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shadeysprings · 5 months

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Eyes of the Devil

—Boss!Andy Barber x Assistant!F!Reader

Summary — Happiness blinds you from the horror that looms around the corner.

Warnings — noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, forced oral (m receiving), betrayal, blackmailing, cumshot to the face and implied kidnapping if you squint. Mean!Andy is present.

Word Count — 2.7K

A/N — My first entry for @thebasementspouses The 12 Men of Christmas Writing Challenge. This is also the first time I'm writing for Andy. And honestly it was hard yet fun ^^ Should you expect more Andy from me in the future? Fuck yeah.

Shoutout to my betas by @vellicore and @lunarbuck. But all mistakes are mine alone.

Gif by @barneswilsonrogers

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

Once again, you’re burning the midnight oil.

With the holidays fast approaching, Dolores in accounting has you working double time on filing the pending paperwork that needs to be audited before the year ends. Even so, it’s work you don’t mind—you have nowhere to be and no one to see, your cubicle serving as a fortress, your home away from home.

“Aren’t you heading out yet?” You look up from your computer to see Mr. Barber smiling down at you, his coat hanging from his arm where the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up his elbows. He already looks run down from the day’s work, yet he still manages to be chipper.

“Just finishing up on some tasks, Mr. Barber.” You respond with a smile. “I’ll get going as soon as I’m done.”

“Is that the year end report?”

You nod and hold back the sigh that wants to escape. “Dolores doesn’t want to wait until the last minute to finish it so she’s asking for the report 3 weeks in advance.”

“Seems a bit early, don’t you think?” You think he’s talking to you, but his eyes are cast down, his lips twisted in thought. He must have forgotten that he approved her early leave, yet you don’t find it in you to correct him. “Well, you take it easy then. I wouldn’t want you getting too worked up over it.” Your boss says, concern laced in his voice. “Just finish what you can. And if there is anything I can help you with, you just say the word.”

“Don’t worry, Sir. I have everything I need—just have to double check then compile them before sending them off to her.” The assurance you give seems to placate him, and you feel a sense of joy that you see him about to take off.

Not that you don’t enjoy talking to your boss; he’s the only one, aside from the other department heads, you interact with on a daily basis. But he’s still the CEO, and you can’t help but think about his rank and see him as a superior, even in an informal setting.

“Very well. I’ll leave you to it.” He says, the smile once more present on his lips. But before he leaves, he adds, “Oh, before I forget,” Mr. Barber places a festive paper bag on top of your desk, one you failed to notice him holding when he passed by your desk. “Merry Christmas.”

A gift. Something you never expected to receive from your boss.

“Oh, you didn’t have to bother, Sir.” You tell him as you stare at the bag in awe. A plain white box is nestled between the sheets of pink and purple paper when you peek inside.

“It’s really no trouble. Just a little something I picked up from my overseas trip last week.” He explains, the smile on his face seemingly growing wider, more playful, something you’ve never seen on him before. “I hope you like it.”

You return his smile. “I’m sure I would, Sir. Thank you.”

A snow globe. That’s what Mr. Barber gave you.

But it isn’t just any snow globe, no. It is a limited edition collectible of your favorite cartoon character. You don’t even know how he got his hands on one, with it being sold out within minutes of being released, or how he even knew it was your favorite—probably from the small figurines you keep on your desk—but you feel elated just by looking at it.

You examine it with excited hands, curious at the button that sits underneath the base. They never advertised it as something electronic. You press the button, and to your surprise, a soft melody plays as the faux snow within blows on its own, making it even more magical than you thought it to be. A tiny blue light at the chest of the character begins blinking along with the tune, a squeal of glee leaving your lips.

It has you thinking of buying him a really good present, one of equal value to the one he’s given.

With a smile, you stow away the packaging and set the snow globe on the shelf where you keep the rest of your collection. This one, though, has a special place at the center of all the others, the star of the show as it should be.

You stare at your computer in shock.

The image of you naked in bed, one hand on your tit, and the other grasping a toy with the other end buried in your cunt with your face twisted in pleasure. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you immediately close the image, looking around to see if anyone witnessed it as well. But no one resides on this side of the floor aside from you and Mr. Barber.

Panic rises in your throat as you try to think who sent it to you. But most importantly, how they got such a picture of you in the privacy of your own home.

Your computer pings once more, and your stomach turns when you see the same unknown email address pop up from the corner of your screen. You don’t dare open it, too afraid of its contents. Instead, you delete it, even empty out the trash all the same to completely purge it from existence.

Beads of sweat form at your nape, the beating of your heart growing heavier by the second as the fear continues to bloom in your chest. What do they want? Why are they doing this to me? The thoughts swirl in your head, and all you can think about after is going home to hide. But you can’t; they’ve made it known to you that the place that should be the safest no longer is. They only have footage of you in your room, but it isn’t certain that they don’t have eyes in other parts of your apartment.

“Do you have a moment?”

Mr. Barber’s voice startles you, making you sit up straight in your seat and look up at him with wide eyes. The smile on his face dwindles and turns into a curious frown, most likely recognizing the trepidation painted on yours.

“Is something wrong?” He asks, worry laced in his voice. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uhh—yes, Sir. I just—I think my breakfast isn’t sitting well in my stomach.” You lie, but you’d rather let your boss know that you’re about to shit your pants than telling him the truth.

“Maybe some soda would help? Or I think Angie in HR has some medicine you can take.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll figure it out.” You tell him, forcing a smile to hopefully stop him from prying any further. “Did you need help with something?”

As if remembering what he came to you for, he says, “Ah, yes. I actually do.” Pulling away from your cubicle, he adds, “I made some changes to my itinerary for my business trip—I was hoping to run them by you.” But there’s still apprehension visible around him as he makes his request known. “Do you have time to come to my office? Or do you want to grab some fresh air first?”

You want to say yes, to deal with your anonymous harasser head-on, but deep down, you know you can’t. The fear would only grip you tighter and render you useless for the entire day, and the last thing you want is to show your boss an ounce of incompetence and a chance for him to ask what’s running in your head.

“No.” You respond, already standing from your seat. “I can step out after our discussion.” Grabbing the folder you compiled for his trip and snatching your notepad from your desk, you follow him back to his office.

Work will help you take your mind off of things.

“Lock the door, please.” Mr. Barber instructs, and you do as you’re told. “If you can just take note of the new arrangements I made.” You step over to the side of his desk, taking the sheet of paper he holds out to you.

Yet shock grips you once more when you look down at it, your hands shaking as the sheet he gave you has the image that was sent to you earlier printed on it.

“You—”

“You scream and I’ll send it to the entire office.” Mr. Barber says, his concern from earlier is now gone and replaced with something vile as he looks up at you from where he’s seated. “So be a good girl and kneel.”

You don’t understand what’s happening. How did he get a hold of this picture? Was he sent the same email? Has your harasser already done the unthinkable, and your boss is using it to his advantage? Unless—

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Sweetheart.” From the way he says it, you know it’s a threat, and the one he said earlier circles in your head that you quickly obey, placing the folders in your hands atop his desk and getting down on your knees. You watch him with fear as he rolls his chair closer, trapping you between his thick thighs.

“Sir, what’s g—”

“Did I say you could speak?” Mr. Barber scolds, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger and forcing you to look up at him, his sapphire eyes looking darker than you recall. “You do what I say when I say and that includes talking, am I clear?” His words weigh heavy in the air, and you can do nothing but nod your head in agreement. “Good girl. We don’t want the entire company receiving such a scandalous Christmas present, do we?”

You shake your head, too afraid to speak, knowing he hasn’t permitted you to do so.

A sinister smirk forms on his lips, and you keep your eyes on the button of his white shirt when he releases your face. You swallow thickly in fear, already knowing what comes next, what he would have you do as his hands fumble with the buckle of his belt and the zip of his pants.

He groans low, the sound, although soft, echoing loudly in your ear when he pulls his cock free of its confines. It’s already stiff from what you can see, with precum beading at the tip. You shiver when he places a hand on your shoulder, fingers tapping, caressing the fabric of your chiffon blouse before he wraps them around the back of your neck.

“If you can fuck yourself with that toy, I’m sure you know how to suck a cock.” He utters, his other hand taking his length and tapping the tip gently against your lips. “Think of this as a performance review. You please me well enough, I might just give you a raise.” It’s a challenge, one you know you have no way of winning.

With shaky hands, you take his cock from him and stroke it a few times. Fear envelops you, the small space he’s trapped you in rendering you claustrophobic that you feel the pounding of your chest right at your ears. Slowly, you part your lips and wrap them around the tip, disgust rolling in your stomach as the pad of your tongue presses against the underside of his cock.

But all of a sudden, he pushes your head down, forcing you to take the entirety of his cock. Tears pool in your eyes when he hits the barrier of your throat, choking around him. You try to pull away, doing your best to breathe through your nose while you push a hand against his stomach and the other slapping onto his thigh.

You want to pull away, to spit him out and endure the humiliation of having your colleagues see the vulgar image, but Mr. Barber—no! He deserves no respect! But Andy is being forceful, keeping his hand around your nape and holding you down longer. Until finally, he lets go, and you gasp for air as you pull him away from your mouth, spit dripping while you cough profusely from the roughness he’s bestowed.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” He says between chuckles, taking you by the back of your head this time and pushing you back between his thighs. “We’re just getting started.”

He doesn’t even give you enough time to recover from his assault when he drives his cock back into your mouth, the saliva gathered at your tongue serving as lubricant, one he uses to his advantage as he pilots your head up and down against him.

His groans of pleasure fill the expanse of his office, mixed with your muffled grunts of revulsion and torment. Though you do nothing to fight back, afraid of the consequences you’ll suffer if you do and choose to endure his depravity, to allow him to use you as he so desires.

“Did you like my gift?” He says between shaky breaths. “I knew it was perfect.”

The snow globe! But why?! Why is he doing this to you?!

Shutting your eyes tight, you do your best to shut him out, to think of someone else, someone from your past who’s receiving the lustful deed of your mouth. But the way he says your name, the ways his voice continues to permeate your senses, makes it all too difficult. That it’s only Andy you feel, Andy who controls.

Tears stream down your face when he takes hold of your face with both his hands. Instead of guiding your head the way he wishes, he fucks your mouth with reckless thrusts. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you after I saw you playing with yourself.” He says between grunts. “Couldn’t stop thinking of what else you could do.” Once, twice, several more times, the tip of his cock hits your throat. You stop yourself from gagging, staying strong to please him and deciding to pleasure him, hollowing your cheeks and caressing the veins of his cock with your tongue.

If he finishes soon, your torment will be done as well.

Placing your hands over his, you move to your own volition—much to his surprise when you hear the grunt from his chest and the way he frees you from his hold. You take more of him, all of him, one hand reaching to caress his balls while the other strokes what you no longer fit in your mouth. You even moan for added effect to make him believe that you enjoy what he’s thrust you into and that you share in his pleasure—one you can confirm when you feel him throb between your lips.

But once again, he surprises you, gasping when he pushes you off of him, yet his hand returns to the back of your neck, keeping you in place.

“Open your mouth. Eyes on me.” He commands, and you do as you are told. Sapphires look down on you, even darker than before, and you hang your tongue like a dog while he takes his cock tight in his hand and strokes himself fast. Within seconds, he lets out a garbled grunt, and you close your eyes in horror when hot strings of white shoot out of him and paint your lips as well as your cheeks.

You’re crying once again, confusion swirling in your head. He played you for a fool—infiltrated the safety of your home without even so much as trying, because you let him in. But you fail to understand why. Why he’s treating you this way, why he even thought about treating you like this.

You think he’s done when he leans back in his seat and loosens his hold on himself. But that’s far from it. Andy chuckles, deep and dark, pressing the tip against his come and smears it over your lips, pushing it once more into your mouth.

“Swallow.” Another command. “Suck me clean.”

And you do. The warmth of his seed scalding your throat, and you fight the bile that rises in return.

“I already booked your holiday leave,” Andy says breathily with a sinister grin, his thumb rubbing at the back of your neck.

You look at him with wide, fearful and curious eyes. What? Holiday leave? But you never booked one.

His laughter then fills your ears, seemingly sensing your distress. “It’s the changes to my business trip—you’ll be accompanying me.” He answers, slipping his cock out and taking your chin, rubbing his thumb against your lower lip that’s still sticky with his come. “I need all the time I could get to see if your cunt feels as great as your mouth.”

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber #dark andy barber #eyes of the devil #tbschristmaschallenge #defending jacob #chris evans characters #shadeysprings fics

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hencvl · 11 months

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Mine. I [Remastered]

Dark! Clark Kent x reader. Warnings: dark fic, forced marriage.

Summary: you finished your night shift and you feel someone was following you.

A/n: sorry for any mistakes that i made, English is not my first language. I also don't give permission to post my works on any other platforms such as Wattpad, Ao3 etc.

my masterlist

series masterlist

read pt. 2 >

You curse under your breath as you walk down on the street, clutching tightly on your coat. It's 12 a.m at midnight, you just finished your shift and on your way to your apartment. You reluctantly use this route because it was the closest to your place.

You shiver as you feel the cold air against your skin, even if you are covered in many layers of coat, you can still feel it. Winters can be fun, but also can be annoying at the same time.

You checked your phone as it was buzzing, a message was sent from your roommate. You have been living with him for over a year now, yet both of you barely know each other.

Clark-

i leave some dinner leftovers in the fridge.

You-

Mkay.

You looked around as you felt someone following you from behind. You could feel an unknown presence since you left your workplace, yet you choose to ignore it.

You turn your heels around to see who it is, but only to find nothing. Suddenly, a hand covered your mouth to muffle your scream, your back was pressed against the stranger's chest

“whaa- help!”

You fight the figure, wiggling and squirming in his hold. You know you shouldn't be using this route at all! what the hell have you got yourself into. You kicked the stranger's ankle, but it was a futile attempt.

“stop resisting.” he spoke in a harsh tone, gripping you tightly. The last thing he wanted to do to you was hurting you.

No, you're too precious to him.

Instead, he took out a pad that he dabbed with Chloroform earlier, and slammed it on your nose, letting you breath the toxin.

“noo..ummf..”

Seeing you fall unconscious in his arms, he smirked as he caress the beautiful face of yours while engulfing your small figure in his warm embrace.

finally. Months of watching you from afar, admiring, longing for your touch and warmth he finally got to hold you in his arms. He would not let this opportunity to have you go wasted.

The man looked around the alley, afraid if someone did watch his deed. Once he was convinced that everything was clear, he looked back at her with a wicked grin.

“sleep tight, my bride”

You take a sharp breath as you blink, only to find yourself spawled on a soft mattress. You tried to move but failed, too exhausted as you lay back. The bed moved a bit as you heard a groan next to you, a muscled arm makes its way to your waist, bringing you closer to a toned bare chest.

You stayed still, telling yourself that it's just another nightmare. But it's not until you feel a warm breath fanning on your neck before he placed a soft kiss on it before whispering right into your ear.

“what are you trying to do, my dear?”

His voice is deep, whispering at you soothingly as he caresses your waist. He lifted himself and got on top of you, finally got to see his face.

You study his Adonis looks, from his curly hair, trailing down to his handsome face. His icicle blue eyes are the most beautiful things you've ever seen, so beautiful yet so cold.

His jawline is sharp, like you could hurt yourself just from tracing it. He let you stare at him. What a romantic scene it was. Like the beauty of flower petals formed from two colors, becoming one solid entity.

You couldn't help but gawk, how can someone be so fine like this? The thought left your mind immediately as he shifted from his position a bit, leaning closer towards you. He brushes his succulent lips against your cheek, like a predator finally gets to devour its prey.

“wait- who the hell are you? why am i here?” you said, as you sat up on the bed and backed up from him.

“you don't need to know.” he replied, groaning slightly as she made a distance between them. He wanted to hold her in his arms again and never let her go.

He tried to reach out to her again, grabbing her ankle and pulling her towards him with a squeal. Even though she tried to resist him, she seemed to be liking his touch.

A smirk made its way to his face, adding the handsomeness in his features that got her melted.

little did he know...

“argh!” he let out a pained groan at the sudden kick on his crotch. She kicked him hard in the balls that got him shaking slightly from the after effects.

You immediately jumped out of the bed, abandoning the mysterious man that was about to hold you captive and your backpack. That doesn't matter now. Your life matters.

Running down from the apartment, you look around trying to ask for help before the man comes and captures you again. Luckily there's a cab pulling up on the road once they saw you.

“this is madness!”

#dark clark kent #clark kent x female reader #clark x reader #clark kent #superman #superman fanfiction #clark kent imagine #dc comcis #henry cavill characters #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic

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selarina · 1 year

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She’s giving me The Maybes

→ Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Summary: Suna isn't entirely sure why he’s driving at the peak of midnight to your place – a place that is almost half an hour away – to kill a fucking cockroach.

Content Warnings: friends with benefits, friends to lovers, fluff, smut (MINORS DNI), angst, realisation of feelings, suna’s perspective for the most part, cockroaches, unedited work

Word Count: 5.7k words

Author’s Notes: The final part. Beware of graphic description of a cockroach.

Not going to lie I lost motivation to finish this series up but I’m glad I did. This is part 4 of a series, but it can be read as a standalone.

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

You

12:03 am: Suna

Oh? He peers down at his phone, his palm covering the entirety of his phone in an inconspicuous manner. His brows pinch to the middle, as his eyes zero in on his phone. His hand comes to soothe his forehead like it hurt for him to frown. You haven’t spoken to him in a month.

You

12:03 am: come online 12:03 am: emergency

He reaches for his jacket before bending to put his shoes on, the laces sit undone on the foyer as he types.

Rintaro

12:03 am: What happened? 12:03 am: Where are you? I can come rn

He hears a couple of pings as he grabs his car keys and walks into his car. He attaches the car belt from over his shoulder. Then, he checks his phone.

You

12:03 am: *1 Image*

Suna hits download on the image and it slowly loads, a consequence of not upgrading his WiFi plan.

12:03 am: cockroach in my bathroom 12:04 am: and I really need to take a shower

He blinks.

He turns his phone off and his hands come to rest on the steering wheel in front of him, and he blankly stares at nothing in particular.

A beat later — What a fucking idiot, he thinks.

He’s shaking his head and yet, he’s driving in your direction anyway. He’s not entirely sure why he’s driving at the peak of midnight to your place – a place that is almost half an hour away – to kill a fucking cockroach.

He's almost there, and he thinks about how much of a humbling experience it is to drive at night – he seems to always feel rather tiny and insignificant as he sweeps through the empty night streets. There is nothing but the trees and the moon, both of whom only seem to tower over him. But today, he can't bring himself to focus on the trees, the road, or even the gleaming full moon and it seems to be the last part that bothers him the most if he had to emphasize.

He knocks on your door when he gets there. Two quick knocks, and you’re opening the door wide open like you were waiting right behind the door. Like you were waiting for him.

“Hi,” you say with a flushed face. He can see a tinge of sweat over your neck. Your hair’s tied up rather sloppily, and you’re holding a mop. At this moment, he could swear he would give anything to witness what you may have attempted to do with that mop and the cockroach.

But, more worryingly — the persisting, secondary thought that he seems to be having is that if he's being truly honest — he thinks you look properly beautiful. He isn’t sure if it is because he hasn’t seen you in a while, but he finds it odd all the same.

"Hi," he says, and then rubs his neck when you don't say anything in return.

You're just staring at him, rather wide-eyed and he’s sure you're going to ask him if he came all the way here for a cockroach. To which he would most likely respond, "Of course I did." Instead, he decides to ask, "Where is it?"

“Bathroom,” you say, and throw the mop towards him.

He’s startled for a second but he catches it and stares back at you, eyes brows raised questioningly.

“Use that,” you say. “To protect yourself.”

You say that so seriously that it genuinely kills him not to make fun of you. But things have changed, and he realizes it. He also realizes that he can't pretend nothing has changed because he knows you'd probably go along with it, which would probably kill him even more.

