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iam93percentstardust · 3 years

Note

Prompt: tony can’t get enough of Steve’s strength and Steve loves it bc he’s still quite self conscious of his body? 💚

I realized halfway through writing this that you probably meant for a canon-compliant fic, but I was already so deep into the worldbuilding for this little science fiction fic (seriously, you don't even know how much unnecessary worldbuilding I did) so I kept with it

Also on ao3 here!

“Steve!” Tony hollers through the communicator. Steve glances up from the board game he’s playing with Natasha and Clint and over at where the communicator hangs from the ship’s wall. He still doesn’t really understand the technology behind the communicators even after a year of being awake, but they’re hung all over the Avenger’s Shieldand he won’t deny that they’re useful.

“I’m here,” he says at a normal volume, knowing that JARVIS will easily pick up what he’s saying and transmit it to Tony. Tony’s just being loud because he’s always loud and because he’s down in the engine room of the ship with all its noises from the conversion of stardust into energy.

“Great! I need your muscley goodness down here like yesterday.”

Steve hides a smile and stands, passing his pieces off to Clint, who’s losing worse than either Steve or Natasha. “Here, you can have mine. Not sure how long I’ll be down there.”

Clint’s eyes narrow and Steve tries not to fidget under the cybernetic enhancements. When he went into the ice nearly three hundred years ago, mankind didn’t even dream of space travel, at least not realistic space travel, and now they’ve got colonies on galaxies as far away from their own, it makes his head spin. Humans have peace treaties with over two thousand alien civilizations. And mechanical body enhancements, meant to augment humans for travel and work and sometimes sheer entertainment, are as common as breathing. But Steve, with his serum-induced enhancements, is somehow still the odd one out.

“You know,” Clint says, “you don’t have to help him out if you don’t want to. Tony means well but that doesn’t mean he can’t be abrasive sometimes.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve says truthfully. Everyone else on this ship seems to dance around his non-cybernetic enhancements—and around the fact that he’d been frozen in the ice caps, now stretching as far south as Florida, for three hundred years—but Tony never once seemed to care. He’s thrilled about Steve’s enhancements—no one else on the ship is quite as strong as Steve is, not since Thor joined the crew of the Milano—both because of what Steve can help him with and because of what the serum means for scientific advancement, though Steve hasn’t let Bruce or Yinsen take any of his blood yet.

He heads down into the belly of the ship, pausing once at one of the portholes to look out at the stars flashing by them. It still amazes him that humans have achieved all of this (and horrifies him that they achieved this but left their own planet behind).

Tony’s “lair” (as Clint calls it) is located at the very bottom of the ship. It’s here that Tony holds his court, making sure that the engines that run the ship are still intact and running smoothly, tinkering with other projects that the other crewmembers give to him, and designing improved systems for the Shield, whether that’s comms, mechanical, or even medical. Tony does it all. According to Natasha, Tony, who’s one of the few nonhumans on the ship, was once a member of high society on his home planet, Aur’a, but left it all behind to join the Shield and travel the galaxy.

Steve opens the door and is immediately met with a wave of heat. It’s always hot down here. Tony says it’s because of the celestial energy, that stars run so hot that even residue energy is still too hot for unenhanced humans to handle. Fortunately, neither Steve nor Tony are unenhanced, and Steve would be willing to bet that the reason it’s so hot in the engine room today is because Tony is working with raw stardust.

The copper pipes running the room are too close to avoid bumping into for someone as large as Steve, so he doesn’t even bother trying to avoid them, letting them brush against his skin as he follows the sound of Tony humming. When he’d first joined the crew, he’d been worried about Tony complaining that Steve couldn’t move around the engine room without knocking something over, but Tony has never once complained, only just made easygoing jokes about bulls in china shops and told him that the pipes are built to withstand forces a lot stronger than Steve. It had gone a long way toward helping him feel comfortable in the space and now he spends a lot of time down here, talking with Tony about the mechanics of the ship, even though a lot of it goes over his head.

He ducks underneath one of the pipes and rounds a corner to find Tony sitting on a bench, carefully chipping at a speck of stardust on the benchtop in front of him. Tony once told him that it only takes a miniscule amount of stardust to power the ship for an entire week, which is good because stardust is difficult to mine. Tony’s goggles are perched on top of his nose, giving him an owlish appearance. Steve finds it adorable, but he waits until Tony is done with the chisel before walking over to drop a kiss on top of his hair.

The rest of the crew doesn’t know that they’ve been seeing each other for a month. After their first kiss, Steve had asked if it would be okay to keep it quiet a little longer. Steve’s brain is still firmly convinced at times that they’re in the forties, so the idea that he can date a man and have it be as accepted as dating a woman is still a little foreign to him. Tony had been more than accommodating though, which is only one of the reasons Steve loves him so much.

“Oh!” Tony exclaims, clearly startled. “Didn’t realize you were already here.” He turns, pushing his goggles up to his hair. “Did you get even more muscley since the last time I saw you?”

“Tony, you saw me this morning,” Steve says amusedly.

“Right you are, Capsicle, but I still stand by what I said,” Tony shoots back with a cheeky wink. He runs his hands over Steve’s biceps, making a low purring sound under his breath. Steve just barely manages to hear it over the sound of the engines, and it makes him smile.

Sometimes, he still feels self-conscious about his size. Spending most of his life looking and feeling one way only to change in only seconds had been disorienting, and he hadn’t had much of a chance to get used to his size before he’d been thrown into the war and then frozen in the ice. Tony’s always good to talk to though when he needs someone to remind him that this is okay, that he isn’t taking up too much room just by existing. Somehow, he always manages to get to the heart of Steve’s insecurities and allay them.

He indulges in Tony’s warm touch for a little longer before asking, “So what did you need me for?”

Tony perks up, spinning on his heel and picking up the speck of stardust with his bare hand. “I need your help opening the converter door so I can toss this in. Something must have gotten damaged during the battle with the Hydra’s Scales, because it’s not opening for me.”

“Huh,” Steve says, following Tony through the warren of copper pipes toward the energy converter. He has no idea how Tony knows where he’s going without a map. Steve still sometimes needs a map and he’s lived on this ship for a year. “That’s not something you can fix?”

“Not with what I’ve got on ship. I’ll ask Fury if we can stop in Knowhere later this week. They’ve probably got what I need.”

“Wow, Tony Stark admitting he can’t jury-rig a solution from his lab. Hell must have frozen over,” Steve comments, grinning when Tony turns to scowl at him.

“You shut your mouth,” Tony growls.

“Or what?”

Tony’s eyes turn dark and heated. He slinks closer to Steve, runs his fingers up Steve’s chest, and purrs, “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

Steve’s brain shuts down. “Uh…”

“But not right now,” Tony says abruptly, tweaking Steve’s nipple through his shirt. He spins back around and marches off, leaving Steve floundering in his wake. He gapes after him for a second before hurrying to catch up.

“You,” he says, carefully bumping Tony’s shoulder with his—he doesn’t want Tony to drop the stardust after all—“are a menace.”

“That’s me: mechanic and professional menace,” Tony says cheerfully.

They stop beside the energy converter. Steve can immediately see what Tony means by there being something wrong with it. The converter is made out of some sort of transparent material—Steve doesn’t know what—so he can see right in to where something is twisted in the converter itself, partially fusing the door shut. Even Tony, with all his abilities as an Aurum, can’t reach into an active energy converter without burning his hand to ashes, and the converter has to stay active or they’ll be dead in space, so they’ll have to stop somewhere where he can make the necessary repairs.

“See?” Tony says. “I need someone who can muscle that open for me.”

“Well, I’ve definitely got muscles.”

“Mmm, yes you do,” Tony murmurs. Steve wonders if Tony’s thinking about the same thing he is: that time he pinned Tony to the walls of their shared bunk and—well, now’s not the time to be thinking about that.

He grabs onto the wheel and wrenches it to the left. Tony sure hadn’t been kidding; the wheel doesn’t budge at all. He applies more of his strength, muscles bulging. Under the squeal of metal, he hears Tony’s breath catch, and he grins saucily at him. Tony sticks his tongue out and gestures at the wheel again.

“Come on, Captain Crunch. Put your back into it.”

Steve, having no idea what Captain Crunch is supposed to be a reference to, makes a mental note to ask Tony about it once they’re done here. For now, though, he uses all of his strength and slowly—so slowly—the wheel turns, protesting the entire way. Eventually, he gets it open, letting another blast of heat into the engine room. Tony tosses the stardust in. It flares in the heat of the converter, setting off beautiful gold and purple sparks. Steve closes the door. It closes a lot easier than it opened. Tony hums thoughtfully at it.

“Well, that narrows things down,” he says, once the door is fully closed.

“What, that it was easier to close than it was to open?”

“Mmhmm. Only a few things that could be. Probably need to tell the One-Eyed Pirate though that we have to stop on Xandar instead of Knowhere. I don’t think Fujikawa will have what I need. Steve, don’t let me forget to tell Fury the course change.”

“Got it.”

“And thanks, by the way. Definitely couldn’t have done it without you.”

Steve glows at the praise. Maybe it’s silly, but it’s nice to be reminded that even in this oversized, clumsy body out of time, he’s still able to do some good. “Happy to help,” he says honestly.

They head back to Tony’s little work area, Tony eagerly chattering on about the project he’s working on for Natasha. Steve listens, fingers itching for the drawing tablet he’d left in the galley with Natasha and Clint. Tony is lovely when he’s animatedly talking about his inventions. Steve has half a dozen folders saved on his tablet, filled with nothing but different poses of Tony.

Tony leans up against the workbench and pulls Steve in, looping his hands around his neck. “Now, where were we earlier?” he hums, eyes dark.

“Careful,” Steve warns, bracing himself with hands on either side of Tony’s body. “I might crush you.”

“You might,” Tony agrees, though he doesn’t sound concerned at all. “And I might like that. All that coiled strength pinning me down? Oh, honey, yes.” He shivers, a small delighted smile curling his lips up.

“You just like me for my body,” Steve accuses. It isn’t the truth and he knows that. Tony loves him for many reasons; Steve’s strength is only one of them. But it’s fun to tease his lover and Tony is always happy when he does. He frequently worries that Steve is too serious.

“Yes, darling, that’s exactly it.” Tony kisses him lightly. Steve lets himself lean into Tony’s body a little more, grinning when Tony shudders against him.

He pulls away, tucking his head against the curve of Tony’s neck. “Thank you,” he breathes. He doesn’t know how Tony always knows when Steve is feeling self-conscious about his body, but he somehow does and he always comes up with something that’ll help.

Tony strokes his hair. “Anytime, darling. Anytime.”

#alle writes #alle answers #stevetony #if you like please reblog

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orionwhispers · 4 years

Text

Perfect Places // Steve Harrington

(A/N - yep. this isnt peaky, i know. im taking a little breather so i dont completely burn out writing tommy, but trust me i have 3 wips for him coming soon!! i dont know if any of you guys will like this bc its stranger things and thats ok!! i just had a blast writing it and i love steve and it really challenged me. pls let me know if u like it!! stay safe my loves xxx)

warnings - angst but also so much fluff your teeth will rot

You felt like the moon was mocking you.

It loomed overhead, round and full and beautiful, the colour of purity and innocence, a beacon of light contrasting against the ink coloured sky. Your face was red hot, streaked with tears that dripped down your nose and collarbone and into your shirt, staining you with sadness that you could feel clawing under your skin.

You were sat on the Byers’ front porch, the sneakers you had once kept so pristinely clean were now caked in mud, your socks soaked through. You felt numb, you ached for something; a familiar lash of anger or heartache, anything to make you feel human again, but you just felt numb.

You could hear clattering from inside the house, low murmurs of voices and whispers tangling together, but you blocked them out like it was just white noise. The steady hum of those you loved and trusted brought some comfort, but that was instantly replaced by longing for the one person who deserved to be there, the person who deserved to still be alive.

You had been ecstatically high on adrenaline, you were terrified but vivacious as you helped bundle your boyfriend and the kids into Hoppers’ car as he raced past the Laboratory’s gates. You remembered the feeling of Steve’s hands around your waist as he pushed you into the back, flustered and protective, determined to get you away from any danger.

You should have said something.

You knew something was wrong, but you kept quiet. The air in the car was thick and dense like smoke, and Hopper was covered in crimson coloured splotches, you noticed the way he didn’t look at you, instead keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead. You should have said something, should have asked where your Uncle was, should have demanded an answer, but instead you pushed those thoughts away and watched the road through the windshield until your vision went blurry, Steve’s thumb soothingly rubbing over the top of your hand.

