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stevebabey · 2 years

Text

nine facts, one lie

summary: It didn’t matter that your best friend Robin claims he’s changed, you do not like Steve Harrington. He used to be egotistical, a player, an asshole — and you’re not in any hurry to believe he’s changed his ways.

Never mind that he seems terribly kind now, compliments here and there, or even that he’ll pick you up from a date gone horribly wrong… [16.5k]

[one sided enemies to lovers — you hate steve and by god, does he want to change that] dedicated to my dearest kenny

Fact #1: You did not, under any circumstance, like Steve Harrington.

It doesn’t matter what Dustin says nor the smug roll of Robin’s eyes, you knew it yourself even if no one else believed it; you did not like Steve Harrington.

From everything you’ve ever heard about the guy, it was a surprise that he still had any friends — especially with the likes of your friends, a fact that makes you gag when Robin brings it up.

Robin, lovely best friend Robin, who completely betrayed you by associating herself willingly with Steve.

Since the beginning of high school, the two of you had been thick as thieves. Gossip was spilled between the two of you frequently, juicy enough to make even Carol Perkins’ head spin — you talked often enough that it got you split up during class time constantly, giggles too loud to be contained.

Being at the bottom of the social food-chain —or maybe worse, completely unseen to your peers— there was nothing like sharing snarky remarks between you and Robin about the dunderheads who ‘ruled’ the school through idiotic popularity.

Robin had a particular dislike for Tina Burgess ever since she’d started the rumour that girls in band were freaks in the sheets and would put out to anyone who would ask. You weren’t sure what had been worse: the obvious dig that Robin wasn’t getting any or the slimy guys who believed it and had the guts to ask.

You, however, distinctly despised the likes of King Steve.

It was impossible to pinpoint what about him grated you so much; maybe, it was how he seemed to have girls in and out of his bed like he was playing a game, trying to rack up as many points as possible. Or maybe, it was that even you, invisible and not even on his radar let alone on his list, could see the appeal.

Even better than easy on the eyes, Steve Harrington is one of those guys that makes you understand the word gorgeous.

It doesn’t help that he’s rich as well, with a huge house with a pool and even a swanky car to pick you up in. A complete daydream. Swept away into sheets softer than yours at home, you’d get to spend a night in the arms of the most popular guy in school and if you’re really lucky, he’ll still pretend to know your name the next day.

What had really stuck with you was gossip you’d happened to overhear, head stuck in your locker as you fished around for your books and papers. Tommy H and Steve were 3 lockers over, at Tommy’s locker, and sharing the details of Steve’s latest conquest.

So was she any good? Tommy had been asking. I always assumed nerdy chicks weren’t as good- they practically cream their pants considering no one’s ever kissed em’ before.

Steve had laughed along too. Yeah, man. She was all over me. Had to keep picturing someone hotter though, you know those geeks aren’t the prettie— Your stomach had curdled and you had slammed your locker door louder than needed, just to shut him up. You were sure they both saw you leave.

It drove you insane. And even though Steve likely knew nothing of your existence — didn’t matter you had once been chem partners, nor the fact you shared English class— he was probably as close to an evil nemesis you’d ever get.

Hence the utter betrayal of Robin’s friendship with him.

Originally, when she’d told you over the phone, gleeful and gossipy, that King Steve had just been hired at Scoops Ahoy, the two of you had snickered. It hadn’t been enough to watch him drift from his other asshole friends, something in you burned deliciously hearing he’d fallen from yet another pillar.

It had only gotten better. Robin recounted countless stories where he had flunked out with girls — you’d nearly lost it hearing about her whiteboard, tallying up his ‘hits & misses’ when trying to score a date. It finally seemed Steve Harrington was somehow more of a loser than you.

On the 4th of July, 1985, Starcourt Mall burnt down — and the strangest thing about it all was that Robin suddenly didn’t seem to mind Steve so much.

They were friends. You’d been a little miffed at her quick change of heart as she doused your gossipy mood in an instant, insisting that Steve wasn’t so bad once you got to know him.

Rather reluctantly, your teasing remarks about Steve were brought to a halt as Robin retaliated each time, urging you to give him another chance. And while you agreed to be civil, especially considering you had to see him every time you visited Robin at work. But what could you do? Old habits die hard.

Fact #2: Steve Harrington is trying to be a better person.

Okay, you didn’t know that one, but Steve certainly did.

It means even though Robin had dropped several warnings and a few premature apologies, Steve was prepared to be absolutely lovely when meeting her other best friend (the other being himself, of course). Robin still seemed tense about the two of your meeting — so far you’d specifically come to visit her at Family Video when you knew Steve wasn’t there.

But a few shifts had been swapped around and on her late night Thursday shift where you always came by to keep her company, Robin was readying herself for the collision of her two friends.

Despite all her convincing, she could tell you weren’t sold on the new Steve she claimed to love and you hadn’t come by when he was there, meaning all your experiences to do with Steve were rooted back in his days of assholery.

It didn’t matter to Steve; he loved Robin and he had lots of practice trying to gain the ‘wow, you’re not a douchebag anymore’ gold star. He had this in the bag.

The janky chime of the door buzzer announces the arrival of someone in the store and being the one at the counter while Robin tends to the shelves, Steve’s head pops up, ready to greet.

“Hello! Welcome to Family Video!”

It sounds far too rehearsed, recognizing the customer service voice you put on at your own job. You nearly smile at the cheery greeting, taken aback by Steve’s handsome grin and his floppy hair, messed from the force of his movement. Then you clock yourself and have to fight off an urge to scowl.

Eyes already searching over the aisles for Robin, you’re just wondering if she’ll come save you from this conversation when Steve seems to realise who you must be.

“Oh, you must be y/n.” His easy smile, hands leaning forward onto the counter that separates you, takes you aback.

In your peripheral, you can see Robin spot you and head in the direction — but she doesn’t come quick enough to stop Steve from bungling the whole conversation with his next sentence.

“Robin’s told me a lot about you. I’m Steve,” His tone is friendly and at your silence, he continues. “Steve Harrington.”

Oh my God. He doesn’t even remember you.

Over Steve’s shoulder, you can spy Robin burying her head in her hands and muttering something to herself. Any annoyance you had pushed down springs to the surface. You school your expression as neutral as possible, though you’re sure your brow crinkles in irritation.

“I know.”

Okay, that was meaner than you intended, especially as you recall Robin’s plea to be civil at the very least. You clear your throat, unsure if you can completely hide your distaste for him.

“We were chem partners, freshmen year.” You remind him, attempting a smile. It might be a grimace. “And I was in your English class your senior year.”

Steve seems to realise his mistake, his cheeks turning rosy and his eyes widening almost comically — fuck, way to go, Harrington. All of his pep talks, amping himself up to be so friendly to you and then he goes and ruins it by not remembering you.

It’s embarrassing. Hawkins is a small town and practically everyone knows everyone, with the exception of popular kids who didn’t think they needed to. He winces, frustrated that his past has come back to haunt him yet again.

“I’m sorry.” He says, more sincere than you’re expecting. Well, you’re not expecting an apology at all — the Steve you remembered would’ve laughed it off, claiming that he couldn’t forget a pretty face and trying to brush over the fact he forgot you at all.

“Seriously,” he reaffirms at the hint of surprise on your features. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to forget your face. I’m pretty sure you’re the only reason I passed that chem class.”

Robin seems to sense your internal battle, baffled by his apology but still irritated by the fact his memory didn’t deem you memorable enough. She also wants to jump on the spot and say ‘told you!’ because the surprise you’d shown means you hadn’t believed her.

A part of her feels bad, knowing the battering Steve’s taken to his head too many times has undoubtedly knocked a few memories loose; but it’s not that they could explain that to you.

“I’m just shelving — want to come sit?” She offers, taking the conversation away from you and Steve. “We watched Highlander today and I could sit and explain the whole plot to you?”

It’s the usual activities you and Robin did when you came to bug her on her shift. You loved listening to Robin talk as she possessed a unique ability to turn a 10-minute retelling into an hour-long debate. Each subplot in the film needed to be discussed, with bad analogies that came out of left field and made you laugh til your sides hurt. It wasn’t a bad Thursday night all around.

Just as you’re about to respond, Steve cuts in and speaks instead.

“Robs, you’ve only got two hours left. It’s a Thursday, you could take off if you wanted? I don’t mind.”

Robs. Somehow the nickname for your best friend coming from Steve is more jarring than the polite offer he’s extended. Steve’s eyes shift back over to you, offering another weak smile and you wonder if this is a continuation of his apology.

“Really?” Robin’s excitement is evident. Bunking off early means you two will sneak a movie and have time to grab some greasy food for an actual hangout. “I mean- are you sure?”

Steve nods sincerely then cracks a grin, shooting a sarcastic smile at Robin. “What think I can’t hold down the fort for a couple hours?”

Robin is already peeling off her Family Video vest, digging under the counter to pull out her school bag. “I don’t think it, Steve. I know it.”

He laughs, meandering his way back to where Robin has left the returns cart and, furiously, you have to admit he’s being awfully nice. Robin nearly trips coming around the counter, her hand grasping your arm tightly to keep herself upright and she beams at you.

“C’mon!” She says, pulling you out the door, the buzzer chiming again as you both leave the store. Once outside, she pauses and you can feel her stare burning into your temple. She doesn’t say it but you can feel the beginning of an i told you so building in her throat.

“Don’t say it.”

“Say what?” She plays clueless but her grin gives her away. She links an arm through yours.

“Don’t say anything.” You say with a scowl, the two of you beginning to stroll down the stairs out the front. The crispness of the night makes you tug her a little closer. “I still don’t like him.”

Fact #3: Steve Harrington still likes to flirt.

In the beginning, the compliments are because Steve really wants you to like him.

He sees more of you with the change of shifts and perhaps, he gleefully thinks, you aren’t completely avoiding him anymore. You’ll come to see Robin in store even if he’s working as well and inadvertently, conversations spring up between the two of you.

The first time he tries to slip in a compliment casually, he’s not entirely sure what reaction he gets. On this day you’re waiting for Robin to finish out back, packing up some of the schoolwork she’d done in the backroom, and to Steve’s delight, you’ve opted to wait up by the counter with him.

You’ve already exchanged an awkward couple hello’s and now silence falls between you. Steve clears his throat and tries to earn his not a douchebag star.

“Did you get a haircut?”

You blink. Without thought, you bring up your hand and run it over the silky strands — cut fresh from yesterday. Surprise sprouts in your chest at the fact he noticed.

“Yeah,” you nod, tucking it behind your ears. “I did.”

“It looks good.” He compliments, pairing it with a genuine smile. “It like,” he gestures with a hand, hoping his ears aren’t as red as they feel. “Frames your face better. You look nice.”

For a moment, you forget to mask your emotions and the simple act of a compliment from an attractive guy makes your lips twitch into a smile. Robin bundles out of the back room before you remember to say something snarky, like What and my hair looked bad before?

Instead, it hangs in the air and when you leave behind Robin, you really consider smiling over your shoulder at him.

But it ruminates; the compliment loops in your mind until your insecurity unstitches it and it warps into something else entirely. His motivation is the question on your mind.

In what world does Steve Harrington flirt with you?

It has to be a joke. He must be making fun of you because that’s exactly what Steve used to do and if he’s not, that means he has changed and you’re suddenly worthy of his attention.

You recall the locker-room talk, his jeering tone and everything about his compliment turns sour.

Somehow, Steve’s worried he’s managed to make it worse.

His compliments dropped here and there — commenting on film choice, saying he likes your sweaters, all it seems to earn him is scowls. Your scrunched nose and heated glare from your distaste either means he’s worse at flirting than he remembers or it’s a painful reminder that still you see him as King Steve.

He’s not — he knows he is not. King Steve wouldn’t have bothered looking at the film you’d picked out, his comment would’ve been on your body not on the clothes you choose, and he certainly wouldn’t have noticed something as trivial as a haircut.

And because Steve is nothing if not a whinger, he tells all this to Dustin when the kid comes in to visit.

“I mean, I know I was bad but,” Steve cut himself off with a scoff, following Dustin through the aisles. Dustin didn’t even look as though he was listening, eyes trained on the shelves intently. “I apologised for not remembering her, like, an actual genuine apology— and that was years ago! I don’t get why she doesn’t like me, man.”

Dustin, who had indeed been listening to the rant of his older friend, promptly stopped and plucked a film off the shelf with a quiet aha!

“Are you even listening to me, Henderson?”

“Yes, Steve.” Dustin spun, eyes narrowed as he stared up at Steve intensely enough to unnerve him. “From what I’ve heard, you were pretty damn bad so I’m not surprised some people hold a grudge!”

“Yeah, but—”

“And you didn’t remember her. Maybe you did something rude in high school and completely forgot about it?”

Steve waved his hands dismissively, shaking his head in disagreement. Without noticing, you had slipped in the store up front, usual conversation struck up with Robin. However, you’d been quickly distracted as you searched the store for Robin’s other half and were baffled to find him following around a child.

“Looking for Steve?” Robin jibed when she noticed your gaze wandering across the store, your attention going with it.

You ignored the jab, rolling your eyes with a light laugh. “He wishes. Is he talking to a kid?”

“Who Dustin? Don’t let him hear you call him that.” Robin warned with a roll of her own eyes, shuffling about some stock room records in her hands. “He’s like Steve’s best friend. He was, uh, in the mall fire with us last year.”

The mall fire. Robin doesn’t talk about it at all, a hollow expression taking over her features that freaks you out far too much to push it. Pushing past your surprise, you decide to focus on the other part of her sentence.

“They’re friends?”

As if to prove your point, the two of them head to the front of the store in the middle of a bicker — Steve lags behind a bit, hands waving dramatically as Dustin calls over his shoulder, tone righteous and just a tad smug.

You catch the end of Dustin’s sentence— “Not every girl has to swoon over you, Steve, you know that right? So what if she doesn’t—” cut off when Steve shoves his shoulder, having spotted you.

Dustin looks as though he experiences a ripple of emotions; annoyance, as he whips around, ready to cuss Steve out for the shove, which quickly turns to confusion at the wide-eyed look Steve is staring down at him with. By the time he’s facing you something has clicked as he looks at you with renewed interest.

“Dustin.” He introduces, stepping forward with one hand held out for you to shake. “Dustin Henderson.”

Unwittingly, you peer over his shoulder and connect eyes with Steve — who gives a shrug in response, an awkward smile on his face. Taking Dustin’s smaller hand in your own, you smile and introduce yourself, unable to keep the hint of confusion out of your words.

“I’m Steve’s best friend.” The curly-headed boy explains, gesturing over his shoulder and Steve’s smile gets a little more awkward. He feels a smidge nervous considering there’s no telling what will fall out of Henderson’s mouth next. Steve’s a little relieved when it’s a typical plea for a ride, spinning back round to him.

“Andddd as my best friend, he’ll be totally happy to drive me to the Byers’ right now. Robin can handle the store for 10 minutes without you, can’t ya Robin?”

He slides the tape he’s grabbed onto the counter as he says it, a silent ask to check it out. Likely under Steve’s account which Dustin says it’s for the employee discount — which makes Steve scoff, considering he pays for it anyways.

All eyes move to Robin who freezes at the sudden attention, papers paused mid-shuffle in her twitchy hands. She narrows her eyes at Dustin and you find yourself watching Steve as he has a silent exchange with the girl — another halfhearted shrug that means he’s happy to take him if she doesn’t mind.

Robin swipes the tape and types the details into the computer hastily, waving them both off. “Yeah, yeah. y/n can always get behind the counter, worst-case scenario.”

Dustin fist-pumps, taking the tape back from Robin as she hands it over. He heads to the door and calls out to you as he goes, “And you’d look better than Steve in the vest too!”

It makes you laugh when Steve scowls, sidling up to you to lean over the counter and snatch up his car keys. He pauses, eyes roaming your face and looking as though he wants to say something to you.

“Steve!” Dustin’s voice pierces the glass and you look to see him waiting on the top step, hands raised, expression unimpressed.

Steve sighs, muttering the word dickhead under his breath and then he’s out the door.

Fact #3: You may have misjudged Steve Harrington.

It’s been just over a week since seeing Dustin in the store with Steve and though you’d never admit it aloud, it has shifted the way you see Steve.

A minuscule shift, you huff to yourself, tiny and not enough to completely dissolve your built in dislike for the Harrington boy. But you find the thought worming into your brain frequently, tripping over it in surprise when you realise you’re thinking of him again.

It’s just… it didn’t make sense.

Just like the flirting, it didn’t compute in your brain unless you rationalized it back to some asshole motive.

But Dustin had introduced himself as Steve’s best-friend, which was sort of weird enough on its own but you figured it had to be some insane trauma bonding from the mall fire.

Even if they had been the same age, Dustin didn’t seem like the company you’d expect Steve to keep— but neither was Robin, you thought after a moment of contemplation.

Robin’s knowing grin outside Family Video a couple of weeks ago that screamed i told you so floats up in your memory; you might have to concede she was maybe, potentially, just a little bit right.

The thoughts weigh on your mind as you wait in the kitchen for Steve’s car to pull into your driveway. A couple months ago you would have outright refused to accept a ride from King Steve and you still weren’t sure if you thanked him for his generosity tonight, whether it would come out snarky or genuine.

But he did offer, unasked.

You and Robin wanted to see a rerun screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show that was showing a few towns over. Robin couldn’t drive and neither could you, which meant when she’d seen the poster, it had only been a fleeting moment of excitement before you realised you didn’t have any means of travel.

She must have been moping about it at work that day because it was sometime in the evening after she got off work that your phone rang and she nearly shrieked down the line that Steve would take you both.

So, here you were; waiting for Steve to pick you up.

God, even the sentence sounded odd in your head. A flash of amber headlights on the street grabs your attention and before you can delve into the flip of your stomach, you duck out of the house and slip into Steve’s car.

You take the front seat. Mainly because it would be too weird to get in the back, as though he was your chauffeur — though you suppose for tonight, he is. Steve smiles when you get in and you find it easy to mimic it. Gravel crunches as his tires pull away from the curb, gathering speed as he heads for Robin’s house.

Eyes out the window, you don’t see how he steals glances at you every couple of moments. The air feels tinged with awkwardness and Steve swallows, wondering if he’s allowed to break it. You’ve been a little warmer to him — I mean, hell, you just offered him a smile.

As he pulls the car up in front of Robin’s house, engine idling, he pushes out a breath and dredges up his courage.

Yes, in the beginning, the compliments were because he wanted you to not see him and scowl. Tonight, it’s because you look beautiful and he wants you to know it.

“You look—” Oh god, and now you’re looking at him, eyes a little wide before they narrow in suspicion. “—uh, pretty.”

“What?”

“I mean, you always look pretty!” He amends. “But, y’know, you look lovely tonight. Pretty.” Stop talking.

“P-Pretty lovely.” It falls off his tongue in haste, delivered so terribly he’s surprised he doesn’t cringe immediately after. God, it was like whatever flirting skills he had flew out the window with you.

“No, Harrington, I mean— why do you keep saying these things?”

Steve feels utterly lost, shown on his face as he blinks, once, twice, and doesn’t say anything. Your insecurity bubbles up, mixed with anger at the thought he might indeed be messing with you.

“I don’t know if this is funny to you, to- to like, joke that you like my clothes or- or to pretend to think that I’m pretty but it’s not. And I—”

“Woah, wait — who said I was joking?” Incredulity taints each word, his brows pulled high in surprise. Steve’s stomach twists, feeling his heart recoil at the complete seriousness in your words — you think he’s been making fun of you.

“Well, why else would you call me pretty?” You ask pointedly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Because you are?” It’s faint, Steve’s voice suddenly a lot softer.

You’re not sure you can contain the ripple of emotions on your face, his words sticking you in the throat so you have to swallow thickly. It’s like a switch is flipped, each compliment of the last couple of weeks shifting into a new meaning in your mind.

It’s overwhelming and you find yourself searching Steve’s face desperately, drinking in his sincere expression, brows drawn together as he offers a weak smile. Fuck, you think and along with it, dozens of apologies fester and churn — god, you’d been so rude and—

“Um, backseat please!” A sharp knock at your window scares you, nearly jumping out of your skin and breaking your focus on Steve. When you turn, Robin’s standing on the sidewalk, bent at the waist to peer at you through the glass. You stare at her dumbly for a moment til she wiggles her eyebrows with a grin and it makes you crack a smile, finally reeling yourself in enough to move.

Unclipping your belt, you’re rather thankful to be shoved to the back of the car. Hidden in the dark, you shift to take the seat behind Steve. Your eyes spy a sliver of his neck, exposed skin about the collar of his jacket and it fixates you for a moment.

Because you are? Steve’s words follow you, plaguing you in the shadows of the backseat — you purposefully ignore how it makes your heart sing ever-so-slightly.

Fact #4: Bradley O’Connor is not to be trusted.

“Guess who came into my work today?”

It’s said all gleeful, your hands gripping the counter as you nearly launch yourself over it in your excitement. On the other side stands Robin, doodling in her notebook — or she had been, til your arrival had been announced by the door chime, her ‘Welcome to Family Video!’ cut off by your sudden commotion.

“Um,” Robin begins indignantly, brows raised high. “Half of Hawkins? You work at Bradley’s Best Buy y/n, like the whole town shops there.”

Her sarcasm bounces off you, undeterred in your good mood; it was like the sun was shining just for you today. You didn’t even mind Steve obviously listening in on you two, his hands frozen above the keyboard as he eavesdropped from his seat at the computer.

“Yeah, speaking of Bradley’s...” you grinned at Robin, hoping your hint was enough. It was, her expression shifting into something more enthusiastic.

“Bradley Bradley?”

You nod at her question, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip in an attempt to contain your giddy grin. But it’s hard when your long-term high school crush Bradley O’Connor came through your till, flirted like there was no tomorrow, and insisted you jot your number on his receipt.

He didn’t even seem to care that you worked at a supermarket. You knew well that he and all his friends lived in the cushy tax bracket which meant the first job they ever worked would be after college. Kids like you and Robin, stuck working hours in dead-end jobs to help pay rent, were often easy pickings for teasing.

It just made you lean into your naive feelings more, swooning at the fact he didn’t care. You had been too elated in your feelings to notice the piles of his friends waiting outside the store; if you had, it might’ve made you more cautionary.

“Bradley O’Connor?” Steve butts in, swiveling in his chair to question you. The way Steve says his name, tinged in disbelief, makes you narrow your eyes.

“Is that so hard to believe?” You say defensively and chose to not acknowledge Robin’s deep sigh. Eyes widening, Steve splutters for a moment as he shakes his head.

“What? No, not like that! I just mean—him? Really?”

You can’t quite pick what’s hiding in his voice, eyes instead following Robin as she whirls around and delivers a glower that makes Steve reconsider his tone, swallowing.

“I mean—” He starts again, clearing his throat, cheeks a titch pink now. “I didn’t realise he was... your type.”

You stare at Steve, your expression skeptical as you try to pull apart whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. When you can’t figure it out in a moment, you ignore the comment and turn back to Robin and ignore it.

“Asked for my number.” You lean closer to Robin, wiggling your brows as you lead her along the excitement you’d felt earlier today. “Insisted on it actually.”

Robin’s brows manage to raise even higher, nearly disappearing into her hairline and you’d be a bit offended if her grin didn’t match your own.

“Oh. My. God.” She says, her pen punching down on the pages of her notebook to punctuate each word. “Oh my god.”

You don’t bother trying to hold back your grin, nodding along, some form of a squeal escaping you — it vaguely occurs to you should rein it in with Steve listening in, but you can’t find it in yourself to curb your feelings for his sake.

“Finally!” Robin manages to break her script of oh my god’s. “You’ve only liked him for—what? Two years?”

You flush automatically at the admission, your grin becoming a grimace as you shoot a glare at your best friend. She means well, but you’re not exactly lining up to let Steve Harrington in on all your secrets.

Your eyes flit over to where he sits, still watching the conversation. As if he can read your unease, he mimes turning a lock over his lips and tosses the key behind him blindly in an exaggerated motion. You’re in a good enough mood that it makes you laugh lightly, breaking back into a smile and comforted that at the very least, Steve won’t go ratting out your affections.

“Hey, as happy as I am for you, aren’t you supposed to be helping your Mom today?”

Like a bubble bursting, Robin reminds you that, alas, the world exists outside the perfect moment of exchanging digits over the cash register at work. Your eyes widen, a little horrified as you spin around and squint at the clock on the wall. Shit.

“Shit.” You verbalize the thought and you’re out the door before you remember to call out your goodbyes.

Steve watches you go, your purple wind-breaker flapping behind you wildly as you all but sprint around the corner and out of sight. It’s a bit too comical and he can’t help but chuckle. The sound draws Robin’s attention and all too suddenly, Steve feels as though he’s been caught doing something wrong as she whirls around to face him.

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Steve wonders if he’ll have to remind her that despite the jokes they both make, he can’t actually read her mind.

She breaks the silence. “What was that?”

“What was what?” It’s genuine confusion, Steve’s head tilting to the right an inch.

“I didn’t realise he was your type.” Robin mocks, her voice high pitch and hands gesturing somehow sarcastically. “That! What was that?”

Steve frowns, defensiveness creeping up in his tone. “That was nothing!”

Okay, so, that sounded way less casual than he hoped. Steve clears his throat, spinning on his seat to face the computer again. It was nothing. Robin was being a vulture, picking at remains, picking at nothing — absolutely nothing.

“Nothing at all.” He mutters, beginning to type again and Robin snorts behind him, voice still doused in sarcasm.

“Mm, for my own sake, I’m gonna ignore the fact you’re clearly interested in her.”

Steve hits a wrong key in his surprise, an annoyed beep! coming from the computer. It sums up how he’s feeling. He turns his head back to Robin, brows furrowed as he shakes his head. “What? No, no way.”

“Yes, way.”

“Robin, no. Even if I did—not that I do but even if I— look, I’m not stupid enough to get a crush on someone who hates me.”

This puts out the fiery retorts for just a moment, Robin dimming as she recalls the bitterness you harbor for Steve. Well, harbored — she knows you back to front and she’s willing to bet money that if you stopped hating him for just a second, you’d probably like the guy.

“She doesn’t know you.” She lands on eventually, features softening as she recalls the bitterness on Steve’s face whenever some idiot from high school dragged up his past — usually, in an attempt to humiliate him.

“Look, I’m not interested in her.” Steve reiterates, though a little weak, waving his hands wildly as if it will help drive the point home. “Not gonna happen. Never gonna happen. “

The door rattles as it’s opened by a new customer. Robin and Steve both cease their conversation immediately, turning to greet automatically — and who should it be Bradley O’Connor, himself. He doesn’t spare a glance at the front counter, sauntering straight into the action movie aisle.

“In fact,” Steve begins, an idea formulating in his mind. He spins back to Robin with a grin. “I’ll happily help her get her next date.”

“Steve, don’t—“

Steve ignores her protest, sidling out from behind the counter and tracking Bradley down to where the rom-com section starts.

“Welcome to Family Video!” It’s a bit cheery and it makes the boy jump in surprise, surprised by the new voice. Steve continues. “Anything I can help you with today?”

Bradley chuckles stiffly, a little affronted at the enthusiasm Steve’s to help a customer. He clocks the double take he does, the glance down at Steve’s name badge giving away that Bradley’s well aware of who he is. Exhaling, Steve hopes he won’t bring it up.

It looks as though Bradley weighs something up in his head, taking another once over at Steve before he speaks. “Yeah, actually. You know what movies chicks dig?”

Steve can tell in the way Bradley says the word chicks that he’s an asshole. Not thinking of girls as people, more like scores: notches in his belt. It makes him tick, jaw clenching.

But he was like that once. Nancy Wheeler had found a genuine spot in him and coaxed it out. You — you could do the same.

So, Steve says, “Yeah, man. Anyone in particular? Usually depends on the girl, honestly.”

Bradley sniffs, one hand nudging under his nose as he skirts his gaze around the store. He lands on Robin, who thankfully, doesn’t look like she’s trying to eavesdrop at that exact moment.

“Do ya know y/l/n?” He jerks his chin in the direction of Robin. “Buckley’s friend?”

Steve nods, glad at the easy segue; now, all he had to do was talk you up. And Steve Harrington was nothing if not a flatterer. He halts a moment later with a frown, realising what a noncommittal date it was. You deserved better than that, Steve thought.

“y/n? You can’t just rent out a film for a girl like that. She’s a total catch, dude— you gotta do the whole nine yards, yanno? Cinema, popcorn, be a gentleman and all.”

He pairs his suggestion with a usual charming smile, crossing his arms across his broad chest. Bradley seems to pick up on the extra interest and his brows quirk up.

“You got like, a thing for her or something?”

His pink cheeks nearly give him away. Steve, to his credit, manages to not blunder his next response. It’s almost like Robin’s line of fire earlier prepped him for this moment.

“Nah,” he replies, coolly. “She’s just a friend.”

The next words are a little less casual, Steve straightening up as a surprising amount of protectiveness curls in his gut. “And as her friend, I’m just looking out for her.”

Bradley swallows, breaking eye-contact as if Steve could puzzle out his ill intentions if he looked long enough.

“So, be nice and take her out all proper.” Steve lets it sit in the air for a moment, then smiles, a polite way that’s well practiced in his line of work. “Can I get anything else for you?”

