#for years. at least nine years or eight and a half but even more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dilemmaontwolegs · 4 months

Text

Not A Verstappen: Lights Out {5}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: The most anticipated race of the year is here, and the most controversial, Las Vegas GP. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, fluff, angst, injury WC: 3.5k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

Round Twenty Two - Las Vegas

Kristian sat on a weight bench, flipping through the pages of the motherhood magazine he was reading. Every so often he would look up and give some guidance until the tips became a nuisance.

“I should have fired you,” you muttered as you rose up from the last lunge.

“You say that a lot but you should keep your back straight,” he shot back, grating you further with the slow scrape of the page turning. “And keep your feet in line with your hips.”

“Can we play some decent music at least?” you whined between the gulps of water you swallowed down. The training was far less intensive than they used to be with everything focused on just maintaining fitness and health rather than a goal weight or strength like before.

“Nope,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying being able to boss you around the gym again. “Baroque is good for the baby.”

“Bullshit.” There was no way the classical music meant anything to her, she was only the size of an avocado - or so Lando said. He had an app that he checked daily and uploaded photos onto as a keepsake.

Kristian turned back to the start of the magazine and turned it around, tapping the title of the article. “So you think you know more than Harvard scholars now, Spitfire?”

He took your silence for defeat and pointed to the pool door. “Twenty lap cool down and then it’s breakfast.”

Your stomach grumbled at the mention of food and you grabbed a towel as you passed the door to the changing room. Breakfast didn’t feel like the right term since it was well past lunchtime. The whole Las Vegas schedule had screwed your body clock with the late night practices and qualifying rounds but you were grateful it was the last night of it.

Lando and Charles had been fast asleep when you slipped out of the room. Something had disturbed you from the dream you were having and despite the room being pitch black with the thick blockout curtains your body could tell it was daytime. Thankfully Kristian was already awake and happy to move your fitness session up a few hours.

Cool water washed over you as you dove into the tepid pool and started to glide along the surface. One, two, three, breathe. One, two, three, breathe. The monotony was therapeutic and you didn’t even bother to keep count of the laps - your mind was elsewhere.

You had been dead on your feet in the wee hours of the morning after you finally left the track with Lando and Charles after qualifying finished. They still had adrenaline flooding their systems and had no hope of sleeping when they sunk into the couch cushions and pulled your exhausted body over their legs.

You were in a drowsy state, half asleep but half aware of the other two chatting quietly together. Their hands had softly caressed your skin, brushing your shirt up so they could feel the warmth of your abdomen beneath their palms.

“She’s so beautiful, Cha, and she’s carrying our kid. I don’t think I have ever been this happy in my life,” Lando hummed as he rested his head on Charles’ shoulder and smiled at their hands.

“We are very lucky to have her,” he agreed as he kissed Lando softly.

“So…” You tasted the mischief in Lando’s drawn out tone and it stirred some energy back into your body. “When can I start calling you daddy?”

Charles’ legs shifted beneath you with a groan and you willed your eyes to open as his cheeks flushed pink. “Mon cher...”

“You can call me papi chulo,” Lando smirked. “It means-”

“I know what it means,” Charles choked, knowing exactly who had taught him that too. “Carlos is a menace, but if anyone is going to be papi chulo it’s me.”

You nearly swallowed a mouthful of water as the memory of what had happened next led to a lapse in your count and you pulled yourself out of the pool with a splutter. Those two had a lot to answer for.

“Here,” Kristian said as he tossed a bottle of water to you. “Try not to drink from the pool.”

“What would I do without you?” you asked dryly.

“I don’t dare to think about that,” he joked before he said your favourite words. “Let’s go eat.”

You stared at the egg on your plate before pushing it away with disinterest. Charles looked up from his own plate and frowned at the rare sight of the food that remained on yours.

“Would you like something else, mamie?”

You smiled at the new endearment and watched Lando cut an avocado in half before passing one part over to you. The vibrant green flesh did look delicious but when you held it in your hand you could only think about the bump that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. You hadn’t noticed it before changing into your swimsuit but when you peeled the tight layer off in the gym's changing room you had frozen. The mirrored wall caught your side profile under glaring fluorescent lights and there, just below your belly button it swelled ever so slightly.

A hand waved in front of your face and you broke away from the memory to see both your boyfriends watching you with worried frowns. One of them had obviously spoken to you but you couldn’t recall hearing them as you stared at the avocado.

“You’re crying,” Lando murmured as he swiped away the tear on your cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s this big already. Our baby is the size of an avocado. She’s so tiny,” you said with a small laugh, raising the fruit higher for inspection. They looked at you like you were a little crazy and it wouldn’t have been the first time that was suspected but you pushed the chair out and placed the avocado back on the table. “Come, I want to show you something.”

You led them to the bedroom and Charles opened his mouth to break the bad news that they didn’t have time for even a quickie. The thought had crossed your mind when you found them still naked and splayed across the bed before breakfast was ready, but they needed to get to the track soon for media duties and to prepare for the race.

“That’s a shame but also not what I came here for,” you admitted as you started to remove your shirt.

“I’m getting mixed messages here,” Lando chuckled as he reached for his own shirt. “But I don’t mind being late.”

“Stop, before I really do make you stay,” you chuckled knowing they would do anything for you. You dropped your shirt and turned sideways while you stared at the reflection in the mirror. “Look…”

Their eyes followed the wave of your hand, the way your palm drifted over your hip to cradle the small bump, and Lando gasped along with Charles soft praise. Knees hit the soft carpet below your feet and warm lips replaced your hand, teasing your skin with kisses. Two heads of dark hair bowed against your stomach and whispered words of promise you couldn’t quite hear, but they weren’t for your ears. Finally they looked up, emerald and azure eyes filled with enough love that you were certain your chest was going to crack open.

You reached for their cheeks and felt the same dampness that coated yours. “She’s real,” you whispered. It had taken a few weeks but finally it all felt real. She wasn’t just a picture on a piece of paper or measurements of a hormone in a blood test. She was real, and she was yours.

“You look like a twat,” you greeted Max with a grin, flapping the collar of his race suit made to replicate Elvis Presley. “You’re just missing the blue suede shoes.”

Max rolled his eyes and ducked his head when you tried to mess his gelled hair up. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

“Oh I am,” you laughed, slipping back into Charles’ side. “I’m actually happy to sit out this circus act.”

Max narrowed his eyes as he scanned your face for a lie or bitterness but all he saw was a bright smile and genuine amusement sparkling in your eyes. A sense of relief washed over him as for the first time since losing your seat you looked completely content and happy.

“I don’t blame you,” he finally replied and looked down at the costume he had been given. He would be glad when all this was over too. “I’ll see you at Omnia?”

The sun had already set on the strip and the temperature was quickly dropping as the hour grew late, and closer to the start of the race. “Maybe, if it’s a boring race I might not even be awake to see the end of it.”

“Fair enough.” He hoped you would be there to celebrate whatever the results were but he knew you were more exhausted in your current state and wouldn’t hold it against you. Christian waved at Max from across the street that divided the hospitality area from the garages and he gave you a quick hug, clapping Charles in the shoulder as he passed. “The Ring Master calls.”

“Drive safe!” He threw a thumbs up over his shoulder in answer and you laced your fingers with Charles’ before continuing to the McLaren garage.

It was strangely quiet for a race that had been hyped up so much over the last year, but you were kind of relieved that there were less people to weave between. It was great that the sport was growing in popularity but it was a pain in the ass trying to get anywhere when you are squashed like sardines in the paddock.

Somehow you still managed to bump into someone.

“Shit, sorry, Logan.”

“That was my bad,” he apologised as he turned to face the direction he was walking, waving back to the fan who had stopped him. His eyes widened when he saw who he had collided with and regret painted on his face. “Shit, are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I, or the, um…” he waved a hand to your stomach and you tilted your head wondering who had told him.

“I’m fine, but you knew?”

Logan scratched the back of his neck nervously and shrugged. “The walls were thin in the medical centre.”

You were dumbfounded and the sound that bubbled from your chest confirmed it. “Huh.”

“I haven’t told anyone, and I won’t,” he promised before his name was called and he waved to his PT. “Oh, congratulations though, I probably should have started with that.”

Charles laughed and shook the American’s hand. “Thanks, mate.”

You smiled and accepted the half hug he offered, probably thinking a handshake would be even more awkward. “Thanks, and congrats on your first point too.”

“Not as exciting as a baby.”

“Yeah it is,” you laughed, remembering your first point for Alpha Tauri. “That’s your baby right now.”

His smile grew as he set off to his PT and you carried on your way to see Lando before the race. There was still over an hour until lights out but every minute had been scheduled for media duties, meet and greets, and the driver parade. You wanted to have a few moments of their time before releasing them to the wild.

Charles’ hand slipped from yours as you reached McLaren and he cradled your cheek before kissing you. “Are you alright to get back on your own?”

You rolled your eyes before looking at the Ferrari space four garages down. “I don’t know, it’s pretty far…I might get lost and end up in the Bellagio.”

“If you do, bet it all on Red for me,” he joked. The smile on his face dimmed as he saw the magician and Carlos waiting for him. “I’ll see you after the race, mamie. Je t’aime.”

“Love you too.”

“And Lando too.” He would have preferred to tell Lando himself but he just ran out of time with all the activities his team had planned for race day.

“I’ll let him know, and I’ll even give him a kiss from you,” you teased as you stole another kiss for good measure.

“Any advice from the current world champion?” he asked as he started to back away.

You shook your head. “It’s Vegas, baby, just give them one hell of a show.”

To say the atmosphere in Ferrari was charged was an understatement. There was resentment for Carlos’ car being destroyed and his mechanics gritted their teeth as they walked to the middle of the grid thanks to the penalties for fixing the car. On the other side of the garage, the side where you sat with Joris, excitement permeated the air as you watched Charles’ walk to his car parked in pole position.

You were torn between that excitement and the sadness that had followed you since leaving McLaren. Lando was being too hard on himself again for the bad luck he had qualifying 15th, but he was determined to make his way to the front of the pack. If anyone was going to be called Spitfire in the race, it was going to be him. He was going to dogfight his way forward from the moment the lights went out.

One of the cameras panned the crowd and you spotted him walking up from his spot three quarters of the way down the grid, all the way to the front where Charles was talking to Max. For a moment you were once again hit with the sense of longing to be out there but the feeling washed away as quick as it came.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Joris asked as he looked up from his phone. You chuckled knowing Charles would have sent the reminder text but you shook your head.

“I’m fine, thank you. And you can tell Charles I am keeping hydrated too,” you said with a smile, shaking your water bottle for him to see.

“You can always trust him to worry more about others, even when he’s meant to be focusing on the race,” he laughed as he sent the reply. “Have you thought any more about where you want to go for the maternity shoot?”

Charles had been eager to lock his friend in as the official bump photographer but there was still another four months until it was the best time to have them taken. He was also open to taking photos while you were in labour but you weren't too sure how you felt about that yet.

“Somewhere warm.”

“So no alpine backdrops then,” he chuckled, probably remembering how much you had complained about hiking in the snow last winter.

You scoffed at the idea, an adamant refusal to it. “Not if you’re expecting me to wear something that shows the bump.”

The action around the garages stilled as the guests on the grid were guided away for the formation lap to begin and you breathed a sigh of relief when Charles made it back to the first box without drama. Even Joris released a nervous laugh beside you.

“That’s a better start,” he murmured so the engineers around him didn’t hear.

“Couldn’t get any worse than the last one,” you replied just as quietly.

You held your breath and felt the same rush of adrenalin fill you as if you were right out there in front of the lights with them. Your fingers twitched at your sides, the muscle memory begging them to prepare for action as each red light appeared, then all five were gone. The keen whines of twenty engines accelerating to their limit screamed into the night and you grinned at the sound even though it was muted by the headset.

“Oh, fuck off, Max,” you screamed as he pushed Charles wide and they both went off track before pulling back on with your brother taking the lead. Suddenly your attention was brought to the back of the pack where multiple cars had been involved in an incident, but Lando had managed to avoid it and slip ahead a few places too. “Come on, baby, you can do it.”

Although there had been a lot of complaints about the showy nature of racing in Las Vegas, there was no denying it was a track that offered a lot of entertainment with long straights to overtake and high risk high reward corners too. You could barely sit still with your eyes glued to the many screens around the garage offering almost every angle of the race.

“Ok, I think this race has just redeemed itself,” you commented with a smile as you watched the battles taking place around the track.

“It is pretty amazing,” Joris said with his own excited grin, but shock fell over him and you snapped your head back to screen dreading seeing Charles out of the race again. But it wasn’t Charles.

Sparks flew as the floor hit the asphalt and your brain couldn’t seem to understand why Lando’s car was facing the wrong way. Still it kept skidding along the straight at full speed, spinning back around just before it collided with the barrier at the end of the runoff. Your breath left your lungs with the force of the collision and your entire body stiffened as your ears began to ring loudly. Your stomach lurched as you desperately hit the keys on the screen to select the driver view and you saw Lando’s shaking hands pull his steering console out.

“I, I need to go,” you whispered as you stood up on weak legs. “Can you tell Charles?”

“Xavi can do that, I’ll walk with you,” he said with a shake of his head. His arm looped with yours and stabilised you as you tried to rush out of the garage. They weren’t even stopping the race because he wasn’t on track and that made you feel even sicker. What if someone else went into the runoff?

“Mr Norris,” Joris called out, waving the worried man down. You blinked as you realised you were already in the McLaren garage, but you couldn’t remember the walk there.

“He’s alright,” Adam assured you as he pulled you into his side and thanked Joris for the escort. “I spoke to him after he got out of the car. They are going to the medical centre. Come on, darling, we can go together.”

“He’s alright?” you double checked, your vision blurring with tears.

Adam gave a sure nod as he started back the way you came, except he went towards the medical centre instead of the other garages. “His ribs hurt but he’s tough.”

Max said that when he was a child he would sleep walk, Vicki too. You imagined this was how they felt. Detached. Moving through darkness. Closing your eyes and waking in a new place. You blinked and the concrete path you were on was suddenly linoleum.

“Lando…” you sighed as you found him on a gurney, white blankets tucked in close around him.

“Heeeey,” he slurred happily, wincing as he snaked a hand out of his swaddle to reach for you. “It’s my girls.”

“You’re on the strong stuff, aren’t you, my love?” You faked a smile for him and took his hand, tilting your head towards Adam and the doctor explaining what was happening. You carefully leaned over the bed and kissed Lando until he broke out in giggles and his head lolled lazily back against the pillow.

“They’re taking him to the hospital for some scans just in case there’s any broken ribs,” Adam relayed when he reached your side and gave Lando a kiss on his forehead. “How are you feeling, son?”

“It hurts to breathe, but this is good,” he said, holding up his hand that was connected to the IV bag filled with strong painkillers.

A nurse came and unlocked the wheels on the gurney before asking who was going to ride in the ambulance with Lando. Adam looked at you and nodded, and though you knew he would have wanted to go with his son himself you were selfish and couldn’t leave his side.

“I’ll follow behind,” Adam promised before Lando was wheeled away.

You walked at Lando’s side out of the medical centre and found tv crews waiting, their cameras zoomed in on Lando and capturing his almost drunken state. A little loopy from the drugs in his system, he waved his fingers at the camera. “This will be on Netflix next year,” he laughed before wincing at the pain that flared. “So it’s safe to tell them, ‘I’M GOING TO BE A FATHER!’ and they can’t say a thing.”

Adam froze at his son’s outburst, though it was no secret that he was eager to shout to the world his joy. “Lando…” he growled, looking at your wide eyes.

“What? They aren’t allowed to use the footage for months,” he huffed.

“That’s not Netflix,” you whispered, swallowing the lump in your throat as you watched the tv crew almost tremble with excitement. “That’s Sky TV.”

Click here for the next part.

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you

694 notes · View notes

elliesbelle · 10 months

Text

nobody compares to you

chapter 7

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, dealer!ellie, LOSER!ELLIE, cursing, ANGST, use of marijuana and alcohol, brief mention of death, descriptions of a weapon (it's just ellie's switchblade), sexual speech and content, brief mention of violence, brief description of homophobia, ellie's POV, minors do not interact

word count: 3.5k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

“Ellie, seriously, calm down. Also, can you hand me the fucking joint already?”

Dina watches as Ellie paces back and forth across the living room of the apartment Ellie shared with Jesse. She’d come back early from her Electrical Engineering Design class after silently storming out a mere 15 minutes into the lecture. She had her Particle Physics class in less than an hour, but she had very little intention of attending.

She’d even bailed on making a quick stop at Ruston Coffee in order to reclaim the jacket she’d lent to Daniela. She had four unread texts from her, but she ignored them.

“Dude, I just—” Ellie starts.

“I know,” Dina replies. “But can you blame her?”

Ellie doesn’t reply, instead angrily groaning as she plops down next to Dina on the couch. She hands Dina the joint, which was already half-burnt.

“God, at least ash it first,” Dina complains, taking it from her and flicking the dusty remains into an ashtray on the coffee table. “Anyway, what the fuck is she supposed to do? Not move on from you?”

“No, but—”

“You’re only this mad because Abby Anderson’s the one she was seeing before you,” Dina says before taking a hit of the joint. “I mean, you’d still be irritated if it was someone else. But now, your ego is a little bruised.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Ellie scoffs. “And she and I weren’t seeing each other, we—”

“It’s been two fucking years. You need to stop saying that shit.” Dina interrupts, getting exasperated.

“We literally weren’t—”

“Who the fuck cares, Ellie?”

“D—” Ellie attempts, but Dina continues.

“She was in love with you, and you were so fucking in love with her. And don’t try to pull that shit with me, saying that you weren’t in love with her.” Dina adds, seeing that Ellie was about to interrupt once more. “Everyone saw it, and everyone knew it. Fuck, even Joel saw it, and it’s Joel.”

Ellie says nothing, choosing to stare intensely at her fists. They were turning white from how hard she was clenching them in agitation.

It had been so long since she’d seen your smile, the honest and genuine kind that you used to flash at her countless times. She hadn’t seen it since before your cousin Rafael passed away. The way it’d adorned your face so naturally just now, it broke something in her today the moment she glanced your way. Something that she’d hastily patched up after you cut her off completely. And for Abby Anderson to be the reason for that smile…

Dina purposely blowing smoke in Ellie’s face wakes her up from her reverie.

“The fuck, D…” Ellie complains, coughing and fanning a hand in her face to clear the smoke.

“Jesse and I love you very much,” Dina continues, ignoring her curses. “But to be honest, we’ve kind of been pissed with you for a while now.”

Ellie’s eyes shoot up to frown at her.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Dina sighs.

“We love her a lot too, you know. And we miss her. The past year, she’s pulled away from us because of you. And we would have pushed, but she asked us not to. She asked us not to choose and to just keep being friends with you like normal.”