“On it, ma’am.” He hands the mop back to you, “I’ll probably just use my hand though, thank you.”

Your face crunches in disgust, and his lips twitch into a small smile before he heads over to the bathroom.

And it’s quick and simple really. One minute, it’s sitting in the middle of your bathtub, and the next minute Suna’s holding it up over your toilet with its antenna.

He decides to amp up the dramatics before he flushes it down though, holding it up and swinging it just a bit, which results in you scolding him and landing soft pats on his shoulders. He eventually flushes it down the toilet because his heart wasn’t in for playing around tonight, not when you looked more annoyed than amused.

He’s been wanting to see you for weeks, but now that he’s here all he wants to do is leave.

He washes his hands with hand soap, twice because you insisted. His hands smell medicinal and woody. You've changed your handwash since he was here last, and he misses the pomegranate one you used. He grew rather fond of it, maybe he’ll look for it in the store.

You’re sitting on your couch, cleaning up a bunch of papers scattered around the table. He presumes it’s from work.

“I’ll get going then,” he says, which makes you stop and turn around.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” You ask, and you look hopeful too. It’s not something you tend to wear lightly on your face.

“Not today,” but he will soon he wants to say. He’ll figure this out but not today. “I have practice.”

“Of course,” he catches the tinge of bitterness to your words but he ignores it immediately because he needs to leave so he nods, and gives you a soft goodbye. He takes one look at your face and swallows any desire that tells him to stay.

As he walks out, the sky is as clear as it can be, and the moon is stunning, he thinks. He walks over to his car, thinking he might be in love with you.

—

You sit there across from him on his clothes-infused drab, olive couch. You haven’t bothered taking your clothes back, and now they take residence on his couch and in his closet. He’s sure the two of you have managed to almost equally exchange your clothes – after all, he does the same. It’s akin to leaving little trinkets in his head. And, he likes your clothes – they’re warm and soft on cold days and somehow also cold and comforting on a hot day.

He realizes he has been staring for a while now. He doesn’t shy away from it, he continues to stare.

You look up but not before closing the book you’re reading. He scarcely hears you mutter a page number to yourself – 140? Just 40? He can’t tell.

"Do you have anything to eat?" You ask him as you finally seem to pay full attention to him.

“Not much. I have to order some groceries soon,” he says since he has mostly been eating at your place, he has gotten into a habit of leaving any food he gets at your place. But lately, the two of you have been staying at his.

It started because you wanted to stay at his since it was closer to your conference, which seemed to be too early in the morning. But somehow, you’ve been here even though that was two weeks ago. He knows you’ll go back once the holidays are over, but he likes this for now.

He likes staying at your place more though if he had to have a preference.

“There’s some fruit,” he adds after quite a bit. You look up from your book again – he didn’t notice you opening your book again.

“Okay,” you say, as you beeline to the kitchen.

A moment later, you return with an apple and a knife. You sit back, wiggling until you’re sitting comfortably. You open your creased book and place it on your lap as you go back to reading.

It’s rare for the sun to show itself during this time of the year but a distant, tapering ray of sun hits your face, and he isn’t blind to it but you look beautiful like this. You cut right into the middle of the apple from one side but you don’t completely cut the apple in half, you stop right in the middle before you repeat the same only a few centimeters apart this time. You cut out an imperfect semi-circle of an apple piece, and then you plop it right into your mouth.

He walks over to you and plops himself right next to you. You barely acknowledge him, too immersed in the book you’re reading before he asks “Can I have some?”

You don’t respond, apart from a soft barely audible hum. You simply continue cutting into the apple again, before you finally look up at him.

He thinks he should hold his hand out so you can place the piece in his palm but he hates eating fruits for this very reason. He doesn’t like getting his hands sticky, it’s a sensory nightmare. He could wash it off, but that’s just an effort on his part, he could just not eat instead. But before he could hold out his hand, you say, “Open up.”

He does.

You lean forward, holding the piece of apple between your thumb and the knife before you put the small piece of apple into his mouth. Your finger brushes barely against the corner of his mouth, but somehow the sensation lingers as he hears the crunches as he chews. The apple tastes sweet, with almost a caramelized taste to it this time.

You feeding him felt like you were carving a mark in his space, but you’re here just reading your book like it’s just another Saturday.

It was supposed to be just another Saturday but it wasn’t — not to him. Maybe it was because he couldn’t remember someone who fed him since after he was 5 years old, or maybe it was because it was the day he started to fall in love with you.

—

Two fingers support the bottom of the kettle, as you tip the kettle over towards your empty cup. Nothing pours out, there is no more tea. You frown as you place it back on the table. Your hands come back up to lift your book, as your eyes flit across the page to find where you've left off, and then you start reading, he presumes because your eyes squint ever so slightly.

He falls back to sleep a few minutes later. The weather was too hospitable to not take a nap, he pulls his blanket closer as he woke. He's no longer surprised at this, you always throw a blanket over him when he falls asleep on the couch. Sometimes, it's too hot for a blanket, he would prefer not to sleep with one but he finds himself still wearing it despite feeling slightly uncomfortable because you took the time to put it on him. It's only slightly uncomfortable after all.

"Hey," your voice comes from behind him. He sits fully upright, as he tries to fix his sleep-doused hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Mm. Better," he responds. The nap did help, his head still throbs a bit but it seems manageable, and only slightly uncomfortable.

"Need some food? Tea?"

"Mm," he tries to make the choice. "I'll have tea. Chamomile. Don't want it too hot though. And, no food. I wouldn't want your burnt food to kill me," he snickers but he's only half-joking.

Given the choice, he would like to be the only one cooking. He likes it – the ritual of following a well-written recipe, but he likes it when you cook your comfort dishes since you're so familiar with them. He likes watching your hands move almost on their own like its muscle memory from a dance you've practiced for years. In a way, you have. And, he trusts that you will not burn the kitchen down while cooking those specific dishes.

"I could always poison your tea if it pleases your grace," you squint as you mockingly bow to him, before you come up to cross your arms to your chest, "Now – say 'please' and I'll consider bringing it to you."

He smiles. "Pretty please, make me some tea. I'll eat you out in return." He grins wider.

You squint, but a smile graces your face, ever so slightly, "Fine."

—

He’s resting against his arm that’s desperately holding onto the ceiling strap of the train. It’s not much of a rest if he’s getting bumped into by the same passenger who for some reason is refusing to hold onto anything. He contemplates pushing him off the next time he bumps into him, but he doesn’t want to start a fight. He wants to go home and sleep until tomorrow afternoon.

He feels a soft thump against his back and looks behind him to push him off but it’s you. He raises his eyebrows in questioning.

“Pregnant,” you mouth. Before he gets to nod in understanding, the same passenger that was bumping into him bumps into you, which leaves you squished against another passenger, whose elbow strikes you, and that leaves you hissing as your hand comes to rub the sore elbow.

“Okay. Okay, Sir.” He calls out to the passenger, who turns around with a shocked look and a sweaty face. “Here, take my place, and feel free to hold onto this completely free strap meant only for you.” The passenger switches with him, missing or ignoring his passive aggressiveness.

“Thank you,” he turns around, rolling his eyes. His eyes soften, “Are you okay?”

You nod. His hands rise to your waist as he feels the train sharply make its stop. A slew of people begin to disembark, and he realizes it's only a matter of time before the next swarm of people piles in.

Suna catches you by your arm, and says, “Come here.”

He maneuvers the two of you into a corner near the door, making it easy to make your exit. Your back is now against the glassy window. Suna places one hand on the door, and his other hand wraps around his strap in front of you to create a comfortable distance between you so you can finally breathe.

That doesn’t last long because as much as he wanted to give you enough space he was pushed closer and closer to you. You seem to notice because you move to him, showing him that you can lean against the soft pads against the windows, therefore creating more space for him to move closer.

“It’s hard to breathe in here but at least our stop’s next,” you say, and he feels every word of it against his neck. He agrees except he’s not sure if it’s because there are too many people inside the train. He takes a deep breath and looks up at you.

You're pretty, he silently admires. Even when you appear sweaty and flushed out from your intense walk to the station. And he hated to admit it but he remembers how terrible he was at taking his gaze off you when you dressed yourself up in your room this morning.

After you had sucked him dry, he was lounging in your bed as you got up to get ready first. His gaze remained fixed on you — the way you put on your bra, the way you adjusted the straps of your dress, the lipstick you meticulously applied — the ritual of it all. It was absorbing, but only because it was you.

He must admit he sees you differently from when you first met him in college. He has always seen that you were pretty because he has eyes, but the way he sees you now is different and it can't quite place it. His hands spontaneously rise to brush a strand of hair away from your face.

And you stare at him, clearly surprised. "Could have poked your eyes out," he says.

"OK," you say, your eyes squinting together, but that's all you say openly before reaching out to push back the poking hair on the other side of your face.

“That was fucking horrible. This is why I don’t go use the trains during the weekends,” you say as the two of you make your way out of the train station.

“I want ice cream,” he says all too suddenly. He didn’t even know he wanted it until he said it.

“We need to have some dinner first,” you say.

“I want ice cream,” he repeats as though he hadn’t heard you. You groan and softly chuckle. “Fine, you big baby. There’s ice cream at home.”

He opens his mouth, before you beat him to it, “Yes, there’s black currant.”

He smiles, as the two of you walk home.

His tongue darts out from between his sticky lips, dragging it against the spoon, before he licks his lips clean. “This is so good, you should get these more often.” He says.

You hum, your tongue dragging across your ice cream spoon. Suna always found chocolate ice cream to be far too rich in taste, to the point where it made him a bit sick every time he ate them.

“I think I’m getting too old for this,” you motion to your dress adorned in minimal glitter in the light.

“You said the same thing in college, shush.” He chuckles.

You glare back at him, with your eyebrows furrowed and he senses that you genuinely feel bad, so he adds, “You just hate traveling back home, you should let me drive us back next time.”

“You don’t get to drink then,” you say.

He shrugs because he doesn’t drink much anyway. He’s a professional athlete, and given the choice, he would never drink, it lost its appeal since college, and now he mostly does it for formality.

“You don’t really mind because you get car sex out of it,” you say, grinning.

His mind didn’t necessarily go there but now that you mention it, every single time the two of you dress up and take his car, it ends with the two of you in the backseat. He grins back at you, with a shrug once again.

Suna returns his gaze to the ice cream, smacking his lips as he swallows the mouthful. And then he lifts his head to see you staring at him. You slowly reach out to take his ice cream tub in his hand and place it on the kitchen table before pulling him in for a kiss.

You pull back with eyes infused with sleep. “Let’s go back and sleep,” he says. “ ‘M tired,” he yawns.

You hum, leaving a soft peck on his lips again.

—

It's around 5 in the evening, and it's raining pellets, which is normal for this time of the year. He doesn't like it one bit, he thinks as he sits on the couch. His suit is infused with small water droplets from rushing in from his car.

He always hated this time of the year, but he remembers when his father would make them chicken soup whenever he would feel annoyed with the rain and would mess with the TV cable.

He remembers his mother sipping on hot tea, humming a soft tune as she walked into the kitchen placing a kiss on his father's cheek. Later, she would come with the chicken soup his father prepared and she would offer to feed him the soup but 11-year-old Suna would insist that he was old enough to eat by himself.

He would secretly hope that she would ask again — one last time because he knew he would have said "Yes" if she did, but she never did.

He's not sure if what he remembers is a specific day or a combination of all the days it rained and he ate chicken soup, but it was a memory or memories he cherished.

He thinks back to when you fed him, he goes back to that memory a lot, and it's not surprising to him anymore. The first few times, he stopped himself but now he lets it play out. Now, he even smiles to himself knowing he wouldn't be able to stop himself if he tried.

He thinks back to when he told you about the story of how his mom left on a quiet afternoon. No notes this time, no explanation, only her absence. Just empty cupboards empty of her clothes, empty spaces empty of her soothing voice.

He remembers telling you about the blazing sun and its burden on his then throbbing head. You held onto his hand as it was hailing rhythmically outside. You told him she didn't deserve to come back into his life but if he wanted it, you would support him because of course you would.

He smiled then, knowing no one ever cared enough to get mad on his behalf of him, not even himself. But you did, and it made him happy for a second there.

And now, he's here, not having spoken to you in months, and he knows it's all his doing.

He also knows that this creeping feeling, this scared and humiliating feeling is love. It didn't occur to him through any whimsical epiphany, it simply occurred to him one evening after practice.

He went back to his apartment feeling rather empty, and null. He remembers pouring himself a drink, a scotch maybe? He's not sure, could've been a bourbon. He poured himself a drink but didn't take a single sip of it. He just realized he loved you, not in the way he had already confessed. He loved you in the way lovers did, with yearning hands and heavy eyes.

He gets up now, walking to his car keys, not bothering with an umbrella. He rushes into his car. He doesn't avoid much of the rain, it's raining more heavily than when he got into his house.

He starts the car, but it grrs a bit, and shuts down. He tries again, a couple of times more before he realizes it's a lost cause. Clearly, something's wrong with it but his mind's too occupied to think about it.

He gets out of his car and simply runs.

—

You rush out with an umbrella, your heels clicking against the pavement before they splish and splash against the wet mud.

"What the hell, Suna?" Your voice reaches him before you reach his side, holding the umbrella over his head.

He doesn't say anything, he's only staring at you with eyes a bit teary, but he knows you can't tell, it's raining and he's drenched. He hopes his eyes aren't red, he hopes you can't see the desperation in his eyes.

"Are you done with work?" He asks.

You squint your eyes, clearly agitated by his lack of response to your question. He feels the urge to smooth down your creased eyebrows, he feels the urge to yell out wax poetry of confessions. But he knows this isn't the place, it's your place of work. He already created enough of a scene by showing up this way.

You turn your face neutral, clearly making the best of the situation. "Yeah, I was packing up."

"Okay," he says. He gulps and purses his lips before he says, "Ca—” He wipes his face, the water dripping off his chin. “Can we have dinner?"

You say nothing for a bit, he expects it all — some yelling, some pushing, alternatively, you just turn away and walk away from him. That would hurt the most, he thinks but somehow, he knows it's not like you to do that, not with him. You could leave, you could always leave but he knows you would tell him first.

You sigh, "Okay, I'll see you in 10." You shrug yourself out of your coat. It takes him a bit to realize it's for him, he was thinking about how you agreed, he's not sure what comes next but you agreed.

He wants to refuse the coat, but he's cold so he takes it and lets you wrap it around him properly. You then pull his hand, placing the umbrella in his hand before you rush back into the office, avoiding the rain.

He should have walked you to the entrance but maybe it was good of him to not show up like a sad, drenched puppy for your coworkers to see.

After the longest minutes of his life, you walk out, a black bag in your hand and your phone clutched against your chest.

"Let's go," you say as you get under the umbrella. He holds it out and higher for you, he feels his shoulders get wet and heavy once again, but you're completely under the umbrella so it's fine.

"Where's your car?"

"I didn't get it," he says.

"How did you come here?" Your quirky brows up, a bit guarded with your expression, evidently upset with him.

"I walked," he answers.

You cinch your brows once again and look at him with apprehension.

"From?"

"Home."

Your brows cinch harder, and this time he doesn't think when he brings his fingers to smooth them out.

Your face softens. "You can't just do that," you tell him sternly. He sees the edge sleeve of his coat drip a drop of water on your office shirt. He immediately moves his hand away.

"Sorry," he says. He doesn't know what to say next, he knows he should be doing more.

"Where are we eating?" You ask, taking the lead.

He sighs and feels a sudden whiff of confidence. "It's just around the corner."

—

He sits across you, hands shaking partly from the cold, in a dingy restaurant that has its appeals when set against the pouring rain. You haven't said anything since the two of you arrived, and his eyes have been following you almost in a daze as you order soup for the two of you.

He focuses on the restaurant, hoping to zero in on details, hoping it will calm him – the décor is almost rustic, and there are brick walls and wooden floors that give this place a shabby effect but it seems charming for the very same reason. To add to that, there is soft lighting everywhere, yellow hues from overhead lights that only mildly light the space, and the candles on the tables lighting up each individual table even more.

He looks up and sees that you are done.

“Care to say something?” You say, and your guards are up, he can tell. Rightfully so, he thinks, but this only makes it harder for him.

“I missed you,” he says, not knowing what else to say. I am in love with you is certainly not something he can start with.

“Suna, you can’t j—”

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for treating you the way I have been for the past few days. I just— I've missed you so much.”

You don’t say anything for a bit, and it doesn’t scare him surprisingly. He could sit in this silence if he needed to — you have been for weeks after all.

“Me too,” you say defeatedly. “I don’t understand — I don’t understand.”

You’re lying, and he knows.

“I just want things to go back to the way it was, Suna.” You say that with a certain longing, a longing he had never seen on your face, a longing that made it seem like you may have missed him even more than he missed you.

"I don't. I—” But he does, he does want things to go back to the way it was, but he also does not. It's complicated really, but all he wants, he thinks, is to lie limp in your bed, your hair tickling his chest, your body warming him as the cold night air flits through, and he's talking — about you? About the future? He's not sure, but he's relieved knowing that you're listening and knowing that you'll say something after he's done. And then you'll fall asleep, and he'll draw out his consciousness — just to stare at your face before surrendering to the sleepy haze.

And he’s not sure if it’s the way you looked with the yellow hue of the candle flickering ever so slightly against your face, or if it's the soft muted jazz playing in the background, or if it’s even the old couple in the back who are kissing each other – but he tells you, not for the first time, “I love you.”

Your eyes widen, and then you smile — a warm smile and he knows. He knows.

—

You stumble into your apartment, immediately finding the couch to fall into, the exhaustion seeping into your calf muscles. Suna insisted on commemorating your first date as he called it with an ice cream trip. Sadly, the closest ice cream parlor was quite a bit away from the restaurant. Your hands reach down to languidly stroke them to ease the pain.

A few seconds pass before another body stumbles into your house. The sound of keys being hung, shoes being taken off, and the front door being locked before you see him walking towards you.

He shrugs most of his clothes off almost immediately, knowing about your distaste for wet clothing, but to be fair, his clothes seem to be almost dry so it seems rather unnecessary and rude of him to flaunt his beautiful abs.

He plops himself next to you. His hands reach to push the hair that curtains your face – a new ritual he seems to have started ever since you started sleeping together. He does this mostly after sex, in the gloomy haze of the night, in the heated haze of the afternoon but now, it feels different, it feels careful and methodical, and you can’t help but rewrite the past with your new lens.

"Tired?" He asks, it comes out as a mumble.

You nod, too tired to speak. His eyes flit down to your rubbing hands before your hands are replaced by his own, calloused ones. They press into your muscles, a lot harder than your exhausted hands did. You feel nice, and he can tell by the way you're slightly groaning.

"Let me take you to bed, hm?" He reaches for your hand. You take it, the purse on your lap abandoned on the living room couch.

You fall onto your bed, and he's on top of you, his forearms supporting him to be just inches away from your lips. His lips graze against your own, testily, before they press against yours, a bit gentler than usual.

He keeps kissing you as your hand finds purchase in his hair as you carelessly stroke him. His soft and citrus-scented hair. His hands come to lift your top as the chill air hits your skin. You feel the whoosh of the goosebumps erupting on your exposed thigh.

And just as quickly as you fell onto your bed, you're out of your clothes, sitting completely naked beside an equally naked Suna who's kissing up and down your neck. Littering soft, warm kisses, his hands run up and down your body. Pinching your nipple, squeezing your waist and thighs before he moves away from you to move you in front of him.

You sit a bit oddly with your back facing his front before he comes up to your neck again. He starts littering soft, warm kisses, as his hands come to part your legs. He doesn't do anything else but kiss your neck for a bit and it has you whining before he decides to indulge. His one hand rubbing just below your stomach but not quite, his other hand pulling your neck back onto his shoulder to kiss you.

