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justhereforthemeta · 9 months

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Romantic expectations and the story we didn't see: A magic trick hiding in plain sight

Here's a hopeful meta for all my fellow celestial brainrot sufferers out there. Cheers! :)

This idea started as a dead end, trying to track the movements of Crowley’s sideburns/tattoo because I thought time travel shenanigans were afoot. I had to abandon that theory when it was pointed out that David was simultaneously filming as the sideburns-having Fourteenth Doctor, and in-universe Crowley can do whatever he wants with his facial hair whenever he feels like it. But hey - null findings are still findings!

On the bright side, pausing the show to make notations in a spreadsheet forced me to slow down and notice other changes I'd overlooked the first time around: acting choices, costuming choices, references to book lore. And possibly a few surreptitious flicks of the wrist, in places where we’re meant to be focused on the magician’s other hand.

@amuseoffyre and @ineffablefood had a great exchange recently about romance and “the significance of misdirection and three-in-one (magic) tricks” throughout the show. I suspect Neil has done something brilliant with the audience’s long-standing expectations (since the 1990s, really) for the love story between Crowley and Aziraphale to develop. And while it is a wonderful story indeed, playing to this expectation lets Neil distract his audience from the blink-and-you'll-miss-them seeds he's planting for the final chapter.

Continued below the cut...

Let’s start at the beginning of Episode 2. First, context: In the previous installment, Crowley stormed out of the bookshop, was whisked away to Hell by Beelzebub where he learns about the Book of Life threat to Aziraphale’s existence, then returned to the bookshop to dance a little apology dance and hide Gabriel with an unintentionally massive joint miracle. In S2E2, we and Shax catch up with Crowley as he's snoozing in the Bentley.

Shax: “You’re in trouble”

A. J. Crowley, cool as a cucumber: “Obviously. Former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”

Interesting! Sarcastic? Yes, absolutely; but that’s also a good 4500 years and an averted apocalypse away from “I’m a demon. I lie,” wouldn’t you say? Someone is sounding a whole lot less depressed and aimless and navel-gazey (do snakes have navels?), and a whole lot more like he’s got a project to focus on, since his "what's the point?" ruminations on the park bench in E1.

And of course we all noticed the costume change right away. Hello, black turtleneck. Feeling cute today, thought I’d cover up my graceful long neck? That sounds unlikely. Let’s put a pin in this one.

There’s also an interesting acting choice going on here. Crowley speaks to Shax in a funny, drawling, too-cool-for-you voice that we haven’t heard in a while. Specifically, not since 1967. If you go back and give the S1E3 scene in the Dirty Donkey a listen, you’ll hear it (and if you know of another instance of it that I've missed, please let me know!). In S2E2, he keeps up this odd voice (if anybody knows what kind of affect this is supposed to be, please do tell!) throughout this dialogue with Shax, except for the brief moment when she first surprises him about the joint miracle having been detected.

1967 was a fun year. Crowley masterminded a heist! And seemed like he was having a ball doing it, right up until his little caper was called off after Aziraphale brought him the thermos of holy water. Crowley spoke to his co-conspirators in that same funny, very 60’s-caper-film voice. He wore a hip 60’s turtleneck. He bought petrol for the only time ever, so he could get those sweet James Bond bullet hole decals for his car (per the book, seen on the Bentley in the show).

Those James Bond bullet hole decals would of course have been part of a promotion for this 1967 release, which you just know our film-enjoying demon went to see in the theater:

Starring this suave, be-turtlenecked guy:

And now - begging your forgiveness - a brief rant.

There are a number of posts out there that refer to Crowley’s S2E2 turtleneck as a flirtatious sartorial choice - actually, ‘slutty’ seems to be the favored accusation. There are even a few posts floating around commenting on how sweet it is that Crowley swaps out his slutty, kinky, throw-me-over-your-desk-and-take-me turtleneck for a more dressy and appropriate collared shirt specifically to attend Aziraphale’s Jane Austen ball.

Now this is all in good fun, and Crowley does indeed look fantastic here, and I do love a good fangirling sesh as much as the next person. However, fandom’s collective tendency to interpret what we are seeing on the screen through the lens of romantic expectation can, at times, give rise to a kind of blinkered enthusiasm that obscures the original text in a haze that is part Mandela Effect, part unrestrained horniness, and part in-group code talking and identity reinforcement.

Respectfully, Crowley’s black turtleneck does not appear at all in S2E5: The Ball. In fact, it never appears again after the end of S2E2.

For Someone’s sake, let’s collectively pull our heads out of the romantic fog/gutter for a moment and focus on what we are actually seeing in the book and on the screen. For Crowley, this is an uncharacteristic within-period costume change. There is a surreptitious flick of the wrist happening here, out in broad daylight, and we are all missing it.

So here’s a thing. Aziraphale appears to have settled comfortably into life on Earth, his neighborhood, his books, using Crowley as an outlet for sharing his good deeds that he would once have reported to Heaven. Meanwhile, at first glance, Crowley appears stuck in a rut. There he slouches on a park bench with Shax in S2E1: a guy who lives in his car, stagnantly clinging to old familiar habits, mulling over the pointlessness of it all.

Setting aside the bit about living in the Bentley (I’m going to attribute this to well-documented issues between him and Aziraphale, discussed in many other excellent metas, and move on), Crowley has at least two very good, proactive reasons for maintaining his contact with Hell through Shax. First and foremost, it’s a source of information he can use to keep ahead of potential threats to Aziraphale and himself.

But also, I would posit…he kinda likes it.

Recall that book GO was first conceived as a parody, with Aziraphale and Crowley as spy-against-spy (but not really) field operatives in an ages-old cold war between Heaven and Hell. Their entire book dynamic is rooted in the trope of two opposing agents who have been in the field for so long that they now have more in common with each other than with their respective head offices. Their St. James’s Park meetings among other spies and ministers trading secrets are a sendup of what was once a well-known Cold War-era cliché.

Our contemporary Crowley still likes slick outfits and hellaciously expensive watches and high-performing vintage cars and pens that write underwater while looking like they could break the speed limit. He coaches Shax on how to blend in as a demon on Earth, and he helpfully redirects the wayward contact looking for the Azerbaijani sector chief. He loves improvising and getting away with shenanigans under the institutional radar. And boy golly was he impressed with Jane Austen: master spy, brandy smuggler, and mastermind of the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery.

And if you look at it a certain way, for as long as Crowley has considered himself to be on “[his] own side” - going at least as far back as Job - he could almost think of himself as a sort of double agent. It’s actually a very romantic sort of notion, befitting our hopeless romantic of a (professedly former) demon; but it’s romantic in a very different way than we, the audience, have been primed to watch for.

In other words, in a very “on my own side” kind of way, Crowley really gets a kick out of being a spy. Or at least, dressing up and accessorizing as one, and moonlighting as a good-doing double agent when he can get away with it. And also being a plotting criminal mastermind. Two sides of a coin, really. Just look at Jane Austen.

My point is: No, Crowley did not wait around for Shax to come find him in a turtleneck so that he could go flirt with Aziraphale later. He’ll flirt with Aziraphale no matter what. No, this:

is actually this:

Much like the one he wears to the Dirty Donkey in 1967:

whilst holy water heist-plotting. Here's a clearer shot with gratuitous Bentley, because I love them:

…and which he'll wear again, with appropriate camouflage, while infiltrating Heaven in S2E6:

That is the 1967 planning a HEIST turtleneck for committing ESPIONAGE and STEALING THINGS in. Because turtlenecks are what modern human master spies wear to get their hands dirty - after all, he saw it in a movie once.

Crowley dons his tactical turtleneck sometime during the first major break in the action (which doesn't happen until after the joint miracle to hide Gabriel) after he learns about the threat the Book of Life poses to Aziraphale. Loverboy started mentally preparing himself to go after that book immediately upon learning that it was in play as a genuine threat.

Now let’s pick up at the S2E2 Dirty Donkey scene, reading the story from this angle. Of course, Crowley enables Aziraphale’s delusions about Heaven by hiding information from him, and does not disclose the Book of Life threat when they meet again. They go into the pub, Aziraphale shamelessly paws Crowley’s chest like the seductive Bond Girl he is, and Crowley gets to act all smooth and suave and intimidating as he chases off the interloping Mr. Brown (or Mr. Collins for the Pride & Prejudice fans, take your pick).

Ergo, theory: beginning in S2E2, Crowley is already thinking of himself as a Jane Austen/James Bond action hero (“How will our hero cope?”), psyching himself up to rescue Aziraphale by getting his spy game on and stealing the Book of Life.

Now, watch closely...This is where Aziraphale and Crowley brainstorm their plans to solve the problem they both know about: getting Maggie and Nina to fall in love and thereby get Heaven off their backs. Crowley’s vavoom plan is drawn from yet another movie (“Get humans wet and staring into each other’s eyes - vavoom, sorted. I saw it in a Richard Curtis film.”). But Crowley also implicitly shares his solution to the problem he hasn’t told Aziraphale about. And true to form, Crowley’s Jane Austen solution isn’t the same as Aziraphale’s Jane Austen solution.

Two solutions that fail by the end of Season 2, and a secret third one that might still work...and there's our magic trick of three.

‘“I’m lost. Am I doing a rainstorm?” Yes, babe. And a heist, too - just not until season three. Can I get a wahoo!?

I won’t spend time on A Companion to Owls during this meta, except to note that in all three minisodes, we get to watch stories that involve Crowley acting as a double agent on “his/their own side” - successfully making Hell and Heaven think he’s fulfilling their will while saving Job’s goats and children; failing to fool Hell when he does a good deed in Edinburgh; and of course, collaborating with Aziraphale whilst evading detection as an infernal turncoat during the Blitz.

(Because this is getting long, I'll also skip over Crowley's interrogation of Jim in this episode - I'll probably come back to that in another meta. But interrogating is a rather spy-ish thing to do.)

When we catch up with Crowley again later, he’s already slipped out of the bookshop, having left Aziraphale to his biblical reverie about Job. He saunters snakily down Whickber Street as usual, but with a very pointed and swift glance over his shoulder (see pic above). This demon is up to something - possibly something we didn’t get to see, something that may have happened offscreen while he stepped out. In any case, knowing there’ve been unfriendly angels in the neighborhood that morning, he’s rightly concerned about being spied on.

From this point until the beginning of episode six, there isn’t a whole lot of opportunity for Crowley to make any next moves. He babysits the bookshop, during which time he manages to wring some crucial information out of Jim; he follows his Crowley’s Angel around like a puppy, and downs a bottle of red like a good old fashioned lovesick boy once that’s been pointed out to him. If any plotting or scheming is underway, this occult being is keeping stumm for now.

This has been a long one, so I’ll wrap up with Crowley’s infiltration of Heaven with Muriel. The turtleneck disguise works (Archer fans, be vindicated!) long enough to gather some information that will be crucial not just to the denouement of S2, but also to Crowley’s journey in S3 (previous post on Crowley's Fall, Saraqael, and memory wiping). And Aziraphale gets to enjoy that view exactly zero times. The point isn’t oh, a turtleneck! How flirty! So cunty! So cute! Y’all. Everything matters. The costume change was a deliberate choice. In-universe, Crowley’s decision to wear his special spy turtleneck for spying in is a signal that he is out doing spy things, even as we watch.

In sum: Beginning in S2E2 and continuing through the end of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley are actively living out the scripts of two parallel, concurrent, and completely different Jane Austen stories. But you and I, dear fellow audience member, we came here for a comedy with a hefty jigger of romance, and that’s what Neil gave us to focus on. And right up until the Final 15, that was the only story we saw.

Meanwhile, Special Agent A. J. Crowley doesn’t have time to mope around at the end of S2E6. He’s kicked down, but he’s not out. He's got a Book of Life to steal, a very serious bone to pick with a certain memory-wiping angel, and his Angel and the world to save.

“‘Heigh ho,’ said [romantic, optimist, former demon, hero, master spy] Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.”

#so honestly #I think the biggest mark against this conclusion is that Crowley sees his mirror Maggie taking a nap at the end of S2E6 #there is a strong chance of a depression nap before any further spying gets underway #but I am counting on Muriel to be a dorky ray of sunshine and snap him out of it with Clues #good omens #good omens meta #good omens 2 #crowley in a turtleneck #demon bookseller plantdad spy

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serpentandlily · 7 months

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Mystique - Azriel x Reader

Summary: When the whole family is dragged to the new ballet show in Velaris, Mystique, Azriel never imagined a mating bond snapping into place...but as soon as she stepped on stage, he knew his life was about to change forever.

Warnings: mention of strict dieting of a dancer

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Going to see a ballet show was not how Azriel planned to spend his Saturday night, or any night really. Arts and theater were not something he was usually interested in. But Feyre had begged the whole family to go, claiming she had bought a private booth in the gallery for them to watch their opening night show.

Elain had been the first to agree, so he followed along. If only to spend some time with her, to watch her face light up as she watched the performance.

Mystique. That was the name of the show they were seeing tonight. He had no idea what it was about or what to expect. But he didn’t care. Not as he snagged the seat next to Elain and brushed his fingers against hers as she gave him a secret smile.

The lights had dimmed and the audience fell quiet. It was a full house tonight, no seat below in the orchestra empty. Even the other private booths in the gallery were filled with rich nobles.

He understood the name of the ballet once it started. All the dancers were wearing masquerade masks. That was about the only interesting thing about it. His eyes flickered from the stage to Elain every so often, more enthralled with her than the dancers.

But then she came on stage. The main dancer partnered with some male. Her costume was a light pink, bejeweled with gems and flowers, with a tutu that showed off her long legs. It was the gleam of the jewels that had caught his attention, shining brightly in the faelights.

And then his eyes had drifted up, to the pink mask that matched the costume and the dancer beneath it.

He knew she was special the moment he laid eyes on her. Not because of the elegant, graceful way she moved on stage, or how she seemed to have captured the rapt attention of the audience. No, she was special because she was her.

His eyes didn’t leave her figure after that. Constantly following her movements as she danced around the stage alongside the male and the other dancers, always standing out.

When the show ended and the performers came out for applause and shouts from the house, he knew his life was about to change forever.

Because when she came out holding hands with her partner, bowing before the crowd masks off, a gold thread from his chest unraveled and the mating bond snapped into place.

If it wasn’t for his years of training, of all the time he perfected his craft as the spymaster, he wouldn’t have been able to keep such a cool demeanor. He gave no indication to his family, said nothing as the dancers disappeared behind the curtains and everyone rose to leave.

“That was beautiful!” Elain chirped from next to him and he almost jumped. He had forgotten she was there.

All he could think about was her. The dancer. His mate. His beautiful, beautiful mate.

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱

Opening night had been a success and the second show had gone off without a hitch as well. Your legs and feet were so sore as you made your way back to the dressing rooms with the other gaggle of girls, already yanking the pins out of your hair.

You rubbed at your scalp, soothing the tightness from the bun your hair had been in, as you walked up to your mirror on the long vanity table. You paused for a moment at the sight of a single rose lying beneath the mirror on the table. That had definitely not been there at the beginning of the show tonight.

You picked it up, twirling the stem in your fingers. The faintest scent still clinging to it was foreign from the sweet smell of rose. A hint of cedar and night-chilled mist, a very masculine smell.

“What’s that?” your friend, Lena, asked, peering over your shoulder at the rose in your hand.

“I’m not sure,” you mumbled.

“Oooohhh,” some of the girls around you giggled and your cheeks turned pink at all the attention. “Are you hiding a male from us, y/n?”

You shook your head. “No, no. It must’ve been for one of the other girls. Probably didn’t know which mirror was hers.”

Your dismissal had the other girls turning back around, no longer interested now that there was no gossip to be shared. You wished you knew who the rose was for so you could give it to her but there was no note or anything—just that faint smell.

The next night you were met with another rose beneath your mirror. You frowned as all the girls giggled behind you. Had the male still not realized his girlfriend had never gotten his rose?

“I think you might have a secret admirer,” Lena said, grinning at you.

“I don’t think so. Maybe we should all label our mirrors,” you suggested. “I’d hate for these roses to keep going to the wrong girl.”

“I think Lena is right,” one of the other girls said. “I think y/n has a secret admirer!”

You rolled your eyes, plopping down in your chair to start the long process of ripping the pins from your hair and taking off your stage make-up. “How would they even know where I sat? And a stranger would never be allowed back here.”

“Let’s do what you said then and write our names on the mirrors. Then we can find out who’s the true owner of the roses,” Lena said. She pulled out a tube of lipstick and wrote her name on the corner of the mirror before spreading the lipstick on her lips and kissing the spot she had just signed.

She handed the tube of lipstick over to you and you laughed, doing the same as her.

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱

"Alright, it's official. Y/n has a secret admirer!"

Your mouth dropped open as the group of girls giggling around your mirror parted and you saw another red rose on the vanity. You picked it up carefully, glancing up at your mirror to make sure your name was still written there.

The girls around you were still giggling, some making kissy noises as your cheeks lit up with embarrassment. That scent was clinging to the rose, the cedar and night-chilled mist. You took a small inhale, finding the smell to be so tantalizing.

"Any idea who it could be?" Lena asked from beside you.

You shook your head. "No, it's not like I've had time to go out between rehearsals and the show. I haven't met anyone new in the past few months."

It was true. Your mother, one of the ballet teachers here in Velaris, kept you on a tight leash. Between classes, rehearsals and show nights, you didn't go out. Mother always said anything else was a distraction and that ballet involved sacrifices if you wanted to be a principal dancer. A role you had finally landed this season, which meant you were even more busy.

Besides, you hadn't ever been with a male like that. You had barely just turned twenty and had spent your whole childhood in ballet studios with your mother. The males that were part of those classes usually swung for the other team and the few that were into girls were usually snatched up quickly by the others.

"How do you think he's even getting into the dressing rooms?" you mumbled to Lena, who shrugged before a mischievous grin spread on her face.

"Maybe we should ask one of the understudies to hang around here during the next show so they can catch him in the act. I'm dying to know who it is," she said.

"Not a bad idea," one of the other girls chimed in.

"I’ll ask Helena. She's still nursing her sore ankle from her fall,” you replied, placing the rose into your satchel to take home. Pretty soon you’d have a whole bouquet.

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱

“No one?! But how is that even possible?”

You stared at the new rose on the vanity before you. Helena had stalked out the dressing room but she claimed no one had ever entered.

“I don’t know, but I’m telling you, no one came in here,” Helena said back to Lena.

“And you stayed in here the whole time?”

Helena rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, I stepped out at one point to talk to Nicholas but I swear, my eyes were on the door the whole time! No one went in or came out!”

“Maybe they winnowed?” One of the girls suggested.

You shook your head. “This place is warded from that. Set up by our High Lord himself. There’s no way someone could break through those.”

“Perhaps we have a phantom on our hands,” one of the other girls laughed. “A romantic with a crush on y/n.”

All the girls fell into a fit of giggles as your cheeks turned bright red. You scowled at them, feeling a little embarrassed.

Maybe someone was pulling a prank on you? But who would do that? You didn’t think any of the girls would be that cruel but…

Your mind was not going to rest until you found out who was putting these roses here.

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱

The next day you were rushing through the very busy streets of Velaris, trying to get to the ballet studio. You had slept in on accident and you were going to be late for rehearsal, something that might lead to your understudy taking over your role. Ballet teachers were strict like that, would see being late as a lack of self discipline and an uncaring attitude.