You knew he felt it too.

It was only when you reached the driveway of the Byers bungalow, feet moving on autopilot, tearing through the front door and seeing Joyce waiting for you, tears running down her face as she pulled you into her chest, did you realise the immensity of the situation. You let out a wail that could rival a demogorgon, sinking down into the coarse fabric of her hospital gown, her hands clambering across your frame, desperate to offer any comfort she could.

Steve was beside you in an instant, gripping your elbows to stop you falling onto your knees and onto the shag carpet, cradling you into him like a child. He felt so helpless, not knowing how to ease your pain, words getting stuck in his throat like cotton balls as he watched the girl he loved shatter into pieces. One look at his familiar face contorted in torment and it set you off again, coughing and spluttering like you were drowning in your tears. You pushed the consolatory hands off of you harder than you had intended, feeling suffocated and in desperate need of some form of relief. You were no good to anybody like this, you needed to wallow in your grief alone, Joyce had bigger problems and you refused to drag her down under with you.

You stumbled towards the front door, murmuring “I need some air.” You sank into the darkness like it was an old friend, wrapping your arms around yourself as your head throbbed and pulsed. You let the cold air hit your bare skin and fell to the ground, knees to your chest and silent screams leaving your throat.

Steve ran forward to be by your side, but Hopper pulled him back by the hood of his jacket, a large hand consoling your distraught boyfriend, “Let her go kid, give her a minute.”

He gave you five.

Watching the hands tick away meticulously on the clock above the fridge, he flexed his fingers and allowed the slow and steady noises to keep him grounded. He loathed the idea that you were outside alone, beautiful face covered in tears, heartbroken and shattered. Not only that but the knowledge that those things could be looming in the woods waiting to sink their teeth into you was driving him mad with paranoia. The only thing stopping him from pulling you inside where he could safely watch you was the unwavering concern that not letting you grieve would do more harm than good, so he settled for watching you through the window, hands clamped around his trusty bat - just in case.

————————————————————

You were sure you had run out of tears. Exhausted and dehydrated, you buried your head in the palm of your hands, desperate to stop the mind numbing pain at the back of your skull. The trees rustled gently, olive coloured leaves glinting under the stars. You wondered what could be lurking inside of the forest, but you were too drained to care.

You heard the door creak behind you, but relaxed at the familiar weight of Cortez’s against the soft wood.

“Hey.” His voice was soft, almost timid. Sounding so foreign coming from his mouth, so cautious and kind that it almost made you start crying all over again. He paused momentarily, before inhaling and sitting down beside you, his long legs awkwardly bent, his back starting to ache, but he couldn’t care less. You both sat in a comfortable silence for a minute, unsure how to break down the barrier that was forming between you. Your hazy eyes lingered on the T-shirt’s and sweaters dangling from the Boyce’s washing line, sleeves swaying with the movement of the wind, almost as if there was an invisible person dancing inside.

Steve was the first to break the silence. He usually was, his quick wit and smooth demeanour had been one of the reasons you had fallen for him in the first place, the only person you had ever met that could make you melt into a puddle and then cry with laughter with just a few sentences.

“How you holding up?” He faltered, picking angrily at a loose thread hanging from his denim jeans. “That was a stupid question, I’m sorry.”

You didn’t trust yourself to form words just yet, but you tilted your head as much as you could muster, communicating with your boyfriend in that nauseating way that only the both of you understood, except this time it felt sour instead of sickeningly sweet.

You crunched a stray leaf under your shoe, mulling over the sound as it tore under your heel. “It doesn’t feel real.” You muttered finally, biting your lower lip with your front teeth, letting the pain stop your tears. “I keep expecting to see his face, his stupid goofy grin.” You smiled gently, “I keep waiting for him to turn up and say it’s all a prank, but I know he won’t, he’s too kind for that.”

“He was the nicest person I’ve ever met.” Steve said truthfully, “He was a good guy.”

Was. Three words that swam around your head and tangled your stomach into knots and you choked on the thickness in your throat. The strangled groan was so heartbreaking that Steve wanted to tear apart the things that did this to you with his bare hands, but instead he pulled you closer with them, clasping you against his chest.

He let you cry, he let you ruin his t-shirt and cover him in your mascara and wet, hot tears. He would let you bawl into everything he owned, even his prized The Clash shirt or limited edition Charlies Angels sweater that was buried in the back of his wardrobe - he would give it all to you, to stain and rip and ruin, if it meant you had at least one moment of solace.

Under the beautiful navy sky littered with stars, Steve sighed, wishing he knew what to say. He wished that he was as articulate as Nancy, or as strong as Hopper, he’d even take being as soft spoken as Jonathon, if he knew it would make you feel better. But you hadn’t fallen in love with any of them, you had fallen in love with him and he was going to do everything in his power to try and make his girl hurt a little less. So he tried to distract you.

“Do you remember our first date?” He said, breaking the silence, his eyes focusing on the branches of a tree swaying in the distance.

He heard you sniffle, felt the rise of your head under the palm of his hands. If you were surprised by his question you didn’t show it. “How could I forget?”

He smiled, thinking back to the day, over two years ago. If he thought hard enough he could almost relive the gut twisting anxiety and the sweat pooling on the nape of his neck as he pulled up to your house. The two of you had been friends forever, bound since the day you both shared peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the playhouse in kindergarten. But you both started naturally drifting apart around the end of middle school, settling onto different paths as you grew up, only really seeing each other in the hallways or at the back of the school bus.

By the time you both entered high school, Steve was completely swept up with basketball and his newfound popularity, and you were settling into your own friendships and trying to stay on top of your grades. You rarely saw one another, but by chance the two of you were paired as lab partners one semester in sophomore year, and soon science became his favourite subject. Seeing you became the highlight of his day, better than scoring a goal in basketball or cutting class with Tommy and Carol. It was as if no time had passed between the two of you, the conversation so easy and genuine, and he made it a personal challenge to have you in stitches by the time the bell rang.

He fell hard, and fast. He had always thought you were beautiful, even when you were just kids and you wore your hair in two braids and seemed to always be covered in glitter. There was just something about you, an ease and a lightness that you carried, something about your smile and sound of your laugh that had him stumbling over his sentences like an idiot. He liked hearing about all of the things he had missed, like how you got grounded for sneaking out of your room to go and watch the new Star Wars, or how you crashed your dads car into a tree the very first hour after you got your license.

It wasn’t long before he realised that his day didn’t feel complete unless he had spoken to you. He started noticing how every game he searched for your face in the bleachers, the only person he really cared about seeing. His eyes would flicker over faces at parties, determined to find your sparkling eyes and kind smile, finding the hit of seeing you more electric than the cheap beer and fizzled out joints being passed around him.

He was nervous. He didn’t get nervous - he was Steve Harrington for Christ’s sake, but somehow you had managed to turn his whole world on its axis. He tried to live his life with as little regrets as possible; but in the quiet of his bedroom, with the moonlight casting shadows across his walls, he couldn’t help but feel furious with himself. If he could go back in time and do everything all over again, he would make sure to hold onto you as tight as possible and stop the two of you drifting apart.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew you were a knockout. The kind of girl that would bring even the strongest of men to their knees, the kind of girl that lingered in his brain long after he had fallen asleep. He also knew that he wasn’t the only one who had been completely captivated by you. He had seen the way Mike Adams cornered you after the school assembly, laughing at something you said as you sat with a group of friends, an enamoured look in his eye. He saw the way Jacob Taylor tried his hardest to get as close to you as possible at a house party, dazed by the way you twirled your hair obliviously and smiled like white, hot sunshine.

He knew what they were going through, smitten and stupid and dopey and practically a puddle at your feet, because he felt exactly the same way.

He was going to ask you out to dinner and then the movies. He had an elaborate speech planned in his mind, one that he had practiced in the mirror repeatedly - not that he would ever admit it. He was nervous. So goddamn nervous of screwing up the one thing that he really fucking liked, of potentially ruining your friendship and making himself look like an ass for misreading the signals and making you uncomfortable that he almost talked himself out of it as he walked into the physics lab one rainy afternoon.

But when he saw you there, looking up at him. As sweet as cinnamon in your oversized lab coat and stupid goggles, lips slightly chewed and fingertips stained with charcoal, and he couldn’t stop himself from blurting:

“Doyouwanttogooutwithme?”

For a moment he wished he took photography class, so he could snap a picture of the blush on your cheeks, have a physical copy of your wide smile and the glint in your eyes; something to look at when he was trying to fall asleep.

“About time, Harrington.” You had said, and it had knocked all of the wind from him, and he had walked around with a big goofy grin for the entire rest of the day.

————-————————————————

“I remember being so goddamn nervous. I thought I was going to throw up.” He said now, his voice laced with humour, somehow always knowing how to diffuse any situation.

You curled up further into him, craving his stability and warmth, and you relaxed as you felt his palm rubbing comforting circles across your back.

He looked into the darkness, remembering the anxiety filling him as he waited for you on the street by your house. He remembered peering into the rear view mirror, fluffing the edges of his hair with his fingertips, twisting and pulling the strands until they sat where he wanted. He could feel his leg shaking, foot hovering above the gas as he struggled to keep his composure. He hadn’t even been this nervous when college scouts came to a game, and he seriously needed to stay cool before you opened the door and saw him.

“You brought me flowers.” You said quietly, and he looked down at you with a gentle smile, his heart clenching at the sadness in your voice.

He remembers standing in the grocery store, cursing and muttering under his breath, wondering what was more romantic: tulips or sunflowers.

He bought both.

He can remember holding them in his shaking hands as carefully as he could as he walked up the stone path to your house.

“I had to talk myself into ringing the doorbell.” He felt you scoff under him and he laughed,

“Seriously! I was terrified, more scared than I was tonight.”

Its a lie. Running through the junkyard and fighting off strange monsters had been exhilarating, but also the most terrifying experience of his life; especially when he knew that the kids and you were just metres away, hidden in the old bus. He really thought he was about to die when the demodog reared and snarled in his face, teeth gnashing at his throat, but in those moments all he could think about was protecting you.

It’s strange, he had never been so terrified to lose someone.

“And then Bob opened the door.” Your voice was heavy and thick, like you were swallowing honey and it snapped him out of his thoughts, reminding him of the reason you were both huddled outside.

Your parents worked ninety percent of the time, only really coming home to crawl into bed and then driving back to work six hours later. You were used to it though, falling into a somewhat stable routine of eating TV dinners and doing your homework to the sounds of Jeopardy! playing in the background. Despite the lonely nights and your parents distance, there was always one person who tried their absolute best to make you feel safe and secure. Your uncle, Bob Newby.

The goofy, gold hearted manager at RadioShack was always there for you, especially whenever your parents weren’t. He always made sure your refrigerator had something green inside, and would come over after work to sit and watch cheesy rom coms with you. He even installed new locks and security lights in the yard and on the porch, just to make you both feel better, even though it was Hawkins - and nothing ever happens there.

He was basically a surrogate dad and your best friend, and you weren’t even embarrassed to admit it. Some of the happiest nights of your life had been with him, like when you went to the midnight viewing of The Godfather and shared toffee popcorn and cherry twizzlers, or when he drove you to Lake Michigan for your birthday and you ate sandwiches next to the water.

So when he found out the captain of the basketball team had asked you out on a date, he was a little apprehensive.

“He really grilled me.” Steve muttered with a sad smile, it hurt him that one of the most poignant moments of his life was now to be covered in a thick, black cloud, and he could only imagine what you’re going through. “I thought he was going to pull out a shotgun.”

“Psh. It would have been a lightsaber.”

You remembered shovelling in cereal at the breakfast bar the morning of your date. Bob watching you over his steaming mug of coffee curiously.

“So… Any plans for today?”

You rolled your eyes and smiled fondly at your uncle. “Steve is taking me out. This is only like the billionth time I’ve told you.”

He nodded, “Right, Right. Steve. Steve.” He tested the name on his tongue. “And Steve is - the captain of the basketball team right?”

“Yep.” You said, through a mouthful of sugar. “Oh, and he’s the leader of this really tough biker gang, to get in you have to murder three kittens.”

You watched his eyebrows shoot to his hairline, and then slowly fall back to their original spot when he caught on to your teasing. He held up his hands in playful surrender, taking a swig of his drink and then placing his mug on the granite counter.

“I know I’m being a fusspot! But I’m just looking out for you.”

“I know, Bob! But I’ll be fine! We’re just going to catch a movie and then dinner.”