His hand on your neck reaches further up to your mouth and you instinctively suck on his fingers. You can see him watching you from your peripheral vision, you turn a bit to catch his eyes, and then down to his lips — they're parted a bit with anticipation, or something else? You can't tell, but you let your eyes linger back to his eyes and they're intense and fixed and it sends a chill down your spine in anticipation.

You move your hand to his, finally bringing them down between your legs.

—

“Missed you,” Suna murmurs against your neck. You feel the wet sensation of his tongue sitting cold against your skin. “I hated—" He groans, "Don't ever not fuck me for a month."

“A-And whose fault is that?” You say, more or less rhetorically. You manage to wriggle yourself free from his grip, but his hands seem to trail behind you in tandem. His hands stay connected to the dip in your hip, lightly mapping out the curves, deliberating if he should do more, deliberating if he has convinced you enough to forgive him.

“I’m sorry,” he says as if it pains him, or maybe it’s just the effect of your teeth sinking into him.

You stop, your eyes flitting up to meet him. Your lips turn into a soft smile. "It's okay," you say.

"It's okay," you reassure him, as your fingers are coming to stroke the edges of his jaw.

His brows uncinch, his hands coming up to meet the hand that’s on his jaw. He moves it closer to his mouth, placing a soft kiss on it. Your smile widens, a lot more visible now, and at that, he smiles back at you.

The two of you smile at each other like idiots, and you feel a bit embarrassed. And you think, maybe he senses and feels it too, but he doesn't stop smiling back at you, so you don't either.

You understand now what people meant in all those poems about love and vulnerability because you can admit now that you're in love for the very first time — you feel a bit slit open. Like your guts are falling out of you; with only him to hold them, with only him to care for them.

His fingers come up to brush your cheek, barely touching you, but you feel it, and then he presses a chaste kiss against your lips. You don't rush anymore, because this is different from your heated kisses, this feels like it's something more. You want to tell him it's something more, you want to tell everyone it's something more but when he slows down to pull away, with lidded eyes and a goofy smile, you know he already knows.

#suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro fic #suna rintaro x reader smut #suna rintaro oneshot #suna rintaro smut #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintaro angst #suna rintaro imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyu x reader

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hayapiss · 4 months

Text

lucy gray you deserved so much more

i just finished tbosas (book) and i’m haunted by what were potentially lucy grays final moments. she desperately runs in an attempt to save her life. someone she trusted, someone she was severely trauma-bonded with, turn out to be who she always knew he was. in the back of her mind. from the start she was wary of him, but she chose to trust him, to love him, because she thought he was better than people who had hurt her in the past.

after mayfairs death, she already had a target on her back, didn’t she? so she chose to make that leap, to leave district 12, subsequently leaving her only family, to try and run away and be free. and that’s all she wanted, to be free. And she has coriolanus by her side, who she thought was willing to leave everything so they could both be free. but all he needed was an opportunity, a chance to gain the comfort of his life back. imagine being her in this situation.

You see the look in his eyes as he looks at those guns. you see his disgust as you teach him how to fish, the disgust at this life he said he wanted to live with you.

And that’s when you piece it together: the third person he killed, who he betrayed, was someone he claimed was like a brother to him.

and so you lie; say you’re going out for katniss. and you run.

Lucy gray must have been terrified. she was back in the arena; only this time it was someone that she decided to trust who was doing the hunting.

She sets a desperate trap, and watches as the man she once thought she loved goes rabid, almost as if had rabies; and she sings out her song— sejanus’s song— and holds him accountable

“Are you, are you

Coming to the tree?

Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.”

and the mockingjays whom he hates so much carry forth her song, driving him beyond mad. and just like her namesakes ballad—we don’t know what becomes of her. no one does.

But she stays a spirit. she’s in the trees, where he can’t catch her. but she also haunts his mind; where he can never get rid of her either; never catch her.

sorry if this is put together very sloppily i just have so many thoughts about lucy gray that are all trying to claw their way out of my head. in conclusion i am never getting over her ever and am begging suzanne collins to personally tell me her fate please

#tbosas #lucy gray baird #coriolanus snow #sejanus plinth #the hunger games #chaos vs control #the ballad of songbirds and snakes spoilers #tbosas spoilers #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games analysis #the ballad of songbirds and snakes analysis #book analysis #tbosas analysis

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ywpd-translations · 6 months

Text

Ride 749: The last Straight Road*

(NdT.: same pun Kinaka always makes with his name and the word for straight road)

Pag 1

1: I....

3: Imaizumi-san!!

4: Go- good work!!

Good work!!

You were taking a long time for this lap

Pag 2

1: Yes, teh, I got a fl-fl-flat- my bike!!

Yessir!!

2: It's the tire!!

4: Only tires can get a flat

Ah- damn, yes, that's right

Right!!

6: I thought something like this might have happened, so I brought these

Replacement tubes, tire levers, and a pump. Use them

Pag 3

2: This is unusual!! I never thought Imaizumi-san was the attentive type – is it just for us!?

Yeah!! I thought first and second years were just not important to him....

3: You don't want to use the,?

We'll use them, thank you so much!!

4: You saved us, teh....!!

That's true

6: Ah, uhm... but..... Imaizumi-san

Earlier you said that

7: Sugimoto-san won't come”, what did you mean?

Pag 4

1: He retired

Pag 5

1: He's still displayed on the board, but

3: There's still time until midnight

If Sugimoto-kun....

4: Please leave the possibility open in case Sugimoto-kun wants to come back!!

5: Onoda insisted

6: Re... tired.....

Sugi..... moto-san....

Pag 6

1: He used up all his stamina and mental strength in his fight against Danchiku, and he was defeated

2: You didn't notice because you've been on the course the whole time

4: Ah... actually, when it got dark, Sugimoto-san and Danchiku-san passed us various times... teh

Huh!? That? So at that time-!?

5: You have no time to talk about unimportant things

As soon as you're done with the repairs, run, first years

6: Soon

Pag 7

1: Waa, ye-yes, teh, thank you for the tools

Yeah, there's still 40km

2: If we join our strengths....

Don't cooperate

5: Teh!?

7: From now on, you can't allow yourselves to run like friends

8: Huh....

Our “buddies” stickers.....!?

You have to fight

Pag 8

1: And win the last spot to be an Inter High member!!

Pag 9

1: Fa.... ight....

2: Against.... Kinaka-kun

3: Against.... Rokudai

4: 35km left!!

Gooo!! Kinakaa, Rokudaii!!

Do your best...!!

5: I feel like they'll be able to run the 1000km!!

Amazing!

Ah, but there was no distance between them just now?

Pag 10

1: Fight....

2: The spot as a regular in the two-times national champion, Sohoku....

3: I can't take it by just being friendly....!!

4: And also

5: There's Sugimoto-san's wish!!

Pag 11

1: Wa- wait, please, Imaizumi-san

But.... if in this training camp the condition to become the sixth regular was to finish the 1000km first....

2: Then why did Sugimoto-san and Danchiku-san race!?

4: I came here to give you a message from Sugimoto

5: I think, I think it's necessary, you know

Sohoku is a team that connect and support each other

6: Just like during our first year, you, Naruko, and Onoda, connected your wishes and aimed for the goal

7: And last year Kaburagi ran with Aoyagi-san and carried the team until the mountains on the third day

8: So I think we need it

9: Our third year Inter High members

Pag 12

1: Definitely need a “first year”!!

3: Even if he knew he was making his own situation worse, he thought about the best shape for the team would be

4: He accepted it, and fought

Pag 13

1: For the fifth place

3: Among the first years, those two are left, I look forward to see what they do!!

That's too much food

4: Danchiku probably understood it, too

That's why he fought with all his strength

6: Now you two have to run with the weight of those expectations on your back!!

7: Fight, against your opponent and against yourself!! Use all your strength

Pag 14

1: And pull to yourself that last jersey!!

2: Straaa-

Pag 15

1: Straight roaaad!!

2: - traight!!

3: …. ngh

Ugh.....

4: Kinaka-kun.....

5: Don't cry, Rokudai!!

Pag 16

1: What are you doing, oi!! I'll leave you behind like this!! I'll tear you off!!

If you give up, then it's lucky for me!!

2: My goal has always been the Inter High jersey!!

To get back at those senpai who made fun of me!!

3: To show it to the Onii-san who taught me how to ride bikes!!

So, for that....

6: So I'm telling you not to cry!!

Pag 17

1: But, Kinaka-kun....

It's that your “Straitgh road”, wasn't fast at all....!!

4: You knee? It's your knee, right?

Since when? Since a while ago?

5: Since when we were at about 800km

Pag 18

1: It's a race, Rokudai

2: You should have told me, teh

I didn't notice, teh!!

3: I'm such an incapable former manager, teh....

4: Since when I lost to you in the first years' race

6: I've been thinking that I would definitely not lose the next time we race

7: Even though the truth is that I don't really care about that anymore

So, once again...

Pag 19

1: It's a race, Rokudai!!

3: Let's do it, Rokudai!!

I can't, teh

4: Race me, pedal!!

I don't want to, teh....

5: Fight me!!

I won't pedal, teh

Pag 20

1: Because, if I fight you now, Kinaka-kun, I'll end up winning, teh

Pag 22

1: With that kindness of yours, support our senpai during the Inter High

#yowamushi pedal #yowamushi pedal translations #yowapeda #yowapeda manga #yowamushi pedal manga #yowamushi pedal spoilers #ride 749 #the tags arent enough for the essay i want and need to write about this chapter #most painful chapter but also one of the best chapter of the whole manga imho #IVE BEEN CRYING SINCE YESTRDAY WTF WATANABE HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO MY BABIES #YOU NEED TO PAY FOR MY THERAPY NOW #kinaka and roku's relationship is probably the most wholesome in the whole manga i love them so much #and this chap HURT SO BAD OH MY GOD #kinakaaaaa you're so strong for this ;A; the way he didnt want to tell roku about his knee bc he knew that roku would break #the way he even tried to provoke him to push him to race!! and he says he didnt want to lose against him again! but!!#He actually doesnt care about that anymore!!! hes just doing this for rokudai!!!#And rokuuuu!!! baby boy ;A; hes the purest boy ever!!! He didnt want to win like this against kinaka he didnt want to leave him behind ;A;#leave me alone im gonna cry forever ;A; (no actually dont leave me alone keep me company in my suffering plz)#page 21 is forever ingraved in my soul #even tho imaizumi told them not to cooperate in the end they did support each other until the last moment ;A;#(on a lighter not im happy that we finally have a reason for the race btwn sugimoto and danchiku - they both knew the team needed a first #year* so only one of them could be on the team)

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euphoricfilter · 1 year

Note

hii!! i saw that you take requests? i was wondering if i could get a taehyung fluff where they celebrate their birthday! my birthday is Dec 31 and since his is Dec 30th i wanted something along the lines of like celebrating together alone bc my bdays have always been shitty and this year was the same so i want all the fluff you can give me please <3 if your requests r closed then that’s totally fine!!! i also wanted to say ur an amazing writer and i luv ur content so much!!

𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦:

pairing: kim taehyung x f! reader

genre: fluff || non-idol au || best friends to lovers au

summary: it was no secret that you had never been fond of your birthday, and taehyung hated that you always seemed to celebrate alone— your birthdays won’t be the only celebration each year now that taehyung’s flower has finally bloomed.

word count: 3.6k

tags/ warnings: fluff, nothing crazy, mild birthday slander, reader is an over-thinker, he calls her baby way too many times, tearful confessions

notes: I FOOKIN FINISHED ON MY BIRTHDAY LETS GO! this is my gift to all of you, my lovely readers!!

✿ ✿ ✿

Taehyung’s feeling for you were akin to a flower.

The day the two of you met, planting the seed of his budding feelings. Where you acted as the sunlight he needed to grow; wherever you were, he would follow—growing in whichever direction you were. The first signs of his seedling pushing past the surface of the soil had been months into your friendship.

Minutes after midnight and you’d been stood at his front door, cheeks washed red from the bitter winter air, almost hunched over as you catch your breath; clearly having ran, even as the clock struck 12 and a new day began. You hadn’t wavered from your mission, silently hoping that Taehyung was still awake, because even if it technically wasn’t his birthday anymore, you refused to let the magic fizzle out just yet.

“These are for you” you’d thrusted the bouquet into his chest, pretty little white narcissuses and prickly holly wrapped up in brown paper, tied ever so delicately with a white satin ribbon, where the little red berries rivalled the colour of your cheeks. Perhaps just as round, temping enough that Taehyung had to stop himself from asking to sink his teeth into your supple looking flesh.

“I looked online and it’s your birth flower” you’d told him, standing up a little taller, a little more confident when you see his blooming smile.

“You did this for me?” he asks, bearing the brunt the frigid December cold as he pulls his door open wider, fingers gentle as they close around your wrist, tugging you into the warmth of his apartment.

You nod, hands cupping around your cheeks to try and warm your face up a little. Radiator in the hall sending waves of mellowed heat your way until you could feel the tips of your toes and fingers, nose no longer icy.

Taehyung couldn’t help but smile, and you couldn’t help but think he had the prettiest smile you’d ever seen.

Always so radiant, always so expressive, always so Taehyung, that you couldn’t help but think your efforts were worth it when he looked down at you like that. The miniscule pain of scouring the city for a flower shop willing to help you late into the night, and winds that had almost knocked you over, it didn’t matter because Taehyung was smiling at you like that. Pretty-pretty Taehyung and his pretty-pretty smile.

“Thank you” he’d laughed, “Thank you so much. How about some hot chocolate to warm you up?” he’d offered, and you’d agreed, how could you not?

The stem of Taehyung’s flower had grown fast, with every free weekend the two of you spent together, the little spark of developing love had burst into rapid flames.

Taehyung didn’t mind, revelled in the fact he felt something so raw about another person, never having felt anything like this before. He’d been unsure, fumbling over himself until he found his footing, worked out what you liked and what you didn’t. A little clumsy with his growing adoration until he sat back and realised the feelings he had for you were very real. A shadow in his mind weighing the consequences of acting on his emotions, because why would he fuck this up if he already had you? Maybe not in the exact way he wanted, but it was better than not having you in his life at all.

He wasn’t above dating, had milled around in high school, experimenting with whoever he pleased but nothing would ever be able to compare to what he had for you. An inexplainable warmth that blossomed throughout his body, where delicate vines weaved around his heart and the most beautiful flowers had started to bloom. Where the more Tae learnt about you, the faster he was falling.

He’d never been a fan of the term ‘falling in love’ something a little too melodramatic for his tastes, the very thought of falling for another person less romantic than it had been painted out to be. Because if his life were to be art, then he never wanted it to be the soppy kind, where you know the end is never good and the characters of the play seemed to always live in impending doom. Where only one will come out on top and get what they want while the rest suffer.

He’d learnt falling didn’t have to be bad, falling—where you’re cushioned by clouds crafted with passion to break the fall. Where kisses taste sweeter and bare skin on skin felt electrifying. Where your mind bubbles over with thoughts of that person until you can’t help the smile that threatens to tug at your lips, and you want to make sure they’re stood by your side. Because as long as you were near, then that’s all he needed.

Taehyung’s favourite type of falling is when you work up the courage to look into his eyes. Always shying away from eye-contact, always a little fidgety when you notice him looking at you for longer than deemed proper for just a friend. He liked your eyes because you’d always been expressive, ever so easy to read, and ever so pretty.

Your outer beauty had only ever been a bonus to Taehyung, and if he had to compare your beauty to any of his favourite things, then surely, he would compare you to a freshly bloomed flower.

✿ ✿ ✿

It was no secret to Taehyung that you hated your birthday.

You’d always seemed to withdraw yourself from everyone the week before the big day, and he’d asked once, why you held so much disdain towards it, and you’d simply shrugged. Telling him you never understood the hype and never felt the need to make it a big event out of it. You never minded celebrating your friends’ birthdays, always going to family parties with well-thought-out gifts and a little skip in your step, but never held the same when it came to you.

“What are you doing here?” you open the door wider when you see its only him, fingers fiddling with handle out of nervous habit— and he watches as you rock back and forth on your heels. Clearly not expecting his arrival, and he would have called, if he didn’t already know you were home.

It’s a little out of character for him to show up to your apartment unannounced, knowing you preferred when he told you at least a few hours in advance that he was coming over, or he wanted to take you out. And as much as you hated the niggling habit of overthinking, it had never put him off, simply moulding his life around your needs as if they were his own.

Because as long as you were happy, so was Taehyung. Another strange side effect of being in love with someone he supposes.

“Can you come with me?” his hands fall out the pockets of his coat, corners of his lips tugging up into a soft smile.

You blink up at him, eyebrows furrowing, “Like— right now?”

“Yeah” he nods, feeble guilt itching under his skin. Like an invisible rash that he couldn’t get rid of, irritable in a way he wants to pull his hair out.

His palm lays flat against your door, pushing it open wider to let himself in. You don’t seem all that worried as you close the door behind him as he slips his shoes off, coat slung over the arm of your couch before he’s making himself comfortable, running a hand through his windswept hair.

He turns to you, “Go get ready, I’ll wait here”

“Where are we going?” you call over your shoulder as you wander into your bedroom, uncaring as you leave the door open.

“My place” he bends forward, trying to catch sight of you as you scuttle around your room. Always fascinated by the way you move, often painfully unaware of your surroundings. Though he doesn’t mind all that much, tips of his fingers tingling each time his hands fall over your shoulders or holding you by the waist has he help guide you, your hand held in his, so you won’t get lost in a crowd, or simply just for the sake of holding you. Your skin like a magnet, drawing him closer whenever he was near, your very existence fascinating to him that he can never seem to get enough.

“Huh?” you pause in the doorway, head tilting, and Taehyung can’t help the smile that stretches onto his face, fondness blossoming around his heart, “Why didn’t you just call me over then?”

“I have a surprise for you” he waves you off, watching as you nod, hesitant, but a small part of his heart swells at the fact you trust him enough to play into his plan even if he can see you itching to ask a million other questions. Questions he would be more than happy to answer, though he doesn’t push. Simply lets you stew in your own thoughts, trusting that you’ll kept your faith in him, stepping forward if you truly needed anything.

“But why?” you throw another sweater over your shoulder, “What should I wear?”

Taehyung pushes himself up off the couch, wandering towards your bedroom—more than equipped in knowing your home, often acting like it was his own.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, baby”

You flinch, not having expected him to be there when you had turned around, “What are we doing?”

“I told you it’s a surprise” he croons, picking up the clothes strewn across the floor.

He folds them into neat piles at the end of your bed— ready for you to put away later as you continue your search for something to wear. Knowing that if he weren’t to do it, they would be left blanketing your floor until you worked up the motivation to finally clean up. At least this way he’d gotten your least favourite part out of the way.

“But what if I’m overdressed, worse, what if I’m underdressed?” you turn back to look at him, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as Taehyung simply stares; never one to back away from prolonged eye-contact.

“Baby, I told you to wear whatever you’re comfortable with. We’re only going to my place, nowhere else if you don’t want to” he soothes, beckoning you over with a hand. And you follow, always so good for him.

You stand between his legs, looking down at Taehyung where he sits on the edge of your bed, “No matter what you wear, you’re pretty, yeah?”

Taking your hands into his own, fingers laced, Taehyung watches as your mouth opens at the gentle contact, closing abruptly when you can’t seem to find the right words to say. Mind whirring behind your eyes, and he worries he’d pushed you too far.

Hesitantly you nod, “Okay” you whisper, swallowing thickly as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.

“Well done” he squeezes your fingers before he’s nudging you back towards your closet.

He watches as you peek over your shoulder, not very subtle as you try and match what he’s wearing.

“How about we match today?” he suggests, watching the lingering anxiety leave your body as your shoulders deflate, eyes lighting up.

“Really?” you ask, grey sweatpants already held tightly in your hands and Taehyung smiles.