You sprinted around a corner only to smack right into the chest of someone. You let out a gasp, your ballet bag falling to the floor along with your folder full of sheet music for the pianist.

“Watch where you’re going!” The Fae you had run into hissed, stepping over the strewn papers on the floor.

You were definitely going to be late now. You bit your lip, trying to fight back tears as you bent down and started to collect everything. You were so in your head that you didn’t notice the person kneeling in front of you until they were holding out a stack of the music sheets for you.

“Thank you so much!” You said quickly, grabbing the papers and looking up to see who had stopped to help you.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the most beautiful male you had ever laid eyes on. His piercing hazel eyes bore into yours, his dark hair brushing against his forehead as he looked down at you, despite both of you kneeling on the ground. Giant wings sprouted from his back, hiding the sight of the bustling crowd.

“Are you okay?”

His voice was dark, just like the shadows that were now curling around his shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized who he was. The shadowsinger. One of the fae in Rhysand’s inner court.

You cleared your throat when you realized you had been staring at him for a minute too long, your cheeks turning pink.

You shoved the papers back into the folder and grabbed your bag off the ground, standing back up. “Yes, thank you, I’m fine. It was my fault anyways. I was rushing because I’m late for rehearsal and my mother is going to kill me if I lose my role and—”

You shut your mouth as you realized you had started rambling. To his credit, Azriel didn’t seem annoyed. No, he looked more concerned as he stared down at you and Gods, now you were realizing how tall he was.

“Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m y/n,” you said, hugging your folder against your chest. “You’re Azriel, right, the spymaster?”

He nodded in answer, his shadows dancing on his shoulders.

“Would you like me to take you wherever it is you need to go? I can get you there faster.”

You were still mesmerized by his elegant beauty; he was so devastating to look at. You hadn’t even heard a word he had just said. Gods, you were absolutely embarrassing yourself. “Huh?”

He seemed amused now, faint color on his cheeks. “I asked if you would like me to take you wherever you need to go. My shadows let me travel faster than most fae.”

“Oh please, if you could! I just need to get to the ballet studio.”

You didn’t have time to deny his request, didn’t think twice of it through the panic of running late. He held out his arm for you and you placed your hand in the crevice of his elbow. His shadows surrounded you both until you were in complete darkness.

It was a different feeling than winnowing, something you still had yet to learn how to do. But the feeling of traveling through Azriel’s shadows was slightly calming.

Not a second later, the two of you appeared in front of the ballet studio, saving you the ten minute walk. You let out a breath of relief knowing that you weren’t going to be late anymore.

“Thank you so much! You’re a lifesaver!” you chimed, untangling your arm from his.

He gave you a small dip of the head when suddenly a familiar scent washed over you. It took you a second to place it but…No, it couldn’t be, right? It wasn’t the same smell as the one that lingered on the roses?

But that cedar and night-chilled mist smell was unmistakable.

Azriel was disappearing in a swarm of shadows when you waved a hand at him, shouting at him to wait so you could ask him about the roses but he vanished from view, leaving you standing on the side of the street alone with a million questions running through your head.

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱

Another week went by and still every night after the show, a rose was waiting for you at your vanity. The same scent of cedar and night-chilled mist still faintly clinging to them. You hadn’t seen Azriel again since that day and part of you was certain you had mistakenly thought he smelled like the mysterious stranger leaving you roses.

You were stretching your feet out, getting ready to do your warm-up before the show when the Head Teacher walked in, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Listen up, girls!” she shouted so everyone could hear her. “I have an important announcement to make. The High Lady loved our show so much she’s inviting the entirety of the Royal Ballet to a dinner at The House of Wind to celebrate our hard work. This is an honor and I expect you all to treat it as such. Next rehearsal, you all need to bring a dress that you plan to wear to the dinner so they can be approved by me. Now, back to work, girls!”

As soon as she left the room, the chattering began. Everyone was excited about the news, mostly to have an excuse to dress up but your thoughts were stuck on the shadowsinger, at the chance to see him again and as weird as it sounded, see if his scent matched the stranger who was leaving you roses.

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱

You stared at yourself in the mirror, twirling around. Your mother had picked your dress like the controlling person she was, but for once, you actually liked her choice. It was a light pink gown, with a long A line tulle skirt and a corseted bodice with off the shoulder straps. The fabric was covered with stars that shined like diamonds and some pearl detailing.

“Come, y/n,” your mother called out from the living room of the apartment you both lived in. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

You met the rest of the girls at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the House of Wind. The High Lord and Lady had assured you guys that transportation up to the House would be provided. The girls were all giggling with anticipation, gossiping together about what to expect.

Four winged figures swept down in front of your group. The High Lord was one of them, dressed finely in all black with his huge wings held high behind him. The High Lady was next to him, dressed in dark blue harem pants with a matching crop top, both decorated with sparkling jewels. The General, Cassian, stood behind them wearing his Illyrian leathers, arms crossed with a friendly smile on his face.

And lastly, the Spymaster. He stood next to his fellow Illyrian, also in his leathers, and looked just as devastatingly beautiful as that day he had taken you to the ballet studio. His wings were giant, even more so than the other three, making him look like a dark angel. Your cheeks turned pink as his gaze met yours and you bit your lip, looking away.

“Ladies,” the High Lord purred in greeting. “We are pleased that you accepted our invitation. The House of Wind is warded against winnowing, so we are here to fly you up. It is a short flight, but if any of you are uncomfortable with the idea, we will try to accommodate you.”

You watched as the girls exchanged looks with each other, giggling and turning a bit red at the idea. You found your eyes going back to the shadowsinger, jolting as you realized he was still staring at you. Something jumped in your chest, causing your pulse to spike.

“Now, who wants to be the first to go?” The High Lord stepped forward and held out his hand.

Lena winked at you and was the first to volunteer. The High Lady also held out her hand with a smile. “I can also fly some of you up. I promise I’m just as strong as the boys.”

Slowly, one by one, the girls from your company paired with the four winged faes, letting them fly them up to the House. It was a quick process; Rhysand hadn’t lied when he said it was a short flight. You hung around in the back of the group, feeling a bit nervous as you watched them disappear into the sky each time.

You had never been that high up in the air before, a bit of anxiety curling in your stomach.

“Lady,” the General was in front of you now and you realized you were one of the only girls left to go. “Are you ready to be flown up?”

He held out a hand to you but you bit your lip, looking up at the House of Wind again. “I-I’m just a bit nervous.”

“It’ll be over quick, I promise,” he grinned, trying to settle your nerves.

You hesitated again and suddenly the Spymaster was there, gently nudging his brother to the side. Cassian glanced at him in question.

“I’ll take her, Cass,” Azriel said, looking at you. Something about his hazel eyes had your shoulders falling. “I can use my shadows so she doesn’t have to fly.”

That seemed like enough of an explanation for Cassian because he stepped aside and moved on to the next girl who was still waiting.

“Your shadows can get past the wards?” you asked, curiously. You glanced at the shadows that seemed to be dancing around his shoulders.

“Yes, they can,” he answered simply. Azriel held out his arm to you, just as he had that day. You took it gently and waited for the shadows to cover you.

If his shadows could get past the wards of one of the High Lord’s residences, then they could absolutely get past the ones around the theater’s dressing rooms. Which could mean he really was the stranger leaving you roses.

“I just want you to know I didn’t want to fly not because your wings scare me but because of the height,” you said, feeling the need to make that clear. Azriel glanced down at you with an unreadable expression and you suddenly felt even more nervous. “In fact, I think your wings are quite beautiful and I would never—”

You closed your mouth sharply, realizing that you were both rambling again and also that you guys were now in the dining room, where everyone else was taking a seat. You blushed and stepped away from him. “Thank you.”

He dipped his head and gestured towards the dining table without a word. You gave him a nervous smile as you scurried past him and to the seat next to where your mother was sitting, already saving you a chair. As you passed by him, you were met with that scent again. The cedar and night-chilled mist.

This time it was so unmistakable that you whirled around to look at him. But he had disappeared already, likely helping the remaining girls down below. You let out a sigh and continued on your way to your seat.

When everyone was accounted for, Azriel slid into the seat across from you and you had to keep your eyes glued to your plate to stop yourself from blatantly staring at him. Should you find a moment to ask him about the roses? Should you let him come to you? Or maybe he had been leaving the roses for you as a favor for a friend? That theory almost made more sense because the idea of the shadowsinger leaving you roses seemed so far-fetched.

All throughout dinner you managed to sneak glances at Azriel as you ate. You joined in the conversations around you but noticed that the shadowsinger didn’t talk that much, seeming much more content in just observing.

Once everyone seemed done with dinner, the High Lord snapped his fingers and it was all replaced by a huge spread of different desserts. Cakes, pastries, custards, tarts. Everything you could imagine. You didn’t get to indulge in sweets much, your mother was strict about your diet to keep you in shape as a dancer, so your eyes lit up at the sight.

You started to reach for the closest thing to you, a tiny fruit tart, but your mother slapped your hand with a hiss under her breath, “You’ve had enough to eat tonight. You know the rule about sweets.”

Your brows furrowed, upset. You placed your hands on your lap under the table, nodding. “Sorry, mother.”

She pressed her lips together and placed her napkin on her own empty plate. Your eyes lingered on what looked like a peach pie, longingly. You felt a ping of envy as you watched all the other girls trying everything.

“You should try the pie.” Azriel’s voice had your head whipping up and his eyes connected with yours. “It’s the High Lady’s favorite.”

You glanced at your mother, opening your mouth to politely decline but she cut you off.

“Well, go on,” she said, nodding towards the pie. “Don’t insult them by not eating any.”

You ground your teeth together, turning a bit pink. As if she hadn’t been the one to literally stop you from having any just a second ago. You looked back at Azriel, noting the way a muscle in his jaw clenched, and nodded your head.

“I will, thank you,” you said, eagerly taking a slice of the pie.

It was delectable and you nearly moaned as you ate it. A small smile lit up your face as you tried it.

“The High Lady has good taste,” you said to Azriel, who was still staring at you. “The pie is delicious.”

He gave you the smallest of smiles and it warmed something in your chest.

Once everyone was finished eating, the High Lord cleared the table and moved everyone towards the large sitting room. There were some servants walking around with champagne and wine, which kept the party going steady. It was exciting to be able to socialize like this and you were having a good time, especially now that you didn’t have to be glued to your mother’s side.

Your eyes roamed the room, trying to find the shadowsinger. The glass of champagne you had made you feel a bit more brave. You wanted to talk to him, wanted to ask him about the roses. It took you a minute of walking around to finally catch sight of him. He was resting against the railing outside on one of the many balconies. You glanced around, making sure no one was watching you, before you stepped outside.

He didn’t turn to look at you, not even as the door shut behind you, cutting off the noise that came from inside. It was like he already knew who had stepped out. You fiddled with your fingers, staring at his back. Some of the liquid courage was chased away by the cold breeze, but you refused to back down now that you were out here.

“You are the one who has been leaving me roses every night,” you said, quietly, walking towards him.

“I am,” he answered as you slid up next to him, grabbing the railing to keep your hands from shaking.

You were surprised at how quickly he admitted it. You were silent for a moment, staring at his profile. Under the moonlight, he was truly a vision to be seen. Your breath caught in your throat when he finally looked at you.

“I apologize if it has made you uncomfortable,” he said, his shadows seemed to hide behind his wings as if they were scared of what your response might be.

“It hasn’t,” you replied, gently. You gave him a soft smile. “They are quite beautiful. But I must ask why.”

His shadows eased, cascading down his shoulders. His lips twitched, amused by your question.

“I cannot lie to you,” Azriel said, his voice low and dark like his shadows. It sent a shiver down your spine. “I find you very beautiful, y/n. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since I watched your show.”

Your eyes widened, your cheeks turning bright red. You hadn’t been expecting him to be so forthcoming. You hadn’t had much experience with males, so you fumbled with what to say back.

“Oh,” you squeaked out.

That only seemed to amuse him even more.

“Has no one told you that before?”

“Perhaps not quite so… candidly.”

His lips twitched and you felt that spark in your chest again. He shook his head a bit, tousling his hair as he turned his body fully towards you, still leaning on the railing.

“Well, now that my identity has been exposed,” Azriel said. “May I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?”

“Y-yes,” you managed to stutter out, butterflies exploding in your stomach. Never in your dreams would you have imagined being courted by the Night Court’s spymaster.

He smiled this time and the sight of it almost knocked you off your feet.

“Good,” he said, then his hand flicked into his shadows and he pulled out a single, red rose. “For you. Since I wasn’t able to leave one tonight.”

Your heart was thumping in your chest as you reached out and took the flower from his hands. He dipped his head at you before disappearing into his shadows, leaving you alone on the balcony, twirling the rose in your hand with red cheeks and a warm feeling in your heart.

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱

A month had passed since that night on the balcony. Azriel had continued leaving you roses after each show, something the girls all cooed over. You had also found out that he had charmed them to make sure they never died. So now you had a beautiful bouquet of never-ending roses in a vase on your vanity in the dressing room and even one in your room at home.

Your first date went very well. You were surprised by how much the two of you had in common. And soon he had taken you on a second, a third, a fourth…and so on.

You found yourself falling for him….hard. He was different around you than he was with most others. More talkative, more charming and funny. His wit never failed to impress you.

Your mother wasn’t very pleased at first, especially since you hadn’t consulted her before agreeing to that first date. But once she found out it was Azriel who had asked you, she seemed pleased considering he was a high-ranking member of your court. You hated how superficial your mother was, but was happy she didn’t try to prevent you from seeing him.

You hadn’t told him just how inexperienced you were, but he was a polite and kind male. He hadn’t even tried to kiss you yet. It was like he knew your hesitations and the need to take things slow with you despite you ever telling him that. But then again, he seemed to know everything you felt, at all times. Sometimes you even wondered if he was a daemati like the High Lord, but he had only laughed when you accused him of it.

Today, Azriel had taken you out for some coffee and a small lunch after your morning rehearsal. Now the two of you were pushing through the bustling crowds on the streets, taking in the sights of the city. Your eyes lingered on a flower shop you passed by often, at the lovely moonflowers they had on display outside.

Azriel noticed what had drawn your attention and pulled you over to the shop. You took a sniff of the moonflowers, basking in their sweet scent. “So beautiful.”

“Would you like one?” Azriel asked in that voice of his that still sent shivers down your spine.

You smiled up at him, nodding your head.

“Azriel?”

You pulled your eyes away from him to look at the person who had just called out his name. The High Lady’s sister stood on the small steps leading up into the shop, a large pot in her arms and a bag full of seeds.

Her doe eyes flickered between you and Azriel, until they dropped to something below. You followed her gaze to look at your conjoined hands. You quickly let go, face turning a bit pink. You had no idea why you suddenly felt as though you had been caught doing something wrong.

“Hello Elain,” Azriel said, his voice polite but flat.

She studied him and then turned that gaze on you, her eyes narrowing a bit. You looked between her and Azriel, not really sure what was going on.

“Oh, you’re that ballerina,” she said. “I remember you, from the show.”

“This is y/n. She is my…” He paused and you shifted from foot to foot. “She is my…friend.”

Friend.

His Friend.

Something about that sentence made your heart crack into two. A weird, unpleasant feeling curled in your stomach and your smile dropped.

Friends.

Elain seemed to ignore your presence, her gaze still stuck on Azriel. “I haven’t seen you in three weeks. Where have you been?”

Azriel went to answer but you tuned the conversation out, your thoughts whirling in your mind. Friends. He said you were his friend.

Were…were you not something more?

Had you completely misjudged his intentions?

Or maybe he was tired of waiting for you to be ready for more?

Maybe he was like all the males your mother warned you about. Only interested in females if they knew they could get sex out of it.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, your breath catching in your throat. Suddenly, being here with him seemed so suffocating. Especially as he stood talking to some other girl that clearly knew him…clearly had feelings for him.

You felt like you were going to vomit. You needed to leave. Needed to catch your breath.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you managed to get out, causing the two of them to look at you. “I’m just going to go look in the shop while you guys catch up.”

You darted away before either of them could say anything, only letting out a breath when the door closed behind you. You rushed through the aisles, past the shopkeeper who was busy with another customer, until you spotted the door along the back wall. You slipped through it, into the small alleyway behind the shop.

You felt bad for ditching Azriel but he had just crushed your heart, even if he didn’t know he had it. You wiped at a tear that spilled from your eye, almost laughing at how awful you felt. You had only known him for a short period of time. Maybe it was never his intention to make you fall for him, but you did and what had been a beautiful, all-consuming joy in your chest was now suddenly an ache that made it hard to even breath.

You walked down the alleyway until you were back in the streets, sweeping through the crowd as quickly as you could to make it back to your apartment. You just wanted to get home. Just get home and then you could wallow in your own self-pity. Could cry as much as you wanted.

The crowd thinned out the closer you got to the residential area until the street was empty.

You let out a sigh, wiping yet another tear, just as your apartment building came into view. You hoisted your dance bag further up your shoulder and began the last few feet home. But a flapping of wings above you made you still, your heart lurching in your chest.

Azriel landed in front of you with a small thud, his brows furrowed with confusion and his eyes unreadable. In his hand, he held a small bunching of moonflowers.

“Y/n? Why did you leave like that?” he asked.

You bit your lip, looking away from his face.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing your chin and turning your face back to him. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Did something happen?”

You wiped at your tears, frustrated that you couldn’t keep it together long enough to make him leave. You shook your head, staring at the ground. “No, nothing happened. I-I just don’t…feel good.”

Azriel studied you, his thumb swiping your cheek. You hated how much the small gesture soothed you.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “I know something upset you. I can feel it. What happened? Please, tell me.”

“It’s n-nothing,” you stuttered.

“Please,” he repeated, his arms falling limp at his sides. “It pains me to see you cry. What happened? You can tell me.”

You looked away from him again, rubbing your arm in discomfort. “It’s stupid. Seriously, Azriel, I’m fine. Just…just leave. Please.”

He stood up fully, his wings stretching out behind him. He crossed his arms, his expression stern. “No, I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me what’s wrong. Did I…Did I do something?”

Another tear slipped down your cheek and you took a deep breath. “You called me your friend.”

Azriel blinked a few times. “What?”

“To that girl you were talking to. The one you clearly have some sort of history with,” you said, begrudgingly. “You told her I was your friend and I thought…well, maybe I’m an idiot. But I thought we were more than that.”

Realization dawned over Azriel’s face and then to your surprise, the tension in his body dropped and he let out a small laugh. Your eyes narrowed at him. Was he truly going to laugh in your face after your admittance of feelings for him?

“I don’t understand what’s so funny. You’ve been taking me out on dates, leaving me roses. What else was I supposed to think—”

“No, it’s not funny,” Azriel cut you off, but he was still smiling which only pissed you off. “I mean, it is. Just not in the way you’re thinking.”

More tears slipped down your cheeks and Azriel lurched forward, placing a hand on the side of your face. “Don’t cry, please. Let me explain. You're right, y/n, you are not my friend. You are so much more than that. You have been since the day I laid eyes on you. You consume my every single thought, y/n, truly. I am relieved to hear that you share my feelings. You have no idea how much I’ve prayed to the Mother that you would feel for me, what I feel for you.”

You took a moment to fully soak in his words, the pressure in your chest easing a bit.

“Then why did you call me your friend? Who was that girl to you?”

“She’s no one, I promise you that,” he said, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “And I called you my friend because I almost slipped up and called you my—”

He stopped suddenly and you looked up at him in questions. “Called me your what?”

