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choerrypuffs · 3 months ago

Text

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.”

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier.

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes.

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely.

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson.

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly.

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.”

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state.

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.”

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention.

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support.

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw.

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers.

“You don’t look―”

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?”

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck.

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer.

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip.

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood.

“That was…delicious,” he breathes.

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.”

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs.

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.”

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together.

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw.

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes.

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly.

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks:

“So, you’re hiring?”

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question.

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up.

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias.

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand.

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say:

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?”

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries.

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu.

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling.

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.”

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!”

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses.

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?”

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice.

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup.

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking.

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly.

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.”

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.”

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.”

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows.

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.”

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.”

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in.

But you don’t.

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.”

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you.

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him.

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday.

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly.

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand.

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.”

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease.

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?”

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.”

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck.

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh.

“Pretty lame, right?”

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.”

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.”

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently.

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?”

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.”

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length.

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!”

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow.

“Of course. Who else would I go with?”

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately.

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain.

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.”

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms.

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile.

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him.

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.”

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?”

“...Seven.”

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property.

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.”

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes.

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you.

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along.

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.”

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt.

“Oh my God, your face!”

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.”

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.”

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes.

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice.

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself.

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you.

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile.

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod.

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.”

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.”

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here.

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh.

“Why?”

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you.

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.”

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction.

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.”

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that.

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.”

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away.

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever.

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.”

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself?

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair.

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table.

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.”

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice.

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it.

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms.

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.”

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.”

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.”

“I’ll help,” he insists.

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.”

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.”

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too.

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t.

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now.

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him.

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay.

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee.

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold.

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too.

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?”

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her.

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away.

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself.

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise.

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t.

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff.

“Y/N, they’re burning.”

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp.

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs.

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.”

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it.

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?”

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?”

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch.

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.”

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.”

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?”

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly.

“Do you treat all your friends like that?”

“When I don’t want to see them.”

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him.

But he steps back.

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.”

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly.

“I probably should,” he answers shakily.

“What’s stopping you?”

“Just…one reason.”

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.”

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.”

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back.

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.”

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all.

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you.

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself.

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless.

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check.

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.”

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly.

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.”

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first.

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take.

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about―

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way.

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.”

You stare at him, still not sure how to react.

“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.”

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting.

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?”

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―”

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath.

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.”

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?”

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare.

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich.

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up.

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again.

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace.

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?”

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Because I’m curious.”

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.”

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.”

You smile against the crook of his neck.

“Why?”

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.”

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #haechan fluff #haechan angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #nct 127 imagines #haechan #nct #choerrypuffs

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kkukverse · 1 month ago

Text

Down and down

Pair : mma fighter jeon jungkook x reader

Fall, everything

fall, everything

fall, everything,

The muffled screams, the ringing in his ears. The blurry vision and he was sure for a good minute that he was losing his eyesight. If it weren’t for the camera’s flickering lights and the spotlight beaming on this octagon, he thought he was blind. The blow from this McGregor guy took him down, left him sprawling on the red tainted mat. Bloods spluttered everywhere, mixed with his and the opponent’s sweat. Sticky liquid dripping from both of their mouths as the referee pounds his fist onto the white mat.

He can see the referee mouthing something, he doesn’t have to focus so hard to know that the referee is counting down the numbers.

“One!” there’s a pause.

“Kook, get up!” from all of the deafening sounds in his head he managed to catch his coach’s muffled voice.

“Two!” the referee slaps the mat even harder,

“You motherfu- Jeon Jungkook! GET YOUR ASS UP!” His coach is frantically trying to wake him.

“Thre-”

“Jungkook? Jungkookie? Kookie.” His bruised eyes widen at the sound. It is the most angelic sound he ever heard.

Am I already in heaven he thought.

It’s his most favorite voice in the whole world, the voice that soothes the raging storm in him, the voice that could calm his sea of confusion, your voice.

She’s here? No. She left. It feels like the time stopped and Jungkook is battling with his inner thought, full of you in it. He slowly raised his upper body before the referee could scream the last number straight at his face.The crowd was a mixture of boos and cheers. In that dramatic moment, his coach managed to ask for a time out. Jungkook was carried by his team members to the corner of the octagon.

Blood was covering most of his body parts, Taehyung wipes them off with cold towels and Jimin was frantically putting balm on his busted lips and on the torn skin above his left brow. Jungkook’s heavily panting for air to fill his lungs and he is still intoxicated with adrenalines. Coach Kim put his hand on both of his cheeks to check if there are any cuts before Jungkook splutters your name over and over again.

“Is s-she here? Is she here? Please, is she here?” He keeps on muttering something along with your name and Taehyung is shushing him because from the look of it, Jungkook is about to lose his mind and now is not the right time to be that.

“Kook, she’s not here, but you gotta keep your head in the game.” Coach Kim speaks in a clear voice as he maintains eye contact with Jungkook. With a badly swollen left eye, there’s nothing much Jungkook can see anyway. “I heard her. She’s here, I can hear her voice, she's calling my name, coach please look for her. I know she’s here” Jungkook pleads at his coach with tears streaming down his face.

“I will look for her, but you gotta finish this fight first” Jimin cups Jungkook’s face. Jimin knows very well that it is borderline impossible to find you at this moment. But if it is what can make Jungkook to keep his head in the game, Jimin wouldn’t hesitate to make up lies.

The crowd erupted again once both fighters were back in the middle of the fighting pit.

The fight continued and ended with Jungkook lost. It was a painful loss, physically and emotionally. All battered and bruised for nothing. He was the boy who is prepared for the battle but never for the lost.

But not lately.

There’s a dreadful silence on the way back to the gym. No one could say a word or even looked at each other. With Jimin patting Jungkook’s shoulder, trying to comfort him, Taehyung can only stare out of the window with Coach Kim gripping tightly on his ipad.

Taehyung peers to look at the blinding lights from the device.

“The highest paid fighter, Golden Boy Jungkook third lost this season: was recruiting him into the biggest MMA club was a big mistake? It’s indeed a total blow.”

Taehyung scoffed at the stupid headline. The media is so fast to spread nonsense. Absentmindedly, he switched off the devices since the email was flooding in. Coach Kim just let him.

Everyone is mad at the situation, not at the losing fighter. But he seems to be blaming himself by the soft sound of the sniffles coming from him.

“Kook-ah, it’s fine. We can practice more. There’s always another competition you can win” Coach Kim looks at the poor boy he trained for years sitting on a single seat at the back. This huge tour bus makes Jungkook look so small and fragile in his eyes.

Jimin squeezed his shoulders, winced as he noticed how stiff he had become.

“You said you will look for her,” came out like a soft defeated whisper from Jungkook. His eyes stared blankly from the tinted bus’s window. It’s almost like a universal joke because somehow it started pouring down. He blames the sky for mockingly crying at him, he hates the night sky for being so gloomy ever since the day you left him.

How could the sky pitied him and yet do nothing when it became his witness on the night he boarded the airplane.

“You know very well she’s not there, Jungkook. You can’t get mad at Jimin, hell, you shouldn’t be mad at anyone especially yourself. You have to stop brooding like this. It happened months ago. Get over it!” Taehyung turns his back to look at Jungkook.

The boy is still staring out. Taehyung is slightly annoyed with Jungkook because he cares about him a lot.

They fight together, they used to fight each other, they’re each other’s sparring partner. The golden boys of Kim’s Gym and now the rising stars of BigHit Mixed Martial Arts gym. Jungkook was the boy who has the highest winning streaks in a season. Knocking down opponents like they’re made of papers.

Keyword; was.

He slowly went into a slump. As an athlete, slump is dangerous, both mentally and physically. Coach Kim couldn’t force him to practice anymore because he wouldn’t dodge punches and kicks. He lets himself bruised and bleed. Coach Kim thought the best way to get him fired up again is through competition.

Coach Kim knows that Jungkook loves the adrenaline rush, the roaring screams from his fans, he loves it when the referee raises up his hand as he won the fight. But Coach Kim is wrong. Today was his third match and he lost all of them.

“Taehyung is right. I hate seeing you like this. And I’m sorry for making you fight out of your will. I thought it was for the best.” Coach Kim spoke up to soothe the tense atmosphere. He knows Taehyung means well but he practically raises these three, like he did with his other fighters.

Since they’re the youngest, he has a soft spot for them. The older fighters have achieved a lot, and more mature in handling their emotions. These three are still kids to him. So the moment Jungkook came back that one night, sobbing and broken, he knows something isn’t right.

And he knows he has to be tough on Jungkook. Otherwise, Jungkook will spiral down. Like right now.

“Jungkook,” Jimin speaks quietly, “Do you wanna look for her again?” Jungkook raised his head to look at Jimin. He gave him a look that Jimin knows so well, his losing hope kind of look.

“I would kill to see her again, but I would die if that ever happened because I broke her, Jimin. How could I see her when I’m the last person she would ever want to see?”

He met you five years ago. In his aunt’s grocery store. You were the new girl in town, the transferred, new teacher at the local elementary school.

The day you walked into his aunt’s store was the day one of his silly hopeless romantic fantasy becoming real. He had this vision of falling in love at the sound of a bell because of an anime movie he watched with Taehyung and Jimin. He rewatched that movie over and over again, imagining finding his true love the way the protagonists in the movie did.

And it happened.

It was a sweet jingle from the bell on the main door of the store, and you walked in wearing a white shirt and faded blue jeans, looking so effortlessly pretty to him. Jungkook thought his eyes were playing tricks with him that day but he swears he can see rays of sunlight following you.

Like a spotlight or it was just him zooming on you. Nevertheless, you were glowing to him. How can he forget that?

He was busy gobbling down his lunch after he helped his aunt unloaded boxes of groceries on the display shelves. With oil from the fried eggs on the corner of his lips, lips swollen from the spiciness of the gochujang. The bibimbap was delicious but the moment your eyes caught his, the lunch just stuck in his throat, causing him to choke.

He was fucked and it was obvious from the way you were taken aback with his loud cough. He banged his chest with his fist, to control his unstoppable coughing before he immediately ran to the back of the store.

Gulping down the water, he wanted to cry because your first impression of him, was him, choking on a piece of fried egg because he decided to inhale instead of chewing.

He thought the best way for this to end, is just sitting at the back of the store until you left. He can hear his aunt conversing with you and he envied that. But he is still embarrassed!

While he was busy kicking himself, he noticed the chirping of his aunt’s voice asking you but he didn’t hear your voice, not clearly enough. So he is focusing now, head tilted so his ears can catch the conversation. He acted like a creep and for a second that thought makes him blushed in more shame.

“If you need anything you can just come here and ask. We’re glad to help. What about your belongings? Did you already move them in?” The voice of his aunt sounds like an echo to him. Jungkook was still chewing the bits of meat from the bibimbap. They were a bit tough and might have stuck in his teeth but he didn’t give a damn. Sulking.

“I only bring the necessary stuff, the one I managed to carry with my car. I have to buy other necessities here though.” Your voice. Holly shit, Jungkook lost it at your voice.

If he is poetic, he’d said your voice is like spring water washing him from head to toe. Refreshing. With no one watching Jungkook grinned like a fool. He doesn’t even know your name. It was literally five seconds ago when he met you.

“Of course, of course. Do you need help? It pains my heart to see a girl like you carrying heavy things, all by yourself,” His aunt sounds concerned and she has always been that kind of person. The woman who cares about everyone, Jungkook respect his aunt so much.

He took a wild guess, his aunt is probably being mindful about the stuff you bought. Maybe you bought too much than what you can handle.

“I guess I do need help,” you chuckle. Jungkook thought he fell deep after hearing your voice and now your chuckles are going to be the reason why he will keep falling. Jungkook is daydreaming of hearing your chuckles and he is already making a list of jokes he can throw at you randomly.

He was so sure he wanted to keep seeing you. As you will be a resident in this neighbourhood, he will make sure to get to know you. Just not today. He shivers at the memory of your wide eyes after hearing his horrendous cough.

Not today, he will make a second first impression to you. In a more gentleman manner.

“Jungkook! Jeon Jungkook!"

"This boy. Is he still at the back?” His aunt started shouting for him, shattering his plan and his ears. Oh but he’s definitely thinking of your ears first. His aunt has a habit of shouting since she is the boss, that’s how she makes the men move in this store.