“Of course, baby”

✿ ✿ ✿

“Are your eyes still closed?” Taehyung asks, as he bends down, helping you slip your shoes off.

You hum, hands falling onto his shoulders to keep balance. And he suddenly becomes hyper aware of how close the two of you are, hands gentle as he holds onto your ankle, your warm skin under his fingertips electric as his heartrate picks up.

Your hands slide down his arms when he stands at full height, fingers loosely gripping onto his wrists as he pulls you further into his apartment; careful to tug you around the toys his dog had left strewn across the floor of the living room.

Your feet sink into Taehyung’s plush carpet, pitter patter of Yeontan running into the room at the sound of your giggles, warming Taehyung’s heart. Simple domesticity of the situation maybe something Taehyung had been craving; because when he had you like this, no semi high-end dining, no unobtainable expectations from the eyes of others. Simply you and him, where the world beyond his apartment meant nothing, because it didn’t matter where he was as long as he was with you.

“Here we go” Taehyung pulls his wrists from your hands, picking Tannie up, “Open your eyes, baby”

Taehyung watches as your eyes flutter open. You blink down at his coffee table, head tilting in confusion before you’re turning to him.

“What’s all this?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed.

It hadn’t been much, nothing like he would have truly planned if he didn’t know you had what could only be described as a weird hatred towards your birthday. He’d made sure to get your favourite cake, balloons taped to the walls, all those of your favourite colour—handpicked out of each pack. You eye the platter of sandwiches, and he has to hold onto Yeontan a little tighter as the dog spots whatever other of your favourite snacks he’s picked up that morning. All laid out in little bowls, where confetti had been scattered over the table like the petals of a rose.

“It’s your birthday” he urges, smile still tugging at his lips.

You nod, “I know that but, why—” you gesture to the cake, to the small giftbox, utterly overwhelmed by what you see, and Taehyung wonders briefly if he’d rocked your brain into overdrive.

“I thought we could celebrate together, I know you don’t really like your birthday, but I thought for once I’d do something for you, like you’ve done for me”

“You did all this, for me?”

And although this isn’t his best work, nice restaurant in the middle of the city ready to be called for a late reservation if you hadn’t liked what he’d prepared for you. Wallet tucked away in the pocket of his coat just in case he took you for a walk around the park where he would buy you all the treats your heart desired until your bellies were full, sleepy on the way home; and maybe he would offer to carry you.

“Of course” he nods, letting Yeontan hop onto the couch before he’s tugging you to sit at the coffee table. Knees pressed against one another as you sit adjacent to Taehyung.

You peek into the cake box, “Shut up, you didn’t buy one of those really pretty lunchbox cakes” your look up at Taehyung, eyes wide and he only grins. You stare at it in awe, purple iced flowers climbing the sides of the cake, blooming in shades of lavender and violet in gradient. Where fondant leaves weaved through bunches of flowers like wild vines.

“This is for you” he pushes the wrapped box across the table towards you. Brown paper tied off with a pretty white ribbon—little white daisy pin stuck in the centre of the bow.

He watches as you shake it. Fingers delicate as you pull the ribbon apart, dropped in a small pile beside the box of your cake, and he only expects you plan to save it for later. Scraps of long forgotten art supplies hidden in the depths of your closet for when you really needed it. Always a little bit of a hoarder, though you like to blame it on sentiment.

The tips of your fingers skim over the velvety box, a deep red with little golden stars embroidered into the fabric, “What is it?”

“Open it” his back falls against the couch, fingers thrumming across his thigh, anxious of your reaction.

You lift the lid of the box, bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

“It’s so pretty” you murmur, head lifting to meet Taehyung’s gaze.

You watch him lift his hand; matching ring sat snug on his finger. Your gaze flickers down towards the ring in the box, “They’re matching?”

“Yeah”

The corners of your lips tug up into a smile, “You’re cute” you giggle, gentle as you pull the ring out of the box, sliding it onto your finger, the same one Taehyung had his on.

“You think so?” he leans forwards, eyebrows raising in question, and he watches as you swallow thickly, “Come on, don’t be shy now” his smile is lazy, a little cocky and you can’t seem to help the heat that tickles your cheeks red.

He watches you debate whether to stay silent or not, “Yes” you breathe, tongue slipping past your lips to wet them.

“Yes what?” he urges, revelling in the way you fidget in your spot—fingers itching to pull you closer into him, moulding the two of you into one being until he doesn’t know where you end, and he starts.

“I think you’re cute”

“I think you’re cute too” he smiles, deft fingers tucking his hair behind his ear.

“You what?” you splutter, “That’s not funny, Tae”

“It wasn’t meant to be” you watch as he sits up straight, careful as he takes your hands into his own, “Why would you think I’d joke about that?”

His eyebrows crease as you let out a long sigh, “Because well, you’re—you’re you and I’m just me”

“There’s nothing wrong with you” he shakes his head.

“I’m not perfect like you, Tae” you try to pull your hands from his, no real force behind the gesture, fingers barely slipping from his grasp.

“I’m not perfect” he laughs, leaning forwards like he wanted to tell you a secret, “You are though”

You blink, “I’m not” he watches as tears glaze over your eyes.

“Come on, baby, why’re you crying” he coos, gentle as he pushes your hair out of your face.

“Because I really like you, and I feel stupid” you admit, one hand still held in Taehyung’s as the other comes to wipe your face of the tears that cascade down your cheeks.

“I really like you too” Taehyung stands, manoeuvring his way around the table, falling to his knees beside you.

“No—not that kind of like. I like like you” you cover your face with your hands.

“Hey” he calls, “listen to me”

You snivel, daring peek out from behind your hands, a new wave of fresh tears glazing your cheeks shiny as he smiles, always so soft, always so reassuring.

“I like like you too, my baby” he laughs, barely there, but the puff of breath deflates his chest, “Haven’t I made it obvious enough?”

You shake your head, “Now I feel really stupid” you cry.

“No no no” he shakes his head, cupping your cheeks, “I clearly didn’t realise either”

You hiccup, “I’m sorry”

“What for?” his eyes flit between your own.

You frown, “Crying”

“Don’t apologize for that” his eyebrows crease, fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “Can I kiss you?”

He watches as your eyes widen a fraction, “Yes”

His thumb brushes away a lone tear when you close your eyes, watching as a sliver of peace washes over your face. And he understands, of course he does. All the built-up tension, nights of wondering if your feelings were to ever be reciprocated, if this budding love was one sided, if it could be more than friendship—all that doubt had evaporated. Exasperated whispers of how this would never work out, suddenly silent, mind and heart free. Pure unadulterated love soaring the skies like a dove let out of a cage with no plan of ever returning, the feeling of freedom, the freedom to love you, too addicting.

Taehyung feels you smile into the kiss as his lips press against your own. Ever so soft, neither of you rushing.

Your arms slink around his shoulders, pulling his body closer to you as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Your lips part, gentle gasp dripping off your tongue, tacky and sweet as his hands skim down your body, pulling you in between his legs.

Albeit reluctant, Taehyung pulls away, chest heaving for air as his heart hammers against his ribcage. Your fingers skim over your bottom lip.

“One more” you whisper, hands falling from Taehyung’s shoulders to cup his cheeks like he had your own.

“Okay” he nods, hands still firmly holding onto your hips as you press your chests together, head tilting. Your thumb brushes over his jaw when your lips meet, both a little surer, a little more confident in yourselves, Taehyung teasing as his tongue prods the seam of your lips.

You grant him access, embarrassed whine following a moan as his tongue slips into your mouth—any qualms about you not sharing his feelings bubbling into a fizzy confidence.

“Does this mean you’ll say yes to being my girlfriend?” he smiles down at you, lips a little kiss swollen and shiny.

“If that’s okay with you” you nod, eyes falling onto the ring on his finger, your own glinting in the light of the setting sun that spills through the window.

Taehyung’s feelings for you were akin to a flower.

A flower that had been in the budding stage for years, love disguised as vibrance, hidden away from your eyes as to not scare you away, attracting you like a bee only hoping you’d be happy with that he had to offer. A flower that was now in bloom, because really what it was missing was you. Just wholly you who adores Taehyung as much as he does you. Two flowers blooming in the same flower field where your stems intertwine, growth from here on out together rather than alone. Because even if your petals were the same as the rest of the flowers that grew around you, what you had was special; something none of the other flowers had—each other.

“Guess this means we have a reason to celebrate your birthday every year” he leans forward, soft kiss pressed to your forehead.

🌱 feedback is always appreciated <3 and thank you for reading!

permanent tag list: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts #taehyung fic #taehyung imagine #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #taehyung fluff #taehyung #bts x reader #bts fic #bts taehyung #bts friends to lovers #bts non idol au #bts x female reader

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winterchimez · 10 months

Text

Love Me Right | Ju Haknyeon

summary: perhaps you and your best friend Haknyeon were destined to be lovers after all

pairing: best friend Haknyeon x f!reader

genre: best friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst & suggestive (only in the beginning)

warnings: bad breakup & arguing (with ex), lust (slightly)

word count: 3,530

a/n: me? writing fluff? unheard of 🤪 jokes i'm usually much better at writing angst/crime fics, but our precious boy hakkie deserves a sweet fluff fic 🥺 i love him sm he's literally my fav comfort person ever, and yes he is my bias wrecker alongside hyunjae lmao 🤧 hope you guys enjoyed this! 🫶🏻🩵

buzz buzz!

The alarm on your smartwatch goes off, giving you the signal that indicates the end of your shift.

It has already been 14 hours, and you stood up from your chair and did a stretch as you submitted the final report of one of the patients you had to deal with throughout the night.

You originally would’ve ended your shift 2 hours ago, if only one of the ER nurses didn’t call in sick this morning. You shrugged, it happens almost every fortnightly in your department, always being understaffed that is.

Packing up your belongings, you waved goodbye to all of your co-workers where some were just finishing up as you were while the others had just clocked in for the day and headed straight to your car.

To make matters worse, it was snowing pretty heavily as you made your way to your vehicle. You had to use your handy-dandy ice scraper to get rid of the snow that formed on the windshield and the sides of your car doors. With that, the first 10 minutes right after your shift ended were gone in the blink of an eye. You hopped into your car real quick and gave yourself a heavy sigh, hoping at least the car ride home wouldn’t be too bad.

Stepping onto your front porch, you dug into your backpack for the keys to your apartment. You wasted no time trying to unlock the door and quickly kicked your boots off as you closed the door behind you.

Making your way into the living room, you spotted the familiar figure laying down on the couch.

Your boyfriend, Daniel.

At the beginning of your relationship, the two of you would gladly wait for each other to arrive back home and chat away about how the day’s been for both parties. Now, getting a “welcome home” from your partner is already better than nothing.

However, tonight was different as you muttered those two words to your boyfriend laying down on the couch. Instead of responding, he stood up with his back facing you and muttered a deep “we need to talk” right back at you.

Already exhausted from your shift, you so badly wanted to ask him to save it till morning when both of you are in much better shape, but that won’t happen tonight as he wasted no time trying to make his way to you.

“I can’t do this anymore, Y/N. This relationship we’ve been having? I don’t see the spark nor commitment no more.”

“Please Daniel, what are you trying to imply here-”

“You work for 12 hours straight each day, God. Sometimes even more than that. I’m off to work while you’re asleep, and you're only back in the house during the wee hours of midnight. What happened to us spending quality time as a couple?”

Your boyfriend certainly had a point there. It has been months since the both of you truly had a good bonding time with one another. As work started piling up for you, you had to always sadly turn down the multiple ideas of your boyfriend’s well-planned dates and vacations.

Of course, he’d be frustrated and sad. But it was also his responsibility to understand your situation here. You’re a nurse gosh darn it, and he should know damn well how whenever duty calls, you can never say no. That is what he agreed with when you both started your relationship 3 years ago.

But apparently, the spark that the two of you have been sharing for the several years you both had up till now, has been completely burnt out.

“Let’s end this, Y/N.”

To say that you were in tears would be an understatement.

Hell, you have been bawling your eyes out for the past 2 hours and breaking down in your living room as your boyfriend left your shared apartment after a heated argument.

You kept blaming yourself, for how much you have ruined this once so-called perfect relationship you have built with your now current ex. Everyone around you said that you both were perfect for one another, that you both were a match made in heaven and the wedding invitations are bound to arrive at your friends and relatives' doorstep in another 2 to 3 years' time.

Including your best friend, Ju Haknyeon.

Feeling weak and vulnerable, you desperately needed a warm embrace, and to hear some comforting words from someone who cares about you deeply.

It was now 3 in the morning, and there was only one place you know that you’ll be accepted in.

You stood right outside of the door that reads Apartment 309.

You knew this apartment from the back of your mind. The drive route from your apartment, even up to the passcode or where the extra pair of keys are hidden on the front porch.

Instead of trying to open the door on your own, the owner of the apartment has already been expecting your arrival and they were the ones welcoming you at the front door instead.

The brunette male, wearing a white t-shirt with black sweatpants, opened up the door for you. His eyes widen as he examines your red swollen eyes, puffy cheeks, and a wet soaked nurse uniform you were still wearing.

Before he could ask you what happened, you were pushing the male into the apartment while slamming the door shut with your leg. Guiding him all the way to his bedroom and pinning him down on his bed. You climbed over him and were about to kiss him right on the lips.

What was going on in your mind? Has the break-up made you feel a sudden surge of lust towards your best friend? Desperately wanting a hug and a kiss to see if it could make you feel better or at least forget about your ex.

But the male was clearly stronger than you were and he turned the tables over within seconds, and now you’re the one who’s being pinned down on the bed instead.

“Y/N, what is this all about?”

With that one sentence, you then broke down into tears again, leading the male to pull you up and hold you tight against his embrace.

It’s been a while since Haknyeon has witnessed you in such a fragile state, the last time probably being in college when you and your ex were going through some tremulous times to fight against all odds in order to be together.

And he hated it. Hated how vulnerable you were at that moment. He hated seeing you cry the most.

Especially when he still had feelings for you after all these years.

After calming down for a bit, you finally fill Haknyeon in with all that has happened the past few hours prior. You can’t help but to sob and sniffle from time to time and Haknyeon manages to wipe away your tears and calm you down each time.

Without having much thought, you blurted out “Haknyeon, be my boyfriend” right there and then.

Deep down you know very well that this was your best friend’s dream for the longest time, and he would definitely be delighted to accept the offer.

Or will he?

What you didn’t expect was the straight rejection he gave you right after you said that.

“Why not Haknyeon? You’ve had your eyes on me and loved me since day one of high school. Isn’t it always your dream to date me?”

“Y/N. I love you with all my heart. Hell, I would give up anything if it’s for you and to make you the happiest girl alive. But not like this.”

Haknyeon then lets you out of his embrace and cups both of his hands on your cheeks, staring deep into your eyes.

“I want you to love me when you’re at your best. I want you to truly see the man that I am, and how much I’ve grown. I want you to truly make up your mind because I will not let you go when you’ve decided to begin a relationship with me. I want you to love me right.”

You have been crashing at Haknyeon’s apartment most weekends for the past two months, and he couldn’t be happier if it makes you feel better.

During the weekdays though, Haknyeon would make the effort to come to visit you instead while bringing you the best take-out meals from all of his favourite restaurants in town. Your best friend clearly does not mess with food.

Knowing how messed up your eating schedule was, he has even taken the initiative to plan out your diet.

No consuming those nasty junk food when you’re already low on sleep.

You’d constantly be reminded of your bestie’s words every single time you’re about to head to the drive-thru at Mcdonald's at two in the morning after your shift at the hospital.

Tonight was different though as your manager informs you that you get to finish your shift way earlier than your usual post, as your department is getting a handful of transferred nurses from the capital. That was good news especially how your hospital has been understaffed for like two to three years now.

And that 2 - 3 years had to be the time when you were with your ex.

You shook off the negative thoughts you had in mind and quickly got out your phone to text Haknyeon about you coming home early for the night.

You were certain he was definitely on his phone when you sent the message because it took him less than a minute to give you a reply.

Hakkie 🐷: sweets!! I’ve had a big night planned ahead of us, can’t wait to see you at home 😊

You can’t help but smile at the message, thinking about how cute he was at times when he was all giddy and excited, which makes you wonder if you both are really the same age at all.

Your co-worker noticed your excitement and how a big sincere smile was plastered all across your face. It has been a while since you’ve been this jovial anyways.

“You got a date tonight?” She nudges your shoulder while giving you a wink.

Smiling back at your co-worker, you looked back down at your phone staring right at the newly changed picture your friend has chosen for his iMessage profile.

“I guess you can say that.”

“Woah Haknyeon, what on earth have you done with your apartment?”

You were astounded by what your best friend has done. The entire living room has been cleared out and Haknyeon took the largest blanket he owned and turned it into a fort. A comfy throw was laid out nicely on the floor with pillows scattered above it. As a finishing touch, fairy lights were hung around the blanket to give it that true cosy movie night experience.

“You sure are an ambitious young man.” You replied.

“Since when have you ever gotten off work this early Y/N, I’d say this calls for a celebration, and of course thank heavens that tomorrow is the weekend!!”

“Okay okay, kiddo. What are we watching tonight?”

“Big Mouth, the infamous K-drama everyone’s been talking about recently.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, both you and I are huge fans of crime shows, and we love Im Yoon-ah, so I’d say it’s a win-win situation!”

“More like you are the one who’s obviously obsessed with her.” You protested.

You couldn’t help but laugh at your bestie's enthusiastic comment. Eventually, you gave in and decided to make yourself comfy. Haknyeon went ahead and made some warm honey butter tteokbokki in his so-called best portable pot that he owned. Of course, a comfy night movie wouldn’t be complete without a warm mug of cinnamon latte according to the food master himself.

You never expected to have enjoyed the drama this much as it’s been such a long time since you've been to the cinemas, let alone watched a tv series or show at home. You missed this feeling of excitement as you engross yourself in the show’s plot, and of course, having someone to share the same experience with you in the same room.

As the show progressed, you can’t help but have tears well up in your eyes whenever a sad or frustrating scene appears on the screen. Haknyeon notices your demeanour and quietly puts an arm around your shoulder. Naturally, you decided to lay your head down on his shoulder. None of you said anything but just enjoyed this little comforting moment you both were having.

Haknyeon truly was your best friend, you definitely didn’t deserve a fine young gentleman like him.

“So where are we off to this time Mr Ju?”

It was another rare occasion where you’ve gotten a day off from work as your manager has seen all of the extra hours you’ve accumulated over the past several months.

Since the hospital wasn’t understaffed anymore, your manager has even managed to free up your Sundays from now on. It definitely has improved your physical and mental health as compared to your previous self when you were working 14-hour shifts straight for 7 days a week.

Your best friend was beyond ecstatic to find out that you’re free for the day, and he wasted no time coming to pick you up early in the morning, insisting on bringing you on a day trip.

So now you are sitting in Haknyeon’s car, and god knows where he’s bringing you to because he wouldn’t tell you what the itinerary even was for the day ahead.

It was now the beginning of summer, and Haknyeon clearly was taking you somewhere away from the city. Both of you passed all of the highways and eventually ended up on a riverside road just a little outside of Seoul.

It was kind of a long drive, around 4 and a half hours to be exact. Many times you’ve offered to take over the wheel, but the male insisted that he was fine and you deserve to be in the passenger seat instead.

“Rude Haknyeon, I’ll show you that I’m just as good as a driver like Sangyeon and Jacob oppa.” You pouted and crossed your arms.

“Yeah, rather convincing, Y/N. Remember how you were desperately calling for me in the middle of the night back during your first year in college when your car swerved right into a tree because you got too nervous to drive on your own? And oh, may I add, you were also crying over the phone and it took me a good minute to try and figure out whatever you were trying to tell me.”

“Shut up. We don’t talk about that.”

Haknyeon was clearly winning this whole debate, and he begin singing his lungs out on his so-called victory song, Young Tak’s Jjin-iya. You on the other hand, were sulking and decided to turn your head towards the window, trying your best to ignore the ever-so-slightly annoying song that was getting on your nerves while taking in the scenery in front of you.