It might be the quickest customer Robin’s ever checked out, with Bradley managing to get the film rented and be out the door in under 2 minutes.

Thankfully, Robin is chuckling when he wanders back behind the counter. He had been harboring a thread of anxiety, worried he had really overstepped by thinking he knew best — it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it. On top of that, Steve really doesn’t want this to bite him in the ass, especially considering it was to help you.

“Don’t—” Robin starts, a smile curling her lips. “—let this go to your head, but that wasn’t nearly half bad.”

Steve tries not to feel smug, settling instead on pleasantly content. He was in your good books after this, for sure.

When you call the store from home, wire twisted in your fingers and talking loud enough in your excitement that Steve could hear it from beside Robin, she makes sure to mention the good word he put in for you.

Fact #5: If you call Steve Harrington from a pay-phone on a Friday night, he’ll pick up.

The bleak cold of the night air isn’t anything compared to the shame that’s building in your chest. You’re trying your best to ignore it, to not give in to your anxious doubts — what did Bradley say on the phone?

It was supposed to be a movie night at his place — that was what he’d suggested when he toyed with your feelings at work, a handsome smirk on his face. You’d tried not to sound disgruntled at the hurried change in plans, instead trying to lean into your excitement that tonight went from casual to a definite date.

Bradley O’Connor didn’t just invite anyone to the movies with him. And he’d said 7 on the phone, you huffed to yourself.

7 o’clock. The showing of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off that was playing at Hawk cinema. Though, he did sound a bit distracted on the phone, his voice sounding distant.

You glance at the clock above the ticket booth. 7.13pm.

Heaving a sigh, you tuck your coat closer around yourself and wonder how long you should wait before it goes from sad to truly pathetic.

Five more minutes, you think, Give him five more minutes.

Because you hopelessly want his flirts, his coy smile, and charming winks to be real; you want to be swept up in a teenage daydream and have it all work out for you for once.

You swallow, picking at your fingers as you dredge up your hopes, convincing yourself he’s coming — because if he doesn’t...it means Steve and his confused tone were fucking right. That Bradley wasn’t the type to go for your type.

You shouldn’t have waited the five extra minutes.

Technically, you think bitterly, you were right. Bradley does show up.

You’re stepping out, wondering if you should brave the walk home in the dark — but a familiar group of raucous boys in Letterman jackets heading for the cinema freeze you in your tracks.

“Holy shit, she actually came.”

It’s not said kind, not in awed disbelief as you’d hoped. It’s cruel — jeering explodes in the group of boys, unkind laughs and snickers resounding off the bricks as they smack each other, all in on the joke. The realisation sinks into your stomach, staining it black.

Bradley looks smugly satisfied — a pompous conceited piece of shit that you should’ve known better than to believe.

You don’t even want to look at him, a hot sting of tears burning behind your eyes. You don’t want to give him a chance to taunt you. Your feet take you forward, barging through the group and smacking your shoulder against Bradley’s shoulder, hard. You hope it hurts.

“Tell Harrington thanks for the suggestion to take you to the movies!” He calls after you like he knows how it rubs salt into the wound. It does; it stings maybe more than the initial humiliation. “Guess he’s not an idiot all of the time!”

The boys laugh, a series of oohs that finally break your floodgate. Tears streak, hot and fast, and you brush them off before they reach your chin, sniffling. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

The humiliation is coating you, sticky and clinging like a fog and you squeeze your eyes closed as you inhale quickly. You round the corner fast, feet not stopping til you’re at least four blocks from the cinema, further downtown.

You feel dumb. Scratch that, you feel like a fucking idiot.

A stray tear escapes without permission and the next thought is that you want to go home. Blurry eyes scanning the street, you clock the phone booth and head for it, fueled by the urgency of your thoughts: get home, then fall apart.

The glass is cold as you push the door open, creaking and weathered. You close the door and turn, staring at the phone. Who do you call?

Your mom is the first thought. She’d driven you in — though, you’d told her you’d get a lift home with Bradley since he had a car. You’re not up for the coddling you’ll get when she sees the state of you in the slightest. Besides, she’d mentioned heading to a friends for the evening.

Robin is the next thought. And you would, except she can’t drive so all she’d do is ply you with a combination of questions and furious insults directed at Bradley.

Your next thought...No.

You sigh, leaning your head against the glass, not caring about how grimy it might be, and smack your head against it a couple of times. No, no way were you about to call Steve Harrington for a lift.

Not when he fucking set you up. Not when he’d just taken the shred of trust you’d granted him and torn it up immediately. Especially not after crying because you believed a date like that with a guy like Bradley O’Connor was genuine.

You were not calling Steve.

The Harrington household number is easy to find in the paper phone book.

It’s under Steve’s father’s name, some prick with big money who’d likely report you to the police for harassment if he picked up the phone. You stare at it and then at the phone, a frown set on your brow as you weigh it up.

Steve didn’t work Friday night — you know, because it used to be a night to go visit Robin, back when you avoided Steve.

A stray thought floats up, bringing back the words of Robin on the phone as she had celebrated the news. It’s a bitter memory now, made entirely worse as you recall what she had said. Steve talked you up, her voice crackled down the wire, when O’Connor came in. Put in a good word for you.

A new emotion surges in your chest and you’re relieved to shrug off some humiliation for anger. God, you feel even more stupid for thinking Steve would’ve actually talked you up.

As you punch in the number, the keypad taking a bit of a beating, you huff and think at the very least, he can owe you a ride for ruining your evening.

“Harrington residence, this is Steve.”

“Harrington.” You spit it out with venom. On the other side of the phone, Steve recoils a bit, surprised at the tone.

“y/n? I thought you were—”

“I’m on Cavendish Boulevard, right by Tony’s. Come pick me up.” It’s fierce and clipped. You don’t really want to unleash your anger on the phone, lest he leaves you stranded and you have to ring around your mother’s friends just to find her. You just want to go home.

Steve makes a noise of confusion over the phone, a bit slow on the uptake. “But I thought tonight was—”

“Harrington.” you say again, a little softer, your emotions leaking into your voice involuntarily. Fuck, you sound pathetic but in the moment you can’t bring yourself to care. You plead, “Please.”

“I’m coming,” He says, voice indicating he’s caught on to why you might be calling. “Yeah, I’m coming, just sit tight.”

Fact #6: When Steve Harrington says he ‘knows a spot’, he doesn’t always mean Skull Rock.

You’re angry.

That much Steve can tell. Steve’s reminded too much of the last ride he gave you when you pop the door, sliding almost uncomfortably into the passenger seat and turning your clenched jaw towards the window.

Unrest torments Steve’s head, unsure if he’s gained enough trust to ask what went wrong this evening. On the other hand, you had called him. At the very least, you trusted him to come and get you.

The tires groan as he drives out of Tony’s parking lot, the hood of the car dipping to the gutter and rolling out onto the quiet roads.

“Am I allowed to ask what happened?” Steve drives slow so his eyes can flick over to you, watching the way you smooth your hands down your thighs, a self-soothing motion. It makes his chest twinge, a tad more worry than he’s probably warranted to considering you are barely friends. If that.

“Depends.” you finally turn to face him, a pinch in your eyebrows. “What did you say to Bradley?”

Steve detects the cynicism of your question in a heartbeat. Even though he knows he was all charm, Robin even affirmed it, he still rehashes the conversation, scrutinizing it for what he had said wrong.

You take his silence as admittance. Scoffing lightly, you focus back out the window, eyes boring into the streets. You’re in the middle of a mutter, something like I was so right about you when Steve manages to find his voice.

“I—” Shyness has crept up inside, Steve suddenly worried you’ll find his comments odd and not endearing. Worse, you’ll think he’s being in-genuine again. You’re just quiet, waiting. “I told him that he should take you to the cinema, instead of just renting a film. That you deserved a better— a proper date.”

He shoots a look in your direction, trying to see how you take in the words. Your shoulders have bunched up stiffly, your body turning further away but he can still see the furrow in your brow, angry emotions emitting out in every direction from you — you don’t believe him.

“I swear,” He continues, more desperate to prove himself. “I said something about— that you were a catch and- and you can ask Robin, I swear to—”

“Steve, stop.”

Horror churns through his gut when Steve realises you’re crying, soft tears dripping off your cheeks. As if you can sense he’s about to talk again, ready to rattle off his insistence, you speak before him.

“If I believe you,” you inhale shakily, pushing your palms into your eyes hard. You don’t want to cry in front of Steve. “If you’re telling the truth, then that means...”

Your teeth chew on your lip, hiding its quiver as you relive the humiliation of earlier all over again. “It means, I was actually stupid enough to believe him.”

Painfully, Steve can feel the embarrassment rolling off you in waves as you bury your face away. He swears under his breath. He’d detected asshole from Bradley two words in but this? This was not even in the ballpark of what he’d considered happening tonight. How fucking childish to ask someone out as a joke.

You seem to be slipping into a ramble, uncaring that you’re pouring your feelings out to Steve — Steve who you hate, or at least you did. Steve who you were ready to verbally pummel a minute ago. Steve who is looking at you so gingerly that you might consider he actually cares about you.

“He- all his friends were there.” You admit, words wobbling and tone revealing your utter mortification. “It was just a big fucking joke.”

For a minute, the car is silent; you stare at the road and watch it get swallowed beneath the car.

“I’m— I’m so fucking sorry.” Steve starts again, feeling like he’s managed to take one step forward and fifteen backward with you. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I had no idea he would do that, I swear, I wouldn’t have—“

He cuts himself off, apparently out of words to say, or taking your silence as a cue to shut up. His apology sits in the silence and you know now, he means it. Bradley’s smugness compared to Steve’s sincerity leaves no contest; you’d been too in your own head to realise you’d muddled them up.

You’re faintly aware that Steve has been driving absently, guzzling up gas so you can have a moment suspended away from reality. But he seems to grip the wheel tighter, with more purpose, and instead of looping the block again, Steve picks a route.

You wipe under your eyes again, sniffling through your clogged throat. “Where are we going?”

Steve adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, throwing a glance at you.

“Where I go when I’m upset.”

A snarky retort rises in your mind on instinct, the hurt part that wants to lash out, make someone hurt like you’re hurting. You think about saying something like what does rich, popular Steve Harrington get upset about? when he says, “Helped me a lot after the, uh, the mall fire.”

You swallow the words on your tongue and guilt stains your throat.

It’s a short drive; Steve drives so comfortably that you question how many times he’s traced this route. Too plagued by horrid memories, forced into his car and driving until he’s tired enough to sleep without nightmares.

You can’t say you’re expecting the stretch of road that crawls out to Skull Rock. For a moment you regard him, wondering if he’s daft enough to try to get lucky right now. But the car veers off track, driving down a less traveled path.

He doesn’t stop til you’re surrounded by timber trunks — there’s not much room to open your door when Steve puts the car into park.

Normally, you make a witty comment — “You didn’t bring me out here to kill me, right? I can’t see how that would make me feel any better.” — but you bite your tongue. You feel too downbeat to be witty now.

Steve rounds the car and pops the trunk, leaning over it with one hand still gripping the top. He rummages for a moment, moving junk around til he pulls out a couple of items: a baseball bat, some bag that clinks noisily, and a few other items, stuffed quickly into the bag. He tucks the baseball bat under his arm.

“C’mon,” he murmurs and waves you to follow him, after shutting the trunk and locking the car. Again, you’re eerily aware that this route is well-familiar to Steve. You stumble to keep up, eyes on your feet so you don’t get a face full of dirt.

Eventually, the trees give way to a clearing littered with various junk, glittering broken glass all around making Steve tell you to watch where you step.

He makes his way towards a rotten tree trump in the centre of the clearing, poorly cut and barely a flat surface on it. Still, Steve digs around in the bag and fishes out an empty beer bottle. You think you can guess where he’s going with this.

Carefully, he manages to balance it on a slanted surface and as expected, he draws the bat out from under his arm and offers it to you.

The wood is warm from being pressed against his side and you curl your fingers around it, sapping it into your hands. He digs around in the bag for another moment, revealing a pair of safety glasses — damn, he’s really prepared.

Steve unfolds them and steps closer, offering them out to you — but you don’t remove your hands from the bat, instead jutting out your chin to indicate for him to put them on for you.

It makes him pause. Steve regards you for a moment, eyes unsure before he steps even closer.

It steals your breath, the intensity of his gaze as he pushes the glasses up your nose, his fingers tracing along the rims and down the arms of the glasses, tucking any stray hair behind your ears. It’s oddly intimate, watching him through the plastic, his expression focused, breath fanning over your face. He looks handsome — the shadows cutting his jawline nicely and you can smell his cologne when he’s this close.

When he steps back, you have to remind yourself to breathe — the scent of him still swirls in your chest.

Even though you know what he’s brought you here for — the bottle, the bat, the open junkyard already doused in broken litter — you still don’t make a move.

Steve gestures to the bottle. “Hit it. Hard as you can.”

It’s a soft instruction; you know if you wanted, you could turn around and he’d drive you all the way home, no questions asked. But then you’d spend the rest of your evening drowning your sorrows, wallowing in a pint of ice-cream and sniffling over the phone to Robin.

You turn to face the bottle, lifting the bat, and readying your grip.

Holy shit, she actually came.

The bat connects fast with the bottle, a loud crash pistoling off and filling the clearing — the brown glass dissolves into the night, pieces are thrown in every direction and you’re suddenly very grateful for the safety glasses.

You heave in a breath, surprised by how that felt. It’s thrilling. You whip around to look at Steve and choke on a laugh at what you see — he’s put on a ridiculous pair of sunglasses.

They’re not at all the usual stylish ones he’s worn to parties before. It’s likely didn’t want that pair damaged but still needed to protect his eyes. Instead, these pair look like women’s sunglasses, with big wide round frames. It’s a bizarre sight, Steve Harrington is women’s sunglasses, at night-time no less.

“Nice glasses.” The tease falls off your lips instinctively, a laugh contained in the words.

Back to poking fun at him — a definite sign you’re feeling better. He sighs, playing it up, popping his hip, and planting his hands on his sides.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, but he’s smiling. “Be thankful I gave you the cool ones. Normally, it’s just me up here anyways.”

It’s somewhat of a lie. He’d bought two pairs of the safety glasses, one for Robin as well, but she hadn’t liked the loud noises of broken glass when he brought her with him.

But Steve thought the stupid oversized glasses his mom had tried to dump — he was going to offer them to Robin but it had slipped his mind — would be a better choice. You wouldn’t be thinking about fucking O’Connor if he’s in women’s sunglasses.

It’s surprisingly effective; a giggle titters out of you again and you cover your mouth as if it’ll help hide the sound. You’re a bit bewildered at how easy it feels to laugh so soon.

Steve pushes the glasses up onto the top of his head, his hair sticking up at odd angles and he narrows his eyes at you. His smile gives him away. He bends and roots through the bag, finding another bottle for you to smash. The sunnies slip back down to cover his eyes as he sets up the next one.

It wobbles precariously on the stump but you don’t wait for it to settle, baseball bat swinging and shattering it in a second.

“Fuck!” You scream and the curse is swallowed up in the splintering sound of glass. Steve whoops, looking almost like a suburban mom, cheering from the sidelines. The scream helped — hell, swinging with all your might and channeling your rage into demolishing a bottle was definitely helping. You don’t feel upset, you feel enraged.

The stump isn’t empty for long, Steve dutifully scoops up another bottle and places it out for you. He pauses, sunglasses back in his hair, and points at the bottle as he fixes you with a determined look.

“This one’s O’Connor.”

You meet his eyes, his brows knitted together and an expression that says he wants you to destroy it because he’s angry with you — angry for you. He steps back.

When you hit it, an earsplitting crack thunders out. The bottle fractures, fragments careening off in every direction. A wild grin sweeps across your face, knowing that whatever comes at school next week— whether Bradley went back to ignoring your existence or used tonight as fuel for taunting — you could just picture how you felt as you shattered that bottle.

“That felt good.” You breathe out, turning back to Steve. Your teeth graze your bottom lip, sinking in to stop from grinning like a lunatic. A delirious laugh wrestles itself out of your chest and you let your head drop back, eyes turning up at the inky sky, laughs petering out.

Steve tries to ignore how the sound lights up his chest like a Christmas tree, some part of him burning with glee with the knowledge you’re feeling better because of something he did.

He watches your gaze rove across the sky, searching for something he doesn’t know. He’s not sure if he should dig out the next bottle or whether this was it — that now, he’d take you home now and he’d be back to just a brief hint of a smile from you if that.

Head dropping forward, you offer back the baseball bat and Steve’s heart sinks.

Reining in his dejection so it doesn’t show, Steve takes it from you and pulls a polite smile; at the very least, he’ll get some credit with Robin for cheering up her best friend.

As he moves to tuck it under his arm, he freezes at your own motions. You’re bending down, rummaging through the bag, and scoring a bottle — this time, a big champagne bottle, left on the bench from the last time his parents had been home. Four? No, five days ago.

You plant it on the stump, hands hovering around it as it quivers for a moment, only dropping them when the bottle finally settles. You step back, look at him and Steve finally understands what you’re doing.

Surprise sprouts in his chest, his lips parting. You’re giving him a turn?

“Well?”

He’s been gawking a bit, he realises and Steve remembers to close his mouth. He shifts the bat out from under his arm and then pulls the sunglasses off his head. He offers them to you, with a nod.

“Swap. I’ll miss the bottle completely with these on.”

“But that’ll make me laugh.” You point out, tone cheeky as you pass them over regardless.

Steve slides them on, a dramatic eye-roll as he steps up to swing. He’s usually only here when his anger is feeling uncontrollable, like hot lava boiling over and burning him from the inside out. He’s calmer tonight, with no emotions running rampant — well, maybe not any bad ones at least.

He scrounges his brain to think of what’s annoyed him this week; Keith, as always. The champagne bottle on the stump, the only bitter evidence his parents had been home in the last week. The agonizing wobble in your voice as you’d cried in the passenger seat of his car.

There’s a familiar burn in his muscles when he swings, another bottle sacrificed to anger and destined to a life scattered in the dirt. You whoop loudly, just as he had, and Steve can understand why you’d laughed at the sight of him in those sunglasses. They’re huge and you look nearly bug-like, shiny round domes of black staring back at him.

“Nice glasses.” He grins cheekily, a copy of your own words. He doesn’t need to see your eyes to know you’re rolling them at him.

The bat and safety glasses get passed between you two, equal turns until the bottles run out. Steve’s only sorry he didn’t bring more, drinking in the giddy and wild grin that overcomes your face when another bottle meets its fate.

When you pack it in and stumble back to his car, Steve revels in the closeness you seemed to have gained. No longer three steps behind, your shoulders brush his on the walk and when you stumble over a root, your hand shoots out and grips his arm, steadying yourself. You hold it for a moment longer than you should.

The skin of your hand still tingles as you slide into the passenger seat. The air of the car is more comfortable now, cozy even, as Steve cranks the heat and the trees pass you in a blur as you drive out. Bruce Springsteen’s Hungry Heart is warbling on the radio, the volume turned low and you can’t help but stare at him.

You were so wrong about him.

You were so astronomically wrong about him; it’s the only thing you can think of as you drive home, amber streetlights illuminating the streets of Hawkins. The clock on the dash reads 9.57pm — meaning you’ve been with Steve for nearly two hours. The fact nearly draws an awed sort of laugh, but you press it down til it’s only a smile, hidden as you turn back to the window.

He drops you off by 10.14pm, insisting on buying you a milkshake to complete the night.

Honest, I get one after every time I smash shit. It’s hard work you just did! He’d said as he ordered. One chocolate shake for you, one vanilla, for him. You gotta, like, replace electrolytes and all. The fact you don’t think he’s said it to make you laugh, makes you laugh even harder.

The milkshakes sustain the silence on the final drive home and you quickly understand immediately the importance of the shake. After all the frustration, the sugar is near soothing as the cold sweet dances on your tongue.

The engine idles as Steve brings the car to a halt by the curb outside your house. You eye it, astonished by your reluctance to end the evening and you wonder if Steve can tell.

You don’t know if you want him to notice it or not; reading into your hesitancy feels like a whole new can of worms. The porch light is on, waiting for you.

Home. What you’ve been yearning for since 7.15pm this evening — finally, the roller-coaster of emotions has wrung you out and tiredness seeps into your bones. But you can’t leave without a goodbye. Not without telling Steve what tonight meant to you.

“Thank you.”

You don’t mean to murmur it, but it’s nearly a whisper as you take your eyes off the house to turn to Steve in the driver’s seat.

Steve somehow manages to soften more at the quiet words, an easy smile pulling on his lips. He nods. It means of course like you don’t even have to thank him for it. The car purrs beneath you, filling the silence with a quiet rumble.

You want to say it again, louder because it’s not just a thank-you — it’s thank you, I’m sorry, I was wrong about you, can we start over? I hated you for the longest time but do you ever think you could like me?

The last thought punches a breath out of you and it sets you in motion. You couldn’t be having those thoughts; not with the tension in the air, his closeness so enticing now you’ve tasted it once. You couldn’t be having those thoughts at all.

You’re on the sidewalk, about to close the door before you remember to squeak out a ‘goodnight!’. The walk to your door is short enough that you shouldn’t feel the cold of the night — besides, you’re too warm inside, emotions churning wildly to notice anyways.

It doesn’t help when you reach the porch and peek over your shoulder, the maroon BMW still waiting by the curb, amber headlights shining, for you to make it inside okay.

Fact #7: You’re way too wasted right now.

You’d started with vodka and that had been, what? An hour ago.

An hour ago when O’Connor had made his entrance with his buddies, stupid cheers erupted from the crowd of high schoolers that were stupid enough to worship the likes of him.

Or maybe, you’re the stupid one for hoping you wouldn’t see him tonight.

But if the open invite to Melody Carter’s house for a late-night Saturday party meant the likes of you and Robin could come, of fucking course O’Connor would be there.

You had been only planning on one more drink, the one you’d been pouring when O’Connor showed face, but his smirk across the room had you finishing it instantly. It burned as you swallowed it down, your hands already moving to pour more liquor into your cup.

Two more shots down of — what was it? The label tells you it’s tequila — and you’re thoroughly drunk. Which, honestly, might not be a great move considering the number of people at this party. There are a lot of people here.

What had started as a party for only the senior year had quickly snowballed, kids older and younger showing up. Hell, you were pretty sure you’d seen Aaron Bright pass through the front door, a boy two years out of high school.

Did that mean Steve was coming?

Oh-kay, that had to be the tequila speaking.

But once the thought is in your head, it spins out, unstoppable, careening and building up your hopes before you remember to crush them. You weren’t hanging out to see Steve; quite the opposite in fact.

The bottle-smashing adventure you’d shared with him had been just over a week ago and maybe your thoughts had strayed to him a couple of times. A couple of times might be putting it lightly.

You just— you didn’t know how to act around him anymore.

Without the shield of ‘Steve Harrington is a douchebag’ to give a reason for your scowls, you had to admit he was utterly charming.

You couldn’t tell if it was the shift in your own perception or if Steve really was this nice, each sentence flirty or teasing — either way, it meant you were as good as reduced to blundering through any interaction with him.

So, naturally, you’d resorted to avoiding Family Video instead, which, hey, might not have been your best idea.

Robin had tracked you down after you didn’t show up to two of her evening shifts to hang. Gossip flowed as you divulged her in your Friday night, the prank O’Connor had pulled, and the subsequent tears that had followed. With a guilty smile, you let Robin get wrapped up in her anger and forgive your absences — too distracted to even ask how you’d gotten home.

Technically, you hadn’t lied. You had just... omitted certain facts.

Besides, you were feeling confused enough about Steve all on your own. You had no doubt that adding Robin, the mutual best friend between you two, and her opinion would make it all the messier.

Or maybe she’ll tell you what you don’t want to hear. Something in your head whispers, the tequila burning a little fouler in your stomach. That you can’t have him. That she knows him and he would never want you.

For good measure, you chase down one more shot.

And that’s how Steve finds you — wasted out in the back garden of a party.

Robin had invited him, halfheartedly during one of their shifts. Honestly, a high school party had very little appeal to him — most parties had no appeal after the events that had transpired in the last couple of years.

But Robin had been a bit adamant as she realised he didn’t have a date lined up like he usually did. He’d winced as she connected the dots, counting on her fingers that it had been nearly two months since he’d used his weekend for social plans. That is, excluding hanging with Robin.

The fact he stopped going on dates round bout the same time you stopped completely ignoring him was completely unrelated. But Steve was glad Robin didn’t notice the coincidence, so she couldn’t grill him about it.

In fact, she was surprisingly mute over his sudden agreement when Robin purposefully mentioned you’d be there. Her twinkling eyes said she knew more than she’d let on.

And at first, it seemed like a colossal mistake to come.

Steve didn’t like alcohol like he used to. The last few years had birthed something in him that hated not being in control of his body, especially when dark corners seem to hold something more sinister, or the lights flickered.

Or maybe it was the fact he hasn’t really been to a party since Halloween ‘84. Steve shoves the memory of that night down, away.

He lasts two minutes in the crowded main room before he’s shouldering out, hoping the garden will provide some relief. It brings lungfuls of fresh air, the natural blanket of the night and you.

You’re fairly certain you came out here to fight the spinning in your head, desperate for fresh air but now, sprawled out on the cool grass, you’re completely distracted by staring up at the sky. You’re not exactly sure what you’re looking for, gazing into the stars.

A head pops into your vision, Steve’s hair flopping over as he peers down at you. “y/n?”

“Steve!”

Whatever he was expecting, it was not the unbridled glee in your voice. You squirm happily, like a slug in the rain, and if your slurring hadn’t given you away, it’s evidence of how drunk you are. It doesn’t matter that something in his head says she’s drunk, he still finds himself smiling.

“That’s me.” He scans the garden for Robin, assuming the two of you would be together. Concern laces his next words. “Why ya out here on the grass, sweetheart?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Steve’s not sure what it is he’s said, but he’s never seen a reaction like this out of you before; your hands cover your face, giggles slipping loosely out as if you’re hiding a secret.

Sweetheart. You hide the flame in your face behind your hands. There’s nothing to be done for your giggles, loud and drunken, not stopping no matter how much you will yourself. The pet-name brands itself onto your heart, the heat of it racing under your skin.

Steve tries again. “Where’s Robin? I thought you two came together.”

“We did.” You remove your hands to reveal your wide-eyed expression as if just remembering the fact yourself. Man, that must have been ages ago. “She was talking to... to...”

“Vickie?” Steve supplies, with an amused smile.

“Yes!” You snap your fingers at him, expression showing a little bit of disbelief mixed with awe. It shows in your words. “How did you know that, Steve?”

Steve. Not Harrington. You’ve called him by his name twice and Steve’s a little embarrassed by how much he likes it. Likes the sound of his name in your mouth, on your lips.

He shakes his head like an etch-a-sketch to get rid of the thought, mind stuck on your lips too long. Stay focused, Steve chides himself. Extending out a hand, he offers it to you with the intent to have both of you track down Robin.

Though, if you’d last seen her with Vickie, there’s a chance Robin would bite his head off for interrupting the two of them. Vickie, apparently, had a hard time believing the fact Steve and Robin’s relationship was entirely platonic in nature. Tracking her down at a party might not help.

He’s pulled out of the tangent of thoughts when you slap your hand into his — and tug.

Steve topples, immediately grateful for his lack of alcohol because, with any less coordination, you’d be squished beneath him. A hand plants on either side of your head, catching himself just above you. You grin, alcohol on your breath and Steve isn’t completely sure whether he’s imagining the pink on your cheeks.

“Uh,” Steve says, before scrambling off you hastily. He wasn’t sure if he could be so close to you without his face growing warm; or worse, he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Though spying your amused expression, as if you’d known the closeness would make him blush, maybe Steve didn’t need to be worried.

“S’just,” you say, words a bit mumbled. “s’lay down on the grass. Y’know, look at the stars.”

You point up at the sky in case Steve didn’t understand. The grass is still cool under your back and your head isn’t spinning so much but you don’t really feel like moving. Something in you knows that your limbs will feel like cinder-blocks and movement will send your head back into a tizzy.

Without thinking, your push your lips into a pout and aim it at him. Steve flops down without argument.

“You didn’t tell me why you ended out here,” says Steve, wanting to keep you talking. He’s not entirely confident you won’t just fall asleep if the two of you lapse into silence.

You swing your neck, head lolling to the side to look at Steve. Eyes narrowed, it’s like you’re trying to see if he’s genuinely asking. Whatever you find in your search must satisfy you, because you speak, rolling your head back to peer upwards.

“O’Connor’s here.” You say, bitterness in your tone. “Then my head started spinnin’.”

Steve watches as you tilt your head back towards him, pulling a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “S’now I’m here.”

You’re not sure what convinces you to do what you do next.

Perhaps, it’s because Steve’s expression is tilting too close to pity and you don’t want it; or that you feel lonely enough that you’ll take touch whenever you can, brave enough with the alcohol in your blood to ask.

Or maybe, you just want an excuse to touch him.

“Gimme your hand.” With a gesture of your own, you hold your hand up like you might be asking for a high-five. It wavers, fingers quivering if he looked close enough. After a moment of confusion, Steve humours you.

You feel the callouses first, rough skin scratching against yours as Steve gingerly holds his hand out, letting your press your own against it. It’s warm, warmer than your own and you wish you could twist your fingers until they slotted in with his.

