#[there's a few other songs that I associate with him as well though he is not really aware of the significance at this point rping] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

augustjustice · 3 months

Text

Chemistry, History, and Shared Trauma

AO3 Link

The day Eddie’s released from the hospital, he’s packed up into Steve’s BMW and driven straight to the Harrington mansion.

The government agents are still in the process of doing the whole song-and-dance routine required to clear Eddie’s name, so laying low is ideal. There hasn’t been time to relocate Wayne to a new trailer–something Owen promises is happening, though Eddie will believe it when he sees it–and a hotel room isn’t really a great place to recover, especially considering the state Eddie finds himself in.

When the question of where exactly he was going to go had come up, Steve had volunteered all too quickly.

“You can stay with me,” he had said, easy as pie, like it was nothing. “My parents aren’t home, and, besides…it’s not like anybody’s going to be looking for you there.”

Though Eddie had tried to protest, quick to say that he didn’t want to put Steve out, his jock savior wouldn’t hear a word of it.

So, the next day, Steve had shown up to the hospital early, signed all the appropriate paperwork, and then wheeled Eddie out into the parking lot whistling some upbeat, poppy tune Eddie didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of recognizing–but still found oddly endearing, in spite of himself.

And that had been that, Steve hauling Eddie’s cane out for him under one arm and his bag of meds in the other once they pull up in front of the Harringtons’ house, ready to put Eddie up in the guest room next to his like he’d belonged there all along.

Eddie’s mobility is still pretty limited–hence the cane and the wheelchair now sitting in the Harrington’s den–but that doesn’t mean he isn’t bold (and stupid) enough to try to make his way up the stairs on his own.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Steve scolds, catching Eddie around the waist as he wavers on his feet a little, clearly being careful of the open wounds on his stomach and torso. “Hold on, just…hold on, man.”

“You got me, big boy?” Eddie teases.

The flirtatious call back is a diversion, an attempt to cover up the embarrassment of having to be this damn reliant on…well, literally everyone around him, but Steve in particular from here on out.

“Yeah. Yeah, I got you,” Steve says, tone nothing less than perfectly sincere.

Eddie deliberately ignores the way his stomach gives a little swoop in response.

So he leans on Steve heavily as they make their way to the next story of the house, close enough to get a faint whiff of Steve’s cologne, a surprisingly sweet mix of amber, vanilla, and something a little fruity tickling his nose. Once they’re finally inside, though, Eddie does manage to hold himself upright long enough for a quick look around, taking in the digs he’s going to be sleeping in.

The room itself is almost sterile in its cleanliness–neat military precious corners on the bed, devoid of the usual clutter Eddie associates with home. The blue floral pattern that covers the walls is bizarrely identical to the fabric of the curtains, the repetition almost comical, when he thinks about the uniformity of all the houses that line the street. It’s the kind of detail that would be called too ‘on the nose,’ if written into a book.

Eddie’s surprised to find a few exceptions to the cold tidiness, however, and even more surprised those exceptions come in the form of a stack of fantasy novels stashed inside the bedside table and a couple of action figures tossed in one corner.

Following his gaze, Steve turns from where he’s ‘tidying up’ what can only be an imaginary mess perceptible to the eyes of babysitting monster hunters and babysitting monster hunters alone, Eddie guesses. He gives Eddie a wry look.

“Dustin stays over sometimes,” he explains, “the other rugrats, too, but it’s still mostly his stuff that winds up here. Leaves his shit all over the place.”

There’s a fondness to Steve’s smile that undercuts the annoyance in his words.

Eddie thinks back to the months and months Dustin spent talking Steve up to him. How even then it never really occurred to him just how close they might be. It’s strange to think, now, that though Eddie’s spent nearly a whole school year as DM for Steve’s nerdy band of babysitting charges, their paths had rarely ever crossed, beyond glimpses and a handful of long forgotten words exchanged, before that nightmare of a Spring Break. Almost like their lives have been running in some kind of strange parallel, fated to collide, without either of them even noticing it.

Eddie’s not exactly sure how to phrase the feeling that comes over him at the thought, so instead he says, “I can’t believe we’re best friends with a fourteen year old, man.”

“God, tell me about it.”

Eddie takes a few stumbling steps forward and sits down on the bed, honestly a bit proud of himself he manages it with as much grace as he does. As he settles in, he catches sight of a small stack of photos splayed out on the bedside, sitting atop what looks to be a photo album.

Though it’s only a brief glimpse, the two visible pictures alone hint at the whole life story no doubt tucked away between glossy pages.

Theres’s Dustin, several years younger than he is now, in a suit shooting the camera his gummy smile and with a hairdo that looks suspiciously like Steve’s own. And a polaroid shows Robin sprawled out on the counter at Scoops Ahoy, company policy be damned and a book in her hand, Steve’s head just in frame as she flips off the camera.

While Steve fusses over him, fluffing his pillows and insisting he go get Eddie something to drink, Eddie can’t help but think he'd sorta like to hear it sometime–Steve Harrington’s life story. Be regaled with tales, from the photos and beyond, now that they’re here together, after the almost end of the world.

He hopes that, maybe, if he’s lucky, Steve will want to tell him some day.

---

The bloodcurdling scream wakes Steve.

He’s out of his room and down the hall in a flash, nail bat quickly snatched out of its hiding place underneath his bed with ease after years of practice.

Even with his heart racing, he’s quiet when he opens the guest bedroom door, not wanting to scare Eddie or alert…anything else that might be lurking inside.

“Eddie,” Steve calls out, whisper soft as he approaches the bed. When he repeats it, it’s a little harsher, more of a hiss, trying to get Eddie’s attention. “Eddie!”

As he draws closer, Steve can see that Eddie is sweating, large droplets visible where they’ve beaded on his forehead, and he’s writhing hard enough in the sheets Steve’s worried he’s going to pop a stitch if he doesn’t stop him soon.

There’s really only one option ahead Steve sees for himself.

So he gets a knee on the mattress and climbs into the bed, wrapping his arms around Eddie to still him. Even as he does it, Steve worries his bottom lip between his teeth, anxious Eddie might fight against the restriction and inadvertently make the situation worse.

But then huge brown eyes fly open, Eddie’s terror reflected plainly as he stares up at Steve.

“Jeez–Christ!” Eddie manages to get out, stuttered and slurred, cutting off when Steve makes a soft shushing sound.

“Hey, man,” Steve murmurs, trying to keep his tone soothing as he gives him a tentative smile, “it’s me. It’s just me. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

He brushes Eddie’s sweaty bangs back from his forehead, a gesture that would be too intimate in any other circumstances, and then just keeps trying to murmur reassuring shit to him, voice low and gentle.

“I’m here, Eds. I’m here.”

Eddie is shaking against him, but he isn’t squirming or trying to buck him off, which Steve takes as a good sign–as ideal, really, as Steve could hope for in this situation. One of Eddie’s hands comes up to run down his face, his curls shifting against the pillow as he shakes his head fervently.

“Shit, Harrington, I thought–I mean, what I saw–” he trails off, lip trembling.

“I get it, man. Trust me, I get it.”

Though Eddie had squeezed his eyes firmly shut through the come down, he blinks them open again, looking at Steve through the darkness.

“Yeah, uh. Guess you would, wouldn’t you? Probably better than anybody.”

Steve can only nod his agreement.

“I mean, not just me. All of us get them,” he whispers, compelled to say it quietly, as he’s not sure if that truth is a comfort or a burden. “The nightmares, you know? Nance, Dustin, Robin–me.”

“Well, can I just say, they truly and royally suck.”

“Yeah…can’t really argue with you there, man.”

Eddie seems to register, then, that Steve has curled his body around him. His steadily loosening posture goes stiff again, much to Steve’s disappointment, and his eyes dart over nervously to catch Steve’s as he sucks in his bottom lip.

“Fuck, I-I’m sorry, dude. I totally didn’t mean to wake you up with my–terror-filled screams.”

The smile he shoots Steve is self-deprecating, tentative.

Steve’s grip slackens, but he doesn’t pull away, still pressed against Eddie’s side.

“Hey,” Steve coaxed, “you don’t need to do that, Eds. Like I said, we all fucking get them. That’s what I’m here for, okay? I–just wanna help when I can.”

The quirk of Eddie’s lips looks more genuine, now, some of the tension draining away.

“You know, Harrington, it’s kinda annoying how much I know you mean that.”

“Better get used to it, Munson. Cuz I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve gives Eddie one final quick squeeze around his shoulders, wondering if the gesture somehow crosses the line of casual, friendly touch Steve has gotten used to doling out to Eddie since all the Upside Down shit started, the jocular back pats and hair ruffling he’d justified as just typical guy stuff.

With that thought firmly at the front of his mind, Steve pulls away, albeit reluctantly. That said, he really doesn’t want to go back immediately on his word by slinking off to his bedroom, abandoning Eddie to fight off whatever images linger alone in the dark.

Especially not when he hears the almost imperceptible noise Eddie lets out as he stands.

Steve eyes the floor speculatively, an idea already taking root in his head.

“Speaking of, why don’t I just–stay here tonight. Yeah?” he suggests, already tossing the pillow and throw from the chair in the corner on the ground, making himself a pallet.

Sure, it’s not the most comfortable sleeping position ever, but between chairs in the Wheelers’ basement and the cold, hard floor of a Russian elevator, Steve’s done a lot worse.

“C’mon, man–you don’t have to do that,” Eddie tries to protest.

Like Steve can’t clearly see how haggard he looks, peering down at Steve through the curtain of his hair, the end of one strand damp where he’s pulled it up to his mouth and chewed on it.

Steve waves him off. “It’s not a problem. I already told you, dude, Henderson stays over all the time–you think I’ve never had to have a floor sleepover when he was around? Get real.”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow at him.

“...Something tells me you’re not going anywhere even if I pull out my magnificent rhetorical skills from years of DMing and try to argue with you, huh?”

Steve thinks that really Eddie’s just proved his point, the fact that, since Steve mentioned staying, he’s recovered himself enough to be teasing all the more reason sticking around is clearly a good thing.

“Nope,” he answers, voice chipper as he shoots a finger gun at Eddie.

Eddie shakes his head ruefully. “Alright, didn’t think so.”

Without further ado, Steve flops himself gracelessly onto his makeshift bed for the night, the thick carpet beneath softening his landing.

“Night, Eddie.”

“Yeah. Yeah, night, Steve.”

Several long moments pass, and Steve listens, waiting to hear Eddie’s breathing evening out. It’s a sound he has become well acquainted with after many nights spent at the hospital, fitfully trying to sleep in the uncomfortable chair at Eddie’s bedside. When he fails to hear that telltale signal, Steve can’t help but stay tensed, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

He doesn’t have to wait long before Eddie breaks the silence.

“Steve?” Eddie calls out, voice wavering. “Could you–fuck, man, I just need…”

He trails off, becoming muffled as he probably buries his face in his hands again. Even in the darkness, as Steve sits up, he can see the way Eddie’s shoulders hitch with his uneven breathing.

Without a word, he abandons the pillow and blanket on the floor to climb back onto the bed. Eddie doesn’t even look up when Steve’s weight dips the mattress.

“Hey, man,” Steve hipchecks him, nudging him over gently, “move over.”

“Harrington…” Eddie drawls slowly, looking completely lost even as he does as requested. His eyes widen further when Steve climbs into the empty space he left behind. “What’re you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow as he leans back onto the pillows, getting comfortable.

“I know what it looks like, I just need some reassurance I’m not just hallucinating from blood loss or something here, man. Maybe you didn’t actually pull me, barely alive, out of that hellhole, and everything since then has all just been a really, really elaborate dream.”

Steve laughs, jostling his shoulder slightly.

“You’re not hallucinating.”

Eddie continues to stare at him in silent disbelief, causing Steve to sigh and sit up.

“Look, man, I–I get it, okay? All this, afterwards…sometimes it helps, just…being together. Close by, you know?”

Steve had had Nancy and the pretense of normalcy after the first go around, though that had all quickly gone to hell.

And the second time, when the kids truly were still kids, not the tiny adults they were fast becoming, there had been Dustin. The night after their second showdown, they’d slept side-by-side on their own makeshift palate on Joyce Byers’ living room floor, the other munchkins all scattered around them and Steve’s hand ruffled in Dustin’s hair, just the reassurance that he was there safe and comforting.

It was the best Steve had slept in almost a year.

And then, after the third time, there had been Robin. Filling up his parents’ empty house with laughter, movie marathons and impromptu sleepovers. Robin crawling into his bed in the middle of the night because she didn’t want to sleep alone in the echoing walls of Casa de Harrington, the two of them kicking each other like two giggling preteens until they fell asleep.

So, yeah. Together, in Steve’s many years of experience, was undeniably better.

“Besides, this way I can check and make sure you don’t actually bleed out in the middle of the night.”

“...If you say so,” Eddie says dubiously, but he doesn’t argue any further, which Steve counts as a win. He’s learned to take them where he can get them, these days.

But even after his agreement, Eddie’s restlessness is transparent. He fidgets beside Steve–drumming his fingers, squirming in the sheets as though trying to get comfortable, and eventually rolling half onto his side so that he’s facing away from Steve entirely. As Steve peers curiously at the outline of his shoulders, he realizes Eddie is still trembling, just a little.

His heart gives a painful kick in his chest.

“Here, just–” Steve turns until he’s lined up along Eddie’s back and then wraps a hand around his waist, pulling him back against him.

Eddie’s fidgeting stops immediately as he freezes in Steve’s arms.

“How’s that?” he asks into the waves of Eddie’s hair brushing against his face. “Better?”

“Uh.”

The hesitation in Eddie’s voice makes Steve really wish he could see his face, get a better read on the situation. Eddie’s so damn expressive, he might as well be the poster boy for “heart on his sleeve” as a phrase.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“Are you totally weirded out?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice casual. “If you want me to, like, stop, you can just…tell me, you know.”

“No,” Eddie laughs, his head dipping downwards, “no, man, it’s…it’s definitely not that. I’m just trying to reconcile several shifting pieces of my world outlook into place all at once.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Eddie turns, then, tipping over onto his back again so he can stare at Steve in disbelief. Steve doesn’t loosen his hold on his waist.

“Steve Harrington. Is in my bed. Spooning me,” Eddie raises his eyebrows at him. “None of that strikes you as weird?”

“I’m not spooning you now,” Steve points out. “You turned around.”

“Dude!” Eddie smacks his shoulder, shaking his head, laughter in his voice. They’re close enough his hair tickles Steve’s face as it whips around them.

“And, no, not really,” Steve shrugs. “Probably doesn’t even rank in the top ten weirdest things I’ve done in the past three years.”

“I mean…after the shit I’ve seen? I don’t doubt that, dude.”

But Eddie stares at him for a long beat after he admits it, eyes bright and brows drawn. There’s an expression, on his face, like he’d like to crack Steve open and see how his gears work, understand him from the inside out.

Plenty of people have looked at Steve like they wanted him. Steve’s not sure anyone has ever looked at him like this before, though.

The comforter has fallen down around Eddie’s waist, the shirt Steve had lent him riding up, exposing the pale line of his stomach. The worst of the wounds are still covered in bandages, the stitching hidden underneath them, but a patch of fresh, purple scarring spills out from the stark white gauze.

That’s the only real explanation that Steve has, for what he decides to break the sudden, loaded silence with.

(Plus maybe, just maybe, it’s one way of giving Eddie a part of himself, one jigsaw piece in the puzzle those bright brown eyes seem eager to solve.)

“You know, Nancy has a scar on her palm.”

When Eddie’s face turns towards his on the pillow, shooting him a puzzled look, he keeps going.

“Here, like this,” Steve tries to sound nonchalant as he takes Eddie’s hand, drags a finger gently across it. He’s not sure how much he’s succeeded, seeing the way the furrow of Eddie’s brow deepens in the low light. “And it’s…from the first time, with the demogorgon? Nancy and Jonathan, they–they lured it out together, and they’ve got the matching scars to prove it. She explained it to me, later, what happened.”

“I mean…that sounds like a gnarly war wound,” Eddie observes hesitantly. Then, his lips tug into a lopsided smile. “Not as impressive as a missing nipple, of course, but, you know–not everybody can be as badass as me.”

“Shut up, dude,” Steve scoffs, trying to bite back his own smile as he very gently jostles Eddie’s arm.

“What I’m trying to say, Harrington, is–I’m not really sure why you’re telling me this now?”

“I was getting to it, Eds. Sheesh, when it comes to patience, you're as bad as the munchkins.”

Eddie inclines his head for Steve to continue, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “You have my sincerest apologies for interrupting, Stevie. Please–carry on, my liege.”

“Thank you,” Steve says snippily, partially out of habit, and partially because returning to the topic at hand is making him a little nervous. “So, like I was saying–Jonathan and Nance, they’ve got these matching marks on their hands, right? And, after they got back together–not to sound like a stalker, or anything, for the record this was when we would hang out sometimes–but more than once I would…I would catch them, just. Doing this thing where they pressed their palms together, like this.”

He demonstrates, spreading his hand out so his and Eddie’s hands line up together perfectly, Steve’s own longer fingers inching out over the tips of Eddie’s own.

“I don’t think they ever realized I noticed. But I always knew, when they did it, they were comparing their–what did you call them?–their matching war wounds. Like they carried this secret little thing that would always tie them together, no matter what happened. And I’m not gonna pretend I wasn’t jealous, at first, but even then, I always thought it was…nice. The thought of having somebody who would always be connected to you, that way, where you could never really erase what you’d been through together.”

A long beat of silence passes between them, him and Eddie staring at each other in the moonlight. Steve hopes, desperately, that maybe some part of what he’s trying to work up to saying is getting through.

“That is…incredibly morbid. Especially for you, Harrington,” Eddie notes finally, a corner of his mouth ticking up in amusement.

Steve huffs out a breath, beginning to pull his hand away, “Whatever, man, if you’re just gonna make fun, forget I said any–”

“Shit, no no no, dude!” Eddie’s arm flies out, gripping Steve tightly around the wrist, not letting him slink away. “I’m sorry, Stevie, I–that’s not what I meant. I do, I do get what you’re saying. Like you said, scars like that–they work like a symbol, that you’ve been through some tough shit together, side by side, and made it out the other end alive. I totally fucking get it, dude. And against all instincts, I do think it’s pretty romantic, in an absolutely metal sorta way. That’s why I said it like that. Just didn’t expect your romantic side to come with so much edge, Stevie boy.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve lets out a dry huff, “almost dying about a hundred times will do that to a person.”

“Yeah, I guess it will. I’m, uh. Still not completely clear about what Wheeler and Byers’ big epic love story has to do with us, though?” Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Unless…you’re here to wallow? In which case–I mean, fair enough. Wallow away, my good sir. You’ve more than earned it.”

“It’s not that,” Steve insists, even as he shrugs his shoulders, slightly conceding the point. “I mean, sure, with Nancy…I really thought she was it for me, once upon a time. And so when I saw what she had, with Jonathan–it hurt. Because it was her, of course, but also…because I wanted that with someone, as twisted as it maybe sounds. I’d gone through hell and back, too, and all I got was that nail bat and a bunch of mouthy kids to look out for.”

Eddie lets out a bark of laughter, and Steve grins back at him.