After 10 more debate topics and bickering (because your friend is a tease like that), you both eventually arrived at your destination. Your friend has brought you to Haeundae, one of the famous beaches in Busan. As you both stepped out of the car, Haknyeon immediately went to the boot of his car and brought out a huge basket filled with whatever items he brought for the day.

He quickly grabbed hold of your wrist and brought you to the beach. There were quite a number of people here today, reasonable as most families and couples would’ve come to spend the good weather out at the beach. But Haknyeon manages to find a quiet spot where the both of you could truly enjoy the peaceful time today.

Haknyeon wasted no time in taking out the first item from the basket, a huge blue beach cloth and laying it down on the sand. Slowly, he took out all of the remaining items from the basket, most of them being food, to be honest.

What surprised you was that he picked out all of your favourite food and snacks that you literally consume whenever you wanna have a cheat or fulfilling day. Japanese fruit sandwiches, onigiris, chips, you name it he has got them. Oh, and yes he brought along his handy-dandy trustworthy Bluetooth speaker he’s been using for years that he loves and swears by it.

“Since when have you become a chef, Mr Ju Haknyeon. I thought you were a business consultant, not a restaurant owner.”

“Anything for my bestie, am I right?”. He gives you his signature cheeky smile, and you have to mentally ask your heart to stop beating so quickly.

Stop being so cute for the love of God.

With every bite you had, you couldn’t help but constantly give out this mmmmm pleasure sound, indicating how delicious every single meal was, and your friend couldn’t be much happier as it felt like he had gotten a trophy from a race or something.

You both enjoyed the meal and had a good chat about every single topic that comes to mind. You both reminisce back on the good old high school and college days, where multiple times Haknyeon has saved your ass from being called to detention for being late to class to almost missing your graduation day in college because you somehow lost the high heels that you planned to wear with your matching dress that day.

It was hilarious catching up with all of the crazy adventures you both had throughout the years, and Haknyeon with his bright and gagman persona made it a lot more memorable.

“I’m so glad you were with me from the beginning, Haknyeon. Never would I have thought to have gone through heaven and hell if I was alone.”

“Likewise, Y/N. I couldn’t have had a better bestie than you.”

You smiled and gave your best friend the biggest hug. “I just wish for us to be together for as long as we can.”

With that, Haknyeon breaks off the hug and grabs hold of your shoulders, looking deep into your eyes. He hesitated for a few moments, before deciding that it was the right time for him to speak about that certain topic that he has been desperately wanting to for the past couple of weeks now.

“Y/N. I know you’re probably sick of hearing this from me, but still, I want to make it clear to you. I still love you, even after all these years. I’ve never once given up hope on you.”

“And?”

He swallowed. “A-and. I mean, y’know we’ve been getting a lot closer for the past few months, crashing into each other’s place throughout the weeks, having tons of fun and cute movie and date nights at the restaurants in town. I just… wanna let this thing that has been bothering me for weeks now. I don’t mind if you don’t give me an answer, but just hear me out. I-I just… I want-”

“I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“Wa-wait what?”

You chuckled. “Oh my god, Haknyeon. I swear I’m gonna be dosing off to sleep waiting for you to blurt those words out. I know you still love me since the first day we met back in high school in the science laboratory. I gotta say I admire your persistence, young lad. Even what I was still with the ex who shall not be named.”

A burden was taken off of Haknyeon’s shoulders, and he immediately jumped right back into your embrace while rubbing his cheeks against yours. He was like a puppy who has just gotten their biggest treat yet.

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you thank you thank you!!!”

The hug lasted for a good few minutes, both of you taking in each other’s scent while resting both of your heads on each other’s shoulders.

That was until Haknyeon broke off the hug for the second time now, as he moved his fingers right onto your plump lips.

“May I?”.

“About damn time, Ju.”

No words were needed. He lowered his head and crashed his lips onto yours. It’s like you both have been waiting for eternity for this to happen, how long you both have waited for this day to come. He wasted no time in exploring your lips, kissing you deeper as he tilted his head, and you did the same.

Breaking off the kiss, he eventually scooped you up bridal style and brought you straight into the waters. As the sun starts to set, you both spend the rest of the remaining time kicking and splashing each other with water at the shore. By the end of the day, you both were soaking wet, but no regrets were made.

Haknyeon then lifts you up in his arms once again, giving you another kiss on the lips as you lean down and wrap your legs around him, both resting your foreheads with one another.

“I love you, Y/N. More than you could ever imagine.”

a/n: yes there will be a part 2 😌

masterlist

taglist: @deoboyznet @flwoie @hokupi @kyusqult @tinkerbell460 (join my permanent taglist here!)

95 notes · View notes

synonymroll648 · 10 months

Text

no hummingbirds, no butterflies (just soft whirrs & peaceful daylight)

pairings/relationships: queerplatonic keefex, minor mentions of dex’s dynamics with his parents, + referenced dadwin (keefe & elwin as a parent-son duo of sorts)

tws: minor (autistic) overstimulation, anxiety, touch starvation, swearing, implied sexual humor (keefe’s here, what’d you expect), and i think that’s it - but please let me know if there’s more that should be added!

summary: “I—okay, fine. You’re not patient with gadgets or alchemy or anything that’s a project,” Keefe laughs, and then his voice goes…gentle. Like midnight rain. “But you’re patient with people. You’re patient with me.”

You’re patient with me, Keefe says, and Dex thinks, What an interesting way to say ‘I love you’.

OR: An exploration of what Keefe and Dex’s dynamic could’ve been if Keefe hadn’t run off to the forbidden cities.

additional notes: happy final day of @keefex-week 2023, even if this is for the day 1 prompt queerplatonic! i started this fic back in feburary as an ayyam-i-ha gift for the one and only wonderful @bookwyrminspiration, but didn’t finish in time, and then i tried finishing it in time for its tumblr bday, and didn’t finish in time for that either. but at least i finished in time for this! i hope you enjoy the third draft of keefex being queerplatonic and neurodivergent (i wrote this with autistic!dex in the front of my mind. also, this entire fic was inspired by this keefex shitpost i made [and the really gay eckodon scene in book 4].) comments and constructive criticism are appreciated!

word count: 6.4k

ao3 link (recommended)

taglist: @gay-otlc @purplesoup-lad-le @when-wax-wings-melt @asexual-juliet @cowboypossume @xanadaus

fic under the cut :)

Out of all the things that can surprise Dex Dizznee at 12:21am, getting hailed by Keefe Sencen isn’t one of them.

The buzzing of his imparter laying on his bed cuts through the quiet ambiance of the noisemakers carefully placed in his room. The gadget Dex has mindlessly fidgeted with for minutes on end gets set down on his desk, and he carefully steps through the mess on his floor to pick up the hail.

(After turning the volume down, because Keefe has accidentally woken up Dex’s parents from laughing too loud on more than one night like this.)

“Heeeey, Dexy,” Keefe deliriously croons across the line.

Deliriously is the correct description, Dex knows, because Keefe only ever uses that tone when his guard is down—and after Loamnore, lowered guards only ever occur after a mental breakdown or from serious sleep deprivation.

Or both.

“Hello to you too, at this totally reasonable hour for the two of us to be awake,” Dex sits down on the edge of his bed, tucking his feet up onto the mattress.

A snicker. “Tooooootally.”

Dex does a brief internal analysis of his face—he doesn’t have enough time to be thorough without being awkward, but no mental notes at all is bound to leave him floundering later on in the conversation.

Dark circles → Keefe is probably at least halfway out of his mind.

Bedhead → Keefe is definitely at least halfway out of his mind.

Lots of blankets and pillows → Keefe is either content or in the middle of an existential crisis.

Slightly more prominent freckles across the bridge of his nose than usual → Congratulate Keefe on getting some sunshine.

Keefe starts talking again, and Dex is glad that he doesn’t have to be the one to resume conversation. “What’d I interrupt?”

“Me trying to get work done for the Black Swan or school but being too tired to think properly.”

“I’m guessing you’re also too awake to go to sleep.”

“Bingo,” Dull exasperation on Dex’s end.

“Relatable.” Fatigue softens the ‘t’ so much that it’s only implied at best. Relatable is surrender wearing a humorous mask; Keefe’s favorite shield.

You need to say something. It’s the start to an all-too familiar chain reaction. He almost lists out all the ways You need to say something evolves into something much more panic-inducing, since lists usually help, but this is one of those few exceptions where listing it all out will screw him over.

So Dex starts on the steps to prevent that, with an inhale quiet enough that Keefe hopefully doesn’t think he’s sighing. Next is grasping for something to contribute. Something silly, preferably.

Dex is a second slower to reply than he’d like, but he finds something that works. His headspace relaxes once he asks, “Is the bingo card or the bingo pieces or the bingo itself relatable?”

“Hmmmmm, good question…” Keefe tilts his gaze up to the ceiling of his starry bedroom at Splendor Plains.

Dex takes his thoughtful pause as an opportunity to study Keefe further. He notes gulon pajamas, and eyelashes that are long and dark and confusingly nice to look at—which makes him think of the eckodon ride to Alluveterre, the first time he’d really noticed them—which makes heat begin to fester under his skin, because that was a lot of physical contact and—

—Keefe starts talking again, and it’s enough to get his brain to shut up. “Bingo pieces, probably. Sometimes I get put in situations where things work out, and sometimes I get put in situations where they don’t. Comes down to everyone else’s luck.”

The Keefe is either content or in the middle of an existential crisis part of Dex’s mental notes from earlier resurfaces at the front of his mind, and he leans a little more towards preparing for helping Keefe through an existential crisis.

Then Dex leans a few degrees back into the or part of the note, once Keefe cracks, “Kinda like all the backstories we came up with for Keebler elves.”

Laughter, fast and loose and loud, threatens to explode out of Dex’s chest. He quickly covers his mouth, unable to help looking away and throwing his head back while he tries to not disturb the sleepy nighttime air that blankets Rimeshire.

When Dex looks back down at Keefe, there’s a proud grin crinkling the corners of his eyes, smushed up against the cozy mess of his bedding. Keefe wrestles a hand out from under the blankets it was trapped under, and points directly at his imparter camera. “You thought it was funny, don’t deny it,”

“I won’t,” Dex relents. A wistful sigh almost turns into snickers, since he’s apparently spent way too many nights talking with Keefe over the past few months. “That was probably the funnest reason for pulling an all-nighter.”

A giggle. More than one giggle, actually. A whole stream of them, like a human song kids would get hooked on. (Giggles. Keefe is undoubtedly delirious, guaranteed to be more than halfway out of his mind. There’s no other explanation for him being so light and sunny at 12:26 in the morning.) “Best all-nighter eeee-ver! No school, just the silly.”

Dex arcs an eyebrow like the sunrise that’s hours away. “The silly?”

“The silly!” Beaming a childish grin, Keefe’s fist punches out of his heap of blankets and up into the air, almost as if he’s cheering for something.

The force of it sends Keefe’s imparter—wherever it’s propped up on—toppling over. The view on Dex’s imparter shifts to close-up constellations behind glass. He hasn’t done well enough in his Universe class to be able to identify anything before Keefe cries, “Dex! Mrs. Stinkbottom! My dearest companions! Noooooooo!”

This time, Dex has to gently bite down on his knuckles to keep himself from laughing too loud.

(Dex has to stop himself from wondering too much about the depth behind My dearest companions too. Because he’s gone down far too many rabbit holes about whether or not he’s romantically attracted to Keefe and been left with a confusing answer of no, but also not being satisfied with the label platonic either. He just focuses on the joy of someone finding him valuable outside of his tech and alchemy skillsets.)

There’s a smile on Dex’s face so wide it makes him feel dumb as he watches Keefe lean over his bed to try and grab at his imparter. Awkwardly angled footage goes a little fuzzy as Mrs. Stinkbottom gets pulled up before Dex. Well, not Dex, the imparter, since Dex is leaned back against his pillow and headboard and not collapsed on Keefe’s bedroom floor, but no one cares about technicalities like that other than Dex.

Finally, Keefe’s hand presumably wraps around his imparter, and Dex’s screen is a blur as Keefe hauls ‘him’ up. “I got a little too silly for the world to handle,” he pouts.

“The world? I don’t think me and Mrs. Stinkbottom count as the world. Pretty sure there’s a lot more to the world than that.”

“Well, that’s the only part of the world I care about right now.”

Don’t read into it, don’t read into it, don’t read into it—

Dex doesn’t read into it. Because he’s a master at this seemingly mythical thing called self-restraint, if his friends are anything to go by. “I dunno, I’m pretty sure you care about your blankets and pillows right now,”

Keefe’s lips thin into a disconcerted line. “...Yeah, I do. Caught me red-handed,” he mumbles, relaxing further into the comfortable disaster he’s wrapped himself in. “But that’s it.”

You sure about that? he wants to ask, but takes the few seconds of silence to consider his options and turn the conversation towards something else instead. “How much have you slept?”

Things That Would Replicate Keefe’s Hysterical Laughter at That Question When Mixed Together Properly:

Tea kettles when their contents are boiling.

Monkeys screeching.

Gasps from someone who almost drowned. Or ran a long distance at a high speed and finally got to stop. Or something like that.

A recording of someone’s sobbing or laughing that could pass as both to unaware listeners.

It’s a little startling—startling enough that he jumps at the unexpected change in sound. Frantically, he turns down his imparter volume. And then Dex tries to climb under his covers as quietly as he can and curls up on his side, so he can fake being asleep if his mom pops in to check on him. (She’s a light sleeper, which she’s jokingly coined as her proof that she married into the Dizznee family instead of being born into it.)

Keefe wipes at his eyes. “You gotta specify a time frame, Dex. Tonight? The last twenty four hours? The last week? Etcetera,”

It takes a blip of time to remember what they’re talking about. “Last twenty four hours.”

“I took a nap after lunch. Ro woke me up for dinner. After that, I painted until I spilled my water jar on accident. Cleaning up made me realize how tired I was, so I tried to sleep. Buuuuut…” Something about the way Keefe’s facial expression just barely shifts makes Dex suspect that he’s either gonna cough up a hard truth or lie to cover it up. “my brain wouldn’t shut off. And now we’re here.”

Dex takes a shot in the dark—literally. The only thing lighting up his room is his open curtains. Moonlight washes the room in pale silvers and a whole scale of blues. “Was it that you couldn’t stop thinking period, or you couldn’t stop thinking about the wrong things?”

The steady, easy rise and fall of Keefe’s form stills. It resumes when Keefe sighs and says, “Does anything get past you?”

I’ve spent my whole life analyzing everything to the best of my ability, because I’ve spent my whole life out of the loop and fighting to get in it. It’s late at night, and your guard’s down. Of course nothing you do gets past me. Too serious, too blunt. Killjoy of a response. Dex condenses it into something lighter, but still truthful. “When it comes to you, no, not that I know of.”

“I feel like that’s a sign that I’ve overshared on one too many nightly hails over the past few months,” Keefe tries to laugh it off, but Dex can sense the nervous undertone.

“I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop you next time you try to open up,” Dex offers. He hopes Keefe doesn’t take him up on it.

Dread begins to stir in his stomach as Keefe pauses to consider. It dissipates when Keefe says, “Nahhh, I trust you to not take advantage of me being stupid. Also, like—actually, you know what? Can I ramble about something? The only way my brain can make points is through stories right now. But if you want me to shut up, that’s fine.”

“Ramble away,” Dex says. It’s nice being your number one person to talk to, even if I’m sure it won’t last forever.

“Okay, so, earlier today—well, technically yesterday now, but no one cares—anyways. Anyways.” Keefe clears his throat, fist in front of his mouth. Eyebrows downturn in a way that’s either ironically or unironically serious; Dex can’t tell.

Dex poorly suppresses a smile. Turns up the volume again to hear him better, and resolves to just remind Keefe, No sudden noises please, if he gets too loud again.

“So basically, after Ro woke me up, Elwin knocked on my doorway today and told me dinner was ready if I was hungry. It was in the usual spot he leaves it for me since being in the same room as people is hard and he’s cool about me eating alone, y’know? I feel like I told you about that already, but whatever.” (Keefe has indeed told Dex about this routine. On multiple occasions.) “I hear his footsteps walking away, and I open the door and I say ‘Elwin?’”

“Out loud, or using signs?”

“Out loud,” Keefe confirms.

It’s been a month or two since Keefe managed to start saying short phrases to people aloud again, but it’s still difficult enough—especially without preparation beforehand—that it’s always a surprise to hear him mention talking out loud face-to-face recently. Dex’s eyebrows nearly touch his hairline. He holds back the Wow, Keefe, incredible job—genuinely, ready to jump off the cliff’s edge of his tongue. Lets Keefe keep talking.

“So he turns around and he tilts his head in this way that’s like, hey, keep going. My nerves started acting up, but I managed to ask if we could eat at the table together. I had to clear my throat and clarify—well, I was really just rambling, but whatever—that sitting, like, right next to him would be too much. And I’d probably have to sit on the opposite end of the table, but he told me that was totally fine. No disappointment or anything. And we—we actually had a conversation. Not just a few sentences. I could keep up with talking back and forth for longer than a few minutes. And there was this point where he said…” Keefe stops. “He said, um. Hang on.”

Keefe flops his face into his pillow. Dex suppresses an instinctual smile at the unintelligible noises that come out of Keefe’s throat, because he doesn’t know if they’re positive or negative. Yet.

So he asks. “Is this good or bad?”

Keefe nods. Confusion forms in a crease between Dex’s eyebrows. Some absurd part of Dex suspects Keefe can sense it through the screen, because he turns his face towards his imparter and clarifies, “Good. I think. I’ve just forgotten how to handle affection in general. And I’ve never known how to handle it from parental figures.”

Parental figures has delighted surprise lighting up Dex’s face for a split second before he smooths his expression out into something neutral again. Elwin’s always been a lot better than Cassius. Keefe maybe, just maybe, finding someone else to call ‘dad’ or something like it would be good for him.

Dex hopes they get there. Eventually.

Dex also doesn’t know if it’s too early to tell Keefe that, so he errs on the side of caution. “From what I’ve heard you tell me, I don’t think Elwin minds that you don’t really know what you’re doing. But what did Elwin say to you? You cut yourself off.”

Keefe blinks, a bit slow to respond. “Sorry, I was processing that first sentence. Uh. He said that he was really proud of me. For,” —Keefe’s laugh in between words is bittersweet— “being so brave about all of this. And I thought he was playing up how he felt to make me feel better, so I told him that he didn’t have to lie to me. Then he told me that he was being dead serious, and he was sorry he didn’t say it more often. And he tried complimenting me more, but, um, I—I told him to stop because I didn’t want to start crying, y’know? Especially since I couldn’t—can’t hug him. Or anything like that,”

Dex doesn’t really know how this relates to whatever point(s?) Keefe was trying to make earlier about trusting Dex, but he’ll roll with the punches. “I’m not a professional on emotions or anything, but I think it’s okay to get overwhelmed by someone being nice to you when you’re used to literally nothing at best.”

“That’s…” Keefe goes quiet. Dex wonders if he said the right or wrong thing. Hopefully it was right. It feels right, at least. “That’s good to hear. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Dex says, and gives him a tired smile. Not because he’s tired of Keefe, but because it’s who knows what hour in the morning now and Dex has been on a losing streak with his sleep schedule for roughly a week now.

Keefe sighs. “I wish I could hug you,” he whines. “You’re always so nice about putting up with my bullshit, and you’re cute when you’re tired, and I call you all the time but I still miss you because it’s not the same as when I could wrap my arm around you and say I’ve got you, Dexy, without physical consequences.”

There are many, many things that Dex could think in response to that. There are many, many things that Dex does think in response to that. But the first thing that comes to mind is if this conversation had been a string of imparter texts, Keefe would have written something along the lines of “:(((“ at least once just now.

