#my son deserves his own movie

[jackdaw-kraai]

I think there’s something rather strange going on with all the folks who insist that the Jedi Order in the PT was right and didn’t forbid love and Anakin should just have followed their teachings when the whole point of the prequels is that they are prequels. They come before the OT, and the OT proves the Jedi wrong. They literally do not make sense if they don’t do that.

Luke, in the original trilogy, gains his ultimate triumph, his ultimate victory, because he loved in defiance of the teachings of the old Order. He quite literally had the ghosts of the past telling him, explicitly and without ambiguity, that he has to put his love for his father aside and kill him, as is the duty of a Jedi. Luke has the weight of millennia of teachings weighing down on his shoulders, telling him they knew and know better than a young, inexperienced man barely out of his teenager years. That he should follow their teachings or be destroyed. That is an immense weight to carry, and many people would and explicitly have given in to it in-universe. What are your feelings and ideals in the face of such immense legacy, after all?

But Luke doesn’t give in.

He doesn’t bend.

He says “I may be young, and I may be new, but I believe to my heart and soul that love matters more than this legacy. Matters more than your teachings.” And he says this to the ghosts of his mentors. That is such a powerful moment and one I can’t believe George Lucas didn’t create deliberately for even a second. This young man, being told he has to kill or die trying for a system that is dead or dying itself, that couldn’t survive itself, and refusing to do so. He is the living refusing to continue the violence of a dead generation. He is the young man refusing the draft into a war the old generation started, saying “peace and love matters more than you being right.” He is the embodiment of breaking the cycle.

And the movies vindicate him.

The main villain vindicates him with his last dying breath.

Darth Vader, dying, says “You were right.” and admits he and his were wrong. The main antagonist, Luke’s nemesis, in the face of his son’s immense, defiant love, gives way and does the impossible: he comes back to the light and dies a Jedi. The very thing the old Order says was impossible.

They were wrong. They have to be. The narrative demands it, the movies don’t make sense without it.

The solution was never to continue the cycle of the old Order, or Luke would have failed there, would have failed when he said “I am a Jedi, like my father before me.” And claimed that defiant, deviant, condemned definition of being a Jedi over the one presented to him by the Grandmaster of the old Order. If the old Order was right, Luke would have to be wrong. Be wrong about love, be wrong about laying down the sword, be wrong about refusing to fight. He would have to be wrong.

But the old Order is dead, explicitly killed by a monster, in some part, of their own making. It’s members only existing as bones in the ground or ghosts speaking from beyond the grave. They did not deserve it, it should not have been inflicted on them, but the narrative is clear on this: “The old way is dead, and was dying for a long time before that. Long live the new.”

Luke is that new. Luke is the breaking of the cycle, the reforging of swords into ploughs, the extended hand. Luke says “I don’t care how much I was hurt, I refuse to hurt you back, and you don’t need to hurt me either.”

“We can end this together and choose love instead.”

And Darth Vader, killer of the Jedi, End of the Order, lays down his arms as well, and reaches back as Anakin, saying “You were right.”

It wasn’t Obi-Wan, Yoda, Mace, Qui-Gon, or even Ahsoka who achieved the ultimate victory in the end, following the tenants of the old Order. It was Luke. Young, inexperienced Luke, who saw that the age of legacy handed to him was only history, that the sword handed to him as his life was only a tool, and that the decrees of the dead were only advice. And he took it all, said “thank you for your experience, but I’ve got it from here,” and laid it all down to instead extend an open hand towards his enemy.

And his victory, his ultimate triumph, his vindication, was that he was proven right when his enemy reached back and became just another person. Just another person, just like him.

The Jedi did not deserve what happened to them, and they did not deserve to die. But the story is clear on this: the Jedi of old were wrong, and the Jedi of new, the Last Jedi, was right. No sword or death will ever end the rule of the sword or end the bloodshed. But love?

Love can ignite the stars.

[proxima-writes]

I’d like to request a boyfriends dad fic where reader is on vacation with their family and Joel gets handsy with her but she convinces herself it’s okay. Then when her boyfriends ditches her Joel fucks her. Bonus points if boyfriend comes back super drunk while Joel is fucking reader and Joel just puts his hand over her mouth and continues fucjing her and bf passes by them but doesn’t notice 🤷🏻‍♀️

Just some thots…if it inspires you a fic/Drabble would be awesome

I may have....gotten carried away with this one.

title: karma is my boyfriend's dad

pairing: boyfriend's dad!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6588

summary:

Your boyfriend, Sean Miller, is an asshole. The one redeeming thing about him?

His dad, Joel Miller.

And he's just invited you along on the family vacation to Panama City Beach, Florida.

author’s note: thank you for the request!! this was a fun one. my 1000 follower mark is quickly approaching and i cant wait to do something fun for it! thank you for all your support and love so far 💕

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, alternate universe - boyfriend’s dad, age difference (21F and 56M), power imbalance dynamics, infidelity, asshole boyfriend, alcohol use, sunscreen as a flirting mechanism, reader wearing a bathing suit, touching in public, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, almost getting caught, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), thigh riding, sex against a door. let me know if any are missing!

Sean Miller is a shitty boyfriend. He constantly ditches you to hang out with his frat brothers, he’s left you at parties by yourself, he’s forgotten birthdays and anniversaries and, to top it all off, he’s never made you come. You’ve been with the guy for two years and not a single orgasm in all that time. 

You deserve better. You deserve orgasms. 

The only redeeming thing about Sean is his dad, Joel Miller.

Joel is the textbook definition of a DILF. He’s tall and broad with dark curly hair streaked with gray and kind brown eyes. Even approaching the upper fifties in age, he’s built like a tank. Wide shoulders and biceps that stretch his flannel shirts to the point where you’ll sometimes sit there willing a thread to pop, his thick thighs and a tight ass always hugged by the most sinful pair of Levi’s. 

But besides looking like sin, Joel is kind. There’s been more than one occasion where Sean had forgotten your plans, leaving you waiting at his house where he still lives with his dad and Joel would always take pity on you and invite you to watch a movie with him, the two of you sitting on opposite sides of the couch while he played a comedy to cheer you up. On your birthday, he sent you a Starbucks gift card and a text when his own son didn’t even remember. When you would update him on how school was going, he’d always pat your shoulder and say, “‘Atta girl.” 

That last memory in particular always makes your tummy erupt with butterflies.

In the last few months, things with Sean have been especially strained. He’s started hiding his phone from you, flipping the screen face down anytime you’re within arms reach of him. On the rare nights he spends at your apartment, he’ll get calls that he insists on taking privately.

Honestly, you were more than ready to end it before Joel caught you in his kitchen one day and asked if you wanted to come with him and Sean on their vacation to Panama City Beach.

“Really? I thought this was supposed to be, like, a guy’s trip?” You ask. You stayed the night last night and Sean was still asleep, always one to sleep until noon if given the opportunity. Joel is making coffee while you sit at the bar.

Joel shrugs. “I’m sure he’d want his girl there. You two can party and leave the old man behind for his bedtime,” he says with a playful smile that makes your heart flutter. 

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Miller, but there’s no way I can afford a ticket to Florida right now.” You reach for the cup he offers, only for him to pull it back out of reach.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover everythin’,” he replies. “Say yes and you can have your coffee.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to be a burden.”

Joel’s fingers brush against yours as he hands you your warm mug. A shiver runs down your spine at the contact.

“I’m positive, darlin’.”

________

Joel knows that his son treats you like shit, and he fucking hates it. He’s tried to talk some sense into the kid but all his wisdom just goes in one ear and out the other. He has to pretend that he doesn’t hear him bringing other girls over and it eats him up inside because he wants you to know, wants you to have better, but if he tells you, he’s severing the one tie he has to you and what then? He’s fifty-six, over thirty years your senior. He’s lived over two lifetimes in the course of your one. There’s no way in hell you’d look at him twice, and that’s not even including the fact that he’s your boyfriend’s dad.

Joel’s not sure what possessed him to invite you on vacation. You’re right, it was supposed to be a guy’s trip, a gift from Joel to Sean for his twenty-first birthday that was unfortunately right in the middle of his finals. He knows damn well Sean is, in fact, not going to be happy that you’ve been invited along. He’s certain the younger man fully intended to turn his hotel room into a revolving door for women he picked up at the bars along the beach, one time flings he could write off before returning home to a sure thing.

He tells Sean about the change of plans that evening over dinner. His son whines petulantly, slamming his fork down on the table.

“Dad, seriously? Why the fuck would you invite her, this is gonna ruin everything,” he says. 

“Shouldn’t be talkin’ ‘bout your girlfriend like that,” Joel admonishes. Sean rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t even put out anymore, I don’t even know why I keep her around. I should just break up with her before the trip.”

Joel’s jaw clenches with frustration. “I already bought her ticket. She’s comin’ whether you like it or not and that’s final.”

“Fuck this shit,” Sean says, chair scraping across the floor as he stands. “Whatever. Won’t stop me from having a good time.”

Joel’s counting on it.

________

Joel and Sean pick you up from your apartment at 4 am for the 7 am flight to Florida. Your boyfriend is passed out in the front passenger seat, but Joel shakes him awake and tells him to get in the back. The younger man grumbles but does as he’s told while Joel helps you load your luggage into the bed of the truck. The trip will last four days, so you’ve squeezed everything into a single carry on and your backpack. 

After all, it’s Florida. You plan on spending every day in a bikini.

Sean passes back out as you settle in his vacated seat, placing your travel mug of coffee in the cup holder besides Joel’s. He gives you a polite smile as he puts the truck in reverse, placing his arm on the back of the seat and twisting to look out the rear window, his other hand deftly turning the wheel. 

You can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, your core already aching at his proximity. 

You’re in for a long four days.

_______

The three of you make it through airport security quickly, the early hour lending some reprieve from the crowds. 

“Why is this flight so fucking early?” Sean grouses, slumped in one of the uncomfortable terminal seats. 

“Did you want more or less time in Florida?” Joel replies, flipping through his newspaper.

“Whatever,” Sean replies with a roll of his eyes, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up and burrowing into it.

You return from your quest for breakfast at that moment, a white paper bag in your hands and a bright smile on your face as you sit between the two men.

“I got you a bagel,” you say to Joel, pulling a plain bagel wrapped in wax paper from the bag.

“You get me anything?” Sean asks, peeking from beneath his hood. Your shoulders drop.

“Oh…no. You don’t usually eat breakfast,” you reply. Sean groans. “We can share mine?” You offer.

“No, it’s fine, whatever. Thanks for thinking of me.”

Joel’s brow pinches in irritation, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he watches your smile fade into a frown as you look at the bag in your hands. He nudges you with his shoulder.

“Hey, I appreciate it,” he tells you quietly. You give him a tentative smile.

He misses the bright one.

________

“I call window,” Sean says when the three of you have boarded the plane, flopping into the seat after haphazardly tossing his bag into an overhead compartment without waiting for a reply. 

Joel fixes his son’s bag before settling his own beside it and turning to hold a hand out for yours. You hand your duffel over to him with a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Which seat do you want, darlin’?” Joel asks you.

“I can sit in the middle,” you offer, scooching past him in the tight space. Your back brushes his chest and he catches a whiff of your strawberry shampoo, the scent making his mouth water.

He sits beside you, tucking his backpack beneath the seat in front of him. Your thigh brushes his as you get comfortable in your seat, the row a tight squeeze for the three of you. 

“How long is this flight?” You ask, pulling a pair of headphones from your backpack. Sean’s already unconscious again, his head tilted against the window and his mouth open in a snore.

“‘Bout two hours,” Joel says. You nod, shifting in your seat again. Your shoulders knock into his when you do, and you give him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. Tight fit,” you tell him. He swallows around the lump in his throat.

He can think of something else that would be a tight fit.

The flight attendants go through their pre-flight duties and take-off occurs without any issue. When they give the green light to use electronics, you pull out your phone, cursing when the screen remains black even as you hit the power button.

“My phone died,” you explain. He smiles sympathetically.

“You wanna watch a movie on mine? I downloaded a couple,” he offers.

“Sure. We can share my headphones?”

“Good idea.”

Joel plugs your headphones into the jack on his phone and passes you the right earbud before sticking the left one in his own ear. He queues up a movie, some action film called Triple Frontier that seemed interesting based on the synopsis, and holds the phone on his lap. You lean into him, that strawberry scent settling over him once again.

You keep fidgeting in your seat, twisting and readjusting your upper body against the arm rest between your seats. After the third time, he reaches down and flips it up, your body slumping closer to his. When he looks down at you, your face is tilted up towards his and he has to concentrate very hard to keep his gaze trained on your eyes. 

“Thanks,” you whisper before returning your attention to the movie. “Hey, that guy kinda looks like you.”

________

The flight passes quickly, much to Joel’s dismay. He would have liked to keep sitting pressed up beside you for longer. 

At the car rental facility, Joel gets handed the keys to a Jeep Wrangler. Sean’s eyes light up when he sees it.

“Can I drive?” He asks. 

Joel sighs. “Fine, just be careful would ya?”

Sean lowers the soft top before hopping in the driver’s seat. Joel insists that you sit in the front passenger, because he’s a gentleman, but he quickly regrets the choice.

With the top down and the music blaring, Sean is in a relatively good mood. He’s smiling at you and even reaches over to grab your hand, pulling it towards him to press a kiss to the back of it. Joel can feel the tug of jealousy in his gut as he watches you smile back at him but there’s nothing that he can do about that.

After all, you’re Sean’s girl.

And he’s just going to have to live with that.

________

Sean is standing behind you with his hands on your hips, lips trailing kisses along the exposed skin of your shoulder in your tank top while Joel is speaking with the hotel clerk, checking into the rooms. You squirm away from Sean’s attention, the man dropping his hands from you and frowning.

“Why are you being such a prude?” He snaps. 

“I’m not being a prude,” you say with a sigh. “Your dad is right there.”

He tries to pull you back towards him with an arm around your waist. “Come on, babe. He’s probably already heard you moaning my name,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Not likely, you think. 

“I just don’t think it’s appropriate.” You step out of his grasp again as Joel approaches, holding three key cards.

“Room 102 for the two of you,” he says, handing two of the cards to Sean. “And I’m in 104, if y’all need anything.”

“Great,” Sean says, grabbing your hand. “Come on, let’s go put our stuff away.”

You trail behind Sean, but can’t help looking back at Joel.

You’re surprised to find his dark gaze already fixed on you.

________

“Come on, let’s go find a bar,” Sean whines. You’ve just left the bathroom after changing out of your travel outfit of leggings and into a bikini and a sheer cover-up dress.

“It’s so early. I highly doubt there are any bars open. Besides, I need to charge my phone,” you tell him, packing a tote bag with your sunscreen, a book, your copy of the room key, and your sunglasses. “Why don’t we go to the pool?”

“It’s PCB, babe, there’s bound to be a bar open,” Sean says with a roll of his eyes. “But if you wanna be boring then by all means, go to the pool.”

You sigh. “You do whatever you want, Sean.”

He grabs his wallet from the nightstand, shoving it into his pocket. “Fine. I will. Come find me when you’re done being such a fucking bitch.”

The door slams behind him as he leaves, the sudden noise making you jump in surprise.

You can’t even find it in yourself to be upset.

________

Joel’s just opening the door to his room when he hears his son’s raised voice across the hall. He freezes, the door half open as he listens.

“Fine. I will. Come find me when you’re done being a fucking bitch,” Sean says before slamming the door. 

Anger courses through Joel’s veins as he listens to his son’s heavy footsteps echo down the hall. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, before opening the door fully and crossing the hall to knock on your door.

When you open the door, you look surprised to see him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Joel has to make a conscious effort to not let his eyes wander your body. He can see the neon pink strings of your bikini tied around your neck and god does he want to see more.

He clears his throat. “Hey. Everythin’ alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. I was just about to go to the pool,” you tell him.

“I’ll come with you,” Joel immediately offers without thinking.

“If you’re sure. I don’t want to get in the way of any plans you had, Mr. Miller,” you mutter.

“I’m sure.”

________

Joel sets some hotel towels on loungers positioned beside each other on a sunny part of the pool deck. The pool is fairly busy and to your surprise there’s a live DJ and a bartender is already making a steady flow of drinks behind the poolside bar. The pool itself is huge and even boasts its own lazy river that you’re looking forward to floating down.

Your attention is dragged to Joel once more as he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it up. Your mouth goes dry as you watch his back muscles work, rippling beneath miles of tan skin that you want to trace with your fingertips. 

You shake your head free of thought and remove your coverup while his back is still turned, stuffing it into your tote bag you’ve dropped beside the lounger. You pull out your sunscreen and sunglasses, slipping them over your eyes to combat the harsh Florida sun.

When you look up, you’re surprised to find Joel already watching you, gaze fixed squarely on your chest. You clear your throat, wiggling the sunscreen bottle at him.

“You want me to get your back?” You offer. 

“Sure. Thanks,” he replies, voice rough. You have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together for relief from the ache between them, your brain conjuring scenarios of that deep timbre in your ear telling you how good you feel around him. 

He sits on the lounger with his back to you, waiting for your next move. You squirt some sunscreen into your palm, rubbing your hands together before smoothing it across his back. His shoulders tense briefly at the first touch of your hands before he goes lax against you, his head dropping as you smooth the lotion on him.

You get lost in the feeling of his skin beneath your fingertips as you drag your hands over the broad muscles of his back and shoulders and down his spine. In a moment of bravery, or stupidity, you let your fingers drag the tiniest bit beneath the elastic of his navy swim shorts, just enough that it could be passed off as an honest mistake. 

When you’re finished, you hand the bottle to him over his shoulder. He takes it silently, lathering the rest of his body while you adjust your lounger flat and lay face down. You reach behind your back, tugging at the strings of your bikini until they fall to the side.

“Could you do me next?” 

________

Joel takes a seat on the lounger, his hips brushing yours. He’s hard as a fucking rock in his swim shorts, has been from the moment you opened your hotel door wearing your sheer coverup, pink bikini taunting him beneath.

It was a stupid fucking idea to ask you to come to the pool with him. He was clearly thinking with the head in his pants and not the one on his shoulders because he didn’t stop to consider that he’d be getting a front seat to the soft skin of your thighs and tummy, the curve of your waist and ass and breasts on full display for him to commit to memory. 

And now you were asking him to touch you. Giving him permission to have his hands on the same flesh he imagines when he’s gripping his cock roughly in his palm and chasing an orgasm that offers hardly any relief. 

He swallows nervously before uncapping the sunscreen and squirting it directly on your back. You give a little yelp of surprise, the lotion no doubt unexpectedly cold, but you settle back down when he smooths a palm across your back. 

You’ve untied the strings of your top, leaving him with no obstacles as he works the lotion into your skin. He loses himself in the repetitive motion, smoothing his hands across your shoulders and down your spine like you had done to him. He lets his thumbs press into the divot of your lower back, fighting the urge to drag them beneath the scant bit of fabric covering your ass.

As he finishes, he drags his hands back up your sides, his fingertips dragging across the soft skin of the exposed sides of your breasts. He feels the hitch in your breathing as he does and he worries for a moment that perhaps he’s gone too far. 

“Thanks,” you say, voice breathy. “Would you mind getting my legs for me? I don’t want to get up.”

Joel thinks he should mind. He should absolutely mind being asked by his son’s girlfriend to rub lotion into her back and legs. The action is too intimate, it’s crossing a line and he knows this.

He just can’t bring himself to give a fuck anymore. 

Wordlessly, Joel squirts some more sunscreen into his palm, this time warming it between his hands before smoothing it on your legs, starting with your calves. He slides his palms up your legs, high enough that his fingertips brush the crease where the curve of your ass meets your thigh. Your legs spread just the slightest bit and Joel lets his thumbs drift toward your inner thighs.

He’s playing with fire now as he presses his thumbs deeper, higher, the tip of one even grazing your bikini bottoms. He desperately wants to slide it beneath the elastic, to drag his thumb through your slit and find out if you’re wet just from the touch of his hands.

But Joel pulls his hands away and stands, moving over to his own lounger and laying facedown on the towel covered cushion. His dick presses uncomfortably into his thigh and he uses that discomfort as a means to will the hardness away.

He’s in for a long four days.

________

Your pool day with Joel runs from the early morning to the late afternoon. Neither of you hear from Sean during that time, but you can’t find it in yourself to be bothered. Not when Joel Miller is sitting beside you in an inner tube, floating down a lazy river as you talk about everything and nothing, drops of water clinging to his skin and catching the light. You could stay in a moment like this forever so long as he’s there, too.

As the intensity of the sun starts to wane, Joel suggests finding somewhere to get dinner.

“Pick somewhere nice, though. My treat,” he says as you’re parting ways at your hotel room doors. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, shutting his door and leaving you smiling in the hallway like a girl with a crush.

You let yourself into your hotel room, not surprised to find it empty. Your phone is still sitting on the charger with no new notifications. The part of you that’s been in a relationship with Sean Miller for two years feels a pang of sadness at your boyfriend’s silence.

The part that wants to fuck his dad doesn’t give a shit.

You shower and change into a sundress before slipping your sandals back on. Checking the time, you grab your bag and head to the lobby to meet up with Joel.

Joel’s already in the lobby, leaning against the wall near the exit and scrolling through his phone. He’s wearing a light blue short sleeve button down that hugs his biceps deliciously, the tan of his skin popping against the fabric, his usual boots, and khakis. You were almost certain this man didn’t own anything besides perfectly broken in Wranglers. His hair is combed back, still damp from his shower, and he looks so good you have to consciously stop your jaw from dropping.

“Hey, you pick a place?” Joel asks as you approach, slipping his phone into the pocket of his pants. 

“There’s an oyster bar nearby that looks good,” you reply. He holds the door open for you, broad palm ghosting across your low back as you exit the cool hotel lobby and out into the hot Florida night. The traffic on the sidewalk is thick, people moving like the nearby ocean as they ebb and flow from place to place. 

“You hear from Sean at all?” Joel asks as you navigate the crowds, his arm brushing yours as he sticks close to your side. You shake your head and Joel sighs. “I’m sorry. I love the kid, I do, but goddamn if he doesn’t piss me off sometimes.”

You sigh. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Miller. You don’t have to apologize for him.”

You’re both quiet after that. You don’t know what’s going through Joel’s head as you sneak a glance at him and catch only his furrowed brow and tense jaw. 

You nearly pass the restaurant in your distraction, but Joel catches you by the arm, tugging you with him to the entrance.

It’s a cute little bar and restaurant, the kind of place that’s cozy without being horribly cramped. The lighting is dim and booths line the walls while tables sit in the middle, candles flickering and casting shadows on the walls and across the white tablecloths. 

The hostess seats you at one of the booths, tucked away in the corner. You sit across from Joel, setting your bag beside you after digging your phone out from it. When the waitress walks away without leaving menus, Joel looks adorably confused. 

“You have to use your phone,” you tell him with a giggle. “They have the QR code menus.”

“I’m gettin’ too old for this shit,” Joel complains. You roll your eyes, standing and moving over to his side of the booth, settling beside him. His thigh presses to yours and you’re acutely aware of the contact as you lean close to share your phone screen with him. 

When the waitress returns, you place your drink and food orders. Joel opts for whiskey, neat, and a medium rare steak because you can take the man out of Texas but you can’t take Texas out of the man. You order a spicy pineapple margarita and a plate of herb crusted oysters.

You should probably move back over to the other side of the booth, but you don’t want to. The feel of his body pressed to yours lights up your nerve endings in an unfamiliar way, his clean woodsy smell settling over you like a comforting blanket. He doesn’t say anything about how you remain seated next to him, just turns his head to talk to you.

The drinks arrive first. The sour tang of the pineapple makes your face pucker when you take a sip, making Joel laugh. You might be imagining it, but you think his gaze lingers on your lips for just a beat too long to be coincidence. You cross your legs beneath the table, squeezing your thighs together for some semblance of relief from the ache between your legs.

A second round of drinks is ordered and delivered while you talk about a TV show you both enjoy. This drink leaves you feeling pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. Joel makes a joke about one of the recent episodes and it makes you laugh so hard you’re leaning against him for support.

You place your hand on his thigh close to his knee. Joel tenses beside you but doesn’t say anything, his eyes dark over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. You can’t bring yourself to look away but you’re also frozen in place, not daring to drag your hand further up. The spell between you is broken when the waitress drops by with your trays of food, setting them on the table and walking away with a request for another round of drinks from Joel.

“These look amazing,” you say, squeezing lemon over them. Joel’s started to cut into his steak, inspecting the center and giving a tiny nod of approval that makes you smile. “Hey, did you know oysters are an aphrodisiac?”

Joel coughs on the piece of steak he’d been eating, reaching for his whiskey and tossing the rest back as he swallows. “They’re what now?”

________

“Aphrodisiacs. They increase your sex drive,” you say, your lips wrapping around the bite poised on your fork. Your eyes flutter shut as you let out a little moan of satisfaction. “God, these are better than sex.”

“Must not be havin’ very good sex, then,” Joel immediately responds without thinking. His hand freezes halfway between his plate and his mouth, his eyes going wide as his brain catches up to his mouth. “Sorry that...that wasn’t appropriate.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Miller,” you say, patting his knee. Your hand lingers there again, the second time this evening, and it makes Joel’s brain misfire. This whole dinner has been a test of his self-control and he is quickly fraying at the edges the longer you sit pressed beside him, that god forsaken strawberry scent flooding his senses. 