Don’t says a voice in your head, drowned out in the drunkenness. Don’t do this to yourself. Maybe, it’s the voice of reason. It seems you’re very good at building yourself up just to get torn back down.

Hand pressed to hand, you can’t find it in yourself to care about that; you want to touch him, so you ask, and he gives it to you. The alcohol makes it black and white.

You hated him. You did, but now it’s all garbled and wonky and different — and you don’t hate him at all. Not anymore. Every complication you had worked up, all the knots tied in your brain seem to dissolve; hand to hand, it’s easy to admit what you’d been denying to yourself.

“I used to hate you, y’know.”

Steve’s not sure if this will ever get easier to hear. That people he’s grown close to carry reminders, unshakeable memories, of an old ego that still haunts him.

He doesn’t know what to say. He knows you know he’s sorry, that he’s different now. So, he weakly says. “Used to?”

“Yeah.” A smile finds your lips, tugging them up slightly. Steve thinks he could marvel forever at how your lashes kiss in the corner when you smile. It’s aching. “Used to.”

“S’kinda hard to hate you,” you sigh, eyes turning skyward. “I should. You didn’t even remember me a couple months s’ago,”

Steve focuses on your hand against his to deter the twinge in his heart. Your hand is smaller than his and when he curls his fingers, they hug the top of yours. A breath bursts past your lips, loud enough he hears it.

“M’sorry.” he whispers, though he’s said it time and time again.

He doesn’t care; he’ll say it a thousand it times if you’ll keep looking at him like that. Features soft, so different to the glare he’s all but memorised — instead, your eyebrows drawn together like the sight of both your hands, palm to palm, might be the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Steve feels you push back against his fingers, a gentle pressure like you’re trying to hug him back.

“And now I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Even while drunk, you can’t look at him while you confess. If you look at him, then it’s real and logic will prevail and you’ll rein everything back in.

Looking at both of your hands, feeling the yearning spool in between your ribs — none of it matters. You like him so much that it feels woven into everything else; weaved into the noises of the party, the black of the night, the grass tickling the back of your legs.

You like him so much it makes you sick.

On second thought, that might be the alcohol.

Steve’s response, whatever it might be, vanishes when you rip your hand away and sit up suddenly — emptying to contents of your stomach into a lovely rosebush to your right. Disgusted with the sudden visual aid to what you had for dinner, you groan. The movement has sent your head spinning again, rotating out of the same orbit as Earth.

Steve’s palm soothes down your spine, rubbing warmth as he murmurs comfortingly.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he mutters, more to himself. “You’ll be feeling it in the mornin’.”

You groan again, eyes sliding shut and tumbling you into darkness.

Fact #8: You’re never drinking, ever again.

You’ll be feeling it in the morning. The last memory of last night curls up like smoke in your head and all you can think is Steve was fucking right.

The sheets feel scratchy as you release an agonised noise into your pillow, coiling in tighter. There’s a pounding in your head, bleeding out of your ears and eyes and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so terrible in your life.

Eyes screwed shut tight, you move slowly and draw your head up. Sneaking a look, relief fizzes in your chest as the recognition of your sheets — you made it home, you’re in bed. Never mind that you can’t quite remember how you got here. A shuffle of your legs tells you, uncomfortably, you’re still in last night’s jeans.

What time is it? There’s sun coming through the gap in the curtains. Daytime. Some sleep-covered murmur escapes you, though even you can’t tell what it’s supposed to mean.

Plopping your head back down, you search your memories. It’s an effort to push past your headache to put together the puzzle of last night. Visions of arriving at the party, of drink number one, and dancing with Robin are clear but sometime after O’Connor shows up they begin to get hazy.

You remember the cool grass. The moon. Steve. God, that’s right, he was there — what you might have said to him is anyone’s guess. Another grainy and fogged memory of puking in the bushes. The rest of the night is locked behind a tequila fueled paywall in your brain

Burrowing back into your sheets, the hangover takes priority and you only hope to sleep it off.

—

The next time you wake, the pounding in your head has shifted to the door.

You can’t have been asleep for more than an hour according to your alarm clock, blinking midday numbers back at you as you drag your head up. Thankfully, a large portion of your hangover has been cured with sleep — otherwise, the unending knocks on your door might be the end of you.

You struggle to speak, aware of your sandpaper throat but whatever gurgle you produce is good enough for whoever is on the other side of the door. Robin, judging by the intensity of their knocks.

Lo and behold, Robin bowls into the room once she hears signs of life.

“What did you say to Steve?”

Oh.

That has you sitting up, wincing at the pain it brings and you nurse your head in your hands. “What?” you rasp out. “Nothing!”

That might be a lie. You wince again, searching through you scrambled memories for what she could be referring to and come up short. Robin can read your genuine confusion.

“Why?” The word comes out a bit shot. You clear your throat. “Did he say something to you?”

“Nothing specific,” Robin grimaces a bit. She’s never been the best at hiding her emotions. “He just— he asked if you’d talked to me. Said he was checking if you were still alive. Which, yanno, thank god you are! He said you barfed in Melody’s mom’s rose bush, which quite frankly is hilarious and—“

“Robin.” you moan, trying to cut off her ramble. “Why are you here?”

Robin seems to remember the original reason she was nearly breaking down your door, body jumping like she’s been zapped. “Right!”

She suddenly seems to reconsider herself, ducking her head and beginning a well practiced pace across your carpet. “I know you said you don’t like him, which I get, I know- he was the worst! But I dunno, you seemed to, like, I don’t know? Warm up to him? I guess, he just seemed real bummed on the phone when I said you hadn’t called me.”

A series of emotions jolt through your nerves, none as strong as the elation at hearing Steve had called to ask about you. You push it down with another groan and fling yourself backward, bouncing on the springs of your mattress.

Hands hiding your face, you mumble the next words as if you don’t quite want Robin to hear them.

“I don’t not like him.”

“And I can’t tell what that is supposed mean.” Her pacing hasn’t ceased. Her arms gesticulate wildly as she speaks. “You don’t not like him sorta, to me, just sounds like you like him!”

“Robin,” you whine, well aware of the way she can read you like words on a page. “What do you wanna hear? That you were right?”

Robin halts her pacing, leaning her knees onto the edge of your mattress. You peek at her through your fingers. She’s looking a little more wide-eyed. “Yes. Absolutely. If my two favourite people in the world could suddenly get along, maybe even be friends, I think I’d like to know.”

“We’re not—”

“But that is not why I’m here.” She’s gone serious, brows raised as her voice turns softer. You nearly think she’s taunting you, a hint of a smile hidden in her expression.

“I’m here to discuss the distinct possibility that you have managed to skip the part where we become a cool trio of friends and have traveled into more than friends territory.”

Damn her. She’s too good, unspooling your secret right after you’ve only just managed to admit it aloud (not that you could remember that thought). Dragging your hands down your face, you groan again — there’s no point in hiding it from Robin, especially when she seems to have you all figured out.

“I’m gonna take that as a ‘wow Robin, you’re incredibly smart and totally right’.” She jibes, looking far too smug.

Perplexingly, she doesn’t appear to care that you confirmed Steve had you feeling gooey inside and weak at the knees. You dredge yourself to a sitting position, blankets pooling at your waist, and regard her with as much sarcasm as you can.

“Wow, Robin,” you drawl tiredly, still a bit catty from your lack of sleep. “You’re so totally right.”

“Don’t forget the incredibly smart part.”

You wallop her thigh with your sleeve, halfhearted and not at all mean. She grins. For a moment, you’re monumentally relieved to be sharing this with her — you’re best friends, talking about a boy you like, back to feeling thick as thieves with her.

“You gotta talk to him though, you know that right?”

A sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

—

By the time you’ve rinsed the last of your hangover down the shower drain, washed down with the suds of your strawberry shampoo, the sun is nearing the horizon.

Droplets cling to the ends of your hair, leaving a trail behind you on the carpet as you don fresh clothes. You try your best not to analyse each piece, shoving down any self-doubts and recalling Steve’s generous compliments littered through the past couple of months.

Tonight. It had to be tonight, you decided. Any longer and you’d lose the nerve, crawl back to avoidance because you’re not really sure you want to hear what you said to him in the garden.

You can only imagine it’s some confusing amalgamation of your complicated feelings — mixed with the amount of alcohol you had drunk? It was a stab in the dark trying to guess what you had said.

The plan you have is half-baked at best. The walk to Loch Nora isn’t far — but if your plan goes south, you’ll have plenty of time to wallow and clear your tears on the walk home. Thankfully, It’s still too early for dinner. You can smell the beginnings of it bubbling on the stove as you creep down the stairs.

As soundlessly as you can, you slip out the front door. Warm air greets you. The sunbeams trickle across the sky, dipping lower behind the horizon and painting soft blemishes of pink and orange across the sky.

The other perk of the walk is that you’ll have ample time to decide what you’ll say to Steve; you can deliberate each word, orchestrated so that it can be played down if need be. Minimal cringe and hurt feelings.

You’re running a few options over in your head when the rumble of a car cruising down your road draws your eyes. With a startle, you realise it’s a familiar maroon colour — a car you’d been in just over a week ago.

You watch as Steve parks, evidently so entrapped in his own thoughts to notice you on the doorstep. He’s messing with his hair anxiously, eyes on the ground and when you look closer, his mouth is moving, an indication he’s talking out loud to himself.

He makes it halfway up the driveway before you stumble out to meet him.

“Steve?” You call out and his head shoots up, a little alarmed to see you. His steps falter, the pair of you met in the middle of your drive.

“Y/n. Hi.” For someone who had come to your house, he seems a bit affronted to be seeing you. Acutely, you realise that he’s nervous. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the road. “Were you— is this a bad time? I didn’t mean to intrude—”

“No!” You squeak. “No, I was just... coming to see you, actually.”

“Oh.” Steve blinks. He ducks his head for a moment, clearing his throat but you still spot the pink on his cheeks. “How’s your head? You’d had, uh, a lot to drink last night.”

There’s only a mild rush of embarrassment to your system, a sheepish grin playing at your lips. “Right. Last night- I’m sorry you had to, er, see that. Or rather, thank you for taking care of me.”

Steve smiles back. One hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous motion. You don’t mean to zero in on his large bicep, tan skin on display with his short sleeves but it’s impossible not to — Jesus Christ, it’s like he’s doing it on purpose.

You smile timidly, willing your cheeks to cool.

“Yeah, about that.” He starts, eyes shifting about nervously. He can’t pick a spot to focus, too nervous to look you in the eyes.

Steve’s been throwing around your words ever since you uttered them to him in the garden. And now I can’t stop thinking about you. Tone so sweet, so sincere, your brows drawn together like it hurt you to admit how much Steve had been on your mind.

His stomach had nearly turned itself inside out at your reveal, nerves flaming and relief coursing at the realisation that it was mutual. You’d been on Steve’s mind since even before you’d given him your softest smiles after bottle smashing, sugary grins over your milkshake, a genuineness you’d never shared with him before — and after? God, it had driven him mad.

But then you’d scampered out of the car like a spooked animal. Stopped coming by Family Video and cursedly, seemed to slip back into an old pattern of ignoring him.

Then, the garden.

God, if you hadn’t been drunk, and maybe if Steve wasn’t so surprised by the sweetness you showed him, he might’ve kissed you.

Holding your palm against his, you might as well have been grabbing his hopes and hoisting them out of the depths — that perhaps, your avoidance stemmed from something different this time round.

Steve takes in your shy expression, bottom lip trapped in your teeth, and prays it’s all for the same reason he’s nervous and not instead, because you’re trying to awkwardly figure out how to tell him it was all the alcohol talking.

“What you said…” He’s trying to be nice to his feelings, on the defence in case he’s so terribly wrong about this. About you. “Did— did you mean that?”

The face you pull doesn’t instill him with confidence, his stomach plummeting at your hesitance. Fuck. He’d overshot, as usual, clinging too tightly to the threads of affection you’d shown him.

“I…” You’re unsure where to begin. God, what did you say?

Steve thinks he can garner what reaction that is; it’s the exact opposite of what his heart had managed to convince him. You went back to avoiding him on purpose. He cuts you off hoping to save himself some awkward rejection, shaking his head and taking a step back.

“Don’t worry. It was— you were drunk,” Embarrassment starts flooding in, a hot uncomfortable flush up his neck that makes Steve want to sink into the ground. “I shouldn’t have— it was weird of me to ask.”

He’s rambling too fast to get a word in. You take a step forward as he takes another step back, worried that he’ll leave before you can even get a word in. Never mind that all plans for orchestrating the perfect thing to say are out the window — you have to say something.

“I don’t know what I said!” You blurt, desperate to halt his retreat. It works; Steve stops, taken aback by your words. Oh God, what now? You debate where to start.

“Seriously, I— Robin came over and was talking about how you’d called and— I-I remember some of last night but it’s a bit—”

“You don’t...” Steve interrupts, giving a confused shake of his head. The wind ruffles his hair, strands dancing over his forehead. “Remember any of it?”

Why does it feel like you’ve disappointed him? Despite your initial wish to not relive whatever you’d said in the garden, you’re suddenly dying to remember. Even now, you can feel yourself combing the hazy memories, hoping there’s a stone you’ve yet to turn. It’s fruitless.

“I remember embarrassing myself by puking in the bushes.” You grimace as you say it, heat rising in your face. You can feel your nerves fraying, heart pounding but none of it in a good way. “Look, Steve, does it matter what I said? I-“

“It does.” He says, voice suddenly lower. It rasps, more serious than before. “It matters if you meant it. Do you?”

He takes another step forward, close enough that you can smell his cologne again. The same comforting musky scent as when he pushed the safety glasses up your nose and tucked your hair behind your ears in the woods together, touch gentle and eyes kind.

“You said,” He breathes, his honey eyes hopeful. “You couldn’t stop thinking about me.”

Oh.

It seems to be a habit of yours; rewinding through your actions towards Steve in the past, heavy with regret. He’d still been sweet, checking on you out in the garden even though you’d left him in the dark for a week. After managing to make you forget the worst date ever.

Then you’d upchucked your feelings, so drunk you couldn’t remember it, and then your dinner too. You were a mess; Steve Harrington made you a lovely absolute mess. Fuck, you’d likely ruined whatever chance at something with him.

But then again, here he was.

Still showing up, enough hope to dredge together the courage to drive over and ask you what it meant.

“I meant it.” You say, softly. You feel captured in his gaze, pulled into his orbit with no choice about it. He’s like the sun, gravity pulling you closer the longer you stand this close to him. Your heart feels like it’s made of jelly, each thump echoing out into your limbs. “I— fuck, you made it so hard to hate you. I used—”

“—Used to hate me.” Steve recites the words before you can say them, amusement in his voice. Some of his nervousness has leaked out, shoulders less tight. You can nearly see a glint of his Harrington charm in the curl of his lips. “Yeah, you said that last night too.”

It’s said to poke fun, teasing you for last night’s loose tongue. You groan, head tilting back. “God, anything else I said last night that I should know about?”

Steve steps closer. It makes your breath hitch, your head straightening up and bringing your faces closer still. You’re not sure where this is going, not sure what he’s thinking, if he can hear the thunder of your heart — he hasn’t even said anything that implies the feelings are mutual.

You vaguely wonder how he knew that your words held more weight than they appeared. He’d been paying more attention than you’d expected; knowing that I can’t stop thinking about you meant more than what was on the surface.

This time, you know him well enough to know that his teasing is not mocking. That the Steve in front of you is not at all like the one you’d remembered from the school hallways, the one who’d thrown around shitty comments, had notches in his belt, and didn’t care who got hurt as a result.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he says, “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

The world doesn’t stop spinning, but for a moment, it certainly feels that way. Blood rushes in your ears, blooms under your cheeks, and the words sink in. The wind sounds like the sweetest music, the colour spread across the sky is a shade that could only be called love and a boy is telling you he likes you too.

It faintly occurs that the silly teenage daydream you pictured with Bradley — you’re instead getting with a boy you swore you hated not two months ago.

It makes you like him even more.

He’s earned it, your trust, your affection — your kiss.

Wordlessly, you surge forward at the same time Steve does. You clash, gifting each other an awkward headbutt instead of some swooning kiss. Pain splinters momentarily across your forehead, gone after a moment.

You can’t help it, a laugh bursting from your lips. You’re so nervous. It doesn’t deter you, peering up at him with adoring eyes. Somehow, you still manage a tease. “Were you trying to kiss me, Harrington?”

His hands cup your face, fingers tucked under your jaw, and thumbs stroking your cheeks. His own smile barely contained, elation shining in his eyes.

“I will if you stop calling me that.”

He kisses you before you even get a chance to agree.

There’s bliss hidden in his lips, you think happily. Steve kisses soft, plush lips that mold to yours like its second nature, two pieces of the universe aligning.

You can feel the heat of his mouth, the scratch of his thumbs upon your face and you sigh, content, into the kiss because no one has ever kissed you like this.

He kisses you and suddenly, there is no war-torn battle in your mind. Your hands have twisted into the fabric on his shirt, tugging him closer. It’s unbearable. You want him, completely, embarrassingly, and undeniably. You’ll take anything he’ll give you — you want him to give you everything.

When the kiss breaks, it’s only for a moment; Steve presses another, short and gentle, then another, and another, like he can’t handle not stealing another taste of your lips.

“Steve,” you rasp, chuckling a bit. Your eyes are still closed, like you’re worried it’ll all be some dream if you dare to open them. His nose nudges yours, crushing closer to you, unwilling to relent the closeness he’s finally been granted.

“Let me take you out.” He whispers and it’s enough to open your eyes, lashes crinkling as you beam up at him. Steve drops a kiss on your cheek, thumbs stroking with a tender care that makes you shiver. “Please.”

As if you could say no. You give a minuscule nod but your delight is given away in your smile, eyes bright as you admire each detail of his face fondly. “Yeah, alright.”

It makes him laugh, amusement dancing across his features, and God, he looks so handsome you have to kiss him again.

You do, hands escaping the confines of his shirt and twisting around his neck. Steve hums happily, something you’ll come to learn he does whenever you kiss him first. It makes you gleeful, a shot of pure euphoria tipping down your spine. You shiver, wonderfully.

“Just promise me,” you say when you pull back, breathing a titch ragged. You grin. “Not a movie date.”

Steve grins, one hand leaving your face to curl around your waist. It’s warm, heat radiating into your skin.

“Still no faith in me, sweetheart?” He chides, fingers dancing along the skin of your waist, giving away his joy. The pet name makes your knees weak, a flash of a forgotten memory in the garden breaking through.

“Something tells me you’ll convince me.”

Fact #9: The first fact is a lie.

His next kiss feels like a promise; that he’ll do the work to convince you, just like he’d done the last few months. That he’d be more than happy to. You drink in affection from a boy who’s so sweet on you with a happy sigh.

He tastes like sunlight.

Fact #10: You might just be falling in love with Steve Harrington.

taggin sum mutuals below!

@hawkinsindiana @spideystevie @harringtonbf @writtenbybelle @hoesbloated @familyvideostevie @lurkymurker @sattlersquarry @steddiesandwich @circesstars @upsidedownwithsteve @raggedyoldwitch @sunshinehollandd @ohschmidts @appocalipse

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aragarna · 3 months

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Hello ! First of all, thank you so much for all the DW's Zorro content. You have no idea how much this show means to me and what magic it does to my soul. So being able to see pictures, GIFS, fics and people talking about it is just like christmas every day. ANYWAY ! You may have already answered that question (whether in fics or in answer to asks), but I wanted to ask you again anyway : when do you think Alejandro guessed Zorro's true identity ? If I remember well, we have absolutely no clue about it in the show before he stops Diego from "outing" himself as the fox. I wanted to have your ideas about it and, let's be honest, talk and fangirl about this show and its characters with someone. x) THANK YOU !

Hi Anon, and thank you for your kind words. <3 This is the kind of message that motivates me to keep going, despite the tiny size of the fandom. <3 It's always nice to know one's work is appreciated, and that we're not doing it all for nothing. So I'm glad to hear you enjoy my gifs and my fics.

As for your question: Indeed, there is zero indication in canon that could give us a clue as to when or how Alejandro figured out his son is Zorro. My guess is that there wasn't any real plan, from the writers, to show us that Alejandro figured it out. Probably not even a solid plan to have him figure it out until they started writing that one episode. There was a hint in early S1 (the one with the guitar string) but there was never a follow up, so I think that idea was dropped at the time. So, yeah, in canon, there is nothing.

That said, it won't stop us from making things up, will it?

I might write it all in a fic one day, but in case I never get to it, here is my headcanon about it:

Throughout S1, Alejandro notes little things that seem odd about Diego. Of course, there's all the dodging, avoiding, sudden mood changes, etc... But also, all the times Diego and Alejandro found themselves at odd, only for facts to prove Diego right at the end. Most of the time, they are things that infuriate or disappoint Alejandro at first, but when thinking back, they tend to show that Diego is a lot smarter and wiser than most people (including his father) give him credit for:

Diego tried to dissuade his father and all the dons to go and attack the cuartel. Alejandro got angry that his son was such a coward, but Diego was right. Only because Zorro was there to save the day that it didn't end up in a disaster (And still, Alejandro got hurt).

Diego opposed the commitee of vigilance that his father and other dons created. He had strong words against his father, and Alejandro wasn't happy about it. And yet, in the end, events proved that he was indeed rushing judgment and that it was all very wrong.

During the final battle against the Eagle, when they are arrested, Diego makes what appears to be a coward deal with Varga. It turned out Diego escaped and ran to get the dons' help.

....

So I think there's plenty of events during S1, that could give Alejandro clues as to what's really going on with his son. He probably didn't make much of them at first. He also has plenty of reasons not to think Diego is Zorro. But once the idea germinates in his mind, it would be easy to look back and realize it was all there.

My own take is that it might have happened after the battle against the Eagle. Why would Diego not share his plan - that one of them should go get help - ? Why didn't he even try to defend himself against his father's accusation of cowardice? I'd add to that that when they are first arrested and locked into that basement, Diego unties his hands by himself, before untying his father's. He was very much ready to fight and certainly not "so afraid of dying" like he appeared to be five minutes later.

So yeah, Alejandro might not have put the puzzle all together exactly then, but certainly he was starting to see the pieces.

And I'd say that after all that, words must have reached him that Zorro was spotted in Monterrey, funnily enough, just when Diego has gone to Monterrey... It had to be more than a coincidence. ;-)

So that's my take on it, based on canon. But that's still very much only a headcanon. Anyone with a different one wants to share?

#no i didn't think way too much about it #what are you talking about #zorro #disney's zorro #headcanon #meta #thank you for the ask!#and for the lovely words #feel free to share you own take on this!

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wri0thesley · 11 months

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nat I don't know if you've ever said ir or if it's something you find interesting it but I've been reading your alhaitham x kaveh yandere stuff and I can't stop wondering how did they take their darling? I imagine it must've been alhaitham, but how..? I've always imagined it as alhaitham brought darling to his home and kaveh just slowly fell for them but it doesn't make much sense in the long way... at least in my mind.

anyway, I really enjoy your writing, and I look forward to being able to commission you once I'm employed and your commissions are open again! <3

i do find it interesting, don't worry! i once got an ask about kaveh being the one who originally brought home darling, and panicking about it (done in a moment of passion) and alhaitham manipulating him to keep darling because 'how would you explain this?' - which, whilst not my own personal headcanon, is a thought i would like to explore more one day!

personally, with the dynamic i write where it isn't mentioned, i do imaging alhaitham bringing darling to his home. it's reasonably early into his cohabitation with kaveh, and he leaves darling in his room bound and gagged to 'get used to' the environment, rather like how one leaves a dog in a crate for the first few hours, so it grows used to the new scents and smells. alhaitham's reasons for taking darling in my fics are generally that he 1) finds them attractive, 2) finds them charming, 3) thinks they have more potential than they are currently showing, 4) thinks they are doing a horrible job of taking care of themselves and 5) thinks that they would be far better off away from the pressures and confusions of the akademiya and with him as their provider.

when kaveh finds out, of course, with his bleeding heart, he wants to confront alhaitham. he can't allow this to happen under the roof he's staying beneath! but alhaitham is ruthlessly precise. lists off the reasons he thinks darling is better off here, reminds kaveh he is the one sharing alhaitham's home, reminds kaveh that his position as scribe could prove to be a very large headache for kaveh if things started going wrong. and kaveh is forced to reluctantly accept it - and with this reluctant acceptance, and his general desire to help people, he does initially begin trying to give darling a break with only benevolent reasons in mind.

but . . . it is hard, eventually, for him to not begin to think of them like a pet. for him to fall in all of the ways that alhaitham expected him to fall - darling doesn't deserve this, darling is victim to alhaitham's personality too, darling is so soft and lovely and sympathetic to him and grateful - until kaveh falls into the kaveh that i write about, the one who is indeed torn, but also ultimately selfish. alhaitham didn't necessarily want to 'share' darling, but as long as they both remember who's the one ultimately in charge . . . well. he can let it happen. i hope this makes sense, anon! <3

#nat.txt #yandere for ts #genshin impact posting

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 year

Text

I'll Show You "Uptight" (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Adult!Bakugou x Black!Fem!Reader (Coworkers to Lovers)

Synopsis: In which a very pissed and very emotionally frustrated Bakugou decides he’s not going to let you get away with your lip that easily and pays you a visit one girls’ night to prove to you that he is, indeed, able to be “looser” after you make a drunk comment about his introverted and uptight personality to your mutual friends and Kirishima “accidentally” spills the beans.

Story Warnings: Smutty smut (MINORS DON’T READ), 18+, AgedUp!Bakugou (he’s 25 years old), Swearing, Grinding, Public Displays of Affection, Mentions of & Consumption of Alcohol, Consensual Sex w/ Verbalization, Foreplay, Public Kink, Manhandling, Mild Degradation, Praise Kink, Daddy Kink, Spit Play, 69ing, Facefucking, Safe Sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), Edge Play, Spanking, Mild Choking, MULTIPLE Positions, MULTIPLE Orgasms for Reader, Aftercare, Reader is black-coded but anyone can read this

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Had some time on my hands & decided to post chapter 2. Thank you for the love on chapter 1! Enjoy! -Jazz

Ao3 link here!

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

**************

Chapter Two

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he moaned, the rasp of his voice curling into your tummy and traveling down to your already-dripping pussy. “I’ve never had a girl that feels as good as you do, fuck!”

His nasty words wrapped in the sweetest praise for how tight and wet and soft you feel seem to send you into the stratosphere, especially combined with the way he grips your hips with those calloused fingers as he rolls his hips mercilessly into you. Again and again and again.

As he did so, he rocked the stool you were sitting in every single time, your legs split open so he could stand fully between them. His large hands had your thighs kept open, pinning them firmly apart. He was so fucking strong. He could throw you around, force you in any position he wanted, and you’d cum every single time. You know you could.

And he knew it too. Those eyes like the others rubies that had haunted your dreams so many stared into yours, a wicked promise in them. “You promise you cum for me, right?” he asked against your lips. His breath was laced with peppermint and cologne radiating off of his skin, making your senses hazy and clouded with nothing but him.

His hand came to grip your chin, firmly keeping your face in place and your eyes on him. “I asked you a question, mama,” he growled. “I expect a fuckin’ answer. I said you promise to cum for me?”

He gripped the bar you sat at and snapped his hips forward, that dick reaching a part of you that had you seeing stars. “Right, Y/N?” he pushed, teasing you further…

“Y/N?”

“Helloooo?”

“Y/N!”

At the sight and sound of Mina snapping her fingers in front of your face, you finally blinked and proved to the girls that you were alive after blanking for nearly five minutes. “Sorry, what?” you said dumbly, looking down the bar at your friends.

Mina and the girls of UA class 1 all looked at you like you were ill as you sat at the bar away from the packed dance floor and flashing purple and red lights that matched the reggaeton beat blasting from the speakers above. The bar has since calmed down, leaving you and the girls to lounge on your stools and gossip among your cocktails. You had about two and they were starting to get to you because you couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the warmth in your tummy.

And the constant thought of Katsuki Bakugou fucking you right then, right there. You flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry,” you apologized. “Guess I was just…lost in thought.”

“Yeah, we could tell, ~kero,” Tsuyu replied.

Jirou gave you a knowing smirk. “Still thinking about that hot head? I thought you said he hated you.”

“He doesn’t hate her!” Mina argued, pinching Jirou on the arm. “You know Katsuki is bad at feelings. Especially romantic feelings.” She turned to you, a soft smile on her face. “She’s been like this all week ever since I told her Katsuki liked her.”

“Girl, why don’t you just talk to him?” Uraraka asked, sitting at the farthest end of the bar. “He seems like a jerk, but he’s really not that bad. Take it from Deku! Here, you want me to call him so he can convince you?”

She went to pull out her phone, but you stopped her. “Thank you, ‘Raraka, but you don’t have to do that. It’s really okay.”

You went back to sipping your cocktail, running a hand down your thighs to smooth out your mini dress and ignore your friends’ burning, knowing gazes. You tried to sway to the music to get yourself together, wanting to enjoy tonight….

But even you knew it was hopeless. You were so hung up on Katsuki that you couldn’t even enjoy yourself. Of course, when Mina had invited you out tonight to hang with the girls, you were more than ready to indulge in some cocktails and selfishness by dancing the night away with the hottest guy in the club in your mini dress that hugged your body just right.

