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cecilysobsessions · 2 years ago

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PURPLE HYACINTH (m.) | zuko

↬ word count: 12k

↬ fem!reader, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, “where is my wife?” line, zuko falls first and falls harder, reader & zuko are adults, some parts are from zuko’s pov

↬ summary: being the daughter of a powerful governor in the fire nation, you are married off to the new fire lord zuko. to the public, the two of you are madly in love. behind closed doors, you and zuko can’t stand each other. but you can fuck each other

↬ genre: fluff / smut smut smutty smut smut

↬ warnings: reader & zuko hate each other in the beginning, reader gets poisoned, assassination attempt, zuko likes being choked, oral sex (m.receiving & f.receiving), zuko is a slut in the bedroom, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, swearing, typos

↬ a/n: waiting on season 3 live action zuko glow up 🤞

m.list

•••

“Tell me again,” Zuko breathes into the kiss.

“What?”

“Tell me you hate me.” he pulls away for a moment and waits for you.

“I hate you.”

“I love you.” he responds breathlessly, smashing his lips against yours. This time he’s impatient, kissing you like he’s running out of time or like you’re going to be taken away and this is his last moment with you.

•••

You take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. Was Zuko always this loud of a chewer? Seriously, in this entire large dining room, where he is sitting several feet away from you across the table, you can still hear him chewing on his stupid steak. Zuko was a loud chewer, a lousy cook, and an even lousier husband.

It has been nearly a year since the two of you wed in an arranged marriage and you’ve hated every second of it since those stupid wedding bells went off. Your father was a governor in the Fire Nation, and often helped out Zuko with his royal duties. Him and Zuko’s uncle Iroh were good friends, and when it came time for Zuko to find a wife, you just so happen to be at the right age of marrying and available. Although you had fought and protested the marriage, once your father made a decision, he would never go back on it. Even if the decision was to marry off his daughter to the new Fire Lord.

You hated everything about being royalty. From the fancy parties and charities to all the socializing you were required to engage in with old conservative firebending weirdos, to the stupid sham wedding and fake kisses with Zuko. Sure, it was nice living in the palace and having people cook for you and dress you up in pretty clothes, but you hated everything else. You hated socializing and partying, you hated being the Fire Lord’s wife, and you hated all the dumb royal duties you were required to do. It would be a lot easier to do all these things if you actually liked Zuko, but everything about him irked you.

He may have found himself during his teenage years, but he was still easily angered and hard headed. Not to mention he was still moping around and crying about his ex, Mai. She had already moved on and found someone new, but you knew Zuko was still upset he had messed up their relationship. Even though every time you confronted him about it he denied it, you were so sure he was still hurting from it and thinking about it. The blank stares and passing looks he gave to her with a softness in his eyes he had never given you made it so obvious he was lying. And even though you didn’t harbor any sort of romantic feelings for him, it still hurt that he was looking at Mai like that and thinking of her.

From the start of his reign, Zuko wanted Mai to be his wife, and not you, for very obvious reasons. It helped that he liked her and had already had history with her, so when you showed up and people were telling him that he was marrying you and not Mai, he had blamed it on you. He knew it would be better for his duty to put his feelings aside and marry you out of convenience, but he hated the idea of marrying someone he didn’t love. Being with someone he didn’t love.

“Zuko,” you started, trying hard to keep yourself from slamming your silverware on the dining table. “Will you please stop chewing so loudly?” you ask politely.

“I’m not chewing loudly.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You can’t even hear me! You’re sitting so far away from me!” his voice echoed through the large room.

“Exactly. I’m sitting so far away from you, but I can still fucking hear you.” you emphasized, rolling your eyes.

“Well, if it bothers you that much, feel free to eat somewhere else.”

You could practically feel your blood pressure rising. “Oh please, you think I haven’t tried doing that before? Your stupid advisors won’t let me eat anywhere else because we’re married, so we should be eating together.”

“Then stop complaining.”

“Maybe stop chewing so damn loudly and I won't complain.” you sigh, angrily blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face. You were beginning to feel heated and upset. All you wanted to do was eat your dinner in peace and go back to your bedroom, but his stupid loud chewing and stupid stubbornness just had to get in the way.

A familiar silence entered the room and you took in another breath, deciding to try and quickly finish your food so that you could just leave. There was no point in trying to fight with Zuko; you wouldn’t get what you want anyway.

“Do you ever stop sighing?” Zuko asked, and you felt something snap inside of you. You stood up abruptly, the steak knife you were using to cut your food flying towards his face. You had thrown the knife at him in anger, and hoped that it would hit him. Unfortunately, his fast reaction helped him and he moved to the side, swiftly avoiding your fast knife.

“What a shame,” you pushed out your chair and it squeaked against the polished floors. “I could’ve given you another scar on your stupid face.” you began making your way towards the door.

“Maybe if you had better aim you could’ve,” he replied, calmly going back to munching on his food as your eye twitched in annoyance.

•••

You couldn’t sleep. You had spent the last half hour tossing and turning and you still couldn’t fall asleep. Irritated, you decided that you were going to take a walk around the palace gardens to help calm you. In the time you’ve spent at the palace gardens so far, you began to make an effort to learn more about the plants and flowers and their meanings. You began to find it interesting the many messages you could send to someone through flowers, and hoped that someday you’d get a meaningful message through flowers from someone.

You had thrown a robe over your light and sheer nightgown, and headed to the gardens. Since coming to the place, the gardens have been the only place of peace for you. This was the only space that didn’t have guards wandering around its perimeter 24/7 so that you could have a little privacy. You breathed in the crisp midnight air as you opened the gate at the entrance. You had been walking around and smelling the flowers when you heard a faint voice.

Zuko.

“Please,” you heard him plead to someone, and you hid behind a small bush nearby in hopes to hear more of the conversation. If there was one thing you were going to do, it was snoop. The palace had so much drama going on between the staff and royal members of the family, it was impossible to keep your nose out of it.

“Don’t leave,” he continued and you knew exactly who he was talking to. Mai.

You had never heard Zuko speak so softly and gently to someone it was almost as if it was out of character for him. Or maybe he just always spoke to you with such hatred and annoyance.

“No,” you heard her reply. “Is this seriously what you called me out here for? Get a life, Zuko. I’m leaving.”

Wait, that was it? That was everything she was going to say to him? You quietly chuckled to yourself; Mai sounded so over it and annoyed you were almost embarrassed for Zuko. When you saw her leave the gardens, you noticed Zuko sit on a nearby bench. Smiling to yourself, you took the opportunity to poke fun at him and make him feel bad. Who cares if it’s mean? It made you happy, and that’s all that matters really.

“What a pathetic loser,” you stepped out from your hiding bush and he turned to face you, his face furrowed in anger and annoyance.

“What are you doing here?! Did you overhear all that?!” his voice was back to his normal angry tone.

“Not all of it, just the end.” you sat down next to him. “What, were you begging for her to come back to you? Begging for her to love you again? Oh you poor thing, maybe if you weren’t such a horrible boyfriend, she wouldn’t have left you.” you teased arrogantly, looking up to watch the moon.

“You don’t know anything about love.” he grumbled. “You threw a knife at me during dinner. And that’s not what I was doing. I wasn’t asking her to come back to me.”

“Uh huh. I wouldn’t have thrown a knife at you if I loved you. I did it because you deserve it. And anyway, what would people think if they saw you and her together?”

“Nobody saw.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“You’re a nobody.”

“I’m a nobody?” you laughed sarcastically. “As far as everyone knows, I’m the Fire Lord’s wife. What would people think of you if word got out that you were meeting your ex-lover in the middle of the night even though your first year marriage anniversary is coming up? Imagine what people would think and say about you…” you trailed off, you were sure he got the message.

You weren’t warning him of his careless actions because you cared about him, but because you cared about yourself and yourself only. If this did come out and people would start gossiping, the people would start pitying you and feeling bad. You already didn’t like that you were only known as the Fire Lord’s wife, so you’d feel even more annoyed if you were known as the Fire Lord’s poor wife who got cheated on.

He was quiet, which meant he knew you were right. Although you and Zuko never got along, he knew when to admit defeat. And he did so with silence. After taking a moment to think to himself, he finally broke the silence.

“Why are you even here anyways? Stalker much?” he eyed your pajamas. “And you’re out here in your nightgown? Go back inside!”

“What? I’m wearing a robe, you can’t even see anything!”

“You idiot, if someone sees us, they might think we’re fucking in the gardens.”

“HA! Please, I’d rather jump off a cliff than fuck you. And if you’re so aware that anybody can see us, you should’ve taken that into consideration before you brought your ex here. Dumbass.” you stood up, quickly turning away from him and walking away before he could say anything.

Zuko’s eyes followed you as he watched you step away, his eyes dropping down to the slight sway of your hips as you walked. “Pfft,” he said to himself as he rolled his eyes. “She walks so arrogantly.” he whispered before forcing his eyes to look somewhere else.

•••

It was that time of the year again. A stupid Fire Nation festival called Sparring Day, or whatever. Essentially, it was just a festival where the best firebenders of the nation put on a show and play with fire and pretend to fight each other for charity. The proceeds for the tickets went to charity and although that was the only part you liked about it, you dreaded going. Sure, this was the first time you were attending as a member of the royal family, but you still hated when your parents dragged you to the festival every previous year. Aside from the charity part (the only good part), it was mostly just a bunch of old lame shirtless dudes throwing fire at each other.

This year though, was different. It was Zuko’s first year where he participated in the festival himself. You thought the festival was supposed to be for the best of the best, so why the hell was Zuko going to be in it? Sure, the original benders of Fire, the dragons, passed down the way of firebending to him and Aang, but that didn’t mean he was good, or whatever. He still sucked ass, in your opinion. Maybe you’re not one to be saying this since you’re not a bender, but you were Zuko’s number one hater.

You were sitting on the stands in the audience with the Avatar and his friends, frantically fanning yourself. The sun was practically cooking everyone alive, but they still went on with the stupid festival.

“LOOK!” Sokka exclaimed excitedly, frantically pointing at the stage below. “They’re setting up dummies for Zuko to burn!”

“I hope he misses.” you roll your eyes, fanning yourself as you wipe the sweat from your forehead.

“Aww, don’t say that! That would hurt his honor.” Toph jokes, earning a laugh from everybody. You quietly smirk to yourself in response; people’s eyes were on you, so you had to act elegant and proper, like the palace ladies always tell you to do.

The blow of a horn signifies that the show is starting, and you see a lineup of several fire benders enter the stage.

Shirtless.

Including Zuko.

Your seat is high up above the stage, so you can’t see many details, but your eyes unconsciously check his body out. You knew Zuko was fit and lean, but you had never seen him shirtless. Aside from dinner or public events, you and Zuko almost were never in each other’s presence. You don’t even sleep in the same room, so you had never seen him shirtless.

You force yourself to look away from him; he wasn’t the only shirtless fire bender on stage after all. As the event begins, you watch the men perform a form of fire bending—what you assume to be the Dancing Dragon, and people begin to holler and cheer. You look away and doze off; you’ve seen this a million times in previous years. When they finish, an announcer starts speaking, and almost immediately brings everyone’s attention to you up in the stands.

“Where is she?! There she is!” he points upwards at you, and your heart stops for a second.

“Doesn’t everyone want to see Fire Lord Zuko perform up close and personal for his beautiful wife?!” he asks the crowd, and everyone cheers.

“HELL YEAHHHH!!!” Sokka screams, and you smack his arm.

“OW! Come on, don’t you want to see him up close in all his fire glory?!” he asks you, his eyes lit up with excitement.

“Not really.”

“BRING HER DOWN!” Sokka yells back at the announcer and the crowd hollers again in amusement.

You purse your lips together in irritation. You know Sokka wants to see you in misery, so you make sure to step on his foot on your way down from the stands, smiling to yourself as he yells in pain.

It’s a lot hotter once you get down to the stage. There’s no cool shade you can sit under and the flames from the torches and other benders make it even hotter. The announcer drags a chair for you to sit on center stage, and Zuko comes up to stand beside you.

You try not to look too much or make it obvious, but out of the corner of your eye you watch him struggle to catch his breath as he stands there—shirtless and sweaty. His abs are so beautifully defined and it’s obvious the work he’s put in to achieve that. His pecs are glistening in sweat and the sun rays are shining so brightly on him like he’s some God. He runs his hands through his long locks of hair, messing it up so easily but he still looks so effortlessly handsome.

You’re staring—stop staring. Zuko is going to notice. The announcer is going to notice when he stops talking about whatever it is he’s talking about. Look away. You can’t look away. If you stare more, Zuko will notice and it will be weird.

Stop staring.

It’s too late; he's taken notice of your gaze. He looks down, his sharp eyes bore into yours as he stares back down at you. You don’t know what he is thinking, or maybe you just don’t see it because the sun is in your eye. But he’s looking back at you almost seductively, but maybe you’re just imagining that and it’s probably just the sun. But he’s never looked at you before like this; usually he can’t hide his feelings of hatred and dislike in his eyes, but this time none of that is there. Your best guess is because the two of you are in public and he’s actively trying not to look at you that way.

“—will perform a fire bending performance he prepared in advance for his beautiful wife!” you snap back to reality, breaking eye contact with Zuko and looking back at the announcer.

A performance he prepared in advance for you? Please, what a load of bullshit that was. You knew that was just something the palace told him to say to continue to sell your cheap fake love story with Zuko.

The performance begins, and other fire benders join the stage again to show off their moves with fire alongside Zuko. Fire is dancing in the air and all around you and it feels a million times hotter and a million times more miserable because of the stupid heat. You’re not enjoying it at all, but you keep a smile on your face to fool the people. Your eyes found a way to follow Zuko’s movements: he is smooth, athletic and agile, and elegant. You had to admit he looked good fire bending, but you’d never say that. It had to be because he’s probably been practicing. It feels like a million more years until the stupid dance finally ends and Zuko holds his hand out to you to escort you back to the stands, but not before the announcer disrupts you two.

“Woah woah woah, where are you going so early?!” he stops the two of you from stepping off the stage.

“Tell me dear,” he looks at you then gestures to the audience. “What did you think of Fire Lord Zuko and his amazing performance?”

You barely paid any attention to it. “It was amazing! I always love watching him firebend.” your response is automatic, and so is the exciting smile you put up for everyone to holler and cheer at.

“She loved it, folks! Zuko, how are you feeling right now?”

“I’m happy she liked it, I worked hard to impress her.” His response and smile is just as automatic and fake as yours was.

“Wonderful, wonderful! Well, folks, what’re we thinking! A little kiss of appreciation between our lovely couple?”

Your heart practically drops to your stomach, and you feel Zuko’s hand tighten around yours. It’s not like you’ve never kissed him in public before, you have multiple times. But all those times were calculated and carefully planned out. This is a spontaneous kiss in front of thousands of people. Your hand feels a little sweaty, so you let go, but you quickly turn to Zuko and face him. You react quicker than him, standing on your tippy toes and tilting your chin up to give him easier access.

“Well?” you feel like throwing up. “Aren’t you going to kiss me, Zuko?” you feel yourself cringe.

The crowd is loud, but Zuko quickly adjusts. “So eager to kiss me now, are we?” he automatically leans down and presses his lips against yours.

Soft. Supple. Zuko didn’t think he would really feel the kiss out, and usually he didn’t, but this was the first time he noticed how good it felt to kiss you. Or maybe it was the rush of adrenaline he got from moving around. Yeah, probably that.

It’s almost as if his lips have a mind of his own and refuse to listen to him, because he’s tilting his head to kiss you more deeply and one of his hands are entangling themselves in your hair and the other is moving down to the small of your back as he holds you closer to himself. He can feel the erratic thumping of his heartbeat, fast and panicked.

People in the crowd are yelling louder now, hyping up the two of you as you kiss and you pull away. You look at him, cheeks colored with pink and droopy eyes. He’s never had any sort of reaction to kissing you before, so why now? You figured he was blushing because of the heat; after all it was really hot.

•••

“You looked like you hated the performance,” Zuko observes out loud as he leads you back to the stands. The two of you mutually decided to go back to the stands through the palace halls instead of outside to get some cool air as a break.

“What do you think? You were front and center of the whole thing, of course I hated it.” you reply.

“Why were ogling at me then?” he looks down at you and smirks.

Did he notice you staring at him earlier? Jesus, of course he did, you were so obvious! You do a mental facepalm, embarrassed he noticed.

“I wasn’t ogling; you just smelled gross, you were all sweaty. That’s all.”

“That’s not what I saw.”

“You saw wrong. Humble yourself for once.”

It’s quiet for a beat, then you decide to poke fun at his reaction to kissing you.

“You liked the kiss that much, huh?”

He stops in his tracks. “What? That was just for show.”

“Really? Then why were you all blushy and red?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he sounds serious. “It’s hot as hell outside, so don’t get your hopes up just because I can give the people a good kiss. It was all an act.”

You don’t know why, but you felt a little disappointed at what he said. Sure, it was true, but it still tugged at your heart a bit.

“Really?”

“Really.”

He’s walking again, but you have the absurd idea to test if what he said is true. Grabbing him by his arm, you tug him towards you with force, and when he leans down to you the slightest, you lean up to kiss him.

Zuko freezes in place. He panics, unsure of what to do or how to feel in the moment. It all happened too fast—the grabbing, the kissing, the—why is his heart beating fast? He’s unable to think, mind and heart cloudy with confusion. Why were you kissing him? And why was he kissing you back? He normally doesn’t find himself lost in kissing you, but that’s exactly how he was feeling right now. It’s like his head was empty and the only thing he could focus on was the sweet taste of your lips.

Oh, God.

Oh no.

No.

Zuko was leaning into you again, but this time with more passion. It felt rushed, like he was in some sort of hurry to get as close to you as he physically could. His hands couldn’t help but hold your face, gently grabbing your chin to tilt your head into the kiss. God, your skin was so soft and felt so nice to rub. He softly moves his lips against yours, his nose brushing against yours as he continues to kiss you. It’s like his body has a mind of its own, acting on its own desires and refusing to listen to his head. He feels your hands grab at his neck, wrapping around his throat as you forcefully push him away from you.

Zuko coughs for a second, stepping back in surprise, his hand coming up to rub his neck.

“Did you just choke me?” he accuses you.

“You did like the kiss!” you point a finger at him, a victorious smile planted on your lips. You wanted to test out and see if it was because of your kiss that he was all red and blushy, and you were right.

“What?” He feels his cheeks heat up. “No, no I did not. Why did you kiss me? Then choke me?”

And why did he kind of like it?

“To prove my point.”

“What point?” he was still thinking about your hands on his throat.

“You liked the kiss! That’s why you were all red in the face like you are right now,” you told him arrogantly. “And I didn’t choke you, I just grabbed you by the neck to push you away. Why, you got a thing for being choked?”

“No!” Maybe. “That’s absurd.” I wouldn’t mind trying it out. “Let’s just go.”

You watch him walk ahead of you, your eyes shifting from his back to the tip of his red ears.

•••

There was going to be a ball. Another stupid ball where you would have to dress up (the only fun part) and socialize with nobles and other random rich people. Sometimes, you’d fake being sick in order to skip out on these balls, but tonight was a celebratory ball for your first year of marriage with Zuko. A miserable first year. You roll your eyes, cringing at the thought that it would be like this for the rest of your life. Although you had accepted it long before the wedding, every time you thought about it, it still managed to upset you.

“Are you comfortable?” one of your maids asked you as she adjusted your dress.

“Not really,” you had a sudden thought. “Actually, I’m feeling a bit ill…”

“You cannot skip your anniversary ball, your majesty.” she spoke. She knew exactly what kind of excuse you were trying to pull.

You roll your eyes in annoyance. “Fine.”

As your maids finished dressing you up, you were instructed to meet Zuko before the ball so that the two of you could arrive together. Your maids walked you to the entrance before the ball, where you saw Zuko standing there alone waiting for you.

“Took you long enough,” he complained.

You looked towards the door, the loud music making its way through the closed doors. “Well at least I look good. You, however, look like you just rolled out of bed. As usual.”

He ignored your sarcastic comment. “Look, tonight we need to act in love, so none of that attitude you always give me.”

“We’ve been doing this for a year now; I think I know how it works. And anyway, it shouldn’t be too hard for you to act in love with me.” you lectured him.

“A part of my soul dies every time I have to kiss you or even look at you lovingly.”

“Please, what soul?”

As Zuko looked down at you to respond, one of his advisors stopped him. The two of you looked behind you to see Jia, a frail elderly woman Zuko often sought out for advice.

“Ahem, um, maybe it would be better to separate the two of you for now. Fire Lord Zuko can enter first,” she then turned to you with a sweet smile. “We’ll just have you enter from the top of the staircase into the ballroom when it begins. Everyone’s eyes will be on your beautiful gown then.”

•••

Zuko was chatting with a couple nobles about the cabbage market, pretending to be engrossed in their conversation to kill time, but he was really just dozing off and staring into space. If there was one thing he had in common with you, it was that the two of you disliked ballroom parties. When a musical horn went off to call the attention of all guests, he looked towards the top of the staircase where he knew you’d be entering.

“Everyone, please welcome Fire Lord Zuko’s wife!” someone chanted, and people began to clap and cheer.

He watched you emerge from a door, only to notice that you had changed your appearance. Your dress was more casual, you were wearing shoes that looked more comfortable, and you had left your hair down.

Perhaps it was the alcohol he had been sipping on, or the loud music, or everyone cheering and clapping at the same time, but for once since meeting you, he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of you. Your skin was glowing and your hair was so perfectly bouncy and lucious it was difficult for him to look anywhere else. It was as if there was nothing and no one else to look at but you. He felt the thump in his chest and was unable to focus on anything else until he had been staring for too long and you were already in front of him.

She looks beautiful… for once. That’s new.

He was admiring your beauty again, sharp eyes focused on your face, noticing all the details on your face, details he had never noticed before. He was sure you probably thought he was glaring at you, but really—he was in awe. He had never seen you look so comfortable in something the palace ladies dressed you in.

His eyes were practically glued to your figure and he was having trouble snapping himself out of the sort of trance you put him under. He was feeling weak in the knees and could feel himself unsteady, you looked beautiful. Too beautiful.

Beautiful wasn’t even a good enough word to describe how stunning you looked. Ethereal, ravishing, alluring, bewitching—none of these words were enough to describe your beauty. None of them did you justice. To him, your beauty was thousands of times more beguiling than the flowers in the palace gardens you spent all your free time looking at. If he were to choose to either look at you or the flowers for an eternity, he would choose you.

And God, did he hate that. He hated the way he was looking at you right now. He hated the way that he knew he couldn’t even hide how attracted he was to you. He hated the way he couldn’t even find the right words to describe how beautiful you looked, he hated how he couldn’t pull his eyes from you no matter how hard he tried, and he hated the way that you didn’t even know how beautiful you are.

“Zuko,” you bowed politely, and his eyes couldn’t help but follow you as you moved.

He snapped back out of your trance and shook his head. It had to be the alcohol. He probably had too much and that’s why he was feeling shaky and nervous, not because his jaw almost dropped seeing how breathtakingly beautiful you looked. He blamed the alcohol. There was no way he would feel this way if he were sober. He was tipsy. He had to be.

“You look nice,” he began, knowing everyone’s eyes and ears were on the two of you. I can’t take my eyes off of her.

“That’s it?” he watched you fake a chuckle. “I’m not beautiful?” If he didn’t know your real personality, he would’ve believed your fake laugh and fake smile you had plastered on your face right now.

“You look beautiful as always,” he replied. Has she always been so pretty? Normally he would’ve felt himself cringe and had the urge to vomit calling you attractive, but this time he said it as if he actually meant it. He did mean it.

Had to be the alcohol.

He felt you grab hold of his arm as he led you to the center of the ballroom and prepared to dance. As the guests formed a circle to watch the two of you dance, suddenly he felt a rise of panic in his chest. Normally he was used to people’s eyes on him and normally he was used to dancing with you and not making a big deal of it, but something about tonight was different.

It was the fact that you looked more like yourself when you had chosen to wear something that you felt more comfortable in and the fact that you wore your hair down which you almost never did in a ball for reasons he didn’t know and the fact that because you were so comfortable, your confidence was through the roof and he found himself drawn to that.

You feel Zuko’s hand snake around your waist as he pulls you in closer to him, your face dangerously close to his as you look into his amber eyes. It was like his eyes were drilling holes into yours: he was looking at you so intensely and with so much conflict swimming in his pupils if confused you. Was he mad at you or something? If he wasn’t, why was he looking at you as if he was and why was he gripping your waist so firmly like you were going to run away or something?

Your hand came up to rest on his shoulders, and on cue, the two of you began a waltz to the instrumental music. The two of you flowed so easily to the music, swaying with passion and chemistry. You lean in closer to him, knowing the guests would think you both are close and in love. You watched everyone’s eyes on you, admiring and watching as you know people thought you and Zuko were head over heels in love with each other.

Unlike how the two of you usually dance, Zuko began to feel stiff and tense, and you wondered why that was. This dance was no different than any other dance, so why was he acting like this?

You tilted your chin upwards to get closer to his ear so that only he would hear what you’re saying. “What’s wrong with you?” you whisper. “Why do you feel so stiff?”

“I’m not stiff,” he muttered passive-aggressively. He shuddered at the feeling of your hoarse whisper against his ear.

“Relax a little, Zuko, everyone’s watching.” you warned him and assumed he forced himself to relax because he loosened his grip on you and was able to finish the dance with no more issues.

After your dance with him, you speed off to the refreshments in need of a drink and left him in the dust. As you pop some chocolates in your mouth, your eyes watch the crowd. You’re scanning faces when your eyes meet a familiar pair of golden eyes.

Zuko.

His eyes bore into yours from across the ballroom. Though people walk across your line of vision and break your staring contest with Zuko, his eyes stay on yours, watching you.

No. Admiring you. Almost longing for you. Zuko’s gaze softens, eyes filled with tender love, and for a mere second you think he might actually be in love with you.

You can’t help but stare back. Why was he looking at you like that? Did he hate dancing with you so much that he had to throw you a death stare?

Although you question why he’s looking at you with so much passion, your heart can’t help but skip a beat. It feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest. It’s making you nervous. He’s making you nervous.

Zuko is making you nervous.

His eyes are still on you, watching your every move and even though people are trying to talk to him, he’s ignoring them. It was as if you were the only person in the room and he was begging for your attention with his eyes.

You are the first to break eye contact.

Displeased with the bland tastes of everything, you looked around and noticed a waiter walking around with a tray of drinks. Waving him over, you grabbed a glass from him and downed it. It was sweet and carbonated, something you’ve never tasted before. As you turned to him to grab one more, you noticed the waiter was already gone. Shrugging it off, you turned to the desserts to eat. You were in the middle of tasting a chocolate when Mai came up to you.

“What’s up with Zuko?” she asked, popping a cookie into her mouth and leaning against the table of food.

“Did you see how stiff he was?” you asked her, sneaking a look back at him, but he’s nowhere to be found. You and Mai had become friends sometime after they had broken up and she was one of the few people who gave you comfort after you were put into this arranged marriage with Zuko. It was something small, but something you thought about often and were extremely grateful for.

“Yeah, it was painful to watch. These people are stupid to not realize that.” she watched you, eyes darting around your face to read your expression. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

Her eyes started to grow in worry as she looked closer at your face. “You look, I don’t know. Hot and red. Not the good hot. The ‘you’re heating up’ hot. Are you sick?” she held the back of her hand to your forehead. “Oh my God, you’re heating up! It feels like you have a fever!”

“What?” you questioned, patting your cheeks and neck. You were burning up. “Oh shit,” as you were heating up, your eyesight began to blur and your head was getting dizzy.

“Hey!” you heard her start to yell, but her voice sounded faint. You struggled to stay on your feet, wobbling as Mai grabbed your shoulders to stabilize you. You looked around the room and Zuko was nowhere to be found. Everyone began to stare at you and ask if you’re okay, but everyone’s voices including Mai’s were becoming more and more faint and harder to hear. You tried to stay on your feet and she tried to keep you upright, but you couldn’t help yourself and it was like your body was beginning to shut down. Your vision was almost completely blurred and so was your hearing, and very soon your body shut down and you felt yourself fainting as you fell to the ground.

•••

Zuko was out of breath as he rushed through the ballroom, grabbing random people’s shoulders and asking where you were. Some people had explained in a panic that you fainted suddenly while he was in the bathroom, and that you were taken by some maids somewhere else. After he had found out you were in the private clinic in the palace, he exited the party in a rush, practically sprinting down the hallways of the palace. He felt himself functioning off his adrenaline as he ran to you in a panicked worry. He was only gone for a couple of minutes, and in those couple of minutes you had fainted? What the hell did you even do to get yourself in a situation like that? Reaching the clinic quickly, he slammed the doors open and saw his friends sitting in the lobby.

“Where is my wife?!” Zuko asked hurriedly in a state of panic and anger. How could this happen to you? Who could have caused something like this? Were you even okay?

“Zuko, you need to calm down first.” Aang said in an attempt to pacify him. Aang swore he saw fire burning in Zuko’s eyes and steam blowing out of his nose.

“Where is she?” he brushed the Avatar off, pushing him to the side as he opened one of the doors. He burst through and saw Katara healing you as you laid unconscious on the bed. Beside you was Mai, and as soon as he saw her, he couldn’t help but shift the blame to her and glare.

“What did you do?!” he turned his anger on Mai, stepping closer to her in annoyance.

