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steddieasitgoes · 10 months

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@steddiemas Day 14 Prompt: Airport and/or Bar

Tags: Established Relationship, Airport Pick Ups, Supportive Wayne Munson, Idiots In Love

wc: 1796 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Long distance isn’t the relationship Steve and Eddie had dreamed they had when they finally confessed their love together in the Spring of ’88, but they’ve been making it work for years now.

As far as Steve’s concerned they are experts at it now.

They talk every night. Steve from his bedroom in the apartment he shares with Robin in San Francisco, Eddie from his own bedroom in the house he lives in with Wayne two towns over from Hawkins.

Steve tells Eddie about his long days at the office, the responsibilities he’s been shouldered with now that he’s earned his father’s trust to run the West Coast branch of the organization by himself. A feat Steve didn’t even know he wanted until he finally sat down with his father years ago to learn what the man did.

Eddie listens tentatively and returns the favor with his own stories of the day. Life at the plant alongside Wayne isn’t his dream, but it's a steady job that pays the bills. Besides, he likes being near Wayne. Can’t imagine a world where he’s not a hop, skip, and a jump away from the old man who quite literally saved his life more than once.

It’s not like they wanted to create professional lives thousands of miles apart from each other, but it's the cards they’ve been dealt. Sure, they’d love to be under the same roof for more than a week at a time, but they make it work. The real truth is that they’re both too afraid to make the other sacrifice all they’ve built for the other. Resentment is a relationship killer and neither is ready to jeopardize the cozy relationship they’ve built.

So, they make do.

Steve visits often, a perk of being the boss of his branch. Occasionally, he writes them off as business trips and checks in on the Midwest branch while he’s in town. Other times he uses his sick days and vacation days to make the trip out to Indiana.

Every time he flies into the Indianapolis International Airport, Eddie is waiting for him at the end of the jet bridge. The first time, he was decked out in a suit a size too small. A chauffeur cap askew on his head and a handwritten sign with “S. Harrington” scrawled across it that he had leaned on a luggage cart like all the other private chauffeurs waiting for their clients. Steve couldn’t help but burst into laughter the moment he saw him, running to Eddie and giving him a hug that the rest of the passengers side-eyeing them — not because they were two men, but because it was one hell of a greeting for a paid chauffeur.

From that moment on, Eddie committed to the airport greeting bit. The next time Steve flew to Eddie, he was greeted with a giant sign that read “Congrats! You survived prison!” A few times after that, Eddie was standing there with a bouquet of blue balloons and a banner that said “It’s a Boy!” There was the time he pretended Steve was his cheating boyfriend and had a total meltdown at the gate only to leave with Steve hand-in-hand three minutes later. And he can’t forget about the time he roped Dustin and the rest of the kids into making the trip, the lot of them waiting for Steve at the gate with various signs claiming to be his long-lost children.

Aside from getting to spend time with Eddie, his airport arrivals were always the highlight of the trip. He knows Eddie gets a kick out of the theatrics, but there’s a part of him deep down that wishes he could be on the receiving end of the airport shenanigans at least once. Unfortunately, Steve has yet to repay the favor since he’s usually the one making the trip out to Indy.

All that’s about to change though, because after years of asking, he’s finally convinced Eddie and Wayne to take their holiday vacation and come spend Christmas with him and Robin in sunny California.

Which means one thing: It’s Steve's turn to create an epic airport arrival sign.

“How am I supposed to top any of these?” Steve asks, sifting through the hoard of airport signs he’s kept over the years. A beautiful tapestry of their chaotic relationship.

“I don’t think Eddie can be topped,” Robin says, searching through her own stack of neon poster boards.

“I mean…”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

Steve throws his hands up in defense, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his laughter at bay. The last thing he needs is to upset Robin before they come up with a sign idea.

Sighing, Steve lets his head thunk against the mountain of signs. It’s no surprise Eddie is the more creative one of their relationship, but he feels bad he can’t come up with anything even remotely as good as the signs Eddie’s been creating for years.

“Look, Steve,” Robin says, patting his back. “You’re never going to outdo Eddie. He’s theatrical at his core. He lives for being a menace. Stop trying to channel him and channel yourself instead.”

“Is this your way of telling me you find me boring?” he asks, gazing up at her.

“No, dingus! I’m just saying, channel that Romeo side I know is in there,” she says, thrusting her finger into Steve’s chest. “Be sappy. Eddie’ll appreciate it.”

In the end, Steve takes Robin’s advice. He cuts a fluorescent green poster board into a wonky heart — one side longer than the other. Tries three separate times to get “Welcome Home” centered in the middle before he gives up and freehand it. And then, for extra flair, he uses a bottle and a half go glitter glue on the whole thing. They’re going to be finding specks of glitter for weeks, but he thinks it’ll be worth it.

According to the signs, Eddie and Wayne’s flight has already landed and is en route to the gate. Steve stands nervously by the sky gate exit. The sign is still folded in half, wrinkled at the edges from how much he’s fidgeting with it. He had no idea how nerve-wracking it is being on this side of things. It’s silly really. He knows Eddie is going to be happy to see him, sign or no sign, but he can’t help but be a little on edge.

Thankfully, the doors open and a flood of travelers start disembarking from the plane. Steve stands on his top-toes, scanning the tired faces in search of Eddie and Wayne. As the crowd thins out, Steve starts to worry. Maybe they changed their minds? Maybe they missed the flight. Maybe he’s at the wrong gate?

Shit, what if he’s at the wrong gate?

A glance up at the digital sign above the exit, confirms that Steve is in the right place. He breathes a sigh of relief before he goes back to scanning. They have to be coming out soon, he thinks, and starts to unfold the sign. He holds it low, clutched over his chest until he spots a familiar head of unruly curls.

Hoisting it over his head, he shouts, “Eds!”

Eddie’s head whips around at the sound of his voice, eyes shining when he spots him in the thinning crowd. Steve has all of five seconds to brace himself before Eddie launches himself into his arms, crushing the sign between their bodies.

It’s not uncommon for the two of them to hug when they reunite at the airport, but this feels different. Eddie’s arms are tighter around his neck and he’s pretty sure he can hear him sniffling, body slightly shaking in his grasp.

“Eds?” Steve whispers into the mess of curls. “You okay?”

Eddie nods, slowly peeling himself away from Steve. With a little bit of space between them, Steve watches as Eddie’s eyes glance between the smushed sign and Steve’s eyes. Back and forth, back and forth.

Shit, is it too much?

“Really?” Eddie sniffles, using the sleeve of his sweater to wipe away a tear. “You want this to be our home? Together?”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Steve certainly hadn’t planned for that. Sure, he’s secretly been hoping that the trip out here would get Eddie and to a lesser extent Wayne to realize how great the city is and finally bite the bullet and move out here. Start the mechanic shop they’ve been planing for years. But Steve knew better than to set expectations too high. He’d never ask Eddie to move for him, just like Eddie would never ask Steve to move back for him.

But now, seeing Eddie smiling, eyes glassy with tears. Well, shit, maybe he should have asked him.

“Wait, you want to move in with me?”

“Sweetheart. I’ve wanted to live with you since the moment we said I love you on the Henderson’s porch.”

It’s not news to Steve, per se. They’ve talked at length about what living together would be like; especially in those early days when their relationship was in that blissful honeymoon phase. Still, the words come as a shock to Steve who stumbles out of Eddie’s grasp for a moment.

Running a shaking hand through his hair, he locks eyes with Eddie. “Why the hell have we been doing long distance for a decade?” he laughs, yanking Eddie back into his arms.

“I thought you weren’t ready! I didn’t want to pressure you.”

“Baby,” Steve breathes. He can’t believe this. Have they seriously been suffering in silence for years for nothing? Christ, they’re idiots. “Of course, I want to live with you! I just didn’t want to make you move.”

“Jesus Christ,” Wayne grumbles, shaking his head. He stumbles his way towards them, throwing a hand on both of their shoulders. “You two are idiots, you know that? Told ya both you needed to communicate what ya wanted!” He rolls his eyes, shoving them both. “Could’ve been livin’ in the sunshine instead of snowy Indiana for years now.”

“Hey, who said anything about you moving with us?” Eddie asks, tearing his eyes away from Steve to stare at his Uncle.

“Hate to break it to you, boy. But wherever you go, I go. S’the Munson rule.”

Steve can’t help but laugh as he pulls both of them in for a hug before ushering them through the bustling airport. They fetch their bags and make it safely into his car before they’re on the way. As he pulls away from the San Francisco Airport, Eddie immediately reaches for the car radio.

Before he has a chance to change the channel, the crooning voice of Perry Como starts singing “(There’s No Place Like) Home for the Holidays.”

#steddiemas #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve fic #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson #eddie fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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cellophaine · 16 days

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Chapter V: BACKCOURT

Masterlist

Pairing: Art Donaldson x F!Reader

Warnings: Toxic family dynamic, toxic parents, mild abuse.

Author's Note: Woo this is a longer one (a little over 5k 😬). In this chapter, we dive deep into Reader's background to see how she became the way she is now. Art is not in this chapter much, but I promise he'll be back and his appearance will be delicious.

GIF Source: @/roranicuspond

2021. San Francisco.

4 AM. Two hours felt endless in your sleepless state. You sat up and, after a moment of contemplation, left the bed.

You settled on the couch with a glass of water and turned the TV on. Flipping through the channels, your eyes unfocused over the flashing images. A familiar face appeared for a brief second before vanishing. Your body went still, and your finger rested atop the forward button before reluctantly pressing backward. The image changed again, and Art's face filled your screen once more. His lips moved, but you didn't hear a thing. From the close-up, you could see the small changes in the face you had missed so much. His hair looked longer, and as he dipped his head slightly to hear the interviewer's question better, the movement pulled a strand of dirty blond out of the neat slicked back and drew it over his forehead. He looked much happier than you saw him last. You increased the volume to hear him better.

"I've been busy with the foundation. It's a lot of work, but I find it very fulfilling. I might be retired, but tennis is still an important part of my life, you know? And, of course, spending time with my family–"

The screen turned to black, leaving you to confront yourself. You stared at the empty screen, where Art was seconds ago, at your guilty conscience. After all that time, you were still stupefied at the mere sight of him. Your heart ached in your chest, and you felt a new kind of exhaustion taking over your body. Your loneliness crept along the edge of that guilt as you looked away from your own reflection. This empty apartment used to harbour the presence of another, but that was long gone. It took a while for this place to feel like it belonged to only you again.

A muffled sound of an incoming text came from the bedroom. You rose from the couch and went to retrieve it. The text was from your sister.

Call me when you can.

You opened her contact info and called. Two rings later, she picked up.

"Hey Soph. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine. Isn't it early for you?"

"It is, but I wasn't sleeping anyway. What's up?"

There was a brief silence on her end. You had a feeling what her call was about before she said it.

"Dad called me. He asked about you, and if you were planning on coming home this Thanksgiving this year."

"And?"

You could hear your sister's soft sigh on the other end.

"He wants to follow up with you on his cut from your second book."

The Dollhouse was partly autobiographical. It took inspiration from your childhood, grew a solid root and allowed the fictional elements to take shape and become the story it was. It spent ten consecutive weeks as number one on the New York Times best sellers list, but the aftermath dulled the achievement. Your parents picked it up, and so did some people they knew, and for a while after that, they sent you texts doused in anger and emails with thinly veiled threats. Most of them came from your dad, all of them explicitly expressed indignation and wrath, and none of them received a response from you.

"He's not getting a penny. The Dollhouse was fictional."

"I told him that, but he wouldn't listen."

"He can take it up to my lawyer."

After a moment, you asked.

"Did mom say anything?"

Your sister fell silent again. Before the release of The Dollhouse, things were already strained between you and your mom, and after, the contact slowed until it ceased to exist. You hadn't talked in a few years, and to you, it was for the best.

2006. Your hometown.

Despite school ending on the 16th, you booked the train ticket home for the 22nd. The early train was quiet as most people in this cabin retreated to their own bubbles. Some read, some slept, and some listened to music with their earbuds. The nerves in your lower abdomen seized, and all of a sudden, the cookie Grace made two days ago became so sickeningly sweet that you had to put it back in the wrapper. You sighed as you looked out into the passing scenery. Home had always been a tough subject for you, and it involved complicated feelings that you couldn't put into words. How could you confide in someone that the idea of going home filled you with a sense of dread?

Standing in front of the door to your childhood home, you took a deep breath and straightened your posture. You rang the doorbell and listened for its muffled echo from the inside. You could see that the TV was on from the bay window with the curtain swept to the side. Your dad was in his usual seat, watching a game. After a moment, you rang again. You watched as your father took a sip of his beer and placed the bottle back on the small table before reclining further into the chair. You heard hurried footsteps making their way to you, and the door opened to reveal Sophie. She excitedly called out your name and pulled you into a tight hug.

"I'm so happy you're here! How was your trip?"

"It was fine. How are you doing?"

"Hanging in there."

Your sister looked relieved now that you were here.

"How are … Mom and Dad?"

You asked, and Sophie caught onto the underlying message.

"Mom is grumpy because Dad's not helping. She's stressed out about the Christmas dinner. She hasn't decided on what to make for dessert."

"Oh, no."

Usually, by this time of Christmas, she already had a detailed plan for the big family dinner on the 25th, from appetizers to desserts to finger food before the dinner started. She prided herself on the Christmas feast, which was hosted by your family every year.

"Yep. Also, the tree hasn't been decorated."

"It's… the 22nd."

"I know. That's why Mom has been in rare form the whole week."

You grimaced. Your sister ran her hands up and down your arms reassuringly.

"You've got this. I'll be here with you."

You nodded, and the two of you headed inside. You dragged your suitcase with you as Sophie announced your arrival, but you were only met with silence. You stopped at the door to the kitchen and took in the chaos. Not a lot of free counter space was spared from the various pots and pans and unfinished dishes. Your mom was standing with her back to you, chopping vegetables and dropping them into the big pot.

"Hi, Mom."

She didn't turn around to acknowledge you, but she addressed you as she took a break from the vegetables to stir a smaller pot.

"I thought your exams were done on the 13th?"

"They were, Mom."

"Then why didn't you come home earlier?"

"I had work."

"I highly doubt that they were so busy that they needed you there."

"But … they were. It's Christmas."

"Almost Christmas. I don't see why you couldn't come home earlier and help me with the housework."

The enunciation in her words was hard to miss. She went back to the cutting board, her movement more precise now, and riddled with more force.

"I booked the train as soon as I was able to."

"My life would have been so much easier if you were a little more thoughtful than that."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I–"

She finally turned to look at you.

"Why are you still standing there? Put your suitcase away before someone trips on it and help me."

Sophie gave you a look of sympathy. You obeyed your mother's dismissal and took your suitcase upstairs to your old bedroom. Your parents made you repaint and fill in the screw marks before you left, and now it had turned into a workspace of some sort. On one side, there was a computer setup with a wooden cabinet filled with files, paper and books. The other side was your bed, with a blue sheet covering the whole bed. You pulled it off and found your old bed sheet, just like how you left it a few months ago. You wheeled the suitcase over to the old dresser, your eyes roaming over the fine layer of dust on its surface. You lowered yourself to the bed, allowing yourself a moment of seclusion away from your parents. You wanted to lay down, to close your eyes, and to escape for a while. Being here for less than ten minutes had left you with a taste of dejection. It'd started to gather in your throat, but you didn't want it to win. You were stronger than this. So you swallowed it down and buried it deep, putting on a smile before heading downstairs to join Sophie and your mother.

Your effort and helping hand in the kitchen didn't improve your mom's mood. She complained about your hair, telling you how much it irritated her eyes and making you put it up with a hair tie. She was there to criticize the ratio of the marinade and the meat, the way you prepared the rolls of grilled beef, and the piping on the cupcakes. It was exhausting, but you kept the smile on your face and did as she said. About two hours later, the fridge was filled with food and prepared ingredients for Christmas day. You went to the washroom to catch a quick break from your mother's nagging and checked your phone. There was a missed call, along with a text from Art.

I hope your trip home was good :). I wanted to call to see how you were doing.

– I'm home now. Sorry I couldn't talk. Maybe later?

He responded within the minute.

Promise?

– Promise.

A short while after that, dinner was served. The preparation was paused for the day. During dinner, you told your parents about Stanford. Your dad was silent for the most part, only responding with a grumble here and there. Your mom, on the other hand, was very inquisitive in a way that made dread grow in the pit of your stomach.

"Did you know you could also take English here? At Lawrence?"

"Yes, I know, but the program is so much better in Stanford."

"So you're telling me Lawrence is not good enough for you? I went to Lawrence."

"I'm not saying that, Mom. At Stanford, the program is really detailed, and they have so much more to offer."

Your dad decided to chime in.

"It's a useless degree anyway. You were born and raised here with English as your first language."

"There's so much more than that, Dad."

He snorted.

"So much more of my money. It's a waste."

"I promised you I'll pay you back. Besides, your money is for the rent for my first year, not tuition."

If it wasn't for the scholarship, you would have never left this place.

"If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have a place to live."

Your father's friend from college owned the building, so you got the shared apartment at a much cheaper price. Your rent was covered by your dad since you didn't have a lot of money when you started college.

"No, I wouldn't have. I'm really grateful for your help."

"Thank you. Wasn't that so hard?"

Your sister tried to dissolve the tension in the air, and your parents went with it. The attention was taken off of your shoulders, and you were grateful for it.

You went to your sister's bedroom that night to catch up. You sat next to her on the bed while she lay down with her feet propped up against the wall. Grade 11 was proven to be dull and unexciting in the small town. The conversation eventually reared its head back to your parents.

"How do they treat you here?"

You asked, and Sophie sighed.

"They're not too awful most days."

She looked at you, and you could see the empathy in her eyes.

"I don't understand why they're so hard on you."

You shrugged, looking down at your socks.

"I do. Mom has said it so many times. I'm stubborn; I don't listen to them; I wasn't a good kid growing up …"

"So what? It doesn't mean they get to treat you like this."

"Maybe they do. They just want what's best for me."

"The way they show it is not okay. It shouldn't be like that."

A part of you wanted to agree. You wanted, so badly, to believe that you were a good person. Because a good person deserved good things. And if you were the person your parents had made you think you were, then you deserved nothing at all. You gave your sister a reassuring smile despite the doubt in your head.

"I know."

"I'm sorry. It's unfair."

You brushed it off.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault that they prefer you to me. One of us has to be the favourite."