Keefe bulldozes on. “Like, you’re so…patient,”

And then Dex cuts him off with a snort. “You are the first person I have ever heard call me patient. Ever.”

“I—okay, fine. You’re not patient with gadgets or alchemy or anything that’s a project,” Keefe laughs, and then his voice goes…gentle. Like midnight rain. “But you’re patient with people. You’re patient with me.”

You’re patient with me, Keefe says, and Dex thinks, What an interesting way to say ‘I love you’.

It’s an observation. Not a revelation, because Dex has known for months now that his dynamic with Keefe is defined by oddities. They are misfits on the outskirts of everything they know. They are two boys that don’t fit neatly into any boxes—one with a genetically modified ability that’s drastically altered his life in ways no one knows how to fix, and the other the son of a bad match that’s become a regent at 15 and a Black Swan technopath even younger. They are more than that, too, and they see all of that more in each other. They see all the mundane more and the wild more and all the more in between that doesn’t fit into any box society likes. They’ve been seeing more of all the more in one another over these past few months, and scrapping their discoveries together like spare parts into something that’s probably confusing and worthless to the rest of the world, but it works for them.

Progressing without refining, coloring outside the lines—it’s not what mechanics or artists are supposed to do, but for this piece, for their style, for their invention, it works for them.

This weird version of love that they have, that seems to permanently float either between or outside platonic and romantic binaries (Dex is too sleepy to tell): it works for them.

It works for them.

“You make being patient worth it, Keefe. You always do, in the long run.”

Half-lidded eyes shoot wide, and Dex can’t tell if the glaze over icy irises is due to tears or lighting until Keefe’s turning away and whining, “Dex, what the fuck did I say about not wanting to cry?”

Dex is glad that his words touched Keefe, since his hands can’t. Appreciation presents itself through amused exhales at the smile on Keefe’s face that won’t go away. “I thought you liked honesty, though?” he teases.

Keefe rolls back over in his twist of bedding to glare at his imparter, but it looks more like a pout. “Yeah, but I also like not having a crisis over whether or not—I’m pretending I live in an ideal world that doesn’t hate me, by the way—I want to draw you a bajillion times or paint you a bajillion times or tickle fight you until you’re in hysterics because I like the way your laugh sounds or hug you for an eon normally or hug you for an eon the way we did on the eckodon or if I want to kiss you. And I know that last part’s probably overreacting, but also, I can’t tell if it’s wanting to, like, kiss you on the cheek? Or more than that? Or less? Which makes things harder and way more confusing,”

Dex’s eyebrows aren’t practically touching his hairline, they are touching his hairline. (In spirit. Because eyebrow muscles don’t work like that in the real world. He thinks.) Dex adds You want a REPEAT of the eckodon ride? onto his mental list of conversation topics, then asks the slightly more pressing question he got from Keefe’s rambling: “You want to kiss me?”

Because Keefe Sencen? Renowned heartthrob that had half the girls at Foxfire wrapped around his finger without even trying that hard? Wanting to kiss him? Him? Dex Dizznee? The sheer notion was fucking absurd. Bonkers. Ridiculous.

“I mean—like—listen—okay, just, just let me explain before your brain runs wild, I know how you are,” Keefe splutters.

Dex suppresses a grin at Keefe being the flustered one for once. “Oh, I’m definitely listening.”

“Okay, so, first off, kissing was a brief idea that popped into my head when I thought, How do I show Dex how much I care about him? Kind of like an afterthought. And the original afterthought was, like, impulsively kissing your cheek. In a goofy way. Not full-on making out with you or anything.” Keefe pauses, and two things shift in the meantime: Keefe’s facial expression tipping off of panic into thoughtfulness, and Dex’s facial color gradually sliding from its pale base color to a blush that only gets more vivid as Keefe talks. “Though I probably wouldn’t complain if we made out, but it’s not something I’m yearning for every second of every day or anything. The possibility only just hit me, after all. I want it if you want it, I mean. But if you don’t, I’m all good. We’re all good.”

Dex blinks. Throws all caution to the wind, and thinks about it. Thinks about whether or not he’d like that kind of kissing from Keefe. Keefe would most likely start slow, because that feels like a Keefe thing to do, so Dex imagines that. Imagines how he might feel if they were whispering to directly into each other’s ears instead of each other’s imparters, if Keefe pulled him in for a kiss instead of keeping his distance without compromising himself—

—and almost immediately thinks No thanks. Which is a little odd, since he likes the way Keefe looks and acts, but his stomach hollows out at the idea of another mouth moving over his, no matter how kind the intention. Mashing two mouths together is an overrated display of affection hyped up too much by mom’s romcoms and other romance enthusiasts is the explanation for it that pops up into Dex’s head. The lack of spark or pull that Dex feels towards kissing in general plus the weirdness of textures and germs interacting through mouth to mouth contact probably factors into his opinion too.

Overriding that kind of mind and body instinct feels wrong, so Dex offers up more honesty to Keefe. “I think I’ll pass on the kissing. Making-out kissing, at least. Kissing anyone makes me feel weird—a bad kind of weird, if you get what I mean.”

“Sir yes sir!” Keefe barks out, giving him a cheesy salute, and Dex giggles. “Thank you for making it easier to make my brain shut up about kissing you. The identity crisis prevention is appreciated.”

“Of course, of course,” Dex jests. “But for the record, I don’t think you potentially wanting to kiss boys in general is a bad thing. As long as they’re good for you, y’know?”

Quiet overlays Keefe’s demeanor, and Dex can practically hear the gears in his brain turning. Processing. Then Keefe gives a small smile and says, “Thanks, Dex. I’ll keep it in mind. Buuuuuut,” Keefe claps his hands suddenly, and Dex nearly jumps out of his skin. “I’m not in the mood for heavy introspection right now! Soooo…maybe you could tell me about the things I said that you’d be okay and not okay with instead? For the sake of, like, boundaries and stuff.”

“Ah, yes. Discussing boundaries when we’re both sleep deprived and not thinking straight. Incredibly intelligent move.”

Dex apparently didn’t put enough lightheartedness into his deadpan, because Keefe scrambles to backtrack. “I mean, yeah, you have a point, we can do that sometime later in daylight, or later, or never. Whatever you feel like. No worries.”

“I was joking. We can and probably should talk about it now, even if we’re not 100% functioning,” Dex reassures.

“Okay. Um. Where do you want to start?”

Dex references his mental conversation prep list, and plucks out a relevant item he hasn’t used yet. (He will use the sunshine comment before the end of this hail, or so help him.) “Can we talk about the whole ‘basically wanting a repeat of the eckodon ride’ thing? Because in the moment you seemed pretty eager to end that, and I’m simultaneously confused and curious at your…change of heart, so to speak.”

A hypothesis Dex will never be able to test the accuracy of: If Keefe weren’t under the weak starlight of his bedroom walls and somewhere brighter in this moment, Dex would be able to see a flush crawling over Keefe’s ears. Perhaps even over his cheeks, too. The musing is based on evidence—the hand running through Keefe’s bedhead, the loaded exhale, the averted gaze, the upper teeth worrying his lower lip.

Anxiously, Keefe chants strings of swears under his breath before composing himself a little. “First things first, just to know how much of my dignity I’m losing here at whatever time of night it is right now, can you tell me how often you think about the eckodon ride? And what you think of it, if you do think of it at all?”

Oh god. Dex had not prepped for actually talking about that. At all.

So much for not floundering later on in the conversation, he curses his past self.

“Do you want me to start right now and then just pause and backtrack when I word things wrong, or do you want me to try and get things sorted out before I talk?” Clarification and a counterattack, a delay of the inevitable.

“Take your time,” Keefe murmurs.

Dex does. While Keefe breathes in a purposeful pattern he messes up every now and then, Dex rearranges the scramble of thoughts in his head until every piece is in the right place. And then he double checks to make sure it’s right. And when he thinks Maybe I should triple check, he forces the words out into a freefall and hopes that when they collide into the connection between him and Keefe, it won’t hurt. “Before I get into emotional vulnerability, I would like to say that I still stand by my opinion that your breath stunk. You need to invest in having carry-on breath mints at all times, dude.”

Keefe bursts out laughing, and it’s everything from playful ocean waves curling and splashing at his lower legs on a shoreline walk to distant melodies whispered in the wind. “I’ll do that, next time I go out,” Keefe promises, and for now, only Dex will ever know how big it is to hear Keefe make plans for a more social future he said he’d given up on at the beginning of these nighttime hails. “But only if you do too. Because I swear, your breath rivaled gulon farts, my guy.”

But only if you do too. My guy. It softens Dex like the glow of the stars outside his window. His smile is a crescent in the dark. “Fine, fine, I will. Maybe I’ll make my own and hail you so you can watch alchemy antics.”

“Please do. But finish talking first.”

Dex takes a deep breath. “Okay. Uh. Where was I?”

“Emotional vulnerability, I think?”

Exhale, trace back to which thought he left off on, and go. Hurtle out of comfort and into the brilliantly terrifying unknown. Speak before the end of the fall. “Right, emotional vulnerability time. I don’t think of the eckodon ride every second of every day or anything. But it pops up from time to time. More often when I’m talking to you, of course, but it’s not like I can hear whale songs or see Z-shaped objects without at least briefly thinking about it. As for what I think of the eckodon ride, I think…” Dex falters. Stumbles. His carefully constructed thoughts flutter just out of reach.

What was I thinking earlier? What have I thought about it before? “I think it was nice. Confusingly nice, but nice. I felt—it felt—it was different. A lot more physical contact than I was used to. And I guess I liked looking at you close up more than I was willing to admit before. Noticing little details was interesting—like how long your eyelashes are, since I didn’t really have anywhere to look but your eyes and I usually try to look close to people’s eyes but not quite since I get distracted by their eyes when they talk if I make eye contact, but we weren’t talking, and I just got to look, and—ugh, I’m rambling. That sounds weird. My words aren’t, I dunno what the word is—wording? Right? That’s wrong, but whatever. My words aren’t wording. You get what I mean.”

Dex drags his hands down his face, and grimaces at the light layer of sweat that’s built up there in such a small amount of time. Has the freefall ended yet? Will his stomach please stop hollowing out?

The freefall crashes to an end, and Dex slips out of the wind into into safe waters when Keefe asks, “So you didn’t mind how close we were the whole time?”

With only the moon as a witness, the timidness in Keefe’s voice is clear. With only the moon as a witness, all the air empties out of Dex’s lungs when he says “I didn’t really mind, but I thought you did,” into what feels like six feet underneath the sky.

Thuds pulse loudly in his veins and ears in the real silence. Every gentle slide of fabric moving with the crests and troughs of Dex’s breathing feels like the edge of too much, but Dex doesn’t know which side of the edge it falls onto. Staring at his imparter is too much now, too, so he turns his face into his pillow and swipes his thumb back and forth across his sheets as a nearly futile distraction from his frazzled senses.

Keefe reels him out of it, out of the increasingly weird stimulation levels and the imaginary water. “I didn’t really mind either, and I didn’t know what to do with that, so I shoved you away and jumped to something that I understood. And then I tried not to think about it. Which worked for a while, but then Loamnore happened, and now it’s really hard to not think about how much I miss being close to people, which makes it extra hard to not think about the eckodon ride when I’m around you, and now we’re here.”

A hum vibrates in Dex’s throat; it resonates with all the gadgets scattered around his room on sleep mode. “So originally, you didn’t want to fully process the eckodon ride, but now that you have, you miss that kind of proximity?”

“Yes,” Keefe breathes out a syllable and longing.

“That makes sense,” Dex nods to himself.

Contemplation lulls talking from either end of the line to sleep for a little while, but not Dex. Yet. At some point, Dex’s imparter slipped so that he couldn’t see Keefe and Keefe couldn’t see him. Not focusing on the changes in his expressions and environment, when it’s so late and quiet and Dex woke up at 2am yesterday and hasn’t slept since, makes it a little difficult to stay awake.

“So if I end up being able to handle touching people at some point in the future,” Keefe starts, and Dex starts at the sudden verbalism and the hope in his voice that they both thought he’d lost, “kissing you is a no, but hugs are a yes?”

“Hugs are a yes,” Dex agrees.

“What about, um—” Keefe stops short.

Laziness compels Dex to flick his imparter upright with telekinesis instead of just reaching over and grabbing it. He raises an eyebrow at Keefe. “What about what?”

Dex is the furthest thing the elvin world knows to an empath, and yet. And yet. He can feel Keefe’s embarrassment through the countless miles separating Rimeshire and Splendor Plains. Keefe’s almost completely buried beneath blankets, pressed deep enough into his pillow that only some messy blond tufts are visible.

“This is so stupid,” Keefe grumbles into fabric.

“I think this is rather funny, actually. Hilarious, even,” Keefe can’t see Dex’s shit-eating grin. “Share with the class, Keefe. How were you gonna finish that sentence? Be honest,”

(Dex turns down his imparter volume to the lowest setting. Just in case a certain froster is wandering around the halls with those silent mom feet of hers and walks in at the worst time possible.)

Dex thinks he hears Keefe mumble holding hands, but that seems far too innocent to be correct, so he asks, “What?”

Keefe pops up out of his cocoon. He looks like he wants to shrivel up and disappear to somewhere that’s anywhere but near his imparter. “Holding hands. That’s how I was going to end the sentence.”

Suspicion narrows Dex’s eyes. “Considering the kind of jokes you like to make, I feel like it takes more than the idea of holding hands to get you flustered,”

“Not anymore,”

Dex can’t tell if Keefe is whining or scraping the surface of loneliness that he’s shoved aside for tonight, and decides it’s a good idea to pull him away from that. He can lament his losses when the sun’s there to smatter more freckles along the bridge of his nose. “Getting back to the point—you wanted to know how I felt about you wanting to hold my hand?”

Slowly, Keefe nods.

“I don’t see why it’d be anything to get flustered about. We used to hold hands for light leaping all the time. Extending that doesn’t seem like a huge deal, in this hypothetical.”

“How the fuck are you so chill about this but I’m not,” Keefe says, and yeah, he’s definitely whining now.

Dex laughs. “My serious answer is because 1) I’m not touch starved and 2) we’re talking theoreticals, and my emotions kind of take a backseat during conversations like these so my critical thinking skills can take the wheel, since it feels like there’s no stakes since it’s all, as I said, theoretical. My joking answer, on the other hand, is because I’m cooler than you.”

Keefe cracks a smile. “True, true,”

“Anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“Is there anything else I said earlier that you’re not cool with?” Keefe returns.

“List it off again?”

“Uhhhh…” What some humans would call Keefe’s ‘Adam’s apple’ bobs as he tips his head back and thinks. He raises one hand and flips up a finger for each item he rattles off. “Stuff we haven’t talked about yet: Me wanting to draw you a bajillion times, me wanting to paint you a bajillion times, me wanting to get into a tickle fight with you just because I like how your laugh sounds, and teeeechnically cuddling?”

This is the kind of thing that Dex should probably have to mull over for a while, but answers come to him oddly easily. “All of those are fine, but I will warn you that I might kick you on instinct if you tickle me too much. Which isn’t that hard. My dad makes fun of me all the time for still being ticklish. He said that Dizznees usually have built up immunity to tickles by my age.”

Keefe blinks. Numerous times. Exaggeratedly. “Normally I’d be losing my mind at you being cool with me using you as a pillow for no reason, but I’m way too stuck on tickle immunity being a thing you can build up.”

Dex forgets to be quiet with his wheezing. “Dude, I have so many whack stories about things me and my family have done that have to do with tickling. Like, my dad said that when he was a level two he’d make elixirs specifically to give him vampire fangs so he could bite his siblings harder when they tried to tickle him,”

The tea kettle monkey screeching hysterical laughter from before comes back with a vengeance, and Dex is very glad his imparter is as quiet as it can be without deafening Keefe out entirely. “I need the full story now,” he gasps out.

“You’re in for a ride,” Dex says, settling into a more comfortable position on his bed. But then he remembers one thing he swore he’d say before this hail ended, and makes sure to look the camera head on when he comments, “Oh, by the way, before I don’t shut up for another three hours, good job getting some sunshine. The freckles look nice on you.”

Horror rounds Keefe’s eyes comically. He frantically runs his fingers along his cheeks as if his aforementioned freckles were braille spelling out some awful message on his face. “You can see them?”

“How else would I know they look nice on you?”

Keefe groans and curls up like the roly poly bugs Dex loved to pick up as a kid. Keefe’s imparter falls forward, and the imparter screen thumps into fuzzy blackness. “I chase Bullhorn around the property so Elwin can have a break for a day one time, and this is how the world rewards me,”

“As I basically told you already: I think it’s a great reward. Anyway. Wanna hear about just how petty my family gets or not?”

“I’m 100% down, Dexy. Hit me with good old storytime.”

Storytelling hasn’t ever really been Dex’s thing, but Keefe doesn’t seem to have high standards, which is nice. (The other explanation is that Dex is better at storytelling than he thinks, which he refuses to believe because he hates being wrong about anything ever.) He laughs more than Dex expected, and insists on getting his sketchbook at one point to draw out certain parts, and then they both giggle so hard they can’t breathe. They gesture and talk and talk and talk until Keefe says his throat and ribs hurt, and Dex agrees on that last part.

Dex’s last thought before his breathing slows and evens out is some hazy musing of how nice it is that he can be Keefe’s person without having to feel hummingbirds or butterflies to get there.

Both of their imparters are on when they fall asleep to soft whirrs and wake up to peaceful daylight.

#qpr keefex fic #but it's the real thing this time!#qpr keefex #keefex #keefe sencen #dex dizznee #kotlc #kotlc fic #keefex fic #keeper of the lost cities #keefex week 2023 #autistic!dex #bisexual!keefe #aroace!dex #keefe feels alterous attraction towards dex in this btw. if i didn't make it obvious enough (sorry if i didn't)#dadwin #forever in mourning of how keefe isn't gonna get adopted by elwin :( ik grady and keefe is good but. KEEFE AND ELWIN [sobs]

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barbi2709 · 1 year

Text

12:32 || Will you pick me?

Disclaimer: This and each of my stories are only fiction and are not intended to offend or make anyone uncomfortable, if this type of content makes you uncomfortable, feel free to leave without resentment :]

Paring: Heeseung x bi-with-female-preference!gn!reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship

Summary: Just a relaxing moment with the comforting presence of your boyfriend, until he came up with a curious question, one that you'll gladly answer.

WC: 520

a/n: I just needed to write my Heeseung brainstorm bc this man is driving me insane 🫠🫠🫠. (please like, reblog and comment, also remember that English isn't my first language so if there's any mistakes let me know)

Also, I got this idea after watching an Instagram reel and one comment said that "bisexuals with a preference to woman but that ended up with a guy are annoying" so if I see something like this here I'm gonna fucking block you right away :)

It was almost midnight.

You and your boyfriend Heeseung were chilling in your room, you were finishing uploading school files while he was laying in your bed, scrolling on his phone.

You let out a sigh while stretching your arms still in your chair, you rubbed your eyes softly because of many hours looking at the screen of your computer.

Meanwhile, your boyfriend was still focused on his phone, a specific video caught his attention, his eyes darted from the phone screen to you while a smirk creep on his face.

—Babe! —he called out while opening the camera of his phone and start recording—. I have a question for you.

—Go ahead. —you answered without looking at him, most of your attention still focused on the essay you were finishing.

—Will you pick me up from a room full of men?. —he finally asked while looking at you.

The sudden question made you turn to him, still a little amused by the question, by the time you turned around Heeseung was already looking at you, expectantly and curious, his bambi eyes staring at you intently.

You knew your boyfriend came with the most random and weirdest things out of the blue, but you actually found that question interesting.

—Hee —you started while looking at him in the eyes, the corners of your lips raised subtly as you spoke, leaving a small, sweet smile on your lips—. I will pick you up from a room full of women.

Heeseung's eyes widened at your words, he spected anything but that answer.