Zuko wasn’t thinking straight (obviously) and was letting his emotions dictate his words and actions. Not knowing who the cause of your condition was pissing him off and hurting him more than he wanted it to.

“What? Are you stupid? I didn’t do anything! You should be thankful! She was poisoned and fainted, and I brought her here for some privacy!”

“Zuko, Mai only helped,” Katara calmly chimed in. “If you would please stop yelling, I could heal her faster.”

“Well, hurry it up!” he snapped as his eyes looked over your unconscious body. On any other normal day, Zuko wouldn’t have cared too much about you being poisoned, but tonight was different and he couldn’t figure out why.

The fact that someone—another human being—went out of their way to poison you didn’t sit right with him. Why would someone want to poison you and not him? He was unable to come up with a reason as to why someone would want to kill you, so he had to find out. He had to find who wanted you gone and had to figure out why. Because even though you both didn’t get along, it’s not like he wanted you dead. Even if he were the one poisoned and you’d be happy, he would never wish for something like this to happen to you; he was well aware you already hated the royal life.

Zuko felt his jaw clench in anger as he left the room, heading straight to a close advisor of his: Jia.

•••

“Jia,” he knew she was always in the kitchens around this time at night, drinking tea. Oftentimes his uncle joined her, but not tonight.

“Hm?” she barely looked up from her tea as she stirred it calmly.

He stood there in front of her, hands in fists as he waited for some sort of reaction. You had just been poisoned in front of everyone, and this was how she was reacting?

“Hello?! My wife’s just been poisoned, and this is how you react?! Jia, my wife—”

“I already sent out a couple soldiers to search for the culprit, and they already have a lead on him. Apparently he was disguised as a waiter when she was poisoned.” she explained, and finally decided to look up at the distressed Fire Lord.

“I got on it as soon as it happened. Don’t worry, at this rate, we’ll have him in cuffs by the morning.” Jia’s quick action calmed Zuko’s nerves a bit, and he found himself wanting to sit with her to get himself together.

“She changed her clothes for the ball tonight,” he told Jia after pouring himself a cup of tea. “She looked different.”

“How so? All she did was ask to change her dress and leave her hair down.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Just less annoying, I guess.”

The elderly woman chuckled, warming her hands with her tea.

“She threw a knife at me the other night,” Zuko said to fill the silence when Jia didn’t reply. “A steak knife.”

“You two are a match made in heaven.”

He nearly choked on his tea and almost spat it out. As he coughed into his elbow, he could barely get a response out. “Match made in heaven? Jia, are you blind or something? I just said she threw a knife at me the other night! Were you not listening?!”

“You should go see her.” she spoke, ignoring his complaints.

“I already did.”

“Really?” she raised an eyebrow in response, surprised he even went to visit you in the first place. “I didn’t think you would.”

“I’m not heartless.”

“I never said you were.”

“She doesn’t want to see me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. I know for a fact she will not want my presence there when she wakes up.”

“Well, maybe she doesn’t want you there physically. But, you could send a message to her another way.”

•••

Your massive headache was the only thing you could focus on as your eyes struggled to open. The pounding had you feeling cranky and groggy. You just wanted to go back to bed, but Katara insisted you sit up in bed and drink some water. Your lips feel dry and you feel shaky and weak as you force yourself to drink something.

“How long was I out?” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Couple days. Mai brought you here. And she brought you flowers.” Katara gestured to the vase of flowers on your bedside table. Purple hyacinths.

You raised an eyebrow in confusion. Why was Mai apologizing with flowers? She didn’t even like flowers, and even if she did get them for you, her choice of purple hyacinths were bizarre. Purple hyacinths symbolize sadness, and asking for forgiveness.

“That’s nice,” you brushed it off; Mai probably didn’t even know the meaning of purple hyacinths. There was no need to overthink it. “Thanks for taking care of me.” you told Katara, looking up at her and seeing her eye bags. How long has she been there with you?

“No problem, get some rest.”

“You should too. You look like you haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll be fine on my own. If I need anything, I’ll call a nurse.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying with you.”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured her.

When she nodded and stood up, she made sure to tell you she’ll visit once a day until you get better. You smiled at her; Katara was such a kind soul and friend.

•••

A couple more days passed and you were no longer bedridden after those days. You could finally muster up enough strength to get out of bed and walk around. In those couple of days, you were informed that the man who poisoned you was the waiter that served you a drink at the ballroom party. Thankfully, he was easily caught by soldiers who were sent out to search for him, and he was sitting in jail now as you recovered. You were told it was some scheme to try and hurt Zuko, but jokes on them because you and Zuko didn’t love each other. He didn’t even bother to come visit you or send someone to check on you. Not that it bothered you… it didn’t. You knew that you and Zuko didn’t get along, but you still felt your heart drop a little when Katara told you that he never stopped by, and that Mai was swinging by your room more to check on you.

You already knew Mai had been stopping by, because every day since you’ve woken up you noticed that there was a new vase of purple hyacinths sitting by you. You never saw Mai drop them off herself, so you assumed she did it in the early morning while you were still sleeping.

Even your husband’s ex-girlfriend cared more about your well-being than he did. Even though it was an arranged marriage and you and Zuko never wanted to be near each other, you probably still would have gone to see him if he was poisoned, so knowing he wasn’t doing the same for you tugged at your heartstrings a bit, but you didn’t want to admit it.

You shook your head in a physical attempt to shake Zuko from your thoughts. Standing up, you decided that you’d take a walk around the gardens for some fresh air. As you threw on a jacket, you stepped into your shoes and opened the door to leave. Stepping out from your room, you turn and see a disheveled Zuko sitting on a chair against the wall next to your door. When he notices you, he opens his mouth to say something, but he’s quiet. You look down at him, partly shocked but mostly annoyed. His hair looked messy and all over the place, he was dressed down, and he was holding a small blanket in his lap.

“What are you doing here? You look like you haven’t slept.” you tell him.

“Not much,” he weakly said, a clear tiredness laced in his voice. “I’ve been sleeping out here and waiting for you to come out.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you retorted, walking away and not letting him respond.

Did he really expect you to believe that he had been sleeping out in the hallway these past couple days waiting for you? Did he think you were stupid? Sure, it looked like he was telling the truth, but you doubt he actually did it. Why would he anyway? The two of you didn’t like each other and never wanted to be around each other.

“Wait for me,” he pleaded, and started following your footsteps like a dog. “And no, I don’t have anything better to do.”

“How about running your country? Did you forget you’re the Fire Lord?” you rolled your eyes and made your way to the gardens as he followed after you.

Why was he still following you? Why was he acting like he actually loved and cared for you? It confused you and made your heart ache and you didn’t want to be around him. It was just too confusing and too much for you right now.

The gardens were empty like usual, so the only noise was your footsteps against the gravel and the chirping of the birds in the early morning. But of course, Zuko’s stupid loud footsteps just have to follow in your direction and ruin the entire mood.

“I couldn’t focus on anything else.”

You didn’t reply, instead choosing to walk faster in an attempt to shake him off. It was so obvious you didn’t want to be near him, so why wouldn’t he just take the hint and leave? You weren’t fully healed, so you were growing tired as you began walking in the garden’s maze in hopes to lose him.

“Fuck off.”

You felt your heart beating faster because you were feeling weak and tired again, but you ignored it and kept going. You didn’t want Zuko to bother you anymore. He calls your name once more, and his voice sounds faint so you know you’ve already begun to lose him in the maze.

Turning a corner to catch your breath, you grab your chest. Your vision was becoming hazy and it was hard staying on two feet. It was like you were poisoned again once more and you felt yourself wobbling and struggling to even stand. When Zuko calls your name again, it’s because he’s catching you as you fall to the ground.

He’s yelling your name again, but this time you can barely hear him and his face is becoming more blurry as the time passes. He’s shaking you and yelling your name, but your hearing is clouded and you feel yourself fainting in his arms, your eyes closing shut against your own will.

•••

When you awaken, the only sound in the room is the cackling fire by the bed you’re lying in. Except it’s not your bed. Sitting in a chair and half lying on the side of the bed is Zuko, sleeping soundly. You sit up and look around, the curtains are drawn so it’s almost completely dark in the room except for the fire going on the other side of the room.

It’s Zuko’s room.

You had never been in his room, but you could tell it was his from the portraits of his uncle and mother and a nearby wall and his dual swords sitting above the bed on the wall. Looking at his bedside table, you eye a book sitting on it.

Flowers & Their Meanings

Zuko reads?

You grab the book, noting a corner of a page folded in, and you flip to it. The page is titled ‘Purple Hyacinth’ and below was some written information on it. Your thoughts run back to when you had first awakened after being poisoned, back to your conversation with Katara.

“How long was I out?” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Couple days. Mai brought you here. And she brought you flowers.” Katara gestured to the vase of flowers on your bedside table. Purple hyacinths.

No.

There was absolutely no way it was Zuko that brought those flowers to you. Katara said it herself that Mai brought those flowers. You did think that it was weird for Mai to bring you flowers since she hated them, but Zuko? He hates you, and you hate him. So why on Earth would he bring you apology flowers? It didn’t make any sense.

“You saw the flowers?”

You flinch in surprise, shutting the book and setting it down on the nightstand. Zuko is awake now, and sits back up in his chair. Crossing his arms against his chest, he silently and awkwardly avoids your eyes.

“That was you?” you stare at him in disbelief.

“You think Mai would give you flowers?” he stares deeply into your eyes, and you have the urge to look away.

“That’s what Katara said.”

He sighs. “I told her not to tell you about them.”

“Why?”

“I thought you’d hate it if I visited, so I sent flowers instead. I told Katara to say it was someone else.”

Actually, you thought the flowers were sweet, but that was because you thought they were from Mai and not Zuko. You and Zuko never got along well, so why would he give you flowers? It didn’t make sense at all and was confusing you. Why was he so worried when you got poisoned and why has he been following you around like a lost puppy since you woke up?

“What is wrong with you?” you said without thinking.

“Huh?”

“You wait for me to awaken after being poisoned, you read a book about flowers to pick the right ones to send to me, then you won’t stop following me after I wake up? What the hell’s going on with you, Zuko? What happened to trying to get Mai to love you again, huh? What, now that you know you can’t have her, you’re paying attention to me now, is that it?” you were starting to feel furious, mostly out of confusion, but sadness as well.

The sudden shift in Zuko’s attitude had you feeling lost and had you questioning how you felt about him. Since you had gotten married, you didn’t enjoy being his wife, so now that things were changing, you were questioning why that was.

“No, stop. That’s not the truth at all. That’s far from the truth.”

“You’re a liar.” you stand up, stepping from his

warm bed sheets as you walk towards the door. He quickly catches up to you, closing the door with his hand from behind you. He’s standing close to you, too close you can feel his breath tickle the back of your neck.

“Let me explain.”

You take a deep breath, debating if you wanted to hear him out.

“Please,” he begs you, his voice small and careful. It was as if he was walking on eggshells around you. When you react with nothing but silence, he takes it as a cue to continue.

“Things have changed, okay?” he tells you, and you turn around to look up at him and face him.

You’ve never been so up close and personal with Zuko, not like this anyways. He smells clean, and you eye his loosely tightened robe—it’s not covering his body entirely. His chest is slightly exposed, heaving up and down as he nervously tries to control his breathing around you.

“Oh yeah? How so?” you keep your eyes trained on his chest, because if you look into his eyes, you might just give in to him.

“I know we’ve had our differences—” he begins.

“I never wanted to marry you.”

“I know, I felt the same way. Well, I did. I feel… differently now.”

“Different?” you look up at him with a glare, a hidden anger suddenly starting to rise to the surface the more you stare into his dumb pretty eyes.

“Listen, I never wanted to marry you either. And when we did get married, I hated it. I know you did, too. But I don’t know, recently—recently things have changed. In a good way. I don’t know if I’ve always felt this way, maybe I have, but I can’t help but be drawn to you. And it’s driving me absolutely insane. I thought I was insane. Because it’s like, every time I see you, I can’t help but fall for you. I can’t help but stare at you and I can’t help but want you.”

Zuko speaks with such honesty and passion there is no doubting his words, and that’s what pisses you off. It takes getting poisoned for him to realize he’s in love with you? Where the hell did that even come from?

“I hate you.” is all you can say, because you don’t know how to feel. You’re lost and confused and you don’t know how to handle it.

“I know you don’t,” he speaks softly, his hand coming up to tilt your chin upwards.

His eyes look like a brighter shade of his stupid golden eyes, and he’s staring into your soul so intensely it makes you shudder.

“I do. I do hate you.” you whisper, your voice shaking and unsure. God, you probably sounded like an idiot.

“Oh yeah?” his tone is mischievous as he leans in closer, his eyes lowering to your lips.

“Yes. I hate everything about you.”

“Say it again. Tell me you hate me.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you.”

Zuko leans in quickly, his lips meeting yours in an instant. You hesitate for a moment, relishing in his soft kiss. It’s like time froze all around you and all you could think of was Zuko’s lips on yours and his large and soft hands coming up to gently stroke your cheeks.

His kiss is so innocent and sweet it pisses you off knowing how good he is at kissing. He leans into you, just barely pressing his chest to yours, and you can feel his heartbeat quicken. One hand is in your hair, combing through the soft strands as his other hand holds your waist, directing your body to press back into his. His thumb is rubbing at your hip, trying to feel you through the fabric of your clothes and suddenly you have the thought and urge to rip it all off so he can feel you up as much as he wants.

“Tell me again,” Zuko breathes into the kiss.

“What?”

“Tell me you hate me.” he pulls away for a moment and waits for you.

“I hate you.”

His head tilts to the side, the hand that was in your hair moving to grab you by your chin, easily directing you to open your mouth into the kiss. He licks into you, desperate for more as he kisses you harder, like some starved man that hasn’t had a meal in forever. His chest is heaving and you feel the hand on your waist wandering the curves of your body, desperate to feel your bare skin.

You push him away from you slightly, but only because you’re out of breath and need a moment to process what just happened.

Zuko kissed you. And you kissed him back.

But he did more than just kiss you. He made you feel something. He made you want him back. Something you never thought he was capable of.

“What about…” you start, unsure if you should say what you’re about to say.

You either have no talent for hiding your thoughts, or Zuko knows you well, because it’s as if he’s reading your mind because he finishes your sentence for you.

“Mai?”

You nod silently. You always thought she was the one for him, after all up until a while ago he was trying to get back with her.

“Things have changed,” he starts. “Actually, they’ve been changing for awhile. And it’s not what you think.”

Please, did he really think you would believe that? “Okay, then explain calling Mai to confess your love to her again in the gardens.”

“That day in the gardens,” he explains as he leads you to sit on his bed with him. “I didn’t call her out to confess to her. I wanted to see her to ask about you.”

Your eyes narrowed at him; you didn’t believe anything that was coming out of his mouth.

“I know you two are close, so I wanted to ask her for advice because I was already falling for you. But she was calling me a dick for bothering her so she left.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He looks stunned. “You wouldn’t have believed me even if I explained it to you, so it didn’t matter.”

He’s right, you would’ve thought he was a liar and you probably would’ve called him a liar like you did five minutes ago.

“So… you’re not still in love with her?”

“No.”

“You’re telling me you’re not hopelessly, desperately, absolutely blind in love with her that you can’t do anything else or think about anyone else?” you tease in one breath, your heart feeling lighter.

“No, but do you want to know who I’m actually hopelessly, desperately, absolutely blind in love with that I can’t do anything else or think about anyone else?”

“I wonder who it could be.”

“Why don’t you take a guess.” he teases, leaning over you, sharp eyes watching your every move.

“I don’t know.” you do know.

“You don’t?” he chuckles, leaning into your neck, his breath lightly tickling your skin.

“Nope.”

“Would you like a hint?” His voice is so deep and sultry you’re practically trembling at how sexy he sounds.

“That’d be nice.”

“Well, the woman I’m in love with is fucking crazy,” Zuko begins, his hand coming up to stroke your thigh. Your eyes move down to watch his muscular hands massage your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to your pussy with each firm stroke. It’s faint, but you feel yourself clench around nothing.

The veins on his hand are distracting.

“She tried to kill me with a steak knife recently,” he laughs as he recalls the memory, pulling away slightly to look at you.

He is watching your face, trying to read and memorize your features as his eyes gaze into yours. There is a new softness in his eyes when he looks at you, unlike the usual sharp glare he shoots you when you both make eye contact.

“You’re in love with a woman who tried to kill you?” you laugh quietly, going along with whatever joke he’s making.

“Surprisingly, yes. I’m even looking at her right now. Do you know who I’m in love with now?” he smiles, his eyes curving into a smile as well.

“I might need another hint.” you answer, your eyes flickering down to his lips. You hope he will kiss you again.

He picks up on your hint, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ve kissed her a couple times now. But the last couple times,” he kisses you again. “It’s like she’s laced her lips with drugs or something. I’ve become addicted to her lips in just a couple kisses.” he glances down for a second, grabbing your hand and leading it to where he wants it.

He’s hard.

He directs you to stroke him through the thin material of his loosely tied robe, his lips coming down to suck on the soft skin of your neck.

“And in just a couple kisses,” he says again. “She’s managed to make me so hard.” he breathes against your neck.

“You make me so hard.” Zuko whispers faintly.

His voice sounds so sweet and sexy it almost pisses you off how much his tone is turning you on. You stroke him through his robe, feeling his hard cock underneath. You have the urge to suddenly rip off his robe, wanting to feel him. His abs, his smooth skin, his strong thighs, and his hardened dick. He lets out a soft moan against your neck, his hips unexpectedly bucking upwards for more friction.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” he whispers in your ear, his voice a slight whine.

“I think I have an idea.” you laugh, slightly tugging at the strings that tie his robe together. It’s so loosely wrapped around him that if you just tugged on it slightly, you would finally get to see him naked. He watches your fingers play with his robe, sensing your impatience.

“Take it off.” he tells you, and you act automatically, undoing the knot. He stands briefly, letting the piece of clothing fall to the ground. You stay seated on the bed, your eyes practically groping his entire body. He’s so sculpted and muscular and perfect in every way it almost pisses you off.

His hardened cock springs to life, red and angry at the tip, he looks like he could cum from just a couple strokes. Your eyes make their way back to his, and he’s watching you with such an intensity in his eyes it makes you shudder in pleasure. You stare at him in awe, almost lost in his eyes you don’t notice him stroking your cheek, his voice a small whisper.

“I love seeing you look up at me like that,” he grins, grabbing his dick as he continues to caress your cheek. “It makes me want to ruin you.” You watch him stroke himself, his pre-cum leaking at the tip.

“Then ruin me.”

He smiles a sweet smile in response, before he sticks his fingers in your mouth, forcing your lips apart before he shoves his dick into your mouth.

He’s big, way too big and the biggest you’ve ever had, but you love it. You love how it fills your mouth and you feel like you’re going to choke and it makes you think about just how good it will feel when he finally fucks you. You’re taking him all in your mouth, desperate to hear something from him, to see some sort of reaction that you’re making him feel good. Your hands grab onto both of his thighs, feeling him tense beneath your fingertips.

Strands of your hair fall in front of your face, blocking your view of him, so he grabs it, combing it behind your ears to clear your face. His hands grab at your head, shoving it further down his cock, and when you gag that’s when you hear it.

A low, desperate, sweet sounding moan that makes you clench around nothing again. He bites down hard on his bottom lip in an attempt to quiet himself, but your mouth keeps sucking him in he can’t help but let out a moan of pleasure.

“Fuck,” he groans, thrusting deeper into your mouth. Your eyes water and you rub your thighs together, anxious and impatient and wanting him to hurry and fuck you. “I love your mouth.”

He pulls out, a string of saliva connecting from your lips to his tip as he pulls his cock out. He’s visibly more turned on now; pupils dilated and cheeks red and heated.

“Your mouth feels good,” he easily grabs you by the hips to move you further up the bed. “But I bet this feels even better.” he forcefully spreads your legs with his knees and presses a hand to your clothed pussy. “For both of us.”

“It’d feel even better if you undressed me first.” you command him.

“Yes, ma’am.” he obeys, practically ripping your clothes off and throwing them behind him.

Your underwear is completely soaked, you look away and blush in embarrassment. God, did you look that desperate for some dick? Zuko seems to be infatuated with how wet you’ve become, because he leans down in front of you, his mouth hovering over your heat.

“You don’t have to.” you tell him, grabbing his hair to stop him.

“You’re right. I don’t have to,” he agrees, spreading your legs further so that you’re completely spread out for him, your entire body exposed for him and only him. “But all I can think about right now is tasting you.” he says before he places a kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“You’re so wet,” he observes aloud. “I love it.”

He leans in, his tongue sticking out to lick a strip up your wetness. He’s lapping at your pussy, licking and sucking and kissing everything it makes you dizzy. He sucks on your clit, his fingers teasing your entrance. You’re so turned on by the sound of him eating you out, you grab his hair by instinct to pull him closer to you. When he groans, you mistake it for a groan of annoyance or pain, so you let go. His lips leave your wetness for a moment, his eyes looking up to meet yours.

“Grab my hair again,” he takes your hand and entangles it into his hair again. “I love when you pull on it. I fucking love it.”

You can’t help but whimper, pulling on his roots as he moans in pleasure and you don’t know if it’s because you’re tugging on his hair or because he loves eating you out or both. Your hips are moving on their own, bucking upwards into his face as his fingers easily make their way inside you, fucking you slowly to loosen you up.

“Ahh,” you cringe at yourself, almost ashamed and embarrassed you can’t hold yourself back. Your hands leave his hair to cover your face, heat rushing to your cheeks. Zuko pulls away from you, wiping his mouth before tugging at your hands.

“Why are you covering your face?” he asks, his hands gently wrapping at your wrists and rubbing your skin soothingly.

“No reason,” you shake your head, mortified.

“Come on now, let me see your face.” he grabs your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head as he holds you down, his face inches away from yours.

You’re even more embarrassed and red now. You’re both completely naked and he’s situated between your legs, his cock rubbing against your entrance teasingly. Your hands are pinned above you, and the weight of his hand is holding you down, you’re unable to move. He’s watching you, basking in your embarrassment.

“I love your voice,” he assures you.

“When you’re yelling at me,” he kisses your cheek.

“Insulting me,” he kisses your other cheek.

“And especially when you’re moaning for me.” he leaves small kisses on your jawline as his hips move against yours, his hard cock rubbing against your wetness. You’re so desperate to have him fuck you it’s almost impossible not to whine in annoyance.

“I love when you moan. I want to hear more of it.” he says before he pushes himself into you.

“Oh,” you gasp, struggling to take him in.

“Fuck,” he lets go of your pinned hands and grabs your hips.

“You son of a bitch,” you curse, your walls clenching down and welcoming him. You feel yourself throb around him, sucking him in as your hands wrap around his back. “You’re too big.”

“You like it though,” he mumbles, pleasure taking over his body it’s becoming harder for him to speak clearly. He thrusts slowly, swearing to himself under his breath again. You moan as he fucks you more, your hands holding the back of his neck as he buries himself into you.

“I love it, it feels so good.” you moan, stroking his hair as his hips roll against you.

“I love you.” he tells you.

“I love you.” he repeats, practically chanting it like it’s some sort of prayer.

He keeps whispering it into your ear, and you lift your hips, wrapping your legs around him as he continues to thrust into you. He glides in and out of you so easily it turns you on even more that he gets you so wet and ready so easily.

Your hands are busy exploring his smooth skin, feeling his neck and collarbone when he moans in your ear, his voice almost silent and pleading.

“Choke me,” he begs. “L-Like you did the other day. Do it again.”

“What?”

“Please,” he breathes out, his eyes looking into yours, desperate and aroused. “I want your hands wrapped around my throat.”

You steadily place your hands on the side of his neck, careful not to block his airway. You squeeze the sides of his neck slightly, and as soon as you do, his eyes roll back in pleasure and his thrusts are harder.

“Mmm,” he moans, biting down on his lips as he fucks into you. “Harder,” he demands.

The harder you choke him, the harder he fucks you. His moans grow louder and he’s practically chanting your name, begging you to destroy him as his thrusts grow haphazard the closer he gets to orgasming.

He explodes, filling you up with so much cum it starts leaking out. But Zuko keeps going, desperate to make you finish as well. You’re no longer choking him, but your hands are instead messing up his hair and his lips are on your breasts, biting and sucking and kissing, you feel dizzy.

His lips feel so good on your body. He leaves kisses and marks and words of his love and devotion for you it’s all so overwhelming. When he starts whispering to you how good your pussy feels and how much he loves you, it pushes you over the edge and you feel yourself clenching down on him hard as you reach your high.

When there’s nothing but the sound of your heavy breaths, all of a sudden you feel awkward. You hadn’t realized it until now, but you had been slowly falling for his stupid face and you were in denial about it this whole time.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Zuko hovers over your face, looking deeply into your eyes as if he’s trying to read you.

“Your stupid face.”

He chuckles, leaning down to brush his nose against yours before he leaves a small kiss on your cheek.

“I’m in love with you.” he tells you.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Thank you.” you say awkwardly, because you’re not good with words and you’re too embarrassed to tell him that you’re also in love with him because you would probably cringe and feel even more awkward than you do right now.

“So… you do have a thing for being choked!” you tease when you suddenly remember him asking you to choke him.

He tenses, his eyes widening as he suddenly pulls out of you and sits up. “No I don’t!”

“If I remember correctly, you asked me to choke you! Remember? You were practically begging—”

He leans down, quickly kissing you to shut up. “I don’t remember that. And tell me you love me back.” he demands.

“Admit you like being choked first.”

“No.”

“Fine, then I don’t love you. I still hate you.”

“Tell me you love me.” he demands again, unwilling to give up.

“Tell me you like being choked.” you fire back.

He’s quiet for a moment, and that’s when you know you’ve won.

“Fine. I do like it, but don’t tell anyone!” he glares at you. “Now you say you love me.”

“I hate you.” you tease.

“Whatever, I still love you.” Zuko rolls his eyes, leaning in to kiss you once more.

•••

a/n: i literally added in the part of zuko getting choked after seeing a tiktok on how to properly choke someone during sex 😂

m.list

#zuko #zuko x you #zuko x reader #atla zuko #atla #avatar the last airbender #zuko smut #zuko fic #atla fic #atla fanfic #zuko fanfic #prince zuko #fire lord zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x you #fem reader #zuko x y/n #zuko fluff

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whimsyfinny · 10 months ago

Text

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: stalker/ unsuccessful kidnap, violence, depictions of blood and assault (let me know if I should add more)

Chapter Word Count: 2318

—-MDNI—-

A/N: Sooooo I’m sorry it’s not spicy like I said it would be… But I absolutely promise the next one will be! Chapters 5 and 6 were supposed to be just one chapter but it got too long so I had to split it… And again please let me know of any errors because this is only proof read by myself.

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Please Read the Below First:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

I’m Not You’re F*cking Maid

Chapter 5

After thorough interviewing of the staff and regular patrons; long searches through copious auction records and meticulous studying of the items in the shop we narrowed our search down to one item: an old jade hairpin. The hairpin belonged to a young lady who was given the gift as a wedding present, however when she found out on her wedding night that her new husband was having an affair, she stabbed him to death with it before jumping to her own demise from their third floor balcony. That was just over a century ago, and she was still wreaking havoc on unfaithful men to this day.

“I mean I get where she’s coming from,” I shrugged as we walked back to the motel. Both brothers turned to look at me with concern smeared over their features. “OBVIOUSLY I don’t agree with all the murder,” they breathed a sigh of relief, “but you can’t hate her for being mad. I would be too.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows a little and holding his hands up. I gave him a look of bewilderment.

“What side do you think you’re on, Dean? Because this,” I gestured between us, “isn’t my good side.” He mumbled something incoherent as we got to the motel so I chose to ignore him completely.

“So what’s the plan? It’s getting late and we can’t really do anything now until that charity event taking place at the auction house tomorrow. We’re already pretty clued up on how to get rid of ghosts so there’s really not much to do except to get both your names on that guest list,” Sam patted his laptop, looking at both of us.

“Food?” Dean and I said at the same time.

“Food sounds good,” Sam nodded. The boys turned around to leave when I stopped them.

“Just whilst we’re still at the motel, I’m just going to freshen up real quick.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “really?” I flipped him the bird.

“I can just meet you there? There’s like only one diner in this town and I know the way. I won’t be long.” The brothers looked at each other for a few seconds before Sam looked at me and smiled.

“Sure ok, we’ll get a seat in the window so we can see you coming.”

“Great! I’ll see you soon,” I grinned at the younger Winchester before turning away and letting myself into my room.

I had the worlds quickest shower and threw on some clean underwear and a clean top, feeling better after getting the grime from the day off. I pulled on my jeans, socks and boots, applied a small amount of eyeliner and mascara and tidied my hair the best I could before slinging on my jacket and applying some perfume to my wrists and neck. It was one of my favourite scents: I’d bought it from some lingerie store a year or so ago and it’s apparently one of those aphrodisiac perfumes, however I have no idea if it even works or not. It’s probably a scam, nothing works that well in real life.

After I’d finished sorting myself out - which took no longer than half an hour - I grabbed my phone and keys and left the room, locking up before making my way towards the diner. Night had descended, the air turning cold against my warm skin and the usually busy streets now lay deserted and car-free. It was only about a five minute walk or so from the motel and I was now only about a minute away when I noticed that I wasn’t alone. I’d caught a glimpse of a figure dressed from head to toe in black in the reflection of several shop windows, and they were following my exact trail. I sped up, walking faster down the empty main road and hoping it was all a coincidence as worst case scenarios started to race through my mind. It wasn’t long until the diner was in sight and I breathed a sigh of relief, however the relief was short lived when those footsteps were getting closer and closer, quicker and quicker right behind me. It dawned on me that this wasn’t a coincidence at all - I was definitely being stalked. I started to run, my legs moving before my brain had kicked into gear and I was only inches from the front door when the stranger caught up, slamming me against the wall of the building and putting a knife to my throat, covering my mouth with a gloved hand.