Jungkook just groaned loud enough for her to hear him. Remember when he said his aunt cares about everyone? Well his aunt can be scary too. After he realizes his aunt is tutting at the cashier table, he scrambles his long legs to her.

“Coming, coming. I was eating.” Jungkook whined as he dragged his feet towards his aunt. She knocked his head with a fly swatter.

“Still eating?! You liar! You already ate! You’re sleeping aren’t ya? Here, come here,” she dragged him by his ear. You chuckle at the view as the two of them looked funny.

Jungkook can’t control how his lips are cracking to form the biggest grin ever at that sound. And wow seeing you up close is far more magical than he had envisioned. Jungkook is definitely taller than you seeing from his one set of doe eyes as he was awkwardly bending down because his aunt pulled him by the ear.

“Ow ow ow I’m sorry! Stop!” He whines louder. His brain finally sent him the pain signal because he was a little occupied as he looked at you.

You were gazing at him with your soft eyes, and he remembers that he is not wearing his best hoodie today. Jungkook was in his beige baggy sweater, rolled up to his elbows, and black sweatpants. His thick and messy long hair, his pinkish lips, slight oil by the corner of his mouth. He sighed in his heart.

So much for a gentleman’s first impression. But you didn’t give him a disgusting look. Even there’s almost dry sweat patches on his chest, and around the armpits area. You were still smiling sweetly.

Damn, forget the joke list, if he can keep making you smiling like that, he’ll be the happiest man.

His aunt nudged him and broke him of his own dream.

“You make me look like a fool!” He whispered to his aunt before she laughed out loud.

“Now, now, is our Jungkookie shy??” She pinched his right cheek.

“This adorable boy is my nephew. But don’t let his looks fool you, he is a mischievous kid.”

“My aunt can get quite excited with people sometimes.” Jungkook smile wide enough before his body went rigid. Shit what if there’s meat stuck in between his teeth?!

What he didn’t know was, you think he is so cute.

Because for a moment he was smiling so bright and then suddenly he zoned out like a puppy. You already think he was cute that day.

His aunt shoots him a harmless glare before she pats his butt.

“She’s new here. Can you please go and help her carry the things? Be the strong man, Kook,” she whispered in the last sentence and sent the boy a wink. Jungkook scoffed and as if you haven’t heard or witnessed all of that.

His aunt, whom he’s thankful for with every breath he takes.

The soft knocks on his door bring him back to the present. These days, no, ever since he left for Japan all he think about are you, his aunt, the little town and you, you, you.

“Have you called your aunt yet, Jungkook?” Taehyung peaked his head through the slit of the door. The light breaking into the dark door. Jungkook didn’t even realize he’s been looming in the dark space, he doesn’t even know if it’s day or night.

Taehyung sighs at the tiny hum Jungkook gave him. His little breakdown at Jungkook on the bus last night still makes him guilty. Taehyung knows him better than anyone, and for him to snap at Jungkook like that, he felt guilty. But somebody gotta wake Jungkook up from this state.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung grips harder on the door handle, before he pushes it wide open. Jungkook groaned at the sudden intrusion of light and his friend.

When you’re in the dark for quite some time the lights can be too blinding.

“Dude what the fuck!” Jungkook barks. Hands hastily pulling up the heavy blanket, hiding himself under it. He hates it. Hate it how he knows he looks pathetic but he doesn’t want to do anything about it.

“Get up.” Taehyung’s voice is deep and firm. He is so much like his dad. Growing up watching his dad coach fighters, Jungkook thinks this is where Taehyung gained this scary aura. Taehyung doesn’t even flinch at Jungkook’s growling.

Jungkook refused to get up until Taehyung pulled the blanket off of him in one snatched. Jungkook hates it. He feels like he is disappointing everyone and he hates how he can clearly sense annoyance in Taehyung’s sigh.

Taehyung could never feel annoyed by his friends and Jungkook knows that.

“Kook,” Taehyung softly coaxed him. Taehyung feels like he is suffocating seeing Jungkook all crumpled up, bending his body like a lost little child. Where did his strong friend go?

“Kook, man you gotta get up,” Taehyung sits down at the edge of the bed. Eyes still on Jungkook even though the man is still shutting his eyes tight. “I apologize for last night, kay?” Taehyung continued.

“‘Kay,” was all Jungkook replied. Honestly, he doesn’t remember what happened last night. All he knew was he lost.

“Dad told me your aunt called him. Saying she couldn’t reach you. Give the lady a call, Kook.”

“Later,”

“Kook-”

“Anything else Tae? If not, leave me alone.”

Taehyung lets out another defeated sigh. “Yes,” he stands up with his hands inside his pocket.

“We’re going for a run.” Taehyung moves to grab clean sweats and hoodie for Jungkook before he pulls his friend up with all his might because Jungkook is really heavy.

Taehyung must stay positive for his friend. That’s the least he can do. Trying to get his friend back up from a lost battle was never easy and add heartbreak to that too, it is almost impossible.

Jungkook didn’t disobey him because he loves running. He runs all the time. At dawn, or dusk. He runs playfully with his friends, runs for practice, or just simply running and enjoying the scenery.

Tokyo air is very different from his little hometown. There’s no usual bun stall where he can get two red bean buns for free because he always helped the old lady setting up her stall. There’s no chirping and giggling sounds of the school kids coming back from school.

Laughing at him because 'Jungkook hyung is so funny.'

Tokyo feels so cold and silent. There’s no you in Tokyo. There's no one to share red bean buns with. Once, he bought four buns to eat with you after his running sessions, before he took you home on his scooter.

After the first meeting at the store, Jungkook always bumped into you. Either when you’re on your way to school while he is finishing the last lap of his run, or when he was just riding his scooter around the school - hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

That first time, he gave you all of his favorite red bean buns because he saw you walking home. Like many late afternoons, Jungkook noticed you were waiting at the gate with the boy he knows, Daehwi.

Jungkook was running an errand for his aunt at that time. He has no idea why he keeps messing up every time you’re near him. He unconsciously twisted his hand harsher making his scooter almost jump forward.

Suddenly the slow scooter became the fastest vehicle as he zoomed past the two of you. He can see you flinched before you stand protectively in front of Daehwi, the kid whines as he bumps into your back. Jungkook instantly breaks and he makes a sharp U-turn, to apologize.

Looking at you with his wide eyes and open mouth after he took off his helmet. It wasn’t a big scary and loud motorcycle. It’s the scooter he used when he’s on delivery for his aunt. Jungkook winced apologetically as he can see how you stand in front of your student.

One hand on your hip, you’re biting your inner cheek to suppress a laugh because Jungkook looks like he is about to cry. Perhaps feeling guilty, for driving recklessly.

“Jeon Jungkook-” with a low tone, you tried to intimidate him. Tapping your foot. Jungkook is blaming his guardian ancestors because they never helped him. Does he even have one?! He needs one before you hate him, completely.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he dropped his helmet with carrot stickers all over it into the scooter basket, clasping his hands together.

You hum before you move away to show Jungkook the scared little boy hiding behind you.

Jungkook understand that it’s not you he needs to apologize to,

“I’m sorry little guy,” he pouted.

Daehwi, the loveliest child who can never stand someone else feeling sad, accepted Jungkook’s apology in the most heartwarming way.

“It’s okay Kookie hyung,” coming closer to Jungkook before he taps on his knee. “But you scared Miss ____, hyung.” The little kid looking at Jungkook as firm as he can though his tiny hand on his knee makes Jungkook almost cooed loudly.

Jungkook’s much larger hand is on top of Daehwi’s little hands.

Jungkook dropped his shoulders with puppy eyes looking at you. Mouthing ‘I’m sorry’. Your mouth twitched up and Jungkook knew he’s fine.

You concluded that Jungkook is such a big child. Adorable. Everyone here knows him, he delivers food, vegetables, or anything his aunty tells him to deliver. Diligent and friendly.

The example is here, little Daehwi is so much more comfortable around Jungkook than he is with you. Jungkook is paying attention to Daehwi as he whispers something to him. Eventhough you can catch them very well. Daehwi is just too cute.

“Kookie hyung, can I ride your scooter?”

“Ah, little guy I would love to. But if your mom finds out she’s gonna tell my aunt. And my aunt isn’t really cool. She nags too much.” Jungkook playfully makes a grimace face as if he really can’t stand his aunt. When in reality he loves that old lady like she is his mom.

Daehwi gives a scandalous look at Jungkook, instantly correcting him. “I am not a little guy, I am nine this year, right Miss ___?” He turns to face you for confirmation. “I am big enough,” he mumbles under his breath. Coming closer to him, you fix his backpack that is tilted from him moving so fast to be near Jungkook.

“Yup, but sometimes, big kids can get hurt too. Your mom doesn’t want to see you’re hurting. I would be so sad if something happened to you, too,” you coaxed Daehwi. He hung his head low but perks up at the mention of his mom.

“Then hyung, get down! Don’t make Miss ____ sad,” with his chubby fingers he tried to pull Jungkook to come down from his scooter. Tumbling forward, Jungkook carefully gets off the scooter and lets the nine year old lead him closer to you.

The two of you chuckled at his cute actions before realizing that Daehwi placed Jungkook’s hand onto yours while he held your other hand.

Jungkook feels a gush of warmth on the inside and he can’t think straight. He was holding his breath not knowing how to react with his large hand engulfing yours. ‘Crap, my palms are fucking sweaty’ Jungkook whines in his mind.

Blinking furiously because he wanted to wipe the sweat off but he wants to keep holding your hand. The biggest dilemma in his life.

Neither of you tried to break the holds. Jungkook thought you still didn’t let go of his hand because you don’t wanna be rude but what he didn’t know was you were thinking of how slippery your hands are because of the hand lotion you applied earlier on.

He glanced at you through the corner of his eyes, you were biting your lower lips, trying to focus on Daehwi rambling about his truck toys. Daehwi is telling you and Jungkook that he wanted a scooter toy next time, if his mom allowed him. Like Jungkook’s he says. It was endearing but the two of you are too focused on your hands.

“Mom!” Daehwi shouted as he saw his mom getting down from the car. Immediately you tighten your hold on his pudgy hand so he's not crossing the road mindlessly. You wait until his mom is closer enough before you slowly let him go, he runs towards his mom’s embrace with giggles. His mom picks him up as she bows a little to you.

“Thank you, I’m terribly sorry for being so late.” With an apologetic look on her face.

“It’s okay, please don’t be sorry. I am willing to wait for him.” You’re not letting her keep apologizing to you. Jungkook stares in awe at you, who keeps bowing at the mother.

“Daewhi is a good boy, I had fun waiting with him.” You chuckled at the boy, who was tucked behind his mom’s thighs. Whining at her that he is hungry for curry.

“I better get going. Daehwi, say goodbye to your teacher,” his mom asked him. “And to Jungkook hyung too,” his mom smirks at the hands that are still holding onto each other, with a knowing look she smiles at the two of you.

Like an electric jolt, you and Jungkook let go of each other’s hands. He rubs the back of his neck and you clasped your hands together.

Silently he frowned at the loss of the delicate small hand.

“Kookie hyung is being safe, so Miss ___ won’t be sad if he gets hurt,” explained Daehwi.

“Oh I’m sure he is safe, baby. Now let’s go home. Goodbye you two.” She said as she gave a witty smile to the two of you.

Silence fills the surrounding after Daehwi and his mom drove away. Jungkook feels the urge to say something but for some reason his throat is clogged up.

“Are you on errands, Jungkook?” You break the silence.

“Nope,” answered without a beat. So much of self control Jeon.

��Can you give me a ride home?”

“Wha- why?” his heart is beating wild. You wanna ride his scooter. With him! And his stupid mouth asked ‘why’ ???!

“I’m sorry for the sudden request, it’s just that I have a few things to carry with me. Or maybe my legs are slowly giving up because I’ve been standing up for too long today,” you explained shyly.

If Jungkook can shut down the thrumming of his heart maybe he can hear how you’re nervous around him too.

He was just gazing at his shoes, swaying a little. Waiting for you to finish talking. He thinks you’re gonna hate him for not able to answer immediately but Jungkook was just in the zone, because YOU WANTED TO RIDE HIS UGLY SCOOTER!