The waitress delivers the third round of drinks and your hand leaves his thigh to pick yours up and take a sip. His eyes track the way your lips wrap around the straw, mind wandering to something else he’d like to see them wrapped around.

He takes a sip of his own drink, letting the burn of the whiskey down his throat distract him. The third drink is making his mind spin, a voice in his head urging him to trace his fingers along the exposed skin of your thigh beneath the table. He sets his hand on his own thigh, casual as can be.

You’re telling Joel a story about the time a guy in one of your classes was so hungover he fell asleep in the middle of an exam but Joel can barely concentrate. His eyes keep lingering on your lips and trail lower, lower, lower, over the delicate line of your neck, the dip at the base of your throat, the swell of your breasts.

Joel stretches his pinky, the tip of his finger barely skimming the soft skin of your thigh. He watches your face for a reaction and finding none, he feels emboldened. He inches his hand closer, his ring finger joining his pinky in caressing you. 

He’s focused on your face, watching for any indication that you notice what he’s up to beneath the tablecloth. He holds his breath as his fingers dip beneath the hem of your dress. You stutter in your story, tripping over your words and Joel’s fingers pause in their exploration.

Joel shouldn’t be doing this. He should pull his hand back and forget any of this happened, forget the silky smooth feel of your skin beneath his fingers, forget the way your smile lit up your face as he floated down the lazy river beside you. 

Then you’re tilting your head, eyes boring into him like you can see right through him, see every depraved thought running through his head and your knee presses more tightly to his, your legs spreading beneath the table and Joel’s hand sliding to your inner thigh with the movement.

“Can I get y’all anything else?” 

Joel rips his hand from your leg and swallows guiltily as he looks up at the waitress standing beside the booth. You sit up straighter, your heat leaving his side and he curses the interruption.

Perhaps it was for the best, though. 

You’re still Sean’s girlfriend, after all. 

________

Your skin is buzzing with the liquor in your veins and the phantom feel of Joel’s touch on your thighs. The man is quiet on the walk back, brooding even. His brow is furrowed, jaw tense, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants like it’ll stop him from touching you again. 

The thought makes you downright giddy.

“Thanks for dinner, Mr. Miller,” you say as you stand in front of the doors of your respective rooms. 

He gives you a tight smile. “‘Course, darlin’. Have a good night,” he tells you before disappearing into his room, the heavy door shutting behind him and echoing in the hall. 

You swipe the key for your room, opening the door to find it still dark, everything the same as you left it. You drop your bag on one of the beds, pulling your phone out to check if you have any missed messages and finding none. 

The silence from Sean is the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.

You leave your room, crossing the hall to knock on Joel’s door. The man answers a moment later, already changed into a t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. 

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks, opening the door wider. 

“Left my key in the room,” you reply. “You mind if I stay with you for a bit?”

You can see the struggle flash across Joel’s brown eyes, but it’s just as quickly swallowed by a shade of lust that makes your breath hitch. 

“Sure, darlin’,” he finally says, stepping back and making room for you to cross the threshold. 

You turn to face him when the door shuts. You can’t tell who makes the first move, only that one moment you’re staring at each other and the next your body is being pulled against his, thick fingers digging into your hair and pulling your mouth to his in a bruising kiss.

He turns your bodies, your back hitting the door as his mouth continues to explore, his tongue dipping between your lips to tangle with yours. He tastes like whiskey and feels like sin, his broad body pressing against yours. Your arms wind around his shoulders, pulling him towards you desperately like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Fuck,” Joel groans against your mouth. “Been wantin’ to touch you so goddamn bad, you have no fuckin’ idea.”

His hands drag up your hips and over your waist, fabric of your dress bunching in his fists. He looks down between your bodies, watching as he slides a thick thigh between your legs, the sudden pressure against your sensitive core making you gasp. You rock against the hard muscle, unable to fight back a whimper at how good it feels.

“That feel good, baby?” Joel asks, lips close to your ear. “Come on, darlin’ move a little faster for me, that’s it.”

His hands grip your hips, urging your movements over his thigh. Your head tips back against the door with a thud as you gasp. His lips trail hot kisses across your jaw and neck, his teeth nipping at the skin just over your pulse point. One of his hands drags the strap of your dress down, exposing your breast to the cool air of the room, your nipples going tight with equal parts chill and anticipation. 

Joel rubs a thumb across the tight bud, almost reverently, before bringing his mouth to it, pulling it between his lips and swirling it with his tongue. The sensation makes your hips move faster over his thigh and you can feel how slick you are in your panties with each thrust.

“You have any idea,” Joel groans, other hand leaving your hip and ripping the opposite strap down so that he can give your nipple the same attention, “how fuckin’ hard it is, huh? To keep my fuckin’ head on straight when you walk around lookin’ like an angel that a devil like me don’t deserve?”

“Joel,” you moan, your chest heaving with strained breaths as just this man’s thigh brings you closer to relief than your boyfriend ever has. “Joel, please!”

“Please what, sweetheart? I’m already in this deep, you gotta know I’d give ya anythin’,” he says. “You wanna cum, baby? Wanna soak my thigh for me, get these pants all messy so that I can’t think of anythin’ but you when I gotta wear them for another three days?”

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, your orgasm cresting unexpectedly. Your legs clamp tight around his thigh, the aftershocks coursing through you with surprising ferocity. When your grip on him loosens, the man drops to his knees, looking up at you with a wicked gleam in his dark brown eyes.

“How’d that feel, baby?” He asks, running his hands up the outside of your legs until his fingertips find the elastic of your panties, easing the fabric down your thighs while he waits for a response.

“G-good,” you mumble, feeling a bit self-conscious in the aftermath. You’d just come from nothing but grinding against this man’s thigh for crying out loud. You reach up to fix your dress straps, but a pinch to your inner thigh has you yelping in surprise.

“Nuh uh, wanna see those gorgeous tits when I look up at you,” Joel admonishes. You can feel your cheeks heating, blood rushing to your face from just his words. 

He lifts your leg, draping it over his shoulder. The position leaves you a little off kilter, your hands landing on his head for balance.

“I’m gonna eat this pretty little pussy now, okay?” He says, rather than asks. He gives you no time to respond, leaning in to lick through your folds with a deep, satisfied groan. You cry out from the overstimulation to your sensitive clit, your fingers pulling against his hair. He hums, the vibrations pulsing through your bundle of nerves and making you damn near sob at the sensation.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” is all you can manage to say, a slur of his name as his tongue circles your clit and dips inside your entrance, messy slides of it through your folds as he drinks you up. You look down briefly, only to find him staring right back at you, his heated stare making your blood boil.

“Gimme one more, baby, and then I need to get you on my cock,” he groans before doubling his efforts, licking and sucking and nipping at your flesh until you’re sobbing out his name as you come for a second time. “Fuck, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls.

He stands, shoving his pajama pants down his thighs, his cock bobbing free. The thick length of it makes your mouth practically water as you watch him give it a few rough tugs. He smirks at you, reaching down to lift one of your legs, holding it up with the crook of his elbow at the back of your knee. The position leaves you spread wide for him as he takes his cock in his other hand, positioning the thick head at your soaked entrance.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands, the tip barely pushing inside of you. 

“I want this,” you repeat dutifully. He shakes his head.

“No, sweetheart. Wanna hear you say you want my cock.”

You whine, the sound damn near pitiful to your ears. “Please, Joel, I want your cock.”

“There’s my good girl,” he says with a smile, finally easing into you with a burning stretch that makes you gasp. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight.”

You moan as he bottoms out, hips pressing to yours. He kisses whatever skin he can reach as he gives you a moment to adjust before pulling out nearly all the way and thrusting sharply back inside, punching the air from your lungs as his cock drags against your g-spot with each thrust.

There’s a pounding at your back and a shout of your name, followed by, “Dad! Where the fuck is everyone?”

Your eyes go wide and Joel’s hips slow but to your shock, they don’t stop. He brings a hand to your jaw, fingers pressing to your cheek as he slips his thumb between your lips and shushes you.

“Haven’t seen her,” Joel shouts back, even as his eyes never leave yours. Your walls flutter around his cock as he continues to thrust, sharp but controlled so as not to make a lot of noise that can be heard on the other side of the door. “You should check the hotel bar. Said she might get some drinks there if you weren’t back when we finished dinner.”

“You guys went to dinner without me? That’s fuckin’ bullshit,” Sean whines. “Fine, whatever, I didn’t even want to see her anyways. Found me a blonde that I can bring back to the room instead.”

Joel’s eyes flash with rage and you shake your head gently. When Sean’s footsteps indicate he’s left, Joel’s hips resume a more punishing rhythm. He withdraws his thumb from your mouth as his hand slides lower, circling your throat possessively instead. You gasp, moaning loudly as your body relents to a third orgasm that leaves your vision fuzzy at the edges.

Joel’s own movements stutter before he’s pulling out, his cum splashing against your tummy as he grinds his cock against your hip, finishing with a gasp of your name.

You lean against him as you catch your breath, enjoying the feel of his hands smoothing over your hair.

“You okay?” He asks.

You grin at him. “Never been better, Mr. Miller.”

Sean may have found a blonde, but you’ve found your way into bed with his dad.

Karma’s funny like that.

Joel Miller taglist:

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727  @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo @bigboiseason123 @bean-is-reading @darlingpedro @silkiers @pascals-catt @bbyanarchist @therealcap @pedrosgrogu @Sadbloatedegg @dimitra300 @thesolarangell @pedrotonin @ievutebebee @peterrthree @worhols @lonesomecowboah @taraiel

Want more Joel Miller? Check out the master list.

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

could you maybe do a part two of the reader getting pregnant and kicked out.? Like they have the baby and her parents try seeing the baby but reader doesn’t want them to so rafe protects her and the baby ?

sorry if it’s a lot to ask for 😭

you hurt me pretty good too pt 2

pairing(s): bf!dad!rafe x gf!mom!fem!reader

warnings: toxic parents, pet names, protective rafe

summary: after finally getting settled in, your parents try to barge their way back into your life.

authors note: thank you for the request!! i loved writing the first part so i had fun writing this part two :))

part zero | part one | part two

not edited

do not copy my works. i do not condone rewrites, translations, or edited versions. all my content is my content that i wrote.

not my gif

“i just put lily down for a nap incase you wanted to take one yourself. i can make some food in the meantime,” rafe suggested with a gentle kiss to your forehead as he walked passed.

it had been a long couple of months. since getting kicked out, ward and rose had helped you both to buy a house of your own, you’d had your daughter which you and rafe decided to name lily, and you’d began dating officially.

“thank you, baby,” you replied before walking over to the couch and flopping down onto it. you grabbed the remote and began flipping through netflix for some movies to watch. “hey, you know my mom called me the other day?”

he stopped his shuffling through the pantry and poked his head out to look at you. “what’d she want?”

“she asked a ton of questions about the baby since obviously she didn’t come to any of the parties beforehand. and all of a sudden she cares to be in her life,” you said sourly. “i didn’t tell her anything.”

he rolled his eyes and continued looking for something to cook. “good. they’re assholes. lily doesn’t need ‘em in her life.”

you smiled to yourself and clicked on a movie, tucking yourself under a blanket and getting comfortable. you heard the stove turn on and settle on a setting before something was being poured into what she assumed was a pot of water.

pasta.

rafe knew it was your favorite. you began to smile even harder, barely even focusing on the movie now.

you felt his weight by your feet just before he was grabbing your legs and tossing them over his lap so you weren’t cuddled up in a ball.

interrupting your quiet time, a loud knock sounded through the house. rafe immediately prepared to stand, to which you urged him back down. “i got it, babe. rest for a little. you’ve been running around all day.” you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips before rushing to the front door and opening it.

you began wishing you never had when you caught sight of your parents standing on your doorstep with a woven basket full of stuff inside in your mothers hands. “hi, honey,” she greeted cheerfully. “we were wondering if we could see the baby?”

you scoffed and laughed. “no?”

“what?” she asked in disbelief. “we—we drove all this way though just to see her.”

“i didn’t ask you to though,” you replied. “how’d you even find my address?”

your father rolled his eyes. “are you serious? we drove a long way here and brought a gift just for you to deny us our right to see our grandchild?”

“what right do you have?” you asked genuinely. “you kicked me to the curb and made it very clear you wanted nothing to do with me or my child over these last few months. and now what? you suddenly wanna involve yourselves in our lives?”

“we deserve to see her,” your mother argued.

you heard rafe get up and before you knew it, he was at your side, face to face with your parents. “you don’t deserve shit.”

your mother gasped while your father looked taken back. “excuse you? watch who you’re talking to, son.”

“you abandoned her and supported us in no way. you have zero rights or claims on our child,” he stated. “and not to mention, this is our home and our property, which you are trespassing on and possibly endangering our child. i could call the police right now and—“

“no!” your mother said quickly. “that won’t be necessary. we just want to meet our grandchild.”

rafe laughed and raised his eyebrows. “you never wanted anything to do with our family before, so you both can fuck off,” he replied with a sarcastic grin before slamming the door in their faces.

he turned to you and scanned over your features. “you okay, my love?”

you nodded and smiled at his protectiveness. “yeah.”

“you don’t need them,” he reassured. “you’re doing the right thing. and you’re doing an amazing job with lily.”

you loosely wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned into him slightly. “thank you. and you,” you paused and kissed his lips softly. “are doing the best that i could ever imagine.”

“fuck ‘em, right?” he smiled against your lips.

you nodded and chuckled. “fuck ‘em.”

[favcharacterpoll]

SEMIFINALS MATCH 2: QUILL VS. KERMIT

why is he still here

Quill Propaganda:

"He's such a loser. Has beef with 3 16 year olds. He's like 4'10. Had one of the best character arcs ever. He almost died. His sword is bejeweled."

"guys vote for my son quilliam and his stupid little bedazzled sword"

"you wanna punch his face in in the first book and by the end you're sobbing buckets and loving and protecting him as if he were your own and my closing argument: it would be really really fucking funny"

"VOTE QUILL HE HAS FUNNY GOGGLES AND IS BEEFING WITH A TEENAGER BECAUSE THAT TEENAGER STABBED HIM IN THE ASS DURING A FENCING COMPETITION WHEN HE WAS LIKE 11 AND QUILL NEVER GOT OVER IT"

“new propaganda his ass has goggles & they leave red rings on his face & demonstrate even more how stupid he is”

“more propaganda we fuucking hate him”

☠Sticky, Shaggy, Sans Undertale, Luigi, Kim Dokja, Zagreus☠

Kermit Propaganda:

"Kermit is the best ever and I love him ❤️"

"Kermit is sag aftra"

"ofc i support kermit the frog he’s a small business owner he’s an artist he’s an actor he’s a union man he loves his wife he’s a babygirl literally he is the perfect man"

"This one, I'm pulling from Kermit because it's Kermit the Frog. He's an independent artist who has multiple movies in which he refuses to sell out and also the accidental implication that he caused 9/11."

"if kermit wins I'll write a scene of him and Scar hanging out" [@the-joju-experience ]

"Kermitgang motherfuckers"

"It would be so on brand for Kipps to lose to a frog"

"he [kipps] deserves to get his butt kicked in by Kermit"

☠Claude Von Riegan, Pizza, Balthazar Cavendish, Scout, Mia Fey, Zuko, Soundwave, Gideon Nav☠

[hbyrde36]

STWG Daily Prompt 3/9/24

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild

Prompt: Bite

Rating: G | WC: 867

Emotional hurt/comfort, Steve Harrington's parents being the worst, the best uncle Wayne Munson, supportive boyfriend Eddie Munson, the party loves Steve Harrington

Steve had given up on his dad long ago, he was never going to be the kind of man Richard Harrington had always wanted his sons to grow up and be, but he’d held out hope for his mom—hope that someday she would learn to love him the way she loved his brother.

More than ten years between them, and the fact that the Harrington’s had moved to Hawkins only after Christopher had graduated high school and gone off to college, meant no one really knew Steve had a sibling. 

The party, Robin, Eddie—especially Eddie because how could they have been dating for over a year now and him somehow still not know about this—were all stunned to learn of the existence of another young Harrington.

He hadn’t meant to tell them at all, but then Christopher and their parents made a surprise visit home so that his brother could take possession of their grandmother’s ring and pop the question to his girlfriend of a whopping 9 months. Less time than he and Eddie had been seeing each other and didn’t that get under Steve's skin to know he’d never get to propose to his boyfriend with a family heirloom, not only because gay marriage wasn’t legal, but because his parents would never dream of handing down a piece of jewelry to their least favorite son.  

Steve wound up having to make the rounds, letting everyone know movie night was canceled because his brother was in town. Naturally they all wanted explanations for why this was the first they were learning of this mysterious person, and by the time he got to Eddie’s place, Steve was a mess. 

Years of mistreatment and neglect bubbled to the surface, and not just the big things but the little sniping comments, the small injustices—inequities between the way Mr. and Mrs. Harrington spoke of their older son vs their younger—hurt feelings that he’d pushed all the way down in order to function, in order to put a fucking smile on his face and hide the fact that he was damaged goods who not even a mother could love. 

It all came spilling out of him on Eddie’s bedroom floor as his boyfriend held him, rocked him, was his rock, tethering him to the earth.

When it was all over and Steve was calm, Eddie asked him why he still spoke to them, why he still lived in their house when he and Wayne had both–on separate occasions–invited him to live with them instead.

“They’re my family.” Steve said, shrugging. “I don’t have a choice.” 

“Of course you do, Stevie. You always have a choice. If you were to decide right here and now that you never wanted to see or speak to them again, you are allowed to do that. You hold all the power here. I’ll support you in whatever you decide, but I have to say in my humble opinion, they never deserved you.”

Steve took the night to think about it, though in the instant Eddie had said the words, given Steve the power to take control of his own life, he’d known what he was going to do. It was his life, he could do with it as he wished. He was already doing that with almost every other part of it, so why was he still letting his mom and dad hold any power over him? Why did he subject himself to their passive aggressive comments and disappointed glares?

In the end he never went back, not even to get his stuff. Wayne and Eddie did it for him, leaving behind his keys and his beloved car. 

A small price to pay for freedom. 

He called the next day and left a final message on the answering machine. 

“Please leave your message after the beep.”

“Hey mom. You’re the hardest one to say goodbye to, the last member of this family I held out hope for so you’ll have to forgive me for not doing this in person. My car keys are on the table by the front door. I know the BMW is in dad’s name and I know he wouldn’t want me keeping it under the circumstances.”

“I am no longer a Harrington. I’m sure you won’t mind because you barely thought of me as one to begin with but it’s official now. I’m moving on, and moving in with my boyfriend. Yes, boyfriend, because I am nothing if not a consistent disappointment.”

“It took me longer to see it with you because I've witnessed the way you care for the people around you, most of them anyway, and what you’ve done for this community.”

“You are a good person, except when you’re not. And you were a great mom, just not to me.”

There was no bite in his words, just a sad truth finally spoken aloud.

Steve hung up the phone feeling lighter than he ever had in his whole life, and sat down to dinner with the people who really loved him. His found family, who’d all dropped whatever they were doing at a moments notice to throw him an impromptu moving-in party at his new home with Eddie and Wayne. 

Thanks to my beloved @penny00dreadful for having a look over this 🥰

[cutielando]

out of line ~ rafe cameron

my masterlist

Ever since you could remember, Ward had always been hard on Rafe. It might have been because he was his only son, it might be because he wanted him to mature early on, or it might be just because he hated his son.

At least that's what Rafe had come to believe.

Nothing he did ever seemed to be right. His father would always find faults in every single thing Rafe did, crushing the boy's morale every single time.

"I don't know how to please him anymore" he would always say when he came to you, all sad and unmotivated to even live.

You hated seeing your boyfriend like that. You hated the way Ward acted towards his son. You hated the fact that he always made Rafe feel bad about your relationship, always filling his head with thoughts that he didn't deserve you, that he should do you a favor and let you go because you would be better off without you.

It made your blood boil.

As you were laying on the couch in Rafe's home, his body laying on top of yours and your arms wrapped around his body, you were hoping to God that his father would not ruin your night.

"Rafe?" hearing Ward's voice made the both of you tense.

Rafe got up from laying on you and sat upright on the couch just as Ward walked in.

Eyeing you, you could see him clench his jaw and swallow harshly.

"Yes, dad?" Rafe said, clearing his throat and looking up at his father.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking between the both of you.

The atmosphere in the room was tense, and you knew that Rafe was desperately weighing his answers to make sure he wouldn't say the wrong thing.

That is precisely why you decided to be the one doing the talking tonight, hopeful to finally give the older man a piece of your mind.

"We were watching a movie before you interrupted us" hearing you speak made Rafe's heart start beating rapidly.

He wiped his head around to look at you with wide eyes, but you kept eye contact with the older Cameron man.

"Excuse me?" his voice was dangerously low, but you weren't afraid of him and had no intention of backing down.

"You heard me. Do you want something with Rafe or not?" you asked, now standing up and stopping while face-to-face with him.

"You better watch your mouth, young lady" his threats fell on deaf ears, you were done cowering in fear of him.

Your family was the second richest one on the whole island, so you were also entitled to speak your mind seeing as you weren't a poor little Pogue afraid to speak in front of a Kook.

"That's funny, coming from the guy whose ego is so big he has to belittle his own son to feel better about himself" that struck a nerve.

Ward took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. His fists were pulsing, his veins were enlarged, he was on the verge of exploding.

But he knew better than that, he knew better than to make an enemy of your father. While Ward must think he's got the dangerous associates on the island, your father was by far more versed than him in that department. 

Your family might not have been the richest, but it was for sure the most dangerous one. And Ward knew that.

"How dare you?" 

"How dare I? How dare you look at your son, your own flesh and blood, and belittle him like he's a stranger to you? How can you stand there and insult him, make him feel worthless after how much he does to impress you, to satisfy you? And nothing ever seems enough. How dare you fill his head with lies about our relationship when you and I both know I am the only person who loves him and takes care of him. I am the only one who wants the best for him, not even you as his father? What the fuck is wrong with you?" you felt so good getting everything off of your chest.

Rafe was still speechless, still sitting behind you on the couch.

He was grateful for every word you had said, having conveyed everything he had been feeling but was too afraid to tell his father.

"You are way out of line here, bitch" he spit with venom in his voice.

Your eyes darkened and you stepped even closer to him, being almost face to face with him.

"Call me a bitch again and see what happens. We don't want to repeat what happened at Midsummers, now, do we? Or did you forget what my daddy did?" your voice now being dangerously low, knowing you had struck another nerve.

Ward visibly tensed, having remembered that your father had almost killed him in a fight when he insulted you at Midsummers while being intoxicated.

He cleared his throat and nodded, taking one last look at Rafe before turning around and leaving the house.

"Thank you" Rafe's small voice said as you next back next to him on the couch, unpausing the movie you had been watching.

"Never thank me for that. I want you to feel safe, and I was just telling the truth. You know my father has your back, he loves you and he would do anything for you" you told Rafe, who nodded.

Your father and him have had a very close and special relationship ever since you started dating almost 3 years prior. 

Due to the fact that you were an only child and your father had always wanted a son too, he treated Rafe like he was his own. He knew about his situation with Ward and always made sure he was being taken care of.

You sometimes thought your father liked your boyfriend more than you.

"I know, but still. Thank you for everything, you don't know how much I love you, baby" he leaned his body back on top of you, savoring your warmth and delicate touch.

"I love you too, so much"

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[flanaganfilm]

howdy!! do you rewatch your own work? if so, how often? im wondering if it has the same "artist just sees faults with what they create" thing, or if youre able to appreciate past projects the way they deserve

I don't, typically... usually, by the time we're finished with post production, I've seen the thing so many times that I'm thrilled to stop watching it. I'm either sick of it, or just feeling like it doesn't belong to me anymore. There are other reasons, too - Hill House was a traumatic production for me, for example, I have a lot of complicated emotions woven into it, so I haven't felt ready to rewatch that one since before it aired. Maybe in a few more years.

Somewhat recently, I've revisited a few of the older movies with my eldest son, who is 13 now. He's basically as old as my career itself. We've watched Oculus, Hush, The Midnight Club (which he LOVED, proving it worked for our target audience) and Ouija: OOE together, and each of those screenings was a really cool experience. His reactions and questions were really fascinating, and I felt like I was able to see those movies anew through his eyes. That's the closest I've come to feeling like I was really seeing them, and that's only because so much time has gone by for those. I watched the Director's Cut of Doctor Sleep a few years back at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park Colorado. It was part of a live NoSleep Podcast event, and that was the first time I'd seen that movie since it was released. It was also the first and only time I'd ever seen the Director's Cut with an audience. That was a really special screening and it meant a lot to me.

I haven't yet had the guts to revisit any of the TV series other than Midnight Club. As my kids get older, I'm sure I'll watch them all with them. The one I'm most excited to see is Midnight Mass, which remains my favorite of the shows. I haven't seen it since before it came out - I remember the last day of post on that show, watching down each episode with final mix and color. That's a series I wish I could actually watch like a viewer at home, and while I'll never truly be able to do that, I look forward to looking at it with some real distance.

There are a few of the older projects I'd be curious to watch now. I wonder how Absentia holds up - I was such a baby when we made that movie, and it's been so long. I imagine I could watch that today and have a really trippy experience. I also haven't revisited Before I Wake in a very long time, and I always really loved that script. The movie was a rough road, and my feelings were mixed by the time it finally found its finish line (Relativity Media really beat that one up), but that could also be a really interesting viewing experience at this stage of my career.