“Not that I’m complaining, or anything. I mean, I got Robin, too, and I don’t know what I’d do without her, or the hellions, for that matter. But, I–”

Deliberately, he tugs up his own shirt, shifting until he’s pressing carefully against Eddie’s side. Their matching bandages brush, an identical swath of white in the darkness, tangled scars seeming to almost curl together. It’s hard, in that moment, to tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

“I just–never thought I’d have anybody else to match with. That’s all.”

“But–now you do?” Eddie says slowly, something cautious in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” Steve shrugs, the corner of his mouth curving upwards in a tentative half-smile. “Now I’ve got you.”

“...You got me,” Eddie agrees quietly, almost like he’s afraid to speak that part out loud. “Dragged me out of hell and everything, Harrington. No return receipt after all that so…don’t really think there’s any getting rid of me now, even if you wanted to.”

“Good,” Steve says curtly, with a sharp, certain nod of his head, leaving no room for any creeping doubts. “Like I said, Munson, I’ve been waiting on this for a while, so you don’t get to run out on me now.”

Eddie shakes his head again, lips curling in bemusement.

“You are something else entirely, Steve Harrington,” he admits. “Full of surprises.”

“Good ones?” Steve asks, suddenly self-conscious.

Eddie tilts his head back and forth, as though he’s considering.

(Later, he will tease Steve about it mercilessly.

“Was that the infamous Harrington charm at work? Bet you tell that one to all the boys you lure into your bed, seduce them with tales of matching battle wounds connecting you like a pair of fated lovers.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Eds,” Steve will counter with that same sincerity that always sends Eddie blushing, “cuz I’ve never said anything like that before. Not to anybody. Not before you.”)

But, for now, it takes only a moment for Eddie’s face to dissolve into a warm smile. Reaching over, he tangles his fingers with Steve’s again, tugging their interlaced hands up to rest against one of the scarred patches stretching across his belly.

The skin feels smooth under Steve’s hand. For a moment, he wonders how it would feel, to press his lips there.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, eyes sparkling with so many promises of the future, for now left unsaid. “Yeah, I’d say pretty good so far.”

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #my writing #my stuff #my things #me coming at you with yet another spin on an established steddie trope? it's more likely than you think

396 notes · View notes

redrose10 · 4 months

Text

Alright here is Chapter 5! Originally it was supposed to be a much shorter chapter but I didn’t like the way it flowed so I changed it up. There are still a few more chapters to go!

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Word count: 3,016

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

Yoongi had started making an effort. It was small but you did notice little things like the tea kettle already filled when you got up in the morning and he’d text you to ask how your day was going. He didn’t seem to be bringing home women any more either but you knew he had other ways of accomplishing that so you were still skeptical.

Yoongi walked through the door after a particularly hard day. His company was denied the patent that they desperately needed to move forward on a new project costing them millions of dollars and precious time. He of course got chewed out over it by the entire board and it soured his mood for the rest of the day. He just wanted to get home, take a shower, have a glass of whiskey, and get in bed.

When he entered his home he heard loud music blaring through the speakers. He recognized the song as some girl group but he’d never cared enough to actually pay attention. It was catchy though. But what really caught his eye was you dancing around the kitchen in a white T-shirt that was just long enough to barely cover your backside. Your hair up in a messy bun. Your hips swayed to the music as you stirred something in a pot before returning to the cutting board. He watched you for a few seconds admiring your beauty. How you sang along to the song somewhat off key but still managed to sound beautiful. He did deserve the scolding he got earlier because he truly was an idiot. An idiot that had someone like you right there practically handed to him and he tried his best to ruin it all.

Slowly he walked over and cleared his throat, “It smells really good in here. What did you make?”

You were startled nearly jumping a foot in the air as you didn’t expect him to be home so early, “Oh Namjoon’s mom gave me a recipe for Jajangmyeon so I wanted to try it out.” Yoongi knew you hadn’t spoken to his mother since the wedding but here you were exchanging recipes with another man’s mom. That stung. “Would you like some?”, you asked almost certain he’d turn you down like every other time but to your shock he nodded, “Yeah sure. Sounds good.”

Placing the bowl in front of him he immediately took a huge bite.

“This is amazing Y/N. Best I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you.”, you replied before digging into your own bowl. The two of you made light conversation over dinner. It felt domestic and while this was what you’d always wanted it created a fear in you that eventually this would all come crashing down and be worse than before.

He ate the bowl in no time and even asked for seconds. Once you were both finished he offered to clean up and wash the dishes. You stared at him in disbelief causing him to stop what he was doing and look up at you. “What?”, he asked like what he was doing was completely normal.

“Are you feeling okay?”

He nodded, “Yeah I’m fine. Why?”

“Well I’m just waiting for you to tell me you got someone pregnant or like you’re dying or something.”

Yoongi chuckled and for the first time you saw his gummy smile. “I just thought I’d help you out since you made that delicious meal.” You gave a small smile, “Oh okay. Well thank you.” Quickly you made your way back to your room to hideout until he went to bed. You fully expected to wake up and realize this was all a dream.

After that night things between you and Yoongi stayed pretty weird. Technically they were pretty normal for a married couple but for the two of you it was strange.

He started eating dinner with you at least once a week sometimes more. Some mornings you’d wake up to him making breakfast. The two of you never spoke much but ate in comfortable silence. One day he even insisted that he accompany you and Namjoon to the opening of a new art museum claiming that he didn’t want rumours to circulate about the two of you but the way he placed his arm around you any time Namjoon got a little too close for his liking told you differently.

Things peaked at weirdness on a chill October night. It was the annual Min Gala and the first big event that you and Yoongi would be attending together. There had been other smaller gatherings here and there but nothing of this level. The Min Gala was known globally for its luxury and grandeur while pulling in celebrities and royalty from around the world, and you were now going. Which is why you were currently staring at yourself in the full length mirror you had purchased for your room. The outfit, something Jimin had picked, a velvet navy blue floor length dress with a deep v cut in the front and a slit on the right side that almost went up to your hip. Even you had to admit that you looked incredible. While admiring yourself you heard Yoongi lightly knocked at the door, “Y/N we seriously have to get going. We’re gonna be late.” Not wanting to make him angry you grabbed your clutch and swung open the door not expecting him to still be standing there.

He looked you up and down with wide eyes. “Y-You look very nice.”, he stuttered. You gave a shy smile back, “You look very nice yourself.” He then lead the way for you two out to the waiting car.

When the driver pulled up to the event you went into panic mode. There must’ve been 100 photographers along with hundreds of other various personnel. You were very out of your element. Yoongi could sense your uneasiness. “I know it’s a lot Y/N but keep your head up and just look ahead. I’ll be there with you through the whole thing.” You nodded as the car door opened. Yoongi stepped out first then turned and gave you his hand to help you out also. He placed a hand on your lower back and started quickly but gently ushering you through the crowd. You did your best to politely ignore the various questions being thrown at you while also trying your best not to trip due to the blinding lights. Once inside you felt a rush of relief. One of the staff members came over and grabbed your coats while a waiter brought you a glass of champagne which you happily downed.

You fully expected Yoongi to run off to the first woman that looked his way and leave you to fend for yourself but surprisingly be stayed by your side until an older gentleman came over asking to speak with him for a bit. Yoongi excused himself and told you he’d be back shortly as business needed to be handled.

You weren’t alone long though before Jimin slid over wrapping you in a big hug and catching you up on all the gossip you missed. He was in the middle of telling you a story about his trip when another presence walked up next to you. The man looked vaguely familiar but you couldn’t quite place it. Luckily Jimin stepped right in to introduce you, “Oh Y/N please meet one of my really good friends. This is Taehyung.” The man gave you a big boxy smile before reaching out to shake your hand, “Hi Y/N, It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”, you smiled. Taehyung was one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen. He had soft black hair that had some natural curls which fell perfectly. Smooth skin and beautiful eyes. He was dressed impeccably. His outift a dark purple three piece suit. It reminded you a lot of the dark green suit Yoongi had on the day you met him and that’s when it hit you. You were talking to the famous fashion designer and owner of KTVY, a very prominent fashion line that had quickly entered the same ranks as well known brands like Dior or Versace.

You spoke with Jimin and Taehyung for a while listening to their various escapades. Taehyung playfully pouted when he realized you weren’t wearing one of his designs and Jimin being the one that picked it out made him pout even deeper. Taehyung started grabbing at your dress talking about the low quality and how he would’ve made a nicer dress for you. It was clear he was a very hands on person but you felt comfortable with him. “Looks like someone’s jealous.”, Jimin leaned over whispering into your ear. Glancing over your shoulder you spotted Yoongi staring back at you while ignoring the man next to him expressively talking with his hands. Instead of his trademark unreadable expression he actually looked angry and it made you feel a certain kind of way.

When he was finally able to break free from the conversation with his business partner Yoongi walked over and pulled you into him before placing a kiss on your cheek, “Come on Y/N. Let go find my parents.” As you were being drug away you quickly waved goodbye to Jimin and Taehyung missing the way they both rolled their eyes and giggled to each other like teenage girls. After your meeting with Jimin and Taehyung, Yoongi’s mood for the rest of the evening seemed to change. He refused to leave your side. Every ten minutes he’d tell you how beautiful you looked, the most beautiful woman in the world. He also decided to start trying to mask his anger by downing Jack and Cokes like they were water.

Eventually you were able to cut him off and convince him that it was time to go home so there you were waiting for the driver to pull up while you did your best to hold up the swaying Yoongi. Luckily you were able to sneak out the back so no one other than a few kitchen staff saw you. Once in the car you started digging around looking for a bucket or bag or anything incase Yoongi’s body decided to rid itself of the alcohol on the way home. Just as you reached to look in one of the cabinets you felt hands grabbing your waist pulling on you and you fell back onto the seat next to Yoongi.

He started nuzzling his face into your neck mumbling something you couldn’t quite understand. “Here you need to sit up.”, you said while doing your best to push him over. He looked at you with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks.

“You are not going to feel good tomorrow morning. This is gonna be the hangover of all hangovers.”

He scoffed, “Yeah well I can’t feel any worse than I did earlier.”

“What do you mean?”, you asked while searching the car for a bottle of water you knew he needed.

“The way Taehyung looked you up and down and the way he had his hands all over you. I’m gonna kill Jimin. I told him not to introduce the two of you.”

You snorted at his remark. Yoongi looked over at you, “I’m serious. And after I kill him he’s fired too.” You just laughed it off. You were like 99% sure Yoongi wouldn’t do either but you made a mental note to text Jimin later and give him a warning.

Once you were standing outside your penthouse door you were fumbling with the code while trying to keep Yoongi standing upright and you were really regretting not taking the help from the driver when he offered. Even though Yoongi had a small frame he was surprisingly heavy and the fact that he had zero control right now was not helping. After finally getting Yoongi in the door you started walking him towards the kitchen to get some water and some food in his system when suddenly he grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him. Within seconds he had you pushed up against the wall with his arms on either side caging you in while using the wall to brace himself. Slowly he placed kisses starting behind your ear and trailing down towards your cleavage.

“Fuck that Kim Taehyung. I’m never buying shit from him again.”

You chuckled at his whiny statement before Yoongi grabbed your hips pulling you flush against him as he continued to pepper kisses all over any visible skin he could reach.

He moved his left hand to your lower back while his right hand slowly started moving down your hip to the slit in your dress that he gently started to toy with. “Y/N, I don’t know how you did this to me. I wanted to hate you so bad. I wanted to hate our situation. I tried so hard to prevent you from breaking down my walls but I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to love you and I’m scared because I think I’m starting to.”, he mumbled between kisses. He began to tease the lace of the black underwear that you had on and that’s when you broke out of your haze and stopped him.

He was drunk and you were sober and even though he initiated all of this it felt like taking advantage of him and there was also a part of you that was worried once he sobered up he’d regret everything and his words would mean northing.

“Come on Drunky. Let’s get you to bed.”, you said pulling him down the hall. He looked around the room confused, “Who the hell is Drunky?”, which earned a big eye roll on your part. You help him get undressed and put him in the bed. You tried to leave to go get some water and some pain killers but he grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the bed next to him, “Please stay with me. Every time you walk away from me I worry it’ll be the last time I ever see you.” Again you remembered that this was just the liquor talking and in the morning he’d probably be upset that you were even in his room. You nodded and laid in the bed so he rested his head on your chest as you began to run your fingers through his hair hoping it would soothe him to sleep faster.

Thankfully it worked like a charm because he was asleep within minutes and you quickly got the supplies you were looking for before setting them down next to his bed for easy access when he woke up the next morning.

You pulled the blanket up over his shoulders and did a double check once again to make sure that he had everything he would need before heading over to the door.

You stopped when you noticed a bottle sitting on his dresser. It was beautiful and very ornate. A matte red glass bottle with a gold topper. In big intricate letters it read ‘Solace, A Comforting Fragrance by KTVY’. You chuckled at the irony that this was his choice of cologne. Gently you popped open the top and the familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla hit you and a wave of memories of the last year came flooding back. Taking a look over at the man who was now softly snoring you felt anxious and uncertain about the future. You knew how to handle cold cheating asshole Yoongi. That was easy. But this new Yoongi, the one who’s been trying to improve and who claims he’s falling in love, you don’t know how to move forward without getting hurt more than you already have been.

Placing the bottle back in its spot you walked out gently closing the door behind you.

The next morning Yoongi woke up with a massive headache. After downing the glass of water and pain killers he took a quick shower and walked out into the kitchen. You greeted him with a smile and placed a large plate of food down in front of him, “Here this is called Y/N’s happy hangover special. You need the grease and carbs. There’s also hot coffee ready for you but you need to finish a glass of water first.”

He smiled and began to dig into the food letting you know how good it was. He watched you walk over and water the blue hydrangea plant that he had delivered a few weeks ago. He thought back to that morning. He wasn’t sure what was more beautiful, the flowers themselves or the way your face lit up when you saw them.

Then like a bad flashback the events of the night before came back to him. How he was filled with jealousy watching Taehyung touch you. How he used alcohol to try and extinguish the flames that burned inside of him. The way he kissed you and grabbed at you like a horny teenager. How he told you he was falling in love with you. It was all true.

You hadn’t mentioned any of it yet though which concerned him. He thought maybe he’d upset you or took it too far too fast. He was worried that you didn’t take his words seriously and assumed they were only spoken thanks to his drunk state of mind.

He wanted to tell you all of that same stuff now, while sober, and maybe have a deeper more thorough discussion. He cleared his throat, “Umm Y/N, about last ni-.”

*Ding*

Checking your phone you saw a text from Jimin letting you know he was outside.

“Hey Yoongi I have to get going. I’m hanging out with Jimin today. Don’t wait up.”

“Oh okay.”

Grabbing your purse you ran out the door without looking back.

He bit his lip staring at the space you were no longer occupying. “I deserve that.”, he whispered before pouring himself a cup of coffee.

#bts #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi angst #yoongi fic #yoongi x y/n #arranged marriage au #bts fanfic #cinnamon&vanilla #yoongi au #yoongi

323 notes · View notes

horseshoegirl · 23 days

Text

Set Me Alight: Part 7 - Paint It, Black

📜Life is messy. And complicated. And writer blocky, with a dash of imposter syndrome... I just want to put that out there... Anyway...

Well, the poll won out. You all want to know what Jake said to Midge. This is solely a flashback chapter. I can't say I'm surprised at who you all disliked in the last chapter, though I hope this one will give you some insight into why Midge has held on to this for as long as she has.

Special thank you to @teacupsandtopgun for helping me to write a certain part of this! You can thank her for the puns! And @sarahsmi13s for taking a peak at it!

❗️+18, Minors DNI, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character (s), Short OFC, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, flashbacks, Halloween college parties, school, angst, sexual themes (overhearing), drunkness/inxotication. I mentioned angst, right? 💀

#8k <- yes, i know

Part 6 | Masterlist | Part 8

*Halloween Four Years Ago*

Giving orders to a football team to put up Halloween directions was not an easy feat. They were kids in a joke shop, only too happy to take every opportunity to jump-scare each other with a spider, a white sheet or slide out from behind a door and shout boo!

Despite the antics, you were grateful for the help. Nat and you wouldn’t have finished in time. And even then, you suspected Nat probably would have given up halfway through, merely deciding to throw Yellow Caution Tape on the walls and call it a day.

You wouldn’t have stopped - even if it became a doomed effort.

Bradley’s friends weren’t what you expected them to be. True, their appearance fit the bill a thousand times over. Tall, broad shoulders and bulging muscles were all the product of hard work - including Bob, who was smaller than the rest, though not by much. Even their mannerisms, from how they acted childish and goofy to how they winked or playfully flirted, everything you saw played into the stereotypical type that was the classic college football jock.

Then you got to know them—really know them—and hated yourself for ever associating them as such.

You already knew Bradley and had met him on occasion. When he stayed over to be with Nat, he was often up before you, and you’d chat with him over a cup of coffee. He always brought her a cup to wake her up when he could, and it always made you smile.

His story was a sad one. His father passed away when he was only two years old, leaving his mom to raise him alone. While he couldn’t regale you with his memories of him, he instead offered you the stories attached to his father’s things: a button-up Hawaiian shirt in pale pastels, a pair of coffee-brown Ray Ban sunglasses, and even a worn Milk chocolate leather-strapped bag he used to lug his books around campus.

Then, his mom passed away in high school, and his father’s best friend took him up until the point decided to leave for school. Bradley chose his words carefully when he spoke of any of them, offering little, and you wondered if the loss was still too much for him to bear.

Or something else had happened, and he didn’t want anyone to know.

But as you helped him blow up a few balloons for the floor, a song from a later decade played through the speakers, and Bradley lit up, producing a smile wider than the nearby Jack-o-lantern. He launched into a story about how much his parents loved music and how his father would play the piano, which alone made him want to learn.

You asked him if and when he did if he’d play for you one day.

Javy Machado, however, couldn’t be more different from Bradley if he tried.

He was just as meticulous as you when it came to detail. The two of you were discussing the best way to tape Velcro to the kitchen cupboards to stick fluff to the sides and mimic cobwebs when you discovered this fact. He was … quietly smooth and persuasive, with a suave smile that indicated he could charm his way into or out of any situation he wanted without needing to flirt or play it thick.

“Angle it like this, Maeve,” he had explained, stretching the piece out. “Principle of maximum contact area equals maximum adhesive stretch.”

You had raised your eyebrows at that remark, which prompted him to chuckle softly.

"Science major," he shrugged with that smile, making your internal monologue stutter to a halt until you went, "Wait... What?!"

He only laughed at your reaction, amused in a way like he’d been expecting it. But it was that look of genuine interest in his eyes that made you ask him properly.

He didn't know what field of science to specialize in, but Javy made all of it sound amazing. From stars to not dirt—it's soil—to understanding how the world worked, he knew he wanted to spend his life trying to figure it all out. If he could throw a ball around and be part of a team with his friends, he considered himself fortunate to do both.

Even if his passion was so far removed from your own, you may have seen some of yourself in his journey, trying to fit in while doing what you loved most.

Holding up a string of lights against the wall, Reuben Flitch told you he was floating through school, waiting for the day he could finally be free. On that day, he’d take over his family’s business. Comparing him to the fractured story of your brother and sister following in your parent’s footsteps never seemed to cross your mind.

