he wouldn’t have noticed the quick eye roll at the mention of Heidi, the girl seemingly causing you more annoyance than the smirk that starts pulling at his lips again.

“Heidi, Helga, just one and the same,” Argyle waves his head, “both weirdass names.”

“Yeah, I agree,” you mumble with a sour look on your face.

Oh.

Is that jealousy Steve sees?

“So was it like a date date, or a you know a date to get all wet and dirty afterwards.”

Robin scrunches her face up in disgust, groaning, “don’t make me lose my appetite.”

“Definitely the second.”

Steve can see the way you clench your jaw, the way you poke your tongue into your cheek as you look down at your drink.

“I’m still confused,” Robin mumbles.

“What about?” Steve asks, not tearing his eyes away from you.

“I thought Heidi didn’t know how to fuck?”

At that, your eyes widen a little.

“...Seems she learned.”

“Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know how to fuck.” You murmur, narrowing your eyes at him.

Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise, a laugh tumbling from his lips before he can even stop it.

You are looking at him so seriously and assured that it makes him want to scoff.

Are you going to pretend that he didn’t make you cum twice last night? That you didn’t cry from pleasure? That you didn’t whine and beg?

He almost wants to expose this little secret to your friends but he holds back, despite the irritation that continues to grow inside of him.

Argyle laughs at your comment.

“Poor Heidi.”

To the others it sounds like you’re actually pitying her but he can hear the mocking tone in your voice.

You’re giving him that glare, the one that hides the challenging spark behind it.

Oh, how he wants to bend you over that table and remind you of how pathetic and cockdrunk you looked beneath him the night before.

“Oh, trust me, honey. She had a really good time last night.”

He sees the way your eye twitches, the way your lips turn downwards for a split second before you mask the anger with something else. You tilt your head to the side, “did she?” You ask, as though you didn’t pass out after he made you come undone.

He always knew that you were a brat, he just didn’t think that you were that much of a brat.

“Can we please change the topic or I’m gonna get sick!” Robin throws her arms up, “I really couldn’t care less about Steve’s boring straight sex life!”

“Would you rather talk about this?” Argyle holds the joint up, grinning at her, “the weed was specially delivered from California.”

Robin snorts, “yeah, by you.”

“Yeah, told you, specially delivered.”

“Well, light it up, I’m ready to try the special weed,” Vickie says, waiting impatiently.

None of your friends notice the way you and Steve are still holding eye contact, the way you are glaring at one another, practically challenging each other to a stare down, yet like you are ready to tear each other’s clothes off.

You are the first to break, you look away and push yourself up from the floor, smoothing down your skirt before you make your way out of the room, you pass by him, not sparing him a single glance.

Steve’s eyes follow you curiously, watching you walk away and down the hallway, into the bathroom.

Argyle is making the girls laugh, distracting them well enough for Steve to use the opportunity to follow you, just moments later. He takes one more look at his friends before he steps out of the living room and into the hallway. The noises of laughter and music now slowly get lost in the distance as he inches closer to the bathroom.

He leans against the wall, opposite of the door that he heard shutting after you walked in. He crosses his arms over his chest, feeling determined to find out what your problem is.

He has his suspicions, but he isn’t very sure about them.

Maybe this is just the way that you are, you get what you want, you use it once and then you move on, not bothering to stick with it.

Maybe you get bored.

Maybe you aren’t as deeply into this as he is.

Or maybe he made a mistake this morning, after all.

The door opens and you step out of the bathroom, only to halt in your tracks when you notice him, you stare at him for a moment before you roll your eyes at him again.

Steve’s arms drop to his sides, he opens his mouth to say something to you, when you go to walk away. But he moves forward, placing himself in front of you, he blocks your way and places his hand on your arm.

“Wait, please.”

The look you give him, should send shivers down his spine, but instead it makes him want you just more because despite all of this, he can only think about what happened the night before, how pretty you looked under him, how you moaned for him and begged for more, how you held on to him this morning. He knows you still want him – it’s not his cockiness that is telling him that, it’s the look in your eyes, the one behind all the anger that he’s getting more and more suspicious about.

“What?” You mumble.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you shrug, pursing your lips.

His desperation starts growing yet again, the want inside of him begging him to just push you up against this wall and kiss you again just the way he did before the sun rose.

The little crease between your eyebrows is so prominent right now, showing off your irritation.

“Come on, don’t do this again, Blondie,” he sighs, his hand leaves your arm and he can’t believe that he’s already missing the feeling of his skin on yours. “Just tell me what's wrong.”

You stare up at him, your eyes moving from his lips to his nose and then back to his eyes. You seem to hesitate, you seem to think.

But then, you do what you always do.

“As if you don’t fucking know.”

You run away.

You leave him hanging.

And maybe if you hadn’t said these words to him, he would’ve let it go, he would’ve felt defeated, knowing that he should be moving on but this, the resentful look you just gave him, one that shows just how upset you are only begins to confirm all his suspicions.

He will not let this go, he will not let you go, not so easily, at least. Not even when you keep acting that way towards him when he returns to the living room.

You keep giving him dirty looks whenever you catch him staring, you keep scoffing and rolling your eyes at him, not knowing that it only spurs him on – just the way it did when you were both fifteen, stuck in fourth period together.

He keeps staring, and you keep getting more frustrated – it’s so visible in your features, you can’t even hide it.

It seems that the only thing you’re good at hiding is pain and sadness, these are the only things he could never notice on you, not until you decided to show him a glimpse of it, at least.

Steve can’t help but count down the minutes until Argyle, Robin and Vickie decide to leave, so he can finally have a moment with you. And the moment he gets what he wants, he almost cheers.

“I think I might pass out if I don’t leave in the next five minutes,” Argyle mumbles as he sits up.

“Yeah,” Robin giggles, “me too, and you do not wanna sleep on this couch, trust me, man.”

Argyle furrows his brows, staring down at Steve’s couch, “what’s wrong with it? It’s comfy.”

“I thought so too until I woke up with a stiff neck that one time I passed out during movie night.”

Steve snorts, “told you, you could’ve slept in the guest room.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Robin rolls her eyes, getting up from the couch.

“Do you want me to drop you ladies off?” Argyle asks, pointing between Vickie and Robin, “don’t wanna let any of you drive home high.”

“Yeah, that would be nice!” Vickie slurs a little, giggling when Robin takes her hand and pulls her up.

Steve is looking at you, watching the way you reach for your jacket as you stand up as well.

Do you really think that he will let you leave after the way you behaved?

After you didn’t even talk about what happened?

“Blondie,” he says sternly. “Don’t you wanna help me clean this mess up?” He points to the empty bowls and plates.

You squint your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest, “why, can’t handle it yourself?”

Robin chuckles as she looks between you both.

“I picked her up, dude. I’m not gonna let her walk home alone at night, especially in freaking Hawkins!” Argyle mumbles.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll drive her home,” Steve shrugs, “I don’t mind.”

He feels satisfied when you glare at him, huffing in anger.

Robin shakes her head knowing that you and Steve take this thing between you both very seriously, the rude teasing, the bickering, the little fights – she doesn’t know just how far you both take these things now.

“I helped you last time, it’s only fair if you help me now, right?” He smirks at you, satisfied with the angry look in your eyes.

“Mhmm.”

“Alright then,” Argyle mumbles, passing by you, he ruffles your hair, “I’ll see you around, grumpy.”

“Bye,” Robin teases you with a sing-song voice, wiggling her brows at you, “have fun playing maid with Dingus.”

“Thanks, Robin,” you say sarcastically.

Vickie gives you a softer smile and a hug before the three leave the room and walk out of the house, leaving Steve alone with you – something that he had been waiting for, all night.

He wants to confront you the moment the front door shuts, but he decides to wait, wanting to find out what you will do now that everyone is gone and it’s only the two of you again.

He watches you closely, his eyes follow every twitch in your features, every flicker in your eyes as different emotions take over them. Your lips part, and he thinks you’re going to say something finally, but instead, you only sigh before you look away from him and get up. You start to gather the plates.

With a sigh, Steve gets up and makes his way over to you, gently grabbing your wrist.

“Did you really think I made you stay to wash the dishes, Blondie?”

You furrow your brows, putting the plates back down, you lift your head to look at him.

“Oh, did you expect something else, Harrington?”

“Yeah,” he nods, still holding your wrist, “you telling me why you’re acting like nothing fucking happened yesterday.”

The irritation in your eyes isn’t hard to miss, neither is the anger in them.

“Nothing. Happened.”

He scoffs at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

Never has he ever felt so agitated by someone else. Never has he ever felt this desperate.

“Right! Yeah, you screaming my name didn’t happen, you cumming twice with me didn’t happen, us almost breaking the bed didn’t happen. Sure.”

You grow flustered at the reminders and your lips part as you seemingly try to find your words.

And Steve waits, he waits for you to say something, to explain why you had been acting that way towards him, but the longer you look at him, the more you start to pull away and with one swift movement, you pull your wrist out of his hold, you reach for the jacket that you had dropped again and you leave the room with a scoff.

Steve rolls his eyes at you, swallowing down the anger as he follows you out into the hallway, rushing after you.

“I’m not up for this shit, Lego head,” you mumble as you stomp towards the front door, grabbing the handle and ripping the door open, “your message was clear as day this morning.”