“I—“ Ellie stutters. “I didn’t know that.”

“Because she told us not to tell you.” Dina sighs. “Even after you hurt her, she still thought about you. She knew how much we mean to each other, and she didn’t want to get in the way of that. And that’s why she hasn’t told either me or Jesse what happened between you two when you took her home at the end of that summer.”

Ellie puts her head in her hands, recalling that drive. That day rattled in her mind constantly over the past year or so. She’d tried consistently to repress it at first, but it was all cemented in her mind: your nervous twitching and fidgeting, the way your lips trembled when you spoke, the redness of your eyes as you fought not to cry. Eventually, she gave up trying to forget it all; deep down, she knew she deserved to live with the guilt.

“Fuck.” Ellie sighs.

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a few moments as Dina finished the rest of the joint, eventually putting it out on the ashtray.

“So,” Dina finally speaks. “You gonna tell me what made her break up with you?”

Ellie sighs.

“I don’t think you really wanna know, D.” She mutters.

“You know,” Dina says. “It’s not really fair that you’ve had me and Jesse update you nonstop the past year on what’s been going on with her, but then you won’t tell either of us what went down.”

“It’s just…” Ellie continues, thinking. “I know you both think I was real shitty for what I did to her. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t think that. But I don’t want you both to think that I’m a complete and total asshole.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are a complete and total asshole.” Dina shrugs.

“Oh, you dick.” Ellie says, smacking Dina’s arm a little too hard.

“Ow!” Dina complains, rubbing the spot where Ellie hit her. “We don’t all go to the gym religiously, you know. Some of us are delicate!”

“Pussy.” Ellie chuckles.

Dina rolls her eyes before getting up from the couch.

“Anyway, get your shit together, Williams. I gotta go.” She says. “Got class in about 20 minutes.”

“Skip it.”

“No. Go to your next class, Els.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Ellie says dismissively, brushing her off.

Dina said her goodbyes and waved before leaving the apartment, locking the door behind her.

Ellie sat with her thoughts for a moment before getting up to walk to the kitchen. She grabs a mug from the cabinets, one decorated with a red-winged blackbird on one side and a sandhill crane on the other. After she nearly fills it to the brim with whiskey, she begins drinking it impatiently as she makes her way into her bedroom.

She places her now half-empty mug on her bedside table before plopping down onto her bed. Not bothering to remove her dirty Converse, she stares up at the prickly, white ceiling.

Abby Anderson? Why her?

Her tattooed arm was positioned above her forehead while the other laid on her side, her old, trusty switchblade suddenly in her hand. She starts playing with it mindlessly as thoughts of you swim inside her head.

When the fuck did she start seeing her again? She didn’t even like Anderson that much…

Ellie’s mind was a battlefield. She begins recalling memories of you when you’d talk about Abby Anderson, trying to discern the level of attraction you had for her from the bashful looks on your face and the dreaminess in your voice. At the same time, she was trying to push away her own emotion from those memories: the forced smile she’d give you when you brought Anderson up, the way she bit her tongue from unleashing nasty, sarcastic retorts about her, the seething rage she felt as she stormed away from you the first night she dropped you off at Anderson’s dorm.

She didn’t even… She only slept with her once…

Ellie thinks about that evening, when she watched you getting ready. She tried desperately to shut out the images of your tender eyes begging for her approval, your messy hair cascading down as you’d taken it out of its bun, every curve of your body that she was allowed a glimpse of when she’d helped you dress, your lips…

Anderson was just some fucking hook-up, I know she was…

Ellie remembers miserably how she waited until you’d completely turned away to watch how mesmerizing you looked as you ascended the steps to Anderson’s dorm. Ellie remembers the disappointed look you had on your face, crest-fallen that she’d kept you at arms-length the rest of the evening. She remembers wanting desperately to call out your name, stop you from walking through the door, and claim you for herself. She remembers nearly doing so, but her courage had not moved swiftly enough.

I fucked her hundreds more times… There’s no way Anderson is pleasing her like I did… I’m the one who knows how to…

Ellie begins speculating on what you’ve been doing hanging around Anderson again. There’s no way that you were just friends. She sees the way Anderson swaggers when they occupy the gym together, her flirty smirk as she greets people as she walks down hallways. Ellie recognizes another lesbian player when she sees one, and she knew for a fact how popular Anderson was with other girls. And more than anything, Ellie knows how beautiful you are. She knows that anyone within five feet of you would be delusional not to want a chance.

Anderson’s not her type… Anderson is not her fucking type… What the hell is she doing? She can do a whole lot fucking better…

Ellie’s thoughts unravel as she wonders about what Anderson was saying that was making you laugh so much. She obsesses over the way you were touching her arm, how your fingers brushed over her muscled bicep. She torments herself about what you were letting her do to you at this very moment.

I just… I just fucking saw her a couple of days ago… She’s single, she looked fucking single…

Were you spending the night at her place this evening? Were you all dolled up today just to see her? Is Anderson taking you out on a date tonight or is she bringing you straight to her bedroom? Has she touched you already today? Has she kissed those cherry-flavoured lips of yours once more yet? Is she lifting your dress over your head or are you doing it for her? Is she kissing your neck as her fingers make their way down into your underwear to—

Ellie sits up all of a sudden, yelling in frustration and hurling her switchblade across the room. She breathes heavily as she stares at her knife now fastened securely into the drywall, halfway stuck resulting from a throw a little too vigorous.

“Fuck me.” Ellie huffs, disgruntled, not by the damaged wall, but by the jealousy smoldering within her.

Why?

Ellie picks up her half-empty mug of booze and chugs it. As droplets of whiskey dribble down her chin, she glances at the painted birds on her now-empty mug.

Joel had bought it during a trip to a thrift store when she was 14 after she’d begged him to get it for her. Every time before the school year started, she’d always be sure to pack it to take with her, a piece of home. It was her favourite mug and it reminded her of her father.

She missed him. She wished she was back home in Jackson with him right now, away from these problems. Life felt so much more simple when it was just her and Joel, just the two of them against the rest of the world. But she was no longer 14 and no longer an innocent.

Ellie sighs. She deliberates for a moment or two. Maybe she could call Joel, tell him what was going on. He knew her best, besides Dina and Jesse. He usually steered her in the right direction, whether it was in a way she initially agreed with or not.

In the end, Ellie decides against it. Explaining lesbianism to a well-meaning but clueless 60-something-year-old man was hard enough. Having to illustrate the current state of her love life? Ellie didn’t have the time or patience to describe to her father how lesbian situationships worked, much less what a “situationship” was. She’d give him a brain aneurysm within thirty seconds of her explanation.

She also thinks back to the last conversation she had with Joel about you. He’d given her yet another caring but stern lecture before she headed back to campus for this school year. She knows deep down exactly how her father felt about you. Is that what she wanted to hear right now?

Ellie lets herself fall back onto the bed, pulling her phone out of her pocket once her head hit her pillow. She swipes away yet another text from Daniela without bothering to skim it and opens up Instagram. Almost instinctively, she switches over from her main account to a separate one.

For the first three months after you and Ellie fell out, you had her number and all her socials blocked. She hadn’t exactly tried to reach out to you during that time, but she hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to lurk. She’d treated it like she was defusing a bomb: she’d delicately open up social media, hastily type in your name, only to be abruptly greeted with blank screens. She wasn’t surprised. But whether out of pure curiosity or masochism, she’d continued this routine of searching your username on different platforms just to stare at nothing for a couple of minutes.

Ellie wasn’t sure what had suddenly prompted you to one day unblock her from everything. For a while, she waited to see if this meant anything, if you were going to reach out to her in some kind of way. But after a few days of nothing, she accepted the continued, albeit unblocked, silence. She wasn’t naive; she never expected you to come back to her. At least she could still snoop in peace.

Though not exactly adept with social media, Ellie wasn’t stupid. When she wanted to look at your Instagram page, she did so through a fake, secret account that she’d made solely for that purpose. It felt pitiful to do so, at least at first. But she’d known you had no intention of speaking to her again, and therefore no longer needed to impress you; so she swallowed the feelings of shame and self-disgust every time.

Switching over to a blank account with the user name “br!ck_master2013” that has 2 followers (both of which were bot profiles) and was following 0 accounts, Ellie types in your username by heart in the search bar. She scans your Instagram page for any changes. You don’t update it often; your last post is from early the previous summer and is just pictures of your family cat Clementine who had passed away.

A purple and orange circle dances around your icon, indicating you’ve posted something on your story within the last 24 hours. She let out an agitated breath before pressing her thumb onto the mirror selfie you’d set as your profile picture.

There are four stories: the first is from 22 hours ago and was a fan art post of a video game she knew you liked, the second is from 18 hours ago and was a picture of the mocha frappe Dina had gotten you the day prior with a caption thanking and tagging Dina, the third is from 15 hours ago of a post that read, “Don’t Want To See Trans People? Gouge Out Your Eyes” (prompting her to chuckle to herself), and the fourth is from this morning. Ellie’s breathing hitches.

It was a selfie you’d taken in your bathroom before you left for class. You’d captioned it with “fuck mondays but at least i’m cute,” an understatement in Ellie’s eyes. She was only permitted a minute to gaze at you in person earlier today, and it was from several feet away. A picture doesn’t amount to the real thing, but at least she can fully drink you in with her ocean green eyes this time, completely at her leisure.

You were wearing that same pretty, floral sundress, the sweater you were wearing earlier missing from your ensemble in the photograph. She doesn't recognize the dress, so she figures it must be new. Ellie thinks it looked like it was made for you, the way it fits you so perfectly.

She then dares to stare at your face. Even after all these years, she revels in how flawlessly you were always able to have your makeup complement your appearance. It was a gift, really, how you used colours to, not create your beauty, but accentuate it. And you seemed to have gotten even better at it now.

Ellie keeps taking in your image for what feels like a hundred years until your Instagram story closes out on her. She blinks and then sighs.

There’s no way Anderson hasn’t made a move on her already.

Ellie reaches underneath her bed and grabs her laptop. She knows what she was about to do pushed her even further into loser lesbian territory, but she had passed the point of caring long, long ago. She opens up her laptop and clicks on the Spotify application on her desktop.

The window pops up to display a few recommended albums and playlists. Scrolling past her most recently listened to song (“Novacane” by Frank Ocean), she clicks on the little icon on the top right that says “Friend Activity.” A sidebar opens up to reveal icons of a handful of Ellie’s friends. And of you.

When you’d blocked Ellie from everything, she guessed correctly that you wouldn’t think of blocking her on something as trivial as a music app. Most people in your generation didn’t really pay much attention to these stupid little details. But Ellie did. And she was thankful you didn’t.

Ignoring what songs the rest of her friends were listening to at the moment, she looked for your icon to see what you were playing. According to the tiny grey letters next to your picture, you were listening to “decode” by some artist named Sabrina Carpenter.

Ellie chuckles quietly. You had a rather wide variety in music taste, always having been musically inclined. But you weren’t immune to enjoying and fixating on what she would call “generic, top 40 pop straight girl music.” She’d tease you about this relentlessly, to which you would respond by turning the song up even louder and belting your heart out to it. Even though it was in the act of defying her, Ellie always noted internally what a pretty voice you had when you sang.

She figures that this artist was your current new fixation. She grabs her spare earphones from the drawer of her bedside table, plugging them into her laptop. She clicks on the song you're still listening to and lets it play. As the song progresses, Ellie feels her heart sink.

♫ You're good at the fallin', not the stayin' there / You're good at the givin' too much, then gettin' scared

You're good at impersonating someone who cares / And you had me for a minute there ♫

Ellie shifts her laptop to one side and rolls to the other, allowing the music to continue in her ears.

♫ But now I wonder why / I let your confusion keep me up at night

I'm so tired / Reread every single undertone ♫

Ellie sighs, hooking an arm underneath her pillow, clutching it tightly as she clenches her jaw.

♫ There's a weight off my shoulders now that I don't chase you / Bein' myself, did that emasculate you?

Learnin' from you that I can walk away too / And you had me for a minute too ♫

Ellie frowns, closing her eyes, allowing the song to envelop her in shame.

♫ Now I wonder why / I let your confusion keep me up at night

I'm so tired / Reread every single undertone and I—♫

“Yo, Williams—” A voice interrupts with a knock on her bedroom door.

Ellie shoots up from her bed, earphones tearing out from her ears.

“What?” Ellie answers, irritated.

Jesse’s head pokes itself through the doorway. His expression turned into amusement once he saw hers of annoyance.

“Oh, sorry, dude. Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine,” Ellie lies, relaxing a little and tapping the spacebar to pause the song. “What’s up?”

Jesse scans her features further. He took a step in, leaning against the doorframe.

“You alright?”

“All good, dude,” She says, closing her laptop and hopping off her bed. “Was just having a bad dream.”

Jesse considers this when his eyes wander to Ellie’s knife sticking out of the wall.

“Bro.” He says, pointing to it.

“It was a really bad dream, alright?” She shrugs.

“Els,” He groans. “If we don’t get our security deposit back—“

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll fix it.” She says, crossing her arms. “What did you want?”

“You got a second? Got someone here who wants to buy.”

Ellie sighs.

“Yeah, okay. They good?”

“Should be.” Jesse confirms.

“Fine.” Ellie replies, standing up straighter and rolling up the sleeves to her flannel.

“Cool. You might have actually met him the other night.” Jesse jabs his thumb towards the living room, beckoning her to follow him.

“The other night?” Ellie questions, trailing after.

“Yeah, he was with us at the diner after the party.”

“Wait, what?”

Before Jesse can answer, Ellie’s eyes fall on who Jesse had brought into their apartment. Wearing a backwards cap, a plain navy blue t-shirt & khakis, their visitor looks like every other standard, forgettable college frat boy.

But Ellie didn’t forget. In fact, Ellie remembers exactly who he was quite well.

“You remember Adam?” Jesse asks.

“Man, really? Didn’t clock you as a queer.”

“Yeah,” Ellie answers, eyes seeing red and hands balling up in fists. “Yeah, I remember you.”

author’s notes:

okay so part of why this took me so long to write and why it also took a lot of convincing on my own part to post is cause i was writing it from ellie's perspective and that was a lot harder than i thought!! didn't plan it to be this way tbh but that's what flowed and well, here it is!

i hope all the college descriptions i’ve been writing have been realistic enough! i had a messy collegiate experience myself and i ended up dropping out after a few years, so i’m just trying to write from experiences from so many years ago (i legit researched what kind of classes aspiring astronauts need to take cause we know our girl wants to go up in space).

the birds on ellie's mug are just references to a couple of my gf's favourite birds (she's an avid bird watcher and she loves birds hehe)!

also idk why i know ellie's a whiskey drinker, but god i just know she is. what butch lesbian is not a whiskey drinker (just from personal experience, don't kill me).

you get a gold star if you got that "brick master" reference ♡︎

i also don't know why i know ellie would listen to frank ocean, but god her loser ass would be LISTENINGGGG to frank ocean. thank you also to everyone for bearing with me and my current sabrina carpenter phase rn ♡︎

does anyone else still look at their friends activity on spotify or is that just me. i love seeing what my friends are up to! i use the airbuds app too, i feel so involved. yeah, that is a pic of me from many years ago as reader's tiny little icon the spotify pic, that's the most y'all get as a pic of me rn sdklfjsd

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriessxinthespring, @amitycat, @thefishymissy, @yevheniiaaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnoviecita, @digit4lslut, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @qtefolleunpez, @libr4sonsa, @17luv, @robinismywifee, @villainousbear, @ashlynnnnnnnn15, @scarlettadore, @vianna99, @g0n3girls, @totheblood, @embermdk, @awyunh, @kenz-ee, @marvelwomen-simp

#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #belle speaks #belle writes

862 notes · View notes

amywritesthings · 5 months

Text

mistletoe (on the clock.) / nanami x you

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader word count: 1.7k summary: It's your annual holiday party at the office. You and your coworker Nanami Kento end up in a precarious yuletide predicament. tags: mistletoe, holiday office party, explicit language, sexual tension, hair pulling, kissing, make corporate speak horny in this house

part of the twelve days of amymas 2023 !!!

Office holiday parties shouldn’t be mandatory.

Eight, sometimes bordering up to twelve, hours under fluorescent lights was more than enough anguish — add four extra mandatory 'fun' hours and you see why half of your colleagues spend their nights bar hopping to cope.

However, if these annual holiday parties weren't mandatory, most of your colleagues would never bother showing up in the first place.

You sure as hell wouldn’t.

(And you're pretty sure the tall blonde you spy from across the room wouldn’t, either.)

It’s only your first year with the company, but it’s already one year too many.

You'd taken a few gap years between college to figure your shit out, travel a little, but you still ended up in the grand corporate scheme.

The nine-to-five lifestyle is nothing less than soul sucking. Commuting back and forth is such a pain.

By the time you make it back to your tiny one-bedroom flat, the night is too cold to enjoy anything beyond your warm bed.

But... there are perks to the job, sometimes.

Free lunches are great.

Business connections don't hurt.

Not to mention you've grown fond of one person who makes your commute a little tolerable:

Tall. Blonde. High cheekbones. Voice as smooth as honey.

Nanami Kento.

Stoic on the outside yet considerably kind on the inside, Nanami has equal parts ruined and consumed your days.

The sheer sight of him in his tailored suits without a strand of hair out of place can make you weak in the knees, so you make it a point to always talk to him sitting down.

And he seems to like you, for what it’s worth.

Nanami always makes sure to bring you tea and water in the morning to stay hydrated.

He stops by your cubicle to tell you there's free catering in the break room if you missed the memo.

No matter how late you end up staying, he always makes it a point to never let you walk to the train station alone.

It’s sweet.

It’s more than what anyone else has ever done for you in your life, so naturally?

You're into him.

Bad.

Of course, that means you’re too chicken to invite him over for dinner.

God knows you can’t cook a decent course to save your life, but you’d order in — it’s only one string away from officially asking him on a date, masked as a favor repaid.

('Tis the damn season; it may be your time to take a little leap of faith if he's going to be standing there all alone for this insufferable party.)

Emboldened by the spiked eggnog in your system, you decide to jump:

You make a beeline through the crowds of laughing colleagues, all varying stages of intoxicated, straight to him.

In truth, you're eager to blend as a wallflower beside him.

Nanami almost instantly catches you in the crowd, but he makes no motion to meet you in the middle.

He moves a pace to the right, silently offering you the corner to hide in.

You have to be brave.

You have to make the first real move.

(Attractiveness aside, it's just Kento. He must be at the end of his social battery, too.)

“Hey,” you greet.

“Hello,” he replies, smooth as butter.

“Having the time of your life over here?” you joke, pressing your back into the wall.

He hums in a noncommittal fashion. “At the very least, this party is much more tame than the one they threw last year.”

“Is it?”