It’s not a chick magnet kind of bike like Taehyung’s, it’s an old, beige, boring scooter!

“Only if you don’t mind,” you asked softly, as you thought it might not reach his ears but he snapped his head so fast to you.

“Of course!” His voice sounds a little higher. “I mean, of course I don’t mind,” he mumbles. Hands up, showing you that he is completely okay with your request.

“But I don’t have an extra helmet, never mind, you can just wear mine.” Jungkook mumbles to himself. His hands are busy putting the carrot-stickers helmet on your head when you just stare dumbfounded at him.

Laughing at his action, you hunched over with hands on your stomach. “Oh my god Jungkook. Let me grab my stuff first,” you wheeze.

Jungkook finally realized that he went ahead of himself and you were standing in front of him, with your cute giggles and closed eyes and puffed cheeks, way shorter than him and his hands are still under your chin. Trying to buckle the helmet. His eyes widen at the sound of your laugh.

“You’re silly,” you wipe the corner of your eyes, a bit teary from the laughing.

Jungkook frowned at that, “I’m not silly. I thought you’re ready to go.”

“How can I possibly be ready when my stuff is still inside?” You let yourself go from his hands that were still cupping your chin. Walking inside to get your bag and a small box of arts materials (maybe you don’t actually have a lot of stuff to carry or you just want to spend some time with Jungkook?)

Jungkook saw you and immediately rushed to help you carry the box. You did tell him you’re very capable but Jungkook pretends he didn’t hear that.

“You can hold on to me if you want.” Jungkook pulls the baby hair, at the tip of his sideburn, a habit to distract himself.

“I would like it if you hold on to me, you’d be safe.” He adds. Eyes straight forward, too shy to look at you, wearing his helmet, his favorite helmet! Lightly tapping your box inside the scooter basket with his free hand.

“Okay Jungkook,” you chuckle. Jungkook heard you huffing as you struggled to tighten the helmet and he without a beat, softly tugging the end of the straps. Helping you out and the close proximity allowed him to be so absorbed by staring at your face, your beautiful eyes, your soft jawline, the slope of your cute nose, the slight pouty lips, your eyelashes. Everything about you is so pretty.

Suddenly he heard a gasp and his big eyes staring shockingly at you, mouth gaping and all. “You think I'm pretty?” You whispered.

Fuck!

A curse comes out of his mouth and he wanted, no, dying, for the earth to swallow him because he just blurted his thoughts out loud and now you know he thinks you’re pretty.

Worst case scenario? Probably you threw his helmet and just walked home. But you were giving him the million dollar smile. The smile he is getting used to. And then suddenly you uttered the magical words to him, “I think you’re pretty too.” it was a firework festival inside of him. Jungkook is back to his smug face and smirking at your flustered self.

Giving him a bashful smile, you hop on behind him, arms are shyly snaking around his waist. Jungkook’s heart is soaring high. He is sure you can definitely hear his wild heart beating so loud.

“Here we go,”

“Tae, I need to speak with you,” Jimin whispered to Taehyung as the later man was just finished sparring up with another fighter. Panting while wiping the sweat with an already drenched hand towel.

He jumped down to be close to Jimin. From the look on his face, whatever he is about to say must be very serious.

“Yeah? What’s up?” Taehyung asked. It was a hard practice today and he is still panting.

“I found her,”

There’s a sudden silence after Jimin uttered the words. Except Taehyung’s heavy breathing. Jimin found you. Taehyung’s jaw clenched at the information. He knows Jimin hasn’t told Jungkook yet, because Jimin told him first.

He doesn’t need to think much, honestly, because out of everyone, Taehyung was the first one who knows Jungkook is in love with you even when Jungkook shyly denied that. He knows how important you are to Jungkook.

With his head hung low, Taehyung threw off the boxing gloves onto the fighting mat. The three of them grew up together. Seeing Jungkook in this condition breaks his heart. Out of everyone who found Jungkook whipped in love, it was Taehyung.

Taehyung becomes an acquaintance with you as you’re the new tenant moved a few blocks from his house.

Few years ago, when he found out about you and Jungkook, he was relentless at teasing the younger guy. Jungkook used to be very private about his love life but with you, he’s different. He talks about you all the time. Taehyung is sure that Jungkook’s mind is occupied with you.

He tried to swing a punch pad to Jungkook, just to intimidate him.

It is a known fact that Jungkook never missed a swing, not even from the coach. But Taehyung shouted your name and the punch pad kissed Jungkook on his face. And Taehyung is now 120% sure, Jeon Jungkook is whipped as hell.

“You ass,” Jungkook hissed as Jimin pressed the ice pack on his slightly swollen cheek. Taehyung doubled over with booming laughter and he received a sharp glare from Jimin. He has to halt his training to treat Jungkook. Even though Taehyung is the same age as Jimin, Jimin always acted like the eldest brother. The logic is because he was born a few months earlier than Taehyung.

“I have a match next week and now I have to babysit you. Be serious for once,” Jimin scowl and Taehyung pokes his sides. He knows Jimin will never stay mad. He is the strongest in his weight class, everyone in the city will shiver at the mention of his name.

But Jimin has the softest heart of them all. Every time one of them is injured, Jimin will go all the way to treat them, even if the injury is from a silly prank.

“Take care of your body, you said you wanna join Joon hyung in Japan,” Jimin pressed a little harder on Jungkook’s cheeks. Purposely sting him so he listened.

“I am! Tae cannot stop being an annoying little prick,” Jungkook pointed his hand at the giggling Taehyung. Poking his own tongue on the inside of his cheek. Hissing as he felt a little sore.

Swiping the laughing tear from the corner of his eyes, Taehyung lay down on the floor. All sweaty.

“Oh our dear Jungkookie and my neighbour.” he teases Jungkook while making a kissy face and a loud smooch echoed in the gym. Jungkook just groaned frustratingly.

“I will never stop teasing you,” Taehyung sings songs.

His cheeks are flushed red. Hand grabbing a towel to throw at Taehyung. “Shut up Taehyung!”

Taehyung chuckles bitterly as he remembers those nights Jungkook swooning over you, as they walked home from the gym. He always talks about you. You were Jungkook’s girl, everyone knows that.

He even knows the reason you and him broke apart. He witnessed the night the two hearts of his friends’ shattered into tiny pieces. The night that haunts Jungkook, the night that he carried Jungkook to the gym. Meeting his dad. The night Jungkook decided that he agreed for Japan.

“Tae, do you think we should tell him?” Jimin asked.

“We gotta tell him,” Taehyung said with a determined look on his face. That night shouldn’t have happened, and he shouldn’t just watch you slip away from Jungkook just like that. What kind of friend was he?

Silence never really means anything is doing good. Like right now, Jungkook is sitting on the couch after Coach Kim broke the news to him.

Another match.

After a heated phone call with the McGregor team, Coach Kim called Jungkook to meet him at the gym. Coach Kim told him about the phone call he received just now, the phone call that requested another match with Jungkook.

Coach Kim refused without hesitation, even BigHit agreed with him but McGregor felt like it was an unjust match for him. He claimed Jungkook didn’t give his all and that somehow wounded him.

McGregor said he’s been studying Jungkook over the years, he knows Jungkook won a lot of titles and his skill is the most immaculate.

He has been waiting to fight him and he did. They had their first match and Jungkook fell lower than his expectation. For some reason he felt like Jungkook was fooling him around. This is why he demanded another fight.

Coach Kim is swallowing hard, because he doesn’t want to hurt Jungkook. He wasn’t purposely losing that day. Jungkook never wanted to win anyway.

Not when he stepped into the octagon, not even when he boarded the airplane. It was already over long before McGregor. In fact Coach Kim is still blaming himself for making Jungkook fight in the match that secured him a spot in Japan.

Jungkook said nothing as he kept staring at his own feet. Both Jungkook and Coach Kim seem to be lost in their own memories.

“Kook, I need to prepare you for the next match, in September.” Coach Kim’s voice echoed in the gym as he walked to the boys. The three of them, Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin are sprawling on the fighting mat after a rigorous training.

Jimin was hellbent on making the other two his sparring partner because he was almost lost to the one of the fighters from Lee gym. He was annoyed. When Jimin is annoyed, he is relentless and punched so hard. Sometimes Jungkook wonders what he eats, for someone his size, Jimin is a beast.

Panting on the floor, Jungkook uses one hand to lift the side of his body, searching for his coach. “September? That’s such a short notice. It’s a few months from now.” He whines.

Thinking about the overload of workout he must complete, he needs to maintain the body weight and still burn calories and all. It is such a fuss because it requires mental and physical preparation.

“Yea, Jungkook. It’s a friendly match."

"Come here, check your weight. We have to put on weight this time Jeon. Let’s conquer a different weight class, yeah?” Coach Kim sings songs.

Taehyung is laughing at his friend’s misery. He knows how Jungkook has been on this weird fibre diet because he’s trying to lose weight. Taehyung and Jungkook are in the same weight class even though Jungkook is much more muscular. Taehyung knows his dad, he gotta bulk up Jungkook because Taehyung is already dominating in their weight class.

“Coachhh,” Jungkook stomped his feet. “It’s my first anniversary soon. I wanna go food hunting with ___.” Jimin chuckles as he shakes his head at Jungkook’s childish behaviour.

Being the youngest of the group gets him away with everything. Jimin winced at the thought of having to gain weight because it was such a hell ride.

Gaining weight is much more difficult than losing weight. He knew it firsthand when he had to gain 10kg for a match. It was a torture, but that’s the life of an athlete, especially MMA fighters.

“If you manage to gain weight, you can easily win with your skill. We just need to sharpen a little on the jabs and your kick. This new weight class will secure you a place in a bigger tournament.” Coach Kim explains.

“Stop whining, all of your hyungs have done it before. ____ will understand, she always understands.” Coach Kim sends a strict glare to Jungkook only to be counter attacked with big watery eyes.

Taehyung and Jimin eagerly nod, proving the Coach’s statement. Taehyung chuckles, knowing that if he pulls out his name, Jungkook will do it in a heartbeat. “Even Namjoon hyung had to gain weight that one time,”

Hearing his idol’s name Jungkook instantly standing next to Coach Kim, wiping the dirt on his butt. Eyes are fiery as he stares at the meal plan and workout plan Coach Kim already made for him.

“This time we gotta avoid this, okay?” Jungkook pleaded as he pointed at his face. The last time he took a jab and came home to you with a swollen eye. Jungkook told his coach that he wanted to learn a faster shielding skill. So that no one can touch his face. He said you were crying when you saw him looking like a goey ugly fish.

“Can’t afford to make my girl cry anymore,” Jungkook grinned cheekily. Coach Kim just shakes his head at his action.

“Puppy love,” he muttered but Jungkook gasped dramatically.

“It’s not puppy love! We love each other. She’s the one,” Jungkook claimed. How dare his coach teased him like that. You are the light of his life.

She’s the one

The more the words replaying in his head the more it hurts. It keeps pounding non stop and Jungkook is tired. He misses you. So much. He hates Japan. He hates himself. Why did he go out that night? Why can he just listen to you? Why did he need to go there and beat his opponent to pulp? Why did he let his temper take over him?

“Tell him I gave up,” Jungkook gets up from the couch. He no longer turns around even after Coach Kim keeps calling his name.

“Jungkook boy, you really gonna give up like that? I know you’re a pussy but holy fuck! That kid can’t even punch me!” The boisterous laugh from the tv screen echoed inside Coach Kim’s room.

Taehyung is clenching his jaw and Jimin sends deathly glare at the flat tv screen. The interviews McGregor did live just now shows that he’s been picking Jungkook’s name and calling him out for not wanting to go for a second match.

Jungkook is eating a bowl of ice cream with no care in the world as he sits in the corner of the room. Not minding how many times McGregor has been calling out his name from the tv. McGregor is sitting too proudly with a heavy gold belt slung across his puffed chest. Jungkook just smirks at the image. That used to be his dream.

“You just gonna let him shitting about you like that?” Taehyung said in his deep voice. His eyes sharply glaring at Jungkook. He is mad for his best friend.

But Jungkook doesn’t even budge a muscle, except the one in his mouth, he keeps swallowing a spoonful of ice cream.

“Let him, I lost interest.” Jungkook sighs.