“Don’t make a fucking noise - you’re coming with me,” he said aggressively yet quietly. I could feel the blade of the knife pressing against the soft skin of my neck and I couldn’t help but feel tears well in my eyes, my breath turning shaky as my heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t even get any words out as his hand was too tight over my lips.

I wanted to cry out for help so badly it hurt.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing that this was all a bad dream. My cheek was pushed into the rough brick which grazed my skin, and I silently prayed for my attacker to just let me go or for some hero to come and save me. At that very moment I heard the door to the diner and my eyes shot open, instantly connecting with Deans. I watched as surprise turned to horror which then turned to pure feral rage on his face and before I even had a chance to blink he was gone from my line of sight - but so was the pressure keeping me pinned against the wall. I spun around and I watched Dean throw the stalker to the floor with more force that I thought he could muster and tower over him. Dean didn’t say a word, but the stranger let out a sharp cry of pain as Dean instantly brought his boot down on his ribs. There was a CRACK. He did it again.

And again.

And then he got down and pinned my attacker flush against the tarmac before he brought a closed fist down on his face over and over and over again, cracking his jaw and breaking his nose. Dean didn’t stop until the man was totally unrecognisable and unresponsive. Standing up off of his limp body, he looked over to me, his furious, almost animalistic stare softening instantly, even through all the blood that now painted his face. He took one step towards me before my feet worked on their own and carried me straight to him. I put my arms out to reach for him and he grabbed my hands and pulled me into his chest with zero hesitation, his arms circling me and his blood-soaked palms gently stroking my hair. I sobbed. I sobbed from the fear I felt, I sobbed for feeling like such a victim and I sobbed for the relief I now felt flooding my veins as Dean held me, not saying a word. Listening to his heartbeat with my ear to his chest, I felt so safe and secure that it made me want to sob even more.

Dean ended up taking me straight back to my room - he called Sam to tell him what had happened as he wasn’t going to be returning to the diner. I had my second shower of the day as soon as we returned, wanting to scrub everywhere that horrible man had touched. Whilst I was washing, Dean had headed back to his own room to shower off the layer of blood coating his skin. After I was satisfactorily clean, I dried myself and dressed in that old T-shirt I wore the night before, pulling on some fresh underwear and perching on the end of the bed. I picked up the remote and started mindlessly flicking through channels, hoping to find something to distract my racing brain.

I’d been sitting in the same position for around ten minutes when there was a gentle knock on the door. I held my breath as I got up and walked over, looking through the peephole. It was Dean. I released that breath as I opened the door and let him in. He’d changed from his usual gruff attire to something way more comfortable - a plain white T-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms. He smiled at me. A kind smile, nothing like those teasing and sly ones we’d been throwing at each other since yesterday. This one was genuine, and it made my chest feel warm. He locked the door behind him as I padded back over to the bed and climbed on it, sitting right in the centre with my legs crossed. I pulled the T-shirt down to cover my dignity as Dean placed a carrier bag in front of me. I peeked inside. It was full to the brim of all different types of snacks and I grinned up at him.

“You sure do know how to treat a girl, Winchester.”

He let out a soft laugh and looked down at the floor before taking residence beside me.

“You’re the first one who thinks so”.

“Oh yeah?”

“There’s a long line of women who definitely think otherwise,” he smiled a slightly sad smile. We both paused before I continued.

“Well if it means anything, what you did for me today, I-” he held a hand up to stop me as he saw the look of fear flit across my features again, the horrid memory bubbling to the surface.

“It was the least I could do,” he said softly before his brows furrowed, “but to be honest I should never have let you out of my sight.” The almost protective tone of his voice made my heart flutter a little, but It was my turn to reassure him as I placed my hand on his shoulder delicately.

“Dean, none of us knew that would happen. I know you wouldn’t have left me alone if you genuinely thought I was in danger - after all, you DID promise to keep me safe from my own shadow,” I flashed him a grin which he quickly returned, chuckling. We sat for a few moments in a strangely comfortable silence before there was another knock at the door. I went to get up to answer it but Dean beat me to it, swinging it open to show a very concerned Sam stood in the doorway. He looked at me with those big ever-worried eyes and I shot him my best ‘please don’t worry’ grin.

“I’m fine, Sam” I called out to him as I tried to listen in on the hushed words Dean was speaking. They conversed for a while, occasionally throwing glances at me as I rustled around in the bag of goodies Dean had supplied. Growing bored of not being involved with their conversation, I scooted back on the bed to lean back on the headboard and proceeded to flick through dozens of channels until I found something decent to watch. A few more minutes had passed and I’d munched my way through almost half a bag of Doritos when I heard the door close and it was just me and Dean again. He had a paper bag that Sam must’ve passed him, which he held up and pointed to.

“The blood stains came out of my clothes, although Sam said the people in the laundromat were giving him strange looks,” he laughed slightly, those striking eyes of his looking down into mine as he took a few steps closer. I laughed slightly, only imagining Sam’s awkwardness in that situation. I broke my gaze away from Dean for a few seconds, looking down at my hands before looking back up. I could tell he was hovering now, just waiting for me to say something.

“Dean I’m fine, you don’t have to stay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying for a bit longer if you need me to” his hand ran over the stubble on his chin, his eyes not leaving me.

“Really, I’m ok. I’m probably just going to sit here and watch whatever this is-”

“It’s obviously Men in Black,” Dean scoffed. I smiled, finding comfort in the familiar snarky remark.

“Obviously - I don’t live under a rock Dean,” I rolled my eyes as I stood up, placing my hands on his chest. He was so warm to the touch that it was almost enticing me not to let go. The gentle thrum of his heartbeat was so soothing. But I did let go, and I spun him around to start ushering him to the door. As he was leaving, I grabbed my half eaten bag of chips and started munching again. He opened the door, stepping outside.

“Go back to your room Dean. I promise I’m ok. I don’t want you both hovering over me constantly making sure I’m fine; that will just make me feel worse,” I said as he spun to face me, nodding his head.

“Back to normal. Got it.”

“Great,” I said, sucking the tangy chip dust from my thumb. Dean suddenly reached out and snatched the half-eaten bag from my hand before quickly walking away.

“I’ll see you in the morning!” He shouted back at me before shovelling food into his mouth.

“You ass! I was eating those!” He shrugged in an overly animated fashion, not bothering to turn and look at me as he continued towards his room. I sighed, closing the door and locking it, sliding the chain across this time too. I padded back towards the bed and climbed in, pulling the covers up to my chin. As I started to drift off, the buzz of the movie still playing in the background, I smiled a little to myself:

Fucking Winchester.

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Up Next:

Chapter 6

#dean x female!reader #dean winchester x you smut #dean winchester x reader smut #dean x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #dean winchester enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #eventual smut #slow burn

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helianskies · 20 days ago

Note

EngSpa, “you’re my little secret.” ;)

oh maiva, how i adore you and your ideas >:3

Tonic

Antonio sits in a hotel bar area, tucked comfortably on an armchair that sits in a corner of the large room, alongside an old carved fireplace, a bookshelf, a spare chair, and a table that carries his glass for him.

It is nearing seven o’clock in the evening, and he is still waiting.

His stomach threatens to riot and rumble. It has been a long day, and he yearns for the good food—a fancy meal—that will come shortly. He just has to wait. He just has to wait.

His head slips into his hand and he lightly rubs his forehead. Then, feeling that the few seconds he has just spent distracted is perhaps too many, he sits back up straight and glances around the room, studying a sea of faces to see if there is anyone he recognises. He hopes there isn’t. And, so far, he seems to be in the clear. It means he can breathe, relax again, and have a sip of wine to cure his—

“Sorry to keep you.”

Antonio pulls his glass away, swallowing his mouthful of white wine, before he sets it down and turns to the person who has taken up the adjacent armchair.

It’s Arthur, of course. The only person he wants to see for the rest of this evening.

“That’s okay,” he responds. “You’re here now.”

Arthur sets his drink down on the table—a gin and tonic—and offers Antonio a small, warming smile. The sort that makes the Spaniard’s insides feel like they’re being tickled.

“We’ve got about half an hour before our table’s ready,” Arthur reminds him as he settles. “Is that okay? I know that’s sort of messed with your routine, but I—”

“I told you, it’s fine,” Antonio promises, nevertheless. “I had a small something earlier. I’m sure I’ll survive another half an hour.”

The smile reappears, and now Antonio’s joins the party. Then a hand reaches across the table without a word being spoken, and he takes it. He holds it. Just for a few precious moments.

This is the closest they will come to an embrace in public. They may have been meeting in a hotel different from the one they are staying in for the next couple of days, but even so, they will only go so far. They know that there is a time and a place.

With time moving on, they take to talking as normal people do. They speak of how their days have been, about any personal developments since the last time they had been able to speak freely in person, about how bored they both already are with diplomacy again.

There is a clear consensus: at least they have each other.

Antonio lives for these moments they have. For the dinners they can indulge in while foreign eyes look elsewhere. For drinks shared as old enemies and newer lovers while the world thinks they are neither of the sort. For sneaking glances in meetings, for lingering touches as they pass in corridors, for texts sent and read under a desk with a smile or even a blush…

One day, they’ll do these things without worrying about who is behind them, or who might overhear. For now, however, they must play it safe. Not rush. Be careful.

He doesn’t know what time it is when Arthur suggests they make a move towards the restaurant, but Antonio is somewhat surprised that that much time has passed.

First, they’ll finish their drinks—neither of them are in disagreement about that motion. That means, though, that the prospect of food is drawing near, and that makes the Spaniard(‘s stomach) feel a little bit happier.

Arthur is the first to stand. He’s downed the dregs of his gin and tonic and stands almost flush against the side of the other’s armchair as he waits for Antonio to drink up, too.

“You know,” the blond begins, perhaps in an attempt to kill a few more seconds, his patience as imaginary as some of his friends, “Francis was asking me what my plans were this evening.”

Antonio nearly spits out the rest of his wine. He has to swallow it down carefully, a hand over his mouth, lest he start to cough and splutter and draw attention to them both.

“You… You haven’t said anything, have you?” he asks, fearful.

“No, I haven’t,” Arthur reassures him, however. He brushes the back of his hand over Antonio’s cheek, a brief movement, before withdrawing it again (they are, after all, still in public). “Don’t worry. You’re my little secret.”

It’s a funny thing. It’s a funny thing to consider himself as and be considered as by Arthur, but he likes it. It is Antonio’s doing, after all.

When he and Arthur sat down about a year ago and decided to rekindle something that had last lost its spark a few decades prior (it is a recurring pattern), it had been his condition. I don’t want anyone to know, he had told Arthur, and Arthur had agreed without much questioning.

It’s a matter of principle.

Antonio wants to see who he wants to see and love who he wants to love without it being the whole damn world’s business. Having friends who gossip, and knowing in general that people are terrible at keeping secrets that aren’t their own, Antonio yearned for privacy—and that is what Arthur has provided him, like a tonic for his troubles.

(Does that make Antonio gin…?)

They leave for the restaurant. Antonio is soothed, and Arthur rambles on about how he chose this posh hotel's dining hall not only for its fancy reputation, but because he recalls Antonio mentioning a few weeks ago that it would be nice to splurge on occasion and feel fancy, too. His worries cease to exist after that point, mellowed out by Arthur’s care and attention.

It has been nice, you know. To be in a relationship in which he doesn’t have to pull the strings, do the thinking, lead the romantic gestures.

Arthur has a tender heart. Antonio considers himself lucky that Arthur has made room for him in it.

[ find prompts here! ] [ fic collection on ao3! ]

#helia writes #hws spain #hws england #engspa #ty maiva we begin the 2024 helia-writes-short-fics-for-a-bit season strong with the faves lol #theyre gonna have a fancy romantic candelit dinner togetherrrr ♡#(arthur's paying obvs!)#:3c

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sparatus · 2 years ago

Note

Oh please I need to know about the des mafia au! 😘

YES god this one lives in my head fucking rent-free

wip title game

desolas mafia au

so this one actually started as a bit of a crackpot idea with @korblez because oops the friend oc intertwiner machine ran overboard. he has a whole clan of ocs for the turian mob, and through some timeline crack figuring we figured out that in my verse, the raid that killed desolas and saren's parents happened not terribly long before his oc marius left the military to found the zuikos'i, and that just kindaaaa "hey des has the personality of a mob boss, what if" and here we are

for setup: in 2118, desinian and veniria arterius are killed in a pirate raid on the remote colony town of ifura on carthaan, leaving their sons desolas (age 24) and saren (age 5) orphaned. desolas, serving his mandatory service in the army, was a part of the responding squadron, but arrived too late, and was the one to find his parents' bodies and rescue his brother from the woods behind the house where their mother had told him to hide. a couple years later, desolas has turned bitter and aggressive, having refused therapy for his growing depression and ptsd, instead clinging tightly to his last living family members (his brother, as well as his paternal grandmother and great-grandfather) and the few friends still stationed with him. saren has gone selectively mute, never making a sound except to wail inconsolably when separated from his aforementioned 3 relatives. major marius cassi, desolas's CO at the base on taetrus he was sent to after bereavement leave, sees the potential in him that's being smothered by his own downward spiral, and his heart breaks for him. when events in his own life lead marius to say "fuck it", leave the military, and found his own criminal organization, he makes the offer to desolas to leave with him and join him.

in the main verse, des of course turns him down, wanting the stability of the military so he can make sure his little brother will be provided for, but in this au he accepts, and joins marius in founding the zuikos'i. from there, i have a sort of trilogy:

the first fic is the setup, following both desolas and saren. with desolas we see the founding of the zuikos'i and his relationship with marius, finding a surrogate father figure in him as he navigates his own grief and trauma that he hasn't been allowing himself to process because he felt that saren needed him more. with saren, we stay home with the rest of the cassi family and watch him slowly heal and grow in his own right, and through his internal monologue learn more about what this little (selectively) mute child has seen that he will never give voice to.

in the second, we fast forward several years. this one is desabrudas-centric; desolas is a fully-fledged mob boss in his own right, while his old friend from the taetrus base valis abrudas has become an officer. both of them still remember the other and the bond they shared, and regret not being able to stay together, and hope the other is doing well. when a chance encounter pits them against each other, desolas gets a wild hare up his ass to pull valis over to his side, while she becomes determined to bring him in one way or the other, each remembering who the other used to be craving what they used to have. so begins a game of cat-and-mouse, a friends-to-enemies-to-lovers dance across the stars; the only question is, will she drag him back to the hierarchy by his crest, or will he sway her over to a life of crime?

the third main fic is kryterius. in this au, nihlus's father never dies, and nihlus grows up to be a rough-and-tumble terminus merc just like his parents before him. saren, meanwhile, is an enforcer, and isn't particularly invested in the job, but it's a good outlet for the destructive energy his biotics make while letting him pursue other interests on the side, plus he idolizes his big brother, so he's willing to stick with it. they cross paths by chance during a skirmish, and then keep crossing paths, to the point nihlus starts to mock saren that it's because saren is into him. while saren venting about the annoying shithead bastard freelancer who he definitely doesn't think is attractive no sir that keeps getting in his way, marius overhears and takes a surprising amount of interest, and saren is tasked with bringing nihlus in, alive. along the course of the hunt, saren slowly unravels more about this annoying red freelancer and his connection to marius - and, against his will, realizes he actually kinda doesn't want to throttle him too hard.

so, basically: heavily extremely self-indulgent au featuring a lot of friend worldbuilding (like, this would be a joint project, this would be a NoisyNoiverns-korblez collab crossover extravaganza patent pending) and des being a smarmy bastard and saren being a pining maybe-demi gay mess, thank you for your time

#press conference #threewhiskeylunch

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savemewattpad · 8 months ago

Text

Hello my angel <3

So since the live action came out, my ATLA muse is back with a vengeance and I've been toying with bringing back my very first OC and retooling her. Her name is Kairi (yes I stole the name from Kingdom Hearts...and I refuse to change it now) and her live action FC is Banita Sandhu. (Her main fic will follow the events of the live action so that’s what I’m focusing on in this.)

In classic Ari fashion I could not resist adding a bunch of my own lore and worldbuilding. In a lot of classical elemental theories, there was actually a fifth element, with a lot of different ideas and names but for this it’s void. There’s a fifth element void, there’s a small Void people tribe, and Kairi is a voidbender. The ONLY voidbender–there is only ever one at a time, it’s a role like the Avatar with a reincarnation cycle.

The Avatar and the Voidbender (I’m gonna come up w a cooler name for the latter) basically have complimentary roles in the world, and the dynamic is also slightly inspired by the Dalai Lama and Panchen Lama in Gelug school of Tibetan Buddhism. Basically it is the Voidbender’s job to find the Avatar when the old one dies, and then the Voidbender dies and the Avatar finds the next Voidbender, and on and on in a cycle. The Avatar is more powerful, but Voidbender is second on that list.

So Kairi’s mom was Void but her father is Fire Nation, and she was raised in the Fire Nation as a lesser noble (or possibly as the child of palace servants, unsure, leaning towards the former, although the latter is what existed in the original fic) by her father and stepmom, with whom she had either a tepid or actively toxic relationship. She didn’t know her true origin or her mom’s identity (her dad did, but was not forthcoming about it) and nobody knew that she was the Voidbender.

She was also childhood friends with Zuko. After Zuko’s scarring and banishment, Kairi ran away from the Fire Nation. (I get the sense that there was a secondary trigger for her leaving, and that it involves Ozai somehow, but I’m not sure what). She runs away to the Earth Kingdom and eventually joins the resistance in Omashu, earning their trust despite being a Fire Nation defector, making her way up the ranks as a good spy and eventually becomes one of Bumi’s most trusted agents. (Yes she’s like 13 when she starts and by the time she ranks that high she’s 16. We are going full Mary Sue with this girlie if that wasn’t already apparent, I’m honoring my 13 year old self’s wishes on this.)

She also, in order to prove her loyalty, ends up with like this cool metal tattoo that is absolutely not viable in real life in which a metal is sort of branded onto her, picture one of those upper arm bracelets but permanently embedded in her skin surrounded by scar tissue. This is because I thought it would be cool when I was 13 and I was right.

Through all of this she feels a deep need to prove herself but also a deep loneliness. She believes in fighting the Fire Nation but she is also looking for a sense of belonging and meaning that she hasn’t quite found.

Then Team Avatar rolls up to Omashu, Kairi meets them and immediately feels like that’s Where She’s Supposed To Be, and is given leave by Bumi to accompany them. She and Aang develop this really tight brother-sister bond (because of the Avatar-Void thing but also because Aang always reminds me of my nephew who is like my little brother bc the age gap between us is only six years).

Of course traveling with the Avatar also brings her face to face with Zuko once more, now as enemies, cue to childhood-friends-to-enemies-to-friends-to-lovers arc, Alexa play Can’t Catch Me Now by Olivia Rodrigo.

From here her arc is sketchy in my mind but she eventually finds out she’s the Voidbender, learns to control her powers, finds belonging with the Gaang, etc. These powers are still being ironed out but she basically can manipulate and create space between the other four elements. One example is that she could put out a fire by putting an oxygenless space between the fire and air. The Avatar is the thing that unites the four elements, and the Voidbender is the one who keeps them distinct, symbolically.

Personality wise Kairi has three basic modes. One, sarcastic and funny as a mechanism to keep people away. Two, stone cold military girl, hyper-competent, strategic, no nonsense. Three, a teenage girl who is awkward and feels out of place and like she’s missing something all the time, like there’s something everyone knows but she doesn’t, like there’s no real place for her.

Her end game ship is Zuko but I might have her have like a small romantic tension with Sokka that eventually gets resolved and they end up good friends. Still deciding on that. (In the OG they lowkey hated each other lol).

But yeah that’s Kairi I love her, I’m gonna make her in the Sims soon hopefully. I’m also working on designing her base outfit.

Since I've been mostly absent for a few months . . . (Since like Christmas)

Reblog this post and spill as many details as you want to about an OC (or OCs) to help me catch up!

#kass #oc; kairi

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ker0senebunny · 2 years ago

Text

meet me behind the mall✫*ﾟ･ﾟ

steve harrington x fem!reader

part ii — 9/25/22

summary: steve was never yours to lose. you went in knowing that, but god, you'd give anything to go back to that summer. a tale of childhood enemies, kisses in cars, and the best summer of your life. inspired by my favorite track from folklore. enemies to almost lovers. focuses primarily on seasons 2, 3, and 4. (angst, fluff, smut)

warnings: afab!fem!reader, language, angst, fluff, smut (18+), dom!steve strikes again except he's a lil meaner, sub!reader, drinking/use of alcohol, but no use of sir or daddy etc, praise + degredation combo yktv, oral (m!recieving, mentions of f!receiving), mentions of penetration (pls remember to practice safe sex!!), mentions of fingering, use of pet names, size kink (for like one second), dirty talk, no use of y/n, kinda asshole!steve but pt ii is gonna be more soft s3 steve. promise. all characters are 18+, beta'd (freakin finally) by @flwersgarden, @royalmaybank, @appocalipse, and @kissmxcheek

word count: 9,596 (jeez. now u all see why it took so long)

notes: first of all: thank you to my absolutely lovely proofreaders/editers/besties. you all are always kind, always encouraging, always loving. you motivate me on my most unmotivated days. i admire you all so much as writers and as wonderful people. with that being said, it's been a while, hasn't it! so sorry for the delay. college is very overwhelming! anyways, as you see above, the sequel will (hopefully) be out in two weeks. this is part i of iii so strap in everybody. enjoy! xox olive

p.s. 500 followers wtf??? thankyou im gonna stinkin cry. and as always, reblogs are greatly appreciated. thank u for the lurv (srsly)

when steve harrington loves someone, he makes it known. which perfectly explains why he didn’t want to make you known.

you wanted him to be the boy who walked you up your driveway, moths fluttering against the porch light overhead. you wanted him to take your chin between his fingers and tilt your lips toward his. you wanted to taste the watermelon lip balm he’d borrowed from you. you wanted him to wait until you unlocked the door, almost slipping inside, before turning around to feel the plush of his lips against yours just once more.

and you foolishly believed that he could be that boy.

instead, you got rushed calls asking you to meet him behind the mall in his BMW and a stupid nickname.

steve was probably your greatest enemy (no, you’re not exaggerating. a years-long feud has earned him that title). but it was fine. after all, you had your best friend robin. the two of you were planning on moving to california after high school, dreaming of a shabby apartment with peeling paint that you’d cover up with photos of friends and posters. maybe you’d coparent a cat. you didn’t even know what you wanted to do with your life, yet. you just couldn’t handle hawkins anymore. it was a drab little town, rusted and decaying. not quite past its prime — there wasn’t really ever a prime. you just wanted more.

steve was your next door neighbor. to say things had been rocky between the two of you would be an understatement. your parents were on good terms, and you and steve used to be sort-of-maybe-kind-of friends.

it all started when an ice cream truck pulled onto your ritzy street. you ran out of your house at full force: nine years old, with one tooth missing in the front. you had begged your mom for her spare change right before you sprinted out the door. you just had to get the last cherry ice pop. but someone was there before you; you watched as the truck driver placed a red “x” over your precious ice pop flavor. you were dejected, preparing to go back inside when you caught a glimpse of a striped shirt out of the corner of your eye. it was steve harrington, your older next door neighbor who lived just over the fence to the right of you. you threw a determined look in the direction of the brown-haired boy before marching up to him. you tapped him on the shoulder and he looked at you, confusedly. you held out your little palm, coins clinking and set in the center.

“i’ll pay you extra for that ice pop,” you said, your mouth set into a serious line. steve seemed interested, quirking his brows up, hazel eyes shimmering in the indiana humidity. “how much do you have?” he asked, nodding at your hand. you counted the coins in your hand. “i have one dollar. and i know you paid fifteen cents for that ice pop. i’ll give you the whole dollar for it.” he pondered your deal for a couple of seconds before saying, “nah, i’m good!” and walking around you, back toward his house. you turned around to chase him as as he walked toward his house. “please, steve! cherry is my favorite,” you begged, putting on your best pitiful face that always worked on your parents and stopping right in front of him. you watched as his face changed, and you thought you’d won. “oh cherry’s your favorite?” he asked. you nodded so vigorously that your summer dress waved in the muggy air. “tough luck,” he said before unwrapping the ice pop and taking a big bite in front of you. you stood there, mouth agape as he exaggeratedly enjoyed what should’ve been your ice pop, right in front of you no less! he licked his crimson-dyed mouth as he threw the barren popsicle stick into the garbage can in his driveway. “see you around, cherry,” he said as he walked up to his porch and slammed the door to his house.

that’s how you became cherry to steve and steve only. he annoyed you every day of your life with that stupid fucking nickname.

on your first day of freshman year, you popped into the entrance of hawkins high with robin, your best friend since middle school. steve saw you, whistled, and yelled down the hall, causing everyone to stare at you: “hey, sweet cherry! look at you, all grown up.” your excited face morphed into a fiery glare as you angrily walked past him, skirt swishing. his goons howled and cackled as you seethed, robin turning around to flip them off.

it wasn’t like the two of you fought every time you were around one another. okay, it totally was. but it was because he was such an insufferable dickhead and you were definitely not going to take his bullshit lying down.

he started dating nancy during your sophomore year, something you learned as you walked to his car in the morning, opening the door to the passenger side before his hand shot out to stop you. you rolled your eyebrows. “steve, i have a big history test today and i’m not in the mood for whatever the fuck you’re doing.” he rolled his eyes back at you. “we’re picking up my girlfriend,” he said, kicking at the loose gravel in his driveway. your eyebrows flew to the top of your forehead. “girlfriend?” your voice rising so high in pitch that it came out as a squeak. “and you haven’t managed to be an utter douche yet?” he rolled his eyes so hard you were afraid they'd get stuck there. “just get in the backseat, cherry,” he said as he slid into the car.

you looked at the smooth leather incredulously as steve adjusted his rearview mirror. you gingerly pushed your bag into the car, making sure your body touched the seat as little as possible. “i don’t even want to know what’s happened back here,” you said as you shuddered. steve caught your gaze in the mirror, a piece of gum popped in his mouth. “y’know, cherry, you’ve had many chances to find that out for yourself,” he said with a teasing lilt to his lips. you scrunched your nose in disgust and made a retching noise. “i’d rather drink a t-shirt through a straw,” you said in a huff. to your surprise, he actually laughed.

you hadn’t been paying attention, choosing to review your history notes one more time and so you didn’t realize you pulled up to the wheeler house. now, you were extra intrigued. steve honked twice and rolled down the window as nancy wheeler approached, giving her a kiss at which you gagged. he glared at you through the rearview mirror.

“nancy, you know cherry. my enemy,” he said as he pulled out of her driveway, a hand on the back of the passenger seat. you saw the veins and tendons in his arm flex under suntanned skin from a summer of lake days and pineapple sunscreen. nancy gave you a shy smile, which you returned. you also told her your real name and explained to her that for some reason, her dipshit boyfriend couldn’t let go of something that happened when you were kids. she laughed prettily at your words and a weird feeling settled on your chest, an unwelcome and quite frankly, bothersome weight. she returned to a gooey conversation with steve, letting you simmer uncomfortably in the backseat.

you blocked out their lovey-dovey-whatever-the-fuck with your flash cards.

you hated yourself for it, but when steve and nancy started falling apart, you were kind of glad. you’d actually gotten pretty close to nancy because of all the carpooling, often seeking one another out during your classes to giggle about something one of the basketball jocks said. so you hated yourself for your glee at seeing them leave separately at a halloween party. you didn’t even really understand why it felt like that intrusive weight had been lifted from your chest. you convinced yourself that you were just relieved that youur dear friend dumped that idiot.

at the moment, you were dressed up in your sluttiest costume, batting away gross high school boys who tried to woo you. you were dressed as a pixie: a form fitting, dark green dress, so short that the distressed skirt barely brushed the top of your thighs. you finished off your look with a cute pair of wings. you were just trying to enjoy the night with robin; the two of you made it a habit to people-watch at these things. well, because drunk people were funny and easy to make fun of. it’s not mean, it’s just the truth.

you saw steve walk in and immediately nudged robin to snort at his stupid risky business costume, but then he took his sunglasses off. and he saw you. and he looked you up and down over the edge of those stupid sunglasses. and he ran his stupid tongue over his stupid pretty mouth. and maybe it was the vodka running through you (cherry flavored of course), but god, in that moment, you just wanted him.

you shook yourself from your lustful stare and broke eye contact with him. he slipped his glasses back on and followed a very distressed looking nancy deeper into the party. again, probably the cherry vodka, but you didn’t seem to notice her coming your way. she called your name to get your attention and an easy smile made its way onto your face. “nance!” you giggled as you moved to squeeze her. she laughed at your tipsy self and made sure that you were okay before giving steve an unsure look and getting herself a drink. you were left with steve as he took off his sunglasses again, just to look you in the eye. you looked to your left, but robin was nowhere to be seen.

“you look good, cherry,” he said lowly, taking you in once again.

your breathing was a little uneven. “tha-thank you,” you said, looking at your green fingernails against the red of the solo cup in your suddenly clammy hands. he leaned one arm against the wall behind you, blocking your view of the kitchen.