You wish it were someone else hugging you just right. Two big, tattooed arms that belonged to one hot-heated and strange yet irresistibly sexy blonde pro hero that you so wish would budge a little bit, maybe crack a smile at you. Give you a crumb or something! You were desperate here!

You couldn’t even focus this week on tasks at work or at home, too involved in your fantasies involving Bakugou’s lips on you.

Only Mina and the other girls knew you had a thing for Bakugou, and had even before Mina told you he liked you. Though he tended to blow up easily and sometimes you could hear him yell from his office over the phone or in a meeting with other heroes, hearing that deep, raspy voice always seemed to do something to you.

Ever since you were hired as a front desk assistant at his agency a couple of months prior, you always tried to be cordial to the second most popular pro, saying hello to him every time he came into the building and taking up any paperwork he was too tired to finish. It was really all just a rouse to see him or talk to him, but the guy barely spoke.

Not to mention he barely came out with you and the rest of the squad. Mina had unofficially made you part of them ever since the first month you started working and since then, you’ve been tagging along on their weekend adventures ever since. Bakugou was never a part of any of them.

At first, you thought it was because he didn’t want to be around you, but then, after getting a look at his behavior at Denki’s NYE party, it was evident that he was an introvert AND had a clear disinterest in you.

It’s not that you didn’t like introverts. You understood that sometimes a night in with some takeout, a good movie, and sleep were all a girl needed. But other nights, like tonight, where you wanted to be cute and sexy and seen, where you wanted fun and excitement, were not for people like Katsuki.

And you made that very clear once more when Mina asked, “Why do you give the guy a chance? Sure, he’s not good at being romantic or social, but–”

“But that’s just it, Mina,” you interjected. “I can’t be with a guy who doesn’t know how to do that for me. You don’t have to like socializing, but dancing with me is a crime?”

“She has a point,” Momo said softly. You nodded, sipping your cocktail in finality. “The minute that Katsuki shows me that he isn’t so uptight or as fun as a wet blanket, then maybe I’ll think about dating him. But until then, nah.”

Before the girls could say anything more to try and sway you away from your mindset, the music began to transition into dancehall and one of your favorite songs began to play as the lights brightened a bit, turning a shimmering gold.

“Oooh, I love this song!” you shouted, already moving off of your stool to move to the dance floor. “Come join me!”

Mina, Uraraka, and Toru (in her floating mini dress) did so, drinks in hand, while Jirou and Momo stayed behind to watch the show from afar. Mina led you and Uraraka to a space in the middle of the floor and began to dance among the sea of bodies packed on the dance floor.

You let the music and alcohol take over as you grinded and winded your hips, feeling bubbly and light. You finally found yourself enjoying the night, free of the constant image of Bakugou’s vermillion eyes in your mind.

However, unbeknownst to you, those vermillion eyes were staring right at you from across the room as he, Kiri, Sero, and Denki came through the double doors, IDs not needed for the pros. Jirou was the first one to see him and when she did, she nearly choked on her cocktail.

Momo and Tsuyu were startled, staring at their friend. in horror. “What happened?” Momo demanded, clapping a coughing Jirou on the back. “What’s wrong?”

Wordlessly, Jirou pointed at Bakugou and the others from across the room. Bakugou was obviously looking for someone–that someone being you. Momo gasped, her eyes widening. “S-Should we tell them?” she whispered, nodding at Y/N who began to throw her ass into Mina.

Once Jirou was done coughing her lungs out and took a sip of water that Tsuyu passed to her, she looked at Bakugou and the wild look in his eyes as he searched for you. She smirked to herself, leaning back against the bar.

“Nah,” she answered. “Let ‘em find out themselves. I wanna see how this goes.”

#my works #my fic shit #bakugou x black reader #smutty smut #black coded reader #bnha smut #i’ll show you uptight #suki baby #18+ fic #black fanfic writer #black bnha

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scionshtola · 9 months

Text

self-rec tag game

Rules: share five of your own fanworks (fic, art, etc.) Then, tag five more people to share the things they've made.

i was tagged by @coldshrugs thank you!! <3 i'll tag @lavampira @hythlodaes @thevikingwoman @ladamebrunette and anyone else who wants to do it!

✨Something you absolutely adore✨

"having a romantic picnic" (FFXIV) a valentine's day prompt for corishtola! a little picnic that doesn't quite go to plan. pre-relationship but there's been romance there since the beginning. i like rereading this one because i just think it's really cute

Y’shtola opened her eyes, and her hand closed over their fingers on her cheek. “There is no need to apologize. I enjoyed the rest, brief though it was. One could hardly argue that we do not deserve it.” “Oh?” Corisande said with a smile. She swept her thumb across her cheek once more and Y’shtola blinked, as if realizing for the first time just how close they were. “Did you not argue with me all morning about taking the afternoon off? Or was that someone else I practically had to drag from all the books she brought with her, ‘just in case?’” “Before you begin casting stones, pray tell how many books you brought,” Y’shtola said, a smile playing on her lips.

✨Something that was challenging to create✨

figure my heart out (Wayfarer) tbh the title is kind of a hint to why it was challenging lol Mirren's feelings for Aeran and how that leads to her making out with Veyer in public are very complicated!

Veyer kisses her, their body pressing her against the stone archway. They’re speaking to her in between kisses, but she can’t concentrate on the words, and not only because she is too preoccupied with their lips against her neck. The truth is you need me more than I need you, you always do— She pulls them closer, fingers clutching at their jacket. She wants this. She can prove to herself that he wasn’t right, that she doesn’t need him—someone who keeps things from her, someone who shot her—more than he needs her. She can go through with this, can keep kissing them, can let them lead her away from the gallery for more. If Aeran saw her right now, he would know, too. If Aeran saw her right now…

✨Something that makes you laugh (or smile, if that fits more comfortably) ✨

A Barn in a Blizzard (FFXIV) the very first ffxiv fic I wrote! it sets up the basis for Corisande and Haurchefant's friendship (Corisande being a regular visitor to the Camp Dragonhead chocobo stables) and their romance. The fic itself makes me smile but the title is a little joke based on the idea of Haurchefant being her "port in a storm" and it makes me laugh when I remember it.

He gestured to a nearby stall where Cilantro had burrowed down in the warm hay, snug in his fluffy winter barding. “He certainly seems well taken care of.” Corisande smiled. She loved to dote on Cilantro and did her best to provide him with everything he needed and more. “He cares for me enough to follow me into this weather, despite how much he despises the cold.” “A strong devotion, indeed,” Haurchefant said, glancing down at her with a smile. “You seem to inspire that in people.”

✨Something that surprised you (in how it turned out, how much other people liked it, etc.) ✨

“You’re still awake. Something on your mind?” (FFXIV) Corisande wakes up and finds Haurchefant still working, they try to keep him on task but he's got other things in mind...the surprise is that I did not intend for it to lead anywhere suggestive when I started writing but it did and I liked it! and there might be a part 2 on ao3

“A bit late in the day to be reviewing reports, isn’t it? Something on your mind?” “Nothing all too important,” he says. He straightens in his chair and grasps their fingers in his. “I was awake and thought to pass the time by clearing a few reports that seem to have fallen to the wayside.” “Do you do all your paperwork in the middle of the night?” she teases, pressing a kiss to his temple to make up for the jest.

✨Something you want other people to see✨

"slow dancing in the living room" (FFXIV) another Corishtola Valentine's Day prompt (I wrote most of my FFXIV fics in Jan/Feb lmao) I just like this one because of the Pining. and Cori doesn't even know it yet. and poor Y'shtola in love with the most oblivious person in Eorzea.

The song began to slow, growing soft and almost melancholic. Y’shtola drew away, fingers slipping from their grasp, but they tightened their grip before she could slip free entirely. She paused her retreat, tilting her head in confusion as she looked back at them. “Just until the end of the song,” they said, pulling her back toward them. She came easily enough, though she opened her mouth to protest. Corisande put a hand on her waist and she stilled under the touch. “I promise.”

#tag game #this was kinda hard adsjfgk #but ty for tagging me azia beloved <3 #i wanted to do all xiv fic but i only have 8 ajdfjgf so. had to throw a wfr in there plus i really like that one

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yourlocaldisneyvillain · 4 months

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hii <3

i indeed would like to ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story :))

your rambling is everything, so go wild on poor little meow meow Larissa and our favourite menace Wednesday hehe

hiiiii!!! sorry it took me a bit before my brain got less mushy and i could string coherent sentences together! i'm still very much sick though so excuse me if i ramble a bit too much lol.

okay so these two live in my brain rent free now. it started off more as a challenge? or something to be like wooo controversy, and like. how can i make this work. but even though it started that way i never intended it to be like, badly done. from the get-go i put a lot of thought into it and wanted to actually make the story as high-quality as i could in terms of character development, their relationship and all the technical aspects (you know as you are one of the betas haha, and you know how many times i tweaked things, proofread, and how many times zephyr and i went through it). like i wanted to develop it as much as one can reasonably do in 14 chapters without getting sidetracked. and that was supposed to be the gimmick, like oh some ppl are gonna think it's controversial but it is actually well done and they might still be inclined to read it if they just bothered to try! (like a naive lil disney princess i forgot this is the internet lol)

the more i got into the story, the more i adored these two and their dynamic, or rather the dynamic i created for them. i think they just work, or more like, i've made them work. ppl have accused me of being a pedophile multiple times in the last couple of weeks while i've been posting the story lol, and asked me if i ship them in the show now, which is imo just fucking ridiculous. this is a separate universe that builds on what we had, or rather should have had, in the show, a story about two grown women who are both very odd in different ways and have found love and belonging with each other. i think neither of them could do a conventional relationship in my universe, and so this makes perfect sense for them!

i love writing larissa as a poor lil meow meow. there is just something about a pathetic, lonely middle aged woman that makes my brain go brrrrrrr. and wednesday is just a delight to write. i love channeling her voice. i used to be a lot like wednesday as a teen lol, that's sorta how i talked (i had no friends lol), so channeling her is a fun blast from the past and feels very natural to write.

it was a joy to write tbh! and personally, i don't think it's like.... even that out there or particularly (hehe) controversial? it's very much a coming of age rom-com sort of thing, but make it like... Quirky and include some dark humour. the outraged reactions i got to it honestly made me wanna write actually controversial stuff lol. i tend to want to spite the haters :)) and prove my point that fiction is fiction. i am very annoyed by the whole puritan internet culture, it really fucking irks me, esp when it's enforced by the self-proclaimed weirdos and goths and whatnot, who don't know what pedophilia even is lol nor could recognise it in fiction or real life. i know i won't get my point across to people who have already made up their mind about me being the actual pedophilic devil, but i will sure have my fun! i can't wait to challenge myself again! :))

also "particular" really inspired me to write longer works!! and i learned that i am most comfortable with that sort of format. all the things i am planning in the future are multi-chapter fics and rather long! and how i prefer to do it now is to write it all in advance and then post -- that way i know i won't lose interest midway haha. i am motivated by that sweet dopamine of wanting to share my work!

so yeah, i met some lovely people bc of this story (looking at you @the-frankenman-writes, actual gem and joy and delight), i strengthened some friendships, and i think it definitely made an impact on people! i grew a lot as a writer and it pushed me to refine my skills! so all in all, i'm very happy <3

stay tuned for the last chapter!!! a christmas special! :)))

#i got an ask!#i will produce my own garbage and also consume it #particular tag

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lightlycareless · 8 months

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Chapter 36 - thoughts.

Hello everyone!

Back at it again with chapter 36’s notes! Of course, if you want to avoid spoilers I recommend reading the chapter (found right over here) first. Also, I skipped chapter 35’s notes because I didn’t think there was much to say… or if there was, it would be too short for me to make a post. However, if there’s something you’d like for me to expand on that chapter I’ll gladly oblige! My ask box is always open ❤️

As always, major spoilers underneath the cut, as well as no proofreading, or very minimal. All candid you know lol.

Now, without further ado, here are the notes!

This chapter was meant to clarify or deepen the motivations behind some of the characters :> uncover the continuous mystery surrounding Minako’s and Tomoko’s absence, their relationship with their family, and one thing I’ve been wanting to explore about jujutsu (which I’m not done with hehe) however, I did face some difficulties, mainly because of the timeline and if the stories were tragic enough HAHAHA.

But anyways, let’s start with the hardships.

The timeline, a.k.a how old were Y/N and Naoya when their respective mothers died. Now, I don’t like setting down dates because I feel like once you take that commitment, there’s no going back 😂. And there’s too many things I want to explore to reduce them into dates, so I tend to leave them open-ended.

However, with Y/N I did have some guidelines. It was important for me to keep Minako’s death occurring after ’98, and all because I said she was very supporting of Ren when Ginger Spice left the Spice Girls 😭 not them influencing my fic once again 😂 that, and because I didn't envision her being present in the high school era of their kids.

Taking all of this into consideration, her death would've to occur inbetween 99-01. The latest would make Y/N roughly 10 years old, Hinata 12, Ren 14. Very young to lose a mother, indeed.

As for Naoya, I just needed him to be old enough to remember Tomoko, but not that old for Mariya and the gang to remember her. Out of the two, she would have to be the most mysterious one, considering nobody wants to talk about, (I wouldn't be surprised if the members of the estate didn't know when she was last seen) one could even say she’s more of a legend at this point, impossible to prove or disprove.

I think the one that knows/remembers most of her had to be Junko, considering how she was trained to be Ogi’s wife or whatever bullshit by her. Naobito can’t be bothered to remember his own wife, not even after the 6 kids she gave him, although he is the kind of person to compare “his ex” with his partners, saying how she was prettier or some other bs, or even look for said partners who kind of resemble her. At least her memories live on with him like that jfc what am I even saying.

Anywayssssss

I think that out of the two, Tomoko’s story was the most tragic. In the way that she was essentially doomed from the very moment Naobito set eyes on her. I don’t think she ever imagined the things she would have to go through. Maybe the kid part she had an idea, but the rest? Nah, no amount of indoctrination could ever prepare her for that.

The more depth I give her, the more realize how truly alone she is, like it physically pained me to have to write how Tomoko could only trust her children (and not even all of them); she probably couldn’t even rely on Junko for anything. Now that it’s been brought up, Tomoko probably asked Junko’s favorite flowers to be planted as a way to show sorority, reach out to her, but it flew past her. I don’t doubt she desperately tried to reach out to her family too, only to be told to “suck it up” and that this is the best thing to happen in their life, so she better not ruin it.

Once again, the Zen’in dynamic is heavily inspired by the Todoroki fam lol Tomoko must be Rei around the time she burnt Shoto. I’m glad to say that it didn’t go to those extremes but had Naoya not said anything… who knows what might’ve happened. Even as disgusting as he’d become, I’m glad his child-self didn’t get attacked like that.

Another point I wanted to explore about her was her dynamic with the rest of her kids. If I had to put like a list of her most to least liked kids, Naoaki would be the first, from there Naofumi, Naohiko, Naosuke, Naohito, and finally, Naoya.

Naoaki is mainly because he was her first child, back then when she was still… “ok”, and even with the environment she had to raise him, she still cared for him and was very involved in his upbringing, as much as she could anyways.

Because he was the oldest one, the most “mature one” thanks to his crude childhood, Tomoko felt she could confide in him, but that relationship didn’t flourish until he was replaced by Naoya.

I swear, Tomoko must’ve been the kind of mother that unintentionally pitted her children against each other and spoke badly of their father to them by saying things (mainly to Naoaki) like “I don’t know what your father is thinking about, you’re clearly much better than Naoya” and “You were never as impolite as him” and so on and so forth. She might’ve also been blunt about how Naobito doesn’t seem to like them, but that “didn't matter” because she does. (OK Tomoko, not sure they wanted to hear the first part but aight)

She tried being a good mother, she really did. But her environment, alongside the critical pregnancies she had finally took a toll on her mental health, and it led her to take it out on Naoya—I believe the best way to describe what she was feeling was postpartum depression, but considering how grave it was and the problems she had with her previous pregnancies, it was more likely postpartum psychosis.

The Zen’in strike me as the kind of family that doesn’t believe in mental health—less if it comes from women, I shouldn’t be surprised they thought Tomoko as simply “emotional” instead of having an actual condition that needed treatment. Oh no, the Zen’in shooting themselves on the foot once again? Who could've seen this coming?!

Naoya unfortunately became the outlet of Tomoko’s suffering, which started as soon as she gave birth to him and held him—she looked at that poor baby and something inside her snapped. Something like “you’re the child these bastards were looking for, you’re the reason why I had to suffer so much.”

Also, I don’t know if anyone remembers one post a long time ago, where I said I was watching the movie Hereditary and was like “Huh, inspiring.”

I meant this scene. Except that Tomoko (or at least that’s what I understood from the mom’s “disdain” for the kid—of course, that was just one issue of the many they had lol) didn’t feel sorry for Naoya and the life he was going to be put through, but rather all that she had to endure to conceive him. Can’t blame her, it was tough… I just wished none of them had to become her victims too.

That, and essentially Azula from Avatar, that one scene where she’s like “my own mother thought I was a monster” goddamn if that isn’t painful—it made you feel bad for her, even with her craziness, she just wanted a mother 😭 unnghhhh not me trying to redeem Naoya!!!! (more like make him… human)

Her absence was definitely the major point as to why Naoya turned out to be the way he did. With her gone, the last “happy” (let’s put it that way) thing inside the Zen’in was completely eradicated. Even if Naoya didn’t get to interact much with her, just by seeing her by afar he probably would’ve been like, wait…. What is… that—get a reference on how not to be an absolute, indisputable piece of shit.

He would’ve still turned to be a jackass, but maybe not that bad? Idk, people can have two parents and still turn batshit crazy.

Now, this also served to justify his womanizing ways lol. I don’t know why the fandom decided that was to be one of his traits (which I don’t mind I guess), considering he’s insufferable, but after watching one of my favorite youtuber’s expand on someone who behaved a similar way, I was like DAMN is that Naoya.

People tend to seek attention through various ways, and for Naoya that would be in countless women. It’s peak mommy issues, I know, but in his defense… don’t we all have parent issues 😭? Anyways, Naoya tried to search for that one person that would cherish/love him unconditionally, someone that made him truly special, saw for who he was and not for what he had… (can you believe I based that “you’re my favorite child because you’re the most talented one” line FROM A GODDAM DOUJINSHI? I won’t go into details, but it’s a certain obnoxious, irritating heir from a prestigious clan and his renegade cousin HAHAHAHAHH)

I mean, I get it, but what was Naoya expecting to find by flaunting his wealth in order to meet people? Not to say that everyone is like that but come on lol. And he wasn’t even selective about them either? He would just go with the one he considered attractive/convincing enough and hoped for the best, I guess? He became pickier further down the road (aw, Naoya eventually learned to be choosy lol) stopping only, of course, when he eventually met his beloved Y/N :> Just another tease for their first meeting (I feel like I’m hyping this too much, I hope it ain’t disappointing when it finally appears on the story)

Well, even if he cares for Y/N, he still takes a lot from Naobito. He’s lucky Y/N is essentially trapped with him because she would’ve left the moment she could—she’s not like Tomoko, she still has someone to support her so… the clock is ticking Naoya.

Now onto the other BS family, the L/N.

This is the part I liked the most, because it’s more inclined to the whole “expanding how jujutsu can be used” kind of thing.

I already knew that Minako was going to… die like that and was looking forward to expanding on it when it finally came to it. (I just know that Ren, Hinata, and Y/N would hate this one vine with a burning passion—Gojo is the one to show it to them and they will beat his ass) doubling down when the whole culling games arc thingy happened on the manga, I was like DAMN so that’s what Kenjaku was doing? What was going to happen with Tsumiki? oohoHOHOHO, although I don’t think both things could relate considering the timeline and the requirements to mark them… or who knows? I don’t remember if it was specified when Kenjaku started marking people, or if Tsumiki and the rest of the victims were the first ones. (there’s allot of things that don’t make sense to me 😭 and I haven’t kept up with the manga tbh)

Well, it didn’t stop me from going on with my plan, and thus I began to torture Y/N and her family.

The reason why Minako got cursed… was easy: because some sorcerers were jealous/desperate to get to her. After seeing how strong her kids were, they thought “well maybe we can kidnap her and use her” but after that proved to be a failure, they decided “if we can’t have her, no one can.”

It’s really sick to know that, but with a crazy-ass community as the one the jujutsu world has… I really couldn’t think of anything else. I mean, the Kamo’s…

Anyways, I always wondered what it meant to be haunted in this universe. Once again, I don’t remember if it was ever mentioned/shown (outside of haunting places) so I had to exploit that to my advantage.

I know curses are seen by sorcerers, but I like to think that those powerful enough, maybe having a set goal/victim/target manage to become invisible to everyone but them—either by sheer determination or something lol. No, but really, that must depend on the level/power/talent of the sorcerer that begins the haunting as well as the curse, and if they’re really powerful they might be able to zero-in on their victim completely untraceable, God help if the person isn’t a sorcerer. Like, no one will be able to feel a curse is nearby.

Because it takes great skill (to pass undetected), only a handful can perform the ritual it takes to haunt someone, making it a dangerous practice. I’d like to believe it was eventually forbidden at one point, thus destroying all records showing how to do so.

And because I want to, there are levels of haunts too hehehe, here are the ones I can think of right now:

Those to harass. Self-explanatory, they’re just there to bother, and depending on the intention, they might hurt too.

Those to influence. Do someone else’s bidding, an additional voice for your conscience. The victim might think it’s them thinking such thoughts and enact them on their own within time. They’re fully conscious of what’s happening, might question if they truly want to do that, but they go through with it anyways.

Those to control. Take full control of their body and conscience. It’s the harsher one of the three to do (as well as difficult to trace), because its success greatly depends on the will of the victim. If the victim is strong-willed the haunt might take some time to work, if at all, and depending on the curse, it might find ways to debilitate them to ease their entrance. Once controlled, the victim will not remember anything that happened until after, rarely are they conscious during the act.

Minako was affected by the last one—however, it didn’t go as successfully as the perpetrator wanted because I like to imagine that since the OG rituals were wiped out, the only thing that managed to survive (if anything) were pieces here and there of information, leaving the rest to the imagination haha.

It’s why Minako was still able to fight it off a bit, and remember some things. But yeah, someone was intending to take control of her—and she was fighting that person (as shown by those allegedly senseless conversations) to stay away from her, but in the end she succumbed.

Omg I just thought… what if Minako, upon noticing the curse user’s intentions, decided to sabotage her body??????????????? Stop eating so they wouldn’t control her? Omg………………………………………………………………………………………………

But of course, the notes are here to give closure on some things, so… even with Minakos’ strong will, the curse managed to inflict enough damage on her, the result of those actions being the marks on across her body, setting her up to be controlled.

I gotta say, even though the L/N are absolute, always-wrong, pieces of poop, they did the right thing by “killing” Minako during this stage, because the next thing would’ve been the curse controlling her.

The rumor of them being the ones responsible of her death is nasty. But not so crazy, considering the elders really did not like Minako for something that wasn’t even her responsibility, but try convincing these “old-style” bastards out of it…

Writing this made me think of a question idk if anyone wondered lol considering these rituals were “banned” it would make sense someone would try to report them to HQ right? or if it’s something new, never-seen before… right?

Well, Eiichi tried, but without solid evidence, it could easily just be a rumor—and a waste of time/money to pursue. He was very angry with that, believe me, and scolded the elders for wasting an opportunity to prevent another family from suffering the same.

However, if they had been responsible of that… they obviously wouldn’t rat out the person that helped them.

Omg…. What if in the au where Toji takes Naoaki’s role or so, he was taking jobs on the side, shady ones, and he was actually involved in Minako’s death (to not say he was the one responsible)?????????????????????????????????????????????????? that might be the point where she starts to look at Naoya under a different light lol.

But yeah, going back to the actual story, gee, what an entanglement, truly. F the jujutsu community.

The following point is the deepening of the relationship of the main branch, a.k.a Eiichi, Minako, and all them kids.

I always envisioned all of the kids being super close to Minako, and not because they disliked Eiichi (he was a good dad—just… awkward lol. Uncool, and just how Posh Spice would say... yeah, poor Eiichi 😂. He’s definitely an avid practitioner of dad-jokes) but because his duties often kept them apart; he tried his best to be present, but it’s hard sometimes.

They all loved them kids tho, but because of particular reasons I will disclose later, that being now, Y/N was the favorite one. After Hinata and Ren filled the L/N clan’s expectations, it essentially allowed Y/N to have allot of free time with her parents, so they were able to dote on her more frequently.

It just made me wonder how much Y/N had to train in order to keep up with them (specially Hinata) since she wasn’t a priority when it came to her jujutsu education—I’m sure they all did what they could so she wouldn’t be left behind, but more likely than not she did lots of self-learning.

I really liked the opportunity this chapter gave me to deepen Ren’s, Hinata’s, and Eiichi’s motivations. I swear to God their subconscious took Y/N’s abducting as “yet again, another sorcerer (clan) trying to hurt our family”

Of course this was enough for them to snap, but they all reacted differently.

Because Eiichi felt completely alone without Minako, it was easier for him to be manipulated by the Zen’in (allegedly AHAHAH) and because they were so aggressive about it, he genuinely thought Y/N would be much better with them than him continuing to resist, so there’s that—but if it’s worth anything, he’s deeply regretful for having succumbed and there’s not a day where he doesn’t believe Minako is cursing him from heaven. Of course, those thoughts come more to him while he’s drunk, another consequence of having lost her. He was an occasional drinker, mostly social, but his grief certainly took him to that point.

Ren was probably the most aware one when his mom got sick, and thus, the one that probably felt the most responsible. Going on and on about how he was supposed to be a sorcerer, just a few years away from entering jujutsu high, and yet didn’t figure out his mother was being haunted/cursed. The guilt inside him was so big, he had to get out of the house as quickly as possible—one of the many reasons why he decided to study in Kyoto at first, only coming back later when he grew disappointed by the environment there (which just made him remember of the elders of his clan he hates so much) and missed his family, so he eventually returned. It was kind of a “well, if I’m going to be angry all the time, I’d rather be angry with my family around.”

Hinata also felt very, very guilty for what happened to Minako, mainly because of her cursed technique. She went through a phase of constantly demeaning herself, calling herself “inept” or “stupid” because her technique is supposed to protect the user/target from those kinds of attacks—this led her to become far more… involved/creative with her technique, trying to exploit her limits as much as she could to prevent something like this ever escaping her attention.

Y/N felt the most isolated, because she heavily relied on being with someone, (thanks to the elders being nasty with her ugh) you know? Someone to support her. The rest tend to deal with their own things by themselves, and while they still supported each other, it wasn’t the same. I guess that’s the reason why she was so excited to attend jujutsu high, only to be left virtually alone when the whole crisis thing happened and no new students were enrolling, worsening when Naoya decided to further isolate her from the rest of the world when marrying her. Her getting heavily attached to Naoaki, Mariya and the gang, Mai and Maki, shouldn’t be a surprise at this point. Specially Naoaki nnnhhhhggghhhhhh.

I know there were different expectations for this chapter, mainly because we’ve been desperately hoping for the moment Naoya and Y/N will finally talk lol. And I gotta say I might’ve disappointed some by how she essentially ran away… but I promise it will be worth it in the end lol Y/N running out on him like that is good I believe, cause she’s shocked that Naoya is actually capable of feeling anything else, but you know, pure evil.

These two chapters were mostly intended to show the human side of Naoya, Y/N’s reaction to it and just how similar their backgrounds were when it came to their mother's.... but with outcomes so different.

To give him emotions (and show how he handles them—terribly. I mean, he got sick!! HAHAH it’s like that one episode in atla where Zuko is good for the first time in his life and gets sick) and maybe deepen their relationship. It helps that Y/N is very empathetic to those around her… but it’ll be up to her and how he decides to act during this time if something happens between the two.

I gotta say, if I play my cards right, I think we’re like 3 chapters away from that one chapter I’VE BEEN WAITING TO WRITE FOR FOREVER I SWEAR ALL THIS SLOW BURN WILL BE WORTH IT. :> But until then…

Thank you so much for coming for a new update!!!! I know I’ve been taking quite the hiatus here and there, but it does not mean I don’t find importance in this fic, and the support you’ve given me 🥺❤️ Thank you so much for being patient with me! Can’t wait to show what’s coming next!!

As always, these are just important parts I remember as highly influential for the chapter, but if there's something you'd like to know more about don't hesitate to let me know!! I'll do my best to respond ❤️

Now, take care, have a wonderful week, and hope to see all of you soon!!

#thought series: first it hurts—#naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x your #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader

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ashes-writing · 2 years

Text

more than a feeling | stranger things ; e. munson

A/N; I know I keep saying I'm going to do an actual OC based fic for both Eddie and Steve but first... This is just a cute little thing I wrote in the heat of the moment that's somehow got comedy, angst, mutual pining and a bit of friendly fluff in it. I could be talked into writing a few more parts to this if people wanted to see that, but for now, this is all I got babes.

(If you want more you're gonna have to tell me, otherwise this is just a one off thing) Also, fuck yes this is named after a Boston song, fiiight meee Also yes.. yes this is inspired by a scene from the movie Varsity Blues. I watched it and kind of got the idea for this entire weird thing based solely off of the scene, idk you try and figure out how my mind works cos I have yet to....

The dual OC fic is still in the works, I'm just not posting it until I'm absolutely sure I have a direction in mind. For now, have this.