Sophie gave you an incredulous look, and you shared a laugh. You missed this, talking to your sister about anything. She turned to the side, facing you, and braced herself on her elbow.

"So, tell me about Stanford."

By the arch of her eyebrow, you could tell the conversation was going in the direction you weren't exactly thrilled about.

"It's … good. The campus looks nice, but the course work is a lot."

She rolled her eyes.

"That's not what I'm talking about. Has anyone caught your eye yet?"

Your mind went to Art, and you felt a gentle warmth that felt like a ray of sunshine enveloped your heart. You looked away from your sister briefly before uttering one single word.

"No."

Sophie sat up, pushing into your space.

"I can see right through you. You're such a terrible liar."

You kept your lips sealed.

"Come on, tell me."

There truly was no way of denying Sophie's pleading eyes, so you ended up telling her about Art after a few moments of resistance. You watched her expression change as you wrapped up the story.

"Is he your boyfriend now?"

You realized you had never had that talk.

"We … haven't talked about that yet."

"You obviously like him. Why haven't you asked?"

You shrugged noncomittally.

"I don't know. I think a label is unnecessary."

"What if someone swoops in and takes him from you?"

Sophie snapped her fingers, demonstrating the snatching of Art. You held out a hand.

"Okay, first of all, he's not an object that anyone can take. He doesn't belong to me and vice versa. Second of all, if he is so easily … taken away like that, then he never really likes me to begin with, and I'll be better off without him."

It was an upsetting thought, allowing a tendril of doubt to slither in. Sophie shook her head.

"I don't understand you."

"I just feel like we're not there yet, you know? Whenever I'm with him, I feel … seen. There's no expectation that I have to meet. That's enough for me."

"He'd better appreciate you. You're amazing."

You hugged your sister. She had always seen the best in you despite the doubts you had. You weren't entirely sure you were this amazing person your sister seemed to think you were. Breaking away from the hug, you said.

"Speaking of Art, I promised that I would call him earlier."

"Call him here."

"No."

You shook your head vehemently.

"I want to hear his voice at the very least. You don't even have a picture of him."

"No."

You jumped down from her bed, your finger pressed call on his number. Sophie blocked the door while the phone rang. To your luck, Art picked up after the third ring.

"Hey. I thought you wouldn't call."

Your sister squealed, and you had to put a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

"Who was that?"

You harshly whispered, asking Sophie to shut up. She enjoyed teasing you so much that she left an opening to the door. You slipped past her, but not before she sneaked the last words in.

"He sounds hot."

"Shush."

You held your phone against your chest as you went back to your room.

"Hey, sorry. That was my sister."

"Ahh. How many siblings do you have?"

"Just the one."

Art sounded sleepy on the other end.

"You sound tired."

"It's– uh … 2 AM here."

You remembered the time difference.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry. It's only 11 PM where I am right now."

"That's okay. I like hearing your voice."

The honest confession sounded like a dream in the slow drawl of his words. Warmth dusted your cheeks, and at that moment, you wanted to ask Art to be exclusive with you. But it was a question better asked in person, you thought. So you held your tongue.

"I like hearing yours too."

His soft, drowsy sighs caressed your ear, and you couldn't contain your smile.

"But seriously, though, you should go to bed."

Art exhaled again, slow and languid, as if he didn't want the call to end. At last, he said with resignation.

"Alright, I'll talk to you later."

"Later. Good night, Art."

The next two days went by so quickly, with even more preparations and decorations for the 25th. Christmas Day finally came, burdened with anticipation. Uncle Eddie arrived with his wife, and Aunt Donna came by herself. The day was long, but it went by smoothly, and you hoped that it would stay like this for the rest of your time here.

Dinner came, everyone settled down, and the twenty questions game began with your uncle leading it.

"How's Stanford?"

"It's good. I'm really enjoying it."

"What is it that you're studying again?"

"English."

Aunt Donna chimed in.

"Oh. Aren't we all speaking English? Why are you taking it?"

"It's so much more than that. I'm learning the history of American literature, how it'll be shaped, and the cultural intersectionality in liberal arts. Uhm, to name a few."

Your dad decided to weigh in with his opinion.

"In other words, fancy school for useless things."

Uncle Eddie picked up from where he left off.

"What do you want to do after school?"

"I want to be a published author."

Your dad sneered.

"Great, another jobless career."

You were taken aback by your dad's downright brash statement, but you maintained the pleasant attitude you'd practiced.

"It'll be hard, but I want to do it. Or give it a try, at least."

"Writing books is not going to pay your bills. When you fail, you're going to run back here and ask me for more money."

"I'm not there yet, so we shall see, huh?"

Your father fixed his angry gaze on you. His nostrils flared, and you knew you had really pissed him off.

"You went to Stanford for one semester, and you already think you can talk back to your own father? You've forgotten your place. You can be ignorant now, but you'll see that I'm right. You'll regret not studying something that's actually useful."

"I'm not talking back to you. I just want to say that it's my life, and I should be able to live it the way I want to. And I'm very grateful that you even gave me the money for rent."

Your mom cut in.

"Grateful? You sure don't show it. And who do you think gave you that life? I did. I gave birth to you. You wouldn't be here arguing with the very people who care about you if it wasn't for me."

You had heard this argument before. Your mother continued.

"The least you can do is listen to me and take my goddamn advice so you won't end up a useless brat."

Sophie's timid voice pulled at the tension.

"Can we just get back–"

But your mother didn't allow her to finish.

"Do you know how much you cost? How much did we spend on your tutors? Private dance and piano lessons so you would have at least some skills for your future self, just for you to skip classes?"

You tried to defend yourself.

"I was 11. I didn't ask for any of it."

Your mom pressed on.

"Everything we've done is for you. But you never showed us gratitude, not even a thank you. And now, you're off to California on the way to a useless job. You will fail, and when you do, don't come to me or your father, for support."

"I will not ask you."

Your quick remark came with the bitterness that could burst at any moment, and you weren't sure if you could contain it.

"I will not take responsibilities for your failure."

At that, you lost it. Your composure, your calmness, your pleasant attitude. All were sucked out of your body, and the only thing left inside was the aggravated animosity. Its rot was spreading through you like wildfire, and you unleashed your anger. Your voice was booming, reverberating through the dining room.

"I'm not asking you to. I've never asked for any of this!"

"Shut up!"

Your dad roared. You barely dodged the gravy boat he threw at you. The ceramic bowl hit your shoulder, splashing what was left of the gravy onto your arm. The sauce wasn't as hot as it was ten minutes ago, only left a dull burn on your skin, soaking through the holes in your sweater. You sat still, not daring to move, as your body became paralyzed by what had just happened. Your sister immediately got up, only to be shut down by your dad.

"Sit down, Sophie! It's what she gets for being disrespectful."

Your mom added.

"Eat your food, Sophie. Let her think about what she's done. She's ruined dinner. She just had to make everything about her."

Aunt Donna patted your hand where the gravy didn't reach, a patronizing tone dripped in her voice.

"We're just very concerned about your future, dear. No need to yell."

Your mom and dad's voices started to blend together as they continued.

"When you crawl back from California because your dream doesn't work out, don't expect a penny from us."

"How is it that you find our life so beneath you?"

You stared at your plate, willing your tears not to fall. The conversation around you continued in apprehension, with everyone ignoring you. Your sister grabbed your hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. But you didn't have the strength to squeeze back.

You half listened to your surroundings as everything your parents said kept regurgitating like a fire alarm that wouldn't stop screeching long after the fire was gone. Your body went numb, and exhaustion draped over you like a weighted blanket. You only stood up after the adults had left the dining room with their dishes on the table, understandably for you to clean up. Sophie helped you with the task.

"Are you okay? Does it burn?"

You shook your head.

"I'll be fine. It's not that bad."

"It doesn't look fine."

You stopped dead in your movement, and without looking at your sister, you said.

"Sophie. I just want to do the dishes, and then head upstairs. Okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

"You don't deserve it."

But what if you did? You received exactly what you needed, a punishment that reminded you of the facts: you were worthless, and your future was bleak and aimless. You avoided answering Sophie, instead directing all of your attention to the dirty dishes.

Later on that evening, after your aunt and uncle had left, you headed to the living room, where your parents were, with an envelope in hand. You held it out to them.

"Here's my actual gift for you."

Your dad reached for it without a word. He opened and counted the bills. Your mom got up and retrieved a familiar notebook before settling down next to your dad.

"$1,227."

Your mom wrote the number into the accounting book. After setting it aside, she stared at you for a long time before finally breaking the silence.

"You embarrassed us today."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For … talking back, and disrespecting you in front of aunt Donna and uncle Eddie."

Your mom thought about it for a moment. You hated this feeling. You knew she knew that she had the advantage, and she was making this as painful as possible.

"Hm. Have you learned nothing?"

"No, I have–"

"Do you know remember what I told you in high school? About our method of discipline?"

"Yes, I do."

"Remind me again?"

You swallowed thickly.

"You said– you said you stopped hitting me because … I was old enough to know better."

"Right. But it seems like you haven't learned anything. You still don't know better. You've always done whatever you want, you don't care about anyone, not even your own parents. Who took care of you whenever you were sick, huh? Who worked tirelessly so that you could have a roof over your head, clothes on your body, food in your stomach? And this is how you repay us?"

Your head dipped in shame.

"I'm sorry. I will do better. What can I do to show you that?"

Your dad hadn't said a word, but the disapproving glare he gave you said everything you already knew.

"You always say that you're sorry but nothing has ever changed. Get out of my sight. You're making my eyes itch."

You retreated to your room, and a moment later, Sophie knocked on your door. Her comforting presence was much needed as you drew into yourself on the bed and tried your hardest not to cry.

"I can't stay here."

"I can ask Shelly–"

You shook your head.

"No, they'll know. I can't stay here. I don't want to. I want to leave."

Sophie slid in next to you and pulled you into her arms.

"Okay, okay. I'll take you to the train station tomorrow."

After putting your clothes back into the suitcase, you sat there in your childhood bedroom, not knowing what else to do. You felt hollow, as if your insides were carved and gutted empty, and you were left with only this shell of a body. The skin where the gravy touched didn't throb as much anymore, leaving only a dull pain. Your heart was aching as if someone had taken hold and crushed it in between their palm. You wanted this feeling to go away, to disappear, so you could forget about it, so it would stop hurting. Overcame with the thought of needing some comfort, you didn't stop to think twice as you reached for your phone and dialled Art's number. You needed to hear his voice, to be reminded of what would be waiting for you when the next semester started. The ring went on and on, and when you thought he wouldn't pick up, he did. You sat up straighter.

"Art. Hi. Merry … Christmas."

The background on his end was noisy. You could hear his name being called.

"Merry Christmas."

It seemed like you had called him at the wrong time.

"Are you … are you at a party?"

"It's not really a party, just a get-together at my house. Patrick is here, and we're drinking this thing that we stole from my dad's liquor cabinet …"

He trailed off as a hiccup filled in the gap.

"It's making my head spin a little, I'm not gonna lie."

"Oh. I'm glad you're having fun."

Your voice dropped, and Art caught onto it even in his inebriated state.

"Are you okay? You sound … sad."

You didn't even realize how obvious it was, so you cleared your throat and responded in a more cheerful tone.

"I'm okay."

Art called your name softly.

"You don't sound okay. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry for bothering you. Bye."

You hung up the phone. Seconds later, Art's call came by, and you watched as it rang and ended. Then, a text message came through.

I'm sorry, I'm a little tipsy to talk right now. I'll call you tomorrow.

You tucked your phone under the pillow, not wanting to look at it anymore. You tried to clear your head and think about something else. Still, your mind insisted on reliving the mistakes after mistakes you had made today. Exhaustion eventually took over, easing you into a fitful sleep.

You left without saying goodbye to your parents the next day. Sophie gave you a ride to the station, and by 5 PM, you were on the train back to Palo Alto. You received a call from Art. Just the sight of his name raised a storm of conflicting emotions in you, but the side that craved his affection overturned the other. You picked up after several rings.

"Hey. Sorry about last night. I didn't know my limit."

"That's okay. I shouldn't have called anyway."

"No, no, I'm glad you called. How was your Christmas?"

"It was fine. Are you preparing to go to the ski resort?"

You kept your voice level, hoping that you didn't give away anything like you did last night.

"Yep. We're heading there tomorrow."

The crackle of the announcement system broke out over your head, notifying you of your final stop. You were about to wish him a good trip, but Art spoke before you could get it out.

"Wait, where are you right now?"

You couldn't bring yourself to answer, but Art was determined to get it from you.

"Are you going back to Stanford?"

"Sorry, I have to go."

You ended the call. Almost immediately, Art's name appeared on the screen. You declined. Seconds later, he sent you a text.

Pick up. Please.

After shutting down his third call, you turned off your device. You went back to your apartment. It was empty. Your roommates wouldn't be here until school started, so you'd have the whole place to yourself. You felt an immense relief as you finally got to be alone, and you would be for at least another week. You didn't bother unpacking; instead, you headed for your room. After changing into something more comfortable, you crawled under the cover and pulled it to cover your head. Only then you allowed yourself to cry until you couldn't anymore, until the sobs that came out of you were reduced to soundless whimpers. Sleep came easier this time.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

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ereardon · 1 year

Text

One Night in Tokyo [Jake Seresin x Reader]

Summary: Calling off your wedding three days before wasn’t part of the plan. Neither was going to Tokyo alone on what was supposed to be your honeymoon. That’s how you ended up at the bar of The Shangri-La, drinking martinis. That’s how Jake Seresin found you.

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, SMUT, called off wedding, alcohol. This is filth, y’all

WC: 6.2K

You knocked on the door, fingers shaking. Maybe it was the nerves. Or the gin. Or both. You waited, shifting subtly from side to side, letting your weight sink into the balls of your feet as your stilettos dug into the carpet of the hotel hallway.

Finally, just as you were wondering if you should knock again or leave, the door swung open.

You stuttered. His green eyes roamed over your body, starting at your feet, working their way over your short dress, up to your cleavage, rolling over your collarbones, finally meeting your own.

He smiled. You smiled back, timidly. He stepped to the side, leaving a gap in the doorway. You looked beyond where he stood. The glittering lights of Tokyo flickered beyond the floor to ceiling windows of the hotel suite.

“Coming in, baby?” he asked.

You looked up at Jake Seresin before nodding, stepping over the threshold, letting Jake’s hand fall to the small of your back as he closed the door, locking the two of you inside, sealing your decision.

**One Hour Before**

You were tired. But you were also stubborn. They say to fight the jet lag by staying up until an appropriate time in wherever location you have landed. But it had been two days and you were still struggling to stay awake past seven o’clock. Sitting in your hotel room wasn’t doing any good, so you wandered down to the bar, ordering a gin martini, nursing it slowly, people watching.

Shangri-La Hotel Tokyo. The nicest hotel in the city. That’s what you’re supposed to stay in for your honeymoon, right? The fanciest hotel. Have the best time. The best sex. A place you’ll want to revisit in the future when your marriage has taken a few turns, tumbled down a few hills. When your husband’s snoring means you have to sleep in two different beds and your kid’s soccer practice schedule leaves you so worn out at the end of the day that you can barely brush your teeth let alone shave your legs and when the ten year anniversary comes around you’re clinging to the memories of sweaty hotel sex with no set alarms and no responsibilities, the way it was on your honeymoon to cancel out the feelings of inadequacy that have piled up in your marriage.

Or at least, that’s how it should have gone. Before the wedding got called off. Less than three days before the ceremony.

By then, most of your family had already flown into San Francisco. Your sister was the one who showed up at your door, her face tight and pale, her phone glued to her palm as she started to make the calls.

“Aunt June? It’s Gwen. Listen, about the wedding…”

You went into the bedroom and laid down, let the searing sun glare across your closed eyelids. San Francisco was cloudy every fucking day except the day your life turned upside down. Then it had the audacity to sparkle, sun shining from every corner of its asshole.

Michael had come home and bared his soul. He didn’t love you. He maybe never had. But he had done what he thought was right. Met a girl, asked her to marry him. Planned a wedding.

What he hadn’t anticipated was that you would throw an antique clock at his head, nicking the bottom of his ear, creating a gouge in the wall of the one bedroom apartment the two of you shared in Presidio Heights. He didn’t even have time to get his things. You simply opened the window and tossed them out onto Laurel Street. Including his fucking Xbox, which smashed into a million pieces as he shrieked from three stories below. It was the first time you smiled all day.

That was how you ended up alone in Tokyo on what should have been your honeymoon, sipping a gin drink, something called Lavender Moon, that was fuzzy on your tongue, followed by two gin martinis with a twist.

That was how Jake Seresin found you.

You didn’t even notice him at first. He was smooth and slick, like a jungle cat, perched in a chair on the other side of the square bar, face partially hidden by the dim light. But when you left for the bathroom and returned, he had made his way to a seat directly next to yours. You climbed onto the chair you had recently vacated and noticed a new drink in front of you.

“Hendrick’s martini with a twist. Dry.” His voice was silky but you frowned anyway.

“Did I ask?”

He grinned, revealing a set of brilliant white teeth. “Looked like you needed a refill.”

You shook your head. “You expect me to drink something that just magically appeared at my spot at the bar when I was in the bathroom. No thanks.”

He leaned back, one arm against the sleek bar. He smelled like expensive cologne, the kind that doesn’t overpower but instead glides under the radar until it’s consuming you. He wore a perfectly fitted button down that showed off his sculpted arms, and a pair of tailored pants, belt cinched tight with a fancy Italian leather belt.

You raised an eyebrow. “So you can go.”

He made no move to vacate his chair. “You here alone?”

You narrowed your eyes. “And you think I would tell you if I were? So you could come murder me later tonight? I’m good, but thanks for checking.”

He flagged down the bartender. “Another martini for me, extra dry. And my girlfriend will have the same.”

“Was this martini no good, sir?” the bartender asked.

He smiled at you. “It was poisoned is all.”

The bartender frowned, but cleared it. The bar stranger turned to you, his entire body shifting and opening up toward yours.

“Jake Seresin,” he said, holding out one hand. “Think we should be on a first name basis as you’re my girlfriend and all.”

You laughed. “You’re smooth, I’ll give you that.”

“There’s more where that came from…?” He waited.

You gave in. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Jake repeated. The way he said your name sounded better than it ever had when Michael said it. “What are you doing here, alone, Y/N?”