Because when you asked what the business was, his face lit up with an enthusiasm you hadn’t expected.

“My grandparents own vineyards," he had beamed. "They've been in the family for generations. I've grown up with the land, the grapes, and the entire winemaking process."

He told you stories of growing up, playing through the vines and rows of trellises, making you long for the rows of apple trees at Aunt Viv's. He also talked about spending time with his grandfather, learning the process of pressing grapes and his grandmother tending and picking the grapes. He spoke about the people, everyone from the gardeners to the people who bottled the wine to his siblings, with whom he'd played hide-and-seek within the cellars.

He told you a business major was worth it, as much as he loathed it, if he could own the place one day.

You hoped he did.

But Mickey Garica and Bob Floyd were... characters, to say the least. It was easy to talk with them, even laugh with them, as the three of you spread tiny black spiders all over the apartment.

Mickey couldn’t stop asking if you could paint him one day, though you imagined it would be fandom-inspired rather than a realistic portrait. The second you asked him about his favourite universe, he launched into a word vomit of praise for each and every one. He spoke of Lord of the Rings, Marvel, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Batman—not DC—as the character deserved to be separated from the rest.

It made you wonder if the one portrait would be enough. Still, you happily humoured him, saying you needed the practice.

He was in Health Sciences, hoping it would be enough to get his foot in the door to become a firefighter. He talked about it so passionately, about being capable of making a difference and saving lives, that you honestly couldn’t see him in any other role.

And given the opportunity, Bob was so full of sass and witty comebacks to the ones you managed to throw his way, you were surprised he was seeking an Anthropology and Archaeology degree. He seemed to have a natural talent for what Comedians had labelled “crowd work.” You honestly would have taken him for a drama major had he not told you differently.

However, once he explained his choice, you understood why. Growing up, having been a Boy Scout, learning about nature, rocks, and life. He wanted to know more about life, history, and how things were.

A visit to an archeological dig site in high school sold it for him. His eyes lit up when he spoke about ancient civilizations, lost artifacts, and all the mysteries surrounding human evolution. He rattled off facts about Neanderthals and cave paintings, which had you urging him for more.

He happily obliged and was encouraging when you offered a few that you knew of.

All of them were so passionate about what they wanted to do with their lives, even Bradley, who wanted to pursue football seriously as a career; you admired all of them for it with your entire heart.

But Jake Seresin was... you didn’t know. Nor did he, it seemed.

Jake was there at your side every time you went back up that ladder, claiming someone needed to catch you should you fall again. You had rolled your eyes, a slight smirk gracing your face, but you let him all the same.

He wasn’t as open as the others, wanting to flirt with you more than anything else. Somehow, you managed to get him talking about football, and when you asked him why he played, he admitted that his father had gone and played at the school. He had been urged to apply, and his family would support him throughout his entire ride.

“Family money,” he said, his tone light when you gawked at him. You didn’t ask what his parents did, but knowing he came from a rich family, you wondered if he didn't want people to know. You certainly didn't. Nat didn’t know, at least not yet.

It prompted him to add his parents weren’t pressuring him into one career or another; they simply wanted him to keep up with the sport. So, he was buying time and taking electives, trying to figure it out, though he would have to make a decision soon.

And it made you wonder, under that confidence, under that layer of charm and ease on his surface, if he was searching for what everyone else in the group had already found. While everyone else didn’t fit the stereotype, you wondered if Jake was attempting to mould himself into it.

How you wished to tell him, he didn’t have to.

But Jake wasn’t a painting you could tear apart or theorize about. And as you pinned that last streamer to the ceiling, you realized over the course of the afternoon, you’d unwittingly developed a bit of a crush on him.

You weren’t stupid. You recognized the signs the second he caught you off that ladder. The second he handed you that shot. He was laying on the charm, the flirty glances, the playful smiles. Even the slight touches on your waist as you leaned back, pining streamers to the ceiling, were waving the red flags in your head.

Jake was either genuinely interested or actively looking for someone to hook up with tonight.

It wouldn’t be you, that’s for sure—not even for someone so charming and handsome as Jake Seresin.

In the last two hours, the guys took turns getting ready first while everyone else finished with the final touches. They wanted you and Natasha to go first, but you vehemently refused, knowing they’d ruin hours of hard work if left unsupervised.

You also wanted to see this through to the end, but you kept that to yourself. You had revealed enough of your quirky, artsy side to them. You did not need to add to it by gushing over the decorations or how the entire apartment turned out, possibly damaging whatever relationship you'd established so far.

People were weird when it came to shit like that.

Jake and Bradley emerged from Nat’s bedroom just as the two of you were headed toward yours. The hallway was already lit in a deep red from the lights now neatly strung up in the corners of the ceiling. Though the sun was beginning to set, shining warm light through your window, you knew the total effect would be entirely eerie when night rolled around. You couldn’t wait to see it.

Bradley was dressed as Indiana Jones: a white shirt, a brown leather jacket, and a fake whip at his side. His outfit was complementary to Nat's Marion Ravenwood, her costume the classic white dress from the first movie you spent a while making. Though she did ask you to take some creative liberties with the design, the dress was more risque than necessary.

The only thing remotely movie-accurate about it would be the puffy sleeves.

You couldn't help but whistle when Jake stepped out from behind Bradley. Instantly perking up at the noise, he let out a sly smirk and straightened the lapels of his deep black leather jacket.

"Danny Zuko, huh?" you laughed softly. "Guess you've got the whole 'bad boy' vibe down."

Jake smirked at you, copying one of the iconic character's signature moves by sliding his hands into his black leather jacket pockets as he strode by. "Only missing my Sandy. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find one, would you?"

You coyly peered at him over your shoulder as you continued down the hall. Unknown to either of you, Nat and Bradley had stopped to watch the interaction, filled to the brim with curiosity.

"Wouldn't know. I'm more of a Rizzo myself. Too much sass and not enough patience for leather pants."

"To get into them or to get out?"

With a glimmer in your eyes and a smirk on your lips, you pivoted to face Jake completely, still walking backwards. “You're quite the smooth talker, aren’t you?”

Jake shrugged, giving off the vibe of, ‘I can’t help my reputation.’ However, you could see the easy grin on his face, and one side of his mouth crooked upwards, making him appear boyish—just like the character he was dressed up as.

It made your heart flutter inside your chest.

“It’s a shame I’m more into the rough-around-the-edges type,” you teased softly, pausing by the corner.

Liar. Oh, you horrible liar.

Jake’s grin didn’t disappear when you saw him press his tongue to the inside of his cheek, arching an eyebrow. Instead, it turned into a knowing smirk.

“Is that so?” he teased.

You flushed, at a loss for words. Jake's teasing gaze lingered, and the lift in the corner of his mouth suggested he saw right through your lie. Your cheeks burned hot.

Jake's chuckle echoed softly down the hallway as you made your escape, somehow making your heart race faster. You didn't dare look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you turned the corner and down the hallway to your bedroom.

As Jake retreated back into the apartment, Bradley coughed lightly. He exchanged a knowing look with Nat, who had been watching your retreat. He jutted his head once toward you, and Nat replied in kind with a single tilt of her head toward Jake.

They didn’t need to say aloud what they were thinking. They’d talk about what they discovered later, but it wouldn’t stop them from pressing this interesting development further.

When she reached your room, Nat found you already in your robe, sitting at your vanity, brushing your hair. You had already laid out your costumes on your bed earlier in the day, and Nat raced to hers the second she saw it, making grabby hands at the fabric.

"Ahh, it turned out so great, Maeve!" she exclaimed, grabbing the top and holding it up. You glimpsed at her through the reflection of your mirror, smiling when she hugged it to her chest.

“If I had made it any deeper, Nat, you’d be showing off more than just dangly bits.”

She blew a raspberry at you. You giggled, shaking your head.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to do couples costumes. I never thought Bradley would go for it,” she said after a while, standing next to you and straightening her hair in the mirror of your vanity.

“Really?” you asked, concentrating on not poking your eye out with your mascara.

“How else am I going to shoo off all the girls practically clamouring to get with Bradley? It’s a nice way to do it, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. Not every costume as a twin, though,” you said, lowering your hand to gesture to yourself. You hoped Nat would at least acknowledge the effort you’d made or pep you up for a party you'd originally never wanted to hold.

“What about the Danny wandering around the apartment ‘without his Sandy’?”

You dropped your hand from where you had started fixing up your other eye, glaring at her reflection in your mirror. “Really, Nat?”

“What, you don’t dream of a little Summer Lovin?”

You felt your face flush. As if Jake would ever really go for someone like you. “It’s Halloween, Nat.”

“Exactly. It’s Halloween, and it’s getting colder. Maybe you’ve got chills, and maybe they're multiplying.”

You groaned, dropping your head and smacking it against your vanity.

“You’re sure he’s not the one you want?” she bumped you with her hip, grinning.

“Can you stop with the Grease puns? Please,” you squawked.

Nat laughed, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she stepped away. "Okay, okay. But if you change your mind, I think Danny Zuko out there wouldn't mind being 'the one that you want.'"

Fingers wrapping around the handle of your hair brush, you didn’t lift your head from the vanity as you chucked it in Nat’s direction. She laughed hard, and you didn’t need to look to know you had missed her completely.

Nat eventually cajoled you into helping her slip into her dress, adjusting bits and pieces of fabric here and there. You sat back down at your vanity as she twirled once in the mirror, declaring she was satisfied. Then her eyes went to the door, and her attention shifted to Bradley and what waited beyond it.

"Are you okay if I go out? Do you need any help?" Nat's voice was laced with excitement, and her eyes gleamed with anticipation of finally having a party as she smoothed down the sides of her dress.

You shook your head, leaning back in your chair. Nat didn’t meet your gaze. "No, I'm good. I only need to touch up my makeup, and my dress is a slip-on," you smiled. "Go make sure Bradley keeps his hat on."

Nat wiggled her shoulders, biting her lip to mute her squealing giggle. The puffy sleeves of her short dress waved with her, and she precariously tip-toed out the door on her high heels. Once in the hallway, she dramatically yelled, "Come and get me, Indiana Jones!"

You stifled a giggle, shaking your head, allowing yourself to turn back to face your mirror.

Staring at yourself, you searched every part of your face, making sure your foundation, blush, eyes, and lips were just how you wanted them to be. You toyed with a strand of curled hair, wondering if what you had done was enough—if all of it had been enough.

Then your eyes came to rest on your costume, so carefully draped across the end of your bed through the reflection in the mirror.

You're not sure why "Flaming June" happened to be your favourite painting, though you supposed it had to do with the girl in the painting so casually draped across that seat next to that fountain. She was curled up almost like a serpent, covered in sheer transparent vibrant orange, the painting's only bright pop of colour.

The painting was supposedly meant to depict nymphs, sleeping Greek nymphs for that matter, or even Victorian society's obsession with beauty. However, you argued differently in the paper you wrote for it.

You cared more about the juxtaposition of fire and tranquillity in the piece than about whatever cultural influence or social construct it had at the time. That one girl was at the centre of the painting, wrapped in sheer, see-through colour. She was meant to be the focus; that much was certain.

Maybe you thought her dress signified the chaos of the world around her, and all she wanted to do was find a moment of peace.

You’d spent countless hours at the fabric store trying to match the correct shade. Once you had completed parts of Nat's, you spent even countless more at your sewing machine, staying up late to make progress on yours.

And each time she asked you to make alternations on hers, the more drastic you made it to be ‘just that much sluttier', the more you thought about what you could do to yours. In the end, the thin straps holding up your dress, revealing bare shoulders and the long slit between your breasts, ending just before your belly button, was all you could stomach.

You held the dress up, contemplating your thoughts. You could do this. You could survive one simple Halloween party - one simple college rager party.

Right?

———

The second the apartment was starting to flood with arriving guests, Jake realized you hadn’t emerged from your room with Nat.

He had been off to the side near a bookcase, talking with Bradley, hoping to stave off the crowd and the rest of the football team for a little longer. He knew they'd want to talk football and strategies for the season, and Jake simply... didn't.

He wanted a night off. He wanted to relax and have a good time. And talking about football wouldn't be it.

Bradley had said something to Jake, but he hadn’t been paying attention. He was too busy searching the gathering pods of people for your face. Why, he didn’t know. But he was eager to find out.

Bradley snapped his fingers in Jake's face, startling him from his search. "Earth to Jake!"

Jake shook his head, focusing back on Bradley. "Sorry, what?"

Bradley raised his eyebrows under the rim of his fedora. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Jake regarded him for a few seconds before finally looking down at his drink, bringing it to his lips, admitting, "I'm just looking for Maeve."

As Jake took a drink, Bradley grinned. "She's probably still getting ready. Nat said her costume was based on her favourite panting."

Jake didn't even look up from his drink when he asked, "What's her favourite painting?"

"Why? You looking to make a good impression?" he said, still grinning.

"Fuck off, Man," Jake snapped, taking another swig to finish his drink. Bradley only laughed, now shaking his head. He would have let Jake simmer in his ask, but this was you. He had to give Jake at least a decent running chance.

"It's Flaming June, the chick in the orange dress. It's a brilliant costume idea. She made it herself."

Of course, you would have made it yourself, Jake thought.

"Surely you came across that painting with your 'rich upbringing.' Nat was practically force-feeding information down our throats a few seconds ago to ensure we recognized her costume. It’s some Freddie Luigui piece. I don't know."

"I know it," Jake snapped. "I've seen it before."

Jake was pretty sure he had, maybe once at one of his father's fundraising parties, though he actively searched his mind, trying to remember what it looked like.

Bradley remained silent, slouching against the bookcase and crossing one leg over the other. He narrowed his eyes at his friend and tilted his head.

"Why the sudden interest in Maeve? She isn't one for..." Bradley trailed off, searching for the correct word. Just as Jake was about to ask him what he meant, Nat's approaching heels on the hardwood floor stopped them both.

She stopped at Bradley's side, red solo cup in hand, looping her arm through his. "What are you two handsome boys gossiping about over here?" she giggled at her boyfriend, her chin plopping lazily down onto his bicep. "See any snakes in the crowd, Indy?"

Bradley pulled his face back into a grimace, reciting the famous line. "Snakes. Why does it always have to be snakes?"

Jake rolled his eyes at their banter, placing his empty cup on the table between them. Nat giggled, tilting her head back, indicating to Bradley she wanted to be kissed. He complied without protest, leaning down, pressing his lips to hers in an overly dramatic display merely to piss Jake off.

"Get a room," Jake groaned, mocking a wrenching noise. The couple separated, turning to Jake with amused smirks. "You've heard and seen far worse, dude."

Jake shuttered, the unwanted memory of walking in on Nat and Bradley from weeks ago flashing through his mind. Sharing an apartment with Bradley had its moments - some good, some decidedly less so. It made him wonder if Maeve had to put up with the same shit he did.

“Where’s Maeve?” Jake asked Nat, ignoring Bradley's remark. "I haven't seen her yet."

Nat opened her mouth, about to tell him you were still getting ready, when she caught sight of a flash of orange stepping out from behind the corner of the hallway. You came into view, your head angled down, mindful of stepping on your dress as thin streams of transparent fabric trailed behind you at your sides.

Javy let out a low-toned whistle from somewhere in the room, and heads turned, one by one, as you took your final step into the apartment.

“Damn girl, you clean up nice!”

Lifting your head, you were surprised to see eyes on you. Javy glided forward to greet you from where he had been standing at a nearby table, and you smiled at him, though a little weary. Deep down, you knew his comment was meant to be a compliment. But something coarse, like sandpaper, rubbed against your heart at the remark, lingering longer than you would have liked.

“What? Not bad for a fine arts major?” you joked somewhat deprecatively, though your voice held none of it.

Javy held out his hand, and you grabbed it, allowing him to lift it above your head. With a pump of his wrist, he urged you to spin under his arm several times, letting your dress fan out. You giggled as he urged you, though you wobbled on your heels. The dreaded things were Nat's only contribution to your outfit, and you were severely regretting it.

He let you go, thinking you had your footing on the last, slowed spin. But when you came to a stop, you were on the verge of falling over, your head dizzy, and your legs unbalanced.

To his credit, Javy tried to reach out and steady you, already regretting the step he took back. However, before he could, another pair of hands, one on your hip and one taking your hand, steadied you.

Jake’s hands were firm on your skin, pulling you close as you lost your balance. You fell into his chest, head tilted back, half falling over. And looking up at his face, seeing the amused grin on his lip, you drew in a sharp breath at the sight.

"Letting me make a good first impression?" he quipped.

“By catching falling women?” you laughed breathlessly, bringing your free hand to his chest. If you had let your hand stall slightly longer than necessary, you would have never admitted to it.

“Seems noble enough,” he replied, helping you to stand. Though he might have let go of your hand, he didn’t let go of your waist. “Or do you make it a habit to test the reflexes of every guy you meet?”

You couldn’t resist the playful jab. “Only the ones who seem like they can handle it. And the pretty ones.”

Jake's grin widened, and he even risked sneaking a quick peek at your lips, letting them rest there for a few seconds before his eyes roamed the rest of your body.

"Flaming June, right? Frederic Leighton's Masterpiece."

You blinked in surprise, letting out a small gasp. You honestly expected to tell people what your costume was, not just some girl in some random orange dress. Jake's knowledge of the painting, let alone his identification of it so quickly, was scoring him some major brownie points.

"You know your art," you commented nonchalantly.

He shrugged, "I might know a thing or two. I always had a thing for the classics. By the way, it suits you."

You practically preened under his gaze. "Thank you," you said, a shy smile creeping onto your face. He beamed at you in return.

Yes, you might have a crush on him. But for the first time that day, you figured it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

—-

This was a bad idea - Oh, this party was such a bad idea.

Believing you were having a good time and actually having a good time were two separate things. You certainly felt one of those things. As the night went on, and with each drink you tipped back, alcoholic or not, regret built in your stomach.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. Maybe you were seeking reasons where there initially were none, allowing Natasha’s suggestions to slowly chip away at your resolve until you finally gave in. Maybe it was the promise of letting loose, to embrace the spirit of Halloween with all its creative potential.

Maybe it was the promise of making new friends. Of getting to know people outside the art department. Natasha had told you to mingle. She wanted you to mingle, and yet... you didn’t know where to start.

You didn't expect Nat or Bradley to coddle you, but they could have introduced you to a few people besides the core group before things had gotten this bad. You didn't dare approach Javy or Rueben, who played beer pong and chugged beers back like it was nobody's business. They were off doing their own thing, and you didn’t want to intrude.

Mickey and Bob had gone home earlier in the night. Bob proclaimed he had a midterm to study for, and Mickey wanted to go home anyway so he could call his family in peace. You strongly suspected he wanted to watch Halloween movies instead.

Rocky Horror sounded like a wonderful idea right about now.

You couldn’t hang around Nat and Bradley all night, either. And nobody from your art classes would even dare set foot inside a party where nearly half of its guests were from the sororities.

You knew that. While you did extend the invitation, you told them you wouldn't blame them if they didn't come. They had looked at you with such disregard you wondered if they were seeing you through newly polished rose-coloured glasses. And standing up against the wall next to your bookcase, like an insipid wallflower, you could hardly blame them for it either.