Taehyung scoffs bitterly at his nonchalant reply. Without thinking straight he let his mouth run on it’s own. “What would ___ say to you now, Jungkook?”

Suddenly there’s dead silence in the office. Coach Kim raised his head at his son, eyes wide. Jimin holds his breath but he still glances at Jungkook from his seat, curious to see the younger boy’s reaction at the mention of your name.

Taehyung is still glaring at Jungkook, the tension is thick in the air as Jungkook slams his spoon into the bowl before he roughly puts it on the table.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jungkook’s brows scrunch, he looks so mad, so affected by your name.

“You wanna know something, Kook? ___ once told me she could never come to your match because she didn’t want to see you get beaten up. But look at you now,” Taehyung’s face is unreadable.

Jimin slowly raise his hand to stop Taehyung but the latter man continued, “You got beaten so bad now Jungkook, not physically, but still, do you think she’ll cry seeing you like this,”

“Tae-”

“SHUT UP!” Jungkook launched himself towards Taehyung even before Jimin could grab him, he landed a fistful punch on Taehyung’s cheek. His other hand is grabbing the collar of Taehyung’s shirt.

“____ would be sad, just like that night,” Taehyung scoffed with a broken look on his face. His eyes are watery, feeling the sting on his cheek and his heart.

Taehyung is sad for the two of you. He knows mentioning your name to Jungkook will only rile him up. But Taehyung doesn’t want to lose Jungkook like this.

“Tae, stop.” Jimin pleaded. He is still trying to pull Jungkook off Taehyung with Coach Kim.

“Kook, come on. Let him go.” Coach Kim coaxed him.

“Shut up!” Tears are brimming in Jungkook’s eyes. Of course he remembers that night. He let Taehyung go before he flopped down on the floor. Bringing his knees close to his chest. Covering his face with his hands.

“Japan?”

You raised an eyebrow before you got up from his hold to fetch a bowl of ice cream from the kitchen. He was just mindlessly playing with your hair while the two of you catching up the latest episode of Demon Slayer (his request).

It was an usual weekend night where he stayed with you, cuddling, enjoying each other’s company. As he was getting lost in the smell of your shampoo, sighing happily for having you in his arms, he blurted out about Japan.

“Yea Japan. One of BigHit Mixed Martial Arts Gym is there.” He stares at your delicate figure, wearing his oversized shirt and a short with a bowl of ice cream. Smacking his lips at you, you look so cozy and he is just, in love with you.

It feels like yesterday when he confessed to you and you let him woo you.

“That’s so sudden,” your voice sounds unsure and tiny. Slotting yourself in between his legs, Jungkook immediately wrapped his big arms around you, while covering himself with the blanket.

“I know. It’s not official yet as I haven’t given them any say. I’m not sure if I wanted to go or not. For now,” he mumbles. Another habit of his. He is usually a very outgoing boy but when he is unsure he tends to hide, making himself look smaller by crouching or when he sits he wraps his arms around his bended knees.

Now, having you in between his legs, he settles with hiding behind your neck. He feels a lot calmer feeling your skin close to his chest.

He avoided coming home after a match because he looks terrible but he always found himself nuzzling your chest with his hand under your shirt. Your skin, it’s like a safe warm blanket for him.

“Do you want to go?” You hesitantly asked. Eyes still on the screen but Jungkook cannot be sure where your mind is at.

“I mean, I’ve been aiming for Japan ever since I started taking this seriously. Again, like I said, I’m not sure,” he stressed on the last part. Blinking at you. Why are you not looking at him? Are you upset?

Your hand that isn’t holding the bowl grabbed one of his. Your thumb caressing his skin softly yet your eyes still not looking at him.

“I think it’s best for you to go, right?” You said. Tilting your head and it allowed him to lay his head on your shoulder. He shower you skin with kisses and it makes you let out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah?” His voice sounds tiny as he is still searching for your eyes.

“Yeah Jungkook, chase your dream,” this time your eyes are downcast. Thumb rubbing unknown patterns on his skins. He didn’t say another word. Giving up in making you look at him.

He doesn’t feel right.

Were you upset hearing about Japan? He told you, he, himself is still not sure whether he wanted to go there or not. What he wanted, for now is to be with you. If, let’s say, if he were recruited to Japan, he is thinking of bringing you along.

Truthfully he cannot think of being in a long distance relationship with you. He shudders just thinking about that. He knows long distance relationships are very rare to work out. And he is going to be super busy with matches and practice. Thus which is why he wanted you to come along.

He will try his best to support you, but you're a woman with your own career. He is biting inner cheeks, because he doesn’t know how to break the question to you.

“I feel like I’m a bad influence.” You break the short silence. Jungkook’s mind is still racing with thoughts so he managed to reply to you with a questioned hum.

You tap on the bowl with your fingernails, making clicking sounds with your tongue as well.

“Stop, you always said that yet you still spoon fed me,” he groans. Wiggling his peeking toes from the end of your blanket. Trying to distract his mind for a while.

Spend the night, he thought. And maybe ask you after next week’s match.

“You always ended up eating something sweet. What about your meal plan? Gain weight class plan?” Your toes are cold against his hard calf. Spoon clicking inside the large bowl of ice cream. It’s silly.

Silly, because it was pouring heavily outside, just after the dinner and here you are eating ice cream together. As if it’s not cold enough.

“Kookie,” you called for him realizing he zoned out. That nickname seems to pull him back to you, making him scoff in disbelief.

“Stop calling me that,” he chuckled before pinching your side.

You giggle. Ever since you heard Daehwi called him Kookie hyung, you’ve been calling him the same nickname too.

“Kookie,” you pouted. Jungkook is scrunching his eyes, pretending that your acting cute is doing nothing to him. But oh he can never pretend that he is unaffected by you.

Jungkook playfully clenched his teeth as his legs pulled the blanket away from your legs. You flinch at the sudden feel of cold air.

“Hey!” You screech.

“Serve your right,” he tucked the rest of the blanket securely under his laps, making it impossible for you to have it back.

“I’m cold,” you shudder. That’s all it took for him to give in and pulled your legs across his lap. Running his hands up and down to warm them up before he covers the two of you under the fluffy blanket.

He feels warm and you’re safely in his arms. Yeah, he will properly ask you to come with him to Japan. As soon as possible.

You feel like your breath is taken away after you received the phone call. Your body slumped over the chair. Mind a little fuzzy and fortunately it was recess time, you were in the Teacher's Lounge when your phone vibrates. It was Taehyung. He said JImin got your new number from Daehwi’s mom and Jungkook has no idea about the call.

He asked you simple things people asked, like when they had not seen each other for some time. Polite and precise.

‘How are you?’, ‘I hope I’m not bothering you, is it okay I’m calling you now?’. You know Taehyung, he wouldn’t suddenly call you just because he wanted to know about the weather or what not, whether you have eaten yet or not.

So you went straight at him.

“Is Jungkook okay?” You wanna despise him but you can’t. After all these months of crying and in pain. All of the scripted anger in your head, prepared to be bombarded at Jungkook once he called you, disappears into the thin air.

Instead of replying, he talked about Jungkook’s loss. You knew, of course you’ve been keeping track of him, how can you not? When he is all over the place. The television, social media, the whole nation is talking about him. Your heart aches even more.

Jungkook has always been so hard on himself, especially when he loses a match. You have been thinking how he’s been coping up so far.

And then Taehyung asked you for a favor. That is what puts you in your position right now.

“Can you come to Japan?” Taehyung asked you. He sounded defeated and with the heavy sighs you concluded that Jungkook’s loss is affecting them all.

“For him. I know whatever that had happened was bad. But, he’s not being himself and we don’t know what to do anymore,” Taehyung continued. “He won’t fight, he has been so aloof and won’t respond to us. Please ____. He needs you,”

Shutting your eyes tight as you pinched the bridge of your nose, the tears are welling up in your eyes and you don’t wanna cry anymore. But your heart aches thinking about seeing him again in Japan and when that’s the place that makes everything go down in between you two.

You and Jungkook were in a relationship of one year at that time. Like any normal couples, there’s banter and bickering, fights and also make ups. You and him always make up after a fight.

Jungkook would never rest well knowing the two of you didn’t sit down and talked the frustration out. He is a very level headed guy, though sometimes he seems a little childish but to you that’s what makes him, him. But Jungkook has always been the one who apologizes first. Your soft Jungkook.

But that wasn’t your Jungkook that night.

The night he told you about Japan again, only this time he uttered out his desire of having you there with him. You didn’t know what triggered you at that time but for some reason you chickened out.

The sudden request from Jungkook throws you into the abyss of thought. You’re thinking about your teaching, leaving your parents, friends, building a life in Japan?

These thoughts terrify you. Jungkook said he’d be in Japan for a few years. This is why he needed you there as well. You think that’s selfish. Jungkook will spend his time practicing, and fighting. What about you? You don’t even know Japanese.

So you said no, a hesitated no, because amidst the scary thoughts, of course you wanted to be by his side. Maybe you’re feeling a little tired that day, so you just pushed him away. Or maybe it was the way he asked you. Like he demanded you to be by his side. You told him no, you cannot do that. He got frustrated. And it was the first time he’s frustrated with you.

“You never support my dream,” were the words he spat at you. It feels like venom flowing in your ears to your heart. How could he say that?

What he didn’t know was you went to his match for the first time. He was so blacked out. Didn’t notice a thing while his chest heaving rapidly like a fish being left out on the dry land. You were a crying mess by his side. Trying to call out for him but he was laying there wheezing out his breath like he’s dying. His face was covered in bruises, busted lips and sweats drenching him from head to toe. Till this day, you flinched every time you heard a bell sound. It reminds you of the time they rang the bell in the arena because Jungkook was so fucked. The match had to be stopped. Taehyung pulled you to the side though you refused, still grasping on Jungkook. You were there and you thought he was going to die!

Jungkook was admitted to the hospital. Broken ribs, punctured lungs, fractures on his right elbow, they had to put metal rods in his ankles. His pretty long fingers - the fingers that glided through your thighs, warming you up at night - they’re broken and the some ligaments are torn.

Coach Kim comforted you at the hospital bench, telling you Jungkook will undergo a surgery to reattach the ligaments.

Jungkook hasn’t woken up for two days.

You have been sitting by his side, only switching places with Taehyung and Jimin as the two coaxed you to take a shower and eat something. You remember crying in front of Taehyung as he makes you instant ramen. Taehyung was so worried about you.

Telling you the harsh truth that these kinds of injuries are common. What were you supposed to feel at that time? You were worried sick for Jungkook and you’re gonna push through that everyday and wish he comes home in one piece after a match? This is hard for you.

So you told Taehyung you’d never do this again.

Yet how dare Jungkook said you never want to watch him fight, never support his dream.

After he said those words, he rushed out of the house in anger. He slammed the door and you refused to call him back. He went out and you let him.

It was past three in the morning and you can’t sleep. Because you’re waiting. Waiting for that silly guilty smile apologizing at your door. Waiting for the buffy boy crawling to your chest as he mumbled out how sorry he was and how much he loves you. You were practicing your version of apologize because you realized you were harsh on him too.

You realized you were not being a supportive girlfriend. Jungkook might feel nervous before he asked you and you just pushed him away. Of course he was frustrated. You waited and the bed was cold that night.

You were holding your phone, expecting him to call you or anything but when it was vibrating, it was Taehyung.

He told you that he’s going to bail Jungkook out from the police station. All you can heard was 'Jungkook, got into a fight, he beat the fuck out of a man, someone called the police because they were loud, he got locked up' and he called Taehyung for help.

Your stomach dropped. You rushed to get your hoodie and changed your shorts into some decent pants, your hair was a mess and you rush yourself to the police station.

Jungkook was already outside of the police station the moment you arrived. His head was hanging low and Taehyung just sat on the stairs. Looking lethargic because who the heck looks good at this goddamn hour?

You didn’t say a word as you run to the them, you shoved Jungkook on his shoulder. Pushing him hard because you were so mad at him. Why did he go around and beat people now?

“What the fuck Jungkook?!” You seethed at him. Still pushing him. Jungkook kept his mouth shut tight. He didn’t even budge, not even when you banged your fist on his chest. You know Jungkook is a strong boy and your little fists can do nothing to him, but you wanted to hurt him so bad.