But generally, each of these movies is a journey, and once the journey is over it's tough to ever really go back. There's little point, and moving forward feels like a matter of survival. The "finished product" is only the tip of a large, deep, labyrinthian iceberg for me. It's impossible to only see what's on the surface, no matter how hard I try.

(Interesting side-note: The only exception I've found to this rule is The Life of Chuck. We just finished post production on the movie, and I've watched it dozens and dozens of times now - but I've never grown tired of it, not even a little bit. That movie is something special, and I am eager to watch it again - and again - and again. I don't know that I'll ever want distance from that one; in fact, watching it brings me a sense of joy, comfort, and safety.)

[kiwisbell]

Diamante [javi gutierrez]

You and Javi really, really love each other.

my masterlist!

pairing: javi g x f!reader

tags and warnings: no plot just smut and fluff, tooth-rotting sweetness from our javi, save a horse ride a movie star, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex (you know the drill), sex in a limo, face-fucking, slightly sub!javi, spanish pet names, pure unadulterated fluff, and lots of fuckin', javi and reader are sickeningly in love, journalist!reader, eat (out) the rich, getting caught during sex

word count: ~ 7.3k

javi g is the only man and i love him dearly. please enjoy <33

DIAMANTE

There's never been a luckier son of a bitch than Javi G. 

He knows it for a fact. Sure, he's had career troubles (who hasn't?) and a couple life-threatening encounters, but if a man has to face down his cousin's drug cartel to wake up next to the most beautiful woman in the world every single day... 

Yeah. He's lucky as shit. 

The sunlight slips through the window and turns your skin golden. Your brow is smoothed over and your lips parted, your face a field of peace. You're naked from your marathon of sex last night, and the planes of your body are so smooth, so enticing, that Javi's mouth is on you before he's fully awake. He can't help it; his body seeks your warmth; he loves the heat of your skin and the way you softly squirm in your sleep as his lips make a path down your body. 

He cannot fucking believe he found you. 

Alone at the bar during his own birthday party, you walked right up to him and slid a martini under his nose. "Do you care to comment on the recent rumours of an illicit drug trade between Spain and the United States, Señor Gutierrez?"

Javi swallowed hard. Next to him was a beautiful woman he'd never seen before, wrapped in a tight black dress and staring at him with a gleaming smile. You were a vision sent from heaven, and his mouth had gone dry as cotton. 

You watched him with amusement in your eyes, and he noticed a small recording device on the bar top. 

It was then he realised he should be speaking. 

"The… what?"

Once you clarified patiently, he told you he didn't know a thing about such deals (it was the truth, so far as he let his cousin Lucas handle the business), and you just smiled like you already knew. Certainly, Javi was the figurehead: he had the looks, the air of danger about him, enough money to make people like him and fear him. It was smart, and it was all a ruse—one that didn’t seem to fool you for a moment.

You were stunning. A true vision. Your nails were perfectly manicured and your skin so smooth, hair so soft. You looked like you'd never been in a rough part of town, much less a war zone. 

He would find out later how wrong that impression was. 

Javi wanted to shield you from all the horrific things he'd seen. He wanted to push you into his car and drive you far away from the prying eyes of Lucas's men. You didn't deserve to be caught in all of this. A diamond cut from coal, something to cherish.

But you seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. You leaned in close, your breath minty and touched with spiced rum, and placed a hand over his. "He's a dangerous man, Señor Gutierrez," you whispered. "And you're too good for all of it."

His breath left him. His eyes found yours once more, and it took him a moment to conjure the words. "How do you know what I am?"

"I know a lot about you." Your eyes shone with compassion. "Probably why I already like you so much."

He did not want to fuck this up. He would not fuck this up. 

That is, until he let his mouth do all the work. 

"Can I take you to dinner?" he blurted out. 

You sat back as a grin overtook your face. With a swift flick of your fingers, you turned the recorder off. "I can't use any of this," you said with a huff. 

Javi leaned forward this time. "I'll give you anything you want."

"Then how about we start with a drink," you said, "and you can tell me all about that movie I know you're writing."

That was five years ago. It took him six months to get you to agree to go on a date. Between your travelling, his travelling, and your insatiable desire to put yourself in danger at all times for the right story, you and Javi could never work. After the first date (a steakhouse, then a boat ride, then stargazing, and then and then and then until you and he were stumbling through his home, knocking everything over until you reached his bedroom and he spread you out, made you scream with pleasure), there was nothing you could possibly do to keep yourself away from him. You were Javi's as he was yours: instantly, inextricably, and for the rest of your fucking lives. 

The problem was keeping it secret. Five years of hiding, sneaking around, receding into dark corners and safe houses, and making time wherever you could find it. It was all worth it, a hundred times over, to keep you safe, but he wanted to show you off—give you the world, give you the publicity you deserved, show you off in your pretty dresses and let the world know you had him wrapped around your finger. 

You had given him so much shit for facing down Lucas by himself. You waited for him all day in the safe house outside Mallorca, only to chew him out for twenty minutes straight when he arrived, bleeding from the arm but beaming wide. He was used to your anger; when it rose, you could go on for as long as you had air in your lungs. He knew you weren't truly mad at him. You just had to let it go. Once it was out of your system, you threw yourself at him and kissed him until you were both breathless. "Now you know how I feel," he muttered against your mouth. "My dangerous girl."

"Don't push your luck," you snapped, going right back in to devour him once more. 

"You love me?" he whispered into your mouth. 

Your eyes met his when you pulled back and he watched them gleam with admiration. "I love you."

Now that he doesn't have to hide, he flaunts you every fucking second of every goddamn day. 

You blink awake when you feel pressure between your legs. "Javi," you gasp at the sight of his messy hair beneath the bed sheet. 

Javi grins up at you from between your legs, resting his head on your thigh. His eyes are like a puppy's, wide and eager. "Hi."

"Hi," you laugh, your head falling back against the pillow. "What time is it?"

"It's Sunday. Time doesn't matter on Sundays. Can I taste you, mi cielo?"

You have to hand it to him: Javi knows what he wants. It's hard to consolidate your amusement and arousal as he squeezes your flesh, kneads you like he's getting out all his stress, spreading your thighs wide enough for him to lie comfortably between them. "You don't want breakfast first?" you coo, threading your fingers through his hair while he uses you like a pillow. 

On any other day, breakfast could be brought to your room by the chefs at a moment's notice, or you and Javi could cook together (well, you could cook while he distracts you by touching you all over). But he's right: today's Sunday, the chefs don't work, and you're so fucking happy here. Here, in your giant bed, in your giant bedroom, where you're the only two people in the world. 

You shriek with laughter when Javi, kissing his way up your belly, brushes his fingers up your sides. "Tickles!" you manage to gasp. 

Javi continues his work, holding onto your hips while he makes it to your breasts. Your nipples are perky in the cool morning air, and Javi can't resist taking one into his mouth. "Oh," you sigh, "you're unbelievable."

He just hums, sending a shockwave down your spine. “You're so beautiful."

You smile tiredly, brushing your hand through his soft hair. "Look who's talking," you say, voice groggy with sleep. "My handsome man."

He preens under your attention, his need to please you so desperate it makes him shiver with excitement when he ducks his head and bites down on the inside of your thigh. You yelp, then laugh, your voice like bells in his head. "Too early," you say weakly. 

"Mi diamante, I wanna make you feel good," he says, voice pitching up in a whine. "Te amo. Please."

His fingers squeeze your thighs, his pleading brown eyes craving your consent, pupils dark with arousal, and you're wide awake, nodding your head and brushing your thumb across his cheek. "Te amo," you say softly. "My love. Make me feel good."

He's so eager it fills your chest with warmth. His big hands are curled around your thighs to keep you still as he flattens his tongue between your folds and licks up your slit. He knows your body so well that he laughs when your hips jerk up to meet his mouth. "Patience, mi cielo ," he mumbles, flicking his tongue against your clit.

It's you in charge of things around here, and he knows it. He loves it, in fact. It makes him so hot with need, so hard he grinds his hips against the mattress for relief when you grab hold of his hair and beg, "More, Javi. Please, honey."

"'M going to give you more," he says, diving back in and licking deep inside you, tasting your wetness and latching onto your clit. You let your head fall back when a weak moan rips from your throat, but you want to watch him while he eats you out. Lifting your head back up, you see him with his eyes closed, fingers digging into you so hard they'll leave bruises, groans spilling from his mouth like he's the one lost in pleasure. It makes you whimper his name, and he opens his eyes to meet yours as he continues sucking at your clit. 

“S’good,” you tell him, writhing so badly he snakes one hand up to press down on your belly. “So gooood... Oh! Javi—fuck!”

You're loud in bed, and so is Javi, and you both annoy the housekeepers to no end. You hang a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door from dusk until noon each day, just in case. Still, it's hard to believe they don't hear the noises coming from your bedroom every night. Javi signs their cheques, so they never say a word.

He continues alternating between sucking and lapping up your arousal with his expert tongue while you cry out his name like a chant. His own moans create delicious vibrations up your centre as he devours you like he's eating his last meal. “Javi, I'm going to… I’m—” He wiggles his tongue back and forth across your clit and you're bursting, soaking his tongue and slapping your hand over your mouth to drown your cries. 

He reaches up and grabs your wrist. "Let me hear you," he mutters, licking everywhere but your clit to keep from overstimulating you as you come down from your high. You're sighing and groaning, your body melting into the mattress as your bones deflate. You feel like you're floating.

He's crawling back up your body and pressing gentle kisses to your neck. You feel his erection on your belly, heavy and leaking, but he's paying no mind to the fact he's hard as rock. He's just lavishing attention on you. Javi never takes, just gives and gives and gives. While he seems to take just as much pleasure from making you come as you do, it feels so good to make him happy, to make him orgasm, watching his beautiful face scrunch up when he spills down your throat, hearing him ramble away in Spanish when you're taking him so well, tan bueno . He doesn't ask for a thing, but you love to give and give as much as he will let you. 

That said, his pretty brown eyes are gleaming with a plea. "One more?" he begs, sliding a hand up your side, making you shiver. "Can I have one more?"

You grin up at him, pushing his damp hair back from his face. It's curling around his neck and forehead from the sweat, and he looks as fucked as you feel. "Breakfast," you say, tipping your head up to capture his mouth. "And then I'll give you what you need, baby." 

He growls into your mouth. "Can't wait to taste you again, mi cielo. Need it."

Smirking, you reach between your bodies and squeeze the base of his cock. He sucks in a breath, bucking against you, a whine leaving his mouth. “That's not what I meant, my love. I'm going to give you what you need.”

His forehead drops to yours. “I just need you, my love.”

You slide your hands up his shoulders, admiring the smooth, hard muscles, and cup his face. "My sweet boy.” He grins, nudging his strong nose against yours. “Pick out my clothes for today, okay? Anything you want. We’ll go out, do something.”

His eyes are bright with eagerness. "Anything?"

You laugh. "It's gotta cover my ass, baby. We might be in public."

"But it's such a beautiful ass," he says, rolling you over so you're on your stomach, sprawled out under him as he crawls down your body and makes a point of his statement by biting into the flesh of your right cheek.

You yelp. “Javi!”

He lands a smack to your ass. You wiggle it slightly, loving the way his eyes darken until the pupils are large enough to swallow his irises. "Want everyone else looking at it? Want them all to see?"

He huffs, his head falling onto your ass like it's a pillow. “Fuck. I'm sorry, mi diamante . I'm putting you in a burlap sack. I want you all to myself.”

He makes his way back up toward you at your gentle urging, kissing all the way, until you can gather him in your arms again. 

You hum softly, resting your head right where his heart is. "I'm all yours, my love. Right where I wanna be." Tracing your finger around a freckle on his left pectoral, you add, "And I'll look just as hot in a burlap sack."

Javi chuckles, kissing your head. "I know, darling."

~

"Javi?"

His voice drifts from the bedroom. "¿Sí?"

You smirk, knowing what's about to come. "Can you zip me up?"

The instant noise of footsteps makes you laugh, and Javi's right behind you, his gaze hungry as it lands on your bare back. His hands settle at your hips. "Muy hermosa ..." The zipper begins to slide downward until it catches at the small of your back. “Everybody will be looking at you.”

You say his name through an exasperated laugh. "Zip me up, not down."

But he's got his mouth at your shoulder, squeezing your hip. "You're so soft," he mumbles. "This dress is beautiful."

"Made the right choice," you hum, digging your fingers into his locks when he hits a sweet spot at your throat. "Javi, baby, we'll be late."

"We can go anywhere we want, any time we want." His hand slithers around the waist and presses on your belly, pulling you against him. "We're never late. Everyone else is early."

Your head falls back against his shoulder when he slides the baby blue dress (he bought it for you because it matched one of his best suits) down your body and leaves you back at square one. "Your logic"—you swallow a groan when his fingers tease your nipples—"is fallible."

"Big words," he muses, "my little reporter. Want to make you forget them all."

"My hair will be all messy because you can't keep it in your—ah!" You gasp when his fingers find your clit. You shudder and collapse against the countertop, bracing your hands there to keep yourself from face-planting. "Mmm," you keen, arching your back against him. You can see one another in the mirror, and your eyes are half-closed. His are enraptured with the way you grind against his fingers. "Fuck… oh, fuck , Javi.”

Javi reaches down to unbuckle his belt, but you're spinning around and dropping to your knees before he can get his pants down. You look up at him through your lashes, freshly painted with mascara, and watch his mouth drop, one hand clutching the sink. "Let me," you whisper. 

" Sí, sí ," he says, nodding eagerly, murmuring over and over. You slide his Cartier belt right out of the loops and drape it around your neck. Next come the button and zipper, then you're dropping his pants low enough to palm him over his boxers. Javi sucks in a breath through his teeth. Your mouth waters at the sight of the hair trailing down to his erection, and you nuzzle your face against him, hands gripping his thick thighs, your tongue slipping out to lick up his length over his underwear. Javi's moan melts you. "I… I…”

"Use your words, baby," you tell him. "They don't have to be big ones."

" Por favor ," he manages. " Por favor, mi cielo ... Please keep going."

You smile up at him. "You want to fuck my mouth, handsome?"

You aren't sure if he even heard you because he's gone silent. But his entire body stiffens, his cock twitches under your cheek, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck.”

"I want you to," you say, squeezing him again. "You want it too, right, sweetheart?" Seemingly unable to speak when you're touching him like this, he nods. "Good boy. You wouldn't deny your girl when she needs to taste you, would you?”

"No, no, no." He's blind with desire, dripping precum, the grey of his boxers darkening. "No, don't want that. Want you to..."

"Words, my love."

"Want to—to fuck your mouth."

Your heart swells for him. "That's it, honey. I'll squeeze your thigh like this if you need me to stop, okay?" Another nod. "I love you, Javi."

" Te amo, te amo ," he whimpers, his hand cradling your head. You're taking him out of his boxers and starting slow, letting your spit fall on his shaft and moving your hand up and down the length of him. He's so keen it makes you ache, but he stops himself from bucking his hips, wanting you to take over. And you do. 

You take your time licking at the tip, making him whine with impatience. When you flatten your tongue against the underside of his shaft and lock eyes with him, his are watery. "Relax," you tell him, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip. "I'll be good to you. Okay?"

"Always good to me," he manages with a breathy laugh. 

You settle your lips around his head and teasingly flick out your tongue along the vein on his shaft. He shudders under your grip. “Shit.”

You hum around him and guide his hand to your hair. Use me , your eyes tell him. He's always reluctant to take you like this, and his eyes glitter with lust-addled hesitance. But slowly, gently, he cradles your head and pushes his hips forward until your nose is nestled in the hair at the base of his cock. He’s warm and heavy on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, relishing his taste, and he groans. “Are you okay?” he manages. You just blink slowly up at him, eyes watering, makeup smearing. Keep going .

He begins a languid rhythm, your throat suctioning around his length as he thrusts his cock down your throat, using your mouth to pleasure himself. 

At some point, his eyes shutter closed, his mouth falls open, and he stops treating you like he's afraid to hurt you. He loses himself inside your hot, wet mouth, tangling his fingers in your hair and holding you on his dick, your tongue slipping out again to swirl around the head. He makes a strangled noise at the same time you choke on him, spit and mascara and lipstick concocting on your face and throat.

He forgets English in his haze, muttering and cursing in Spanish as his hips get sloppy. He's faltering, his grip ironclad around a mess of your hair, and you only get more eager as he gets closer. 

“Tan buena, tan buena, mi amor. Mierda—” He cuts himself off with a high-pitched grunt, slamming his palm down on the vanity top to keep himself from falling over. He comes hard, suddenly, his back pinching up in a hundred twinges of white-hot pleasure. He can only say your name in a cracked whisper as you anchor yourself on his cock and take every drop of his cum down your throat. 

He watches it in awe: his cock pumping hot cum inside your mouth, your hands resting on his hips, your throat expanding with every eager swallow. You're wrecked, covered in makeup and sweat and spit and his cum, dribbling down your lips as he pulls out of you. Your tongue darts out and licks it all up. 

Panting, he swipes his thumb beneath your eyes. “Made you cry,” he says weakly. 

You smile up at him. “Happy tears. Horny tears. Did that feel good, my love?”

“So fucking good, amor.” Javi helps you to your feet and gathers you in his arms. He gently wipes the makeup from your face, even though the sight of your ruined mascara makes his softening cock twitch, back in his pants. “My beautiful woman. Love of my life.”

Your grin widens, your fingers smoothing his damp hair away from his forehead. “You look… really good when you come.”

He knows how that feels. 

~

Javi loves his craft. He loves to write and act and chew on the meat of a really good story. He loves when he gets inspired, scrambling out of the pool despite your pouting and scribbling his ideas down in the notepad he always carries. He likes to write on paper; it’s the undeniable authenticity of a hand, a pen, a once-living tree. 

You watch him as he works, resting your chin on your arm as you kick your feet behind you in the water: his brow scrunching in concentration, his lips moving in tandem with the words he puts to paper. He never scratches out an idea, and fuck, you love him, your heart clenching at the way he sees life as something beautiful, something bright and pulsating with possibility. 

Javi loves his craft. He doesn’t love all the fucking things he has to attend.

Before he had you, he didn’t know how he made it through so many public events. He’s wearing an eggplant-purple suit, a black dress shirt beneath, his Cartier watch and belt and the cuff links you bought him as an anniversary gift—shaped like two golden guns. You’re securing earrings on your lobes, the pearl teardrops he bought you for that same anniversary. 

Your dress is long, black, elegant; it has one long sleeve and leaves your other arm bare, but the long slit up the thigh on the opposite side balances the asymmetry. It’s a masterpiece of tailoring, specially fashioned for you—but that may just be your beauty. It is universal, mutually intelligible among all humans, all species. It is a thing that cannot be misunderstood. He considers it his job to ensure it never is. 

You’ve been eyeing him up. It’s impossible not to be drawn to the broad cut of his shoulders, the tapering of his waist underneath that rich purple jacket. His hair is combed back but the curls at the nape of his neck remain. You admire his ass with little subtlety. This man is yours . He's beautiful, strong, tall, and so good. It overwhelms you, and you can't help but meet him in front of the mirror. Your hands find his shoulders as you kiss the patchy spots in his beard. “You're beautiful,” you whisper into his skin. 

Javi’s pout is award-winning, his cheek falling onto your shoulder. "Mi amor, I'm going to die tonight."

You caress his jawline and grab his chin between your thumb and forefinger to bring his face up to your level. "You're being dramatic,” you tell him, placing a kiss on his miserable mouth. "It's one night."

He looks into your eyes, dead-serious. "I will surely drop from the heart attack all this stress gives me,” he whines. "Will you resuscitate me?"

You nod. "I used to be a lifeguard." 

It's endearing how easily he gets distracted by your mouth. "Mmm."

"Javi," you whisper.

"Mmm?" he says again, still vaguely chasing your lips. 

"If you make it through tonight without dropping dead, I'll let you do whatever you want to me in the limo on the way back home."

It does its job of perking him up. He grins at you and reaches for the zipper at the side of your dress. “Javi,” you say. “After the party. Yeah?”

He sighs through his nose, nestling his tense brow into your temple. “After,” he grumbles. 

You nudge your head to the side and kiss away the frown. “Help me with my shoes?”

His gaze finds you, wide and wanting, and you turn into a puddle at the sight of him so excited to just touch you. You lift your pair of sleek black-strapped heels—Louboutins, part of a PR package from Javi’s last film—and place them into his hands. He drops to one knee while you sit on the bench at the foot of the bed. 

Javi tenderly lifts your ankle, caressing the bone with his thumb, and slides the shoe onto your foot. He's so gentle when he secures the strap, ensuring they don't pinch your skin, asking if it's okay. You're so breathless from his beauty and his tenderness that you can only nod. 

He takes his time lifting the goosebumps on your body as he slides the other shoe on. “Beautiful,” he says, sliding your leg up onto his shoulder and pressing a kiss to your knee, your thigh, indulging in the taste of you, the sweetness of your shampoo, your body wash, your softness. 

He knows there isn't time to make you come, but he wants to. If he had his way, he'd spread you out and fuck you until you scream, but he doesn't have it his way. He needs to attend this party. He needs to schmooze and network and smile. He'll do it with you on his arm. 

“You’ll stay with me?” he says, helping you to your feet. You're on more even ground thanks to the height of your heels. 

You grin at him and tuck a stray curl behind his ear. “Why would I ever want to let you go?”

To the credit of the hosts, the party is certainly lavish. It's a screenwriters’ (or is it screen actors’?) congregation for The Association of Something Or Another, and Javi holds your hand a little tighter when you pass through the threshold into the swanky hotel ballroom. Photos flash in front of a large balloon arch decorated with gold and black and there’s a long banquet table catered with too-small dishes that couldn’t fill up a fish’s stomach. At least everything looks nice.

“Mr. Gutierrez,” says a voice behind the pair of you. It’s producer-actor-schmoozer John Cayman, followed by a mousy publicist, beaming at Javi and clapping him on the shoulder like they’re old friends. “How’ve you been, man?”

Javi frowns a little at the way Cayman hasn’t even greeted you, but you squeeze his hand. “John,” he says politely, giving him a brief smile. “How is your latest project coming?”

Cayman shrugs in a what-can-you-do way. “Got caught up in pre-production after some budgeting issues. Not my department.” 

It’s code for The producer bailed but my pride won’t let me reveal that. His eyes finally slide toward you, a bit dismissive, and he says politely: “How are you…?”

You supply him with your name, courteous as ever, but Javi’s hand is squeezing the circulation out of yours. Cayman certainly isn’t shy about being a dick. Your face and your name are plastered over the Internet all the fucking time, and he has the gall not to recognise you. “Right. Well, you look lovely. Very beautiful.”

“Of course she does,” says Javi, turning his head to kiss your temple. He whispers in your ear: “Eres la cosa más radiante que he visto. Y este tipo es un cabrón (You're the most radiant thing I've ever seen. And this guy is an asshole).”

“Juega bien (Play nice),” you tell him, trying to stifle a giggle.

Javi pouts. “Pero está siendo cruel contigo (But he’s being cruel to you).” 

“This night is about you, Javi,” you whisper, your thumb rubbing circles over the tattoo on his hand. “You don’t have to worry about me. Look—he got bored.”

Javi’s eyes look up from you to sweep the room for Cayman, but he’s shoehorning himself into another conversation by the hors d’oeuvres table. You smile brightly and pluck two champagne flutes from a passing server. “To wishing we were somewhere else,” you toast.

Javi clinks his glass against yours. “The beach,” he muses, crowding you and kissing your cheek. “The sun and the sand. Paris. Venice.” You feel his teeth graze your jaw when he grins. “California. My Hollywood beauty, hmm?”

You lift your brows playfully. “I’m your arm candy, baby.”

Javi hums, tugging you close around the waist. “We’re leaving.”

“We’ve been here for twenty minutes.”

“And it's been long enough. One idiot insulting you is two too many.” 

“I can take insults, Javi,” you tell him. “I interrogate people for a living.”

“Well, I don't have to take it.” He brings your hand to his lips. “We're going home.”

You just laugh and nod. He’s a little more commanding than usual when he takes the flute from your hand, sets them both down on a table nearby, and guides you toward the limousine. You’ve seen it in the way he used to handle the family business: his posture changes, his broad shoulders squaring, and his brow furrows, his twinkling eyes shrouded in a veil. You realise it was always an act, but sometimes he reminds you that he can be a dangerous man. Arousal coils hot and tight in your core as you practically scramble for the limo.

You both slip inside, and once the driver pulls away from the curb, Javi lifts up your ankle onto his lap and begins to slip the shoe off your foot. The privacy screen is closed, so you're both alone. “Beautiful legs,” mutters Javi, officially in his own world now that he gets to act on your promise from earlier. He slides one shoe off and presses a flurry of kisses to your calves. “Beautiful skin.”

“Javi,” you giggle, offering him your other leg, his big hands working deftly at the straps of your heels. He suddenly wraps his arms around your thighs and jerks you toward him until you're on his lap. You squeal, smacking his chest. “Gonna give me whiplash, cowboy.”

“This beautiful body.” Javi buries his face in your neck, his hands around your waist and his fingers splaying over your back, warming the skin beneath your dress. He loves to inhale your scent: your sweet perfume (you've always worn the same Valentino since he bought it for you as a birthday present—before he'd even gotten you to agree to a date), the slight stick of dewy sweat to your neck as your arousal deepens and your dress begins to suffocate you. You're a goddess and he worships your body like it, his strong nose nudging your jaw aside to give him more access to your throat. He bites playfully, making you gasp. 