“really good,” he said at a volume only you could hear. you shuddered as you felt blood rush to the surface of your cheeks, warming them to the touch. it was definitely the alcohol in your body because here you were, getting horny over steve fucking harrington. a) your enemy and b) the boyfriend of one of your friends. thank god said friend returned that instant, pulling steve away to dance, seemingly refreshed by a shot of tequila. you gave nancy's hand a squeeze before she left, mouthing the words “call me later” at her. you thought that something was off with her. obviously, she was still grieving barb’s death - something that she confided in you. but you had a feeling that there was more there.

sometimes, it’s scary how on the nose you are with things.

at least an hour ago, robin told you that she was going to walk home with vickie, a girl who was in marching band with her. you were a comfortable amount of tipsy: the kind of drunk where every blink feels like a new, warmly-tinted world. but not so drunk that you’d make catastrophic decisions.

you didn’t need alcohol to do that.

you decided that it was time to leave. you’d finally gotten bored of watching all the people you knew make a fool of themselves. you walked outside, past cups littered on the lawn and through the october chill, to see steve sitting in his car - alone. you furrowed your brow before crossing your arms to create a little warmth and walking over. you gently knocked on the driver’s side window, startling the boy. he had a vacant look in his red-rimmed eyes. steve rolled down the window before sighing out, “cherry, i’m really not in the mood to fight right now.”

now you had to know what happened.

“i’m not here to fight with you,” you said as you leaned in closer, “i saw you when i came out and just wanted to check in.” you said it so plainly, like it was an obvious truth and not a huge contradiction to the entirety of your relationship. steve felt like his lungs had started again. he rolled up the window before pushing open the passenger seat door. you’d just barely settled into the seat and closed the door before he said, “nance told me she doesn’t love me.” you turned to face him. “steve, she was super drunk-“ he looked at you with more raw emotion than you’d ever seen from him. “cherry.” he stopped you in the middle of your sentence. “i know that she meant it.” you didn’t know what to say. you didn’t know how to handle comforting the one person you’d hated for what felt like a lifetime.

you turned your whole body to face him before stretching across the console to give him an awkward hug. he went stiff in your grasp as you looped your arms around his shoulders. “what the hell are you-“ “shut up, dipshit,” you said, “i’m giving you a goddamn hug. just accept it. you can win her back, y’know? you can be sort of sweet, sometimes.” he actually relaxed at your words and pushed his cheek into the space between your collarbone and your neck. you felt him inhale against your skin and your flesh pebbled. he slowly wrapped his arms around you too, pulling you into him. you squeaked in surprise and he chuckled, the warmth and the vibrations of his low voice extended through your entire being. “thank you, cherry. needed this.” you hummed. “of course, steve. i don’t actually hate you, did you not know that?” you felt him shrug. “honestly? i couldn’t tell.” you threw your head back and laughed, the sound taking up the small amount of space in his car. as you stopped laughing, you noticed that you were almost on his lap, your hands moving to rest against his broad chest. his pretty pink pout inched closer toward yours. there was a fraction of an inch between the two of you. “steve,” you said softly into the air between you two, “we can’t. there’s still nance to think about. you haven’t actually broken up yet.” he shook his head, a hand coming to rest on your hip. you could feel the warmth of his hand through your flimsy skirt. “there’s no nance. there’s only you right now, cherry.”

when steve harrington kisses someone, he wants them to feel it. and he wants them to feel it everywhere.

you definitely did.

he pushed his silken lips to join yours, sending you into a spiral, body thrumming with feverish passion. his kiss was needy, as if you were a replacement for someone else but he just needed someone. but you didn’t care. because that wasn’t the craziest thing about this…entire experience. your arms had wound themselves around his neck, his arms around your waist, tugging you across the console.

of course, you tasted like cherries. steve groaned as he caught your bottom lip in his teeth, silently asking you to open your mouth for him. your little gasp allowed him to slip is tongue into your mouth; his big hands tugging you even more into his lap. he kissed you like it would be the last thing he ever did on this godforsaken earth. you clumsily crawled to his seat, planting yourself in his lap. you both laughed into the kiss, before melding your lips together once again. he kissed you breathless, watching as your lips shone with a mixture of his and your spit. he pulled you toward him to plant another passionate kiss on your mouth, before making his way down your neck. steve sucked little bruises into the column of your throat and savored the taste of your sweet soap. he left a vine of dark, blooming spots as you writhed and shivered on top of him. you pitched your hips over his, causing your clothed core to run over the ridge of his growing bulge. he kissed all the way down to your chest, running his hands up and down your sides, causing you to shiver. he bit down gently on the swell of your left breast, gently sliding his hand under the delicate strap of your dress, pulling down on the elastic to reveal your entire breast. you pushed your chest forward and he grunted out a laugh as he wrapped his pink pout around your stiffened, pert nub. you were throwing your head back to give him more access to your tits, lost in the pleasure, when suddenly his horn beeped — startling you both. you looked at him with your matching kiss-stung lips, your eyes wide. he was still breathing heavily.

you looked at the dark sparkle of steve’s eyes and the flush to the tips of his ears. you smiled down and leaned in to kiss him, but he turned his head. you stopped abruptly, smoothing down his collar in a calming motion. “is everything okay?” you asked delicately. even though your bodies were pressed together, you and steve couldn't have been further from one another. he ran a hand over his face and sighed. “i can’t do this cherry.” you gave him a small smile of pained understanding and slid off of his lap.

he put the car into drive.

the ride toward both of your houses was silent, save for the wind rushing past the window you opened. you’d needed to cool off after what had just occurred; you may have betrayed one of your friends by furiously making out with her boyfriend (who she thinks you hate) and you kissed steve harrington. the boy who gave you the dumbest nickname he could think of so he could use you as personal entertainment.

because that’s what he does. he uses people.

steve pulled up to your house, and as you moved to open your door, he gently took your wrist in his hold. you halted your movements, turning your head to look at him. “i just want you to know that this didn’t mean anything, cherry. it can't.” you felt as if your brain had plummeted to your feet. you blinked in shock. “what do you mean?” you asked, arms crossed in front of you, brows high. “that. in my car. it didn’t mean anything to me.” you were stunned. he kissed you first, and when you reciprocated, he reciprocated with even more fervor. you scoffed before exiting his car. “you’re never going to find ‘the one’ if you keep treating girls like shit, steve.” you slammed his car door, causing him to jump a little at the force. you trudged up the stairs to your porch as shameful tears burned at your waterline.

you heard the quiet rumble of his car as he waited for you to safely enter your home. your fingers trembled in the crisp fall air as you slipped through your door. he simply turned to go to his house. you could see the marks your teeth had left, lavender and garnet winding their way around his neck.

(and then he had the audacity to ignore you for almost an entire week.)

your parents were asleep as you padded up the carpeted stairs. you quietly shut the door to your room, running your hands over your face. there was a post it left atop the phone on your nightstand — a note from your mother. it said that you had a call from nancy and to make sure that you called her back. your still shaking hands picked up the phone, dialing the wheeler family’s number. your slightly drunken brain was all muddled, from both the alcohol and the memory of steve’s plush kisses seared into your skin. so muddled, in fact, that you’d barely remembered that it was past midnight. thankfully, it seemed that nancy was awaiting your call, picking up after only a few rings. you waited for her to say something, calling out her name gently to get her attention, closing your eyes as sobriety started to make your head ache.

”steve and i broke up.”

your eyes popped open in surprise. “what? why?” you spluttered, unsure how to support her. she seemed subtly different — distanced, even. “i don’t think i ever loved him,” she said. she sounded exhausted. “i’m so sorry nance,” you said, heart making a dull, incessant thudding in your ribcage. sure, on a technicality he’d been single, but now he was your friend’s ex. she sighed into the phone. you could picture her curling and uncurling the thick, coiled wire as she talked to you. “eh, it was for the better. he just used me to prove that he could get me, y’know? i don’t think he actually wanted me.” you didn’t say anything. of course you knew better. of course you knew that he did, in fact, actually love her. “what an asshole!” you said indignantly, “give me the word nance and i’ll climb into his room from mine and rock his shit.” her laugh trickled out of the tiny speaker, crackled but joyous. “you always make me feel better,” she said to you in earnest, “thank you. you’re just one of those people who would never hurt me. i’ll call you tomorrow.” your pulse seemed to fall out of your body. but you didn’t tell her that; she needed the you she knew, not the you who almost fucked her ex two seconds after they broke up. “of course, nance. i love you.” that’s what you settled on. you both bid one another good night and hung up the phone. you grabbed your stuffed teddy and curled around it, falling just on the line between consciousness and sleep.

you had a reputation of being a good babysitter so when claudia henderson calls, you pick up. dustin was one of your favorite kids in hawkins, constantly making you laugh with his quips and contagious smile. on that particular fall weekend morning (claudia had a wedding to go to), dustin was determined to see steve. he kept dragging out your name, pestering you with a whiny tone of voice. “please!” he said as you spread mustard on his sandwich at the kitchen counter. “absolutely not!” you sang, keeping up with your rhythmic smearing. dustin groaned and put his head on the counter like a toddler. he said something, but it was muffled by the granite surface. “come again?” you said with a small smile on your face at his antics. dustin raised his head, blowing curls away as they blocked his vision. “he’s just helping me look for dar— i mean, for mews. please?” you sighed at his pleas. you couldn’t deny that your heart clenched at the thought of the innocent boy and his missing cat. “fine,” you said, rinsing off the knife you’d been using and giving dustin his lunch. “but i’m not letting you out of my sight. i’m in charge. capiche?” he nodded and thanked you through his chewing, oblivious to the storm rampaging through your mind at the thought of seeing steve.

you’d been trudging through dry leaves for what felt like hours, but was probably more like 20 minutes. when you’d arrived at this shady meeting spot with dustin, steve spat out your name. you winced internally at the omission of the nickname you claimed to hate. “what’s she doing here, henderson?” he asked, with venom lacing his voice. as if you were the one to initiate a kiss, tell him that it meant nothing, and ignore you for no reason. he was giving dustin quite a look, one you took to mean that he didn’t want you there because of the kiss. what you didn’t know was that steve wanted you as far away as possible from the dangers of the upside down. but of course, you had no idea that steve and dustin had been through literal hell together. “i’m in charge of dustin for today, so i’m staying,” you said, crossing your arms and raising your eyebrows in a challenge. “stubborn as always, cherry,” he said into the empty forest, not even bothering to look at you.

so, you spat back, “fuck you, harrington.”

“almost did, baby,” he said over his shoulder.

your mouth was agape. your vision turned white hot with rage at his immaturity. so you did what any rational person would do.

a crack rang out and spread throughout the wood. steve held his cheek where an imprint of your delicate hand was beginning to redden. your own hand stung from the force with which you slapped him, a tingle spreading through your palm. dustin looked on with shock in his big brown eyes. steve just turned toward the abandoned railroad track and began walking, rubbing his jaw.

the two of them were spreading meat all over the forest floor, and when you’d asked, dustin had given you some half-baked excuse. you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it, but you were so stressed out that you let it slide. you walked with your arms crossed to keep out the autumn bluster that permeated your cream-colored sweater. the red ribbon in your hair blew gently in the breeze, and steve thought about his hands embedded in your hair, his mouth on yours, you, in his car. in his bed, waking up to your face. he returned to the present when he heard you ask dustin about if he was sure "mews" was in this “creepy forest.”

you were looking at steve, too. he looked a little too good in his jeans and gray members only jacket. his hair was coiffed over as per usual, but you kept thinking about how you’d mussed it beyond repair the last time you saw him. you felt embarrassment and a little excitement rush to your cheeks as you tried to look anywhere but at him and his stupid, perfect face. and he had a bat with nails in it. why he took it with him to look for a cat, you didn’t know. but it was kind of hot.

he’s a dick, you quickly chastised yourself.

“dude, that’s not how you impress a girl,” you heard steve say. you were intrigued. you knew that dustin probably also told steve about his crush on max, and steve being just so good with girls was about to give him some advice.

“i don’t know. you’re trying way too hard,” steve continued.

dustin rolled his eyes in exasperation. “well, not everyone can have your perfect hair. alright?” he retorted.

steve rolled his eyes right back. “it’s not about the hair, man. the key with girls is just…just acting like you don’t care.”

you snorted at that, causing both of them to turn to look at you. steve narrowed his eyes as you challenged his words. “got something to add, cherry?” he said with that tone of voice that made you want to tackle him. a small smile made its way to your pretty lips. the same lips that steve couldn’t get himself to stop thinking about. “that’s not how you show a girl that you like her.” dustin was suddenly enraptured by your perspective. “what do i have to do? tell me!” the boy begged you. you laughed at his urgency. “show her that you do care. communicate with her. be clear about what you want with her,” you said with certainty, before continuing, “be kind to her. do something for her that you know she’ll like.” steve was silent. you thought he was upset by you stealing his thunder, but really, he was deep in thought. why was he thinking about you? why was he thinking about how he kept your favorite watermelon lip balm in his car (just in case you needed some. he definitely didn’t use it to see what you’d taste like)? why was he thinking of sneaking through your window to kiss you silly and wake up with his face in your neck, your hands on his back? why was he thinking of you, his cherry, instead of nancy? he blinked to clear his mind of thoughts of you, before grumbling something about the light disappearing.

on that day, you were supposed to be watching dustin. except for the fact that the child you were supposed to keep safe, was very much indeed, missing. you’d called him down for dinner over 15 minutes ago. he told you that he was going to do some homework after your excursion with steve. when no response came from his room, you’d searched the entire henderson household, frantically moving shower curtains and drapery aside. you almost gave up when you saw that the laundry room window was open, and you knew that your favorite little shit had gotten out. you went out into the living room to center yourself as you felt panic sink in. a loud crackle brought you out of your deep breathing. it was one of dustin’s extra walkie talkies on the coffee table. you grabbed it and fiddled with the dial until you heard small voices calling dustin’s name. “dustin! where are you? we’re almost at the junkyard.” a beep, another crackle. “almost there! it was tough to get out, guys. give me a break.” it was dustin. your mind went into protective mode as you shoved your feet into your converse and grabbed the walkie talkie. you rushed outside and took one of the spare bikes in the hendersons' garage before booking it to the old junkyard, the light sinking beneath the horizon and dusting the world around you in night.

when you arrived, you saw dustin and lucas (whom you knew), along with a redheaded girl and wait— steve? “dustin!” you yelled, worry evident in your voice. everyone’s heads whipped toward you, all four sets of eyes equally as wide. you marched toward the group, wading through the darkness and the heavy fog, fully prepared to drag dustin home. “cherry, you can’t be here,” steve said, taking a step toward you. “don’t tell me what to do, harrington. i mean nothing to you, remember?” steve didn’t know how to respond. his mouth moved as he reached for some way to tell you, no, cherry, honey. i can’t let you see this.

“i’m staying,” you said with finality. steve moved to protest again, but you both jumped at a rattling nearby. something growled and steve raised his bat. “cherry, take the kids and get in the bus,” he said, eyes flitting around — alert. “eat shit harring-” “cherry,” he said. he said that stupid nickname like he’d never said it before, urgently, tenderly, begging. you nodded breathing out a little “okay” as you herded the children toward the rusty vehicle. you all peered out as steve called to the creature, taunting it. lucas was looking through his binoculars when he gasped. “steve,” he screamed. “watch out!” steve kept his eyes trained on the monstrosity emerging from the fog. “a little busy here,” he said, licking his lips in anticipation of a fight. “three o’clock!” lucas yelled again. before you knew it, dustin was running toward the bus door, throwing it open, and calling steve’s name, and yelling “abort! abort!” you pulled dustin back in, hands trembling as you saw one of the creatures lunge at steve. he dodged successfully, rolling over the hood of a desolate car. another one launched itself at him and your heart seized in fear. luckily, he was fast enough to swing his bat at it; it landed with a half-whimper, half-growl. you realized that you were screaming now too.

“steve! hurry!” you cried, desperation tearing through in your voice. he was running now, running harder than ever now that he’d heard your sobs for him. he jumped in at the last second, just as you threw your arms out and shut the door. the creature’s body landed with a sickening thud against the door. more creatures gathered with the original, scratching at the door and shaking the bus. you scrambled to get the kids behind you as steve fortified the door. one broke through the door; everyone was yelling but you pushed the kids to the back of the bus as steve beat the monster with his bat. you joined him at the front, taking a nearby metal rod to help, knocking the beast to the ground, where it heaved weakly. one of its brethren saw your attack and charged at you. steve reacted in a heartbeat. he was on the monster in an instant, viciously hitting it with his bat. after a few more seconds, the creature made a shuddering move before laying still. the one previously attacking steve seemed to orient itself. it snarled, all dripping teeth and ragged growls, and threw itself at steve. he was unsuccessful, and to your horror, was about to go for steve’s throat. your name was caught on his tongue as he looked to you for comfort, for anything. and he saw it in your eyes. he saw everything you were afraid to tell him. but then, the monsters seemed to be enchanted by something, something you couldn’t perceive. they suddenly leaped out and off of the bus. relief flowed through your veins as you realized everyone was in tact. steve was in tact. you noticed that the two of you were smushed together as the kids regrouped next to you. you both pretended not to notice that steve’s arm was encircling your waist, rubbing at the sliver of skin that your top revealed.

“what the fuck was that steve?” you breathed out. you felt his chest rise beneath your back. “a demodog.” “a what?” he sucked in a breath, tensing underneath you, before launching into an explanation about all things upside down. at the end of his rant, you were quiet. “that’s why i didn’t want you here,” he said as if he weren’t sure you’d be listening. but you were; he held your attention fully. “i didn’t want you to have to see this.” you turned to face him, interlocking your fingers. “well, i’m sure as hell not leaving you now, harrington.” “as if you could ever stay away from me, cherry baby.”

oh, how right he was.

since steve had revealed the upside down to you, the two of you had been through a lot. more than the average enemies would go through together. he’d been beaten up by billy hargrove (someone you never particularly liked), and you’d sobbed over his bruised face, blood crusting in the little fissures left by billy’s knuckles. he’d woken up, dizzy and in pain to feel the wetness of your tears on his face. “i’m okay, cherry. look at me, hey? i’m fine,” he said, reaching up to put his palm on your cheek. he kept a secure hold on you as you traversed the complex tunnels, crushing you into his chest when he thought you two were about to die in a herd of inter-dimensional monsters. you’d both pulled away quickly, cheeks warm and clearing your throats nervously. surely enemies do that, right?

so now, steve was only more of a pain in your ass. especially since he made your heart flutter, since he made you perk up at just one whiff of rosemary and laundry detergent.

when starcourt mall opened up over the summer, robin got a summer job. the hendersons didn’t really need you as much this summer, and you already had a pretty good babysitting gig going with the waldens who lived on the other side of you. so in your spare time, you’d go visit your best friend.

the only issue was that steve pain-in-your-ass harrington worked with her.

sure, the free ice cream may be worth it, but was it really worth it to see him? especially after that halloween night. at the end of the day, you loved robin more and could shove the stinging thrill of seeing steve to the bottom of your stomach.

the only issue was that he looked too damn good in his dumb fucking sailor uniform. and you kept thinking about kissing him again.

both robin and steve were working today; you were perched behind the counter on a stool that robin had designated for you. though you’d tried to forget about "it" and him, you just couldn’t. yeah, you asked him to forget, but it seemed like he remembered it just as vividly as you did. the two of you tried to stay on opposite sides of the store, which was difficult considering that it was extremely small. and the area behind the counter just had to be narrow. he’d brush by your legs, causing your spine to stiffen and a sharp inhale to make its way down to your lungs. he’d grace you with a faint, “sorry, cherry.” you’d tuck your legs in closer to your seat. you wouldn’t — and couldn’t — look each other in the eye. robin, on the other hand, was completely oblivious, chattering away to you both. you’d noticed that the two of them were getting closer. you weren’t the type of person to tell your friends who they could and couldn’t be friends with, but robin knew that steve used to be your enemy. not used to be, you reminded yourself, he is my enemy.

it was one of the slower days that june — the morning of what would inevitably become the friday rush. the store was quiet, save for the hum of the freezer. you were enjoying your sample of cherry-almond swirl as robin checked the freezer one last time. “shit,” she muttered, sliding one of the frosted doors open. you cocked your head at her, spoon still in your mouth. robin turned to steve. “i have to go refill the cookies and cream. we accidentally put two chocolate chips in. be right back!” she was out the door before either you or steve could offer your help in the larger freezer in the back (aka avoid one another). the hum of the fluorescent lights was louder, grainier, invading your headspace. the edges of the plastic spoon now stung the sides of your mouth and the almond flavor left a bitterness on your tongue. you took the spoon out and chucked it into the “used spoons” cup, all the way from your little stool. “nice shot,” steve said, causing you to whip your head around to look at him, surprise sparking in your eyes at the sound of his voice. “thanks,” you said dryly. it was quiet for a beat before you took the initiative to speak again. “i don’t think i’ve ever told you, but i’m sorry about you and nance,” you said. he gave you a tight smile. “right,” he said, “you two are close.” you mirrored his smile. “yeah. i know you tried your best,” you said awkwardly. “thanks. i just don’t know if i’m meant to have her,” he said with melancholy weaving through his words. steve looked like he wanted to say something else. just as he opened his mouth, you both turned toward the door as you heard robin mumbling about how heavy the ice cream was. steve quickly turned toward you, “meet me behind the mall. after my shift. please?” you nodded slightly, suspicion clouding your eyes. he reached out to squeeze your hand, moving toward the register and giving the standard scoops ahoy greeting as the afternoon rush began.

steve had left scoops maybe fifteen minutes ago. you nibbled at your lip, another spoonful of cherry-almond swirl left a sweetness on your tongue. the coldness sitting in your mouth faded away as you checked the clock again. robin looked at you as you raised your eyes toward the clock again.

“go.”

“what?” you said, only half paying attention, lost in your thoughts about a certain boy’s freckles.

robin dragged out your name with a playful impatience.

“go.” you furrowed your brow as she plunged the scoops ahoy’s grey shag of a mop into soapy water. “dude, it’s okay. i’m getting a ride from my mom. i don’t know who this is about, but if you look at the clock one more time i’ll never give you my blessing to be with them,” she said as she slapped the mop on the tiled floor.

you looked at robin, still chewing your lip, plastic spoon in hand. “you sure, robbie?” she flashed you a toothy smile. “promise, cherry,” she said with a wink. “don’t you dare call me that, buckley,” you said as you tossed your spoon and pulled on your cardigan. she cackled as you swung open the door, turning left toward the parking lot. you made a sharp right through the food court to get to the back of the mall. through the smudgy, glassy exterior, you could see steve’s face illuminated by the lights in his BMW. you took a calming, deep breath as you pushed through the doors. steve’s windows were open; you could hear music coming out (you could swear that it was the talking heads). you smiled unconsciously at his choice. maybe somewhere along the line, in between dusty, rotting alternate dimensions and “placid” morning car rides, he’d listened when you blabbered on about your favorite band.

he heard you approaching and suddenly straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “hey, cherry,” he said breathily. “hi,” you said plainly, still suspicious about this whole meetup. “i just want to say that i’m sorry,” he said. you looked at him unimpressed; after all, he did have quite a few things to apologize for.

“for that night, at the halloween party.” you caught his eyes when your head snapped to your left, a wide, pained look mirrored in your own irises. your silence scared him — he’d expected more yelling. he deserved it. he huffed out a tiny sigh, before speaking again: “i missed you. i missed having you around because cherry, i don’t hate you. i really don’t. our little arguments or whatever? those were the best part of my day. and then they stopped because i fucked up.”

you smiled at that, and he mirrored it: the prettiest smile you’d ever seen. he laughed a little, “but i couldn’t stop thinking about you and how i missed the smell of your cinnamon gum in my car.” your eyes were softer now, glistening with something between a kind forgiveness and an inkling of playfulness. “and then we got thrown into the upside down and didn’t really get to talk about it since, y’know, we could’ve died at any moment? and then i found myself still missing you, because all that wildness wasn’t enough.”

you let the sentence hang in the air before telling him, “i missed you too, harrington.”

you’d barely noticed that you and steve were drifting closer and closer together. you felt little puffs from his plump lips brush over your own pout. “cherry-” he started. “steve,” you pleaded, hands spreading across his chest. he pulled back a little, grabbing your hand gently when he saw hurt flash over your features. “i just want you to know that i’m not looking for anything serious.”

oh. of course.

he sucked in a breath through his teeth as your face hardened into steely ire. “i really loved nancy. i can’t get over her that quickly.” you pulled your hand from his. “but cherry, i can’t stop thinking about you. and that night, god. i just keep thinking about what i would’ve done to you if we hadn’t stopped.”

something heavy settled in the pit of your stomach, the feeling making its way into your core.

“show me,” you said.

he smiled that harrington smile before slotting his lips against yours again — deeper, frenzied, hungry, like he wanted to pull the taste of cherry-almond swirl from your mouth.

(“show me,” you had said. what you really meant was, “i’ll take any part of you that i can get.”)

you felt him harden in his jeans, his cock pressing up against the rigid seams. he hissed as you trailed your hand down his chest, toward his bulge. you looked up at him, eyes glittering and so sinfully innocent. you pressed a kiss over where his arousal was evident and his eyes rolled back in his head. “cherry, baby, honey. i could cum in my pants if you touch me like that one more time.” you smiled at that, delicate hands palming him gently, kissing his neck a pretty sea of pinks and reds, and reaching toward his zipper. “jesus, fuck. cherry,” he rasped as he pulled your head off of him by the back of your pretty locks. your neck was craned back as you looked into his dark hazel eyes. “are you going to be a good girl for me?” he asked with a taunting lilt to his throaty voice. you nodded. he smirked. “words, cherry.” “yes, i’ll be your good girl, steve,” you said, hands already wandering, mouth watering at the thought of his scent, his cock, anything — all over you. he tutted at your ministrations, pulling you off of him once again. “good girls listen to directions,” he said, lips twitching into a smirk.

“bad girls don’t get to cum.”

his hand that was holding your head had changed position, reaching to grasp your chin between his fingers, squishing your cheeks a little.

“do you think you’ve been a good girl, cherry?”

you mumbled out a soft “no” around the restriction of his fingers.

he kissed you after you answered, a soft, plush press of his lips against yours. you tilted your head forward to get more from his mouth, more from him. but he pulled away and you whined. “you’ve been bad, cherry. so now i’m gonna fuck that pretty mouth,” he growled as your thighs clenched. it didn’t go unnoticed, and steve was not-so-secretly proud of himself that he got you flustered. “and if you touch yourself, you will be punished. got it?” he said, cementing his rules in you. at the talk of punishment, steve sobered up for a second.

“what’s our safeword gonna be, princess?”

“starcourt?” you suggested. he smiled.

“perfect. now, if you let me fuck your mouth and use you as my little cocksleeve, maybe you can cum,” he said so sweetly, as if he needed to wrap you around his finger more. you suckled at his neck as you unzipped his jeans, tugging impatiently to get them off. your mouth watered at the thought of his cock; it was probably pretty and red and leaking — all for you. his boxers were next. his cock sprang out of the confines of his boxers, slapping the leaking tip onto his stomach. he exhaled as the cooler air of the car hit his shaft. he held out his palm to you as you admired his length. “spit,” he commanded. you tucked your hair behind your ears and did as he instructed. he took his hand and used your spit to slick up his member. you only just realized just how big it was, biting your lip nervously. he noticed, of course. “what’s wrong, angel?” he said, reaching toward you to rub your lower back gently. “is it gonna fit in my mouth?” you pouted. you wanted it to. like, really wanted it to. he glowed at your innocent question. “it will eventually, baby. maybe not today, but someday soon.” his words seemed to comfort you and you happily took over stroking his shaft with your spit. he threw his head back against the headrest. “fuck, cherry. s’much better than i imagined. so much better.” now it was your turn to glow, thinking about steve fucking his fist in the shower, in his bed, to the thought of you, his childhood enemy. your body felt warm all over and so you took a leap, sponging an experimental peck onto his reddened tip. his hips jolted forward at your touch, causing your eyes to widen and you to pull back. “shit. sorry, honey. just can’t get enough of you,” he said with a gentle stroke to your head. “s’okay, stevie,” you replied sweetly, “wanna make you feel good.” you then bravely dove forward and slotted your mouth over his cock, swirling your tongue around the head and gagging as you took as much of him as you could. his eyes rolled back into his head and he threaded his fingers through your hair. “holy shit, cherry,” he said, “so good. so wet, so warm f’me.” once you figured out how to breathe through your nose, you slowly started bobbing your head up and down. you hollowed out your cheeks, stroking what couldn’t fit in your mouth (yet). on one of your little moves, your teeth grazed the underside of his cock, where a vein bulged. he hissed and you felt more precum spurt from his tip. you ran your tongue over it to soothe the sting your teeth left, worried that you’d made a mistake. but the unmistakable “fuck, just like that, cherry” from above you was enough to reassure you.

you pulled off for a breather, pressing wet, sloppy kisses up and down his length as you recovered. he was just about to ask if you were okay before you took initiative again, taking him further down your throat this time. he gasped and moaned and whimpered and you were in heaven. you were surrounded by him: his musk, his heavy balls gently held in your hands, the hard muscle of his thick, hairy thighs trapping your head. “can i hold your head, angel?” he asked you, ever so gently. you nodded while keeping yourself latched onto his cock, the heavy weight on your tongue oddly comforting. he gently grasped the back of your hair in one hand before thrusting his hips into your mouth, feeding his cock into your warm, wanton mouth. you gagged a little in surprise, but steve held your hair tighter and told you to just relax your throat. at his words, you did (well, you tried with a little whine), and he slipped in further. the spit that had gathered at the corners of your lips started to spill over as you attempted to take him all the way. you hadn’t expected yourself to be getting this wet over him getting off, but here you were, making a mess of your cotton panties as you sputtered choked, eyes glossy from tears. your throbbing pussy was visible through the sheerness of the fabric that your wetness had left. you pressed your thighs together to garner some relief for your poor pulsating cunt, but you remembered that if you were good, you’d get to cum too.

steve was thrusting into your mouth now, enraptured by the warmth of your wet tongue and swollen lips — the same mouth that he dreamed about kissing almost every night. he moaned above you at the sight of your spit-slicked lips, how your eyes were wide and dumb as he fucked your throat. "holy shit, cherry. my perfect little slut, such a good little whore f'me," he panted. you locked eyes with steve as his dick rapidly plunged in and out of your tight throat and at your heated gaze, he was cumming. hot, salty ropes hit the back of your throat. you made a little noise of satisfaction, humming around his shaft as your mouth filled with his seed. steve shot one last load into your mouth, groaning out your name — your real name — and collapsing, almost boneless in his seat. you pulled your mouth off of him, swallowing his load and giving the still-flushed head a soft kiss. he tasted salty and woody. you felt syrupy slick rush out of your fluttering hole at the taste left on your tongue. he ran a hand through his hair, cheeks red, still breathing heavily. “open your mouth,” he said, looking at you and tapping your cheek lightly. you did as he asked and stuck out your tongue for good measure. he gave a pleased hum when he saw your tongue dart out to lick a little bit of his seed that was left on the corner of your mouth. “good girl. you swallowed,” he said. you burned at his praise. "thank you, stevie," you said shyly. he bent down to sprinkle kisses across your face.

your cheeks glowed with arousal as his hand gently gripped the back of your neck, casually keeping you in the palm of his hand. he slanted his mouth over yours, swiping his tongue over your own and hummed when he tasted a remnant of himself in your waiting mouth. you smiled into the kiss, the vibrations tickling your pretty pout. he pulled back, his eyes and lips shining. suddenly he was pushing a hand through his hair and checking himself out in his rearview mirror. you looked at him, mouth pursed in confusion and discomfort at the pressure between your legs. “steve,” you whined. “what’s up, cherry baby?” he said as he gently buckled you in. “don’t i get to cum? i was so good,” you begged, grabbing his bicep between his smaller palms. the polyester of his scoops uniform shifted under your pawing hands as he extended his arm behind your headrest, tendons flexing as he reversed out of the parking lot.