“Ok.” He sighed, turning to wash up the dishes left from the previous nights pig out fest, but his hands stilled before he could twist the faucet. “Wait! Nothing R rated - or too romantic, and tell him to knock it off if he tries that whole ‘I’m so tired, let me put my arm around you schtick!’”

“I’m ignoring you now!”

You remembered getting ready, picturing the soft blush hue of your summer dress, and the taste of your strawberry gloss on your lips. You remembered the heat of your curling iron as you meticulously styled your hair, checking your reflection as a way to distract from the minutes ticking by.

You knew the familiar feeling of sweaty palms and butterflies before a date, but that morning it was as if somebody had realised a kaleidoscope of monarchs and swallowtails inside of you. You were completely nauseous, but so excited, and you felt like you were floating on cloud nine, unable to believe that Steve Harrington - the boy you had been crushing on since first grade - wanted to take you out.

You were nervously touching up your makeup, widening your eyes and applying yet another coat of mascara, when you heard commotion downstairs - and the telltale sound of your date getting completely grilled. You practically flew to your feet, haphazardly tying your converse and grabbing your purse, hoping to save Steve from the clutches of your overprotective Uncle. You nearly slid down the carpet when you noticed the door was ajar, smiling widely at the sight of Steve clutching two bouquets, his hair perfectly coiffed and his sneakers white and gleaming.

“- No I’ve never been in an accident, Sir.” You heard Steve say, his voice carrying through the hallway.

“Hmm?” You heard Bob reply, “And what about alcohol? Do you drink it?

“Only eggnog at Christmas.” Steve replied with a grin, his lips falling down when Bob sent him a glare. “Ok, not in the mood for jokes.”

“Are you under the influence now?”

“What? No! Why would I… Wow.” He faltered when he noticed you at the top of the stairs, and for the first time his mind went totally blank, his brain short circuiting at the sight of you. He felt his mouth go dry and he struggled to say something, not wanting to look like any more of an idiot than he already was, but Bob got there first.

“You look great, sweetheart.” He said, voice brimming with pride.

You blushed a deep crimson, feeling awkward under both of their stares. “Thanks, Bob.”

As soon as you reached the floor you blinked up at the men watching you, raising a brow slowly when Steve didn’t move. “So are you ready?”

“Yep. Yes. Yep.” He said quickly, rummaging around his pockets for his keys, and then realising they were in his hands the whole time. “Lets go.”

“Be home before eleven!” You heard Bob yell, his words just carrying into the night before you managed to slam the front door shut.

After the initial awkward meeting at your door, and Bob shooting unconvincing daggers at Steve as he guided you towards his car, the rest of the date went smoothly. You had been out with boys before; middle school crushes that took you to the ice cream parlour in town, and letting your best friend rope you in for a double date with a boy you had never met - but nothing like this.

As the car lulled through the streets, any unease forming quickly uncoiled between the two of you, and it wasn’t long until you were both in stitches. It felt so natural and easy, and you found yourself wanting to know everything about the hazel haired man sitting next to you.

You ate at a diner just outside of town, because according to Steve: “they have the best strawberry milkshakes - ever. I swear they’re like crack.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Harrington.” You had said, shooting him a million dollar smile over your shoulder. He was glad that you walked in first, because it felt as though a bullet had soared through his gut.

——————————————————————-

“I remember the milkshakes.” You said. Steve looked down at you, curled up on his lap. He nodded at your words, thinking of summer days and winter nights snuggled up in your booth at the diner. You must have shared hundreds by now, drinking such an obscene amount of the sweet treat it was a surprise neither of you looked like a strawberry. You had ruined the fruit for him. He couldn’t take a bite from a strawberry without remembering the taste of your lips or the sound of your laugh, it was conditioned into him like he was one of Pavlov’s dogs. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t love it, strawberries had become his favourite fruit.

“I told you those milkshakes were great.”

“Yeah, you did.”

He could feel you wobbling under him, could feel the heart wrenching tremor of your body starting to shake with tears and he swore internally, trying his best to distract you again.

“And then we watched Ghostbusters.”

You let out a half hearted laugh. “And you almost shit yourself when you saw Slimer.”

“He popped up outta nowhere!”

“And then you spilt popcorn everywhere.”

“Yeah, that old lady was pissed.” He clicked his tongue at the memory, crumbs and melted butter flying everywhere, the entire row in front covered in his mess and glaring at you both, you laughing so hard into your sleeve you thought you might just pass out.

“And then I drove you home - way before curfew I might add - because I’m a gentleman.”

“And then you kissed me.”

“I think you’ll find you kissed me.”

“Ha.You wish.”

It felt good to hear the bite back in your voice, and it warmed him like a zap of electricity that his plan of distraction was working.

Besides, it was partly true - you had kissed him first.

That night as he pulled into your driveway, his gut felt like a huge boulder inside of him. There was nothing more that he wanted then to lean over the console and kiss you, but he was too goddamn nervous.

The date had gone so brilliantly, and he could feel himself, tripping, stumbling and falling completely head over heels for you, but he was so uncharacteristically anxious that it was kind of freaking him out. He was getting all worked up about things he had never thought of before, like his teeth clashing against yours, or accidentally knocking your heads together and giving you a mild concussion.

He left his car running, because he didn’t want you to be cold, (and the constant vibrations were good at hiding the tremor in his legs). It was fully black outside, the night sky a long stretch of navy and the stars were pretty but not nearly as pretty as the girl smiling at him in the passenger seat. Just as your eyes connected and he thought he was going to finally kiss you, the porch light turned on, a nice little reminder from Uncle Bob that he was still watching. You laughed exasperatedly and reached over, filling the distance between you as you tried to grab the strap of your handbag and Steve leant over to give you a hand with the sticky door, but instead your lips caught his and he froze in place, his eyes closed and his heart feeling like a jackhammer in his chest, all of his worries evaporating behind him like ocean spray, because suddenly everything felt right.

“Night, Harrington.” You had said smugly, leaving him in his car that suddenly smelt like cotton candy and coconut shampoo, and with an entire carnivals worth of fireworks erupting from his stomach.

————————————————————

“When I got inside he pretended he had just woken up.” You said now, your words coated with tears but laced with tenderness. “Tried to act like he wasn’t staring through the window watching us kiss.”

Steve tangled his fingers through your hair, anchoring the two of you together, hoping that the small action would give you at least some comfort. He mulled over all of the memories the two of you shared, picturing them shattered at his feet like shards of shimmering glass. He wasn’t sure how to comfort you and it hurt, the silence settling around you like thick, poisonous gas.

“What about our first anniversary? The first time we committed a felony.”

“It wasn’t a felony.”

“Yeah and I’m sure it wasn’t the first time either, you little criminal.”

He remembered when you went out to a much too fancy restaurant in the city. How angelic and beautiful you looked in a little sundress and heels, stealing the breath right out of his lungs whenever he looked at you. How even when he was out of his comfort zone you felt like home, always making him feel stable no matter where he was. He remembered those glances you stole at one another, tongue in cheek laughter and suppressed smiles at the strange place you were both in, the two of you sticking out amongst the older, richer and snootier couples like a sore thumb.

He remembered the glint in your eye and the look on your face, the one that had him completely wrapped around your little finger - (but really, you could look at him anyway and he was a complete goner). It was how you both stood up at the same time, grabbing your handbag and wallet and rushing through the sea of people, laughing loudly as he slipped his hand in yours and pulled you with him, dodging the doorman who was cursing loudly at the kids who had just dined and dashed, even though neither of you had had more than a mouthful of your overpriced starter.

“You are such a bad influence, (Y/L/N).” He had scolded, playfully pinching the inside of your thigh as you lay stretched out on a picnic blanket overlooking the forests on the edge of town. You swatted him away, and he felt his breath hitch at the sight of you, hair tousled and makeup slightly worn, so effortlessly beautiful beneath the headlights of his car.

“Oh, please Hargrove. You would be lost without me.”

He didn’t reply, because it was true.

Instead he leaned over your body, stealing a quick kiss and also a handful of fries from the drive thru bag next to you.

“Hey!” You whined, leaning up and swatting at him. “Those are mine!”

“Technically, technically,” He said, licking salt from his fingertips. “They were at the bottom of the bag, not in either of the cartons - so they were never really yours.”

You rolled your eyes, punching him softly in the gut and laughing as he collapsed on top of you. “You are such a dumbass.”

“Yeah, but I’m your dumbass.”

He ran his tongue over a canine, finding clarity in your eyes.“I can’t believe you’ve put up with me for a whole year.”

“Me neither, but the money your dad gives me to go out with you makes it worth it.”

His finger trailed along the bridge of your nose, his lips curling the same as the path his fingerprints followed. “Stupid.” It was a terrible comeback, but when you looked up up at him like that, all of his sentences spilt into a bowl of mismatched alphabet soup. He blinked down at you, feeling the way his heart hammered against his rib cage, engulfed in the terrifying feeling of being so in love with somebody. “Seriously though, this has - this has been the best year of my life.”

Your rosebud lips parted, showing him that dammed smile that would make him burn down the whole town if you asked him to. “Mine too.”

——————————————————————-

“Remember when I got a black eye because of you?” He murmured, glancing up at the stars that flickered above you both.

“Because of me?” You scoffed, halfheartedly. “Hardly.”

“Ok. Keep telling yourself that.”

There was once a time where he loved nothing more than spending Friday through Sunday completely wasted, waking up on somebodies couch, his mouth tasting like sour liquor and his clothes scattered across the floor - but not after he met you. He used to long for the high from downing tequila shots or jumping into the pool with hazy eyes, a burnt out joint being passed around friends, but soon he realised that nothing came close to the fever high he got from simply being around you.

He remembered sitting in the school parking lot on a Friday afternoon, listening to Tommy and Carol natter about how a group of seniors were going to break into the rec centre and get drunk, but there words were nothing but static as he looked for you among the familiar faces.

You had been officially dating for a few months, and much to Tommy’s dismay, it seemed as though neither of you had any intention of letting the other go. It stung the teenager when Steve started blowing him off to hang out with you, his usual alibi for wild parties leaving him high and dry. He was jealous of the way you managed to consume all of Steve’s attention, and the fact that since the two of you had gotten together, Steve was so much kinder to everyone, and didn’t want to join in with his juvenile antics. When you went to parties, he drank less and laughed more, and Tommy was left doing shots and keg stands alone.

More than anything though, Tommy was jealous that Steve had scored a girl like you, kind and soft and sweet, when he had trouble getting Carol to stay over longer than the time it took to drain a bottle of stolen wine. It made him feel envious and insecure, watching the way you kissed Steve in the hallways with rosebud lips and your eyes shone like diamonds under the gentle sun; when was a girl going to look at him like that?

“You coming tonight, Harrington?” He asked from the hood of Steve’s car, his legs dangling onto the asphalt.

“No.” Steve said, chewing on his fingernails. “Sorry man, I’m taking (Y/N) to the drive in.”

“Aww.” Carol preened, a solid supporter of your relationship. You hadn’t known her too well before you started seeing Steve and hadn’t expected to become so close to her, but now she was one of your best friends. Sure she could be a little vapid and a little rude, but she also made you laugh loudly and always helped you get ready for dates with Steve, and you really appreciated the way she let you into the inner circle. “That’s so sweet. You guys are too cute.”

Tommy ignored her. He could already feel himself boiling over.

“Cmon Harrington, it’s one night. It’s tradition.”

“No it isn’t.”

He exhaled loudly. “Well it should be.”

“I’m good, man. And besides, we’re still going to see the Bulls play on Saturday, right?”

“I guess.”

Silence settled around them like cigarette ash. Tommy, growing more irate by the second, toyed with the collar of his shirt and curled and uncurled his fingers. He wasn’t quite sure why he was pissed - as Steve’s best friend he should have been pleased with how love struck and happy he was, and it wasn’t as though he never saw Steve anymore, or that you had split up the group or anything - but he was still annoyed, and that’s why he said it.

“God, I hope she’s a better fuck than she looks. I mean, she must be if she’s got you this whipped.”

It took a moment for Steve to process what he had said, swallowing his friends words like they were barbed wire, his throat filling with blood.

“What the fuck did you say?”

“Just what everybody else is thinking.” It wasn’t what everybody thought, but Tommy thrived off of mob mentality, and the small crowd watching in the parking lot was enough to spike his adrenaline.

“Tommy.” Carol warned, her voice thick and heavy, eyeing him from over the roof of the car.

“What did you say about her?” Steve asked, his face turning crimson, the shade matching the colour coating his pupils.