“So… fucking… beautiful.” He brushes your hair away from your neck so he can kiss it properly, tasting you as much as he wants because you told him he could. You let yourself melt into his touch, your tits squished up against his pressed shirt, tilting your head up to give him more of you. A moan slips from his mouth as he plunders your sweetness. 

He knows precisely every region of your body that will turn you into a puddle of wax. You're warm and sticky and malleable in his arms. Javi’s hand slides up to the back of your head and pulls you down to slot his mouth over yours. It's a slow but deep kiss; he devours you, his tongue sliding against yours, taking and taking while you try to keep up. You've given him permission to do what he likes, and the night has awakened something in your sweet, gentle boyfriend. 

“Javi.” 

He grunts at the sound of your whimper. It's bordering on pathetic, your hips wiggling in his lap, chasing his lips when he pulls away to look at you. You're both panting, and he grins, that twinkle back in his eye as he takes in your flushed chest, your swollen lips. 

“I want to take off your dress,” he says, toying with the zipper at the back of your gown. “And I want you to sit on my cock.”

You can hardly breathe, but your fingers tangle in his hair to ground you as you nod vigorously. His voice is dark and clear and leaves no room for compromise, and it thrills you so terribly that your panties are soaked through by the time he begins to pull down your zipper. 

“Please fuck me, Javi.” 

“I will, mi amor.” His hands slide slowly up your thighs, reverent in his touch, until he reaches your ass and kneads handfuls of it. You unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants and you're salivating with need when you finally reach into his underwear and wrap your hand around his shaft. “Fuck,” he grunts. “Need to be inside you.”

His hands are needy now. They bunch up your dress around your hips and pull you desperately toward him, your cunt sliding up against his thigh. Javi shuffles down on the bench seat eagerly, letting you sit right on his hips. You jerk him slowly, leaning down to kiss him. 

Your hand feels so good around his cock, your scent enveloping him, that Javi can barely keep his mouth against yours. It keeps falling open in pleasure, his eyes squeezing shut. “Shit,” he says at last, forehead falling against yours. “Shit. Let me feel you. ¿Por favor?”

“I said you can do whatever you want, Javi,” you tell him, nibbling on his earlobe. “I meant it.”

He shifts suddenly, pressing you up against him with his hand on your back and using his other to guide his cock to your entrance, your panties shoved hastily to the side. Your cunt sucks in the tip, your head falling back and Javi’s hips bucking. It shoves him deeper, making you cry out, and just because he can do whatever he wants to you, his hand slips over your throat and squeezes at your pulse points. He doesn't want to cover your mouth; he likes to hear what he does to you. He wants to make you feel good. And the way your eyes roll toward the back of your skull—

Yes. You definitely feel good. 

“That's it,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, watching in awe as you take him all the way, the tight, hot seal of your cunt a vise around his cock. “That's my beautiful girl. Mi diamante.”

“Oh, Javi,” you gasp, “you're so big. You feel so good. So deep—ah!” 

He loves the way your brows furrow as he grinds up into you. Javi’s breath puffs out with the exertion of not moving as you situate yourself on top of him. You shuck down the top of your dress until it's a mess of fabric at your hips, your tits bare for him to use the way he likes. Javi is balls-deep before he can even form words again. When he does, they're mostly Spanish, and mostly curses. 

“Please,” you whine. “I want to ride you, Javi. Let me feel your big cock.”

He will. He’ll let you. Your hips rock back and forth, taking the whole length of his cock with each punch of your thighs down onto his as you begin to quicken your pace. 

Javi’s lips part in the shape of your name. It's sloppy in such a confined space but you still manage to make it look graceful: the gentle undulation of your hips as you grind on his cock to make yourself feel good and the flex of your thighs as you lift yourself up and down, making him feel good. 

Fuck. He remembers your first night together. Crashing into furniture in his gigantic foyer as you struggled to find your way to the stairs, refusing to part from one another. He nearly toppled over the railing only for you to pull him by his tie and tug him all the way to his bedroom. For good measure, you knocked over another vase on a small table before you made it to the bed.

Javi took control that night. He had chased you for so long—literally—around the globe, persevering past your gentle rejections. Jobs like ours don't facilitate quality time. We're busy people, Javi. We both have needs, and you'll get sick of me. 

He used that night to show you how wrong you were. He wanted to show you how devoted he was. He wanted to put all your worries into a mortar and grind them down into fine dust. He wanted to scatter them to the wind atop a mountain. He still doesn't like it when you frown. 

Except for when your brow furrows in pleasure, the way it does now. “Jav—” You're cut off when he places a hand on your lower belly and presses his thumb against your clit. “Javi! God, you're so good. You feel so good, baby.”

He's golden with pride and you laugh a little breathlessly at the grin that crawls up his face. He can't help but beam when you tell him how good he is to you, but it's oh-so easy for you to clench around his cock and dissolve that smile into a look of bliss. His head falls back against the seat and his eyes squeeze shut for a moment. “Eso se siente tan bien.”

“Lo sé,” you laugh softly. 

Your pussy leaks onto his cock and dribbles out onto his pants, soaking him with the scent of you. You're both sweating, panting. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth and lavishes it with his tongue as he sucks. Your moan is high-pitched and weak, your pace on his cock stuttering. He takes over by grinding deep inside you and rubbing your clit with his thumb. He's so close, but he needs you there first. 

You come first in everything. 

“Ja—Javi.” Your thighs begin to tremble with the force of your orgasm until you can't even hold yourself up anymore. “I… oh, fuck, I can’t—”

“You can. Hold onto me, amor.” You wind your arms tightly around his neck and he hoists you higher up his hips. With the new position established, Javi begins to fuck you. Hard. 

You're so sensitive from your orgasm that you whine into his neck, but he shushes you gently, soothing your cries with his gentle hands at the same time his cocks wrecks you, his thighs pounding relentlessly against your ass. 

He's so deep, so fucking thick and heavy inside you, that you can feel the weight of him in your belly. And the rest of him handles you with such care that the contrast twists your head into senseless knots. He's always been like that: able to handle you in just the right ways to banish all thoughts from your head besides him, him, him. He's a little selfish that way. 

Javi’s brows draw up in the middle and his cock twitches inside you. “Shit, shit, oh my—”

Light suddenly floods the backseat of the limo and a silhouette eclipses it. 

“Señor Gutierrez, we've—oh.”

You yelp, your head jerking to the side so fast that you accidentally smack it against the ceiling of the limo. Javi’s instincts are sharper than yours, rushing to cover your tits and angle your body away from the driver. 

He’s still fucking inside you, still spilling his cum inside you, and although the driver is averting his gaze, Javi grits his teeth. “Privacidad,” he hisses. 

“I’m sorry, sir. So sorry.” The poor man is flushed red, his back to the two of you, but you're still hiding your face in Javi’s neck as he keeps your tits hidden by pressing them up against his chest. 

“We’ll be inside shortly,” you tell the driver, kind as ever. “Thank you, Henry.”

The old man scurries dutifully away and you keep your burning face nestled in the crook of your boyfriend’s neck. “That… was so embarrassing.”

Because you and Javi have been caught by many a housekeeper before you had the DO NOT DISTURB sign made, you swallow your humiliation and laugh a little about the ridiculousness of it all. 

Javi huffs, cradling the back of your head. “I should fucking fire him. Malo. Knows he's supposed to knock first.”

And because he's getting mad at the thought of someone seeing you in a vulnerable state, you decide to calm his nerves. “He’s old, baby,” you coo, soothing him by pressing kisses to his throat and curling your fingers in his hair. “It’s okay. I’m sure he's seen a woman’s body before.”

“Not yours.” Javi pats your ass gently. “Never yours.”

“Come on, guard dog. Let's go inside.” You clamber off him and hastily pull your panties back on so none of his cum drips down your thighs. “At least we got to come.”

Javi kisses the crown of your head. “Good. That killed my mood.”

~

“Mi amor!” shouts Javi from the hallway. “They want it! They want my movie!”

Javi comes barreling into the bedroom, waving a thick manuscript around in his hand. You're rarely fazed by his theatrics, but this time, it's special for him. You pause halfway through taking out your earrings and let him scoop you up into his arms, twirling you around and planting kisses all over your face. 

You shriek with laughter and try to hold on, but you're both a little dizzy when he stops spinning. Together, you topple into the bed, Javi still seeking your mouth when he lands on top of you. “I’m… so proud… of you,” you tell him between kisses. 

He’s so gleeful your chest pinches. “There's so much to think about,” he muses, a small tornado of energy as he pins you to the bed and plants kisses all over your body. It's like he's writing his to-do list on your skin. “I need a director. I need to scout locations. I need an entire fucking crew. I need—”

“Actors,” you say, a bit breathless in your attempt to catch up to his speed. “You need actors, baby.”

“Yes!” He drops his forehead to your sternum, right between your tits. “I need actors. I need the most talented, beautiful star quality this world has ever seen.” 

You thread your fingers through his soft, long hair. “And you need a Diamond.”

Javi grins up at you. “My sparkling Diamond. That will be a difficult casting choice, my love,” he says, tracing your hip bone with his thumb. “Diamond is a… uniquely beautiful woman. She shines brighter than every other character. She is the heart of my movie. The melody.”

“What sort of lucky woman will get that role, hmm?” You revel in the hungry spark in his eyes. His excitement is infectious. “That’s a lot to measure up to.”

“I know.” Javi crawls up your body until he can put his mouth on yours once more. “I wrote her after you.”

[megamindsecretlair]

The King and I, Part 1

Pairing: King Ghezo x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. This is more background than anything, so mentions of violence, violence against women, brief mentions of rape, torture, murder, slave trade, and suicidal ideation. Hopefully this will be 3 parts, will lead to smut! Ya heathens, I know what you here for LOL. And you all deserve forehead kisses.

Summary: Raised to be perfect, your father has had it with your disobedience. He marches you to the palace and throws you at the King's feet. You'd rather die than be another person's property. But the King surprises you in many ways.

Word Count: 3,533k

A/N: Couldn't get this idea out of my brain and it definitely doesn't follow the canon in the movie. AH well, LOL. I love it and that's all that matters. Hopefully, my brain continues to cooperate. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Taglist: @planetblaque @browngirldominion

Before you had a chance to be a little girl, you were coveted for your looks. How pretty you were. How nice your hair was. Paraded out in front of many odd, adult people who looked at you with strange things in their eyes. Things you were too young to understand.

As you got older, it only got worse. You were expected to sit there like a doll and let people talk over you or around you, as if you were no more than grass beneath their feet. Wind in their hair. Something always there and easily ignored.

So you made the decision to be seen. You gave opinions when they weren’t wanted. You stayed in other people’s business. You resisted and rebelled. It was nice while it lasted.

Your father made sure to curb you of such habits. But somehow, the punishments never took like they were supposed to. You continued to speak. To use the gifts the gods gave you. If they did not want you to speak, they should have taken your tongue.

At his end, your father gave up his pursuit of a wealthy match for you. “If you will not listen to me, I will give you to someone you have no choice but to obey!” Spittle flew from your father’s mouth.

As you were marched to the palace, that was the one thing you focused on. Your father was a proud man. Perhaps you had gone a step too far if he was letting spit fly from his mouth with abandon. This was the least of your concern, true, but being cast off on the newly appointed King Ghezo was too big to face head on.

People in the village watched as you were marched there, your father’s grip on your arm near bruising. His thick fingers were wrapped around your upper arm. He set a brutal pace and walked forward whether you were able to keep up or not. You stared at the people. You made them look at you.

You didn’t expect them to do anything to help you. No one ever lifted a finger to help little girls. You were many years an adult by now, but to everyone, you were still so young. Young in the ways of the world. But growing up, weren’t you taught the ways of the world? 

The powerful were in charge with no one to challenge them otherwise. While everyone else was sheep, forced to do their bidding. 

Your feet tripped over rocks in the dirt road. Your father continued marching. The palace gates were not far now. Dread started to inch its way to your heart. You had never seen the King, but you heard how your parents whispered about him. How he was both similar and different from his father and brother.

His father had been a cruel man, living in ways that your people hadn’t lived before. Surely, his son would be no different. When you learned that you were going to be given to the new king, you pictured how ugly he must be. How cruel. 

Your father was handing you over like a piece of meat. Handing his daughter over as if he had no hand in birthing you, raising you, guiding, and protecting you. Now you were nothing to him. You looked at him as he jostled you down the street. His eyes were set forward, a frown on his face.

Did he not feel anything at all? All these years you had been in his care and there wasn’t an ounce of feeling in him.

“Did you ever love me?” You asked. You were out of breath and it was said softly. Perhaps he didn’t hear you. You hoped. You didn’t really want to hear his answer. Hear that despite everything else, he did not share that love for you as you did for him all these years.

“You are an insolent child. I will make more of you. I will instill in them obedience where you had none,” he spat. 

You refused to cry. You had an idea that he didn’t truly love you. Sometimes he’d look at you with such…hate. As if you were a stubborn stain he could not remove. You thought it was because of your looks. Because it was all anyone could talk about. But even when it was just you and your mother, he would still look at you as if he could cast you out with a single look.

At the palace gates, the guards halted your father. The red doors were large, stretching high above you. Anyone who went in, never came back out. You heard whispered words about why the King would need so many women. There was talk of him eating flesh. If he sold it, was there a big stretch to eating it? 

You’d die before you got eaten. As your father argued with the guards, telling how he had a disobedient child that the King could do whatever he wanted with, you made the second biggest decision of your life. You will die before harm befell you. In whatever form that was. 

If the King forced himself on you, you’d kill him and take yourself with him. If he tried to put you in a stew, you’d make him watch as you bled all over his fancy robes. The guards finally opened the gates enough for you to peek through.

Women were engaged in combat. Your mouth dropped open at how fierce they looked. You were not allowed to look upon the Agojie when they returned from their battles beyond the walls of the kingdom. But now you dared not to look away. 

Your father pushed you forward. One of the guards caught you and you turned your head to your father. This was the most satisfied you had ever seen him. He hoped that the King did something awful to you. He was counting on it.

You straightened up behind the walls of the palace. You looked your father in the eyes and you smiled. You spat on the ground at his feet, that smile still on your face. His smile faltered, rage contorting his features. You turned your back on him and walked into the lion’s lair.

The guards handed you off one by one until a young guard escorted you to the front of the palace. In the training yard, men and women walked around with heads held high. It had never been your intention to become Agojie, but perhaps the mad King will let you once he found out how unsuitable for a wife you were. 

The thought of killing anyone made you ill, but it would be better than to be bound to someone who could have you killed with one word. 

The guard took you to the door that led to the inner palace. An Agojie met you there, a tall woman with beautiful features and sharp nails. She looked you up and down and conversed with the guard. You didn’t pay attention. You were marching to your death, what did the particulars matter? 

The woman took possession of you, leading you into the inner palace where it was women only. Everywhere you looked, there were Dahomey women walking freely. They laughed! They trained, they ran, and hugged each other without abandon. There were a few women from other tribes there, but…this sight robbed you of clear thought.

“You will catch flies if you leave your mouth open like that,” the Agojie said. 

The Agojie stalked forward, a hand on the hilt of her weapon. You briefly wondered how you could steal one unnoticed. You searched around you. There were weapons everywhere but there were so many Agojie, you doubted you’d be able to capture one. 

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“Nanisca,” the warrior said. “You’d do well to listen to whatever the King wants.” 

You didn’t need to be reminded of the King’s cruelty. It was all your father taunted you with for days as he made his decision to hand you over. You followed Nanisca to the palace proper. There, a man dressed in bright purple robes greeted you. He was bald with lots of jewelry hanging from his nose, ears, and around his neck. He looked you up and down and then rolled his eyes towards Nanisca.

“I suppose we will have this to look forward to from now on,” he said.

“As long as our King breathes air,” Nanisca said. She left you there with the man. 

“Come,” he said. You followed him, though dread made your steps wooden and your limbs frozen. You were too deep to escape now. But escape to where? Outside the kingdom, you ran the risk of slavers. Rapists. Murderous thugs who would know where you came from and kill you just for being born in the wrong tribe.

The palace was nice, almost peaceful. There was the clank of weapons outside. Grunts and sounds from the Agojie as they practiced. The palace was big but also felt empty. As if there weren’t a lot of people there.

The King must be fat then. Perhaps he ate all the servants and would-be brides. The bald man led you through to a chamber with many chairs. On a raised dais, there was a large throne and a smaller one beside. 

“Wait here,” the man said. He twirled and disappeared down the hall. You took a step forward, looking at the displayed riches and art work. If a king was cruel, did he know anything about art? Or beauty? 

“Is this necessary?” You heard mumbling and turned towards the door, ready to face the King head on. To see what kind of monster your parents have subjected you to. 

A young man walked in, with thick curled hair and light facial hair. He wore robes of gold, his robe split open revealing a well defined chest. He stood in the doorway and gazed at you as you did him.

He certainly didn’t look monstrous. You knew that evil things often came in the prettiest packages, but he was beautiful. Strong. Solid. 

He was still your new jailor, you mustn’t forget. So you stood there and looked him in the eye. You were not a victim and you will not be treated as such. 

“What is your name?” He asked. He pressed into the room further, looking you up and down with desire in his eyes. Your parents taught you well. How to spot it in others. 

You told him your name and he repeated it. As if to savor it around his tongue. He walked closer until he was within reach. Up close, he was even more handsome. You had to fight yourself from getting distracted by his looks. He was still cruel. You remembered all the horrible stories about his brother. He couldn’t be any different.

“So your father has given you away to me.” 

It wasn’t a question, but you answered anyway. “He has, my King,” you said.

“Do you wish to be given away?” He asked.

You gasped and looked at him. You looked to the bald man for help but he was turned away from the two of you. You looked back towards King Ghezo. It was the first time anyone had asked what you wished. For it to come from a king who should not care what you wanted…you weren’t sure what to do with the information.

“N-No,” you said.

King Ghezo nodded. “I wish I could make it easier for you. But you are too beautiful to be Agojie and if I turn you from this palace, you will have nowhere to go.” He reached for your hand and you snatched it from him. He smiled patiently as he held out his hand to you.

He was only pretending to be nice. A stupid, hopeful part of you had thought he wasn’t like the stories. He was worse. Still, he was correct. If he turned you away, you had nowhere to go. Once you had been here, everyone would assume the King used you and not deemed you worthy. Cast you out like a whore. You would be forced to sell your body. 

You took his hand. He gripped it lightly and smiled. He kissed the back of your hand. “Welcome, my Queen,” he said.

The next few days were a blur. King Ghezo’s first wife saw to your preparation for the wedding. The eunuch from earlier saw to your lessons, what was expected of you. No different than what your father had wanted from you. To be on your best behavior and only speak when spoken to. 

You hadn’t seen the King since then, but you caught glimpses every now and then. You were given your own quarters and servant, someone to tend to your needs. It was odd to have someone help bathe you, but the King preferred cleanliness to all else. He was vain on top of a liar.

The feast arrived in no time and you were painted up like a doll. At the wedding, you stood there as expected. If you had smiled any harder, it would have split your face in two. You had stood there like a goat on the pasture, ready to be bought and chopped up. King Ghezo studied you, encircled you, and found you acceptable. You had been tense, near trembling. You hated every second of it.

But now you are married. You sat beside King Ghezo at the high table, while he joked and laughed with his advisors. His other wife sat on your side, quiet and dull. You pitied her. The fight had left her long ago. You were still young. There was still time for you. While everyone smiled and laughed and enjoyed the feast, you hid a knife up your sleeve. It wasn’t that sharp, but it’d do the trick when the King tried to climb in your bed tonight.

You smiled in his face and feigned an innocent routine. You waited for the casual cruelty. When he would hiss for you to shut up, eat more, eat less, sit up straight. It never came. He only gave you brief glances, each always polite. A smile on those plump lips. You couldn’t shake your resolve though. Tonight, you’d be free. Whether free in death or free in life was entirely up to him. 

That night, you lay in your bed. There was a door there that led to a small balcony overlooking the rest of the kingdom. It was mostly the trees in the forest, but they were tall and mighty and more than the view you got back home. You did not spare your father a thought, but you thought of your mother. It had not been her choice to marry such a cruel man. 

It had not been your choice to marry a cruel man either. However, you felt as if you had a child, you would have moved the heavens and the earth to protect it. To not let what happened to you, happen to your own daughter. You supposed that dream was gone now. You’d either die tonight and never have a kid, or face the wrath of the kingdom and bear one without your permission. Somehow death seemed kinder. 

You did not want to die. But how could you live within these walls? With that monster? Admittedly, you did not hear any screams late in the night. His first wife seemed unbothered. Untouched. She had borne him his first son, so perhaps he left her alone. And perhaps goats flew over the moon. 

Men were only interested in one thing from a woman. And it was not her brain. 

A soft knock tore you from your musings. You tensed up, sliding your hand beneath your pillow to wrap around the handle of the knife. Maybe if you pretended to be sleep, he’d come back another night.

The door pushed open, soft feet padded inside, and the door closed again. You lay on your side, turned towards the open balcony. If you screamed, would no one come to your aid? 

“Are you awake?” King Ghezo’s soft voice reached you. You didn’t answer. Your breaths were stalled in your chest. Your hand cramped from holding the knife too hard. 

The King poked at your shoulder before making you roll over. “I know you are not…”

You sat up and had the knife at his throat in one fell swoop. The King’s eyes widened, but he looked at you, not the knife.

“Will you kill me, my Queen?” He asked. 

You pressed the knife into his skin, hard enough to know you meant business but careful not to break the skin. You were already committing treason, but somehow, it was important not to mar the king. 

He stared at you. Those deep brown eyes set in such a handsome face. You looked for the cruel man you heard about. Where was he? You could harm a cruel man. They deserved it tenfold. Why wasn’t he making this easy on you?

“I don’t want to,” you finally admitted. “I have to.”

“Why?” 

What did he mean, why? “Aren’t you angry?” 

“Angry at a scared woman who has no one on her side? No,” he said. He was so calm, so patient. This was at odds with everything you built up about him in your head.

“Don’t pity me,” you said. You pushed the knife in deeper. 

He leaned away and held his hands up. “I do not pity you. I will not pretend to know your life. But I can promise that you’re safe here,” he said.

You scoffed. “I’m not safe anywhere,” you said. You pressed your lips together. That hadn’t been what you meant to say. You meant to throw it back on him, that he could not promise safety when he dealt in the slave trade. When he looked at his people and only saw money from white devils. 

His eyes softened and he slowly smiled. “No man intact can enter this palace. Beyond that, we are protected by the fiercest warriors in the world. Beyond them, there is a first legion still to defend this palace from enemies. Here in the heart of it, you are the safest you’ve ever been.” 

“But who will keep me safe from you?” 

King Ghezo leaned forward, making you choose between cutting him or retreating. You eased up on the pressure. “You can do a finer job protecting yourself than most women can,” he said.

You stared at him. Your arm began to shake from holding the knife for so long. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t kill him. You were weak and would never be accepted as an Agojie. You would never fare well beyond these walls. 

You dropped the knife on the bed and held out your wrists. “I’m ready for my punishment, my King,” you said.

King Ghezo let out a long breath. You noticed now that he wore a deep, royal purple that highlighted his rich, dark skin. He wore minimal jewelry. He was just that magnificent on his own. Especially when the candle light flickered across his features.

“Punishment?” 

“I’ve threatened the King. I am ready for whatever punishment you hand out,” you said.

The King ignored the knife on the bed between you. It was within his right to take it and kill you. Or take it as evidence of your deceit. He could brand it for all to see as he threw you out of the palace. 

He did none of those things. He reached out his hand slowly and enclosed yours in his. You stared at your hands in comparison to his. He watched you as he brought your hands to his lips and placed a small kiss there.

“Plot how next you’ll kill me. If I have not convinced you of my intentions, of my character by then, you may carry through,” he said.

“What? No, no!” You said. You pulled your hands back but he held on. He pulled you closer until your hands were pressed against his warm, smooth chest. 

“Keep the knife, my Queen. This will be interesting between us,” he said.

This was surely a trap. A way for him to play and toy with you while he tightened the noose about your neck. Or gathered wood to burn you alive. Or for the Agojie to sharpen their swords to take your head with it.

“My King…”

“One day, I wish for you to call me your love,” he said. “But I will earn it or die trying.” A cocky grin spread across his face. It transformed him from a king to a man. A man who you were married to, sitting on your bed, with intentions involving you. 

He placed one more kiss on your hands and then retreated from the room. He never gave you his back, but he did smile and bow. Then he was gone from your room. A chill from outside caressed your bare skin and you shivered.

Was the king truly mad? Or were you? And why did he make you want to find out which?

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[personasintro]

officially yours | jjk

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; you're his and he is yours on the paper – but what is the reality?

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, smut, arranged marriage au, friends to lovers

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, oral sex (f.), unprotected sex

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k+

a/n: commissioned 

The tall modern building is not usually a place you hang around. In fact, you could count on your fingers how many times you've been here. The modern and clean interior never fails to amaze you, but that can be expected from such a prestigious company. It looks like the ones people get to see in movies – it definitely feels different to be inside and see it with your own eyes.

Now you're not a complete stranger to wealth and fortune, but you see it from a completely different side than people would've expected. You weren't born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Even if it's a common assumption people have about you. 