Pairing ; New girl!Reader x Eddie Munson - friendship ... for the time being.

Summary ; You've never stayed in one place very long. When your mom goes to rehab (alcohol related ) and you find yourself staying with your grandmother in Hawkins, you're pretty sure you won't be there long enough to warrant getting to know anybody. Will a certain so-called freak prove the theory wrong?

Warnings ; slang terms for penis, sarcasm and swearing, the word slut is thrown around a time or two, high school bullying, mentions of a mother in rehab / alcoholism and for now, thats it.

Timeline ; season 4 -with no Upside down or death bs.

Tag List ; @rampagewriting likes Eddie so yeah... There isn't anybody else on my actual taglist, if you'd like to be either tell me or add yourself to the doc linked below.

Other Stuff ; tag list || rules - fandoms and some of the characters I write for || requests ; open - headcanons + nsfw/sfw alphabet letters for any fandom I write for excluding pro wrestling

I do not consent to having my work posted elsewhere. I also don't consent to having my work reworded/copied and reposted here. Reblogs and likes are peachy though, those make my lil heart happy.

The door to the classroom opens and you slink in, shoving your schedule onto the desk belonging to your new homeroom teacher at the front of the room.

As you stand there and wait for the teacher to note your name in her gradebook, your eyes dart around the classroom and you’re careful not to let them linger on any certain person for longer than a second or two. That is, you’re careful not to let your eyes linger until they settle on a lanky boy with long brown hair seated in the back of the classroom. As your eyes get lost in the doe eyes belonging to the boy in question, your breath catches in your throat. With your tongue sticking out at him because he’s staring right back, you abruptly tear your eyes off of him and let them settle on your favorite pair of scuffed black leather boots.

“Class, we have a new student joining us today.” the teacher glances at you but you don't offer up the fact that you've just moved to Hawkins from Brooklyn. It's not important, after all. It's not like you're gonna be here long.

And so begin the cliche introductions.. Where you stand in front of your classmates and let them gawk for an obscenely awkward amount of time. If ever you wanted a portal to open up and suck you down, this would indeed be one of those times.

Not to mention you’d be starting the day off for the next semester with Sex Ed bright and early.

The teacher gazes at you expectantly and all you feel the need to indulge your new classmates is the smallest wave. Once the old lady behind the desk finally realizes you’re not going to say anything, she takes it upon herself to introduce you to everyone.

And you think to yourself that it won’t matter because you’ll be gone sooner or later, probably sooner rather than later because you don’t see your mom sticking around her old hometown when she’s sprung from the rehab program she’s chosen to go into.

Either way, you know better than to settle in or anything.

So you let the teacher introduce you because it’s the only thing you can do in the situation. And as soon as she’s done it and everyone has said hello to you in unison, you’re assigned a seat.

Right next to the lanky boy with the killer eyes, but of course. As you settle into the seat beside his you can feel his eyes burning into you. You glance around and you make it a point to avoid his general direction and once you’re satisfied that nobody’s looking, you pop the gum into your mouth after unwrapping it. Your notebook is opened to a blank sheet of paper and you turn your attention to the teacher as she begins to read from the page in a textbook you haven’t gotten yet. She pauses about halfway in and nods to the boy beside you in the next aisle.

“Mr. Munson, be a dear and share your book with our new student. Just until I can slip down and get one for her desk?”

He grumbles, but he shuffles the desk he’s sprawled into just a little closer. The Sex Ed book is slid between the two of you and you train your eyes on the page closest to you despite the fact that the teacher is reading from the page opposite to it.

And you can still feel his eyes on you. You glance up once and you stick out your tongue after sucking back in the bubble you’d been about to blow because you’d forgotten momentarily that you weren’t allowed to chew gum.

Just the slightest hint of a grin tugs one corner of thick lips upward but as quick as the half smile is given, it’s gone. You turn your attention to the notebook paper in the notebook nestled below the half of the text sitting on your desk and out of sheer boredom, you begin to doodle idly.

The teacher is focused more on abstinence than actually giving any useful information and the realization makes you roll your eyes. You can’t help the quiet giggle that comes when her voice hesitates every single time she says the word penis or vagina and you grumble mostly to yourself and as quietly as possible that her comprehension of the act itself is probably second grade level at best.

The observation has the boy next to you snickering to himself and at hearing the quiet husky sound you hazard a glance at him out of the corner of your eyes, studying him intently. Class seems to really drag on and as you’re walking out the door when the bell finally rings, you encounter the first of probably quite a few to come. The short brunette stops you in the open door and as her hand settles on her hip, she smirks up at you.

“What?” you pop a loud bubble as you stare right back at her, hints of your own annoyed smirk playing at your lips. “Do you mind moving, defective?” you roll your eyes as you nod to the door she's blocking while tapping your foot against the floor impatiently.

“My mom said your mom was the town slut back in the day.”

Surprise, surprise. Just because your mom doesn’t do the whole buttoned up Stepford mom thing. Just because she likes to show a little too much skin or wear a little too much makeup or drink a little too much at whatever bar happens to be in whatever town you happen to be in. Just because she’s more open-minded. Just because she’s too damn honest to be bothered to put on a fake persona.

The other girls eyes flit over you, taking in your own outfit, the cropped off the shoulder Motley Crue shirt.. The jeans that fit you like a second skin. The sunglasses pushed up into your hair to hold it at bay because that’s what seems to work best. The lightning bolt earrings in your ears and the wrist full of different bracelets.

“See somethin you like, sweets?” the question leaves your mouth dripping in sarcasm as the tension settles throughout your body. You even wiggle a brow and step just a little closer because there’s nothing like making somebody uncomfortable.

She snorts in derision. “Save it for the corner. Oh wait, that’s probably your mom’s job, right?”

Your fist clenches but the look on your face doesn’t falter at all. It’s still calm. Together. Despite wishing you could legally reach out and grab hold of her throat and squeeze til she’s turning purple, you seem as if it doesn’t bother you.

But damn it, your inner antagonist. It just has to come through. You lean in closer. Close enough that your mouth is next to her ear and as the statement leaves your mouth you smirk. “How do you know that’s not my job too, sweets?”

The horrified look she gives you fuels you. Satisfied that you’ve gotten the last word you shove past her and out the classroom door. Into a crowded hallway where you stop in the middle to consult the schedule you’ve spent an entire period drawing snakes, skulls, knives and roses onto the edges of out of sheer boredom.

Until the jock smashes into you and he’s all grins, his hand on the small of your back.

That charm coming out in spades. You reach back and extract his hand while scowling. “Did I ask you to touch me, prick?”

“Well no,” Jason Carver gives you this grin that’s so fake you’re nauseous. And the way he’s taking that condescending tone with you and his voice is dripping with honey is enough to have you throw up in your mouth a little. “But I rammed into you pretty hard. Would you rather me let you hit the ground next time?”

“If it keeps your greasy mitts off, fuck yes. Please do.” you shove past him and make your way straight over to your locker, fooling around with the lock until you come to the conclusion that the lock is fucked and you can’t actually get into your locker. You raise your hand and prepare to take a swing but an arm shoots out over your shoulder. Two neat chops to the middle of the metal structure and the door swings open.

You turn and find Eddie from homeroom leaned against the locker beside the one he’s just broken open for you.

And before you can muster up at least a thank you, he’s walking away down the hall.

– ( two to three weeks later )

By now it’s become something of a routine. Your homeroom teacher never seemed to actually go and get you your own textbook so at two weeks into this undetermined stay in Hawkins, you’re still sharing a Sex. Ed book with Eddie Munson.

And you’re still actively going above and beyond to avoid him, barely speaking unless you have to. Of course, the same can be said for pretty much the rest of the student body at Hawkins High but you take extra care when it comes to him.

He’s sitting beside you and he’s only half listening to the lesson. His eyes are trained on the surface of the desk in front of him and you can see the pen digging into the surface but whatever he’s carving into it is hidden by a mass of thick brown frizz that’s fallen around him and obstructs your view.

The teacher turns to address the class after getting through roll call.

“Can anyone give me some alternate names for the male genitalia?”

Next to you, you feel the exact second Eddie Munson tenses a little, quietly snickering to himself. But he doesn’t volunteer to answer.

And you’re not in a hurry to do it either. Neither is anybody else presently sitting in your class, it seems. Of course there might be a handful of people actually bothering to pay attention to any of this because the Sex. Ed taught by Hawkins High is something of a joke notoriously.

You could raise your hand to answer, but you’ve already got a detention under your belt and you don’t trust yourself not to get creative and make a scene because you’re bored to death. And according to your Grams, the less trouble you get into, the better.

The girl who has had it in for you since your first day at Hawkins turns and gazes at you with a calm smirk. “I think ___ wants to answer, ma’am.”

“You little bitch.” you breathe the words to yourself and as the teachers eyes settle on you expectantly, you hurry to shove the old issue of Rolling Stone you’d been half reading and half admiring the cover photo out of sight. The teacher is beside you in the split second you’ve just managed to get the magazine stowed away safely beneath your side of the textbook.

“Ms. ___, perhaps you could answer? Irina seems to think you’d like to.”

The silent for once tacked onto the end of her query goes unsaid. She’s giving you a firm look.

You shrug. At first you don’t say anything because you’re half hoping the old bat will move on to a new target but then, the teacher insists.

“You’re the one who asked.” you mutter softly. “ Mr. Mushroomhead, shrimp, sausage, prick, dick, cock, joystick, woody, boner, knob, wang.” you stop to take a deep breath and glance around. The looks on the faces of your classmates is enough to keep you going but now you’re doing it strictly to see just how much more you can shock them all, “schlong, dong, one eyed snake, flesh rocket, rod, pipe, magic beanstalk, magic stick, magic wand–” the teacher is uncomfortable now, you can feel her tense beside your desk where she’s standing. She clears her throat in warning but you’re determined to make this as uncomfortable for her as she’s made it for you by calling on you in the first place, “gear shift, meat, meat stick, package, third leg, baton, cum gun, cervix smasher, dagger, sword-” you glance up at the teacher finally only to find her gaping at you. She shakes her head. “That’s enough,” she says it quick before you can rattle off even more names and you shrug as if to ask if she’s happy now. But just to stir the pot as she makes her way up the row, you call out to her, “I can do vagina too, I mean.. If you’re completely incapable, ma’am.”

“No, no. No.” the teacher shakes her head. The expression on her face is one of a person who has been to war and has seen some shit. It’s enough to make you giggle softly. “Oops. I think I broke her.” you mumble, but it’s mostly to yourself.

You can feel Eddie’s eyes fixed on you intently for the rest of the class and you don’t dare look up at him. As soon as the bell rings, you’re on your feet, you’re bolting out the door to freedom so you can get to the girls bathroom or at least down the hall to your locker just so you can finally let out the laughter you’ve been holding in.

By the time you’re at your locker you’ve doubled over and you’re gripping your sides, the backpack slung carelessly on one shoulder is on the floor at your feet and you’re practically wheezing as the laughter takes over.

“I guess we know who’s next in line to take up the mantle of town slut. How many dicks have you seen, hm?” the words are accompanied with a laugh and your head snaps up abruptly, all of your own laughter dying away as you glare at Irina with a hand caught in your hair. “I find it ironic,” you speak up and go quiet again, “You call me a slut constantly and yet… Who did I see up at Lovers Lake in Carver’s Jeep?”

The way she tensed. The way a certain sweet blonde cheerleader gazed at her in stunned silence before promptly throwing Jason’s letterman’s jacket back in his general direction in sheer disgust and hurt.

You shrugged. It did bother you to upset Chrissy, but at this point you were half assuming and hoping that she knew her so called friends were all tempestuous vipers pretending to be friends with her because they were all on the same team and it was expected.

That really bothered you. Not that she was a friend or anything, you didn’t have or have a need for those and you never stay anywhere long enough to attempt making them, but… She was a sweet kid. And you picked up on certain… Tones and remarks they made with her literally right there. How she seemed not to was baffling to you, but she didn’t.

“Yeah? Well if you saw me it means you were up there being a slut first!” Irina’s stepped up to you. You go for your earrings because you’re not a stranger to the occasional physical altercation and frankly, at two weeks into being the new girl at Hawkins, you’ve been dying to throw hands with somebody. Anybody, honestly. Because there’s only so much shit that they say about your mother, a woman who is trying to get her shit together and be a better person… You reached your limit.

They can say whatever the hell they like about you. They need to learn to leave your mother out of it because she’s dealing with some very serious problems and maybe you think if you throw hands with Irina the rest of the girls who torment and tease and taunt you daily to a point where you can hear it in your sleep will finally just stop.

However… Before you get your hand on her, you’re being lifted. Thrown across someone’s shoulder as if you weigh nothing with no regard given to the fact that your skirt is short today and when you’re heaved upward across the shoulder of Eddie Munson, the entire hallway gets one hell of a glimpse of hot red lace hidden away beneath your skirt. Or the tear on the inner thigh of your stockings and down the back of them.

You pound on his midsection and you’re kicking your feet, you’re doing anything you can so that he’ll drop you and you can go back, be a big girl and finish what you were about to start. But Eddie stands you on your own feet outside the school building.

You smirk and step towards the door but he leans against it, his arms folded over his chest. “Not a good idea, hellion.” his voice is firm. Firm enough that your stomach does a lazy flip.

“Yeah?” you huff as you take a few deep breaths and attempt swinging at the metal door you stand in front of. Eddie catches you by the wrist and kind of holds onto your hand. For seconds that stretch out way too long for your liking, all either of you are doing is staring at each other. Quiet.

You, because you don’t know what to say or even why he’s made this entire thing his business to begin with and him because he’s trying to figure out what to say that might get you calm and make you feel better. Because he knows they’ve been making your life hell and it bothers him.

It bothers him so much that at this point in time, it’s all the Hellfire Club hears about anymore. That and his not so well hidden crush on you, which none of them can figure out because to quote Mike Wheeler, everything about you screams to be left alone and that you’re not a nice person. This is up for debate with Dustin who has been encouraging Eddie to at least try with you, reminding him that a person can never have too many friends.

And there’s the whole thing from earlier in class. When you were listing off those names… the way it got him all hot and bothered somehow because there was just something about hearing you say cock in that soft little drawl of yours.

And then seeing you express some kind of actual visceral emotion for once instead of just pretending you don’t give a shit about anything or anybody which he’s noticed you do a lot. That got to him, definitely. So it’s a combination of all those things that drew him to intervene, to get you out of there and away somewhere to calm down.

Your eyes dart down to the way Eddie’s hand engulfs your wrist and you gulp. You step a little closer, brows knit in frustration as you try to figure him out.

He steps closer to you before he can stop himself, a pout quick to form when you step away just a bit, opening up a sliver of space between you. “Why was that any of your business, huh?”

Eddie shrugged. Rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

You grumble to yourself and throw up your hands because his lack of an answer frustrates you a little too much.

“It bothered me, alright?” he says it just when you go to put your hand on the handle attached to the door. You pause and turn halfway, a brow raised as you stare at him and bite your lip. “After a dozen different places man, you kinda get used to it all.” you shrug it off.

He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t, though. Doesn’t it bother you at all?”

You pull your hand away from the door handle. “Well yeah, but I mean… doesn’t bother me as much as when they bring her into it.”

You’re not even sure why you feel the need to pour out your soul to the guy. You shuffle scuffed boots against the concrete beneath your feet and stare down at the floor intently.

As he steps up to you, you can’t help but notice the way he towers over you. Or the scent of leather, weed and boy combine in a way that’s just a little too comforting for you.

The thought is the exact reason you tense up a little but Eddie thinks it’s because he -the freak of Hawkins High, has stepped just a little too close to you. He tenses up too. Folds his arms and honestly, he starts to walk away while muttering that he should’ve known better than to try and help you, not even you’d want the freak’s help.

This time it’s your turn to stop him from walking away and you do so by reaching around and closing your hand over the top of his where it rests on the door handle. “You’re not a freak, alright? It’s… It has nothing to do with you. It’s more a me thing. Look, I mean it. It has nothing to do with you and you’re not a freak.” you’re reassuring him but you’re not sure why because sooner or later, you’ll have to leave and none of this will matter. He’ll forget you and you’ll forget him, lost in the shuffle wherever you land next.

He turns to stare down at you. Brows knit together in confusion as if he never stopped to contemplate your reason for keeping him at bay wouldn’t be the same as all the others.

You shrug. “Pretty sure when my mom gets out of her program she’s going to pack us up to go God knows where because there’s just… Too much of her past here, I think... It’s just… Look, it’s easier if I don’t get to know anybody and like..” you fidget with the sleeve of your favorite oversized flannel as you stare at your boots, “Get attached. Because I used to, ya know. And it always hurt when I had to leave.”

Eddie nods. Shuffles his feet as he gazes at you intently. Drawn into your eyes but that has the unfortunate side effect of noticing the exact second your tongue drags over the outline of your lips and his eyes catch on the subtle movement.

“But that has to be lonely, though.” Eddie questions quietly. Eyes fixed on you intently. Suddenly your entire attitude makes total sense to him. And there’s a lot of context he’s picked up on in the little you have actually said. There’s enough that he feels like maybe he’s finally figuring you out. He wonders briefly if this means he’ll finally be less aware of you and somehow, he knows deep down that the answer to that particular question is a resounding no.

You have his undivided attention, even though knowing that drives him crazy because it’s not like he meant for it to happen or wanted it to.

“Well yeah, but it’s better? I mean I guess it is.” you sigh and lean against the door as you stare up at him. You manage a weak smile, mostly for show. Mostly so he’ll think you’re okay. Because you want him to feel like he helped a little.

Your heart is doing that lazy little fluttery thing it’s been doing since about halfway through your first week at Hawkins High and yet again, you find yourself trying to ignore it when it happens. This time, though… This time it’s not ignored so easily.

The bell to begin your next class starts and suddenly, you’d rather be anywhere but the building you’re standing outside of.

“C’mon.” you step away from the door and nod towards the parking lot. Eddie raises a brow. You tap your foot impatiently.

“Where?”

“I dunno..” you trail off laughing, “Somewhere not here.” you point out and he laughs.

“I got it.” he speaks up as your mom’s Impala comes into view. You stop at the passenger door to unlock it and find yourself almost body to body with him. “Yeah?” you tilt your head as you look up at him and twirl a strand of hair around your finger. “Where, hm?”

“Well, we can go to my place. I can finish working on something.”

Your brow raises and you shrug. Then you reach into the pocket at the hip of your leather jacket and take out your keys, dropping them into his hand. “You know where it is, you drive.”

He turns the keys over in his hand, his eyes fixed on a blinding pink rabbits foot keychain dangling off. “You want me to drive.”

“Well duh, how else are we getting there?”

“We can take my van.” he nods to it. “Or I could drive my van and you follow.”

And while his suggestion to follow him does make sense, you’re shocked to realize that maybe you are just a little lonely. At any rate, you’d really rather ride over together. In one vehicle.

But you shove the thought out of your head and glance at the van. “Okay, alright. I’ll follow you to your place.”

He grins and rushes over to the van and you get into your mom’s Impala, pulling it to an abrupt stop beside his idling van barely a second later as you roll down your window.

If he thought ignoring whatever feelings you triggered in him was going to be a challenge before, he knew it would now because when you rolled down the window he could hear Mr. Crowley by Ozzy Osbourne playing at an almost deafening volume. You turned it down a little with a sheepish shrug.

“Ozzy, huh?”

“Mhm. Why?” you question as you lock eyes with him again. He doesn’t say anything other than “Try to keep up.” as he smirks at you and takes off in the van.

As you spin out into the road behind him, you find yourself torn two different ways. On the one hand, maybe this isn’t a bad thing. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt, just to hang out with Eddie Munson for one afternoon. But on the other hand, you have the distinct feeling that this one afternoon just might not be enough, not at all.

And knowing this scares the living hell out of you.

Because whatever is happening is stronger. Stronger than you, possibly. And so much more than just a feeling.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #... or is it... this is up to you guys.#feedback might tempt me to add to this at some point.#maybe even add a lil spice.#until then... enjoy the rollercoaster that is.. this whatever it is.#look i had fun.#its outta my head now

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stagefoureddiediaz · 6 months

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Wip asks….

Is p&p pride and prejudice… I’m intrigued

Anything you can share I’ll be here. Exciting to see your writing brain taking flight 😘

Spots!!!

My darling P&P is indeed pride and prejudice 😬😬😬

it’s gonna take me a while to get done but it has been percolating in my brain for over a year 😂

I’m sharing a few paragraphs of the secret fic that I’ve just written - because I am a tease and I’m intrigued to see if anyone can figure out what the fic is inspired by!!not that I think this sniper is giving anything away 😂

The road to London is an easy ride from the Diaz country house and it gives Buck plenty of time to think about Lieutenant Colonel Diaz and his son. Christopher had been adorable and everything a young boy of 7 should be. Buck was looking forward to teaching him, he got the feeling he would prove to be whip smart and a good pupil. His father Lieutenant Colonel Diaz, was a complete mystery to Buck though. He had come across as so aloof and unfriendly to start, but had seemed to warm up to Buck the longer they had spent in each other’s presence and then turned cold again once it was time for his departure. Buck could see the way he doted on his son, so he couldn’t be all bad, perhaps he just didn’t enjoy meeting strangers and inviting them into his home.

Bucks thoughts turn towards what he wants to teach Christopher and how he can make things interesting for him. He forgot to ask if he would have access to the Diaz library in the Lieutenant Colonels study, or if he would be able to purchase any supplies he might need. He wants to capture Christophers imagination and make learning fun, unlike his own experiences when he was Christophers age and was made to sit in a uninspiring school room and undertake a rigid and unimaginative education at the hands of a tutor who was the very definition of dull, in looks, teaching style and personality.

He supposes that what appealed to his parents, thankfully he had Maddie though and she made sure to spend hours with him in the library, with books spread all around them as they read through whatever they could find, Shakespeare, the history of the Roman Empire, Ancient Greek and Roman mythology, astronomy, the kings and queens of Great Britain and of voyages of discovery undertaken by Sir Francis Drake and Sir Walter Raleigh.

Maddie had made everything far more fun and interesting and Buck had found it difficult when she had married and moved away. this new venture into teaching was his own attempt at escape from the oppression of his family, the family name and the expectations he could never live up to, no matter how hard he tried.

He makes good time back to Buckley house in London and quickly sets about packing his trunks with everything he needs to make his break for freedom. He fills one trunk with his clothes and a second with an assortment of books, papers and various items in his possession such as a telescope Maddie had given to him when he was 12. Everything stowed safely in his trunks he flops onto the bed and starts to plot how he can get them out of the house without it being noticed.

#kym answers things #secret wip #buddie fic #yes I am attempting to write a pride and prejudice 118/ buddie fic 😬😬😬

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floating-in-the-blue · 1 year

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Hi babe :) what's Nature 2.0 and/or Bravo. Like that just makes me think of that teenie magazine :D

Okay, took me a bit but you know my brain. Anyway, you've chosen the two non-jatp fics from that list! Therefore, they're both super old ideas. Since I'm prone to rambling and want to show off some writing that may otherwise never see the light of day, I'll answer this in two posts. Hope that's okay <3

All right, starting with "Bravo," this one dates back to when I still liked "Sherlock" (somewhere around the ending of S1) and came up with an idea to do a crossover with "Dollhouse," the short-lived scifi Whedon show that didn't generate a cult following like "Firefly." Not sure if you're familiar with that one but it's basically a dystopian near-future where rich people can program other people with whatever personality they want through the services of the "Dollhouses," which is obviously very fucked up and does lead to an apocalypse in the show but I thought it was a super interesting premise for a Sherlock fic because John Watson seems like a suspiciously ideal friend for Sherlock and who do we know who has a lot of power and money? Mycroft.

So turns out, John Watson is not real and Mycroft paid the London Dollhouse to create an ideal companion and bodyguard for his reckless brother. Except Sherlock ends up being so attached to John that he "kills" himself in order to protect him. Honestly, there was a lot of angsty Johnlock potential in that fic idea but I was mostly interested in getting Mycroft and Adelle deWitt into a room and talking (Adelle runs the LA Dollhouse in the show but she's very English).

Snippet under the cut :D

„I think it is about time John Watson left London.“ Mycroft remarked, studying the handle of his umbrella. “What do you think?” He raised his eyes to the handsome woman sitting opposite of him in the elegant office. One could so easily forget that one was several storeys underground in these luxurious surroundings.

The woman smiled sadly, her fingers curled delicately around a cup of tea. “I suppose there is no further need for him at present,” she agreed with an inclination of her head.

Mycroft nodded, carefully maintaining his calm appearance. “What will happen to him now?” he inquired, partly out of simple curiosity and partly because such information could very well prove vital at some point. There was no saying when he might need the Doctor to make another appearance.

“We will shelve the imprint. But you will still be able to access it, if you should require it.” Miss DeWitt explained. “Bravo will be sent to one of our other houses, as requested.”

Mycroft nodded again. “Thank you. I would rather not risk any of John Watson’s acquaintances meeting him with another imprint.”

“Yes, indeed, that would be rather awkward, wouldn’t it? Thanks to his connection to your brother, he has acquired a rather worrying degree of fame.” One of Ms DeWitt’s eyebrows crawled upwards. “Naturally, we prefer it if our actives don’t draw too much attention to themselves.” She smiled but as always, there was a hint of a warning hidden in the corners of her curling lips. Adelle DeWitt would have made an excellent politician if she had chosen such an occupation.

Mycroft inclined his head. “Of course. I appreciate that you made an exception in this case.”

Ms DeWitt rose gracefully from her chair and offered Mycroft some more tea, which he gladly accepted. “How could I refuse the British government?” She asked with almost mocking politeness, pouring the hot, amber liquid into the cup Mycroft held out for her. “Especially if it happens to be such a good customer.” She added with a smile while settling back into her chair.

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embracethemadmess · 2 years

Text

Summary: Steven is refusing to sleep at night again, but this time he also doesn’t want to front during the day, so Marc has to cover for him at work, straining his voice on -quite bad- British soft accent. If that wasn’t enough, there’s this third alter still actively moon knighting without the other two knowing. All this leaves the body completely exhausted and, well, on the edge of falling apart.

One time the system meets a witch willing to help heal both the body and the disturbed minds in it.

“Scarlet is kinda my colour, you know.”

Marc hears one evening as he’s trying to wipe the blood off his nose. When he looks up from where he’s been sitting for the past few minutes, he sees a tissue being offered to him by a hooded redhead woman. Her smile is almost nonexistent, especially in the darkness of the night, but there’s a certain feeling of warmth in the way she’s looking at him.

“Should’ve trademarked it or something”, she continues as Marc accepts the tissue cautiously, only to then focus completely on stopping his nosebleed. Just for a split second, he glances at the piece of glass he’s shattered earlier, and he catches the sight of Steven’s frightened face in it.

“Scarlet Witch”, Steven whispers in shock, the feeling so strong Marc can feel the shiver running down his spine. His reaction intrigues Marc enough to encourage himself to stand up and look straight into the stranger’s eyes; big and round, with a hypnotising red light covering the iris, matching the redness of his own sleep-deprived ones.

“I’m Wanda”, she says politely.

“And I’m-”, Marc cannot introduce himself properly because she immediately cuts off his words.

“Tired”, Wanda finishes his sentence without any hesitation in her voice, the fabric of a woollen coat lifts just a little bit under the subtle shrug of her shoulder. A ghost of a smile appears on her lips only to vanish almost right away; the American can't help but be impressed with the fact that his body even caught this little detail with how blurry his vision was becoming.

“A little, yeah”, the man sighs in agreement, lacking the energy and willpower to try to prove her wrong, which once again causes the kindest little smile he’s seen in a while, only this time he is actually able to register it and fully take it in.

He indeed was tired, to say the least. And Wanda’s here to give him a helping hand. Or even two hands.

Author’s note: I know there are probably not so many people who think of Wanda and Marc daily, but I do. And I wanna start writing again, thus I thought why not? It could be fun, you know, as long as I work out how exactly I wanna write dialogues (it’s way easier in Polish, I noticed in English it’s more common to use quotation marks instead of dashes). Need to post this little snippet now, though, so that I actually will be motivated to write this fic.

#moon knight #scarlet witch #marc spector #wanda maximoff #Marc Spector x Wanda Maximoff #steven grant #au where Wanda meets the moon system #mcu #marvel #marvel fic #moon knight fic #scarlet witch fic #wanda maximoff fic #Marc x Wanda #non romantic relation

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zodiyack · 3 years

Text

Niffler’s New Discovery

Requested by anon: May I request a the youngest Shelby sister x Newt Scamander story? The Shelby sister is nothing like her siblings. She’s shy, reads books like they’re oxygen, loves animals, and doesn’t drink, smoke, or anything like that. She doesn’t even swear, she’s so pure. She also loves his animals. And Tommy acts like her father but she loves her brother very much. Same as her other brothers. They find out she’s dating him and get all overprotective. Sorry if this is too specific. I just love the idea of a Shelby sister who’s nothing like her siblings. Because most of the Shelby reader fics always have them smoking and all that. Which they are fun to read, but it’s nice to see something different. Feel free to pick the Scenario. :)

Pairing: Newt Scamander x Female!Shelby!Innocent!Reader

Warnings: Swearing (not from reader ofc :)) slight suggestiveness (also not from reader), fluff, ✨m a g i c✨

Words: 1,303

Summary: (See Request...also I thought the gif was cute, so anon, I based it off the gif kinda)

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @marquelapage, @stuckysslag, @psychkunox, @i-love-superhero

Masterlist | Fantastic Beasts (AWTFT) Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

At first, they had no problem keeping their relationship hidden from her overly protective family, but the troublemaker Newt constantly had to chase down and return to his case was the thing that exposed them. The bloody Niffler just loved things that shined. Who could blame it though? It was it’s nature.