Tommy didn’t hold back, his hands firmly grasping his shovel, ready to dig himself deeper. “Jesus. Look at you! Look what she’s turned you into. She’s a bitch, and so are you.” He gestured wildly with his hands, the severity of what he had said was slowly sinking in, but he was stupid enough to stand by it for the time being.

Steve was livid. His body rattling like he had been struck by lightning. He knew he wasn’t some fucking white knight who had to defend your honour, but there was no way in hell he was going to let some fucking prick about you like that.

“And…you know what? The both of you can - ”

“Fuck you.” Steve brought his fingers to a fist and clocked him right in the nose, a sickening thwack echoing around the school. Tommy recoiled backwards, almost falling through the windshield. He managed to regain his balance at the last second, and his face was contorted with both pain and disbelief.

“What the fuck man?” Tommy seethed, spitting out a wad of blood and lunging at Steve, managing to grab him by his collar and slam him onto the asphalt, their jeans ripping across the gravel.

The two of them rolled around, a deadly mix of closed knuckles and crisp white sneakers. A small crowd had gathered around the two of them, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and rich with stories to be shared around the party that night. They both managed to get a couple good hits in, Steve just managing to get the upper hand before the school janitor started calling in for backup.

You had just left World Civ, your textbooks still cradled in your arms and your best friend laughing in your ear as you made your way out of the school and towards the parking lot.

“Yeah, I swear! She…” Your best friends voice trailed off as she noticed a blur of movement in the distance, her ears picking up like a bloodhounds. “Oh my God. I wonder what’s going on.”

You looked up shrugging your shoulders, expecting to see some of the wrestling team or soccer players roughhousing like they usually did, but your blood turned cold when your eyes focused fully and you caught sight of that damn perfect hair.

“Holy shit. Steve!”

If only your phys ed teacher could have witnessed the speed you ran across the car park; dust picking up with your shoes as you bolted towards your boyfriend. You managed to break through the inner circle crowding around them, the teenagers egging on Tommy and Steve as they scrambled towards one another, the sound of elbows and knees and fingernails clashing all around you.

“Hey. Hey! That’s enough!”

Poor Mr Springer tried his best to separate the two of them, wrapping his arms around Tommy’s waist and trying to tear them apart as they continued scrapping like junkyard dogs.

Your mouth was agape as a couple of boys helped break the two of them up, your eyes widening at the scarlet red blood staining the ground and the deep purple bruises already starting to show. You managed to catch Steve’s line of sight, his eyes widening at the sight of you, his face starting to swell.

“Steve? What the fuck!”

“Oh! Hey, babe? How did your pop quiz go?” He asked, throwing you a dazzling smile as though everything was right in the world.

Despite everything, you bit back a laugh, kneeling down to wrap your hands around him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.” You said, cradling the now puffy side of his face, a quarter sized apricot indent growing under his eye.

He winked at you as he was pulled away and dragged to the principal. He knew he was in for a months worth of Saturday detentions, but he couldn’t care less. He avoided the death glare his former best friend was giving him, licking the blood pooling across his split lip.

If he had to chose between you or Tommy, or choose between nights in with you or nights out with the rest of the seniors - hell, if he had to choose between basketball and you, it would be you, every time.

Point blank, period.

———————————————————-

There was a chill in the air, swallowing the both of you whole. Steve could feel his jeans dampening, your tears cascading down your face and onto his denim. He could feel eyes on the back of neck, and knew without turning around that Dustin and the rest of the kids were watching from the kitchen window, waiting to jump out and rescue you both if something crawled out from the bushes.

He didn’t have much time left. Soon he would have to bring you back inside, away from the vulnerability of the night and into the embrace of those you had grown so close to. He thinks back with a grimace, to the fight you had over your new routine.

Bob and Joyce dating came as a shock to everyone involved, especially Steve. Not so much that Bob had found companionship with the pretty single mother, but more so that it meant you were spending more time at their house - with Jonathon.

He wasn’t jealous.

He wasn’t.

No matter how many times you rolled your eyes and teased him - he wasn’t jealous.

He just didn’t like the idea of you sat next to him at movie nights, laughing with him during family board games, eating breakfast in the chair beside him, driving to school together and singing along to the stupid obscure bands that Jonathon liked.

Ok maybe he was a little jealous. Sue him.

He’d spent the night at your place, under the guise of helping you with your calculus homework, even though you had a higher grade than him, and he watched with sleepy eyes as you rummaged around your desk in the morning.

“What?” He mumbled under the slowly rising sun, half of his face still buried in your pillow. “What? Where? Where are you going?”

You rifled through your handbag and examined the contents, glancing at him over your shoulder. “Bob’s taking everyone out for lunch - well it should have been breakfast but someone - ” you emphasised with a playful glare, “Is making me late.”

“Whose going?”

“Everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“You know. Me, Joyce, Jon and Will.”

Jon.

“You didn’t tell me Jonathon was going.” He’s not sure if it’s true. He remembers fragments of you telling him your plans for the weekend, but he also remembers your words shattering before they reached his brain, because of that little strappy top you were wearing and the blackberry colour of your lipstick.

“What?” You asked distractedly, untangling your headphones from your Walkman. “I did.”

“No.” He clicked his jaw, a sign of his annoyance. “You just said Bob was taking you out.”

“With everyone - everyone includes Jonathon.”

“Right.” He’s pissed. His anger isn’t directed at you, more so the floppy haired teenager you’ll be sharing pancakes with, even though it’s not exactly his fault either. “Since when did you guys become The Brady Brunch?”

You let out a dry laugh, oblivious to the fact your boyfriend was getting more agitated by the second.

Did you really have to wear that skirt? He thought. Why did it have to be the short little denim one covered in cherries that made you look so damn good?

“You know how much Joyce loves her kids, Bob just wants to make an effort.”

“Yeah but why do you have to go?”

You shrugged, applying a swipe of lipgloss and tightening your cardigan in an effort to hide the hickeys blossoming under your collarbones. “He invited me, said it’s a family thing.”

“It’s not as though you’re really family though is it?”

He regretted it the moment the syllables left his mouth, but he was too wound up to think before he spoke. He cringed at the way you lost his gaze in the mirror, really fucking hating himself when he saw the crimson blush rise from your throat and onto your cheeks, and the sheen coating your eyes.

“I should go.”

You didn’t hesitate, grabbing your belongings and darting down the stairs. Family had always been a sore subject for you, and he loathed himself for striking you in the one place that it really fucking hurt.

“Wait.. Baby I -” He chased after you, but you were too fast. He wished that you would stay and argue with him, he’d let you scream and yell and shout at him, because he deserved it and he wanted to let you know he was sorry for being a prick, but you were already out of the door.

“Just up when you leave.” Were the last things you said, disappearing into your car.

He apologised with your favourite chocolates and red roses and an attempt to make you dinner. You couldn’t stay upset with him and his sheepish grin even when half of your kitchen was covered in tomato sauce and your moms pan was coated in burnt pasta.

The boy could screw up, but he always knew how to make up for it.

He trusted you, and loved you, and apologised for - in your words, ‘being a class A jackass’ - and even put away his pride long enough to tell you that, Ok, fine, maybe he was a tiny bit jealous of Jonathon and the bond growing between you.

That night as you curled up on your living room floor amongst an abundance of pillows and crocheted throws, you reassured him that you were in love with him and only him, even when he drove you up the wall. He fell asleep a little easier that night, his girl happy and safe in his arms, your words calming the storm that was once brewing in his mind.

…And maybe Jonathon wasn’t that bad.

———————————————————-

The light of the moon was harsh, almost like the street lamps that flickered in the distance. Steve could feel you moving underneath him, and his palms were starting to dampen, the reality of the evening finally sinking in.

Bob was dead.

As though the same thought had passed through you, you spoke, your voice strained and quiet. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I know.”

Your voice cracked like thin ice. “He didn’t deserve to die. He didn’t… He.” You choked on your words, and Steve pulled you into him firmly, as if to stop you from falling apart.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

You sniffled, a sob tearing through your lungs and clawing through your throat, and you tried desperately to not think about your poor uncles lifeless body. “What am I going to do without him?”

You weren’t looking for an answer, but Steve gave you one.

“It’ll be me and you, it’ll be us. Forever.”

His future was uncertain. He was under a mountain of pressure from his teachers and coaches and guidance counsellors to get his head down and decide about college and scholarships and what he was going to do with his life.

He even took one of those quizzes that was supposed to help him figure his shit out, but when he sat there, pencil in hand and he read the words - where do you see yourself in five years? The only thing he could think of, was you.

He thought of you, so smart and pretty, your future just as undecided as his, but still by his side. He could see road trips and night drives and long distance calls, he could see morning laughter and monumental arguments and make ups, in the distance he could even see a house with a white picket fence and a big dog and a few kids who looked like a mixture of the both of you.

It seemed so simple. So much more simple than applying for college or an internship, because he knew that whatever he did, he wanted it with you.

And then this crazy fucking year happened, and things weren’t so simple anymore. Soon he was best friends with a bunch of pre teens and fighting off big scary fucking monsters and Billy Hargrove. Soon his small world of basketball and strawberry milkshakes and tongue kisses was filled with danger, and he needed to keep you safe.

“I miss him.”

“I know.” He says honestly. “I miss him too.”

He remembered the last conversation he had with Bob. It was before they found Hopper underground, and Bob was getting ready to leave and see Joyce and Will. You were in your room, finishing off the last of your homework, and Steve was heading downstairs to finish off the last of the pizza. He had just grabbed a Coke and a slice of pepperoni, when he saw Bob rummaging through the cupboard in the hall.

“Hey,” Steve said, waving the hand with the soda in it. “I heard about Will. Is he alright?”

Bob gave a kind nod. “Yeah.” He hesitated. “Well, actually, I’m not sure. I’m uh - I’m looking for my old board games for him to play with.”

Steve smiled, because that was exactly the thing Bob would do. “Well, give him my best.”

They exchanged pleasantries, and Steve spun his heel to rejoin you upstairs, taking a big bite of melted cheese as he walked, before Bob spoke aloud once again.

“There’s something strange going on in this town.”

Steve remembered the year before, standing in Jonathan’s living room, twinkling Christmas lights draped on the wall and a baseball bat in his hands. He remembered Barb and Will, and the body from the quarry.

“Yeah.”

Bob exhaled, moving so that he was standing face to face with the teenager. “You make sure nothing happens to her, alright? You know she’s - you know she’s my little girl.”

Steve straightened, his voice solid. “I would never let anything happen to her.”

“I know. You’re a good guy, Harrington.”

He doesn’t know if he agrees, but he knows that for you, he will be.

“Take care of her.”

“Always.”

And they had partied ways: Steve upstairs, where he pulled you into his arms and made you laugh as he planted wet kisses on your face. And Bob to the Byers house to find a map spanning the length of the walls, and then the hospital, and then ultimately, to his death.

———————————————————-

The dark felt much more menacing now, shadows moving like long fingernails and jagged claws around you. He knew that he had to get you inside. He knew that the others would be making plans and setting traps and he knew how much safer you would be there. His heart was shattered after the small sobs leaving your body, your chest deflating like a burst balloon. He also knew that the best people to comfort you would be inside, Joyce with her motherly love, Dustin with his sweet, silly nature, and even Jonathon who truly loved you like a sibling.

“Cmon, lets get you inside.”

He wrapped his hands around you and helped lift you up, steadying you as you swayed on shaky legs. He cradled you into him, feeling the warmth of your breath and tears against his throat, and he inhaled, preparing himself and readying himself, telling him to be strong, for you.

He wrapped a free hand around the door handle, waiting to twist. He took one final look at the menacing bushes and trees surrounding you both, listening for a rustle from the branches.

He doesn’t know what will happen next. But he does know, that whatever it is, you’ll face it, together.

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagines #steve harrington oneshot #stranger things oneshot #\#strangerthings #stranger things headcanon #steve harrington headcanon

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cafeinthemoon · 3 years

Text

Purple Dragon - Chapter 1

Title: Purple Dragon

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: none yet

Rating: teen and up

Word count: 2405

Chapter: 1/?

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 💛 | ▶️ | ▶️

Warnings: canon divergence, past trauma and other stuff in the next chapters, but the appropriate warnings will be included 👍

N. A.: God I'm so happy and nervous at the same time bc this is my first bnha fic! 🥺 Just binge watched 3 seasons in less than a week and now I'm reluctant to finish season 4 and face bnha hangover so I'm probably don't know exactly what I'm doing here, but here we go! Yay!