The moment those words leave your lips, you confirm every one of his suspicions. That is why you had been so angry, that is why you had been acting like a brat the whole damn night.

You’re one step out of his house when he catches up to you, he reaches out for your hand, grabbing it tightly as he pulls you back into his house and turns you back around. He shuts the door and locks it before he lifts his hand to cup the back of your head so he won’t hurt you when he slams you against it.

Your eyes widen in surprise as your lips part. Before you can throw any more words at him, he steps closer to you, using his other hand to cage you against the door.

The feeling of your body now back against his, makes his skin crawl in anticipation, his body aching in need.

“Oh, waking up without me struck a nerve huh?”

You knit your brows together as you huff angrily, lips puckering as you’re about to throw an insult at him… probably.

But all he can think about is kissing you, and showing you just how much he wants you again.

“Made it clear it was a one time thing so I don’t know what–”

He brings his hand forward, letting go of your head so he can cup your cheek, before you can even finish your sentence or react to his touch, he leans forward and smashes his lips against yours, finally kissing you with his eyes closed and his body now pressed against yours.

You gasp, almost squealing against his lips, you drop your jacket to the ground, growing tense for a whole two seconds before you melt into his touch and kiss him back.

Steve’s thumb grazes your jawline as he tilts your head up and he presses further into you, moving his lips a little faster against yours.

Unlike your first kiss, last night, this one is a little slower yet just as deep, if not even stronger. He keeps holding your cheek, liking the feeling of your soft skin beneath his palm.

He lifts his left hand, removing it from the door behind you and placing it on your other cheek, his fingers getting lost in your hair as he continues to kiss you, only pulling away to catch his breath.

His eyes open for a moment to see you chasing after his lips. He almost wants to smile smugly but he doesn’t want to ruin this by teasing you, instead, he goes straight back in, kissing you again rougher and harder this time.

His knees nearly buckle when you moan softly and bring your hands up to his biceps, while his right hand slowly travels down your body, passing your chest and your stomach – he wonders if yours flutters just like his does.

He nudges his nose against yours, parting your lips with his tongue and you invite him in so eagerly, instantly moving your tongue against his. Your hand slowly moves to his neck, nails grazing his skin, making him moan into the kiss.

Steve feels something he had never felt during kisses with any other girls, but he can’t pinpoint what it is. Surely it must be lust and passion, nothing more, nothing less. He doesn’t like you, he definitely doesn’t, but you’re not just a random girl. It’s you, Blondie. The girl he always thought he absolutely despised, and that despise turned into desire. But was the desire never really there? Was he sure of that?

Just like now, he wants more, he wants you, all of you.

But he doesn’t know how far you are willing to take things today.

He moves his hand down to your bare thigh, not moving it under your skin just yet. He taps it twice, waiting for the green light, waiting for you to make the move.

You don’t stop kissing him, even as you part your legs for him, you keep going, you keep pulling him closer and closer, until he is flush against you.

He slips his hand under your skirt, his fingers trace your inner thighs first, making you whine impatiently, practically begging him to touch you as you buck your hips up against him. He bites your lip gently as he presses his fingers against your pussy, moaning when he feels just how soaked your panties are already. He pushes them aside and slips his fingers through your wet folds, bringing his digits up to your clit.

His dick twitches at the sound of your moan, and he is beginning to get impatient.

He could just slip inside of you with ease, you’re wet enough to take him but he still wants to stretch you open with his fingers first.

You break the kiss the moment he pushes two of his fingers in, a moan falling as you stop moving your lips against his. You part your legs further for him as you throw your head back against the door, closing your eyes and knitting your brows together.

Steve can’t help but stare at your face, watching the way you get lost in the feeling of pleasure as he begins to fuck you with his fingers, he doesn’t even tease you the way he wanted to all day, he needs to make you feel good, to show you how much he wanted this.

His mouth waters at the sound of the squelching noises his fingers cause as he drags them in and out of you, his dick straining against his pants, his stomach fluttering.

He leans closer to you, unable to hold himself back from kissing your puffy lips, pecking them a few times as he swallows your moans.

“S-Steve,” you whimper his name again, blessing him with a sound he’s been dreaming about all day.

He kisses you again, though while his lips move smoothly against yours, you keep breaking the kiss to murmur his name over and over again.

You clench around his fingers, and when he presses his thumb against your clit, you whimper loudly, tightening even more around his fingers. You’re close, he can feel it, but he can’t wait any longer. He pulls them out of you again, almost chuckling at the needy whine you let out but he keeps kissing you.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, taking his pants and boxers off just enough to free himself, he wraps his hand around his length, pumping a few times as he smashes his lips against yours. Steve moans in contentment when you wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing him as you pull him closer, clearly feeling just as impatient as he does.

“Like hell that was a one time thing,” he mumbles against your lips as he grabs your waist with both hands and picks you up without a struggle.

You gasp in surprise, eyes widening for a moment. You move your hands to his shoulder and hold onto him tightly as you wrap your legs around his waist.

Steve presses you against the door as he moves his arm down, hooking it underneath the back of your knee while his other hand travels back to your core. He looks into your eyes as he pushes your panties further to the side.

“You want me, right?” He asks as though the desperation in your eyes wouldn’t be good enough of an answer.

“Yes.” You nearly whimper in need.

He lines himself up with your entrance, “good, because I want you too, Blondie,” he whispers before he slams his lips back against yours and thrusts inside of you, causing you both to moan in pleasure.

He splits you open, completely burying himself inside of your tightness, your warm wet walls gripping him tightly and he stills, giving you a moment to adjust to his size.

He scrunches his brows together as his dick aches for more.

This feels so good, this feels even better than last night because now, he can feel you, nothing separates him from the feeling of your pussy around him.

You are breathing heavily against him, clenching around him already and he can’t help but growl at that, you’re tight enough as it is, and you’re making this even harder for him.

“P-Please,” you break the kiss to beg, trying to pull him even closer even though his chest is completely pressed against yours already.

And the moment you start begging with your eyes, he can’t hold back and stay still any longer.

He grabs your hip and he places his forehead against yours, keeping his lips on yours as he starts fucking you. Last night he fucked you roughly, but tonight… he fucks you like an animal. His fingers dig into your side, holding onto you tightly as he starts pounding you against the door, loud moans start falling from his lips, joined by your whimpers, they echo through the hallway.

He can see the glassiness in your eyes before you shut them tightly, gasping as he picks up the pace further, and he watches you, he watches closely as you get so deeply lost in the pleasure while your chest moves up and down rapidly, your lips quiver as the prettiest sounds keep falling from them.

He wants to close his eyes and enjoy this moment of bliss but he can’t look away from you, he can’t believe that he’s getting you like this for a second time, he can’t believe that you’re gasping and whimpering for him, because of him. That someone like you turns into a drooling, needy mess for him and his cock.

You tilt your head to the side exposing your neck to him.

He instantly leans in, latching his lips onto your skin, tearing another gasp out of you.

“Steve!”

He feels your hands on the back of his neck now, fingers getting lost in his hair, you tug at his strands, only a little but enough to make his hips falter for a second, enough to tear a whimper out of him.

“Don’t stop, Stevie,” you whisper as you hold onto him tightly, your feet digging into his ass as he continues to ram in and out of you, roughly.

He bites down harder on your neck, sucking on your delicate skin as his dick throbs inside of you.

“Been thinking about you all day,” he confesses as he continues to cover your neck in marks, leaving reminders of himself on your body.

Your walls flutter around his dick and it only spurs him on even more.

He pulls back so he can see you again, he grabs your cheeks with one hand, turning you to face him again. You are biting your lower lip and you open your eyes to meet his, your pupils are blown, the black in them almost taking over completely, you are looking at him with such pleading and sinful eyes.

He moves his thumb towards your mouth, pulling your bottom lip out of the grasp your teeth just had on it and he leans in to press his lips back to yours, “you’re so tight and wet around me,” he murmurs against them, “can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

He can feel that you’re growing weaker, that you can barely keep your legs wrapped around him now, you’re completely wrecked already but Steve isn’t done yet, despite feeling so close to his own high, he can’t help but want to savor this moment for as long as he can.

When he kisses you again, he swallows every one of your moans and whimpers when he changes his pace from fast and rough to slow but harsh and deep, deep enough for you to feel him in your stomach, he’s sure of it, and by the way you clench around him so tightly that you nearly make him cum sooner than he’d like to, you confirm it.

You’re wearing too much clothing for his liking but he still grabs at anything he can reach, your boobs, your neck, your arms and your legs before his hand gropes your ass and he digs his fingers into it so tightly, he’s sure to leave a mark.

Your tongues meet in a feverish kiss, your noses bump into each other, you both grow breathless and yet you can’t stop tasting each other.

Steve’s nerves are on fire, and he’s beginning to lose composure as his hips begin to stutter, he can only hold back for so long now. He quickly moves your skirt up further and presses his fingers against your clit, rubbing it in fast circles.

The squeal you bless him with sending flutters through his chest and stomach, pride swelling inside of him when you come undone for him again. Your body grows tense for a moment, your walls and contract around him before you fall limply against him, breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you still hold onto him, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

His moans now grow louder, even more so when your lips graze his ear and you whisper “cum for me, Steve.”

All it takes is another powerful thrust before he spills inside of you, the whine that falls from his lips nearly startles himself.