You couldn’t introduce yourself in a place where you were the outsider, even within the walls of your own home. Soon after the first few attempts, that realization settled deep into your chest. And you couldn’t help but feel like you had done this to yourself - an attempt to be part of something like this, even if just for a night.

But Jake… Jake was still here. At least, he should be. He had been by your side for the beginning of the evening, talking to you about what projects you were currently working on over another drink—not whiskey—after you had started to hiccup while putting up decorations.

After he recognized your dress, you weren’t ashamed to tell him. You had launched into the ideas and thoughts behind two paintings and one sculpture, an old table that you were trying to turn into an elemental-type sundial. You told him about the zodiac signs you had already burned into the wood after sanding it down and how each was placed in its own little section as it related to its element.

You had reached halfway through your thought process when you realized how lost you were in your explanation. You froze mid-sentence, blushing harder than the colour of your dress.

"Sorry," you had said. "I ramble when I get excited about my art.”

But Jake’s interest hadn’t waned. If anything, it urged him to ask, “How did you find something you're so passionate about? Creating things... making art?"

His question had made you pause, though not over what to say but merely how to say it. “It was my voice when words fell short or my escape when the world grew too loud.”

You caught a glimpse of something in Jake’s eyes—a flash of longing, a momentary crack in his confident demeanour. What followed was a slight nod. It was there, and then it wasn’t, as if he’d accidentally revealed more of himself than he wanted. Then he caught himself, suddenly straightened his spine, and continued the conversation as if that brief lapse in judgment never happened in the first place.

Ten minutes later, he excused himself to get another drink. And you hadn’t seen him since.

You scanned the room for him, hoping to spot that black leather jacket among the sea of people. But it was impossible. Under the dim, eerie glow of the lights, each costume blurred into the next, and the crowd swallowed any hope of finding him.

Reaching for whatever mixed drink Nat had made you earlier off the table, you pushed yourself off the wall, weaving through the throngs of people, figuring you might as well try to see if she knew where he had run off to.

Liquid sloshed over the rim of your cup onto your hand as you dodged a zombie here, a fairy there, and music pulsing like a heartbeat through the packed room. Laughter and snippets of conversations swirled around you as you scanned the sea of faces, both masked and not for Nat.

Glasses clinked, a witch cackled, and the scent of spiced pumpkin mingled somewhere in the mix with the tang of alcohol and body sweat. By the time you spotted her leaning heavily against the kitchen Island, red cup in hand and her laughter too loud, eyes slightly unfocused, you knew the night had taken its toll on her sobriety.

She was too preoccupied with telling a bunch of people a story to notice how you quickly launched the contents of your cup into the sink behind her. You extended your arm when you were close enough, looping your arm around her waist. Her arm came up at the same time, sliding across your back to pull you close.

Nat tilted her head back onto her shoulders, glancing at you with happy eyes. "Maeve!" she whined tipsily.

Given how far gone she was, you were surprised at how accurately she pronounced your name. She bent slightly, still holding her red Solo cup in her hand, to hug you tight, her face smooshing into your neck.

“It looks like you’re having the time of your life,” you snorted. She nodded against your skin, biting her lip in a smile with a happy, drunken snigger. She lazily pulled back to meet your eye, and you smiled at her.

“Have you seen Jake around?”

Nat paused, her gaze flickering around the room as if she'd genuinely forgotten about him, though she didn’t lift her head off your body. "Jake? Oh, I haven't seen him in a bit,” she slurred slightly. “Why? Do you two likeeeeeeeeeeeeeee each other? Is Jake going to make you scream grease lightin’?”

You reached for her red Solo cup and pried it from her hand. “Okay, yup, you're cut off.”

“Nooo,” she pouted her arm a dead weight as she tried to take it back. Her hand hit the bottom of the cup, and liquid shot up, once again covering your hand in whatever type of alcohol Nat managed to mix together. You could only sigh.

“Here comes the fun police,” she muttered under her breath. “I thought you’d be off doing your own thing.”

Well, that fucking stung just a tiny bit.

“I’m not going to be the one who cleans up your vomit tomorrow morning, Nat.”

“I’ve only had,” she held up her hand, widening her thumb and pointer finger probably further apart than she thought, “this much to drink.”

“Ahm...”

Luckily for you, Bradley appeared, having seen what was going on. He looked amused yet concerned as he slid between the gap of the island and Nat to observe his girlfriend babbling nonsense on your shoulder. “What’s happening here?”

Nat made another grab for her cup, but Bradley gently intercepted her, taking her hand into his before she could even grasp it.

“That,” you offered.

“I think it’s time we get you to bed, love,” he suggested, wrapping an arm around her waist. You let him take her, happy for him to bear her weight.

Nat leaned into him, mumbling something incoherent, a mix of protest and agreement. Bradley spared a glance at you, silently thanking you in your unspoken agreement. You nodded, watching as he sandwiched her to his side and carried her off towards her room.

It always seemed like one of you was always taking care of her. At one point or another.

After getting rid of Nat’s cup, you felt the sticky residue of both of your spilled drinks on your skin and felt the urge to run to the privacy of the bathroom to wash it off. Stumbling down the hallway, blusters on your feet finally making themselves known, you let your hands casually slide along the wall. The music from the party faded into a muffled, dull noise as you walked.

You wanted to smile at the lights. The red eerie glow along the top corners of the ceiling only reached not even halfway down the wall, plunging the floor into a dark abyss. You clumsily stuttered through it, unable to see anything below your waist.

It was exactly as you pictured it, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to manage the slightest grin.

The bathroom door was down at the end of the hall slightly ajar, with the red LED light illuminating its edges from behind. You zoned in on it like a wobbly arrow to a target, tired and completely done with tonight and everything about it.

You reached for the curved handle, about to push the door open, when a high-pitched giggle came from behind the piece of wood. You shot your hand back like you had been burned, and with a quick turn of your heel, you plastered your back up against the wall.

You immediately knew what was happening behind that door, and it made you throw up in your mouth just a little.

Ugh, I’m going to have to disinfect the hell out of that bathroom tomorrow.

The next voice you heard, however, made your heart drop into your stomach.

“You like that, don’t ya, sweetheart?”

You didn't want to believe it, but you had to see for yourself. Leaning forward off the wall, you peered through the crack in the door, only to spot a black leather jacket taking up most of your view—the same black jacket you had complimented Jake on earlier that day. It was a stark contrast to the red glowing light above him, and something snapped in your heart and recoiled back as one slender bare leg in beige fishnet stockings wrapped around his.

There was an overly drunken and seductive 'ahm,' forcing you to glance over his shoulder at the girl he was with—her costume was a bejewelled Taylor Swift outfit to match her long blonde hair.

You swallowed your bile and adverted your gaze, pressing yourself back up against that wall, out of sight and hidden completely from view.

You knew this was a possibility; Jake was merely looking for a hookup and nothing more. You had considered it all afternoon. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel utterly hurt at the sight.

"I mean, Nat's pretty clever befriending that girl.. what was her name, Maeve?" the girl snickered.

"I know. It sounds like something out of those weird fantasy books everyone loves." A whimper from his companion followed Jake's breathy and muffled laugh.

At the dig, your hand went to your chest, your heart thudding painfully under your palm. The realization they had been talking about you, about Nat, made tears flood your eyes.

You didn't understand it. Or maybe you did, and you were too blinded by the possibility of someone like him, someone like Nat, Bradley, Bob, Mickey, and Rueben, to beat the fucking pyramid scheme and care about someone like you.

What other explanation was there except the fact you had been blinded by those who proved to be the exception? Blinded by the fucking elementary school crush cause he had flirted, smiled, joked, and maybe even showed some half-decent interest in you. Clearly, the second he figured out you weren’t going to hook up with him, he sought his sights on someone else.

Jake wasn’t trying to mould into the stereotype. He was the fucking stereotype.

"Even her costume," she sneered. "Like, who the fuck dresses up like that for a college rager Halloween party? You're supposed to dress up slutty."

You couldn't speak, staring down the front of your dress to what you had thought had been a risky enough slit. You couldn't even breathe.

"You kidding me?" he laughed lowly. "Bradley was practically screaming at us what she dressed up as. I'd have no fucking clue what she was otherwise. I'd guess some random Greek Godness obsessed with that awful shade of orange."

Your hand slid up from your chest, around your throat to feel your harsh, rough swallow. Only it didn’t stop there, suddenly finding yourself wrapping it around your entire mouth, stifling any noise wanting to escape. Through shaky inhales in and out of your nose, you fought hard to stop yourself from crying over this.

Over him. Over a fucking jock who would say anything to hook up with a girl. Only to get his dick wet.

But you couldn't prevent the tears from welling up in your eyes, or from one finally spilling over, dropping down your cheek only to stall there, or how the hand covering your mouth curled up around your cheekbone, only to stroke away the tear.

You refused to look back at the door through the crack, so you fixed your gaze on the darkness consuming the ground. And as you lowered your hand, you caught the ugly black smear marring your skin.

How could you not? Standing in the glow of that red hallway light, it was the only thing you could see.

The artistic irony hits you like a freight train. Here you were, dressed as the girl in your favourite painting. Her dress had been the only bright shade of colour in the entire painting, and you, standing in the top half glow of bright red LED lights, had failed to notice what had been staring you in the face all along.

Orange was muted by red, and black bled through all. The only thing about you that stood out the entire evening was this tiny black mark scarring the back of your hand—black tears from smeared mascara.

"I would have guessed an orange," the girl snickered, quickly followed by a mewl. "Though she practically blended into the wall, I couldn't see her with the lights."

Lips plucking on skin echoed off the title and out the door, and Jake drew in a ragged breath as he agreed. "She did blend right into the fucking wall, didn’t she?"

Your eyes burned. The girl giggled.

“How long do you think this one will stay? She seems… different, to say the least.”

Jake sniggered. “Seriously, you think Natasha Trace is hanging around that girl out of the goodness of her heart?”

His laugh was so full of malice that it was nothing like the ones you had heard pleasantly filling your ears earlier.

“Everyone knows after what Nat did, she needs an image clean up. Playing the saint, befriending the weird loner art girl, giving her the best friend badge?”

“If she thinks she’s got a place in the big leagues, she’s in for a rude awakening,” the girl murmured. “Pathetic. People like her don’t belong with people like us.”

There was a pause. “It’s just like Natasha, though. She always needs an audience, something to validate her feelings. It’s brillant really.”

Jake's agreement was a silent blow, his next words the dagger. "Nat's smart. She knows how to play the game. Maeve's just...convenient."

Convenience. The word echoed in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your already crumbling self-worth.

“Give it a year. Trace is going to drop her the second the next new shiny person comes along. And everyone is going to forget about the little art girl she used up and discarded. Or she’ll become the most hated girl on campus.”

Without your back up against the wall, his words might have made you crumble into that dark abyss.

“Can we stop talking about her now?” the girl whined. “I thought you promised to get me off.”

Jake chuckled lowly, the sound morphing into a low, predatory growl. “You brought her up, sweetheart. But don’t worry—I’m all yours now.”

You pushed yourself away from that wall, stumbling down the dark hallway to your bedroom out of instinct, refusing to subject yourself to any further torture. But just before your door, you fell into the wall, your shoulder throbbing as you slouched against it.

The world around you swirled, leaving you consumed by one thought—and one thought alone.

That. Fucking. Asshole! How dare he! How fucking dare he!

To hear Natasha be demeaned, your friendship demeaned and used as a stepping stone in pursuit of a meaningless hookup... anger boiled under your skin. You didn’t care what he or what they had said about you, but Nat?

If Jake thought he’d succeed in sweet-talking you, to play you like a puppet on a string, just as he assumed Nat had been doing, he had another thing coming. If he was going to talk shit about your friendship with her, you’d show him just how spineless you could be.

Oh, he’d wish he’d never caught you off that fucking ladder. Wished he had never met you and flirted with you, obviously a ploy to find someone to hook up with. You gagged at ever having a crush on him in the first place.

But as you leaned against the wall, trying to steady your swirling thoughts, doubt wormed its way into your mind.

What if he was right?

What if your friendship with Nat was just a convenience, a way for her to maintain her status or recover from her sorority fallout? You knew nothing of it, nothing more than what she told you. There could be more to the story, things she hadn’t revealed, things nobody else had either.

No, you shook your head, trying to dismiss the thought. Nat had been there for you in ways no one else had.

Jake was just an asshole. Plain and simple.

But then another thought sucker punched you in the gut.

You couldn’t tell anyone else what he said. You wouldn’t be responsible for causing that type of drama within a friend circle, one that long before you ever showed up. They never would have believed you anyway, and Nat… she worked so hard to get out, escape the rumours and gossip, to put it behind her. She didn’t need to know about this.

You had no choice but to carry this burden alone. It was a lonely decision, but perhaps loneliness was a small price to pay for the semblance of harmony among friends—or so you tried to convince yourself.

But Jake. You could no longer give a rat’s ass about Jake. If he wanted to attack Nat, then fine. You hit him right back. That much you could still do.

Whatever had possessed Frederic Leighton to name the piece you currently embodied, “Flaming June,” whatever possessed him to gift that girl with fire in her name, that fire was suddenly born in you.

A flame that sparked and kerosened your soul to burn, hot and bright. It was a wildfire that rushed under layers of skin and ignited every nerve, ending with a ferocity you never knew you possessed. It was born to protect what you had found - Nat, Bradley, Bob, Mickey, Javy and Rueben. And that fucking asshole would never be allowed to put you down, Nat down, like your family did, ever again.

Pushing yourself off the wall, you stepped into your bedroom. Slamming the door, the lock clicked hard into place.

It never opened the rest of the night.

NOW YOU KNOW....

Tag List:

@desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @kmc1989 @fanficfandomlove @hookslove1592 @dakotakazansky

@teacupsandtopgun @lynnevanss @dizzybee03 @keyrani

@shanimallina87 @wildxwidow @dempy @stargazer-88 @alldaysdreamer @the-dark-and-mystery @bookchik15

@atarmychick007 @trickphotography2 @tinytotontheoversizedpony @buckysteveloki-me @wretchedmo

@redbarn1995 @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @yuckosworld @wren5650 @mrsevans90 @bellaireland1981 @tgmreader

@halibshepherd @essie1876 @formulafun @memoriesat30 @vicsnook @memoriesat30 @eclecticfashionbookszipper @boisewaffles @eloquentdreamer @jessicab1991

And for those who've been following along:

@i-wanna-be-your-muse @djs8891 @gigisimsonmars @blue-aconite @wildlyfreemoon @eli2447 @rascallyrascalreads @djs8891

102 notes · View notes

midnightfictionlibrary · 11 months

Text

Oh, Honey - Jamie Tartt x Fem!Reader

Jamie Tartt x Fem!Reader

Content : jealousy, friends to lovers, a bit of violence, flirting, kissing

Word Count : 1.6k

Plot Summary : Jamie doesn’t know how to react when he sees you flirting with a West Ham player.

A/N : More of my love, Jamie, there's a criminally low amount of Jamie fanfic---as always pls like and reblog if you enjoy <3

“Well don’t you look gorgeous?” You hear the voice before you see its owner, and you roll your eyes before picking your drink up from the bar and turning around.

“And you are?” You deadpan.

“Westley Smythe. But I’m better known as the star player of West Ham.” He quirks a smile at you and you try hard not to laugh right in his face.

“You do know who I am?” You ask him, and he raises an eyebrow, looking you up and down as if there was no way he could know.

“I’m Richmond’s athletic trainer. ” You watch the wheels turn in his mind, and you smooth your dress on yourself, flashing him your own brilliant smile. “I don’t really associate with West Ham.”

He shrugs. “No one has to know.” He says, and this time, you do laugh out loud, actually tickled that this man was being so bold.

But your laugh alerts your own star player, a certain number 9. Jamie’s jaw clenches when he sees you laughing with Smythe, and the grip on his beer bottle (a rare treat Roy allowed him) tightens. He feels Roy lean over, and he rolls his eyes in anticipation for whatever Roy has to say.

“Bloody fucking hell, Tartt. Just tell the girl you like her.” Jamie can’t help but steal glances at you, where you’re chatting away with the West Ham player. And…are you enjoying his company? He thinks about you, how you move when a song you like comes on, the smell of your honey scented perfume.

“I can’t.”

“Yes you fucking can.” Roy grunts, and with that he puts another beer in front of Jamie and wanders off to mingle with Ted and Beard.

This leaves Jamie with admittedly, a lot to think about, even though Roy hadn’t said much.

You keep a tight smile on your face, and you glance to the boys, noticing Jamie was watching you. Your face flushes and you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. Even though Westley was definitely not your type, you decide you could maybe use him to make Jamie a bit jealous.

For the past few months, it always seems like Jamie is on the edge of asking you something. There’s stolen glances, smiles that linger a bit too long. You even find yourself checking over him after games more often than other players. You and Jamie were friendly, even friends, but you couldn’t deny the extremely large crush you held on the Mancunian.

You reach out and brush a light hand on Smythe’s arm, causing him to step a bit closer to you. You glanced again at Jamie, the muscles in his perfect jaw jumping at the sight of you and Smythe. You grin to yourself, angling your body so you’re facing away from Jamie. You felt maybe a little evil, but maybe it would push him to talk to you a bit more. Of course, you could talk to him, but it seemed like anytime you tried to flirt, Jamie was completely oblivious to what you were trying to do.

You roll your eyes as Westley continues to drone on, casting a peek over your shoulder. Jamie was still watching you, but he was standing now. He sets his bottle on the table and skulks out of the bar, and you can’t help but smirk.

The next day, you’re up in the box with Keeley and Rebecca, who you inform of your jealous-Jamie plan.

Keeley grins. “I love it babes.” And Rebecca nods.

“Maybe it showed him what he was missing.” She suggests, and you point a finger at her, settling into your seat. You cross your arms and gaze down at the field but the huge monitor over the stands shows closeups of the team. You can’t keep your eyes off of Jamie, and Keeley leans in.

“He looks grumpy, I think your little plan worked, yeah?” She grins, nudging you. You shrug, but secretly you were pleased. If he was jealous over you, surely that meant he liked you.

The game starts, the usual fast paced back and forth making your head spin. You notice that Smythe has the ball, about to score, when suddenly -

“Oh my god!” You exclaim, standing straight up out of your seat. Jamie had slide-tackled the other player, knocking him down, causing Smythe to roll a little bit. Westley Smythe stands up and charges towards Jamie, who didn’t seem like he was going to back down, in fact, he was smirking, walking to meet Smythe. Jamie pushes Smythe hard, but before a real fight can break out, the referee interferes, gesticulating to Jamie.

Finally, the referee pulls out a red card.

Keeley and Rebecca sit next to you, stunned.

You look up at the monitor and catch Jamie smirking, tongue out, cocky expression on display as he walks back towards the dugout. You sit down, slightly stunned. But also, slightly into it. You watch Roy shake his head at Jamie and send him into the locker room. You quickly stand up, making your way out of the box.

Your tennis shoes make a soft tap, tap, tap on the floor as you walk down the long, bright hallway to the locker room. You round the doorway and stop, right as Jamie looks up at you.

“What the hell, Jamie? A red card? Not to mention, you could have hurt yourself and then work on your ankle would have had to start over.” You put your hands on your hips, moving forward towards him.

“Oh sorry, are you worried about your little West Ham boyfriend?” He says, scoffing as he stands up, turning to face his locker.