You could make up any variety of lie. You could say you were an insurance salesman. That you were a stripper waiting until the clubs opened. That you owned the hotel.

So why did you tell him the truth?

“I’m drinking alone,” you said, “because my fiancé decided he didn’t love me anymore and I threw a clock at his head. And before he could explain why I was on a flight to what was supposed to be our honeymoon. But now apparently it's just an excuse to get sloppy drunk and flirt with ridiculous men.”

Jake was silent. You expected a joke or maybe even an apology or some kind of reaction. But he simply took a sip of his martini, taking his time before setting it down without spilling a drop. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim billfold, sliding a black card across the bar toward the bartender. “All of the drinks on here, please,” he said. The bartender nodded, picking up the card and walking away. Jake looked back at you, pulling out a second card, placing it directly in front of your drink. “Sun suite. Thirty-seventh floor.”

You put your fingertips on the card. “What makes you think I’ll sleep with you after knowing you for approximately forty seconds?”

Jake signed the bill, sliding his credit card back into his wallet before standing up. He was hovering so close to where you sat you could practically feel him hugging to every curve. Jake bent down, his breath warm against your neck and ear. “For once in your life,” he murmured, “do something exciting. I’ll see you soon, baby.”

And then he was disappearing out of the silk screened doors and you turned back to the bar with shock written across your face.

Who the fuck was Jake Seresin? And why did he have you dripping wet beneath your cocktail dress in a matter of minutes?

***

There was a stillness to the room. As soon as the door shut, a flood of panic zipped through your veins. Was this a mistake? He was a stranger. A good looking, smooth stranger.

Serial killer material.

“I don’t plan on murdering you if that’s what you’re thinking,” Jake said from across the room, a smirk spread along his beautiful face. He had a glass of scotch in one hand, long legs leaning up against the back of a silk couch. You frowned and he chuckled. “You’re easier to read than you think, sweetheart.”

“So you do this often, huh?” you asked, stepping closer, running one hand over the marble counter of the bar set up in one end of the living room.

Jake approached gently from behind, grabbing a bottle of champagne from a bucket of ice, peeling off the foil wrapping at the top before popping it gently in one hand. “Yes,” he admitted. “Since my divorce.”

“How long?”

“Two years.”

“Shame,” you replied as he poured you a glass of champagne, taking the delicate crystal stem in one hand.

Jake shrugged. “It’s my fault. I was gone all the time and she got tired of waiting around. I don’t blame her.”

You looked up at him. He was even more chiseled than you had originally thought. Short stubble over the bottom half of his face, piercing green eyes, slightly too long hair swept back with a practiced hand gesture. Who wouldn’t wait for him?

Jake shook his head. “Anyway, you don’t want to hear about that. That’s not why you’re here.”

“Maybe I do,” you said quietly, turning back around to look at him before facing forward, eyes scanning the cityscape outside the large windows. “Maybe I want to know you before we do this.”

You shivered as Jake’s hand skimmed your waist, and you could feel the heat from his body as he stepped in closer, hovering only inches from you, his hips level with yours, his breath on your neck. “Y/N,” he murmured. “It can just be a drink if that’s what you want. Nothing more.”

You swiveled around until you and Jake were face-to-face, your ass pressed up against the glass. “I want more,” you whispered. “I’m just…” You trailed off.

He nodded. “I know.” Jake took the glass out of your hand and put it down on the coffee table near the silk couch. When he stepped back toward you, his hand smoothed over your waist again. Large. Warm. Thrilling. When was the last time you had been touched by someone since Michael? “We’ll take things slow.”

“Is that what you tell all the girls after you spike their drinks?”

He laughed. It was a nice laugh. Better than nice. It hugged you like a good pair of leggings. A warm scarf on a cold autumn day. It radiated a warmth you hadn’t seen in your almost-husband in a long time. Jake smiled down at you. “Why did you come here tonight?” he asked.

“You told me to.”

“But you don’t seem like the kind of woman who does things because someone told her to,” he replied. Jake let his fingers slide up slightly, thumb brushing beneath the curve of your breast in your tight black dress. You swallowed a gasp. “You seem like the kind of woman who likes to be in charge.”

“Maybe being the boss is exhausting,” you whispered as Jake slid his thumb up over your breast, toward your nipple. You could feel your pulse between your thighs. “Maybe for once I want someone else in the driver’s seat.”

He leaned in, second hand grabbing your waist, tugging you up against him tightly, the hand on your breast now palming you entirely, squeezing you until you groaned lightly. “Say the word, baby, and I’m all yours. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

You looked up at Jake. “And then what?” you asked. “I leave and we never see each other again? Just disappear into a city of fourteen million people?”

His lips curled up. “Why not? It’s one night, Y/N. You look like you could use a good fuck. And trust me when I say, I’m good.”

You rolled your eyes and he chuckled. “Oh fuck it,” you muttered, reaching your hands up and winding them around Jake’s neck, dragging his head down to yours, pressing your lips to his. You whimpered as Jake’s hands gripped your waist tightly, walking you backward until you were pressed against the floor-to-ceiling window, his tongue padding yours gently, his knee nudging your legs wider until your core was pressed down against his trousers, lighting up your clit.

Jake pulled his lips from yours, sliding down and kissing along your neck, sucking behind your ear, one hand cupping your ass, pulling you forward against his thigh, forcing a moan out of your mouth. “Do you want to tell me what you want?” Jake whispered gruffly. “Or do you just want me to guess?”

“Fuck me until I can’t walk,” you replied and he groaned, burying his face in your chest, fingertips dragging down the top of your dress until your breasts were spilling out and Jake’s mouth was on your nipple, hot and wet, and when he sucked harshly you let out a gasp. “Oh, shit!”

Jake pulled off of your nipple with a groan, spinning you around until you were facing the city, your hands pressed high on the glass. He adjusted the front of your dress so your breasts were covered once again before sliding his body over yours from behind. You could feel how hard he was in his trousers as he rubbed himself over your ass, his lips trailing over your left shoulder. Gently, he moved the hair from your neck, kissing you until a crop of goosebumps arose on your arms.

He slid his hands down over your sides, letting one hand dip down below your ass in between your legs, brushing lightly over your soaked core.

He grunted. “Fuck, you’re wet.” His hand moved down, trailing along your inner thigh before he nudged your legs apart, widening your stance, stepping in closer, pressing himself flush with your back. One hand came up and held you across your abdomen, and the other wrapped around and slithered up your thigh, crossing over to the apex between your legs, his fingers slipping beneath the lacy fabric of your panties, thick fingertips brushing over your wet folds. “Holy shit,” he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder.

Jake’s fingers slid down past your clit and folds as you wobbled in his arms, until his middle finger was circling your entrance. You were practically bucking against his hand, his large palm flattened against your clit, and he pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder as his finger slipped inside of you, spreading you open while you whined in his arms. “Oh my God!”

“You like that, hmm?” He thrust his finger into you until he was met with the spongy part of your walls, fingertip curling and brushing against your inner wall as you shook in his arms. The next time Jake pulled his finger out he added a second one and you hitched forward, leaning your forehead against the glass, breath fogging and blurring the cityscape below.

“Shit, yes, yes.”

Jake buried his fingers into your cunt as you dripped on his knuckles, his free hand holding you up as your legs started to shake. Then, in an instant, he pulled his fingers out and you frowned. Before you could protest, Jake had turned you back around and he was on his knees. “Come here,” he demanded and you stepped forward, letting Jake’s hand slide up your bare leg, one finger hooking into the lacy fabric of your thong, pulling it down your legs slowly until you stepped out of it. He made sure it didn’t catch on your stilettos as he pressed your feet open wider, hands sliding back up the outsides of your thighs, bunching the black tight dress up around your waist so your dripping core was laid bare for him. Jake pulled himself to eye level with your wet pussy and groaned audibly. “Fuck,” he muttered, bending forward, licking a stripe up your folds as your hands shot out, reaching for his shoulders to steady you.��

“Oh!”

His fingers dug into your thighs as his sharp tongue spread you open, licking around your entrance, nose buried deep against your puffy clit as you rocked back and forth across his face, barely able to contain yourself. Jake’s hands kept you just close enough that you were practically shaking as you grinded against him, letting his tongue work you into a frenzy.

And just as you were starting to build the heat in your lower abdomen, he pulled back, pink lips glistening. You pouted, hands still digging into his shoulders.

“Not yet,” he whispered huskily, standing up and wiping at his wet face with a towel from the bar.

“So is that how this works?” you asked, yanking down the hem of your dress as Jake leaned against the bar, sipping on his drink. “You go down on me for five seconds and then ask me to suck your cock?”

“Is that what you want?” he asked, putting down his drink, inching closer, one hand on your throat, thumb over your pulse point, your neck turned up toward him, his green eyes shimmering. “My cock filling your mouth? Not sure how it’ll fit with all that sass you’ve got going on.”

“Well you probably have a micropenis, so I’m sure it’ll fit with room to spare.”

He laughed, taking your hand and sliding it down his chest and abdomen, your fingers tracing along his rock hard body, over his belt buckle, down to the impressive tent in his pants. He was massive, you could tell even over his pants. “Micro?” he asked.

You shrugged, fingers still hot over the bulge beneath his belt. “I’m guessing two, three inches tops.”

Jake grinned, undoing his belt, opening the first button of his fly and grabbing your much smaller hand, thrusting it down the front of his pants until you were met with the hot, pulsing length of his cock against your fingertips. You wrapped your fingers around it the best you could but he was thick and veiny and there was barely any room in his underwear to get a good grip. “More than three?” he asked.

You looked up into his eyes. “Three and a half.”

Jake’s smile turned into an open mouth moan as his eyes rolled back into his head when you used your other hand to push down his boxer briefs and the waistband of his pants, freeing his hard cock. It was hot in your hand as you rubbed your thumb over the tip, drawing the precum over the fat head of his cock and down his length, wrapping your fist around him the best you could, slowly pumping him a few times, letting his balls drag across the sides of your fingers when you pressed against his base.

He opened his eyes and you smirked. “Not so bossy now, are you?” you asked.

Jake raised his eyebrows. “You want to forget about your piece of shit fiancé?”

“Ex-fiancé,” you corrected him.

He nodded. “You want to forget about him?”

“Yes.”

“Then get on your knees, sugar. Show daddy what you’re made of so I can treat you after.”

“Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He did not. You let out a sigh, slowly sinking to your knees in front of Jake. He leaned over, grabbing a pillow from the silk couch. “Wait. Kneel on this.” He dropped the cushion on the ground and you knelt down, hands at your sides. “Come on, sweetheart. Take my cock in your mouth like a good girl. And then I’ll make you come.”

He slid his pants and underwear down to the ground, stepping out of them and you leaned in, running one hand over his outer thigh, his thick cock staring you in the face.

Jake threaded one hand into your hair as you lowered your mouth onto his tip, tongue brushing the underside of his cock as he groaned. “Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s good.” You slid his cock across your tongue until the tip hit the back of your throat as you gagged around his length. Pitching forward, placing both hands on his thighs, you bobbed up and down on his cock, letting spit pool in your mouth as you suctioned onto him, tasting his salty skin as Jake pulled you in, your nose brushing along his perfectly kept pubic hair.

“Shit,” you muttered as you popped off of him for a second, eyes tearing up, before diving back in, sucking hard, pulling a moan from Jake’s mouth as he closed his eyes above you.

“Fuck, God, shit come here.” Jake tugged at your hair, pulling you off of him, and you looked up, spit dripping from your mouth. “Come here,” he repeated, bending down, helping you to stand, pressing his mouth to yours, tasting himself on you. He walked you backward against the far wall of the room, his wet cock pressing against you and Jake’s large hands reached down, yanking up your dress, pulling it over your head.

You were standing in front of him bare except for a pair of stilettos and he grabbed your thighs, lifting you up seamlessly, his lips landing on yours again as his cock nudged against your folds, your legs winding around his waist. He brushed against your core, the hot, pulsing tip of his cock threatening to split you apart, and you moaned into his mouth.

Jake slid his lips down to your neck, sucking below your ear as you grinded your hips the best you could, trapped between him and the wall, desperate for more. “Greedy girl,” he whispered in your ear, biting your earlobe gently. “You want this cock, huh? Want me to fuck you against the wall until you’re creaming on me. Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” you begged. “Please?”

He was still wearing his shirt and you fumbled for the buttons, undoing them hastily, pushing it apart to reveal his perfectly chiseled chest. Jake carefully let you slip one arm out and then the other, never putting you down, until your chests were pressed together, your breasts molded onto him.

“Jake,” you whined.

“Such a fucking needy girl,” he muttered, rutting himself against you, pressing you further against the wall, his cock slipping over your folds, nudging at your clit. You yelped. “Knew the second I saw you that you’d like it fucking dirty. You would have let me fuck you right there at the bar, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” you gasped as he reached down, spreading you apart with his fingers, placing the head of his cock at your entrance.

“No?” He stopped moving, leaning back to look at you.

You shook your head, breathless. “You were a serial killer, remember?”

Jake laughed, sliding himself inside of you.

You gasped, mouth falling open as Jake’s thick cock split you in two, filling every single inch of you, pressing you further up the wall as his hands held your waist tightly.

He pushed in further, eliciting pants of pleasure from you as he held back from slamming against your cervix. “Fuck,” he muttered, his green eyes locked on you. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Hey, look at me,” he said gruffly and you lowered your chin, looking him square in the eye. He was all of the way inside of you and you had never felt so stuffed in your life. You hadn’t even known there was that much room inside of you until Jake had taken up residence inside your cunt. “You come when I say,” he commanded and you found yourself nodding. “This pussy belongs to me now.”

And then he pulled back, slamming inside of you as you cried out in his arms, his fingertips digging into your waist and ass, holding you up as he fucked you against the wall, your back slamming against the ornate silk wallpaper as his cock brushed against the furthest recesses of your walls. “Fuck! Jake!”

“Tell me when you’re going to come,” he grunted.

You whimpered as Jake pulled you into his arms, yanking you from against the wall, crossing the room while still using his hands to pull your hips up and down against his cock, laying you down on the fluffy bed as he stood against the side, your feet now resting on his shoulders as he bent you over further, driving his cock deeper inside of you while you sobbed in pleasure. “Jake! I—”

He pulled out of you in an instant and your eyes flew open, outraged.

“What the?”

His hand came out and slapped your puffy pussy lips. You looked up, stunned. “Get on the bed,” Jake demanded and you let your heels fall off, crawling back onto the middle of the bed, looking up in surprise. “Now come here.”

Jake crawled until he was positioned over you, beautiful face looming only a few inches above you.

“You’re going to make me come,” he whispered, “and then you get to come. Understand, princess?”

You had two failed orgasms under your belt and you felt heat creeping up across your collarbones and onto your neck. Desperation clung to you as hard as you tried to shake it off. “Yes, daddy.”

Jake’s eyes flashed. Was it power? Was it passion? Either way, he smoothed his hand over your breasts, down your stomach, thumb pressing down on your clit as you groaned. “Spread your legs.”

You did as you were told and Jake lined himself up with your soaking entrance, pushing into you with one long thrust as your breath broke, your fingers reaching out and wrapping around his biceps. He pushed further into you, grunting lightly, picking up his pace, his cock brushing against your walls as you climbed toward an orgasm, writhing beneath him, whimpering.

A scream started to build in your throat until it couldn’t be kept down any longer and you found yourself wailing, body vibrating as you teetered on the edge when Jake sat up, pulling your hips up over his thighs, fucking into you hard, his thumb pressing against your clit in tight circles.

“Oh, oh God!” you shouted as you started to flex around him. “I’m going to come! Jake!”

“Don’t come,” he demanded, pulling his thumb away, fingers tightening on your waist as he drove his cock further into you, feeling the warmth of your walls hugging him in tightly. “Fuck.”

He dropped you down, pulling out and shooting hot, sticky cum across your bare tits as you whimpered below him, a series of loud grunts leaving his mouth as he fisted his cock, milking himself over you.

Jake rolled over onto his back before getting up, grabbing a towel from the bar, handing it to you. You sat up, wiping at your bare chest.

“Alright,” you said softly. “My turn?”

He smirked. “Desperate, are we?”

“No.” It was a lie and you both knew it. Jake leaned against the headboard, both hands behind his head, cock spent but already hard again, taunting you.

You straddled his hips, your aching core hovering over him. “Say please.”

“Please.” It was a thin, wretched whisper. You couldn’t believe you were begging a near-stranger to let you orgasm. In five years Michael had never put you in a position like this.

“That’s my girl,” Jake whispered and a shudder of excitement ran down your spine. “Come here.”

He watched as you sank onto his hard cock, letting out a sharp cry as he filled you again. You pitched forward, hands on his pecs, grinding yourself against him, bouncing up and down on him, using him. Jake gripped your waist, eyes trained on you as you tossed your head back in a moan. “Shit.”

“Fuck, you’re sexy,” he whispered and your eyes snapped open, catching his. Jake smiled. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Hmm?”

You nodded frantically, jaw dropping open when Jake’s hand skimmed down, thumb pressing against your clit as you leaned back. He circled your swollen bud, watching his cock disappear into you. “Jake, please, please, let me come, oh fuck it feels so good.”

“Come on my cock,” he demanded, pressing down harder against your clit and you burst, letting out a loud cry, falling forward into Jake’s waiting arms as he thrust his hips up into you while you rode out your orgasm, your mouth biting against his shoulder as his hands stroked your bare back, pulling you down hard against him.

Finally, he stilled and you pressed yourself back, arms shaky. Jake tucked a section of hair behind your ear.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he said and you blushed, suddenly incredibly aware that he was still inside of your throbbing cunt, his other hand holding your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your left hand was conspicuously bare, fingers digging into the flesh of his pec.

“You’re just saying that so I blow you again,” you murmured, trying to roll off of him but Jake caught you, grounding you above him.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, green eyes hard and demanding. “It’s the truth. I don’t make a habit of lying to one night stands for no reason.” His eyes grazed over your body. Covered in a thin sheen of sweat and semen and tears. You felt more alive than you had in years. Finally, he lifted you slowly off of his cock and you grunted as he slid out of you, your pussy aching and sore. Jake set you down gently on the bed next to him, standing up and crossing the room toward the bathroom, turning on the shower. “Join me?”