It was his turn to let out a long breath, his cheeks coloring. “My mate. My mate, y/n. You are my mate.”

Your eyes went wide, your heart frantically beating in your chest. Mate? You were his mate?

Something snapped in you then. Something that had been with you since the moment you could remember, unraveled in your chest. Your mouth dropped open as a gold thread shot out between the two of you, linking you together. You looked back up at him, at those beautiful hazel eyes that were full of joy, love and apprehension. Such vulnerability that you weren’t used to when it came to the shadowsinger.

“Mate,” you whispered. “You’re my…mate.”

He nodded, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours, waiting for your reaction. That warm feeling in your chest spread throughout your whole body and you couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed on your face.

Mate.

Azriel was your mate!

You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him into a crushing hug. Azriel let out a breath of relief, his arms grabbing you around the waist and pulling you even closer. It felt so right being in his arms. Your heart sang at your connection, at the feeling he sent down the bond.

Everything made sense now. The way he was able to always know how you were feeling, the accelerated feelings between the two of you, how right it felt to be with him—like he had been made for you and you for him.

He pulled back, holding you at arm's length so he could stare down at you.

“I have wanted you from the minute I saw you, even before the bond snapped into place,” Azriel said. “I have been searching for you my whole life, y/n. I never thought I would be blessed with a mate, and especially not you. You are so beautiful and so much more than I was expecting. There will be no one else, even if you decide you don’t want this bond. All I see is you, all I want is you. I’m sorry I made you doubt that, even for a second.”

“I want it! Of course I want it, Azriel!” You were smiling so hard, your cheeks were beginning to ache. “I…I am already falling in love with you and it has only been a month. I can’t even imagine what a lifetime might bring us.”

Azriel was smiling now too, a rare sight that had the bond in your chest glowing. He rested his forehead against yours, shutting his eyes. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I will thank the Mother every single day I get to call you mine.”

You placed a hand on his chest, smiling up at him as he opened his eyes again to stare at you. Butterflies swarmed your stomach, your heart was pounding drums in your chest.

You needed him so much closer now. You needed to hold him, to kiss him, to hear him call you his. You were ready for that next step, ready to jump right into it.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering to his lips. “Please.”

Azriel let out a small growl. “Do you mean it?”

You nodded, shyly, staring up at him from under your lashes.

Azriel didn’t waste one more second, he leaned in and captured your lips with his. His lips were softer than you imagined, warm and tantalizing. The world seemed to fade away as you shared your first kiss with him, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind buzzing with need.

His kiss was soft and tender, making you feel at ease with him. His arm wrapped around your waist and he yanked you even closer, deepening the kiss. Time slowed down. The bond between the two of you glowed.

Finally, Azriel pulled back, locking eyes with you. He held up the moonflowers he was still holding, letting you take them as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Flowers for the pretty lady,” he teased, causing you to giggle.

He was still holding you around the waist, his other hand now slipping up into your hair. His hard body was pressed against yours, the flowers nearly crushed. He kissed you again and you felt it then, the promise he was making.

You were his mate.

And he would make sure you were his to have and to hold for the rest of eternity.

#acotar #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar x you #azriel fluff #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #azriel x female!reader #acosf #acowar

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usedpidemo · 2 months

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More than you know (Nmixx Haewon)

“Miss Haewon, please see me after class hours later. I would like to talk to you.”

There it is. A rather predictable bookend to another dull lecture. She saw it coming from the moment she walked into the classroom.

She absolutely loathes hearing it.

Despite the comically indignant scowl she shoots you on the way out—and the mocking jeers from her friends that elicit embarrassment—by the time the final bell rings, she couldn’t wait to see you later on.

You’re excited, too—but for all the wrong reasons.

She’s the only thing keeping your passion for teaching alive.

——��——

For the record, Haewon is not a bad student, not in the slightest. If anything, she’s par for the course. She’s not gonna be some summa cum laude, but she isn’t a sorry case, either. And that’s been the pattern with your students for years. They only care enough just to get by. Haewon is the most clear-cut example you can refer to.

Based on the rather intriguing stares she shoots at you, you’d be tricked into believing she’s actually interested enough in improving her future performance in class. Peeking through the laptop, catching glimpses of everyone’s grades. Her name is highlighted on the document, and the scores consist primarily of mid-eighties with some low-nineties. Clearly she’s nowhere close to a flunk or a future dropout.

Better than the high seventies and low eighties that the rest of your class averages.

“Sir, how many times do we need to go over this. I’m doing well for myself,” she remarks, giving you a look that says I told you so. The evidence is right in front of you, written in bold. “C’mon sir. Just let me go early today.”

And that’s when you make your first of many mistakes—feeding her the attention she craves. Where’s this energy when it comes to your lectures, you wonder?

Before you even entertain the thought, the scene has already gone completely sideways. Here’s a student with zero regard for following rules, and you’ve experienced your fair share of troublemakers. She’s sitting on the desk, pale skin in plain view from the off shoulder cropped sweatshirt that barely qualifies for the dress code. You’re looking—and she’s keenly noticing.

“Maybe another time, sir?” Haewon reads your mind like an open book. She’s purposely dressing improperly for two reasons: to piss off the higher-ups who hate her guts, and to make it easier for you to rip through her clothes. “I’ve got dance practice with the theater girls and I’m running late.”

“Well for one, you can drop the honorifics,” you reply, plainly, in a particularly weak effort to change the conversation. The attention you give her is short-lived; your focus returns to the unanswered emails and grades you need to fill. “Class hours are done for the day.”

It’s evidently not the response she wanted, because her arms are crossed and she’s pouting. You have to admit, she looks cute acting like that, revealing clothes be damned.

“Sir.” Haewon drawls out into a groan, bothered by the monotony of waiting when she has places to be. She won’t go as far as to knock your laptop down, but she’s considering it as a last resort. “You’re being a bitch right now.”

Anyone else in her position would get it—a verbal lashing that would get your teaching license rescinded and take you to court, but Haewon is the epitome of getting away with murder. You have no idea how she does it—how she manages to escape mostly unscathed from punishment. Even now while you drum on the keyboard, because you’re allowing her to call you a bitch without consequence.

Maybe because you like her more than you would openly admit.

She sighs. It’s a defeatist tone. A few moments later, you close your laptop and she perks up.

“Take a seat. I do want to talk to you about something important,” you tell her, knowing one hundred percent certain she’s not getting off your desk.

Haewon can’t help herself to a snarky comment. “Damn. Finally.”

By every conceivable account, this should be awkward, if not outright wrong. She’s still an undergrad, you tell yourself, staring into her sharp, alluring eyes. For as rebellious and as unruly as Haewon acts, she still listens to you. Hell, you’re the only professor she bothers to attend classes regularly for. She’d tell you she cares in her own twisted way. Look at how she dresses, for one. Your thoughts consist of mainly her in some cumbersome position, her lips letting out these desperate, heavy gasps. Your hands squeezing her taut breasts; the way her shirt accentuates the curves of her chest drives your imagination wild. You can spend all day planning how you intend to fuck her—

“Sir, you’re staring again.” A snap back to the present, where she’s grinning and leaning close to your face. So pretty. “I get it—I’m hot, but we’re on borrowed time, sir.”

“Right. I honestly forgot what I was gonna tell you,” you mindlessly drawl, searching through your desk for something. Something to temporarily distract you from the inevitability of the end. The rest of your paperwork lies unattended in the faculty room, you remember, but you’re not gonna step foot inside that place—not when the other professors are still around. Time is money. “But it’s definitely not your grades, that’s for certain.”

“What’s it about, then?” Her eyes continue to follow your every move.

You place a folded sheet of paper between you. She grabs it and reads through the brief content. The response is concerning.

“You’re leaving?” Haewon turns to you, stunned and gobsmacked. A rare expression coming from someone who’s usually indifferent toward everything and everyone.

Genuinely, you have no idea how to explain yourself. You had this all planned out since the beginning of the year; these two semesters will be your last, you were completely certain. You could have told anyone in the faculty. They’re decent people—as decent as they can be during the few times you actually interact with them—but they were merely coworkers and nothing more. You could have told your wife, who just so happens to be a fellow professor and colleague, but she’s one of the reasons why you’re leaving in the first place.

Word spreads like wildfire around campus, so you know to be careful, but this is straight recklessness. You call it mutual trust.

“Been thinking about it for a while,” you say, rather quietly, trying your hardest not to look her way.

“Let me guess,” she says, breaking the pretense of sympathy and concern for her usual caustic tone. “No one cares about your shitty class?”

You’re not remotely bothered by her comment, even if she’s speaking the truth. Though she could have used a nicer word besides shitty. “Part of it, yeah.”

“I seriously don’t understand why there’s gotta be a religious unit for a business degree,” she adds, fascinated by her own question. Even more so than listening to your lectures. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either.” Truthfully, you seriously question why you’re even teaching here to begin with.

You’re employed by one of the top universities in the country; every parent would sacrifice everything just for their children to study here. It pays well by teaching standards, but the bar is in hell. Despite the prestige, the overall experience is no different than your time in public high school. Most of the students who do attend come from rich backgrounds; people who use the place as a dick measuring contest to see who is the richer person. These entitled scholars who are always on their phone—one of their many phones—and cheat to get ahead.

It happens so often on the regular that you eventually stopped caring.

“Hmm,” Haewon thinks to herself, running through every piece of information she has to weaponize against you. She knows you better than anyone, mainly because you share personal life details like they’re the daily newspaper. Not to mention the very reason she comes to the classroom in the afternoons: you.

Then she comes to a rather off the wall conclusion. “It’s Miss Myoui, isn’t it?”

You squint your eyes. Haewon glints up. A small opening.

After a brief pause, she piles on, smirking. “Did I touch a nerve? Poor you,” she says, shooting you a mocking pout that you mostly ignore. “I guess you haven’t had some good pussy in a while. I mean, there’s no reason for me to be here other than the fact that Miss Myoui isn’t letting you clap her ass. Maybe the rumors are true then—”

Before she continues to spill more information that anyone shouldn’t be allowed to know, you fire back with a sharp glare. She cheekily grins. By ignoring the flashing red light right in front of you, you’re purposefully walking towards your own downfall. It’s a trap; you know this. You know Haewon more than any other student. All her little tricks, all her crafty schemes.

God, you can already see how this is gonna end.

“So I’m right?” Haewon tilts her head, leaning slightly forward. Her smug expression, word choice, and mocking tone tests your patience—including your blood levels—and you’re failing by the minute. “Trouble at home?”

Your response? Nothing. Going word for word with her ultimately results in a losing effort; previous conversations with her leave you more tongue tied and in a rut by the end. Haewon is so natural at getting under people’s skin. It’s what she gets off on—wrapping professors and superiors around her finger with her mouth. And more often than not, she’s charismatic and charming enough that it’s entertaining, but no one wants to openly admit it except you.

It’s how she’s able to read you like an open book. Let personal information slip so seamlessly. The numerous discussions regarding her underperformance in class lead into intimate sessions where you and Haewon become more acquainted with each other. A little too comfortable at times, but you can see where and why she acts the way she does. And you had come to the conclusion that you can’t fix her. Many have tried—and failed. She does whatever she wants, and she’ll end up getting away with it.

You slide your laptop aside, ready to dance with the devil, going against everything you swore against. “Mmm—not quite, but you’re halfway there.”

Haewon smiles and her eyes flutter. Not in a patronizing, condescending way, but the sweet kind. Genuine. The soft side she’ll only let you see. “Miss Myoui not letting you clap, sir?”

“She does,” you say, dour. And I already told you class hours are done. Please don’t call me sir.”

“Right. Sir.” Haewon’s playful tone trails off with that loathsome word. She can’t help but smirk; it’s second nature to her. She’ll claim that you fell for that bait, but that was deliberate, you’ll say—even if she refuses to believe you.

After a brief impasse, “So—sir,” she follows, using her eyebrows and cadence to tease, her hands on the edge of her pants, teasing some underwear, “You need to fuck me again? Now? Is Miss Myoui not letting you have some lately?”

Turning your gaze away and to the desk, “About Mina,” you reply, drumming your fingers on the table, deep in thought, “I’m planning to divorce her soon.”

“Huh?” Her eyes shoot wide, her expression rather surprised at the sudden revelation. You’d think by how she teases you about your wife, she’d have a much more subdued reaction. Considering she knows facets of your rather strange relationship with Mina. “Well, I would tell you’d be fumbling big time, but you should know—”

“She’s cheating on me. I know.”

Now she’s genuinely shocked, completely caught unaware. She’d assume you to be particularly naive and clueless about campus rumblings, especially since she’d never see you outside of the classroom and in the faculty room. “Well damn. I honestly thought you didn’t know.”

“Can’t say it would be the first time I’ve heard about it,” you say, turning to face her again, cold and gloomy. Pointing your finger at her, “And before you say anything, no, I didn’t catch her getting eaten out in the faculty room.”

You say that with the utmost sincerity—and sarcasm.

Haewon hesitates, before answering, rather “I figured.” She understands that your poor eyes have seen some things you shouldn’t be seeing.

Truthfully, you’re amazed she hasn’t brought up the subject a lot earlier. Since the end of the previous academic year, you’ve noticed Mina’s sudden changes in behavior. She’s sending more text messages telling you she’ll arrive home later than usual, the frequent faculty outings she chooses to attend, the cancellation of plans scheduled months in advance—the biggest of which, a dinner date at a particularly expensive five-star restaurant on the other side of town that has a notorious 18 month waitlist that you miraculously booked for your anniversary. And that was five months ago.

People change, but Mina is an entirely different person to you now. You can hardly recognize her.

“I guess I should say I’m sorry for what happened,” Haewon says, pretty modest and empathetic in tone, but even during serious moments, she can’t help but remark, “But you were kind of loser material for a woman like her.”

You can only stare back, annoyed. She chuckles, heartily. Seeing your animated, cartoonish expressions only serves to amuse her even further and fuel her addiction of teasing you.

“Ah, I fucking love you, sir. You’re my favorite professor for this reason.” In an instant, the somber facade falls apart and she’s back to being her usual coy self.

“Among other things?” you question.

“Such as?” Haewon looks confused. It’s a bluff; you’re calling it now. “Such as what, sir?”

Placing a hand on her knee, you’re creating friction so intense that her mouth goes agape and her breaths grow heavier. “Such as the fact that no one eats you out better than I do,” you reply, inflection transitioning from formal to low.

“Oh?” She doesn’t believe what’s happening to you. “Sir,” her cadence dances in such a melodic and sultry way it’s gonna ruin you faster than anything she’s done so far. “You have no evidence to prove—”

Suddenly, Haewon goes tongue tied, unable to finish her sentence. That’s a first. And you didn’t need to lift a finger or use your voice. Your other hand finds solace around her toned waist, exploring her tummy, and it’s thankfully not restricted by any layer of clothing. So much pristine skin to claim as yours, you begin to lose your restraint—and there isn’t much left to begin with.

“I can take you to the faculty room and show you,” you mumble against her belly, the cold breath tickling her flesh that she trembles. Haewon’s senses float off, her vision growing dark as her hands impulsively latch onto your shoulders. In return, you peck her navel, her abs, until you reach her abdomen, a hair’s breadth away from her chest. Between kisses, you continue to feed into her want, “Or I can give you an example right now.”

“Please,” Haewon finds enough clarity to cup your face up and meet her in a lengthy passionate liplock. This is what she wanted from the start. “Indulge me, sir.”

The only thing keeping you two apart is the laptop dangling on the opposite side of the table, almost pushed aside while you were making out. You quickly place it on a random desk before closing the two classroom door curtains.

When you return to Haewon, she’s sitting atop your desk, playfully swinging her legs, smiling modestly. It’s only now that you recognize how pretty she looks. But behind that meek appearance is a demon, a temptress that only sees you as a conduit for pleasure. In her eyes, the only purpose you have to give is sex, and nothing more.

So push your chair forward when you sit down. Haewon’s legs are already spread wide, but the pants remain on them. She doesn’t like to do it herself.

“Won’t give me a cheating discount?” you say, looking up at her coy grin, placing your hands around the hem of her trousers.

“Technically—” she trails off, kissing you, “You’re cheating on her with me, sir.” Followed by another. Each one deeper, more intimate than the last. “Don’t act all innocent now, especially when we’ve been doing this for months.”

Then, Haewon consumes you—as in, devours you. Grabs you and makes out with you with a passion you wish she’d present during class hours. You’d be content to remain in this position for the rest of the day, even if the clothes never come off; he’s so passionate and fervent that it’s intoxicating. But it’s all planned. Elaborate. You’re familiar with her more than you ever want to be: how she loves to unbutton your shirt while kissing you, how she mumbles and hums softly against your mouth, how she whispers desires that end up becoming realized after the foreplay. In reality, she’s the one dictating the pace, the one calling all the shots, and you’re merely an instrument she uses to indulge herself.

And she wants it: everywhere, in every position—something you find too much to handle, and she’s already quite the handful. But it’s merely a delay of the inevitable; you’re going to fuck Haewon, you’re gonna pour all your cum inside her, and you can figure out the rest the morning after.

More often than not, your shirt ends up unbuttoned, but not completely undone. One of two layers keeping your impulsive desires in check. As you work Haewon’s pants down her legs, most of your lesser instincts are shown in full display. It takes almost tearing your own fingers off your very hands not to rip through her panties. Meanwhile, she’s lounging on the desk, enjoying the sight of you reverting back to something primal.

The way you fondle her creamy thighs, never finding their beginning and end, is like beholding a sculpture crafted by the gods. They’re meant to be worshiped, to be handled reverently.

And Haewon guides you through the process, commanding you like she has authority over you. Titles do not matter—they never have. “Keep going,” she says, as you leave delicate kiss marks down her thighs, slowly burying yourself into the inviting presence of her pussy. Peeking through the near-nonexistent layer of fabric, she shifts the lift of her legs, perching on your shoulders as she forces you into her suffocating warmth.

“Show me,” she gasps, brushing your hair with her hand, and that’s what sets the rest into motion.

Her legs clutch you into a breathless hold. God, she’s killing you slowly, and you don’t mind it one bit. At this point, you have nothing to lose. You might as well treat this as your last supper, your final meal before you have to say goodbye. She can strangle you with her thighs while you drag your tongue up and down her folds, suck on her clit, take in all her nectar—it doesn’t change the fact that Haewon is gonna fucking end you.

You might as well repay the favor.

And despite throwing caution to the wind, Haewon appears unprepared. Dazed and confused by the overwhelming sensation burning through her nerves, she trembles—and moans. She couldn’t be any less subtle if she tried; hearing her hit notes you never thought she’s capable of hitting only serves to be a minor distraction from her pulsating heat. You’re relentless, slowly picking away at her senses, at her sensitive cunt, knowing that no one can eat her out as well as you do.

“S-sir.” Haewon can only muster up a single word before her mouth fills the room with nothing but air.

Deep down, you despise the rather obstructive yet comfortable position you’re in. Your tongue brushes against Haewon’s folds, going back and forth to taste of her warmth and her clit. The rest of her frame lays atop the desk, trembling, unable to keep herself steady under your grip. She’s lost you somewhere in between, clinging onto the edges of the table for support. You can only imagine her jaw agape, her expressions twisting in pleasure, wriggling and tossing her head around as she aimlessly tries to find some semblance of control.