“Boyfriend? I don’t care about Westley.”

“On a first name basis, huh?”

You clench your teeth. He was going to be difficult about this. “Why do you even care?”

Jamie shrugs, still facing away from you. “I don’t.”

“So why’d you tackle him, then?”

At this, you can see Jamie’s body tense. “He’s a bloody wanker, that’s why.”

At this, you scoff. He was really going to stand in front of you and pretend as if you didn’t know what this was about. At the sound of your noise of indignation he turns around to face you. There’s a glint in his eyes and he steps closer to you. Very close. Noses almost touching close. He’s slightly taller than you, so he looks down at you.

“Maybe I don’t like the way he was looking at you last night, yeah? Like you were a piece of fucking meat.”

“I can take care of myself.” You assure him, biting back a smirk. You can’t help it though, a devilish smirk was playing on the corners of your lips. “Are you jealous, Tartt?”

You expected him to smirk. You even expected him to maybe laugh, that beautiful smile on display. Instead, he licks his lips, quirking an eyebrow at you. “I think you know the answer to that.”

“Then say it.” You challenge.

At this, Jamie smirks. “Yes. I was jealous. You are smart, funny, and kind, and seeing Westley Smythe all over you made me want to tackle him on the pitch.”

You’re a bit taken aback. You didn’t expect him to pile compliments on you, and your eyes soften. “Oh..” you breathe out.

Jamie continues to gaze down at you, leaning in even closer than he was before, his lips hovering centimeters above yours. You watch, mesmerized, drunk in his presence.

“Seems you might like having me jealous over you, yeah?” Jamie teases. “But that’s okay, as long as I get you all to myself.”

You swallow, your eyes trailing to his lips. “You’ve always had me all to yourself.” You whisper, glancing up to meet his gaze again. But the look on his face is different. Where before it was smirking, sexy, teasing, now it was surprised and anguished.

“Wh..what?” He manages to get out, and you kick yourself, believing you said the wrong thing. “Just how long have you been trying to make me jealous?” He asks, reaching up to gently push a strand of hair behind your ear.

You shrug, suddenly bashful, cheeks burning red hot as he brushed his hand there briefly. You feel a gentle hand under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. He searches your face, a small, pleased smile playing on his lips.

“Only since last night. I couldn’t take the tension anymore.” You whisper, and Jamie laughs softly. He slides his hand to the side of your face, lifting his other hand to mirror it. Cradling your face gently, he leans in.

Before anything happens, his eyes travel from your lips to your eyes. “Can I kiss you?” He whispers. Your mouth feels dry, but you nod, and he leans in, gently connecting his lips to yours.

You kiss him back, feeling as if you were melting, and you slide your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him. His hands leave your face and snake around your waist, holding you as close as he can. “You are as sweet as honey.” He breathes into your ear, and you shiver.

“Oi!” You hear a booming voice yell from the doorway and you instinctively look over, still tangled in each other’s arms. There stood Roy, an eyebrow raised. “Not that I don’t think it’s about time the two of you kissed, but Ted wants to see you, Tartt.”

Jamie looks at you, stealing another kiss before winking at you, following Roy out of the locker room door. You stood there, smiling and blushing to yourself. You guessed Jamie just needed a little push, is all. You couldn’t wait to continue what you started.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #jamie tartt fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #jealous trope #jealousy #friends to lovers #jamie tartt x y/n

438 notes · View notes

kairismess · 5 months

Note

HIHIII! ik i’ve requested like 300000 times but your works are just so amazing 😣😣 but i’ve always just associated Suna with the song Love Language by ariana grande (it’s quite apparent i love her) for some reason. the song is abt trying to learn your partner’s love language so we can love better and i just love picturing that with him😫 Maybe reader can have that mentality along with the end part of the song with “i’m not what you had before, your ex girlfriend don’t want no smoke… i’m just gon make you my home”. bye i just think it’s so cute lolol 😣😣😣

rintaro's love language . . .

🏐 genre: fluff ~ !

✒️ word count: 645

💭 summary: rintaro's been noticing how strange you've been acting lately around him... almost as if you were trying to get something out of him. he doesn't mind, though—he'd love to give you what you're looking for so badly.

🍥 author's note: OOOOOOOO THAT'S SUCH A CUTE IDEA !!! I LOVE IT !! i hope this is any good :'DD

being seated on this boy's lap was the last thing you expected.

his mint green eyes stared into your own, balancing your weight on his string thigh, bouncing you up and down on it here and there to tease you a little. this is what you wanted though, right? to know what it really was that rintaro was into? to know what he loves to give you and take from you? well, you got it now—now you aren't leaving his lap no matter how much and how cutely you squirm and act all shy under his gaze.

for the past few weeks, rintaro noticed the sudden changes and the subtle glances and gestures you've been giving him; it wasn't so uncharacteristic of you, just a little... a little different. he didn't mind, he loved everything you did, even if it wasn't that obvious. he was a little curious every now and then why you were acting that way, but he figured instead of asking you, he'd beat you at your own game by observing you as you observed him.

you were always offering him some sweets in between breaks, and you always offered to walk home with him and hold his hand all sneakily—you were like a cunning little fox, and he oddly loved seeing you act like you weren't up to anything. he pretended not to notice and went with the flow as you kept showering him with affection, not realizing he had caught on long ago when he noticed your smile was laced with a few undertones of something mysterious. it didn't help your case when he had paid attention and remembered the details of the passing comments you made back then when talking to him, asking him if he had an ideal kind of affection he wanted you to give him.

he never understood what that meant, "a specific kind of affection"... until he caught a glance at your phone and realized what you meant. going on those love expert sites helped you get an idea of how to woo him over even more, but it also gave rintaro the idea that what you really wanted was to see what would make him melt... and fortunately, you hadn't figured it out yet. luckily for him, he was curious as to what your love language was, too—so in a bold gesture... he sat you down on his lap when no one was looking, and wrapped his lean but strong arm around your waist, bringing his face so close to you, that your noses were brushing against each other's.

he seemed so nonchalant about it, too... it was too much for you. your face burned and your lips quivered; you stuttered out questions, your mind ran a million miles an hour—but all rintaro did was peck a kiss on your cheekbone, placing his other arm around you, embracing you. "can i help that this is what i wanna do with you all along?" he murmurs as he gently caresses your waist, humming in lazy satisfaction, leaning his head down on your shoulder, closing his sharp eyes as he takes in the scent and feeling of being this close to you.

"y'know..." he murmurs as he runs his thumb over your tinier palm, pressing down on it gently. "...no one else has ever made me feel this way. i'm not really clingy, per se, but... i'd do anything to have you this close to me for a long, long while." he finished, planting a sweet kiss on your neck, not caring if the others came back to see this public display of his affection for you. he couldn't care less, all he cares about now is giving you what you want—and letting you know that he's more than willing to give you more of this than just this one occasion.

312 notes · View notes

muneca-lemon-steppa · 6 months

Note

I LOOOOVE Ur Alfie fics. Could u do just general headcannons about being married and starting a family with him? ❤️

Hi bb!!! Im so glad you like them! I hope you enjoy these HCs, I know I kind of went overboard! Maybe I’ll do a continuation?? Maybe I’ll focus on different aspect of life with him? Idk we’ll workshop it. As always, sending all my love 💕💕💕

Married Life with Alfie Solomons - HCs

In planning the wedding, you initially were planning on a small wedding. Nothing too extravagant, just close family and a party at the house.

That’s what you planned anyway. It grew and grew with every family member that “HAD to come treacle!” Both of your families are rather large and extended. Mixed with business associates that had to be invited for sake of peace… it exploded into a 200 person affair.

Despite the fact that Alfie prefers to not be disturbed, it ended up being a grand affair. Drinks flowed. Laughter was raucous. The dancing never stopped! And there were only 3 fights, which Alfie involved himself in only 2 of them. Needless to say, it went rather well!

But your favorite part of the night above all was when you got home. Still giggling and warm from the party, you’re pulled into the parlor by your darling Alfie. Shirt half done, and hair a disaster, he looks so so handsome. His eyes so soft, he puts on the radio, bringing you in close to him, “Mrs. Solomons… would you give an old man a dance?”

And you do. Song after song, twirling around the parlor, enjoying the life that had a new layer of meaning.

Despite Alfie’s insistence that you shouldn’t keep working because, “No love of mine should be lifting a finger.” You kept your job at the distillery as his secretary and head of the jewelry shop. You insisted to Alfie that keeping your job that still made you feel like your own person, not just Alfie’s spouse.

There was something so intimate and special in waking up every morning with him, walking to the office with him, going through the work day, and coming home with him. If Alfie was clingy before, it had only grown worse since your nuptials. He loved having you near. He never wanted you away from his side.

Though the mornings were sweet, the evenings were by far your favorite with Alfie. Coming home, drawing the curtains closed to hide away in your own little oasis of solitude and quiet.

Instead of leaving you to do all the cooking and cleaning for the evening meal like other men of the time, Alfie stays wrapped close to your apron strings. As you craft a soul warming meal, he stays chopping and cutting, washing up the dishes as you go to ensure that the evening is free of any impediments.

Alfie takes Shabbat incredibly seriously. He is on a strict schedule on those days, and actually forbids you from working on Fridays, to let you prepare anything needed for the Sabbath. Many times your family joins you in your home, and Alfie takes the lead in prayers. Though you didn't think it was possible, your heart grows with adoration each time you watch him quietly go through the ritual. Watching his devotion and care to the faith and your people's history reminds you of the type of man he his.

Marriage with Alfie does not come without some arguments. It is Alfie Solomons. Both of you stubborn and passionate, it’s what makes you a formidable force together, but it also brings some… loud outbursts.

It usually is about whether or not he’s being wise in his decisions. But it also comes out when he thinks you’re not being careful. When a jealous flare rises up in him. Or just when he gets a little snippy.

But it doesn’t take much to make up. Once you and Alfie have let it all out, either one of you will go to the other and bridge the gap. When he’s particularly cross, all it takes is for you to find him in his favorite chair. Lean over the back of it, draping your arms across his neck. “I’m so sorry Alfie,” you whisper in his ear, a particular weakness, “I know you’re just looking out for me. Forgive me?” A few kisses in his neck and he’ll be dragging you into his lap, grumbling about how much of a vicious siren you are.

When you’re cross… Alfie pulls out all the theatrics. He comes to your room where you’ve holed up, seething. He gets on his knees, taking your hand in his, “Awe treacle… have pity on an old man. I’m sorry my love, I am. Don’t punish me too harshly now! Please give you husband a kiss yeah? This life is so short! Let’s not go to bed angry my love!”

And of course you forgive him. How can you not when he kisses you so sweetly, and begs so beautifully.

It will be a few years before you and Alfie have children. Alfie was worried that he wouldn’t be a good father due to his age, but in his heart of hearts he wanted little ones. He yearned to play with the kids on the floor with the dogs. To swing them around in the garden. Watch you be an incredible mother. Though he was afraid, you knew he would be the perfect father.

Once you both confessed your mutual desire for kids, it happened shockingly quickly. But is anyone really shocked? Alfie is determined and disciplined above all else.

Once you do get pregnant, Alfie does put his foot down. You are not coming into the office. It is far too dangerous for you to be coming in around all 'that business'. And Alfie heard from someone (he made it up) that working isn't good for birthing or babies.

He benches you for the entire pregnancy, and brings his former housekeeper Sarah out of retirement to help tend to you.

Every night Alfie would come home with something new for you. Brilliant and fragrant flowers. A sweet from the bakery. A new necklace or bracelet that you just had to have. "Growing a baby is hard work love! Especially with my kids! Big ol brutes growing in there eh?"

Whenever you became shy or uncomfortable about your changing body, Alfie would just croon in your ear, "Oh my love, you are absolutely radiant. An angel from God yeah? No no, a goddess. You're an absolute goddess yeah?" He'll rub your swollen feet as you cry, kissing your ankles as you release your stress and worries about the day.

As you can imagine... naming the baby (or babies as he liked to remind you of the possibility) was an incredible ordeal. No name was suitable.

"No no, he'll get hit. If I knew a little boy with that name in school, I would decimate him." "Now treacle that doesn't even sound good with Solomons!" "Mmm no. I don't like the meaning of the name. Not a good omen." "Can't do that name. I killed a man with that name."

After six days!! You both are able to come to an agreement. Joseph for a boy. Chava, after his mother. In the evenings, Alfie takes to reading to the baby, referring to them by both names. "Alfie dearest, there's only one in there!" "No no treacle. I know they're both in there. You may only feel one, but that's because Joseph is just a little shy ain't you my boy? Chava is going to be a little spitfire, just like her mum. They're in there, I know they are."

At night, Alfie pulls you to his side as he always does, with a protective hand splayed over your swollen belly. It's getting harder for you to sleep at night, so many times you lie awake, staring at your husband, running your own hand over your stomach, feeling the kicks and turns.

The prospect of twins is near impossible. But Alfie... he is so certain. And sometimes... sometimes you feel an extra flutter. An extra bit of energy that is almost missed.

The labor is hard. Long. Your mother comes to help along with Sarah and the midwife, and you had never felt pains like that before. Despite Sarah's admonishment, Alfie pushes himself into the room, wanting to be right next to you the entire time. He never leaves your side, brushing the sweat off your brow, kissing your head, reminding you how strong you are.

After 12 hours of labor, Joseph finally makes his appearance in the world. A large baby, with fat cheeks and long limbs. After a few announcing cries, Joseph settles into the arms of his father, fast asleep after his long journey. Alfie rejoices with you, holding up his son with joy, "Joseph! My boy! Welcome my son!"

You smile, a final sense of relief washing over you, until you feel another push coming.

7 minutes later, Chava comes careening into Earth, as loud as the choirs of heaven. Alfie catches Chava, marveling at how such a little body can produce such a sound. As Alfie cleans her face he just whispers, "This one... she will be an opera star."

Alfie joins you in bed once everything is settled. You spend the rest of the evening in and out of sleep. When awake you and Alfie just take turns holding the babies, marveling in how precious they are. How absolutely beautiful they are. While you sleep, Alfie walks around the house with both in his arms, just talking to them.

“Now you might not know this yet my angels… but you have the absolute best mother in the world. No I know, I don’t know how I got to marry her. But she is perfect. The best. We gotta protect her yeah?”

Alfie is the one who gets up in the night. Doesn’t want you to do more than you have to. And you’re already doing so much. Plus, he feels like he missed so much already, waiting till he was older to have a family and all. He doesn’t want to miss a single moment.

Alfie becomes even more soft and tender with you. Each morning he starts his day worshipping you almost. Telling you how much he loves you, how much he loves your children, how much he would give to protect you.

But he does become more paranoid about the dangers surrounding him. There’s two men posted at the door of the house at all times now, and you aren’t to go anywhere without either him or another trusted member of the gang. Though you fought him on it at first, you relented when you saw the palpable fear in his eyes.

He loves to show off the kids. He’s just so proud. He loves how much they look like you. “Better for them eh treacle? Glad they got the more beautiful out of the two.”

And while they did favor your features, they both carried Alfie’s eyes. Both gentle Joseph and powerful Chava carry that roaring ocean behind those dark lashes that brought you to Alfie all those years ago.

As the years go by, you only grow to love each other more and more. And every risk and every trial is worth the beautiful dream you get to have with Alfie.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x y/n #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic

296 notes · View notes

reunionatdawn · 3 months

Text

My Analysis of the Best Paired Endings in 3H (Part 6: Ferdinand/Dorothea)

(Normal): Thanks but no thanks, Mr. Noble. I already have my heart set on someone else. (Ferdinand & Dorothea support level B reached): I suppose I can settle for you just this once, Ferdie.

The writers obviously put a lot of love into this ship, as it's one of the rare times that the main story dialogue changes depending on Support level between two characters. Plus, since he asks her out on a date outside of their Support chain, it shows that Ferdinand is canonically interested in Dorothea. And this is true in Hopes as well. He fears his mind will "wander to other things" while training with her.

Dorothea: Song and dance live on in our memories, but there's no real record of them. Even memories fade over time. Will anyone remember me when I'm gone?

Dorothea is a Libra, an air sign. Air signs are masculine, but not as much as the fire signs. Libras are extroverted, cozy, and friendly people. Libras, like the Scales that symbolize the sign, are often concerned with attaining balance, harmony, peace, and justice in the world. Dorothea had the motivation to join Edelgard's cause to dismantle the corrupt nobility. But she was also compassionate and hated the idea of fighting people she knew.

Ferdinand: I will do what I'm called to do, even if no mark of me remains in the history books.

Ferdinand bears the Crest of Cichol, which is associated with the Justice Arcana. Justice is a signifier of legal matters being resolved in a fair and balanced manner. It represents the power to distinguish between what is fair and what is unfair, in an impartial way. Ferdinand's dream was to lead the Empire to an age of enlightenment and hold his father accountable for his crimes. The downside to his ambitions was that his life revolved around being recognized for his achievements.

Ferdinand: That is true nobility! Acting in accordance with the people's needs and wishes. As war drags on, those living near the front lines inevitably get the worst of it. Still…Edelgard will not give in. She will push to complete her mission, no matter how many people die. Not everyone with noble blood has noble ideals.

His character arc was about exemplifying true nobility, defined as, "having or showing fine personal qualities or high moral principles and ideals." Not just being noble, defined as, "belonging to a hereditary class with high social or political status." And I would argue that opposing Edelgard was vital to his character arc.

Dorothea: Oh, Ferdie. You opposed Edie for so long… I had real hopes for you, you know? Now you're following her. Is that your duty as a noble? Follow your master when they say to heel? Ferdinand: I will not try to explain my duty or hers. You would not understand. I wish you could.

Dorothea is one of the few non-lord characters that will actually react to another non-lord character's death. If you don't recruit Ferdinand, he will die at the Great Bridge of Myrddin so that his name goes down in history as "the legendary Ferdinand of Adrestia".

If Ferdinand does not complete his arc, Dorothea will be the one who is most disappointed. She will say she had high hopes for him, a reference to their B-Support where he made her treats, and she reconsidered him as husband material. His memory will not live on in the history books, but it does live on in her heart. It was hard not to think of this pairing as "canon" after I saw this dialogue.

Dorothea: Though we only knew each other briefly back at the academy, you were still my friend—but now our paths have diverged forever.

There's even a Hopes version of this dialogue available in Record Keeper. Similar to Edelgard and Byleth in Silver Snow, if Ferdinand and Dorothea's paths diverge, it is treated as a great tragedy of fate. It shows how much the writers favored this particular ship.

(Normal): Yes… I have met someone quite charming recently. I'm hoping we can spend more time together soon. (Dorothea has reached Support Rank A with a male): I am. There is someone whose company I have come to enjoy.

While Dorothea is bisexual, she did seem to have a preference for men. The dialogue in her B-Support with Edelgard only changes if Dorothea has attained A-Support with a male character.

Linhardt: You've probably overcome a lot of tough times, haven't you? I think that's incredible, really, but why not just let go of the suffering and run away from the memories that cause you pain? I suspect you'll find it a better way of living. I know I do. Dorothea: That's not living, Lin. It's running away. If I leave my hardships behind, then all of that means nothing.

She only got into the academy by buttering up some noble, which suggests that she may have had to perform sexual favors. She had a poor self-image, despite her physical beauty. And that is why I think she pursued men so adamantly, even when she was not truly attracted to them. She was running away from her past.