You followed him into the marble bathroom. The shower was enormous, with no obvious door, just two half walls on either side of glass, with built-in seats on either side, a large silver shower head directly above you with a steady stream of water trickling down. Jake stepped in and held out a hand. You took it, letting him pull you in, the hot water falling over your face, letting Jake rub soap over your chest, down your stomach, between your legs. He turned you around, one hand on the wall, as he scrubbed over your back, pressing a kiss to the top of your ass, pushing himself against you until you could feel how hard he was.

He grunted. “Fuck. I need you.” “Again?” you asked. Michael has been able to go once, maybe twice in a night. Jake was insatiable.

He nodded, chin dragging against your shoulder. “Go dry off.”

You did as he said, sitting on the edge of the bed wearing only a towel wrapped around your waist, wet hair dripping down your back. Jake emerged a few minutes later, dropping the towel he had been using to dry his hair, perfect body glistening with water from the shower and on full display. He had chiseled abs that looked like they were carved out of stone and he grinned when you opened your legs wide, the edge of the towel not nearly long enough to cover your pussy. “How do you want me?”

Jake stepped up to where you sat on the bed, reaching out and flicking at the knot in the towel, sending it flying on either side of you, leaving you bare in front of him. He fisted his cock, already hard, a few times before lining himself up with your entrance, pushing himself into your tired, swollen pussy as you laid back with a groan.

“Oh, fuck!”

Jake pulled out before slamming back into you, watching as his cock disappeared into your tight pussy. He put one hand on your lower stomach, groaning loudly as he felt his cock stretching you, creating a bulge where his hand was pressed against your skin. “Fucking Christ,” he muttered as you grabbed your own tits, whining below him, luxuriating in the delicious stretch of his cock inside of you. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked, sliding his other hand below your thigh, angling you back until he was thrusting deeper into you as you cried out. “Want me to break your fucking pussy in half, do you?”

“Yes!”

“Go on then,” he said. “Come on my cock. Show me how much you love it.”

You let your head roll back, whiny sighs tumbling out of your mouth as Jake grabbed your waist, fucking you slow and deep, his pelvic bone brushing over your sensitive clit with every drag of his cock against your walls until you were shivering against him. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna come. Oh shit, Jake, now!”

He leaned over, cock descending deeper into you, his voice rough as his lips brushed near your ear. “That’s it, baby girl. Show me how much you want me.” You let yourself fall over the edge, crying out his name on repeat, tears falling from the corners of your eyes as you felt Jake’s cock slide against your contracting walls, overstimulating you until you were whimpering and writhing beneath him.

He leaned back, pulling out of you. “Come here.”

You squinted, trying to let the spots fade from your vision, and watched as Jake stepped over toward the floor-to-ceiling window, his cock dripping wet.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “Make daddy happy.”

You found yourself kneeling on the ground at his feet, both of Jake’s hands on the window, your bare ass pressed against the cold glass as your fingers found his waist, his cock thrust into your mouth. You could taste your own juices on him and he groaned immediately when you took him into your mouth, the mushroom tip of his cock bruising the back of your throat as he started to face fuck you.

“Fuck, oh God, Y/N, just like that!”

You gagged around his length, using your hands on his waist to pull him closer, letting saliva drip out of the corners of your mouth as tears streamed down your face, your mouth full as you attempted to suck along his veiny cock. He pulled back enough for you to take a deep breath, thrusting your tongue on the underside of his cock, making Jake’s hips jump, forcing his cock even deeper into your throat.

“Fuck, baby, want to come in your mouth,” he whispered huskily. “Make you forget what it’s like not to have my cock in your mouth.”

Your fingers tugged him closer and Jake leaned forward, crying out as his hips thrust forward, propelling his cock against your tongue and throat, hot, salty cum spilling into you. He fucked your mouth a few last times, his cries filling the room as his cock filled your mouth, and you let it drip down the sides of your mouth and into your neck and tits until he pulled out, resting his head against the cold glass window as you swallowed below him, your pussy wet where it was pressed against the wooden floor.

“Fuck,” Jake muttered, finally opening his eyes. The sight of you below him, covered in his cum, chest heaving from exertion, a wet patch on the ground from where you had dripped your excitement onto the floor, practically sent him into a fit. He leaned down, pulling you up, dragging his thumb over your lip, collecting his cum from your face before feeding it between your lips. You sucked on him eagerly, swallowing as your eyes stayed glued on his. His cock, despite being spent, twitched in excitement. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” You let Jake use your towel to wipe the cum off of your tits and neck and face.

Somehow, despite the fact that he was a stranger, it felt normal to slip under the sheets next to him, the lights of the city glittering below you from outside the window. Jake leaned over, pressing one large hand to your abdomen, skimming the bottom curve of your breast. “Still think I’m a serial killer?” he asked softly.

“Maybe,” you replied. “But at least you’re a good lay.”

Jake chuckled, lying back and settling in. You rolled onto your side away from him and closed your eyes.

When you opened them, it was light out. You reached out and Jake’s half of the bed was empty. Your dress from the night before was lying perfectly across the couch, panties folded on top, shoes set up neatly on the floor. You sat up, rubbing at your eyes, before spotting a piece of white cardstock on the writing desk against the wall.

Hotel bar, 8pm. And this time, you get to come first.

Tag list [using my list from The Off-Season since it's my most up-to-date Jake list but if you're not interested in these types of fics just let me know!):

@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@teacupsandtopgun @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @blue-aconite @seresinhangmanjake @eminyourjeans @shawnsblue @babyminghao @sadpetalsstuff @angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @wkndwlff @mygyn @oneelleandaneye @averyhotchner @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @rxmtoon @valkyrja-siren-blog @horseshoegirl @abaker74 @clancycucumber230 @theharddeck @redbarn1995 @shanimallina87

@memeorydotcom @joaquinwhorres @bobfloydsbabe @gretagerwigsmuse

#jake seresin #top gun fanfiction #jake hangman fic #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin smut #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman smut #hangman imagine #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #hangman x you #hangman x reader #top gun smut #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick #top gun au #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you

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scoupsahoy · 1 year

Text

leaving like a father, running like water

[crossposted to ao3]

It’s 1991 when Steve finally does what his father’s been telling him his entire life, which is: he grows up. Hawkins is stuck in time, a ticking time bomb, a place that’s never really needed him.

That’s okay. People needed him to stay for a while.

Robin needs him. Stuck to his side, constantly over his house, hardly going back to her own. He hears fighting from the inside for a while before he stops taking her back. Violence and vitriol and venom. And he needs Robin, too, needs her to be by his side, needs her to put him back together after the town splits down the middle.

It’s mainly her.

The kids needed him for a while, but they were always stronger. More magical. He was a piece of shit when he was their age, didn’t understand a single fucking thing, and they just knew. They’d lived entire lives right under his nose. They’d fought and won and lost and lost and lost and won, and they were always smarter than him anyway. More resilient.

And Hawkins can hardly be called a place anymore. It’s gray and rotten and barren, and the kids live there because they grew up on its streets and underneath them, but Steve. Steve has only been beaten down by this place, realizes he has to grow up somewhere else.

His parents give him the house and he sells it immediately. No one’s buying land in Hawkins, but it’s land, the town will take it, they’ll take anything they can get, and so will Steve.

They drive west until they hit Las Vegas and they get hitched at one of those sleazy casinos so people stop asking questions.

Steve dips Robin low and kisses her on the cheek behind a veil and the drunk witnesses don’t notice that her cackle is at the ridiculousness of people ever thinking they could be together. And hopefully in a while she’ll be one of those girls on the news wearing a shirt that says Lavender Menace but she could never have been that girl in Indiana.

And Steve. Well.

Before they really decide to leave, Steve gets drunk and hooks up with a guy he’s never met before and never seen again, a drummer in a little metal band playing just outside Indianapolis when he was convinced he was just testing a theory, and then Alexandria Brown, who had a fucking tongue piercing, just to make sure girls still get him off, and then Ronny Jackson, who was in AP Calc and a huge loud weirdo but otherwise gives him the best orgasm of his life. And he otherwise chases what Robin lovingly calls “the Munson High” until it clicks for him.

He leaves because without the kids to take care of, because he can’t play mother hen forever, Hawkins is nothing but a rotting open grave.

So they drive farther and hit San Francisco with ring pop rings and get a nice two bedroom apartment from a landlord who doesn’t ask questions, and that becomes home.

Steve is twenty four when he decides to grow up.

The problem with growing up is the growing part. Stretching his limbs and pounding at his muscles and working long hours lifting heavy boxes onto wobbly shelves for nine hours a day. He sees ghosts in the grocery store and monsters in dogs on a walk and it’s hard out here pretending this has been his only life. But at least there’s beer.

“Steve,” Robin flies through their front door, crumpled flier in hand, right when Steve cracks the can open. “Put that down.”

“Why?”

“We’re going out tonight. This was in our mailbox. I think it’s a gay club.” She smacks her hand on the counter, spread out over a piece of paper, probably too excited to realize there’s no way Steve would be able to read it.

He puts his beer down anyway before asking what should be an obvious question, because he actually isn’t trying to turn into his father, and because he’s a good friend. “Why would someone slip a flier for a gay club into our mailbox?”

“I think Addie and Rose from down the hall put it in there. Doesn’t matter. Go with me.”

And. Steve stares at his beer and the tiny television they got when they moved in so they wouldn’t die of boredom. They were going to watch Turner Classics or something because that’s what they always do on the weekend.

He looks back at sweet, hopeful Robin and sighs. “One of these days I’ll say no to you.”

“No you won’t,” she says, bright and shiny, runs into her closet of a room to get dressed and shouts through the apartment. “Also, for the record, you need to get laid!”

“Say it louder, I don’t think Addie and Rose heard you.”

“Don’t say that unless you mean it, because we both know I will.”

So Steve puts on real clothes, nothing too nice, and runs a comb through his hair. It’s a bit longer now than it was when he was a kid, long enough to give him hat hair at work, short enough that he’s not immediately clocked as a freak.

On the walk there, Steve decides his primary goal is to make sure Robin has a good time. His secondary goal is to make sure neither of them get into too much trouble. And the third, if the first two goals go well, is to get head in the bathroom, or, if he’s really lucky, give head in the bathroom.

They haven’t been in San Francisco for very long, considering how long they stayed in Hawkins, but there are regulars in their neighborhood, people he recognizes from work, people he recognizes from the store. It’s like they’re making a life here, almost.

The bartender is a guy who’s jogging route passes in front of their apartment most mornings on their way to work. His grizzled face breaks into pleasant surprise when he gets his eye on them.

“Oh, I recognize you two,” he says, pointing two fingers at them. His voice has a midwest twang to it. Kind of reminds him of home, not that he needs reminding. “That married couple up by that one deli. You guys lost?”

“We’re not.. really married,” Robin says, in that ridiculously un-subtle way she tends to.

Steve shoots her a look. “We’re legally married.”

“Yes, but as friends,” she emphasizes, shakes her naked ring finger at the bartender before leaning both elbows onto the bar and resting her head on her fists. “Tell me, do women frequent this establishment?”

If anything, despite the anxiety burning Steve’s ears red, the bartender at least seems amused. He nods over to a corner of the club closer to the stage and she’s immediately off in that direction, leaving Steve alone on a barstool with a man who knows way too much about him now.

Most of the rest of the bar is empty. Being a club, most people are on the dance floor or in dark corners or against the stage. Steve’s always been the kind of guy to sit by the sidelines. At least, since he graduated.

“She seems quirky,” the bartender says, no malice in his voice, pouring a drink for another patron and sliding it down the bar.

“Yeah, try living with her.”

He heaves a belly-laugh that makes Steve make real eye contact with him for the first time since getting in. “I’m Ricardo.”

“Steve.” They shake hands, firm and friendly.

“Not lost, then?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so,” Ricardo says, though Steve does a quick check of his hair and his clothes, see if anything gives him away. And he must be tense, because he continues. “Hey, relax, let me make you a drink if you want. We don’t bite.”

That shocks a smile out of him, enough to ask for a rum and coke. And Ricardo nods, and Steve tries to remember how to be social again like he hasn’t spent the last five years exclusively hanging out with teenagers and Robin. “That’s a shame. About the biting.”

“Don’t you worry about that. I could introduce you to a friend. He’ll do anything if you ask nicely enough,” he laughs, handing over the drink.

Steve squashes down how flustered that makes him. Robin’s right. He does need to get laid.

“It’s kind of funny, actually. Thinking about it, you’re exactly the kind of guy he usually goes after.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You know. Athletic. Good hair. Very normal looking,” Ricardo makes vague gestures at Steve’s general likeness and he tries not to take it personally. “He usually comes by on Saturdays. In case you were curious.”

“What’s his name?” Steve asks, even though he’ll probably forget, by the amount of rum he can taste in his drink and the way a man with more than one tattoo on his neck looks at him from down the bar.

He does manage to remember, because it’s kind of a weird name. And pretty quickly Steve decides that hooking up with someone in a bathroom isn’t too much trouble to get into at all, and Robin is loud and excitable across the club and he shouldn't worry about her too much anyway. So Jacob with the neck tattoos drags him into the bathroom by the hair at his nape and pushes Steve to his knees and the roughness of it gets him off without even being touched.

And his jaw is sore and his knees are bruised and he thinks about the guy named Winn who usually comes in on Saturdays, who likes guys that look like Steve, who will do anything if Steve asks nicely enough.

On the way out Robin has another girl’s lipstick on her teeth so she can’t say anything too scathing, but she does give him the Munson High stare.

He climbs into her bed that night because he has dreams about monsters and bats and open graves. He thinks about Eddie Munson after five years of him being gone, after only really a few days of knowing him, never knowing what he tasted like and chasing it anyway.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson died.

•

It’s 1991, deep into summer, and Steve sweats through his work uniform every single fucking day, takes twice as many showers as he can probably afford the water for, and sometimes it’s so hot in California that he starts to think he might be seeing things.

Robin tells him he’s been hit in the head too many times, which is objectively true, and if he were more self-preserving he’d probably benefit from going to a doctor about it. His father would call him crazy, he knows that, too.

Sometimes at work he’ll see a new-hire with Dustin’s curly hair, the style he had it in years ago when there was a chance he could grow up normal. And Steve will go home on those days and call the Henderson home phone until someone picks up and tells him he’s safe.

And lately, on Friday afternoons after work, when he goes straight from work to the grocery store to pick up whatever he can for dinner, he swears he catches a glimpse of Eddie. Just for a second. Like he’s a ghost.

And there are things wrong, always, the hair, his style, the walk, it has to be a hallucination.

Eddie’s been dead for five years, dead in a different state, in a different universe. And there’s no one to call when he gets home.

The feeling of it sits in his gut and festers like a poison. He doesn’t know why it’s getting worse since coming here. Chasing the Munson High.

They don’t go back to the club very often. They probably should. Robin needs to get laid just as badly as Steve does, but he’s never been the type to let loose when he felt responsible for someone else, not since Nancy. San Francisco is big and gay and new and it’s not quite home yet, and they’re from smalltown Hawkins, Indiana. He doesn’t know how to let his guard down.

But.

“We’re going out tonight,” Robin tells him, sitting next to Steve on their little couch with a sandwich and swinging her legs across his lap as a table.

“We are?”

She nods, smiles, speaks with a mouth full of food. “Yep. We’re going back to the club. And I’m the designated driver.”

“You don’t drive,” Steve blinks. “And we walk there.”

“Then I’m the designated walker. I’ll cart your little drunk self back home. Unless you go home with someone else, of course.”

“What the hell are you going on about?”

Robin smiles her little Robin smile, the one where she’s clearly feeling pity, which she knows Steve hates, and will not apologize for it.

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Your nightmares are back again. You’re worrying too much about me and everyone back home,” back in Hawkins, she means, their old home, “and it’s Saturday night and as your wife, I’m forcing you to go out and get drunk and get laid and stop worrying about other people for once.”

“There’s plenty of things to worry about, Robin,” Steve points out, even though it’s a losing battle.

“I’m a big girl, Steve. The apocalypse isn’t coming to San Francisco, and I’m pretty sure if it did I’d be able to handle it until you sobered up.”

She’s right. He knows she’s right.

Fuck. He knows she’s right.

So he lets Robin eat her sandwich and he gets changed into something that won’t make him die of heatstroke (because if he survived the past eight years and throws it all away in the basement of a club, he’s going to march into hell pissed off). And he makes himself look good and he wonders if Jacob with the neck tattoos is coming tonight, or maybe a drag performer, or maybe Winn who knows Ricardo.

They come up with a game plan on the way, because Steve is nothing without a game plan, basically the only thing that’s kept him alive this long. He’s going to get as plastered as he likes, and Robin is going to hopefully hook up with a drag king, and they are going to check in at midnight. And if Steve goes home with someone, he’s going to let her know before he goes, and he’s going to have a good time (this, she is adamant about), and he’s going to call her if he plans on spending the morning in bed.

Robin tells as much to Ricardo when they get in, orders Steve shots before setting his watch to go off at midnight like he’s fucking Cinderella. She looks Ricardo right in the eyes and demands him, “make sure he gets plastered.”

And get plastered Steve does.

“I was wondering when you’d be back,” Ricardo says. “Not really your scene?”

Steve leans an elbow on the bar. “It’s not that. I like to be careful. I know that this is San Francisco, but still. We’re from Indiana.”

It’s a half-truth, at least. Indiana itself was part of the problem, it always was. Not safe for Robin, not safe for him. Steve always had to pick the safe option. Tonight is really the first time he’s not going to worry about it.

The world is a scary place, even without all the monsters. Ricardo must understand that. Steve takes another shot.

“Illinois.”

The liquor burns down his throat this time, hits him like a punch, “What?”

“I’m from outside Chicago,” Ricardo says, which explains the midwestern accent.

Steve breathes, the buzz starting in his chest. “How long did it take for you to get used to this?”

“Kid, we’re all still getting used to it.”

He takes another shot at that. He thinks about the things he’s getting used to, the new place and the new world and the way the world spins. The way the ground here isn’t cracked and rotten and part of hell. The way he doesn’t have to worry about getting an annual concussion, hopefully, if he watches out, if he follows his rules.

He thinks about Eddie, which is a bit funny, because he doesn’t think he’s tried to think about him in a long time. Sometimes it happens like that. You know about someone for years and then you know them for a few days and then.

Impact.

And if he’s being honest, he’s never going to get laid like this. Sitting miserable at the bar. It’s a club. There are people and performances and men that he doesn’t have to be afraid of.

Steve has to do more than just survive, now. It’s been eight years of surviving and he gets to live.