Make him feel what you’re feeling at that time. You heard him sniffed but you didn’t stop pushing him. You didn’t even realize your face was so flushed and wet with tears.

“How fucking worried I am!” You shouted at him with a sobbed and you started panting. Jungkook can sense that you’re about to have a panic attack. Taehyung got up to settle the two of you but he didn’t think it was right for him to intervene.

“Babe,” Jungkook grasped your wrists, wanting to calm you down.

“No!” You pulled your hands from him harshly, pointing a finger at him.

You take a good look at his face before you breathed out. “Go.”

The single word was like a hard punch in his gut. “What do you mean?” he knew but he still asked, there’s no way you’re doing this to him.

“You wanna go to Japan, right? Then, just go,” you wiped your face with the sleeves of your hoodie. Your eyes downcast because you cannot look at him. Not when his face was so broken, the sounds of his pleads and sorry’s.

At that time you think it was the only way.

Taehyung is restless. Jungkook’s second fight with McGregor is in the next hour and he is still at the airport. In the end Jungkook agreed for the second match. Everyone is worried for his state but Jungkook said he just wants to get this over with.

Doesn’t matter if he lost again. He said he wanted a break for a while after this one. That was his only request. Right now Taehyung hopes Jimin can somehow distract Jungkook from noticing that he is gone.

Your flight was delayed for half an hour and Taehyung is agitating in his seat. The moment he saw you walked out the arrival gate, he rushed to help you but stopped himself after seeing you only carrying a backpack.

He didn’t comment on that as he make small talks with you, walking to the car. He briefed you about the match, preparing you for what you were about to see. Taehyung knows you were still traumatized and he selfishly feels happy for Jungkook. Though you’re scared and your legs are bouncing, you are willing to come today.

You cast your eyes to the outside views, the car drove past a hectic pedestrian street. You’ve never been to Japan. You were a little fascinated and for a moment you’re thinking of Jungkook enjoying the city.

You missed Jungkook, so much, but seeing him for the first time since the breakup and seeing him at the fighting pit is so nerve wrecking. You’re not sure how you’re going to react.

“The arena is pretty big. There will be a lot of people. But stay close to me, okay?” Taehyung’s voice breaks your thought.

“Okay,” you anxiously rub your thumbs together.

“It is scary, but he will be fine,” Taehyung softly said.

“I know,”

Taehyung let out a curse as the two of you entered the arena. Your eyes darted to the center of the arena, the octagon. You can see the ring girl is holding up number 4 as she walks like a sly fox around the stage.

You can see why Taehyung cursed because you missed almost half of the fight. The crowds are still pumped up with loud cheers and booed. Some of them stood up and started chanting names. You can catch Jungkook and other names as well.

It’s scary and you can feel your heart beating twice harder than normal the moment you drove out of the airport. You can’t see the octagon clearly as Taehyung pushed through the crowd, holding your hand. He brings you close to the team.

Sitting at the front seat.

Your breath stopped when you heard a grunt and you snapped your head up to see Jungkook swing his left arm at the opponent. Hard. You flinched backward, trying to get away. Your mind is telling you to turn around but your eyes still bore on Jeon Jungkook.

He is already injured with blood stains on his brows. You frown at the view. Suddenly feel your heart clenched. Taehyung left you at the seat as he ran to his dad. You can hear him from where you stand.

You cannot sit down because all the adrenaline rush you’re feeling in your body is making your heart beats wild. This is just like the first time you went to his match.

The loud noise, the lights, the screaming from the commentator. But this time, weirdly enough, you feel relieved. Jungkook is up there, and you’re looking at him in his glory. Despite what Taehyung told you, he looks like he is really trying to win.

And you were glad. This is his dream. He gotta win. Of course he will win.

Another uppercut jab from Jungkook on his opponent’s face.

“How’s the first half?” Taehyung asked his dad and Jimin.

“Hard! Kook beat that guy real hard. Kook is really fighting this time.” Jimin smiles at Taehyung, he lets out a shaky laugh.

“He is fighting, Tae! Does he know ____ will be here? Where is she?” Jimin looks for you in the crowd before Taehyung pointed at you. He is calling you to come even closer. And now you’re literally a few steps away from the octagon.

Jimin noticed how your eyes are wide, watching Jungkook head lock the other man on the mat and the way you’re clasping your hands like you’re praying for Jungkook. The referee pounded his fist on the mat, and the bell indicates that the five minutes of the fourth round is over.

Jungkook spits out his mouth guard as he walks to the corner of the octagon, where everyone is ready to assist him. Coach Kim jumps up to give him a bottle of water for him to gurgle out the blood in his mouth, instantly checking up the injury on his face. Coach Kim frantically explained the next move to Jungkook, guiding him for the last round but Jungkook shakes his head. Mumbling that he is tired. Jimin softly grabs his head so he can sit straight, otherwise Jungkook might collapse. Taehyung wipes the sweat on his chest, avoiding the red spot on his ribs.

You watched the whole scene with a dry mouth and you were blinking away your tears. Like a lost child you stood still by the barriers not knowing what is your purpose to be here.

You heard Jimin and Taehyung calling out Jungkook, lightly tapping his cheeks and you gasp as you can see Jungkook fluttering his eyes rapidly.

Following your instinct you climbed up the octagon standing shakily behind him. With only the tall steel cage separating you and him, you managed to fit a few of your fingers through it. Not even a whole hand but at that point, that is enough to touch him. Your cold fingers against his hot and sweaty temple. It’s crazy how a simple touch can make you so happy.

“Jungkook? Jungkookie? Kookie,” a sob wrecking through your body when you call his name as clearly as you can. You need him to hear you.

Jungkook snaps his head, turning around to look at the source of the voice. It’s you and he swears that everything inside the arena just turned into a blurred backdrop. His focus is on you alone.

“____,” he choked out your name, letting your fingers softly touch his cheeks. His long locks dangle on his forehead, wet with sweat and yet he can see you as clear as the first time you walked into him choking on fried eggs.

“You’re here. You’re really here,” he breathed. Closing his eyes as he leans on your cooling touch.

“I’m here. I’ll wait here, but you gotta promise me. Don’t let that guy beat you up. You got me?” You grew frustrated with the cage. Jungkook notices that and his face seems to show the same feeling as yours. He brings himself closer to you and lets his forehead touch yours.

“I promise, stay okay? I need you. I will end this fight, and we talked okay. I need you,” Jungkook chanted and without knowing, your face is flushed with tears. Jungkook hushed you softly as the ring announcer’s voice booming loud, calling the fighters for the championship round.

Coach Kim, Taehyung and Jimin look at Jungkook. They could see the glint in his eyes and they knew Jungkook would beat the shit out of his opponent.

Each round is five minutes long, give or take. It will end sooner if one of the fighters is completely knocked out, or when they tapped out. A sign of giving in. To some, five minutes is so short, it’s like a length of a song or two. Five minutes is relatively short.

But in UFC or MMA matches, five minutes can feel like an eternity. Jungkook once told you that in that five minutes, imagine yourself running so fast while dragging tons of weight. Plus, you have to be very agile and precise with your attacks so that you won’t be wasting energy on just yielding.

To other eyes, the crowd, the commentators, five minutes pass by as quickly as a lightning. Jabs, round kicks, or overhand are very swift moves. A blink and you might have missed it. But to the eyes of the team, the coaches, and the fighter. It’s a slow-motion moment.

They can calculate the next move, figure out the weak points and you can see that too. As an outsider of the MMA world, you can see Jungkook moves in slow-mo as his legs do a sharp snapping motion.

It’s a powerful strike and the sound, it’s like the other guy is getting hit with a baseball bat. Unlike the first time you watched him fight, this time you can see Jungkook in his beautiful glory. And that makes you wipe your eyes furiously. How can you leave him like that?

The other guy is already weakened but Jungkook didn’t falter. This time he trips the opponent by pushing the upper body while taking one of his legs, making him lose his balance and fall immediately with a loud thud.

“Watch carefully, ____. This is Jungkook’s signature move!” Jimin shouted excitedly to you because the crowd erupted in thunderous cheers as Jungkook executed his moves and the commentators shouted at each other. Telling everyone what Jungkook had done.

Jimin has been eyeing you since the first second Jungkook got up. He can see the awe in your teary wide eyes. Jimin shakes his head, chuckling at you who only turned your body at him but your face is zeroed on Jungkook. He’s not sure you heard him or not but he thinks you did. So he keeps explaining Jungkook’s next move to you.

“This is what we called Jungkook’s Overhead Slams. See how Kook is closing the gap on that guy with his arms hooked tightly under his knees and look! Look! Kook lifted him up!” You watched with your breath stuck in your throat. Jungkook was so fast and it happens so quick! Jimin is already jumping with his fist in the air.

Shouting “Slam! Slam! Slam!” with Taehyung and Coach Kim. Everyone in his team is already cheering.

“This is when he will slam his opponent! McGregor won’t stand a chance! And he slams!” Jimin screamed with you as the loud fall on the mat echoed and in a milliseconds the crowd turned quiet and suddenly the arena was shaking with how loud everyone was screaming.

The referee runs to stop Jungkook from punching the guy who was laid motionless on the mat. The referee announced that it is a total knockout because the guy is completely incapable of standing up.

Jungkook won!

He fell on his knees, gasping for air but he turned his head to look for a certain someone in the crowd. The frantic coach and his team members are calling for him and yet all he can see is your small figure in the sea of people. Your glowing features amongst the flashlight. He got up and jumped over the tall cage to you. Landed on his sore feet but it’s you that’s waiting down there. He doesn’t care about the feet.

You wanna say something. Something like congratulations or good job or whatever but can seem to find your voice. Bet you looked like a clown with a gaping mouth and blurry eyes because of the tears. He beats you first by engulfing you in a hug. Landing his head on your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. Jungkook was over the moon when you hugged him back.

“You won,” it comes out like a whisper to him.

Jungkook can’t even reply because he feels so overwhelmed. To him it was the first time you saw him fight and won (and wide awake unlike that time when he blacked out). With a frowning lips he lets himself cry. Be damned to all the journalists taking photos of him crying.

The two of you become the centre of attention as the cameras are showing you on the big screen and the photographers swarm up making a circle, taking photos. All you can feel, see and hear is Jeon Jungkook.

“Oh no,” you pouted at his frowning look, wiping his tears away. He will always be your baby. “I’m sorry,”

He shakes his head, cupping your cheeks and he kisses you. All of those days away from him makes the kiss more emotional, it was soft like and gentle. You are aware of his split lips but Jungkook dives in and he didn’t even flinch. Soon the kiss turns needy as he licks your lower lips and the ring announcer laughs. His voice abruptly pulls you apart. You were a blushing mess but Jungkook just groaned annoyingly.

“The winner, come claim your winning belt first. Let me announce you and then go back to your girl,” the ring announcer teased.

“Stay, stay. Okay.” He said and you knew it wasn’t just staying in the arena after he got his belt. It sounds like he wanted you to stay for a long time. This time you’re not freaking out, you nod.

Giving him a reassuring smile. Ushering him back to the octagon and you can see he bounces with happiness as the referee raises up his hand and the ring announcer screams his name. The two of you will work it out, everything will get better again but for this moment, you’ll stay.

“I need you,” Jungkook mouthed at you.

“I’ll stay,” you blew him an air kiss.