Kento nods. “Someone overserved. Shirts flew. Marriages shattered.” His strong brow furrows. “Though I wanted to ask, even though I've been here longer: has Mr. Hiro always been a happy drunk? I recall differently.”

“No, that’s a fairly new development. His wife finally finalized the divorce last week,” you gossip under your breath. “I had to field the call myself.”

“Oh?” Nanami asks, turning a sharp chin your way. “Ugly?”

“Very.”

“To call and finalize over the phone at the office is—”

“Ballsy.”

A sly smile tugs at the corner of his lip. “I was going to say a choice, but sure.”

Nanami clinks his ceramic ‘work hard, play harder ’ slogan mug to yours — a past gag gift from that Gojo Satoru friend of his, you’re sure — and pushes his body from the wall.

“Do you need a refill?”

You nod, holding up your empty eggnog mug.

"Thanks."

"How spiked do you want it?"

"Blackout levels," you joke. It earns you an even larger smile, albeit shortly lived.

He plucks the handle from you easily enough, but you notice how his eyes flutter above your heads and… stay there.

Weird.

Unable to help yourself, you lift your chin to see the captivating problem for yourself:

Hovering over the two of you this entire time has been a pesky little bundle of leaves, tied together with a tiny red bow.

Shit.

Mistletoe.

(Were these things even allowed in the office? Surely hanging one constituted breaking at least four different Human Resources violations in one swift sweep.)

You open your mouth to make a joke, but—

“Has that been there?” Nanami asks, and you can feel your face grow hot.

“I— Maybe?” You clear your throat. “Did you stand under it on purpose?”

(Way to go, moron.)

Nanami considers, then shakes his head.

“I had no intention of kissing anyone in our office, I assure you,” he replies, and you feel yourself deflate a little. “Though I guess this is an opportune moment.”

Oh?

You pretend to look unbothered, arms crossed over your chest.

It takes you biting your tongue to avoid asking outright.

“What do you mean, opportune?” you ask instead.

Blink and you’ll miss it: Nanami smiles, albeit barely, before turning his chin back to the mistletoe in question.

“I would prefer taking a woman out to dinner before kissing her, but I suppose if you were interested, then we could be a little unconventional. It’s likely the swift kick in my ass I needed.”

Your brows slide to your hairline as you regard him in equal parts confusion and hope.

“Wait, you…”

Words.

You have to remember how to speak.

The whole point of this job was to be suave, but you’re failing miserably at it at the moment.

“You were interested in going to dinner with…”

“You?” Nanami finishes, and he angles his larger frame towards you. “Was it never obvious?”

Obvious?

Now you really felt like a fish out of water.

Nothing about Nanami Kento was obvious.

You could barely get a read on him, even if he did all of those really nice things for you—

Oh.

The realization hits you like a subway train, leaving you breathless.

The blonde stares down at you, patiently waiting for an answer.

You blurt. "Do you still want dinner after?"

"I don't think many places are open at this hour, but if you're not hungover tomorrow, I could call."

"I'm not picky," you reply. "I love takeout."

"We're not getting takeout on our first outing," Nanami snorts.

"Like I said, very-much not picky."

A moment passes.

You both stare at one another, waiting for the right timing to...

Well, do anything.

He wants to take you out to dinner.

Nanami fucking Kento wants to take you out—

And kiss you.

Actually, that part is more important right now.

"So the... unconventional part."

"The mistletoe," he adds.

"Right. Is that still on the table?"

"Do you want it to be on the table?"

"Is that a serious question?" you counter, before leaning in a little closer. "Okay, but what if someone sees?"

Nanami shrugs a shoulder, resting his bare forearm against the wall you lean against. His button-down shirt is rolled up to the elbow, making your mouth water.

His body shields you from the rest of the people in the office.

One quick peck and none of the drunks on this floor would be any wiser.

“Are you that concerned?” he asks.

When his featherlight touch raises your chin to meet his gaze, he makes your decision right there and then.

You’ve wanted Nanami for so damn long.

Now the opportunity is presented to you like a holiday gift, and you’re not one to be ungrateful.

“Not anymore,” you admit, wrapping your fingers around his speckled yellow and black tie.

Like two magnets, you pull him in by the tie and he drags you in by the chin, connecting your lips in a searing kiss.

Nanami is warm, stronger than you anticipated. You melt against his lips as they gingerly move against yours.

You want him to push you against this wall.

You want to what he'd do if you dropped to your knees the way you’ve imagined doing every single time he’s sitting at his desk with those goddamn dress slacks bunched against his thighs.

You want so much in so little time that you bite his lower lip, causing the blonde to groan with need.

He slides his fingers along your jawline, snaking up past your ear and into your hair.

His fingers curl around the strands, tugging playfully.

Then, abruptly, he pulls away.

No.

Too soon.

You could topple over with how quickly you chase him, but he stops you with his index finger pressed to your lips.

“Nanami!”

A voice calls him, slurred and hiccupped, from the other side of the room.

You freeze, unable to do anything but stare into his brown eyes.

“Get your ass over here!”

“Group photo,” Nanami reluctantly murmurs to you, and your shoulders sag. “Before everyone starts digging out the hard liquor.”

Still, he leans back in to drop a gentle peck to the tip of your nose.

When he pulls away, he drops the arm against the wall to hold his palm out to you — an invitation.

“Let’s circle back after.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

You take his hand and never look back.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk x you #nanami kento fanfic #nanami kento fluff #jjk fanfiction #nanami kento fanfiction #amywritesthings #twelve days of amymas #fic: mistletoe on the clock

263 notes · View notes

strawberrysturniolo · 1 month

Text

never grow up part nine

summary: after the same back and forth for six months, sunny finally decides its enough, until she's given the same hopeful moment again

part eight

Chris and I will never see a day where we aren’t best friends. No matter what our relationship or our friendship levels out as, I know he would take a bullet for me, and I can’t imagine a world where I don’t look for him first in a crowded room.

Of all the people I meet in my life, it all goes back to him. Every friend I make, every boy I meet, every person I try to love, they will never be him. It’s not even comparable. It will never be a fair battle. It will always be him.

The last six months have been eventful to say the least.

I turned 22. I celebrated in Boston. Chris wasn’t there. Said something about wanting to come and making an effort to fly back out. Last minute he said he couldn’t because he had to work. I said whatever, got mad for a bit, then got over it and got drunk with my friends.

I drunk called him, weeping some bullshit about how my birthday is never the same when he isn’t with me. Cried over how badly I wished he would move back home. He may have cried a little too, but I was too drunk to notice anything other than the pain in my chest from him being gone and the nausea coursing through my body as I held back every gag.

He apologized profusely, promising that he would make it up to me. The same broken promise I’ve lived with for three years now.

I shouted at him and told him to stop lying to me. He insisted that he was being honest. He promised that things would be different. They never were.

I slept with someone else. Had a short fling with someone that I thought could pull me out of the rut I was in, only to realize it was making me feel worse. Every time we fucked I imagined it was Chris. I then felt like shit because I knew it wasn’t fair to either of them, nor was it fair to me. I couldn’t move on. I was stuck on someone who couldn’t make up his mind.

Chris kept promising that we would end up together. Maybe he was right. I was getting too dizzy and exhausted going around in that whirlwind to even let myself be optimistic about our future.

I can’t keep waiting. I know he’s what I want, but I can’t put my life on hold for someone who isn’t sure of me.

So, I called it quits. Told him straight up, I can’t do it anymore. No more back and forth. We go back to being friends and only friends. I cut the ties that he had knotted between us, forcing us to stay attached no matter how hard we pulled. I always fell to my feet and he dragged me through the fucking dirt and I got up, dusted my pants, and let him do it over again. I took the sharpest scissors I could find and cut it in half, sawed at it until my hands bled, and watched him walk away and leave me behind, because finally, I wasn’t attached anymore.

I’ve managed to be okay with calling him my best friend with no underlying meaning. I’ve buried that higher level of us so low in myself that I can look at him across the country and feel nothing but friendship. I like it that way.

I’m graduating today.

Four years of college, stress, and long nights are over.

I let my mom curl my hair, let her pamper me and make me feel like a kid again before it all flies out the window. She puts gentle braids in my hair and curls the strands that fall down my back. She tells me to pucker my lips, and she swipes lipstick over them, making me feel like a little girl playing in her moms makeup again.

“How excited are you for today?” she asked me with a smile.

I smack my lips together, coating the lipstick over every inch. “More nervous than anything. It’s awkward. I just want to get it over with.”

She frowns at me. “You’ll remember this day forever, I know it,” she promises, and I let her think she’s right.

My mom and dad drove me to my school for graduation. I had one other ticket available, which I extended to Mary Lou, hoping she would make it. I grew up with her like a second mom to me, or maybe an aunt considering how close she is to my mother. Either way, she’s family. Always will be no matter how stupid her son can be at times.

When I sat in a folded chair in the middle of an auditorium and waited for us to line up, I turned around and found an empty seat next to my parents.

I for sure thought she would be here. She never missed an event for me. She was there for every sporting event, every birthday party growing up, everything. She wouldn’t leave me hanging like that.

It was empty when I crossed that stage, and it was empty when I sat back down.

I don’t know why it hurt so bad. Maybe she had something come up. Maybe she got stuck in traffic.

All I knew is that I wanted at least one Sturniolo there. And I kept getting let down.

The long day had finally come to an end, and I searched for my parents in the cattle of students and families trying to find each other after the ceremony.

“At least one of us graduated.”

My feet halted. I froze, not even able to bring myself to turn around and search for the voice that I knew all too well.

“Do you think you could copy that paper?” he asked next. I turned around, and the first thing he did was take the book from my hands. He opened it up and inspected my diploma inside. “My mom would love to have this on her fridge. Oh! By the way. She couldn’t make it, so she sent me instead.”

I swallowed, suddenly nervous, like he wasn’t real.

He grinned at me, the same cheesy, childish, and adorable grin I’ve watched remain the same while the rest of his face aged as we grew older.

“Give me a hug, Sunny,” he sighed. “I just flew the whole day away to be here. Think you can crack my back too? It’s killing me.”

My first instinct was to punch his shoulder, playfully of course. He let out a fake wince before grabbing my arm and pulling me into him.

My head nuzzled into his neck out of instinct. That spot was made for me.

“What are you doing here?” I managed to get out.

He laughed. “What a dumb question. I’m here for you, you goof. You thought I’d miss this?”

I pulled back, looking at him closely, like he was something from a dream. He straightened the cap on my head like he found all of this entertaining. “You weren’t here during the ceremony. I looked for your mom, and the seat was empty.”

“I got here on time. I promise,” he assured me. “I waited up top so you wouldn’t see me until now, but trust me, I got here and saw everything. I have pictures and videos to prove it.”

He pulled his phone out and swiped through his camera roll, which were screenshots of me walking across the stage while the rest of his family watched through FaceTime, cheering me on from home.

My eyes welled up, unsure of my emotions at the moment. All I knew was I was feeling something, and crying seemed like the only logical answer.

He held my chin and pulled me to look at him, wiping my tears once my gaze settled on him.

“I came, Sunshine,” he nodded. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’re my number one girl, always.”

My lip trembled at his promise, seeing that he kept it. He shook his head at me, silently telling me to stop it, that him being here wasn’t supposed to make me upset. He wrapped an arm around me and led me to my parents instead, letting me stand awkwardly in photos with the three of them as they gushed and let out their excitement for me.

We all went to lunch after, nothing fancy, but we were together, and that was enough.

Chris came back to my apartment with me, which was now boxed up as our lease was coming to an end. I managed to find somewhere for us to sit comfortably in the clutter and eat our leftovers for dinner in my home.

We talked about the last six months – our lives, things we’ve done, what we missed out on.

“Did I surprise you?” he smiled.

I nodded. “Yeah, especially since I haven’t heard from you in a week.”

He sighed. “I’m trying, I really am.”

I shrugged, tired of this already. “Can we just drop it?”

“No, we can’t,” he insisted. He grabbed my thighs and turned me towards him, and I hate the way my body sparked when his hands were on me again. “I love you, no matter what, you know this. Stop making me feel like you don’t love me anymore.”

I don’t respond.

“Do you still love me?” he asked, now worried. His face softened enough to prove that.

“You know I do,” I mumbled. “Stop making me say it. It upsets me. It hurts, actually.”

“Well it hurts me that you don’t want to say it to me, because I would do anything to make you know I love you.”

Something in me snaps, because his answer isn’t fully true, and we both know that.

“Then maybe that’s all we know how to do,” I throw at him. “We hurt each other but promise to be with each other somehow for the rest of our lives. And you know what, Chris? I know for a fact I’ll be at your wedding, but the idea of being there in any other dress other than the white one I’ve had picked out since I was twelve keeps me up at night. And the idea of walking down the aisle and not being the one makes you cry makes me fucking vomit. So please, for me, make up your fucking mind. Stop playing these games with me.”

He kisses me after that, and I want to push him off, but my body has a natural reaction to him.

My hands find his cheeks and I pull him closer. My fingers eventually thread through his hair and pull on him until my back is pressed to the tile of the kitchen floor and his hands are on my waist, but we know it can’t go further because there’s nothing sexy about us fucking on my floor with boxes surrounding us.

He pulls back, catches his breath, and says, “No more games.”

I believe him, and I regret how quickly I do. “No more?”

“No more,” he repeats. “You and me. That’s all that matters.”

tag list: @ev3rgreenxtrees @thottie777 @plasticferal @angelworldspost @alluringsturniolo @sturniolho @sturniolopowers @sleepysturnss @sturniolovoid @sturnslcver @gamermattsgf @freshluv @flowerxbunnie @luverboychris @luvsturniolo @lacysturniolo @luvmila444 @luv4kozume @christinarowie332 @bernardenjoyer @bellybumm @nicksbf @n6ptunova @mbbsgf @mattsneezing @mangoposts @mattitties

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #strawberrysturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #Spotify

135 notes · View notes

going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 2 months

Text

Home. - Fluffy Ending (not canon) || cbf!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rating: M Words: 2.8K Pairing: cbf!Simonxafab!reader / teen!Simonxteen!Reader Summary: Teen Simon and his best friend often spend their nights away from their respective houses because they found a home in each other… CW: none. Tags: you/your pronouns, reconnecting with family, wedding guests, second chance romance, time skip. a/n: not proofread. I didn't like the way I wrote this ending but I figured I should share it either way. It's too fluffy/forced for my taste. The actual alt ending will be better. ALSO: Was listening to Chemical by Post Malone on repeat while writing this. Idk if you wanna do that too while reading...

[MASTERLIST]

You're twenty-eight, he's twenty-nine.

You swore to yourself you wouldn’t step a foot back in Manc, not even if cows flew!

You swore to yourself you wouldn’t keep in contact with anyone, not even if someone died!

(Which your father did. Thank fuck.)

You broke those promises so many times.

You were unable to keep away, though you tried…

It’s your own fault, really.

You stalk your old friends and family on Facebook sometimes.

Other times you check the local news.

Others you check the obituary and marriage sections on the news.

You beat yourself over it every time. Even though seeing the lack of changes through your cyberstalking and the news made you feel immense relief, you still ended up closing the pages on your browser with more aggression than you should and sulking in your bed.

And yet, you still go and do it again a few weeks later.

And then another few weeks later.

It’s pathetic, really, but maybe it provides you some comfort. Maybe helps you sleep at night.

You should’ve figured out that someone would have made you eventually.

I mean, naming your blank Facebook profile after the one mean neighbor you had, who called the police on you and your mates once for being too loud while hanging out in the street, and died years ago? Yeah, they’d make you eventually.

Luckily for you, it was Olly who did.

All things considered, it could’ve gone much worse.

Maybe… Maybe you should follow his advice.

It’s been a decade.

Your mum deserves at least a letter to let her know you’re still alive, that you’re healthy, happy, and safe. She’s owed that much…

It was very strange to be inside your childhood home after almost eleven years.

Four days ago, your mum had openly sobbed as she threw her arms around you, and you had found yourself sobbed with her, both of you falling to your knees at the front door.

She held your face so gingerly and kissed your forehead so many times, her face severely more aged than the last time you had seen her.

The letter you had sent her 8 months before was 23 pages long, a bulk so large you sent them unfolded and stapled together inside a manila envelope rather than folded neatly into a standard one, and had detailed everything you figured she should learn about your life.

Where you went.

What you did.

Who you did it with.

How you felt.

What you learned.

How you changed.

You apologized for running away, for worrying her.

You assured her you loved her and missed her.

You asked, tentatively, if she could find a way to let you be a bit more present.

You reiterated you wanted to remain living where you were in Scotland… but that you could allow yourself to be her daughter again if she so wanted it.

You know she cried reading it. Hell, you cried writing it…

You didn’t expect anything, you didn’t want to cause her any more grief by coming barrelling back into her life. She’s your mother, you didn’t want to manipulate her. You weren’t surprised when she didn’t answer for a few weeks…

But then her letter came. A simple half-a-page response that said, in no uncertain terms, that she missed you, that you were always welcome in her home and her heart, and she wanted to have her little girl back.

It all culminated in today.

Adjusting your red gown with one hand, you walk up the aisle, the other holding your 10-month-old daughter who’s clad in a pale yellow tulle dress. She’s kept flush to your chest, her chubby legs wrapped around your hip.

You and your mum find a spot near the middle and sit down, though you scoot yourself as far on the pew as you can, making sure that you can step off to the side just in case Evelyn starts fussing. Though you doubt she will.

The ceremony is being held in the middle of the afternoon and she has been calm and sleepy this whole time, softly dozing off in your arms, her little face nuzzling to your neck, since it’s close to her nap time.

You sit Evie down on your lap and place a hand on the back of her head while you and your mum speak softly, still waiting for the wedding ceremony to start.

You still can’t believe that you’re here…

Wythenshawe still looks as crappy as ever, you still know the streets like the back of your hand, though a lot of it has changed, shops went out and into business, and people moved away.

You met up with your old mates at your local just a couple of nights ago, and after a lot of tears and some drinking, you gossiped all night about your lives and everyone else’s.

In a way, it feels like you never left…

You were so afraid that they would hold a grudge at you for leaving, for not staying in touch… But they never did. You were welcomed with open arms…

It’s… nice.

The ceremony doesn’t take long to start.

You nearly cry at the sight of Emily in her wedding dress, having deemed her a close friend for the better time of your formative years. And Olly, as emotionally detached as he tries to pretend himself to be, cries at the sight of his bride.

The ceremony is long and a bit tedious, as most weddings tend to be, but you’re still happy to be there… Happy to be back.

It’s nearly 45 minutes into the ceremony when Evie starts fussing a bit. You’re quick to take the nappy bag onto your shoulder and rush out of the church while shooting some apologetic looks to the guests around.