Chapter 1 - American Girl

The morning outside the U.A.’s building was so quiet that Midoriya Izuku would never believe that all the disturbance he heard once he walked into it was possible. A confusion of whispered words, exclamations of surprise and excitement and muffled laughs came from his classroom, at some point of the corridor through which he was walking now, and seemed to meet him as a morning greeting.

Well, soon he noticed that some of his friends were actually coming to greet him besides the noise, their faces showing the exact expression he would expect from what he heard. Uraraka Ochacho reached him first, her big eyes shinning as if she was proud of herself for being the first one to speak to the newcomer.

- Good morning, Deku-kun! – she showed the boy her best smile – I think you’re going to regret not coming earlier today!

Midoriya was not regretting anything at the moment. In fact, meeting Uraraka before anyone else at school was not something about which he would complain: the warmth that always came up to his cheeks when he put his eyes on her was both embarrassing and comforting, if such thing was possible. The only problem was that he used to struggle to pay attention to anything around him or to control his actions every time this happened, and that was his precise situation at that time.

- G-good morning, Uraraka-san – he heard his own voice as if it belonged to someone else, the words coming out by themselves – What are you talking about?

The girl took a breath and was about to spread the news, but another voice was heard behind her.

- Oh, Midoriya! Good morning! I suppose you already know by now... we are going to meet a new classmate today!

Iida Tenya, with his composed manners, joined them with that discreet smile he believed to be appropriate for a class representative to express how excited he was with the arrival of another student at the heroes’ course, but both Midoriya and Uraraka knew that more than any of their friends he was urging to meet the new aspiring hero.

Uraraka’s face was now red and her lips were closed so tight that she could suffocate. Maybe she was irritated by Iida’s interruption or something, but whatever the case that was how he saw things, and he started to apologize in his well known way.

- I am so sorry for my rude behavior, Uraraka-san! – he bent down at her, his arms glued to the sides of his body, his head almost touching the floor – Please, tell Midoriya the whole story and I will not open my mouth until you are finished! This is a promise!

While the girl was doing her best to convince Iida that she wasn’t offended at all, Midoriya was still a bit lost with all that information coming to him at once. He started to walk toward the class as the others followed him.

So we are going to have a new classmate soon, right?

- Yes! – Uraraka have completely forgotten all the irritation with the urge to speak – According to what I’ve heard, her name is Ryu and she just came from the United States. Well, actually she was born in Japan but her family moved to the United States when she was little, so this makes her almost a foreigner – she clenched her fists – It’s unbelievable! She can communicate in both Japanese and English, if what I’ve heard is correct. She must be a very smart person. At least we will be able to talk to her, and she might help us during English lessons! Isn’t it fantastic, Deku-kun?

Midoriya smiled, for the first time contemplating the idea of having a new classmate, and one who came from such a distant place as the United States.

- Yes, that’s amazing. But where is she?

This time, Iida, back to his composed attitude, didn’t see any problem in taking the floor:

- She’s talking to Aizawa sensei right now, but nobody can enter the room. Apart from what Uraraka said, we don’t have much more information about her. We don’t even know what type of quirk she has. We will have to wait until she is officially introduced to us.

They stopped at the classroom’s entry when Midoriya questioned how they got the little information they just spread. The answer to this came from the first person who greeted them at the door.

- We got a little help in this! – the pink, round face of Mina Ashido popped out in front of the trio with a smile that could be both of joy and embarrassment; she pointed her thumb to someone behind her back – Shouji kind of refused to collaborate, so fortunately we had Jirou by our side – and lowering her tone – She was dying to gather as much information as she could, but if you say that to her, she will deny, of course.

Midoriya pointed his finger to Jirou.

- So you asked her to listen behind the door?

Mina’s cheeks passed from pink to red in an instant. Jirou was not so close from the group to hear what was being said, but she looked away as to avoid additional questions. Midoriya looked at Iida and Uraraka seeking for a confirmation; it came in the form of clenched fists and lips bitten.

At the bottom of the class, there were more people who weren’t willing to discuss the bad habit of listening private conversations when such important events were about to take place: Kaminari was wondering if the new student’s quirk was similar to his; Kirishima, with his sharp smile at sight, agreed that it would be quite an experience if it happened; Sero was arguing that her quirk would be more impressive if it resembled his own; Mineta, lost in his own thoughts, didn’t say a word, but it would be no surprise if he was questioning himself about the girl’s physical attributes.

Though he could understand his classmates’ feelings, Midoriya couldn’t say he relate to the way in which they express their interest in the new girl. On his side, it was better not to create great expectations and let the facts surprise him by themselves. Maybe that was the opinion of some of the students who kept quiet in the middle of that noise, like Tsuyu Asui and Momo Yaoyorozu, engaged in a private and calm talking.

The only ones who seemed to have no particular interest in meeting the mysterious girl were Todoroki and Kacchan, the first one, with a book open in front of him, too concentrated in his own things to give his surroundings any attention, the second too irritated with all the mess to say anything.

***

Moments before

There were enough seats for at least ten people to occupy in that room, as well as a good space between each of them, but waiting in one of them somehow was not possible for Ryu Murasaki. There was something in the silence of those four walls that would not let her nerves relax. Was it the fact that she haven’t enough rest before attending to the U.A.’s call or was it the lack of time to process the fact that she was back in the country from where she moved at three? It wasn’t possible to tell, and neither she wanted to think about it. Not now.

The only thing Ryu could wish for now was the noise of her own thoughts to diminish. In normal circumstances, this could be reached while she would stand beside a window and just stare at the things outside, but now it didn’t seem to work though she has been in front of the room’s large windows for about ten minutes.

That was the funny thing about all of this: nothing under her sight – the morning sky out there, the trees, the school’s gates – was out of place. Yet not everything felt right. Ryu sighed; it was not so easy to stop projecting one’s impressions in lifeless things.

The door was opened at the opposite side of the room and she turned her neck toward it. A man entered the place without making a sound. He closed it behind his back and came to the center of the room, still in silence. Ryu has no great familiarity with the habits of the people there, but it was easy to suppose that she had to leave her spot and approach to greet him.

The man, tall and all dressed in black, carried a white fabric stripe wrapped around his neck, too thin and too long to be called a scarf. Was it an eccentricity of him or something else? There was no way to find out. This dress code was not the only unusual thing noticed by her: his hair, black and falling in waves around his shoulder and over his forehead, almost hiding his eyes, seemed to have grown for a long time without the interruption of a regular cut, and the same situation applied to his beard, all dark dots growing out the pale skin of his face. Everything in his appearance and presence reminded of tiredness and silence. Ryu didn’t try to guess what type of quirk he had, but she was convinced that it had something to do with put people to sleep.

The man’s greeting was simple.

- Good morning. You must be Ryu Murasaki, the girl who we are supposed to receive as our new student in the heroes course. According to what was sent to us, you were born in japan, but your parents moved to the United States with you when you were younger than five. So you manifested your quirk while you lived there.

The girl nodded.

- And thanks to your dual nationality, you are also fluent in English and Japanese.

- Yes.

His tone, low and slow, fitted him: it was not what she would call encouraging, so no question was made and he just kept speaking.

- I apologize for not giving enough time to rest after your long travel to Japan. My name is Shouta Aizawa and I am the teacher of 1 A Class, of which you are going to be part of. I’ve received some information about your quirk and your history, and what I can say is that it is something different from what I’ve seen in my years of experience as a hero and a teacher. So I’d like to hear an explanation from you. Can you give me details about your quirk?

Ryu felt warm sweat gathering in her palms and between her fingers. Speaking about her quirk always brought her the same sensation she thought she would have if someone asked her to take her clothes off in front of a crowd. Among the replies she had for that type of question was running away or hiding part of the answer.

This latter was what she tried to do at that time.

- I can… do things with my mind. I think of something I want to do and materialize my thought thanks to the energy I’m able to gather in my hands.

The next question came as no surprise after a short explanation like that.

- Can you show me how you do it?

Ryu swallowed. She looked around and found a small vase upon a table. When she raised her hand toward it, a purple, moving shade surrounded her fingers at the same time it manifested in the object’s surface; one movement from Ryu’s hand and the vase floated above the table. After a moment, she used the same delicacy to put it back in its place, and the purple shade finally disappeared from it and from her hand.

That was enough for now. It had to be enough…

- Is this everything you can do today?

The question hit her like a slap on her face.

- What do you mean, Aizawa-sensei?

- According to your history, you are currently able to modify, hide or destroy things with your quirk. However, instead of using your skills to change the object’s configuration , you just choose to make it float.

- And what’s the problem with it? – she interrupted.

Though his tone didn’t alter, something in his eyes intensified when Aizawa replied this time. Ryu didn’t like that.

- I hope you understand that I need to know exactly what you can do. It seemed that the best way to get an answer from you was by talking, but apparently I was deceived.

And what if I have my reasons to not talk to a stranger? was the first thing that came as an answer. But the words never came to her tongue. What she was supposed to say to that? Didn’t that man have no consideration at all?

Well, maybe not.

- Ryu Murasaki, activate your quirk and try to attack me now.

The girl took a step back without realizing it.

- You… You cannot be serious!

The silence Aizawa gave her as reply showed that yes, he was serious. Ryu had no choice. The purple energy appeared on her hand for the second time, more intense, faster in its swirling. She raised her hand and tried not to think of the results when she blasted the shade at his direction… and nothing happened.

She looked at the teacher and saw his hair floating above his head, while a reddish glimmer covered his pupils. She dropped her hand at the same time his hair and eyes went back to normal. The air in the room, suddenly disturbed with the conflict, was calm again. Ryu opened her mouth and closed it again, unable to speak, but the latent question was in her eyes. What did you just do?

- I forgot to mention, but I am also known as my hero name, Eraserhead. You must know what it means.

So, Aizawa’s quirk is to erase other people’s power. The fact that he was a teacher to aspiring heroes was suggesting, then. When she looked at him again, something assuring was perceived in his monotone traits.

- Overthinking your situation won’t help you at all. I know it seems too much to ask this from you now, but trust the U.A.’s program and you new teacher. As long as you are here, there’s nothing to worry about.

#bnha #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #boku no hero fic #my hero academia #midoriya #tenya lida #bnha ochaco uraraka #my first work in this fandom okay #please be nice #mha #bnha fanfics #mha fanfiction #aizawa #bnha aizawa #aizawa shouta #mha oc #mha original character

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 4 years

Text

Dark Woods

A/n: No one asked for this, I have had a hellacious month and I just needed to write some self indulgent filth, but if you wanna catch up there’s actually an entire universe of these fics leading up to this poly filth with feelings, the latest installment being The Other Shore

Warnings: BUCKLE UP THOTS, mmf threesome, sub!Jungkook, switch!reader, switch!Taemin, Jungkook just wants to be a good boy, restraints so light bondage, orgasm control, this is pretty gay, bisexual!Jungkook, bisexual!Taemin, lots of praise, lots of dirty talk, gratuitous use of the pet name “bunny,” Jungkook has some angsty inner monologue, anal fingering, unprotected sex (so much of it, really), anal sex, demon sex pheromones making things all fuzzy, sexual punishments that kinda turn into rewards bc everyone is whipped for Kookie, blowjobs (male receiving and male giving bc this is a threesome folks), some oral sex (female receiving), Jungkook has a helluva praise kink in this, lots of m/m so if that’s not your thing, skip it

Word Count: 2371

"It isn't fair!" Jungkook burst out, tears of frustration pooling at the corners of his eyes, his skin on fire, head spinning.

"What's not fair is Persephone and I having to rush home from meetings because our pet won't. Fucking. Listen." Taemin emphasizes each of the last three words with bites on Jungkook's inner thighs.

Jungkook cries out, straining against the leather restraints and under Taemin's strong forearm locked across his hips. It hurts but his mouth, fuck-

Jungkook can't think, he's just crying and babbling out apologies.

"Baby," you croon, and it's always like this, good cop, bad cop, but Jungkook feels stupid and degraded and so fucking horny he can't think, so he squeezes his eyes shut, won't look at you. You're sitting up at the head of the bed with his head in your lap.

"Baby," you repeat. "You know we do this because we love you. You have to learn to take care of yourself when we have to be away."

"I didn't want you to go away," he says, and it sounds pitiful but it's true, he feels lonely and scared and jealous when the two of you leave, arm in arm like the demon royalty you would have been if Jungkook hadn't interfered.