Dorothea: What's important isn't how someone looks, it's their true nature. I don't pretend to know your true nature. I don't even have a very good understanding of my own. But I suppose you see mine just fine, don't you? Just a silly girl with no thoughts in her head except for marrying a noble, yes? Good-bye, Felix.

Dorothea had to hone her masculine energy while living on the streets and performing in the opera. She despised the goddess (although she has a hidden talent for faith). Her paralogue with Ingrid showed how the two had contrasting views on marriage. Dorothea wanted to play the traditionally feminine role of housewife, with a noble husband fulfilling the traditional masculine role of provider and protector.

Dorothea: But if you and I were devoted to one another… maybe we could strive for the future you believe in. Maybe I'd finally understand your path and be able to think about more than just myself. Hubert: Seems it's my turn to not understand. Did you just propose marriage as a way to get to know me?

She was always looking for a wealthy husband to take care of her into her old age, and often came across as nothing but a shallow gold-digger. Because she was afraid of living in poverty, she would settle for a nobleman regardless of whether or not she knew him very well or was actually in love with him.

Sylvain: You know, even when I was a kid, I never had trouble with girls. …But thinking about it now, I wonder what they liked about me back then. They didn't know everything about me… It's just confusing. Dorothea: Oh, where did that come from? No one can know everything about you.

She was at first dismissive of the idea that people need to know each other fully to get married. But she did commiserate with Sylvain about how people wanted to marry her without even knowing anything about her. However, she flirtatiously makes plans to grow old with him immediately afterwards. Even though they still barely knew each other.

Dorothea: I never had much to begin with in life, and I worry that one day, I'll be that way again… That's why I keep searching for someone who will love me. Someone unaware of the songstress, who can love a girl that used to be scared and alone on the streets of the capital… I wonder if such a strange person can even exist.

But what she really wanted was to spend her life with someone who did know her true self. Several of her endings depict her giving up on her goal of finding a rich husband. She is able to find love with Petra and Manuela and those are happy endings for her. But I still think the happiest ending for her is to find her dream man. A rich provider and protector who would know and love her as the scared orphan girl.

Dorothea: Oh, really? You're something different? That's not how I remember things… It was the very day that I was discovered…

I think Ferdinand offered the best closure to her character arc. There was a palpable sexual tension between them in both games, with Dorothea pushing him away yet secretly desiring to be closer. I'd argue she has more far chemistry with him than any of her other potential partners. At the academy, Dorothea did not flirt or make advances on Ferdie, despite him being the exact type of wealthy noble she was after. But in the end, she was more open, honest, and emotionally vulnerable with him than she was with anyone else.

Dorothea: Maybe I can believe you. I've wanted to ever since the day you made me those treats… I thought then that maybe you weren't like the others, but… There's a lot I have to let go of, Ferdie.

The tagline for the game was, "Sweet memories twisted by time's cruel hand". By getting closure with Ferdinand, Dorothea could reclaim a sweet memory and let go of some pain from her past. Ferdie considered Edelgard his rival and prided himself on being better than her. But with Dorothea, he said he wouldn't mind a life of being a simple drone, circling a queen. So, they both find a new way to live with each other. This pairing is a more wholesome alternative for Ferdie than Ferdibert. But Ferdie still is kind of a sub.

Ferdinand & Dorothea Ferdinand reclaimed the position of Duke Aegir and initiated reforms within his domain. Through his political methods, which closely aligned with the needs of the common people, the Aegir Duchy swiftly underwent reconstruction. Behind this success story was the significant contribution of Dorothea, the former songstress who became the Duchess, who dedicated herself to serving the commoners. Ferdinand, recognized for his achievements, was entrusted with governance across all of Fódlan. Despite being busy with his duties, he prioritized spending time with his family. He and Dorothea raised their children together, and their home was always filled with the sound of cheerful singing.

This feels like the picture-perfect ending for both of them. Dorothea achieves her life plan of marrying a rich provider and protector, overcoming her prejudice towards nobles. Her children carry on her legacy, and her memory will live on in their hearts.

And thanks to her experiences as an orphan, Ferdinand's policies benefit the commonfolk. He actually renounced his nobility and lived as a wanderer for five years because he did not believe in Edelgard's ideals, and he wanted to make up for his father's wrongdoings in his own way. He was prepared to leave no mark on history, but he is recognized for his achievements in the end.

#fe3h #fe3h meta #ferdithea #ferdinand von aegir #dorothea arnault

75 notes · View notes

bas-writes · 10 months

Text

Ocean Tides

Character: Gojo Satoru Reader: afab (ambigious body descriptions, neutral words used regarding genitalia with an exception for word "clit") CW: explicit n.sfw content, PWP, one shot, established relationship, vaginal fingering, oral sex (Reader receiving), lots of teasing, edging, orgasm control, pet names ("thing", "doll") Word Count: ~3.8k Synopsis: Your box with sex toys disappears in mysterious circumstances right as you need it. The main suspect is, of course, lingering around, ready to give you a helping hand. A/N: Well, now it's the official virginity breaking for Jujutsu Kaisen :3 Requested some time ago by my bf and personal Gojo maniac @mysticaltigersorceress whom I happily murder now with horny. Of course, y'all are welcomed to join. I'd lie, if I said all those descriptions of hands didn't have any erm effect on me. The title is loosely inspired by the song I associate with Gojo and Gojo only - Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish. Itself, it has nothing to do with "plot", just sharing 'cause I think it's cool.

It’s the third drawer—and still nothing.

At this point you don’t have much hope. You’ve checked all possible hides, plus a few less possible extra, and your box with sex toys is still nowhere to be found. All other places either wouldn’t fit it or are too much on display for you to consider them; for the peace of mind, you even ducked under the bed—just to find a long lost sock and a few overlooked candy wrappers.

And here you’ve been waiting for this little moment of solitude all day long…

Frustrated, you throw yourself on the bed—and groan as the phone, stuffed in the back pocket of your jeans, pokes you. You snap it out, finger against the screen activates it, and your boyfriend’s infuriatingly stupid smirk flashes right in front of your face from the lock screen.

As if the last cog just clicked in and finally put the machine back on the right track. Of course, the most obvious answer and solution have been right under your nose all time long!

Satoru, have you seen my toy box?

He’s not one to catch himself into a cleaning spree—and especially not at your place—but he’s always the center of chaos. If you left the box on display when he was around, it was almost certain he would mess with it. Though, in this case you would be immediately attacked—he wouldn’t let such a discovery come to waste. Well, there’s also a chance he helped himself and stuck his nosy fingers where a normal person would never. After all, such things as privacy or social boundaries don’t exist in his dictionary.

Your phone vibrates before you can put it away.

naaah

Such a fast answer would be suspicious even if Gojo wouldn’t be one walking definition of dubious truth himself.

Are you absolutely sure?

what you dont trust me y/n (ノД`)・゜・。so mean

Despite frustration you can’t help but smile at the memory of his perfectly played kicked puppy face. He’s a bastard and a reckless clown—but an adorable one, you have to admit it. There’s a good reason for you to have such a weakness for him despite all the shit he constantly pulls on you.

Shaking your head and sighing, you start typing your answer—just to be interrupted halfway.

need help looking?

You throw the phone away and groan into your hands, pressed tight to your face.

“You’re right behind the door, right? You ass.” The walls of your apartment aren’t thick, he can easily hear you all the way from the bedroom. “It’s open.”

Gojo slides in almost soundlessly, announced only by the click of lock as he closes the door behind himself. Soon, he’s marching into your bedroom, not even bothering to take shoes and jacket off. Mischievous gleam of bright blue eyes blinks at you over sunglasses; he leans against the doorframe, casual, unbothered, so obviously lying it hurts to watch.

“So. Where is it.”

“Where is what?” He springs straight, puts hands behind his back and wobbles back and forth, like a student asked an uncomfortable question. “I don’t know anything about boxes.”

“Don’t play coy, I know you did something with it. Did you take it?”

“Nope!” You want to tear his throat open just for the way he prolongs the vowels as he speaks. “Why would I take your toys? I don’t even know what you are talking about.”

“You always know everything you shouldn’t know.”

“Touché.” He clicks tongue and leans forward, frozen mid-step, like a cat ready to pounce at its prey. His eyes meet yours directly for a split moment again, and it’s enough for the build-up tension in you to pick its head up and roar. How are you supposed to play the tough cop in this routine banter, if he only adds to the fire that’s been itching you all day long?

You clear your throat and try to subtly press yourself against the mattress, to ease the traitorous itch between your legs at least a little without dragging his attention to it.

What have you been hoping for? Of course, Gojo would never miss something of this sort…

“All this fuss because you couldn’t rub it out?” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. You would gladly strangle him on point. “Fingers too short? Can’t reach? Babe, and you made me wait? I could—”

“You’re such a jerk.” You throw a pillow at him. He doesn’t even bother to catch or dodge, it stops an inch away from him and falls by his feet, sliding down the invisible shield of his cursed technique.

“You want it or not?” He takes his jacket off and throws it on the bureau. Tight, black t-shirt, fitting snugly his impressive musculature, doesn’t leave much to your imagination. “I’m busy, you know, and we’re sooo understaffed… I can’t waste my time.”

And that’s why you’ve been following me from work and waited all this time by the door? You asshat…

You roll your eyes and fall flat on your back, “Fine, if you’re already here. But wash your hands.”

“Your wish is my order.”

At the back of your head, you feel you’ve just been pulled into a multi-layered prank, but you still kick your pants and underwear off…maybe a tad too fast for your pride’s liking. Feeling the cool air against your dripping slit drives you mad and even more impatient, the sensation of emptiness only more present and pinpointed when you’re lying alone, stripped and waiting. Gojo, of course, takes his time, turning a simple task into a damned show, washing his hands profoundly at least three times (as you judge from the flushing sounds) before eventually wiping the hands dry and marching back. The need to strangle him—with your thighs, for extra flavor—just grows stronger with each passing second.

He stops in the doorframe again, cleaning his illegally long fingers with hand sanitizer and a tissue, each individually, a few times, with an extra attention paid to the nails. His hands are enormous, even for someone of his height and posture: a fact that has always been grasping your attention, pushing your thoughts straight into the darkest circles of lustful hell. You know well what he is capable of with their help, how deep and wide he can stretch you with only two fingers. Your insides twitch just at the thought, shallow breath almost whistles between your grit teeth, and a wave of heat crashes against your skin. It feels as if you were burning and blushing like a girl from shoujo manga—and regardless of what your face really looks you have an itching need to hide behind hands or pillows.

You win against the urge—but your legs aren’t as obedient. They close as soon as Gojo approaches, the echo of clapping thighs has his eyebrow cock in surprise.

“What, changed mind?” He takes glasses off and threads fingers through hair. So close, from the angle you took lying flat on your back, he seems even taller: blue-eyed giant towering over a lamb he chose for a snack.

Even if curling inside, inch by inch giving the reins away to the horny beast ready to bat eyes at him for a crumble of attention, you decide to still play tough. Your legs snap open, confident and welcoming, wobbling at knees only a little bit. You hope he hasn’t paid attention to that.

Abnormally blue eyes skim down your middle. Gojo stretches wrists, then cracks knuckles, one last time doing a show out of his hands. He beckons you closer, the movement of his finger almost hypnotizing, then points at the edge of bed. You expected him to climb on top, but you can’t complain when already rushing to follow the order. At the back of your head, you’re scolding yourself for being so obedient and nice for an asshole who surely pulled all of this circus to trap you for whatever reason his messy mind created. In fact, you’re just enthusiastically lifting hips for him to pile the pillows until he’s satisfied with the level and drops to his knees with a pleased, breathy sigh.

Even when kneeling for you, Gojo seems to tower over your body and soul. He slots himself between your legs, not without a stretch to fit his broad shoulders flush, hands rest on your hips and pull you closer, almost dragging you off the pile of pillows he picked himself. Your mind is already freezing at the feel incomparable to any other hold—but, of course, he can’t stay still. Huge, warm palms, long fingers, skin so smooth you can compare it only with velvet, trail down torturously slow. Your thighs seem to draw between them, their size underlined so well against your flesh. Instinct nudges you to shut your knees together—at the slightest budge though soft hands turn into iron and hold you almost forcefully where he wants you, where you belong.

He’s kneeling for you—but you’re the one left on his mercy. Little, fragile bird closed in the cage of his hands.

“So wet already?” The irritating, singing tone of his taunt ruins the spell. “Phew, it’s all spilling! What would you do, if I weren’t around?”

“I have—” The phantom of the missing toy box cuts you short, the break between words, however short, makes his smirk grow wider. “—fingers, too”

“Too short.” Gojo just states the fact. Compared to his, of course all fingers would be short. When he’s holding your hand, the difference is almost as sharp as between an adult and a child.

And to underline his advantage even more, Gojo reaches between your legs: confident, determined, cheeky. With a thumb, as long as a middle finger on many, he brushes your wet slit: a touch simple yet sparking your nerves so hard you jerk up and wiggle, craving more and overstimulated at the same time. Of course, he went right for the most sensitive lines and edges, your body like an open book against the all-seeing power of his eyes.

“Hey, hey, where are you going?” The other hand clenches harder and pulls you down, back to the place he chose. “You want to cum or not? Make up your mind.”

“Then start your work already?" You hiss through clenched teeth, now determined to fight against the odds, even if it wouldn’t last longer than a couple of seconds. You know he’d turn you into jello in five seconds if only he wanted to, but you have your pride—and your pride calls for standing your ground at all costs.

Gojo’s face is hard to read now, frozen right on the thin line between no thought and intense focus, his brows slightly furrowed—but not enough to ruin the smooth perfection. It doesn’t last longer than a few seconds, a cheeky grin soon returns…and from one meeting of your eyes you know you’ve just stepped into a serious problem. “So chirpy and pecky today. Alright. Here we go.”

He touches you exactly the same way, except…not really. Your hips budge again and a needy purr presses to your lips, but there is something not right. You know Gojo, you know his hands and his ways. The last crumble of the sane mind desperately tries to pull your attention to it before it’s too late—but another lazy swipe of his thumb swallows it like a black hole swallows light.

Well aware of the death penalty, you walk into the delicious trap with a smile and enthusiasm.

“Let’s see.” Gojo hums and brushes your clit one last time. He starts sliding a single finger into you, until at the third of its length he’s sure you don’t need much of a warmup. A withdrawal, then attack continues with two fingers, slipping smoothly and fast. Breath stills in your throat, you sigh, then moan feeling him reaching the depths many can’t achieve with a dick. He stills at your reaction, a quick, blue glance swipes across your face in a way so easily to be taken as a concern, especially in the state you’re currently drowning in: of a sheer, blind trust and eagerness to take anything he gives you without a shadow of doubt. A few seconds pass, enough to stir you on, not enough to let your brain cool down, and he starts stretching you a little, testing your capabilities with a patience of saint: withdrawing as he feels a resistance, attacking almost immediately after anew, and back.

Right as he has you ready for the third finger, Gojo pulls out, leaving you heated up, right on the verge of entering the state of blank pleasure and need for more.

“You really hadn’t been playing with yourself before I came here?” He looks at the thick strings of your arousal gluing his fingers and sliding down his knuckles. “You’re like butter today.”

A protest—at his disbelief and the comparison—dies on your lips at the sight of Gojo’s tongue swiping fast between his digits. He licks himself clean, then stuffs fingers into his mouth and sucks, enjoying your taste throughout. It’s a shameless demonstration, a jab right into the memory of his oral skills and a silent question. You would like it, wouldn’t you? So bad you will need to ask for it—no guarantee he will listen, though…

“Snack break over!” He announces with a toothy grin, prolonging the vowels like an overexcited child. Licking lips one last time, he returns to his task, two fingers in, dangerously close to the point you know—

“Fuck!” You choke on breath, turning into a tense string of pleasure. From lazy simmering you’re yanked towards the high with nothing but a lazy brush of fingertips—and then back when he returns to prior depth and pace, interested in nothing but patient stretching.

“Mmm? Ohhh? What is it?” He coos, all-seeing blue gazing right between your legs with intensity capable of piercing you like his fingers. “Felt that good? With only two fingers? Ohh, someone is sooo needy—”

The need to bark back at him—or strangle him, if he’s already within reach of your thighs—perks its head again, the more, the slower his fingers become, almost smothering the little flame under your lust. But as you try to move your hips against him, the other hand grabs and pins, and his eyes flick up, wide open, equally beautiful and terrifying,

He’s in charge here. You lie down and wait.

“You want me to work and then do everything on your own,” he even scolds you, with the same tone he uses against his students when he actually bothers to pass as serious. “I won’t find anything, if you keep wiggling around.”

His fingers curl with surgical precision, circle around the spot but not really touch it. The heat starts bubbling again, and you bite on your lips, fighting against it and trying to stay still as much as possible, from your twitching hole to heaving chest.

“That’s it! That’s a good little thing!” Gojo’s face is simply beaming with a smile—but of course he doesn’t make your task easy. His fingers inch closer and closer, right on the edge, brushing and teasing, but never daring to cross the border. Tears start pricking in your eyes, the forced stillness and insatiable urge to act up and steal that last crumble you need for the spark of pleasure. You’re tortured with praise, humiliated with words sweet like honey—and despite everything craving to remain in this state. Everything for him to finally push that damned button.

“Satoru…” You whine, the last resolve perking up and crumbling into dust soon after. There goes your pride, at this point you’re ready to throw yourself at everything he offers. Truly a slave of sheer biology, of the itch that’s been with you since morning, through all those long hours of work, then desperate search of the only remedy you had before he’s appeared.

You haven’t stayed still, you haven’t listened, of course his fingers start to withdraw, the peak drifts out, behind the clouds, so close yet so far… Ready to mewl again, you bite your lips until you feel pain and the urge withdraws. The only sound you’ll allow is begging, until his fingers return and—

Gojo presses the button.

A push is sudden and brutal, you’re flying towards the peak, landing face-down right before it, tumbling towards the longed-for finish along the steep ridge. Just a little more, just one second longer, just harder, just—

“Hmm, I wonder if I will fit three…” Out of nowhere Gojo pulls out of you, the peak not only yanked from underneath your feet but also thrown beyond your sight. Groaning and swearing, eyes full of frustrated tears, you dig both heels into his back…or at least attempt to, a merciless barrier pushing you away the more the harder you try.

“You. Asshole.” You spit through gritted teeth. “I don’t need three, I need to cum!”

“Told ya you won’t cum if you’re gonna squirm.” Gojo pouts, much like a child scolded for innocence. “I really can’t take a good aim. Hm. Maybe we need to change angle a little—”

He throws your hips up as if they were nothing, folds your legs to his liking until you’re nice and bent, thighs supported against his shoulders. One bastard grin later Gojo indeed fits three fingers at once, the stretch prominent even for your arousal and experience with him. He could make it easy, but he decides to be an ass for no reason, maybe except for the strain and masochist pleasure all over your face. Lewd, squelching sounds follow your mewls and chirps, with the weird position he’s forced on you your juices trickle down your ass and back almost like a stream. Maybe he made you squirt, you’re not sure anymore what’s going on, thrown around and torn between burning edge and infuriating denial. Your world keeps narrowing to his fingers filling your hole suit, so deep he nears your limit and so precisely he’s teasing everything but that one spot.