Once outside, you find shade under a tree and begin to bounce Evie a bit, knowing she isn’t fussing because of her diaper or hunger, but rather from the fact she’s teething.

One hand balances the infant, the other sets down the nappy bag on a low wall and you begin rummaging for the teething ring toy amidst the pockets. When you find it, you give it to her, which she gladly takes, though it doesn’t do much for her pain, only quieting her down a bit by allowing her to bite all over it.

“Shhh… it’s alright, pet…” You whisper to her as you kiss her smooth forehead and nuzzle your nose against the crown of her head.

You keep softly swaying and bouncing with her in your hip, moving about, side to side, while she drools all over the toy, her hands, and your dress as she softly headbutts your chest while chewing.

You’re lucky your dress is a dark enough shade of red and made from a fabric as forgiving as chiffon, so that the wetness will dry quickly and discreetly.

It’s in the midst of your pacing and bouncing the infant on your hip that you spot him.

His pale jawline peppered with a well-trimmed stubble, his blonde hair cut short and hidden under the beige beret, his strong build wrapped in full military dress…

You almost didn’t recognize him…

You leave your bag right where it is and beeline for him before you can stop yourself.

And he makes no motion to move from his resting spot, leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette, and looking right at you like you’re sure he has been doing for the past 15 minutes or so (you wouldn’t put it past him).

“Fuckin’ hell…” You hear yourself saying as you come to stand in front of Simon.

He tosses his cigarette down on the floor and puts it out with his brown boot, blowing the smoke away from your daughter on your hip.

“That how you greet people now?” He retorts while looking down at you through his fluttering eyelashes.

His voice is so much deeper, rough and strong than it used to be… You don’t know how to respond at first, your mouth has gone dry and your brain has blue-screened.

You’ve had dreams about this before… Nightmares too.

You’ve imagined that one day you’d cross paths with him on the street and you’d stumble all over yourself. That he’d ask you how you’ve been or what you’ve done with your life and you’d have nothing to show for it…

You thought you’ve healed from your past, but here comes Simon Riley to indirectly tell you “HA! Think again, dumbass!”.

“You surprised me is all.” You end up saying, your voice carrying a maturity and a strength you didn’t know it could. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Didn’t think I would either. Got lucky this coincided with my leave.” He remarks. “Could say the same to you, though.” He adds.

You can’t tell if he meant to offend with that comment. Olly had told you through Facebook that he told Simon about you vanishing off the face of the Earth and that Simon didn’t take it well. You knew he, rightfully so, expected you to stay gone.

“Got back in touch with Olly and the rest of my family.” You remark simply and shrug.

He keeps looking at you with those brown eyes of his, with a certain coldness behind you that forcefully reminds you that this is not the same person you used to know. The boy he was and the man he is are forcefully different people.

“Cute kid.” He adds after a beat of silence as his eyes flit to your daughter who’s still very much in her own world with her teething toy.

“Thanks.” You reply.

This feels awkward. You’re finally standing face to face (more like face-to-chest, goddamn is the man tall) after a whole ten years. Are you even friends? No. But are you acquaintances? Also no. And you have too much of a history to be strangers.

So what are you?

“What’s her name?” He asks as he looks back at you.

“Evie.” You answer. “Evelyn.” You correct yourself before adding. “Evie for short.”

“Hm.” He remarks unemotionally. His eyes flit over you up and down, taking in… everything about you.

You are a confident person, you’d say. You feel good in your own skin. You like your reflection when you see yourself in the mirror. And you feel like a million bucks in this dress, which wraps around your body beautifully, the fabric making you look delicate and soft.

But under his scrutinizing gaze, you feel anything but confident.

So, you take a breath and return the same scrutinizing gaze, up and down, taking in every inch of him, your eyes just as strong and confident as his own. He notices, because of course he does, and he puffs out his chest and raises his chin, to allow you to keep looking at him, showing himself off a bit proudly.

He’s wearing a khaki formal uniform, or full dress as you remember it being called, and although it's been ten years, you still remember some things about all the stuff you investigated about the British Army, so you could keep up with him, impress him with your knowledge.

A brown waist belt with a sash across the right soldier means he’s an Officer… The buttons are gold and shaped like winged parachutes, and he wears a beret instead of a cap. A beige beret to be exact, which means he’s no longer in the Parachute Regiments, who wear maroon ones. There’s a cap badge on the beret and the Excalibur on it tells you one thing: he’s special forces. You don’t remember which one… but you know he’s something big, bad, and important.

“Special Forces.” You muse out loud, showing off what you noticed.

His eyebrows raise, impressed by you, and then he nods. “Somethin’ like that.” He adds.

“Done well for yourself, then.” You add and he nods again and blinks while smirking, as if trying to humbly pat himself on the back for it.

“She have a dad?” Simon asks while shooting Evelyn a look. The words escape his mouth quicker than he wanted and sound a lot more judgemental than he meant for them to.

The way your eyebrows raised at him, the same way they used to when he’d say something bloody stupid as a teen, told him you weren’t pleased and that he had put his foot in his mouth.

“Sorry.” He says though it’s clear he doesn’t mean it. “Came out wrong.” He tells you.

You might have gone ten years apart but you knew Simon like the back of your hand at one point… And you knew sometimes he’d say things aloud when he meant to keep them as thoughts. It’s clearly that’s a habit he still has.

“I know what you meant.” You reply bluntly as you fix your grip on the infant, swiveling her a bit to sit on your other side.

“What’s the answer then? She got a dad?” He probes as he dips his head a bit to the side, his arms hanging by his side as he looks you up and down.

“Aye.” You end up replying, the Scottish word slipping past your lips then you meant for it to. You still speak English with a Manc accent, just like him, but there are little quirks like this one that you’ve adopted after living in Dundee for ten years.

Simon’s eyebrows cock up as well at the sound of Scottish word, and you can tell he finds it odd, but he doesn’t comment. “Where’s he, then?” He retorts. “No ring on your finger.” He adds.

Your eyes drift down to your left hand which is wrapped around your daughter now, the splayed fingers showing a distinct lack of a wedding ring. He sounds just as judgemental. But you don’t let it ruffle your feathers.

“Separated.” You reply maturely. “No ring on yours.” You say and nod toward his own left hand which also lacks a ring.

“Married to the job.” He replies and you can’t help but let out a snort of a chuckle, which makes him chuckle dryly too.

“‘f course you are.” You add in reply.

“Could’ve been married to you.” He retorts with the same casualty of someone saying ‘Nice weather today’.

You scoff and shake your head. “Really?” You add.

“Ye.” He adds. “Had a ring and everythin’.” He quips. “Then Olly told me you ran off into the night.”

You scoff again, mostly out of disbelief, and look away from him, your eyes flittering over the courtyard in front of the church.

The ceremony should be finishing soon enough.

“Dodged a bullet then.” You remark dryly, smiling a bit in amusement.

“You or me?” He retorts and you find your eyes drifting upwards to him again.

For a moment you just both stare at each other in silence…

Your eyes are locked in the same way they used to whenever the two of you were about to throw themselves at one another as teens…

Then, he breaks into a grin, and so do you, the both of you looking away for a moment. His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. You’re both amused at the cheekiness of your comment.

“How long are you stayin'?” He asks you once you both glance at each other again.

“Goin’ home on the 26th.” You tell him. “How long’ve you got leave for?”

“‘Till the 27th.” He replies and dips his head to the side a bit.

This is definitely crazy.

You secretly wonder if you’ve gone mad.

A decade has gone by… But there’s no mistaking the electricity in the air.

That light buzzing of goosebumps that prickle at your skin, making the hair in the back of your neck stand… Like lightning is about to strike…

“Take me out to dinner.” You demand abruptly and narrow your eyes at him.

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek again in amusement. “Are you askin’ me on a date?” He retorts.

“No. I’m tellin’ you.” You add, watching how his brown eyes swiftly light ablaze with a certain fire you never expected to see after so many years apart.

“Tomorrow?” He suggests.

“Tomorrow.” You add.

“I’ll pick you up at 9.” He adds.

You know damn well that 9 P.M. is too damn late for dinner… But you also know that in reality, your ‘dinner’ will be grabbing Nando’s and cheap beer, and eating in the backseat of his car in that one side road you always used to go to… talking into the night… and probably definitely fucking each other’s brains out.

“Like the good ol’ days.” You remark.

“Mhm.” He adds.

Then, the church doors open and the guests come pouring out, forcing the two of you to separate.

But you can still see the smirk on his lips from afar as you walk off to grab your nappy bag, find your mum, and get ready for the rice toss.

[MASTERLIST]

taglist: @iite-cool , @spicyspicyliving

#home cbf!simon fic #cod fanfic #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #childhood best friends to lovers #cbf #cbf!simon #teenage love #masterlist #time skip #second chance romance

67 notes · View notes

ukrfeminism · 1 month

Text

Women in the UK are waiting almost nine years for an endometriosis diagnosis, according to research that found many women are "dismissed, ignored and belittled".

The study by the charity Endometriosis UK found waiting times for the condition to be formally identified have significantly deteriorated since the pandemic, increasing to an average of eight years and 10 months - up 10 months since 2020.

The report, which surveyed 4,371 women, also found that almost half of respondents had visited their GP 10 or more times with symptoms before receiving a diagnosis.

Endometriosis is a condition where tissue similar to the lining of the womb grows in other places, such as the ovaries and fallopian tubes.

It impacts around one in 10 women and symptoms can vary from person to person.

"My periods are… painful to the point where I'm bedbound," said Sanchia Alasia, who was diagnosed with the disease in 2010, after 15 years of symptoms.

As a former mayor of a London borough, she has led a busy and productive life - but pain and discomfort were never far away.

"I've missed so many engagements," she said.

"I remember missing my nephew's funeral. I've missed dinners, day trips. I wouldn't even count the amount of money I've lost over things that I've booked and not been able to attend.

"It can be incredibly frustrating," she added.

Emma Cox, chief executive of Endometriosis UK, said the problems with diagnoses persist because symptoms are often misunderstood.

"Day to day, without a diagnosis, some people have real issues both physical and mental health, because they'll be in severe pain," Ms Cox said.

If left undiagnosed and untreated, endometriosis can lead to worsening physical symptoms and even permanent organ damage.

The charity's research showed that, while women in England and Scotland wait an average of eight years and 10 months for a diagnosis, those in Northern Ireland wait nine years and five months, and those in Wales wait nine years and 11 months.

It also found that 52% of respondents had visited A&E at least once due to symptoms of endometriosis.

Ms Cox said: "We want this to be a real wake-up call for governments and the NHS.

"What we'd like to see is a commitment from the NHS and governments in each nation in the UK, to have a target of an average diagnosis time, by a year or less by 2030.

"We believe that's doable," she added.

Minister for the Women's Health Strategy, Maria Caulfield, admitted more needs to be done to improve women's experiences of the healthcare system.

"From getting an initial diagnosis to getting the right care and treatment, we must learn from this report," she said.

"We launched our Women's Health Strategy to do just this - listen to women. Endometriosis is a priority area within our strategy, so expect to see more in this space.

"Through the strategy, we are working to turn 'dismissed, ignored and belittled' into 'listened to, understood and empowered'."

#articles #health

54 notes · View notes

onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 9 months

Text

Morning Smiles

Roy Kent x Teacher!Reader

Warnings: Language

0.5k words

Teach Me Tonight Masterlist

“Morning.”

There was that voice, that voice you tried all last night to get out of your head as you recuperated from the first day with a glass of wine and a Colin Firth movie. It was deep and gruff, with a growling edge that had goosebumps spreading across your skin. It was the kind of voice you bet sounded great whispering in your ear, and you’d even let yourself imagine the kinds of things you’d want to hear.

But all you could do was plaster on that sweet smile, the same one you offered to every parent, and cheerfully chirp, “Good morning, Coach Kent! Good morning, Phoebe!”

The girl high-fived your extended hand before turning and giving her uncle a kiss on his bearded cheek. Without another glance at either of you, she ran off in the direction of her friends, who were standing outside your classroom, waving and shrieking for Phoebe to hurry up join them so they could play before school started.

“Ready for another day of that? All the screeching and whatever the fuck it is kids do?”

Oh. Shit. He wants to fucking chitchat.

You laughed awkwardly, fiddling with your lanyard, hoping the sound of your jingling keys would obscure the sound of your heart pounding wildly inside your chest. “I better be, I’ve got a year of it ahead of me.”

He nodded, bright eyes showing you that Roy Kent was interested in what you were saying. “More like nine months though, right? Then you get a well-deserved break.”

“Yeah, and I spend most of that preparing for the next group. Not as much downtime as one would think.”

“I’m sure.” He studied you for a moment, taking in your second-day outfit: a skirt and plain t-shirt and those white sneakers again. Light, cheery, simple. Charming, in his opinion. Attractive, even. “With so little downtime, I assume you live on coffee?”

You ignored the stutter of your heart as you shrugged, ignoring the burning trail his eyes had left down your body. “They don’t tell you this in teacher school, but you’re kind of required to have an I.V. of the stuff ready to go at all times.”

His smile surprised you; it’s a really fucking nice smile, so nice it had you wondering if he scowls all the time because the world wouldn’t be able to function if he smiled too often. Your brain sure as hell stopped working the moment you saw it.

He knew. He had to know; otherwise, why did his smile turn into a smirk?

“Should let you go,” he hummed after a much-too-long moment, raising his eyebrows.

You couldn’t let him leave with the impression of you as a mute, staring dolt. “Yeah, we’ve both got long days of corralling energetic children ahead of us.”

Roy’s surprised laugh had your face feeling red-hot. “At least yours are actual fucking children. Eight-year-olds acting like eight-year-olds is almost cute. Twenty-year-olds acting like eight-year-olds is pure hell.” He tapped two of his fingers to his temple, bidding you a small salute. “Best of luck to you.”

“Have a good day,” you murmured, offering a half wave as he turned away.

Once he’d disappeared into the parking lot, you blew a stray hair out of your face. That man, with his leather jacket and deep brown eyes and infrequent smiles, was dangerous. You wondered how you were supposed to go inside and focus on reading and writing and math when you had the image of Roy Kent’s grin in your head all day.

#roy kent teach me tonight #roy kent x teacher!reader #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fluff #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction

218 notes · View notes

sunnynwanda · 2 months

Text

Part 2

The shackles drag across the floor, filling the space with the clanking of the metal against marble. The hall is dark but warm enough to make the chained creature shiver from thermal shock, numbness being replaced with pain as his white fingers start growing red. He fists his hands, pressing his trembling lips into a thin line to dissociate from the sensations rushing through his body.

Once they reach the middle of the hall, the guards step back, allowing his body to sag to the cold floor. It’s nothing compared to the snow that he was buried in.

Someone enters the room - he can hear the guard speaking but fails to discern words. His brain must be shutting down. He uses the last of his strength to lift his head when one of the guards nudges his shoulder.

The man in front of him is already staring at him, his expression nothing short of austerity. He looks to be in the second half of his life, grey streaks lining his temples and forehead, but his features have not yet lost their sharpness. There is a small scar on the underside of his chin, only visible under intent observation, and a much more noticeable crown on his head. Oh, no.

“What are you?” The King’s voice is tense. His hand rests on the pommel of his sword, never leaving, even when he reaches out to tilt the creature’s head up with his other one. The captive gulps, afraid to speak or meet the King’s intense gaze. “What is your purpose in my land? Answer.”

“I-” he tries, but his throat seizes, clumping in to try and swallow himself up. He coughs, facing the floor once again, lips coated in blood from a wound no doubt inflicted by the guards trying to detain him. The guard on his side steps back, scared of the dark crimson poision dripping down his chin. “I didn’t know I shouldn’t be here... I didn't know where I was.”

The King raises an eyebrow at that, not convinced by the act. His kingdom has lived in peace for over eight years - ever since he reached an agreement and outlawed vishaps from entering his land. In return, humans were banned from crossing into Vishap territory for fear of never returning, which was the least of all evil for the safety of his people and, most importantly, his family. The King sighs, rubbing his temples in slow circles.

“He was found half-buried under the snow right by the Edge,” the guard that captured the young creature informs. “He did not shift when attacked.”

This caught the King by surprise, which was written quite obviously in his features. He glanced at the guard before returning his attention to the young creature still slumped at his feet. It looked young - perhaps nine or ten years of age. Too young to be sent after him or be capable of inflicting significant harm. Vishaps did not tend to leave their younglings alone if they couldn't shift yet. Unless his parents were not in the picture, that is. “What is your name, child?”

“Vanki,” His voice comes out weaker than he intended, so with another cough, the creature repeats. “My name is Vanki.”

“Vanki,” the King repeats with a nod. He motions for one of the guards to lift the boy from the floor. The guard practically picks him up, supporting him as he stands, bone-weary from days of running and hiding in the woods with no proper food or rest. Vanki doesn’t know where they are taking him, but an unconscious fear settles in the pits of his empty stomach. He knows he is too weak to put up any fight. Damn, he was too weak to so much as move when the snow started falling, so all he did was roll to the side and hug himself to keep whatever warmth he had left in his sinking heart.

“I didn’t know,” Vanki claims, panic flashing in the depths of his dark eyes. His eyes dart to the King’s face, who looks at him quizzically. “I wasn’t aware I was trespassing.”

The guard hisses for him to be quiet, but Vanki shakes his head no. He has no strength to struggle against his chains or captors, but he won’t go down without a fight if it’s the last thing he does.

“I was lost.” It comes more pleading than he intended, but that can be attributed to the frailty of his voice. Or so he hopes.

“No.” The King’s answer is plain and straightforward, his voice void of emotion. It sends a chill down Vanki's spine.

“Please,” he hates himself for begging, but the prospect of being executed or, worse, thrown into a dungeon to be tortured for public entertainment gnaws at his side, threatening to rip his ribcage open and wrench his heart out. As it is meant to be.

“You weren’t lost, you were running from someone," the statement catches Vanki off guard. The King’s tone is even, but there is something in his eyes that the boy fails to decipher. “Other vishaps chased you out. Isn’t that right?”

Stunned into silence, Vanki struggles to answer right away, terrified of what his reply may entail. The King approaches him again, standing so close that the boy can see the small scar under his chin again. He wonders if it’s one of his kind that gave it to him.

“Well?” The King prompts, cupping the boy's jaw with a warm hand. His fingers are rough but his touch is featherlight, careful not to hurt. Vanki can only muster a short nod, his eyes getting watery at the contact. For a moment, he envisions his misfortune retreating. The King sighs, seeming satisfied with the answer. “Take him away.”

“I didn’t harm anyone.” Whatever was left of the boy's resolve shatters in an instant. Not paying him any mind, the King waves a hand, and that movement stirs something within Vanki - something feral, something animalistic, something dangerously close to his true nature. With a desperate cry, he hauls away from his captors, yanking at the chains until the shackles loosen around his wrists. “I didn't do anything! You can’t just kill me... you can't!”