Every hour that goes by when his temperature rises he can't control his breathing or his heart rate, can't stop thinking about how both of you must resent this, having to take care of him when you should be beautiful happy couple, ruling together.

He ends up just lying in bed, clothes making his skin feel tender and sensitive, surrounded by that cherry and cinnamon scent that makes his cock ache and his heart ache and by the time you two get back he's near delirious and Taemin's angry and you're disappointed.

"Baby." Jungkook's eyes fly open because it's Taemin's voice he hears, soft, smooth like honey. "Bunny."

Jungkook whimpers softly, it makes his heart skip a beat when Taemin uses that pet name and he'd just been so angry with him and more tears spill down his cheeks.

"We didn't want to leave you either, but we can't very well take our bunny into the pits of hell where any incubus or succubus could get their claws in you, yeah?" Taemin kisses the bites he'd left.

"I'd be good," Jungkook protests, and Taemin chuckles, lifts up to lean over him.

Taemin kisses him softly, almost sweet, and Jungkook makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat when he pulls away.

"I know you would, bunny. I just don't want any of their eyes on you, yeah? You belong to us." Taemin leans down to suck a mark onto Jungkook's throat and Jungkook moans.

"I do, I do, please please, I'll be good next time, hyung, I *promise.*"

"You will?" Jungkook nods eagerly, and Taemin's fingers wrap around his cock and he's so grateful he's crying all over again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Don't leave me, yeah? I'll be better."

He rolls his eyes up to yours and you smile, kiss the tip of his nose. "Baby. We'd never abandon our bunny."

"Of course not," Taemin scoffs, stroking Jungkook's cock slow, too slow, and Jungkook is letting out whimpers and moans.

"Tell me what you need, baby."

Taemin is thumbing tears from Jungkook's cheek, brown eyes so soft, and Jungkook's heart feels like it's swelling in his chest.

He hadn't expected it to be so easy, falling in love with Taemin, a man who would have been his rival in any other world, but it'd fallen together like clockwork, and every part of Jungkook ached for his approval, his love.

His favorite thing is when you're the strict one and Taemin goes all praise and soft kisses, calling him "bunny," stroking his face like he was now.

"Want you to fuck me, hyung, please," Jungkook breathes, and Taemin blinks, full lips parting.

They hadn't talked about this, not yet, although there's been Taemin's wicked mouth and talented fingers and before he'd even arrived there'd been yours stroking his prostate, making his words stutter on his lips, his cock twitch, the hardest orgasms he'd ever had.

You're already tossing Taemin the lube, Jungkook is always amazed how you two work in tandem, smooth and graceful when he can't string two sentences together.

"Are you sure, bunny? I could use my mouth-"

He gives Jungkook that wicked smirk that makes his heart speed up, but Jungkook shakes his head.

"No. No I want you inside me, love you so much, want to make you cum, *please,*"

Taemin looks almost shocked, and Jungkook feels pride that he's able to surprise the demon, if only for a moment before that wicked smirk is back.

"Our bunny. Slutty boy," Taemin murmurs into his ear and his words send shivers of pleasure down Jungkook's spine.

He always means to ask if Taemin's voice is some kind of demon magic but then Taemin's fingers are inside him and he can't think anymore.

You're cradling his face, murmuring praise into his ear and fuck, he loves you, you'd always described the addiction to demon pheromones like a drug but you'd never told him it was the love that made him itch and ache and want the way he does. He loves you both and sometimes he feels like it's too much, he loves you both too hard because he can't even say it unless he's half drunk on demon pheromones.

Taemin presses up on Jungkook's prostate and his vision blurs out a bit.

Jungkook feels his orgasm approaching like a freight train and he cries out. "No, no, want you inside me, hyung, don't want to cum yet, please-"

He wants to cry again at the thought of cumming before he's filled and you always know, you lean down and kiss him, distract him. "It's okay, baby. You're okay."

It slows his breathing, at least until Taemin pushes inside him and Jungkook hiccups out something between a sob and a moan.

It's been hours since he's been able to cum and double the pheromones makes an hour feel like a week.

He's so hard it hurts, dribbling precum like a faucet.

It burns a bit, but being filled with Taemin's cock is a whole new sensation, a bit foreign but it feels so good, and all this time this is what he's been missing? No wonder you loved it so much, Taemin is rolling his hips slow and dragging the head of his cock along Jungkook's prostate and his nerve endings are all on fire.

Jungkook looks up at you again, and you laugh a little, as if you know what he's thinking.

"He's good, yeah?"

"So fucking good," Jungkook moans, and if he weren't so far gone he'd be embarrassed by how desperate he was for more, for Taemin to fuck him harder, but he looks at Taemin focused on where they meet and Jungkook is suddenly overcome.

"Tell me I'm good, hyung?"

Taemin's eyes catch his, and his smile isn't wicked anymore, but soft.

"You're so good, baby. You take my cock so well."

The praise makes heat coil in Jungkook's stomach and he whimpers. "You can go faster, hyung, I can take it, I'll be so good for you."

Taemin looks up to catch your gaze and again Jungkook is struck by the nonverbal communication, and for a moment he feels adrift and left out but then your fingers wrap around his cock and he gasps in a breath.

Taemin grabs ahold of his hips and starts to move his hips faster and Jungkook has seen this from the other side but the way it feels…

"C-can I-" Jungkook stutters, and Taemin smiles.

"Go ahead, bunny. Cum for us, yeah?"

It's almost instant, his back arching, cum spurting onto his stomach and the relief makes all his muscles go weak.

When Taemin pulls out, Jungkook whines, hates the way it feels to be empty and he's still needy, still hard against his stomach with the smell of cherries and cinnamon bursting around him.

Taemin leans down to kiss him, hard and hungry this time, and Jungkook ruts against him, still whining.

"Don't be greedy, bunny. Have to take care of our girl, yeah?"

Jungkook whimpers again, and he doesn't know how to voice what he wants, how he's usually content to watch you and Taemin but today he feels needy and jealous, but somehow, Taemin seems to know.

"Do you want to do it, bunny? Make our Persephone cum?"

"Yes, yes, please-" Jungkook breathes, and Taemin is already wiping the mess off his stomach. Jungkook is fighting tears again when Taemin kisses his chin, humming a bit.

He shouldn't feel this way, shouldn't worry so much about all the history you and Taemin have, but he can't help it, can't help feeling weak and obsolete and…*human.*

You've unhooked his restraints at just a glance from Taemin and Jungkook's biceps ache from straining against them.

He flips over instantly, spreading your thighs roughly, and you're so wet it's dripping down your thighs.

He licks from your thigh to your opening, moaning against you, the scent of musk and cherries making his skin heat all over again.

You tug at his hair before he even gets started and he whines out a protest.

"Want to be fucked, Kookie. Want you to fill me up," you moan, lips parted, and who is he to deny you?

You giggle when he grabs your ankles and yanks you down on the bed, and Jungkook feels light-headed, grins and kisses you.

He's so focused on you that he is surprised by Taemin's low moan, looks up to see him sitting against the headboard, one hand circling the base of his cock.

"Our eager bunny," Taemin teases when Jungkook rams into you, but his voice is uncommonly strained.

Jungkook looks over at him again, concerned, and his brain goes fuzzy at the sight of Taemin's knees up, feet flat on the bed, two long fingers buried to the knuckle inside him.

"If you're a good bunny, next time I'll let you fuck me," Taemin says, low and almost hoarse, and pleasure shoots up Jungkook's spine, his hips stuttering.

"Or you could watch me fuck him," you moan, and Jungkook stills inside you, willing himself not to instantly cum inside you from the thought and how your cunt clenched around him.

"Y-yeah?" He stutters, and he's not sure if he's ever been this turned on, even after weeks of living with two demons with sex pheromones that literally almost killed him.

He looks down at you, your open mouth, and remembers suddenly what Taemin said, about how you liked to be dominated sometimes, and he impulsively sticks two fingers between your parted lips.

You moan around them, sucking, hollowing your cheeks just like you did around his cock, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Sh-shit,” he mutters.

Taemin is making the most musical moans and Jungkook’s head feels heavy with both your scents, pheromones washing over him and his hips move without his brain, sloppy and uncontrolled, but your back arches and he feels you clenching around him, tighter and tighter, when you cum, and it’s like the most filthy song, Taemin’s moans and the wet sounds of him pumping in and out of you.

There’s black around the edges of his vision when he cums inside you and he collapses against you, breathing hard.

You stroke his hair. “Gotta learn to control your breathing, baby,” you mumble, and he nods against your shoulder.

He takes a few deep breaths, looks up at Taemin and Jungkook feels his dick twitch inside you at the sight of him, blonde hair curly and mussed, pretty mouth parted, pumping two fingers in and out, his cock hard and curved against his stomach.

It’s almost like being in a dream, at this point, and there’s been moments like it before, Jungkook figures it’s something between the unreality of being a poly relationship with two demons and all the sex pheromones the two of you pump out on a daily basis ramping up during sexual activity.

Jungkook slides out of you, crawls up toward Taemin.

“C-can I help? I’ll be good,” he says again, because he needs him to know, needs you both to know he’s been bad while you’re away but if you’ll stay he’ll be so, so good. He rests his cheek on Taemin’s thigh, coming around on his left side, and Taemin tugs at his hair gently.

“Of course you will, baby,” Taemin croons, and Jungkook envies his level of self control and it makes him so proud when he fits his mouth around the head of Taemin’s cock and Taemin lets out a hoarse moan.

Jungkook wishes he could see Taemin’s face, breathes slowly through his nose and sees you crawling toward Taemin in his peripheral vision.

He hears the two of you kissing and uses a hand and his mouth, flicking his tongue over the head of Taemin’s cock.

“Ah, bunny, your mouth...Gonna cum soon,” Taemin groans, tugging at Jungkook’s hair again but Jungkook shakes his head just a bit, letting saliva help him move up and down.

Taemin’s fingers go soft in his hair, playing instead of pulling, and Jungkook hums out contentedly around his cock.

“Persephone, our bunny is so good, yeah? Taking care of us both.”

The praise makes Jungkook’s hip twitch, rutting against the bedsheets.

Taemin hisses and his hips jerk up once when he cums, and Jungkook is surprised at the taste, sweet and tangy like cinnamon.

When he lifts his head, you’re standing naked over him with a cool cloth, just like always, and this is almost his favorite part, after you’re away, when the two of you take care of him, clean him up, break his fever.

This time it’s even better because he’s tucked up against Taemin’s side, head on his chest, with the demon’s nimble fingers in his hair, murmuring out comforts and praise.

Jungkook decides as he’s drifting off, that if being bad gets him here, sleeping in the middle between the two of you, he might not want to be such a good boy after all.

#ksmutclub #2kwords #jungkook x reader #taemin x reader #jungkook x reader x taemin #brimstone universe #bts demon au #shinee smut #bts smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #taemin smut

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marcdurm · 4 years

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Controversial topic, do you think race can be a dating preference or it's a fetish and it's problematic?

yes, unfortunately many people see race as a dead end. I understand having a specific type you like but saying “I don't date anyone else who doesn't look like that” is 🥴 I don't think it’s bad to have a specific type, I do too and I think we all more all less do but that doesn't mean if I meet someone who is from a different race or just not my “type”, I won’t give them a chance. At the end of the day, looks won’t fix our potential relationship problems but personality and it’s what should matter the most. About it being a fetish, I agree on it as well.

Though, about these topics I think I am not the best to give an opinion. I believe books or people directly involved in this will have a more insightful opinion. Unfortunately I only became aware of these issues after I moved to the UK so I’m still learning about it and understanding why some things are wrong, so I don’t feel very confident on explaining as ill definitely say something wrong or not explain it enough. Where I grew up, even though we do have racism as well, it’s not as bad as it is elsewhere. It only grew the past decades due to neo-nazism but I would still say it’s not as bad. Racism there it’s not necessarily about appearance, I would say appearance and “race” is the last thing that is judged. They mainly care about whether you are a foreigner or not. People from Romania for example will face the same level of discrimination as a person from a different race. Us natives, we are not exactly white ourselves, I personally have a dark olive skin which yes is white and does have a privilege elsewhere but we are not much different from our refugees or migrants apart from black people.

Moreover, dating outside of our nationality is not necessarily unusual but it is not very appreciated from our older family members [for example my grandpa was “worried” I will come back from my studies with a foreign boyfriend, though I’m sure he didn’t do it bc he hates foreigners, that’s not him, he is worried bc he wants to be able to communicate with our partners and him being almost 90 and speaking basic English is something that worries him. That’s mainly the case for majority of older people but I can’t deny there are ones who will get angry and not accept a relationship with someone outside of our country]. So majority of people are mainly dating people from the same nationality so there aren't as much cases of mixed-race couples elsewhere and hence I was never introduced to fetishising or having race as a dating preference. I’m only still learning after moving to a country where such problems are more common so yeah I still have gaps on my opinion.