Just as it was the Shelby brothers nature to react the way they did. Violent, perhaps, but of their nature. Their possessive, over the top protective, shitty, big brother, nature.

And it all started, one late afternoon...

The older Shelby trio, not counting Ada with her age advance over John, returned home after a nice night out at the pub. Sure, the sun hadn’t set yet, but Pol wanted them to return home a little earlier today for a family meeting. The meeting included everyone, minus the innocent angel whom the Shelbys called their sister.

It was the perfect time to have Newt over. The perfect time to explore the secret world hidden inside his little brief case. If only they knew the pesky Niffler had been waiting.

“Are you sure they won’t suspect anything of my presence?” Newt hesitated, one foot hovering above the wooden flooring of Y/n’s bedroom, the other resting on the rooftop outside her window.

She ushered him in the rest of the way, making sure to lock her door after checking that no one was around. “Positive. Family meetings take a while, so we’re good on time. How about you? Are you sure this is good with the council?”

He had a guilt-ridden look across his face as he looked around. “There are some things the council doesn’t have to know.” A nervous laugh rumbled in his throat before he cleared it and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Uh huh... Well, just promise me that you won’t get into any serious trouble for this, alright Newton?” The blushing hufflepuff gave his lover a quick nod, as well as a smile in return for the little peck she placed upon his cheek, pinkening his skin further down his neck- it was no surprise that Newt was terribly new to receiving affection from anything other than his beasts that resided in his case.

“S-shall we be going?” He broke the tension, gesturing to the case in front of them.

“Boys.” Polly stopped the bickering that had started up between John and Tommy, her eyes drifting toward the ceiling, the trios’ following. “Your sister’s been awfully quiet.”

John cackled, “Oh no, maybe she snuck out, went to have a quick fuck with some guy off the streets, didn’t she Pol?” His rather sarcastic tone suggested his knowledge that the referenced behavior was most certainly unlike his little sister, but the immaturity of John Shelby simply couldn’t resist making a joke.

Polly, however, was in no mood for John’s incessant kidding. Her hand met the back of his head, a disapproving furrow of her brows telling him to stop talking. “I’m being serious, you idiot. It’s more quiet than usual.”

“And what about it, Pol?” Tommy spoke after taking a drag from his cigarette, an eyebrow quirked.

“If she really does have a boy up there, he better pray he’s out the window by the time we get up there.”

Tommy’s brow, lowered after asking Polly how she’d respond, lifted back once again. “There’s no God for him to pray to, Arthur. The boy is fucked, plain and simple.”

“In more ways than one.”

John’s childish cackles were hushed into silence, a slap sounding throughout the room prior to their ceasing. A hand rubbing the back of his head, John glared at his aunt, yet continued the discussion of what to do with Y/n nonetheless.

The past ten minutes had been spent trying to block off any and all exists for the pesky little Niffler. Each time it attempted to escape the bedroom, Y/n or Newt were quick to block it off. It amazed Y/n how many places the little creature could scurry off through. Unfortunately, with their wild-goose-chase, footsteps turned to stomps...well, really running, but downstairs it was more likely to sound aggressive, such as the hard thud of a Blinder’s boot on the floor of the Garrison.

It was inevitable; the possibility of being caught, but the fact seemed to slip their minds as they both tried to corner the Niffler, as well as capture it once more. Every shiny thing, ranging from jewelry to bullet casings, or things that caught her eye, made into décor (gifted from her brothers, as she would never touch a gun unless need be) were being stolen as the creature evaded capture.

Newt shot Y/n a sorry look each time one of her belongings were snatched up by the Niffler. It touched her heart, truly, it did, but now was not the time to swoon. Y/n froze as the Niffler wandered over to a bottle. Wine? Champagne? She didn’t know; Y/n never drank- the bottle was a gift from her sister in law, which she couldn’t turn down without upsetting her, so it soon became another...decoration.

Atop the bottle was shimmery, gold-like, wrapping. Of course it caught the mischievous little shine-thief’s eye. It pulled and pulled, Y/n and Newt made eye contact as the uneasy feeling in their guts mirrored, until POP!

The door broke open with a loud bang, Arthur standing confused before getting both a Niffler and a cork to the space between his brows. While Y/n flinched, Newt only looked away in shame.

“What. The. Literal. Fuck. Was. That?” John gapped. His usual remark would be to poke fun, but he too was in great shock, he couldn’t even think of anything humorous.

“A- ...A Niffler.” Newt stuttered. His rather shy demeanor was rarely common around Y/n, so she new he was slightly uncomfortable the second his hand lifted to itch the back of his neck as his eyes found interest in the floorboards.

“Did I fuckin’ ask you?” John narrowed his eyes at the timid wizard.

It was unusual for Y/n to get angry, but the unjustness of John’s attitude toward her lover didn’t sit well with her. “Leave him alone!”

Now there was more to be shocked about. “I- what?”

“You heard me, John. You, Arthur, and Thomas. Leave Newt alone. He didn’t mean for this to happen, so he shouldn’t be harassed by you three. Want to question him? Have Pol do it, but the second you come to my room and bully my lover is the second you cross the line.”

Tommy, amused, let out a little chuckle as he raised his eyebrows.

“Something funny to you, Thomas? ‘Cause I don’t think any of us are laughing.”

“No, sister, nothing is of humor to me.” He muttered despite dawning a lopsided smirk. Tommy looked at his brothers and nodded his head toward the stairs before walking away. Although he was leaving, he never said he wouldn’t poke at the boy some more. Now just wasn’t worth it; he was already shaking in his boots as it is.

“Tommy- where- where’re you goin’?” John did a double take, following shortly after.

Arthur rubbed the red spot where he’d been nailed by the creature and it’s new favorite possession, proved by it cuddling the cork close to it’s body on the floor where it had landed after hitting Arthur. He excused himself politely before walking in the same direction as his brothers, still rubbing at his soon-to-be-bruising injury all the way down.

Newt took the opportunity to grab the niffler and tickle Y/n’s possessions from his tummy before running over and tucking him in the case. The anger faded from Y/n’s eyes as she watched her lover. “It looks as though the Niffler has discovered something new.” Newt chuckled lightly, easing up slowly.

“New indeed.”

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makeste · 3 years

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I like Bakuguo but his attitude is starting to really piss me off. He's talking about Daku as if he's just ~crazy~ and as if he isn't partly to blame for Deku's toxic self-worth issues. It's infuriating to watch. If Bakuguo doesn’t admit out loud and in front of his friends that his bullying of Deku played a part in Deku's current destructive state and if he doesn’t verbally apologize and reaffirm Deku's worth then I can no longer like Bakuguo's character or Hori's writing.

tbh I don't really know why this is the discourse of choice for people all of a sudden, but this is already the second ask I've gotten about it, so I might as well address it lol.

I think fandom is conflating fanon!Deku and canon!Deku here again. fanon Deku is of course much more sensitive and woobified and has much shakier self-esteem. fanon Deku is the one that turns evil in so many AUs because of Kacchan's bullying. fanon Deku is the one that actually jumps off the roof in so many fics, as opposed to fishing his notebook back out of the pond a few minutes later grumbling about how Kacchan needs to think before he speaks or else he could land himself in serious shit one day if god forbid anyone actually does take his cruel words to heart.

and just to clarify before I get any further, I am not saying this to excuse Kacchan's actions in any way, because what he did was still completely terrible and unacceptable and WAY over the line, and what's more he knew it, too. the bullying was still shitty and horrible and awful, and definitely impacted Deku and made him miserable. I fully acknowledge that, and that Kacchan has a lot of atoning to do for it. this is not a "Kacchan did nothing wrong" post.

but that being said, I don't think canon Deku's reckless self-sacrificing nature actually has anything to do with the bullying. I think they're two completely separate things. canon Deku actually has pretty decent self-esteem in spite of everything Kacchan did to him. canon Deku doesn't think he is useless. canon Deku had a wholeass fight with Kacchan less than 10 chapters into the series in which he explicitly spelled it out for Kacchan that he had a lot of worth, and was going to prove it to him. canon Deku was persistent in wanting to become a hero and hoping and believing that he could find some way in spite of being quirkless. canon Deku never let go of that dream even when no one else supported it. I don't think he would have even given up on it after being told no by All Might, tbh -- we just never got to see how it would have played out because of everything that happened with the sludge monster shortly afterward. but he's not the type to ever give up on something that easily, and we've seen that. canon Deku never thought he was useless, but rather wanted to prove to everyone else that he wasn't.

the drive that Deku has to save and protect others even at the expense of his own safety is something entirely separate from that. he doesn't break his body for others simply because he has no self-esteem and thinks that his own life isn't important. he does it because he can't stand the thought of someone else getting hurt, and knowing that he could have done something to prevent it. it's as simple as that. like, Spider-Man has the whole "with great power comes great responsibility" thing, right? and he doesn't have low self-esteem; he simply believes that if he has the ability to help someone else, then he has a responsibility to help them. it's a personal creed. and Deku is based on Spider-Man. his philosophy is based on that philosophy, which was one of Horikoshi's core influences and is one of the core creeds in superhero fiction.

Deku is self-destructive not because he doesn't value himself, but because he is literally physically incapable of standing back and doing nothing if he knows that he can do something. he's the type of person who sees a car speeding towards someone and leaps in to push them out of the way. NOT because he wants to get himself fucking pancaked by a speeding car, but simply because he can't sit back and watch the other person get hurt without taking action. his body moves before he can think. and that's where the whole "doesn't take himself into account" thing comes in -- the fact that his thought process simply stops at "get them out of the way of the car", and never extends beyond that to "hey, and maybe I should try to find a way to do this that doesn't involve me getting hit in their place." to him, that's simply less important than the first priority, which is getting the other person out of the way.

and regarding that last part, while that may seem like a self-worth issue if he's prioritizing everyone else above himself, I think what it actually is just selflessness taken to extremes. like for instance, when a parent sacrifices themselves to save their child, them placing the child's life above their own isn't necessarily because they don't see themselves as having value. rather, it's that they love the child so much that they place their well-being even above their own. and that's what Deku is like as well. except that in his case he cares about EVERYONE, and so is willing to sacrifice himself for anyone. and that selflessness is his defining character trait, and simultaneously the most admirable and the most terrifying thing about him. it's both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness, which I think is fascinating to explore.

but anyway, so that's also why we never really see anyone thoroughly chewing him out for this behavior either. because the thing is, it is admirable how selfless he is. it's just that there's also a reason why most people are at least a little bit selfish. and that's because too much selflessness will ultimately and inevitably wind up getting you killed. at some point you either have to learn when to put the oxygen mask on yourself first, or else find yourself a loyal group of friends (or classmates) to watch your back, and make sure that mask gets on you when you need it. and maybe help you land the plane too while they're at it.

anyway so that was a lot of rambling, but basically it all boils down to three things:

when Deku berates himself for being useless (for instance at the end of the War arc), he's doing it out of frustration for not being able to push the others out of the way of the metaphorical car. that's the kind of uselessness he can't stand. the sitting-back-and-doing-nothing uselessness.

Kacchan's bullying was terrible, and it might have indeed played a part in Deku's choice of the word "useless" as a way of berating himself in these instances, but he is not the one who gave Deku this mindset of taking himself out of the equation. that's something that was already inherent to Deku from day one. (but that said, Kacchan has a lot of things to apologize to Deku for anyway, so if he wants to add this to the list I certainly won't stop him. he gets mad about Deku's suicidal attitude because it worries him, but that doesn't necessarily mean that he doesn't feel responsible for it. people underestimated his feelings of atonement before 284/285, and I think they're still underestimating him now.)

and lastly, one last important note, which is that Deku's current "saving" mindset isn't wrong, just as Kacchan's "winning" mindset was not wrong either. the lesson to be learned here is NOT that being selfless and wanting to save other people is bad. rather, it's the fact that he's trying to do it alone that's got him all fucked up right now. basically when you think about it, selflessness is really just selfishness on someone else's behalf. which means that in order for Deku to be saved, it isn't necessary for him to change his outlook or his selfless attitude, even if it is pretty crazy lol. rather, all he really needs is a good group of friends who are willing to act selfishly on his behalf in return. protecting each other through mutual selflessness lol. teamwork as self-preservation. hence why the U.A. kids are here now.

anyway so yeah, I think that's everything. sorry this got so long and out of control lol. this is just a very specific nuanced thing that's hard for me to express, but which I feel is very important when it comes to Deku's character. Kacchan didn't unleash Depressed Nomad Deku on the world (or at least not in this respect). but that being said, he and the others will hopefully be the ones to nudge him back on the right course again.

#bnha 319 #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #bnha meta #deku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks #long post

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jiminrings · 3 years

Note

Hey bb! First of all, let me just tell u how much I love your writing! You're fabulous, love. Don't ever doubt yourself. Secondly, I wanted to know if u could do a college professor! Jungkook and pretty student reader where Jk is absolutely enamoured by her.. (also, with a bit of the good ol smut🤭) It's a-okay if u can't tho! Just know that you're appreciated!❤️

the probability of us

pairing: jungkook x y/n

wordcount: 6k

glimpse: jungkook’s the son of the university’s president, y/n’s cardigan is everyone’s favorite, and adjacent walls mean shared victories.

notes: there’s something so warm about this request that it made me write it as an actual fic and not a bullet one!!! i did alter it a little bit but i was genuinely so happy writing this so thank you sO much for this babe :D // gif from pinterest!

Jungkook, in his better and most definitely unbiased judgement, thinks he knows enough about you.

He knows you well enough to have noticed your patterns and habits with almost everything in between. They were predictable for the most part, and that was partly because he takes pride in being observational, but you manage to unintentionally throw him a curveball every now and then that makes him smile.

You always come into class when there’s atleast fifteen people in it and Jungkook wonders if you know it in the back of your head or if you just sneak a peek at the room every now and then. He’s not keen on being early to classes, and on the three straight occasions his dad left something in the classroom from the day before and got him to retrieve it for him, you were already there.

You’re fixated and practically attached to your knitted cardigan, seemingly having no problem wearing the same outfit for days straight — something so both adorable and visibly heart-racing when it’s almost always a tank top underneath that’s on the lower scoop, and a rotation of pants and sweats that sometimes feel so misplaced with your cardigan that it matches.

Jungkook’s found out that you probably wear atleast three rings on a daily basis, and that only took him two days to figure out because you’d exit the classroom with slight marks and indentations on your cheeks or on your jaw. Whether it’s to being sleepy, being bored, or being focused is something he has yet to discern — but yeah, he looks at you with his eyes silently when the class is dismissed, wondering if he’d see the same Pandora tiara ring mark on your cheek, or this time from a signet ring you sported more often.

He’s eight weeks in doing whatever this is. Whatever having the definition of him trailing behind his dad, a back and forth between his classes and his office, then them eating out for lunch break.

Sometimes, Jungkook forgets that his dad’s the president of this very university.

He’s only really known him as dad and he’s grateful for that, and the only times he’d see his father as the educator he was with the fancy doctorate degree was whenever Jungkook’s been a little lacking in his studies as a child up until high school. His mom, a doctor, would be on duty for nights and at home for mornings so that’d be the window she’d teach him the alphabet and addition with the carrying, something that eight-year old him would tear up just at the mention of.

His dad would just sit beside him in a very calm manor, take out two notebooks for one of them each, and make reviewers. Jungkook writes down what he knows and what his dad tells him to, highlights the key terms, and for some totally odd reason, making his own reviewers saved him from failing altogether and become an honor student with little help from his parents and most especially his dad.

It humors him that people are so rigid and intimidated by his dad, and he knows that not everyone would believe that this is the same guy that taught him how to give someone a proper wet willy. Jungkook sees people left and right going out of their way to greet him and pay their courtesies, stifling in a giggle that his dad also fights the need to laugh.

He loves and looks up to his dad, feeling a lot more thankful that he has a healthy relationship with his parents as an only child. Jungkook feels he owes that much to his dad that he took education for his college course, despite his blatant lack of interest for it.

And here he is — a senior at another college his dad’s not the professor of, studying a degree that he’s not gonna practice, and shadowing his father for eight weeks while he goes and teach for the “experience” as his dad calls it.

This has got to be a little ethically questionable, but that’s okay. Jungkook takes some comfort knowing that his dad’s the boss and he could just sit in a chair, pretending to absorb his lessons. In fact, he doesn’t even know why his dad opts to teach still even if he’s well high up in that ladder, the only explanation being that his father just really really likes teaching and not just be moving between airconditioned offices and meeting rooms all the time. And if that was enough, his dad just had to teach two classes to which Jungkook needs to accompany him in both — Statistics and English Literature.

Jungkook has a memory of stone that’s probably of the same kind the Code of Hammurabi was inscribed in (because he just swears his memory started way earlier than the age of four), because he practically knows everyone in each of his dad’s classes.

Eight weeks in. He’s only known that long.

But Jungkook knows for a fact that you’re never late — that much he knows. He refuses to believe that you’re actually gonna be late to class.

His dad comes in early and normally, he sits by his chair just when he’s a minute away from starting class. For some odd push today, he felt the need to enter the room with his dad and be early for once; but for the one time that he did this, you weren’t around for it.

You’re late, and you’re never late, and you’re throwing him a curveball, but something tells him in his gut that this just wasn’t something you pull out of your cardigan sleeve to confuse him.

You’re confusing.

You’re never usually confusing.

He visibly straightens in his seat when you enter the room with a sense of complacency and without the need to rush, the class only in the quieting down stages before the lesson begins when you walked in.

Mr. Jeon’s flickered to the entrance briefly, his tinkering with the HDMI cord continuing nonetheless. “Kook,” he just barely manages to get out because he’s already standing up from his seat, nimble fingers grabbing a slip from his desk that makes his dad perplexed.

Jungkook walks all the way to you at the back of the class, holding out the late slip to you a little too eagerly as it seems, and you can’t help but feel confused and irritated at the same time with how you started your morning.

For starters, coffee was spilled on your cardigan from the night before, and soaking it overnight in a mix of detergent, softener, and the tiniest bit of bleach wasn’t enough to completely rub the stain off — which meant you had to get up extra early to have it dry-cleaned (the staff looked at you a bit weirdly) and head off to where you needed to be, in a rush.

“But I’m not late though.”

You murmur as you peer up at him, refusing to even take the slip in between Jungkook’s fingers. He turns impatient, even more-so at your retort that honestly sounded genuine, that he settles on dropping it down your desk.

“You are, Y/N.” He says as convictedly as he can, only having to glance sideways briefly to your nosy seatmate to keep him out of a conversation he clearly isn’t a part of, and you make a note in your head to apologize to Jimin who gets scared easily, especially by the president’s son.

As if to prove his point, Jungkook rolls the sleeve of his bomber jacket in the slightest, enough for you to see a glimpse of his flashy gold Rolex in an attempt to tell you the time, one you couldn’t decipher because it was analog and your eyesight’s not that quick-witted nor clear.

“It’s three minutes before the start of the class,” you make it a point to outstretch your forearm, one that isn’t covered by your cardigan as he now realizes, your silver and digital Casio telling him that it’s 9:57, indeed three minutes away from the start of his dad’s class.

He barely even blinks before he adjusts himself to stand between your stretched legs so he could hold your arm and adjust your goddamn watch to be set four minutes later, his movements done so quickly that you straighten your back to the seat.

Jimin pretends he’s looking away, but deep down you already know that he’s gonna ambush you with questions as soon as Jungkook leaves.

“See that? You’re late,” he hums contentedly, pushing the late slip towards you and stands by himself with his hands across his chest, all-knowing that he wouldn’t leave not until you comply with his stupid request for a late slip.

His dad sees the interaction unfold from a distance, still confused but somehow amused, and a curious smile appears on his face as he now has something else to bring up on the dinner table later.

After all, he only called out to his son to tell him that they should go pick up a few groceries over lunch break — not to give you a late slip.

Jungkook collects the piece of paper from you wordlessly, letting his hand linger for the briefest moment but you pay him no mind, too occupied to looking at your left and gesturing for Jimin to scoot closer.

Something’s wrong.

His instincts are not exactly the most accurate but after all, it does account for something. He’s not the best at reading people when they’re indifferent, and normally you’re never indifferent to him.

He decides to lay low at that, sitting back on his chair and only twirling the slip in between his fingers and not once setting it down on the desk, preventing himself to look at it.

It’s only when his dad calls him to do a summary and explain to the class about his lesson’s breakdown, and he turns stern when he crushes the paper within his palm for the sake of being indiscreet that he totally wasn’t fiddling with paper for an hour and a half.

Jungkook returns and that’s when his dad starts giving out final reminders for their next meeting, straightening it out as much as he could until he can see your messy handwriting more than he could see the creases.

Tutored Hwang Hyunjin; state quizbee next week.

And why, exactly?

As far as he knows, Hyunjin’s the faculty’s favorite because he was such an intelligent student. He might be the favorite of his dad but he’s not entirely sure because his dad says he doesn’t like playing favorites, but he seems to think so nonetheless. If the guy who’s in the line-up for summa cum laude is asking help for a mere quizbee, what exactly is it for?

You’re an honor student, sure. In the dean’s list and in the running for cum laude, but you’ve said it yourself that you’re no Hyunjin and in verbatim, anyone who takes education as seriously as he does needs a hug and an emotional support system. Do you see yourself doing all the extra credits when you already have the highest average on all of them?

Did you hug him?

Jungkook scoffs to where his mind is running, a little dejected as he ponders on it even more as he stands next to his dad’s desk, nodding curtly at the students who bid him goodbye.

He’s extra quick to stepping up when it’s you who passes him, hands on his pocket as he asks under his breath.

“We cool?”

He tries to search for a hint of distaste in your face and he’s almost disappointed to find none, a genuine small smile on as you reply and come out the door without so much of a look back at him.

“‘Course we are, Mr. Jeon.”

... \ ( ♡ ) / ...

“What’s up with you?”

Jungkook utters the moment the door of your apartment swings open. It was straight to the point, really. No buttering up to you and no unnecessary bullshit before he drops the question that’s been plaguing his mind the whole day.

You had only been brushing your teeth when you hear a series of crisp and heavy knocks that led you to think that your neighbor Hoseok next-door has finally screwed up the pooch completely, and accidentally set his kitchen on fire with the cookie batter he’s been doing a series of trial and error with for a dozen times already.

Oh.

It’s only Jungkook, then.

He doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned being out in the hallway that gave everyone an opportunity to see him. Frankly, everyone who’s set foot to the president’s office, which is everyone, could tell who he is simply by looking at the few hundred picture frames Mr. Jeon has on his desk.

He’s not concerned and he doesn’t have the gall to be concerned either, because as much as he knows that although underneath his dad’s section, the housing section of the college wasn’t under his close supervision. Besides that, he finds that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with this.

Jungkook only looks up to you for a few seconds, wide-eyed with your toothbrush in your mouth, and decides to let himself in.

This being yours and Jungkook’s interactions for the past eight weeks. There’s not a label to it, but it goes along the lines of the occasional fuck, and then the ranting about each other’s days, and binge-watching that either ends up as hook-up, or trying to pick up new hobbies the other’s just suggested, or whatever’s playing is actually playing and the two of you just watch, your head laid on his lap and his hand brushing your hair.

Yeah, that one. Whatever that’s called — that’s what you and Jungkook are.

It’s been painfully obvious to your tight knit of friends, namely only being Jimin and Hoseok, that those things practically yielded to the commitment of him being something that starts with boy and ends with a friend, no spaces in between and all in one word.

You blink away your internal monologue, remembering that you need to spit before replying to his question that he’s asked you point-blank two seconds ago.

“You saw me in class today.”

That one couldn’t be anymore obvious and he huffs at that, once again going on a grumpy fit of frustration while he lies on your bed upright, arms across his chest. “Off,” you swat his leg immediately, making him haphazardly throw away his shoes if he want to keep being frustrated with you.

That’s the exact bit though. Regardless if you forced him to take off his shoes while he’s on your bed, he’d be frustrated at you regardless. He doesn’t know why he’s frustrated with you in the first place and that just makes him stressed even more.

The realization hits him that Jungkook doesn’t really know why he’s so pressed about you, his tone considerably softening because now he feels a little smaller under your curious gaze.

“Yeah, yeah. I clearly know that. I, uh, I meant outside of class.”

Normally, he’d find your avoidance of things actually endearing because you seemed to worm your way out of any situation you just deem to be unrelated to you — but for the first time, he doesn’t know if you’re avoiding his question. If this was still your passive-aggressiveness or genuineness showing its head right now.

“You’re starting to sound like a professor, y’know,” you note with intrigue, relishing to how Jungkook lying on your bed and looking at you under such intensity seems normal to you at this point and at this moment. “A professor hanging out with his student outside of class, in her dorm, and on a weekday.”

The comment you add was supposed to be humorous but you find it rather odd now having said it out loud, the realization dawning on you that whatever this is, is just too ambiguous and vague that you’d never wanted something so specific in your lifetime.

“Just trying to appease dad. Do I look like I have the patience to teach a class, better yet show up?”

That’d be the actual bane of him.

Don’t get him wrong, professors must be so cool and patient with their workload and stuff, but holy fucking shit does he hate it for himself. He means no disrespect to his dad but he honestly can’t see himself doing what he does, even for a fraction of his life willingly.

You sort of envy him for the upbringing he has and the wholesome and healthy relationship he has with his family that you wouldn’t mind telling people all about. Not everyone expects Jungkook to be as family-oriented as he looks, and the little nugget of information he made you privy too puts a gentle smile of your face.

“You do have the patience to ask me if I’m okay though.”

It’s a question between reeling yourself in and putting yourself out there more, plopping to sit on the edge of your bed as you try to put lotion on your legs all the way down to your heel.

Jungkook finds it normal to see you putting lotion on and zit cream on your face, and he doesn’t question it for one second.

That doesn’t automatically mean that he’s gonna address it though.

“Well, baby, are y’okay?” he crawls the short distance from you, putting half of his body weight as he slings himself on your shoulders from behind, lips brushing against your ear as he pulls you tighter.

“Mhmmm.”

He finds it that as much as he pulls you tighter, you grow a bit more distant. You’re there with him but your mind isn’t, perhaps lost on the lotion that only adds into your scent that seems engraved in his mind nowadays.

Jungkook does as much as to tug a sleeve of your shirt to expose the slightest bit of your shoulder blades, pressing wet gentle kisses that leaves you, surprisingly, unfazed.

You make no move nor action, just continuing on rubbing your arms with your hands and him taking the momentary act of silence to look around your room, seeing your textbooks piled neatly on your desk with your lamp on.

“Long night?”

He asks and not a second later do you hum in confirmation, making him roll his eyes and his stomach churn, but it probably just has something to do with a heartburn that’s beginning to form because the ache’s spreading to his chest.

It’s got to be heartburn, right?

“Alright. Didn’t have to answer me too quick just so you can kick me out.”

He mutters underneath his breath a little hurt, taking your responses as his cue to leave. His flair for what you think is the dramatics makes you roll your eyes and slap his thigh, following him out on the way to the door.

Jungkook’s fazed because he doesn’t exactly know the essential purpose plus his expected outcome of this five-minute visit. He doesn’t have a clue, but dropping to your apartment unannounced and seeing you for just even five minutes, even if he doesn’t know why, doesn’t seem wrong.

What is wrong, is that you’d normally kiss him goodbye.

This time, you don’t.

... \ ( ♡ ) / ...

Jungkook’s gut tells him to come early to class, even telling his dad that he’d come down there by himself so he could scope out his class like the great son that he is, and he does exactly that.

Some of the early-birds are pleasantly surprised to see him there, early and alone without Dr. Jeon, sitting on his usual chair.

This setting’s odd for him and as much as he wants to leave, he doesn’t feel the need to. He doesn’t really care if he’s intimidating the students because after all, that’s not the reason why he’s here. In fact, he’s aware that he seems to be quite the talk of the campus, the verdict being half and half if he was as fun, easygoing, yet stern like his father — or if he’s something else entirely. Either way, none of them could catch on to the fact besides you that he’s not here out of passion, but rather obligation.

There’s less than thirty students in the room but Jungkook could just feel it at the back of his spine that you’re gonna walk through the door soon enough. You’ve got to be, right? Jungkook stands by himself near the door, practically barricading the door with how he’s built.

This familiar guy he can’t put a name to is walking through the door carelessly, eyes completely fixed on his phone that his shoulder’s barreling into Jungkook’s.

“Oh hey dude, what’s up?”

The guy in question barely even looks up for a second, a meek smile on his face before turning to his phone again and just staying there by the door, a character paused to block it all for a fucking text as what it seems.

Jungkook barely needs a second to look at him eye to eye; tall, pale, long blonde hair, and smooth pronounced features.

Hwang Hyunjin.

He’s only seen him in passing but never on this scale, his first instinct being straightening his back. They’re roughly the same height, Jungkook shoving his observation to the back of his head that Hyunjin’s only a millimeter higher than him.