“Kill you?” The King turns around with an incredulous look adorning his face. He almost chuckles at the suggestion, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Let me go, please,” Vanki can feel his eyes watering again, and his voice is a whisper by the end of the sentence. Misfortune grips his limbs with renewed vigour, marks the skin on his forehead with a sharp kiss that makes him hiss, baring his teeth. “Please.”

“You have nowhere to go,” the King notes, correctly so. He has nowhere and no one to go to - having escaped the Vishap territory and stepped into the land that considers him nothing but an animal, a monster, a god too vicious to trust. “But you can stay here.”

Vanki isn’t sure if he heard it right, but the King looks as stern as when he first came in, albeit with less hostility in his gaze. At a loss for words, he doesn't have a chance to object when the King speaks again. “So I can keep an eye on you,” he explains before waving the boy away and departing the room.

Vanki is still processing the situation at hand as he is led across the hall and along dimly lit corridors of the castle. It’s too early in the morning for anyone to be awake yet, so they meet no one on the way to the spacious room allocated to him.

The guard walks him in, only stopping to inform the boy that a servant has filled a warm bath for him and left food on his bedside table. He then bids him a good night and locks the door, leaving Vanki alone and utterly confused. He cannot comprehend why or when all of this was arranged for him, but none of that matters when he lowers his aching body into the warmth of the bath, his head lolling back at the sheer pleasure of his element enveloping him. It takes only fifteen minutes for it to soak his bones, healing all of the cuts and bruises littering his skin.

Vanki has no way of knowing what is going to happen in the morning or what the King intends to do to him. He doesn't know if he will be allowed to stay or handed back to his kind. He can't even tell if he is a prisoner or a guest. The only thing he does know is that he is safe, warm and sated. Even if only for a night.

Part 2

Lore: Vishaps are serpent-like dragons in Armenian mythology, closely linked to water. They were seen as guardians or spirits of water sources that lived for thousands of years. They lived in the mountains or beneath lakes and had shape-shifting abilities. Vishaps' blood was believed to be deadly poisonous.

Author's note: This is based on the beautiful request by @annablogsposts.

Thank you so much for this, I enjoyed it incredibly ♡ As I've mentioned in my first reply, it corresponds greatly with my WIP novel and I took the liberty of aligning it even more. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did but even if you don't, feedback is welcomed.

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444

P.S. I know this isn't my usual content, so if you don't wanna be tagged in stories like this one, just let me know! Sunny xo

48 notes · View notes

5647389012 · 1 year

Text

Two-Stage Pregnancy (Part 1)

Part 2 "I can't believe you're going through with this! A normal pregnancy is hard enough on the human body as it is, to say nothing of what you're planning."

Sarah nodded along, half listening. Frankly, she had heard this lecture before, from her friends, from her family, from her coworkers, and now from a woman in the waiting room of a fertility clinic. Sarah always failed to see the point of this conversation. She and her husband, Dave, had made up their minds about this a long time ago, and regardless it was a little late to back out now.

Sarah was, thankfully, spared from more of that exchange when a nurse came to retrieve her and guided to a room near the back of the clinic. A woman in a white lab coat stepped away from a desk in the back and moved to shake her hand.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Kellner," the woman spoke "and you are-"

"Sarah. Sarah Parks."

"Nice to meet you, Sarah. I'm with the project. I'll be sort of your go-to person from here on out. If you can just hop up on the table here, we can get started."

At this, Sarah got on the exam table. Frequent exams were going to be a part of her life from now on. Ever since she'd been impregnated on this very table about four weeks ago. The embryo was her and her husband's, modified as part of an experimental genetic engineering program intended to increase human intelligence. While that sounded great in theory, increased intelligence meant increased head size and increased gestation time as well - her baby would take a full twelve months before it was mature.

"I know this whole… process can seem a little intimidating at first," the doctor began, "but this really is a fantastic opportunity. You definitely made the right choice sticking it out this far. It's such a revolutionary program, the ways we've come up with to handle the 'Cephalopelvic Disproportion Problem' are just…"

Sarah nodded along in a rather detached fashion. There wasn't really much point in giving her the sales pitch now, and she had already heard as many lurid descriptions of the elaborate procedures they would use as she cared to. Ordinarily, a twelve-month fetus with an oversized head would be an impossible challenge to fit through a human pelvis. The scientists working on the project had developed a plan, of course, to deal with this, which they would call brilliant and most others would call insane. Sarah was, truthfully, still undecided.

The essence of the plan was simple. If the head can't fit through the narrowest part of the pelvis past nine months, then fit it through at nine months. If the baby can't be born until twelve months, then don't give birth to it until it's twelve months along. The consequence of these two requirements is that Sarah would have to wait eight more months, go into labor, push the head out until it just barely peeks through her opening, then keep it there for another three months before finally finishing the process of giving birth.

While this process certainly sounded intimidating, it was, at least, reasonably safe. Sarah was not the first woman to undergo this procedure; there had been others before her that she'd read about, but a lot of women were still put off by what it would entail. Sarah was too, to be honest; those last three months sounded hellishly uncomfortable, but what were three months of discomfort compared to improving her child's whole life.

"…which is really-" the doctor stopped. "Sorry, I sometimes ramble on about these things a little too much. Being part of this project for so long got me really familiar with all the 'messy details,' and then having two of my own just-"

This last part piqued Sarah's interest. "You've done this yourself?"

"Of course I have. I meant it when I said you made the right choice."

Sarah couldn't even try to stop herself from asking, "And how are your kids now?"

"Oh they're just perfect. My four-year-old, she's reading everything she can get her hands on and my two-year-old is just growing like a weed. I would show you pictures, but then I'd be here all day. Was there anything else you wanted to know first-hand?"

"Yeah, this is a little awkward to ask, but how were the last three months for you?"

"Yeah, that part. A lot of people get hung up on that. Here, I'll put it this way: if I really hated it that much, I wouldn't have done it twice. And besides," she gave Sarah a knowing smile, "it goes a lot better once you learn to enjoy it."

The appointment finished up soon after. Sarah was greatly relieved to have done this before - multiple times, even - and didn't regret having done so, but that last statement stuck out in her head. This didn't seem like the kind of thing you "learned to enjoy" so much as something you endured, but she supposed she would see what that meant once she got to it.

The "normal" portion of Sarah's pregnancy proved fairly unremarkable. Her belly slowly grew, her clinic visits continued, her baby's growth was filled out, and she did her best to carry on with her life. While pregnancy was occasionally inconvenient, Sarah and her husband certainly took the time to enjoy some of the changes that were happening to her.

Preparing for the birth was a little different than usual, though. Sarah would go into labor twice; first at nine months to open her cervix and move the head down, then again at twelve months to give birth to the baby. Sarah would be given "labor suppressants" to stop her first labor, and would continue to take them for the three months afterwards, to stop her body trying to give birth before it was time.

This meant, among other things, that her Lamaze classes looked a little different than usual. They were divided into two sections: one for mothers in the first nine months of their pregnancies, and another for those in the last three months, both run by women who had been through the program before. Sarah was in the first group. She did a lot of practicing on how to breathe through contractions, both her and her husband used a dummy to practice holding back a crowning head, and they even learned about some more advanced methods to help her hold off from giving birth in an emergency, like tying her legs together or pressing her groin against something firm.

These skills would be very important in the second stage of her pregnancy; the medication she would take would help stop her body from going into labor, but it wasn't perfect. Contractions and the urge to push would still come and go, and it was very important that Sarah knew how to deal with those things to avoid giving birth too early.

Sarah felt her first labor start in the 39th week of pregnancy. Her contractions started weak and far apart and she didn't have too much trouble dealing with them at first. She spent the time straightening up her house; consciously, she knew it would be quite a while before she would have a baby to clean up for, but her body had not been informed of the plan and the instinct to get everything in order was strong.

At about 8:00 in the evening, when she felt that her contractions were sufficiently well established to constitute "real" labor, Sarah and Dave packed their things and set off for the hospital. Upon arrival, however, Sarah was told she was only 1cm dilated and sent home, disappointed to hear she had so far left to go. Sarah slept fitfully, doing her best to work through the increasingly intense pains in her belly. By the time morning came, she thought that, surely, she had to be in active labor by now. Sarah was once again disappointed; the hospital told her she was 2cm dilated this time, and told her to go home again. She sat hunched over despondently during the car ride home.

"Oh god-" she worried to herself, "how much longer is this going to take? Oh god- if I'm not even in active labor yet, then what's that going to be like? Oh god- OH GOD-" Sarah gasped as she felt something inside her shift downward, a feeling of fullness building up between her legs.

"Turn the car around!" Sarah nearly shouted, "It's coming down!"

"But the hospital said-"

"I know what the hospital said, but I also know that I'm holding back from pushing right now; if we don't turn around, we're not going to make it there at all."

Dave turned the car and rushed back the way they came; the hospital checked her, saw she was at 8cm and dilating rapidly, and rushed her through check-in as much as they could. The experience was all a whirlwind. Sarah remembers nurses encouraging her not to push just yet ("Just remember your breathing!"), at some point she traded her clothes for a hospital gown, she got an IV with the labor suppressants that "should've been started two hours ago," there was no time for an epidural, and she was suddenly laying in a hospital bed with her legs spread.

Doctor Kellner coached her while she breathed through contractions, "Okay, you're nearly there now, Sarah. When the nurse tells you to push, you can push, but, and this is important, when I tell you to stop, I need you to stop, okay?"

"Okay."

"We don't want the head to move too far. Once you're done pushing, I'll help you pant through the contractions and keep the head there. You covered breathing through contractions in your Lamaze classes?" Sarah nods. "Good. You got here a little suddenly, so we're running a bit behind, but soon you should be able to get the labor suppressants, and we can talk next steps once that's done."

"Alright-Nng…"

"Do you have a contraction?"

Sarah winced, "Yeah."

The nurse moved back to the foot of the bed and pressed two fingers into Sarah to check her dilation. "You're ready." She pressed in two more fingers of her other hand, using them to spread Sarah open to get a better view of the head. "Alright, push."

Sarah pushed. When she did, the pressure she felt so low in her pelvis was relieved as she felt her baby start to move down. She pulled her thighs back with her hands while she bore down, her face redenning with effort. The pressure she felt was strong and she pushed long and hard, trying to hold on to that wonderful feeling as long as possible.

"Good," the nurse responded once Sarah let go. "And again."

Sarah pushed again. It felt so good, the sheer relief it brought was heavenly. She loved being able to do something about the overwhelming fullness that she felt building up in-

"And stop."

"Wha-" Sarah blurted out, breathing rapidly to prevent the head from moving forward any more.

"That's it. You're done. The head is where it needs to be," the nurse explained to her.

"But I barely got to- I barely pushed!"

"Yeah, I guess your baby felt cooperative today. Usually it takes a little longer than that."

Sarah said nothing to this, focusing instead on breathing through the remainder of the contraction. As she felt the urge to push ebb, she finally responded, "So, what now?"

Doctor Kellner responded to this. "Now we just wait, really. The medication should kick in soon, and then you'll be good to head home."

The next contraction came soon. Sarah did her best to just relax and focus on her breathing. She tried not to think about how relieving it would be to push, how good it had felt earlier. She panted heavily and gripped the sides of the bed as she felt the contraction peak, her breathing rapid and deep. Dave did his best to help her through it, stroking her hair and whispering encouragement into her ear as she put everything she had into holding back.

Another contraction began almost immediately after the last one ended. Sarah's moan of frustration was cut off by more desperate breathing as she felt the urge to push return in full force. She spread her legs wider on the bed and shifted her hips restlessly side to side, anything to try and relieve the pressure between her legs. Nothing brought more than temporary relief, though, as she sank back in tired resignation.

The next few contractions progressed similarly, washing over Sarah with few breaks in between. When they finally, mercifully, abated for a minute, she took the time to ask "Ha- How much longer is it going to be?"

The nurse answered, "It might take a little while longer. Just keep hanging in there, okay." In truth, Sarah should have been started on these drugs over two hours ago; "a little while" was selling it short.

Sarah shot her a look of utter irritation. The nurse gave her an apologetic smile in return, but the doctor looked thoughtful for a moment. "Here, this might help." At Sarah's inquisitive look, she continued, "when you have to, hold it here-" the doctor put Sarah's hand over her bulging labia "-and push. Gently. It'll help you practice for keeping the head in later." Sarah looked at the doctor as if Jesus Christ himself was standing in her place, totally ignoring the nurse's look of confusion.

Encouraged by her words, Sarah tried a tentative push, pressing her hand against the head when she felt it move forward slightly. Pushing helped relieve the intense fullness she felt, and she chatted happily with the doctor and her husband as she relaxed between contractions, one hand slowly stroking the small patch of head visible at her opening.

At the doctor's encouragement, Sarah and her husband took turns pressing their hands to her groin as the doctor gave them tips on how best to hold in the head (cup your hand over as much of the head as possible, push back at an angle to follow the curve of the pelvis, press firmly but not too firmly).

Sarah pushed once agin, a little harder this time. She felt the head start to slip forward and pressed a little more firmly with her hand to compensate. The feeling was intoxicating; she pushed a little harder with the next contraction, a little more with the one after that, and a lot more with the one after that.

The need to reach around her belly meant that Sarah couldn't press the head back with full force; she felt the head start to slip out despite everything she could do. "Babecanyouswitchwithmeplease-" Dave rushed to help her hold back "-Nnnn- here," she guided his hand, "-press, yeah. Harder- AAAh-" Sarah bore down again, hand gently resting against her husband's as she felt him hold back their child. Soon she was red-faced and pushing full force against Dave's hand, any thoughts of "gentle" pushes long forgotten.

The nurse looked on, increasingly concerned. "Uh-" she started before the doctor silenced her. "Really, you don't need to be here for this part." Somewhat sheepishly, the nurse hurried out of the room. She turned to the couple, "I hate to be rude to her like that, but I get the feeling you two would prefer a little more privacy." They both blushed a little at this assertion, but it was true for both of them. "I figured. Here, you've got a handle on holding back the head?" Dave confirmed that he did. "Good. Then I'll leave you two alone for a bit," she said with a knowing smile, "press the 'call' button if the contractions quiet down or if either of you needs anything. Otherwise…" her smile widened as she left the room.

"Uh-" "So-" They both stopped, awkwardly. A moment of silence passed. Dave overcame his hesitation first, "You're turned on by this?" "Yeah." "Me too." Sarah's blush deepened. The feeling of Dave's hand pushing against her clit had given her a slowly building feeling of arousal, and she could feel her wetness starting to coat his hand. He could feel it too, seeping from between her lips. It made a wet squelching sound as he gave her clit an experimental rub. "Nnnnng-" she moaned- she was surprisingly sensitive- "No, don't stop. Keep going while- Nhhh- while I push."

She bore down as he rubbed firmly on her clit, making her cum soon after. She kept up the push during her orgasm, and let go when it ended. She took some short breaths before she bore down again and felt his fingers resume their work. Her next orgasm chained into the last one as she felt her legs shaking from the force of her pushing and the intensity of her pleasure. She screamed through her orgasm before finally falling silent as it ended. She pushed again, chasing the tail end of the contraction, and almost immediately felt another orgasm shooting like lightning up her spine. She yelled out again in pleasure as she felt her her opening pulsing around the head lodged inside her, alternately clenching and releasing and only adding to her pleasure. "Haaaa- Haaaa- Oh god- Oh fuck-" she breathed out before fixing her husband with a desperate, excited stare, "You- haaah- you will do that again, right?"

She lay back tiredly with the end of the contraction. Dave wondered if she might be too tired to continue, but she gave him an expectant look before bearing down enthusiastically when the next contraction started. He rubbed her clit and helped her cum while she pushed. When it ended, she laid back; despite her seeming fatigue, she was just as eager to push when more contractions came. Dave was just as eager to help her through them, using his hands and mouth on her clit while he held back the head. Pushing helped her cum, and cumming helped her push; whether she was screaming from effort or from orgasm was impossible for even her to tell.

Eventually, though, fatigue and overstimulation began to take their toll. Sarah started to push more and more gently before going back to breathing through the contractions.

"You're done pushing?" Dave asked.

"I think so, yeah. The contractions aren't nearly as strong as they were at the start; I can feel the labor suppressants finally starting to work. Plus, I'm way too tired to keep pushing."

"Yeah, you were really going at it."

"Yeah, I kinda was. I don't regret it though; I expected this to be all uncomfortable and medical, not like… y'know…"

"Not like it was?"

"No, not like it was. Not like it is. I mean, sex aside, I also really liked how close we were when you were…" Sarah blushes a little at this, "How close we still are now." Neither of them says anything more after that as the two of them share the moment while Sarah's contractions abate.

Eventually, Sarah breaks the silence, "Alright, that's been the last one for a while. Can you hit the call button?" Dave does so, and soon after Doctor Kellner returns.

"Well, how are we feeling? Is everything alright?"

"More than anything else right now, I feel like I just ran a marathon."

Doctor Kellner looks down at Sarah, soaked with sweat and still shaking slightly, and laughs to herself a little. "Yeah, I was the same way when I had my second. Trust me, it's more fun this way than when everything goes to plan."

Neither Sarah nor Dave can manage to formulate a response to this by the time Doctor Kellner comes back around to the bed. "Alright, now for the final hurdle: getting you up out of bed."

Sarah looks up at her with skepticism, wondering quite how she's supposed to accomplish that in her current state.

"Yeah, no one's really eager to do that at this point, but I promise it's not as hard as it sounds. Here," Doctor Kellner helps Sarah position her legs to hang off the legs of the bed, with one hand cupping the bulging head in her crotch. "Now press your hand against the head, nice and firmly. Yeah, just like that, perfect. And now-"

Doctor Kellner pulls Sarah to her feet. "Nnnn-" Sarah exclaims, feeling the head drop slightly before pressing her hand upwards to stop it- "Aaaah… it's okay, I'm okay."

"Yeah, you get the hang of that eventually. So, how does that feel, now that you're up?"

"Most of all, it feels like there's a bowling ball lodged between my hips."

"Yeah, you'll get used to that."

"Also, it still feels like I have to push a little bit, and- nnng- the head's pressing against my clit from the inside."

"Both of those do get better over time; neither of them go away completely, but whether you'd want the second one to, that's…" she smiles a little before trailing off, and fixes Sarah with a serious look. "Jokes aside though, this can get pretty uncomfortable at times, especially early on while your body is still adjusting. I just want you to know that, as someone who has done this twice before, it does get easier if you give it a little time, okay?"

"Okay. I'll keep that in mind."

"One final thing. Here." She hands Sarah a small booklet. "This is something me and a few other mothers put together. Call it a 'survival guide' of sorts, some of the tips in there were real lifesavers, for me at least."