“you were a good girl, but only after you had my cock in your mouth.”

so that was it? he wasn’t going to get you to your release? your mouth fell agape and you detached yourself from the boy, sliding back in your seat and watching hawkins speed by.

suddenly, you were pulling up to your house. your parents had left the foyer light on, keeping the entryway to your house bathed in its soft brilliance. it felt like déjà vu; you, flustered and exiting steve’s car after he’s been an asshole to you — yet again.

you resolved to never see him again as you cursed yourself for thinking he’d changed. but this time, he gently tugged you to him, saying your name quietly, and lifting your chin up to tilt your precious face toward his. he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, one that filled the small space of his car with your deep inhale. you decided that this was your favorite kiss with him that you’d ever had. you looked at him with little hearts in your eyes as he smoothed your wildly messy hair back. he smiled at you, gently purring “don’t you dare touch yourself tonight.” you opened your mouth defiantly at his orders. he shushed you with a quick kiss to the corner of your lips that left you wanting more. “i’ll know if you do,” he said with a wink.

and you knew that you’d definitely be seeing him again.

you did cum that next day. three times to be exact; once on his fingers, once in his mouth, and once on his cock. he’d looked up at you from between your quivering thighs, asking you if he'd made it up to you. you nodded blearily, desperate to get his tongue on your hot core once again.

but whatever summer love, saying “us” moments you had, had very quickly become much deeper. you knew you were in deep shit when you realized you two were playing house after a sleepover at steve’s. you’d walked downstairs to see him swaying gently, nursing a cup of coffee in his boxers. you were wearing one of his old basketball t-shirts: sun-faded and soft and steve. he gave you a lazy smile as he dropped a kiss on your mouth, tasting of the vanilla creamer he swore he kept around “just for you, cherry. that shit’s disgusting.” you wrapped your arms around him; he sighed against your mouth as your fingertips began to rub his lower back with such care, such sweetness. “morning, stevie,” you said through a delicate yawn. ““mm mornin’ cherry,” he said, dipping down to leave a smattering of kisses across your neck and clavicle as you held each other in the sun-soaked kitchen. you silently wished to yourself that the two of you would stay like this, preserved in a memory forever. that you wouldn’t have to return to the world where you “hated” each other. that you could live together in a house of your own, with your own rich coffee scent filling the ground floor, without the upside down. your eyes snapped open at your wandering thoughts. no, you told yourself, it's steve. of course he ate you out on the kitchen floor before bending you over the counter. and of course, in the afterglow as you laid atop the cool tile, you just had to realize that you loved steve harrington.

“always so good f’me,” he rumbled, tracing his blunt nails on your back, raising goosebumps on his path. you looked into his cinnamon eyes, absorbing the ring of mossy green around his irises.

“anything for you, stevie,” you cooed, putting a veil of satin over your voice to mask the churning of your emotions.

“careful, cherry. i might start thinking that you’ve got a crush on me.”

oh, he had no idea.

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sunderlust · 2 years ago

Text

this is me trying i (rooster x reader)

masterlist part 1 | part 2 | part 3 pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader synopsis: bradley bradshaw was the bane of your existence back at UVA - you practically burnt yourself out trying to outdo him. now, you’ve quit your big shot engineering job in search of something more meaningful - the wind blows you across the country and into fightertown, where a familiar, sandy haired jackass is crooning away at the stupid piano in some naval bar. And you’re not sure if you should wait for the next gust or plant your feet down. (enemies to lovers! angst! fluff! smut? lol) warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol consumption, later explicit sexual activity, lots of existential dread, no use of y/n note: once again huge shoutout to seasonsbloom and gretagerwigsmuse for beta-ing and inspiring some really good details and research. again these gals are incredible writers their input means the world to me and this fic wouldn't exist without them! plz check them out.

——

Oh, wouldn’t you just love to grab him by his big stupid balls and set him on fire.

There he is. Bradley Bradshaw. Playing piano in the middle of the Hard Deck - which you've now learned is some sort of Navy bar. You weren't one for theatrics (correction: you definitely were one for theatrics) - but you're convinced he's your arch nemesis. Ever since that first moment he sat next to you in Spanish 103 in your first semester at the University of Virginia, he's caused nothing but constant stress and mental turmoil.

And it's just like him to be at the center of attention in this naval bar, playing that same stupid song on the piano with everyone singing along and treating him like fucking royalty. He's no different than how he was in undergrad - just a little more built and now sporting a push broom on his upper lip. Idiot.

Freshman year at UVA. You showed up to SPA 103 as a hopeful computer science major with bright eyes and a can-do attitude. Already, you'd enjoyed your first data structures class earlier that day, and you were excited to explore the option of a Spanish minor as well; until a tall, sandy haired boy plopped down in the seat next to you with just a pencil behind his ear and a piece of paper he'd clearly grabbed from the printer tray last minute. Later in class, you had eagerly raised your hand to answer Señor Soto's question, and Bradley had the audacity to correct your pronunciation right after. And that was the beginning of an intense rivalry with Bradley Bradshaw. From then on, the two of you battled it out in every class you shared together - some of your Gen Eds and most of your Spanish classes given that he, too, was going for a Spanish minor.

It infuriated you to no end how easy classes came to him - you'd study your ass off for the Gen Chem exam and earn yourself a 95% only to catch a glimpse of Bradley's paper a row in front of you with a neatly circled 97%. You'd deliver a stellar presentation in your Spanish course on culture and cuisine - spoken flawlessly in the language - and Bradley would go out of his way to ask difficult questions just to make you stumble through an answer.

Most annoyingly of all, he was always the "cool guy" amongst all your mutual friends. Always breaking out in song if (god forbid) there was a piano, and pulling girls aside and making them giggle and never even sending a second glance your way (not that you wanted it). Although, there was that one time he had asked you to his frat formal. But you'd turned him down, knowing it was most definitely a hazing thing with how nervous and shaky he had been. As always, Bradley Bradshaw had a knack for making you feel small. Smaller than a tiny mouse.

Now, almost fifteen years later and he's sitting at that piano with adoring fans around and it’s almost like nothing’s changed at all. Well, nothing on his end. You, on the other hand, feel like a shell of your old self. You were lucky enough to land a lucrative new grad job offer as a software engineer from one of the most highly sought after companies on the east coast. But after working almost five years now at a well-known company in Raleigh, the days started blending together way too easily for you. And after one long commute home on a rainy Thursday evening, you had a huge revelation when you realized you couldn't even remember what you did that past Monday - aside from waking up, working out, going to the office, making dinner, and grinding out more work at your home office until you fell asleep. Was your career, your degree, worth such a sad, passive lifestyle?

With that, you quit your job. And right after that, you called up every last one of your connections in hope of finding someone who could help you figure out your next step. It was all dead ends - most of your friends' solutions were offering you the same exact position you had before, just at their company and wrapped up in shiny new job wrapping paper. But you weren't sure you wanted to go back. You couldn't. Not just yet.

Your saving grace came in the form of Camila - your old college roommate who was currently working as a data analyst with the US Navy in San Diego with their partner, Cher. The two had recently renovated their guest house, and upon hearing your predicament, Camila immediately invited you to take a sabbatical in Miramar. "You're kidding, right? If you hate your job, don't go back to it. Come stay here - our guest house is yours and we won't accept any rent from you. Just take it easy, girl. I'll say it now - you're fucking burnt out."

Within a flurry of days, you had quit your job, broken your lease, and flown over to San Diego to begin a new, uncertain chapter in your life. And in order to have something to do, you had picked up a barista job at a coffee shop starting in a few days. They'd asked you to take the early morning shifts during the week, which gave you plenty of time to collapse in the evenings into a puddle of existential dread in your new, fancy guest house that you now called home.

All that to say, you had no idea how long you were going to be stuck in this limbo for. Part of you was hoping you'd never have to find a way out of it - that you could remain suspended in this uncertainty for ages. Because as soon as you start planning for the future, a new wave of anxiety is bound to take over and stress you out unimaginably so, with hushed whispers of potential failure echoing through your brain. It's better to hide from the unknown than to try and combat it, at least for the time being.

Back in the bar, Camila leans forward to nearly shout in your ear. “I have to go pee!” they tell you, grabbing their bag and hopping off the barstool. They had insisted on taking you out for a drink at the Hard Deck before your first day at the coffee shop, but you regretted saying yes the moment you saw Bradley at the piano.

"Go piss, girl," you mutter in response, eyeing Bradley as he steps back from the piano with humble nods to his praise. He then makes his way over to the other side of the bar, and you can feel your blood pressure skyrocket. You focus on busying yourself with the straw in your glass and try hard not to make eye contact with the bane of your existence across the room. If you’re lucky, he won’t catch sight of you at all. Lord knows whether you can handle having to interact with him after almost such a long ti-

“I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but it’s really you! How's life, Buttercup?" Bradley easily squeezes into the empty chair next to you. He's wearing a signature toothy grin, accompanied by that mustache that he's somehow really pulling off (but you'll never admit that to him, or anyone for that matter). In addition, he's wearing a wife beater underneath an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt that you're 100% certain he had back when the two of you were at UVA, but you remember it hanging more loosely around his chest and biceps. Not that you're looking.

Buttercup - jeez, it’s been years since that nickname was able to boil your blood instantaneously. Bradley coined it your sophomore year after a mutual friend's apartment party gave you access to unlimited tequila shots and a cheap karaoke machine that had the lamest song selection you'd ever seen. You don't remember much about that night, but Bradley's infamous nickname does a great job of reminding you that you still took it upon yourself to entertain the masses with your own a cappella rendition of Build Me Up Buttercup. Thankfully, it never caught on with your friends. But Bradley always knew how to milk a joke for way too long.

"Bradley," you answer curtly, taking a long sip of the melted remains of your drink; the straw gets stopped up with a stupid mint leaf. "Fancy seeing you."

"Whatcha doing on North Island?" he questions, sipping from his beer and sending you a mischievous side glance. "Last I heard you were down in Raleigh? Working for IBM or some other-"

"You keeping tabs on me, Bradshaw?" you interrupt, hoping desperately to wean him off the topic.

Bradley raises his eyebrows in amusement. "Word gets around. Seriously, you over here on vacation or something? Because the nicer tourist beaches are about 20 minutes north of here-"

"I'm about to start a new job," you rush out, stopping the rest of his jest right in its tracks. It's not a lie - your first shift at the coffee shop off of Orange Avenue is on Monday. "I'm staying with my friend Cam here for a bit during my time off, living in their guest house. Wanted to change up the scenery."

He doesn't need to know that you gave your two weeks notice on a whim in the middle of one of the busiest sprints ever for your team. He absolutely doesn't need to know that you have no idea what you're planning on doing with your life, that you're just hoping to stay still for the foreseeable future before you pluck up the courage to try something new.

“You're just treading water,” Camila had said to you. “There's nothing wrong with staying still and letting the tide take you where you need to go.”

Bradley bounces his head in a nod, still wearing those stupid sunglasses. "Well, welcome to Fightertown," he sends an easy grin your way.

You send a tight smile back. "What's going on in your life?" you ask. It pains your every nerve to try and feign interest in his life, but you power through for the sake of being polite.

"Ah y’know, this and that,” he says and waves a bartender over for another beer. “Another corona please, and whatever she’s having,” he holds his hand up to stop you from interjecting at him buying you a drink. “My treat, Buttercup. Anyways, I went to the naval academy after undergrad. Well- tried to." His face sours slightly. "Had some turbulence the first time around, but I enlisted."

“You’re in the Navy?” You ask dumbly, eyeing the rest of his friends behind him in their khakis and returning your gaze to his lack of uniform.

He chuckles. “Buttercup, did you keep any tabs on me at all?” The bartender returns with your drinks, setting Bradley's beer down in front of him and replacing your glass with a fresh minty gin and tonic.

You shrug and take a sip of your drink to hold off on responding. “I didn’t take you to be a sailor.”

Bradley lets out a hearty laugh that emanates from his chest and makes him catch onto the bar to keep from falling over. You're not sure what's so funny. “Sweetheart, I don’t drive the boats, I just land on them.” Your confused expression remains unchanged. “I’m a pilot. It's different from the Air Force - still part of the Navy. Like I said, we just land on boats in the middle of the ocean rather than land bases. Seriously, Buttercup, you didn’t figure this out from the naval air station on this island?”

He goes on, talking about various deployments and you are trying so hard to hide your growing annoyance at hearing him talk about his accomplishments. Yes, that makes you petty - you can blame it on the fact that you’re currently nursing your depression with your third gin and tonic of the night. “So what, should I call you Sergeant, then?”

His amused gaze never falters. "We don’t have Sergeants in the Navy. And I'm an officer - so that's Lieutenant Bradshaw to you,” he winks.

You nod your head slowly. "Amazing," you manage, feeling a pit form in your stomach that has nothing to do with the alcohol settling in. While you've been off on some crazy Eat, Pray, Love soul-searching adventure (minus the eat, minus the pray, and definitely minus the love), Bradley's more successful and popular as ever and living his best life. And you're not sure what else to say to that without letting on that you envy him, just as you always have.

"Well," he says after a few beats of silence. You shake yourself out of your thoughts. "It was great to see you - we should grab another drink while you're here! You're buying next time though, with your massive STEMinist paycheck and all," he chuckles. You try your best to hide your scowl - it almost sounds like he's mocking you. He drops a couple tens on the bar top and raises his beer bottle in your direction in farewell. "Take care, Buttercup. Hope you find... whatever it is you're looking for here."

Same old Bradley. Making you feel small. Smaller than a tiny mint leaf.

At the ass crack of 5AM on Monday, you start your first day at Java Roasters - and unlike the language, there is nothing functional about the shop’s operations. For starters, your mentor didn’t even know you were starting that day.

“Who are you?” A man with the name tag Todd looks over at you scrutinizingly. After you introduce yourself and pull up the long email chain with the manager on your phone detailing your employment details (as well as the confirmation that you were indeed starting today) - Todd takes a step back and bounces his head a few times, deliberating on what to do next.

"Yeah, Nancy mentioned something like this, I just wasn't sure how serious she was about me teaching you the ropes. I'm kidding!" he says, bustling around behind the counter to clear up some space. "Come behind here, I'll uh... show you around."

Todd walks you through some of the basics - where things are located, how to work the register, and where the brewed coffee was. Then, he decides to move onto the 'sinful art of drink crafting' - whatever the fuck that meant. “So here,” Todd spreads out a number of yellowed index cards with various recipes scrubbed on them in faded black ink. “By the end of this week, you’ll have all of these memorized!”

You look up at him with an unimpressed expression. He’s grinning and bobbing his head to some music that must be on a different frequency than the normal human hearing range, because it‘s completely dead silent in the shop. He stops suddenly and frantically looks down at his phone. “I, uh, I gotta take care of something out back. Don’t follow me! But uh, memorize these. Coffee’s already brewed over there.”

“Wait, what if someone comes in? I don’t know how to use these other machines-“

“You’ll be fine! It’s 6AM and we’ve just opened. No one comes in this early, not even the Navy guys. Pretty sure they’ve got their own shop on base. You’ve got this, kiddo!” He rushes the words out and disappears in a hurry. The door to the storeroom slams shut, and you're left alone to sit with the mess of note cards and the heavy smell of coffee beans. You sigh, praying that he won't take long and no one comes in-

The door swings open, the little bell over it tingling mockingly at you. Son of a bitch.

"Good morning!" you call out as cheerfully as you can, back turned as you survey the multiple recipe cards on the counter. Best case scenario, they order a large boring coffee and all you have to do is fill up from the already brewed coffee sitting on the back corner. Please, please be boring.

You turn around to face the customer. "What can I get... " you trail off, immediately recognizing the six-foot-nil mustachioed man in a Navy uniform (still currently sporting a fancy pair of Ray-Bans, might you add). "...You."

Rooster's eyes widen in surprise, eyebrows lifting over his shades.

"Buttercup?"

The familiar, stomach swooping anxiety descends upon you. This could not get any worse - not only are you stuck on this god forsaken island for who knows how long, but your arch nemesis is here and you're forced to take his order, make him coffee like you know how to, and do it all with a bright smile on your face.

Bradley's removed his shades now and he's looking at you with an incredulous expression, eyes darting down to examine your plain brown apron, then up to the name tag where Doug is scribbled messily. "You're working here now?"

You take a moment to compose yourself: regulate your breathing, banish the bad thoughts from your mind. You can go to the back room and cry the moment he steps out the door. No one has to know, least of all Todd. Fucking Todd.

"Yeah," you manage, taking a deep breath and plastering what you hope is a close match to your genuine smile on your face. "What can I get you?"

He looks up at the menu hanging on the wall behind you, furrowing his eyebrows at the tiny print. "Thought you said you were just here visiting?"

You shuffle your feet, crossing your ankles and holding onto the counter top for support. You're not sure you can handle having to explain to him the long version of your story. "Just taking a breather here for some time. As I'm between jobs."

He raises his eyebrows and nods slowly. “Okay. Uh… I guess I’ll have a cappuccino?”

Despite your best attempts to control it, your face falls, and you hurriedly turn around to try and locate the recipe card. “What size?” You try to keep your voice even and blink rapidly to keep frustrated tears from forming. This is humiliating. Stupid Todd probably dealing fucking pot in the back while you’re manning this ship all by yourself. Stupid Bradley ordering a fucking cappuccino like a pretentious dick.

“Um… small.” There’s no way you’ll ever admit to Bradley that you don’t know what you’re doing, so you continue searching through the cards. Briefly, you chance a glance back at Bradley. He's standing attentively, narrowed eyes trained on you with an unrecognizable expression written on his face. You turn back and start sifting through recipes faster.

“You know what,” Bradley says after a few seconds. You halt your movements to look over your shoulder again. He’s now looking down at his phone. “I have to head to base soon anyway - can you make that a small black coffee?”

You exhale in relief as quietly as you can - but you know your whole body relaxes immediately. For the first time ever in your life, you think thank God for Bradley Bradshaw.

“Sure,” you say and grab a small cup with a cardboard sleeve to fill up. “That’s, uh..." a quick glance up at the menu above tells you. "Two dollars.”

“Thanks, Buttercup,” he replies and you immediately scrunch your face in annoyance.

“Never gonna stop calling me that, huh?”

He shrugs shamelessly and laughs. “Feels like nothing's changed. You still make the same annoyed little face.”

“Definitely, nothing has changed,” you agree with a sigh. “You still take pleasure in annoying me so.” You snap a black lid on top of the drink and slide it over the counter. “Two bucks” you remind him.

He smiles easily and pulls a five out of his wallet, pushing it towards you and sliding his glasses back on his face. “Keep the change, Buttercup.” And with that, he raps his knuckles on the countertop and saunters out of the coffee shop with an annoying amount of swagger in his step. You eye the five dollar bill like it’s personally offended you, like it’s the reason you’re in this mess.

“Keep the change, Buttercup,” you mock aloud before gingerly plucking the bill and ringing up the sale in the cash register. What a fucking douche - you don’t need his stupid pity money and his smug attitude and his-

The door to the storeroom behind you opens up and Todd stumbles in, smelling very faintly of marijuana. “Alright. Did any customers come in?” He says, a goofy grin in place. You shake your head, not wanting to have to explain. “Excellent. Now let's start simple. Ever had a cappuccino?”

You're almost through a whole week at Java (you now affectionately call it). Once a different, less stoned employee named Britt comes in for her 10:30 shift, you have a much better time learning and picking things up. "Todd definitely doesn't know what he's doing," she had told you. "I don't know why you got stuck with him for training on your first day. Probably because he's the only one who offers to open up, but we all know it's so he can deal out back."

Britt's amazing - she takes one look at the mess of index cards and wrinkles her nose, choosing instead to walk you through making the drinks one by one and talking you through the similarities. You slowly start to get the hang of things, finally able to make a cappuccino without burning yourself on Thursday.

On Friday, Bradley Bradshaw comes sauntering in again at 6:10 AM with his stupid sunglasses and stupid mustache and stupid brilliant smile. As usual, Todd has left you to handle the first thirty minutes after opening by yourself. "Good morning, Buttercup!" he sings, pushing up his glasses and scanning the menu above your head.

You squint at him. "Hi. What can I get you?"

Bradley looks down at your apron, smile widening further when he sees your name neatly written on a clean, laminated name tag instead of Doug. "I see you're settled in."

You rock back on your heels, averting your eyes to look at anywhere but him. "Yep."

He bobs his head idly. "Small latte this time, please," he says, pulling his wallet out. "Piping hot too- Hey! You got any non-dairy shit? Milk makes my gut-"

"Bradley," you cut him off. "Seriously?"

He looks at you like he isn't being the most ridiculous man on North Island. "What? I need my caffeine!"

"What happened to just a regular black coffee?" you ask, still making your way over to the machines to prepare an espresso shot. "We have almond milk, but I'm not doing this extra hot bullshit. You have a Starbucks on base - go to them if you want to burn the roof of your mouth."

Bradley rolls his eyes and waves a hand dismissively as you begin heating up the milk. "They’re way overpriced. I figured you've had a week to warm up, wanted to come back here.”

You narrow your eyes, finishing off the rest of the drink with an abysmal attempt at a latte heart. Good. You don’t want to give him the wrong idea."What, so you took it easy on Monday and now you’re ready to really test me?"

He shakes his head defiantly. “No, no, I really was in a rush that day! But usually I like my drinks complicated - Todd once told me it’s all about the ‘sinful art of drink crafti’-“

“$5.60. And no ‘keep the change’ bs,” you tell him flatly, ringing up the sale and pushing the drink over to him. Bradley shakes his head in amusement and pulls a card out of his wallet instead of cash.

After he swipes his card, you pull the monitor back before he can choose a tip option (yeah, it’s petty to hold back on it, but it’s just one customer. And you don’t want to fuel his savior complex by letting him tip some egregious amount). Bradley hits you with a “See you around, Buttercup!” before exiting.

You bury your face in your hands.

—

On your weekend off, you binge the entirety of Stranger Things. Not just the newest season - you start right from episode one. You hadn't given yourself time to indulge in any movies or tv shows in the longest time, and after several awkward pauses in conversation with Britt and Todd regarding pop culture references, you took it upon yourself to educate yourself in your downtime (it also has the added benefit of keeping you from falling into a deep pit of depression).

Camila and Cher insist on having you over for dinner most nights during the week - you oblige under the one condition that you cook every now and again. It’s nice to have something social to look forward to in the evenings, and you’re especially happy to be reconnecting with Cam again. You lend an ear to Camila’s qualms about the sexist men at their job and a new hire that can’t seem to grasp the simple concept of pronouns, while the two of them listen to you recap your Stranger Things and Silver Linings Playbook thoughts, all your gripes about having to be in the same city as Rooster (“you’ve always given him such a hard time,” Cam had said to your unimpressed glare), and your deep-seated fear that you’ve made a horrible mistake quitting your job and working as a barista across the country. Typical easy dinner talk.

And it’s not like there’s anything wrong at all with being a barista. And it’s perfectly okay to be changing things up and taking a breather - Camila constantly reminds you that you’re just treading water, that a completely different job during the week might defog your brain. They're absolutely right.

But no matter how many times you tell yourself to just let things be, every night your fear of the unknown strikes deep anxiety in your heart. And every morning, you let the prospect of a new day wash away your worries, and take on your new life with determination.

You're treading water, floating in place in a peaceful ocean. You only hope no malicious rip current sweeps you by the ankles, drags you deeper, tears you away. Or like, a bird doesn’t shit on your face.

—

On Monday, your Bradley-free streak is tragically broken twelve minutes after Java opens at 6. This time, his request is an iced dirty chai latte - you vaguely remember making with Britt last week. You’re tempted to dump an extra scoop of ice into the drink when he interrupts your process with a cheeky “less ice, please!” Instead, you go a step higher on the petty scale and only toss in two ice cubes.

Unfortunately, Bradley finds your move to be downright hilarious as he chuckles the whole time while paying.

On Tuesday, he comes in to order a caramel macchiato - with a twist (the twist being a drizzle of chocolate syrup on top. That really should be an abomination).

After he pays, you spin around to busy yourself with the espresso machine to avoid being on the receiving end of his signature goodbye wink. But as soon as the door closes behind him, you turn back around and your eyes are immediately drawn to the tip jar that’s now five dollars richer. You scowl.

Wednesday, he's absent. And while you revel in your moments of peace, you still find yourself eying the door the whole time from 6 to 6:30. And even after that, but you tell yourself it’s just a matter of being vigilant.

Thursday, he’s back. And you have to say, it’s definitely your breaking point with Bradley’s most absurd request yet. “Hey sweetheart,” you’re not really digging the new nickname. “Can I do a large nonfat matcha latte with some caramel syrup and extra whip? Oh, I know you guys have almond milk but i was thinking of getting some soy action today-”

“Bradley,” you settle a very unimpressed glare on him. “What gives?”

He’s quiet for a minute - furrows his eyebrows in confusion with his hands on his hips. Then, he bursts out into laughter. “I’m sorry sweetheart, just wanted to give you a hard time.”

You level him with a hard stare. Same old Bradley, pulling the same shit he did in college. “You’ve been giving me a hard time. Seriously, are you trying to humiliate me? Is this some kind of sick joke-”

“What are you talking about? I figured it’s just some light hearted teasing between old friends-“

“We’re not friends,” you hiss, gripping the edge of the countertop until the wood digs into your palms uncomfortably. You’re barely containing your anger - it’s just like him to play things off like it’s nothing.

Because it’s important to note that no matter how standoffish you were, no matter how insistent you were on not even giving him the time of day, Bradley still treated you like you were old pals. He did in undergrad and he continues to do it now.

He cocks his head at you. “Wha- I mean… maybe not now, it’s been a while, but we were cool back at UVA!”

You bristle. “No, we weren’t. I hated you then - you made me miserable!”

Bradley’s amused smile drops. Oh fuck - yet another reason you resent Bradley Bradshaw: he’s mastered the Puss-in-Boots look. “You hated me?”

You wave your arms frantically in the air, trying to ignore the sinking feeling his sad expression gives you. “Of course I did! I - fuck! You beat me out in half of our classes, you gave me such a hard time during Spanish presentations, you asked me to formal as a joke. Need I go on?”

“Spanish presentations, I didn’t… what? Formal?” Bradley sputters. You sigh and clench your fists, landing your gaze firmly on the empty tip jar between the two of you.

“Bradley, even now you’re giving me such a fucking hard time just by ordering stupid little drinks that you probably dump the second you step out of here. And I can’t stand all these fucking jokes to just humiliate me and give me a hard time at this new job like you’re making a mockery o-or a fool out of me! Yeah, go on! Laugh it up at the failed engineer!”

Bradley’s mouth hangs slightly open in shock. “Wait, did Apple or whatever fire you or something?”

You feel your heart clench painfully as his words hit. Was it that easy for Bradley to assume there had to be some foul play in your career for you to be standing in front of him at a completely different job? After losing half of your academic battles, after losing the tour guide exec position to him (oh yeah, you still resented him for that, too), after every time he told you to loosen up and “get the stick out of your ass” during frat parties you had been unceremoniously dragged to by your friends - did he think - no, did he always secretly expect - that you were just destined for failure?