He doesn’t stop moving right away, he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly as he keeps rolling his hips slowly, coming down from the high. He can feel how much you’re shaking, how your legs are trembling now.

And you both keep clinging to each other, like you want to savor every last second of this, even when it’s now over. He doesn’t want this to end, and neither do you.

And yet, it has to.

He pulls out of you, cursing under his breath while you whine at the loss of him. He places you back on your feet but keeps his hands on your waist in case your knees buckle. You let go of his neck but bring your hand down to his bicep, wrapping your fingers around it to steady yourself.

You look up at him through your lashes and his own knees nearly buckle.

You’re quiet, too quiet for his liking, reminding him of what had gotten you upset in the first place, it fills him with guilt, knowing this could have been prevented.

He lifts his hand up towards your face, cupping your cheek and tilting your head up again, he leans down, surprising you with a soft kiss.

“I overslept. I tried waking you up but you were… sleeping like a log. I even moved around and made a lot of noise on purpose, hoping that you’d wake up.”

You grow flustered beneath his eyes, eyes growing wide as realization flashes in them.

“I– you could have left a note–”

“I should have, but I’m an idiot who was an hour late to work already and rushed out.” He explains as his fingers keep tracing your skin.

Your shoulders slump as you sigh, “o-oh…”

He brushes your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear – unaware of the way it makes you feel, of what it causes inside of you, of the kind of hope it could fill you with.

You keep staring at him, eyes flickering back and forth between his eyes and lips, though the softness begins to disappear when reality seems to pull you back.

“Steve?”

The shakiness and the panic in your face nearly makes his heart stop.

“Yes?” He asks softly, as he stops touching you.

“Y-You came inside of me…” You mumble, dropping your arms to your sides.

Yeah, he did, and it felt unlike anything he felt before.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m clean,” he shrugs, not understanding the fear behind your eyes. “I gotta say, I never went in raw before though,” he chuckles as he rubs the back of his neck.

You stare at him with something he can’t read, and then your wide eyes fill with fury and a hint of fear as a yell escapes your lips.

“I’m not on the pill, Steve!” You frown at him, pushing him away from you so you can brush past him.

Steve’s eyes widen, his blood runs cold at your words. He quickly pulls his pants up, turning around to see you rounding the corner.

“Shit!” He curses as he follows you, eyes glued on your back until you disappear into the bathroom and shut the door.

He wasn’t thinking straight before, and neither were you.

He presses his hand against the door, closing his eyes as he tries to calm his racing heart by taking slower breaths.

“I-I’m sorry, Blondie. I didn’t know!”

“Get me Plan B, right this second, Harrington!”

He doesn’t even hesitate to move, he knocks his hand against the door, “o-okay, I’ll be right back!”

He steps away from the door, rushing over to the dresser in the hallway, he picks up his keys and his wallet before he rushes out of the door.

It’s past midnight on a sunday, the stores are all closed, but the pharmacy has a 24 hours service on weekends, every two weeks or so, and to his and your luck, this weekend is one of those.

Steve had never done anything like this before, he never had to buy one of those pills, he certainly never fucked without protection, not even when he was with Nancy. You’re his first. He wonders if he is yours too. And why is he hoping he was?

He didn’t put much thought into how awkward it would be to ask for a Plan B, but the moment he asked the old lady behind the counter, and she looked at him disapprovingly, he suddenly wished for the ground to swallow him whole.

He explained that it’s for his girlfriend, the one that doesn’t even exist.

She kept glaring at him, sighing and shaking her head.

He slams the fifty dollar bill on the counter, and takes the small box before he rushes out with a flustered look on his face.

“You should go to church and pray, boy.”

He ignores her comment, rolling his eyes the moment he steps out and takes a deep breath.

Pray so the pill will work? Sure. He will try, even though he is certainly not as stressed as you are.

When he comes back home, he finds you sitting on the couch, bouncing your knee and chewing on your nails. He feels guilty, knowing that you’re anxious because of him and his careless move.

He finds the living room all cleaned up, bowls and plates are gone, the coffee table wiped down.

He walks towards you, his eyes soften when your wide ones meet his.

“Here,” he mumbles, handing you the white box that you take from his hands, right away. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

He makes his way into the kitchen, opening the fridge to reach for the diet pepsi he bought earlier. He returns back to you, pill already between your fingers.

“You didn’t have to clean up, you know?” He asks as he pops the can open for you.

“I know, I couldn’t sit still though,” you shrug, taking the can from his hand.

He sits down beside you, watching you throw the pill into your mouth before you swallow it down with the drink, tilting your head back and closing your eyes for a moment.

The marks on your neck are deeper than the ones he left last night and he can’t help but love it, knowing that those will be much harder to cover up.

His eyes move down your body, your chest, your stomach and then your thighs that are still trembling a little.

“Hey,” he whispers, concern flashing in his eyes, “are you okay?”

“Hmm?” You tilt your head back down, and place the pepsi on the coffee table, “yeah… I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, now looking into your eyes.

“Yeah, thanks for this…” You murmur, pointing to the box.

“Don’t need to thank me for that, Blondie,” he waves his hand at you, shaking his head.

As he takes a better look at you, he notices how flustered and nervous you look.

“Look, can we talk?” You ask, your voice now much softer than it was twenty minutes ago as you ordered him to get you the Plan B. It’s even a little shaky, and he notices how your throat bobs as you swallow harshly.

“Sounds like you’re breaking up with me… That’s kinda harsh right after I came inside of you,” he jokes, scratching the back of his neck.

You give him a deadpan look, shoulders slumping as an annoyed sigh leaves your lips.

“Fuck it, I’m leaving,” you grumble as you push yourself up.

But in his panic, he reaches for your hand and pulls you back down. Closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath.

“No, sorry, wait… just… stay.”

He opens his eyes again, to find you looking at him in confusion as his hand is still holding onto you.

“Stay here tonight.”

Your lips part, your eyes moving across his face.

“W-Why do you want me to stay?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do?” He mumbles, pursing his lips as he shrugs slightly. “I’m not like a fuck and kick out kind of guy… But if you want to leave, you can? I-I can drive you home,” he stutters as blood rushes to his cheeks.

You pull your hand out of his grasp, shaking your head at him, “no, no… I’m tired… It’s fine.”

He nods at you.

You look away from him, breaking eye contact and scooting further back on the couch, now looking at anything but him as you both fall silent, too silent.

Well this is certainly awkward, Steve thinks.

You just fucked against the door, like two animals in heat and now you can barely look at each other.

He can’t stand it.

“Okay yeah, we definitely have to talk about all of this.”

You snap your head back at him, “no, shit, Lego head.”

He huffs at you, scratching the back of his neck as he now looks away from you.

“Why are you so… I don’t know… aren’t you supposed to be all cocky and confident, King Steve?”

He narrows his eyes at you, thinking that you are judging, but you’re not, you’re genuinely confused by his behavior right now.

“You would be surprised. I’m like that only with people that don’t… know me.”

“You’re cocky with people you don’t know or… the other way around?”

He can’t give you the answer that you want to know. He can’t let you know. He can’t let you in.

He shakes his head again.

“And also the fact that you and I have a history of pure hatred… So we should talk about this,” he points between you both, redirecting the attention to something else again, leaving you a little speechless.

You clear your throat.

“Well, we fucked.”

He almost wants to chuckle, but he holds back.

“Uh huh, twice.”

“Yeah…”

He blinks, taking a moment to come up with the right words, he presses his palms together as he faces you again.

“My question is… are you done with those two times?”

You raise your brows at him, tilting your head to the side as you give him a puzzled look, while holding your hand up to move your hair back.

He can’t help but roll his eyes at you.

“Can you put your pride aside for just two seconds?” He mumbles. “Cause I definitely wanna keep fucking you, Blondie.”

For a second, and only for a second, you look stunned, before a sour expression takes over your face.

“While you fuck Heidi?”

Now it’s his turn to raise his eyebrows at you, you almost sound and look jealous.

You clear your throat again, “I just want to get this right. We keep fucking… whenever. And what about the rest?”

“The rest?”

“Yes. Exclusivity?”

“Well, there isn’t,” he shrugs, “I see whoever I want and you do… the same.” He almost chokes on his own words.

If he only looked closer, he would’ve seen the look of defeat in your eyes before you looked down.

If only he kept his mouth shut.

If only he knew that his own rule would come back to punch him in his gut.

“O-Okay.”

“Okay?” He repeats your word, eyes lighting up.

You nod, “yeah, but we should set up some rules.”

He nods too, “yeah sure.”

He watches you take a deep breath, licking your lips as you look around the room, the room your friends occupied earlier.

“I’m taking you don’t want anyone to know?” You ask him.

“Well… Yeah.” He shrugs, eyebrows knitting together as he stares at you confused. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

“Uh huh, right.” You mumble. “Okay. A-And, we only fuck, right?”

“Right,” he nods, “this doesn’t make us anything, we just… fuck… yeah.”

You blink, your lips twitch.

“We can spend nights together, I’m not gonna kick you out,” he says, hoping that he can spend the nights with you because for some reason, he can’t get your sleeping figure out of his head. And he almost sighs in relief when he sees you nodding slowly.

“I’m not gonna kick you out either.”

You look into each other’s eyes as you both try to read the other, both of you moving a little closer without even realizing it.

The minutes pass and you both keep setting rules, not knowing that this whole thing will end up in shambles.