Sarah accepted the guide as well as all her more official medical paperwork, including a prescription for more labor-suppressing pills. After setting a date for her next exam (those hadn't ended just because she was in "stage two" now), Sarah was finally allowed to leave the hospital, still ultimately uncertain of what the next three months of her life would be like.

I'm still new to writing of this kind (and writing in general); any constructive comments would be greatly appreciated. What did you like best? What didn't you like (and how could I improve)? By all means, let me know. Parts 2 and 3 will come eventually, covering Sarah's experience with the second stage of her pregnancy and the birth of her oversized child.

#fpreg #birth kink #no birth yet though b/c #birth denial #two-stage pregnancy #my own writing

317 notes · View notes

the-au-thor · 3 months

Note

Hello!

Nice writing btw

I saw you write ST fanfics and i was thinking Steve Harrington and female reader. One of them receiving comfort. I don't really know how, but i need sweet comfort right now so bad. It could be just platonic or romantic, that's on you honey.

Thank you! Don't forget us the Stranger Things Fanfiction readers please!

Hi Hun! I hope you're having a great day. I write ST fanfics indeed, and I am glad you have requested me this, I tried my best and I hope you'll like it!

It's you | Steve Harrington x Reader

Words: 1.6 k

Warnings: Typical ST

Desperate, you were tossing and turning in bed once more. After over a month without proper sleep, you'd think that at the first chance to crash in your own bed, you'd catch some sleep and be out like a light for at least the next eight or nine hours (heck, even more if you could admit it shamelessly). But nope, all you could do at that moment was lie awake with the sheets tangled around your legs and unable to catch any shut-eye.

You'd say it was possibly the worry and adrenaline of the past days that were causing your insomnia now, but it didn't make sense. It wasn't the first time you had gone through stressful moments like this, though it was the first time it had been this horrible. You looked up at the ceiling of your room in frustration. Some strands of your hair fell onto your mouth, and you removed them with an annoyed huff.

Perhaps you had already gotten used to crashing in uncomfortable spots. Like the cold hard basement floor of the Wheelers, a month and a half ago, when you and your friends were trying to figure out the reason behind the sudden deaths of teens in the town. Everyone was pointing fingers at Eddie Munson, but of course, it wasn't him. You decided to crash at the Wheeler's because it was basically the HQ, since the Byers had gone and Hopper had died… or so it was supposed.

That night you were taking turns to watch over Maxine, who had been chased by another creature from the Upside Down more wicked than the previous one (yep, that was possible). You were on duty along with Dustin and Steve. Dustin had been yammering and ribbing Steve about almost everything that came out of his mouth; poor guy had no choice, he was too clueless and Dustin too slick. Eventually, the dude had crashed out and was snoring, head on Steve's leg, whose back was against a wall next to you.

"I think he's still annoying even when he's asleep," Steve whispered with an amused grin, watching Dustin snore.

You chuckled softly.

"You can say whatever you want, but you love him," you replied.

Steve looked at you and grinned with warmth in his eyes.

"Just don't spill the beans. I like making him think he's a pain in the ass" he whispered back.

You let out a giggle.

"You're doing a good job," you commented after a few beats of silence. Steve looked at you somewhat puzzled, and then you added: "With Dustin, I mean. He doesn't have older siblings, and he doesn't have a present father. You're just the man he needs"

Steve looked at the kid curled up next to him.Next morning, when he woke up, he would surely deny that he had used Steve as a pillow.

"Yeah. Actually, if you had told me a few years ago that I would be babysitting a bunch of thirteen-year-olds, I would have laughed it off.”

"Yeah, 'cause fighting interdimensional creatures is nothing out of the ordinary," you teased. "But I'm for real. It's definitely cool”

"Yeah, totally cool for King Steve," he said sarcastically.

You scoffed in response, rolling your eyes at the same time.

"Forget it," you muttered. "It’s so bogus seeing that you're always comparing yourself. You're exponentially a better person than you used to be, yet you're always comparing yourself to who you used to be.”

Steve leaned his head against the wall, thoughtful, looking up at the ceiling and making a gesture with his mouth, as if playing with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and then nodded. "Yeah. Just… are there things you regret and just can't forget?" he asked.

You let out a heavy sigh and nodded.

"Dang. All the time," you admitted. "I mean… I dated Giles Bukowsky.”

"Yeah, that's really bad," he agreed. "But I publicly dissed Nancy at the town movie theater," he retorted with sarcasm.

You gave him an uncomfortable smile, showing all your teeth.

"Okay. That takes the cake, definitely. Although at the party I threw at home when the basketball team won the final, Tommy and Carol trashed my folks' bed. Plus, someone tagged 'Steve was here' on the wall of the main bathroom with pee"

Steve snorted.

" I. Did. Not. Do. That," he defended himself. "What bonehead would write their own name at the crime scene?”

"You were totally blitzed. That night you crashed by the pool, and I didn't realize it until dawn. I found you almost with hypothermia and one hand in the pool. I think you also wet yourself, but who knows, it could have been the water" you laughed somewhat regretfully. "I'm sorry, I know it wasn't funny.”

"Nah, it was kinda funny," he said back while laughing softly. "Who would've thought, huh? Going from sharing wild bashes in high school to this… " he murmured looking around.

"Yeah," you agreed. "I can't believe it either," you admitted, yawning and hiding the gesture behind your hand, laughing embarrassed. "Sorry.”

Steve watched you sideways.

"Hey. You can rest a little. You haven't caught any sleep at all.”

You shook your head.

"Neither have you. It's our turn to watch over Max," you reminded him, checking the wristwatch hanging on your wrist. "Plus, we only have half an hour left before waking up Nancy and Robin," you added, raising your gaze to look at him.

Steve had also turned to look at you, and you were very close. You were aware of your shoulders touching his, as well as your legs next to each other. Steve had one of his hands on his thighs, and you did too, so the tips of your fingers brushed almost imperceptibly against his. You lowered your gaze, somewhat embarrassed, but you didn't move. Steve didn't either, and you both remained in comfortable silence until the shift ended. Even after that, you stayed together in the same place.

"Remember Peabo's party where you did karaoke, and you sang so off-key that all the dogs in his neighborhood howled at the same time? It was so cool!”

You let out an almost silent laugh and covered your mouth not to disturb the rest.

"Dork," you lightly hit him. “You can say it; you sing like a dream.”

Steve frowned.

"I don't sing well," he defended himself, as if somehow what you said to him was an insult.

"You do. I remember the year Risky Business came out, and you were obsessed with Old Time Rock and Roll. You sang it almost all day. And you always sang in tune.”

Steve looked surprised.

" You remember that?”

You laughed.

" It wasn't long ago and you were in almost every hallway conversation. Besides, do you remember Peabo's karaoke, right?”

Steve smiled.

"Yeah, but that's because traumas are not easily forgotten,” he joked.

You stared at him and hit him again, this time a little harder, but it made him laugh. At some point, both fell asleep, unconsciously resting your head on Steve's shoulder and Steve his temple on your head. It wasn't the first time they had been each other's pillows during the strange nights that followed that one in the Wheelers.

"You can't get up" you scolded him a few days later when they were resting on the floor of Max's house.

You had been practically sucked into the Upside Down at Lover's Lake and had returned very injured.

Steve had taken the worst of it. He had been violently attacked by bat-like winged creatures. Now you were somewhat demoralized; Nancy had also been attacked there, although that attack had been somewhat different.

"We need to get weapons, we have to go back…" he tried to get up, but you stopped him.

"Hey, hey. I just changed those bandages and cleaned your wounds. Have a little more respect, okay? " you asked, gently pushing him back to the floor again, and he rested his head on your lap.

He was somewhat dirty and sweaty, but you didn't care. You were all dirty and sweaty, but alive, and that was good.

“We can't waste time; we have…”

You rolled your eyes and interrupted him.

"What, rest? Yes. We need to rest a bit, we can't go back there exhausted. A sleeping soldier is a fallen soldier" you added. "Besides, where will you get weapons at four in the morning? We should rest a bit, and in the morning, we'll go buy them" you assured him, unconsciously running one of your hands over Steve's forehead, wiping away a trace of mud from your skin and arranging the wet hair falling over your face.

"You're not doing well either. You should rest too.”

"I just scraped my knee, and one of those things pulled my pants," you observed, showing the hem of your jeans. "I'll leave it like this; it gives it style, right? Eddie said it's metal.”

Steve chuckled and then winced in pain.

"Uh," you murmured, seeing his furrowed brow in discomfort. "No amount of fighting training could get you ready for something like this, right? But for being unarmed, you were very brave.”

"You shouldn't have gone down there. None of us should have done it," he spoke wearily.

"Yeah, we agree on that. None of us should have done it," you accepted. "But you wanted to be the hero once again. Did you think we were going to let you take the spotlight as always? No-oh. We're not in school anymore.”

"Believe me, I know," he murmured, making a pained face. "How are the kids?”

You leaned your back against the wall.

"Nancy is taking a bath. Robin is raiding Max's fridge with Dustin and Lucas. Max is… in her room listening to music. Eddie's asleep, of course," you glanced down at Steve. "You should do the same.”

"What about you?”

You smiled.

"I will too. A little bit.”

Steve nodded in agreement and closed his eyes. You stroked his hair rhythmically until you made sure he had fallen asleep, then, still with Steve's head resting on your lap, you leaned your head back against the wall, closed your eyes, and slept deeply for the next three hours. After that, you spent several days without sleeping properly. You had fought and suffered losses. Max was hooked up to a machine in Hawkins' chaotic hospital, and they hadn't even had time to retrieve Eddie's body from the other dimension for a proper burial. Your eyes were on the letters of a book that Lucas had been reading to Max a few hours earlier. You knew "The Talisman" was a good book, and you didn't want to disrespect Stephen King and Peter Straub, but you were so tired that you didn't read anything, just rested your gaze on the pages while the vital signs monitor played the faint sound that miraculously, Max's heart kept beating.

"I was told you would be here tonight" Steve entered the room with two steaming cups of tea and handed you one.

You left the book on the table next to Max.

"Thank you" you settled into the chair and accepted the cup with a smile "I arrived an hour ago. It took me forty-five minutes to convince Lucas to go home. Erica had to help me.”

"Yeah, Dustin told me. We were at the school gym helping, and when I finished my shift, I came here. Do you mind if I join you tonight?" he asked somewhat insecurely.

That caught you by surprise. Steve Harrington wasn't someone insecure.

"So annoying…" you murmured sarcastically, rising from the seat and blowing on the tea as you rounded Max's bed and looked out the window "Don't you think the sky looks somewhat strange?”

"Considering that a few days ago there was a huge earthquake, and two different dimensions merged without anyone knowing…”

Steve responded as he walked towards you and stopped at the other end of the window. You let out a little laugh.

"That's true" you turned towards Max and furrowed your brow worriedly "Do you think she'll wake up?”

Steve followed your gaze, and you realized he was also worried about Maxine.

"I don't know. All I know is that we've witnessed too many fantastic things to not believe that this is just impossible.”

Wise words from Steve Harrington.

Both spent the rest of the afternoon talking and talking to Max, even though they weren't sure if she was listening. Steve kept her updated on things that happened in her absence and explained that Lucas would be back soon. You had managed to get Lucas to go home and wouldn't see him until the next day. You were committed to spending the night there, even though you hated hospitals with your life. It was when the sun set that Steve started arguing with you.

"You've been standing all day helping at the school.”

"You've been taking care of Lucas, Max, and Erica " Steve put his hands on his hips.

That posture usually worked with girls but it wouldn't work with you. It took more than that gesture to convince you.

"That's not the same" you breathed, mimicking his posture.

Steve caught it, but it didn't seem to bother him.

"You're right about that. Taking care of the kids is exponentially harder than folding clothes and putting them in boxes for refugees.”

You rolled your eyes.

"We're not going to get anywhere, it seems”

Steve looked at the recliner and sighed.

"We can share it" he suggested.

You looked at him. It was true that the recliner was quite large, but was it big enough for both of them to occupy it at the same time? Eventually, you both decided to test the theory with a few attempts until you found the right position. You lay down on it and rested your head on his shoulder. It was strange, but it didn't feel uncomfortable. Both knew each other well enough to have the confidence to share some embarrassing parties, adventures against interdimensional beasts, and occasional impromptu sleepovers on camper floors, basements, and now on a hospital room recliner.

"Do you remember the name of that blonde girl I dated in seventh grade?”

You frowned, trying to remember. You and him weren't the best friends, but the buzz in school every time Steve started dating someone was so big that you soon found yourself keeping an almost involuntary and unconscious record of all of Steve's affairs.

"Kimmy Scott? " Steve nodded "What about her?”

"I don't know, she's one of the girls who disappeared"

after the earthquake the other day, and I just thought about it”

You let out a sigh and looked at the ceiling.

"How many kids disappeared and are probably dead?" you asked "We know they are, and their families will always be looking for them”

Suddenly, you felt one of Steve's hands embrace your lower back. Maybe it was your idea, but for a few seconds, you thought he was pressing you against him. You heard your heart pounding hard under your chest and felt it rise and fall with your breathing. You closed your eyes and slept deeply that night.

That's why you were so ticked now. Everything was in your favor tonight; you were in your bed, the sheets were comfortable, and there was no place more familiar than your own room. You were alone, and there was no noise tonight, yet, dang it, you couldn't sleep.

Finally, you went down to the kitchen and nuked some milk with cinnamon. As you climbed the stairs, you were halfway up when you heard the doorbell, and somewhat flustered, you stopped still, with the cup in your hand. You began to descend slowly and approached the door cautiously, putting your right eye to the peephole, and could see Steve's profile in the darkness. You turned on the light and opened the door. Steve's eyes stopped at yours. He looked scared, like when you shone a car's headlights directly at a little rabbit. Unintentionally, your heart began to pump frantically in your chest. It was like breathing, blinking, or thinking; something you did without any control, without having to give orders. It just happened.

"Can't you sleep?" you asked softly then, but the dark circles under Steve's eyes spoke for themselves. Then you extended your hand to him, and he stretched his palm "Do you want to come in?" you asked, and there was no need to convince him; in a couple of seconds, Steve was inside the house. You led him upstairs, to your room.

It was something new; bringing a guy into your room. But you knew Steve, you knew him much better than you had ever known a guy, so it didn't feel strange or wrong, not even when he stretched out on your bed as if his muscles hurt and let out a couple of sighs of annoyance as he settled on the quilt. You lay down next to him on the sheets, and both looked at the ceiling, feeling each other's closeness.

"I used to be able to sleep" murmured Steve, and you realized it was the first time Steve had spoken since he arrived, and you also realized how much you missed his voice "Before, I mean, with you" he muttered the last part almost with embarrassment. You turned your head towards Steve with a puzzled look. Steve also turned his head to look you in the eyes through the darkness of the room "Now it feels weird not to have you by my side, know what I mean?”

You nodded in silence and looked back at the ceiling, bringing your head closer to Steve's shoulder and resting it on it. Steve pressed his nose into your hair and planted a kiss on your head.

"I was trying to think of what was missing for me to rest" you whispered, and then you smiled sleepily, finally feeling sleep overtake you. You brought your hand to Steve's, and his long fingers cradled yours, caressing your soft skin with his calloused fingertips.

"can you…? Just…hug me, please”

You smiled, releasing a small yawn and fulfilling his wish. Both fell asleep before the warm milk cooled on the bedside table.

#stranger things fanfic #stranger things au #stranger things imagine #steve stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington au #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb

36 notes · View notes

red-bat-arse · 4 months

Text

I Got a Problem 🎸🎶🎻

AO3

Chapter One

Eddie 'The Freak' Munson, famous for bringing rock to new heights with his band Hellfire, listens to everything but Country. 'King' Steve Harrington, leading light of the new generation of traditional Country artists, has a few thoughts about that.

=<+>=

Eddie Munson did not normally find himself accused of being musically pigeonholed.

He'd played alongside punk bands in his early touring days, and grew up on jazz and the blues from his mum and uncle. His hits on the pop charts prompted a few collaborations with electronic and indie artists, and his sophomore album featured a few rappers who wanted to get experience with rock. Metal was his bread and butter, he had a soft spot for soulful folk ballads, and given his close friendship with Argyle he was more than familiar with reggae and funk and all varieties of stoner music.

Of course, you could probably guess that the exception to all that was the ever contentious genre of country. However that wouldn't be a problem, wouldn't even be on Eddie's radar, if not for the batshit insane decision Hopper made in a diner three blocks away from the studio the week prior.

Eddie scowled and shot Jeff another look when his vocalist snickered at his expense. On the other side of the room this party was happening in, he could see Steve Harrington talking with Dustin and laughing at whatever the kid was frantically gesturing about.

He was dressed in a embroidered beige western shirt with pearls on the long cuffs, blue jeans with a brown belt and a big copper buckle, and honest to god cowboy boots that matched the ensemble. His hair was styled high and his biceps strained the shirt sleeves a little, and when he turned on his heel to follow Dustin's pointer figure Eddie was briefly overcome with lust at the amazing ass in his direct line of sight.

"I don't care," he pronounced finally, twitching as Harrington spun back and ruffled Dustin's hair, grinning wide when the kid squawked in outrage. Jeff outright snorted and Eddie glared harder. "I think doing this before we move to a bigger space is stupid, but all power to the Chief if he thinks we can make it work."

"Don't care at all, got it," Gareth said, coming up beside him. "It's just business concerns. Like, our assets."

"See, why can't you be more like Gareth, Jeffery? He knows exactly what i'm talking about," Eddie slung an arm over Gareth's shoulders -and he must be in a good mood because he didn't duck away. "Business assets."

"More like his ass-et," Jeff muttered, and Eddie valiantly ignored him.

Five days ago Hopper walked into the studio's monthly brunch and introduced them all to one Joyce 'Mama' Byers -which, okay, even Eddie knew who she was -and dropped the bombshell that she signed on with them two days prior. Once the commotion died down she was the one who dropped the next one, informing them all that they'd soon be sharing close quarters with nine other artists from her former label, preeminent among them the one who convinced them all to walk out, that being Steve Harrington.

All ten of them were country artists. Prison Break Records hadn't put out any music that wasn't solely rock or metal in it's entire eight years of existence. To say there was a bit of culture shock going around was an understatement.

"Give them a chance, Ed," Grant passed by with a few cans of coke tucked into the crook of his arm and slapped him on the shoulder, making Eddie stumble. "Half of them are in the middle of doing the bar circuit right now, and it's not like we need the studio space anyway. It's all good."

Eddie huffed, trying not to let Grant's comment sting -he knew he didn't mean anything by it. But at nearly six months to the day, even though the guys would never rush him, maybe Eddie was getting a little bit worried about the future.