“Welcome, Mrs. Jeon.”

The young receptionist welcomes you as soon as she spots you in a crowd full of working employees. Sometimes you wonder if you stick out so much, or they just know your face so much that they've got no problem recognizing you. Which is odd because you don't hang around in this circle of people very often. 

Mrs. Jeon. 

Even after a year, you feel a mixture of butterflies and oddness when hearing people addressing you like this. At the beginning, it took you quite a long time to get used to this. To hold such a powerful surname. Though, you felt proudness even though you're not sure if you had the right to feel it in the first place. 

Just a reminder that none of this is real.

Do you even deserve to be addressed by this surname that is technically yours only on papers? Morally, you're not so sure. 

A polite greeting makes it past your lips, trying not to squirm at the prying eyes of other people passing by. You're not exactly formally dressed, like every employee is. But you're not an employee. 

“Is my husband in his office?” you ask.

Again. After a year of marriage, you feel like you're letting a lie out of your mouth at addressing someone as your husband. 

The woman remains unbothered and completely clueless to your inner thoughts though. You haven't been doing this for a week, a year is a long time for you to improve your acting skills. 

“Yes, he just finished a meeting ten minutes ago. He's waiting for you.”

Giving her a simple nod and a soft 'thank you', you make your way to the elevators and click on the number of his floor where his office is located. 

It reminds you of the first time you settled on a deal that changed your lives. You've known Jungkook, though you never actually became close friends. There weren't actually many opportunities for you to get to know him better, the only heir to his parents company was too busy getting prepared for the new role and position as a CEO of Jeon industries. Funnily enough, two people with completely different backgrounds, you had some mutual friends where you actually met him.

You clicked, even from the few and very casual conversations you had. He wasn't the overly confident and cocky heir somebody would peg him for. He was grounded (in a way), polite and extremely charming. Though his parents were never strict about who he hangs out with or what he likes to do in his free time, one of the things they would pester him about was the need for him to settle down. It was the only pressure Jungkook always found in his parents.

It's not like he didn't have a choice to decide about his future – at that time the young twenty year old man wanted nothing more than to continue his family business. It's actually something he loves to do. He wasn't forced into it.

But with years passing by, Jungkook's parents would grow impatient and rather concerned about their son's lack of commitment. Random women taking their turns in his bed wasn't his strongest part. 

Naturally, they would start introducing him to their partners' daughters. And despite Jungkook's wildlife and freedom he had, they were nothing like him. Not that he's the romantic type who believes in soulmates and all that stuff, he wouldn't want to marry someone for money or any possible benefits for the company. The company was doing very well on itself and he didn't need to do any arranged marriage. 

He loves his parents to the bone. He is grateful for everything they've done for him – even more how they raised him and never were controlling. Not like his peers experienced in similar situations. 

Jungkook knows many people his age and in a same situation. It was bound for him to meet them, considering how many parties and social gatherings he had to attend, especially after being introduced as the new CEO. That's when he realized, after hearing his peers' struggles, how lucky and fortunate he is. 

So when his parents wouldn't let go of the topic of commitment and marriage, it was like a huge slap to his face. No matter what he would do or say, it wouldn't change their minds and eventually, Jungkook found himself stuck.

And that's when you came into the picture. 

The first time you heard his plan, you called him insane. You laughed into his face and told him you don't need anything he's offering you. Though Jungkook assured you he doesn't think of you as someone who needs or wants his money, he was more than willing to help you financially. He told you he would take care of you – something you found offending at first. 

Why would you need a man to take care of you? 

You are completely capable of taking care of yourself. You don't need any Jeon Jungkook to bathe you in wealth and luxury. 

But just like Jungkook – you're a loving daughter who would do anything for her parents. Well, unlike Jungkook, you weren't lucky enough to be growing up with two loving parents. 

The money Jungkook offered you by simply saying 'yes' would take care of any family member. Jungkook was no stranger, he still isn't. And after weighing the pros and cons for many sleepless nights, you found yourself nodding to his insane plan. 

Nobody could know. Rule number one.

The marriage would last for one year. It's the reason why you agreed to it in the first place. You wouldn't be bound to a man based on an arranged marriage for the rest of your life. You want your own family, kids, to fall in love. And a year didn't seem like a long time.

Jungkook made sure it didn't.

Whenever he would have free time, he would take you to places you would never dream about seeing. Countless vacations, trips and activities you would never be able to experience if it wasn't for him. And for that you will be grateful for the rest of your life.

To not make anyone suspicious, you agreed not to mess around with other people. Though, this particular deal wasn't settled at the beginning. It happened naturally. You couldn't risk being seen with other people, no matter how much you would try to hide it.

You will be watched, it was one of the things Jungkook was preparing you for.

And to be honest, you didn't want to go behind Jungkook's back, no matter how fake this marriage was. It's just a year, you will be fine. 

But having to share a bedroom, and two young people who find each other attractive, it didn't take long for you to succumb yourselves to your desires. There was nothing wrong about sleeping together, you were practically married.

You've found yourselves in a healthy and good relationship where two people became close friends. Even if the marriage is fake. The sex is mindblowing, so none of you actually miss the thrill of hooking up with anyone else. For the first time, Jungkook is committed, even though it's not exactly the way his parents think it is. 

And there he is. 

After politely knocking on the door and hearing his voice to invite you in, you open the door and find him sitting behind his desk. He looks fine as always, a few buttons unbuttoned to show how comfortable he allows himself to feel after a two hours long meeting. His suit is draped over the chair while he's slouched on the chair with a pen twirling between his long fingers.

“No lunch this time?” he asks, tilting his brow at you when he sees your empty hands.

You crack a smile, making your way to his desk while you sit on the small white leather couches. “Sorry, came straight from work.”

“It's fine,” he chuckles, “I'm only joking. How's the new employee?”

One of your dreams was to open your business. Jungkook helped you every step of the way, supported you in more ways than financially, while he helped to make your final decision. You've decided to own a clothing brand where you connected with amazing designers who helped to make your dream come true. Two years ago, you didn't even know it was something you'd like to do. 

Opening your e-shop has been absolutely amazing, making sure any body type is able to find their size. It's actually very rare in Korea to do that and you love to bring something new to the table. Jungkook liked the idea. You invested everything from your previous job to this project of yours. Living with Jungkook and not having to worry about any bills allowed you to freely focus and invest in your business. Sure, Jungkook must've helped but he was more than happy to do so. 

With your help, he got his parents off his back. 

After a year, he would tell them you decided to break it off. He's sure they won't pressure him into any other relationship or marriage after the divorce. If they do, he will handle it in a different way.

“He's great,” you smile, “Actually does the job this time, compared to the last one.” 

Jungkook laughs a little, knowing how tense you've been about this one particular employee who wasn't doing his job. Jungkook encouraged you to take care of it, and showed you you have to think about your business more than people's hearts. Especially to someone who's getting paid and not doing their job. 

Jungkook has been your guide from day one. A huge help.

“Great,” he nods, twirling the pen a few times before he tosses it on his desk. “I'm getting off work earlier today, should be home at six. Is that alright?” 

He sounds so gentle, the way he says home makes your heart squeeze.

“Yeah, sure.” you tell him. 

You've made plans for tonight, have been preparing yourself to talk to him about your deal. It's been a year and three months after your marriage, yet it's not ending and he has never brought this topic up.

“I'm meeting Jungseok in an hour, then I'm going home to prepare dinner for us.” you inform him, completely missing the way Jungkook's face drops at the mention of your close friend.

You've met him during your marriage, though there were no boundaries crossed, the man seemed to show an awful interest in a married woman. The worst thing about it is that he can't really say anything about it because technically, you're not really his. He knows you're not having anything serious with the mentioned man, though he's aware of your deal.

And he doesn't like any of it. 

“Oh, I didn't know.” he tries to say lightly, hating how tight his throat suddenly feels. 

“Ah, he texted me this morning. We haven't seen each other for a while now, we usually just text.” 

Oh, like that's not enough.

The amount of times the man decided to suddenly text you is hilarious. Fuck, he would even call when Jungkook was balls deep inside you and he actually feared you will pick up the call, instead of finishing what you had going on. Luckily, that never happened but it pissed Jungkook to the core. 

“Mhm,” he hums, scratching his chin. “Well, I've got one last meeting but that shouldn't take long.”

You both talk for a moment, catching up with each other's day before you discuss the dinner plans. Jungkook sees you're a little on edge these days and though he thinks he knows why, there's this unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

In the middle of your giggling, you're interrupted by a gentle knock from Jungkook's assistant, informing him of his meeting. 

However, he doesn't go to the meeting board room like he usually does, he actually invites the person to his office. And when that person is someone you've grown to know, someone very well-known in the CEO community, you do everything in your power to be polite and welcoming. 

She's special partner, even you can see that and you know zero fuck about Jungkook's business. He treats her differently.

He welcomes her with a warm smile and of course, you're forced to bid goodbye to your husband as you part your ways. The kiss you and Jungkook share feels great, especially with her eyes on you two.

And you know you're petty.

But it seems to be the least of your worries because tonight, you might end everything you and Jungkook settled on. But it's only fair because in the end – that was the deal. 

You should've known it would end up like this. 

But how could you? 

Could you have really known? 

The dinner was delicious. Just the two of you like every other evening. Talking, laughing, smiling…

Until you brought up your fake marriage. 

“It's because of him, isn't it?” Jungkook chuckles bitterly, throwing a tantrum like a little kid while you gape at him completely stunned.

Out of all responses, you never expected him to get so… upset over something he came up with. 

“What?” You find your voice, breathing out confusingly. “This has nothing to do with him.”

“Oh, please.” he scoffs, turning away from you to grip the kitchen's counter. “You always text, you even meet him during your lunch breaks.”

All of that is true. Well, you don't always text with him. And you want to point that out, but something stops you and justifying your relationship with Jungkook seems like a bigger priority.

“Jungkook, this marriage is fake.” you inform him as if he didn't know. 

You're confused. 

His shoulders tense, knuckles whiten from how tightly he's gripping the expensive marble counter. 

“All of it has been fake then?” he asks, still not facing you which starts to worry you for some reason. 

You haven't seen Jungkook acting like this. Upset, maybe a little. Not in the mood? Rarely but it happened. But this time you're actually left totally confused. 

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Y/N,” he chuckles, shaking his head slightly as he slowly turns around. 

You're met with a pained expression, a single look at his face causing you to feel a sting in your heart.

“I know we started this as an arrangement, a convenience for both of us… but is that all it's been for you all this time?” he asks, slowly stepping closer to your distraught form. 

“Jungkook.”

“No,” he says, “Answer me.”

And then he stands right in front of you, his entire figure hovering over you as if you were the littlest thing in the room. Like you're this little lost girl – not the confident woman you've grown to be. 

“Do you want this divorce?”

Do you want it? 

What is he even asking?

“That was the deal.” you remind him silently as he presses his lips tightly. 

He doesn't look pleased with your response but you can't bring yourself to say something more. 

“So, what? We get divorce and then you're going to him?”

“Why do you keep bringing him into this?” you ask, brows scrunching as Jungkook clenches his jaw. “Are you jealous?”

“If I was?”

That shuts you up for a minute, eyes widening. Jungkook never really had a reason to be jealous, not that you were together in reality. But you had each other – none of you messed around with other people.

“There's nothing going on between me and him. Never will.” you whisper, gasping when Jungkook suddenly cups one side of your face with his big palm. 

He presses his forehead against yours, breathing slowly and calmly as if his heart wasn't about to explode.

“Give me a chance.”

“A chance?” you whisper.

“Yes,” he says, “To prove to you that this could work.”

“Jungkook–”

“I love you Y/N, don't you get it?” he suddenly exclaims, pushing himself off you while he rubs his forehead in frustration. 

“But–”

“But what? I can't?”

Even being frustrated, he looks handsome as ever. His hair is getting too long, almost always falling to his eyes and hiding the beautiful color in them. 

“I didn't say that.”

That makes him whine. He actually whines – like all the times he has done it when he was frustrated. You would always giggle, finding him adorable for acting like a little kid when he's a whole grown-ass man, a successful and well-known CEO at that. It's one of the things you appreciate about him. 

Looking at him, you realize the three words he confessed to you in the midst of his frustration. It starts to kick in and your eyes widen again.

You might look fine, maybe a little shaken up but fine, but this isn't any easier for you. You've been thinking about every single word you would say, replaying different scenarios every free second you had. You don't know what the afterlife is after Jungkook. In all honesty, you aren't keen to find out. But you had to do this. 

To protect yourself and your heart.

You could go on and on with this for who knows how long. You like Jungkook's company and hearing him confessing his true feelings to you, which is still a bit shocking to you, you might actually feel the same. You've been so in denial, for the longest time actually.

“Do you really love me?” You find yourself asking. 

Jungkook's cheeks redden and he does the typical Jungkook thing when he is nervous. He scratches his ear and avoids your gaze. 

“Isn't that what I said?” he mutters.

You turn your back to him, tracing your shaking fingers over your lips. 

“Talk to me please.” he suddenly whines after a minute of silence. 

Just as you're about to turn around, your back is pressed against Jungkook's chest as you gasp. Jungkook wraps you in a back hug, lips touching the top of your head. 

“I don't want to lose you.” he confesses shyly. The frustrated and upset Jungkook is long gone.

Your heart melts, moving your body into action as you turn around. For a second, Jungkook looks scared you're trying to pry his hands off you to get away from him. But in reality you offer him the sweetest smile. Your hands find his ones as you grip them tight. 

“I… I don't want divorce.” you confess. 

“But you brought it up.”

“Simply because that was our deal. I was scared you're gonna bring it up and it's going to be too late for me. I didn't know what I felt… but hearing you–I love you too.”

Jungkook gasps, searching your face frantically as if you just pulled the biggest prank on him. 

“You do?” 

“Yes. I don't want anyone else, Jungkook.” you admit.

And then his face breaks into the biggest smile, your own soon cupped by his large hands as he gives you a big kiss. You kiss him back, squeezing his wrists because you need to feel him. You need to know he's not going anywhere. He's right where he is supposed to be. 

And so are you. 

“Yes, right there!” 

The sound of crashing waves from the outside is a white noise, no longer properly acknowledged as you barely recognize your own voice and the desperation behind it.

“Jungkook, please, just fuck me.” you whine, raising your hips off the mattress to meet his hungry mouth.

He lifts his head up from between your thighs, lips completely glistening and wet as he frowns. “But I wanna eat you out first.” he whines this time and while your heart does the weird jump it always does when it comes to him, you find yourself smiling his way. 

“There is enough time for that. Please. I need to feel you.” you plead with him.

He's thinking about it. You see the uncertainty on his face and while he loves to go down on you, he can't disobey his wife who's pleading so nicely for him.

Your body aches from your previous activities. You had eight hours (precisely) to recover when you fell asleep in the arms of the man you love. Your husband. It still gives you the same ticklish feeling in your chest and the pit of your stomach but this time, it's actually true. It's not official on the papers but in your heart too. Ah, god… it sounds so cheesy but all you want to do is to giggle like a teenage girl about how much in love you are with this man.

He stares at you with those doe eyes, still wearing the ponytail he made to wear while working out. But you messed up his plans. Flattered those pretty eyelashes at him and the most angelic smile, sheets sliding off your naked and marked body.

Oh, how many times Jungkook made love to you because you felt insecure. He never knew you feel that way about yourself – about the body he loves and wouldn't change for anything. Because it's you. 

You love this man so much that you have to show him. Now it's your turn.

You get on top of him, just how he loves and enjoys having you. Letting him enter you for what seems like the hundredth time over these past seven days, you both moan in pleasure. He holds you close to him, letting you take the charge as he occasionally thrusts his hips into you. The pleasure increases with each minute and you grow weaker for this man.

Bodies becoming one, the sweet “I love you's” are exchanged in breathless moans.

“I love you so much,” Jungkook moans into your ear, your walls tightening around him. “My sweet love. My angel.” 

This is your second anniversary. Technically your first one where you truly celebrate your marriage, making love all day long. And after so many nights of keeping thing adventurous and fun, letting Jungkook to fuck you into the mattress and everywhere in the vila he rented for this special occasion, making love just feels right. 

You both come together in a record time.

Jungkook fills you up like many times before, the sensation making your legs buckle. You calm down in one another's hold, Jungkook's strong arms around you as he peppers kisses all over the side of your face. 

“I was thinking.” Jungkook starts.

“Oh.”

“Hey!” he laughs, shifting on his spot as you finally lay down next to him, ear pressed against his chest where you hear his heartbeat. “How about we start a family?”

“What?” you gasp, lifting your head immediately to look at him as he gives you a shy grin. 

“I know we're together for one year, officially, but I've been thinking about our future and–”

You shut him up with a kiss to his surprised lips while he melts, relaxing under your touch. 

“Yes.”

“Yes?” he squeals, “Just like that? Yes? I didn't even tell you the speech I prepared.” 

You giggle, “You can tell me later.” you assure him as he chuckles.

“So? Are we gonna do it? Us? Parents?”

You giggle how out of his element he seems to be. It makes you love him even more as you caress his chest before you stare deeply into his soft brown eyes. You brush a few of his hair off his face and send him another angelic smile. 

“I can't wait to have your baby, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook laughs, throwing his head back before he looks at you all lovingly, cupping your cheek. 

“I was afraid you would never say it, Mrs. Jeon.”

[besaya-glantaya]

In an attempt to exorcise these thoughts from my brain (this movie has taken up residence in my soul), here is an incomplete list of the things I notice and love in Red White and Royal Blue.

1. Henry staring in utter disbelief at the frosting-covered whiskey tumbler Alex plops distractedly into his hand whilst pawing ineffectually at the mess all over Henry's shoulder. Comedy gold.

2. Nora pretending she doesn't know either of them and hiding her face as they scuffle in front the cake.

3. How Alex has Henry literally in his pocket while talking turkey.

4. During Henry's "what does it mean" crisis talk over The Kiss, the entire scene is dressed in bi flag colours. Nora is in pink, Alex in blue, with a purple poster in the background.

5. The soft "whoa" of the white house staffer, who walks into Nora's office just in time to hear her ask Alex: "How many guys have you been with?" She hesitates, stunned, and then looks as if she'd like the ground to open up and swallow her now, thank you very much.

6. His Royal Hardness making flustered small talk with the UK Prime Minister and the US President, while the FSOTUS goes in for a cheeky squeeze. You ridiculous, giddy, fools.

7. Ellen's exasperated "my son thinks he's a fucking comedian" look in reply to Alex's "The night is young, Ma" and his shit eating grin, before diplomatically, and very sensibly, removing the British PM from the vicinity of these two horny idiots.

8. Alex's warm and teasing delivery of "Are they known for their homosexual tendencies?" after Henry says he's "as gay as a maypole." Boy is smitten.

9. When Henry invites Alex to the charity polo match, his initial awkward nerves transition to fond derision when Alex's tells him, crestfallen, that he doesn't know how to play polo. Bless.

10. Henry on a horse. Very much in agreement with Alex on this one.

11. The interleaved editing of the polo match and tack room shenanigans. It reminds me strongly of the interlaced 'what if' scene in Steven Sodenburg's Out of Sight, which is executed at a far slower pace but delivers that same feel of two people being inexorably drawn to each other, almost as if events are fated to happen.

12. The lighting in the Paris cafe scene. God damn those are two beautiful men.

13. Henry's gleefuly bashful admission of innuendo in the Paris cafe. He's just given Alex his full Royal name, but its Henry Fox that's in control here and he's revelling in bringing every moment of his inner fantasies to life.

14. The heartbreaking disconnect between their two perspectives in the Paris walk scene.

That's some bullshit

It's my life

Doesn't mean you have to accept it

Alex has spent his life pushing defiantly against societal expectations. Henry has spent his life weighed down by them, isolated in a way that Alex only barely grasps.

15. I wish, with all my heart, that the fairytale political landscape of this movie was real.

16. The entirety of the morning after scene in the hotel room during the DNC is perfection and Zahra is the MVP. Matthew Lopez said he had no idea he was going to get that mini panic attack from Sarah Shahi and kudos to Sarah for that perfomance. Inspired.

17. How quickly and assertively Alex say "No" to Zarah's "would it make any difference if I told you not to see him again?"

18. The way Zarah says "Everytime I see you, it takes another year off my life." This phrase plays on loop in my brain during shitty work meetings.

19. The coming out scene with Alex and his Mom. A joyous balm for those of us who never got to experience that with our own parents.

20. Forehead touches. Ugh.

21. My brother in Christ, sharpen your knives Oscar, what did that pepper do to deserve that?

22. The catatonic state of sadness that Henry exists in after swimming away from Alex. My heart hurts.

23. The pride flags in the crowd outside Buckingham Palace. Again, can we all have this universe, pretty please?

24. The way Henry takes Alex's hand with such ease in public after the election win. If only Paris Henry could see you now.

[Exorcism sequel here]

[calisources]

𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐘 (𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟒) 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒. all quotes and sentences were taken from the movie troy (2004). change locations, names and pronouns as you see fit. mentions of war and politics are included in this post.

 I'll tell you a secret. Something they don't teach you in your temple. The Gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment might be our last. 

Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now.

If they ever tell my story let them say that I walked with giants.

Men rise and fall like the winter wheat, but these names will never die. 

Let them say I lived in the time of Hector, tamer of horses. Let them say I lived in the time of Achilles.

You gave me peace in a lifetime of war.

You're still my enemy in the morning.

You're still my enemy tonight. But even enemies can show respect.

I have endured what no one on earth has endured before. I kissed the hands of the man who killed my son.

I know my country better than the Greeks, I think.

 You are a brave man. I could have your head on a spit in the blink of an eye.

 Do you really think death frightens me now? I watched my eldest son die, watched you drag his body behind your chariot.

Give him back to me. He deserves a proper burial, you know that. Give him to me.

How many cousins have you killed? How many sons and fathers and brothers and husbands? How many, brave Achilles?

I knew your father, he died before his time. But he was lucky not to live long enough to see his son fall.

War is young men dying and old men talking. You know this. Ignore the politics.

My brothers of the sword! I would rather fight beside you than any army of thousands! Let no man forget how menacing we are.

Do you know what's waiting beyond that beach? Immortality! Take it! It's yours!

 I chose nothing. I was born and this is what I am.

Imagine a king who fights his own battles. Wouldn't that be a sight?

Of all the warlords loved by the gods, I hate him the most.

Will strangers hear our names long after we are gone, and wonder who we were, how bravely we fought, how fiercely we loved?

Men are haunted by the vastness of eternity.

You say you're willing to die for love but you know nothing about dying and you know nothing about love!

Go home, prince. Drink some wine, make love to your wife. Tomorrow, we'll have our war.

Perhaps your brother can comfort them. I hear he's good at charming other men's wives.

You speak of war as if it's a game.

But how many wives wait at Troy's gates for husbands they'll never see again?

If you go to Troy, glory will be yours. 

And the world will remember your name. But if you go to Troy, you will never come back... for your glory walks hand-in-hand with your doom. And I shall never see you again.

 They say your mother was an immortal godess. They say you can't be killed.

You have your swords. I have my tricks. We play with the toys the gods give us.

All my life I've lived by a code and the code is simple: honor the gods, love your woman and defend your country.

Troy is mother to us all. Fight for her!

There are no pacts between lions and men.

Aren't you afraid?

 Everyone dies, whether today or fifty years from now.

If I don't, you'll kill more men.

At night I see their faces. All the men I've killed. They're standing there on the far bank of the river Styx. They're waiting for me. They say, 'Welcome, brother'.

Last time you spoke to me like this, you were 10 years old and you'd just stolen Father's horse. What have you done now?

Do you love me, brother? Will you protect me from any enemy?

Well, then your men did. The sun god will have his vengeance.

His priests are dead, and his acolyte's a captive. i think your god is afraid of me.

Afraid? Apollo is master of the sun, he fears nothing.

I know more about the gods than your priests. I've seen them.

You're royalty, aren't you? Spent years talking down to men.

You must be royalty. What's your name? Even the servants of Apollo have names.

 What do you want here in Troy? You didn't come for the Spartan queen.

Why kill you now, Prince of Troy, with no-one here to see you fall?

You should not have come here tonight.

That's what you said last night?

Last night was a mistake.

I have made many mistakes this week.

Of all the kings of Greece, I respect you most. But in this war you're a servant. And I refuse to be a servant any longer.

Sometimes you need to serve in order to lead. I hope you understand that one day.

Prince Hector, is he as good a warrior as they say?

You come here uninvited. Go back to your ships and go home.

The sun was shining when your wife left you.

She's up there, watching, isn't she? Good. I want her to watch you die.

And I've seen the limits of your mercy and I tell you now, no son of Troy will ever submit to a foreign ruler.

Trojan soldiers died protecting you. Perhaps they deserve more than your pity.

Pearls from the sea of Propontus.

Am I still your captive?

I have heard rumors of your beauty. And for once, the gossip is right.

Soldiers of Troy! You men are warriors! To lead you has been my honor!

Hector fights for his country! Achilles fights only for himself!

You were brave to fight them. You have courage.

To fight back when I'm attacked? A dog has that kind of courage.

It's no insult to say a dead man is dead.

I can't ask anyone to fight for me. I'm no longer queen of Sparta.

You're a princess of Troy now. And my brother needs you tonight.

Menelaus was a brave man. He fought for honor. And every day I was with him, I wanted to walk into the sea and drown.

I almost lost this war because of your little romance.

I want to see him grow tall. I want to see all the girls chasing after him.