#bts #bts jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook #bts fanfic

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jukednuked · 1 year ago

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lyney the type of guy to 'recharge' his magic by kissing you

lyney the type of guy who'd send one of his hat pigeons to deliver you a love letter (it turned into confetti after being read)

lyney the type of guy to let you carry him on your back because he's 'tired' (blud wants to be as close to you as possible)

lyney the type of guy who'd apologize to you by making a bouquet of flowers appear out of nowhere

lyney also the type of guy who'd value what you both have a lot, he'll get real serious if he senses any type of resentment after an argument

lyney the type of guy to teach you a magic trick or two, like how to steal someone's heart maybe?

lyney the type of guy who'd be so good at pick up lines that it's almost frustrating how he can make you feel like jelly in a split second

lyney the type of guy who'd never, ever let you come to his house in hopes of avoiding a certain harbinger (blud doesnt want you to get put in a meat grinder)

lyney the type of guy to massage your shoulders frequently because seeing you all satisfied makes him feel like he can take care of you

lyney the type of guy who'd jokingly bite you one time because you just look too cute (it will become more than one time)

lyney the type of guy who'd beg you to become his assistant in one of his magic tricks involving a box and a saw because lynette refused

lyney the type of guy who'd trace shapes on your hands whenever you feel upset and just want to sit in silence

lyney the type of guy who'd get real sad if he doesn't find you in the audience when he's having a magic show, might fumble over his words and accidentally make a snake appear rather than a cat

lyney the type of guy who'd tell you to throw tomatoes at him like he's a medieval criminal if he ever fails a magic trick

lyney the type of guy who uses the thought of you as a way to cope with his past

lyney the type of guy who'd show off his magic to you whenever you compliment someone else just for you to go wowowoww lyney!!

lyney the type of guy who conveniently always chooses you as guest of the magic show

lyney the type of guy to get you a matching hat just like his one, just a different colour

lyney the type of guy to have a diary<33 every page involves your name at least 1-2 times

lyney the type of guy to slide notes with angry faces drawn on them under your door whenever you forget to give him his goodmorning/afternoon/night/literally-every-part-of-the-day kiss

lyney is that guy

A/N: my sincerest apologies @strawberrylabs if you look closely you can see the blood, sweat and tears i shedded writing this😓🙏 i secretly wanted to switch it to the most gut wrenching angst mid way but im soooo nice

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin #genshin lyney x reader #lyney x reader #genshin impact lyney #genshin lyney #lyney #genshin impact headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff

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slttygeto · 1 year ago

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"SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE" -- GOJO. S

c.w: angst, hurt/no comfort, heavy manga spoilers (jjk 236), grief.

note: check on your gojo stan friends. they're not doing okay.

You've never seen Satoru look so beautiful. You knew the man was attractive, but he was glowing--almost like an angel. He steps closer to you and you reach your hands towards him.

“I’m tired,” Satoru breathes out and deflates, his head rests on your shoulder and your heart sinks when his arms don’t move from either side. He simply nuzzles his nose in your neck and whispers again, this time a bit more broken.

“I’m… so tired.”

“Satoru-“

“Hold me.” He begs and you feel your neck getting wet with hot tears, Gojo’s weak hands trembling as he made a weak attempt to hold your hips. “Please.”

Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you pull him close to you. You’re puzzled by his attitude, but your eyes fill up with tears and you find yourself holding back a sob as a hand caresses his back over and over again. You feel his breath relax under your touch and his hands let go of your hips and he lazily wraps his arms around your middle.

"It felt good, being the strongest." He says in a small voice. "I felt loved."

“You’ll be okay,” you start, voice betraying you and showing the sadness, doubt and fear from seeing him like this. “Right?”

And Satoru chuckles against your skin but soon it turns into a cough, one that has him pulling away from you and holding onto his mouth. You stare at him in shock, the blood covering his mouth putting you in a state of panic.

“Are you- we should go to the hospital! Shoko, let me call Shoko-!” You feel the man grab onto your shoulders and you only pause for a moment to look at him.

“You need to let me go.”

“Huh?” You tilt your head to the side, and a nervous laugh bubbles up in the back of your throat. “Sato- Satoru, what do you mean let you go? You’re here, you’re still…” Your voice trails off as Gojo takes a few steps back from you and you gasp when you are met with a scene straight out of a horror movie as his upper body falls to the ground and a pool of blood forms below your feet.

“Satoru! Satoru—come back!”

You wake up in cold sweat, the gasp that leaves your lips is loud enough to make the guy sitting on the chair next to your bed jolt up and hand you water almost immediately.

“Here, have this—you’ll be okay…I’m here, nasty dream, huh?” Your eyes look up from the hands serving you the cup of water and your stomach caves in when you see the familiar face of the white haired male in your dreams.

“Satoru—I thought you were-“

“Dead?” He chuckles and helps you sit up. “Yeaaah, that’s not me. Is it?” His hand pats your head and ruffle your hair affectionately.

“I would never leave. I made a promise, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” your eyes fill up with tears. “You’d never break it, right?” but instead of being met with an answer, the man is quiet and your heart sinks at the realization that this wasn’t real. Again.

“Goodbye Satoru,” you whisper to the fading image of the man on the chair and wait for yourself to slowly gain consciousness again. When you do and find Shoko waiting for you on the opposite bed, you silently turn to your side and hold onto your wet pillow.

“He was in my dreams again.” You say very quietly and hear Shoko play with her lighter.

“Yeah, I know.”

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

#moon's works #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo angst #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jjk gojo satoru #angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst

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stursweet · 1 year ago

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PLAY

pairing : matt sturniolo x f!reader

warnings : sexual content - the usual 😊 fuck off if u ain’t fuckin!!! (subish matt?)

an: hi sexies💖 take this as my apology for taking so long of a break. i’m back and y’all bout to be real sick of me and my dumb ass ALL OVER AGAIN!🤗🤗🤗 i love you guys! send me some new reqs!! also PLEASE recognize i fist fought my fuckin demons and wrote some matt instead of babygirlchris because all y’all fuckin matt girls.. IM PUTTIN YALL FIRST!😔

his room is dim, though bright enough to illuminate him perfectly - hair wild and messy beneath his headset, hips sunk low in his chair, fingers fidgeting wildly with his controller.

it’s been two hours since he’d sat down and begun to play - your patience dwindling rapidly. from your spot on his bed, he looked sinful : so focused, so tantalizing..

his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. the veins that danced throughout his arms and hands. his lips and their taunting tone of pink. the small pepper of color across his cheeks-

temptation wins and you’re padding over to him without much thought. his eyes don’t leave the screen, though, even with your new sudden placement - standing alongside his chair, clad in his shirt and a thong.

“you okay?” he questions without looking at you, his voice dripping with rasp and honey. you don’t respond - only lowering onto your knees in front of him, in between his legs. he looks down at that- eyes widening, blood traveling to rest in his cheeks.

“i- what are y-?” he stammers, hands fidgeting against the controller aimlessly with sudden nerve. you look up, meeting his gaze, taking note of the intense pink of his cheeks.

“nothing. keep playing,” you reply blandly, peering up from your spot below him. he swallows, evidently flustered. reluctantly, he nods- hesitantly tearing his eyes away from you to look back at the screen.

watching in amusement as his hands shake slightly with his controller, you bring a slow hand up and place it on his thigh : dragging your palm up the surface of his sweatpants slowly.

his eyes shoot down to you once again, focused on your hand inching farther up his thigh. he attempts to put his controller down; intending to direct his full attention to you, but- he’s interrupted by your voice below him :

“keep playing or i’ll stop.” you spit, voice unrelenting. he shudders, scanning your features for a moment, inhaling shakily before nodding.

he forces his eyes to dart to the screen in front of him, the light emanating a soft blue light onto his features. he swallows, adams apple bopping beneath the skin in his throat.

you continue the slow hike of your hand, suddenly reaching to palm him over his sweats. you watch as his face contorts in pleasure - eyes fluttering closed, eyebrows gently crinkling. he does his best to recover quickly, thumbing at a few buttons on his controller.

sliding your hand up some more, you play your fingertips at the waistband of his boxers, dipping a finger beneath the fabric and tracing a single, slow line against his skin. his breathing has become more erratic, his fingers fumbling against the controller.

“please- don’t tease- ” he whispers, eyes trained onto your hand at his waistband. his voice is small and raspy, laced with need.

“doesn’t look like you’re playing, baby..” you reply, retracting your hand from its spot, “i’m gonna have to stop.” you pout, voice teasing and low. you watch amused as he begins to frantically shake his head “no” -

“no-no, i’ll play, i-i’m playing, swear, i’m playing. keep going, please?” he chokes, small cracks in his tone. after a few seconds of no touch or reaction from you, he speaks again -

“please, i’ll b-be so good, so good for you. promise-“

he’s cut off by your hand returning to its previous spot, only now reaching further underneath the fabric, swiping your thumb against his tip and collecting his precum. a shaky exhale escapes his lips. you take note of his eyes staying attached to the screen - he’s listening.

“gonna stay quiet?” you question, watching as he nods his head in desperation. stroking him slowly, you tug off his boxers and sweats in a swift motion.

he looks down at you, eyes hooded and cheeks flushed, his breathing sporadic and wild. your eyes flicker to the screen, cocking your head towards it, signaling for him to focus.

“sorry, sorr-“ he whines, a whimper catching in his throat. he directs his attention to the screen again, pleasure etched into his features. you watch his hands struggle with the controller, pressing your tongue flat against him and licking a long stripe up his length.

he swallows, closing his eyes. you watch him fight to keep his composure, trying his hardest to concentrate on the screen, to listen to you- struggling wildly.

his eyes open again and on the screen, you slip his tip into your mouth - pushing yourself farther to take him the whole way down your throat, and back up. quiet whines whines escape his lips, fighting to stay quiet. you repeat the slow action a few times, pulling off with a pop.

“fuck-“ he stutters, mouth falling agape and eyes closing when you take him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks.

his fingertips are suddenly in your hair, grabbing a fistful - in need of something to grab on to. pulling off, you’re quick to remind him -

“play,” you whisper, a trail of saliva connected from his tip to your lips. he throws his head back in frustration, a sinful whine escaping his throat.

“can’t,” he whispers, voice cracking. he retracts his hand from your hair and rests it aimlessly on the controller - only to not entirely disobey your wishes. his game has already been lost, though - his eyes tightly shut and head rested on the back of his chair.

“thought you were going to be good?” you question, but only to hear him plead his case - the game has been pushed from your mind. you want his hands in your hair, his begs and cries to release into your mouth.

“look at me,” you coo, tongue swirling around his tip, stroking him quickly with your hand. he’s slick with your saliva. his eyes dart down to you, quickly tossing the controller onto the desk in front of him.

his eyes are dark, his pupils blown out - lips a dark, wet pink. blood dances underneath his cheeks, his breathing heavy and erratic. he looks perfect- deliciously desperate and absolutely ruined.

“want it all over my face,” you tell him, sliding your tongue over his slit. a sinful moan slips from his throat, his eyes falling shut.

“i’m- im so close, so cl-“ he fights to speak, cut off by you taking him entirely into your mouth again, bopping your head at quickly.

his fingertips tangle into your hair once again, a large handful beneath his palm - he tightens his grip, a few more whimpers and cries escaping his lips before letting go:

“i’m cumming, i’m-“

the words spill from his mouth so sweet, tone quiet and cracking, entirely at your mercy. you pull off of him quickly, stroking him with your hand as his release shoots out in hot, white spurts : covering your cheeks, lips, and chin.

you watch as he catches his breath, chest heaving and mouth agape. after a few moments, he gains a bit of composure, and looks down at you.

you smile at him, wiping your face clean with your fingers and popping them into your mouth. he watches with his lip between his teeth, cheeks impossibly redder.

you stand up, giving him a few small, soft kisses on the lips.

“come to bed?”

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jsprnt · 1 month ago

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as the saying goes: with every high, comes a low

kenan yıldız x reader

A/N: writing this brought back both good memories and ptsd from the euros 🥲🥲 based on this request, thank you for requesting 🤍🤍 also this is so sappyyy, guess who’s in her feels? 😛

W/C: 1.090

ninety minutes of straight-up torture.

a small fifteen-minute break to calm your pounding heart down, before it starts heavily thumping against your rib cage again.

you wouldn’t be surprised if you dropped onto the floor due to the amount of times your heart rate had skyrocketed.

anxiety and anticipation.

the only words that could describe your mental state in the moment.

losing a match was painful, but even more painful after turkey had been doing so well in the tournament.

as the partner of a football player, you carried your own sadness, and your boyfriend’s sadness.

you bite your lip when the referee ends the match. enough to draw a small amount of blood. the metallic taste fills your mouth, and makes you feel even more horrible.

the chants of the turkey supporters had been non-stop since the start of the game. at first full of joy, then encouragement, then slowly trailing off to tears and disappointment.

even so, everyone had an incredible sense of pride in their hearts for their country. no matter the loss.

when you're given the go-ahead, all family members and friends of the turkey players make their way out of their seats.

you hurry as you go down, your heart aching as you imagine all of the disappointment and anger brewing in your lover’s heart.

when you finally reach him, kenan immediately pulls you into a private room. without a word, his arms wrap around your back, and he buries his handsome face in the crook of your neck.

feeling his breath hit your skin, you sigh shakily. not caring about his sweaty hair and body, you reach up to run your hand down his back.