After all… Rules are meant to be broken.

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @joekeerysmoles @sherrylyn628 @munsonlore @maroon-cardigan @ibellcipem @agirlwholovesrockstars

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #stranger things angst

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pennylanewrites · 1 month

Text

when we were young [levi ackerman]

now playing: when we were young - adele

tags: fluff, old levi reminiscing, established relationship, flashback, canonverse, mentions of violence (non-graphic)

levi didn’t mind getting old, not really. he didn’t care for the deep smile lines or the wrinkles around his eyes. however, he did mind that he couldn’t pick his wife up and carry her to bed with ease anymore. he especially hated that his knee would still buckle if he didn’t use that bloody cane to get across a room.

levi ackerman, for the first time in his fifty-five years of life, had managed to nick himself while shaving. you stepped into the bathroom to grab something, eyes wide at the stream of blood running down his neck.

“what happened?” you were quick to grab the first-aid kit from the cabinet, eyes panning at him.

“i was just shaving, keep it down.” he rolled his eyes, sitting at the edge of the tub. he unbuttoned his shirt, already stained at the collar, and discarded it on the floor.

you looked down at him with a smile. his muscles were still there, though much less defined. the scars from his youth, long healed, a painful reminder of what he had been through.

you dabbed alcohol on a cotton pad before sitting down on his good leg.

“this is pretty deep, levi.” you muttered. he winced when the alcohol came in touch with the cut on his cheek, his fingers pressing against your waist.

“my hand still shakes sometimes.” he looked down at his three remaining fingers with a sigh. the nerves were all messed up, but he was insistent on using that hand for everything still.

“it’s okay, old man. i’ll shave you from now on.” you chuckled, cleaning up the dried-up blood from his jaw.

“you know what this reminds me of, brat?”

levi’s brows were furrowed, a scowl permanently etched in his features as you tried to make him sit down.

“captain, your face is full of blood.”

“it’s not mine.”

“some of it is yours.”

you weren’t really sure what had happened. it was all so fast. a soldier calling you a slut, you punching him, him slapping you back. that’s when levi had stepped in.

you finally managed to get levi to sit down, opening the first-aid kit beside you on his desk.

“he shouldn’t have slapped you.” was all he muttered before getting up again. you brought your hands to his shoulders, pushing him down with all the force you could muster.

“hey! let someone help you for once.” gray eyes shot up at yours, growing wide when you sat down on his knee to keep him in place. he didn’t utter a single word as you cleaned his face up with a damp towel, not even wincing when you dabbed alcohol against his busted lip.

he realised he didn’t particularly mind your breath fanning against his cheek, or your hair falling in his eyes. he certainly didn’t mind you shuffling on his lap, like you weren’t his soldier and he your captain.

“you’re sitting on me.” he said, more like an acknowledgment. you panicked and tried to get up, but levi’s arms wrapped around your hips. “thanks.”

“for sitting on you?” a smile played on your lips in the dimly-lit office, “captain.” you added, to be safe.

“don’t call me captain like that.”

“like what?”

“you’re making it dirty.”

“what does it remind you of, captain?” you shook levi out of his thoughts. he wrapped his arms further around your waist, pulling you closer. he knew you remembered the same thing.

“almost thirty years later, you’re still cheeky.”

“it never goes away.” you sighed, leaning down to peck his lips.

in his memory, he was lifting you up with one arm to plop you down on the desk and kiss you. in the present, you had to pull him up carefully and hand him his cane.

levi didn’t mind, though. some parts of him still worked just fine.

#aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman fluff #aot fluff #aot x reader fluff #attack on titan fluff #aot levi #levi fanfiction #levi fluff

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c-nstantine · 12 days

Note

Random thought that I want to share. Okay here goes. While Bruce loves seeing Batmom in lingerie and lace he absolutely loves seeing her in her comfortable underwear, no bra oversized T-shirt and natural hair in a pineapple. It just turns him on even more

Warnings: There's not smut but it's a little steamy

Word Count: 0.7k

"Bruce, are you listening to me?" The answer was no. He was not listening. He couldn't even pretend to be listening. How could he when his wife sat in the middle of their bed in nothing but a pair of underwear and one of his old Wayne Tech t-shirts? This in combination with her tight coils being put up into a pile on top of her head was a dangerous combination for Bruce.

"Would you believe me if I said yes?" He asked, sitting at the foot of the bed. He felt Y/N crawl behind him before wrapping her arms around his neck.

"No," She said, placing a kiss on his stubbled cheek. He smiled softly and leaned into her touch. Something about her relaxed him and he was forever grateful for her.

"Okay, I wasn't. What's happened today?" He asked with sincerity in his tone. She hummed in approval of her husband paying attention to her. She started explaining to him how she checked on the various charities they ran before spending the rest of the day with Thomas, Martha, and Alfred.

"Your kids gave me a run for your money. I thought the twins teasing phase was bad, but now, I'm constantly running behind them," She admitted. It was true, the twins were little terrors except with Damian. For some reason, he was the only one that could keep them in line.

"I'm sorry. They'll grow out of it. We can always ask one of the boys to come in town for a week to help out," Bruce offered, tilting his head slightly so that he could look his wife in her face. Every day he was reminded how lucky he was to have her.

"I know but I don't want them to feel like they have to help. Bruce?" Y/N noticed her husband had a dreamy look in his eye. It was rare and reserved just for moments with them. His eyes always softened looking at her, it was like he had forgotten how cruel the world had been to him.

"Hmm?" He hummed, his steel blue eyes never once drifted from her face.

"Nope, I know that look. Uh-uh, you aren't putting another one of your big-headed babies in me," She spoke with certainty as she released her husband from her grasp. She slid back towards the headboard of their bed and crossed her arms. To Bruce, this only highlighted the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. Good to know, he thought to himself.

"First of all, why are they always my kids? And what look?" He knew exactly what she was referring to. He began to make his way to her until he could lay with his head on her thighs. She ran a hand through his damp hair, raking her nails against his scalp.

"That look is how we ended up with Martha and Alfred in the first place." She reminded him.

"No, that was my Gotham University shirt, the knee-high socks, and the goddess braids," Of course, Bruce remembered her exact outfit when their twins were conceived. What kind of husband would he be if he didn't?

"Bruce!" She jokingly hit his shoulder. Memories flooded back from that night so many years ago. If she remembered correctly, the two of them had discovered a new position.

"What? I'm being honest. Now let me take care of my wife, please," He rolled over to his stomach and placed himself between her legs before pressing a small kiss to the center of her underwear.

"Bruce?" She shifted her hips lower to put her pussy directly in front of him. He nipped at her panties and pulled them down her thighs, nearly throwing them out of the room. He grinned as she spread her legs a bit more.

"I'll pull out," Lie. He'd simply make it so she'd be begging for him to finish inside of her. The only thing that was more exciting to him than her in his clothing was the thought of her being pregnant with his child.

Taglist: @flyestvenustrap@megamindsecretlair@blxckdesire@prettyvintageafternoon@lilbanas@certifiedloverwoman@melissa-ashe @hoyoooo

#x black!reader #black!reader #x black reader #black reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x black!reader #bruce wayne x reader #black!batmom #black batmom #x black batmom #bruce x black!batmom #bruce x black!reader #bruce x black reader #bruce x black batmom #bruce wayne smut

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ma1dita · 2 months

Text

trouble's coming for you

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.7k

summary: (established relationship) suggestive banter lol The one where Percy meets his two favorite counselors at Camp Half-Blood. Also known as the three times Percy is completely oblivious about you two, plus the time he learns what L-O-V-E looks like for two teen demigods. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: PERCY POV!!! maybe the real enemy was the blue balls Luke got from a clueless 12-year-old. you’re gonna tell me you wouldn’t overthrow the gods too? scream at me in the comments and feel free to reblog :)

(posted 2/29/24, edited!!! i think!!! four hours of sleep later and a big kiss to @hotchfiles miss lari as always for inspo mwah)

—

What’s in a name?

One of the last defining memories Percy Jackson had with his mother before arriving at Camp Half-Blood was her reminder that names have power. He’s held fast to that belief, treading carefully with his words in this unfamiliar place that he’s supposed to call home so soon after losing his own.

Being the new kid for the hundredth time in his life means that he’s accustomed to change, much less introducing himself as Percy Jackson, whatever that means at this point—but then becoming known simply as the kid who causes trouble. What then, is he supposed to do, when his first friend at camp introduces him to a girl who embodies the name trouble?

To Luke, through Percy’s actions, it seems as if he’s trying to reclaim a crown that currently belongs to the beloved head counselor of Camp Half-Blood.

—

The dining pavilion is filled with mouth-watering scents and the sound of chattering campers to the point that it’s a bit overstimulating if he thinks too hard about it. Mr. Brunn—er, Chiron told him to take it easy after the events from yesterday, but he feels a bit tough on luck after making Luke run circles around camp trying to find what he’s good at.

“Is there a Greek god of disappointment? Maybe someone should ask if he’s missing a kid,” Percy says glumly, pushing the mac and cheese around on his plate. Luke sighs, letting the boy to his right speak.

“Oizys,” Chris mumbles through full cheeks before he cocks his head at the 12-year-old, “but she’s a goddess, and her whole thing isn’t really disappointment, it’s more like failure.”