Well, of course you do, she's a beautiful woman.

Then I'll make it easy for him to find me. I'll walk right up to him and tell him you're mine.

May the gods keep the wolves in the fields and the women in our beds.

[lowkeyremi]

Dating the teacher P2 plsssss <3 (if you want to do a part 2)

I was actually thinking about doing part 2 I just wasn't sure when, thanks for prompting me to do it :)) also sorry this took me so long, my motivation is still slowly coming back, which also explains why this is so short

"Mom I swear the hot cocoa's good! Just try it!!!" Denki tries for the 5th time? You think it's the 5th, you started tuning him out because you're nervous.

It's christmas break for Denki, and you decided that it's finally the time for him to meet your boyfriend... his teacher.

"I'm good hon, I promise." You offer him a smile and he returns it.

"Okay! Anyway, I'm excited to meet your boyfriend. He's nice right? If he isn't I don't think we'll get along. You deserve to be happy after being alone for fifteen years." Denki's been chatting your ear off about Shota for the past two days (since he got back home). He doesn't know it's Shota though.

Denki made one of those ugly sweaters for him, so he could match you and your son. He wants to be a "happy family" his words not yours, you thought the two of you were a happy family, but Denki had said, "we're happy but not complete! Do you know what I mean? I don't know just ignore me." His words repeated in you're head for awhile.

It's true that you're happy.. but are you complete?

You're pulled out of your thoughts when the door bell rings. You can feel your stomach drop, "I'll go get it!" Denki runs to the door, you spring up off the couch and follow after him. He opens the door, "Good evening, Denki."

"Mr. Aizawa?!" Denki yells in surprise. His body twists to look at you.

"Are you sleeping with him to get me good grades?" Denki asks, and you open your mouth in shock.

"Denki! What the hell are you talking about? You get good grades because of your effort!" Aizawa quirks a brow at Denki's question.

"I'm so sorry Shota, come in." Your child is still in slight shock at the fact that you're dating his teacher.. teacher!!!!

------

The first couple of minutes are awkward. Shota's sitting next to you on the couch and Denki's sitting on the single seater furthest away from the couch. He doesn't say a word while the movie's playing. Obviously he's not too interested in it, he must be thinking you presume.

Shota rubs his large, warm hand up and down your thigh, an attempt to comfort you. "He'll come around, don't work yourself up over it." He whispers into your ear. You really wanted to cry, in your mind you'd hope everything would go well but with the way your son is distancing himself from you... must mean he doesn't approve, right?

"I hope so, I really want him to like you, Sho." Those comforting arms of his wrap around you. Shota Aizawa is the world's best cuddler, and anyone who disagrees can fight you.

"Mom."

Those nerves which just settled jumped sky high once again, "yes, baby?"

"I'm uh- happy for you. Hope you didn't get the wrong idea. I was just kinda shocked y'know. Like, Aizawa sensei of all people.." he trails off not finishing that sentence.

"I can assure you Denki, that I treat your mother well. Just as I take care of all my students. I'm sure you must think I'd be the last person to be domestic." Shota's voice is smooth as always and you calm down a little bit. Nervous breath slows into something somewhat normal.

"That's exactly what I was thinking! You're always in that sleeping bag and stuff. And you're mean sometimes!" Denki whines slightly and you take the opportunity to slip into the kitchen.

You'll let them talk, man to man... or man to boy? You'll never accept time aging up your baby boy.

The kitchen smells delightful, it's just cold enough for chicken noodle soup, so that's what you've decided to make. It's a recipe passed down in your family but you like to add your own little twist which makes it special.

If anything goes with chicken noodle soup it's grilled cheese. The cheese melts perfectly with the bread while it's cooking on your greased griddle. It's only been about thirty minutes since you escaped the living room and you hear Shota and Denki laughing together.

That weight on your shoulders has suddenly been lifted and relief settles in. Thank God, you were scared things would go south.

"Mom, you have to keep him. He told me he took you sky-diving for your birthday! I would have never expected him to go sky-diving but he went because you wanted to." A big smile cracks on your face when you see that glimmering shine in Denki's eyes.

"Hey Mr. Aizawa does that mean I can call you Shota outside of school?!"

"Shota, dad, whatever fits the bill, kid." Shota wraps his arms around your waist and places his chin on your shoulder. (i think i have an obsession with men hugging you from behind)

"That smells so good, pretty mama." He breathes out evenly. Your own breath hitches at the new nickname.

But of course your ever loving son ruins the moment, "ewwwwww disgusting! Can you flirt when I'm not right here?! I might barf in my chicken noodle soup."

Somehow you and Shota roll your eyes in sync and Denki snorts.

"I love you mom and dad." He says softly.

That fucking does it, the tears spill. Happy ones at that. Your son has accepted Shota into his life. You expected it'd at least be a few months, maybe years before he'd start calling him dad, but you figure with no father figure in his life, having one right now must mean the world to him.

"I love you too my sweet little boy." Shota wipes those tears with his big scarred hand.

"I'm actually not little I'm about sixteen years old." He argues.

"You've still got a few months until you're sixteen."

[lookstairs]

One of my favorite Christmas movies has to be this one right here

Not only is it a fun twist on the whole Santa structure

It also explores the Claus family dynamic in a way that felt real

Steve the oldest son is the most competent Santa there’s ever been. He basically runs Christmas for his father Malcolm aka Santa. He dreams of taking over the Santa position.

Malcolm is a nice dad who just can’t let go of the Santa title (even if he’s just become a Christmas mascot rather than the actual person in charge)

Arthur is the youngest and most festive of the bunch. He spends his time reading children’s letters and wants every child to feel included.

Gran Santa Malcolm’s father and the previous Santa is a man obsessed with his glory days. He drags Arthur out just so he can prove to his son and grandson that he’s still a competent Santa.

Watching Steve stress over making everything perfect is so older sibling of him. He is on paper the “perfect” Santa. Sadly this hasn’t helped his relationship with any of the men in his family and he developed an inferiority complex from years of little to no recognition from his father.

Malcolm in his defense is not a bad person just very clueless to how his actions effect those around him. He wants to hold on to the Santa title so much that he doesn’t realize he’s hurting his own son

Not to mention being busy as Santa for years made him a pretty absent parent to both Steve and Arthur.

Grand Santa holds a deep resentment to the new way of doing things. So much so that he recklessly drags his grandson out just to prove he’s still got it. His actions endanger everyone around him and almost got them killed multiple times.

Arthur is a clumsy but determined guy. He faces ridicule from everyone around him especially when compared to his big brother Steve. He knows what others say and think about him yet he keeps a positive attitude no matter what.

This movie is sweet and entertaining the whole way through. All the main characters are flawed in their own way but they’re still good at heart.

This movie is so special to me and hope it gets the recognition it deserves

[hazzashouse]

There’s always sunshine after rain

a/n: not proofread! I saw this photo of Harry (below) on Pinterest and this idea just popped to my mind 😩😍 hope you’ll like it as much as I do!

summary: you are in a secret relationship with harry. He is currently shooting a movie and you work on the set as a hairstylist. Everything is great until… is not.

warnings: slight angst?

It’s been eight months since you started seeing each other. No one knows about you, and you both decided that it’s better if it stays that way. At least until Harry is done with shooting the movie.

But you don’t complain.

There is just something about being in a secret relationship that brings you excitement, a rush of adrenaline. Longing looks, stealing kisses behind the corner when no one’s around and looking…

Exciting, isn’t it?

You two met on the movie set where you work as a hairstylist. You agreed that keeping your relationship away from everyone is pretty convenient and better in general. You aren’t a public figure, no one knows about you, so it would be also easier to remain unknown to the fans, even if someone did see you two together.

But it’s not always easy. There were times when Harry wished to be able to hold your hand, caress your cheek and place his hand on your knee when sitting next to each other. The desire to do so was always so intense, painful almost. Just like today.

Today is one of the hardest days for you. Everything goes wrong. It’s not even noon and you’ve already managed to burn yourself with a hair straightener , spill your morning coffee on a few scripts, mess up a few hairstyles, and most importantly, break a ridiculously expensive studio lamp after tripping over the cables…

The worst part of it all is that the director lashed out at you in front of everyone, including Harry. You could feel the tears forming in your eyes, the lump getting bigger in your throat, as the harsh words kept coming. You don’t even want to think what’s going to happen next.

Harry was clenching his fists so tight that any second longer and his nails would’ve broken his skin. He wanted to step in, protect you and then comfort you, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t and it was killing him. The sight of your glassy eyes made his jaw clench almost immediately.

Finally, the director dismisses you and you start walking away, wanting to get as far away from everyone as possible. As you turn to the left, going further into one of the many corridors, someone grabs your hand, making you stop.

“Y/n” you hear the voice of the only person that you want to hear now. You turn your face around to look at him but as soon as you do so, you break into tears.

Harry pulls you into his arms without any hesitation. Your bodies pressed against each other. His arms wrapped around your waist tightly as if he was never going to let you go. “Shhh, everything is okay,” he whispers into your ear, trying to get to you through your sobs.

You feel your tears wetting his costume but he doesn’t seem to care. All he wants is for you to feel safe, to know that he’s right here for you. That’s all that matters.

“Y/n,” he speaks again, leaving a kiss on the top of your head.

“I- it’s all my fault,” she stutter.

“Y/n,” Harry tighten the hug. “It’s not your fault and you know it. You are exhausted. You’ve been working your ass off since 4 am, you had no one to help you. Not to mention that you hadn’t been feeling well since yesterday. It’s not your fault” his hand started stroking your back in a soothing manner. “He should be thankful that you’re still working here. You deserve better, Y/n. You didn’t do anything wrong. I swear to God, I’m gonna go and tell him off. That’s not how you treat a woman and it’s definitely not the way to treat you. That son of a bi-” Harry doesn’t get to finish because you pulled slightly away, and standing on your tiptoes you closed the distance between your lips.

“Thank you,” you sat quietly after the kiss. You lick your lips and feel the salty taste of your own tears.

Harry moved his hand to caress your cheek, his thumb wiping away the remained tears. “I don’t like to see you cry but I’m always here for you and I’ll always be.” You lean into his palm, putting your hand on top of his.

Harry takes a few good seconds to just look at you when it comes to him. First of all, he doesn’t want this situation to occur ever again. But secondly, he doesn’t want to wait till you’re alone to finally pull you into his arms or taste your lips. “Y/n,” he pauses but just to steal a tender kiss from you before continuing. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I know you are afraid of what people might say but who they are to tell us how to live our lives? I love you, Y/n, and I want the whole world to see how happy I am because of you. I want to be able to show you my love for you all the time, not only after work and when we’re away from everyone’s eyes.” Harry finishes his little speech with another kiss on your lips.

“So… What do you say?” He strokes your cheek with his thumb.

like and reblog if you liked it! follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.

[stevesworld96]

look at me now (part one)

--- steve harrington x fem!reader

childhood friends to strangers to lovers. this is a more realistic look at developing a relationship with steve, set in canon while you know nothing about the monsters, or the nightmares, or all of his scars.

a fic about knowing steve before, during, and after the events of the upside down. including all the ways your friendship with him grows, wilts, then grows again - to blossom into something he probably doesn’t deserve. 

tags: fem reader, no use of y/n, childhood friends, typical king steve meanness, yes there is an allusion to steve being icarus, kissing, fighting and making up, cliches, a lot of emotions, depression and suffering etc, reader has an aunt, mentions of death and injuries, codependent steve and robin, steve is so so so so so so so sad. hawkins doesn't get destroyed after the vecna fight - everything else follows canon

please read both parts, i worked so hard on this fic and i'm really proud of it :)

part two!!!

word count: 14878

-

You knew Steve Harrington better than you knew anybody. At least, you liked to think so. 

You were five when you moved to Hawkins into the house right next door to Steve’s, and as things go when you’re a kid, that automatically made you best friends. At that age you didn’t have to try to be friends with somebody - as long as they lived nearby and had a bike, that sealed the deal. 

He was only knee high to his mother, hiding behind her legs when she brought him over to introduce themselves. “We’re the Harrington's,” she said, then with a tight laugh, “minus one - my husband. This is our son. Steve - say hi, Stevie.” 

He didn’t. Your mothers started a polite conversation and your eyes darted between the tall woman and her son. She was dressed like she had somewhere important to be, with red lipstick painted on her lips and pearls hung around her neck. She was pretty. 

Her son didn’t stand with the same pride she had - he was peeking at you, tugging the hem of his mother’s dress and looking down at his feet. You could hardly get a good look at him, and he didn’t even wave back at you. His haircut was prim and proper; the button up shirt he wore was swallowing him.

They came inside for lemonade, and you led Steve into your living room, and by the end of the hour you had instantly become friends, bonding over your toy car collection that Steve loved. 

You were kids - of course things were so easy. 

To see him, all you had to do was walk over to his front door and knock, and you could spend as much time together as you wanted. Or just wait until his parents needed a babysitter - after they learned how much you and Steve loved spending time together, they started to drop him off at your house and you’d have sleepovers for days. 

It was when Mr. Harrington had gotten a big promotion that they’d leave Steve with your family nearly once a week. 

“I’m sorry, Stevie, I know me and Dad haven’t been home much lately. But next month isn’t as busy for us,” his mom would tell him. 

“It’s okay, Mom,” he’d reply. “Don’t worry, I like staying here, so I’m alright.” 

At your age you didn’t see the irony in a seven year old telling his mother that things were okay - shouldn’t it be the other way around? - but those apologies from his mother wouldn’t last very long. And the promises she always made were never kept. Soon enough, she stopped making them altogether. 

Sometimes he’d just show up at your door, and your parents didn’t have to ask questions because they already knew more than you did, and you didn’t understand that he was more comfortable in your bedroom than in his own. 

The routine of your friendship felt like the foundation of your life. Everything you did was with Steve by your side, like you were tied together with an invisible string that couldn’t be broken. Snacks after school were a must; movie nights every other weekend were your safe haven. The last day of school every year you camped out in his backyard under the stars and then woke up early for a big breakfast and a day spent at the arcade. Even as you got older, those things stayed the same. 

You had busier schedules to work around in high school but you still made it work. After-school lunch turned into midnight snacks, and you moved from the arcade to the lake, but you were still intertwined with child-like joy and ease. 

Steve’s other friends were another story. Tommy H was a thorn in your side that you couldn’t pick out, but Steve didn’t get why you hated him so much. At first, you didn’t get it either - you just did.  

Until one day early in your junior year, Tommy H gave you a good enough reason for your disposition. 

Like always, Steve was waiting for you outside of your last class of the day, and you were just about to turn the corner when you heard Tommy’s loud, boisterous, annoying voice. 

“Steve, my boy, what’cha standing around here for?” 

Steve laughed, even though Tommy had said nothing funny. 

“Waiting on your favorite girl so I can get outta here - what’s up, dude?” 

“Come on,” Tommy said, dragging the words out. “We got shit to do, ditch her and let’s get a roll on, if you catch my drift.” 

You could see his stupid face in your head as he spoke - you just wanted him to go away so you could leave. But you’d wait there forever if it meant you didn’t have to have a conversation with him. 

You were hardly paying any mind to their words. 

“Can’t, dude, I’m her ride home. Tomorrow though, for sure.” 

“She’s holding you back, man.” 

But that caught your attention. They were both laughing even though, again, no one had said anything funny. 

“Y’think so?” 

“She even put out?” 

Your eyes rolled so far back to your head they could’ve gotten stuck. 

“It’s not like that with her.” 

“Oh, that’s not what Kimmy thinks.” 

“What? What do you mean - did she say something?” 

You knew Kimmy to be the new flavor of the week, Steve’s new eye candy. It’d be someone new in a matter of days - and this was one brand new trait of his you were struggling to overlook. 

“Just saying, most of the chicks think you’re taken by Miss Bitch -” 

You call Tommy H a dickhead to his face one time and he gives you a nickname that sticks for three years. 

“- and that’s why you’re not getting any action, dude. Gotta shake off the fleas, man.” 

And then Steve laughed. Loud.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to do. You hoped he would defend you even a little bit, but he didn’t. He just laughed, and said, “I’ll think about it, man,” as if he was in on this joke, and then Tommy left. 

And you didn’t know how you felt. 

It’s not like Steve said it. But he had no problem listening to Tommy H talk about you that way. He thought it was funny. 

Or, he was just saving face - did that make a difference?

You knew Tommy’s words were complete bullshit, and you didn’t care about him enough to let it affect you. Maybe Steve felt the same - maybe he just went along with it because it was easier. 

You hoped so, because that’s what you chose to do. You brushed it off and walked out of the room and acted as if nothing happened. 

“Hey - about time.” 

You didn’t reply; he continued talking as you walked together. 

“You hungry?” 

“Thought you were coming over,” you said. “Told you I wanted to build a blanket fort. Remember?” 

He huffed out a scoff, “A blanket fort? Are you six?” The glare you gave him made him reel his judgment back in. “Fine. Let’s go.” 

…

As soon as basketball season was over and you had your weekends back to yourself, you were ready to get through your watch list of movies as quickly as possible. You’d never tell Steve that cheering for him at his games was your least favorite part of your friendship with him - you would always keep that selfishness to yourself. 

And if you weren’t so wrapped up in your own mind, lost in planning your movie night, you may have been able to see your next conversation with Steve coming. 

“There she is, been lookin’ all over for you.” 

A heavy arm slung around your shoulders as you walked down the school hall. You didn’t have to question who it was. 

“What do you want, Steve?” 

“Just want to see my best friend in the whole world, is there something wrong with that?” 

You rolled your eyes. Obviously he’s up to something. 

“I’m going to choose to ignore you,” you said, shaking off his arm and stopping at your locker. His back fell into the metal next to you. 

“What’s up?” he asked, and he was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, but you ignored it. 

“Nothing. Oh, I think I finally have a cookie recipe we’ll like. Mrs. Jenkins gave it to me but she made me swear I wouldn’t share her secrets. Gonna pick up the stuff after school - have you picked your movie yet?” 

Then his eyes widened, a bit too much to look genuine. “Oh, shit, is that tonight?” 

“It’s Friday, isn’t it?” 

“I completely forgot about that, shit. I made other plans without thinking.” 

“Well, cancel them,” you said with a straight face. 

“Well… what if you join in on my plans instead?” 

You closed your locker and didn’t even consider entertaining Steve’s idea. “My mom’s already planning to make dinner for you. Are you ready to face her wrath?” 

“Well - no,” he said. “It’s just - y’know, I was supposed to see Nancy tonight, and…” 

“Oh, I get it, you wanna cancel so you can get laid. Is that it?” 

“No, Christ - I’ll be there, alright? But next time, I’m getting my way.” 

 You laughed at him, and the bell rang and ended your conversation. 

You didn’t think the night would go any differently than your normal hangouts. Maybe if you were expecting it, the disappointment wouldn’t have stung so bad. 

He called you early. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey -”

“Hey, have you picked up the movies yet? I forgot to get popcorn, so…” 

“No, I haven’t. Listen, um…” There was static on the line for a moment before he continued. “Sorry, but - can we - are you sure we can’t reschedule? Like, tomorrow night?” 

You groaned, you were annoyed. But even when he argued with you, Steve never ditched your valued traditions - he may act bothered sometimes, but he would always come around. Even if he did gripe about it being childish the entire time.  

That’s what you thought this would be. 

“No, Steve, I have book club and tutoring and dinner with my aunt tomorrow. You know this.” 

“Right. I guess I forgot about that. Okay, well…” 

“...Well?” 

Once again, he was quiet, and you weren’t sure if he was hesitating because he didn’t know what to say, or because he was nervous. 

“Well - I think it’d be really fun if we hung out at my place tonight!” 

“I guess I can bring all the ingredients for the cookies over. You do have a nicer oven…” you said.

“No, like, you can come over with everyone else I invited and we could -” 

“I thought you canceled that?” 

“I was going to, but… Tommy wouldn’t take no for an answer! And we already got the booze, and Nance finally said yes and - and I’d be really happy if you were here too!” 

“...Okay.”

“Okay…?”

You thought for a moment, then decided to ask him the question you were asking yourself. 

“Would you be happy if I was there, or would you be happy if I’m not mad at you for canceling?” 

“Uh - either one.” 

“Right.” 

That answer was good enough for you, even though it wasn’t the one you wanted. You weren’t getting anything you wanted that night, and you weren’t going to fight for it with someone who already had their mind made up. 

“Then have fun,” you said. 

“Really? We can cancel?” 

The excitement in his voice caused an angry laugh. “Yeah. Bye.” And you hung up. 

And you made your cookies, and you watched the movies you already had on tape, and you didn’t miss the popcorn but you wished you had Steve’s lap to put your feet on - and it was fine. 

You were sure he was having fun. And maybe he didn’t care at all about your canceled plans - because he was too busy with people who didn’t like you, doing something more exciting than what the two of you did as kids. 

It was selfish to be angry. Maybe it was wrong. But you let it boil over anyway. 

… 

You didn’t talk to him for a week after that. Because you didn’t want to, and you wanted to teach him a lesson, and you hoped it would make him sorry. 

Maybe you were being immature, but at this point, you were committed. 

You were afraid that you were setting the wrong example - that, maybe, he thought you were angry about him making his own plans, when the problem was how he’d canceled yours so last minute. Or perhaps it was both. But now you had dragged it out too long and you were stuck giving Steve the cold shoulder until he finally caved in and apologized. 

That’s all you wanted, really: an apology. And a bribe or two, just to get the most out of this argument. That’s how things usually went: you give him the silent treatment and he shows up at your door with your favorite snacks and a new book, and things would go back to normal. 

But not this time. 

You’d managed to bike to school without being caught by Steve all week, but you’d underestimated him waiting for you at the bike racks at the end of the day on Thursday. 

He stood with his arms crossed and his brows drawn together. The moment you saw him you stopped in your tracks, like if you stayed still he wouldn’t see you, but his gaze was locked on. It didn’t look kind. 

So you prepared yourself for this fight. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, but his tone said something different - it said, I’m sick of your shit. 

“What are you doing?” 

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Just wondering how long you’re going to keep dragging this out.” 

You kept darting around his words and moved to get your bike as if he’d let you leave so easily. “I’m not dragging anything out. Don’t know what you mean.” 

His arms flung out to his sides as his voice raised, “You’re acting like a fucking kid!”

And your volume matched his, “You hurt my feelings!” 

“Well - grow up!” 

The short silence that followed felt heavy, but he didn’t let it sit for long. 

“I mean - come on - I ditch you one time and all of a sudden we’re not friends anymore? Really?” 

“A sorry would be nice, Steve.” 

“I’ve said sorry.” Both of you knew that he hadn’t, but it didn’t matter now. “But sorry isn’t enough, is it? You’re just mad that I have new friends. Because I don’t want to just - sit around and fucking - watch movies in your living room like we’re kids -” 

“Like we’re kids,” you said, laughing. “Yeah - right, because that’s really what this is about, isn’t it, Steve?” 

He looked confused, and you didn’t give him the chance to speak. 

“Because I’m holding you back. Right? Tommy H said it so it must be true. I’m a bitch and I’m keeping you down and you need to shake me off if you ever want to get any action - that’s what it is. Just say it, Steve.” 

“Where is this coming from?” He ran a hand through his hair and his voice sounded desperate, but you weren’t sure what for. Maybe to salvage the remnants of a wounded friendship, to turn this conversation around. But your anger wouldn’t let him. 

“You know where it’s coming from. I heard it, Steve, and you - you agreed with him! I’m your best friend but you can’t even defend me to your shitty fucking friends - so just say it! You’re the one who doesn’t want me around -” 

“That’s not what happened -” 

You were so angry, and he was lying, and Steve never lied to you, and he’d filled you with so much venom that you couldn’t help spitting it out as you stepped closer to him. “It is. And you’re turning it on me when you’re the shitty friend. Stop lying to me and just say it.” 

“Yeah, maybe that is what it is - and I was just too fucking stupid to see it before now. That you’re so fucking clingy I can’t even have one night with a girl without you getting jealous. He was right. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“Yeah, it was,” and you pulled your bike free and your foot hit the kickstand so hard that it hurt, and you told yourself the pain was the reason tears were flooding your eyes. 

“Maybe I’m better off without you - have you ever thought about that? Is that your fucking problem?”

“Whatever! I don’t care anymore! You never have to watch another fucking movie with me again, alright? We won’t go to the arcade or build stupid fucking blanket forts or any of the other childish shit you hate so much!”

“Good - fucking - good!” 

“And I hope you have fun playing King, and I hope when all your friends turn on you and Nancy dumps your ass - because you’re an asshole - that I’m the last person you run to for help, and I hope your dad is real fucking proud of you, because you’re turning out to be just fucking like him.” 

It all fell out like you were pushing rocks off of a cliff - fast and angry and hard. You knew what those words would do to him. You knew you were hurting his feelings more than he had ever hurt yours - that you were putting the knife in too deep to pull out. You knew and you said it anyway, because you were mad and he was being a dick and lashing out felt good. Especially when you could hop on your bike and ride away from him, fast enough to avoid watching the blood pooling at his feet. 

The worst part is that you were being honest. 

Steve stood there alone and didn’t even turn to watch you ride away. He felt like hitting something, or screaming until his lungs were empty and tired. 

And he didn’t even have time for any of this. He was finally making decisions for himself, for once, and who were you to get mad at him for that? He was popular, he had a girlfriend who was actually into him, his parents had finally gotten off his back. Things were going fantastic for him and he wasn’t going to let you mess it up because you were… jealous, or selfish, or whatever it was - Steve didn’t care. 