He was specting something like "I wouldn't pick you up if you were the only one in the room" or at least a simple "yes/of course I will", but that small sentence made him feel butterflies again.

When you first started dating, you told him about your sexuality and preferences, in fact, he didn't mind, he new that you had chosen him instead of somebody else, you had chosen him before any other girl or guy in the world, and you made him feel oh so loved and wanted that nothing else mattered.

Even if he hated to admit it, your words had a strong impact on him, he was frozen still on the bed, he could feel the heat making its way to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and he could assure that the color red would probably be well defined on his face.

He tried to play it cool though, so he cough trying to regain his composure, he stopped recording and go back to social media while suppressing a smile with superhuman effort.

—Cool. —he said simply, trying to sound trying to sound as calm and unaffected as possible, making you let out a laugh because you could still see the noticeable blush on his face.

—What?, are you flustered?. —you asked in a mocking tone as you turned back to your computer, Heeseung swore he could hear the smirk on your voice.

—You wish!. —he scoffed at you, making you let out another loud laugh as he cursed under his breath while the blush of his cheeks increased.

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cosmicanamnesis · 1 year

Text

he tastes like chocolate pt. 8

[part 1] [part 7] [part 9] [read on ao3]

December 31st, 12 hours to midnight

The first thing Steve did once he was home was shower, and proceed to spend a totally reasonable amount of time, shut up Robin fixing his hair before standing in front of his closet staring at his clothes.

Shit.

He really did dress like that all the time, huh?

In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have cared. But this was Eddie, and his metal band’s presumably also metal friends. If he went dressed like normal, they’d tear him apart, he just knew it.

So he put on something comfortable and did what he did best: asked Robin for help.

“Steve!” Chrissy yelled as he came into the Waystation, smiling brightly. “Why do we let Robin cover your shifts? She’s a terror in the morning.”

Steve laughed as he came up to the counter and Chrissy started making him a drink. Robin came out of the back, decidedly not as chipper or peppy as her coworker.

“Two more hours and I can go home,” she muttered to herself. “What’s up, dingus?” She leaned on one side of the pickup counter while Steve leaned against the other.

“When you come home, I need you to help me find something to wear.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked, gesturing to the bright yellow pullover peeking out under his coat.

“I look like a tool is what’s wrong with it. C’mon, Rob, work with me here,” Steve groaned, leaning his head back. Chrissy giggled, sidling up next to Robin to slide Steve his coffee. “Thanks, Chris.”

“Of course. I don’t think you look like a tool,” she said, bending down to rest her elbows on the counter, chin cradled in her hands. “I like that sweater, it looks good on you. Brings out the green in your eyes.”

“Yeah, well, you guys have seen how Eddie dresses.”

“You don’t own anything like what Eddie wears,” Robin scoffed. Steve nodded, eyes wide, gesturing at her while he sipped his drink as if to say that’s exactly my point. She narrowed her eyes at him, looking him up and down as she thought, drumming her fingers against the counter.

“No, I asked him what I should wear, and he said, basically, anything other than what I wear to work. Actually, no, he specifically said something that would get me written up if I wore it here.”

“Well, that’s not a very high bar to clear,” Chrissy giggled.

“Oh, Chris, trust me, he looks like this all the time. He doesn’t have anything that would get him written up- OH!” Suddenly Robin’s face lit up. “But I do!”

“Robin, I appreciate the thought but I’m like, twice your size.”

“Yeah, Robbie, he’s not gonna fit in your clothes.”

“No, trust me, you’ll fit. Just, wait for me to get home, okay?” They were abruptly cut off when the door chimed and a group of college girls walked in. Chrissy immediately rushed to the front of the counter, leaving Steve and Robin to finish their conversation. Immediately the pair leaned in closer to each other.

“You’re gonna make me wear your pajamas, aren’t you?” Steve asked. The only clothes Robin had that might fit him were the oversized pajama shirts she insisted on wearing without pants around the house.

“They’re normal shirts, Steve, I just wear them as pajamas. I’ll be home in a bit. Go eat something. Preen. Style your hair again.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Steve ran a hand through his hair, feeling for anything out of place. Robin rolled her eyes.

“Nothing, you goof. Go home.” She gave him a loving but forceful tap on the forehead before stepping away to help Chrissy make drinks.

So home he went and there he waited, rifling through every article of clothing he owned three or seven times, trying to save himself from the fate of having to wear Robin’s pajamas, to no avail.

Robin came home and before he knew it he was sitting on her bed while she rummaged through her own clothes, trying not to think about what she and Vickie may have gotten up to in that bed the night before.

Suddenly, shirts came flying at him. Most of them were band tee shirts, and at least Robin had the decency to hand him the ones with bands he might at least be able to name a couple songs by so he wouldn’t make a total jackass of himself.

“Pick one. They’re all the same size, so any of them should fit,” Robin said, plopping down in her desk chair, spinning lazily back and forth while Steve examined the shirts.

“Uh… This one, I guess?”

“Green Day? Are you sure?”

“What’s wrong with Green Day?”

“I mean, nothing really, just historically like… Punks and metalheads… Ehh.” Robin grimaced, rocking her head side to side. Steve got the message. Maybe not the wisest decision.

“Well, why’d you throw it at me, then, genius?” Steve put the shirt down and grabbed a different one. “I don’t think, what is this, Fleetwood Mac is gonna fly at the metal band house show.”

“Guess that leaves Miss Joan Jett, then. Or Pearl Jam, but,” Robin shrugged and laced her fingers together behind her head.

“Nah, Joan Jett’s cool.” Steve sorted through for the shirt, the only white one in the pile of black.

“Hey, do you still have those pants you ordered online?”

“Uh… The black ones? Maybe, why?”

“Well, they were the right size, weren’t they? Just the wrong style?”

“Yeah, I mean, if by right size you mean tighter than hell, sure.”

“Exactly. You should wear ‘em.”

Steve sighed. He understood what she was getting at. Tight pants, rock band tee shirt, etc., he’d meet all the requirements of the genre and also, with any luck, Eddie would… Whatever. He took the shirt back to his room and dug through his closet to see if the bag of stuff he’d meant to donate was still in there somewhere.

It was.

Because of course it fucking was.

Robin came in after him a moment later while he changed, carrying another armful of clothes.

“Okay, and these,” she said, dumping them in a heap on his bed. “Are not all the same size, so I have no idea if they’ll fit you, but if one of them does, I think it’d tie the whole look together.”

Steve glanced over the pile. Plaid button downs, all of them, in a few different colors. Once he managed to wrestle the jeans on, he grabbed a flannel at random.

The red one was too small in the arms, the white one was too tight across the shoulders, the blue one somehow managed to be both too big and too small at the same time.

“Moment of truth,” Robin said from her place on his bed, handing him the green and black plaid shirt, the last one she had. Steve shrugged it on.

“Sleeves are too short,” he said, stretching his arms out.

“Does it feel okay everywhere else though?” Steve moved in it a bit, rolling his shoulders, reaching up over his head.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Wonderful! Just roll the sleeves up, no one’ll notice!”

Steve shrugged and unbuttoned the cuffs of the shirt, looking at himself in the mirror on the back of his door as he rolled up the sleeves. Might not get him written up at work, but it sure didn’t look like anything else he ever wore.

“Holy shit, Steve,” Robin said, leaning forward. He turned his attention back to her. “You look like a real person!”

“Oh, fuck off,” he said, rolling his eyes and she burst into a fit of giggles.

“I’m kidding! It looks good. Here, let me take a picture to send to Chrissy,” Robin smiled, pulling out her phone. Steve sighed and looked back at the mirror, fussing with his hair.

“Alright, do your worst,” he said, turning back to her, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.

“Oh, I already took it,” Robin shook her head, quickly typing on her phone. “You’re ridiculously photogenic, Steve, you look best in candids.”

“Well, at least show it to me before you send it,” Steve pleaded, coming around to kneel on the bed behind her. She tucked her phone close to her chest to keep him from looking.

“Fuck off, Chrissy has seen you explode whipped cream all over yourself, what are you worried about?”

“Can a man not want to see his own picture?”

“I’ll just send it to you, too,” Robin pushed his forehead, shoving him away from her. “There, dingus, read it and weep or something. Chrissy says you look hot, by the way.”

Steve heard his phone buzz on the nightstand and got up to look. In Robin’s defense, it was a pretty nice picture. Might make it his profile picture or something. He saved the photo and moved to slip his phone into his pocket, but changed his mind at the last minute.

Might as well get Eddie's opinion, too.

December 31st, 8 hours to midnight

Eddie stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, wet curls dripping down his back, and turned the volume down on his phone. Wayne was asleep, and as much as he loved his nephew, Eddie knew he would only put up with so much Dio.

Once he was back in the isolation of his bedroom, as he turned the volume back up, he noticed a text from Steve buried amongst the group chat notifications. It looked like Lucas and Gareth were having a heated debate about fireworks, and good god Eddie couldn't care less.

He opened Steve's text and… Oh. He could feel the blush creep over his whole body. He liked how Steve looked regularly, the polo shirts were goofy but they suited him, but suddenly he looked more like the rest of Eddie's friends and that suited him, too. Eddie could only stare, the original mission of getting dressed himself all but forgotten.

He saved the picture and sent it to Barb.

hes gonna be the death of me

Are you with him right now?

no he just sent this to me

asked if that was an appropriate outfit for the party tonight

Is it?

yes but more importantly he is really testing my self control

I'm sure you'll be fine. When did he start wearing glasses?

huh. dunno. never seen him wear them before

my coffee guy<;3:

Look okay to you?

definitely. since when do you wear glasses?

Oh, god damn it. Do me a favor and pretend you didn't see those.

why? i like them

They look stupid, and my eyesight really isn't that bad. I can go without.

they look nice. you should wear them tonight

by the way im gonna be there early to pick you up. gareth wants me at the party early to actually sound check before the show

Well, I'm ready whenever I guess.

ill let you know when i get there

At that moment, Eddie became very aware of the fact that he was still wearing nothing but a towel. He sighed and tossed his phone on the bed, where it stayed blaring Metallica and Iron Maiden while Eddie got dressed in his "concert clothes," Jeff always called them.

Eddie had three outfits that he cycled through for their shows, ranging from low effort to entirely over the top. The New Year's house show with his D&D group ranked in the low effort category. Ripped jeans and a black shirt that had the sleeves cut off and the sides slit open, with Corroded Coffin bleach-painted across the chest. Y'know, in case anybody forgot the name of the band. His other outfits were more elaborate, more leather, more chains. But this was a house party.

A house party he was bringing Steve to.

He could class it up a bit, he supposed.

December 31st, 6.5 hours to midnight

"Okay, I gotta go catch the bus if I want to be at Dusty's party on time," Robin said, clipping new earrings in as she came into the living room to hug Steve goodbye. He paused his show and stood as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I love you, have fun tonight, I'll see you tomorrow." She pressed a kiss to his cheek before letting him go. He fell back against the arm of the couch, watching her frantically tie her shoes and pull her coat on.

"I love you too, be safe. Send me lots of pictures and give the nerds my love."

"Will do!" Robin gave him a thumbs up and rushed out the door, leaving Steve by himself to anxiously wait for Eddie.

He didn't have to wait long.

Not ten minutes after Robin left, Steve felt his phone buzz with a text from Eddie that just read, here. Steve shot a quick text back and grabbed his own coat, doing a quick pocket check to make sure he had everything. Wallet, keys, phone charger wrapped up and tucked into the secret inside pocket of the bomber jacket. Lens cloth for the glasses he was begrudgingly wearing, because Eddie said they looked nice, and he wanted Eddie to think he looked nice.

He swallowed his anxiety and headed downstairs.

Eddie was waiting for him, not in the parking lot across the street, but directly in front of his building, and not in his van, but on a… motorcycle? Some vintage Harley that definitely wasn't at their trailer the night before.

“What the hell?” Steve laughed as Eddie smiled at him, one foot on the curb to keep the bike upright. “Where did this come from?”

Eddie held a helmet out to him. “Remember when you asked me what Alexei said to me?” Steve nodded, taking the helmet, trying to puzzle out how to wear the helmet and his glasses at the same time. “He asked if I still wanted to borrow his bike.”

“And uh. Why are we borrowing your weird neighbor’s motorcycle?”

“We can park it in the yard,” Eddie shrugged.

Steve paused, taking in the situation before him, and tucked his glasses into the secret inside pocket of this coat.

"Do I just… get on behind you?" Steve asked, holding the extra helmet gingerly in his hand.

"Yeah," Eddie laughed, and flipped his visor down. Steve put the helmet on, praying for his hair, and kicked a leg up over the bike. “Ready, sweetheart?” Steve wasn’t sure he heard Eddie right, but he nodded anyway. "Great. Hang onto me.”

When Steve hesitated, Eddie laughed and grabbed Steve’s hand, pulling it around Eddie’s waist. That seemed to jolt Steve out of whatever shock he’d gotten stuck in, and he wrapped his other arm around Eddie and held on tight as they took off up the road.

Steve had never been on a motorcycle. He'd driven a convertible before, and it was both the coolest and least safe he'd ever felt in a car. This was completely different. Riding behind Eddie, arms around his waist like he'd fly off the back if he let go, Steve felt a wild kind of freedom. If only his parents could see him now, he thought.

He could barely appreciate the view of the city blurring past before Eddie was pulling into a driveway. Deep down, Steve almost wished the ride would take longer, just so he would have an excuse to keep holding onto Eddie. But as he pulled the helmet off and took in his surroundings, he realized it wasn't as unfamiliar as he'd expected. Eddie pushed the kickstand down and pulled his own helmet off, shaking out his hair as Steve took in the sight of the house he’d been in a hundred times before.

"Wait, hang on-"

"Eddie!" Whatever Steve was about to say was interrupted by a kid with fluffy hair welcoming Eddie into the garage. Steve recognized him from the picture on Eddie's fridge of the sparkler fight.

"Steve?" A familiar voice called.

Dustin was leaning against a speaker, breathing heavily like he had carried it himself, looking as confused as Steve felt.

Dustin, Steve, and Eddie all glanced quickly between each other, realization setting in. The other shoe dropped as they all spoke in confused unison:

"You two know each other?"

-------

AAAAAAAA here it is !!!! this chapter comes with art which i will link [here] once it's posted!!!

tagging: @original-cypher @avacrebs @dangdirtydemons @rainydays35 @changenamelater @phantypurple @alienace @renaissan-vvitch @krazyperson @steddiereid @kittsu-makes-glass @i-must-potato @jaywhohasthegay @henderdads @mightbeasleep @straight4joekeery @sharingisntkaren @micheledawn1975 @thehumblefigtree @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @potentialheartofdarkness @dreammetheworld08 @steveisabicon @biatcgh @alittlegreyfish @r0binscript @estrellami-1 @shitnshit

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fic #text

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jewishcissiekj · 5 months

Text

At the end of The High Republic phase 1. Only Fallen Star & Midnight Horizon left basically. Mission to Disaster-Fallen Star comics reading post! (I'm emotionally devastated after reading Star Wars Adventures #12 you have no idea)

Love love love love this cover. Kantam Sy my beautiful partner they're soooooo

LOST ALL MY GALACTIC BAKE-OFF SCREENSHOTS AND I'M TOO LAZY TO GO BACK AND FIND NEW ONES. Here are my favorite pages anyway it was so cute and Lily was there I think? pretty sure that's her with the black hair and the bob, it seems right (and Burry!)

I have a lot to say about Trail of Shadows #3 but first of: slut. put a shirt on. Jesus.

Dalna mentioned! Haha that planet is going to helllllll

Keeve aka my special little guy finally got a hug! I bet Emerick gives the best hugs

A lot going on with the dialogue but my first thought here was "CHOPPER?????" no, it's Estala Maru's droid. It is pretty similar tho

Big fan of how connected THR is, love to randomly see Ram Jomaram in Trail of Shadows (I only got the race in THR Adventures later but it's a nice connecting thread)

Oh Avar is tiredddddd I need her

Again, the connections are great! I love this panel a lot

:):):):) Rooting for them, wholesome relationships are always welcome for me

Turns out I did, not, in fact, lose my Galactic Bake-off screenshots, I'm just bad at finding them. Here's Kantam again because look at them!!!

FUCKKKKK ZEEN AND LULA ARE GONNA END IN A TRAGEDY AREN'T THEY

connectionsssss

Deva's design is so cool, I know she's hundreds of years old and that she appears in the Sana Starros series but I hope we see her in Phase 3 too if that even makes sense

Affieeeeeeee

Wait just how big is Geode should I start running

And what if I said Yoda-Kantam-Lula Jedi lineage goes down to Mana-Ky-Asajj linea- (given Lula lives)

This isn't ending well for them is ittttt

Them! Also the 2nd one is such a funny ending page with Krix on da ground barely alive

Huh ok so I got through THR phase 1 much faster than I thought I would. All in all, I started in the middle of the summer, more or less, and not only did I finish most of it, I also squeezed a fair amount of Legends books in between. I will be starting the Fallen Star as soon as I finish another Legends book, and then Midnight Horizon and maybe a few more things and I'll start being annoying about The High Republic Phase 2 instead! (I still have some Phase 1 comics left, but after the fallen star and midnight horizon lol)

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mightyfloofy · 3 months

Text

Talking a little on the recent mangas I've started reading this week😗✨📚(two of them are new to me, for the others, I've picked up on the manga after finishing their current anime seasons) 💚THERE MIGHT BE SPOILERS💚

1) Tomodachi Game:

So i think I've only read up to around 12 chapters or so and it's so good????

The roller-coaster of emotions it's making me have though- like i started loving Tenji with my whole heart and soul then he...disappointed me. Then he earned my trust again- a whole twist.

Yuuichi is a pretty good MC so far. Bro is a cutie.

Sawaragi pisses me off a little. Idk how to explain it though.

Yuutori my girl 💜

Shibe um... 💀💀💀 Yeah. And no i don't dislike him for what he tried to do in chapter 2 or so. I just... He's too dumb.

Also the art?????? Muah

I watched some scenes of the anime in the beginning after i read a couple of chapters and it's...disappointing. Even the animation is wonky.

But just- the art style has me in luvvvv

Manabu-kun keeps on gaslighting, gatekeeping and girlbossing every chapter.

Also, I'm praying for my boy Yuuichi's sanity. At first i was like "Sawaragi, i get hes cute but WHAT do u see in him??" and i see now. My girl has some amazing taste, at least for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2) Mairimashita! Iruma-kun

I've only read 4 chapters but this shit has me ROLLINGGGG

It's so funny pls

The art is also pretty good too. I'm not really a fan of Slice of Life, but this one hits.

Also, pretty boi alert:

My favorite character so far is this guy though:

He's so babygirl ✨✨✨✨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3) Demon Slayer

So I started reading it right after the events of season 3, of course.

Giyuu's backstory lowkey hit home-

He needs a hug. I won't say more.

Tanjiro is precious, as always, just like Nezukooo (a loud 'Nezuko-chan' came in my and after i typed that)

Oh yeah, Zenitsu:

Me to Shinobu, "Doctor, hes out again"

Nah because he didn't have to chomp Tanjiro's sky wide forehead like that???? 😭😭😭

So i have two volumes of Demon Slayer at home and i gotta say, the art improved and it's nice to have seen it grow. I know it's like this for most mangakas, but here i didnt see a whole art style change or whatever but something becoming finer while keeping that style very present.

The story is at its peak right now, i reached up to the point where Muzan decided to heehee himself in the no-no place for him. (idk how to say this without spoiling)

I'm luving it so far

Also, my husband:

I miss his gorgeous face LAWDDDDD HAVE MERCYYY

Though i already loved him before seeing his face.

I've finally memorised the master's name: Ubuyashiki

It's an achievement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4) Blue Lock

Ok i can't add pics anymore but I'm confident most people know what it is without having watched it.