So he gets plastered. Sloppily so, finds Robin and kisses her wet on her forehead and lifts her up for the girls by the stage and wingmans until she’s giggling and slapping at him and threatening divorce.

He gets bullshit drunk, chases his Munson High, grinds against a man with lots of eyeliner, hair so long he’s pretty. He tells him so against his lips and his hips. Doesn’t learn his name before he’s sitting back at the bar, a moment that hardly sobers him.

He sits for a while and breathes and people-watches and talks to Ricardo, and there’s a man with sunglasses down the bar, staring right at him. His hair is cropped short and he’s covered in tattoos, and Steve flags Ricardo down.

“Am I really drunk or is that guy staring at me?”

Ricardo smiles, response sloshing around in Steve’s brain. “He’s definitely staring. I told you that you were his type.”

“Oh shit,” he says, “that’s Winn?”

Steve doesn’t stick around long enough to hear anything other than the confirmation. And if Winn gets tense, Steve is too drunk to notice. He wants to drink and he wants to make out and he wants this guy to do whatever he wants with him. He wants to flirt and get in his pants and go home with him. And he’s a reckless drunk and he’s okay with it.

“Hey,” he says when he sidles up, rests his elbows on the bar.

“Hey.”

His voice is gruff and deep, surprisingly so. And he looks out into the crowd for a bit, so Steve can peek behind his sunglasses to see what they’re hiding. “I was wondering if you were planning on buying me a drink.”

Winn smiles, and it’s bright, even if it isn’t huge. It looks shocked, unused, awkward in the lips like they’ll crack open. Steve wants to get bloody on them.

“Now why would I do that?”

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” Steve says, even if he doesn’t know that it’s true. It’s true enough. “And Ricardo told me that I’m just your type. Was wondering if you’d ever make a move.”

“Wow. And you couldn’t make a move of your own?” His voice wavers a bit, a teasing jolt, something familiar, weirdly.

Steve drags his eyes down Winn’s body, his plain black shirt, and dark wash jeans, and the lean muscle that sits underneath. “What do you think I came over here for?”

“You’ve got me there. But I don’t think I was staring at you.”

“I’m pretty sure you were.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m wearing sunglasses, so I could have been staring at anything,” Winn says, turns his shoulders towards Steve’s, like they’re closing in on each other.

“You’re looking at me now, at least.”

“That’s true.”

“Any chance you’ll be looking away any time soon?”

It’s fun. Their back and forth. He can tell Winn likes it too, cheeks red, even when the lights change to flash yellow and blue and green. His voice cracks higher for a half second. “None.”

There it is.

“Good,” Steve says, curls his fist into the front of his shirt and pulls Winn down to him. He can feel the snag of chest hair in his hand, swallows the little groan he lets out into his mouth. He wants to get drunk on that, too.

He knows how drunk he must be, out in the open like this. He knows how selfish this must be, and he couldn't give less of a shit about it. Steve wants.

Winn hesitates for a fraction of a second, the kind of second that drags on when you’re drunk, and then kisses back the kind of kiss that empties your entire mind. His tongue is hot, licks into his mouth like fire, and he doesn’t taste like liquor. It’s just cigarettes and sweat and Steve wants to drown in it.

It turns out that Winn is the take control type. The do whatever you want if you ask nicely enough type, if he’s remembering correctly. He’s solid and bone-crushing and not nearly close enough. Steve is desperate and hungry in a way he hasn’t let himself be in years, doesn’t care about the consequences, wants Winn to make a mark on him that won’t go away.

And Winn gets them both drinks, gets Steve just what he likes, takes his own shots like they’re nothing. He downs them like water and Steve stares at his throat like he wants to build a home inside of it.

There’s a little bit of talking, but mainly making out, and a lot of touching hip bones and exposed biceps and the tender skin at the juncture of Winn’s neck, and ordering drinks and feeling reckless and not giving a shit.

And then his hands are in Steve’s hair, pulling, kissing him again and again, and his knees nearly collapse right there.

“Take me home,” Steve finds himself saying. “Your home. Take me to your place.”

Winn laughs, a sharp sound, “You’re a little drunk, buddy.”

“Sober me up then,” Steve says, slides his free hand up Winn’s leg. He tests a theory. “Please?”

And that does something.

He is pretty drunk, and otherwise his blood isn’t particularly focused on his brain function as much as his dick, honestly. But still, Winn makes Steve dizzy with it, with want and need.

It’s quick and reckless. Steve tells Robin he’s going home with Winn, that he’ll call a cab in the morning, and she salutes him on his way out.

The air outside is just as stale and hot as the club, and Steve leans into Winn’s arm while they walk.

“I hate how hot it is here.”

“You might have come to the wrong place, big boy,” Eddie says. Or, well, Winn says it, but Steve stops short in his tracks, feeling like a tape getting rewound, cranked slowly. It’s five years ago all of a sudden, just for a second, and Winn catches Steve by the bicep and if Steve were feeling more like himself he might have flexed or flirted or something. “You alright?”

And he’s back in the present, skipped ahead with a scratch. “Yeah.”

“Don’t die of heatstroke on me. I have water at my apartment. It’s not far.”

It really isn’t far. Winn keeps his sunglasses on even though Steve can hardly see a foot in front of him as it is. He wonders for a second if Winn has real eyes, or if he sees through his lenses like screens. Or maybe he can’t see at all. That seems unlikely.

He wonders if Winn has Eddie’s eyes, too. Big and brown like he’d never seen before or seen since. The real Munson High: not a guy with long hair and rings and tattoos and weird interests, but a guy who looks at him like that, like Eddie did. Intense and sure and determined and unafraid.

“You remind me of someone,” Steve says, sloshed, uninhibited.

For all accounts, he should keep his mouth shut. Steve is actually trying to sleep with this guy, and he can’t imagine that comparing him to his admittedly life-changing but violently dead friend from five years ago is going to be appealing.

And this guy is cool, Steve tells him so. His style and his walk and his demeanor and how he tastes like cigarettes, the kind you roll yourself.

He thinks, maybe, keeping it lighthearted will be best. If this is the final destination of the Munson High, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Or scary the way seeing the ghost of him in his grocery store is.

Winn keeps him talking, though. “Someone nice?”

“Oh,” Steve blinks. He isn’t quite sure, which seems unfair, but he doubts Eddie thought Steve was all that nice either. “Maybe. He was nicer than me, maybe. He was good, I know that. We had a lot going on back when I knew him, but you have the same kind of smile. And manner of speaking. All that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Steve is too drunk really to read into the way Winn’s posture changes, maybe it has something to do with the fact that they’re at Winn’s apartment already. It’s not far at all. In fact, Steve could probably make it back home in fifteen minutes if he wasn’t so far gone.

His apartment is small and a bit messy, and it’s quiet and a little impersonal. Not much on the walls, no pictures of family around. And sometimes it’s like that here, he’s learned. Not everyone has a Robin. But at least Winn has a Ricardo.

The entry space isn’t too warm. It’s actually nice and cool. Cooler than the club, certainly cooler than the outside. Like, Winn must have good air conditioning. “Jesus Christ, are you rich or something?”

“I can’t believe that you of all people would ask that,” Winn says. Steve doesn’t bother asking what that means but he wonders. He looks for hints in Winn’s sunglasses or the familiar weight of his hands.

“I feel like I can breathe,” Steve takes a deep breath and spins, almost topples over, and Winn catches him by the shoulders. Firm hands. Familiar. They’re familiar. “Woah, thank you.”

“Not a problem, dude.”

There it is again. That tone of voice. Steve has got to be fucking hallucinating, honestly, all of a sudden overcome by this pulling in his chest.

“Is dude really an appropriate thing to call someone you’re trying to sleep with?” He flirts, the only cylinder in his brain that’s firing like this. Everything else is fighting drunken confusion and Eddie and trauma. And it’s not fair that this is happening now.

Winn’s sunglasses are still on. “You’d be surprised, Stevie.”

He stumbles and trips over a cable and it feels like 1986 again and 1985 and 1984, and it’s a black and slimy vine, something that will slither around his neck and ankles and choke him out. And the next few hours are a confusing haze, because he collapses in Winn’s arms. He gets taken to the couch, a fucking ugly thing, and he can’t breathe and it’s humiliating.

It’s been a while since an episode like this. The first few weeks in San Francisco were like that, peeking around every corner, distrustful of every shadow. And the feeling of being back there mainly sticks to nightmares, something he can blame on his dreams.

But he got used to it. He got used to San Francisco and normal problems like being broke and hating your parents.

Steve knows what’s real and what isn’t. He’s smart. He hasn’t gone insane. He’s not crazy, except, he definitely looks crazy to this guy. This poor guy. Not-Eddie. Eddie’s not real. Or, not anymore.

He never should have come here. He should be with Robin. She knows what’s real too. She can talk him down. She’s good at it.

He can’t see for what feels like an hour or what he knows is realistically only a couple of minutes, and then he can, because Eddie or not-Eddie rubs circles into his back and puts a glass of ice water in his hands and tells him how cold it is. He narrates the droplets of condensation that track down his skin and into his watch, which still hasn’t gone off yet.

This is the longest night of his fucking life and that’s saying something, it’s saying too much.

“You’re okay, man,” Eddie or not-Eddie says, calm like he’s used to this feeling, when nobody could be. Nobody but the group of them who fought monsters in alternate dimensions, who were nearly killed off and then paid off by government organizations. It’s why Steve and Robin came here in the first place. To get away from it. Somewhere where no one would know. So they wouldn’t have to see the effects of it every day and breathe the awful polluted air.

A chill runs up his spine. The air conditioning whirrs. A thought comes to his mind: he likes it cold.

And he thinks he’s hyperventilating again, he must be, because Winn is concerned and takes off his sunglasses and Steve gets a good look at his eyes and they’re Eddie’s. Like he took them from him. Like the world is fucking with him, like they never won at all and this is Steve’s fucking ticking clock. Like the last five years weren’t real, like nothing is real.

By some grace of God, that’s too much for his brain to handle, and he passes out right there on Eddie’s couch in Eddie’s arms in San Francisco in 1991.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson almost died.

•

It’s 1991, and Steve wakes up hungover in a room he’s never been in before. It’s dark still, and his head is pounding, and he’s sure it’s from the alcohol. But it centers around his eyes like he’d been crying, something he doesn’t let himself do all that often, and it floods back.

His eyes barely adjust and there’s an old Metallica poster on the wall and a stack of books in the corner of the room and a guitar pick necklace hanging from the corner of a mirror and nothing else.

Nothing else recognizable, at least. Nothing else personal, not that Steve can really say he knew Eddie personally. It’s nothing like Eddie’s room at home five years ago, the one he had to clean out because Wayne and Dustin were too heartbroken to do it themselves. With his guitars and posters and fliers and lyrics and chord progressions. With his drugs that they threw back into Rick’s house. That he and Nancy made sure to keep far away from the kids, because God fucking forbid they touch them.

It’s too dark to tell if this is the Upside Down or one of those clock hallucinations or if it’s just night.

There’s no reason Eddie Munson should be alive.

There’s no reason, really, that Steve should have been thinking about him for so long, anyway. For thinking of Eddie as this special thing to him, a high he’s chased for years, a person he recognizes pieces of in strangers on the street. That must be what this is. Punishing him for not letting him go. When he hardly fucking knew the guy.

But that’s not right, either.

He’s shaking, and the bed creaks with it, and the door opens slowly, and he holds his breath until Eddie walks through.

Because Eddie walks through. His hair is cropped and his neck is scarred and his face is older. There aren’t rings or patches or buttons on leather and denim. He looks different and exactly the same, and the light from the other room floods from behind him like a halo, like he’s a ghost.

Steve knows that this can’t be his imagination, though, can’t be the effect of some spell or hypnotism or post-traumatic stress, because he’d never imagine Eddie like this. Barren.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Eddie says, like it’s a normal thing to say, like this is a normal thing to do, and Steve kind of wants to kill him again.

The light flickers on, bathes the room in an ugly yellow. “What did you do?”

“What?” Eddie stops short. Water spills over the rim of a glass Steve didn’t notice he was holding. “You had a panic attack and passed out. I brought you to a bed.”

Steve shakes his head. “You died! You died five years ago! What did you do? Did you make a deal with Vecna? With the guys at the lab?”

“Jesus, no!” Eddie steps forward and Steve tenses. His eyes flash, and they’re just as big and swirling as Steve remembers, but they’re dark, and he holds his other hand out, placating. Is he a vampire? Is Vecna even dead?

“Was any of it real? Is any of it over?”

Exdie crouches, and he takes off his shirt, and Steve must still be a little drunk because he stares at his chest and the curls of hair scattered around. But behind that, more clear now than it was in the club, is scarred, discolored patches of skin, poorly stitched together, healed but slowly. Painfully. The scratches and scars run lightly up his arms and his chest, up into deep pinks and reds at the base of his neck.

“I didn’t die,” Eddie says, patient, practiced, like he’d been prepared to be found out. Which begs the question: what was the fucking point? “I nearly died. I thought I died. But I didn’t.”

Steve fumes and he tries to follow and he stares at Eddie’s skin, thinks about all the people he couldn’t protect.

“We mourned you. Dustin was,” Jesus Christ, it hurts to think about, “torn in half. You let us all think you died, but you let him think you died. We would have helped you.”

Eddie stares like he’s brokenhearted, and Steve is done talking. His throat hurts and his head hurts and he’s too fucking old for this. He dares Eddie to explain himself.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He really did think he was going to. He’d already accepted it, and if Dustin got to live, he would have done it over and over again indefinitely. He would have relived the pain forever, and he knew it even when it was excruciating and he tasted blood and venom and whatever else.

The only thing he wouldn’t relive was Dustin’s face, dirty and tear-tracked and sobbing.

Eddie faded out and faded back in. He couldn’t open his eyes, but he heard the others come back, heard them tear Dustin off of him, heard the rumbling of thunder and the splitting of earth.

One thing Eddie learned when he was young, when his dad put his mom in the hospital, was that hearing goes last. The last moments wrapped up in loud silence.

He didn’t know if he believed in heaven, but the screams and the cracking and the laughter from Vecna sounded a lot like hell, especially when it didn’t stop. When it kept going. When he thought he was dead.

But hell seemed to spit him back out.

Didn’t want him. Go figure.

He was hardly alive, though. Alive in the sense that he was sometimes conscious and his heart was chugging, pushing blood around his body.

And eventually, in Hawkins, real Hawkins, he crawled until he ended up in the Hendersons’ backyard. He’d heard a story once, right before he died, that Dustin had taken in a little monster until it could live on its own.

It was a long shot, but he was hoping the kid would be willing to do it again.

He was.

Eddie bled sludge onto the concrete of Dustin’s cellar, and Dustin stole antiseptic and gauze and painkillers from where they were keeping Max in the hospital and from the donation drives and wherever else, Eddie never knew. He soaked needles and string in hydrogen peroxide and sewed him up in the really gnarly gashes that wouldn’t scab over, placating Eddie with whatever was in his mother’s liquor cabinet.

And it was fucking hell.

He will never remember most of it.

But as soon as he could stand upright he cut his hair short and hitchhiked to Indianappolis and took a one-way bus to California and didn’t look back.

There was no way he could. Every step was a miracle. He was a man on the run.

But nobody except his uncle knew that his name was Edwin, that his mother’s maiden name was Langley. Nobody except Rick, who’d made him a fake ID before he got sent to prison so he could run off to San Francisco after he graduated, or after Wayne got sick of him, or after shit got really bad.

And well.

It killed the poor kid, he knew it, but he hoped that knowing he was alive would lessen the blow. Even if he swore him to secrecy. The kid was loyal. Could keep a secret.

Dustin is nothing if not stubborn. Packed Eddie’s bag with a note with his home phone number and a radio frequency and a threat, a promise, to tell the police exactly where he was if he didn’t confirm proof of life at least once a month.

An extremely charming scribbled note on a piece of paper he would keep in his bedside table that read: I WILL MAKE ELEVEN FIND YOU. LIVE.

So Eddie Munson – if you asked his ID, Edwin Langley – if you asked anyone else, Winn the Mechanic – didn’t die in Upside Down Hawkins, Indiana in 1986. He laid low for five years in San Francisco, a place where people run to all the fucking time and don’t ask questions, didn’t make too much money, didn’t make too many waves.

He got rid of anything that would identify him. That was the hard part. All Eddie Munson had was his identity. Was his band and his music and his club and his loud personality. And he’d never held himself back for anyone.

He figured, though, if he was going to hold himself back for something, it would be for the teenagers who fought monsters. Maybe, he thought, this way he’ll win. There’s no other way for them to win.

Eddie knew his odds. Every day was a stealth check. And for five years he rolled high enough. It helped staying mainly sober and playing the new performance of being mysterious and quiet. Like that was a new game in itself.

And then, one day, a drunk and traumatized Steve Harrington rolled high enough on investigation to crumble the whole thing down.

•

It’s 1991. And Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He was alive when Wayne and Steve organized a pathetic little funeral for him with sticks and pins and guitar picks buried into the ground on the right-side-up of where he got attacked by the bats. He was alive when Steve and Lucas spent nights in Dustin’s room, giving them a break from the hospital room and making sure they were doing okay.

For Christ sake, he held Dustin while they mourned.

Eddie was alive when Steve sort of pieced together why he was so heartbroken. When Robin asked why he kept Eddie’s jean jacket hung on the back of his desk chair, why he didn’t bury it or give it to Wayne. He was alive when Steve was confused and tired and drove out to Indianapolis and went down on some drummer with long hair and big eyes who called him baby and pretty and gave him a warning before coming down his throat.

When Robin coined the term Munson High.

And Jesus Christ, Steve is exhausted. He’s nauseous and dizzy and hungover and his mouth tastes like shit. He’s only pretty sure this whole thing isn’t an elaborate mind game.

“I don't understand, dude,” Steve says, running the palm of his hand flat down his face.

“What don’t you understand?”

Steve kind of wants to kill him again. “Why did you have to be dead? Why didn’t you tell the rest of us? Why didn’t you tell me? We were friends!” He clears his throat. “And why the fuck did you take me home tonight knowing damn well who I was?”

Eddie counts the questions off on his fingers, formulating his thoughts, and it’s infuriating to watch. Knowing that Eddie has had five years to think about this, and Steve is falling over on himself like a fucking idiot. Blindsided.