Luke looks to Chris with a half smile before looking back at the kid and saying, “We’re gonna find the thing you’re good at. I know it.” He looks like he’s going to say something else before something, or someone catches his attention and it’s almost like the older boy is transfixed, eyes shining with mischief or something deeper that Percy’s young brain couldn’t comprehend just yet.

“And here comes trouble…” Luke says with a smirk, eyes following your figure until your feet take you to their table. The sandy-haired boy twists around, expecting to see a goddess of some sort until he sees you, violet eyes and a lilt of something sinister—giving off the energy of someone who holds power but also likes to fuck with it. You cross your arms over your chest, gaze floating over the three boys and at the tip of your chin, Luke takes his plate off the table, prompting you to hop up and slide onto the smooth surface in front of him.

“You look like someone kicked your puppy, so you must be the new kid. Peter, right?”

A snort of laughter comes from behind your slouched form, Luke partially concealed but body obviously shaking with amusement as he looks at you.

“He might just turn out to be a puppy kicker one day,” the son of Hermes jokes, “Meet Percy Jackson.”

“That’s not…”

You sigh at Luke’s idea of a joke, face incredulous as you lean over and conjure strawberries onto Percy’s plate. He’d never seen anything like that before, someone so casual about their abilities, but he didn’t have much of a reference past yesterday. This camp keeps surprising him in ways he’s never imagined possible.

“Heard D gave you a hard time earlier, sorry about him—I’d blame it on withdrawals but he’s just an asshole,” you offer with a smile and a handshake as you introduce yourself, watching the boy’s eyes widen with wonder.

“It’s not your fault…I’m used to being the new kid.”

Eyebrows furrowing at his tone, you lean in closer, voice turning serious. You’re a lot like Mr. D in the sense that it’s easy for you to poke at the kids who come through here for a reaction to make sure they’re okay mentally. When they don’t react is usually the call for help.

“Well, new kid, if anyone gives you a problem here at camp, you let me know. Even if it’s these two hooligans, or if it’s my dad.”

“You’re talking to our lovely head counselor, Percy. She calls the shots around here,” Chris chimes in jest. But only one part of your sentence sticks in his mind as he whips his head up from munching on a berry.

“He’s your dad?”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” you giggle, “and though you’re sweet and I would love to have you as a sibling, he kind of has a rule on having too many kids at once, unlike other gods.”

“A rule he’s already broken,” Luke drones, hand fidgeting with the black bandana tied around your thigh, “but who knows? If Percy ends up to be one of you, well…may the gods have mercy on us all.”

A deadpan stare is directed at the scarred boy, and you swipe at his curls like a feral cat, making him wince and laugh all the same as he bats you away.

“Tough shit, 11. Do you know how many hellions inhibit your cabin? Your dad inflicts agony on me personally every time another one of your siblings walks past the boundaries.”

The petty squabble is interrupted by the chime of the bell over your heads, but you two are still in a world of your own. It reminds Percy of the time he watched two subway rats fight over a pizza slice on the 6—he didn’t really know who to root for then either. Chris sighs and gets up, nudging Luke to follow, which he does begrudgingly as he claps his large hand on your leg. You hiss.

“Our turn!” Luke says with a hint of sarcasm.

“Our turn for what?”

“Burnt offerings,” you explain as you chomp on a strawberry, “the gods like the smell, so it gets their attention before you say a prayer.” You notice Percy stay in his seat, which makes a smile pull at your lips, “Think you’re off the hook for today though, bud. Or you can be just like me.”

“Don’t give him any ideas, trouble. I’ll throw in a few for Hestia.” Luke chews at his lip as he leans over you to grab a few berries off of Percy’s plate to toss into the fire for you.

“You don’t pray?”

“I’m not really the religious type. I’ve got what I need,” you concede, leaning back on your palms as you watch the son of Hermes stand for a few extra seconds at the hearth. “Besides, my godrent is right over there, and Luke worries enough for me. It’s more his thing,” you say with a lazy smile. The campers filing out of the dining hall wave at you and you enthusiastically greet everyone with dancing fingers. He doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone that…happy to be on the job, but things work differently around here, so he doesn’t think much of your upbeat attitude.

“Eat up. Some of that strength has to go to you. Gonna need it.” You say ruffling Percy’s hair, and when Luke comes back, he tugs at the shoelaces of your boots until you kick his hands away. You both share a smile like people do a secret, even here in the open air.

“Do they like the smell of burnt mac and cheese?” Percy says curiously, eating another spoonful of the meal. His head hurts at another thing to consider in this brand-new world he’s walked into.

“They like the smell of begging,” Luke grins, and you laugh like a firework going off, making Percy’s lips pull up into a smile.

“I’m not much of a beggar though, if you ask me.”

The son of Hermes hums at you like he wants to say otherwise, and you slap his chest as you suck air through your teeth. Beneath the wood top of the table and with Percy being none the wiser, your fingers intertwine with Luke’s like it’s second nature.

“You burn what you’ll miss the most. Then they know you really mean what you’re about to say, so they listen.”

Luke takes a breath after explaining how things work for the nth time to the kid, knowing Percy’s quite persistent about making his dad notice him. He remembers being jaded too—striving to be the best for a lick of his dad’s attention and all of his efforts were done in vain. Even though the kid’s arrival at camp was a bit unexpected, Luke doesn’t mind showing him around.

Hopefully, less work on your end means that he can spend more time with you once this is over with— but by the looks of how the day is going so far, he’s not so sure. He hopes his offerings reach the gods and they grant him extra patience for his good deeds. Watching you laugh at something Percy says as you all walk out of the dining pavilion, Luke wonders if you know that every offering he burns for the goddess of the hearth and home is so that she’ll protect you.

—-

“Lights out in 10 minutes, cabin 11! Everyone ready for bed?”

The sound of your voice jolts Percy awake from his post-dinner nap and he blinks slowly until he sees you walking towards him with extra blankets and pillows in your grasp. The other campers were kind of stand-offish, and after praying to his mom he was overwhelmed with the feeling of missing her, so much so that it drained the rest of his energy.

“Long day, huh bud?”

Drowsy with sleep, for a moment, Percy forgets where he is—the unfamiliar walls of the cabin making him shift with unease as he rubs at his eyes. The blurry version of you makes his chest go warm and for a second, it’s like—

“Mom?”

He blinks again, his pale face turning red when he realizes his slip-up. Percy’s shoulders drop when he hears giggles from somewhere in the big cabin and you reach out to smooth his hair away from his face with a gentle smile.

“Don’t worry about it. Everyone who first comes to 11 gets nightmares. For some of them, they don’t leave,” you mutter. Percy notices your eyes flicker over to Luke’s bed, where he’s zipping up his hoodie and chatting with one of his half-siblings. Cabin 11 is finally quieting down for the night—children scrambling into their bunks, doing nighttime routines, and having quiet conversations. It’s all so weird, this being everyone’s normal.

“You’re not alone though. Saw you earlier, outside. I still pray to my mom sometimes. She's quite the listener,” you say with a sad twinkle in your eye. The kid sniffs as you hand him the pillows and blankets, finally meeting your gaze.

“Did your mom…” Die too? The words feel like lead in his throat, feeling heavy as he swallows it down. He doesn’t want to cry in front of the pretty counselor, much less speak the truth, because if he says it out loud, it means his mom dying must have been real. Also since you’ve seen him sit in the dark of the forest burning blue jelly beans like a freak. What he didn’t know is that you pride yourself on being one. It takes one to know one, after all.

“Yeah. Makes for one hell of an origin story, but I found my place here, and people who care. I know you will too, when you’re rea—” Your words trail off when you see Luke walk past the both of you with a cool expression before he nods towards the door, and you squeeze Percy’s shoulder before getting up.

“Night guys! It’s getting late so we’ll have to do a story next time, okay?” You walk down the aisle patting heads and tucking in smaller campers, and he hears you whack the younger Stoll brother when he teasingly says, “It’s not fair that Luke gets a bedtime story and we don’t…”

“Connor, enough. I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up and called me mom, so save it for tomorrow.” He must have been the one laughing earlier.

“Everyone say goodnight trouble!” Luke calls out with a coy expression, making you roll your eyes as you flick the light off to a symphony of jeers. It’s finally quiet as Percy is propped up against some pillows that smell like raspberries and soft cotton before he realizes he has to pee.

But Chris said harpies hunt kids after curfew… he thinks.

In a moment of sheer panic, Percy looks around in the darkness of the cabin before the sound of your cackling pierces through the dim light from the outside. He hops up from the makeshift cot and tugs his shoes back on, slowly creeping past the long row of bunks to not disturb other campers before he gets to the door. Your head turns quickly to the intrusion as you spring away from Luke, stubbing a cigarette underneath the wood panel out of sight when Percy steps through the doorway.

“Sorry, I need to use the bathroom,” he says sheepishly as Luke nods, scratching his neck and leaning a far distance away from you. Under the low burning lamps, Percy notices Luke’s cheeks redden and he wonders if he is interrupting something, but the urge to go increases as he steps between you two.

“Right. I’ll walk you to yours?” Luke blurts in one breath. With a wordless smile on your lips, you nod before Percy purposely interrupts this time.

“I can walk her, it’s on the way to the bathrooms, right?”

If only this poor kid knew he was being the cockblock of the century.

“Yeah, Percy’s got me. The harpies won’t like you missing curfew, Castellan,” you tease, stepping around him with a shit-eating grin. Your hair almost floats in the gentle breeze, and Luke rolls his eyes.