He wasn’t going to lose sleep over you refusing to grow up and give him space. He was on top of the world, and you were trying to tear him down. 

He didn’t need you, anyway. 

… 

Months passed.

And, like you had put a hex on him, all of your words came true - and then some. It didn’t take very long for things to crumble around him, and Steve almost thought it was funny how quickly his wings had melted to send him hurling into the ground. 

No matter how hard he tried patching the holes, everyone knows you can’t fly with wings made of wax.

The fall hurt. But it was what came after that brought the real pain - a stinging, striking ache that was impossible to ignore. It felt like he was the last person on earth and he deserved it; like he shouldn’t be allowed to be around other people because he was no good.

And every time he tried putting the pieces back together, things only got more broken - all starting at Jonathan Byers’ front door. 

What could get worse than fighting a monster from an alternate dimension? 

Or fucking things up with your girlfriend beyond repair? 

Or fighting those monsters again? 

He learned quickly to stop asking stupid questions like those. 

And he learned that he couldn’t just close his eyes and wish it away. He couldn’t run when things got scary; he couldn’t lash out when someone was honest with him; he couldn’t sneak out of his window and into yours when the yelling got too loud. He was forced to face everything he ever hid from, cursed to have regrets and keep them. 

At least he wasn’t completely alone - the company of nerdy kid genius Dustin Henderson brought most of these lessons on. And in a normal situation Steve wouldn’t recommend learning anything from a kid in junior high, but he was living anything but a normal life. He’d take friends wherever he could get them, especially during senior year. 

Maybe he wanted to set a good example for the kids that suddenly came into his life. Maybe he wanted to prove to himself that he wasn’t his father - that he could do good things without getting something out of it. Or maybe, most likely, he just did it. 

He wanted to feel like a superhero, wanted to look in the mirror and feel proud of what stared back at him. But he didn’t, because he wasn’t. He wasn’t brave or heroic or gallant - he was no Clark Kent. And everything he did was because he had to. Because who else would? 

Sometimes he felt like only someone as careless as him would fight a man-eating creature with nothing but a baseball bat - because out of everyone he knew, he had the least to lose. Why bother making safe decisions when most days he didn’t even want to get out of bed? What was he risking when he’d already bet it all and lost? 

And who would be proud of that?

But there were moments, in the time between the fall and the fight, that he could almost see it. Like a flicker of light passing by he’d see Max smiling at him, hear Dustin’s excited laughter, feel a heavy high five from Lucas and he’d think - oh. Right there, standing in front of him, were the people he had to lose. The ones he was trying to win for. 

And then he’d lay in bed at night and get stuck in another sleepless round of self loathing; hatred fueled by every cruel word he’d spit and all the selfish acts he’d taken, and fuck, he was spinning and suffocating and screaming, and maybe he deserved this. 

It didn’t matter that he knew how to swing a fucking bat good enough to win more time for the ones he loved, because he wouldn’t love them right, anyway. And he’d turned the best person he’d ever known into nothing more than a crumpled piece of paper on his floor - something to be tossed aside and forgotten. And even if he tried smoothing it out, those creases would always be there. 

Sometimes he stared out his window and watched yours. Waited for your light to turn off so he could look away and stop wondering what you were doing and how your life was without him in it. 

All he wanted was to see you again. He’d beg for that movie night he ditched on junior year. He wanted to grab you by your shoulders and show you that he’s better now, he’s changed, those last words you told him weren’t applicable anymore and everything can just go back to how it was. 

But nothing was ever that easy, was it?

He was glad when graduation finally came around, until he was forced into a sailor’s uniform with an ice cream scoop on his belt like a gun in a holster. 

It was one way to spend the summer. It got him out of the house he hated staying in, and put a little money in his pocket, so slinging ice cream at Scoop’s Ahoy was good enough for him. 

It distracted him from the vague nightmares he kept having and the fact that he got into a total of zero universities, and the free ice cream counted as dinner on his bad days. And he was fine with his obnoxious co-worker and annoying customers. 

He was just fine. 

But it was Hawkins. Nothing could stay fine there - not after a little girl with super powers opened a portal to an alternate fucking dimension and turned the town into a magnet for every fucked up thing imaginable. 

Steve thought it was over, and then Dustin had him and Robin translating the Russian words he heard over his radio, and they were all pulled back in. 

He wasn’t expecting to fall into the Russian lair under Starcourt Mall, to trauma bond with Robin - of all people - or to get any closer to dying than he already had, but he stopped betting on his expectations a long time ago. 

By the time he saw the night sky again, he couldn’t remember how many punches he’d been thrown.

His head throbbed to the beat of his heart. It felt like if he tapped his temple, his eye would pop right out. His work uniform was ruined, stained with blood and spit, but the smoke billowing from Starcourt ensured that he wouldn't be needing it anymore. 

The events of the night felt like they were years away. All he remembered was running, screaming, crying; he remembered the fist coming toward his face but not the impact. He woke up to pain, and then it was gone - more running and bleeding and fighting and then, it was over. 

Robin sat next to him, shivering, on the back of an ambulance. The lights from the siren were blinding, the noise around him was punching his ear drums. 

“Are we alive?” Robin asked. Her voice was totally shot. 

“Think so.” 

“I want to lay down so bad.” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Do you have someone to call?” 

She sighed deep. “Not really.” She let it be quiet for only a second, then said, “I don’t really want to go home. To be honest.” 

“You wanna spend the night here?” 

“If I don’t have to be alone, then, yeah.” 

He sighed, too, then patted her knee. 

He said, “I’ll call someone, alright?” and she nodded. 

The payphone was a bit of a walk, and he had to wait behind two people in line, but it was enough time for him to muster up the courage to make the call. Even still, when he had the phone in his hand, all he could do was stare at it. 

He was trying to remember the exact words you said to him the last time he spoke to you. Something like, “I hope I’m the last one you call,” he was sure. It was hard to remember your phrasing now, but the memory still stung all the same. 

And he knows it’s not fair to call you, but he was going to anyway. Because in all honesty, you were the only option he had. 

Any other time, he’d rely on Hopper for a ride. But Hopper wasn’t around anymore. 

So he dialed your number and prayed you hadn’t changed it from the one he knew by heart. 

-

Your hand darted out of your blanket to reach your bedside telephone. The ringing killed your half asleep ears, and you hardly knew what you were doing when you put the receiver to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

You could barely get the word out; your voice was thick with sleep that was slowly creeping over you. 

“Hey. It’s Steve.” 

With your heavy eyes shut, sleep was pulling you back in. Your whole body jumped a little bit when you attempted to stay awake. 

“Steve?” 

“Yeah. I’m sorry for waking you up, but -” 

You didn’t know what was going on, and then you heard sirens on the phone. A jolt of anxiety seared through you at the sound. That’s what got you to wake up - then you realized who you were talking to. 

“Steve?”

“...Yeah.” 

“What - what’s wrong?” 

Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you sat up in bed, holding yourself up with one shaky arm. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you held your breath until he answered your question. “There was an, uh - accident at Starcourt, and - I don’t know who else to call. I’m sorry, I can’t drive right now and I don’t have anybody else.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Barely.”

You didn’t give your answer a second thought. “I’ll be there in, like, five minutes, okay?” 

You could hear his breath of relief over the phone. “Okay. Thank you.” 

After stealing your mother’s car keys, you stuffed your bare feet into combat boots and ran to the car. Even though you still only had your learners permit, you absolutely floored it to the mall without a single thought in your mind. It was like you were on autopilot, simply doing what you were supposed to, because you were scared. 

You saw plumes of smoke before Starcourt ever came into view, and you swallowed through your dry throat because you knew something bad happened. 

You had to fight through crowds and cops before you were allowed to pass under the police tape to search for Steve, which wasn’t easy. Every face you saw wasn’t his and each second that passed dug a deeper pit in your stomach. 

The second-to-last ambulance in the lineup is where you found him, sitting next to a girl whose head was on his shoulder. 

And when you saw him… it wasn’t him. Your eyes glazed over him because he was hardly recognizable. 

You’d seen him beat up before. He’s had his fair share of fights at school; you wiped blood off his face and helped him nurse black eyes. But it was never like this. 

His left eye was swollen shut. Crimson stained from his eyebrow to his jawline. His skin was aggravated red, his clothes were blood rusted, his knuckles were ripped open. 

And still, somehow, his hair looked perfectly done. That sight alone made you want to laugh and cry at the same time, because of course he managed to keep its style untouched. It was so Steve. 

You ran to him; your legs carried you there on their own, shoelaces smacking against wet pavement. You weren’t thinking when you called out his name or when you flung your arms around his neck. You hugged him like it would heal him, like the scent of your perfume could cover the smoke he smelled of. 

It’d been almost a year since you’d talked to him, and the jagged edges of your ended friendship still cut deep, but you didn’t care. Not when he looked the way he did; not when he was hugging you so tight; not when your tears were dripping onto his skin. 

You pulled back and looked at him, and his wounds didn’t look any better up close. 

“Oh my god, Steve, are you okay? What the hell happened?” 

“I’m alright,” he said. He wouldn’t look at you, or couldn’t bring himself to. “I’m just glad you came. I’m sorry -” 

“Don’t,” you said, and then you looked around at the scene. “Have the paramedics even seen you? Why are you just sitting here?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I - I’m fine. They said I’m fine. They’re all busy with others but - I’m fine, don’t worry.” 

That’s when you noticed the girl next to him, who was looking at you like you were crazy, and you realized what you were potentially barging in on. 

They sat close - too close to be friendly. They were basically cuddling when you first saw them. It was obvious what they were, so of course she was looking at you that way.  

You didn’t mean to make her jealous, but a part of you didn’t care. 

“Are both of you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, answering for the two of them.  The girl nodded. “This is Robin, by the way.” 

You introduced yourself to her, trying to be cordial even though you were meeting in the worst of situations. 

“You two can stay at my place tonight, if you want to,” you told them. Steve asked Robin if she was okay with that, and she said yes, and so you led them to your car. 

You weren’t sure why you made the offer to Steve - you wanted him with you, sure. After seeing the condition he was in, you wouldn’t sleep unless you knew you were keeping him safe and sound in your own bedroom. 

Old habits die hard.

But, all things considered, you should have just taken him to his own home, where he could be with Robin in peace. Without cut ties lingering in the air like flies. 

You drove him home anyway. 

Nobody spoke until you got to your bedroom. 

“Do you need a shower?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said. Robin nodded. 

“Okay. Robin, you can take my bathroom. Steve can shower downstairs.” 

You dug through bottom drawers to find clothes for each of them - you still had the ones Steve kept stored there, as embarrassing as it was, so it wasn’t a difficult task. And you’d let Robin choose from your pajama drawer.

And then you got back into bed, because you didn’t know what else to do for them. 

Robin stood in the doorway of your bathroom, just staring into the room. When Steve opened your bedroom door, she snapped her head back to him. 

“Steve?” 

“Yeah?” 

She glanced over at you. You wanted to hide from the tension in the room. 

“I - I don’t know how to use this faucet.” 

He showed her how, and then made for the exit, but she called for him again. 

“I was just thinking - you know - if we both shower at the same time, won’t the water pressure be super low? And what if the hot water runs out before I’m done, and -” 

“I’ll be quick, Robs,” he said. “It’ll be fine.” 

Steve took one step into the hallway before stopping. The darkness looked like it went on forever. He didn’t remember your house being so unlit, or having so many hiding places, and suddenly his legs were shaky. 

“...You’re probably right, though. I’ll just wait out here until you’re done.” 

“Yeah. And I’ll keep the door cracked open, for… all the steam.” 

“That’s a good idea.” 

And he sat on the floor right outside of the bathroom door. When Robin was finished, they swapped places. As if they couldn’t be apart for longer than twenty minutes. 

You didn’t ask them any questions.

… 

The two of them slept on a pallet of old blankets on your bedroom floor. Robin made Steve sleep closest to the door. He tried not to be upset about it. 

And he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, but it seemed to swallow him. He didn’t dream, or toss and turn, but he woke up unrested. 

Everything still hurt just as bad as it did the night before. And Robin’s snoring was making his headache worse. 

You were no longer in bed, so he decided to get up and find you. 

He wasn’t sure what kind of interaction he’d be walking into when he found you in the kitchen, but he tried to keep his head high. 

“Good morning,” he said. 

“Hey.” You had a mug in your hand. “Your eye looks better.” 

“It doesn’t feel any better,” he said, and he wanted to make a joke that it actually looks worse - because when he closes his right eye, everything’s blurry - but he held that one in. He wasn’t ready for a comedic coping mechanism quite yet. 

You put Tylenol on the island that separated the two of you. “Take them. I don’t know if it’ll help much, but it can’t hurt.” 

The bottle said to take two, so he took three. And then the awkward quiet started washing in. 

Until, “I saw what happened on the news,” and Steve almost coughed up the water he was chugging. 

“What are they saying?” he asked, because he didn’t know what story he was supposed to be playing along with. 

“Just talking about the fire,” you said. Your voice sounded so dim, and Steve hated it. “It’s… crazy. Hopper… he…” You couldn’t say the word. 

“I know,” Steve said. 

“And thirty others.” 

His throat felt dry. “Thirty?” 

Truly, he didn’t know that many people hadn’t survived. And now, it all felt real. Really real. 

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m just glad - you were lucky to get out, Steve.” 

You had no clue how lucky he’d really been. And hopefully you would never have to know. 

“I know.” 

You sat your mug down, brushed your hands on your chest like you were trying to wipe off everything you knew of the accident, then blew out a loud breath. 

“Let’s just think about something else.” 

Almost at the same time as you, he spoke. “Thank you.” 

“...What for?” 

“For coming to my rescue,” he said, huffing a laugh. “I know that I… didn’t really deserve it.” 

“Don’t thank me, Steve.” 

“Seriously. You could’ve just told me to walk home, but you didn’t.” 

“I’m just being a good friend,” you said, then shrugged. “I hope you would do it for me.” 

“In a heartbeat.” 

He wondered if this was his chance to say sorry. 

Or if there was even a point in it. 

He was afraid you’d do no more than laugh in his face, and even if he deserved it he didn’t want to succumb to it. 

But he had to. Because he almost died last night. And he could be fighting those monsters again, any day now. Was he going to lose this chance? Or is he going to die without saying another word to you? 

He stared down at his ripped knuckles. The wounds still looked fresh. They stung just from touching the open air. 

He stared, and stared, and stared, and - he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say a word. He couldn’t face it. 

Your footsteps toward him made him jump back. 

You were holding a box of band-aids. 

You held out your hand, asking for his without words, and he offered both of them to you. First his right, then his left, were covered in pink, green, and yellow band-aids by you. 

It was gentle and kind, the way you went about it. Like you would hurt him even more if you weren’t careful. 

He still had dried blood under his nails and splinters in his palms. He watched your clean hands holding his beaten up ones and he felt bad, because your skin was too soft to bother with the cuts and calluses on his. 

But you held them anyway. 

He put his fingers through yours and you didn’t stop him. He wanted to cry.

“I’m just glad you're alright.” 

He didn’t know what to say - there wasn’t anything to say, he guessed. Nothing to make it better or change anything. 

All he could do was squeeze your hand and watch you wipe tears off your cheeks. 

Until he noticed a cut on the back of your hand. He pulled it closer so he could get a better look. 

“What happened?” 

“I dropped a knife while I was cooking last night. It’s fine.” 

It looked fine, but Steve wanted to repay your favor, so he pulled a band-aid from the near empty box and put it on your wound. 

“We match,” he said. 

You laughed. “We’re even now.” 

He felt overwhelmed with melancholy. He needed to rest, he wanted to close his eyes and not open them for weeks. 

“I should go check on Robin,” he said as he walked backwards toward the stairs. He kept his eyes to the ground, away from the look on your face. “She’ll flip if she wakes up and she’s alone.” 

You said nothing. 

… 

The following days and weeks were a lot of checking on Robin, and Robin checking on him. Too much waking up in the middle of the night and keeping his eyes glued to his bedroom door just in case. Only feeling safe enough if he had a baseball bat hugged to his chest and Robin snoring next to him. 

So - he wasn’t doing well, but it was fine. He tried not to complain about it. Robin was the only person he let himself be half honest with - but he kept the truth to himself, because she’d get anxious if he said what he really felt. 

Steve was scared. And he didn’t want anyone else to know it, because all of the others acted as if their lives were perfectly back to normal. They were doing well. So he had to be doing well, too. For their sake. 

Weeks after that awful night at the mall, he and Robin conned their way into getting jobs at Family Video. He was grateful, because god, he was too codependent on her. 

It was a random night at his place when Robin brought you up out of nowhere. 

“I just realized, I never thanked your neighbor for saving us that night.” 

“You don’t need to. I’m sure she knows you’re thankful.” 

“Yeah, but, I feel like I should pay her back.” 

Steve shrugged at her words. He didn’t want to think about you more than he had to - it hurt just a little bit too much. 

“Should I give her a gift?” 

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “She likes cookies. Get her cookies.” 

And Steve didn’t know it, but the next day, Robin rang your doorbell with a plastic box of cookies in her hands. You opened the door and she started rambling from the get. 

“Hey - Steve said you like cookies, so, I decided I’d bring you some to thank you. For showing up at Starcourt in the middle of the night and practically saving our lives. And for letting us sleep on your floor. That was really nice of you.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Robin seemed weird. You just went along with it. 

“Oh - thanks. That’s cool. Thanks.” 

She shoved them toward you, and you took them. 

“Do you want to come in?” you asked.

Instead of answering, she just stepped through the door. You brought her to the kitchen. 

“I hope they’re good. I just got them at the corner store. But all cookies are the same, right?” 

“Well - no, but, it’s the thought that counts.” 

“Oh.” 

The gifted cookies didn’t look much better than the worst recipes you’d made,  but you opened the crude packaging and gave them a chance. 

They were fine. Maybe a little worse than fine. You gave Robin one, anyway. 

“They’re good!” she said, with a mouth full. 

“They are,” you lied. “They’re not homemade, but they’ll do. Thanks, Robin.” 

You ate half of your cookie. Robin finished hers. It was quiet. 

You figured you might as well try to get to know this girl a bit better. At least be polite and make small talk, just to be nice. 

So you asked an easy question. “How long have you and Steve been together?” 

But it wasn’t as simple as you thought, because she started coughing up the cookie. “What do you mean?” 

“...What?” 

“We’re not together,” she said with a heavy dose of sass. “God, I’ll never get over people asking me that. I am not dating Steve Harrington. Gross.” 

“Oh - sorry, I just thought -” 

“It’s fine,” she said. “Everyone always asks. I guess a guy and a girl can’t be friends without everyone making assumptions.” 

You laughed. “Yeah. People used to do the same thing to us. Sorry, I didn’t mean to ask a weird question.” 

“It’s alright. Actually, I’m supposed to be at his place in, like - well, ten minutes ago. You should come over if you're free.” 

“Uh - I don’t know, me and Steve - we don’t really hang out anymore.” 

You aren’t sure why you didn’t just make up an excuse. Something about Robin made you feel okay about being honest. 

“It’s cool. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you. It’s kind of been just us since what happened with - the fire. The fire that happened. So - you know. It’d be nice to have someone else around. If you want.” 

You were curious how this would turn out. So, “sure. I’ll come.” 

“Great. You should bring a cookie for Steve.” 

You brought the whole box, and decided you would accidentally forget them at his place so they wouldn’t go to waste. 

Steve’s front door was yanked open from the inside before Robin could let herself in, and his wide eyes became a little less wide when he saw her. 

“Where the fuck were you - you were supposed to be here half an hour ago, I thought you got fucking eaten or something.” 

“Relax. I was just making a cookie delivery next door. Chill.” 

Robin threw her thumb over her shoulder. You poked your head out from behind her and gave Steve a weak wave.

“Oh.” 

“What exactly would she get eaten by?” 

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. You noticed he was gripping his car keys in a tight, scarred fist. 

“Monsters,” Robin joked. Steve didn’t laugh. You did a little bit. “I invited her over. Is that alright?” 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

You stuck to Robin all the way to his living room, because that was easier than making yourself comfortable. You hadn’t been in this house in ages, and you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. 

“Where’s my crossword?” 

“I finished it.” 

“Asshole. You know I hate that. Just get your own.” 

“Whatever, you suck at them, anyway.” 

Robin, unlike you, had no reservations in the Harrington house. She kicked her feet up and started channel surfing as soon as she sat on the couch. 

“Have a cookie,” Robin said to Steve. You reached the box out to him; he sat down next to you to take one, taking up the spot between you and Robin.  

It was weird being so close to him again. His knee was touching yours, and it made your skin feel too hot. Still, you didn’t move away. 

“These are shit,” he said with a full mouth. 

“Hey!” 

You laughed loud, because you completely agreed. 

“No, seriously, these are awful.” 

“I spent five dollars on those!” 

You gasped. “Five? Robin.” 

“You should have just given her the money instead. Or thrown it in the trash.” Steve dropped his half eaten cookie back in the box. You put the plastic lid back on and sat it on the coffee table. 

“I thought they were good. You’re being so rude right now. They were a gift.” 

Steve looked at you. “You didn’t tell her how bad they are?” 

“I didn’t - I don’t think they’re that bad.” 

“You’re lying,” Steve laughed, then he turned to Robin. “She’s lying.” 

“I’m not lying!” 

“I know you, and I know you’re lying.” 

“It’s fine, guys, you don’t have to spare my feelings or anything.” 

You sighed, defeated. “...They are pretty terrible.” 

Robin scoffed loud and obnoxious. 

“Whatever. I’ll enjoy them.” 

… 

As it turns out, Robin acted like glue between you and Steve. Neither of you would have ever made an effort to see each other again, out of embarrassment or guilt or both, but Robin didn’t have to unpack any of that baggage. She didn’t even know it existed. 

Instead, she immediately saw you as a friend. And she brought you in like she had known you forever. 

But Robin and Steve were a package deal. So, if you were a friend to her, you had to be a friend to him, too.

And the two of them were weird. Most of the time, they left you feeling like a third wheel on their friendship. 

They could be mean to each other. Rough. They acted the exact way you knew siblings do, but that was only surface level. There was something deeper - more than anything a brother and sister had, because it wasn’t the blood in their veins that connected them. It was the roots they chose to grow into each other that kept them together. 

Robin spent the night with Steve more often than she didn’t. And she bullied him for his bad cooking, and he told her when an outfit was ugly, and they stood next to each other like two puzzle pieces that didn’t match but fit together with a hard press. 

Sometimes you sat on the sidelines and ached, mourning a friendship that had been buried some odd years ago. It was well beyond rotten - something decayed and unrecognizable now. Even if you dug it up, it couldn’t be the same as it was. 

But you wished. 

And as you sat and listened to Robin chastise Steve for saying something dumb - watched as he meddled her hair into a purposeful mess, you could only laugh and sink into yourself. You were happy and sad; you cherished your time together and dreaded it, all at the same time. 

Above it all, Steve was different. Distant in the way he would never meet your eyes, or laugh too loud at your jokes, or sit too close for too long. 

It all felt fleeting. Like that week you spent angry at him - stuck in a weird limbo, between friends and strangers, a frustrating purgatory. Some kind of Schrodinger’s Cat of a friendship - alive and dead at the same time. 

You would have just said something, if it felt like you could. But if Steve minded, he didn’t show it. If he missed how things were, he didn’t act like it. And, as you knew him, if he wanted to he would. 

And it wasn’t totally bad. It was just new. You’d get used to it with a spoonful of sugar and a hard swallow. 

On a random day, you had mentioned off-hand that you had been meaning to visit your aunt’s apartment to drop off and pick up a few things. Steve offered to take you, and you agreed, and the next day, you made good on your plans. 

The two of you didn’t hang out without Robin very often. Since early August, the number was hardly a handful. But with the radio turned on, it wasn’t too awkward. 

Steve had visited your aunt with you several times growing up. He went to her house-warming party when she moved into her apartment. You were thirteen, and you made a game of pressing every button in the elevator before getting off it. Now, every time you’re there, you think about how you used to chase him down the halls. 

Her place was the nicest there was in Hawkins, in the tallest residential building in town. Parking was a nightmare, but Steve kept his complaints under his breath, and he even carried your bag for you. 

The elevator was the only thing in the apartment’s lobby. As you pressed the button, Steve spoke up. 

“You wanna take the stairs instead?” 

“Why?” 

He shrugged. You laughed. 

“You want to climb eight flights of stairs? No thanks.” 

“I’m an athlete,” he mumbled under his breath, sheepish. “This thing is taking forever, anyways.” 

It dinged as it finally started moving down toward the bottom floor.

“It’s on its way.” 

He stepped back, looked around, and he must have spotted the stairwell. “I’ll race you,” and then he took off. 

The elevator door opened as the stairway’s door closed, and you rode to the top floor alone. 

He didn’t win the race - far from it, and you laughed as he tried to hide his struggling breathing. 

“Been waiting for you all day, athlete. Thought you’d take ‘til Christmas.” 

“Psh. Whatever. I’ll win on the way down.”

The elevator creaked and hummed as it started moving down, and Steve glared at it. 

You laughed, “You’re weird,” and you left him behind to walk down the hall. 

He worked fast to catch up, and called out, “The loser pays for dinner!” 

“You know I’d never pass up that bet.” 