#back at it with the novels lmao im sorry

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curlyshepards · 5 years

Note

Look, Pony and Curly have a day, where they have a little mini picnic at Pony's favorite spot to watch a sunset, and then after a while Curly just leans on Pony as Pony starts reading. And at certain points of the book he'll stop Pony and just ask random little questions.

I don’t ship purly but this was super cute and inspired me except I tweaked it a lil bc im a hoe for angst!!!! still, thank you for giving me inspiration after my mental dry spell and I hope you like it regardless!! (also idk if read more will appear for mobile users who follow me so if it doesn’t, I apologize)

It was always the same, this time of year. Never any easierand yet not all the way as bad.

Three years and the brink of winter, the last of autumnshowcasing the ground around them, almost but not-quite-there-yet dead leavescrunching underneath their sprawled bodies. It was only pushing six, but thesun was already beginning to set, casting an orange glow across Ponyboy’s face.

Puberty had hit the kid hard sometime in the middle of highschool. It was almost an overnight change—to Curly, at least. One day he was theCurtis baby, all doe-eyed and lost and vulnerable and helpless after the lossof his best friend and the seemingly never-ending court case. It was unnatural to seetheir kind go before a judge and leave still a free man. Tim had sworn they’dfind something to pin on the kid, yet he walked out innocent. A fuckin’defiance of nature. But then he was Curtis, baby, and his lips were attached tothe junction of Curly’s neck outside of Jay’s diner, where damn near anyonecould see them and hand them their asses. His long fingers gripped his curls,tugged, grinned at the older boy’s startled groan and Curly thought yeah, fuckthat judge, ain’t nothing innocent about this kid.

Ponyboy lets out a content sigh as Curly rests his head onhis lap. Both boys lay on their backs, basking in the last of the sun beforethe nightly breeze set in and Curly would have to fight his boyfriend for hisleather jacket—that was currently serving as Ponyboy’s makeshift pillow—back. Fornow, he was comfortable enough to watch the steady rise and fall of his chestand pretend that things were okay.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Pony mumbles, absentmindedly twirlinghis fingers through Curly’s hair. His voice cracks, all raspy and tired fromthe near hour-long silence that had stretched between them. He never had beenmuch of a talker, that was Curly’s role, but with the changing seasons broughtan even quieter version of himself, more introspective than anything. The firsttime, Curly had tried to get in his mind, tried to get him to talk, tried tofind answers in Darry. But this was Ponyboy and what he didn’t want to give,Curly wouldn’t take. It was better that way. Still, Curly hated that annualwedge being driven between him and his boyfriend.

Curly sighs quietly and reaches up, finding the fingers inhis hair and pulling them away, tangling them together on Pony’s thigh. “Thanksfor letting me.”

Thanks for not pushing me away this time. Thanks for includingme. Thanks for letting me see this side of you. Curly sneers. For better or forworse, right? His words had enough of an edge that they forced a flinch out ofPonyboy. Curly’s eyes are closed, but he can feel his boyfriend retract intohimself and he sighs. “I know it ain’t easy, baby.” Then again, nothing isthese days.

“Just miss ‘im.” Ponyboy gets defensive, like Curly will ripinto the memory of Johnny Cade the moment he gets his hands on it. “Wouldaturned nineteen this year.”

“I know.” And God, does he know. I know you miss him. I know youwere best friends, that he understood you in a way no one else did, was therefor you in a way no one else could have been. I know his death changed you,that the one person who kept you soft was taken away. I know that you lovedhim. Just fucking admit it, it’s killing me inside.

Curly wills the confession like a prayer. But just like God,Ponyboy isn’t listening.

“Nineteen.” He repeats. “Sometimes I forget he was just akid.”

Kid was a loose term. The guys on their side of the trackshad been forced into maturity a little too early. Legally, yeah, they were justkids back then, but Curly couldn’t remember a time he had ever felt like one.

Curly almost swears, because he’s never been one for heartto hearts and this is foreign territory. But then this was his boyfriend, the boy who’d been on his ass aboutcommunicating and trust and then turns around a few months later just to shuthim the hell out, forcing him into the endless tug-of-war between what he should do and what he wants to do.

“When—” He stops what he should be doing, because he doesn’t know if this is theroute he wants to take, if this will effectively drive his point, if it’s evenworth it anymore. Maybe they could makeout instead, he could just get Ponyboy’smind off of things. The area he’d brought Curly to was secluded enough thatthey hadn’t seen a single living thing since they’d gotten there—unless youcount the bear that Curly swears he saw through the trees, but he won’t bringthat up again unless he wants to start another fight.

Fuck it, he decides, Ponyboy needs to hear this.

“When Dallas died, Tim came to see me out in reform school.Knew it was bad the minute I saw him, he never just visits, you know? There’salways something. But, anyway, wanna know what he said?” Curly opens his eyes to lookat his boyfriend, just to find those green eyes already staring back at him. Soopen and so easy to get lost in. He loses his train of thought and decides tobacktrack, swallowing thickly.

“I was a mess, don’ know why I took it so hard, but I did.Tim did, too, I could see it, but he wouldn’t talk about it. And I said, ‘Whatthe hell do we do now?’ and he gives me that look, you know, like I was anidiot for even asking.” Curly takes another breath. “He said we keep going,because what the hell else can we do? But I don’t think that means we gottamove on, baby, we just gotta keep living for the ones that didn’t.”

He stops there, for good this time, because if he says one more word he mightthrow up, and he thinks if his brother ever heard the goddamn speech that justcame out of his mouth, he’d be sent home with a black eye.

Ponyboy isn’t Tim, though. He’s a far fucking stretch, andinstead of decking him in the face he rubs his thumb along the back of hishand, fingers tightening almost instinctively.

“Tim’s got a way with words.” Pony smirks.

Curly shrugs, “There when you need him to be.”

If Pony disagrees, he doesn’t say it. Instead he leans overto dig in his backpack, pulling out that infamous copy of Gone with the Wind,the one he always carried around with him this time of year, like a bad habithe just can’t break. Its’ pages are crumpled, corners folded and chapters marked.

The book dangles lazily from his hand, pointer finger tuckedalmost possessively between the pages and running along the note written inside.Curly had read it enough times that he could picture the nurse’s mercilessscribble. A dead kid’s soliloquy.

If it had been Curly up in that hospital bed, skin blisteredto hell, he doubts he would have wasted some of his last breaths on a note likethat. He’d focus on the important things, not making sure Dallas Winston wouldwatch a sunset in honor of his death. He didn’t understand the depths of it, probablynever would, but he racked that up to just being Ponyboy and Johnny.

“Johnny let me read this to him back in Windrixville.” There’sa small smile on Pony’s face. His eyes, though, are distant, filled withexhaustion that seems too heavy for a seventeen-year-old. “Knew it was one ofmy favorites, and it helped pass the time. Sometimes I’d try to get him toread, but he didn’t like it real much, so it was usually me.”

Pony flips through the pages and Curly watches. He noticesthat the first half of the book is worse off than the other, like he’d never quitebeen able to get that far, always stopping before it’s supposed to be over. And people might call Curly an idiot, but the irony wasn’t lost on him.

He shifts so that his head is on Ponyboy’s stomach. Thesky is a soft orange by now, and it’ll be dark real soon, but he decides hewants one more thing before they leave.

“Read it to me.”

It’s not a question or a request, but Pony knows that if hedoesn’t want to then he doesn’t have to. And Curly thinks, even just for asecond, that he’d have every right to refuse. Instead Pony just tilts his headto the side, looking at the curly haired boy close his eyes. “You said booksain’t your thing.”

“They ain’t,” Curly replies, wishing his boyfriend wasn’tsuch a know-it-all. It’s a disease, he swears, but he smirks nonetheless andpeeks an eye open at Ponyboy, “But you are.”

Seconds pass and it’s quiet between them, long enough thatCurly starts doubting himself. Maybe he had stepped too far, maybe this was asentiment he’d do just fine staying out of, maybe he needs to learn thatwhatever it was between Ponyboy and Johnny, whether something was there or it’sall just his own jealousy, he needs to let go. Because he’s the one here, afterall. Picking up the pieces of a boy that Cade had left behind.

But then Ponyboy is smiling. It’s small and shy but it’sthere and every thought of Johnny flees his mind. Curly pushes himself up on anelbow and leans over, pressing his lips to Pony’s in a soft kiss. They part andtheir foreheads press together, the smile still on his boyfriend’s face as hegives a small nod.

“Yeah, okay.”

Curly grins in response, gives in to the urge of one morekiss before laying his head back down, settling himself in for the story.

They spend what little time of sunlight left reading, Pony’smelodic voice flowing through the air. Curly, for the most part, keeps quiet,only butting in when he doesn’t understand a word—The hell’s that mean?—or wantshim to repeat something simply because he likes the way it sounds coming out ofPonyboy’s mouth.

Neither of them speak after the reading stops, choosinginstead to lay there in silence through the better half of the night. It’s notCurly’s usual scene, but it’s something Ponyboy needs, and he reckons it reallycould be worse.

And, even if it’s for a brief second, he wonders if DallasWinston ever had someone to show him a sunset.

#mellow-child #ask #curly shepard #Ponyboy curtis #my writing

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almostviki · 6 years

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pursed

mmmmmm hello ya’ll. shit’s been wild. um this is 1-2 days late for this exchange (let’s see if this goes up after midnight or not) so I’m incredibly sorry to @swlotakulady34 34 on tumblr for the delay! anyway this is a shortened version of the original concept because i could not get the ending to work out the way i wanted it to so i just cut out the whole thing lmao. the editing’s a bit jank and i swear i’ll fix it later and also probably addd a sequel bc this is mad unfinished and weirdly enough, i feel like this doesn’t even actually answer ur prompt that well because i’m so bad at writing fluff but anyway here’s ur hurt/comfort fic i hope you like it and that everyone else does too!

Title: pursed

Genre: Angst (I really tried to make it fluffy but it wasn’t working out)

Word count: 3,184

Summary: The situation is this: Logan and Patton have been dating for two years and three months when they meet Virgil and Roman. Six months later, Patton asks Logan permission to date them, and Logan reluctantly agrees. Two months after that, the nightmares start again.

Or: Logan is insecure and bad at communicating his needs.

Ao3 Link!

Patton shoved his wallet and phone in his back pocket and bustled around the kitchen, searching for his keys.

"I don't know if I'm going to stay the night," he said. "I'll text you later if it looks like I'm staying."

"Alright." Logan was stirring soup in a pot, eyes fixed determinedly on the individual bubbles rising and popping, the surface of the water rising and falling as steam expanded, and tried to suppress the feeling of his own hot gas rising in his chest. This wasn't Patton's first time visiting Roman and Virgil's apartment. He went there with enough frequency that he had a small stash of his own clothes at their place, a fact which unsettled Logan in a way he didn't want to analyze.

"If I stay, I'll be back tomorrow morning, so we can go to lunch before your calculus class because isn't your test tomorrow?"

"Yes. It's at eleven."

"I'll be back by ten, then." Patton stopped rushing around in time to shoot Logan a reassuring smile. "You'll do great though. I know you will."

Logan knew, too. If there was one class he wasn't worried about failing, it was mathematics. He returned Patton's smile with one of his own and turned off the heat on the pot.

"Don't worry if you're late," he said, taking in deep breaths to disguise the unsureness of the words. "I'll understand if you'd spend the morning with them."

"No, I'll be on time. You're still important to me, Logan. I said we're having lunch together and we are." Patton sighed, running his hands through his hair. "I don't get the feeling that you're comfortable with this. Do you need me here tonight? Maybe I shouldn't go."

Logan was either very good at controlling his facial features or he had grown too tired to emote regardless, because he didn't think any of the truth of Patton's words showed on his face.

"You didn't manipulate my actions, Patton. I want you to go on this date because it would make you happy. As your boyfriend, it's part of my job to support you."

"But I don't want you to think I'm not putting you first. I'm going to call them and cancel."

Logan grabbed Patton's wrist before he could reach behind him to get his phone. "No, you won't. I'm not an egocentric child. I can handle having my boyfriend go on dates and I can handle spending the night alone. Don't alter your plans because of me."