"I was talking with the Byers, apparently it's mainly gonna be Joyce and Harrington recording for the next month at least," Gareth piped up again, jabbing a thumb in the direction of country music's leading family -Argyle had somehow struck up a conversation with them and while the younger brother seemed confused, the elder was paying rapt attention to whatever their resident stoner was explaining. "Everyone else is taking a break or doing small shows or one off songs, like Grant said."

"Fine, fine, I get it," Eddie held up his hands in surrender. "But if they start blasting fucking honky-tonk bullshit-"

"Oh come on, Munson, don't tell me you're one of those."

Eddie paused, then slowly turned around, feeling his face heat up only partly in embarrassment to see Harrington standing just behind him, having apparently been abandoned by Dustin in the last few minutes. He had his hip cocked and a hand casually resting with the thumb hooked in his belt, and up close Eddie could see little moles scattered all over his face and neck like flecks of paint. Next to them, Jeff turned and coughed a laugh into his elbow, muffled.

"What, pray tell, are you talking about?" Eddie quashed the instinct to puff up for a fight. Just because Harrington was a good old jock with arms that could bench him didn't mean he had to have his back up, and he reasoned that this was his home turf here. He and Hopper may not always see eye to eye, but if Eddie asked he'd take his side in a heartbeat.

Harrington gave a funny little smirk, the kind you'd give to the family dog who was doing something cute but ultimately futile.

"You're the type who hates Trace Adkins but's never heard of David Allan Coe," he raised an eyebrow, then nodded to Jeff and Gareth, holding out a hand to shake with each of them. "Name's Steve. Good to meet you guys."

"Jeff," "Gareth," his bandmates parroted back, easy as breathing, while Eddie was still stuck on Harrington's little dig about the artists he was or wasn't aware of.

"You do most of the song work, don't you Munson?" he was asked, and Eddie belatedly realized he hadn't actually accepted Harrington's handshake. It was too late now, so he kind of awkwardly answered in the affirmative and watched that hand get pulled back and settled onto Harrington's other hip, so the man was standing almost like a judgy mother hen as he kept talking. "I've been kind of obsessed with Dark Sheep lately -especially the way you captured sexuality in 'Something On Your Tongue'; like how it's all about being confident, and whether it's a stranger at a club or working a job, the narrator's attracted to them in a way that's not gross to listen to. I mean, 'I love the way you dance with anybody' as a line is pretty refreshing when you think about it and... oh. Sorry," Harrington trailed off and turned a little pink, ducked his head. "Didn't mean to ramble on there."

Steve Harrington listened to Hellfire's music? Eddie blinked and the guy was still in front of him, looking earnest as a slice of apple pie or whatever the fuck, and he mentally shook himself. 'King' Steve Harrington listened to his music enough to have an opinion on it, on specific songs from their last record, and he came out the end of it liking his lyrics?

"Dude, get it together," Gareth whispered and elbowed him in the ribs, jolting him out of his fugue.

"Didn't think that was your thing, Harrington," Eddie ran his mouth with the first thought that came to mind, even if it was kind of dickish. "Sexual liberation ain't exactly very prayerful of you," he made the sign of the cross on that last part.

Far from what he expected, that got Harrington to bark out a big, surprised laugh. "Oh, c'mon," he rolled his eyes. "You can't seriously think I'm in with the god squad? They were most of why we left Tiger Studios in the end. Besides," Harrington flashed a charming smile, pearly whites matching the pearl buttons below on his shirt. "It'd be pretty hypocritical of me to preach against sexual lib, considering."

What the hell did that mean? Was it just his brain pulling tricks on him, or did Harrington's eyes flick up and down Eddie's body right then -and where the hell had Gareth and Jeff gone? They were supposed to be his buffer against his least favourite genre, not -ah, there they were -not chatting up the other members of Harrington's little ensemble across the room.

"Consider me told, then. You ain't godly whatsoever, I'll be sure not to disparage your sterling reputation again with that mistake, my liege, cross my heart," Maybe he was laying it on thick here, but there was something about Steve Harrington that got his pulse up; when the other man tilted his head with a baffled smile at Eddie's statement, he had to clench his fist hard so he didn't just -well, he wasn't actually sure. "But I think without the god talk that just makes you a hick, big boy, sexually liberated or otherwise. Is that better or worse?"

Maybe Harrington was just pissing him off with his... everything. His shit genre and his cocky attitude and the way he dressed to impress, it was cringey at best and edging on pretentious at worst. Eddie crossed his arms and scowled, annoyed with this damn situation of having to navigate a whole new set of people in the studio when he was already behind in his work and had no fucking clue how to fix-

"Hicks make some good music, Munson," Harrington said, sounding all kinds of condescending about it. "Especially these days, if you know where to look. Sounds to me like you're a little musically pigeonholed," Eddie went ramrod straight as Harrington threw that accusation in his face, and he felt his cheeks go hot in offense. Harrington smirked, noticing. "But hey, I'm always down to help out if you wanted to explore your options."

Musically. Pigeonholed. Musically pigeonholed!

"Fat chance of that, boots," Eddie swung his foot forward and knocked toes with Harrington, fancy brown tops against Eddie's scuffed workman's. "Sounds to me like the crown's too tight on your head after dropping contract. When you can write a song that's not about beer and trucks and girls, give me a shout, okay? Maybe I'll even give it a listen."

Steve's smirk turned a shade meaner, and he was probably going to say something really nasty -figures -when he got clapped on the back by a big man in a hawaiian shirt and with a thick beard, holding a martini of all things.

"Woah, kids, tone it down a notch. We're here to have a good time," the guy said, part patronizing and part stern -it was a weird combination. "Especially you, Discount Dio. Take it easy on the new guys or I'll ask Wayne to break out the baby photos, tout de suite."

Oh, so this was Murray. Wayne's mysterious drinking buddy who just so happened to be one of the artists who bailed along with Harrington. Eddie had no doubt he'd make good on the threat -not that he needed it, exactly. The interruption seemed to have taken the wind out of both his and Harrington's sails, if the way the guy looked embarrassed was any indication.

"Sorry, Murray," Harrington said, and Murray rolled his eyes.

"Just relax, kid. None of these guys are Hargrove, or even Carver Jr for that matter," he shook Harrington's shoulder a little, and shot Eddie an odd look. "Even the ones that growl and snap at you are just Chihuahuas. And you, puppy," he snapped his fingers in Eddie's face, making him flinch back in surprise. Also, offended -puppy? "I think you've got a hot head right now, so you should remember you know better than to shit on music you've never listened to. Don't you?"

Fuck, damn his big mouth. He felt his cheeks go tight with embarrassment, and he cut a look at Harrington. They were both close to thirty and yet here they were feeling like scolded children.

"Shouldn't have said that, Harrington. Sorry," he offered, ash in his throat. The guy looked surprised, but nodded, accepting, and Murray threw his hands up, sarcastically relieved.

"Thank god! Now come on, join the party," he hooked a hand around Eddie's neck and used his martini arm to bump Harrington forward.

The country boy looked at him one last time before seeming to shrug off their entire interaction, a fake expression of cheer getting plastered on after a flash of disappointment. Why he was disappointed was anybody's guess; maybe he'd thought Eddie would be more repentant in his apology.

Fat chance of that. Musically pigeonholed his ass.

Eddie sighed, flexing his hand, and readied himself to push through a few more hours of socializing. Internally he apologized to Hopper, too -a productive working relationship with the country club didn't seem like it was in the cards for him.

=<+>=

I keep a running list of songs referenced in the notes on AO3 -I don't do tag lists!

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #musician au #country star #rock star #fic #fanfic #st fanfic #fanfiction #enemies to lovers #hurt/comfort #cross posted on ao3

34 notes · View notes

suhnshinehaos · 2 years

Text

crush culture : part twenty-nine

synopsis : ln yn has always flirted with huang renjun. but they do that with literally everyone else too, they couldn’t possibly be serious about pursuing him, right? on their final year of university, yn is determined to show that they are. with all the walls that renjun has built around himself, will they be strong enough to succeed in tearing them down? pairing : huang renjun x gn!reader genre/s : university + student council au, fluff, angst, pining, slice of life, humor part 29 wc : ~1.3k

part twenty-nine : being brave

previous ➤ part twenty-eight : clear skies next ➤ thirty crush culture ➤ masterlist

the ncit council room is quiet. at least, much too quiet for renjun’s liking. when the sun is long gone, he grows to miss the chaos he’s now grown accustomed to. whether it’s yangyang and haechan bantering, or jaemin’s random aegyo, or shotaro filming tiktoks in the corner, or jeno’s out of the blue jokes.

and of course, he misses you.

even with his eyes closed, renjun could pick up on your voice amidst all the chaos that surrounded him. it doesn’t matter if it’s a flirtatious line or a funny comment, he just knows that it’s you. he’s unable to help himself from looking across the table, at the chair where you usually sat. renjun doesn’t even notice that the corner of his mouth had tugged upwards at your memory. only when his little trance was broken by the sound of the door creaking open.

“i knew i’d find you here.”

“hyuck told you, didn’t he?” renjun asked, the smile on his face now turning into a light chuckle.

“yeah, but it sounds more romantic when i say it like that.”

you finally enter his field of vision, a small little tug on his heartstrings at the sight of you. at this point, he’s allowed himself to feel the simple pleasure of feeling giddy at your presence. a feeling that he’s mostly suppressed in the first few months he’s known you.

it’s only when you take your usual seat that he noticed the paper bag in one hand and the stack of paperwork in the other. renjun raises a brow, gesturing with the pen in his hand, “what’s that?”

“i got you something from the cafe down the street, figured you didn’t eat yet.” you shrug, pushing the paper bag towards him, “and work’s more fun when you’re doing it with someone.”

“work isn’t fun. at all.” he quips, but there’s a lightness that fills his system at the thoughtfulness of your gesture.

“i was going to ask you to go home and rest, but-”

“you know me better than that.” renjun finishes your statement with a smile and slight shake of his head.

“mhmm. and if you can’t beat ‘em, you might as well join them. right?”

a beat passes, then another as renjun hesitates whether or not he should say the words that threatened to form on the tip of his tongue. against his better judgement, and at the risk of sounding incredibly cheesy, he swallows his pride and lets the words out.

“and here i was thinking that you just wanted to spend some time with me.”

before he could internally cringe at his attempt at flirting, a smile spreads across your face. even if there’s a light pink tint that covered his cheeks, or a slight tinge of embarrassment that creeped into his veins, the way your eyes lit up made it all worth it.

he’s never done anything like this; be bold or upfront. however, like in most things, he’s come to take a little inspiration from you.

“you caught me,” you raise your hands in mock defense, “i was just looking for an excuse.”

it was a half-truth. renjun knew that much. you were always worried about him, and he was aware of his own tendencies to overwork himself. especially with everything that was on his plate. you knew, and you understood.

“thank you.”

he’ll always be grateful for that.

you nod in acknowledgement.

and that was enough.

no other words needed to be exchanged as both of you worked on the tasks at hand. him, going through his assignments as a teaching assistant. you, consolidating information on the world lit project you had with yangyang and jungwoo.

it’s tranquil. and for a while all one could hear is the sound of pen against paper, or pages turning, and the occasional sigh. renjun doesn’t exactly recognize when you started humming, and he doesn’t recognize when he had started humming along with you.

there’s a small smile that’s present on yours and renjun’s faces as both of you begin to tap your feet along to the beat. before either of you knew it, the song is nearly at its end and the two of you were already singing instead of humming,

떠오르는 나의 마음을 담은 말이 ‘ the words i think of that express my heart ’

renjun looks up and meets your gaze as both of you sing the final line,

‘ ah! love is you ’

you look back at your work as soon as the last word leaves your lips, but renjun couldn’t help but keep his eyes on you. he couldn’t help but notice the way you tried to hold back a smile, or the way your brows furrowed as you pretended to focus on whatever you were reading.

“i love you.”

it escapes renjun’s lips in a breathless whisper, but it’s just loud enough for you to hear.

“what did you just say?”

you don’t even bother to hide your gasp, eyes widening before they blink back at him.

it didn’t even register to renjun that he had just said those words until you ask him to repeat them. you’re staring at him, expectant, and it all just comes crashing down.

“fuck— shit, i-” he runs a hand through his hair, frustration lacing each and every one of his words, “i had it all planned out, you know? i was going to take you out on a nice little picnic date, and i was going to sing you a song, then i was going to tell you how i feel…it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, i—”

renjun didn’t notice that you had gotten out of your seat to take the one next to his until he feels your hands on both sides of his face, cutting off what would have been a long-winded ramble.

“renjunie, my darling.”

you smile at him, and it’s soft. and you’re looking at him so tenderly. and your voice is gentlest he’s ever heard it. and renjun doesn’t quite understand it but his breath hitches.

“been a while since you called me that.”

“called you what?”

“renjunie…” his voice wavers the slightest bit, “your darling.”

he places his hands above yours, his touch warm and delicate.

“i love you, yn. i really do.”

this isn’t how he pictured his confession would go. in a perfect world it would have been in a field of flowers, with the setting sun painting the sky in light pinks and purples, with his voice carrying out the sweetest of tunes.

renjun prided himself on control, and he lost it over something so mundane. over the two of you working together in the council room. something that the two of you had done more times than he could ever count.

“do you mean that?”

“i’m so in love with you that it actually scares me,”

renjun mumbles. it’s the most honest, and most vulnerable, he has ever been. but in a sense, it felt freeing. it feels like he had been underwater all his life, and now he could finally breathe. you brought him to shore.

“but i want to be brave for you. i’m sorry for hurting you. i’m sorry for taking so long.”

you press your forehead against his. the two of you had never been this close, in proximity and emotion, and you could practically feel the beating of his heart. in time with your own. without another word, your lips meet his.

you have always loved him, and now you finally knew that he has always loved you.

from reese, with love <3 renyn nation (me) !! this one’s for you (me) !! cc finale next part, so ill save my long message of thanks for that one hehe ik my alignment chart post said three parts left but i am just bad at math lol thank you for reading.. id really love to know what you think of this part !! hope you are all doing well and taking care of yourselves :))

btw- the song they sing is seventeen’s ah! love <3

#🦋 — crush culture!#nct dream x reader #nct x reader #renjun x reader #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #nct dream smau #nct dream series #nct dream scenarios #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct smau #nct series #nct scenarios #renjun imagines #renjun fluff #renjun smau

516 notes · View notes

how-very-salty · 4 months

Note

id love to see veronica talking care of a sick jd ❤️❤️

as you wish <3

hot soup

link to ao3

Veronica Sawyer x JD (pure au)

__________________

The world around him was melting and shaking like jelly in a hot oven. JD squeezed his eyes shut with a groan: it hurt to look at the light, but he didn't have the strength to get up and turn it off. Nor to take the blanket out of the box: even though October had been surprisingly warm, he'd been shivering with cold all day. His head felt empty and sticky, he felt an unpleasant buzzing in his ears, and every joint in his body ached with pain. Fucking flu!

He hadn't been this sick since he was a kid. The last time had been when he was nine, shortly after his mother had died. He'd been sick for almost a month then - and he'd recovered for months. It made him realize that his father didn't care about him: even in that state, he had to cook for himself and take his sweat-soaked pajamas to the laundry every morning, bending over and coughing.

As he struggled to get back on his feet, JD promised himself he would never get sick again. He'd kept that promise for eight years, only to fall apart after his first fight with Veronica. What a bad time...

If they hadn't had a fight, she would definitely come to visit him, and then he wouldn't have to be sick alone again. He could try to put down his metal shell for a while and let someone else take care of him. Or rather not someone but Veronica: she was the only one he could show his weakness to. At least he thought he could... But they'd had their fight, and now he'd never know for sure. Because JD had said so much crap that she would probably never look at him again.

Why is he such a jerk when it comes to her?

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, imagining Veronica coming into the room and sitting on the mattress next to him. Her cool fingers gently brushed the damp strands away from his face. She tucked her hair behind her ears and leaned over him. Soft lips pressed against his forehead for a moment and Ronnie gasped softly, feeling how hot his skin was.

"Why didn't you call me, you idiot?"

JD's brow furrowed in confusion: sure, he'd fucked up, but shouldn't she sound more gentle, at least in his own fantasies?

"Because you're mad at me. Aren't you?" he exhaled hoarsely, half coughing. The thoughts in his head were jumbled, fading into a thick, heavy fog.

"Sure, I'm still mad," Veronica gently wiped away the salty trace that stretched from the corner of his eye to his temple, "but that doesn't mean you can disappear for three days and expect me not to care! We can work things out after you're healed, okay?"

JD opened his watery eyes and focused on her face... So he hadn't imagined her? Veronica was really here, coming to him after all he'd said to her?

"I don't want to fight! I just want you here," he blurted out carelessly, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, please."

JD reached for her hand and squeezed in his own. Veronica's eyebrows were raised sadly.

"I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have pushed you so hard," she looked up at him guiltily, "It was just something in my head, you know?"

"No," her expression darkened, and JD, suppressing the urge to punch himself, hastily clarified, "I mean, you have nothing to apologize for! I really need to trust you more. And not just in words... You're the only one I can trust."

He stopped awkwardly. Didn't that sound too corny?

"That openness of yours is why it hits me so hard when you suddenly shut down," she chuckled sheepishly, ruffling his sweat-soaked curls. "But still, let's put this conversation aside and take care of you first, okay?"

"No need," JD said curtly. "Everything's fine. it's not the first time," he closed his eyes and cursed mentally. He's doing it again. Now she'd leave him and he'd be alone because he'd decided to play cool. But he wanted her to come, didn't he?

"JD," Veronica sighed reproachfully as she rose from the mattress, "there's no shame in asking for help! Nor in accepting it."

"I know," he forced himself to say, "I'm just not used to it, okay? I... I need your help! Don't go..."

"Dummy," her soft lips touched his forehead again, "I'm not going anywhere. How could I leave you like this?

"Then where are you going?"

"I thought I could find something to make soup. My mom always makes it when I'm sick," she trailed off awkwardly and gave him a quick look, "um... when was the last time you ate?"

"I think it's been two or three days," JD admitted reluctantly, and Veronica put her hands over her mouth. "Don't be so dramatic. I'm not really hungry."

"There you go again," she sighed, and left the room without another word.

A short time later, the front door on the first floor slammed. Did he say something wrong again?

The soft sound of footsteps woke him from his restless slumber. JD opened his eyes and stared at Veronica. She was standing over him with a stern expression on her face, holding a bowl of steaming soup.

"Are you going to pour it on me?" he muttered, staring at her in fake horror.

"Sorry, I had to go to the store," Ronnie snorted and sat down on the bed next to him. "You don't have any food in the fridge, just beer..."

"What's beer to you, isn't food? You know, there's a German proverb: 'Beer is liquid bread'," he chuckled hoarsely, finally waking up. "You shouldn't, honey, I'm really not hungry. But I'm glad you're back."