"are you okay?"

of course, he wasn't, but you could barely register how fast the team had lost control of the match. let alone form a coherent, comforting thought.

you rake your unoccupied hand through his hair, your heart beating in your ears as you try to find the words to comfort your boyfriend.

though, his lack of response told you enough.

after a long stretch of silence, you start spilling your thoughts. licking your dry lips before speaking.

"I'm so fucking proud of you, kenan.."

the words leave your mouth with deep emotion. followed by a tremble of your lip as you try to keep your tears at bay.

"whatever people say, whatever anyone says doesn't matter. you worked so fucking hard, you put your entire soul and body into it. that's what matters. you tried, and I know you did your best.."

you pause as a shaky sigh leaves kenan's mouth. his athletic body pressing into yours, the smell of sweat, notes of his musky cologne, and your perfume creating a familiar atmosphere.

your heart breaks when you hear a small sniffle. your eyes closing as you hold back your own tears.

"you can cry. it's okay, cry it out. I know it hurts, baby.." you whisper, finally feeling hot tears hit your own cheeks, as his transfer down your neck.

"I worked so hard. so many nights and days- and this is the performance I put on when my team, and my entire country is leaning on me!.."

"shh, don't blame yourself, honey. I know it will sound cliché, but you did your absolute best. you can’t do more than your best, baby..”

you pause to pat his back, tears messing up your makeup, and making your nose run.

"it was going so well, you guys created so many chances. it was just an unlucky second half.."

"to have something in the palm of my hand, and then to just lose it within twenty minutes- hurts so fucking bad.." his shoulders shake with the painful sobs. the emotion expressed by your boyfriend causing a soft whimper to leave your own mouth.

"never ever think that the entire thing was on you. It was destined to be like this. as humans, we will learn and grow, even if we don’t see immediate results.."

kenan moves his head to look at you, your heart practically cracking at the sadness on his face.

the hopeless look in his beautiful brown eyes, the irritation of his soft skin- and the fastened pace of his pulse.

"why are you crying?" he asks, and you can swear he starts crying harder after seeing the tears on your face.

"because, you're hurting. don't ever want you to feel bad or upset.." your voice cracks, and you tighten your grip on the fabric of his training jacket.

"fuck. don't you ever cry over me, baby.." kenan rasps, cupping your cheek with his roughened palm. both your eyes visibly red and irritated from the salty tears.

"how can I not?" you question, before pulling his head into your neck again. cradling the back of his head, as you hug each other as tightly as humanly possible.

"i love you so much. your joy is mine. so how can your hurt not be mine?" you ask, raking your fingers through his hair.

"i love you too. so bad it kills me to see you cry over me.." he chokes out, his fingers curling around your body, holding you incredibly close against his warm skin.

you hold each other for a couple of minutes, the only sound in the room being the cold air conditioning, and the sound of your combined sobs.

you can hear kenan take a deep, stuttering breath, before he speaks.

"we’re such crybabies.."

his voice is raw, but thick with fondness and warmth..

your lover always knew how to lighten up the mood, while others could never do so in similar situations.

you chuckle a little through tears, pulling back to look at him. you raise your hand to wipe the tears on kenan's cheeks, his bloodshot eyes on yours.

pushing back his hair, you expose his forehead, wiping away the rest of the moisture with your sleeve.

"your eyes are all red.." you comment, knowing you probably looked the exact same.

"what do you need when we get back to the hotel? a bath? a cuddle? good food?" you inquire, wanting to provide him the best comfort you could offer.

you watch him take a breath before he speaks, and he whips out a tissue from his pocket, before dabbing at the tears on your face.

he was so gentle and thoughtful, like always.

"I just need you. I just need my sweet baby next to me, and everything will be alright.."

#kenan yildiz x reader #kenan yildiz imagines #kenan yildiz #kenan yıldız #Kenan #juventus #juve #football blurb #footballer x reader #football imagines #football fanfic #football imagine #football #euros 2024 #turkiye nt

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stevie-petey · 10 months ago

Text

episode six: the spy

Steve looks like a kicked puppy as you storm ahead of him and Dustin, putting enough distance between you guys so that you can’t hear their conversion that follows. “Shit…” “You’re awful with women.” Dustin says, now continuing to walk. He doesn’t bother to follow after you, knowing that you need your space to cool down. “I wouldn’t follow her, by the way. Let her cool off.” Steve sighs, now walking as well, “Yeah, I know.”

Summary: dustin and steve haggle a butcher, you throw some meat at steve and then have a weird conversation about love, you stop dustin from becoming an incel, and then you wrestle some demodogs like any real woman would. side note: steve is hot protecting the kids.

Rating: general, violence and swearing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, violence and swearing, blood mention and ptsd mention, weapons, fire, probably more

Words: 17.1k (i fear how much longer these next few chapters become)

Before you swing in: its here !!! god, this chapter was ROUGH. the conversations between bug and steve took many rewrites and editing. i wanted to get it just right, and finally i think im satisfied with where they landed. bug and steve aside, i absolutely loved writing this chapter with the kids. i sincerely hope you guys enjoy, this chapter took blood, sweat, n tears lmao

You’re the first to break the silence as you all stare at the hole Dart created in the wall in shock.

An obnoxiously loud yawn escapes your lips, and Dustin and Steve shoot you simultaneous weird glances. You feel your face heat up in embarrassment. “Sorry… It’s been a long day.”

Steve huffs. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Dustin clears his throat before standing up. He wipes off some dirt that got on his jeans and then offers you his hand so that he can pull you up as well. You accept it and stand, your bones a deep, weary type of heavy that only comes from pure exhaustion.

“Okay,” Dustin begins, and you can already see a plan forming in his mind. “Steve, you’ll spend the night here so that way we can all get up bright and early to start our search for Dart.”

Steve attempts to argue, but Dustin puts his hand up to shush him and continues with his speech. The older boy throws his hands up in the air and gives you a look of disbelief over your brother’s antics. You stifle a laugh, which he only rolls his eyes at. Steve, whether he likes it or not, will have to get used to Dustin’s… Dustin-ness.

“If he escaped through the tunnel, then we have to assume that there’s an opening somewhere above ground.” Dustin finishes.

You nod your head slowly, still unconvinced. “Okay, but how do we find him? Better yet, what happens when we do? It took Nancy with a shotgun, my knives, Steve’s batting skills, a ton of fire, and almost dying a bunch of times to take down the Demogorgon.”

Dustin lets out a tired sigh. “I’ll figure it all out, alright? For now, let’s just get some sleep. Maybe it’ll come to me in a dream or something.”

“A dream? Seriously?” Steve looks at the two of you as if you guys will start laughing and tell him it’s all a giant joke. Unfortunately, it isn’t.

Steve spent all last year and most of the summer getting to know you. He’s used to your quips and soft spoken teasing, but Dustin? He’s uncharted territory and you’re secretly relishing in seeing Steve fumble around him. You’ve never had anyone else interact with your brother before, only Jonathan, so this change is odd, but welcomed.

Dustin pays no attention to you and Steve as he begins heading up the steps, back to your home. Once he disappears, you nudge your shoulder against Steve’s. “You know you don’t actually have to spend the night, right?”

“Ya know, I can’t quite tell if the kid will let me leave or not.”

You laugh. “He’s harmless… Mostly. I promise I won’t let him bite, but I also understand if you want to leave.”

Steve looks away, sensing the undertones of what you’re saying. You’re giving him another out, one last chance to leave and go back to pretending like everything's okay. You wouldn’t blame him, and you get a sense of deja-vu from that night at Jonathan’s. When you tried coaxing Steve to leave, to spare himself from everything he inevitably ended up suffering from.

After a minute or so, Steve shakes his head. “I’ll stay. You need my help.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say need–”

“Shut up and let me help you, Y/N.”

You sigh. There’s no arguing with him, he’s made up his mind and your truce that you shook on ten minutes ago burns your hand. He’s staying.

“A ‘please’ would’ve sufficed, but fine.” You link your arm around Steve’s and make your way up the cellar steps. “C’mon, Dustin is probably waiting for us with some new insane plan for where you’ll sleep.”

–

You know that your mom is safe, off at the other side of town, searching for your dead cat, but it’s still lonely walking into your empty home. Dustin is standing in the living room waiting, but you can see that it makes him uneasy as well.

Steve follows behind you and takes a look around. When he spots the lumpy, old, sagging couch in front of the window, he frowns. It’s barely bigger than he is, his feet would definitely hang over the edge. “This my bed for tonight?”

“It’ll have to be, unless you want to come snuggle with me in my bed.” Dustin says.

“I wouldn’t, he kicks in his sleep,” you tell Steve, attempting to make light of the situation.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” he snorts. Then, as if he’s done this a million times before, Steve flings himself onto your couch and his feet do indeed hang over the edge. “Oh, yeah. This will definitely be cozy.”

You wince. “I’m sorry, you’re still free to go home. I completely understand and–”

“Unless…” Dustin begins to brighten up and he wiggles his eyebrows at you. Pure horror washes over you; you know that look on his face. He’s scheming.

“Dustin, whatever is about to come out of your mouth–”

“Y/N has this giant bean bag in her room. Practically takes up the whole space, and, luckily for you, my new friend, it’s Steve-sized.”

Steve whips his head to face you, a curious look on his face. “You don’t say, Little Henderson?”

Both boys look at you, a matching glint of evil in their eyes, and you realize you’re trapped. When did they manage to sync up to make you miserable?

You weigh your options against your morals. On one hand, it’s your room and you and Steve are still warming back up to each other. However, on the other hand, Jonathan has spent countless nights on that bean bag himself.

Dustin’s right. Steve would fit perfectly.

Damn him.

You shuffle your feet, averting Steve’s eyes. “I mean, I guess you’d fit.”

“You guess? Steve, she’s had Jonathan sleep on that thing like a bajillion times.” Dustin waves his arms out, gleeful that he’s won. “In fact, I think our mom specifically bought it just for him.”

He now steps closer to Steve and eyes him up and down. “I’d bet money that you two are about the same size, so as I stated earlier: it’s Steve-sized.”

“I’m actually taller than him, so…” Steve mumbles to no one in particular, but quickly clears his throat and changes the subject. “And I’d finally be able to see Y/N Henderson’s room? Count me in.”

You blush furiously. He’s getting a kick out of all of this and he’s such a little shit, honestly. You’re not sure why the thought of having Steve Harrington in your room, eager to be in your room, makes your stomach flutter and your cheeks burn painfully.

Steve sees your blush and he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “C’mon, Y/N. It’ll be like a sleepover.”

“You’re far too pleased about all of this.”

“We can pretend to be back at Bookstrordinary. I’ll even stack some books that you definitely have in your room.”

Dustin stands between you and Steve, his face alight with joy and curiosity. “Can I please know when you two became best friends?”

“No, you hid Dart from me.”

“I’m not gonna live that down, am I?”

“Nope.”

Steve clears his throat, clearly amused by your banter with Dustin but still unsure about everything going on. “So… What do ya say, Y/N?”

You bite your lip and look at him. He’s pathetically too large for the couch, it wouldn’t be fair to just force him to sleep there because of the weird way he makes you feel as if you’re floating yet falling all at the same time.

Exhaling, you give in. “Fine, but do not touch any of my books in the room.”

“Yes!” Steve high fives Dustin and you roll your eyes at them both.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. It’s late, can we please just go to bed now?”

Dustin sends you a wink, which thankfully Steve doesn’t see. “Sure, sis. Have a good night.”

And with that, probably because he senses you’re about to throw a shoe at him, Dustin flees the living room and runs to his room. As soon as he’s gone, Steve bats his eyelashes at you and playfully teases, “Take me to bed, Y/N.”

You snort, despite how exhausted you are. “Never say those words to me again.”

He laughs and stands up, following behind you as you guide him towards your own room. A part of you feels like you should give him a house tour, but logistically it’d be useless. You can’t imagine that Steve would be over at your house again once the Dart situation is handled.

You have to remind yourself that there are still roses for Nancy, currently wilting, in the backseat of Steve’s car.

They’ll work things out eventually, or maybe they won’t, but Nancy Wheeler still has Steve Harrington’s heart. He is her’s entirely.