"Logan, I just-" Patton stopped mid-sentence, searching Logan's eyes for answers. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"We're okay," Logan said, and if Patton noticed he didn't answer the question he didn't get the opportunity to pry. Logan turned Patton by the shoulders and pushed him in the direction of the door. "Enjoy yourself. Tell Virgil I said hello."

"What about Roman?"

"I have nothing to say to him."

Patton cracked a smile and kissed Logan gently on the cheek. "Be nice. I love you. See you in the morning." He picked up his backpack from the door and was gone.

Logan waited fifteen minutes for Patton to forget something and burst back into the apartment before releasing the breath he'd been holding. He wanted so badly to throw his mixing spoon across the room, to dump out the pot on the stove onto the tiled kitchen floor and let the broth spread over the kitchen like a violently expanding oil slick, to turn the burner back on and place his hands directly on top and wait until his skin was charred and his hands and head were finally numb to pain. Logan hadn't been lying; he wanted Patton to go on dates with other people. He wanted Patton to be happy. He just hadn't known making Patton happy would hurt so bad, feel so isolating. The apartment had never felt emptier. There were still bubbles popping on the surface of the broth, but it felt colder than it had just moments ago. If he tasted it, Logan was sure it would be bland.

Dimly, Logan wondered what Patton was eating for dinner. Probably something sweet with Virgil's fingerprints on it. It made Logan want to throw up.

Logan and Patton met in freshman year, when both of their respective roommates dropped out and they were forced to room together second semester. Logan's previous roommate tended to keep to himself, and they mostly only exchanged greetings when coming or going. Patton was decidedly the opposite of that. He was a dance major, and somehow his four-hour practices never depleted his boundless supply of energy. Logan sometimes thought Patton managed to put extra hours into his day, because he was in a borderline excessive amount of clubs and weekend expos but still managed to keep up with his schoolwork and find time to laze around the dorm doing nothing. He was also too nice. He would go out for food and bring Logan something as well and then not let Logan pay him back.

"I just noticed you haven't left the room except to go to class," he said, holding out the bag. "Gotta keep your energy up if you want all that studying to mean anything."

Logan bit back a question about how he could possibly know that when Patton himself had hardly set foot in their dorm since sunrise, but he accepted the food graciously and ate it all, just to please him. He pretends he doesn't notice how their fingers brush in the handoff, or how bright Patton's eyes look when Logan takes anything he gives him.

Three weeks before the end of term, after a dozen more food runs and late nights, Patton set down Logan's coffee with a smile and turned to head to practice.

"Hey, Patton," Logan said, unable to contain it anymore.

"Yeah?" Patton said, stopping midstep.

"You know you don't have to buy me coffee, right? The coffee shop is down the street, and we also have a coffeemaker in our dorm, so it's a waste of money."

"Yes, but the coffeemaker doesn't make it the way you like it," Patton pointed out. "So I take the liberty of getting you something you want."

"But I never asked you to do that."

"I want to," Patton said, uncharacteristically tired. "Don't you get it Logan? I want to do things for you."

Logan didn't know how to handle to excessive emotion in Patton's voice, so he just swallowed and nodded, and Patton breathed out heavily and went to practice.

Four days later, Logan set a banana smoothie hesitantly on Patton's desk when he returned from his morning calculus class.

"If we are expressing affection through the exchange of food," Logan said, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. "Then I would like to, um, reciprocate."

Patton blinked up at him, but then his smile stretched so wide Logan worried he'd be blinded.

"Thank you, Logan," Patton said. He picked up the smoothie and took a sip.

They were good for two years before it all came crashing down.

"We need to talk," Patton said one day as they were eating dinner on the couch. He'd made spaghetti, which he only does on days he wants to eat with chopsticks, despite Logan telling him numerous times that these are "not that kind of noodle". Logan froze, then set his pasta down and turned to Patton.

"Is something bothering you?"

The look on Patton's face was one of apprehension, and even though Logan has seen Patton nervous over the smallest of things, this fear sits deeper in Logan's gut because it's him Patton is scared of. Logan feels dirty and guilty in equal measure.

"I have a crush on Virgil and Roman," Patton finally said

Logan looked at him for a minute, processing the words over and over and still not able to find the correct meaning.

"What?"

"I have for a while now." Patton didn't look at him; his eyes flit across his food, the TV remote, the door, anywhere but Logan's face. "I thought it would go away but...it didn't." He must've caught Logan's rapidly closing expression in the corner of his eye because he was quick to reassure. "I didn't act on it. I wouldn't do that to you. But I can't hide it anymore so...I just wanted you to know."

Logan blinked, feeling as if the piece of his brain that's supposed to tell him how to react to this has atrophied in his skull. "Are you polyamorous?"

Patton shifted uncomfortably. "Can't say I've put a lot of thought into it. I've only been panicking about this for a week or two."

"What were...what do you want to do about it?"

Patton's hands dug into his sweater. "I won't do anything about it if you don't want me to."

What a cop-out.

Logan had met Roman and Virgil. He didn't dislike them, but he also didn't know them that well. They were Patton's friends, not his. Now he wished he'd gone out more with them, that he'd accepted Patton's invitations to see movies and get pizza, because maybe then he wouldn't have such a twisted, dark-faced image of both of them. His entire being trembled with a foreign and ugly emotion. Patton, for his part, didn't react. He waited, still and silent, for Logan to push back down his frightening emotions and take a deep breath.

"Thank you for your honesty," he said, "but I need time." His voice sounded painfully formal with how tight it was but if he let a single shred of feeling into his voice he would self-destruct.

"Of course," Patton said, nodding quickly. "Whatever you need." And it occurred to Logan that Patton thought he'd be angry, thought they might break up over this, but the thought of breaking up with Patton, of living without him, is too bizarre to even consider.

"I'm not upset," he said softly. "But this is a lot to process."

"I understand." Patton matched his volume and tone. He always was a good energy-matcher, great at reading moods and adjusting his own behavior to complement Logan's. Not that this skill comes into play often; Logan made it a habit to always remain as neutral as possible.

"I love you," Logan tried, and the soft smile Patton gave him evaporates some weight from his chest.

"I love you, too."

And just like that, the decision was already made.

Roman was loud and brash and stuck too stubbornly to unfounded opinions. In the beginning it grated on Logan's nerves like nothing else. Logan tried to at least be cordial, to not make this harder than it had to be, but he didn't exactly know what the protocol is for interacting with the people your boyfriend is dating. Roman is taller and louder than Logan and has more arrogance in his pinkie finger than Logan has encountered in the sum total of his life. Patton was enamored by him. Roman's boyfriend, however, was a polar opposite. He was slightly shorter and ganglier than Roman, sometimes looking as if he was swimming in his hoodies and sweaters. He trailed behind Roman quietly most times, but when he had something to say, all he has to do is touch Roman's arm and he'd fall silent, giving Virgil his full attention. Their dynamic is tight, solid like the floors under Logan's feet or the walls around him, and just watching them together, feeding off each other in a perfect loop, made Logan feel immensely off-balance.

Logan's phone dinged with a text message from Patton, telling Logan he made it to Virgil and Roman's apartment safely. All the energy in Logan's body went towards sending an affirmative response. He dished out the soup he made for dinner and sat on the couch, letting the hot bowl warm his numb hands. He didn't want to eat, or study, or do anything. Most distinctly, he wanted to not feel like he's being abandoned for no good reason at all.

It was only six-thirty but he put his bowl in the fridge and went to bed.

At midnight, he woke up with a scream on the edge of his lips, sheets damp with sweat. He wasn't crying or shaking or digging his nails into his skin, so it could be worse, all things considered. He can still hear the taunts in the corner of his mind, see the disappointed frown burned into his retinas. Patton's voice echoed in his ears, a mockery of his true tone, yet the words are incisions in Logan's skin, whispers of clingy, indecisive, possessive. It might've been five minutes before he found the strength to get up. It might've been an hour. Logan's grasp on time tends to get a little shaky at times like this.

As quietly as he can, he stripped from his sweat-soaked clothes and showered, trying not to scrape his skin raw with the stress of his fingernails. and even though the water is scalding he still has gooseflesh on his arms. He didn't cry though. Patton has some kind of sixth sense for when Logan is crying and Logan definitely doesn't want Patton to find him now, definitely doesn't want Patton to ask him what's wrong with those honest eyes of his that make Logan feel guilty for having secrets. So he doesn't cry. He doesn't go back to sleep either. Instead, he walked to their small bookcase and took everything off of it and reorganized it. Up until that point, it was organized by color, but seeing the blocks of red and purple made him sick to his stomach. In the morning Patton would see it, and he'd know that Logan didn't get any sleep, but at right then Logan's biggest concern was quelling the stress building in his chest. He put them in alphabetical order, the correct order, he convinced himself, but then doubted himself and sorted them by date of publication. By the time the sun has risen, his hands had stopped shaking and his heart wasn't beating out of his chest anymore, but he felt as if he'd been awake for much longer than one night.

He's no stranger to nightmares. He used to get night terrors all the time as a kid. He'd wake up screaming and crying, with no air in his lungs and fire crawling up his skin. He hardly remembered the dreams then but he remembered the unadulterated panic that followed, and his mother would grab him in her arms and soothe him softly until he wasn't shaking and his heart wasn't beating out of his chest.

Over time the night terrors lessened into ordinary nightmares, which meant he didn't wake up screaming like he was dying, but on the downside, he remembered these dreams. Formless, plotless, sometimes just swatches of color on a blank background mixing and crashing themselves into a crime scene. When he was nine he woke up and vomited on the floor of his bedroom, hair practically standing on end. That was when his mother's patience ran out.

"Clean up your mess," she said without emotion. "You really should get a handle on this, Logan. Whatever is troubling you, fix it."

So Logan cleaned up his own vomit and threw his clothes in the wash and sat on his bed, afraid of going to sleep for fear of waking up again worse than before. He dragged himself out of bed and padded to the living room, where his parents kept a giant bookshelf that was mostly decorative, but the books on it were definitely real. He picked out a random book on sociology and started reading, even though he didn't understand over half of the words in it. As long as he was avoiding sleep, he might as well do something useful with his time.

Nothing helped. Not village remedies of teas and meditation, not medicines, not simply staying awake until he thought he was too tired to dream. His psychiatrist told him at age thirteen that he was internalizing too many of his feelings and they were now manifesting in a negative light. Logan didn't see how that could be possible. How could he be internalizing feelings when his mother always said he didn't have any?

Now in his dreams, his mother's pursed lips were replaced by Patton's narrowed eyes, her silent judgment overshadowed by Roman's biting tone and Virgil standing with his hood up, face hidden to shadows. Instead of birthdays, he fears disappointing math tests and home-cooked meals with no one at the table with him. The only thing that stays constant is a door that slams over and over again, a thousand times in his lifetime, and absence of countless figures followed by Patton walking out the door, leaving him and his smoothies behind, telling Logan that he'd always liked the other two better anyway.

His fingers itch to call Patton. Logan throws the phone across the room. He's not going to call Patton because Patton is staying the night at Virgil and Roman's apartment and Logan doesn't want to ruin that, and anyway if he calls Patton he'll probably wake up the others and then they'll be asking after him, their fake worry indiscernible to the naked eye from their truthful concern. If he calls Patton he'll be admitting that he's weak, that he can't handle himself, that even though he's twenty years old he still has night terrors that leave him too scared to move or think and then Patton will leave him because he's been wasting his time.

Even worse: Patton won't be mad. He'll come home and wrap Logan up like his mom used to do before things went bad. Logan will tell him what he's scared of and Patton will reassure him that he's making things up, that he doesn't love Logan any less now that he's also dating two other people, And then Logan will cry, not because he's relieved but because he's nervous and biding his time for the escape. Because it took two years for him to realize how fragile everything is around him.

He won't call Patton because whether his boyfriend picks up the phone or not shouldn't wreck him the way it will either way.

Patton makes it home by 9:30 and finds Logan on the couch.

"You look tired," he said, immediately concerned. "Did you even sleep?"

"I've been up a while revising," Logan says, and Patton's lips form a thin line. They look just like they do in Logan's dreams.

"Okay," Patton says, unconvinced. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?

"Of course," Logan says, and crossed out another equation on his notes. "But I assure you I"m in perfect condition. How were Roman and Virgil?"

Patton's eyes light up as he begins to talk, and Logan thinks of boiling soup, closes his eyes, and holds his tongue between his teeth with all the control he can muster.

#my writing #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logicality #does this even obey the prompt #i doubt it

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