"I don't care, you need to eat and you will eat," Veronica scooped up the soup with a spoon. "Open your mouth, here comes the plane..."

JD rolled his eyes, sat up on the pillows and opened his mouth obediently. Sometimes it was easier to do what Ronnie wanted than to argue with her - she was so damn stubborn!

Most of the time she was right. As soon as the soup was in his mouth, his stomach rumbled with hunger.

Okay, okay, you were right," he sighed, reaching for the spoon, "you can say your famous..."

"Nah, cranky sick people are hand-fed," she showed him her tongue and took another spoonful of soup. "And yes, I told you so!"

When the plate was empty, Veronica set it on the floor and climbed into bed with him. She shoved her icy feet underneath him, as she always did, making him wince from the cold.

"You might catch it," JD tried to pull away, but she just shrugged it off, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him.

"Who cares? I miss you so much," she murmured, snuggling into his shoulder.

"I care! I miss you too, but..."

"Tsk, tsk! I'm the nursing expert here, and I can authoritatively say that you are in dire need of a hug," Ronnie snorted, giving him a sly look from under her lashes. "If I get sick, you'll come to me too, won't you?

"Sure," JD couldn't resist anymore, so he gave in and hugged her; it felt much warmer. "And I'll feed you with a spoon, too, like a little girl.... "

"I don't mind," she giggled softly, lifting herself up and kissing him on the cheek. "You can tell a story, too."

"I can't remember a single one," he licked his dry lips, hesitantly trying to change the subject. They would have to talk about this fight anyway. Right now, he could at least hope that she would have mercy on him. "Look, about the birthday..."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Veronica interrupted him hastily. "I was wrong to keep pushing... I should have stopped when you asked me to, and then we wouldn't have had this fight!"

"Maybe, but that doesn't excuse me. I acted like a real asshole anyway," JD looked away guiltily. "I shouldn't have talked to you like that, and I was clearly wrong to say that you were prying and clingy. And I definitely shouldn't have said that you..."

"That I'm training you like a dog to raise your voice on command? Yeah, you went a little overboard there," Veronica's voice was fake funny, and it made him feel like the scum of the earth.

"I'm sorry," JD swallowed and stammered, trying to explain himself, "I don't know how I could even think of that! I don't think so, I just..."

He shut up, wishing he hadn't brought it up: the mood in the room had changed for the worse. He hoped they wouldn't get into another fight...

"You do that all the time when someone tries to get under your defenses! You get angry and then you attack," Ronnie looked up at him wearily, "only I thought I was allowed to..."

"You are allowed," he protested heatedly, "you really are! But I'm just used to not needing other people. To need someone is a sign of weakness. And it always, absolutely always ends badly."

"But I need you," she frowned, leaning on her elbows, "and I admit it. Does that make me weak?"

"No, but..." he didn't have time to finish, coughing and turning away hastily.

"It doesn't work like that, JD!" she waited until the coughing was over, cupping his face in her palms and gently turning him toward her. "You can't always just give. Relationships are also about taking and letting someone take care of you."

"I'll try, but," his lips curled grimly, "it won't change that quickly, darling. I didn't have anyone to teach me that, I didn't have anyone to care about me at all until you came along..."

"Shit," her eyes widened in realization, "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking! I... I seem to be pushing you again, yeah?"

"It's okay, love," JD pulled her gently toward him. "You're saying all the right things, but... We both just need time and a little patience."

Veronica nodded curtly and suddenly hugged him tightly, pressing her face into his chest.

"My birthday is Wednesday, next week," he whispered softly, burying his nose in her soft hair. It smelled of cherries, as always, but now it was lighter and cleaner, and his heart suddenly beat faster, whether from love or the rising fever. "I don't want to celebrate, but I'd like you to spend this day with me. And, Ronnie, can you... can you stay with me tonight? I usually get worse at night."

"Sure," Veronica lifted her head and pressed her lips to his in a quick kiss. "Of course I'll stay! Do you want anything?"

"How about some more soup? I think I'm still hungry."

#heathers #jason dean #j.d.#heathers musical #veronica sawyer #jdonica #heather fic #fic request

24 notes · View notes

blackmarketfruitrollups · 1 year

Text

Fireflies (Steve Harrington x fem!Reader)

Warnings: angst, alcohol, I'm pretty sure that's it.

A/N: So I kinda hate this, but here you go.

It's amazing how your world can fall apart in a single day.

When catastrophic things happen to someone, they rarely ever woke up that morning expecting it. It comes out of nowhere, or at least that's how it appears.

But sometimes it's been building for quite a long while, and Y/N L/N had come to the conclusion that the longer it's been building, the more excruciating it ends up being.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Absolutely infatuated. Falling hard and fast. As smitten as humanly possible.

These are all the ways Y/N's best friend, Robin, described watching Y/N interact with the dorky basketball player, Steve Harrington. What could she do about that though? It wasn't her fault that her childhood friend was so wonderful.

For as long as both Y/N and Steve could remember, they had been involved in each others lives. Y/N's mother had been Steve's nanny from the time he was six months until he turned thirteen, so when Y/N was born it was natural that her mother bring her along when going over to the Harrington's home. By the time Y/N was five months and Steve was one and a half they were best friends, nearly impossible to separate from the other. Steve was her protector, and she was his firefly.

An apt name, Robin decided, but only after she'd forced Steve to explain why, exactly, he'd decided to nickname her best friend after an insect.

"She just lights up every room she walks into." Steve had smiled, watching Y/N from across the room. "And she's brightest around people she loves."

"Ew." Robin's face scrunched up. "I knew you were a sap but damn."

Attached to the hip, that's how they were. Until middle school rolled around, and she had to watch as the popular kids decided Steve had enough potential to be one of them. He'd impressed them with his exceptional talent for basketball, the guys suddenly trying to recruit him for anything that had to do with the sport, and the girls drooling over the hot new kid that had already managed to make a splash in the social circles.

Slowly, Steve's schedule was filled with basketball and social events, parties and dances and things that only people in the in-crowd were allowed to know about, and Y/N was slowly pushed out of both his schedule, and his priorities. She was still stuck in the past, trying to grasp a version of him that he'd left behind in his childhood, that's what Steve had told her.

Gone were the days of sleepovers, laying in her backyard and watching the stars, swimming in his pool on hot days, giggling in blanket forts, and playing basketball. That was something he conveniently forgot to mention, Y/N had ranted to her mother. She was who had introduced him to basketball, she was who he played against for hours to get as good as he was, she was supposed to be his practice buddy forever, that's what he'd promised her one sticky summer night.

They'd spent all day playing basketball in his backyard, and they were both exhausted laying on the concrete and talking.

"You're getting pretty good at this, Stevie."

"You think so?"

"Yup. I bet you're gonna get even better too. Then you'll play in the big leagues, like in high school."

"I wouldn't be this good without you, Y/N. You're the best practice partner ever."

She laid there silent, her face heating up and confusing an eight-year old Y/N. Why did her face feel so warm?

"You the only person I'm ever gonna play basketball with." A nine-year old Steve declared.

"That's not gonna work, Stevie." She giggled. "You'll have to play against other people when we're older."

"Hmm." He considered for a moment. "Then you'll be my only practice buddy, ever. And we'll only ever practice with each other, forever."

But he'd broken that promise as soon as seventh grade hit, and Y/N supposed that it wouldn't have hurt as much if they'd still been friends. He would've comforted her, wiped away any possible tears and somehow made her laugh. But they weren't friends anymore, were they? He'd left her, decided that she wasn't enough for him anymore.

Fine then. She didn't need him anyway, that stupid boy wasn't going to ruin her life just because he didn't want to give her the time of day. Whatever, let him get swept up in the popularity.

Looking back, Y/N supposed that, despite how angry the middle school version of her was, there was still a part inside her that was continuously clutching to the hope that one day, her best friend would come back. But until then, she'd needed to find new friends. Real friends that weren't going to leave her at the drop of a hat, or the prospect of popularity.

Senior year of high school, what a journey it had been getting there. Both Steve and Y/N had been sucked into the drama with the Upside-down their junior year, thanks to Steve's infatuation with Nancy Wheeler, and Y/N just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That's when they walked into her life, Robin Buckley and Andrea Davison.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*

After the traumatizing things she'd faced in the Byers' home, Y/N had done her best to scrub her life clean of anything that had to do with Steve 'The Hair' Harrington for the rest of junior year. After ignoring her throughout middle school, and then allowing his so called 'friends' bully her through high school, Y/N wasn't about to just allow him back into her life just because they'd had to fight demogorgons together.

But suddenly, Steve started popping up.

Everywhere.

He was bringing flowers to her mother, thanking her for all the years she'd spent taking care of him. He was spending time with her dad, who'd for some reason begun teaching Steve how to fix stuff on his car. He was in her art class for some reason, despite having sworn up and down his whole life that he would never ever voluntarily take part in such an "emasculating" subject.

At first she'd thought that maybe, just maybe, he was trying to impress her. Trying to fix their relationship and put effort into being a good friend, maybe he'd finally realized how much of a tool he'd been to her.

But Y/N wasn't who he was trying to impress, and she realized that when she saw him pinning Nancy Wheeler playfully to her locker, before starting to make out with her in the hallway.

"Whatever." She'd told Andrea. "We haven't been friends in years anyway. It's no surprise that I'm still invisible to him, but who cares."

She did. She cared. But she wasn't going to admit that to anyone, especially not herself.

At least, not until their senior year, when a sloshed Nancy Wheeler very publicly broke the heart of Steve Harrington at the biggest Halloween party of the season.

Despite how painful it was, it seemed to have knocked some sense into the boy, and while the rest of Hawkins High was disappointed in how much 'King Steve' had mellowed out, Y/N was relieved to see that there was still some of the same kid from her childhood left in him.

That being said, him showing that he still had some resemblance of basic human decency didn't undo years worth of hurt, and Y/N continued to ignore him. She wouldn't talk to him when he showed up at her house. She walked past him in the hallways without acknowledging his existence, even though at some point he'd started to wave at her again.

And she was content with this, atleast that's what she kept telling herself. It was better this way, because this way she wasn't going to get hurt. The douche had already proven that he would ditch her at the drop of a hat, and that wasn't going to happen again. Besides, he was only crawling back after perfect Nancy Wheeler had gotten tired of him, and if he thought she was going to be his rebound than that boy was more delusional than she thought.

Her plan to get rid of him? Ignore him. And she was successful, until one day Andrea yanked her into the girls bathroom to talk.

"Alright, what's the deal with you and Harrington?" Andrea asked pointedly.

Y/N blinked, stunned. "Were you just standing there waiting for me? How long have you been in here?"

Andrea rolled her eyes, "That's not the point-"

"Is this why I couldn't find you at lunch?"

"Just answer the question."

Y/N sighed, crossing her arms and shifting her weight from side to side, avoiding Andrea's eyes. "Nothing is going on, he's just being weird."

"You call going around asking about you nothing?"

Her mouth fell open, turning and staring at her best friend. "Pardon?"

Andrea put her hands on Y/N's arms. "You haven't heard? He's been going around asking about you in art class. And Nathan heard him talking about you in the locker room."

Y/N's face scrunched up in confusion, panic filling her chest. What could he possibly want? Why was he asking about her?

Andrea watched her with concern, as she just stood there without breathing. "Hey, you alright?"

"Yup that's the plan." She nodded, biting her lip while she fixed her hair.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*

"I'm sorry, your plan to get Harrington to stop asking about you is to show up to a party with his biggest enemy?" Robin asked. She and Andrea were sitting on Andrea's bed while Y/N examined herself in the mirror on her friend's vanity. They had all been getting ready for whatever party the football team was throwing this weekend when one of them had mentioned the basketball players.

"And is Billy aware that you're only going with him to piss Harrington off?"

Y/N snorted, "Oh please, he's only going with me to piss Steve off. We both have a common interest, y'know the whole 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' thing."

"Quick question, when did you start referring to him as Steve again?" Andrea smirked, making eye contact with her friend in the mirror.

"I- uh. Shut up."

"Your face is bright red."

"Robin you aren't helping!"

Y/N had met up with Billy after she and her friends had arrived at the party, and after wrapping his arm around her waist and parading her around in front of Steve a few times, it was on to the next chick. Whatever, she knew the whole reason they had shown up together was to get at him, but it would've been nice for Billy to wait more than ten minutes before ditching her.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*

"I'm gonna go get a drink." Billy shouted over the music, before disappearing into the crowd of people surrounding them before she could respond.

Nonetheless, mission accomplished, and now she could go find Robin and Andrea and get out of here. She really didn't see any point in staying when everyone at the party was already absolutely sloshed when they had showed up.

Turning back towards where she was pretty sure the door would be, she started weaving her way through the rest of the teenagers, occasionally having to shove someone out of the way, when Andrea appeared in front of her.

"There you are! I've been looking for you! Robin had too many jell-o shots and is wasted!"

"What? Is she okay?"

"Yeah she's fine, but Chelsea Roberts isn't!" Andrea shouted.

"What does she have to do with-?"

"Robin and I were looking for you and found Billy making out with some chick, and it was Chelsea! So Robin snatched her up off his lap by her gross perm and splashed some jock's drink in Billy's face!"

"WHAT?"

"Don't worry! I have Robin hiding in a broom closet! I'm gonna pull the car around, so we can leave before Billy finds her! Do me a favor and go get her!" With that, Andrea turned and dissapeared, leaving Y/N there groaning.

Making her way through the sea of people back the way she came, Y/N started walking up to random doors and knocking, (not wanting to be scarred for life) before slowly opening the doors and peeking inside, looking for her friend.

Opening the fifth door, she glanced inside to find a kitchen, starting to close the door before she heard a sad chuckle.

"Hargrove, really?"

Y/N paused, pressing her eyes shut and squeezing the door knob harder than necessary. "I'm not doing this with you."

A scoff came from the other side of the door. "You can't ignore me forever."

She swung the door open and made eye contact with a melancholy Steve Harrington, sitting on the kitchen counter next to the punch bowl and red solo cups, a half empty bottle of vodka in his hand. "Oh yeah? Watch me."

She turned to walk away, when a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward him. "I'm not gonna let you keep ignoring me."

Y/N swung around, getting in his face. "You did it for years, don't complain now that it's my turn to pretend you don't exist."

She ripped her arm out of his grasp and yanked the door back open, set on getting away from him and finding Robin so they could leave.

Footsteps followed behind her, and she turned to find Steve following, eyes bloodshot but determined as he kept a firm grip on the bottle in his hand. "You realize he's a player right? He's only interested in a hit it and quit it!"

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it?"

"I'm being serious!"

"So am I."

"Look I helped save your life!" Steve started, making her pause. She glanced around nervously to make sure nobody was listening before continuing to look through rooms.

"I never asked you to do that."

"But I did, and you owe me! Atleast a basic conversation!"

Y/N swung around, steam pouring out of her ears as she stared at the man who had so much audacity as to feel entitled to a spot in her life despite mistreating her for years.

"I'm sorry, I owe you? I wasn't the one who abandoned their best friend for some rich, self centered pieces of shit! Do me a favor and go back to pretending I don't exist, so I can hate you in peace."

She turned around and ripped open the only door she hadn't opened, absolutely fuming, when she saw Robin sitting on the floor giggling.

She leaned down and swung Robin's arm over her shoulders hauling the girl off the ground and trying to stumble out of the closet with her, straining.

Determined, she started trying to drag Robin toward the front door, walking past Steve while he continued trying to talk to her. He finally stopped and looked at her, sighing, before walking over and slinging Robin's other arm over his shoulders.

"Uh, what do you think you're doing?" Y/N glared.

"Helping you get her to the car before Hargrove finds her, is that okay firefly?"

Every hair on her body shot up as she turned and scowled, the old nickname stabbing at her heart instead of bringing comfort like it used to.

"Don't you ever call me that again, do you understand?"

"I-"

"Do you understand me Harrington?"

He nodded silently.

With that, the both started hauling a still giggling Robin out the front door and to Andrea's car. They layed the girl in the back, and she quickly fell asleep, snoring loudly after Y/N tossed a jacket over her.

"Well," Andrea wiped her hands. "This has been a fun night." She turned and crossed her arms, glancing between the boy that was awkwardly standing there, and her best friend who looked ready to murder someone. "So I'm gonna get in the car, you guys hash out whatever this is quickly so we can get home."

With that, she shot Y/N a wink and slid into the driver's seat of her car.

They turned toward each other, awkwardly eyeing the other person before Y/N cleared her throat.

"Uh, thank you. For, y'know." She gestured at the sleeping girl in the car.

"It wasn't a problem." Steve smiled. "And I'm guessing you won't be going out with Hargrove again, because of all that."

"Yeah, probably not." She sniffed. "So, goodnight."

She turned and started hurrying toward the car, and he started after her again. "C'mon please, I've been trying for months and this is the first time you've actually talked to me."

"Well I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in anything you have to say. Your actions over the last few years have said enough." But as her hand closed around the handle to the car, she hear the click of car doors locking, and made eye contact with her smirking best friend.

"Andrea you suck!" She shouted.

"You'll thank me later." Andrea smiled.

From behind, Steve very gently turned Y/N around, pulling her a few steps away from the car before speaking. "What did I do to make you hate me so much, firefly?"

She glared up at him, starting to blink away tears. "I told you to never call me that again."

He stared at her, something soft and warm glimmering in his eyes, and pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. And everything came pouring out.

"You abandoned me." She whispered. "You were my best friend and you left as soon as something better came along, and I will not be your backup just because your girlfriend dumped you."

He watched her carefully, watched as tear tracks tattooed themselves down her cheeks, her mascara starting to run ever so slightly. Her hair was a little messy, having been undone between carrying Robin and making her way through crowds, and her face red from both anger and sadness. Yet she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he would withstand a lifetime of her yelling at him just to be graced with her presence.

"I needed you, Steve. And you just left and forgot about me."

"I know, sweet girl." He gently wiped the tears from her eyes and pressed his forehead against hers. "And I will never be able to apologize enough for that. I was an absolute idiot to not realize that I had the best thing in the world right in front of me, and I can only beg you to forgive me."

He gazed at her lovingly. "And if you'll allow me, I will spend a lifetime making it up to you. I've missed you more than I can express, but being around you makes it feel as though I can finally breathe for the first time in years."

She looked at him and huffed out a laugh. "Who knew alcohol made you so poetic."

"It's one of the many wonderful things about me." He grinned.

She cracked a smile, before looking at him seriously. "You really hurt me Steve, and I'm not gonna be able to forgive you right away. It's gonna take work, and if you're not willing to put in the effort than don't waste my time."

"I've learned my lesson firefly, and I'm not letting you go again."

#fluff #angst #fanfiction #steve stranger things #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stranger things x reader #billy stranger things #billy hargrove x reader #x plus size reader #x female reader

84 notes · View notes