He speaks, and for some reason it sounds the exact same as it has in Steve’s memory, and it hurts. “The town wanted me dead, man. There were people coming after me with pitchforks, no questions asked, there was no saving me. Not after Jason died. Not after it broke national news. I couldn’t be missing or sent to jail or any of that shit. I had to be dead or they would kill me. And if they couldn’t kill me, they’d kill you guys for keeping me alive.”

Steve clenches his jaw and it sends the violent sting of a migraine into his eye. “We would have done it. We needed you–”

“That’s why you guys couldn’t know. You would try to fix it. If you knew I lived, you would patch me up and take me to your magical girl’s friends with the government and they would wave their wands, but I would be public enemy number one, and that was never going to change or get better,” Eddie says, a crack in his voice like he’s frustrated, like he has a right to be. “I’ve been public enemy number one since the kids in Hawkins found out who my dad was. It never fucking changes.

“I told Dustin because I knew he wouldn’t ask me to stay after I’d already made up my mind. I didn’t tell you because I knew you would. You would have asked me to stay and I would have done anything for you back then. And now, too. I just can’t say no to you, Stevie.

“But,” he finishes, “you needed to focus on the bigger picture. If you thought there was any shot I would make it, you would have taken it, and you would have gotten yourself killed.”

Steve breathes. He can’t do much to argue with that, but the parts of it that were personal, that made Steve feel like stained glass or the open mouth of a cave, like he was something Eddie could really see, those parts are hard to swallow.

“And?”

“And,” Eddie says. “I haven’t seen you in five years and I never got to kiss you back then, I never even thought of it as a possibility. And my cover was broken and I was drinking even though I don’t do that anymore, and you asked to go home with me, Steve. I already said I can’t say no to you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie relaxes into a position more familiar, barely. The ghost of a posture Steve recognizes from five years ago. He wonders if he’s still the same or different in Eddie’s eyes. “And I wouldn’t have slept with you under false pretenses, I just figured you’d rather not be in a dark little gay club when you realized I was Eddie.”

He’s a little too tired for this. A little too broken. It’s a little too much.

Steve wonders if he would feel his heart stop if it did. Or if it would just feel like the same dull ache he’s been feeling for five years. More than that. Since his world turned upside down.

“You’re stuck with me, now. You got that?”

Eddie smiles, and it’s something so massive and heart stopping and sickening that Steve worries if it’s real at all. It’s just different enough. Five years older. Relieved and real.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, waterlogged and broken and also whole.

Steve would hate to break this, but he glances at the clock and feels a tension about a fifteen minute walk away. “You’re going to have to deal with Robin, though. And Dustin is going to have to deal with me”

•

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana.

•

It’s 1991. Steve unlocks his apartment, cramped and kind of ugly, and full of life.

“Hey Rob?”

Robin calls from her little closet room. “No honey I’m home? Where has our love gone, Stevie?”

“Uh,” he shifts by the door. “I ran into someone last night.”

“I thought you went home with that Winn guy. Did he fuck your brains out? I should have told him about your history of concussions before I let you leave…” Robin trails off when she turns one of the snug corners of their apartment and makes eye contact with them.

And Steve can only imagine how they look to her, considering everything. Steve bringing home a man who looks more like Eddie Munson than is probably healthy for him. Looking exhausted, his eyes are chapped and red from last night. And Eddie looks kind of terrified, which he should. It’s a blessing that Nancy is on the other side of the country, because Eddie would be dirt in the fucking ground, probably.

“Hi,” Robin looks Eddie up and down with so much intensity that Steve can feel the heat of it. “I’m sorry. I’m Robin. I need to steal Steve away for just one minute.”

“Robin,” Steve manages. She looks away from Eddie and gives Steve a scathing Munson High stare. It quiets him.

Eddie speaks, though. That same old voice. “Robin.”

It’s pleading, almost. And it works. Steve and Robin joke about being able to read each others’ minds, but it’s like something really happens then. Exactly how he thought she’d react: confused, and then suspicious, and then almost angry.

“What is this?”

She doesn’t give either of them a chance to respond, just walks up to Eddie and pulls on the collar of his shirt. Steve looks too: the smattering of scars, years healed over but still gnarly, raised, skin crawling over itself like veins.

There’s this little quirk in the scars on Steve’s stomach, marks that never faded, speckles of black, like shards of venom from the bats stuck inside him. They play just underneath the pale scars on Eddie’s neck. And Robin’s face breaks.

“What the hell is this?

“I’m–” Steve thinks there’s going to be an apology from Eddie, half-formed, scared and desperate in a way that tears Steve’s heart in half even though it’s only just been mended. But Robin launches forward, unsteady on her feet, wraps both arms around his neck.

“You were gone,” Robin croaks into his skin. “I saw it.”

Eddie rubs her back, and Steve’s heart lurches at the memory of her and her brave face when they found Dustin hovering over his body.

“I’m sorry.”

“How are you here? Did they–” the government, the Lab, the Russians, the creatures, “did they take you away? Are you under witness protection? Who’s Winn?”

Eddie’s voice shakes while he explains it again, and Steve shakes while he hears it again, and Robin watches and listens with her usual intensity, careful and horrified and spinning cogs in her brain while she puts the pieces together. She’s always loved a mystery. A puzzle. She asks the right questions, gets the right answers.

“You’re not going to run away again, are you?”

Steve watches Eddie’s face. This beautiful thing. It crumples the tiniest bit, and Steve’s always been attuned to these non-verbal signs, these warnings. So for a second, there’s a wet anguish in his eyes, and Robin’s fingers curl hard into his shirt like a threat, and Steve worries that whatever comes out of his mouth will be a lie.

It’s too much like 1986 and Eddie’s smiling at him, curly and beautiful, promising that he’s not a hero. Like it’s 1987 and Dustin is sitting at Eddie’s grave like he doesn’t know where he is. Like it’s 1988 and Steve on the phone with his parents, telling them things are fine. It’s 1989 and Steve is telling Robin that he’s fine. 1990: this town isn’t sucking the soul out of him, he can stay for the kids, he deserves one more year as a kid himself, he still has something to offer.

It’s 1991, and Steve knows how to lie, and he’s never been afraid of being lied to. He’s only ever been afraid of the truth.

–

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana. There’s no big white spectacle event at the town’s once-gaudy now-dilapidated church, no priests or preachers. The bride never believed in all of that, and the rest of them haven’t bought into it for at least a decade.

It’s a small ceremony. Steve walks Max down the aisle. He whispers to her that Lucas started crying the moment he saw her, Max says she knew he would, and Steve laughs, delighted.

He drops her off and falls back into Lucas’ groomsmen line, punching him in the shoulder on the way, lands his hands on Dustin’s shoulders and squeezes.

He catches Robin’s eye on the other side of the aisle. She’s still wearing their wedding ring, but she’s playing with the lace on Nancy’s shoulder, and Nancy’s smiling in a way Steve’s never seen from her.

It’s been a decade free of evil in this town, and Steve doesn’t often come back, but it’s moments like this where Steve remembers that this was his home, once. There aren’t towns like this in California, smattered with woods, filled with people who have always known him, who he doesn’t have anything to lie about to.

Eddie’s there. He hasn’t been to Indiana since he crawled out ten years ago. He’s sitting, playing with hair he’s been growing back out for five years.

There’s a tattoo on his ring finger, now, black and sprawling.

Steve stares at it the entire time.

–

It’s 1991, and Steve is back in Eddie’s apartment. There’s a nice radio in the closet, and the two of them sit on the cool ground in front of it.

Steve hasn’t taken his eyes off of Eddie in hours, what’s felt like years. He edges closer, like Eddie is a stray, like he’ll scamper away. And Eddie at least seems to understand. Press back, knowing there’s fear that he won’t.

He’s warm. That’s one of the most jarring things.

He still remembers how cold he felt, years ago, bleeding through his clothes, through Steve’s hands.

And now he’s warm and alive and Steve wants to be burned by him. Seared. He wants Eddie so close he leaves a mark.

Eddie turns to look at him, raises an eyebrow, “ready?” And he waits for Steve to nod before he turns on the radio and plays with the frequency.

“Obi-Wan to Luke checking in…” His eyes flicker up to Steve’s. “Over.”

Steve smiles. Of course Dustin is Luke. He’s almost surprised he isn’t Han.

It takes a few seconds for Dustin to respond, undeniably him, attempting to hide his excitement in the way he’s never been able to pull off. “Luke to Obi-Wan, confirming check-in. Is everything alright? We just spoke last week. Over.”

“Just peachy, young Skywalker. Though I do have a visitor. Over.”

“Are you compromised?” Dustin’s voice crackles with his natural intense panic. “Over.”

“No,” Steve leans into the microphone, keeping all points of contact with Eddie like he’ll float away. “But you are. Over.”

There’s a bit of amusement that Steve can see in Eddie’s eye, a smile that he can’t look away from. It makes this whole thing feel less massive. Everything’s felt massive for almost ten years, and Eddie just dissipates the whole thing. Like magic. Eddie’s fucking Houdini.

“Shit.”

“You didn’t say over. Over,” Eddie says, voice light.

It’s ridiculous, all of a sudden. Easy. Even though everything is an awful disaster, it’s easy.

“Shit… Over.”

–

In 1996 they stay at the Motel 6 on Cornwallis after the reception. They slow dance in the little space next to the bed, entirely sober, both of them. Drunk off each other, almost.

They don’t sleep, because they fuck like rabbits, and because Hawkins is still a little too haunted to get real rest, and because the Motel 6 is still a piece of shit even after rebuilding it in the 90’s.

The sun rises and it stays there.

#steddie fic #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #tumblr fic

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lostloveletters · 5 months

Text

Sunday Eve (John Brady x OC)

Summary: On a freezing night blanketed with snow, John and Woody know how to keep each other warm.

Note: It’s been in the 80s here, so naturally I wrote a soft, smutty, post-war winter fic for them. I’m sorry if the formatting is weird, I’m posting this on mobile. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Period typical attitudes. Sexually explicit content involving vaginal sex (light breeding kink elements, but I wanted to mention it just in case). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

John privately wondered if his Californian sweetheart regretted moving to Upstate New York for him when he found her sitting next to the radio in their small living room, bundled up in not one, but two of his sweaters, with a quilt from his grandmother on her lap. Woody’s eyebrows furrowed as the newscaster announced more snow overnight. He figured she would be used to it by then. England was no stranger to snow.

But the way she reacted to their first snow day together brought the magic back into it. She threw her arms around him and pulled him back into bed when he told her the schools were closed, which meant he had the day off of work. They spent half the day in bed, the other half dancing around the apartment and drinking whiskey they’d gotten as an engagement present, all hopeful attempts to mitigate the heating bill while money was still a little tight.

After two days of scattered snowfall, she appeared baffled that it wasn't coming to an end for the foreseeable future. She knew to expect it. Saw firsthand the rush of people bringing their cars into the shop for snow tires and chains. She got the hang of it quickly. ‘You’d hardly know she was from Los Angeles,’ her boss, an old friend of his father’s, had told John after mass one particularly chilly October morning. ‘San Francisco,’ John reminded him, to which he received a shrug in response.

“Ready to head to bed?” John asked. “We’re meeting my mom for lunch after mass tomorrow morning.”

His family adored Woody, especially when she shared her intent to convert to Catholicism. He didn’t know how to feel when she confided later on she was doing it for him, rather than out of spiritual conviction, which he suspected, anyway. He never wanted her to feel as though he were forcing her to do anything. ‘It’ll make things easier for us,’ she assured him.

The part that bothered him just as much was that it did. His family suddenly weren’t making as much of a fuss about them living together. Probably assumed they wouldn’t push their beds together or keep condoms in the nightstand. The monsignor promised them a wedding mass in the spring, the most coveted time of year to celebrate the sacrament of holy matrimony—provided she completed catechism by then. She was on track to, so long as she kept showing up to mass.

“Will the roads even be cleared?” she asked.

He smiled. “We’re used to it here, sweetheart. You’d be surprised.”

She turned off the radio, getting up from the armchair and throwing the quilt over the back of it. He reached for her hand, taking it in his and pressing a kiss to her calloused palm.

Their bedroom was chilly when they slipped beneath the covers together after rushing through their respective nighttime routines, brushing teeth and changing into pajamas. In Woody’s case, taking off one of his two sweaters she’d requisitioned for herself, not having much of a winter wardrobe of her own.

Compared to the Stalags and freezing night marches, though, their drafty old apartment felt like heaven with the radiator buzzing and Woody in his arms. John dreamed about such a moment so many times, he needed to remind himself it was real. Pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, her hair soft and smooth against his lips. She trembled against him, breathing out a soft sigh.

“Sweetheart?”

“Keep me warm,” she whispered, nuzzling her nose against his cheek. “Please, Johnny?”

“We have to get up to go to mass tomorrow,” he gently reminded her.

Woody wanted him morning and night, and in between too, if he could manage it. Far from a complaint, but he was certain he was the only man in the world with such a dilemma as making sure to wake up early enough to sate his love’s desire before getting along with the day. When the topic came up among his coworkers or old college buddies, they grumbled with foreign tales of fiances and wives who feigned headaches or went to sleep early.

As soon as she shifted, better positioning herself to give him a kiss, he gave in. With little more than a glance his way or brush of their lips, she could silently transform her desires into his own, making him ache for it, too.

“Turn on a lamp,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I wanna see you, honey.”

And who was he to deny her? Nighttime could be formidable, but far less so with Woody around, ready to take on whatever haunted him with the determination that earned her the admiration of so many at Thorpe Abbotts. Didn’t care if it meant forgoing sleep or engaging in odd rituals when he needed a hand to reach out and bring him back from the depths. She dove in without hesitation.

So, within seconds of her request, the amber glow of his bedside lamp washed over them. She smiled, fondness and adoration in the gold-tinged forest of her eyes as she caressed his cheek, drawing him in for another heated kiss as he moved on top of her, straddling her hips, plusher and wider since they arrived stateside and received regular helpings of family cooking. Made it hard for him to keep his hands off of her even outside of their bedroom.

He reached down, slipping his hand down the waistband of her pajama pants and between her thighs—warm and wet, he easily slid two fingers inside her. He knew it wasn’t a sin. Not anymore. Not with her. It couldn’t be.

She moaned against his mouth when he rubbed her clit with his thumb. Rocked her hips for more friction.

“I want you inside me,” she said breathlessly, grabbing for his cock, tugging his pants down and croaking out a desperate, “please.”

He buried his length inside her, swallowing the groan that caught in his throat when he felt her pussy squeeze around his cock. Found a steady pace as she pulled him closer, pressing his body against hers, like she was trying to make him part of her.

She cried out for more as her eyelids fluttered shut. “John—oh my god—harder.”

“Look at me,” he demanded, echoing her earlier sentiments, “I wanna see you, sweetheart.”

She opened her eyes, bright and wild in a way that sent a delicious shiver down his spine. His fingers played with her clit, could feel how close she was. He thrust harder, rougher as her moans filled his ears, her voice hoarse as she came loudly, her pussy pulsing around his cock.

His hips shuddered. His brain felt fuzzy, almost lost himself before asking, “Where should I—“

“On my stomach.” She hastily bunched up her sweater just below her breasts, exposing it to him.

His blunt nails scratched gently against her bare stomach, soft and inviting. Tried not to think about it round and full with child, his child, one day when she wasn't so afraid. He recognized the uncertainty that flashed in her eyes whenever someone brought it up. ‘Not until you’re ready,’ he had promised with all the understanding he could manage despite the animal part of him trying to claw its way through. She’d look so pretty, so perfect. She’d be his wife soon, after all.

But it’d be worth the wait. She waited two years for him and didn’t waver. He’d do the same for her the world over. They belonged to each other.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling out just before he came, his seed spilling onto her stomach as his orgasm rocked through him. Buried his face in the crook of her neck, her skin warm with a sheen of sweat. Made his mind hazy with the feel, the smell of her intertwining with pleasure until he was spent.

With a shaky breath and equally shaky hand, he reached over to his nightstand, grabbing a handkerchief to wipe his cum off of her stomach. Didn’t need to look at her face to know she was eyeing him like a bird of prey. He threw the soiled fabric aside and pulled down her sweater to cover her again.

She grabbed him by the collar before he could move back to his side of the bed, pressing soft kisses to his neck, the prelude to gentle bites on his collarbones and then lower, and even lower. He took a deep breath, mustering up all of the resolve he could to pull away from her.

“We have to get up early tomorrow,” he said, as sternly as he could manage.

A small pout made its way onto her lips before she relented with a slight smile. “Alright, honey.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”

He turned off the bedside lamp. “I love you too.”

Heat radiated off of her as she curled up against him. He stroked her hair, tongue between his teeth as he tried to fight off the urge to indulge her—and himself. She always took a while to fall asleep, even when he was convinced he tired her out.

Slowly, his hand drifted lower until he found the thick, cuffed hem of her sweater and slid his hand up it, playing with her breasts, rolling one of her nipples between his fingers.

A pleased hum came from her throat before she gently taunted him. “You just said—“

“You’ll make me extra coffee in the morning to make up for it.”

Her laughter tore through the darkness as he pulled her on top of him with a wicked grin.

——

John woke up before Woody. He almost always did. She could sleep until nearly noon if he let her, which he did sometimes. Usually, though, around ten in the morning, after already being up for a few hours on his own, he��d find himself missing her and coax her awake.

He rolled out of bed, pulling on his old flannel robe before the frigid morning air could bite him too hard. He nearly winced at the loss of body heat, sparing a longing glance to Woody, still curled up under the covers.

Shuffled over to the bedroom window and pulled back the thick curtain, something he had to put up when they realized how much of a draft it let in otherwise. All he could see outside was white. The whole block was covered in a thick blanket of fresh snow—including the roads. He sighed in relief, something he’d surely have to confess the following week.

John hurried back to Woody’s side, eager to relay the good news to her. “Hey,” he whispered, stroking her cheek. “The roads haven’t been cleared yet.”

She smiled, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him back into bed. “Thank god.”