Her mouth is the only tool she can use to make some sense of this overwhelming bliss. And even that doesn’t amount to much. ‘Shit,’ ‘so good,’ ‘don’t stop—’ these are only some of the things she groans out as you trap her in a whirlpool of her own ecstasy. It’s still not enough. You want to prove her wrong; you want to remind her what’s important, and the only way you can make sure she truly understands if she fucking cums all over your face.

So while Haewon writhes and makes a damn mess of your desk, you continue to feast on her pretty cunt. She’s making sure every person in the building knows how good your tongue is, and it’s in character with how unabashedly shameless she behaves in front of everyone. Her legs kick sharply against your chair, so you end up where you were supposed to be from the beginning—on your knees. And yet it doesn’t deter you; if anything, you grow more attached to her pussy, savoring every taste and drop, taking piece of every little part of her as yours.

You can’t wait to explore the rest of her body and claim it as yours. On the off chance you’re able to rip her shirt off, your hands roam her tight, lithe figure. You’re met by layers of fabric, frustrated at the inability to grab her breasts in their natural form. She grabs you by the wrists; it’s a miracle she’s able to feel you through the waves crushing her to the desk. You suck on her clit hard. She lets out this guttural moan that sounds violent in nature, like you’re hurting her, when you’re actually doing the exact opposite.

And it’s how you play off each other for the most part. Your need to get Haewon naked is only matched by her desperation to cum. She doesn’t need to tell you directly how much she wants to. Her hands guide you beneath her shirt, and you press on the underside of her boobs in appreciation. You’re playing a dangerous game; you have no intention of letting go.

Surprisingly, Haewon holds up well. One look and it might appear that she’s a complete wreck: how her body trembles unceasingly, how she has half her shirt lifted to give you a better view of her chest for when you eventually come up for air, how helpless she is at even the slightest touch. You made her like this. It’s a habit she’s used to by now; she’s learned that a figure like hers is meant to be admired, to be used.

Before you grow comfortable with the habit, the idea that you can eat her out on the desk for hours, Haewon cums.

She keens and shudders through her surprise orgasm. It’s aligned with her playful nature to cum without your knowing, even though the signs were there all along. Your tongue works through the torrent of fluid, then the wave of slick that you drink up. Lap whatever your satiated bud allows. You can see remnants of her climax spill down the desk and to the floor, to her pants.

Even now, you’re still learning something new about your students. For one, you never knew Haewon squirts.

The wet desk would make for a perfect reference picture for when she questions your legitimacy again—but you have better ways of explaining yourself.

You give Haewon no reprieve; she mewls and whimpers as you lick her folds clean, till you settle into soft, gentle kisses. The situation is all sorts of fucked; she has places to be and friends to meet, but you have her on top of your desk, keening after eating her out and making her cum without a care. It’s gonna take an essay's worth of explaining the glaringly wet patches on her clothes and deep red marks over her skin.

Truthfully, she’d rather be with you than with her overbearing friends—but you won’t hear it directly from her lips.

Speaking of, you hear a phone ring. Haewon cranes her neck in the direction of her bag. “Sir, I need my phone.” She huffs, gasping for air, each word spaced out between deep breaths.

Regretfully, it takes every bit of your resolve to release your tongue from her warm cunt. You rummage through her bag and hand the phone over to her. It’s about picking up the pieces now, salvaging whatever you can make of the mess you made, albeit there’s hardly anything to save, even yourself.

“Don’t.” Haewon uses her loose toes to point at you, shifting herself into a sitting position on the desk. You’re halfway done with the first button on your shirt when she stops you. She’s tapping through her phone, texting some bullshit excuse to her friends. Knowing her, they’re most likely no better than her; they might be playing into your little secret, too. All it takes is one person, one word of mouth, before information spreads around like wildfire.

Like everything else about her, you had mostly left it up to interpretation. Forcing details out of Haewon is a near-impossible task. You were never really a good negotiator. The deal usually ends up like this: her panties for a bonus in her grades, her lips for a signed excuse letter, and if she was really in the mood, her pussy for a cheat sheet. Sometimes,

She sets her phone aside on the desk, hopping off the table to lay her hands on your exposed chest. Momentarily kissing you, she whispers, “Sir, I told them I would be a little late today. You should know better by now.”

Her fingers wring around the collar of your button up shirt, eyes ablaze with reinvigorated lust, lips curled in a pleasant smile. You’re so enamored with her, it drives you crazy. Even when she pushes you onto your chair, even when she rips the already undone shirt off your body, all you can do is pay attention to the stars in her eyes. Her warm, wanton gaze—both charming and alluring in all the right ways. She knows how to use every part of herself to near perfection.

The rest of your clothes couldn’t come off any faster. Your pants and boxers pool around your ankles, followed shortly by a dark cropped sweatshirt. You’re not given any time to savor the perfection that is Haewon’s naked figure; she’s straddled on your lap, stroking your hard cock with a delicate grip. She smirks, and she has every right to look smug. You’re left breathless, under pressure; if only you can see yourself in the mirror and see how needy you look, and the utter control Haewon has over you.

And you allow her; this is her specialty, this is what she’s built for—to fucking end you.

If your words allow you, you’d command her to get on her knees, suck your cock and take a warm load all over her face; this is the ideal position to make the move. But you can’t. Not when you’re missing the point.

Haewon is on the edge of your lap, running her hand around your cock, gathering spurts of precum on her nails and finger pads. She’s still winded from before, slow in her movements. The naughty look she gives your body never grows old.

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a question,” she starts, looking down at the little mess she’s making on your thigh. You’re too overwhelmed to breathe, let alone say a word.

“Be honest with me. I’m being serious for once.”

And she sounds like she means it. You gulp your throat as you enter the unknown.

Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her expression deep in thought, something she’s not usually seen doing. And you feel the heat gradually building on your lap, but you’re paralyzed by anxiety for the sensation to register. She runs the other hand through hair to take a good luck at you: your rather sweaty face, somewhere between pleasure and tense.

“Tell me,” she sighs, running a hand down your shoulder to your elbow, before continuing, “Am I the best student you’ve ever fucked?”

“Yes.” The word comes out involuntarily, as if it were muscle memory. Like your body knows, and it knows itself better than anyone or anything else.

It draws a piqued reaction from Haewon. She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what about Yoona?”

“And what about her?”

A reply you end up regretting almost immediately. Haewon doesn’t take bullshit for an answer, as evident by the cold, dour stare on her face. If there’s anyone who knows the ins and outs of university, it’s her.

It doesn’t take long for you to cave in. “She’s so tight,” you admit, sounding like a guilty criminal being interrogated. “But you’re still the best, I swear.”

“And what about Yuna? That exchange student Lily? Miss Minatozaki? You say that to just about anyone.”

In an instant, she goes from curious and passionate to downright frightening. It’s not supposed to be like this; normally it’s you who has the authority. Haewon can go on and on for hours if she wanted to. She has all the leverage, all the evidence, all the power to cause the end of everything, your life included. But she only wants one thing: the truth.

“They’re nothing compared to you. Promise. You’re still my favorite student.”

To a certain extent, you’re right; Haewon is your favorite, but for all for the wrong reasons. It has nothing to do with teaching her anything other than being a good toy, because deep down, she’s about as irredeemable as your peers make her out to be. Really, it’s about using her body, fucking her, pushing her to the absolute limits—anything to get your mind out of the numbing, monotonous work of being an actual professor. There are many good girls in class, including the names she mentions in passing, but this is a stark reminder that Haewon is yours, and you belong to Haewon.

“Then show me.”

And to drive the point even further, she sinks down on your lap, pressing her weight on your crotch—until her pussy meets your cock and you both disappear into the sea of pleasure again.

Haewon throws her head back, and she’s never looked more vulnerable, not even when you had her laid out on the desk. All this flesh and body to claim, and you have no clue where to begin. But that’s the least of your problems when she begins to glide up and down, rocking your lap with slow, agonizing thrusts. You end up blanking out and caring about the friction in your hips instead.

The slip of your cock in and out of her pussy when she rides you. Your palms press against her waist while you watch her slowly come undone: the moans, curses, and every sound in between, the rapidly twisting expressions, the hypnotic jiggle of her chest. Soon, you find a steady rhythm to match, and everything becomes effortless. Both of you pushing and pulling against each other’s bodies in an effort to get deeper. You forget you’re a professor and her a student, only two souls in need of sex during some trying times in your lives.

In a way, you’re both meant to be. Fate is a strange entity.

Then Haewon regains some clarity, enough to be kissing you, moaning directly in your ear, demanding your gaze. Even when her hole swallows your cock, she still wants your attention. And even while you have it so deep in her cunt that she’s mewling, struggling for oxygen, she manages to form a coherent sentence.

“Tell me I’m the tightest. Tell me I have the best pussy you ever fucked.”

God, she’s so fucking tight you can’t fully comprehend it. Perhaps even more, and you’re used to using her. Maybe it’s all that pent-up frustration toward your dead end job, toward Mina, that makes her clench tighter. That’s now how pussy works; you’re just stretching her out really hard, but you have nothing sensible to conclude with. What you can tell, however, is that you needed this—and you needed it badly.

You’re thankful you closed off the doors and curtains to the classroom, because the last thing anyone needs to see and hear is the sight of Haewon riding you while you both moan about how good the other feels.

“Love this pussy,” you murmur, breathing against her collarbone, wanting a taste of her taut nipple. She has you in a tight bearhug that binds your hands around her waist. “Fuck—so—fucking—tight—the best—”

And that’s all she needed to hear. Every word—every sound—slips from her lips like it hurts, but she’s in total bliss. She moves her hips against the roll of your cock with deep emphasis, like fitting puzzle pieces together, and it sends you. You’re left even more breathless, more in awe at how fucking well Haewon takes your length. As if it was always meant for her.

Curses and praise aside, she’s never one to talk during sex. But then she makes the faintest comment about how your cock fits so snug inside her, and you honestly just lose it.

Once in a while, a certain inquiry is brought up. What’s your favorite thing about me, Haewon asks, when it’s supposed to be the opposite. You’re supposed to give out this very question to your students as a way to improve your teaching style and maybe come off as an approachable authority figure. As expected, it wasn’t helpful in the slightest. She then would suddenly come to you at the most random of times with this particular question, and you’d be preoccupied with numerous things—home life, school activities, the usual—to find an answer.

But right there, right as you spear deep into her tight, needy cunt, is where you figure it all out. It’s all in the little details. Your hand going up and down her arched back. The squelching of her pussy against your cock. The furious sound of your flesh slapping against hers. Her loose, shrilly whines while you bury your face between her chest, begging you harder. Her hands tangled with your hair and nape. All that while she’s bouncing on your lap at such a feverish pace; she’s going to break the chair you’re sitting on.

Before you know it, your tongue has traveled all over the most sensitive parts of her body: nipples, neck, and even pits.

Everything about Haewon is so ridiculous, you can’t believe how much of a challenge she has been for the longest time that you’ve forgotten how easily she folds. Like she’s meant to be used.

But no punishment is suitable enough; no amount of discipline can change her. If anything, it only fuels her goal to thread the needle even further.

“Gonna fucking cum, Haewon,” you hiss against her ear, blurring the line between kissing and biting her collarbone. Using all the strength in your hips, you have her legs spread as wide as they can over the chair, over your thighs. The squirt she releases as she crashes on your lap serves to fan the flames in your cock even brighter. It’s all but inevitable that you’ll pour it all inside her, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

If you had any semblance of a spine, you’d never let her hear the end of it. The idea that her pussy isn’t getting its fair share of seed disgusts her. She needs to learn what boundaries are, and how not to cross said lines. At least there’s one lesson you can impart on her before you split, but you’ll save that for another day, because you cum.

You fuck Haewon so hard, she turns into mush that melts in your grasp. Forget the guttural groan you made; the aftermath is alarming. Her pussy drips with a huge load pooling on the chair and trickling down her thighs. You make sure you bury yourself to the hilt and unload inside her. The evidence is undeniable; from the smell to the sight of clothes and cum, there’s no concealing it—if there was even anything to hide, because your salacious activity could easily be heard anywhere in the building.

And lost in the madness is your train of thought; your body is reeling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you simply idle. Let your cock stay in Haewon’s warmth as long as possible. Let the setting sun bathe her pretty face in that lovely afterglow. Let her slowly recover and realize that you’ve been right all along about everything.

“Sir, you came inside me a lot,” she says, a little over a whisper, trying to take record of your work. Her eyes stay glued to the puddle of cum dripping down her leg, running a finger to taste you.

“For my favorite student, why wouldn’t I,” you tell her, caressing your hand up and down her back. Even through the climax, you never stopped.

The brief, peaceful respite is interrupted by, you guessed it, another phone. This time, it’s not Haewon’s. She moves gingerly bending down, almost tumbling over in an attempt to retrieve your phone from the depths of your pocket. Your only contribution is ensuring she doesn’t bash her head on the floor.

“Well, well, well,” she comments, looking at your phone with a familiar, sarcastic tone before handing it over to you. “Speak of the devil.”

On the screen are two missed calls and one new text, all from none other than Mina herself. A grim reminder of the reality you live in.

The message is as predictable as it reads. She won’t be home till late in the evening, which might as well be dawn of the next day.

“Miss Myoui is getting it. A hundred percent sure.”

She delivers it with such conviction that it might as well be fact. You’d be upset about the very thought—anyone would—but a glance at Haewon gives you an idea. One that leaves her curious.

“Sir? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You can already imagine it: the image of railing Haewon everywhere. On the table, against the wall, under the showers. Maybe if you’re lucky enough, Mina will go through that door and be greeted by the sight of her least favorite student getting fucked by her husband from behind.

You show her the text, and just like that, you’re both one and the same. A look of pride crosses her face, as if she’s accomplished an important milestone—and it’s quite a momentous one.

And what better way to celebrate than inside the comfort of your home.

—————

(A/N: Been down bad for Haewon since December. Also, NMIXX is actually good now! Their latest EP has some bangers, highly recommend Run for Roses and Passionfruit. The setting might be a bit more on the bleaker/less wholesome side, but I hope it's not uncomfortable/upsetting. Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #nmixx #haewon

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cranberryjuice-posts · 3 months

Note

Hi, I wanted to ask for a Clarisse fanfic where the reader is gifted in the arts? I would also like to ask that the reader be a daughter of Hades :)

What’s a girl to do

Pairings - Clarisse La rue x daughter of hades! Fem! Reader

An - this lowkey sucked but YALL will live

You had always been gifted in the arts. From dance, music, art itself and even theater.

Being that you were a hades kid most kids avoided you, not that because your dad was the king of the underworld but because just being around you gave them an unsettling feeling.

Something every great artist had was a muse, someone they could go to for inspiration, someone that gave their work meaning. But you? You didn’t have a muse.

Sure you’ve had inspiration come from all types of media but never once did you have an actual person you could call your muse.

That had changed though when you met clarisse. It started out small with small doodles of her. Then she started to show up as small details in your song lyrics. And even going as far as using her as your model in your photos

You two were friends.. but you knew you wanted more then that.

——

Clarisse spun her spear around on the sandy beach. She was so in the moment that she hadn’t heard the sound of your camera going off.

She ended in a pose with her spear tucked under her arm. Panting that’s when she realized you were sitting near by.

“You know its creepy to take photos of people without their knowledge right”

“Eh you’ll live” you smiled. Clarisse had always been beautiful even in situations like now where she was panting and sweaty from her workout.

You walked over towards her smiling sat the picture

She was a natural. The way clarisse moved her body it was like she was meant to be infront of the camera.

subconsciously you started leaning into her to show her the photo. “this one here, I like how your curls kinda spun around with you, you know” You smiled, clarisse nodded placing a hand around your waist, she had always done that but it didn’t mean it didn’t get you flustered everytime.

“Mmhm” she stuck her spear in the ground before reaching over placing her free hand onto yours clicking back on the camera to a photo of her standing with her spear pointed down the sun hitting her at a certian angle adding dramatics. “this one is better”

“Well I think both are fine” you smiled looking over at clarisse. Your faces were close. So close if you even just moved a little you might accidentally kiss.

You waited for clarisse to do something, to move away and tell you to piss off but she didn’t. Instead you started to feel her rub circles on your hip.

Almost out of a movie mark clarisses bother appeared. “Clarisse!” He yelled gaining the now irritated girls attention.

“The hell do You want Mark im busy” she looked over at him not wanting to deal his bullshit. “It’s Sam and Jane, they got into another fight and are in the infirmary now Chiron wants to see you about it all”

You watched as clarisses closed her eyes trying to calm down even a little. She looked back at you before squeezing your hip and letting go to head off to beat her siblings.

You stood there frozen and embarrassed. Clarisse didn’t like you. There was no way if anything she liked silena. Clarisse only saw you as a friend…

Right..

——

Around 3am you decided to sneak out of your cabin not able to sleep.

Lazily walking around the camp trying to not get caught you noticed a familiar girl jumping out the ares cabin window. Using shadow travel you quickly moved to stand beside the cabin.

Clarisse sighed as she landed on the ground, silently closing the window “since when did you sneak out”

“Fuck!” She whisper yelled having to pull her hand back from hitting you. “What the hell are you doing out here”

“Selling hardcore drugs— now you tell me why your ever so quietly leaving your cabin” you sarcastically spoke. Clarisse rolled her eyes in defiance. “Your a pain in my ass you know” she scoffed.

You shrugged your shoulders. “You’ve said worse to Me” starting to follow the girl into the forest you took in the scenery.

The full moon brought you a sense of comfort, mainly in the fact that the goddess nyx had always brought protection to people in need through the veil of night.

Clarisse continued until she came to a clearing in the woods, high on the mountian side and far enough away from the camp you wouldn’t get caught but high enough you could see the stretched out lake.

“Wow..” you whispered. “I never new this spot existed”

“That’s supposed to be the point”

“Is this where you take girls to makeout with them then torture them before k—“

“I’m not some insane serial killer dumbass” clarisse laughed pushing you softly before sitting down. You followed her lead sitting a little to close to her.

After a few moments you watched as clarisse silently complained befote grabbing some Kindle Wood arranging it to make a small fire. Using a lighter most likely taken from the big house.

After sitting back watching the fire clarisse looked over at you. “How long have you been doing all this shit”

You raised an eyebrow confused. “You mean photography” you chuckled, Clarisse nodded in response her face unreadable.

You sighed for a moment “uhh I’m not really sure, I just I’ve always had a passion for the arts and been naturally gifted in them, I like photography the best with painting being right underneath though” you tucked some hair behind your ear slightly embarrassed.

“Why me” she continued to asked. “Like out of every camper here why am I the one you take the most photos of me”

“Well I Ju—“

“Wait wait don’t tell me you like me” clarisse laughed at the end of her statement. You went to speak but decided to stay quiet letting clarisse finish her laughing fit it. She soon stopped looking over with a playful face. “Wait seriously.. you use me as your muse because you like me”

You started to get up embarrassed walking away quickly not wanting to listen to the girl yelling after you. About five steps into your leave clarisse grabbed your arm. “Gods damnit can you just wait” she huffed.

“Yeah because I just love being laughed at thanks clarisse” you tried to pull your arm away but it was pointless “you know it’s actually really shitty to laugh at someone when you find out they like yo—“

You were cut off by clarisse grabbing your head and crashing her lips against yours. Not caring how messy it was, clarisse kept a firm hold on your head while grabbing your waist pushing you against her.

The kiss moved from messy to controlled. You let clarisse hold you close, soft breaths leaving both your mouths not wanting to pull away but still needing to breathe.