I wanted to share some nice Rin pics but guess it'll be for another time. (yall will be missing out on my man)

So, i picked up from where the first season stops and-

I miss Kunigami. A lot. He was one of my favs 😭😪

Shidou is special (him telling Isagi he'd love to see him explode again got me praying for him fr)

The story has taken a nice turn with the U-20 team rushing things up. I love it but i want to see Sae play already so I'm being an impatient little bug.

The art is MUAH as always. I love the lines added for light shading, ill probably inspire myself off it for future drawings.

Hiori needs to be friends with Chigiri so they can talk about hair products (Hiori is like a short-haired Chigiri with cyan hair. My boy has naturally long lashes (Rin's remain better 💅)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That's all, folks!

I hope to read even more in the upcoming days and hopefully I'll get to talk about them like i just did above.

Expect headcanons from each of these mangas 💜💜💜

And you can even send me recommendations 😙✨

It's midnight where I am like damn-

Bye byeeeee

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lovebillyhargrove · 8 months

Text

Wake me up when July is around

Chapter 8

Chapter 9/?

***

The loud beeping of an alarm clock wakes Billy up at 8.30 am on Saturday, and he wishes he was dead.

Last night they partied hard.

Hangover is a logical but, clearly, an unwelcome payback. It feels like a thousand of tiny evil blacksmiths are forging iron on their anvils right inside his head. Fucking christ. Billy opens his eyelids with much difficulty and immediately closes them again. He has to get up, damn it, he has to be at work at 12.

He has to rise from the ashes.

That Halloween Friday sure was freaky.

Billy is instantly filled with regret.

Why didn't he reset his alarm clock yesterday for later.

Before the party, he didn't think about it. He was only shaking his ass in front of the mirror admiring how good he looked in that leather jacket, bitches be thirsty.

After the party it was too late to think about the fucking alarm clock.

Okay, slowly .. slowly, he needs to sit up.

Just don't throw up. On the fucking carpet.

Billy is sitting upright on the bed. That's an achievement. It feels like he's still alive. He can move.

His throat is dry like the Sahara desert, he's in desperate need of water. He has to get to the kitchen.

Billy registers that he's still wearing the dark blue jeans and the gloves from his party costume. The black leather jacket is lying on the floor, near the boots.

Billy slowly takes off the gloves, finds a t-shirt lying nearby and puts it on.

Did he come home at 3? He doesn't really remember. Something like that. He only knows that he was trying to be as quiet as possible, not to wake anyone up, because that skill is ingrained in his brain and body, deep.

Billy forces himself to get on his feet, and sits back down right away, dizzy and miserable.

Okay. Let's try again, buddy.

He so overdid it yesterday.

After dragging himself off the bed, Billy makes it to the door

But the moment he opens it, he understands that it was a mistake. He can hear voices coming from the kitchen, it's Neil and Susan having breakfast. The evil leprechaun must be still sleeping.

Fuck his life, he's gonna die if he doesn't drink water but his dad's wrath is also scary. At least Neil's not gonna kill him right now, in front of his wife, as an extra good morning.

Billy summons all his strength to look as normal as possible and shuffles to the bathroom. He drinks straight from the tap, washes his face and looks at the toilet bowl as if making sure that throwing up is not on today's agenda.

It's still to be seen, but not right this moment, at least.

If he's gonna go back to his room, dad's gonna get on his ass about "being disrespectful" and "not saying good morning". Looks like Billy has no choice but to show his face to them in all its hungover glory.

He checks the face in the mirror. It's fine. Looks human.

Just don't puke on the breakfast table, and everything will be A-okay.

Billy goes to the kitchen, all humble and trying to look like a shadow.

"Good morning, dad. Good morning, Susan."

"Will you look at yourself?"

Neil's voice is full of disgust.

"What time did you get home yesterday?"

"I uh .. a little after midnight, probably. I apologize if I woke you up."

"You didn't wake us up, Billy." Susan is cutting in. "Would you like some breakfast?"

He actually needs to eat something but

He can't even drink coffee right now.

Water. Water. It'll get better in an hour, he just needs a lot of water, and to lie down.

"No, thank you, Susan. I'll get myself something later."

Billy pours a full glass of water. Time to retreat while it's still peaceful.

"I'll be in my room if you need anything."

"Mark my words, son, as soon as you finish school, I'm not paying for another single day of your life! Senior year, the most important time, and he's wasting it on .. what, on debauchery??" Neil is addressing Susan now, all indignant and angry, oh he is angry but Billy hopes it won't get bigger than that.

At nine o'clock Neil and Susan are supposed to go grocery shopping, like they always do on Saturdays. Neil likes it when they stick to a plan. He's already getting up and looking for his car keys. Susan takes the last sip of her tea and starts flopping her good housewife wings around the kitchen.

"Let's go, Susan. Billy will clean up after breakfast, right?"

"Of course, I will."

"Thank you, Billy. Good bye! Wake Maxine up at 10 if she doesn't get up, please!" Susan is taking her purse and the list of groceries.

"Sure. Have a nice time shopping!"

Billy hears his dad telling Susan on their way out

"Seems a bit late to sleep for a girl her age?"

"I know, honey, but she gets so tired during the week, let her have her Saturday .."

The door closes, and they're gone.

It went very well, actually, all things considered.

Probably Neil just didn't want to deal with a hungover teenager cause the said teenager might throw up all over the place, so it's better not to touch him.

Such an unfortunate episode did happen once, when Billy was still in his very green years. He came home drunk, and Neil got in his face. He grabbed the boy by his collar and was telling him what a piece of crap and a fucking burden he was, which only led to Billy feeling even worse. Neil had to run to the shower to wash the vomit off, leaving his son to clean up the mess he'd made.

He got slapped around for that later, but it taught Neil a lesson as well.

Billy goes back to his room clutching the glass of water like a lifeline.

He sits down on the bed again and after finishing the whole glass, lies down. He doesn't want to close his eyes though, cause the dizziness is gonna be back so he's just lying there staring at the ceiling.

Vile gray light is seeping through the window. Outside the rain is drizzling.

Fuck Indiana and its nasty weather right in its Midwestern ass.

Fucking hell.

Billy usually knows when to stop, but yesterday he clearly didn't.

What even happened yesterday? .. He did the keg stand, and there was more beer and vodka .. and he definitely mixed it all, hence the hangover. Smoking non-stop, dancing, Tommy following him around like a faithful bulldog, Vicky hanging on his arm and touching his abs while they were dancing. There was another girl, persistently asking for his attention, Jennifer or .. was it ..

Oh shit.

Oh no no no no

Fucking stupid piece of shit.

Fffffuuuuuucckkkkk.

Billy shuts his eyes but it is a bad idea, because he's getting the dizzies and everything's spinning, so he presses his palms to his closed eyes, wishing to erase the memory of what happened between him and .. fuck. The dumb bitch, Harrington.

He and Harrington fucking .. smooched ??

No no no no nooooo

Billy is groaning hoarsely, and the sound of it reflects the depth of his desperation at his own stupidity

Why is he such an idiot. Why did he do it. He should've instead broken Harrington 's pretty nose ..

fuck JUST nose! Without the pretty, forget that he said .. or thought that.

What was it even, Billy didn't want to start any shit in the first place, as god is his witness.

His clouded consciousness doesn't provide him with much, but some flashes do come to his mind.

Bathroom. Harrington.

He fucking started it!

His face. His lips. His hand on the back of Billy's head, almost hurting, the fingers sharp and digging into his skin

The silky softness.

The wetness of their tongues touching

Fuck fuck FUCK.

Mission: erasing the memories.

Billy is an idiot. A certified one.

***

He crawls out of his bedroom half an hour later for more water, and to go to the bathroom. The hangover is gradually stepping away, but the more it does, the more unsettled Billy is.

His dad is right.

He's an imbecile.

At around ten he bangs on Max's door,

"Wakie, wakie, Maxine!" he bellows and then bangs some more until he hears

"Stop it, you jerk!"

"Rise and shine, birdbrain!"

Then goes to the kitchen to finally find some food.

He's slowly getting back to his senses. At 12 he needs to be at work, and he will be. Old Joe won't even notice that Billy partied last night.

Partied so hard, that he ended up kissing that annoying motherfucker.

Erase, erase, erase.

No panic. It was only once, and it was a mistake but Billy could always say nothing happened.

He was so wasted, he wasn't himself. Hell, he didn't even remember it when he woke up.

Harrington is not gonna run his mouth about it, what is he, a kamikaze?

It's nothing, it's just a drunken slip up.

Happens to the best of us, amirite?

***

Steve stays at home all Saturday. They only go grocery shopping with mom, he drives her to the store and back in the afternoon. Or course, Dad chooses this very day to ask him fucking questions. Steve mumbles something about his captainship ot the basketball team and finally finishing his college application essay. He's also retaking his SATs at the beginning of November cause the results of the tests he took last year were not very high. Not high enough.

They were pretty low. After he gets the new results back, he'll still have time to apply to some places. Mom asks him if he has thought of a backup plan, and Steve honestly says

"No, mom. I haven't."

"You probably should."

"Yes, I will, after I'm done with applications. Can I go study now?"

Parents do not seem very happy with the outcome of their conversation, but Steve can't offer more. To him, his future plan looks okay for now.

Honestly, Steve doesn't even know what specific sphere he'd like to study. He's still at home and at school, and the future seems vague and a little bit scary. Nancy is definitely aiming at a university, and Steve's not sure what will happen to their relationship.

Especially after yesterday.

He spends the whole evening revising for his SATs. A lot of confusing stuff. He probably should've started sooner, and not a week before.

Well.

Steve studies more on Sunday, but then Tommy calls and they decide to go to a pizza place.

They order pepperoni and cola, and Steve can finally take a breath with his whole chest

"Ugh man, I've been studying for two days straight, my brain's on fire."

"Dad wants you to get into Yale or something?"

"Well no .. but .. they want me to have a clear plan, and I don't have it, and it's just .. they fucking nag."

Tommy nods in understanding

"Yeah man."

"Must retake SATs soon, and it just .."

"It sucks."

They chew some more pizza

"You remember, Hargrove took your keg king title? The dude got 52 seconds, fucking crazy."

At the mention of Hargrove's name Steve's cheeks start feeling hotter

"Yeah, whatever. I got bigger problems to worry about now."

"The princess?"

"We had a huge fight at the party. She was so drunk. I dunno, Tommy."

"You haven't talked to her since the party?"

"No. Why?"

Hagan is looking at Harrington in a weird way

"Hey, man .. I've actually been meaning to tell you. I think you should know."

"Know what?"

"Your Wheeler girl .. remember you asked me and Carol where she was and we told you she'd left home?"

"Yeah?"

"Well she didn't go home alone."

"That's good? She was drunk."

"Do you know who she left with?"

"How am I supposed to know that? I didn't see her leaving. You and Carol told me she was fine, and I .. I kinda left it at that?"

"So you still don't know?"

"Tommy, what the fuck?"

Hagan's still looking at Steve like he pities him but he also wants to gloat so bad because he told his friend a lot of times to "dump that prissy bitch", and they even fought over it, more than once, and voilà, in the end Tommy is actually right

"I thought that maybe she left with this .. Samantha or something? .. Tommy??"

"You girlfriend left with the Byers freak."

WHAT

"She what?"

"Just thought you should know."

"She left with Byers?"

"Yup."

"Jonathan Byers?"

"Yes, Steve."

Fucking what?

"Are you sure?"

"Dude, I was drunk but not blind. Carol saw that too. Nancy went downstairs in her wet dress, and it was like .. well, he was just standing there near the stairs. They talked for a minute and then went away together."

Well, that's uh .. Steve didn't expect that.

Is that what people feel when their heart breaks? Is that the burning acid of being betrayed?

Tommy eats what's left of the pizza.

Steve doesn't pick Nancy up on Monday to drive her to school as he usually does.

***

On Monday before practice coach Nelson informs the team that

"We're having visitors this week, boys! Let's show them all you've got!"

Two sports recruiters are coming to see if they have any hidden talents here in Hawkins.

Billy thinks someone should warn them not to waste their time. There's nothing to look for here. Nada. Fucking zero.

He knows that the odds of being chosen are extremely slim. And even if a recruiter spots you, it guarantees nothing.

Billy has seen his share of sports scouts back in San Diego. He's aware that they are not interested in him.

There are so many good things recruiters told Billy. He's a great player, he scores points, he makes flashy moves, his techniques of shooting, dribbling, rebounding and defense are excellent as well as such attributes as strength, endurance, speed and agility, blah blah blah. His physical characteristics - weight and wingspan - meet the requirements. Add to it Billy's intelligence on the court and the unbeaten desire to win.

He basically has it all.

There's just one problem - Hargrove's too short to be a professional basketball player. He's too fucking short, and that's why a career in basketball is not even an option.

He's 5'10. It's fine. Just not for the NBA.

At some point in his life Billy used to be bitter about his height. That was when the first recruiter came looking and he was like

"Kid, if only you were taller."

The second one said the same. And the third. Little by little, Billy accepted it as it is, and that's why

He doesn't care about the visitors. Unlike him, the whole team is buzzing. Are they stupid? Recruiters will never choose any of them. The only player who has a tiny microscopic chance of getting noticed is probably Andy. He's tall, he's got the physique. His game's not great but it can be worked with.

Harrington, on the other hand? Billy's has seen his serious and focused face, eyebrows knitted together, when the coach mentioned the recruiters.

Please, it's ridiculous.

Billy's not even gonna elaborate. It's simply ludicrous.

Harrington can drool all over his pillow having dreams of a sports scholarship or a prominent career in the NBA, and the sucker can keep on dreaming because that's as close as he's gonna get to playing this sport professionally.

Anyhoo.

It's skins and shirts as always, and Billy's playing rough as usual. He's seen Harrington in the school hallway earlier and they shared a class. Billy just straight up ignored the loser. Steve also didn't seem to look his way much, maybe he doesn't even remember about the kiss.

He also looks as if he's brooding about something, like something weighs heavy on his preppy-ass soul.

Either way, it's not Billy's business and he doesn't give a shit.

And yeah,

Mission: erasing the memories of the most idiotic kiss

Status: incomplete.

In his defense, Billy was so wasted, he could've kissed anyone.

***

During the match Hargrove behaves like nothing happened, there's just something about his game that's extra precise and extra ruthless. Like he wants to show with all his obnoxious persona that he's above all that and doesn't give a fuck. It's likely he doesn't recall what happened on Friday night because he was drunk as a fish.

Or it's a bluff.

He remembers.

Steve knows he does. Why is he so sure? Cause Hargrove hasn't touched him once since the beginning of the game, hasn't said anything mean to him. He's trying to send a message that he doesn't care, but he's trying too hard, and it shows.

Billy knows what they've done, and he's .. what, ashamed?

Heheehe.

Nice.

Harrington would've gotten much more pleasure out of it if his heart wasn't hurting.

Are they broken up with Nancy, did she cheat on him? What the hell is this whole fucking situation?

Steve's lost in his thoughts when suddenly he hears Nancy's loud irritated voice

"Steve?"

There she is, standing at the gym doors, clearly expecting Harrington to come have a conversation with her outside.

He doesn't want to bail on his team in the middle of the game but he's been avoiding Nancy all morning, and soon he won't be able to tolerate the level of acidity that has swallowed his whole being.

They do need to talk.

Steve needs it.

They go outside to the little passage between the gym and the school building where they usually hide smoking with the guys.

Maybe it's the first time since they got together, when Steve's absolutely not happy to see his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend? Guess we'll find out now.

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?"

Nancy sounds pissed. She talks to him in that tone like .. like a strict mother to a naughty child, when she's angry at him.

"You didn't call all weekend.. and where were you this morning? I missed first period!"

"I figured Jonathan would take you."

"Wha .. what are you talking about?" Maybe she's a good actress but there's genuine surprise in her voice. She looks confused.

Harrington scoffs

"Jesus, you really can't handle your alcohol."

"Uh ..?"

"You remember going to Tina's party on Friday night?"

"Yes?"

"And then what?"

"I remember dancing .. and spilling some punch."

Nancy's thinking for a second.

"You got mad at me because I was drunk. And then you took me home."

Does she really remember nothing or that's all acting?

"No, see, this is where your mind gets a little bit fuzzy."

Steve's making a pause.

"That was your other boyfriend. That was .. that was Jonathan."

There's a perplexed expression on Nancy's face

"I don't understand."

"It's pretty simple, Nance."

"What?"

"You were just telling it like it is."

Maybe she really doesn't remember. That doesn't make it okay though.

"Uh .. apparently, we killed Barb and I don't care cause I'm bullshit and our whole .. our whole relationship is bullshit and .. I mean, pretty much everything is just bullshit bullshit bullshit."

Nancy raises her well-defined eyebrows and wrinkles her forehead

That doesn't make the stuff she told Steve okay!!

"Oh yeah also you don't love me."

"I was drunk, Steve. I don't remember any of that."

Really? So you can get hammered and tell your boyfriend you don't love him, and then everything should just get back to normal cause you don't recall doing that?

"So that makes everything you said .. it's what? Just bullshit too?"

"Yes?"

"Then tell me. Tell me that you love me and there's nothing going on between you and Jonathan."

"Really, Steve?"

"Harrington !!"

Roy is out of his breath, appearing between the buildings.

"Dude we need you, man! That douchebag is killing us! Let's go !!"

"I'm coming!"

"There is nothing going on between me and Jonathan, Steve."

It's nice to hear, really. Steve needs a longer explanation though.

"We're not done talking, Nance."

Their team loses anyways, with or without the captain. There's something about Billy's game today, it's .. like he's holding that distance, with a hint of "nothing personal, guys".. Is he getting ready to show off in front of the sports scouts? The new behaviour infuriates the hell out of Steve, even though the asshole hasn't pushed him one single time.

You're wrong about nothing personal, Hargrove. Locking mouths seems pretty personal to me.

However, Billy's not number one problem on the list of Steve's troubles right now. Let him believe Harrington has suffered a case of amnesia, and there was no kiss.

***

Steve picks Nancy up after school. On the way to her house she tells him

"Nothing happened that night, I swear."

"Are you sure, Nance? You didn't even understand who took you home! You thought it was me!"

"Steve, I would know if someone tried sleeping with me in my own bed, okay?"

She also admits that they sometimes talk with Jonathan between classes or during library study. They talk mostly about Barb, because his little brother Will was also missing last summer. They found him in the woods. Three weeks later, yet they found him. Maybe Barb also disappeared in the woods. Too much time has passed and there's no hope of finding her alive, but bringing some certainty would help her parents obtain peace.

Nancy assures Steve there's nothing romantic going on between her and Jonathan.

Steve's at a loss. Like .. he feels that he can't give Nancy the consolation she's looking for. He has no idea what happened to Barb and he thinks they should let the police deal with the whole thing. He can listen to Nancy, but what else can he offer? He's not .. experienced at things like that.

Steve should probably make a scene anyway and get really pissed and show her how hurt his feelings are, but he's also kinda glad everything 's cleared up, and she didn't cheat on him, and they are still together.

They are still together, right?

Nevertheless, he definitely must keep an eye on Jonathan Byers. The guy took creepy pictures of them in the middle of the night, Nancy seems to have forgotten about that. Steve should have a talk with Byers, tell him to stay away from his girl.

They kiss each other good bye.

It feels .. mechanic.

***

Late at night when Steve's again tossing and turning in bed, he suddenly realises that Nancy told him a lot of words but forgot to mention the most important thing - she didn't tell him she loved him.

Should he ask her again?

Tell me you love me

He's always thought if you're in love and in a relationship, you shouldn't be asking the person you're together with for confirmation.

Steve again feels that he wants to give so much, but no-one needs it, and no-one is willing to give back the same amount.

Of love.

Or even close to it.

Maybe relationships aren't that easy, and he's idealising them.

However, if there's no love, what's there to fight for?

#harringrove #harringrove fic #billy x steve #harringrove slow burn #mean s1 steve vs mean billy

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