“C’mon, you said you want to cum.” Gojo presses your legs down even more, the pressure inside you barely bearable. Piercing blue gaze is too strong for you to handle, you close your eyes so hard your face freezes in a ridiculous, scrunched expression. “Hey, no giving up on it. You can do it, Y/N!”

Shut up. Shut up. I beg you, shut up and just let me come—

“Satoru…” The last mewl nears crying, your breath stutters and melts into a dry sob. You’re half an inch away from breaking and bursting into tears. You can handle only as much, your legs tremble around his head, exhausted and strained, your helpless hole clenches on him with a silent pleading. Just that one push…

“Shh, I know. I’m sorry. I got you.” Cruel fingers slow down and withdraw. Gojo adjusts his position; lets go of your legs but lifts your hips even higher. Something hot and lighter than breeze brushes your wet, tortured folds, a rustle of a deep breath comes to your ears in a break between your sounds of pleasure and frustration.

Through tears nearly blocking your vision you risk a peak, right at the perfect moment to meet his eyes. Smiling—not cheeky but peaceful and admiring—Gojo looks down at you with warm love. The tip of his tongue swipes teasingly between his lips—before plunging itself deep in you, swirling and dancing until it finally finds the string you crave to be pulled.

Sharp orgasm throws your head back into the mattress and arches your body. Almost screaming, you spasm and shake, your heels finally finding leverage against his back and digging bruises as you ride your high against his lips. He slurps and sucks, his face pressed deep, nose grazing your clit until the second wave crashes against you, the second high even more steep and powerful.

Strong hands don’t let you fall. Groaning low in his own pleasure, Gojo drinks from you until you stop creaming and gushing, the moves of his tongue slowing down together with you, careful to not graze your oversensitive nerves too much. The next time you dare to look at him you immediately shut your eyes tight. The sight of his beautiful face, all wet with your juices and flushed with arousal, is simply too much for your ever-spent body and mind.

Your legs fall limp when Gojo lets go of them. There’s no power left in your limbs, he has to gently scoop and move you to the side before slotting himself by your side, head resting on hand, the other hand gently wiping sweat off your forehead. You take your time to come down and ease your breath, each drag of air almost painful with your rib muscles so strained. Your groin burns with satisfied fire, you’re still twitching over emptiness—it’ll take a good while for the double orgasm to finally ease.

When you finally gather the power to roll head to side and open your eyes, you meet the barrier of sunglasses. You have no idea when Gojo put them back on, but you’re grateful. If you gazed into that terrifying blue, you surely would roll back into the heat.

“The box is under the bathroom cabinet, by the way.” He throws out of nowhere and yawns.

“What? How—”

“I don’t know, maybe we kicked it when I was having you against it?” He rolls on back and stretches arms and back with a loud groan. “I think you were washing the toys when— Ough! What for?!”

You have enough power to slap him through the head three times, each too weak to hurt even a fly.

“I fucking hate you…” You sigh when he grabs it and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“You were saying something quite different when I had tongue down your— Whoa, whoa, alright! Sorry!”

He grabs your wrist and rests your hand on your chest before leaning in for a kiss. His lips are full of your taste—but still, a faint flavor of sugar breaks through. You can’t help chuckling. Just how much of it he had to stuff in himself before he came here…

“Sleep.” He guides you to rest your head on his chest. You nuzzle close, happy, and smiling at the light, barely visible hair covering it. “You're gonna need lots of energy for round two.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you think we’re finished.” For a split second, right before fatigue wins and closes your eyes for good, the blue slips past sunglasses, cold and hungry, dangerous. “Silly doll…”

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x afab reader #gojo imagine #gojo scenario #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x afab reader #bas writes #jjk #gojo satoru #sinful #afab reader

255 notes · View notes

theprettieststarfr · 2 months

Text

GUYS PLEASE READ THIS AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK

So I genuinely refuse to believe that considering the size of Hogwarts there was never a mention of a huge green field, only the lake. Like you know, fields like ones they have in the UK with cows and shit. BUT NO COWS THIS TIME. Imagine there is a huge field with wildflowers, like chamomile and poppies and other stuff and it's just so unbelievably green when May rolls around and throughout June as well, and some time after the field gets green like that it also blooms.

So, now that you've imagined it, imagine four 11 year old boys running around, playing tag in that field, screaming, laughing and falling down, out of breath, on the grass together to look up at the clouds. And when exams/tests are over, they sit on the field, which smells MAGNIFICENT by the way, just like proper summer, with all the flowers on it, and watch the summer sunset.

Second year, Peter gets bitten by a bee and becomes so goddamn scared of the field in the summer because of the bees that he absolutely refuses to play in there with his friends. And because MARAUDERS WERE EQUAL IN EACH OTHER'S EYES they spent so many break times researching the best insect repellent spells with the help of Professor Sprout, that they came up with a solution in less than a month and they were finally able to go to the field altogether.

Sometime then they were also joined by Lily, Mary, Marlene and such, who preferred picnics to playing tag, but weren't against watching the sunset as well.

Around the fifth year the Marauders would notice that Pandora, Regulus, Dorcas, Barty and Evan sat a little further away on the field. Pandora made flower crowns, Regulus read, Barty and Evan bickered, though it was never serious, and Dorcas composed or covered songs on her guitar. And since James is the little ray of sunshine that he is, he RUNS up to Pandora begging her to teach him how to make flower crowns, to which she happily agrees. Remus then finds the book Regulus is reading very interesting, Sirius is itching to put his opinion into rosekiller's argument because of course he knows better - it's clotted cream AND THEN jam on a scone, and Peter actually has a very clear, soothing soprano, which compliments Dorcas's alto and they start singing together. They sometimes hang out together after that.

Sixth year - James and Pandora are teaching everyone to make flower crowns and somehow, after the flowers have been picked, they grow right back, like nothing happened. Sirius gives his first flower crown to Minerva, most pretty (in his opinion) flower crown to Regulus, after a fight, after which Regulus, surprisingly, forgives him, which he does not want to admit, and all of his other ones to his Moony, because "he deserves all the flowers in this world". Remus grumbles a little about waste of flowers, but secretly preserves all of them in his books and keeps them. They no longer play tag in the field, for quite a few years now, but instead just frolic and dance whenever. Lily and Marlene sometimes act like those Zumba instructors and show moves to all the others, while Mary picks out the most danceable ABBA songs, getting a complaint from Sirius, who secretly doesn't really mind a bit of disco. They are sometimes joined by others, like Frank, Alice and Emmeline and they all have a huge dance off and OF COURSE it's either James or Lily who win most of the times and the classically trained Black brothers finally stop associating dancing with their parents and harsh etiquette training.

Last day of the last year, they all come out on the field one last time. To play tag. Like it all started. Running around it without one care in the world, then again, falling down on the field together. They then quietly talk about what they think the future will be like for them, agreeing on the thought that it will all work out eventually. Then they each make A LOT of flower crowns to exchange with every single person there. Barty then charms all the crowns to "speak". Basically, by touching a flower on the flower crown you can hear the voice of the person who made it and that date that they made it on, or whatever they want to say: "I'm Sirius Black, and I made this flower crown for Marlene on dd/mm/yyyy. DAZZLE ON MARLS" or smn like that. When asked how Barty came up with this, he answered, that he didn't wanna sort through his condoms every time he needed them in order to find out which one is strawberry flavoured, so he would just touch it and know which is which 😭😭😭

After that they actually hug. All of them. During the sunset. And it's the most wholesome thing.

And then they stay on the field until dawn getting drunk and doing something dumb and fun.

THAT'S IT YOU GUYS I REALLY LIKE THIS THOUGHT

Oh, also, if you wanna go more canonical (god no please no), then the year before Remus comes back to Hogwarts to teach, they remove the field to build more greenhouses, since more plants are coming in due to globalization and shit. And only Luna notices, crying silently at all the flowers that are gone.

And when Remus comes back, the first thing he notices is that the field is gone. Without a trace. Dead. Just like all of his friends. But not the memories he made. Probably would be better if they were dead too, because they hurt him even more, than he thought was possible.

46 notes · View notes

rabarbarzcukrem · 4 months

Text

So... I've finally watched the first Utena musical

The whole cast singing the lines of the prince in masks without him appearing himself...do you get it... he's an idea...he doesn't exist... He's just a concept from a fairytale repeated by everyone...

Utena's deep voice <333

"What's so special about this letter?" said to Wakaba...

Saionji is so dramatic I love it

I don't like the fact that Utena's uniform clearly has a different shape to the shape of the ones worn by guys. It was like that in the anime too, but in real life it looks weird, like it's too small for the actress. Otherwise the costumes are amazing tho

Zettai unmei mokushiroku was used so well... Compared to the first few songs it's very sudden and intense, very fitting for the first scene in which Utena enters the dueling arena

The way everyone moves is so in character, Anthy picking up her dress when she walks (like a princess), Touga constantly with hands in his pockets (laid-back and indifferent), Juri with arms crossed (shielding herself), Utena's strong butch energy

I love how they did the sword of Dios thing

Wtf is this disco song??? It's so random and out of nowhere...Wait. Is it this musical's equivalent of the anime intro?? That's so smart...

The song slaps actually

OF COURSE the EGG SPEECH is a SONG

Anthy's voice is so pretty I'm gonna cry

Utena immediately calling Anthy her friend, even though she doesn't know her...she is so full of love to give and so starved for close human connection.... (how very middle school of her too). I can't look at this scene without thinking about what's to come.. "you showed me a taste of true friendship"...

"Are you (anthy and touga) close?" Oooh boy

Nanami is perfect...Her song with Miki on the keys lmao. Wakaba constantly in the background... foreshadowing??

There are like. 5 different scenes happening at once

Utena and Wakaba's friendship contrasted with Touga and Saionji's broken one...damn...

"I measure the time I spend hating the student council" LMAOOO

Anthy's creepy laugh... Actually this is a good visual way to show how weird she appears to the other characters and make sure the audience associates this uneasy feeling with her

Juri standing on the chair lol. The humor in this version makes it so clear that those are highschool students

And I adore the meta jokes about weird shit going on in the background during the council meetings and no one really knowing what the stop watch does

I noticed that Juri touches her hair whenever she's vulnerable. Nice detail

Juri angst...ouch...

Why is the sword of Dios so big tho

"The sword Juri sent flying through the air came down to shatter her own rose...was the floor of the arena the only thing it pierced?" OW OW OW

THIS SCENE BROKE ME

Saionji calling Touga "motherfucker" I'm dead

Different girls playing Utena in the coffin, covering their faces with the doll...

AND THEN DUELISTS JOINING TO SING UTENA'S LINES THAT SHE WILL NEVER LEAVE THE COFFIN. WITH ANTHY AT THE END. GENIUS

The cooking song is so cute and catchy

UTENA SPITTING AT SAIONJI I'M LOVING THIS

Saionji joining the shadow girls...this is hilarious

I love the desperate song of Wakaba inspiring Utena to take back who she was. And her being the only one to say that the girl's outfit doesn't suit Utena... But as soon as her role of inspiring the main character is fulfilled, the curtain falls and only Utena is left on stage.

...Surely....

The ending was amazing..

All in all I'm convinced that a stage play of Utena is the best type of adaptation that could ever be made. The anime already had allusions to theatre and stages so it works perfectly.

#I can't wait to watch the second one #revolutionary girl utena #rgu #moje

53 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 11 months

Text

Chapter 16

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15

--------------------------------------------------------

Eddie didn’t usually get nervous about meeting people. Even the few times he met parents, he didn’t really expect them to be a forever thing, so it didn’t really matter to him if he made a good impression.

But this was Steve. This was the person he was spending forever with. And despite his clearly complicated relationship with his parents, his mom seemed to mean something to him.

Steve explained their entire conversation on the way to his apartment, his old apartment, the one he hopefully wouldn’t move back into.

If it were up to Eddie, this temporary move to his house would be permanent, but he didn’t want to push. He knew Robin and Steve were close, and that Robin looking for a new roommate may take some time, that Steve wouldn’t want to just leave her with such little notice and no one to cover his half of the rent.

The closer they got to the apartment, the more nervous Eddie became.

Steve looked over at him when they stopped at a red light, brows furrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing, my love,” he brushed it off, kept his face forward so he wouldn’t fall for the puppy dog eyes Steve gave him to get what he wanted.

“You know, my mom isn’t that bad. I don’t get along with her all the time, but she is definitely the lesser of two evils when it comes to my parents.”

“Mhm. Just wanna make sure you’re okay with everything.”

Steve was quiet for a moment, the soft tones of a song he didn’t recognize playing on the radio.

“You know it’s okay to be worried about yourself, Eds. I’m feeling…well, not great, but kind of positive about this? I know it could turn into nothing, but my mom is kind of relentless when she’s set on something and it doesn’t sound like she’s gonna give up until I have my job back.”

Steve’s hand settled on Eddie’s knee, providing him a comfort he didn’t realize he needed.

Eddie often found comfort in putting others’ needs first, that’s what made him a good dom, a good friend, a good person. But even he needed to take a break from that sometimes. He knew it, he just didn’t actually do it.

“I’m mostly worried about you, but I am a little worried about meeting your mom. There, is that better?” Eddie asked with a small smile.

“Yes. She always comes off scarier than she is. All yip, no bite, or whatever the saying is,” Steve said confidently.

Eddie loved him. God, he loved him so much.

He watched as Steve bobbed his head along to the music, his hand remaining on Eddie’s knee and tapping his fingers, though he was completely off beat.

Eddie loved him so much, it felt like a part of him was always going to hear Steve’s name and associate it with comfort and home.

Steve pulled into his usual parking spot, sighing as he parked.

“Just don’t take any offense to what she says. She has no filter and forgets that people have feelings. I barely listen to anything she says anymore.”

Steve sounded nervous suddenly, maybe even more than Eddie had been on the way here.

Eddie turned, cupped his face in his hands, and kissed his nose.

“I’m here to support you, protect you. I want her to help you. I don’t care if she likes me or is rude to me, it’s about you being happy.”

“Eds, I don’t want her to upset you. Please just don’t let her scare you away.”

“Sunshine, I’m not goin’ anywhere, especially not because of your mom being a little mean to me. Your my home, and I’m yours, right?”

He felt Steve relax into his hands, a fond smile taking over his face.

“Yeah, baby, you are.”

“Then let’s go see your mom.”

—----------------------------------------

Robin was standing at the front door as soon as he opened it, her eyes begging him to do literally anything to help.

He almost laughed.

Almost.

But then he heard his mother, presumably on the phone with someone, and he decided he probably should be easy on her.

“Who’s she talking to?”

“It’s been someone new every five minutes since she got off the phone with you. I think this one is your father, but I’m not sure because she talks to everyone the exact same, which is like they are specks of dirt on the bottom of her shoe.” Robin rolled her eyes and turned to Eddie with a smile. “Hi, Eddie.”

“Hi, Robbie. Gonna make it?”

“Hard to say. I hope so.”

They gave each other quick hugs, an exchange of wordless support, and Eddie felt a bit better. If Robin could handle Steve’s mom, he certainly could.

“Richard, I don’t give a shit and a half if you think I’m babying him. He’s our son. He didn’t do anything wrong and he’s being punished. Our job is to help people who don’t do anything wrong and are being punished. I’ll be better off without your help, but I refuse to let you make empty threats at me or him.”

“You guys stay here,” Steve muttered, making his way into the kitchen to talk to his mom.

“I have to go. You can go fuck yourself or the newest woman who has to fake it through a few minutes in bed with you to get a new diamond bracelet.”

Anne Harrington did not fuck around. Steve could admit to himself that it was probably the best part about her.

“Oh, good, you’re home. I’ve contacted the school to let them know any future interviews involving you will also have me present. Any paperwork sent to you or requiring a signature will be reviewed by me first. I’ve already been sent the paperwork you signed, which will not hold up in court because all parties involved in the case are supposed to sign it and only you signed it. You work for a school system that doesn’t seem to understand basic law, which is concerning since they’re opening themselves up to a hell of a lawsuit.”

“It’s nice to see you, Mom.”

Anne sighed, releasing the weight of the world from her shoulders, and pulled him into a hug.

They were never a touchy family, not even when Steve was a small child. But every once in a while, usually during the most stressful times, his mom would pull him into a hug that actually felt like the type of hug a mother would give her kid.

“What a pickle this is,” she said against his shoulder, a solid six inches shorter than him, but always bigger than her body when she spoke.

“I know. Thanks for helping.”

“No need to thank me, it’s gonna be easy to handle. Now! Where’s the boyfriend?”

“Uh. With Robin.”

“Let’s go get this out of the way, then,” she said as she pulled away from him, her face back to the stern look he’d walked in on.

“Just be easy, please. He-”

“Steven, I know what it looks like when you’re happy. I know I rarely was around to see it, but it’s easy to see the glow, even with all this stress happening around you. He makes you feel loved?”

“Every second of every day.”

“Then he won’t have to worry about me unless that changes,” she said as she walked out to the living room.

Anne walked up to Eddie, his eyes wide as he took her in.

“Edward Munson. Nice to meet you. I’m Anne Harrington. I am certain I like you just fine, but let’s get right to it: my son is all that matters to me right now and if you get in his way of getting his job back or me doing my job, you will never step foot near him again, understood?”

Steve rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the blush creeping across his cheeks. His mom had never been this protective of him, not even in high school when one of his friends tried to drag him into a legal issue with another basketball player.

“And if I ever get in the way of his happiness and future, I hope you would do whatever you can to protect him,” Eddie responded.

Anne studied him for a moment, looking him up and down and trying to figure out what her response should be.

She nodded once, turned to Steve, gave him a wink, and then looked back at Eddie.

“Let’s get Steve his job back.”

—----------------------------------------

The next three days were endless meetings with his mom, the school, and the school board.

Steve was instructed not to open his mouth except to give the same answers he’d already given, let Anne do most of the talking otherwise, keep his head up and appear confident that he’d done the right thing.

He had done the right thing, so it was easy to do.

Every moment he got with Eddie was special, his mom taking the guest room of the house and making it difficult for them to have any time alone.

But they still stole away in the evenings, when his mom decided to take a break from everything and shower and read her book for a bit. Eddie and Steve would take a bath together, Eddie washing Steve, Steve washing Eddie, touching every inch of each other with reverence as they silenced the moans with their mouths.

It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do for a while.

Steve cooked them breakfast every morning, Eddie wrapped his arms around his waist and rocked side to side, humming a song Steve didn’t know.

Eddie went to the shop while Steve stayed home and made sure his mom had everything she needed to do her job. He would bring Eddie a late lunch to take a break, and his mom would often go find a restaurant she deemed tolerable so she could enjoy a “decent salad, nobody makes a decent salad anymore, Steven.”

By the time dinner came around, Steve was feeling too much, and he had no way to feel better about it until Eddie got home.

Eddie would just know.

He’d pull him against his chest, run his hands up and down his back for a minute, then tug on his hair just right, just the way Steve craved.

It wasn’t enough to float, not even enough to drift a bit on the edge, but it was enough to make him feel like Eddie knew what he needed and would help as soon as he could.

“Your mom in the kitchen?” Eddie whispered against his head.

“Mhm.”

“She okay?”