You feel small. Smaller than the stray coffee bean that’s sitting on the counter between you two.

Anger has always come easier to you than pain; you throw your hands up in the air and let out a loud groan of frustration. “Oh my fucking god! Bradley! I say this with the utmost sincerity: you were the bane of my existence at UVA. Quite possibly my arch enemy. We were never friends. And I’d really appreciate it if you’d quit making my life so miserable right now!”

He’s staring at you, completely slack jawed now. Then, he picks it up. His jaw muscle tenses slightly. “Fine,” he says tersely. “I’ll leave you be.”

And with that, he gives off a two fingered salute (the audacity, you think furiously to yourself), and makes his way towards the door.

Fuck Bradley Bradshaw.

—

part ii here

Note: full disclosure this fic is kinda inspired by the bs I'm going thru rn but I tried to make it as generic as possible - at the very least I think we all can relate to just pushing ourselves so hard and burning ourselves out and maybe stagnating at one point and wondering where the fuck are we gonna go now??

#rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #topgun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #mine

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firelxdykatara · 2 years ago

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And if I said re.dcrackle was ma.iko done better?

My kneejerk response is 'how dare you do Carmen and Gray dirty like that 😭😭😭'

BUT I think I know what you mean--if you take maiko back to the bare bones, you come up with 'childhood friends turned enemies turned lovers', and on that score, red crackle did it MUCH better.

I think a big part of it is that Carmen Sandiego started out giving you the sense that these two characters genuinely loved and cared for one another in the 'childhood friends' portion of their past. (Although it wasn't childhood so much as late adolescence, which probably helps at least a bit--CS never tried to convince me that a one-sided crush from 12-year-old kids would last until they were nearly adults and only then become mutual.) The thing about maiko is... it was entirely one-sided from the very beginning. Shippers will sometimes try to sell you on them being 'childhood sweethearts', but they really weren't--Mai had a crush on Zuko, to which he was oblivious, and likely even if he weren't he wouldn't have wanted to even consider the possibility of returning her feelings because she was his sister's friend and Azula terrified him.

(For good reason, as we see in flashbacks when Zuko is convinced by Ursa to play with his sister and her friends, because then the whole 'knocking Mai into the fountain' thing happens--which, according to the comic that actually explained how they got together in the break between books 2 and 3, she apparently blamed Zuko for, even though it was entirely Azula's fault.)

Gray and Carmen, on the other hand, were established as rivals who quickly became best friends over the course of their year in school together. They clearly cared deeply for one another, and Gray was just as upset as she was when Carmen failed their final exams (and he was clearly devastated when she got taken down trying to stop their 'graduate' mission). They didn't see each other for three years (incidentally, the same length of time between Zuko's banishment and meeting Mai again), at which point they were enemies, and yet Gray was clearly upset at the prospect of having to hurt her. (I maintain that this is why Carmen so easily got the drop on him on that train, and why he gave her the chance to tell the whole story to begin with--he really didn't want to fight her, and his heart just wasn't in it when push came to shove.)

Obviously, this is where the two ships diverge dramatically--Gray got his memory wiped, and Carmen saw it as this bizarre sort of second chance; she befriended him and flirted with him and asked him on a date, she tried to stay away to protect him from VILE taking renewed interest, and she tried desperately to save him when they finally did choose to bring him back into the fold. And then Gray let her go, when she tried to save him only to find the brainwashing had been reversed--because he never wanted to hurt her again. And then he went to ACME after Carmen got VILE-ized, because this wasn't who she was and even if it meant going against everything he'd worked for, it was worth it to give Carmen back her mind and her choice. And then they got married and lived happily ever after -cough- sorry I can't help a bit of editorializing, but ANYway.

Where atla went wrong, I think, is failing to establish any real reason for Mai and Zuko to remain in a relationship after the completion of Zuko's character arc. Mai makes sense as a stopgap measure for a Zuko who is trying desperately to fit back in at home, be the 'prodigal son' returning triumphantly to his father's side, worthy of his father's love--something he'd been desperately working towards ever since his exile--and she was also, incidentally, an example of why Zuko didn't fit any longer. He had become a square peg trying very hard to fit himself into a round hole, and Mai was part of that facade, but once he finally stopped trying and instead left to do what he knew was right, even if it wouldn't be easy... Mai stopped making any sense as a part of his life.

Unlike Gray, who came to understand why Carmen fought so hard against VILE and endeavored to free her even if it meant he had no place in her life any longer (giving up his own place in that world in the process, because he knew there was a chance VILE would kill him even if he succeeded), Mai never seemed to care, much less understand why Zuko left in the first place. She saw it as a betrayal--of her and of his country, and there's never any indication that she came to realize the Fire Nation was wrong and needed to lose the war--right up past the point where she saved his life, which she did because she still had a crush on him, not because she cared at all about the cause for which he was fighting.

Carmen and Gray both grew as characters separately and together--Mai never grew at all, being the exact same person in her last appearance as she was in her first, with the same beliefs and no indication that anything about her worldview had changed, and this is especially egregious when she was paired as a love interest with the character who arguably had the most dynamic growth throughout the series.

So yeah, bottom line? As far as 'childhood friends to enemies to lovers', red crackle did it worlds better than maiko (though, admittedly, that particular bar was kinda on the ground already).

#atla #carmen sandiego #anti maiko #maiko salt #red crackle #salt for ts #long post #Anonymous #asked #kitty meta #a bit late to actually start tagging for it but better late than never lol #zuko #mai salt

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ssurveycorpss · 3 years ago

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to the dearest anon who requested 3 letters for eren before i was struck down from my blog like hephaestus was struck down from olympus: i dont remember exactly which ones they were? but i'm pretty sure it was these three. im so sorry anonnie. (if youre seeing this, send an ask confirming/correcting me pls <3 i wanna make sure i got your request correct!) also this is the last one i received so if you requested something please send it over this way instead of my old blog.

hc game

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He is so very affectionate. Eren feels like he needs to constantly remind you he loves you. It makes him feel safe and comforted, plus Eren has like... an excess of love for you that he needs to get out and the easiest way to let it out is by hugging and kissing you. Kinda like a dog when they run around because they haven't been walked.

Everyone knows you two are together because he is no stranger to PDA. The only people he kinda tones it down in front of is Mikasa, Historia, and maybe Annie (this annoys Armin to no end, he has to watch Eren snuggle you and do all this embarrassing stuff and the most Mikasa has to see is hand holding). He still tells every story of his love life to Historia though, and in exchange he has to listen to her talk about how cute Ymir is.

Honestly his affection levels start to go down the longer he knows you because he learns to become more subtle. Like when you first start dating he's throwing an arm around your waist and clinging to you like a koala while you study so you can pay attention to him (except he's not a koala he's a 6 foot something ripped dude and he's heavy!!!! And annoying!!! Bro chill!!!!!) but once you guys have been dating for a while he can just lay his head in your lap or be near you while you study in silence. He still loves you he's just less loud about his affection, more subtle and personal.

Eren likes routines and normalcy in his relationships. If you guys always hold hands to go to the dining hall for lunch, he expects you two to do that. If you forget he is freaking out. Kinda like how no matter how much he loves Jean he acts like he doesn't. The guy is like a brother to him but he feels like it's weird for them to stop bickering.

Also has a tendency to brag about you. Social media posts, casual conversation, showing someone something on his phone and making sure to unlock it in front of them so they can see a cute photo of you two, bringing up "my partner did-" in every conversation. Lowkey annoying but at the same time everyone finds it cute.

Kinda off topic but he is so annoying about you not saying I love you back or calling him like bro or anything that doesn't denote affection. If he says I love you and you don't say I love you back he will act like you stabbed him right there. If you call him bro or dude (he makes an exception sometimes if you kiss him after you say it because that is not like... bro, bro, that's like, bro [romantically]) he will not respond. He is your lover! Treat him as such. It also helps him stay grounded in the fact that you love him back.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Always there for you, no matter what you need. Selfless in his own very Eren way, which usually includes excessive amounts of impulsiveness and stupidity.

"You like so and so? Well why haven't you told them? I'll tell them, they like you back I just know it!"

You have to rush to get him to stop because he does not think before he acts. He tends to think in the long term which can be really irritating, but it's also quite adorable and honestly 99.9% of the time it works out, disregarding a couple bumps in the road.

Will listen to you talk about things you like even if he doesn't care for them. He finds it kind of his duty.

Good at keeping promises, he just takes a long time to do them. If he promises you french fries you'll get them it'll just be like 3 years later.

If you are Eren's friend and you like him don't even try to like... guess if he likes you back because he does not change at all when he starts to crush on someone. If you relationship starts off as flirty and he decides he doesn't really like you as much as he thought, he still flirts with you, it's just joke flirting now. If you guys start off as normal friends and he falls for you, he'll never try to flirt with you or anything. His life is already hectic enough, so he relies on his friendships and relationships for a sense of serenity. Despite this he has a tendency to fall for his friends so he's got it real rough.

Will never confess to you if you guys have a friends to lovers sort of arc. You've got to bear that burden. He can't even imagine losing you or making things awkward between him.

Enemies to lovers with Eren Jaeger means he will call you an idiot on your wedding day and then say I do 4 seconds later.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

god this is my shit

I feel like I'm just a broken record at this point but he's so passionate in his kisses. Like his love for you is all flowing out at once and he cannot stop it.

Kinda like fireworks. Fast and loud and colorful and one after another.

Teeth clacking. If you wear glasses they're gonna poke him. Awkward nose bumping that he laughs about before kissing you on the nose to make it all better.

He's kinda a rough kisser but it feels anything but rough. Like he's not particularly gentle with you or anything but it doesn't hurt at all it's just a lot all at once. Also he's a biter. They're not hard or painful bites but like he will chomp you on the neck while kissing you.

Likes neck kisses, literally just sit in his lap and let him nibble and kiss your neck while he hugs you really tight and his day is complete. Also likes kissing you on the lips but that's just a given. Those two are his go-to spots but honestly he will kiss you anywhere. Your chest, forehead, cheeks, thighs, stomach, whatever. He's not picky.

Likes to lay his head between your thighs and lean over and kiss them or blow raspberries on them.

Often says "I just wanna kiss you right now." or "Kiss me, dummy." or "Gimme kith." So so kissstarved help the poor man.

When you first start dating he tries to like plan out how to have an amazing first kiss with you and then it's just like completely ruined by his adrenaline and impulsivity. Like he was gonna take you out for dinner, walk you by the pier, kiss you by the moonlight, yada, yada, yada, but actually he just like got really excited at winning in an arcade game and went for it.

When he forgets to shave his stubble is so scratchy but unless you seriously get annoyed with him he will not stop kissing you just to shave you just have to deal with it. The more you complain the more he will bother you with it. He tends to stay clean shaven though.

Even as he grows "less affectionate" the longer you guys are together he will still take solace in kisses, they just become a bit slower and longer. He still has his moments of his inner fire sign coming out to just smother you but he's mellowed out quite a bit as you guys continue to be together.

EREN JUST REALLY LIKES KISSES OKAY I REST MY CASE

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren x you #eren yaeger x reader #eren headcanons #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager fluff #eren x gender neutral reader #snk x reader #snk x you #snk x y/n #aot x reader #aot imagines #aot x y/n #aot x you #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #attack on titan x you #shingeki no kyojin x you

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tooruluv · 4 years ago

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Hajime Iwaizumi x F!Reader

❝ enemies, as well as lovers, come to resemble each other over a period of time ❞

description: your feud with hajime iwaizumi only escalated throughout your years at hogwarts; whether it was on the quidditch field or who would be the first to sit down in class, there always seemed to be some sort of raging competition between you two.

genre: hogwarts!au, angst, enemies to lovers, slow burn, rivals, gryffindor quidditch keeper iwaizumi, slytherin quidditch captain f!reader

word count: 5.5k

warnings/notes: swearing, lots of angst, small depictions of violence, mentions of alcohol and drinking, not proof read im so sorry although i am an avid believer than both iwa and oikawa would be slytherins, i wanted to play with the idea of them being gryffindors, which actually makes sense when you think hard about it hfklhfd anyway! please enjoy!

part of a hogwarts collab ! collab masterlist posted here ! tysm to the wonderful @rintsuru for hosting <3

my general masterlist

You could feel his presence from across the dining hall, immediately dowsing you in a raging hatred that you only reserved for him. His arrogance mocked you as he basically danced into the Great Hall bathed in compliments.

The Gryffindor quidditch team won against Ravenclaw the night before. You didn’t know why he had all of the glory... he wasn’t even the captain. Being keeper had its perks, you guessed.

You rolled your eyes and focused your attention to your food. You tried not to stab the plate as you heard the varying praises to the boy in red and gold. “Congrats, Iwa!” and “That last block was brilliant!” nearly made you want to choke.

Hajime Iwaizumi was simply not someone who deserved such compliments. He was vile, annoying, and did everything in his limited power to poke and prod at every single one of your nerves. You used to ignore your burning hatred that you harbored for him; but late in your second year, you had let it all out.

And, as it turned out, he wasn’t quite fond of you either.

It had been years since then, yet the feelings remained the same. It was just the start of your sixth year and you already wanted to gouge his eyes out with the pointy end of your fork.

Tooru Oikawa caught your gaze and sent you a cheeky smile. You wished that you could hate the captain as much as his keeper, but you only let your hatred for him simmer for so long. He was quite fun when he wasn’t next to the little shit.

“Just wait for next week when you verse Slytherin! You’re sure to win!” a small Gryffindor told them.

“I wouldn’t be too sure.” You said, perhaps a bit too loudly. You lacked volume control, after all.

“What was that, Slytherin?” Iwaizumi turned to you. His gaze was fire on your skin and you wanted nothing but to catch him aflame as well.

“Your arrogance and cockiness proceeds even you.” You said, voice monotone and venomous against the recent silence at your speech. “I wouldn’t be too sure of your success.”

“Say that again after the match.” Iwaizumi turned back to accept another compliment and find a place to sit at his house’s table.

You wondered if you would get expelled if an apple happened to launch out of your hands and land on the back of his head.

Late in your second year, you had enough of Hajime Iwaizumi.

The both of you were in a silent competition the minute you were introduced to each other in your first year. It was never anything serious, just two eleven year olds who liked to be at the top.

It wasn’t until your second year that you started to feel genuine distaste for him. You had buried the thought of “hate” for a long time, masking it to be annoyance and opposition.

The hatred was much deeper than a surface burn.

It was during charms class that you finally snapped.

It was not more than the simple mutter of his breath. It was a mispronunciation of the spell and the tap of his wand against the table that made you lose your control.

“Hajime! Can you please, for the love of Merlin, shut the fuck up!” The harsh language created a tense silence through the classroom. No twelve year old had the balls to curse that hard in front of that many people, including a professor. “If you are going to be an idiot, at least try to hide it.”

Hajime Iwaizumi turned in his seat to face you, irritation and vexation easily overpowering his shock.

“Funny that you’re saying that.” He said.

“You’re so ridiculous.” You rolled your eyes. “Oh, I’m Hajime Iwaizumi and I am a perfect student that can’t even properly pronounce a simple spell! But that doesn’t matter because guess who’s a keeper for the quidditch team when I’m only a second year!! I am perfect!! Literally no one likes you.”

“Trust me, no one likes you either.”

No one meaning, and translating to, I don’t.

Just to show off, you easily cast the charm that he had failed. Charms was your strong subject, so you only needed to say the spell and flick your wand before turning your attention back to him.

He was nearly smoking from his ears, he was both embarrassed and livid.

You waved to Kei Tsukishima as you caught his gaze from the side of the hall. He was a fellow Slytherin and a good friend, though neither of you would admit that to each other.

He nodded as his greeting. He shoved his book back into his bag as you made your way to his side.

“Hey, Tsukki.” You said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until practice tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’m waiting for Yamaguchi.” He turned his body to lean against the wall. “We’re going to Hogsmeade today.”

“No invitation?”

He sighed. “Would you like to join us, Captain?”

“I was joking, no need to sound so enthusiastic.” You chuckled. As you started to speak again, Tadashi Yamaguchi left the classroom the two of you stood outside of. He smiled at you, his green and white reflecting off of his eyes.

“Captain!” Yamaguchi greeted, putting an arm around your shoulder. “Are you coming to Hogsmeade with us?”

“Be careful, the idiots are coming.” Tsukishima interrupted and warned, motioning over your shoulder.

You turned around to find Oikawa and Iwaizumi walking next to each other, laughing about something only the two of them knew. You had to hold back from making a comment.

“Yoohoo!” Tooru Oikawa caught your eye. You sighed and turned back to your fellow Slytherins, sharing a look.

“Hello, Tooru.” You felt him beside you before you looked.

You purposely didn’t look at Iwaizumi.

“We’re celebrating our win tonight, you guys should join!” Oikawa invited. You heard Iwaizumi’s exhale of frustration, but you only rolled your eyes in an attempt to ignore his presence.

“You want a group of Slytherins hanging out with you, celebrating your win, when we go against you in less than a week?” Tsukishima spoke up. He moved off of the wall. “No thanks. Come, Yamaguchi. Let’s go.”

Yamaguchi waved goodbye and followed his best friend down the hall. You pivoted to fully face the two Gryffindors.

“I’ll come.” You said, mainly out of spite.

Tooru Oikawa was naturally outgoing. He was the captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, a flirt, and all together a pretty chill person. You didn’t mind calling him a friend, despite the vast differences between you two.

One vast difference being his best friend.

Which is why you found yourself next to him as soon as you entered the Gryffindor party. The cascades of burgundy and gold created a deep atmosphere in the hidden room, lights dancing along the dark walls and the smell of various alcohols filled the air. It was a Gryffindor party, that much was true.

You were one of the very few Slytherins that occupied the room. Your eyes caught sight of only a couple, most of them much younger than you and just happy to be at one of their first few parties.

“Oi, a snake has crawled into the winner’s common room.” Oikawa joked as he handed you a can. You accepted.

“A snake in a lion’s den, I wonder who will win.” You quipped.

“The lion, for sure.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. Snakes can eat things 100 percent their size.” You raised a brow and opened your can.

“Hm,” Oikawa looked over his shoulder and called out for someone you didn’t see. “Hey! Who do you think would win, a lion or a snake?”

“A lion obviously.” It was Hajime Iwaizumi.

You let out a groan, immediately losing your sense of humor. “Ah, you’ll see in less than a week.”

“I don’t think I will.” Iwaizumi said, stoic and annoyed. “This win was only one of few.”

“I suggest you just celebrate this win.” You took a sip. “Because I don’t think the losing team would like to come to the winner’s party.”

“That just means I will not be seeing you, which is a grand idea.”

It was the time of year just before winter, where the air starts to cool but the sun still warms your skin. You took a breath and held your broom at your side.

It was near minutes before the anticipated game against Gryffindor, and you could hear the crowds already. The rivalry between your houses was something that everyone enjoyed; the rivalry between you and their keeper was all you.

“Alright team.” You pivoted to the team behind you. “We’re playing Serpent first; and if we don’t get any points within the first two minutes, I’ll hold up the signal for Green. Got it?”

“Got it.”

You had a pretty well-rounded team in your honest opinion. Tsukishima was perfect as your keeper, he was never one to let anything get past him. Your chasers included you, Yamaguchi, and another girl named Yui Michimiya. You had the Miya twins for beaters. And, rather recently, you gained a new seeker named Tobio Kageyama. The same age as your keeper, but only wanted to join quidditch out of hate for the Gryffindor seeker (and who were you to deny that?).

The Gryffindor team was not one to mess with, they had a nice team too. Iwaizumi as the keeper, the Idiots Nishinoya and Tanaka as beaters, their new seeker Shoyo Hinata... but the problem was their chasers: Oikawa, Kiyoko Shimizu, and Wakatoshi Ushijima. They were so quick on their brooms, it was like working against wind.

Today was no day to lose.

“It’s our first official match of the year.” You encouraged. “Let’s show them who not to mess with.”

“Let’s absolutely destroy them.” Atsumu added.

You grinned.

As you headed towards the field, you could feel the adrenaline creeping into your bones. Quidditch had become routine, simple muscle memory as you moved to your starting positions.

The Gryffindor team appeared, and you felt the excitement enter you in a rush of air.

In the air, Hajime Iwaizumi felt at peace. He was very good at what he did, and he knew that, and the game was something he was passionate about.

He was also passionate about beating you.

You were the bane of his existence. You had never once sent him anything other than something bitter or sarcastic. You were an annoying pest that he simply couldn’t get rid of.

And as you threw the Quaffle into the goal just above his head, Iwaizumi felt his eye twitch.

Slytherin won, Tobio Kageyama’s hand high with the Snitch inside.

You watched in triumph as the teams descended on the brooms. From the skies down, you cheered.

“Congrats, Slytherin.” Oikawa said, though his tone was bitter and sour.

You knew that he hated losing, so you didn’t push it. He was a friend, after all. Sending him just a small “I’m sorry you didn’t win” smile, you headed to your team. You gathered them into a hug, or rather-- a huddle, and ruffled the hair on Kageyama’s head.

You peeked over your shoulder to catch sight of Iwaizumi. He was standing, hands at his sides, red face and eyes blank of any expression other than anger.

You smirked at him.

Hajime Iwaizumi was on the other side of the victory this time, silently brooding as he picked at his food in the Great Hall. The Gryffindor table emitted zero volume.

He was pissed off the second you entered the hall, Kei Tsukishima and Tadashi Yamaguchi walking beside you. The green and white seemed to glow, mocking him in the worst way imaginable.

Oikawa tried to bring his attention back to the food, but Iwaizumi was focused primarily on you. You were gloating, relishing in his loss, taking delight in the compliments from your house. A Hufflepuff appeared at your side, and you smiled as you thanked them for their congratulations.

He felt sick.

You could not help but drown yourself in the triumph. You walked on air, the feeling of superiority tickling every inch of skin it could touch.

You waved goodbye to a couple of friends, heading directly to the Gryffindor table. You placed your hands on Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s shoulders, leaning to place your head right between theirs.

“I suppose the snake beats the lion.” You sent a wink to Iwaizumi, knowing full well how it would provoke him.

“Fuck off.” Iwaizumi shoved your hand off of his shoulder.

“Go receive your praise at the Slytherin table.” Oikawa shooed, fork in hand. “You won’t find it here.”

“Sore losers.” You mocked just for fun. You stood straight. “I imagine that I would be the same, given it were the other way.”

You basically skipped back to your table for breakfast.

You were absolutely elated for the rest of the day. It was quite similar to being on cloud 9, winning your first game of the year against your rivals. The look on Hajime Iwaizumi’s face only added to the feeling.

You were walking down the hall, talking to a fellow Slytherin girl who had her arm wrapped in yours. She was going on and on about how she wished she could have imprinted Kageyama’s snitch catch to her memory.

That was when your shoulder collided directly into a firm body.

Your arm was ripped away from your classmates, along with your bag that fell onto the hard ground with a loud thud and wisp of parchment and ink. Everything in your bag now scattered the ground, covered in the dark ink and dirt.

Your mood was too high to get too angry. It was an accident; you would bite your tongue and clean up the mess.

Until you realized just who’s shoulder you ran into: Hajime Iwaizumi. Your greatest enemy and now destruction of your contents.

“Watch where you’re going next time, Hajime.” You grunted, kneeling to save some of your parchment before the ink could reach it.

“Perhaps if you had your head out of your ass, you wouldn’t have run into me.” Iwaizumi responded. He had turned to face you midway through your fall.

“As if you didn’t feel this way a week ago.” You told him, standing up. Nearly everything that was in your bag was soaked, including the bag itself. You inhaled deeply. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Now, why would I run my shoulder into you on purpose hoping to ruin your mood?” He asked. “You must be very arrogant to think that everything must be about you.”

You clenched your jaw and closed your eyes. “I will not let a piece of shit such as yourself bring my mood down today. Today is a good day.”

You knelt once again to find your essay that you had written for Snape, searching your documents. Only to find it one of the few that were directly under the ink, completely doused in black.

“Actually, fuck you.” You lifted the paper. Ink dripped off and onto the ground. “Do you know how long I worked on this?”

“I don’t know, a couple of minutes?” Iwaizumi shrugged. “You aren’t exactly the best at your schoolwork.”

“You wish you knew me well, but you don’t at all.” You felt anger boil in your chest. “I worked very hard on this essay. Days, even. And you destroyed it in less than five seconds..”

“There’s the Slytherin in you.” He let out a humorless laugh. “You think everything has to be about you, and if it doesn’t than someone is out to get you. Your ego is so fucking enormous that you can’t even muster the idea that maybe something isn’t about you. You didn’t even win, Tobio won the game for you. God, why don’t you go make a friend instead of standing here arguing with me about an accident?”

And then, “You really are a raging bitch, aren’t you?”

The girl that you were talking to had wide eyes, and you were sure that she was ready to fight. A couple of bystanders that were once just listeners started to mumble. And you.... you couldn’t fathom words.

Your feud with him had grown deep, but it had never gone as far as that. In front of a crowd, no less.

It was one thing to make comments, to be bitter and roll your eyes at each other’s presence. It was one thing to bicker, to fight, to joke to friends about the other’s incompetence and purposely pull on each other’s strings.

It was something else completely to call you a bitch in front of everyone in the middle of a hallway after a thread of insults.

You fake smiled, feeling unwanted tears threaten their way to your eyes. You would not allow yourself the angry tears; they would only make you angrier.

“You’re more than just an asshole, Hajime Iwaizumi.” You told him. Because you truly didn’t have any words.

“Calling a woman a bitch is the worst insult. Those are fighting words.” Oikawa’s older sister used to say. “It’s comparable to calling a man a pussy.”

Hajime Iwaizumi didn’t think much while he spoke. He just said the things as they came, especially when he didn’t really care much about what you thought of him.

But, calling you a bitch... that felt as if it were crossing a line that he didn’t have the authority to cross. And the look on your face after he said it was one that he had never witnessed on you.

At practice, his head still held the image of you.

He was confused. Why did he regret calling you a name? It wasn’t as if the two of you don’t argue in front of people all of the time. In fact, it was nearly a common occurrence.

For some ungodly reason, he felt a tug at his chest.

“Maybe you should apologize?” Oikawa suggested.

“Why would I apologize to her?”

“Because I think you went a little bit too far.” He told his best friend as truthfully as possible. “Because as much as I think the rivalry between you two is fun, she’s still just a girl. And because my sister said you should.”

“You wrote your sister?”

“Yeah, of course I did.”

For several days, Hajime Iwaizumi hadn’t seen you. You didn’t eat in the Great Hall, you didn’t come to the classes he had with you, you didn’t go to Hogsmeade like you usually did on weekends.

So, he came to your practice.

He was hoping to apologize. It was something he had never done to you before, and he had practiced it quite a few times. Just a small, “I’m sorry for calling you a bitch in front of everyone.”

Yes. That should be fine and the two of you could go back to the regularly scheduled loathing.

But the second he stepped onto the field, the two beaters stood in front of him.

“I wouldn’t.” Atsumu said, holding his broom. “She’s been in a mood.”

“I know, I’m the reason for that.” Iwaizumi said. “I just want to talk to her. Just a second.”

“I wouldn’t.” Osamu repeated. “Whatever you have to say, it’s gonna have to wait.”

Iwaizumi nodded, looking at the twins. He was going to ask them to tell you that he had been there, ask them to ask you to meet him somewhere or something so he can get the stupid apology off of his chest, when you appeared behind them.

“Get off of my field, Hajime Iwaizumi.” You said. You had been at practice for the past two hours (according to the sign ups), yet your voice was even and you hadn’t even broken a sweat. In fact, your voice spit toxin in his direction.

“I just wanted to...”

You had taken off before he could even say his second word. The twins followed right after.

Tooru Oikawa took a place beside you. It would have been normal, if it were not for your avid avoidance of anyone with a Gryffindor robe on.

“Hello, Tooru.” You said without sparing him a glance.

The thing was, you weren’t angry with him. You didn’t hate Oikawa, you hated his closest friend. And by association, you didn’t want to talk to him just as much. Oikawa had always been the middle ground between the doom and gloom that was the dark haired man you hated.

“I think you should talk to Iwa.” Oikawa said. Plain and simple, to the point.

“I think you should mind your business.” You retorted. “I never talked to him to begin with, what’s different now?”

“Because now is different.” He grabbed his book as the professor walked in. “Now, you won’t even say your smart ass remarks or tell him how fucked up his hair looks. Now is just... boring and sad.”

“So you want me to talk to the guy I hate in order for you to not be bored?” You scoffed and collected your things. “Truly, you are his best friend.”

You left just as the professor started talking, receiving a few stares in the process. It wasn’t as if you weren’t used to that.

You were walking with Tsukishima, laughing at your attempts to get him to smile. Your team had really taken your mind and restored your confidence. You figured, as long as you didn’t see the man you hate then he simply didn’t exist. It was that easy.

Until you accidentally caught his eye across the street.

It had been snowing, so most of the students were in their winter gear and warm clothes. You yourself had a hat and scarf on, gloves to cover your hands despite the hot to-go mug of cocoa in them.

Hogsmeade was quite busy with everyone getting last minute holiday gifts and hurrying to hang out before break. Yet, somehow, your eyes found the brown of Iwaizumi’s.

You turned around, forcing Tsukishima to follow. The younger boy didn’t even have to ask about your change in demeanor, easily falling into pace beside you.