He’s probably the only one applying pressure to this scenario, thick brows furrowing as he almost grimaces looking at the younger guy in front of him.

“Are you in this class?”

What?

Hyunjin’s confused to say the least, not only because this random dude he bumped into is suddenly making conversation with him, but because someone’s actually questioning about his presence here.

He lowers his phone, putting a pause to his heated exchange of which installment of this series they’re watching this, all in the favor for staring at this guy who’s cowling at him.

“... Yes?”

His answer even sounds unsure, Jungkook’s questioning raise of his brows prompting him to explain.

Hyunjin doesn’t even know why he feels compelled to explain but he does it nonetheless. “They say I could sit in this class. Some topics would show up in the quizbee next week.”

That’s just grand.

Before Jungkook can simmer in his irritation even more, his dad slips through the door by holding his shoulders in place, looking between the two of them briefly before walking to his desk.

“Kook? Thought you’d open up the lesson without me.”

Blondie tilts his gaze, eyes narrowing as he tries to scan a Kook in his brain’s directory and why it sounds so fond coming from Dr. Jeon.

“Mmmm, sorry dad.”

Jungkook emphasizes a little more than needed, turning to him and sending him a half-hearted grin while unbeknownst to him, Hyunjin pales and is having a breakdown and a half.

Did he really just accidentally bump into the college president’s son? Is he gonna be expelled now?

Jungkook’s oblivious to the inner turmoil that’s unfolding in the guy in front of him, crossing his arms before looking at his dad once more.

“Is he allowed here?”

He questions sharply like a toddler who’s just seen an inconspicuous man by the swing, his cheeks rounding with his lips pursed.

His dad’s really confused because this is the most intrigue he’s seen Jungkook inhibit for the whole eight weeks.

Of course his dad knows; he’s more than aware that his son has literally no interest in being a professor, and honestly speaking, he’s not even mad at that. He’a outsmarted him on this one and just went along with the lengths of hi son trying to impress him, falling into this eight-week routine of them bonding together with little practice teaching, yet Jungkook still wonders where he got his wit from.

He looks back and forth between Jungkook and Hyunjin, perplexed because he’s pretty sure that the two of them don’t know each other and that doesn’t explain the tension lingering.

“Hyunjin? Yeah. President’s lister, right?”

Hyunjin grins and chuckles at that, bowing slightly as he just passes Jungkook that appalls the latter.

“You put me there, sir.”

Jungkook mocks him under his breath, not going unnoticed by his dad who just chuckles all the same. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” he lies right out of his teeth, sitting on his chair and spreading his legs until his dad nudges him to be atleast decent because he wants the students to focus on his presentation and not his son’s crotch.

He feels cursed having such clear vision because even when the lights are dim, Jungkook still finds his gaze looking for you out of habit. Cursed for seeing Hyunjin sit on the other side of you and suddenly he wishes that this would be the time that Jimin interferes.

He’s unsure if you’re making him confused or he’s confusing himself, but the way his head feels like splitting just by thinking about you and what he could’ve done wrong tells him that he should be definite.

“Would you mind wrapping up the lesson, Mr. Jeon?” his dad asks outloud and for any other context, they’d share identical smiles on how they should be professional towards each other (as suggested by his dad) during class.

“Not at all, Dr. Jeon.”

God, he’s so oblivious to see how he has everyone gravitating towards him that it’s actually endearing. You sitting all the way up gives you a front-row seat to see how everyone sits up a little straighter and how heads follow his every move.

Jungkook has everyone wrapped around his finger and he doesn’t even know — you’re everyone; he can’t know.

He steps up to the plate and the natural dominance and hold he has on everyone broke through, a lesson about statistics never being this intense and a large majority of the people would really stay for another hour and a half if it’s Jungkook who’s teaching.

He’s so absorbed into summarizing as a way of destressing that he ended up giving perhaps one of the best makeshift lectures ever, his dad positively awed and ending up even more confused.

Jungkook’s coming down from his lecture high, nervously fiddling with his fingers as his dad gives the final reminders. What doesn’t help is also you coming out of the classroom with Hyunjin in tow, wearing your cardigan, and that’s what considerably sets him off.

Suddenly, he now decides that your cardigan is the ugliest and most disgusting piece of clothing he’s ever seen in his life. It’s the furthest thing from adorable, and the nearest thing into being set on fire.

You still smell sweet and homey when you’re nearing him, and the realization that your cardigan’s tainted by the smell of you and soon enough, Hyunjin will — it hits Jungkook too hard that he mutters under his breath, his jaw lax from being clenched.

“If you have a problem with me, just tell me about it.”

He can’t find the will in himself to care whether or not Hyunjin’s gone on without you and is waiting for you by the corridor, or that his dad’s arranging his shelf and could be possibly listening.

“I don’t,” your face reflects the same thing as your answer, devoid of any uncertainty that you have a problem with him.

“You don’t?” he prods further even if he knows that asking the second time wouldn’t even help.

“I don’t. Do you?”

There’s no malice in your tone. It’s the same gentleness laced with mischief underneath, head tilting in question.

That’s when he narrows his eyes at you, always knowing how to play your cards right without him knowing.

“With you or with myself?”

You shrug carelessly, an automatic giggle tumbling out of your lips that it bothers you too because you shouldn’t be okay with pulling yourself away from Jungkook, and the fact that it could be because you made peace long enough that the two of you will never be more is something to blame.

“You tell me, Mr. Jeon.”

He’s never hated his family name more and the formality preceding it than now. In reality, he’s just a year older than most of you in this class and the last time he’s checked, no one calls their senior, despite being from another university, like that.

Everyone assumed that he should be called with respect because after all, they’re probably looking at the future of this institution anyways.

Stable breaths aren’t enough and Jungkook seems to despise the way your slightest change towards him affects him the most, and his pride over not reaching out to your first has long been gone since.

He figures that this is just your way of detaching from him because his eight weeks are almost up, and that he should be totally fine with it because after all it’s only been eight weeks.

He can’t see another eight weeks of you pulling out from him, and even worse, eight weeks without you.

“We’re not cool.”

Jungkook says as soon as you open your door, not waiting for you to gesture him to come in. In any other situation, he’d find you adorable having traded your contacts for glasses, and absolutely sexy if his blood’s rushing elsewhere besides his cheeks. There’s no introduction of asking about your day nor catching you off-guard with a kiss either.

It’s him going straight to your bed and lying upright, looking at you somberly that you feel sorry you’ve been establishing this change in the first place.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

His question is a complete 180 from his voice that’s been gravelly since morning, sincerity underneath the rough edges.

You shake your head no, a signal that there’s absolutely nothing wrong and you don’t have anything to tell him about.

“Are you sure?”

He looks at you with wide reassuring eyes just begging for anything, atleast something, the only time that he wishes there’s something wrong going on so he could chalk it up to that instead of facing this shift with you blindly and aimlessly.

You’re wordlessly climbing up on bed too, making him automatically scoot over to his side of your bed when he stays overnight, instant warmth welcoming you just by having your shoulders touch with him. It’s a head nod of yes, I’m sure that there’s nothing wrong with your eyes closed.

Being beside him is the equivalent of all the comfortable nights you’ve slept. Jungkook’s the ultimate compilation and the most expensive goodie box of warm hugs and warm tea that tasted familiar instead of incredibly earthy. He’s white noise and eight-hour loops of rainfall against your windows and humidifier-goodness of sleep that you take indulgence and warmth in.

Jungkook’s in another realm of thought when he almost snaps at you because your roles have been reversed and it’s him who’s doting over you.

“Are you usually this non-committal?”

You’re always warm with a cherry on top when you talk to Jungkook, and just only two days of you giving him timid replies has him asking you if you’re the opposite of the adjective that people most commonly attached to you.

“I think we both know best that I’m loyal.”

You are.

It’s a word that’s almost always attached to your name. You’ve never really sustained a large group of close friends, and it wasn’t needed, but Jungkook finds it funny that you’re oblivious to how people look at you.

He’s well-acquainted with what goes around, and the only things that go around about you was that you’ve touched them in one way or another. You’re the most loyal friend Jimin has because you’ve stuck with him even if he’s spilled his guts on your bathroom floor, missing the mark of your toilet bowl. You gave up your bed for him and tucked him in even if he was still at risk of throwing up because he just couldn’t stop, and made him breakfast the next morning. You’ve only known each other for three days.

Hoseok considers you his most loyal neighbor slash friend ever, because you let him have a go at your pantry even if you knew at the back of your head that he’d screw up something in his recipe one way or another. Even started buying extra ingredients whenever he needs them, and him purposefully forgetting that he has brown sugar at the back of his cabinet.

You are loyal, and that’s what he sometimes hates about you too because it makes you more vulnerable. A little too easy to trample on. A little too easy to have you cheering for someone from the bleachers when they’re still on the bench.

Jungkook wonders if you’re loyal to him too, and if you were (which he’s sure of, and there’s no denying it), would you still be even if he feels like the two of you are growing apart?

“Then why do I feel that-“

He sighs in exasperation, head turning to face you and he’s greeted with your finger outstretched, digging in to where his dimple would appear.

He could look at you properly this time because he’s not in a rush asking if you’re okay. Eyes glazed looking up at him underneath your glasses, scrunched nose with the cutest smile and all that he wants this to never stop.

“Hey.”

You whisper in a rush all of a sudden, a toothy grin fading steadily when your thumb comes to rest on his cheek, whole hand soon pressed to it whole that Jungkook finds himself leaning.

“I’m in love with you.”

It comes out of you fluidly; no baited breath and no hesitation at all. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, actually. Not once did you think that you’d ever tell Jungkook you love him in this way, or ever for that matter, but it’s something that materialized out of thin air.

It’s as quick as a passing thought and as stable as a core memory, reiterating what is only a truth instead of a confession.

There’s no sadness in your gaze and no distrust either, but the smile that stretches on your cheeks doesn’t look as giddy.

He’s a little cross-eyed with how close you are, but Jungkook audibly whimpers when you pull away suddenly and out of the bed altogether, picking up your laptop from your table.

You don’t know what you’re doing either, but you could only hope that it looks as natural as it seemed, wanting him to know that your sudden realization that you need to make a twenty-page essay in size 12 font has nothing to do with your profession of love.

“But I know I shouldn’t, and besides, it’s a conflict of interest. Anyway, let’s just end this here now and-...”

“Are you insane?”

Jungkook exclaims in punctuation marks and of deep urgency, looking at you as if you suggested the most ridiculous thing ever after what you’ve just said, which you exactly did.

“Just continue loving me!”

He says it as the most obvious thing ever, his chest feeling an odd sense of relief after having blown up with emotion. He’s a sponge at this point in whatever relationship the two of you have. He’ll take what you can give, but this was something Jungkook would run to hell and back for to not take from you.

“You didn’t even ask if I loved you back! And that’s my honest answer, not something that would appease you when you return the question.”

He looks a little softer around the edges at the moment — arms flailing around and hair bouncing as he keeps moving his head.

His cheeks are puffed out when he’s angry and his lips are red from trying to get his point across strongly, stammering with what more he could think of in his head.

“It’s not a conflict of interest either! I only shadowed my dad to please him, but we both know that I don’t want to become a professor like him. You just think that it is because you’re up on the seats and I’m down on the podium!” he’s heated and his cheeks are warm and there’s no way it has something to do with your airconditioning.

“It’s a stint. It was a literal eight-week stint for free, because he’s the president for god’s sake — that’s it! I go back to my university in like what, a week? And they don’t even need me passing requirements, because they already know, again, that I’m the son of a university president! Honestly, it’d be stupid of them to.”

Jungkook feels like he’s gonna pass out with how overwhelmed he is. Too overwhelmed to the point that he doesn’t see you smiling out of the corner of his eye, hand rubbing down the length of his nape to his back.

It’s only then that you realize that he’s rambling and his voice is wavering, concern dripping down from you instead of amused laughter.

“Y/N, please, it’s convenient — more than convenient. I graduate this year, and you next year. The last thing I’d do in my life is grade papers. You know what I want to be? I wanna be-...”

Jungkook’s cut off with a tender kiss on the corner of his mouth that’s grounded him, blinking twice to look at you.

He should really kiss you right now.

“You could’ve condensed that into a single simple sentence,” you snort when you pull away from Jungkook’s hold, sending him a look of faux disappointment to which he whines. “It’s called I love you too, Jungkook.”

He squints at your teasing but reasons just as quick, sneaking in his head underneath your shirt to escape from your teasing and importantly, press a gentle kiss to your chest, then your boobs, and settling to lie down on your stomach as he’s content.

“I was panicked!”

Jungkook’s certain that he loves you, laughing to himself when he heard heavy knocks against your bedroom wall that just conveniently happens to be adjacent to Hoseok’s.

“Fucking finally! I was about to flirt with either of you just so you could cut to the chase and admit it to each other!”

Your laugh is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, coming out from hiding underneath your shirt and just laying on top of your clothed tummy, hand looking for yours to hold on to.

You’ve been sleepy the entire time, he’s figured. You having switched to your glasses meant you’ve already had your night shower, and only had three hours maximum before succumbing to your bed. You’ve had a long day clearly, and it’s when you’re starting to succumb into sleep right exactly where you are that Jungkook suddenly remembers.

“You know what I want to be? I wanna be-…”

“With you.”

“Mhmm?” you all but mumble, feeling him adjust your head on the pillow while he lays on his, literal weight being lifted off from you.

Jungkook feels even more endeared if that’s any more possible, the tiniest boop to your nose and the softest kiss on your forehead.

“I wanna be with you.”

#fEEDBACK PLS AND THANK U :D #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook drabble #jungkook drabbles #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fic rec #jungkook fic recs #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook fluff imagine

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arvinsescape · 3 years

Text

Behind his back.

A/N: Darker fic for me to write but i’d had this idea for a while and i really hope you enjoy, please do read at your own risk as i have given warnings!

Summary: Y/N goes behind Tom’s back and gets herself into a terrible situation.

Warnings: Swearing, death, gore, violence, general mob stuff, knife use, gun mentions and smut (oral fem r), unprotected sex (please practise safe sex) Minors do not engage.

This is a darker one shot so please only engage if you feel comfortable, i have put all the warnings in.

W/C: 6.6K

You knew you shouldn’t be here, you knew how dangerous it was, Tom had specifically asked you to sit this one out but you didn’t listen. You knew coming here could be the end of it all for you, you could easily lose your life tonight but you were optimistic, confident in your abilities. You wondered briefly if Tom would kill you himself if he found out you’d deliberately disobeyed him.

You were a card Tom kept close to his chest, only bringing you in when he felt it was absolutely necessary. Most people assumed you were just an ordinary woman, only a few of Tom’s close friends knew who you were, most of his men didn’t even know you existed. He only ever met you at your house and it was always at some ungodly hour, making the sneaking in and out easier.

You remember when you first started working for Tom, you were initially sent to gain information from him by your previous employer. He caught onto your act after a while and found himself so impressed by your ability that he hired you to extract information for him.

“I should get going.” You said as you removed yourself from Tom’s lap, you’d been flirting all night, of course this was part of your plan. You’d been touchy feely for a good hour by this point, making it easier to take the document you needed from his pocket and discreetly slip it into your bra.

“But I was having so much fun darling.” He smirked, if this had of been any other night, you’d have let him take you home. He was by far the most attractive man you’d ever had to extract information from.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” You flirted back and made your way to the back exit of the club, hoping to slip into the night and deliver the piece of paper that was still wedged into your bra.

You made it outside in the alleyway between the club and the building next door when you felt an arm wrap around your waist. You almost screamed but remembered the last thing you needed to do was draw attention to yourself, especially when Tom owned this club, you couldn’t have him finding out what you’d done, it’d blow everything.

“Not so fast darling.” You relaxed slightly when you heard his voice, melting into his hold only slightly.

“I told you I was tired and I’m heading home.” You said innocently and he chuckled before turning you around and pinning you to the wall, arms either side of your head and you felt your breath hitch at the closeness. You knew you could have given him a good kick between the legs and bolted but you didn’t want to. You’d heard he was dangerous yet you doubted he’d hurt you.

“I think you have something of mine.” He said as he peppered kisses along your throat and you shivered in his hold.

“I don’t think so.” You said again and he chuckled before moving his hands to your waist, your hands finding his hair as he continued to kiss along your neck, hands sliding up your sides and you found yourself panting as you grew aroused.

“Tom.” You said as he sucked on your neck, leaving a mark. He hummed as his hands slipped further up your sides, cupping your breast with one hand.

“You gonna hand it over? Or am I gonna have to take it?” He said as he brought his face back to yours, lips inches from your own. “You’re good, had me fooled. If only Haz hadn’t have asked to see the paper, you’d have gotten away with stealing it.” You laughed slightly as you realised you may as well drop the innocent act.

“Dam Harrison then.” You said and he threw his head back as he laughed.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game princess. How do you know I’m not going to kill you for stealing from me, I’ve killed people for less you know?” He said and although you should have been intimidated you weren’t, you were so wrapped up in his scent and just him.

“If you were going to kill me, I assume you would have done by now.” You said confidently, your lips where still inches apart and you were fighting everything in you not to close the distance. You felt yourself become disappointed as he moved away from you and held his hand out.

“True. I still want it back though.”

“How do you know I still have it on me?” You tried.

“I don’t for certain but I assume you do. Hand it over and I’ll give you something in return.” He said and you found yourself hoping that meant an absolute railing in this alleyway. You pondered over the idea before you sighed.

“I can’t. The people I work for won’t be happy, they’ll kill me. So I suppose I have to make a choice, let you kill me or them, either way I’m fucked.” You said, the atmosphere shifting from playful to serious as he furrowed his brows as if deep in thought.

“I’m not going to kill you but I am going to take my documents back.” He said after a while and you gasped slightly as he pinned you back to the wall, hand reaching between your breasts as he pulled the paper from your bra. You moved to snatch the paper back from him, ready to hit him and run but he was much faster than you.

“You know who I am don’t you?” He asked and you nodded your head. “I can make the people you work for disappear, make sure you’re safe, I just want one thing in return.” He spoke again.

“You don’t even know who I work for.” You said.

“True, I don’t but it doesn’t really matter. Tell me who they are and I’ll make them go away.” He said and it sounded as if he was trying to reassure you.

“What do you want from me?” You spoke after a moment.

“I want you to work for me.”

That was that, he indeed did get rid of the mobster you previously worked for, you still don’t know what he did and ultimately didn’t care. Tom was a much less demanding employer and always made sure you were safe, he didn’t leave you to fend for yourself, ever. You were yet to see where he lived, he didn’t want anyone to accidently see you and make any connection, he wouldn’t endanger you like that.

You were head over heels for him, completely in love, nothing ever happened between the two of you. There had been a couple of occasions where you’d thought he was so protective over you because he liked you back but after months of him not making a move and last weeks words, you realised that you were just a good business investment and that’s why you were so well protected.

You knew you were here tonight because you were in love with him, because you wanted to prove yourself to him, make him see you were more capable than he gave you credit. You weren’t just some girl who was good at flirting and stealing. James Kane was a dangerous man, he didn’t care if you were male or female, if he wanted you out of the way, you were dead. There were rumours he’d killed his ex-wife so she wouldn’t get any of his money in the divorce.

He’d become a thorn in Tom’s side and Tom was growing desperate to get him off the board, that had sparked the argument you’d had last week.

“Tom, I can do it!” You practically begged him. “I know where he’s going to be, it’ll be easy. He wouldn’t suspect a thing, he’s too arrogant to believe a woman could outsmart him.”

“Y/N.” Tom sighed as he stood from your couch. “No. I will not have you in the same vicinity as him, I can’t go with you, he knows who I am.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, he wasn’t used to people arguing his authority.

“Send me in with someone else.” You pleaded.

“No.” He said. “You’re not going, end of.�� He snapped.

“You can’t tell me what to do.” You said and he almost pinned you to the spot with his stare, you’d annoyed him.

“I pay you to do what you do remember.” He snapped. “You’re not going, it’s too dangerous.” He said.

“So what? Why do you care so much?” You almost screamed in frustration.

“Because I-“ He cut himself off.

“Because what Tom?” You shouted and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought for a moment.

“Because you are a very valuable asset that I can’t afford to lose.” He said and your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. You really were just a good business deal. “You’re not going and that’s final, I’ll find another way to deal with him.” He didn’t give you chance to respond as he slammed the door to your home shut, leaving you crying.

You hadn’t spoken to him since, you were angry at him, you wanted to get this information from James and hand it to him personally and gloat. You realised it was probably stupid to think this way, you wanted him to love you back so badly that you were here tonight, putting your life in danger. You were currently seated on James lap as you flirted, your phone had now been buzzing in your bag for ten minutes.

“You should probably get that.” James spoke into your ear and you had to fight the urge to vomit as his hand trailed up your thigh, nothing like the night you’d flirted with Tom, you hadn’t been acting then.

“That would be so rude of me though.” You said as you leant your head back onto his shoulder, you needed to fish around for the documents soon and you knew it but you had to play carefully, you were on your own, no back up.

“I don’t mind.” He said as he licked a stripe up your neck and you shivered but not in a good way, thankfully he thought it was. You turned and kissed his cheek as you grabbed your phone from your bag, James’s arms looped around your waist.

You furrowed your brows as you checked your screen.

Tom: 40 missed calls.

Tom: 13 new messages.

“Who’s Tom? Boyfriend?” He said and you put your phone back into your bag after switching it off.

“My brother.” You lied, hoping he’d drop it.

“Seems pretty clingy.”

“He probably wants a lift home from his night out.” You spoke and James kissed your shoulder. “I’m just gonna go to the toilet, I’ll be back in a minute.” You said as you kissed his cheek once more.

You removed yourself from his lap and made your way into the bathroom, splashing water over your face as you sighed and looked into the mirror.

“Come on Y/N, you can do this. You don’t need his protection for everything.” You pep talked yourself, your nerves were getting the better of you. You were also panicking now because Tom was trying to get hold of you and you never ignored his calls, he was gonna be even more pissed at you. You made your way into a stall and as you locked the cubicle you heard someone else enter the bathroom, assuming it was a woman here to do her makeup.

You made your way out of the cubicle and your blood ran cold as you saw James leant against the sinks, arms folded as he pierced you with his gaze, the piece of paper you wanted to get hold of was held in one of his hands. He knew and you were fucked.

“I was gonna give you more time, but I assume you lost your nerve. He’s not sent you with anyone tonight has he?” He spoke and you tried to compose yourself, play innocent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said and he shot you a glare so foul you knew you were done for.

“Don’t play dumb with me you stupid bitch.” He spat and you started weighing up your options in your head, you had to get away. “You honestly think I don’t know who you are. Very cute pet he has.” He spoke again, you needed to keep him talking whilst you weighed up your escape.

“How did you find out?” You went with.

“Tom put his trust in the wrong man. Jacob isn’t as trustworthy as you think, worked for me for years. He told me all about you and how precious you are. He doesn’t know you’re here tonight does he?” He spoke so honestly and you knew in that moment that his intention was to kill you, he didn’t need to hold back because in his mind you were a dead woman walking. Your blood pumping was pounding in your ears as he spoke.

“Tom wouldn’t be so stupid as to send you to me, no. You’ve come here off your own back.” He deduced. “Shame it’ll be the last decision you ever make.”

You bolted towards the door and James caught you, arms around your waist and you panicked, shoving your heel into his foot, he screamed in pain as he let go of you and you took the opportunity to kick him between his legs before bolting out of the bathroom.

You knew you couldn’t go to the entrance of the club, too many of James’ men were around so you bolted out of the fire escape and into the alleyway. You hastily took your heels off and threw them so you could run faster, you made your way into a different alley nearby, the area was quiet, no people around. You fished around in your bag for your phone and as you went to switch it on, you felt a body collide with your own.

“You fucking bitch.” James spat as he pinned you to the ground, your phone went flying and you watched with disbelief as it went down a drain, this was it, you were going to die and all you could think about was how you should have listened to Tom. “He’s not worth dying for you know.” James spat again and you felt the tears slip from your eyes. “Don’t cry, I’ll make it quick.” He said as he wiped at your tears and you felt around you for something, anything you could use. Your heart rate sped up as your hand gripped a rock and you used all your force to hit him in the temple with it.

He groaned as the force knocked him onto his side, you were quick to stand as you ran out of the alley and just as you were about to reach the opening a hand gripped your ankle and pulled you onto your front and you cried out in pain. You felt the blood trickle from your head as it collided with the concrete. He turned you over and you fought against him as he straddled you.

“You really are a feisty thing, I can see why Tom likes you. Bet you’re a good fuck, that’s why he keeps you around.” You studied his face and saw his head was split where you’d hit him with the rock and given his position over you some trickled down the side of his face and off his chin, onto your own face. Tears were streaming down your face as he spoke.

“Wait. He’s not fucked you has he. Fucking coward. Has he not told you he’s in love with you?” James taunted making your heart hurt at the thought of Tom and how you were probably never going to see him again. He laughed as he realised he was right. “I want you to beg for him, I want you to beg for him to save you.”

“Fuck you.” You said as you spat at him, he lifted a hand to wipe it away and you took the opportunity to punch him in the gut as you tried to roll him off you but it was no use, he was much stronger and heavier than you.

“You silly little cunt. I was gonna make it quick but now I think I’ll savour it, then I can tell Tom how he wasn’t fast enough, how he couldn’t save you. It’ll kill him to know he couldn’t save you. You’re gonna beg for him and the last thing you’ll ever remember is how much you begged for him to save you and he couldn’t.” He said as he got a knife out of his pocket, your eyes widening as he brought it to your face.

“Such a pretty face, it’ll be a real shame that he won’t recognise it when I’m done with you.” He said as he used the blade to draw a cut into your cheek, it wasn’t too deep but it was enough to draw a lot of blood, you screamed in pain as you felt it trickle down and into your hair. “That’s right scream for him, scream as loud as you can. Maybe he’ll hear you and come running. Might just be able to watch me take your life. Maybe I’ll carve out your heart and send it to him, poetic don’t you think.”

Tears streamed down your face and you felt yourself grow determined, you had to get back to Tom, you had to save yourself, you couldn’t let him win. You tuned him out as he spoke and felt around as you felt for the brick, you used it again, this time with a renewed force and you knocked him clean off you, you got up quicker than last time but it seemed James was just as quick as he grabbed your arm and spun you around.

Your hand went for his hand that held the knife and you used all your force to turn it towards him all as he went to stab you and you watched his eyes widen as he felt the knife plummet into his own body. You watched in shock as he fell to the ground, hands went from clutching his wound to reaching out for you, smearing blood on your legs and arms as he fell all as you stood there in shock.

Your knees collapsed after a while and you fell to the ground, fighting the urge to vomit, you must have looked a mess, blood, and dirt all over your exposed skin. You were no longer sure if the red of your dress was blood or the original colour. You’d never killed anyone before and although he deserved it and it was you or him, you still felt sick. You pulled your knees to your chest as you stared at James’s lifeless body.

You heard in the background as vehicles approached and you couldn’t find it in you to move and hide properly. You heard as gunshots were fired into the night sky and still couldn’t move. You jumped as a hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality and the tears came again as you screamed, turning to shove the person who’d touched you.

“Christ, Y/N. Fuck, calm down, it’s me, it’s me.” You heard an all too familiar voice. You opened your eyes and were met with the piercing blue of Harrison’s. “It’s okay, it’s me.” He said and you cried harder out of relief. “Tom! Mate! She’s here.” Haz suddenly shouted and you heard rushed steps approach before they stopped completely.

“Fuck. Is that-“ Tom cut himself off as he took you in and his heart dropped. You were filthy, cuts and scars everywhere. He practically shoved Harrison out of the way as he dropped to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands. “Princess, are you okay? Is that your blood?” He asked as he tried to look for any obvious and huge injuries. His voice was softer than anyone had ever heard it as he spoke to you.

“Some of it.” You croaked out and his heart broke. “Tom, he was gonna kill me, I didn’t have a choice, I didn’t mean to. He wanted me to beg for you to save me, said he’d carve my heart out and give it to you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill him.” You rambled as he took you into his arms, nodding at his men who disappeared, leaving Harrison as he watched the interaction, it was like no one else was there, Tom was fixated on you.

“Baby,” he couldn’t stop the name rolling off his tongue, “it’s okay. He’s never gonna hurt you again. No one is, you’re safe, I’ve got you.” He said as he stroked through your hair, grimacing at the blood in it. This shouldn’t have happened to you. Harrison cleared his throat, reminding his boss that they needed to move, they couldn’t stay here, the gunfire would have attracted attention. Tom nodded as Harrison moved to start the car.

“We need to go. I’m gonna take you home.” He said and your hands suddenly grasped his shirt as you clung to him for dear life.

“I don’t wanna go home Tom. I wanna stay with you.” You begged and you didn’t care how pathetic it sounded, you needed him. He stroked your hair again as he kissed the top of your head.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He said again. “I promise I’ll stay with you, okay? We need to go though, I’m gonna take you to mine, you’ll be safe there, I’ll keep you safe.” He promised as he stood, you in his arms still as you leant all your weight on him, you grew more tired as he picked you up bridal style and carried you to his car.

“Haz, get someone to get rid of that quick.” He said, tone much more assertive than the one he’d used with you. He was referring to the body and you knew it but appreciated him not saying it. He carefully placed you into the black SUV as he told his man to drive, he didn’t let go of you the whole way to his.