Pulling away you felt clarisses hot breath on your lips. “Do you ever stop talking” she asked now with her hand on the side of your face comfortingly rubbing circles. You rolled your eyes but kept quiet, your arms around clarisses neck.

Clarisses kissed you once again slowly, she pulled away kissing your cheek. “I like you to dumbass”

“Really..?”

“Uh yeah you really think I let anyone take photos and draw me?”

You playfully pushed the girls shoulder before pulling her back into a grinful kiss

“Great now that we’re together can we please go back to the fire it’s cold as shit out here”

“Whatever La rue”

#lesbian #wlw #clarisse la rue #clarisse pjo #clarisse x reader #percy jackson fanfiction #clarisse my beloved #clarisse x female reader #butch clarisse #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x you #clarisse larue #pjo show #percy jackson show #pjo fandom #percy jackson

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lavendermunson · 3 months

Text

mine - steve harrington

summary you get separated from the love of your life after spending the best night together, would the universe bring you back to him? based on this request, thank you so much!

cw college!steve, college!reader. fluff, angst and more angst then more fluff. modern times!! allusions to sex. reader wears glasses sometimes.

w.c 9.2k

a/n created a playlist for this one (i struggled a little bit and the songs helped) thank you to @stveharringtn and @ihatepeanutss for reading the early chapter and motivating me to continue ily! NO PROOFREAD BECAUSE IM EXCITED

dividers by @saradika

I. Left a small town and never looked back.

Due to your parents' jobs, you had to move frequently, and the longest you stayed in one place was three years. You were so used to this, following the single rule for yourself: never get attached.

One problem, it was impossible not to fall for Steve Harrington.

You met Steve in Hawkins, and the three years you spent together were magical. Talking late at night, going to the movies, and hanging out by the lake. Holidays were always spent with him, you invited him to your house, and your parents loved him. Even though your little brother was only 8 years old, he knew Steve was important to the family.

The last year of high school was just around the corner. You’ve talked to Steve about graduating together, going to college, and spending the rest of your lives together. Watching each other through all the ups and downs of adulthood, you knew Steve was going to stay with you no matter what, he would be there for you, and you would be there for him. It was all a perfect dream, you’d have someone to celebrate your victories and cheer you up when the inevitable bad luck followed you around.

That dream was crushed when your parents told you they had to move again. You were heartbroken, and even more so because you were going to be separated from your favorite person. It was the first time you'd broken the rule, you got attached to Steve, and you fell in love with him.

The news broke him. He couldn’t sleep for the rest of the week, he wanted to be with you all the time, like you promised.

———

Before leaving Hawkins, you decided to confess your feelings for him. It felt wrong to pack that secret into your suitcase. Steve felt the same, he liked you too, but he didn’t want to admit he was in love with you yet. He decided to make your last day at Hawkins the best day you’ve ever had.

The first stop was the diner outside of town to eat burgers, fries, and milkshakes like you always do. At your favorite booth, this time it had a vase with flowers in the center of the table and a beanie babie.

“This is the one I saw in the magazine.” You take the white stuffed bear, it has a red ribbon around his neck and an embroidered red heart.

“In case you need someone to hug,” he says, looking at the laces of his shoes and holding back his tears.

“Smells good! I’m so hungry.” You saw the way his smile faded, changing the subject was better than crying already. You had to enjoy the night.

While sipping from your freshly made milkshakes— stealing the cherry on top of his milkshake as usual—and watching Steve go over the old jukebox to play your favorite songs, the pocket of his jeans ended up empty from using all the coins he had.

“Get up! We have to dance.” Steve stands up, reaching for your hand.

He had to choose wisely for the next song, it was the last coin he had, so of course Be My Baby, by The Ronettes, was playing. He took your hand, squeezing it, and placed his free hand on your back to keep you closer. You rest one of your hands on his chest, feeling his heart beat fast for you.

Everyone in the diner was watching you, but you didn’t care. You were in the arms of your boy, your love, and it was the last night with him before a while. You had to dance like nobody was watching.

Leaving the checkered floor and the red booths, the second stop was the theater, cuddling while watching ‘Before Sunrise’ . It's one of your favorite movies, and it came back to the big screen for its anniversary.

Both of you get the feeling that it is the perfect movie to watch on a day like this. It was perfect because you don’t know what’s going to happen with you two in the future, just like Celine and Jesse. Your love for each other looks like that, it feels like that, and the best part is that it’s real, not something written for a movie. You aren’t acting or performing. You are feeling it.

You feel so lucky you didn’t meet him for just one night, you had spent so much time with Steve. The endless walks around the park and picking flowers in spring while he holds the basket and you place your favorites on it so you can take them home. The fun summers, hanging out by the pool, and eating a lot of ice cream—one of those years you had free ice cream thanks to Steve working at Scoops Ahoy. You spent the entire summer making fun of his tiny sailor suit, not wanting to admit he looked really good in it.

Fall was always fun, dressing up for Halloween, and joining the kids to trick or treat, so at the end, you can steal some of their best candy bars. The adorable winter, playing in the snow and getting your nose red, drinking hot cocoa and marshmallows while watching Christmas movies.

Everything comes back to your mind like you were watching your movie. Feeling safe and loved with Steve’s arms around you. You never fought before, nothing went bad, but everything was over. For a while.

Steve holds your hand while you walk through the parking lot. The night sky is decorated with stars, so big and bright. He interlocks his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand as you walk to his BMW.

The last stop is Lover’s Lake. He parks his car in the usual spot—your favorite spot. It’s the best place to feel the magic of the water mixed with the light of the moon. A reminder that you exist on the same planet, even if the miles come between you.

The radio starts to play ‘Don’t you forget about me’. The song was perfect. You take a deep breath. This is a moment you will remember forever.

Both sitting in the hood of his car, he hugs you, shielding you from the cold breeze, and kisses the top of your head while your back rests against his chest. The tears start to spill from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks. You can't hold the sobs, your chest is giving up.

“Hey, hey!” He turns you around, softly cupping your face between his hands and rubbing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Don’t you dare forget about me,” you whisper, as if the trees were going to be disturbed by your sobs.

“I won’t, I’ll call you every day. But I am going to miss you so much,” he whispers back.

“I’m scared, Stevie,” you sob, tangling your arms around his neck. “What if we can’t make it?”

“We will, we got this. The love I have for you is stronger than anything else, we won’t let the distance break us.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise”

Pressing his thumbs against your cheeks, he gets close to you. Your lips touch, and it feels like thousands of fireworks light up inside you. You feel one of his hands slide down your arm, and it makes you shiver. His hand rests on your waist and gives it a little squeeze. You jump closer to him than before, and you can feel his lips turn into a grin.

It wasn’t your first kiss with him. You kissed sometimes while playing spin the bottle or when Steve wanted to teach you how to kiss better.

“We will get through this. I'll see you again, and we can live the rest of our lives together.”

He kisses you again, and you open your mouth as he pushes your face to the side with his thumb. He slides his tongue to join yours and get more of the way you taste, honey, strawberries and cherries. Steve is being patient, taking his time brushing his tongue against yours and humming at how good it feels.

This kiss felt more magical, it made your insides bubbly, and your cheeks got warmer. But inside you, the clock was ticking, you had to savor this moment in case the universe turned against you again.

He breaks the kiss, trying to slow his breath. You do the same, opening your eyes slowly.

“I won’t do anything, not tonight." His voice is soft, but the tone is deeper. He feels a knot in his throat. “But next time, I promise I will make you feel so good.”

“I know, next time and the others. There’s only a couple of months left for summer break, and we will see each other again.”

“We will, baby. Now kiss me before I fall to the floor, you look so pretty tonight as you always do.”

“You are beautiful, Stevie.”He kisses you again, not getting enough of you. He kissed you before you went inside the house and he would’ve kissed you a thousand times more if he knew it was going to be the last time.

II. Wondering why we bother with love if it never lasts.

You were disconnected and heartbroken by the time you spent the first week of your last year of high school at a different school. Steve picked a few shifts a week at the local coffee shop after school, always with Robin by his side.

Hawkins felt so empty without you. Every time he saw a happy couple smiling, kissing, or hugging, he felt nauseous and jealous. His friends knew how he felt, they missed you too, but they never stopped calling you.

The only thing that kept him going were your calls, you called every single night. Tell him about your day, your new school, and your new friends. He tells you about school, work, Robin, and the kids. It was good, he loved hearing your voice and watching you through his screen.

“I can’t believe it! I told you! Steve Harrington’s first A+ essay, and without my help. I feel a little wounded, you don’t need me at all!”

He felt so proud of himself. You were the last one to know about it but you are the most excited one. Even more excited than him.

“You are a great tutor, all those tips and seeing my practice essays marked with a pink glittery pen helped me a lot”

“I'm so proud of you, you are capable of anything I know!”

“Honey…” Steve’s worried face makes your heart sink.

“Yes?”

“I’m always going to need you. I can’t live without you.”

You press both of your hands against your chest as if that were going to soothe your pain. The damage you caused him is evident, you shouldn’t have broken that stupid rule.

“I miss you, Stevie. I can’t do this without you.”

“I miss you too, honey. And you can, you have me here. Always”

Steve feels his head heavier each minute, the long hours at the coffee shop kill him.

“We should go to sleep, yeah?” he says, noticing your sleepy face.

“We should. Good night. Call me tomorrow!”

“Please, I don’t know if I can survive without hearing your voice”

You get closer to your camera, blowing him a kiss.

“I’ll annoy you with my voice every night, honey!”

“I’d love that baby. Good night,” he says, blowing a kiss back.

When you hang up, he tosses his laptop to the floor. It falls on the pile of unwashed clothes he has.

“Weird,” he says to himself, looking at his laptop resting on the clothes. He takes a look around his room. It’s a mess, he makes a mental note to clean it, and he can’t stress over it right now.

Steve lays with his back against the mattress. He remembers the way you brought your hands up to your chest. He does the same, hoping to understand why you did it.

His warm palms rest against his chest, now he knows. He feels it. Steve applies a bit of pressure to his chest, closing his eyes and trying to fall asleep.

So much for trying, it felt like maybe five minutes had passed, and when he glanced at his clock, it was six a.m. His alarm was about to go off, and he had to go downstairs, make breakfast, and get on his way to pick Robin up to go to school.

That’s when he lets out a sob. Time does pass without you, the world doesn’t stop, and he gets even more scared than before.

Don’t you forget about me.

He grabbed his phone, clicking on his texts. You’ve already said good morning to him.

‘Good morning baby. I'll miss you forever. Have a nice day! Love you”

That’s when he takes a moment to reply.

‘Good morning, hope you slept well. I love you too.”

And then he gets out of bed to spend another day without you by his side. Knowing you are slipping through his fingers already.

———

Three weeks later.

The calls stopped being frequent, sometimes you were too tired, or sometimes he was too tired.

“I have to go, I'm exhausted. Can I call you tomorrow?” you ask him.

Steve had to ignore the arrow that just shot through his heart, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. The more he talked to you, the more he missed you. When he knew you weren’t going to make it for the summer break he felt his heart break, every time he woke up he was already crying.

This broke your heart too, not being able to see him, or visit your friends. It felt like some strange and strong force was keeping you away and pushing you farther.

“Of course, honey. Sweet dreams”

“Sweet dreams, Stevie.”

He closes his laptop after you hang up, tossing it aside. The pile of clothes seems to be bigger. He swears to do it tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. Whenever he feels like he is alive.

Four months later.

The rush hour at the coffee shop ends up killing Steve’s back, and his feet are burning. To his surprise, his parents are home.

Can this day get any worse? Yes, you haven’t texted him back since yesterday.

"Steve, are you still wasting your time at that damn coffee shop?” His dad shouts he doesn’t have time for this. “Steve?”

He hears his dad’s heavy steps behind him. He catches Steve at the first step of the stairs.

“Didn’t you hear me? Say something!”

“I’m not wasting my time, I'm saving up for college,” Steve whispers. He can feel his dad’s warm breath against his face, and he can smell the whiskey too.

“College? You are going to work for me, right?”

“No?”

“Then why go to college in the first place?”

Steve pushes his dad away, and his mother joins them.

“It’s clear, John.” she says.

“Say it, Steve.”

“To get the fuck away from you, that’s why,” Steve spits out. His eyes were burning, and tears were threatening to fall.

He gets away from them, locking himself in his room. He doesn’t mind looking at his phone or picking up his laptop, he just wants to fall asleep and get this over with. It has been such a long day.

Six months later.

It’s been a long time since you’ve talked to each other.

“Are you tired?” You ask, and he has been rubbing his eyes for the third time now. “You don’t have to hang up, carry me to your bed.”

Steve leaned his head to the side, just as a confused puppy does.

“C’mon, I’ll read you a story so you can fall asleep. Like old times.”

“Are you sleeping late?”

“I have assignments to finish, I need to catch up with a few classes because I fell behind.”

“You’ll do great, honey. You are the smartest person I know!”

“Steve Harrington, you are the smartest person I know. We are a couple of months away from college and i'm really excited”

“Me too honey, it sucks you couldn’t come here for summer break”

You will see each other, you will.

Steve shakes his head with a smile plastered on his face, holding the laptop in his hands. He lets himself lie under his sheets, fixing his pillow and resting his head on it.

"Are you ready?” you ask him, sitting on your desk and getting comfortable for a long night.

“Ready, no scary tales, please!"

“I promise! Close your eyes now!”

Steve takes the last glance at you, his fingers reaching to touch his screen as if he were touching your face. But he can’t, you are too far away now and it kills him.

“Goodnight”

The bubbly feeling in your chest goes away when you don’t hear a nickname. No honey, no baby.

“Goodnight!” You wait until his eyes are closed. “And we begin, once upon a time."

Steve falls asleep before getting to know what the story is about, he was so tired and this is the first time he has slept more than three hours.

You close your laptop after watching him turn to the other side. You are trying to return your attention to your assignments, but the only thing you can feel is your heart breaking again. The hope you once had is now fading away. You are managing to live without him, but you don’t want to.

Steve regrets it. He regrets falling asleep. This time he didn’t wake up seeing your face, he didn’t get to hear your bedtime story, and he didn’t get to tell you how much he loved you. And he regrets it so much because it was the last time he heard your voice.

III. And every time I look at you it’s like the first time

Two years later.

Steve had a hard time finishing high school, but he did. Later, he had to retake a year, but he saved up some money with Robin to move to college. After jumping up and down and celebrating with their friends their acceptance letters, they got into the college dorms for the first year, but that went very badly because they couldn’t be roommates and all the noise from the dorm building was constantly giving them a headache.

He saw Nancy and Jonathan when they all came back from college over the summer break, hanging up with them was the best. They helped him and Robin choose the best apartment outside of college, it was close to the new coffee shop they were working on and close to their buildings. He never saw you again, you were too busy to travel, and he was too. Mindlessly forgetting about each other and not meeting again hurt less.

When he had to retake a year, he hesitated to call you. He was ashamed of himself, you were supposed to go to the same college in the same year.

When he finally got his acceptance letter, he didn’t call you. Steve had a feeling you got into college and that your life was going well. He knew he was right.

But it had a good outcome, Steve retook his senior year and moved in with his best friend to start a new chapter in his life. A life that he wanted to enjoy, free from the pressure of his parents and the small town that made him feel so small.

Their first year wasn’t easy. Steve spent most of his time in his dorm, and Robin did too. They didn’t go to parties and didn’t seem too excited about meeting new people.

He felt like a total stranger like he didn’t belong there. He picked the same coffee shop he was working in to hang out, he picked the public library over the school library because it looked terrifying.

Steve spent most of his weekends and days off studying, he was at the top of his class. Whenever he wrote an essay, it reminded him of you, but not as a sign of hope, just a reminder of his small town years.

Robin spent most of her weekends traveling to Hawkins to meet her girlfriend, Chrissy. Taking Steve’s car and cleaning it for him as a thank you.

Steve didn’t meet anyone else, he didn’t want to get attached. If anyone leaves, what’s the point? He was only close to two of his classmates, that was enough for him.

———

“Do you know who’s moving in?” your roommate asks, Diana was always aware of every gossip around college. It was your second year being her roommate, she slowly became your best friend.

“No, who?” You ask, not really wanting to know but giving her satisfaction again.

“A new couple! I hope they aren’t as loud as the last ones.”

“Please, I need to buy new headphones just in case.”

Diana laughs, walking towards her room to place some of the new boxes she moved in. You asked if she wanted help, but she didn’t because her brand new date was going to join her.

You decided to head up to the public library, knowing you had never been there and wanting to explore a new world. It was a couple of blocks away so you had to take the bus.

———

Steve and Robin were driving around their new neighborhood, looking for their new apartment. They were singing the songs on the radio, even if Robin didn’t know most of them because her music taste was original. But Steve knew every one of the trendy songs.

They stopped at a red light. Robin got distracted by two dogs ‘kissing’ each other. Steve looked away with a face of disgust, and that’s when his eyes fell on you.

He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, were you really there? Was he hallucinating? Maybe the smell of coffee is doing some damage to his brain.

But it was you, wasn’t it? without the signature choker, without the thousands of bracelets, and without the red lipstick always staining his shirts. Then it wasn’t you. You had glasses now, a gold chain around your neck, and your hair was slightly lighter.

The bus blocks his view; he wants to scream at it to move, and when it does, you disappear—or the hallucination he had of you disappeared—the honk of the car behind him makes him jump, the green light is on, and he has to move.

“Steve! Are you okay?” Robin shouts, scanning Steve’s face. He looks pale, confused, and scared.

“I think I just saw a ghost,” he says, looking over Robin and then the road ahead.

“You are only nervous, the apartment will be good, don't worry. If they scam us, we have Chrissy to defend us in court.”

“Yeah, stop it lovebird. We are here.”

The apartment buildings look so tall, almost intimidating. Steve drives around looking for the parking lot, and when he finds it, he and Robin take a moment to process it.

"I'm scared too, but we should go in. The moving truck will be here, and we will have a lot to do,” Robin says, taking Steve’s hands and giving them a light squeeze. “We got this”

“Yeah, we should go in now.”

They go over to their apartment, meet their landlord, and get their keys. The moving truck comes a couple of hours earlier, and they move in their new stuff after cleaning the apartment.

A couple of empty boxes and a lot of wrapping paper later, they are done. They only need the heavy couch.

“Even if I help you, we won’t be able to do it”

“I know! I’m thinking”

Steve and Robin are stressed now. Steve’s hair is disheveled already, and Robin’s mascara is smudged around her eyes. They had a long drive, and now they are so tired of getting the apartment ready.

“We should just knock at our neighbors. Their screams stopped.”

“Yeah, I should buy new headphones for that.”

He points in the hallway. Robins walks out of the apartment and knocks on the door. After a few knocks, the door opens, and Steve joins them.

“Steve? You are Nick’s friend, right? I saw you with him the other day,” a guy asks, introducing himself as Eric.

“Uhh yes, Nick! Nice to meet you."He shakes his hand. “This is Rob, my friend.”

“Nice to meet you!” Eric says, “This is my..."

“I’m Diana, nice to meet you guys,” she waves at them.

“So, we need help moving on our couch. Could you help us?” Robin asks.

“Please, we are a great team, but that couch is very heavy,” Steve says. “What if you help us, and we invite you to eat some pasta? I saw a new Italian restaurant a few blocks away.

“Sure, we can help!” Diana says.