Your aunt wasn’t home - she rarely was. But a key was under the mat, and as you walked inside her tuxedo cat, Webster, greeted you at the door. 

“Hey, dude,” Steve said, kneeling down to pet him. 

An old cardboard box sat on the dining table nearby, “Glassware” written on the side in crude permanent marker. It’s what you had been instructed to pick up and take back home - you weren’t sure what was inside.

You sat down and opened it and pulled out the first thing you saw: a white paper bag, one you knew printed photos came in. 

“This what you came for?” 

Steve stood next to you. He had Webster in his arms, who was purring loud and melting into his hand. 

“Yeah.” 

“What is it?” 

“I don’t know. Family stuff, I’m guessing.” You pulled out a fat stack of pictures and the one on top made you bark a laugh. “Oh my god.” 

You and Steve, seven years old, wearing matching cowboy costumes for Halloween - you with a white cowboy hat, him with a black one. You stood with a jack-o-lantern between you. You had your hands on your hips and a frown on your face; Steve had his chin pushed out in a wicked scowl. 

You turned it to him, and he laughed just as loud as you. “Look at those two mean mugs!” 

“Do you remember this?” 

He sat in the chair next to you, continuing to look at the photo over your shoulder. Webster made himself comfortable in his lap. 

“Yeah,” he laughed, “We fought all night because you stole my -”

“Oh my god.”

“You stole my full size Snickers.”

“I did not!” 

“You did.” 

“I didn’t!” 

The way he looked at you told you this was still a sore subject. 

“You went ahead of me to the Smith’s place while I was trying to tie my shoe and you took her last bar. That’s what happened!” 

“That’s not stealing!” 

“It is!”

“I didn’t mean to leave you behind! It’s not my fault you didn’t know how to tie your shoes!” 

“You didn’t, either. And, I learned before you.” 

You puffed a sigh and flipped the photo to the back of the stack. “Why are you still fighting over this? We shared all the candy, anyway.” 

“It’s the principle. Theft is a crime, and you never apologized.” 

You only laughed. No way were you giving him that apology now. 

When you pulled the photos out of the box, you didn’t intend on looking through them all, but your curiosity kept you flicking through them. Most were of random family members or photos of the beach, but pictures of you and Steve were littered throughout the stack. There wasn’t a single photo of you that didn’t have him in it, too.

There were from some first days of school, birthday parties, sleepovers. They were sorted somewhat chronologically - looking through them was pure nostalgia, memories hitting you at every angle as you watched yourself grow up. 

The next one to catch your eye was from a middle school dance. Neither of you wanted to attend, but your mother insisted. Your one condition was that you could wear whatever you wanted. 

So you and Steve had swapped styles. You wore his way oversized Atlanta Flames jersey, a baseball cap, and sneakers that didn’t fit; he had on your purple sweater, a big pearl necklace, and white jeans. 

It was cute, and it was goofy, and you wished you could jump into the picture and relive it. 

At that age, the only thing you knew was that you and Steve would live forever, together. Now that you know what you know, your heart ached for the little girl in these pictures. What would she think about the space between you two now? 

There were pictures from summer camp, swimming pools, and your first day of high school. 

Webster meowed. Steve meowed back at him. 

As you got to the bottom of the stack, pictures of the two of you were less and less. The last one - the one you didn’t know would be your last picture with him - was of you, him, and a few of your extended family members. A day spent at the lake that Steve really didn’t want to go to, for some reason only an angsty teenage boy could understand, that you dragged him to. It was the summer before your junior year.

In the photo, his arm was draped completely over your shoulder. You remembered him leaning all of his weight on you - to the point that you fell out of your seat after the picture was taken by your aunt.

And you had fun, like you always did. Steve became a member of your family out of happenstance. It was just because he was always around, really. They all saw him as much as they saw you. 

You put that photo to the back of the stack and kept carding through them. You didn’t find any more pictures of you and Steve. 

The rest were all more recent. Steve stopped you on one that was of you alone - sat at a dinner table, wearing a cable knit sweater. 

“That’s a good one,” he said. 

“Yeah. It’s from Christmas. Senior year, maybe.” 

You acted like you weren’t sure, but you knew exactly when that photo was taken. You just didn’t want him to know how sad you were in it. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” and you laughed, “this was not a fun party.” He didn’t reply, and so you kept talking, sparing him a shy glance. “Everyone kept asking where you were.” 

The silence was heavier this time. 

“Oh,” he said, trying to bury it. “Yeah.” An awkward chuckle. “I bet that was annoying.” 

You laughed and tried to make it sound real - tried to seem like you didn’t care. “Yeah, well, you know how my family always liked you better.” 

He shrugged, looking like he was going to make a joke, but he didn’t. His eyes were distant as they moved down to his lap. 

You shoved the picture to the back with the rest. 

The one behind it was just as lonely. 

Still, Steve perked up at it. “Is that from graduation?” 

You wore a cap and gown, you held a bouquet of flowers, and you stood all alone. 

“Yeah.” 

Steve’s hand wrapped around yours holding the picture, and he tilted it toward him so he could get a better look. 

“My aunt kept trying to get me to find you for a picture,” you laughed. 

“You should’ve.” He smiled something big and real, and you realized with a rush that this is the closest you’d been to him in a while. If you kept looking, you could count the freckles on his cheek. His thumb pressed into the back of your hand. “I remember seeing you. You looked real cute.” 

You ignored his compliment to say something snide. “I ignored you so hard.” 

Another laugh, “Really?” 

“Obviously.” 

“Yeah. That’s fair - I would’ve, too.” 

You tried not to think about how badly you wished he was standing next to you in the picture. 

Steve spoke up, “I -” but you cut him off by accident. 

“It’s fine.” 

You didn’t mean it. He could tell.

“...Is it?” 

It was honest when you replied, “I don’t know.” 

He was still holding your hand. 

“I never told you I’m sorry.” 

“I guess I just figured you were.” 

You dropped the pictures on the table, dropping his hand with them.

“Is that good enough?” It was an honest question. 

“I don’t know. Maybe it is.” 

And your answer was genuine, because you didn’t know. Steve had come back into your life just as easily as he left it - on a whim, without any warning. You didn’t put any roadblocks in his way. 

But you stared at the photos spread out in front of you. At the story they told of your friendship that would always be unfinished. 

You had to teach yourself how to do life without him. All of those lessons seemed useless, now, because here he was. And you didn’t even know if he ever missed you. 

You pulled away from him, a move that was far more snappy than you meant. You did it like he’d reached out and burned you. It had Webster jumping down to the floor. 

“It’s fine,” you repeated. 

“I think you’re lying just to make me feel better.” 

“I don’t know why I’m lying.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” he mumbled, and you stood up. The chair scraped the floor in a way that grated your ears. You turned your back to him. 

“I thought I knew you.” Your eyes welled up, your nose started to run. You balled your hands up like you were on defense. “I thought you would say sorry, and make everything go back to normal like you always did. But you didn’t. I thought you would miss me, at least, but - but you didn’t.” 

“You think I didn’t miss you?” 

The shake in his voice had your fist dropping to hit your thighs, defeated. 

“I miss you more than anything. I’m sorry - I’m not just saying it to make you feel better, or because I have to, I - I don’t even deserve to be saying it.” He paused, and you could imagine the way he was running his hands through his hair and pacing around with nerves. “I’m sorry for being a bad friend. For not treating you like you deserved - I hate myself for it. You were the best thing in my life, and I know that now. I was just too scared to come crawling back to you because I wasn’t worth your time.”

You breathed in deep, exhaled hard, and it felt like the first breath you had taken in two years. It was that feeling when you’ve forgotten your keys but find the door unlocked - the relief of being let in despite a mistake, it rushed through you, and it had you turning to look at him. You found him standing and staring at you, through you, with glassy eyes you would always know. 

“I just miss you, Steve.” 

Three steps and then he was around you. And you were safer than a child hiding under their blanket from whatever lurked in their closet - monsters weren’t real if his arms were around you. That had always, always been true. 

Webster rubbed up against your leg, then Steve’s. The hug shook with both of your laughter, and he held you tighter. 

… 

Things didn’t go back to how they used to be after that, but it was close enough. And you were trying to settle into the differences that kept knocking you off your feet. 

It started with late night phone calls. 

Before, you never talked on the phone. Why would you when his house was a stone throw away? If you wanted to talk, you’d invite yourself to his place. 

But the two of you were still dancing on the ripped edges of that two year old fight. Wounds were still healing - almost there, but not quite. So it was easier to take it slow, to treat this time as something brand new. 

And it was brand new. 

You had caught yourself grinning ear to ear over stories he’d tell you, and you had to force the smile off your face. Like you shouldn’t be acting that way over your friend - you quickly realized you just couldn’t help it. 

He’d keep you up too late and tease you for it the next day. And you weren’t sure if he was trying to get a rise out of you, but that’s how you felt. He acted so smug after seeing your cheeks swell in embarrassment. 

So it wasn’t going back to how it was before. In fact, it was going down an entirely different road - one that wasn’t even on the map. 

You weren’t complaining, because you felt things you hadn't felt before around him. He made you feel warm, and you were addicted to it. You were addicted to him, and you had blind hope that the feeling was mutual. 

He’d spend his entire lunch break visiting you, even if your breaks didn’t line up. He’d follow you around the apparel section at Roses and you’d have all your attention on him, just the way he liked it. He made sure to see you every day.

You never thought he’d make you feel so shy, but it was an emotion you couldn’t get enough of. You hardly realized what you were spiraling into until you’d catch him looking at you with a blush on his cheeks, or until you had to stop yourself from thinking about him every night before bed. 

But there was something glaring, something major, something you couldn’t look at directly until it came up in conversation with Robin. 

Robin and Steve always had Sundays off, so the day was designated to be stolen by their other friends - who were all in junior high. 

When you asked why they were friends with junior high kids, Steve called himself their babysitter. Robin said she was their good influence. You avoided asking follow up questions. 

It was a lazy autumn day, one where the warmth of fallen leaves reflected in the air - something rare for early November. 

The youngest of the kids, Erica, loved putting on a nice outfit and going for a walk. Today it was yellow Chucks, a red silk and pleated maxi skirt, and a long sleeve button up with a rainbow of vertical stripes. (It would have been a tie dyed short sleeve, if Steve hadn’t told her it was too chilly for it.) She had stuck gems beside her eyes, the kind that come in the plastic packets and don’t stay on for long, and Robin packed yellow eyeshadow on her eyelids. 

She was downright cute, but if you told the eleven year old that she’d aim her sass at you and shoot to kill. She much preferred receiving a refined compliment, because, “I hear that all the time.” 

Today, you told her you loved the way she paired so many colors together. She grinned something beautiful and kicked her foot up behind her and agreed with you. 

Steve had once described her as a menace - you didn’t understand why. 

You walked with Robin a few feet behind Erica, Dustin, and Steve. Dustin had not stopped talking the whole time, except when Erica butted in. Steve had stolen the younger boy’s thinking cap hat and was wearing it backwards. 

“The last time I wore this coat, I found two phone numbers in the pocket.” Robin held up two fingers and gestured to the Letterman jacket she wore. It was Steve’s. “Can you believe that? I mean, what a douche. I wouldn’t even wear this if it wasn’t so warm.” 

You laughed. “Yeah, I believe it, actually. They were probably from some cheerleaders or something.”

“Yeah, well, he can’t get any numbers these days. He’s cursed to be forever lame as punishment for the jerk he was in high school.” Robin was smirking wicked and wide, like it was satisfying for her. 

“He’s lost all his charm?” 

“All of it. I mean, one hundred percent. I used to keep count of how many times he fell on his face in front of girls. It’s magnificent, truly.” Then, quieter, “He’ll get it back, though. One day.” 

“He used to have no trouble at all.” The conversation had the gears in your head turning; it had you speaking without thinking. “I don’t know. He’s really different now.” 

Robin laughed, like you were joking. “Yeah, he learned manners, for one.” 

“It’s not that.” You were thinking out loud. “He’s nicer, yeah, but… it’s almost like he’s not even the same person. I’m not sure what happened.” 

The Steve you knew was boisterous. He was unapologetic. He was stupidly confident, the life of the party, and he wasn’t afraid of anything. A wouldn’t take no for an answer, go with the flow, drop of the hat kind of person. 

You were lucky to know him when that’s all he was. Before the halls of Hawkins High swallowed him and spit out someone ornery who cared too much but not at all. 

You thought it was just Tommy and Carol’s influence. Now that he wasn’t their friend anymore, you thought he’d become who he used to be. 

“He told me how close you two were before,” Robin said. She was tugging on a strand of hair that was stuck in her lip gloss. “I guess I never knew him like you did.” 

“He’s so quiet now. He used to be so loud.” You meant it more than literally - you hoped Robin would understand. “I don’t know. So much changed and it’s only been a couple years.” 

It seemed like she was struggling to reply, because it took her more than a few seconds to get her words out. 

“I guess - I mean - I think you’ve probably changed a lot, too. Two years is a long time, right?” 

Robin knew. No one could tell, but she knew. 

Maybe the differences that you had described of Steve were really there. She wasn’t able to see them the way you could, but she didn’t care. It was selfish to admit that she would never change a thing about him - but one. 

He was waiting. 

Everyone was, she thinks. 

Waiting for another fight. 

It wasn’t easy to go back to normal after trudging through hell. It was like coming out the other side of trench warfare unharmed - you didn’t. When a gun fires, its bullets hit. If a bomb is dropped it doesn’t miss a fucking thing, and Starcourt Mall was goddamn ground zero. 

And Robin wasn’t there for the disappearance of Will Byers. The death of Barbra Holland. The Upside Down. The Demogorgon. The Demodogs, and the lab, and the girl with psychic powers. She wasn’t there, but Steve was. 

Her head hurt just thinking of the stories he’s told her. And she knew his did, too, more often than he’d admit to her.

And she felt bad when her sleeping patterns went back to normal but his didn’t. When she got used to being on edge all the time, Steve still jumped at any noise. His phone would ring and she would watch him prepare himself to answer it - to hear Dustin’s voice on the line telling him that it’s back. 

So when you said that Steve’s changed, Robin didn’t know what to tell you. You were right, and she knew that, but she couldn’t tell you why. You knew everything about him besides, well - everything. 

Robin wished she didn’t have to know, either. She wanted to tell you that you should be grateful you couldn’t see the shackles on his ankles. You got to know him before - and Robin would give anything for that. 

But she couldn’t change a thing. 

Instead, all she could do was wait. 

And lie. 

And pretend. 

“He’s still loud,” she said, uncomfortable as all get out. 

As if he heard her words, Steve busted out in a stomach hurting kind of laughter at one of Dustin’s stories. 

“See what I mean?” 

Your destination was in sight now. Steve turned around - letting Dustin steal his hat back - walking backwards, and reached a hand out to you. 

“You coming?” 

Your pace turned into a skipping sort of jog to catch up with him. When you were close enough he grabbed your hand and didn’t let go. He’d been doing that often. 

The kids and Robin broke away, heading for the tiny park that was up on your right. To your left, Steve tugged you to a tiny convenience store.

“Place your orders!” he called. 

Dustin and Erica shouted at the same time. Steve mumbled something about not being able to understand them, so you relayed their messages. 

“You’re getting two things! No more than that!” he shouted back. “Robin?”

“7-Up.”

“What else?” 

“Surprise me!” 

You hung onto his arm as you walked into the store, and you weren’t even sure why. He never pulled away when you got that close, so you kept going back. 

You went for the drink coolers first. He reached for the apple juice. 

“She likes orange juice the best, now,” you said. 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” 

“You better be right - if she’s mad at me over this, I’ll be mad at you.” 

You rounded up all the snacks everyone wanted, following Steve’s only two items rule. You laughed when he chose plain potato chips as Robin’s surprise - the blandest possible choice. And while he checked out at the counter, you wandered off into the aisles. 

He acted like he didn’t want you to go, pulling you back and asking a quiet, “where’re you going?” 

“To look around.” 

It was straight to the candy aisle for a Blow Pop for Erica, Pop Rocks for Dustin, and sour gummy worms to share. You liked spoiling them - it helped to get on their good side. 

You made a stop at the candy bars to grab a Snickers bar before going back to the counter, and Steve immediately shook his head when he saw you. 

“What are you doing? What’s all that?” 

“It’s all for me.” You dropped it all for the clerk to scan. 

“All of it?” 

“Yeah.”

“Even though you said you didn’t want anything?” 

“I changed my mind!” 

He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, and you watched his hand move to his back pocket. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

His wallet was half way out of his pocket as he laughed. “What?” 

“You’re not paying. Stop.” You tried to sound mad, and felt you were doing a good job, but he kept giggling at you. 

“Oh, are you my boss now?” 

“Yes, Steve,” and you bumped into him, trying to push him away. “Don’t make me say your full name.” 

“Just let me -” 

“Take their things to them! Go!” 

You were shocked when he listened, but he only made it as far as the door. He stood against the glass with his arms crossed, staring at you until you finally followed him. 

“What are you looking at?” 

He pushed his back into the door to open it. “Trying to figure it out.” He reached for your hand, and you swatted it away, only for him to catch you, anyway. And you let him hold your hand, all the way across the street to the park. 

Your friends sat at a picnic table waiting patiently. It was actually two tables pushed together, doubling the normal length; Erica and Dustin sat opposite each other on one end, and Robin sat in the middle, crisscrossed on top of the table. 

Steve divvied snacks to grabby hands, and you snuck their surprise treats in to the sound of thank yous. 

You took your seat on the other end of the table across from Steve. When you sat down, he put a bottle of Coke between you. 

“Are you going to share?” you asked. 

“Only if you’ve got something to give me in return.” 

The Snickers bar made a thud on the wooden table. Steve hummed. “I guess that’s good enough.” 

You were almost happy with the trade until you realized, “No bottle opener?” 

His eyes doubled their size. “Shit.” Then, he grabbed the bottle. “No, it's a twist off.” The noise he made as he tried taking off the cap was something like a squeak, and everyone at the table laughed. 

“Just walk back to the store!” 

“Dustin - Dustin! Do you -” 

The boy slid a large key ring down the table. It was a wad of keys, keychains, and gadgets. 

“It’s on there somewhere.” 

There was a mini flashlight, a laser pointer, a plastic Q*bert charm, a pocket knife, keys and keys and keys, a kubaton, and, “Yes!” a bottle opener. 

“This is why I keep you around, Henderson.” 

“I’m the one keeping you guys around, first of all.” 

You grabbed the Coke and guzzled a couple drinks worth in one go, and when you put it back down, Steve had already eaten half the candy bar in one bite. 

“Steve!” 

His mouth was full when he said, “What?” 

“Why can’t you share? Why didn’t anyone ever teach you about sharing?” His laugh was sweeter than the chocolate he was shoving into your face. “Stop, I don’t wanna eat after you.” 

“We’ve got the same germs,” he said, and he was feeding you the Snickers before you could make another argument. 

The snacks were all gone much quicker than it took to walk and get them, because none of you would ever learn to savor the destination. Regardless, next Sunday, you’d all be sitting in the same spot - give or take a few others, creating a good day for yourselves. 

And, if you were lucky, Steve would be holding your hand the whole time. 

...

It didn’t matter who you were cheering for on the court, you hated high school basketball games. 

Going to Lucas’s game brought back far too many memories than you’d care to recollect. But even though you hated it, you were still filled with pride watching the boy play the game so well. 

And Steve hadn’t shut up about it all night. He spoke about Lucas shooting the buzzer beating winning basket like he was recounting a grand story - something from a movie or a comic book. Like you weren’t sitting beside him the entire time. 

You stood with him in his kitchen, and the excitement had finally started to settle. You and Steve had spent far too long talking about how weird it was to be back in the high school gym, and both of you agreed that you didn’t miss it at all. 

“Is Robin excited for spring break?” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “She said she’s spending the entire week here so she can be as lazy as she wants, so - I guess she is.” 

You threw a weak fist into his shoulder and he caught it. “What’s wrong with that?” 

“She’s gonna steal all my time!” His grin was contagious as he slotted his fingers into yours. “And that means I can’t steal all of yours.” 

“Does that mean I’m finally getting a break from you?” You laughed, but he didn’t. 

It was weird, the way his entire demeanor changed in a snap. Before you could even take back the joke you made he was shifting his eyes and dropping his grin. 

He had always worn his heart on his sleeve, even if he tried hiding it. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah.” It was a hand through his hair that said the opposite, but you’d never call out his tells. “I just - that reminded me there was actually something I wanted to talk to you about.” He dropped your hand to cross his arms, and it had you feeling nervous.

“What about? …Did I do something wrong?” 

“No, honey.” You weren’t sure when that nickname came around, or when it started to stick, but it had a fairy fluttering its wings in your chest. He started to reach for you again, you could see it, but he stopped himself. “You could never do anything wrong.” 

You laughed quiet. “Neither could you.” 

You moved to stand next to him, mirroring the way his back leaned against the counter. Your arm pressed to his. He was looking at the floor; you were looking at him. 

“Are you sure?” It started as a whisper but jumped into a shake, a crack in his voice that said more than he wanted to. And he looked at you, to see if you caught it, and you swore his eyes were shining. He didn’t show them to you for longer than a moment. 

“Steve?”

“I just - I don’t want to fuck this up again.” 

“How would that even happen?” 

He looked at you like he knew something you didn’t. “I don’t know.” 

You nudged his arm with your elbow, again and again, until his crossed arms dropped. Your pointer finger snaked around his, and the touch brought enough bravery out of him to link his fingers with yours. 

“What do you know?”

He scoffed into a smile, one big enough to reach his eyes, and it brought him out of his funk. “I don’t know,” he said, moving closer to you as he made the joke. 

“That’s what I thought,” you replied. “Not a thought going on in your head.” 

Making him laugh was the key to his heart - you knew that, and it worked this time as well as it always had. 

He had his head turned, cheek to shoulder, staring down at you; you were so close, you could watch his eyes move across your face and know where he was looking. They wandered, but when his gaze lingered on your lips - you noticed. 

“I know one thing for sure,” he said.

When you took a loud breath, you’re sure he heard. He gave you eye contact again, and maybe you were seeing things, but you swore you saw question marks swimming in the green. 

He didn’t breathe. You didn’t blink. You moved forward just a hair, and he looked back down, so you pressed on. You wanted to be closer, as close as you could get - it was curiosity or desperation, you didn’t know. 

When he tilted his chin toward you, it was hardly noticeable. But you saw it, and it was enough. Your nose was just about to touch his - you watched his eyes close, right before yours did. There was nothing to do but move closer, closer, closer. 

And then, when you felt just the softest graze of his skin on yours - 

BAM! BAM! BAM!

You jumped back from each other like same-side magnets, gasping and jumping at the sound of loud knocks on the front door. 

He moved fast, like he was looking for a way out, leaving you alone in the kitchen. “Shit.”

Steve had a good idea of who he’d see when he opened the door. The knob was jingling when he unlocked it, then pulled it open. 

Sure enough, Robin. Wearing a flannel that was his, with wild bedhead that he couldn’t help laughing at. 

“Did you walk here?” 

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Let me in.” 

It was written all over her face why she was there, and Steve felt bad. 

Even though she asked to come in, she didn’t move. Her features were all scrunched up, her shoulders were hunched into her crossed arms. 

“Robin -” 

“I fucking hate this.” Loud, echoing into the night and through his door. “I hate it, Steve, and I swear - I swear it’s not over.” Her eyes wet her cheeks; she looked at him through tears. “It’s going to happen again. I can feel it. And I’m scared.” 

He had to pull her inside, because he knew she’d stand in the same spot all night if he didn’t. She pushed into him, shoving her face into his shoulder, wiping her tears on his shirt. 

“You just need to rest,” he told her.

She spoke something pitiful, not caring that her words were muffled. “The gate’s really closed, right? For sure?” 

“It’s over, Robin, it was just a nightmare - you just need some good sleep, alright?” 

She nodded, wiped her runny nose into her sleeve, and tried pulling her tears back in. 

“I wish I could sleep anywhere else.” 

“I know.” It wasn’t any sort of jab - it was just the truth. The only time she was truly afraid was when she slept alone. 

She hit a fist into his chest, something playful that made things feel a little more okay, and then took herself to the stairs. 

“I’ll be up in a minute to stand guard,” he joked. She barely laughed but it was enough, and he watched her until he couldn’t see her anymore. 

And he hoped you hadn’t heard anything, because he wouldn’t be able to answer any questions you had. When he found you in the kitchen you looked nothing but concerned. 

“Is she okay?” 

All you knew was that she had nightmares about the mall fire. It was a realistic excuse, in comparison to the unbelievable truth. 

“Yeah. You know how she is.” 

You nodded. Steve wasn’t sure how to go back to the talk you were having before, so he avoided it. 

You spoke first. “I hope she’s alright.”

“I should probably go be with her,” he said. 

You were perfectly okay with it, understanding as always. “Yeah. She needs you.” 

He walked you to the door, and it was too brief for his taste. But when you were there, he spoke up. 

“I’m sorry. Can we finish this tomorrow, maybe? I promise - I… I really did want to talk.” 

“Of course,” you said, and it was shy. “Don’t be sorry, Steve, she’s more important right now. We can talk any time.” 

His arms wrapped around your shoulders for a crushing hug. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay? Before work. We can make plans then.” 

And that was it - he watched you make your walk home until you walked into your front door, and that was it. 

The moment was ruined, and he might not be able to make it happen again. 

… 

Steve didn’t call you the next morning. 

-

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part two!!!!