“Stay out of trouble. I mean it,’ he sighs, before shoving you off the porch, and you laugh at the irony of his words. Looking back at Luke, Percy noticed his eyes were on you like he wanted to live in your skin, which was equal parts disgusting and confusing to the 12-year-old. His steps double in pace as you both walk down the path and a brief side glance at your stifled smile quickly makes the kid wonder if you’d let him. Pushing the sleeves of Luke’s hoodie past your elbows, you wave at Percy’s rushing figure as he almost bolts to the bathroom and you lean against the doorway of your empty cabin. You turn the light on and look across the way to see your boyfriend still leaning against his door, so you flip him off. Of course, he takes that as his cue to saunter over.

But then the loud clanging sound of pipes bursting reaches both of your ears and toilet water floods the dirt near the back end of your cabin.

So close.

“I’m gonna go check on Annie to see if she’s still on duty. Tough luck, babe,” you giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheek before walking in the direction that Percy went, sending the son of Hermes to drag his feet towards your cabin, alone (he didn’t expect to fall asleep propped over your covers waiting up for you, but a lot happened in that damn bathroom).

—

“Hey, today feel like a winning kind of day to you?” Annabeth smirks at the son of Hermes. Next to them, Percy feels a hand clap him on the shoulder and all three of them turn to see you donning red.

“Didn’t you three hear the conch? Wouldn’t want you to fall behind,” you say with a grin as Luke steps up to you and whistles lowly.

“Didn’t know you were playing today. It’s a shame you look that good in red.”

Annabeth fake gags as she crosses her arms to say, “You’re also currently on enemy territory if you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, you wound me. I’m not a threat. Percy, I obviously don’t have the flag, right?”

He nods a bit dumbly, still worried about the mechanics of the game and the part he has to play for the blue team, but no one else seems to share his concerns.

“Anyways, sorry I’m not on your team, Perce. The Ares kids snatched me up as soon as my name was on the roster, so I came to wish you all luck.”

“This better not be a diversion tactic, trouble,” Luke simpers, playfully tugging at your staff, which you use for leverage to step up onto a rock to meet him at eye level.

“Nah. You know I like the competition, angelface,” you whisper, almost daring him to do something.

“Bite me, trouble.”

There’s a fire in his eyes you’d love to stoke, but now’s not the time or place. You can’t help but indulge though—the both of you enjoy the reactions you can pull from each other.

“You’d like it too much.”

“Alright now,” Annabeth groans, calling your name, rolling her eyes as she pulls at Luke’s arm, “Gotta remember he’s your enemy!”

“I’M TRYING!” You laugh, shaking your head and walking back towards your team as you shoot them a fake salute. It all happens too quickly as Percy’s unable to catch the spitfire words between the two of you, thinking further about how he might get maimed during this game (which in the grand scheme of things, he almost does. Thanks Clarisse).

“Those two are hopeless! Walk faster, sunshine—we lost too much time watching whatever that was.” Percy stumbles along the forest path as he follows Annabeth, the both of them leaving Luke smirking to himself as he follows the rest of their team.

Hours later, at Clarisse’s muddy feet and holding her broken spear, Percy hears cheering in the distance as he watches the blue team led by Luke waving the red flag in one hand and your legs supported by his other. You’re in a fireman’s hold across his shoulders and everyone watches as the son of Hermes spins you around like a Tilt-a-Whirl until the sound of your shrieks is audible from the shoreline. He sets you down gently, dominant hand still around your waist as he snickers, “Got my win and my girl. Must be time to celebrate.” You laugh at his absurdity, pulling his helmet off and wiping the sweat off his forehead with your bandana.

“You’re always going to be a loser in my eyes.”

Slapping the plush of your hip, the sound echoes in the air—suddenly quiet as you gasp. But you’re not looking at Luke anymore, but rather the gleaming trident above Percy’s head as it’s revealed he’s a forbidden child. His jaw tightens at the sight, and there are a lot of emotions running through him, remembering Thalia and knowing that his plans will have to be altered once more because of Percy Jackson. You squeeze his hand before walking away from him to follow your dad and Chiron to the Big House, shooting him a nervous glance.

Damn.

—

The boys have been sparring for hours, and just as you think Percy’s getting the hang of it, Luke thrusts forward with an energy no one should have towards a 12-year-old. Although a bit concerning, he does have a lot to catch up on how to fight like a demigod before his quest in a few days.

“Take a break or else you’ll be crawling away from camp by the end of the week,” you joke, handing Percy and Luke bottles of cold water. Your boyfriend takes big gulps before pouring the rest over his head, leaving you gaping and a little hot under his stare as he nudges your chin and winks.

“You’re doing that on purpose!”

Luke shrugs slyly, and the both of you watch Percy catch his breath. He leans over your shoulder, the tone of his voice sultry as it tickles your ear, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet.”

You bite your lip, before bursting with laughter—which isn’t exactly the reaction he thought you’d have. Maybe he should’ve finished reading the sonnet before falling asleep, but you always take too long with your nighttime skincare routine.

“That doesn’t mean what you think it means, but you’re cute for trying,” you coo, leaning closer so that your cheek touches his. Luke’s whole face is warm from exertion and now embarrassment, but he smiles nonetheless at the proximity. He can’t believe he still misses you, even when you’re skin-to-skin like this.

“That stanza…Isn’t it about names being meaningless?” Percy says between gasps of air before he pours the rest of the water bottle over his head like Luke did. He’s looking up at the both of you as he leans against a tree, instantly feeling more rejuvenated.

You jerk up from your seated position on the large rocks, excited to talk about Shakespeare, and Luke almost pouts at the loss of your attention.

“Yeah! Good job, bud. I forget you went to a hoity-toity charter school,” you say tongue-in-cheek, before turning back to your boy.

“So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and, for thy name, which is no part of thee, take all myself. You’re gonna have to interpret that one yourself, angelface.”

“Trust I have no fucking clue but you sound really hot when you talk dirty to me,” Luke says with a shrug. Percy laughs at that, before finally bringing up the question that’s been on his mind since Luke introduced you to him.

“Why do you call her trouble? She seems okay to me.”

“Thanks,” you say dryly, but the older boy leans on his arm with a lovestruck expression as he gazes at you. Oh…Percy thinks, brain feeling freshly washed. How did he miss that?

“She used to get in trouble a lot,” he says, before you elbow him hard, “I mean, we used to get in trouble, she’d always drag me into it.”

“You always offered! Don’t twist the fucking story,” you shriek, and the boys laugh at your exasperation.

“Yeah anyways, she’d always find me. Still does, my partner in crime. Trouble always comes for me,” Luke murmurs, waggling his eyebrows and intertwining your fingers together. Your jaw drops and cheeks flush and Percy thinks he understands better now, but gets confused again with what you do next.

You almost slap the goddamn scar off that boy’s face.

—

It is a terrible thing to be so open: it is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world. -Sylvia Plath

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#luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #luke castellan fluff #trouble!verse #made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan x dionysus!reader #percy series #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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cheesiedomino · 2 months

Text

Second chances ꙳ ੭ * ‧

synopsis: your old situationship from many years ago just moved back in town and of course, he has to text you. but it’s not just any normal text — he’s asking you out on a proper date this time. will you give a second chance to Cupid? or will you be left here feeling stupid?

genre: lee minho x fem!reader | exes (??) to lovers wc: 4.6k tags/warnings: fluff, some light angst, slightly suggestive but nothing srs, mild cursing, kissing, small mentions of crying T-T

now playing 🎧: from the start by laufey

[this is part of my valentine’s series where i write a short story for each member surrounding themes of love, newfound romance, relationship hardships & more.]

“Why don’t you give Tinder a try already? I’m sick of hearing you nagging all day about being lonely!” Areum abruptly suggests mid-convo , resting her palm on the side of her face.

As you both casually wait for the food to arrive, you end up on the dreadful topic of dating again. You got into a real heated discussion with her, sitting in a booth at this new restaurant one of your coworker’s recommended. It wasn’t super well known but they wouldn’t stop raving about how delicious their breadsticks were. The place wasn’t too jam packed but definitely had a decent amount of people. What you weren’t anticipating on was seeing dozens of couples here, it kind of threw your whole vibe off since it only reminded you of your current sad relationship status. Maybe you were putting far too much thought into it but everything seemed so highly unfair. Glaring in envy while they all happily rub in your face that they’ve found their forever companion.

Life really can be cruel at times.

“You can’t be for real right now..” you instantly side eye your friend from across the table. Feeling personally triggered whenever she mentions online dating. You refuse to try it, never wanting to partake in such a vain concept where you swipe left and right based solely on looks. “That’s not the same as real romance. I want to meet someone naturally, wanna tell my kids when they grow up how I met their dreamy, hunk of a father in aisle 39 at Whole Foods.”

One could say it’s almost pathetic in a way— this burning desire you harbor within, longing for a pure, quaint, and beautiful love. Constantly catching yourself daydreaming about finding your life partner, the person you’re going to marry and possibly create an eternal family with. That day has yet to come unfortunately, but you still hold onto the thought of you someday meeting the one.

You thought you found them before, but thou shalt not speak thy names out into existence.