You felt a hand on your wrist, and heard your name being called. “Hey. Can I talk to you? I’ve been trying to apologize...”

You stopped dead in your tracks, as if you were pulled on a leash. As if his bare hand touching your empty gloved one had scolded you. Iwaizumi stood before you, red cheeks from either the cold or from rushing after you. Either way, you wanted nothing to do with it.

He had spun you in his grasp, his jaw tight and eyes searching yours before falling to his hand around yours. His grip on your wrist was tight, and he swallowed as his eyes found yours again.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You snatched your arm away. “Have you ever considered that? I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to see you, and I don’t want to hear your half-ass apology!”

“I have been trying to talk to you.” He said. “I...” His eyes scanned yours. His tongue rolled in his mouth. “You mean to tell me that you don’t want my apologies?”

“You’ve made it very clear what you think of me, so I hope that I can make this very clear for you,” You took a deep breath. “I hate you. I don’t like you, I have never liked you, and I hope that whatever it is that is eating you up inside continues to do so.”

Hajime Iwaizumi’s eye twitched. He started to take a step towards you, but decided against it, falling back into the same step. “I don’t...” His voice was nothing as you had ever heard it. “You...” His eyes clouded with the emotions you were familiar with. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

It was a sudden realization. It was not something you had even considered before, not something planned or reasoned. It was much like a tsunami, a build up of unrelated activity that brought something else entirely.

Emotions were unfortunate things. If you feel extreme emotions for someone, no matter what... they are still very strong feelings.

Hate to love, what a strange concept.

You held the potion below your nose, inhaling the scent.

“What does it smell like?” Snape asked.

“It smells like... bergamot.” You distinguished the varying smells. “Apple. And... lavender?”

You stepped back and hoped no one could see you connecting the dots through your eyes.

Tooru Oikawa was an observant person. He was known to be the person who knew the best for his team, easily finding the perfect techniques for each on the field and as encouragement. He was one for connections and relationships.

Which is why he knew that you were masking feelings of something else with this burning hatred. Which is why he knew why you felt so bad after Iwa called you a terrible name in front of an audience. Which is why he knew who it was when you listed your amortentia scents.

He tried to send you a look from his seat across from you, classes later. He wanted to tell you that he knew; that he knew there was something more to what’s going on, and that something was Iwaizumi.

You just sent him a middle finger, knowing full well what he was getting at.

Your feelings didn’t just suddenly arrive. And you were full of confusion, disorientation, and most of all... anger.

For as long as you could remember, Hajime Iwaizumi was supposed to be your arch enemy. He was your nemesis on a daily basis. He was the reason for your annoyance. He was the reason for your hatred for the colors red and gold. He was the reason you became the quidditch captain. He was the reason for the breath leaving your lungs.

And he was the reason for the breath entering.

You were pissed. You were pissed that you had unrealized feelings for the man you were supposed to hate, have hated for years. You were pissed that your love had been in a game of chess, where the only outcome is to win or forfeit. You were pissed that the entire time you had spent a vast majority of your time hating, loathing, rolling your eyes at... the entire time you had a reserved space for hate, when it should have been quite the opposite.

The luck must have been exclusively for someone else, because it seemed as though whoever created you had decided to have a fun game.

You had punched Hajime Iwaizumi once.

It was something you thought of a lot, and it was the main reason Iwaizumi chose not to test you too closely to that day.

He was rolling his eyes at something Oikawa was saying when you walked by. You were heading to your quidditch practice, the captain not one for latecomers. And he caught sight of you. He quickly jumped from his spot and stopped you from passing.

“Out of the way, Hajime, I have practice.”

“Oh, right, because you’re on the quidditch team now.”

“I am, thank you very much.” It was the beginning of third year, and you were not only annoyed but you were also a Growing Person going through puberty. You did not have time to deal with a teenage boy pissing you off. “You forget that not everyone got on the team their first year of trying out.”

“Because we’re better than the entire Slytherin team.”

“Talk to me when you win a house cup.” You tried to push past him, but he stood directly in front of you in one step. “Move, or be moved.”

“What are you going to do? Punch me?”

So, you did. Your fist collided with his cheek before you could even register that it had happened. Oikawa gasped out loud, it quickly turning into a laugh.

“She punched you!” Oikawa laughed, grasping at his sides. “Ah man!”

While Iwaizumi touched his cheek to check that— ah yes, you really did punch him— you were already walking away to the practice field.

Iwaizumi missed you, if he were being fully and completely honest with himself.

He found himself searching for you in classes or in common areas, prepared for your snide remarks and bitter taunts. He found himself waiting for you to roll your eyes at his presence; looking for you to quip about the next quidditch game.

But when none of it came, he felt out of place.

He actually missed your annoyed banter. He missed you shoving your middle finger in his direction. He missed the redness on your cheeks when you would try to calm yourself down. He missed the silence that would escape you if he entered a room and you were anything other than angry.

He missed catching you smiling at someone and watching your face change. He missed the arguments in class. He missed the little comments during eating.

Confused, he pushed those feelings down as he watched you eat with some Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff that he had never talked to before.

It had been several weeks of silence from your end. You had thrown yourself back into quidditch before the break, happy to have a distraction from whatever the fuck you were feeling. You weren’t going home for the holidays, so you spent some time planning for the spring and classes.

You found yourself outside, sitting in the snow and writing a make up essay for Snape. You had found a nice spot under a roofed area, so nothing smudged your writing (or, you know, covered it completely).

“Oh.” A voice said from above you.

You looked up to find Iwaizumi, hands in pockets and staring at you as if you had never existed and he was discovering you for the first time.

“I wasn’t expecting to find anyone here.” He said.

“Yeah, obviously neither was I.” You started to put your things away.

“No... no comment?”

“Hm?”

“No... snarky comment? No you look terrible to me?”

You shook your head. Mainly because you didn’t have the energy. You were content, bored, and just overall exhausted. You had exhausted yourself in thinking of every possible outcome to your love for the man in front of you, none of which made any sense.

None of it made any sense.

It was as if one moment, you were standing on ground. And the next, you were swept away by a giant wave that you thought was only an earthquake. You hated love.

“Then, can I finally say what I have been meaning to?”

“No.” You finally got the last of your things into your bag.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why can’t you just hear me out?” He stood in front of you, hoping to stall your leaving. “I’ve been trying to tell you that I shouldn’t have called you a bitch, and I should have...”

“And I don’t want to hear it.”

You started to leave, but he jogged to jump in front of you again. Through the years, he had gained height compared to you. You weren’t necessarily kids anymore, you weren’t at eye level to just punch him in his cheek without reaching for it.

“God, you’re fucking annoying.” You shifted your bag on your shoulders. “You want me to call you a name so it can be even? You want me to tell you that everything is fine and we can go back to our constant fighting? What do you fucking want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” He asked, voice rising to match yours. “What do you want from me? I’ve been trying to get your attention for over a fucking month and you have given me every reason to just stop.”

“Then why don’t you!” You dropped your hands. “Why don’t you just leave me the fuck alone?”

“Why?”

“Why what, Hajime?”

“Why?” Iwaizumi let out a small breath, the grey cloud leaving his lungs. “Why won’t you just let me talk to you for five minutes?”

“Because I don’t want to! Because I don’t want to hear you make up excuses. Because I cannot listen to your voice for too long.”

Before you could stop yourself, before you could recognize your own voice, before any thoughts arrived, you said, “Because for some fucked up god awful reason, I’m in love with you!”

Everything froze all at once. The oxygen left your lungs, the snow stopped falling, and everything became so unbearably silent.

You stared at him, regret drenching you in an instant as if the tides of the ocean had rose and fell in one single motion. You couldn’t breathe, your heart seized in your chest and against your ribs. You couldn’t bring yourself to look into his face, fearing to find yourself lost and never found.

He let out a single breath. And you held yours.

fin.

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allwaswell16 · 3 years ago

Text

{Recently Read 1D Fics}

August 2021

These are all the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in August. There are 16 recs here in all and are in order by word count and organized by pairing. You can also listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 in August including the fics on this month’s fic roundup which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #28 | ko-fi | fic recs

-Larry-

Memory of a Dream by tomlinvelvet / @afterglowslouis

[E, 64k, Sleeping Beauty au, a/b/o, alpha Harry, omega Louis, royal, fantasy, fairy tale, dark magic, angst with a happy ending, witches, violence, arranged marriage, hurt/comfort, no smut, wow this was such a cool take on this fairy tale, really enjoyed how the story was adapted and changed]

a Sleeping Beauty AU.

Caught In Your Gravity by @lululawrence

[NR, 62k, footie au, coach Harry, football player Louis, Ted Lasso au kind of, friends to lovers, misunderstandings, secrets, secret relationship, pining, coming out, homophobia, humor, no smut, the footie fic of my dreams]

an AU inspired by a 30 second trailer of Ted Lasso that doesn't actually have much in common with the show at all.

Home Again...Winter Harlow by dandelionfairies

[T, 27k, small town au, chef Harry, holidays, winter, Christmas, injured minor character, strangers to lovers, light angst, a lovely Hallmark-esque movie fic]

While Louis is basking in the glory of the holidays and everything new to him, Harry is walking into everything he once loved but now hates.

I'm Hot for Teacher (series) by phdmama / @phd-mama

[E, 14k, doctor Louis, med student Harry, semi public sex, hand jobs, masturbation, flirting, professional ethics, library sex, office sex, smut, holy shit this was so hot whew]

You cannot fall in love with your professor, Harry admonishes himself sternly as he exits the building and heads home. You just can’t.

Moments by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

[E, 10k, fake exes to lovers au, strangers to lovers, particle physicist Louis, event manager Harry, banter, smut, hand jobs, anal sex, bl, so funny and cute!]

Looking back, Louis should’ve known that the universe likes to fuck with idiots like him who think they’ve got it all sorted.

i know i've grown (but i can't wait to go home) by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

[T, 7k, royal au, time travel, historical, Prince Harry, time traveler Louis, fantasy, violence, assassination attempt, humor, this plot was so cool]

When Louis falls down a hill behind an old castle, he wakes up and finds the castle new and full of life.

Climbing The Swells by @cyantific

[E, 5k, surfing au, surfer Louis, surfer Harry, California, strangers to enemies to lovers, minor injury, hurt/comfort, smut, so hot and so much fun especially if you love surfer fics like I do!]

The one where a clumsy Harry and a stubborn Louis reconcile their grievances on the beach with a heartfelt apology from Louis on his knees without saying a word.

We Go Together (series) by cherrylarry / @beelou

[G, 3k, Grease au, Harry as Sandy, Louis as Danny, summer romance, high school, such a cute adaptation!]

the movie Grease as a larry au. Louis is still the one that he wants.

As Good As Scone by SunTomato / @sun-tomato

[NR, 3k, meet cute au, baker Harry, Louis can't cook, humor, flirting, first meeting, minor injuries, this was so much fun and I loved the snappy writing and dialogue]

The one where Louis tries and fails to impress a first date. Luckily, there is the 'Sweet Creature' bakery, and they deliver.

Eco-Friendly by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose

[T, 3k, uni au, roommates, pining, green living, humor, this was so cute and funny and relatable lol)

the one where Harry just wants to get through one college year with a good roommate

Thesis Management by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

[T, 2k, werewolf au, wolf Louis, human Harry, grad student Harry, uni, established relationship, crack, humor, full moon, fluff, where does she come up with this stuff? lol]

Harry's got an assignment due and it's the full moon.

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle by skipper / @skipperxao3

[T, 2k, break up au, angst, drama, saving the world, ouch, this hurt so if you're in the mood for heartbreak this one is it]

the one where Harry wants to save the world but loses sight of who’s been right in front of him all along

Wordplay Poems 2021 by @kingsofeverything

[NR, 381 words, poetry, clumsy Harry, clumsy Louis, this was such a cool idea!)

Week 1: Diamanté Week 2: Couplet Week 3: Idiom Doggerel Week 4: 2 or 3 stanza poem Week 5: Free verse poem

-Grouis-

Getting a Head for Heights by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

[T, 3k, Louis/Greg James, uni au, size difference, pining, flirting, sharing clothes, kissing, I could scream I loved this so much! so so cute!]

The problem is, Louis thinks Greg would be quite good to date, so it would really help if everyone would stop reminding him of that fact so he could unthink it.

-Zaynshaw-

Long Shot by @fallinglikethis

[G, 816 words, Zayn/Nick Grimshaw, strangers to lovers, pub, Nick's birthday, drinking, well Nick's friends are crap but love how Zayn pulls him heh]

When Nick's friends throw him a birthday party in a pub and invite his ex, Nick wants nothing to do with any of it.

-Zouis-

Reduce, Recycle, … remove? by @reminiscingintherain

[G, 611 words, Zayn/Louis, neighbors, teacher Louis, artist Zayn implied, open ending, this is the rare pair jackpot tbh]

When someone’s nicking recycling out of the rubbish bins, who’s going to take them to task?

#28th appreciation #trackinghome #trackinghappily #1dsource #tracksintheam #fic rec #larry fan fiction #zouis fic #zaynshaw fic #grouis fic #one direction fan fic #august 2021

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achillieus · 4 years ago

Text

we’re fools. (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one.

(enemies to lovers trope or i watched the society on netflix recently and based this entirely on harry bingham and cassandra pressman)

pairing: college au!bucky x reader

warnings: alcohol, angst, too much tension, bucky and reader are stupid and in denial, sexual tension all around the place

tagging: @tonystankschild

(other parts) (masterlist)

part 2/3:

And then it’s the last week of February and you have an assignment together, you and Bucky, the boy with black hair and a mind that you’re certain is not as clever as he insists it is. You know this cannot possibly end well. You feel it when he sits beside you and his knee brushes past your leg. You feel it when you take a breath and smell his aftershave. Sandalwood and vanilla. It makes you want to lick your lips. Please, get a grip. You try to get away, even propose to write the whole thing alone so you wouldn’t have to spend any time around him. In your mind, you call it self defense. But Bucky’s boastful and you can see him pumping the muscles in his neck, trying to intimidate you.

“My dorm, tomorrow at 7,” he says “Don’t be late.”

(your late night instagram search history)

(00:38 AM) #literaturememes

(01:15 AM) @buckybrns

(01:30 AM) #newgirl

(01:50 AM) @buckybrns

(02:10 AM) @buckybrns

You find it annoying; how he’s present even when he’s not around.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that everyone, boys and girls, adore him alike. He’s charming, he’s crafty, he’s brilliant. He’s everything they want him to be and even more. It nearly condones his megalomania.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s aware he has an audience. Always plans his moves, knows how to play his character perfectly. He wears dark designer jeans and plain Henley shirts, buttons open, fabric tight around his biceps. Sometimes even a black leather jacket and a tag necklace. Girls are intrigued by the bad-boy, straight A student contrast, while the boys are envious enough keep him close and invite him to all of their parties. Bucky gives them whatever they need.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s utterly lonely. He has never said so, but it’s the truest thing about him. He has Sam. But for how long? Bucky’s used to people going away. It has been imprinted on him. His best friend, Steve, left with his girlfriend in an exchange program last month and Natasha, the one girl he ever came close to loving, just started dating Clint Barton. Clint fucking Barton. What a downgrade.

And then there’s you, sitting at the end of his bed, playing with the ring in your finger, reading some neatly written lecture notes. Usually, Bucky would think about 129 cheeky comments he could make to a girl in his room. But not to you. Are you sure, Bucky? He has grown accustomed to disliking you. It’s the one constant he has left and he’s not planning on losing it.

He leans down and takes the place next to you, a bottle of beer dangling loosely in his hand.

He offers and you decline.

“We need to concentrate on the project.”

“You’re the biggest killjoy.” Bucky says with a hint of a smirk.

“I’m studying, Bucky.” He can see your left hand holding that dark green pen in a tight grip and your eyes trying to focus everywhere but on his face. He can see your hair glistening in the warm afternoon light that comes from his window. He can see the soft red blush on your cheeks and the beauty mark on your neck. What a tricky thing it is to see. And to feel. And to want.

Is that what dislike tastes like, Bucky?

He talks a lot, that’s the first thing you notice. He says all sorts of things, most of them having nothing to do with your project. You’re certain it’s because he’s feeling as uncomfortable and agitated as you. But still, it’s annoying as hell.

“Listen,” you say and turn to his side “I’m not going to fail this class just because you have the attention span of a two year old.”

A laugh escapes his lips and you watch, completely in awe, the way little wrinkles form around his eyes and his nose scrunches. Right now, he looks tender and warm. No, he doesn’t.

“I think we’re both pretty smart,” Bucky says nonchalant and wets his lower lip with his tongue, before he adds, “We’ve got this, so relax doll.”

There are rules, things that are solid, de facto.

Example 1: Bucky never praises you. At least not out loud.

Example 1: Not valid anymore.

Example 2: Bucky uses the word “doll” approximately ten times a day. To other girls. The girls he likes. Not to you.

That’s actually wrong, he called you doll the first time you met. That doesn’t count. He didn’t know you then.

Example 2: Not valid anymore.

It feels foreign. Pleasant and beguiling, but foreign.

“You always call girls “doll”. What is this?” You ask and he looks up. “Is it like your thing, your flirt move?”

Bucky meets your gaze, his forehead creased, and holds it for some seconds before he laughs again. Is this amusing him?

“No, I’m serious.” You bite your lip. “You even did it to me when we first met.”

“I did?”

Of course he doesn’t remember, what did you expect?

“Yeah, when you helped me find the admission office.”

“And you remember that, an entire year later?” He raises his eyebrows, looking entertained and partly interested.

Your mind empties and for some time you feel out of place, embarrassed. But you’re quick to recollect yourself. You can’t let him get you.

“It was my first day as a college student, I remember all of it.”

Liar. You don’t even remember who you sat next to.

Bucky smirks a little too long for your liking and then he leans in, his body bending in a way that makes you forget to breath. He’s so close and you only see blue, a rare kind of blue between the depths of the ocean and the brightest shade of the sky at noon. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t that handsome. Handsome and indomitable. What an awful combination.

“Interesting.” He whispers and lies back, touching the wall.

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and clear your throat.

“I should go, it’s obvious we’re not making any progress.” You pick your books and stand up. “Sometimes I wonder how you get all those perfect grades, you clearly-” You merely finish your sentence before he grabs your arm and swiftly, he has you pressed against his wooden bookcase. You don’t have time to blink.

What’s happening? He was sitting down a second ago.

“That day,” he says while his thumb draws circles on your wrist. “You were wearing a denim dress and some Saturn shaped earrings. And you were holding a cherry juice box.”

It’s utterly terrifying how your emotions toss and turn the moment you realize what he’s talking about and the fragile muscles of your heart ache because Bucky cares. Bucky remembers.

“It wasn’t my first day of college, but I remember.”

You want to throw up. Or kiss him. You’re not sure. You know you hate Bucky. Do you? You’ve taught yourself to. And it was never supposed to change. It shouldn’t have to.

You part your lips to say something, anything, but he shakes his head and steps back.

“You should go.”

And you do. And you’ll never tell him, but you’ll always regret not kissing him then. You’re sure now.

your inbox, the next morning

(10:25 AM) from [email protected]

I’m sending you our assignment. You only need to add a few things and it’s done. If anything else comes up, it’s better we work on our own.

For Bucky, it all came crashing down the moment he first saw you. It was all over the moment his eyes met yours. A gourmand perfume lingered in the air around you that day and it stained his pores. And it’s been with him since then. Clinging onto his flesh.

It’s partly obsessive and partly romantic and Bucky tries to keep it locked inside. He thinks he can make it go away easily, the way he flicks a crumb off his expensive cashmere scarf. He thinks if he doesn’t talk about it, it’ll be less true. That’s not how things work, Bucky.

Yeah, he’s starting to notice.

And he’s trying so hard to hate you. The problem is, he doesn’t think he can.

(his late night instagram search history)

(00:45 AM) #tomfordperfumes

(01:30 AM) @y/n

(01:50 AM) #funnycats

(02:15 AM) @y/n

(03:45 AM) @y/n

You make it your mission to avoid him and it’s going well until the fifth of March. You spot him at Sam Wilson’s party. You should have known he’d be here, they’re friends. There’s a thick cloud of cigarette smoke all around, but still, you can perfectly see him. He’s standing alone, his skin changing colors under the neon lights, a plastic cup in his hand, eyes crystal blue and swollen and fixated on you.

The room is small and everything feels known but unfamiliar at the same time; the atmosphere, his gaze, the lump on your throat.

They’re suffocating you, the looks you give each other.

“Buck, what do you want?” Sam asks, holding both vodka and gin and he observes the way Bucky merely turns his head to look at him.

What do you want Bucky?

Not to play a role anymore. For Steve to be back. Maybe, Natasha. No, he hasn’t thought about her in a month. Perhaps a Pulitzer Prize. Definitely a new pair of sunglasses. But there is one more answer he has behind his teeth.

Y/N, he almost says. Always.

“Vodka.”

He leaves before midnight and you can’t remember where the urge came from, yet you’re following him. You know he has noticed. But he just keeps walking until he reaches the door of his dorm and presses his back against it. He sees you and you see him and his eyes cut your heart open.

“Your place is on the other side of the building.”

“I know,” you mumble, “I just never got to say good job on the assignment and I wanted to.” You are unable to meet his eyes. You sound pitiful and you want to hit a wall; with your head.

Why the hell did you follow him here?

Because sometimes you do stupid things.

Bucky mockingly opens his mouth, as if shocked. It almost makes you groan.

“Did Miss high and mighty just comment something nice about me?”

“Why do you have to contradict everything I say?”

He shakes his head and you can feel your heart beat loud and irregular and it’s not because you’re mad. It’s because he’s coming closer, almost chest to chest now. And it’s because you can swear, he just glanced at your lips.

“Someone has to, you can’t act like you know everything all the time.”

“I don’t do that, you don’t know a thing about me Bucky.”

“Oh, but I do. You’re Y/N, you like plaid skirts and Homer and dark green pens. You expect everyone to be perfect. You expect yourself to be perfect. And you always want to do the right thing.”

His pupils are dilated. Yours must be too. Bucky Barnes is dangerous and fatal. He makes your blood coil and your mouth dry. And there’s a tension, almost pain, almost agony, deep in your lungs and it burns. And you don’t know who leaned in first, probably you because Bucky isn’t that brave yet, but suddenly your hands are everywhere. Your fingers blending in his hair, his digging in the skin on the back of your neck. He’s bringing you closer and it’s a mess and all you can hear is the beating of your heart; a rapid vibration between your ears. It’s pure and raw and it doesn’t hurt anymore.

He tastes like ambrosia and a year-old despair and you think you can go on forever. You eventually break apart because you both need to breath and for a second you worry because he looks like he’s ready to cry, but instead he smiles, softly touching your cheek.

“Did I do the right thing?” You whisper.

...

feedback is so appreciated and motivates me tons, thank you :)

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #college au #bucky barnes imagine #au!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #alternate universe #alternate universe bucky #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #fools

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hajimine · 4 years ago

Text

BETWEEN THE NOTES — SEMI EITA x GN!READER

synopsis: for as long as you can remember, you and Semi Eita have always hated each other—but a couple of tender glances and one too many bottles of beer later, you find out that maybe you were looking at it the wrong way this whole time.

genre: fluff, (kinda) enemies to lovers, musician!au, mutual pining but they’re both idiots, jealousy, etc.

warnings: alcohol + intoxication (nothing bad happens), slight suggestive themes, vulgar language, kinda fast paced?

wc: ~2.5k

to: @archivednikes happy birthday shawdy <3

special thanks to: @rintaroll for beta-ing & telling me a lil bit about how bands work and stuff bc idk shit lol :,)

“Semi, get your ass moving,” you huff. “You’re gonna make me late.”

He gives you a smug look and raises a slitted eyebrow. “Did something crawl up your ass and died? What’s up with you?”

You exhale heavily through your nose and stare at him, unimpressed.

“We gotta catch the afternoon train if you wanna reach the venue in time for our gig. This is a really good opportunity for me, don’t you dare mess it up.” you say, gathering the last of your things for the trip.

There is a tingling sensation crawling down your spine, as if someone is staring at you. You look over your shoulder curiously, opening your mouth to utter another snarky remark to get your partner to stop gawking around and get ready.

But the intensity behind his gaze caught you by surprise.

Those hazel eyes of his—ones that are usually sharp and cold—held a sort of softness in them as he looks at you. When you caught him staring, his gaze did not falter one bit.

You couldn’t stop your eyes from traveling down the perfect slope of his nose, continuing down to his pouty lips.

As much as you hate him, you can’t deny that Semi Eita is an attractive man. Heck, even the word attractive isn’t enough to express how infuriatingly hot he is.

Your gaze stays on his lips for a second too long. Have they always looked this soft and inviting?

The dry cough from the opposite side of the room is the only thing that managed to break you out of this trance. Semi Eita’s trance.

Your manager stands by the door, tapping her foot on the wooden tiles impatiently.

“Now, lovebirds,” she narrows her eyes, “Save the PDA for tonight, yeah? We’ve got a schedule to follow.”

You roll your eyes at her, cheeks uncomfortably warm. And just like that, the strange yet tender moment you shared with Semi dissipated into thin air.

。。。

You don’t know if you should take pity on the gray-haired singer or if you should laugh at him.

Currently, Semi’s head is bowed down in shame as he gets an earful from his manager in the middle of a crowded train.

You see, the four of you should’ve arrived at the venue by now. Both your managers are very strict about schedules, and they planned to arrive at the bar two hours before the agreed time.

Thankfully, his bandmates have been a little more punctual than him and have successfully boarded the 4pm train. But Mr. Popular right here just had to stop every few minutes to take pictures with every single fan he met on the way to the station.

“It’s half past five now,” his manager whisper-shouts, “Do you know what that means?”

Semi tries to give her an awkward smile to calm her down. It doesn’t work.

“It’s rush hour! What if we won’t reach the bar in time? It could ruin both your careers, do you know that?” she glares at Semi once again, but there is less bite in her voice now.

“I’m sorry,” Semi starts, plastering a charming smile on his face, “I only wanted to be nice to the fans. Wouldn’t make too good of an impression if I just ignored them, no?”

His manager sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, exasperated. She motions for Semi to stop talking with a wave of her hand.

The singer grins, and out of the corner of your eyes, you can sense his sharp gaze on you once more.

You try to ignore it.

。。。

When your group reaches the bar, Semi’s bandmates are almost done preparing themselves for the gig.

The bar is dimly lit and cool, the multitudes of warm overhead lighting being the only source of light in the room. It’s not too busy tonight, you observe. Some people still donned their work clothes, perhaps rushing over to the bar right after a long day at work—mingling around with friends to let loose for a little and enjoy themselves.

“Dude, where were you?” Aito asks, eyebrows turned downwards in a frown.

Semi pats the guitarist on the side of his head, “Relax, we’ve got plenty of time to prepare.”

Aito rolls his eyes, completely used to his bandmate’s antics.

“Whatever,” he huffs. “By the way, are we gonna have a little after party later?”

“Uh,” Semi’s eyes flicker towards you for one second, then back to Aito, “I dunno man, might be too tired to get wasted tonight.”

The guitarist narrows his eyes. He didn’t miss the way Semi’s gaze lingered on you.

“Y/N,” Aito smirks. “You coming to the after party?”

You were listening to their conversation this whole time, finding the whole exchange quite amusing.

“Eh, I don’t see why not,” you smile sweetly, “It’s gonna be even better now that this dude isn’t coming anyways.” You pointed your thumb at the vocalist.

From where he’s standing, you hear Semi scoff.

“Y’know what?” he sneers, “On second thought, I am going. How does that make you feel, huh?”

You shrug, feigning indifference.

“I literally do not care.”

“Piss off.”

Aito throws his head back in laughter, shaking his head as he walks away from the scene, muttering about people being too clueless and dense for their own damn good.

You adjusted your equipment bag on your shoulder, exhaling loudly to try and calm your heart down.

。。。

It is in moments like these that you remember why you decided to go forth with this career path, no matter how rocky it may be.

Adrenaline courses through your veins as you sing the lyrics of you and Semi’s song; every ounce of the jittery nerves you had just a few moments ago long gone.

There’s nobody else in this world that can ever take your place

Some of the customers are listening intently, others just nodding along to the song, and the rest not even listening at all.

You could hear your heartbeat thumping loudly against your chest, the sweat trickling down your forehead and into your eyes making it harder for you to see the crowd.

And when the day’s all done and dusted, all I ever need is to be in your arms again

You whip your head towards Semi, just like the countless times you rehearsed this song together.

“It shows chemistry,” your manager had said, “play it up for the crowd, will ya?”

The butterflies in your stomach flutters about restlessly when you notice that Semi has been looking at you this whole time.

His eyes—sharp and intense—held your gaze, unabashed. Steady. Sure.

Will you stay tonight? ‘Cause baby you’re all that I need, and you’re all that I want.

And in that moment, with your eyes locked on each other, the world seems to stop.

Nothing else matters, Semi’s lopsided smile says, only you.

。。。

The performance flew by in the blink of an eye, and it’s a little past midnight now. As promised, your managers held a little after party in the shared lounge of your penthouse suite.

It’s not as fancy as it sounds, you smile to yourself. There are suspicious stains on the gray carpet, and the furniture smells vaguely of cigarette smoke and sweat.

Bottles of beers have already littered the floor and glass table, and you haven’t even started drinking.

“Duuuude,” Yuuto slurs, “Why are ya so tense for?”

The bassist points at you and Semi, eyelids drooping as he tries his best to keep them open.