The four of them carry the couch with ease into Steve and Robin’s apartment, they thank their new neighbors, and they all high five, looking proud of themselves.

“Thank you again, guys, we should go. I'm starving!” Robin smiles at them, and they all nod but Diana.

“Can I invite my friend? She can meet us there,” Diana asks. They all nod, but Eric.

“No way! She hates me,” he says, shaking his head, taking Diana’s hand, and stopping her from going into their apartment.

“I told you it would take time. She is protecting me,” she says, dragging Eric with her into her apartment. “We will see you guys in a minute.”

“Sure, take your time,” Steve says. Their neighbors leave and shut the door behind their backs.

When they are gone, he wraps his hands around Robin’s neck. He looks over the apartment and smiles.

“We made it,” he says.

“We made it!” She says back, hugging his waist and rubbing his back.

They break the hug after a few minutes, looking over the almost finished apartment. There’s some stuff left to unpack.

“Wait for Chrissy to see this, she is going to love it.”

“Is she coming? Tomorrow?” Steve asks, looking at his friend and her lovesick smile.

“Yes! I think I'll finally ask her the question"

“Already? Isn't it too soon?”

“Dingus, when you know, you know. Life is short, we can’t lose time stressing over everything,” she says, rubbing his shoulders. “You will find someone, maybe not, you know who, or maybe you will. Let time choose.”

He knew Robin was talking about you. Even if Steve moved on and got his shit together, he was still missing you and the part of him you took with you. No matter how many dates he had, how many times Hopper talked to him. He wanted you, something far from impossible.

“You should write that on a note and put it in the fridge." They both laugh. "I'm very proud of you.”

“Don’t make fun of me, or you will lose your best man spot. I will give it to Eddie.” Robin gets a napkin out of a box and cleans her mascara.

“Hey! Who used to drive you everywhere and still does?”

“I'm joking!”

“I know,” he says, giving her a pat on the back. “Good luck with your proposal.”

“I still need a ring, not all of us carry our grandmother’s rings everywhere we go.”

“Shut up! I'll help you get a ring.”

“Yes!”

They high five again, and they hear knocks on the door. They see their neighbors again.

“My friend isn’t coming, I think she is with her boyfriend. But we can go now!”

“Yay! Sorry about your friend."Robin gets closer to Diana, leaving Steve behind with Eric.

“Aren’t you together?” he asks.

“No, we are friends. Platonic with a capital P!” Steve replies, walking to the door and joining the girls.

“Cool, maybe you can date Teddy and smooth the anger out of her,” Eric says.

“Teddy?” Steve asks, walking to the parking lot.

“Oh, Di’s best friend,” he says, pointing at Diana. “She has this weird ass white teddy bear, and since then, I call her Teddy.”

“Oh, funny,” Steve says. A weird white teddy bear? No, no, it can’t be. His heart pounds harder against his chest, and he gets back to that night. The diner, the flowers, the beanie baby, and then someone who looked like you at the bus stop.

This can’t be real, he won’t get his hopes high again.

“Are you okay, man? You look scared,” Eric asks Steve, stopping him after he puts the key on his BMW. “Can you drive?”

“Yeah, I can. Don’t worry,” Steve says, his free hand over his chest. “It’s just something that happens.”

“He sees ghosts!” Robin shouts, making everyone laugh.

“We should walk guys, it isn’t that far,” Diana adds.

“Yeah, we could use some fresh air,” Robin says.

They all walk to the restaurant, enjoying a fun night. All of them get the feeling they’ll be close, but tonight they treat each other as strangers. Not sharing all but funny stories and college adventures.

———

When Diana gets home, you are already there, she walks over to the couch to wake you up and help you get to bed.

“Did you talk to Jake?”

“He picked me up from the library, we didn't-"

“Another time will come."

You hum, walking with her to your room. She closes the door, and you walk towards your bed, put your pajamas on, and slip into bed. You try to sleep, trying to keep all the midnight-crushing thoughts away, with the BMW in the parking lot on your mind, it looks very familiar.

———

It’s only 8 a.m, and you sit at home, eating your oatmeal bowl with strawberries, bananas, and a cup of coffee you’ve made yourself. You point to the cup you made for Diana, it has been sitting there for a few minutes. Maybe she wanted a cold brew instead of a nice hot cup.

“One is Rob, and the other... I don’t remember.”

“Di! You are really bad with names.”

“Are you sure you don’t want ice on your coffee?” you joke.

“No, and yeah, I was a little stoned too, that’s why I don’t remember well.”

“That’s always going to cost you, babe.”

“I know, but I can introduce them later! We are all going to a party, and Rob will pick us up after work because the girl had to see her girlfriend.” She chugs her cup of coffee and puts her jacket on.

“Are you sure his name is Robert?”

“No, it’s Rob!” She still looks unconvinced, but you leave it. “Anyway, is Jake picking you up?”

“I don’t know, we aren’t really on speaking terms.”

Jake was your boyfriend a couple of weeks before he asked you for a break, and you haven’t “fixed it." He picked you up from the library yesterday, and the whole ride home was quiet and uncomfortable, but something tells you it isn't going to last.

“Call him! He is good for you.”

“I’m not sure about that, but I’ll see you later then.”

“I’ll see you later, babe!”

“Be careful!”

———

You finish washing the dishes and go back to your room to get ready for the party. Minutes later, Diana and Eric show up to drive you to the house. It’s the first party of the semester, and everyone seems pretty excited about it except you. You know if you see Jake again, he will probably break up with you, rip off the band-aid, and go to the girl who has been hanging out with him at the gym.

But you go, not wanting to miss out and excited to see some of your friends who arrived in town. It might not be the best night, but at least you’ll have a cup of cranberry juice with vodka to survive.

You arrive at the party early, not wanting to talk to anyone, yet you get closer to the table in the middle of the dining room and make yourself a cape cod. When it’s done, you get to the living room and sit on the couch, watching as people come over, and some of them wave at you and say hi before going for their drink.

Jake arrives with a girl by his side, He gets closer to her ear to whisper something, and she turns around as he walks to you.

“Can we talk?”

“You are going to break up with me, aren’t you?” You pinch your eyebrows together.

“Let me explain.”

He sits on the arm of the couch you are sitting on, so close to you. You can already hear his words muffling and how sorry he is about all of it, making up excuses to let you know it’s not your fault he is doing this and the two of you should end your relationship now. Avoid telling the truth and spinning around the subject, reminding you of all the good moments but also all the fights and “breaks” you had.

You look at him through your eyelashes, your tears rolling down your cheeks. Your now ex-boyfriend pinches your chin with his fingers, not letting your gaze fall to your lap or the cup you hold in your hand. He whispers “I’m sorry” thousands of times more, and you refuse to move, feeling the warmth of his fingers against your face for the last time. Then he leaves you alone to find his date, and you wish the earth could swallow you whole.

———

When Steve gets to the party with Robin and Chrissy by his side, he lets the two of them look for a place while he gets their drinks. The house is so tiny that everyone is squeezing each other and bumping into each other on the way to other rooms. Everything smells like alcohol and weed, and even the floor is sticky, but after all, Steve manages to get to the dining room and look for the red solo cups. He takes one and pours tequila into it. He drinks it, feeling the burn down his throat as he keeps his eyes closed. He needs more of these to survive the night.

He looks around, recognizing some people he used to see around in his first year, some of them are customers in the coffee shop he works in. When his head looks over to the living room, he sees the girl from the bus stop, the one who looks like you.

Steve gets even more confused as you chug your drink, the solo cup covering your face. He turns his head away from the view, even if it’s not you, his mind betrays him.

Where’s the real you? What are you doing right now? Do you have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? A child? A cat? Are you married?

The question that hurts more is the one he used to think about almost every night. Would he see you again?

He tries to enjoy the party as soon as he sees the girl leave. He misses watching Diana run after you and try to comfort you.

Your friend takes you home, and Steve stays until the party is over, and he is a bit more sober to take Robin and Chrissy back to their apartment.

———

“Robin? Why did you leave so soon?” Steve asks Robin over the phone, while he tosses empty boxes and bags around.

“We are getting you breakfast! Jesus, what’s your problem?”

“I’m hungover, and I forgot I have to send this email before twelve, but I can’t find my laptop charger, and I can’t find yours either!”

“Shit, I took mine because Chrissy needed my laptop, but I'm sure yours is in your room. We unpacked everything.”

“Fuck! I’ll call you back.”

“Ask Diana for one!”

Stressed out, Steve hangs up the phone before listening to Robin’s last words. Of course, he can ask his neighbor for a favor, and he knows Diana is nice.

He gets out of his apartment, and a few steps later, he gets in front of the door. He knocks a lot of times to get Diana’s attention, or maybe Eric’s. Steve doesn’t remember if they got back here from the party, but it’s worth trying.

As the door opens, he takes a step forward. “Hey! My laptop charger broke, and I have to send this very important email-" He takes a deep breath, not believing who is in front of them. “What-”

“It’s you,” he whispers, feeling a knot in his throat and rubbing his clammy hands together.

“It’s me” You rub your eyes one more time, getting rid of the blur on your eyes from being woken up. “Steve?” Your heart starts to beat against your chest so fast that you swear it’s hurting you.

Steve stares at you, it’s like the first time he saw you all those years ago. He didn’t believe in love at first sight until he felt his body giving up and just yearning for you. He feels it all again, you look even more beautiful than before, but with your signature heavy gaze.

“I'm sorry if I’m interrupting, I can just...“

“No? no. Uh, come in, let me find my charger.”

This is not how you imagined seeing him again. The last time you dreamt about him, you were seeing him for the first time at the Hawkins airport, You ran to him, and he caught you in his arms, kissing every inch of your face. And now, with your heart beating faster than ever and your feet carrying you to your room, you can’t help but feel like you are having a nightmare.

You hurry up, find your charger, and run back to Steve.

“Here, you can keep it. I have two of them,” you say. He still looks at you with his mouth slightly open and his eyes studying every part of your face.

Keep it. He knows you are doing this because you are nice, but a part of you still recognizes all the love you once had for him. Or have, because it never faded away. It’s still your Steve, slightly older and with a confused expression on his face.

He takes the charger from your hands, your fingers touching him for a couple of seconds. When you finally lock eyes with him, you can see his glassy eyes while yours look the same. He didn’t want to believe it was you, you were so close all this time.

“I thought i’d never see you again,” you whisper, almost inaudible, but he can hear it. As if its ears were trained to hear even the lowest tone of your voice.

But the air feels tense, awkward. He doesn’t say anything, and you stand in front of him like before, frozen in your place as a wave of anxiety washes you over. You stare at each other, trying to avoid all these feelings rushing through your veins.

“I need to send this email, I’ll be right back.”

He goes back to his apartment, leaving you and your overwhelming feelings alone. You close the door to your apartment and take some time to process everything. Steve is here, your Steve. The boy you once called the love of your life, the only boy you’ve ever loved.

You weren’t sure you were going to see him again. You gave up on it a few months ago, knowing it would take a miracle to see him again. And he was so close to you all this time.

When you hear the knock on the door again, you open it faster this time. Steve stands up in front of you, watching your tears roll down your cheeks. He wraps his arms around your body, hugging you so tightly as if you were going to disappear. Your arms hug his torso, letting your head fall against his chest for a second before your sighs turn into sobs.

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” Steve whispers, convincing himself to not let you go. He fears the alarm will go off and he will have to wake up from his dream.

“I know, it feels like a dream, please don’t let go,” you say, as if you were reading his mind all this time.

“I won’t”

Steve rests his chin on your head, letting his own tears fall. You stay in the hug for a long time, feeling his warmth against your body, and his arms push you closer to him. You dig your fingers in his back, wanting to feel him more and wishing for this not to be some sick joke.

He places one of his hands on your head, kissing your forehead, before leaning back and searching for your face.

“Hi,” you say as you look at him, tears on his face just like yours.

“Hi,” he smiles, slightly. You do the same, looking at every inch of his face. Remembering all the moles your mind seemed to forget with the time.

You admire each other, letting your mind take you back to Hawkins and all those years you spent together.

“I missed you so much,” he says, slicing the awkward silence with a knife, now rubbing your back and trying to get you relaxed. As your sobs stop, you let go of him and invite him inside.

“I missed you too.” You smile again. The inches separating you are killing you, but there’s too much to say and feel.

“You stopped calling,” Steve says, with a sour tone in his voice you’ve never heard before.

“The phone works both ways.” You bite back, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Protecting you from what’s coming.

“I-” Steve mutters, avoiding your eyes and looking all over the room.

“You? What? Did you forget about me?” you ask. “We made a promise.”

The mix of feelings that sit right at the top of your chest starts to reveal themselves. It’s all so confusing, and you weren’t prepared for this. You want to blame him for the time lost, but you know it’s also your fault.

“Why are you bringing this up right now? I saw you for the first time at a fucking bus stop and thought I was going crazy. It’s too much!”

Steve feels relieved; his mind wasn’t betraying him, and he wasn’t going crazy. It was really you—the new you.

“Just say the truth. You didn’t answer my call when I got into college or when I moved in.”

“You called?”

“I called your house since you didn’t reply to my texts or emails. No one answered.”

“I got into a fight with them, and I moved in with Hopper. I was having a hard time, I’m sorry.”

He confesses. You see the way his lips turn into a pout, his tears threatening to fall again.

“What happened?”

“I messed up, had to retake a year.”

"Oh,” it’s the only thing you can think of. Some things made sense, but you still had a lot of questions.

“I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed and so disappointed in myself. No one heard about you, or your family, so I thought you didn’t want to see me, and I had the feeling you were fine without me.”

“We had to move again, two times. But this is the college of our dreams, I didn’t see you here the first year. I thought you chose a different one.”

“You know me, I don’t break promises.”

He looks back at you again, it takes everything in him not to walk to you and kiss you. It takes everything in you to not do the same.

“Listen, I have an interview today, but can we have dinner? I still have a lot of things to say, a lot of things to ask, and it’s been so long.” you blur out.

“Sure, I have a shift at the coffee shop, so I’ll see you at seven?”

“Yeah, that’s okay, Where do you work?” you ask, suddenly shivering. It’s really him, this isn’t a dream.

“In a coffee shop that’s on Main,” he replies, “I know you never go there, I would’ve seen you.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Right. Diana mentioned a boyfriend. His heart suddenly stops, fearing that he is seeing you again just to lose you again.

“I know,” he says, resting his hands on his hips, looking around the room to avoid your eyes again. “Good luck on your interview.”

“Thank you, good luck on your shift." You can feel the awkwardness coming back, the uncomfortable silence threatening to come back. “I’ll see you at seven!”

“I’ll pick you up here,” he says, You can only nod before he turns his back on you.

"Stevie,” you say. He is about to open his front door when he hears your voice again.

“Yes?” he says, turning his head slightly to see you. He missed that nickname, you are the only one who calls him like that.

You want to keep talking and confessing your true feelings right now, but you have things to do. He is more important than everything else, you got him back, you don’t want to waste time.

“Say hi to Robin for me.”

He nods, then walks into his apartment. You close the door of yours once again.

Fear and excitement occupy most of your brain right now. You are praying for him to still want you, to love you back as much as you've loved him this whole time. Being his best friend would be a great start, but being back to be his love sounds even better.

IV. You are the best thing that's ever been mine.

Steve paces around his apartment, Robin and Chrissy are back, and they watch him mumble something under his breath.

“Everything will be fine, you will talk to her and get back together,” Robin says.

“What if she has a boyfriend? What if she is in love with someone else?”

“You can always steal her away, Robin did that to me." Chrissy joins the conversation.

They have been talking about you for hours. Steve decided to exchange his shift and stay home while Robin was taking her day off. He was too distracted to go to work today.

“Dingus. Stop it! You are making me dizzy." Robin gets up, reaching for Steve’s hands and making him look at her. “You’ll see her when she is back, you are going to take her to that restaurant and talk like the adult you are. Okay?”

"Hot,” Chrissy blurs out.

“Thank you, sweetheart." Robin looks at her and winks.

“Gross, get a room, you two!” Steve’s disgusted face makes both girls laugh.

“You can do it, dingus. You’ll get her back.”

“I’m not sure if she feels the same or if I feel the same.”

“Didn’t you say she hugged you so tight you almost ran out of breath? That’s a good sign.” Robin’s hands travel to Steve’s shoulders, shaking him up and trying to wake him up from whatever nightmare he is making up in his head.

“And don’t start. You’ve been rejecting girls, having failed dates, and looking like a lost puppy whenever you see a girl that looks slightly like her. You two are still in love, from what you tell me and from what I feel.”

“You are right, I'm still in love with her. But it’s been a long time. I changed, she changed too.”

“Changes are good, I know it because it was hard for me to accept the real me, but I took that step because I wanted to be free,” Robin confesses, stopping Steve from giving up. “Talk. Try. You met again for a reason, don’t let that go to waste.”

Steve nods. “What would I do without you?” He hugs Robin for a minute before hearing some voices in the hallway. He hears the front door open and close, which means you and Diana made it home.

“You’ll be lost without me! Good luck, dingus.”

“Go get your girl, Steve!”

Steve walks to your door and knocks, to his surprise, Diana opens the door.

"Hi,” he says nervously. “Is she here?”

“Yeah, she will be ready in five.”

"Alright,” Steve says, his hands clammy again, and he finds himself shaking.

“So, you are the guy she has been talking about nonstop.”

“I guess yes,” he replies, feeling his heart racing again. You’ve talked about him.

“Good for you,” Diana says, before you step in.

"Hi,” you say, looking at Steve again. You find this odd, but you are thanking whatever it was that brought him to you again.

"Hi,” he replies, his gaze heavy on you as he takes everything in. Your soft voice, the sweet smell of your perfume.

“Home by ten!” Diana jokes, making you laugh and shake off the anxiety that took over your body.

You walk away from the apartments, with Steve by your side. He glances at him from time to time, and you do the same.

“How was your shift?” you ask him, trying to get rid of the awkward feeling that washes over you again.

“I didn’t go. Too distracted for it,” he says, looking over at you as you walk to the parking lot. “How was your interview?”

"Good,” you sigh, not wanting to ramble about it at this moment. “I hope I get the job.”

“You will, you can do anything,” he says when you reach his car, noticing it looks the same way as before.

Nothing has changed, just time. Everything feels the same, like it froze, letting time pass over it without a single consequence.

Steve looks at you, his brows knit in a frown, and he is almost chewing his lip.

“If you want to ask something, just do it,” you say, making him shiver. “I know you, maybe not so well anymore, but I do.”

“What if your boyfriend sees us?” he asks.

A chuckle falls from your lips, shaking your head and pushing the hair out of your face.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, he broke up with me yesterday, and I saw it coming. I’m over it.”

“Oh, do you want to talk about it? We can stay at home, i can leave you alone, and we can reschedule our dinner because i don’t want you to feel like you.”

“I’m still in love with you,” you interrupt, confessing. With a soft look in your eyes, Steve gets lost in them. “I’m sorry, I can't waste any more time. I need to get this out of me. I’ve been looking for you in everyone, everywhere. You are here, and you look the same, I know time has passed, but I believe my love for you has kept you exactly as I remember you.”

Steve doesn’t know what to do, the truth is, he has been waiting to hear those words for a long time. He has been waiting to see you, to hug you, and to kiss you.