“Yeah. Said we should be hearing anytime now about everything.”

“Did you talk about her treatments yet?”

Steve shook his head against Eddie’s chest.

“She doesn’t want to?”

Steve shook his head again.

“Want me to ask?”

“No. I just want you to be here with me when I do. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is, sunshine,” Eddie kissed the top of his head and pulled away so he could head into the kitchen to start making dinner.

It was smooth, or at least as smooth as it could be with an extra person in the house who was toeing the line between welcome and nuisance.

Eddie was making steak salad tonight, at his mom’s request, because he was incredible and a small part of Steve loved seeing that Eddie was doing whatever it took to keep her happy, to keep the peace between them.

“Hi, Anne. How’s today been?” Eddie asked as he moved towards the fridge to pull everything out to start prepping.

“It’s been another day, Edward. How was your day?”

“Had another first tattoo today. Those are always interesting,” he sent a knowing look to Steve, who was shaking his head slowly.

“Oh? Do you get them often?”

“Honestly, no. Steve was my first first in a while. This was a friend of a friend who only trusted me to do it.”

Steve froze.

Somehow, Steve had managed to hide his tattoos from his mom the entire time. He’d been wearing Eddie’s hoodies around the house and long sleeve shirts and blazers or jackets for the meetings.

Eddie must have realized what happened as he turned to see Anne’s eyes searching Steve’s visible skin.

“You have a tattoo?”

“I have two.”

“Steven, tattoos aren’t very professional for your line of work.”

Eddie was standing at attention now, ready to step in the moment Steve needed him, but waiting for a signal of any kind.

“I got them in places that can be hidden. You haven’t seen them the entire time.”

“What could you possibly have gotten tattooed?”

“Will made me a sun painting and I decided I wanted it as a tattoo. Eddie did it on my wrist. Then I got a robin done.”

“This is the Will that you helped?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see?”

Her voice was much gentler now, almost too kind compared to what Steve was used to when she was disappointed in him.

Steve rolled the sleeve of his hoodie up, holding it out towards his mom as she sat at the table.

She took his wrist and turned it back and forth as she looked at the sun.

“He’s quite talented,” she said softly.

“He is.”

“I’m proud of you, Steve.”

Steve’s heart stopped, his eyes widened, and he felt his eyes flood with tears.

His parents had never said that to him, not when he made the varsity basketball team a year earlier than most people do, not when they won a championship, not when he made swim team captain as a junior, not when he graduated high school, not ever.

He’d stopped expecting to hear it eventually, especially when he’d cut himself off from them.

But some part of him, probably his inner child who had craved hearing those words for his entire life, felt incredibly overwhelmed at the way his mother was looking at him with tears in her eyes.

He distantly heard Eddie walk out of the room, and he struggled with the combination of feelings of relief and anxiety knowing that he wasn’t right there.

“I’m sorry I don’t tell you more, or ever, I guess. I know you’ve deserved to hear it so much. I guess-” she took a shaky breath. “I guess it was easier for me to pretend I wasn’t proud because I had no hand in your accomplishments. It was selfish of me to think that way, and I know that no amount of apologies will make up for it, but I let my job and your father dictate my entire life to the point that I forgot my son needed me.”

“Mom-”

“Let me finish first, please,” she held her hand up to stop him. “As I’ve been working on this entire situation, I’ve read through the interviews the school board conducted with Will, with his mom, with his brother, with other students, with the principal. Everyone loves you, everyone is on your side. Your own principal said the school would never be the same if you weren’t given another chance, that they would never find anyone as valuable as you are. The place I went to lunch the other day saw my last name and asked if I was related to you, and when I told them I was your mom, they gave me lunch for free because you helped the owner rebuild his shed when a snowstorm collapsed the roof last winter. And Eddie. Honey, that boy looks at you like you’re his sun. I cannot believe you’ve only been together a couple weeks. I don’t think I’ve ever felt the way you two feel about each other. Robin wanted to kill me when I walked into your apartment, and I assume it’s because she knows I haven’t ever been a good mom to you, and she’s right for wanting to protect you like that. I was never around to protect you, and probably caused more pain than anything, and I will spend as much time as it takes to try to make up for it.”

Steve was crying, the tears running down his face, soaking his hoodie, his vision so blurry he could barely even see that his mother was crying, too.

She stood up and pulled him against her, her head resting against his shoulder, his head resting against the top of her head.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed into his hoodie, her voice muffled but still audible.

“Why wasn’t I enough to be proud of?” Steve asked, his voice breaking.

“Oh, darling, you were. I promise you were. This isn’t anything you did wrong, or didn’t do well enough, this is all me failing you. You deserved to know I was proud of you, but I didn’t stop to think about how much not telling you would hurt you. That was my fault, not yours., you understand?”

Steve nodded, letting out another sob.

Suddenly, Eddie’s hand was on his lower back, and Steve’s body instantly relaxed.

“Sorry to interrupt, but your phone keeps ringing, and I figured it must be important if they keep trying,” Eddie said quietly, softly, the gentlest interruption he could possibly have made to their moment.

Steve pulled away sniffling, wiping his eyes as his mother did the same.

He reached for his phone, a new set of vibrations alerting him to another phone call.

“Hello?” Steve answered, hoping his voice didn’t give away the emotions of the last 15 minutes.

“Mr. Harrington, so sorry to keep calling like this, but I wanted to make sure to reach you before the school board official called.”

Principal Graves’ voice sounded excited, barely containing something that Steve hoped was good news.

“Is everything okay?”

“They’re going to be calling with the scheduled hearing for all parties involved today. They only do this when they’re pretty sure about reinstating someone, so I have a very good feeling you’ll be coming back to work within the next week.”

Steve started crying again.

Eddie and his mom looked at him concerned, but he gave them a wet smile to show that he was okay.

“I’ll get to talk to Will there?”

“This is why you’re the only person qualified for this job. The person filling in for you doesn’t believe in weekly sessions with students, says it causes students to become too attached to the counselor and services. I can’t wait to see her go. You didn’t hear that from me though.”

Steve let out a laugh, his tears finally slowing down, and his head falling to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I miss my kids,” Steve admitted, closing his eyes when Eddie’s hand rubbed up and down his back comfortingly.

“They miss you. We all do. We owe a lot to your mother for how quickly this has turned in your favor. This could have gone on for another month at the rate they wanted to do things. She’s an impressive woman.”

Steve watched as his mother sat back down at the table to write something down in her notes with a smile.

“Yeah, she is.”

He wrapped up the call so he could be available for the school board call, thanking the principal multiple times for her help. He knew she struggled with filing a report at all, that she was only doing her job.

When he hung up, he explained everything to Eddie and his mom, getting interrupted halfway through by a kiss from Eddie, their teeth clacking together because of the broad smiles on both their faces.

When the call from the school board came through, Steve was sitting on the couch while Eddie prepared dinner in the kitchen, having a casual conversation with his mom while she worked at the dining room table.

On Monday, his entire future would be decided, and hopefully, he’d be back in his office to make a difference.

—------------------------------

When Monday came, Robin and Chrissy met Eddie and Steve at the school board office an hour early.

“Your mom coming?”

“She had a phone call with her doctor this morning so she should be here soon,” Steve said.

They’d talked over dinner a few nights before about her treatments, and how she had been putting it off for work, but also putting it off because she was scared. Steve told her she had to take care of herself, that her health needed to take priority, and if she needed to have support through it, he would be there.

Eddie took it a step further, and offered her the guest room during her treatments so she didn’t have to be alone.

Steve loved him so much.

“Should we wait inside?” Chrissy asked, holding onto Robin’s hand.

“You guys go in. I just wanna talk to Steve for a second,” Eddie said, wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist.

Chrissy smirked, but didn’t say anything as she guided Robin inside.

Steve turned to Eddie, nervous smile on his face.

“What is it, baby?”

“I just wanted to say that no matter what, I’m in this with you. We’ll figure it out if things don’t go as planned, and nothing with us is going to change. You’re an incredible person and counselor, sunshine, and if they can’t see that, they don’t deserve you,” Eddie pecked his lips quickly to emphasize his words.

“Thank you, Eds. I love you.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

With one more quick kiss, they parted, and made their way inside to find the room the hearing would take place in.

When they found it, the Byers were already there, and Will looked ready to vibrate out of his seat when he noticed Steve walk in.

He looked to Joyce, silently begging for permission to go to Steve. When she nodded with a smile, Will shot up out of his seat, nearly tripping on his own feet to run towards him.

Steve nearly fell backwards with the force of the hug, Will’s arms wrapping around him as he let out a sob. Eddie held them both up as Steve found his balance again, smiling down at them.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything to anyone. Mom’s trying to put together a fund for you so you can still pay your bills and Jonathan booked a show and the band is gonna give up their money from it to help you. And I made you a painting, but I couldn’t give it to you because Mom said it would possibly be worse if we tried to talk to you while they did everything. And I hate the new counselor, she’s terrible. She said if I need weekly services I should see a therapist and didn’t understand that we can’t afford one, that’s why I talk to you, but she just kept saying there are ‘resources for people in poverty’ which, we know, but they’re terrible and there’s a long wait list or else I would have already tried and-”

“Woah, buddy. Take a deep breath.” Steve helped him take a couple deep breaths and smiled down at Will. “It’s gonna be okay. Even if today doesn’t go well, I can still help you somehow. And you don’t have to worry about the money, you guys are amazing, but I’m doing fine.”

“Mom brought you a check already today. You can’t leave without it.”

Steve shook his head.

“Keep it. Use it for art supplies or something. I’ve got my bills paid and if today goes well, I’ll be back to work very soon.”

Will looked like he wanted to continue to argue, but Anne walked in, followed by Principal Graves and a few school board officials that Steve recognized as the interviewers for the case.

“You must be Will,” Anne said as she walked up to them.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, don’t do that. I fear I’m looking much older than I wish to these days and that doesn’t help. I’m Mr. Harrington’s mom, Anne.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Anne.”

“You’re an outstanding artist, Will. I’d love to commission you for a piece for my office when you are done with school for the year.”

Will’s jaw dropped, and Steve couldn’t help the little giggle he let out.

His mother had only told him about that plan the day before, and he wholeheartedly agreed with it.

“Like, for money?”

“Of course. We’ll discuss it more when we get past this little bump in the road, okay?”

Will nodded, his mouth still open in shock.

“Attention everyone, please take your seats so we may begin,” a loud, deep voice echoed through the room.

Everyone followed instructions quickly, silent agreement that this needed to be over with as soon as possible.

Steve was nervous. He’d done okay up until this point, relying on his mom to explain technical things to him and Eddie to help him stay grounded and relaxed as much as possible.

But neither of them could do that now. Now, it was up to everyone at the front of the room to make a decision, a decision they probably already made, that would determine if Steve left here with a job or without one.

“As all of you know, I am the lead official investigator for this case, Mr. Hammond. We have spent many days conducting individual interviews with all parties present, as well as group interviews and other individual interviews with students and teachers at the school. We are here today to allow both sides to state anything they may have left out during interviews before we make our final recommendation on Mr. Harrington’s employment.” He cleared his throat before turning to look at Joyce and Will. “We will begin with you both. You are not required to add anything, but if you feel there is anything else you’d like to say, now is your chance.”

Will stood up immediately.

“I’d like to say something, please.”

The group in front nodded.

“Mr. H has been the best thing about school for me. He’s helped me really feel comfortable with myself, and helped me make new friends, and helped me understand that my art can be special to me and can provide a future for me if I try hard enough. No other counselor or teacher has ever been there like he has. My grades have suffered since he was sent home,” he sighed. Steve didn’t know that, and he felt anger rise up as he thought of the counselor in his place turning Will away while he struggled. “I haven’t been able to focus on my portfolio. I get encouragement from my mom, but she works hard and sometimes it’s just nice for someone who isn’t related to me to offer their support. Mr. H was that support for me, and no matter what decision you make today, I know he will do his best to still give it to me in whatever way he can.”

“Thank you, Will.” A woman next to Mr. Hammond gave him a smile. “Anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

Will sat down and Joyce hugged him, whispering something into his ear that no one could hear.

“Mr. Harrington, now is your chance to speak. You may say anything you wish to discuss your actions.”

Steve looked at Anne, who nodded at him encouragingly. They’d agreed the day before that she would only step in if things got ugly, and it seemed calm enough that he could speak on his own.

“Thank you,” he said as he stood. “I believe I spoke a lot during my interviews about how much my students, not just Will, mean to me. I got into this profession because I want to be a support for kids who may not always have it. That isn’t to say Ms. Byers doesn’t support him, but she’s a hardworking single mom, and it does take a village to raise a child, as we all know. When I first met Will, he barely spoke to anyone, he was barely passing his classes, and he was on his way to being a statistic that doesn’t look good for the community, the school, or himself. After a few sessions, he started opening up a bit more to me, and I saw a major improvement in his grades. He started making friends, he started becoming more involved in school activities like art club, and even got encouraged to apply for an elite art program. As you all are aware, his mother barely makes enough money to pay the necessary bills, and an art program like the one Will deserves to be a part of requires a lot of funding just to apply. He came to me as a trusted person to ask for help, which is something we encourage all students to do without fear of punishment. Instead of that happening, he was punished. I was punished as well, and trust me, it’s been difficult, but this entire time, I’ve been worried more about the impact this will have on Will.”

Steve looked over at Will, who was wiping tears from his face.

“My boyfriend Eddie was the one offering financial assistance. If you remember, he knew the Byers before we were even together. He knows what Will is capable of and didn’t want him to lose out on a big opportunity for his future because of a couple hundred dollars. I supported them because Will deserves it. If our job is to care for these kids, and make sure they have bright futures, then that’s what we did. Punishing any of us for it seems like the opposite of what our mission is. It’s been a privilege to be able to provide Will, and many other students, a safe place to be themselves, and I hope to continue to do that in this school.”

Steve sat down before anyone responded, his mom squeezing his shoulder and Eddie taking his hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Harrington. If you would give us all a few minutes to deliberate in the other room, we will be back shortly,” Mr. Hammond said seriously.

As they filed out, Steve’s nerves grew exponentially.

His legs were bouncing up and down until Eddie’s hands were on his knees, putting pressure on them to keep them still.

“Look at me, Stevie. That’s it, good boy,” Eddie whispered to him. Anne was busy speaking with Joyce and Will, so they were practically alone. “You did amazing. They’d be idiots not to reinstate you. If you’re not back in your office tomorrow, I’ll move us to another school district so you can find a new job. Will can come, too.”

Steve let out a small giggle at the thought of moving their entire lives just so he could have another chance to be a counselor somewhere.

“Everyone here knows you did the right thing. That’s what matters most. We’re all proud of you.”

Steve nodded.

He looked behind him at Robin and Chrissy, who both waved when he looked back, their hands still clasped between them.

He sat silently for a few minutes, looking down at his lap, trying to believe Eddie’s words, but not get his hopes up too much in case things went badly.

The door opened.

The group walked in.

No one’s face gave anything away.

Steve’s nerves grew, but Eddie’s hand in his kept him here.

“Thank you for your patience,” Mr. Hammond stated. “At this time, will Mr. Harrington please stand?”

Steve stood, his legs wobbling slightly as he let go of Eddie’s hand.

He felt every eye on him.

“Mr. Harrington, you understand that this has all been following a very strict policy in regards to confidentiality and personal relationships with students?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You understand it was our responsibility to fully investigate all claims made to ensure the safety of the student in question?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You understand that reinstatement of your position will still show this investigation on your record?”

Steve heard Will cheering before he truly registered what was being said.

“I’m sorry?”

Mr. Hammond smirked. The rest of the group was smiling at him.

“You’ve been reinstated as of today. You may resume your position as guidance counselor as early as tomorrow. Please keep in mind any future claims will require an immediate suspension of duties. Please stay here while the paperwork is drawn up for signatures. Thank you all for your cooperation.” Mr. Hammond turned to Will. “And good luck to you, Will. Your art is quite spectacular and deserves a place in that art program.”

“Thank you!” Will said, maybe a bit too loudly for the location and occasion, but it just made everyone let out laughs at his excitement.

Eddie was suddenly pulling him into his arms, kissing the top of his head and saying so many lovely things that Steve could barely hear.

“You’re incredible, oh my God, I’m so happy for you,” he whispered into his ear before Anne got in between them.

“Let me hug my son!” She said half-jokingly. Eddie let him go so he could be enveloped in his mom’s arms. “I’m so proud of you, honey. I knew you’d be fine.”

“Probably not without you,” Steve admitted.

“Maybe, maybe not. Important thing is you get to go back to work and make a difference for these kids, right?”

He nodded and then got wrapped up in Robin’s arms.

“You did it dingus! You get to be back with the rugrats!” She was bouncing up and down, making the hug a bit awkward, but Steve was used to her energy.

“Congrats, Steve. I’m so happy for you,” Chrissy added from behind her.

Steve felt loved.

So many people came to support him, to show him that no matter what decision was made, they were on his side. That he mattered.

But he didn’t really start crying until Will was hugging him again, thanking him over and over again for being the best and for not giving up and for caring so much.

He let Will sit next to him while he signed all the paperwork, his mom reviewing everything before he did so.

Will was telling him all about the piece he started working on in art club, and how he thought it was good enough for his portfolio, but kind of wanted to get his opinion first. Steve listened, unable to stop smiling at his excitement.

It was contagious, the excitement.

Everyone in the room seemed to feel it, all of them practically bouncing in place as they waited for Steve to finish.

When he did, Anne took everyone out to a celebratory brunch, bribed Joyce to keep Will out of school for the whole day with the promise of the best mimosas she’s ever had.

As Steve rode home after in the passenger seat of Eddie’s car, he looked down at his sun tattoo.

Somehow, despite every cloud in the way, he was still shining.

“You okay, sunshine?” Eddie was looking over at him out of the corner of his eye, a smile pretty much permanently plastered on his face since the decision was made.

“I’m perfect,” he replied.

He’d never been perfect before. He’d never thought perfect was attainable.

But perfect to him wasn’t the lack of problems or imperfections, it was knowing that even with them, he was happy.

He felt bright. He felt warm. And with Eddie next to him, he felt like the sun.

epilogue

TAG LIST: @invisibleflame812 @inmoonywetrust @captain-daryn @carlyv @lillemilly @spectrum-spectre @raisedbylibrarians @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @mightbeasleep @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @bornonthesavage @loguine-linguine @bejeweledbaby @bisexualdisastersworld @eddiemunsonswife @sadcanadianwinter @messrs-weasley @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch @maya-custodios-dionach @sleepyboosstuff @novelnovella @f1ct1onwh0re @croatoan-like-its-hot @shrimply-a-menace @crazyhatlady86 @izzy2210 @phirex22 @crypticcorvidinacottage @yourebuckingkiddingme @sydthekid2004 @lovelylilbadone @abydell921 @wildflower-faun @lydi-cyan @lololol-1234 @221b-fandom @carlajim98 @azure-and-gold @space-invading-pigeon @crying-trashcan @hellomynameismoo @mrsjellymunson @lichenettic-pos

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #will byers #joyce byers #call me sunshine send me to space #tattoo artist eddie munson #guidance counselor steve harrington #soft dom eddie munson #sub steve harrington #last real chapter #only an epilogue and bonus buckingham chapter left!!!!

180 notes · View notes