“C’mon guys,” Aito clasps his shoulders and massages them roughly, “Relax a little, we did amazing tonight.”

Semi shrugs his friend’s hands away, annoyed. He snatches an unopened bottle of beer from the cooler and opens the cap with his teeth.

You gulp. He hands you the bottle wordlessly before grabbing another one for himself, chugging it down quickly. You mirror his actions, hoping that the alcohol can dull the annoying fluttering in your stomach that refuses to leave ever since the two of you shared that intimate moment on stage.

For fuck’s sake, what’s going on with me?

Your trick works, in a way. Your stomach feels pleasantly warm now, and your breathing has finally evened out. Another unopened bottle of beer lays invitingly on the couch and you reach for it, opting for a bottle opener instead of doing it like Semi.

“Bro,” Yuuto grins at the singer, drool threatening to leave the corner of his mouth, “Did’ya see that blonde chick in the front row? She was hardcore eye-fucking you dude.”

“Ah,” Semi takes another swig of his beer, a cute flush blossoming in his cheeks.

Wait, what. Cute?

“She gave me her number when we were gathering up our stuff.” He runs his hand through his hair.

“You gonna hit her up or what?” Aito teases, smirking.

The singer shrugs, “Maybe, I dunno.”

Your breath hitches, and Aito’s smirk widens. You raise your eyebrows at him, silently telling him to fuck off.

“Where’s Kai?” you hear Semi ask. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen the drummer since after the show was over.

“Oh,” the guitarist laughs, “Fucker left us for some girl he saw in the bar. Might see him tomorrow morning, might not. Who knows?”

The vocalist hums and walks over to where you’re sitting, plopping down on the old couch.

“The managers?” Semi casually drapes his arm on the back of the sofa. You feel yourself tensing as your heart races uncontrollably, and the singer looks over at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

Aito scratches the back of his neck, quickly losing interest in the conversation.

“They decided to sleep in early. Long day, I guess.”

Semi nods and rests his head on the top of the couch, exposing his defined jawline. His eyelashes look so pretty from this angle, they’re long and fluttery and they almost…

Huh?

“Eita, are you gonna hit that blonde girl up or nah?” Aito provokes, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You clench your teeth and reach for yet another bottle—your fourth one this past hour. Or fifth. You don’t bother counting. Semi looks over at you again, but this time his eyes holds a sort of concern in them. You scoff to yourself.

“Uh,” the singer looks at his friend weirdly, “Why are you so insistent on this? I did say maybe didn’t I?”

Aito laughs. You almost recoil in disgust.

“Oh nothing,” he chuckles, “It’s just that she’s really hot and she’s your type so—”

You stand up abruptly, knocking over some empty beer bottles by accident. The regret is immediate. You can feel the acid in your stomach traveling up your esophagus, tickling the back of your throat.

Semi quickly stands up when you clasp a hand over your mouth, trying your best to hold it together.

“Shit,” he mutters, “You okay?”

He rubs tiny circles on the small of your back, an action that’s supposed to be soothing but instead causes tingles to run up and down your spine. You shiver.

Another wave of nausea hits before you could respond, causing your knees to almost give out under you.

“Whoa there, angel,” Semi wraps his arm around your waist, holding you flush to his side to support your weight.

You groan softly as your head spins uncomfortably. Droplets of cold sweat is starting to form on your forehead, adding another layer of discomfort upon you.

“You wanna go to your bedroom?” Semi murmurs close to your ear. You shiver again. At this, Semi thought that you’re freezing so he drapes his leather jacket on your shoulders, holding you close.

You nod weakly as you try to blink the black spots in your vision away.

From somewhere around the room, you hear Aito snicker, “Stay safe!”

You turn your head around to give him a deathly glare, but all you see is a big blob of blurriness.

Dammit.

。。。

Semi takes the key card from your bag and pushes the door open, placing your duffel bag on the floor after

He guides you to the bathroom—with gentleness you rarely see from him—and sets the toilet cover down so you can sit on it while he wets a towel with the running tap water.

“You still feel dizzy?” he asks, voice soft.

You stare at his fingers as he wrings the towel and shakes your head.

Semi holds out the cloth and pats your forehead with it, the coolness allowing you to feel a little more refreshed.

“Do you want me to make you some tea?” he wipes the back of your neck carefully.

Shit. Has he always been this thoughtful?

You shake your head again, telling him that you just want to go to sleep.

He sighs and gives you a half-smile, holding out his arm to help you to the bed.

Semi still has it in him to give you a little but of privacy as you wiggle out of your tight jeans, looking away until you slip under the covers.

He helps you pull the plush white comforter closer to your chest, tucking you in.

Your mind doesn’t feel as hazy as it was a few hours ago, but the leftover alcohol coursing through your veins gave you a sort of boost to your impulses.

“Eita,” you whisper, reaching out towards the singer, “Stay?”

The singer halts in his steps and turns to look at you.

“Uh, I don’t know Y/N,” he starts, “You’re drunk right now.”

“No I’m not,” you say, steady voice proving your point. “Please?”

Semi glances over at the door and sighs. He chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds before sighing again.

“Okay.”

。。。

You’re struggling to open your eyes when you wake up, the harsh sunlight streaming into the room completely unfiltered.

Drunk you completely forgot to close the blinds, it seems.

You groan audibly, wanting to pull the covers above your head to hide yourself from this cruel world.

You freeze. Why can you feel someone’s soft breaths on the crown of your head?

Nervously, you reach out in front of you, eyes still shut closed. Oh no.

You force your eyes open, grimacing from the sudden brightness. Your eyes widen at the sight in front of you. Semi Eita, your supposed nemesis, is sleeping soundly a few inches away from you, arms wrapped around your waist.

What the hell happened last night?

A small squeak leaves your mouth as you fully realize the situation you’re in. The small noise wakes Semi up from his slumber, causing him to slowly open his eyes, squinting at the bright light.

“Morning, angel,” he croaks, voice raspy with sleep.

My god does he look pretty in the morning.

You stay there, frozen and unblinking. All the words at the tip of your tongue seem to disappear from existence.

Semi blinks, sitting up quickly.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he rubs his eyes vigorously, “I should’ve said no when you asked me to stay. Fuck, you were drunk and I—”

You grab the back of his neck and pull him closer to you, a small smile gracing your lips.

Your thumb grazes Semi’s bottom lip, dragging it down every so slightly before releasing it, enjoying the way he seems to unravel under your touch.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?” you murmur, trying to keep your cool as your heart hammers against your chest loudly.

At this, Semi breaks out of his reverie and laughs, “I thought you’d never ask.”

a/n: if you’ve made it this far, please feel free to let me know what you think about this fic! and please REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED mwah <3

#❀ —𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 #haikyuu x reader #semi eita x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #semi eita imagines #semi eita #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #haikyuu scenarios #!semi

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years ago

Text

Trial by Fire (Part 1/3) Santiago “Pope” Garcia x GN reader

Summary: You’re finally introducing your new boyfriend to The Boys. It must be intimidating for your guy because, hello? Not only are they literally lethal, as well as infeasibly handsome, but they’re hella protective of you to boot. They want the best for you so, naturally, they make your guy run the gauntlet the whole evening. Santiago, though? Well. Given that he is secretly in love with you? Let’s just say he doesn’t handle the situation very well at all.

Genre / tropes: angst, friends to lovers, love confession.

Author’s note: I wasn’t planning on writing this (in fact I’m writing the opposite, where “Santi has a new girlfriend and you don’t take it well” as a series, loosely based around the 7 deadly sins); but, in the meatime, I wrote this to get back into the swing of things after a lil break. It’s just a quick one, but there will be a second and final part, if you want it! Let me know!

Word count: somehow, 4.4k.

Warnings: language, angst, best friends arguing, Santi being an asshole.

Rating: T

The boys aren’t being as awful as you had anticipated, at least. For the most part, they’re actually being pretty friendly, and although they’ve transitioned into grilling Dean about every aspect of his life, they are at least listening intently and smiling at his answers. All except for one fucker, of course; and, naturally, surprising no-one, the fucker misbehaving is one (1) Santiago “Pope” Garcia.

The group - the boys, yourself, and Dean- are huddled comfortably around the blazing warmth of the fire pit in Frankie’s yard. The dancing, oranged flames cut through the dark and cold of the crisp night, as you sit upwind of the smoke on scattered, mis-matched camp chairs.

Whilst the others are evidently enjoying the evening -faces painted with smiles, body language open and leaning-in to chat to Dean- that fucker Santi is leaning back in his chair, his jaw twitching in seeming aggravation, his arms folded, and his intense eyes needling your beau. In this dim light, with the firelight licking over the sharp planes of his face, he looks every bit like a trained killer about to leap out of the shadows and garotte someone. Well… a very petulant trained killer. His call sign should have been Mr. Grumpy Pants, you think idly.

What’s up with him this time?! you wonder.

He gets these moods sometimes. And, when it strikes him, he can be a little bit hostile - despite the fact he’s a puppy underneath it all. You had hoped that for once, maybe he would suck it up, and yet, your hopes had been in vain, it seems.

Every time Dean speaks, or touches you, or even laughs at another of the guys’ stories, Santi’s expression sinks further and further through layers of distaste; and, by this point, he’s eyeing Dean as though he’s a war criminal the squad have been sent to take-out. You half expect him to leap up and take down Frankie any second for fraternizing with “the enemy”, if you’re honest.

Truth be told, you’ve had just about enough of this. Your friend had better buck his ideas up, sharpish, or he’d be reminded very swiftly that you were Delta Force too.

For now, trying to ignore the bastard, you look back at Dean, and the sight of him in animated conversation with your buddies causes at least some of your aggravation to fall away. Things have been going well between you and Dean, even if you do say so yourself. Originally from Michigan, he now worked as a lecturer at a nearby music school. He was also a banjo musician in a bluegrass / synth power-pop mash-up of a band, which (sort of) explained his retro-inspired mop of brown hair and his thick dark moustache - majestic enough to rival Frankie’s. True, he wasn’t your usual type, but he was honest, and sweet and kind... Plus, he’d never killed anyone with his bare hands, which was rather refreshing too, if you were honest.

Safe to say, so far, things were working out. So well, in fact, that you’d recently met his parents for the first time while they were in town. So well, in fact, that -after keeping him purposefully away from the boys for as long as you feasibly could- you’d now brought him to meet your family. That’s what this squad was to you, after all. Your family.

Remembering sporadic moments from the past few months together, you smile gently as you listen to Dean talk. You watch him seamlessly integrate some tailored conversation starters you’d fed him ahead of time, and you gently squeeze his thigh in an act of reassurance and appreciation. He is feeling the pressure, you can tell, although he is handling it well. To be fair, you think, who wouldn’t feel the pressure? You’d been nervous enough to meet his parents, but this? A bunch of Delta Force guys and an MMA champion? This squad was lethal; literally -you’ve lost track of your combined kill count, though Will probably hasn’t, you are sure.

Aside from that though, most of all, they are your family. You need them to like Dean and vice versa, and you know that isn’t necessarily a given. You are a tight-knit group, with little hope of outsiders grasping the full extent of your decade’s old in-jokes, or the intense camaraderie instilled by facing a hail of bullets together. Plus, as the baby of the group, they were protective as all hell of you.

It came from a good place, you knew: they wanted what was best for you. But, there was a reason you’d delayed this meeting... It’s not as though they were threatening or anything. They didn’t do the whole “if you hurt our buddy, I’ll kill you” thing, for example (at least, not while you were present – you couldn’t vouch for what happened when you were out of earshot). However, after introducing a succession of boyfriends to them over the years, the squad had developed a well-rehearsed system for sizing-up your new squeeze. In the past, not all of your squeezes had made it through the gauntlet. It was a trial by fire, to be sure, and you were pleased that Dean has not yet been burned.

Of course, whilst the boys’ approval didn’t mean everything to you, you couldn’t deny it was important; perhaps especially this time, with this guy. And, out of all of the group, Santi’s approval meant the most to you. Always had. Probably because Santi meant the most to you, full stop. You simply couldn’t imagine having someone in your life that didn’t get on with your best friend. And, so, you are not overly thrilled at the reception Santi is giving Dean right now. The reception he had been giving him all evening, in fact. And the more you dwell on it, the more an anger bubbles forth from you. Even though you try to push it down, and focus on Dean, that fucker in the corner of your eye sends you.

“What’s wrong with you tonight, Garcia?” you blurt out, a little louder than intended, causing the amiable chat and giggles to stall, all eyes turning to you - then, in turn, following the direction of your fiery gaze over to Santi, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Now, he leans forward. Looks back at you with a rare venom in his eyes. With a smug curl of his mouth, he dips to pick up his beer from the floor and takes a swig - buying himself some time. Trying to brush you off. Still, your gaze does not relent as he rests his elbows on his thighs, bridging his fingers together in the space between, thumbs sticking in the air.

Now, he engages, and he looks directly at Dean, his eyes sweeping dismissively over the entirety of his form. Now, he speaks, his voice filled with far more bitterness than the situation merits. “Nothing at all. I’m fucking peachy. So, Dean. You play the motherfuckin’ banjo?” he offers, and yet, it sounds far more like an accusation than a question.

What the fuck is up with him?

Wilting a little beneath Santi’s stare, as the ex-operative squints his eyes in his direction, Dean casts a helpless, sideward glance at you from his place in the circle, and yet, you are so stupefied by anger that you can do little to help.

“I think what my dear friend means to say -” Frankie dips in valiantly, smacking Santi pointedly on the thigh, likely hoping to smack some sense into him too “- is why don’t you tell us more about your music, Dean?”

Frankie’s eyes and smile are soft when he looks at you, surreptitiously exchanging a pointed look -what’s up with that pendejo?- and you are grateful that at least some of the evident tension is diffused when he picks up the slack in the conversation.

Santi and his mood swings be damned, and, feeling bolstered, Dean continues on.

“Actually, it’s going pretty frickin’ well with the band. It’s a side-gig to my lecturing job, but we’re planning a tour during summer vacation. The States -east coast- and Western Europe for now. Maybe headlining a couple of small festivals, if that pans out, who knows.” Dean relates, humbly.

“That’s great, man,” Will chips in, helping Frankie get things back on track. “We’ll have to come down to a gig soon, hear you play.”

“Actually, we have something to tell you about the tour, don’t we, babe?” Dean says bashfully, and he looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to pick-up the thread. You’d talked about it before coming today, and it had seemed like a great idea at the time, but suddenly, now that the announcement is imminent, your mouth is dry - as if filled with cotton. Still, you force a smile, and you’re not sure why, but you look anywhere else but at Santi as your lips form the words. “Yeah – kinda big news, fellas. I’m going to join Dean on the Europe leg of the tour. I’ll be leaving you losers behind for a few months.”

Dean’s face cracks into a smile and he reaches for your hand, looking made-up at the prospect. Still, while you will yourself to be fully present in the moment, you find yourself focussed on looking anywhere but at Santi, sure that his stare must be boring into the side of your head. You hadn’t told him yet. Unfortunately, at Santi is where just about everyone else ends up looking, as the fucker abruptly pushes his camp chair back and stands, storming indoors before anyone can hope to fathom it.

You exchange glances with Frankie, Will, and Benny, with Benny thankfully stepping-in this time to distract Dean from the obvious, and asking him which stops you two will be making, and which sights you plan to see.

“Look, man, don’t mind that tool. Got any sightseeing plans?”

What is Santi’s problem? Why can’t he give Dean a chance? Yes, you’ve made some mistakes in the past- been hurt, and Santi had helped you pick up the pieces -every time- but you had a good feeling about Dean. A really good feeling. Can’t he see that too?

Frankie throws a concerned glance back towards the house and motions as if to stand, but you beat him to it, wanting to get to the bottom of this. “I’ll go,” you insist, motioning for Frankie to stay put, and with a quick promise to Dean that you’ll be back soon (and a silent plea to your boys to take care of him in your absence), you do just that, walk-jogging across the grass.

When you step inside to the kitchen, you find Santi stood, hunched over the counter, his palms clasping the surface tight enough that his knuckles pale, and his head hung low, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes in exaggerated breaths.

“Well?” you ask pointedly, with zero tolerance for his bullshit. “What’s going on with you? Wanna explain why you’re being an ass to my boyfriend?” you challenge to the back of him, and he instantly whips around at the sound of your voice.

“I’m being an ass?” he asks indignantly, his eyebrows shooting towards the top of his head.

“Yes. In a nutshell. Yes,” you hiss, any other interpretation feeling impossible. You fold your arms and purse your lips, making it plainly evident that you are waiting for some explanation. And, oh boy, it had better be good.

Instead of explaining though, Santi simply huffs out breath, gesturing angrily out of the window. “That guy, really? That’s the guy you’re gonna go all in for? Go to fucking Europe for?”

That guy, you mouth silently, completely stupefied for a moment. You’re not sure exactly what your so-called friend is insinuating, but you are clear that you don’t like it one bit.

“What is your fucking problem?” you ask, punctuating your words with motions of your hands, as if you are trying to strangle the air in-between you in lieu of his neck. “Dean’s a catch. He’s hot, he’s sweet, he’s a nice guy. He’s there for me. He takes care of me.”

“Like I don’t take care of you?!” Santi exclaims, his voice rising and abrasive; and then, immediately after the words tumble forth from his lips, he steps back imperceptibly, as if startled by his own outburst, his hand rasping over the stubble on his chin.

“What in the...? This isn’t about you, you ass!” you bite back, face scrunching up in confusion. Your fingers come to your temples as you grow increasingly lost-off and perplexed, and seemingly, your riposte only makes Santi double down on whatever the hell he is complaining about.

“Who’s the one who’s always been there for you, hmm? Who picks up the pieces every time you make yet another dumb shitty choice with another shitty guy?” he rambles, gesturing his hand towards you dismissively.

You step back from him this time, just a little, tears spiking instantaneously in your eyes at such an unnecessarily cruel blow. He’s right, in a sense: you had always relied on Santi to heal you, not to hurt you - and yet here he was dealing these painful, incoherent blows out of nowhere.

“Shit, Garcia. If it’s that much trouble to be there for me don’t bother next time,” you snap, your voice breaking as the swell of anger and hurt and adrenalin sends tears spilling over your cheeks. “Don’t worry though, I don’t think I’ll need you again. In fact, I have a feeling this guy might stick. So, maybe? Maybe you should think about the fact that the only shitty guy around here is you.”

“You really think he’s good enough for you, hmm? He’s really who you want to end up with?”

You listen, aghast, as his tirade keeps coming. However, as Santi’s voice breaks with emotion part-way through his second question, you can’t explain it, but you feel an intolerable sadness in the pit of you. Even though you’re not sure what’s causing all this, what you’re barrelling toward, you want to thrust this sadness away from you. Push him away from you. You want to push away the knot in your stomach for fear that if you tug at that thread, you might arrive at an answer to his question.

Exasperated, overwhelmed, you roughly paw tears from your cheeks, not knowing where all of these feelings are coming from, in either direction. “Fuck, I... I don’t understand what this is. I don’t get it!” you say, waving your hands, palms-up, through the air. “Is this some macho bullshit? Have I pissed you off somehow?”

At that, the wave of Santi’s anger crests and breaks; as you wonder if you annoyed him. Then, as suddenly as his anger came it is waning, his eyes pooling with rare tears now. With a huff of breath he tears off his damn cap, tossing it aside to run a hand through his grizzled hair.

“No. No,” he backtracks a little, palms up in surrender. “You haven’t... I.... I just...” He pinches his lips in-between his teeth and looks up at the ceiling as his words trail off, perhaps trying to steady his voice before continuing. Or, perhaps he has nothing else to say to you. Perhaps he’s said enough.

You examine him. Still pissed as all hell, but worried now too, and ultimately, your love for your best friend slightly edging-out the anger. It’s rare that anything affects him like this, and you can’t help the sudden rush of concern.

Cresting too, you exhale a tightly held breath into the now silent, taut space between you, and your body sags - just a little. You chew over your words a moment, but when your voice comes back the volume is lower, your tone softer - and, although it cannot be considered friendly, by any stretch, it’s the best you can do right now.

“You know what,” you offer, generously, wrapping your arms around your own middle, stroking your forearms with your own fingertips. “I’m giving you a pass. You don’t even want to give Dean a chance? Then just leave, Santi. Just go. I’ll give the guys some bullshit excuse that doesn’t leave you looking like a total ass, because I’m not a dick to my friends. So just go, okay?” You pump your eyebrow at him indignantly and await a response, your manner stiff and unyielding.

Santi closes his eyes and knits his brow together, something like regret finally passing over his face and he shuffles guiltily from foot-to-foot.

You puff out air through your teeth and shake your head, as you observe this Delta Force hero; the bravest man you know in many ways, but still too cowardly to tell it like it is. To admit that he’s in the wrong. You are afraid to say that even as his gaze comes back to you, misty-eyed, you have little sympathy for his plight. You are sure it is of his own doing. You are almost as sure that he won’t open-up.

“You know,” you begin, breaking from your position and gathering up a fresh cooler of beers from the fridge, turned away from him as you speak. “I brought Dean to meet my family. Do you understand that? I didn’t have parents and siblings for him to meet. I have you guys. You’re my family.”

Still nothing. Nothing but silence greets you. Nothing but a pained expression on his face, his brows drown together and the artificial light of the kitchen highlighting the harsh planes of his face as you look over your shoulder at him, waiting for some reaction. Some admission of guilt. None comes. He simply slots his hands into his jean pockets, looking sheepish.

“So,” you continue, greeted with a brick wall, “fuck knows why you don’t want me to be happy, but I am. I’m happy with him. Thanks a ton for shitting all over that.”

You don’t even bother to look towards him this time, instead placing the last of the clinking, condensation-adorned bottles into the carrier, resigned to head back out without him, and without any apology.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and your head whips towards him in surprise.

He looks it - sorry. He looks apologetic. Deeply so. He looks sorry for this, for every way he’s ever slighted you, for every time he’s hurt you, even in ways and moments you never knew about. He looks sorry down to the pit of him, and it catches you off-guard when you see it freely offered there in his eyes.

Even so, this is a stubborn man. There’s an apology, but there’s no explanation. Nothing to explain his behaviour. So, even though it seems genuine, it also doesn’t seem like enough.

It doesn’t appease you, and yet, all you can bring yourself to do is sigh deeply.

You know Santi better than anyone, but there’s always been a part of him that has seemed out of reach, even to you. You’re not sure -never have been- whether to be scared or excited by those unknown parts of him. Not sure whether the impasse hints at buried secrets too dark and deep to bear, or whether it hints of a possibility of something more. Something deeper or something better you could have together, if only he would let you in. You don’t know, and you never have, but all you are sure of is that you have constantly teetered on the edge of that abyss, too much left unknown to know all of him, however much you may have wished to. He’s entitled to his secrets, of course, but you hate how they hurt him.

With a little sympathy now, you examine his watery eyes, and when your voice comes back this time, it is softer and slower than you intended. More tired than you expected.

“You know, Dean wants to be with me. And he tells me so.” You casually dip down to pick-up the cooler handle, eyes still fixed on your best friend. “He might not be Delta Force… he might be a banjo player from Michigan… but even he’s brave enough for that.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Santi says, bristling all over again, his hand rasping angrily over his stubbled jaw, and yet, you decline him an explanation. Instead, keeping your own secrets now, holding back, you head towards the door, beers in hand.

Still, you turn back to him. You might be angry, but you still care for him -more than you could say.

“If you figure out what’s up with you, let me know, and I’ll be there for you. Whatever you’ve got going on, you know that, right? But this? This isn’t okay, Garcia. You might think that I make dumb choices -you ass, by the way- but I’ve watched you hit self-destruct so many times instead of dealing with your feelings. Maybe you should look at your own life, huh, instead of shitting all over me for trying to be happy? Shit, at least I fucking try.”

His eyes shift from side to side in the room, the muscles in his jaw twitching, chin jutting forward, and his thumbs locked in his belt loops. He can’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze; at least not until you are disappearing through the threshold; until it’s almost too late. Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

“Wait!” he pleads, but you cut him off, before he can speak. Even though, truth be told, you’re not sure he would muster anything to say at all, even if you gave him a chance. He’s so used to holding back.

“No,” you say firmly. “Forget it, I’m done. I still love you- you’re my best friend. But, fuck, just go home, and get out of my sight, Santiago. I’m so pissed with you right now.”

And so, you turn away, and when his words finally do come, they are spoken to the back of your head. They are spoken without you ever seeing his lips move, and you wonder if he ever said them at all, or if this might be some cruel trick of the night. Some witching hour spell. That is, until you turn towards him and you see the words painted clearly on his face too.

“Fuck it. I’m in love with you.”

I’m in love with you.

Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

You’re not sure what reaction he was expecting, but you almost choke on the sudden lump in your throat. You feel a taste of bile rising-up into your mouth. An intense, resurgent anger fills you, which near makes the room spin, and makes your hands and your legs tremble.

Even if a hidden, unconscious part of you has been waiting, hoping for these words all these years, when they finally come all you can feel is... royally pissed off.

“Oh. No. No. No,” you repeat, words gradually increasing in volume, looking at Santi as if he has mortally wounded you, rather than offered that confession. “You do not get to do this to me.”

You see a hard swallow bob down his throat, a near-instant regret on his face, and your heart pounds in your chest as you reel with the implications of his words.

The coward. The fucking asshole. He waited until now? All the times things had gone to shit, and he waited until you were happy?

“All the times...” you accuse, your tone as bitter as the taste in your mouth, the metallic tang of blood as you feel a rushing in your ears. “All the fucking times. All the chances, Santi, and you do this now?” you continue, your finger sawing through the air, wagging accusations at him, even as your voice wavers, as your hands notceably tremble. “No. Fuck you, Garcia. Fuck you.”

You want to cry, or scream, but you are too angry. So angry, that it eclipses anything else which might come to light. So angry that you almost come full circle again, beginning to stabilise out at eerily calm.

Santi looks down at the floor, and exhales air, chuckling disbelievingly to himself, then lightly nodding his head, lips pressed tightly together. His feet shift agitatedly below him as he brings his endlessly familiar eyes back up to meet yours. This time when he looks at you, it hurts. You remember bullet wounds, and you swear that was nothing compared to this.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say to me, hmm? Fuck you, Garcia?”

“What the fuck were you expecting?” you say, launching your words before you realise the implications of them. Yes, you know fine well that your boyfriend is sitting outside, likely wondering where you have got to. But, if you had the wherewithall to have thought about it, you would know exactly what Santi was expecting, despite all of that. You would know that a part of him must be expecting, hoping, that when he told you, you might reciprocate. That you might love him back.

And, would that be so outside of the realms of possibility? Would it be so hard to imagine that the deep, magnetic, and unshakeable friendship you shared could be something else? Something more? That you could tip over the edge you had long been teetering on? Maybe it could, or maybe it could have, but right now, you can’t see past the flashbang he has just dropped over your life, and it is clouding your vision.

You were happy. You are happy. Fuck him for doing this now.

Why would you fall into the unknown for him, if you never knew whether he would catch you? If you never knew whether ruin or safety awaited you if you let yourself tip? He always held back.

What the fuck were you expecting?

Your words linger in the space between you, and in lieu of any other lifeline, realisation dawns on Santi’s face. Realisation that, although he jumped, you are not intending to catch him either. But how could you catch him, with your arms already full?

And, so, he slowly nods his head once again, his eyes beading with glassy tears and his hand grazing over his chin in a self-soothing gesture. Wordlessly, he sets his jaw and he abruptly replaces his baseball cap on his head, padding a few steps forward to stand opposite you, sucking all of the breath from your lungs. This time, when he looks at you, you see all of your past, but you still can’t see beyond that. The abyss still scares you too much.

Like this, facing each other down, eye-to-eye, the silence in the room grows sharp as a knife, refined to a point. So, when Santi abruptly turns to leave in a sharp, determined trajectory, without so much as looking at you, it is as if he has dragged the blade across your skin in an equally swift motion. As if he has left you open and bleeding-out, having delivered a mortal wound with the act of his exit. You’ve felt like this on the battelfield before, and in life, yet he was always there for you. Always there to patch you. To pick up the pieces.

Instead of screaming open-mouthed for help, this time, you simply watch him go, and now you are the wordless one, mustering nothing but a gasped inhale of breath before your vision blurs with tears - as you watch his hazy form disappear along the hall and out of your sight.

“Santi,” you call pathetically, your voice small and weak and teary, barely making it past your throat, and he doesn’t hear you. He doesn’t hear you but even if he had, you’re not sure anymore if he would have stopped.

When Santi slams the front door behind him, you shudder with it in its frame, your hand coming to your chest as if to hold your heart inside your opened-up ribs, and you close your eyes against the jarring sound, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face screwing-up into a shined, contorted grimace.

Entirely lost, now alone, you bizarrely wish for the room to be filled with anger again, instead of the intolerable sadness - which all too suddenly takes hold of you as your emotions crest and break. It is all you can do to stumble forward a few paces and hunch over the countertop, finding yourself in the exact position you had discovered Santi in. You stand, bracing yourself with your arms, fingers clutching the edge of the worktop, and your head slumped forward, tears freely spilling out of you as your chest heaves.

You wonder whether he’d held himself in this same position because he had felt an intolerable sadness too. An intolerable sadness at seeing you happy.

Suddenly you could understand it.

That fucker. Santiago “Pope” Garcia.

I’m in love with you.

The words echo in your mind, but this time, if you’re honest, you’re not wholly sure if they’re his, or yours.

PART TWO IS HERE

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