Once you arrived at his he carried you into his mansion, if you weren’t so tired and still trying to process what had happened you might have been in awe of it. He easily carried you upstairs and into his bedroom, heading straight for the bathroom. Neither of you spoke as he undressed you, he was careful, every touch feather light like he was afraid he’d hurt you. He set the shower going as he got it to a good temperature.

“Okay, you should get in.” He spoke quietly and you nodded, before stepping into the shower and letting the warmth envelope you. You watched as the blood and dirt disappeared down the plug hole, washing away the evidence of what had happened tonight.

“Tom?” You found yourself calling and his head popped round the shower screen, his brows furrowed as he looked at you, he wasn’t looking anywhere except your face.

“Yeah?” He spoke softly and you cried again, his face softening.

“I’m sorry.” You said and he sighed before disappearing, you panicked that he was going to leave you until he reappeared, stepping into the shower with you, both of you naked as he held you in his arms. After a while he moved away from you, grabbing the shampoo as he lathered your hair, making sure to get all the blood and dirt out of it.

He took the sponge and cleaned you up, you winced as soap went into your little cuts, your legs and feet littered with them, he apologised every time you winced and you wondered what had happened to the big scary mob boss you were so familiar with. He was being so gentle and careful as he cleaned you up.

Once he was satisfied you were clean, he made short work of his own shower before getting out and wrapping a towel around his waist. He held out a hand as he helped you out of the shower, getting a towel and drying you off, wrapping your hair in the towel when he was done. He led you into the bedroom as he handed you one of his shirts and a pair of boxers as you put them on, watching as he dried himself off before pulling his own boxers on.

“Come here.” He patted the bed in front of him as you sat there, he took the towel off your head before grabbing a hair brush he had on his bedside table, you wondered if a woman had left it there and then cursed yourself at the jealousy that followed. He carefully brushed your hair and set to work platting it.

“Where’d you learn this?” You found yourself asking quietly as he fished around for a hair tie.

“I’ve watched you do it a million times, figured it couldn’t be that hard.” He said as he tied the end, dropping your hair and wrapping his arms around your shoulders before pulling your back against his chest. “What were you thinking?” He asked and you tried to find the annoyance, but it wasn’t there.

“I’m sorry.” You said again as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “I wanted you to see what I could do. I wanted to do this for you.” You admitted and he sighed before kissing your cheek.

“I never once doubted you but I always wanted, no needed, you safe. You’re precious to me and I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He spoke. “Princess you scare me.” He admitted and you spun around to look at him, feeling the anger you held towards him earlier that day rise.

“Why? Because I’m a good asset that you don’t want to lose?” You snapped and his face twisted in annoyance.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Just remember that I specifically asked you not to go tonight and you did and you almost died.” He said.

“Yeah and I didn’t did I? I saved myself if you hadn’t realised.” You spat and his face went red.

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.” He almost shouted and your anger reached a breaking point, you moved away from him and got off the bed.

“Fuck you Tom. Fuck you.” You spat as you made your way out of his bedroom, slamming the door. Seconds later you heard it open again and Tom’s footsteps followed you.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you.”

“Y/N, come back.” He demanded.

“No, I want to go home.” You shouted as you grabbed one of Tom’s many coats off the hooks and pulled it on, going to open the front door. Before you could pull it open Tom’s palm made a firm connection with the wood of the door as he held it shut.

“Please, Y/N, it’s not safe. You can’t go out on your own at this time of night.”

“I think I’ve proven myself pretty capable.” You snapped and he sighed.

“I’m trying here, will you please just stay?” It sounded like he was begging but he couldn’t have been, Tom Holland didn’t beg. Harrison had made his way downstairs now, the commotion having disturbed him.

“Are you guys okay?” He asked and you turned to look at Harrison.

“Please can you take me home?” You asked him and he nodded slightly. Tom pulled back from you and he looked almost hurt but you were too angry to care.

“Y/N/N I-“ Tom spoke and you cut him off.

“I don’t wanna hear it Tom, I’m more than just a business deal you know. I went there tonight to get information for you because I love you and I wanted you to see me as more than you do but that’s just wishful thinking.” You said and the atmosphere went silent at your confession. Harrison said he’d be in the car as you looked at Tom, you couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes.

“Until you’re ready to see me as a person Tom this isn’t gonna work.” And the roles from last week became reversed, you slammed the door before he could speak. You made your way to the car and Harrison smiled sadly as you hopped into the passenger seat.

“Y/N, he loves you, you know.” Haz spoke and you sighed.

“Then why doesn’t he just say it?”

“It’s hard for him. He doesn’t do relationships, he wants to keep you safe.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this right now.” You sighed and Haz nodded. “Jacobs dodgy by the way, he ratted me out to James.” You said and Haz looked at you in confusion as he pulled into your drive.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Make sure Tom knows I sorted two problems for him tonight, his rat and the thorn in his side.” You said, venom laced with every word.

You hadn’t seen Tom for a week and you were angry with him for a few days and now you just missed him. You wished he’d have followed you, come to your door and declared his undying love for you but no. No he hadn’t and you were angry about it and now you were just left with the sadness that he didn’t feel the same.

Your injuries had mostly healed, apart from the cut on your cheek and you wished you had a phone or at least remembered where Tom lived, but you debated it being a good thing you didn’t and couldn’t. You heard a knock at your door made your way towards it, pulling the door open, you were shocked when you saw him standing there.

“Tom?” You breathed out as you took him in, he looked like he’d not slept much, you hadn’t either, plagued with nightmares of James’ lifeless body. His hair was more untidy than usual, he was still sporting those black slacks that you loved so much, white shirt tucked in, sleeves rolled up, you were so in love with him that it hurt.

“We need to talk.” He said as he moved past you, you couldn’t decipher his mood. You shut the door as you waited for him to continue. “I am so angry with you right now.” He said and it was the last thing you expected him to say. “I’m angry that you thought it was appropriate to go behind my back and almost get yourself killed. I am beyond pissed off that you put yourself in so much danger.”

“Tom-“

“No, you’re going to let me finish. I’m angry that you think you’re just some business contract to me. You know the night you stormed out, I cried, I haven’t cried since I was a fucking kid. You scare me because you make me feel things for you that would put you in more danger than I already do. Fuck, I didn’t want you to go there at all because I am so fucking in love you that I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.” He was almost out of breath when he’d finished, he’d taken steps towards you and now had you pinned to the wall. His eyes were desperately flickering between your own.

“I love you.” He said again and it was much softer than moments prior when he’d practically screamed it at you. You couldn’t stop yourself as you jumped into his arms, giving him a second to react as he caught you, your lips smashing against his in a desperate and needy kiss.

“I love you so much Tom.” You said as you pulled back before kissing him again. “So much.” You said repeatedly, almost like a mantra, through kisses.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.” He said and you nodded as he kissed you again. You were desperate and needy for each other as you felt him grow hard, your own arousal growing. He lowered you down as you stood back on your feet, panting. “I mean it, don’t ever do that again.” He said again and you smiled as you put your hands on his face.

“I promise.” You reassured and he captured your lips in his again. You pulled away after a few minutes, your arousal having grown and you wanted him, fuck you wanted him. “Tom?”

He hummed in response as he kissed along your throat.

“I want you.” You said and he softly grazed his teeth over the skin of your neck.

“Come on then baby.” He said as he picked you up and made his way to the couch. He lowered you down as he took your shirt off, you’d forgone a bra today and he groaned at the sight of your hardened nipples. “Fuck you’ve got amazing tits.” He said and you laughed slightly. He took a nipple into his mouth and you moaned slightly. His hand slipped into your shorts and he collected your arousal on his finger.

“Shit, you’re wet.” He groaned and placed kisses down your stomach, he removed his hand and took the waistband of your shorts between his teeth, pulling them down your legs as he winked up at you. “Bet you taste amazing princess. You gonna let me have a taste?” He asked and you nodded profusely.

“Please.” You almost begged and he placed kisses up you leg before you felt his breath on your clit and your breath hitched. He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit and you moaned at the contact.

“You taste fucking amazing.” He groaned against your heat and you moaned again.

“Tom, please.” You needed him and he groaned as he encased your clit in his mouth, sucking as he listened to you moan out, like music to his ears. He wasted no time in licking and sucking your clit, twisting a hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger and he watched your face from his position between your legs.

You could feel your orgasm approach as he sucked your clit more harshly and he groaned as your hips bucked up to his face. He moved away from you and your orgasm disappeared.

“Tom!” You almost shouted and he chuckled as he smiled.

“Come here, want you to ride my face.” He said and you almost moaned at the thought. You both moved so that he had his back on the couch cushions and you were hovering over his face. “Fucking beautiful view.” He said as he moved his hands to your hips and pulled you down onto his tongue. He went back to licking and sucking at your clit as you rode his tongue, hands gripping his hair.

You felt your orgasm approach again and you cried out as one of his fingers circled your entrance before slipping inside, curling towards your g spot. You continued to ride his face as he pumped his finger in and out of your tight heat, adding another finger after a while. You almost screamed as your orgasm washed over you, it felt amazing, better than your fingers ever did.

“Fuck.” You moaned as he rode you through your high, keeping your movements steady against his tongue. “That felt amazing.” You said as you moved yourself down his body, straddling his hips, he groaned as your heat made contact with his clothed hard on.

“Open up.” He said as he placed his fingers inside your mouth so you could taste yourself. “That’s it, fuck.” He said as you sucked his fingers, cleaning them, all while keeping eye contact with him. He removed his fingers as you practically ripped his shirt open, a few buttons falling to the floor. “Careful darling. That was expensive.” He teased as your hands traced his toned body.

You moved down and made quick work of his slacks, shoes, and socks. He smiled up at you as you lowered yourself onto his hardened length, both sighing in pleasure. You gave yourself a minute to adjust, you placed your hands on his chest as you moved on him, moaning his name as you did. You picked up your pace as you fucked him, you’d waited so long for this moment.

“Fuck Tom, you feel so good.” You moaned out, which only turned Tom on more as he gripped your hips and flipped you both over. It didn’t quite go to plan as you both ended up on the floor but it didn’t matter you were both so wrapped up in each other that neither commented, he just continued to fuck into you on the floor as you both moaned.

He fucked you like his life depended on it and he went even harder when he found the right angle for your g spot which left you practically screaming for him. You felt your orgasm approach and you tightened around him.

“Shit, if you keep that up I’m gonna come.” He gasped as he placed his thumb on your clit, rubbing it in a figure eight as your orgasm approached faster, you screamed his name as your orgasm washed over you, he fucked you through it, thrusts growing sloppy as he pulled out of you, streams of his come lining your bare stomach as you came down from your high. “Fuck.” Tom panted and you giggled.

“I’ll be back.” He said as he got to his feet and made his way into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a cloth to clean you up. “Shit you look good covered in my come.” He spoke and you laughed.

You found yourself wrapped up in your bedsheets after another round, much slower and passionate than the previous. You had your head on his chest as he ran a hand through your hair.

“I love you.” He said and you smiled against the bare skin of his chest.

“I love you too so much.” You said.

“Be mine?” He asked.

“Of course, so long as this doesn’t change my job.” You smiled and you felt his arms tighten around you.

“It changes everything, it was hard enough knowing you flirted with men and they flirted back before you were my girlfriend, don’t think I’d handle it well now.” He laughed and you joined. “You’ll always be safe with me.” He said. “I know what almost happened last week but I’d never let anything like that happen again but you have to promise me you won’t go behind my back like that again.” He said and it almost sounded like he was begging.

“I promise.” You said.

“This seems to be healing well.” He said as he angled your face up to look at him, running his thumb over your cheek.

“Yeah.” You muttered as you placed your head back onto his chest.

“Jacob won’t be a problem by the way. I took care of it.” He said.

“What did you do?”

“Doesn’t matter, he’s not a concern.” He said as he yawned. You had a feeling Jacob may have spent hours being tortured before ultimately killed but Tom would never tell you what he did, never wanting to frighten you.

You smiled in content as you heard his soft snores leaving his lips, finding comfort in his embrace, he’d always keep you safe and you knew it and you’d never go behind his back again, although you couldn’t help but think that if you hadn’t done what you did you wouldn’t be here now. You still had a lot to talk about but that could wait until a much needed sleep, in this moment you were just happy to be in his arms.

#tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland smut #Mob!Tom #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

Text

I find myself travelling back to you // Simon Basset

Request: Could you possibly write a Simon Basset fic where maybe the reader is like a childhood friend and he bumps into them and they talk and catch up with maybe some romance or something - anon

A/N: My first Simon fic! I am a little uncertain of this as I am not sure whether I have Simon’s character down yet. I hope you all like! Thank you for requesting, I hope I have done it justice.

Pairing: Simon Basset x Fem!Reader

Warnings: childhood friends, pining, mutual pining, fluff, some angst, she/her pronouns, female reader.

Word count: 3.8k

There was not a cloud in the sky as you made your way through Mayfair after having turned down a carriage. Instead, you chose to walk away the morning, happy to feel the warmth of the sun through the layers of your dress.

The streets had started out as quiet; a few souls here and there, but they soon grew busier and busier as routines were started. Dodging bodies here and there, you found it hard to be annoyed at the crowds – the weather too perfect for your mood to be sullied.

A flash of deep red amongst the crowd has your eyes and body on alert; the sound of a deep voice has your ears pricking. “Simon?” You call out, eyebrows furrowing as you spy a familiar head of hair making their way through the crowds.

“(Y/N)?” The man in question answers, eyes wide as he takes in your form.

“It’s been so long,” You whisper, staring into his brown eyes. “I suppose I should call you ‘Your Grace’ now. I was sorry to hear of the passing of your father,” You comment softly, not overly sorry for the death of the man who had mistreated his son so poorly but offering your condolences as a form of social etiquette.

Nodding his head, Simon smiles at you. “Thank you,” He gestures to the elderly lady on his arm, “I am sure you remember Lady Danbury.”

You smile widely at the elderly lady as she grins back at you. “Of course I do,” You laugh, “We meet at least once a week to have tea.”

If possible, Simon’s eyes grow wider to the point where Lady Danbury snorts. “Really now, Simon. Did you expect us ladies to go our separate ways when you left the country?”

“Of course not,” Simon drawls, amused by the elder. “I just didn’t realise you had a close relationship.”

“Well we do. That reminds me,” Lady Danbury pipes up, “I will not be able to make our tea appointment this week, dear (Y/N). My grandson, Gareth, is visiting.”

“Of course, Lady Danbury. We can always rearrange to the following week.”

“Nonsense,” She declares, slamming her cane onto the ground, “Simon will meet with you.”

Casting your gaze to the tall gentleman, it is not hard to miss to the surprise in his eyes. Shaking your head, you state, “I am sure the Duke has more pressing issues than tea with an old friend.”

Lady Danbury opens her mouth to protest your point but is beaten by the Duke. “I have nothing so pressing that cannot be rearranged. I shall meet you tomorrow, I assume Lady Danbury knows the spot.”

With a nod of your head, Simon smiles. He reaches out, grabbing your gloved hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “Until tomorrow then,” He promises, stepping away from you with Lady Danbury in tow.

“Until tomorrow,” You whisper, watching the strong figure of your childhood friend walk away from you.

Glancing up at the still cloudless sky, you wonder how it is possible that the world keeps spinning when your own has changed so much. Simon left the country years ago, and even then, contact with the man was few and far between. He had left for school and seemingly left you behind. The very fact that he was happy to have tea with you sent shockwaves through your body; not a word for so many years and then this out of the blue.

Now glaring at the sky, you wonder whether there wasn’t a larger game afoot. One that had you reuniting with the childhood love that had left you a bereft teenager; it had you hoping you would not be left a heartbroken adult.

------

The pleasant weather was to continue, you thought to yourself as you sat down in the drawing room. Despite the calmness of the room; the sweet sound birdsong outside of your window, your stomach would not calm. Instead, it was threatening to make a mockery of your breakfast. A missive had arrived late yesterday evening from Lady Danbury explaining that Simon would indeed be calling on you for the promised tea.

Smoothing out your pale blue skirts, you wish desperately that you had brought something to keep you occupied as you wait for his imminent arrival. You curse the fact that you left your latest cross-stitch upstairs in your room, having worked on it late into the night. You could have used it to the pass the time to keep your mind busy.

“The Duke of Hastings,” The butler announces, startling you slightly, stepping aside for Simon to stride into the room.

Simon smiles widely as he spots you standing by the table; he rushes over to you, reaching for your hand, placing a lingering kiss to the back of it before straightening. “(Y/N),” He greets, breathless as if he had rushed all the way over here.

“Simon,” You answer, smiling just as widely.

Following his lead, you take a seat at the table, waiting for the tea service to be brought up.

“How is Lady Danbury?” You question, trying to fill the time for the service to arrive.

Simon laughs. “It seems she is on the warpath. Her grandson, Gareth, arrived this morning still out of sorts from the previous night.”

“No!” You gasp, “He’s barely of age!”

“That is what dear Lady Danbury was reminding poor Gareth as she swung her cane at him. I thought I better leave before her attention and her cane turned to me.”

“A good decision to have made.”

“Definitely,” Simon agrees, “As I was leaving, Gareth was promising his grandmother not to touch another drop of alcohol again though I doubt that promise will stick.”

“Poor Gareth,” You lament, thinking of the times you had been on receiving end of a lecture from Lady Danbury. “She does love him so though.”

“She does,” Simon states, “I remember his birth. It feels so long ago.”

You hum in agreement; wondering how quick time had flown by. Gareth was to be part of the next generation of society; he was to bring it into its future, especially if his grandmother had anything to say about it.

“How long have you been home?” You ask, pouring the both of you some tea now that it had arrived.

“I travelled to Clyvedon to settle things there before journeying down to London. I’ve been back in England just short of a month.”

“Oh,” You murmur, trying your best not to feel hurt that he hadn’t actively sought you out. After all, it had been years since you had last spoken. No correspondence had been exchanged throughout the duration of his travels; Lady Danbury had been the one to update you on where Simon was in the world. He hadn’t written you a single letter despite the long friendship that you still held dear. Instead, it had been an utter coincidence, a meeting in the streets that had proved to you he was still alive and breathing.

“I wanted to come see you,” Simon states, feeling bad about the broken sound that had left your mouth just now. He wasn’t one to talk so openly about his feelings, but he found himself needing to explain to you that he hadn’t stopped thinking of you since he stepped foot on English soil.

“Did you?” You question, sounding very much as if you did not believe a word leaving his mouth. By the unimpressed expression on your face, Simon knew you did not believe him.

“I did, but I got so busy. There were estates to manage, ledgers to balance and announcements to be made. By the time I landed in London, I was so thoroughly exhausted that I simply wandered to Lady Danbury’s home and fell asleep on her chaise-lounge. She wasn’t impressed.”

You snort before realising the impropriety, “I can imagine.”

Simon laughs entertained by the thought of Lady Danbury’s face when she found him snoring away on her chair. “As punishment, she made me accompany her on a walk… where we ran into you.”

“What a punishment,” You drawl.

Simon rolls his eyes at your tone. “I like to think of it as a happy coincidence.”

“Then I shall look at it in the same manner.”

There was something different about the man sitting across from you. Was it how he held his spoon? How he stirred his tea? Had the years abroad moulded him into a new person, one you could barely recognise?

Simon held himself entirely different to how he would when he was younger. His posture, perfect. His stance, brimming with confidence. It takes you aback somewhat as you take in the changes the years away at school and abroad have placed on his body.

Would your friendship still stand after so long apart? Is Simon simply placating Lady Danbury by having him meet you for tea? He talks such pretty words; can form sentences that leaves your mind in a spin, but this is the same man that had left the country without so much as a goodbye in your direction.

Reaching for your tea, you distract yourself from such intrusive thoughts. The tea clears your mind; letting you form a blank slate in your mind. “Enough talk of the past, no matter how recent,” You declare, “You left so long ago and came back a new person. It seems I need to get to know the new one.”

Simon smiles at you from his place across the table. “The same could be said for you too.”

You smile though it doesn’t reach your eyes. You don’t mention how you had spent the last few years turning down every marriage proposal offered to you due to your heart belonging to another even in its broken state. “Time is a marvellous thing,” You offer instead, grabbing a small cake from the stand.

“Indeed,” Simon murmurs, eyes following the cake from the plate to your mouth. Despite the time that had passed, his feelings had not changed. They had grown stronger instead. By now, Simon truly understood the meaning of absence making the heart grow fonder. All through his travels, he had cursed himself for not asking you to join him. Through every country, principality and dominion, Simon wondered how it would be for you to be there with him, experiencing the wonders of it all.

“Where was your favourite place to travel?” You ask, leaning forward slightly, “I’ve never travelled further than France.”

Simon nods, remembering your trip abroad with the same pang of sadness he felt back then. He knew logically that you were sat across from him, yet the longing in his body did nothing to help repress the urge to reach out for your hand across the table – to touch you so he would know that you were there, and this wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

“I think my favourite place to visit was Greece. I stayed on the mainland for a while before eventually making my way around the islands. Each island had its own charms, but there was one that had me questioning whether I could live there for the rest of my life. It was so calm, so quiet. Not even the thoughts in my head could distract me from its serenity.”

“Do you miss it?”

“The island?”

“The travelling.”

Simon sighs, staring out of the window as he thinks of over his answer. Eventually, he says, “I miss the sights and the people. I miss the smells and the food. However, I do not miss the time zones. There were moments where I didn’t know what time it was, let alone what day it was.”

“It sounds as if you had a magical time,” You sigh, trying your best not to think of Simon in the desperate heat of the Mediterranean.

“It had its moments,” Simon admits, thinking of the hours he had spent in markets, trying local delicacies and drinking traditionally made coffee. He had adored every second of his travels; he hadn’t minded the odd illness that came along with a new environment when there was so much to learn and so much to experience.

“Will you be travelling again soon?”

“It depends,” Simon answers.

“On?”

“On whether I find anything to keep me here.”

Silence falls over you both as you take in his words, trying to find the meaning of them. Taking a sip of your tea, you wonder whether your friendship with the Duke would be enough to keep him grounded at home for longer than a few weeks at a time. Your heart skips a beat at thought that you might not be enough; your feelings for the Duke had never surprised you. They had not surprised Lady Danbury when you showed up on her doorstep in floods of tears after Simon had left for the continent; she had simply welcomed you into her home with words of comfort and reassurances.

“Will you be attending Lady Danbury’s ball later this week?” You ask, needing to take your mind off that terrible evening.

Simon chuckles, placing his teacup on its saucer. “I shall be in attendance. I find it hard to turn down Lady Danbury. Will you be there?”

You nod, thinking of the dress you had made special. “I will. I’m quite excited if I’m to be honest.”

“Why is that?”

You shrug, “The theme, the music, the company. Lady Danbury never fails with her balls.”

“She does not,” Simon agrees, remembering the grandiosity of such events before he left to travel.

“So I shall see you there?” You ask, your voice hopeful as if daring to wonder whether Simon would attend before no doubt leaving the country once more.

“You shall. Would you save me a dance perhaps?” Simon asks, his usual mischief alight in his eyes.

You smile widely, “Always.”

--------

The rest of the week is spent in anticipation; desperate for the hours to quicken so you could walk through the home of Lady Danbury to find Simon already waiting for you. A hopeless dream, but a dream, nonetheless.

The Duke of Hastings remains on your mind for the rest of the week. One chance meeting and one organised tea and it seems that the man had made his home in your mind and brought to life the feelings you were certain were dormant.

With those feelings in mind, you prepare for Lady Danbury’s ball knowing full well you were about to spend the evening in the presence of Simon, but also watching the mothers of London’s available fawn over him as if he was a prize to be won. It was enough to make your blood boil.

Ridding yourself of such anger, you enter the home of Lady Danbury.

Lady Danbury never spared any expense when it came her to time to host the event of the season. She knew that it would be reported on, that it would be spoken about. She also knew that there was a chance that many matches could be made that night; so no expense could be spared in the battle for love matches among the ton.

The sight of the ballroom takes your breath away as you enter. Lady Danbury had chosen the theme of the moon, stars and sun – asking her guests to dress in colours relating to either. Your navy blue skirts swish together the further you walk into the room, distracted by the moon and star decorations hanging from the high vaulted ceilings.

You’re so enraptured by the scenery that you do not hear the footsteps approaching or the whispers of the women beside you. It isn’t until you hear him call your name that you turn your gaze from the silver decorations.

“Simon,” You greet with a smile, “How have you been?”

“Very well,” He replies, “And yourself?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

“You look wonderful,” Simon compliments; eyes raking up and down your body.

Your skin heats at his rapt attention; flashes of heat soaring through you as your mind begins to think of all sorts of scenarios where you could keep his eyes on you for much longer. “Thank you,” You answer, voice breathy, “You look very handsome too.”

“Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?” Simon asks, voice quiet in the loud room.

Nodding your head, you take his outstretched hand and allow him to lead you onto the dancefloor where many other couples are gathering.

Simon’s hand is soft on the small of your back; soft but insistent as it brings you closer to his own body. Wrapped up entirely in him, you find it hard to concentrate on the steps of the dance, easily being led around the dancefloor by the man who had captured your heart before you had even known the meaning of the word.

A large smile spreads over his face as he spins you out and brings you back. A surprised laugh leaves your lips as Simon spins you once more; the delight settling deep within your bones, melding to become a memory that would always be with you. Simon’s own laughter soons join yours and before long, neither of you are paying much attention and custom – the both of you having far too much fun in each other’s arms to be aware of the looks and glances being sent your way.

As the music fades into silence, Simon’s grip on you loosens reluctantly. He doesn’t want to let go of you; doesn’t know when the next time he can hold you this close will be. If he could, he would steal you away right now, but etiquette and his title demands he be a gentleman.

With a strained smile, Simon bows at you once before turning away without a word. So deep in his thoughts, he doesn’t see you escape to the gardens before it is too late.

------

The gardens at Lady Danbury’s home had always been spectacular, but in the night, they were even more magnificent. Despite the shadows of night, you were not scared as you walked down the paths, fingers absently brushing over the flowers of delicately blooming flora.

Rather, your mind was occupied by the one man who had returned into your life after such a sizeable absence. Simon had danced with you tonight, and every aspect felt so perfect. The way his hand covered yours; the way his palm felt pressed against the small of your back. Bringing your hand to your mouth, you hide the smile on your face as you think of the way he had laughed with you as he spun you across the floor. He had looked so young; so carefree, as if he hadn’t the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I wondered where you had wandered off to,” A voice sounds from behind you, startling you.

“Simon!” You gasp, clutching your chest, “You scared me!”

He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender as he steps closer to you. “That was not my intention,” He promises, his smile wide.

“What was your intention then?” You ask, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

“I wanted to ask you a question should you allow it.”

“We are alone,” You remind him, “We should move inside.”

“Please,” Simon pleads, “It won’t take long.”

You pause your steps. The cool night air settles around you as you wait for Simon to ask his question.

“Why did you never marry?” Simon demands; his eyes blazing with the need to know. “I know you had proposals; Lady Danbury even told me so.”

“There was never anyone good enough,” You confess, fisting your hands in the skirts of your dress to keep yourself from reaching out for him. “I tried. I really tried, but I always found myself thinking of you or wondering about you. Even though you never wrote, I still fell in love with you.”

Simon inhales sharply; not expecting your confession. You hadn’t expected to be so honest, but your heart was in control of your mouth; your mind taking a backseat on this one. Your heart had yearned after this man since you had learned the very definition of the word ‘love’.

“Why did you never write?” You ask, finally verbalising the question that had plagued your mind since the moment he had left.

He remains silent, so you repeat your question with a firmer voice. “Why did you never write, Simon?”

“If I had written to you, I would have come home.”

“Would that have been so bad?”

“I needed to get away, I had to leave. To do that, I had to cut strings with you, or I never would have become the man I am today. I never would have become worthy of you.”

“It is for me to decide whether you are worthy of me, Simon Basset. I have found you worthy of my love since you were ten years old and getting caught hiding a fish in the footmen’s bed if you must know.”

“For that long?” He asks; his voice a mere hoarse gasp as he battles with this new information.

“For that long,” You affirm.

“I always found myself travelling back to you,” Simon admits, “I would be in the furthest corner of the world and my mind would question why you were never by my side. On my last trip, I found myself packing my belongings with you on my mind before I had even made the decision to return home. My father was part of it, I’ll admit. But you… you were the whole reason why I returned to London.”

“What does this mean?” You ask, confused and emotional over the night’s confessions.

“It means I no longer want to travel the world if you are not by my side. It means I want to court you and follow the traditions of society. I have two loves in my life: travel and you.”

“You love me?”

He nods, “I have since I was a teenager.”

“I love you too,” You respond honestly, seeing no reason to lie in a moment like this.

“So,” Simon sighs as your words settle over him like a balm over an open wound, “Shall we do this properly? Courting and the like.”

“I think I would. I think we could start right now,” You whisper, stepping closer to the man who you felt certain was the love of your life.

“Right now?”

You nod you head, smiling widely as you reach for the lapels of his jacket. “I think we could start this very moment with a kiss. What do you think?”

Simon glances from side to side, checking for witnesses, “Only if you promise not to kiss another.”

“I don’t think that would be an issue,” You admit happily, “Kiss me, Simon.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

*******

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#simon basset x reader #simon basset #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #simon x reader #bridgerton imagines #simon basset fanfiction #simon basset imagines #duke hastings x reader

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