“Well, good luck finding ‘real romance’ in the big age of 2024-” Areum snorts in amusement, taking a pause to sip on her mango strawberry lemonade. “I need whatever drugs you’re on that’s making you this delulu so I can fantasize about my knight and shining armor that’s never coming!”

God you hate that word. Delulu. Why are you suddenly “delusional” for wanting a picture perfect romance? It doesn’t need to be perfect per se, but you want to feel adored, swept off your feet and embraced like the true queen you are. Was that too much to ask? Considering the current state of dating in this day and age, it might just be.

“I mean, let’s face it girl. You literally don’t know the first thing about love ___, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows like in the K-dramas y’know! Haven’t you only had like one boyfriend in high school? You barely even dated that guy for a month-”

“That’s because he dumped me to go move to LA and become a dumb YouTuber!” You snapped back, cutting her off to get all the facts straight.

It was hard not to grimace while thinking of such old memories. Dating a Minecraft streamer definitely had to be one of the most embarrassingly cringe choices you’ve ever made.

“Whatever that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to get at here is you don’t have the best track record when it comes to men. Remember that other guy you were seeing before we graduated? I thought y’all would’ve dated for sure but he turned out to be a dickhole just like the rest of ‘em…” Areum shakes her head in disbelief, recalling all those times you’d call in a frenzied panic about things not working out.

“What was his name again? Min… Minwoo? No, that’s not it.. it was definitely Min something.” She attempts on remembering but keeps drawing a blank.

“Minho.” You answer almost instantaneously. His name still rolled off the tongue smooth as velvet.

It felt weird though. Saying it out loud after so many years of blocking it from your immediate vocabulary. A name you thought would never escape your lips again.

“Damn, you really still think about him don’t you?” She dares to ask, knowing how difficult it is for you to even talk about this anymore.

You only respond by nodding slowly, unable to bring yourself to look at her. It was far too intense; bearing the emotions of hurt and guilt from a past fling that meant more to you but nothing to the other. That’s how most of your tragic stories end— always too overly into them while they barely reciprocate any of that energy towards you. The thing is, you thought Minho actually liked you, even so far as wanting to date in the near future. Considering he brought you over his parent’s house (to hook up of course), and though you didn’t meet them you still think that meant something. Most men don’t just bring any woman they’re seeing to their parent’s place without somewhat thinking a potential relationship could happen down the line.

“So that’s why you should download Tinder and start swipin’ on some other cuties! It’ll at least distract you for a bit and get your mind off that asswipe,” Areum pitches her idea once more, “there’s plenty other fish in the sea ___. Not everyone online is some crazy serial killer, plus you clearly don’t seem to be having much luck out in the real world.”

You wanted to jump up from the table and erase that smirk from her face but instead you roll your eyes at that last remark. “I don’t need those shitty dating apps. I’m very capable of finding someone in real life for your information!” You quickly retort as a means to defend yourself. Even though she did have a point, her delivery could’ve been a little bit nicer.

It’s not easy being a hopeless romantic, you can’t help but yearn for that special someone to enter your life and change it for the better. You won’t feel wholly satisfied nor complete until you do. The sad reality of the matter was that you are still painfully single. No one’s interesting enough to cease your attention, let alone go on any actual dates. Areum’s had enough of your bitching and whining though, there’s only so many rants and tirades she can keep listening to about your vicious hatred for men before she loses it completely. Your nonexistent love life has become more of a nuisance as that time of year approaches— Valentine’s Day. A god forsaken holiday you’ve always loathed with a passion. Wanting nothing more than to be one of those girls on the receiving end getting flowers and chocolates. A day full of the utmost joy and pleasant surprises from your loving significant other.

Must be nice..

Speaking of surprises.. The buzzing in your ear echoes from your phone pinging loudly, indefinitely startling you. Grabbing it to check the sudden notification, your eyes go absurdly wide at the contact name displayed on your screen. Blinking numerous times from shock, you stare at your phone in incredulity; making sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

Lee Minho. The Lee Minho?

What kind of sorcery is being conjured where the instant you bring him up, he somehow texts you after all these years of not speaking? This coincidence was more than unsettling to you. A part of your inner thoughts still believes this is all some elaborate joke being played on you, waiting for a cameraman to pop out of some curtain to announce you’ve just been pranked. But nothing happens, life proceeds as normal. Now you’re left with the most puzzling notification you might’ve ever received.

It was your last year of college and the pressure of your academics along with appeasing your family was getting to you immensely. You needed an escape from all of it, desperately. Which you found through none other than Lee Minho, the boy who worked as a barista at Cozmo’s; this coffee shop you used to frequent a lot. It was a cute, small family-owned establishment and they made the best matcha lattes— in your humble opinion. You’d pick one up almost every day along with a slice of freshly baked cinnamon bread. It started off as only playful banter with him in the beginning, then it lead to more as time went on. One day, as you reached out to pay he blocked your hand from moving any closer, letting you freely walk away without spending a dime. This soon became a regular occurrence, as you’d start seeing Minho outside of work, getting to know more and more about him. You remember so desperately wanting to date back then, pitying your past self for thinking there was even a chance.

‘Maybe he’s just texted the wrong person’ you psyche yourself into thinking, but when you unlock your phone to finally read the message — an uncomfortable lump forms in the pit of your throat.

Minho 🐈:

Hey is this still ___’s number?

You honestly don’t know why you still have his number saved, let alone allowing a whole emoji to be next to it. Though it never was like you to delete anything, no matter how painful it may have been. More lingering questions makes you want to seek out the possible solutions. Why would he text you of all people ? None of this adds up in your mind realistically. Furrowing your brows in concentration, you think of what to say as you draft out a response.

Yes… who’s this?

After a tedious struggle of typing out multiple paragraphs and immediately deleting them, you went over your words a few more times before sending a final reply. It would’ve been strange had you knew exactly who he was off the bat, that’ll just be dead giveaway you still had his contact info saved this whole time. But with that logic, doesn’t that make Minho just as odd for still keeping your number after all this time has passed?

Your phone dings again.

Minho 🐈:

Srsly -_-

Did you really delete my number??

Bet he didn’t see that one coming. He probably thought the moment he texts you, you were gonna kiss up to him like you’ve always done in the past. Mentally giggling to yourself at the image of him getting flustered by you not knowing who he was at first. Feels good to know you knocked his confidence down a peg.

Lol, chillax.. I know it’s you Minho :P

Not even a minute later, a flood of incoming messages appear. Biting your lip out of nervousness, your heart couldn’t stop beating so fast— anxiously checking your phone as the atmosphere around you suddenly gets stuffier.

Minho 🐈:

Better be lucky I didn’t block you after that ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

Guess who’s back in the city btw. Did ya miss me? ;)

No need to answer that, I already know you did. You should stop by at Cozmo’s again sometime!

Also what’re you up to this week? I need you to clear out all your plans because I’m taking you out on a date.

You always knew Minho was the bold type but this was on another level. The sheer audacity he has to even ask something like this after not reaching out for almost 3 years was more than ballsy on his part. It felt like a surge of butterflies erupting in your stomach, getting lightheaded as you think about seeing him again. He really had an effect on you like no other.

Glancing up from your screen to finally pay attention to Areum again, you assure her everything’s going to be just fine. “Looks like I won’t be needing to download Tinder after all.”

Later on that day you ended up going to Cozmo’s and meeting up with Minho. It never really took much convincing from him to get you to budge, though it was a hell of a lot worse back then. You used to blindly follow along with anything he said just to seek his approval, hoping that eventually he’ll see you as the girl he wants to settle down with. Alas, nothing ever blossomed into something more, and you knew deep down that this was headed nowhere— but that still didn’t stop you from fantasizing about a future with him. Getting lost into deep thought, head heavy in the clouds as you imagine the idea of Minho confessing his undying love for you. You’ll be so caught off guard as he gets down on one knee, looking at you with the entire solar system in eyes while he proposes in the most charming way. It really is pitiful how much you still daydream about a guy who wasn’t your boyfriend but would constantly act like he was, then up and leaves without mentioning a single word about it.

You convinced yourself he ran off with someone else to have a better life with, even hearing through town gossip that he’s moved to South Korea to pursue becoming an idol. Whatever the case may be it still weighed heavily on your mind that he never bothered to tell you anything, even a simple ‘goodbye’ would’ve sufficed the empty hole in your heart. The main reason you agreed on meeting up with Minho was to finally ask, why? Why did he pretend to like you? Why did he act like your boyfriend when he never had intentions on seriously dating? Why was he so good at making you fall so hard for him..?

“You look great.” You subconsciously blurt out, affixed in a daze as you stare in awe at the man in front of you.

It’s been a while since you came here— never able to fully bring yourself to try and go back. Though you knew this place first, and they really did have the best Mactha lattes in the universe. It reminded you too much of him and you sadly had to let it go.

You weren’t proud of it but you did go home quickly to change clothes and redo your makeup. Usually you wouldn’t care but this was the only guy you’ve been consistently crushing on for years, you had to feel good inside and out. Minho was just as gorgeous as you remembered, if not he looked even more ethereal — which seemed impossible in itself already. He’s grown up so beautifully, his facial features became more sharp, especially his jawline which looks so defined and sculpted by the Gods.

Minho lightly chuckles at your timidness, some things just never change. “You look way better.” His lips drew into a faint smirk as he admires your presence.