#john brady x oc #john brady x ofc #john brady #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air x ofc #masters of the air oc #mota #mota x oc #mota oc #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #hbo war x oc #ch: woody

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kkpwnall · 8 months

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for the kindest, darlingest, most effervescent sen @fragilecapric0rnn 💜 just a little something for you. i’m so proud and grateful to call us friends, you’re thoughtful and hilarious, and so willing to go to the mat for your friends. you’re a brilliant writer and the sweetest cheerleader. i hope you have an incredible day, and an even better year ahead of you, i’m so excited to see where life and writing and everything else takes you!! you deserve the whole world. love you lots <33

It might have been harder to say goodbye if it was a nicer day. If the sun was shining, and the leaves were changing, and a cool autumn breeze blew all around them. Instead Hawkins chewed them up and spit them out the other side like it had so many times before. The sky above them opened up just as they loaded the last of the boxes in the back of the small uhaul, leaving them soaked to the skin as they threw the last of their essentials and themselves into the cab. They left town shivering and laughing uncontrollably, middle fingers out the window. Ecstatic to finally get out of that hometown hell.

It’s all worth it, driving thousands of miles across the country, towing the beamer behind them. It’s worth it trying to navigate the narrow streets of San Francisco and getting lost at least three times before they find their new apartment. It’s worth the hike uphill from the closest parking spot big enough for the truck, and up another three flights of stairs, when Eddie unlocks the door and gallantly bows him inside. Steve wanders from kitchen to bathroom to bedroom, imaging the bed here, a bookshelf there, the desk under this window. Eddie’s amps and instruments in that corner, Steve’s sport’s equipment in the hall closet near the door, easy to grab. Before coming back to the living room with its big bright windows and view of the bay.

Tomorrow, their friends will come by to help them unload the truck and unpack, get paid in pizza and beer and belly laughs. In a few days, a few weeks, they’ll settle in, find the grocery store, find jobs. Learn the city and meet their neighbors. In six months, a year, two years, theirs will be the place to crash for anyone visiting, anyone who needs somewhere to stay, somewhere to go.

They’ll argue and make up and struggle, lose friends and jobs and find so much better. They’ll get bad haircuts and grow weird facial hair and make questionable fashion choices. They’ll stay up late crying over things they can’t change and things they can. They’ll celebrate the new year and birthdays and lives cut too short and new ones beginning. They’ll grow and change into people they wouldn’t recognize when they were younger.

Tonight though, it’s just Steve and Eddie, finally someplace where the ground beneath them won’t open up and try to swallow them whole. Somewhere they can be together and not have to look over their shoulders all the time. Somewhere they can be themselves, be just Steve and just Eddie, and figure all the rest out without a world-ending apocalypse every year. Together.

All the frustration and stress and hoping and wishing and scraping by of the past three years, it’s all worth it when Eddie comes up behind him, wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder. Pulls him close and whispers, “welcome home, sweetheart.”

#steddie #stranger things #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #stranger things steve #stranger things eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #kk writes

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icyg4l · 3 months

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PAC: Are You Getting Kisses This Pride Month?

Hello beautiful people! Tonight’s reading is hella self explanatory. This reading is apart of my Pride Month series. I will be using my Pride Tarot Deck in honor of this lovely month. This topic is dedicated to my queer folks who haven’t gotten as much action as they've wanted to and want to know if they’ll get some luck this time around. There will be some 18+ moments in these readings but nothing too extreme. There’s no need to talk too much so please! Without further ado, please select the image that resonates with you the most.

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (Pile 1-9)

Pile One: For some reason, I am channeling that hand clapping game called ‘Mama’s Having a Baby’. I think that this pile is real fertile this month, lol. Or you could be feeling very playful and nostalgic this month. I also channeled the “trick or treat, smell my feet” song. So with that being said, I would say that you are getting kisses this month. Some of you could be kissing an old childhood friend. Perhaps you are rekindling with an ex that treated you very well. I am getting the energy of a cool down period. I feel like you will be hanging out with this person all day in public, but afterwards you go to their place or vice versa. This person is clean cut, has great manners and is very compassionate. They’ll treat you like royalty. There is a bit of teasing that comes with this kiss though. It does not come easy, you will have to work for it. It will be sloppy, hot and completely worth it. Congratulations, Pile One!

Cards Used: 6 of Cups, King of Cups, The Sun, King of Pentacles, Queen of Swords, Knight of Wands, 8 of Pentacles

Pile Two: I am seeing someone fold their arms and close their legs. So, this is a no for you, Pile Two. For some of you, you could be starting your abstinence journey this month for personal reasons. The top reason being you’re just not feeling the dating scene. The feeling of disgust is coming up. You’ve been in this predicament before, Pile Two. I feel like you will have the opportunity to get some kisses but you’re not all the way sold on going that way with whoever. I am getting that whoever this is, they just want to fuck you. But you are choosing to withhold your sexual/lustful urges because you can sense that they only want what you have for one night. Good for you for choosing yourself. You are not a doormat, Pile Two. Sniff out the bs and be done with it!

Cards Used: 5 of Pentacles, The World (RX), 6 of Wands, 3 of Wands, 9 of Wands, Strength, 8 of Wands

Pile Three: Well, it all depends, Pile Three. How bad do you want to kiss them? It’s all in your hands. I feel like everything will be set up for you to have the perfect kiss with them. Just don’t fuck it up. I feel like you will need to loosen up or be alone with them for a while in order for it to go right. Don’t rush anything and just be yourself. You don’t have to pretend to be anyone else. I am channeling the energy of Josie from Bottoms. Use her strategy to get you and your person alone. I get the feeling that you are coming with someone in mind. This person is someone that makes you feel at home and safe. The kiss itself will make you two closer. Don’t be surprised if some type of promotion occurs in the dynamic a couple days after the kiss. I don’t blame you for feeling so nervous but avoid acting as if you do not care. It will not manifest the way that you want. And once again, loosen the hell up, Pile Three!

Cards Used: The Devil (RX), Judgment, 4 of Cups, 7 of Wands, The Hermit (RX), King of Wands, 6 of Swords, 4 of Wands, 2 of Cups

Pile Four: I feel like you are traveling to a different city this month. D.C., Los Angeles, Seattle, Manhattan, Atlanta and San Francisco come to mind. I feel like you could be into some taboo shit when it comes to the bedroom. You might be into swinging, visiting sex clubs or be an avid collector of sex toys. When you visit this city, you will be enjoying the single life, just minding your business. I am seeing a club/party scene in my third eye. The scenario I am thinking of is someone buying you a drink and because of that you two will be acquainted throughout the night. This person could also invite you to dance with them. This is someone who is very friendly. If you are visiting a friend in this new city, this will be a friend of your friend. I feel like you don’t typically kiss someone when you first meet them, but on this night you will. It will be well-needed. This kiss will start off as innocent and you two will match each other’s freaks, lol. I feel like they might end up taking you home, lol (please be safe). In the morning, you’ll be worn out but will feel neutral about the situation. It won’t be something that you regret, but it will be something to talk about amongst your friend group, lol. The Carrie Bradshaw energy is very strong here, lol.

Cards Used: 4 of Swords, The Hanged Man, The World, 9 of Pentacles, 2 of Swords, 8 of Wands, 3 of Cups, Knight of Cups, The Star, 10 of Pentacles, Page of Cups, 3 of Pentacles

Pile Five: Your energy is conflicting, Pile Five. It feels like if you are kissing someone, then you will be kissing them for the last time. But I am also getting a scenario that you will be with someone but they are going to reject your romantic advances. In both scenarios, you are being led on/lied to/lovebombed unfortunately. If you do get kissed however, I feel like it will not be good. The kiss will be mid and it will make you question the state of the relationship. This is a wakeup call for you, Pile Five. If you’ve been feeling like they’re not being clear and sending mixed signals, this will be the sign that you are waiting for. This person is selfish and does not put in the effort to see things from your perspective. They have narcissistic tendencies and for that, they feel it is easy to manipulate the situation. I think you will have enough of this person sooner rather than later.

Cards Used: 9 of Cups, King of Wands, 3 of Swords, The Magician, 10 of Swords, Ace of Wands, 8 of Pentacles, Page of Swords, The Moon, 7 of Pentacles

Pile Six: Well duh. You knew you were going to get the kiss before you clicked on this post, Pile Six! I heard “She said yes!” as I was pulling for you. I feel like you have been waiting to make this person your significant other and this time, they will finally say yes. The reason for their delay is because they wanted to do things on their time. They did not want to rush anything. They wanted to make you feel included in their schedule. Others of you are already in a relationship and will actually be getting engaged. So, the kiss will happen after the question is popped! I believe that this proposal will happen in public (whether it’s for the position of marriage or not). This person means a lot to you and it makes sense why you two are together. The kiss feels like magic; like one of those kisses in the movies where someone gets picked up and twirled. Congratulations, Pile Six!

Cards Used: 3 of Swords (RX), 2 of Cups, 4 of Wands, 10 of Wands, The Emperor

Pile Seven: Now listen, you will get your kiss but it will be under one condition. You have to impress your person’s circle. I feel like this person puts you under a lot of tests. They’re kind of childish but if you feel like you can handle it, go ahead. I see you have a lot of faith in this connection. This person values their friendships a lot so your scenario makes sense. But there’s some type of disadvantage for you here. I feel like they will get their friend to flirt with you to see if you’re actually faithful. Maybe they will purposely start an argument with you in front of their friends to see how you will react. There is something about this scenario that feels abrupt. But you will pass the test and win your person’s trust. Be patient with them and take them serious, please! I think that the actual kiss will be “small”. It will be a peck on the lips, something innocent. The kiss itself could be abrupt as well, but at least their lips are soft, lol!

Cards Used: 7 of Pentacles, Ace of Cups, 6 of Pentacles (RX), 7 of Swords (RX), 8 of Swords, Queen of Swords, 2 of Cups, Page of Wands, 3 of Wands, The Empress, King of Cups (RX)

Pile Eight: There’s nothing blocking you this time, Pile Eight. Go for it! I feel like this could be your ex or this could be your partner who you’ve been on bad terms with. You could even feel like you are growing distant from your partner. This kiss will be sweet like honey. It’ll happen at the right moment. You’ve been meaning to do this but perhaps you’ve gotten rejected in the past. Another scenario I thought of is someone interrupting the kiss or there being some external circumstance preventing you from actually doing it. Somebody could be a cockblocker, lol. This kiss will seal the deal. It will be reassuring. This will be the ‘oh we’re definitely getting back together’ kiss or the ‘we’re back on good terms’ kiss. It will happen after a long talk. It could happen after a dance with them. Either way, this feels very intimate and it should have happened a long time ago.

Cards Used: Justice, 6 of Cups, The Devil, 7 of Wands, King of Wands, 6 of Swords, Judgment, 10 of Pentacles, The Lovers (RX), 10 of Cups, 5 of Pentacles

Pile Nine: Your pile is so interesting, Pile Nine. As I was pulling for your pile, I channeled the Funkadactyls theme song??? If you used to/still watch wrestling, this is definitely for you. But you have the tendency to let your thoughts get the best of you. Unfortunately, I do see this tendency getting in the way of you kissing your crush. This person has mutual feelings for you but damn will your nervous system get the best of you. I feel like you will unfortunately fumble the bag temporarily. But the opportunity will still be there. It’s not all the way off the table. Afterwards, you will get the kiss when you feel more ready and prepared for the event. You’re so cute omg. When the kiss finally happens, it will be intense. This is making me think of those Wattpad books where the smut starts and the writing goes like, “Their tongues danced for dominance”. The nerves will be shaken off in the moment. I feel like your crush will be stingy though or at least a bit of a tease.

Cards Used: The Moon, 2 of Pentacles, The Magician, King of Cups, The Star, Page of Cups, 7 of Pentacles, 5 of Wands, 9 of Wands (RX), King of Swords

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devilat-thedoor · 1 year

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What Is and What Should Never Be (Masterpost)

Summary:

Growing up in Punxy, Pa was about as glamorous as it sounded. Known for the groundhog that predicts the weather, the small town lacks any real whimsy, despite the plethora of colorful statues littering the streets. Now graced with the opportunity to move across the country to sunny San Francisco with her best friend, Y/N is excited for all the possibilities of what may come. First order of business, once settled into the quaint 2 bedroom apartment, is finding a job.

Wandering through the city streets, resumé in hand, she passes a family owned record store. Highway Tunes. Something about it pulls her in, but as she enters the shop, it’s not the racks of vinyls that hold her attention. Greeted by the two men that run the business, twin brothers, Y/N soon finds herself in a tangled web of her own making.

First, there’s Jake.

Possessive and egotistical, sure… He was a dark cumulonimbus, riddled with blinding and intricate streaks of white hot lightning that could set your skin ablaze with the slightest touch. But she could see through the clouds, see how truly sweet and selfless he could be. An Enigma, really.

Then there’s Josh.

If Jake was the raging storm, Josh was the bright, beaming sunlight that cracked through the menacing skies after the rain let up. Radiating with optimism and positivity, he carried with him a reliable warmth that could never be replicated. A warmth that enticed her to stay in his orbit forever. But you know what they say about Icarus and the sun…

Drawn to each of them, she knows that she can’t possibly have them both. Then again… If the boys want her, what’s to really stop her, but What is and What Should Never Be?

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 Pt1

Spotify Playlist | Apple Music Playlist

Join my Taglist🩵🩵🩵

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #josh kiszka x reader #gvf fic #twin lane #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #sinsofstardust

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allmoshnobrain · 7 months

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𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 35 of 35 | masterpost

word count: 2599 | ao3 link | fic's playlist

✦ on this chapter: james hetfield x female!oc, dave mustaine x female!oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, romance, a happy ending of sorts

✧ I'm alright here in your arms, darlin' ✧

The weekend zipped by, and before I knew it, Monday had arrived again. Going back to Long Beach and parting ways with Cliff and the boys could've made me a bit sad, but the silver lining was that they were gearing up to pay me a visit soon; everyone was planning to catch my play the next weekend, and to top it off, of course they’d invited me to visit them in Denmark during the new album recordings.

I'd likely be tied up for a bit, getting my ducks in a row for the start of my art studies, but I'd given my word to James I'd come hang out with them for at least a week. As soon as those words slipped out, he showered me with fiery kisses, his hands all over my body, gently urging me with his touch to change my mind and stick around just a little bit longer than planned.

I snuffed out my cigarette on the balcony rail the moment I spotted my dad's Mercedes rolling down the street. James let out a low whistle, clearly impressed by the sight, his hand wrapped around my waist.

"So, on top of the badass bike, you roll in this sweet ride too?" he inquired, and I chuckled.

"Dad's wheels, James. He doesn’t even let me near it ever since I totaled the last one."

Dad pulled up to the curb, and there was Mom, chilling shotgun, arm out the window with a cigarette in hand. He honked, and I hunched down to grab my backpack with a sigh. Quick goodbyes to Cliff, Lars, and Kirk followed before I turned to James.

"See you next week," I grinned, and James strolled over, snagging my waist before planting a long kiss on my mouth, making me blush like crazy. "James! My parents are watching!"

"So what?" he laughed, then dropped another soft kiss on my lips, saying, "Catch you next week, Nore. I'll miss you."

I let out a big sigh, my face on fire as I made my way to the car, yanking open the back door and dodging Dad's curious look in the rearview mirror.

"Oh God," Mom groaned dramatically, taking a slow drag of her cig, eyes locked on James, who was flashing a smile, chilling against the balcony railing. "It's always the long-haired ones, isn't it?"

I ignored her, cheeks still burning, and stared out the window as Dad revved up the car, leaving my friends behind.

"We've got one last thing to handle in San Francisco before we head home, Ellie," Dad chimed in all cheerful. "Hope you don’t mind coming with us."

I blinked, intrigued, and gave a nod. We cruised around the city for a bit until we hit a cute street with a bunch of wooden townhouses. Dad pulled up in front of one, and we hopped out. He fished out a key, popped the door open, and we stepped into an empty space.

I furrowed my brow, kinda puzzled, but tagged along as Mom and Dad showed me the place, enthusiastically talking about how good the neighborhood was. The house was indeed beautiful, with a big backyard, a tiny pool out back with a BBQ spot, three bedrooms and two baths upstairs, and downstairs, two living rooms, a bath and a big kitchen, along with a garage and a basement.

"So?" my dad asked after we wrapped up the tour. "Decent house, right?"

"A bit basic, but I guess it'll work," my mom threw in.

"Work for what?" I chimed in, now seriously puzzled. She huffed, and Dad shot me a grin.

"For you, obviously! You're coming back to San Francisco soon, right?" He reached out, handing me the keys. "It's yours."

"Dad… What do you mean, it's mine?" I blurted out, surprise heavy in my voice. "You're not telling me you guys..."

"We bought the house, of course," my mom replied, and I widened my eyes. "I think it'll be a good starting point for you, don't you think? Much better than that little apartment you had in LA."

"But this... Mom! " I blurted out, panicking at my parents' extravagance. "It's too big! What am I supposed to do with all this space?"

"Oh, we thought you could share it with Cliff and your friends," Dad chimed in, like it was the most obvious thing. "There's enough room for everyone, don't you think?"

I blinked, perplexed, staring at the keys Dad had handed me. Things are changing at warp speed for us, Nore. Cliff's words seemed to echo in my mind, and I realized they were true. Life had flipped upside down in the past year, big time. What was waiting for me in the future? Where was I headed? I had no clue.

But for the first time in forever, I wasn't scared to find out.

"Oh, right!" Dad smiled. "We had the basement soundproofed. It'll be great for the band’s rehearsals, don't you think?"

I just stared at him for a second, then out of nowhere, walked up and hugged him. Dad chuckled, looking a bit surprised but didn't miss a beat returning the hug. When I pulled away, Mom was watching us with a rare little smile on her lips.

"You've grown a lot, Ellie," my dad smiled.

"We're proud of you," my mom added, softly.

If this was a dream, I sure didn't want anyone waking me up.

Backstage at the theater, the usual chaos would get my nerves going, especially for a play I hadn't drilled as much as I probably should've. But weirdly, not this time. When the big day rolled in, a serene calm took over. Maybe it was the joint some of the crew had passed around before we kicked off play prep, or maybe I was just pumped as hell about reuniting with James, Cliff, Lars, Kirk, and Leanne real soon.

"Nore, you look beautiful!" Charlotte beamed, grabbing my hands, and I couldn't help but notice that the same was true for her as well; she had on the play's costume – a gorgeous green dress making her eyes pop, curly brown hair all braided and falling down her right shoulder, shiny makeup adorning her face.

I hadn't checked myself out in the mirror yet, but I knew I'd be rocking something similar – a bomb short shiny blue dress, my hair done up in a fancy bun with a few strands casually framing my face.

"I'm seriously over the moon that everything fell into place. Thanks a bunch, really," she said with genuine warmth. I couldn't help but grin, seeing how pumped Charlie was, understanding this meant the world to her.