“I’m still in love with you too,” he says, running his fingers through his hair, pushing his golden locks back. The sun is setting completely, and you can still see how it shines. “I never got over you, I was forced to move on because i felt like I didn’t deserve you. And I never wanted us to fall apart, I needed you all this time.”

He gets closer to you, his chest almost bumping into yours. He hesitates to kiss you in the moment, even to touch your hand. The setting reminds him of the last time he saw you, your last night at Hawkins.

“If you want, we can try to make up for the lost time and give it another try.”

“I’d love that.”

He gets closer now, with your confession turning into an invitation. Steve places both of his hands on your cheeks, rubbing the soft skin with his thumbs. It takes you back to that night, it feels like you are relieving that moment just to make it right this time.

“Baby-” he is so close to your lips, his words tingle your lips, and you never stop looking into his eyes. Those sweet brown eyes you missed so much.

“I’ve missed that, honey." He laughs at the nickname, but it still makes him shiver and smile like a little kid.

“And I’ve missed you, kiss, please?”

Steve nods, pressing his lips against yours. It’s a soft, slow kiss. You can feel the breeze of the cold night on your face as you flush when Steve leans his head to the side to trap your bottom lip between his lips to taste you. You close your eyes, savoring the moment. One thing you forgot and cried for every night was this.

His warm lips against yours, his taste. His hands squeeze your cheeks as you press your body against his.

It’s the first kiss since that night, two years have passed, and this still feels so familiar. So safe. The kiss is even sweeter thinking of all the time you’ve dreamed about this, of all the unspoken feelings you communicate to each other with everything your lips brush.

When air is needed, you lean your head back a bit. You giggle at the same time, and he places a kiss on your forehead. Happiness takes over you, it feels like floating.

“I still have that beanie baby, you know?”

“I do, Teddy.”

“Don’t call me that!” You hit his arm slightly, and he chuckles while rubbing his arm dramatically.

“It’s cute, it suits you,” he says, leaving a peck on your lips, resting his hands on your hips this time.

“It’s ridiculous!” You scrunch up your nose, and he leans in to smooth it off with a kiss. “Let’s go eat, I’m starving.”

“Only if my dessert is going to be this sweet girl, the universe got back to me,” he says, picking you up, his arms hugging your waist. You can feel your feet dangling in the air. You tangle your arms around his neck so you don’t fall when he spins you around.

“Yes, yes, I'll be your dessert!” You giggle as you feel his lips on your cheeks, and when he stops, you peck his soft cheeks back. “In which house?”

“Oh, I don’t know, it depends on how loud you are.”

“Stevie!” Your cheeks glow red, and he laughs at your sudden flushed face.

“I’m joking! we‘ll figure it out later." He doesn't stop hugging you, even when he puts you down, your feet are now touching the concrete of the parking lot.

“Which one?” you ask, teasingly. Trying to hold back the giggle that is about to escape your lips.

“Both!” Steve says.

You get back in his car, and he proposes the idea of repeating everything you did that last night but with a different ending. You find a nice diner, not as nice as the one outside Hawkins,but it does the job. The old jukebox is there to dance after you eat burgers and fries and you end up stealing his cherry again.

When he picks up the sun, you get up from the booth where you are sitting and run up to him. One of your arms rests around his neck, and the other hand is holding your hand. He interlocks his fingers with yours while his free hand sits on your waist. He pushes you to his chest, the closest he can get you to him, and you start to sway around the checkered floor of the diner. Dancing like nobody's watching, again.

“You are the best thing that’s ever been mine, baby." He sings along with the song before kissing you again.

“I’ve always been yours, honey”

This night is even more magical than the last one, and you’ll have tons of them.

tags: all @munsonology @emistrash @livsters @paybacksawitch @ali-r3n @keeksandgigz @babybatlover @fanfictionlover277353 / steve @stveharringtn @double-vision-in-a-rose-blush

please please reblog to support your creators! comments are appreciated !! my ask is always open if you have any feedback. thank you so much for reading ♡

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come-see-our-show · 4 months

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I saw an early screening of the Mean Girls movie last night, so here is a summary of my thoughts, comparing the movie musical to the Broadway musical, which I was lucky enough to see live in 2018!

Changed that I liked:

The usage of social media in the Broadway show made it very clear that it was written by adults who didn’t know much about Gen-Z. It was probably one of the worst parts of the show in my opinion. But Tina Fey must have done her research since 2018, because the way the movie uses TikTok, memes, vlogging, and FaceTime to push the story forward worked VERY well. I think there were some influencer cameos, but it didn’t feel they were included to show how “young and hip” they were, It actually added authenticity.

The diversity within the cast and changing last names to reflect the characters’ backgrounds (Karen Smith ➡️ Karen Shetty, Janis Sarkisian ➡️ Janis 'Imi'ike)

Cutting down “Meet the Plastics.” It’s a very exposition-heavy song and doesn’t need to be super long, even though the full version is quite catchy and fun.

All of the new jokes landed so well, probably because Tina Fey’s writing style is better suited for the screen as opposed to the stage.

This is more of a comparison of the musical vs. the original film, but a big change was The Plastics’ weaponized wokeness (which I talk about here).

The production design for most of the songs was very different. The stage musical has a lot of rock songs, which were changed to a pop sound for the movie. I personally prefer rock musicals, but it was a good way to give the movie a separate identity from its predecessor so it doesn’t risk becoming a carbon copy. It worked on some songs (“Someone Gets Hurt” and “World Burn”) but not on others (“A Cautionary Tale” and “Revenge Party”).

Cutting the joke about Regina’s ass being big. It was a very low-brow joke, which I’m not a fan of, and was just really immature. Thank God that was changed to her falling, which still shows her being embarrassed without her body being the joke.

Explicitly making Janis a lesbian! (It’s only implied in the stage show with “It’s not even true… I only have one butt”) And she goes to prom with a girl while Damien dances with a boy! ALSO THERE’S REJANIS LORE AND IT’S SO HEARTBREAKING I LOVE IT

megan thee stallion just… being there

Miss Norbury and Principal Duvall being a couple and owning a dog together!!!

As a low mezzo, I appreciated whoever decided to lower the key for “I’d Rather Be Me.” I felt very represented 🩷

Having Cady be raised in a single-parent household so it focuses in more on her relationship with her mom. Jenna Fischer was so motherly and sincere and brought a warmth to the movie. Their scene together near the end made me emotional (you’re never too old to ask your parent to stay with you until you fall asleep) (also this is my request to make jenna fischer my mom)

Changes that I didn’t like:

Cutting BOTH of Damian’s solos??? (SHE’S LEAVING!!!!!!!! JUST LIKE MY DAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Cutting “More Is Better.” It wasn’t necessarily a memorable song, but it did give both Cady and Aaron more depth, both as separate characters and within their relationship.

While cutting some of the songs helped with pacing, cutting HALF of the score made me forget that it was a musical sometimes, which sucks because I really like musicals!!!

Other stuff:

The movie was marketed horribly. One of my friends didn’t even know it was gonna be a musical because there were no songs in the trailers 💀 (Also, this isn’t just a Mean Girls problem. The Color Purple also didn’t have any songs in the trailer. I didn’t even know Wonka was a musical until I saw it in theaters, so that was a bit of a shock.) If you’re producing a musical movie, maybe your focus groups should be musical fans, because that’s still a HUGE market.

Auliʻi Cravalho’s voice is STUNNING! She and Jaquel Spivey had great chemistry and their friendship felt so genuine!

The opening and ending transitions from the garage were everything to me

The EDITING

Angourie Rice is a great actor and fit Cady perfectly… except for her singing. Out of the entire cast she was easily the weakest in terms of vocals and it was pretty disappointing since she’s the LEAD. I could barely hear her in the new song “What Ifs” because of how quiet and breathy she was. I think it’s a better written song compared to “Roar” though.

Jon Hamm cameo!

Ashley Park cameo!

I cannot stress enough how funny this movie was. I was probably laughing louder than everyone else in the theatre.

I lost my shit during “Meet the Plastics” when Regina unzipped her jacket and Cady was staring at her boobs. She’s just like me fr 🏳️‍🌈

I know that Regina is a horrible person but I couldn’t find it in me to dislike her in the slightest. She just served too much cunt 😩

Christopher Briney is a good actor, but I don't think he was the right choice for Aaron Samuels. I would hate to ridicule anyone for their looks, but it still plays an important part in casting. Aaron is supposed to be a somewhat naive, wholesome, hot jock (and Regina has high standards, so he better be a fucking model). Briney is definitely a cutie, but gives off “smoldering badboy with a secret sensitive side” energy, which isn’t what Aaron should be.

The fantasy sequences (Stupid With Love, Revenge Party, October 3rd). I LOVE when movie musicals USE the medium to tell stories in a way that they can’t on a stage!!!

THE CHOREO!!! Everyone freezing then shaking in “Someone Get Hurt” AHHHH that entire number was HYPNOTIZING!!!!!!!!!!! My friend told me the choreographer’s name is Kyle Hanagami, so shout out to him. (also reneé rapp was so fucking hot while singing that oh my lord)

I will be calling my pimples “face breasts” from now on (avantika ilysm)

DAMIAN’S FRENCH COVER OF THE ICARLY THEME SONG 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

why was there a 0.5 camera shot of cady during revenge party 💀

“I’d Rather Be Me” was so much fun and I felt so fucking empowered. And the transition from the song to the bus was just *chef’s kiss*

“donut worry i am still your freend” 🥺

Lindsay Lohan cameo!!!!!!!!!

NOT ENOUGH RENEÉ RAPP 😭😭

Overall, the movie was not perfect, but the Broadway show already had plenty of flaws, so it’s understandably how that would affect the adaptation. I still a LOT of fun and would definitely see it again. Go stream Snow Angel by Reneé Rapp. i love women 🥰🥰🥰

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bettyfrommars · 4 months

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Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

Part 1: Big Girls Don't Cry

Eddie x fem!Reader

MASTERLIST PLAYLIST

It's 1987, the same year the movie Dirty Dancing was originally released. 21-year-old reader is spending the summer with her dad and aunt at an all-inclusive resort in Indiana while she figures out what she wants to do with her life. After that summer, nothing will never be the same. Eddie is in his late 20’s and works as maintenance staff, he is also the frontman for the house band, begrudgingly delivering top 40 hits for the guests, and a secret third thing. When work is over, there is a completely different scene happening at a place the employees call The Hideout. Wayne is the head maintenance man, Chrissy is a metalhead, and a few other surprises. Bonus: Steve as a sexy, tattooed musician because I can't help myself.

my blog is always 18+only, MDNI please. The only warnings for the first chapter have to do with mention of a death of a parent, mention of grief, allusions to depression, a tiny bit of aggression, and alcohol consumption. But please read chapter warnings as the story progresses, because there will be angst, hurt/comfort, violence (fighting), and smut. Reader is called Bird as a nickname.

A/N: this is a rewrite of an OC fic I wrote over a year ago, and damn, I really needed to change a lot because my writing has evolved so much. I know I posted a snippet last week, but it's all been changed. Thank you to those who have been excited about this, I know Dirty Dancing is a cherished film, so I am treating this retelling with reverence, while adding some creative spins, and I truly hope you enjoy. The ST characters in this fic do not know each other in the same way they did in the show. For instance, Eddie, Steve, and Chrissy all grew up together, but I do my best to stick with their original character traits. This first part lines up very close with the film, but after that, it diverges and becomes a bit different. Same story line, but also not.

Part 1: Big Girls Don't Cry

word count: 6.3k

The soft murmur of a talk radio station hummed in the cement gray Mercedes-Benz 560, with your dad behind the wheel and his sister, your aunt Kim, in the passenger seat. From the backseat, you stared out the window with your headphones on, wishing for rain. The scenery was what you would expect from a place on earth that everyone considered idyllic, but you’d been exposed to so much lush greenery with that bright blue, theater backdrop of a sky for the last hour that you were starting to get a headache.

You pushed your wayfarer sunglasses up to rub the bridge of your nose, and then flipped the tape over in your Walkman before clicking it shut to press play. You were listening to a mixtape you’d made especially for the trip, the spine even said “road trip from hell”, but the first one on side b was Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac, and you closed your eyes for the next several songs. You were doing your best not to think about how you’d be trapped in BFE Indiana for a whole month.

You were also doing your best not to think about how your mother would not be home when you got back, or worse yet, the fact that you would never see her again. Never feel her generous hugs in those Laura Ashley dresses, smelling of Shalimar; never hear her voice at the other end of the line reminding you to eat something.

Your aunt said your name and your eyes snapped open. It was perfect timing because tears were beginning to form at your lash line. She had turned around in her seat and was trying to get your attention.

You pulled your headphones down around your neck. “Sorry?”

“The lake,” the expression on her face harbored more excitement than you’d ever felt in your entire life. “Isn’t it gorgeous? We’re going to get pedicures at the spa tomorrow, I already booked it.”

You glanced at your father’s stoic profile and then back to Kim. You felt bad for your aunt, getting stuck on a trip with two sad, mopey fucks who were too depressed to get excited about the things that thrilled normal people. You were the walking wounded.

“Pedicures, great,” your smile did not reach your eyes, but she didn’t seem to notice, as her enthusiasm doggedly refused to wane.

It had been almost four months since you lost her, and the world was still too…bright. Everyone was so talkative and alive and you couldn’t relate.

You looked out over the smooth expanse of lake that was nestled perfectly in the trees like you were in some type of miniature scale model rebuild of a town. Your aunt asked your dad, Owen, if he was still listening to the news, and when he shook his head, she changed the radio station to a golden oldies station and was satisfied with the tune Big Girls Don’t Cry by Frankie Vallie.

“You’ll love this cabin, Bird,” your dad said to you as the Mercedes crested the hill and began to maneuver down to your destination on a narrow, two-lane highway flanked with towering trees. A big green and white sign welcomed them to Hawkins Landing. “There’s a whole top floor where you can set up for your lessons.”

You turned away, back to the window, hiding the way your nose wrinkled. You thought maybe a perk of this getaway would be to have a break from practicing the cello you’d been tied to for over a decade, but no luck. He’d been forced to give up his dream of being a musician, and now you were expected to carry the torch for him.

You tried to come up with one thing you did in life that was not to please someone else, or boost some idea they had about you, and couldn’t come up with squat.

Besides reading. And taking long walks with music to clear your head. Those two were yours, and they could only be taken from your cold, dead, hands.

From the Hawkins Landing brochure your aunt had given you, it was clear that the property was enormous. Some 30 or 40 guest cabins scattered around, a main house that functioned as a hotel but also housed two different restaurants. A golf course, boat rentals, tennis courts, an outdoor theater, and a third restaurant situated on the water. Along with the full service spa, there were indoor and outdoor swimming pools, plus any class you could imagine wanting to take, from salsa dancing and water skiing, to chess and crochet.

Hawkins Landing was like a camp for adults who enjoyed alcoholic beverages.

There was a security checkpoint at the main entrance with two guards inside. The taller one with the neatly trimmed red beard recognized your father from the jacket cover on one of his many books. Thrillers mostly, horror if you squint. He nervously asked for an autograph, but Owen was very polite, adjusting his tortoise shell glass as he took the black marker that the guard was offering him.

After the checkpoint, it wasn’t long before the road opened into an expansive rose garden with a large fountain dead center, and the big main house with its wrap-around porch just to the right. You pushed your sunglasses up to get a look at the people mingling around, getting the idea that the median age there was 45, and it was mostly families.

The guards had given your dad a foldout map of the property and told him to check in at the main house to get the keys to the cabin they were staying in. The car moved at a crawl at the roundabout, and then came to park where a sign announced new guest check-ins.

Your dad told you to sit tight while he went in to grab the keys, and your attention trailed off to a black golf cart with a white awning that wheeled in like a racecar and took position in front of the Mercedes. It sat there close to the curb, idling. You could see there was a woman behind the wheel, and she was looking straight ahead, giving you her profile. Chin length, dark gold hair, just long enough for a ponytail, and the words “Hawkins Landing Staff” written in yellow cursive on the back of her navy blue jacket. Where her sleeve was pushed up at her elbow, you noticed some type of tattooed lettering there, and her fingernails were painted black.

Up ahead, you caught sight of someone strolling down the sidewalk toward the car with a hand in his pocket. It was a guy with honey tipped chocolate hair styled in a pompadour with a curl that bounced at his forehead, wearing tan chinos and a maroon, button down short sleeve with the square bulge of a pack of smokes in his front pocket. A tattoo peeked out from the V of his shirt, and there was another design on his bicep. He wore a pinky ring on one hand and rolled a toothpick around in his mouth as he sidled up to the golf cart to say something to the woman driving it. They bumped knuckles and talked for a bit like they were very familiar, him with one foot up on the running board of the cart.

“Steve, there you are,” from the open window, your attention bounced to a short, dark haired woman who’d just come out of the building and stood alongside your dad on the sidewalk. A closer look told you that her name tag said Joyce.

The guy with the toothpick in his mouth straightened, smoothing the front of his shirt with his hand. “Hey Joyce, I was just—”

Apparently uninterested in what he was about to say, she took him by the crook of the arm. She introduced you all by your family name, and let him know that you were “her special guests”, and you assumed that had to do with your dad being a famous author, or maybe she said that about every new family. While you chose to not do much else than offer a small wave from the back seat like you had no autonomy, Kim got out to greet them properly.

“This is Steve,” Joyce gestured to him with a Vanna White hand. “If you ever want to take guitar lessons this summer, he’s one of our best.”

“Or, if you just want to have some fun,” Steve’s eyes seemed to be searching Kim’s face, and then he shrugged. “I mean, I run the boats on the dock too, so if you want to ski or—”

Kim got flustered and tried to find her words, fussing with the lapel of her corduroy jacket in a way you’d never witnessed before. “I’m…I mean, sure, who wouldn’t want to be on the lake at a place like this?”

Kim hated boats and got seasick very easily, so you found her new interest amusing.

Joyce politely waved Steve off and he went, albeit reluctantly, backing up with slow steps to wave farewell. The smile stretching across his face grew wider the longer Kim couldn’t take her eyes off of him. When he was finally jogging up the sidewalk to get to where he needed to be, Joyce continued to try and sell Kim and your dad on the resort, even though you were already booked for the month.

“Sunday night is Bingo night. There’s karaoke in The Antler Room on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and you need to check out our house band if you can. They’re playing tonight on the back patio, and the rhythm guitar is sensational. She used to perform with Vixen and Lita Ford,” she handed over the necessary keys and pointed the way to get to the cabin on the map.

“Just follow us,” Joyce said, hopping into the golf cart next to the girl with the forearm tattoo.

They led the way down a long, winding stretch with lush lawn and manicured hedges on either side, littered with people coming up from the pool in their bathing suits. There appeared to be a Tai Chi lesson happening on the lawn near the rose garden, and some type of painting class going on just above them on a balcony.

Made you wonder why summer people always had to stay so busy.

The cabin you’d be staying in was down a side road, tucked at the end of a private driveway with a view of the lake. It had five bedrooms, which was more than enough, but one of them would immediately turn into Owen’s writing room so that he could work on his latest novel.

You were careful to tuck your Walkman into your bag as the Mercedes coasted into its parking spot. Squinting up at the place, you were somewhat distracted by how much you liked the creepy, old feel of the whitewashed cabin, and you underestimated how far from the curb you were when you stepped out, stumbling to the side.

The girl with the forearm tattoo caught you in both arms, preventing you from putting all of your weight on your twisted ankle.

“Whoa,” she moved her supportive grip from your waist to your elbow as you righted yourself. “You okay?”