He meant every word of what he said, you looked really good, and it was making him even more frustrated that so much time has passed. Regretting the way he handled things so many years ago, wishing he could take it all back and do everything differently. Seeing you again made it easier for Minho to suppress the guilt he’s borne for so long. This moment feels like a second chance to make amends for his past mistakes.

You couldn’t help but blush when you hear his compliment, feeling your ears grow hot as you look at the ground. There was a silent pause between you that lasted for what seemed like ages. Weirdly enough the conversation flowed well after he finally broke the awkwardness, the chemistry was overall still there and were able to pick up right where it left off.

“I’m so glad you came ___, I’ve been dying to see you since I got here. I’m surprised you even still responded to my lame ass.”

Minho’s light confession puzzles you. If he really was dying to see you, why’d he wait so long to get in contact with you? To be fair, you don’t know the exact time he came back.

“Oh, is that so? When’d you come back? Also show me pics of Korea, I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like there.” You fondly inquire, leaning against the side of the wall as he’s still behind the counter. He mentioned to you he’s only working part time because his parents would rather mooch off their son for free labor than to hire and pay a new employee.

“Yesterday,” he quickly states before taking out his phone to scroll through his gallery, “guess my sister must’ve told you I went there huh?”

You shook your head, “Nah, I haven’t talked to Elle in a while. She’s tried hitting me up a few times though.. but I found out through Areum ‘cause she was seeing Hoseok back then.”

They were definitely “seeing” each other alright, but mostly in the bedroom. Areum didn’t want anything exclusive with Hoseok and neither did he, it was the perfect friends with benefits situation. Minho and Hoseok were good friends who’ve known each other for a while, so naturally he’d tell Areum everything and overshare at some point.

“Agh, there’s a customer gotta take this. One sec, sorry!” He briefly apologizes before bringing his attention to the new person heading inside. You nod, signaling he’s good to go. “I’ll be waiting over there,” you point to a small wooden table with 2 chairs in a corner.

Once Minho comes back you notice he’s no longer wearing his purple work apron; back in his regular attire now and sporting an oversized dark grey hoodie that was three times too big. He was holding a large cup with green liquid and a paper bag in his hand, that’s when it clicks for you— he still remembers your favorite meal.

He’s grinning the whole time he’s handing you the matcha latte and cinnamon pastry, smiling from ear to ear like a kid on Christmas Day. This was the most you’ve seen him be so enthusiastic about something, even back when you were “with” him you can’t recall him beaming with such energy like this.

“Awh, thank you. I haven’t had either one of these in years!” You wanted to give him the biggest hug but you refrained from doing so, feeling as though it may be too early for that.

“Of course dear, anything for you.”

Why does everything he says have to make you melt from the inside out? It’s not fair! >:(

Glancing down at your yummy beverage, you see a message written on the side of the glass with bold permanent sharpie. Tilting your head to read it, the words are bit jumbled together but you get the gist. You’re almost left speechless after it reads: ‘___, Will you be my valentine?’

Your most dreaded and least favorite holiday is here, yippee! But, there’s a twist on this year’s turn of events; you actually have someone to celebrate this wretched tradition with. You should be excited but all you’re feeling is the sudden urge to vomit as you were nervous out of your mind. This was kind of weird to you, going on a date with your ex boyfriend who was never even your real boyfriend. Looking back on it now you shouldn’t have tolerated a relationship dynamic like that, Minho was clearly taking advantage of your passiveness by not explicitly saying what he wanted. On the contrary, you had no one to blame but yourself, you never spoke up or criticized anything even if it didn’t coincide with your personal morals.

The fact he never took you on an actual date until now speaks volumes, you obviously didn’t have enough self worth back to demand better treatment. It took you years of figuring out what a real, healthy relationship is supposed to be like through trials of therapy and that was an emotional rollercoaster in itself. All your uncertainties soon faded away once you became more secure and knew exactly what you wanted for yourself. It took every ounce of patience and acceptance to unlearn all your bad coping mechanisms and other toxic behaviors that were only stunting your inner growth. You’re happy to be in a position now where you’re able to express wholeheartedly what you deserve, it’s the best feeling ever to feel like you’re in control of your own life.

You spent almost 3 hours getting ready and your bedroom now looked like a war zone. The outfit you chose was super girly, a frilly white dress with pink platform heels— Minho’s going to drool in amazement when he sees you. When you sent Areum photos of you before heading out, she responds right way with a series of hearts and other sweet comments— hyping you up to no end like the best friend she is. She’s also able to help pull you out of your doubtful headspace, when you felt unsure if you could really go through with this she quickly psyched you out of it. Reminding you exactly who you are and why you are the prize, not him. ‘He should be the one who’s nervous, not the other way around’ you assure yourself over and over as a mini ego boost.

His jaw dropped when he spotted you walking up to his car, infatuated by how pretty and perfect you looked in every way possible. It angers him so much to know he took all this for granted, he didn’t appreciate all of you the way he should’ve but now he gets another chance to redo everything and right his wrongs. It’s a lot of pressure but he bravely accepts it, he could never mess up another opportunity like this again. The car ride was fairly silent in the beginning, you were vibing in peace as the only thing you could hear was Minho’s soft indie playlist as background music.

You ultimately chose to be the one to speak first, breaking the ice with a simple inquiry about the date. “So where are we going?” Looking out at the scenery from the window, all you is trees and more trees. If it’s something to do with nature you surely don’t want any parts of it, you’ve never been too fond of the wilderness.

“It’s a surprise, I can’t tell you.” He keeps a tight seal on today’s destination without dropping a single hint, forcing you to go completely blind into this. As he goes back to focus on the road, you sigh anxiously after hearing him refuse to disclose anything.

Did he seriously forget what kind of person you are? Anyone who’s close to you at all knows you’ve never been into those types of things. Ever.

“You know I hate surprises Minho,” you remind him, attempting to pry for more information. Even shooting him a doe eyed look along with poking out your bottom lip, but he doesn’t falter.

He simply nods, “I know but you’ll like this one, just have a little bit of faith me.” Flashing an innocent smile at you, he seems to be overly confident in whatever his plan consists of.

After almost half an hour passes the car finally comes to a stop, you scan the area and instantly notice a sense of familiarity among the place. Across from you was an ice cream parlor you thought didn’t exist anymore. But there it is, still standing with dozens of customers waiting in line. The small shop was famously known for its fish-shaped ice cream cones, you’ve always wanted to visit the place and try it when you were a little from seeing it on TV all the time. When you told Minho about it, you said how your parents would say it was too far but it actually closed down and they didn’t know how to tell you. From time to time you’d still think about that place, but you would’ve never thought they relocated. Being here with Minho brings an indescribable amount of happiness to your spirit.

“I mentioned this place like one time in passing, how’d you even remember?” You wonder in amazement, after all these years he still remembers something as minuscule as this.

“It may not have seemed like it but I paid attention to every little detail you told me ___, all it. Of course I know you don’t like surprises but how else would I have been able to take you here?” He sweetly expresses to you, not wanting to hold back anymore.

You wanted to cry right here, right now. All your emotions came crashing down at once and it’s hard to keep them concealed. A lot has changed within these years, things feel so different with him now, especially with how much he’s matured. You notice how he doesn’t act like the typical fuckboy in his early 20’s anymore, he’s much more interested in getting to know only person — that being you.

“I’ve rehearsed this in my head like a million times and I don’t think I’ll ever say it the right way I want but it’s time I start being as transparent as possible with you…” Minho takes a deep breath before continuing, “I’ve always liked you ___, from the start actually,” he keeps going, “I was just scared, of what I don’t know.. Commitment maybe?”

Slightly looking in another direction, your vision faintly blurs from tears welling up, “I- I honestly don’t know what to say..”

“Then don’t say anything at all, I don’t need you to. I may not know the first thing about how to love someone, but I want to learn all of it with you.” He feels all the remorse of leaving you alone for all these years, unable to process the pain you must’ve endured at him not getting into contact with you. “I’m so sorry ___. For everything, I’m going to make it all better I promise.”

Your eyes subconsciously flutter shut when he comes in contact with you. Connecting in perfect symmetry with your lips to sync together in motion. His gentle hands cupped your face delicately; his touch was so warm and inviting. Your fingers were deeply tangled in his brunette locks, relishing every minute as he tilts his head to capture more of you. He genuinely couldn’t believe he went this long without kissing these luscious lips again. His tongue grazed the bottom of your lip to subtly ask for entry and you comply. Dopamine floods both your senses like a series of fireworks going off, feeling intoxicated by each other’s taste. It was probably that vanilla bean chapstick you always wore— an old favorite of his and is still your go-to flavor of choice. He wanted to savor you in this moment for as long as he could, cherish the fact he has you in his hold again.

“Want to know something funny?” He asks out of nowhere, still smirking from that heated kiss that just happened seconds ago.

“Hm?”

“You’re the reason I ended up coming back here.” Minho states bluntly, no hesitation detected in his voice whatsoever.

You struggle to comprehend anything, overwhelmed by all his sudden confessions. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I never want to leave your side ever again ___. I’m staying here with you, I already made the biggest mistake of losing you once I can’t let the same thing happen twice.” He spoke tenderly from the bottom of his heart, it felt so genuine you couldn’t not believe him.

Going back to rewind time isn’t possible, but “do-over’s” are, and sometimes we’re able to get those second chances to make things right when we get them wrong the first time.

[End <3].

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