"Hey, you'd do the same for me, right?" I tossed back, and she flashed a smile. "Feeling the nerves?"

"Oh, you've got no clue!" she burst out. "I'm gonna need another one of those joints the second we step off that stage."

"I'm down. Just hit me up, and we'll blaze together," I teased, throwing a wink her way. She cracked up, loud and free.

The play kicked off real quick, the lights in the theater dimming, the chaos backstage and the audience hushing up as the first beats of the musical soundtrack kicked in. I hung behind the curtain, catching Charlotte's opening monologue, biding my time for the cue to hit the stage.

Once I stepped out there, all my worries, pains, and nerves just melted away like pure magic.

I had always loved visual arts, but theater always had its own sweet spot in my heart too. The crazy rehearsals that used to be part of my life in High School had done more than just boost my confidence; they’d helped me make friends and fill the void Cliff left when he moved to another city. Rehearsing for a play was fun, but nothing beat that kickass feeling coursing through me when I owned the stage, knowing all the hard work had paid off.

When my bit wrapped up, I risked a peek at the crowd on my way out. A faint grin hit my lips when I spotted Cliff, Leanne, Lars, Kirk, James, and even Mom and Dad in the second row. I locked eyes with Cliff for a moment, and he smiled, the pride shining in his eyes warming my heart with happiness.

I popped up a few more times during the play, but the real star of the show was Charlotte. She hit us all in the feels with her performance, bringing most of the crowd to tears by the end of her story. When the crew gathered on stage for the applause, I noticed that even my mom seemed moved, a gorgeous smile on her face that made her look years younger.

I always figured I took after my dad more, but right then, seeing my mom genuinely happy and touched, it hit me like a ton of bricks that, shockingly, we looked way more alike than I’d ever let myself admit.

The scene after the play was a total whirlwind; we were all throwing hellos, hugs, and compliments around, and Charlotte was practically buzzing with joy at every little pat on the back for her killer performance. Later on, we ditched the fancy gear and chipped in with the stage crew, sorting out whatever needed sorting. It took me almost an hour to finally wiggle my way out from backstage, and there they all were: my friends and my parents, patiently waiting for me. I let out a soft chuckle when Cliff snagged me into a hug.

"You killed it," he whispered, grinning. "So damn proud of you, Nore."

Once all the hugs and grins were done, it was party time. Charlotte was set to hang with the cast, but Leanne, the guys, and I had our own shindig by the pool lined up. Dad was on chauffeur duty, driving Mom, Leanne and me home. Cliff would roll in after, bringing James, Lars, and Kirk along for the ride.

"Well, shall we go then? I asked Alice to get the heated pool ready for you, and the coolers are already stocked with drinks," my dad tossed out, looking as excited as I was.

"Heated pool ," James teased, whispering in my ear, his arm pulling me in close. "What's next? You gonna tell me you're secretly royalty?"

"Are you intimidated, by any chance?" I quipped, arching an eyebrow. He grinned, planting a light kiss on my cheek.

"By you? Never," he shot back, and I gave him a playful shove. That just made him laugh.

Leanne and I got home first. Quick pit stop in the bathroom to slap on our swimsuits, and then, we were both pool-ready. When we hit the pool deck, Cliff, James, Lars, and Kirk had just arrived. I couldn't help but grin at the sight – Kirk and Lars had gone all in, cannonballing into the pool with their clothes on, splashing everyone in sight. They were all laughs, not a care in the world. James, shirtless, was whipping up a couple of drinks and talking with Cliff, who was already puffing away on a cigarette. Leanne and I strolled up, and she wrapped her arms around Cliff, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"I'm itching to dive into that pool," Leanne chirped, all hyped, and Cliff flashed a smile. "Ready to make a splash?"

Off they went, leaving me to lean on the table, checking out James finishing up the drinks.

"I tried whipping up a Cosmopolitan," he spilled, handing one over with a grin. "Not sure it's a masterpiece, though. I'm clueless about these fancy drinks, but I wanted to impress my girl. Figured you deserved it."

My girl. I blushed at his words, my heart doing somersaults, a goofy grin spreading across my face. I took the drink, had a sip, and crinkled my nose – tasted like a bit too much vodka, truth be told.

"It's basically a Vodkapolitan," I quipped, and he cracked up. "But hey, you know you don't need fancy drinks to impress me, right?"

"So, what do I need, then?" he asked, sliding in closer with a grin, hand resting on the small of my back. I shot him a smile.

"Not much. You're already rocking it, Hetfield."

He burst into a big laugh, wrapping his arms around my waist and planting a sweet kiss on my shoulder.

"How's your heart doing?" he asked. "Still missing Dave?"

I could read between the lines of his question. Do you still love him? Do you still want to be with him? Can I surrender to what I’m feeling? Can I hope you feel the same?

"Yeah," I sighed. No point in hiding that. No point in pretending. If there was one thing I’d figured out in the past year, it was that sweeping feelings under the rug and dodging the tough talks just lead to trouble. "I don't know if I'll ever stop missing him, James. And I need to find him. You understand that?"

"Absolutely," he said, grabbing my hand, our fingers weaving together.

"But I love you too," I said, and he flashed a soft smile. "And honestly, I'm done wrestling with that."

"Well, I love you right back," he grinned, his arms wrapped around my waist. I rested my hands on his chest, our foreheads touching. "Just gotta remember what Cliff told me and I’ll be okay."

"What?" I chuckled. "What's the Cliff wisdom?"

"That if I ever hurt you, he'd land a swift kick to my balls," he spilled, and I cracked up, throwing my head back. I sighed happily as he leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on my neck. "But, for the record, I have zero plans of hurting you. You know that, yeah?"

"Appreciate the thoughtfulness," I shot back with a smile, and he burst into laughter.

Later, when we were all a bit tipsy and wiped out, we ended up talking and laughing together over some brews. I smiled fondly, soaking in the sight; Lars and Kirk passing a smoke between them, still chilling in the pool with their arms draped over the edge. Cliff posted up in a chair, Leanne casually braiding a lock of his hair, perched on his lap while he slung an arm around her waist, nursing a half-empty beer. And James, right next to me, his hand resting on my waist, dropping lazy kisses on my neck when he thought no one would see.

It was perfect.

Finally, after all those months, I felt whole.

I wasn't the same girl who’d hopped on a bus to San Francisco that winter of '83. Life had tossed me around, and I’d come out the other side a different breed. I knew I would always love Dave, that I wouldn't rest until I found him, until I explained everything, until I knew he knew the truth, the depth of my love for him. I knew I would never stop missing him.

But there was also James. And James loved me. Where would that road lead? Man, it was a whole new territory, nothing like what I felt for Dave. Yet, I wasn’t afraid, 'cause I had James in my corner. My friends were there, Cliff too. Hell, even my parents were trying to be nice to me this time, and I appreciated it more than I could say.

Change was blowing in the wind. Everything felt fresh, but guess what? This time, I wasn't sad, scared, or angry.

Everything was perfect.

And I was happy.

✧ if you'd like to be tagged on the next parts, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list! ❤ ✧

tag list: @killazilla777 @whatsupvic @70srogah @genswine9 @twice360noscope

✦ a/n: James and Nore had their happy ending, but what will happen when Dave comes back into Nore's life? You guys will know all about this in the epilogue, I promise!

I just gotta say, it means the world to me that I managed to finish this whole story, and I'm beyond grateful for all the love and support from everyone who's been following along. I'm so, so thankful from the bottom of my heart for all the nice comments and interactions and I really hope you've enjoyed following Nore's journey as much as I loved writing it ❤

About the epilogue, I had to split it into more than one part, because I didn't want to rush anything or leave anything unanswered. It turned out way bigger than I imagined it would 😭 And I'm not done writing it yet, but it's all planned so I know it's gonna be either.... 5 or 6 parts.... I'm really sorry for being such a verbose writer, it's more of a small sequel at this point lol

I will take a short break from posting this Monday and will start posting the epilogue next Friday, hopefully keeping the same posting schedule unless I get too busy to write or post on time.

Big thanks to everyone who stuck with the story this far! Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. See you next Friday! ❤🌸💗💖✨

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andydrysdalerogers · 8 months

Text

The Type You Save - F I F T E E N

James "Bucky" Barnes and OFC Alexandra "Alex" Richards

Detective James Barnes hasn't seen the love of his life in three years. Since the night she was almost caught stealing a painting. He knows it was her and she disappeared leaving him confused and heart broken.

Alexandra Richards never expected to be pulled back into her old life two years after she left it. She had found love and a home and was happy. Until a note blackmailed her to take one last job. Three years later she walked into the last person she expected to see in San Francisco. Because he lived in New York right?

They always put family before everything. And he would do anything to get his family back. Because she's the type you save.

TW: mob, death, smut, rape intentions, angst, guns, family abandonment, dub-con, manipulation

A/N: We are nearing the end!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Previous: F O U R T E E N

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Christian Grey has always appreciated the finer things in life. Luxurious home, top of the range car, Cristal, 25-year-old scotch, the works. A man of his status and wealth should have a standard. Including the right woman.

Alexandra Richards was that woman.

He stared at the woman next to him as Nate drove, Walker beside him. He watched as she wiped an errant tear that fell to her cheek. She kept her face to the window, studying the country side as they drove. She didn’t bother asking where they were going, they would never tell her.

“Pet, would you like some water?”

“No, thank you.”

“Alexandra, you need to eat or drink something.”

“Not if I want to die, Mr. Grey.” Her tone remained even, never looking away from the window.

Grey grounded his teeth, wanting to force her to drink. But he waited, allowing her emotions. She was different than his pet from before. She was strong, independent before. Now she was despondent, fragile. A mother. She was in mourning for the loss of her son. He would try and change that soon but for now, he needed to break her and change her back to the woman she was.

His Alexandra.

James watched from the doorway of his sleeping son’s room, observing his little body as it curled around his teddy bear. He knew the sleep was from exhaustion, having to have explained to his son that his mother wasn’t going to be here for a while. He was a momma’s boy through and through. He closed the door softly and back into the empty apartment.

Steve was still tracking Alex. He almost laughed to himself again. He went to their bedroom and to his side table. He lifted the necklace from its place. The duplicate he had switched in Alex’s jewelry box was damn near perfect. Either she had noticed and didn’t say anything or she was losing her touch. Either way, the switch had allowed a tiny tracker to be embedded with her. That’s why Steve was on the hunt.

After searching for Zemo at his home and secondary office, it was painfully clear that he had been the mole for some time now. It was too coincidental that Walker had found Alex so quickly. The APB was out for everyone. All he could do now was wait. His phone went off.

Stark: He’s still tracking. They’ve almost made it to Tahoe Barnes: ok Stark: We’ll find her Barnes: I know. Just bring my son’s mother home to him. Barnes: Bring her back to me

James laid down and clutched her pillow. It still smelled like her. Of strawberries and roses, of her. Finally, twelve hours after she disappeared, he cried.

Alex jolted awake as the car slowed to a stop. She looked around in the darkness, unsure of where she was. She could make out the outline of trees in the moonlight but after that, she had no clue. Until she turned to see a house. It was out of a movie. Stark white, wrap around porch with large windows. Nate and Walker were already out of the car and walking up while Grey was studying her as she took in the home. “What do you think?”

“It’s a beautiful home.” She wouldn’t lie.

“Good.” Grey gave her a smile. “I built it for you.”

“For me?”

“You had a house, similar to this, in that notebook you used to have. Your journal. I found it after you left and wanted to have something ready for you when you came back.”

“I didn’t come back. You kidnapped me.”

“You left voluntarily.”

“To save my husband and son.”

“Your husband?” Grey sneered. “Your husband is nothing compared to me.”

“My husband is a thousand times the man you will ever be.”

Grey reached and grabbed her by the hair, and she squealed in pain. “Listen to me Alexandra. You are mine now. You made your choice.” He pulled a little harder and she whimpered. “I do miss that sound pet.”

“Please, stop.”

“No.” He opened the car door and dragged her out. She screamed and thrashed but Grey gripped her arm. “This is your home now Alex. Let’s get you acquainted.” He pulled her up the steps. She had no time to take in the interior as Grey marched her up to the master bedroom. “I have clothes and toiletries in the bathroom. There is nothing sharp or poisonous in here so don’t try. I’ll be back.”

Grey slammed the door closed and she heard a click as she was now locked in the room. She sank to the floor and cried.

Being a MIT graduate should have been something that Grey had factored into his grand scheme. There is always something sharp or poisonous in everything. After crying, Alex got to work, taking the plastic toothbrush and using the counter to sharpen it. She just had to get past the door, and she could fight her way out. She hoped Nate would help her at some point, but she couldn’t count on that.

Keeping her crude tool close, Alex decided to inspect the rest of the room. The windows were locked, meaning the only way was to break them, attracting unwanted attention. Clothing in her size were in the drawers, no strings on any of them. Slip on shoes negated laces. Bastard really did think of almost everything. She heard footsteps coming and she hid the toothbrush under the pillow. She sat against the headboard, as far away as possible. The door opened revealing Nate. Alex let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Hey Nate.”

“Hey Allie Cat.”

“That’s a new one.”

“Had time to think about it.” He went to sit on the edge of the bed, but still blocking the door. “I told you to run.”

“And I told you that I couldn’t abandon my family again.”

“Were you always this stubborn?”

She shrugged. “Probably. But we were usually on the same team.” She studied Nate. He looked tired, worn. “What is the plan for me Nate?”

“The plan? The plan. Shit Alex, you should know the Boss by now. He’s gonna want his pet back by his side.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“He’s gonna try and break you Alex if you don’t do it willingly. This is why I told you to run. But no, the great Cat Burglar had to do things her own way.” Nate started to pace. “Fuck Alex, I tried to protect you. I found you three times before he sent Walker. And he only sent Walker when that fucker Zemo ratted you out.”

“Zemo? Zemo is yours?”

“Not mine Alex. His.” He cupped her face. “I’m sorry. I’m only up here because Grey asked me to try to convince you. Just give in. Save yourself. If only so that you save your son, your husband from any more pain. Please Alex.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I love my husband and my family. I need my family Nate. I need them just as much as I need you. Please help me.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I wish I could.” He stepped back. “I’ll do what I can for you. But unless by some miracle you are found, you are his.” He turned and left the room, locking it as he went.

It was deathly quiet now. And a sob was ripped from room as Alex began to wail.

Nate walked back downstairs, trying to ignore the sobs that were now being ripped from her chest. His best friend. Well former best friend after his act of betrayal. He made it to the living room and walked past Walker and Grey. He reached the bar cart and poured himself a drink. He needed to feel numb now.

“What did she say?” Grey asked, looking up from the papers he was studying.

“That she wants to go home to her family.”

Walker let out a sadistic laugh. “Kitty lost her claws. What a little pussy.”

Grey glared at Walker until the man’s face fell. He snorted. “That’s a shame.” He looked up at the stairs. “Let her cry it out tonight. We start tomorrow.”

“Start with what?” Nate looked at his boss.

“Breaking her.”

Steve could hear snippets of the conversation happening in the home. He peaked in to see the three men sitting and talking before the one with the drink threw it back and slammed it down, exiting the room. Steve picked up his phone.

Rogers: found her Stark: thank god. She ok? Rogers: no idea. Security tight no clean entry or exit Stark: fuck. Ok. I’ll reach out to local Rogers: roger that.

He looked around and saw the guy who left angrily now standing on the porch, hand on the railing, head bowed. The man shuddered like he was trying to keep his emotions in. “Fucking Alex, why doesn’t she listen?”

“She does that.” Nate swiveled to look at Steve. He went to reach for his weapon, but Steve drew first. “Whoa there, sunshine.” Nate slowly raised his hands. “I think you and I are after the same thing. To help Alex.”

Nate cocked his head. “You’re Steve.”

“You must be Nate. If I lower my weapon, we cool?”

“Yeah.”

Steve holstered his weapon. “Can they hear us in there?”

“No, but better safe than sorry. Garage in the back. Meet you there in five.” Nate went back inside.

Steve made is way around through the woods. He waited behind until Nate called for him. “How is she?”

“She’s scared and probably planning to do something stupid. She’s Alex.”

Steve huffed. “Yeah, typical. Look I have reinforcements coming but it will take until morning to get them here. I need to know how I can get in there and rescue her.”

Nate sighed. “You’ll help with my case?”

“For Alex, yeah I will.”

James was awakened by his phone a few hours later. He reached over, the bright screen hitting his eyes causing him to squint.

Stark: He found her Barnes: She ok? Stark: status undeterminable but I’ve sent locals to help Barnes: give me the coordinates. Stark: sent. I’m coming with. Be there in 10

James called Natasha. “We found her.”

Oh thank god.

“I need you to come stay with Drew.”

I’m on my way.

James got his gear together as well as some stuff for Alex. He crept into Drew’s room, his boy still sleeping peacefully. “I love you Chief,” he whispered. He slipped Alex’s necklace over his head. “You take care of this for me and Mommy, ok?” He kissed his head and walked out. Nat showed. “The documents you might need are in the safe in our closet. Combo is 03-10-19-17. We left some stuff for Drew when he’s older.”

“Bucky…”

“I’m gonna do everything I can to bring us home but just in case. Please take care of our boy.”

Nate hugged James hard. “Be safe.”

Stark knocked on the open door frame. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

The sun hadn’t risen yet when Alex was awakened by the door opening. She held still. “Pet?” Alex reached slowly under the pillow for her toothbrush and gripped it tight. When she sensed him close, she swung, the sharp point she created cutting the skin on his arm. “Fuck!”

Alex rose and swung her leg around, dropping him as he gripped his forearm to stop the bleeding. She ran to the door and down the stairs. She could see the front door but was grabbed around the middle. “Let me go!”

“I see Kitty did have her claws,” Walker said in her ear as he adjusted his grip. “And now I get to play with the Kitty.”

Alex paled as she was held in place by Walker as Christian walked down the stairs, a towel on his arm. “Let’s get her to the garage. I don’t want to make a mess in the house.” Walker pulled her out and marched her to the back of the property.

Steve and Nate were there in the shadows, waiting for the backup promised to Steve. It was getting close to dawn when Steve heard the cries of his best friend. He watched as Alex was dragged into the garage. “Shit. We have to get in there.” Steve and Nate both moved to pull their weapons.

A gun cocking behind them caused them to freeze. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Steve didn’t have time to turn before the butt of the gun hit his head and he was knocked out.

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