Your heart shot into your throat, and then you coughed a laugh, covering your face. “What a way to start the summer.”

She said her name was Robin, and there was a polite handshake exchange. She tripped over her words a bit. “It’s not every day that someone falls for me.”

“Well, I’m pretty clumsy, you might need to stay close,” and the two of you shared a self-conscious laugh as you led the way to the trunk full of baggage.

When you reached in to grab your suitcase, Robin teased, “hey, that’s my job,” before leaning further in to take the oddly shaped black hard case, the satin of her jacket skimming your arm. She struggled with it at first, but then held it up by the handle and gave you a sideways look.

“This yours?” She asked, cocking one eyebrow up. “You’re a musician?”

“No, well, yes I am but no I, I play the cello,” you stammered, not sure why it was hard to get the words out. “But here, I can carry that. It’s big and heavy and—”

Robin winked. “I got it,” and then she snatched another suitcase with the other hand and shuffled by you to make her way up to the porch.

Once you were all settled inside and Joyce had explained all of the amenities, you and Kim pushed back the curtains and watched the two go from the living room window. Just before they took off in the cart, Robin sent you a wave.

“She looks like a nice girl,” Kim had her arms folded over her chest. “Maybe the two of you could—”

“I know you’re worried about me, okay, but I don’t need to make any friends this summer,” you were holding the case for your cello in front of you with both hands, using it as a metaphorical barrier. “I like being alone.”

By the time you put your stuff away in the bedroom you’d be staying in, your dad was already typing away in his writing room, you could hear the keys of his Selectric click-clacking.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” you called across the rustic but spacious cabin living room. “I’m going to look around the main house.”

Kim barely caught your words as she was struggling with her glasses to read an ingredient label as she put some dry goods away in the kitchen. “Mhmm sounds good, have fun. Be back in time for dinner, we have reservations at…whatever that place is called. Your dad knows.”

You tapped the Swatch on your wrist and gave an absent wave over your shoulder.

With your headphones on, you made your way down to the main sidewalk that split off in two directions, bordering either side of the swimming pool and tennis courts. You found the bike path that wound down along the lake to the boat dock, and then up into a lush pocket of dense forest. Two teenage girls on rollerblades almost crashed into you as they bolted around the bend, giggling. Trying to decide if you wanted to go toward the water or into the woods, you watched a staff member veer off onto an uneven stone pathway and your curiosity was piqued.

Creeping along in their wake, you marched up a hill for what felt like forever, with Bring on the Dancing Horses by Echo and the Bunnymen playing in your ears, until you realized with a start that you’d already arrived at the main building. It loomed up ahead like a mansion from some old gothic romance novel.

You continued to plod your way along the trunks of trees, until you spotted a group having a chat on the wide porch, and took a few steps back.

They were all leaning against the railing in a semicircle, facing each other, so that you could see the Hawkins Landing Staff on the back of a few of their navy jackets.

One of them was Steve from earlier, next to him was a girl with a blonde ponytail, and then two others.

“I met that author guy today,” Steve took a drag and then blew the smoke up in the air, away from everyone’s face. “The one who wrote Darkness on the Hill, that one they made into a movie.”

You realized that it was your dad he was talking about.

Not looking where you were stepping, you caught your toe on a tree root and your arms windmilled before you were able to find your balance, floundering to duck behind another tree. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, trying not to gasp at the pain in your foot. Grimacing, you turned the volume down on the headphones that were around your neck to better hear what they were saying.

“That actor from that one show about law and order is staying in cabin 8,” the girl with the ponytail said. “Housekeeping says he finishes a bottle of whiskey a night.”

But then, there was another voice. “Now that sounds like a great fucking vacation to me,” followed by the heavy footfalls of boots on wood as a new person approached the group.

The sight of the new arrival made you feel like your brain was wiped clean—-the whole world came to a screeching halt.

Swallowing hard, all of your attention tunneled on him; his long dark hair with bangs that crowded his eyes, a thin but muscular build, tattoos scattered over his exposed arms, and a leather jacket hooked over his shoulder with one finger. He combed a hand through his hair as he walked, chunky metal rings catching the light, and headed over to the blonde girl. You took note of every movement as she passed him her half-smoked cig and he gave her a quick kiss on the temple.

Was that his girlfriend?

He stepped back to introduce the younger guy he had with him. “This Jamie, my new maintenance trainee,” he used the hand holding his smoke to point to each one on the balcony individually. You really didn’t pay attention until he got to the blonde one. “...that one there is the lovely Chrissy, and the moody one with the hairy chest is Steve. They’re the other musicians I told you about.”

Jamie had short black, curly hair and a hoop piercing in one ear. He lit his own smoke while the metalhead started in with a story about a pump exploding at the pool house, complete with wild hand gestures.

“Hey, there the fuck you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you losers.”

Another voice, another person making their way down the long stretch of squeaky wood planks from the front of the building. You stepped closer, snapping a twig under your foot, eliciting a worried lip bite.

Everyone stayed right where they were, but for Eddie who moved in front of Jamie in a protective way. The guy approaching at a stroll had very nondescript good looks with his wheat blonde hair in a tight cut that looked freshly trimmed. While the others were dressed more casually, this one wore a white dress shirt and tie with black trousers, as if he had some fancy place to be.

“You talking to me?” The metalhead flicked his cigarette ash and stepped forward to meet the new guy before he could come any closer to the group. “Cause, if so, you might want to change your tone, precious.”

“Eddie, don’t,” Chrissy said, and then she stood up, addressing the guy in the suit. “Jason, what the fuck do you want?”

Eddie, you moved your lips, whispering the name to yourself. His name was Eddie.

Jason put his hands up in mock surrender. “Why so hostile?” He turned to Eddie. “Joyce has been trying to find you for an hour. There’s a toilet backed up in one of the cabins, and trash that needs to go to the dump. Sounds to me like you’re having a hard time doing your job, Munson.”

You scuttled like a crab, moving to a spot where you could see their faces instead of the backs of their heads.

So that you could see Eddie’s face.

Steve checked his watch and pushed off of the railing to snub his cig out on the bottom of his shoe. “I gotta run. See you bastards at the show tonight,” he said in passing, shoving both hands into his trouser pockets. He walked right into Jason, shoulder checking him, before casually going on his way. Jason shot him an evil look.

“Well,” Eddie took a deep breath. “Tell Joyce I got the message,” and then he motioned for Jamie to follow him.

“Too bad we can’t take you out with the rest of the trash, freak,” Jason mumbled, loud enough for you to hear every word, and a tension crackled in the air.

The metalhead stopped dead in his tracks and drew his shoulders back.

When he finally turned on his heel, he wore a satisfied smirk, inclining his head, as if he’d been waiting for Jason to say something all along.

Chrissy moved as if she were about to go over and break up whatever was about to happen, but one of the others put a handout and stopped her.

“Just keep sending your laundry home to mommy, baby boy, and leave the real work to me,” Eddie said, and then he flicked the butt of his cigarette at Jason’s face.

Jason moved his head just in time so that the hot cherry missed his cheek by a hair and bounced off the wall behind him, spraying sparks. Chrissy and the others snickered at how beet red Jason’s face got, but he didn’t say another word, he just waited for Eddie and Jamie to be far enough away before he went back around to the front entrance.

When the coast was clear, you stood and made your way to the path again. With a curse you realized you were going to be late for that dinner reservation, and picked up speed to a slow, sad jog.

You found yourself thinking that maybe being trapped at Hawkins Landing for the summer wouldn’t be so bad after all.

—----

Your aunt Kim gave you an exasperated look when you all finally sat down for dinner, being that you’d made everyone 20 minutes late for the reservation. There didn’t appear to be a single open table when you arrived, but Joyce had made sure to keep the one by the window facing the gardens open for your party. She came around to introduce the guy who was to be your waiter, and you sat up a little straighter in your seat when you realized it was Jason from earlier. The way he’d been dressed out on the porch made sense now, as his uniform was the same as all of the other waitstaff.

Near the end of the meal, Joyce returned to the table in her black pencil skirt and fitted jacket, but this time, she was with a guy who you could tell wanted to look like Don Johnson in Miami Vice, but it came off more as Gary from Weird Science.

“I'd like you to meet Troy, he’s the son of Mr. Brenner, the owner of the resort,” there was a reluctance about her, as if she’d been forced at gunpoint to introduce him.

Troy stared at you with an uncomfortable intensity, making your attention fall to your plate.

“I’m in charge when my father isn’t around,” Troy said with a smug grin, putting his hands in his white trouser pockets, and you spotted some type of metal retainer on his teeth.

Joyce cleared her throat, annoyed that his statement was far from true. But she recognized that it was part of her job to indulge the little shit.

“I just graduated with a business degree from Georgetown,” he gloated, giving you a wink. “This place will all be mine one day.”

Your father exchanged a look with your aunt over his chocolate mousse.

“Well, it’s nice to know someone else your age here, isn’t it, Bird? Maybe you two kids should go have some fun tonight,” Kim chirped.

If your aunt wasn’t so far away, you would’ve kicked her under the table.

Troy bent at the waist so that his face wasn’t far from yours. “I’d love to show you around after dinner, if you’re interested in a tour?”

Before you could issue a vague excuse like, “sorry I can’t, I have a headache,” Kim spoke for you again.

“I think that’s a great idea,” she even clapped her hands, applauding it.

In the end, you went with him to make Kim happy, to get her off your back, hopefully for the rest of the trip.

An hour or two with a pretentious prick wouldn’t hurt you.

—-------

Troy wasn’t bad company, but he was quite full of himself. He had interesting stories about his extensive travels, but then he also told awkward stories that were possibly fibs about how many models he’d dated, and expanded on how he wanted to be married with two kids by the time he was 30.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t imagine thinking that far ahead, and he wouldn’t let you get a word in edgewise.

You followed close behind through the huge, busy kitchen of the restaurant you’d just dined in, and he tried to hold your hand when he introduced you to the head chef, but you were sly, and pulled it away to cross your arms over your chest. He gave you a tour of the ballroom and took a stroll through the other restaurant on the opposite end of the building that had a much more relaxed feel, low lighting, red carpet, and a bar at the center.

You went down to the boat docks and walked along the pier. The stars were breathtaking, but Troy didn’t notice, he was too busy trying to convince you to go out on his boat with him. You declined, taking a page from Kim’s book to mention a freshly born curse of violent seasickness.

You had your elbows on the railing at the pier, enjoying the velvet reflection of the crescent moon in the lake, and you could feel your jaw grow tense under the weight of Troy’s stare.

On the verge of telling him you were ready to head back to your cabin, the sound of music drifted down from somewhere on the property.

Yes, no mistaking, it was Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money, but it was being executed with someone else’s voice, and whoever that person was had some serious pipes.

And then there was the distinct sound of a feminine voice chiming in with the parts from the song Be My Baby Now by the Ronettes in the chorus.

"Is that a live band?" You turned away from him to try and find the source of the music. It wasn’t coming from the restaurant on the water or any of the cabins to your right.

"There's a cover band every Friday out behind the main house. You want to check it out?" He held the crook of his arm out to you and hesitated before you took it. His ego sufficiently stroked now that you wanted to spend more time with him.

Around the side of the building, overlooking the golf course, was a huge, fenced in back patio garden area with a private hot tub and pool for hotel guests. Troy led you through a white arbor wound with ivy to find that there were plenty of people mingling, drinking, and dancing. The area was mostly manicured lawn, with stone pathways meandering around from a concrete floor that was right in front of the small riser that was meant to be a stage. You imagined that a million weddings had taken place there.

At the door was a bar, and Troy got you a flute of champagne, which you downed with abandon and asked for another. While he was getting your second glass, you made your way along under several boughs of white string lights to get a view of the stage and who was performing the top tier Eddie Money cover.

Just as you stepped into the crowd of people shuffling to the beat, you stopped dead in your tracks.

There he was at the mic: Eddie the metalhead.

Guitar slug low at his hips, wearing a tuxedo with light blue cummerbund and bow tie, his hair neatly combed back and fixed into a knot at the back of his head so that you could really see the curves of his face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was performing the song against his will.

The rest of the band were dressed similarly, and you instantly knew the one strumming the bass guitar as Steve, and the woman on backup vocals rocking on the rhythm was Chrissy, who wore a conservative skirt and flats. There was also a keyboardist and a drummer, both of whom you did not recognize.

“What’s your major?” Troy asked, breaking your reverie to pass you the glass of champagne. “In college?”

You were confused for a second but then, “oh, I took the year off to…figure some things out.” The full truth of it was that you had dropped out completely and had no intention of going back.

“I spent a summer in Greece my freshman year,” he offered, unprovoked. “The women there are, wow, so smoking hot.”

The song finished and Eddie took his tuxedo jacket off, rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, exposing the scattered tattoos you’d noticed earlier. He leaned over to whisper something to Chrissy, motioned at the drummer, and then stepped back into place, brushing a loose wisp of hair off his cheek.

“Find someone special for this next one,” he told the crowd, and was answered with a rush of murmurs.

The first notes to In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel, a slow song, lit up the space, and your stomach tightened, fearing that Troy would ask you to dance. As he escorted you to the floor, you tried to keep your head down and stay to the back of the crowd, but Troy kept maneuvering you closer to the stage.

I get so lost, sometimes

Days pass and this emptiness fills my heart

When I want to run away

I drive off in my car

But whichever way I go

I come back to the place you are

You watched the performance from over Troy’s shoulder and followed his lead, shifting from foot to foot. You were mesmerized by the muscles in Eddie’s hands as he played each note, and the way Chrissy came in like an angel on the chorus.

He’d captured the attention of everyone in the garden at that moment, and there was a group of women watching him from the sidelines, whispering to each other, possibly about how they wanted to eat him alive.

They were all thinking the same thing you were: Eddie was magic.

He liked to close his eyes when he sang, so you weren’t expecting him to be staring right at you when he opened them again.

All my instincts, they return

And the grand facade, so soon will burn

Without a noise, without my pride

I reach out from the inside

He wouldn’t break eye contact, so you eventually had to; the intensity of it was giving you butterflies.

Troy stepped back and tried to get your attention. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

You nodded, but your gaze only drifted back to Eddie. Troy followed your line of sight and then dropped both of his hands with a frustrated cluck of his tongue.

"What the hell is he doing up there?" He hissed to himself when it dawned on him that Eddie had been behind the mic that whole time. "That's our goddamn maintenance guy. He shouldn't be up there."

In a huff, Troy pushed through the crowd and headed over to one of the other staff members against the fence. Bird could see him shouting and pointing over at the stage. Whatever the staff guy said did not seem to cheer him up a bit, and he came back to your side, shrugging his shoulders.

"I guess our normal front man Drew has the flu," he reported back. "It's just so hard to find reliable help these days."

Eddie was making the song his own, and that was what you liked about it.

“Let’s get out of here,” Troy put his hand on your lower back to escort you out. “The music sucks.”

—--

It was 9:30 when you made it back to the main foyer, standing in the middle of the lobby next to an obnoxious floral arrangement, when Troy tried to get you to go back to his cabin and watch a movie, only to get respectfully declined.

“Don’t worry about your parents,” Troy said, brushing his finger over your chin. “They know you’re with me, so they’re probably the happiest parents at Hawkins Landing.”

The guy had quite an ego on him, you had to give him that. It was unsurpassed by most.

In the end, you got away, and as soon as your Mary Jane’s hit the cobblestones outside the front door, you could feel yourself trotting at a quicker pace, eager to put some distance between you and Troy and everyone else, for that matter. You didn’t stop until you were far enough away from the main hotel to be able to check over your shoulder and not see it through the trees.

It was then that you realized that you had a free chunk of time, and you could do with it whatever you wished. Your dad would think you were still with Troy, and as long as you made it back to the cabin before midnight, they wouldn’t worry.

As much as it was the dead of summer, Indiana by the water had very cool nights, and you buttoned up the jean jacket you were wearing just as you noticed a yellow sign on a lamppost to the right that said: Staff Quarters, No Guests Allowed Beyond This Point

And that made you want to venture in even more.

You checked around to make sure there was no one there to notice that you blatantly ignored the sign, and just kept going. The path at your feet changed from stone to a well-worn dirt path through the grass, and it wasn’t long before you could hear the sound of music erupting in the distance.

You passed by staff quarters, a few weathered red cabins with white trim, lined close together, and there were some people hanging out on their porches who gave you curious looks, but didn’t seem too concerned with your presence.

Following the source of the music, you descended down into unknown, poorly lit territory that no longer looked like it was part of the Hawkins Landing property.

(song playing in the distance is Dangerous Meeting by Mercyful Fate)

It was then that you noticed a pale yellow light coming from the windows of a building up ahead. Just as the dirt path turned to gravel, you identified the music you were hearing as heavy metal, and it was bolstered by distinct shouts and cheers, even a high-pitched scream or two.

“Hey,” a voice startled you from out of the dark and you jumped. “What are you going out here?”

Heart racing, you spun around to find out it was Robin.

She was struggling to carry several things in her arms as she walked and you rushed over to her.

“Where did you come from?” You asked, grinning ear to ear at how glad you were to see someone familiar.

“My cabin is right over there,” she bucked her chin in a direction behind you.

She had a crossbody bag over her shoulder, an amp in one hand, and she was juggling two guitar cases, one of which she fumbled, and you managed to catch it before it hit the ground. You wrapped your arms around the hard case with the Scorpions sticker on it, silently offering to carry it the rest of the way.

“You don’t have to—” Robin started, adjusting the bag over her shoulder.

“I want to,” you looked back up at the house where the music was coming from, assuming that was where she was headed. “I carry that big cello around all the time, remember? I’m used to it.”

Robin moved her jaw from side to side and she looked conflicted. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Your eyes were still locked on the house hidden in the trees. “What is that place?”

“Listen,” she gave you an imploring look. “I will get in so much trouble if they find out you came out here. Your dad won’t want you here, trust me.”

Her warning did nothing to squelch your curiosity. “I’m a big girl, I go wherever I want. Plus, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Besides,” she gave you a knowing look, raising her eyebrow. “If your boyfriend Troy finds out you were here, Brenner will fire all of us.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you snapped. But then, softer, you added, “I barely just met him tonight.”

Robin wasn’t in the mood to try and rip the guitar out of your hands, and so, with a heavy sigh, she caved.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But stay close to me, okay? You’re not at the resort anymore, sweetheart.”

You nodded, waiting for her to lead the way.

She took a step forward and then stopped and turned on her heel to point at the instrument in your arms.

“Be extra careful with that, it’s Eddie’s baby. He’ll grow horns if anything happens to it.”

----

Hi! If you are familiar with the movie Dirty Dancing, you have an idea about what scene is coming up next. I've really enjoyed lining up certain events with the movie, but things will obviously be different in this because I want it to have some surprises in store for you.

Every chapter from here on out will start with a list of the songs, ones that will give hints for what to expect. I wanted to make music a big part of this fic, because it was a huge deal in the movie, and the original soundtrack is still dear to me.

as always, thank you so much for reading and interacting with this story! Comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated. or send me an ask and let me know what you think ❤️

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taglist: @tlclick73 @micheledawn1975 @kurdtbean @katethetank @elvendria @spookysqaush86 @somethingvicked @stylesxmunson @laurenlokirby @sapphire4082

#Dirty Metal Summer #dirty dancing au #Eddie Munson series #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson smut #Stranger Things fic #Steve Harrington #robin buckley

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