Lost in thought, you almost miss the turn to your room and have to grab the back of Steve’s jacket and yank him towards your bedroom door.

“Hey–”

“Sorry, my room is here.”

“You Hendersons are just a delightful bunch, ya know that?”

“Be thankful you don’t have to meet our mother, honestly.” You fling your bedroom door open and gently push Steve inside.

As soon as he’s in your room, you watch as he takes it all in. His eyes scan every corner of the room, and you hold your breath as you wait for them to land on the Spider-Man poster he gave you for Christmas last year.

When Steve sees it, he smiles shyly at you. “I see you kept the gift.”

“Duh,” you walk over to your bed and sit down. “Still one of the best gifts I’ve ever been given.”

“One of?” He asks, tone light but curious.

Unconsciously, your fingers go to your bee necklace from Jonathan. You play with the pendant and smile softly. “Sorry, Jonathan kinda beat you to it.”

“I figured,” he shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable. “I noticed the necklace the day I gave you the poster. Didn’t want to, uh, assume. I guess. But the necklace was from him?”

“It was,” you clear your throat, talking about Jonathan with Steve has always been such a foreign feeling for you.

Steve seems to be thinking the same thing and starts to wander around your room instead. You silently thank whatever god is up there for giving you the motivation to clean your room earlier that week. Normally you’re a neat person, but ever since Will started showing signs of post-traumatic stress, you’ve spent more time obsessively researching rather than tidying up.

Therefore, there’s still books strewn across your desk alongside some comics. Steve sees a Spidey one and holds it up with a laugh. “He’s everywhere.”

“He is.” You say proudly, now getting up to go into your closet to pull out the blankets and pillows usually reserved for Jonathan.

Steve wanders around some more as you dig through your closet. He lingers in front of your dresser, which holds photos of you, Dustin, and Jonathan.

“Here,” you hand the bedding to Steve and motion to where the bean bag is.

He looks up from a photo of you and Jonathan from last year. It’s your favorite of the two of you, he stands behind you in the picture with his arms wrapped around your waist and his chin on your shoulder. You’re both smiling widely at the camera, the moment captured by Will because he wanted to try out the camera Jonathan had gotten that summer.

“You guys are really close, huh?” Steve asks.

You nod, although confused by his question. He spent half the summer with you and Jonathan at your job. You had conversations about your friendship together, but you suppose it’s different seeing the excess of love you have for the boy within your room. Jonathan is everywhere, if you look hard enough, you’ll find him.

Steve pauses for a second, as if he wants to say something else, but shakes his head and turns towards the bean bag. He arranges the pillows so that they’re flush against the wall facing your bed, which you think is an odd choice, but say nothing. Once he’s arranged the pillows and blankets, Steve turns to you and clears his throat.

“I hate to ask this, I really do, but I also don’t want to sleep in these jeans,” he waves his hands over his pants, which have always been a bit tighter than you thought was necessary. “Any chance I could wear something of Jonathan’s?”

You think for a moment and dig through your dresser. “I’m not sure, but if I can’t find anything of his then I think my old camp t-shirt can fit. As for pants, won’t your boxers work fine?”

Steve’s face turns red and he clears his throat once more, speaking in a slightly squeaky voice, “Y–yeah, I guess so.”

He’s stumbling over his words, which makes you pause. There’s no possible way that he’s nervous right now. He’s usually so confident and comfortable around you. Hell, last summer he offered to be your first kiss (by kissing his fingers and pressing them against your lips, but still).

“Are you shy right now, Steve?”

“What? No!” He scrambles to the other side of the room, putting as much distance between the two of you as he can.

You raise your eyebrows at him, but your cheeks are flushed as well. “Okay then, whatever you say.”

It’s painfully quiet after that as you continue looking for something for Steve to wear. You swear that Jonathan has left behind some of his things, and right before you lose hope, you spot a pair of gray sweats and an old The Clash t-shirt of his.

“Here,” you toss the clothes to Steve without even checking if he’s looking. You hear a crash and know that he, in fact, had not been looking.

“Gee, thanks.” He says sarcastically, but you giggle.

“No problem,” you begin to gather your own pajamas before pointing towards your door. “There’s a bathroom to the left, down the hall. You can change there.”

“Then our sleepover can commence?”

You wave him off, but you smile anyway at his question. You missed his boyish charms. “Sure, buddy. Go change.”

Steve salutes you and then leaves the room, softly closing the door behind him. You change while he’s gone and tie your hair up. After a few minutes, you assume Steve has had enough time to change and make your way over to the bathroom so you can brush your teeth. You’re so excited to go to bed.

However, the door is closed when you approach, meaning Steve is still changing. You knock on the door, “Are you almost done in there?”

“I’m having… problems.”

Your hand hovers over the door, mid knock. “Problems?”

There’s only silence for a moment, almost as if Steve is contemplating elaborating. Finally, after several seconds, he says “I’m definitely taller than Byers.”

You roll your eyes and begin knocking again, just to annoy Steve, until he finally swings the door open. Before you can even stop it, a loud laugh escapes you. The sweats are at least five inches too short on him, while Jonathan’s shirt is a size too small. He looks absolutely ridiculous.

“It’s not funny!” Steve whines, his face once again red. “I thought you gave me Jonathan’s clothes, Y/N!”

More laughter escapes you, making your ribs begin to hurt. Every time you try to speak, you laugh even harder, and it’s impossible for you to get any words out. Steve watches, not amused in the slightest, and crosses his arms as if to appear more dignified.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to gasp out, more laughs threatening to spill from you. “I guess they’re clothes from when he was fourteen.”

“I’m reconsidering our truce from earlier.”

This gets you to stop laughing, and you gasp and smack Steve’s chest. “You wouldn’t dare!”

He sighs, hanging his head low. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Exactly,” his admission makes you giddy. “Now, either make yourself cozy in the bean bag or watch as I brush my teeth. Your choice.”

Steve shrugs and steps to the side so that there’s room for you to enter the bathroom. It’s a tight fit, but he ends up sitting on the edge of the tub and just watches as you begin the process of brushing your teeth. “I didn’t actually think you’d stay, ya know.”

“I know, but I’m bored and you’re here.”

You spit into the sink. “Fair, I guess.”

“Plus,” he picks at his nails, trying to look disinterested while wearing Jonathan’s too small clothes. “We still need to have that talk.”

You pause, toothbrush hanging from your lips as you stare at Steve, wide eyed, in the mirror. Honestly, you were hoping he would’ve forgotten about that. It’s not that you don’t want to know whatever he has to tell you, but you’re tired and still reeling over the fact that he’s spending the entire night in your room.

“Oh, right.” Turning the faucet off, you finish brushing your teeth and awkwardly wipe your face. Steve watches quietly, and once you’re done, you motion for him to follow you back towards your room.

As soon as you’re back in your room, Steve immediately curls himself upon the bean bag and brings the blanket all the way up to his chin. Dustin, as always, is right: the bean bag truly is Steve-sized. “Cozy.”

You laugh at him as you crawl into your own bed. “Yeah, I’d hope so. Jonathan has slept in it for years now.”

“Well, uh. Speaking of Jonathan…” Steve sits up a bit so that he can properly look at you. “I wanted to talk. Ya know… About you and him. Nancy, too.”

He pauses, furrows his brows, and then adds. “Actually, I want to talk about what really happened this summer. Everything. I want to know everything.”

“Everything is a lot,” you dodge, turning away from the boy.

Steve sighs. “Y/N… I missed you.”

Missed.

“I want to be friends again, be how we were before, but… I don’t know. There was a lot unsaid between us. Even from the start. I mean, I understand. I do.” His eyes never leave yours, despite how much you try not to look back at him. “You’re, well–If we’re going to be friends again, I want to start from the beginning.”

“The beginning?”

Now Steve is the one who looks away. “I don’t know, it’s stupid, I guess–”

“It’s not stupid, Steve.” You reassure him. He’s trying, he’s inviting you in after everything you did to him, and it’s all you could’ve asked for.

But you’re fucking terrified.

You and Steve became close before, sure, but it was something more surface level. An act between the two of you. While Steve was able to read you over time, learning and asking and paying attention to you, there was still so much you never let him in on. What you haven’t let anyone in on, besides Jonathan.

If you start from the beginning with Steve, someone you know has come to view you as this selfless and kind person, you’re scared that it’ll change the way he sees you.

But Steve is looking at you from the bean bag, looking ridiculously cozy with the blanket wrapped around him and his usually carefully curated hair has fallen in his eyes; his gaze is open and trusting. There isn’t a pressure behind it, he would understand if you backed down, but you promised him you’d try.

To try is to be human.

And you really, really missed Steve.

“I moved here when I was twelve. My family and I had moved all the way from Virginia after the divorce. I remember being really mean, back then. An angry kid with all this hurt within her that she perpetually displaced upon everyone else.”

“Angry?” Steve asks, his voice soft.

You shift uncomfortably in bed, but you remind yourself that you agreed to this. If you’re going to begin again with Steve, then he deserves to know the true person he’s befriending. “Angry. I didn’t take the divorce well. At all. I acted out a lot, closed myself off, and was just a fucking awful person.”

Shifting again, you take a deep breath. “My anger got to the point where Dustin, who was nine, had to practically plead with me to be nicer to him. He was a kid.”

“So were you,” Steve gently chimes in, but you roll your eyes at him.

“Being a kid didn’t give me an excuse to abandon my loved ones like I did. Like my father did. It wasn’t until Dustin called me out on my bullshit that I realized the irony of the situation. There I was, blaming everyone else for my own problems and running away, because I was so hurt by my father doing the same to me.”

Steve clenches his jaw, and you know he wants to say more, but you watch as he exhales deeply and decides against it. “Okay, so you were mean and then you became kind again after something traumatic… So what?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean,” the boy sighs. “I was a dick for like, ten consecutive years. It took losing a fight to Jonathan, embarrassing myself in front of Nancy at least five times, losing my bullshit ‘friends’ Tommy and Carol, and some blonde guy with a fucking mullet before I was even able to become a decent person.”

You frown. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that you came back.” Steve shrugs. “The second someone you loved asked you to, you came back to being the selfless angel that you are. Which, by the way, is an impressive feat in itself.”

He says this as if it’s obvious and that the months you spent hurting everyone around you can be redeemed. As if you haven’t spent every waking hour tirelessly devoting every piece of yourself to those around you to make up for them. To repent for your anger.

Steve takes your silence as more defiance, and he runs a tired hand through his hair. He’s merely a few feet from you, at the foot of your bed on the bean bag, and yet it feels as if he’s inches yet yards away. “I know I can’t change your mind, but… I think that’s what matters the most in the end, ya know? You became kind.”

“So did you,” you finally say, not quite ready to accept what he’s saying.

Now it’s Steve who looks away. “Still working on the whole ‘kind’ thing.”

“Isn’t that what matters in the end?” You tease, feeling yourself warm with pride when you get him to laugh.

“Touche.”

Silence falls over the two of you, letting the tension lazily slip away for now. Your body hums with energy; the only other person you’ve told about your father to is Jonathan. You both have long since bonded over shitty father figures. However, even when you had whispered these truths to Jonathan back when you were thirteen, you don’t remember feeling quite so raw and vulnerable as you do right now with Steve.

“I meant it, you know,” you catch Steve’s eye. “Back when you first drove me home last year. You’re alright. Not too shabby, honestly.”

This time a full body laugh cascades through the boy, He clutches at his stomach as he doubles over, breathless with joy. “Thanks, Y/N.”

Steve is still laughing and this is the happiest you think you’ve seen him in months. The realization makes all the warmth you’ve felt earlier, vanish. You remember the hurt on his face earlier this week on Halloween, the tears in his eyes when he confessed that Nancy didn’t love him.

You know how plagued Steve is about never being good enough, and for the first time since you’ve truly gotten to know him: you understand him in that very moment.

Your eye catches on Steve’s adam’s apple as he swallows. It’s a tragedy, really, how attractive he is. You suppose it’s what caused his downfall, in the end. A pretty boy, rich and popular yet easily able to be taken down; it must be a lonely life with all that vulnerability.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You whisper, voice cutting through the darkness of your room as Steve seems to remember where he is, why and how the conversation started in the first place.

“Always,”

“I’m scared of the compulsive need I feel to take care of everyone. It’s like… I don’t know, this debt that I feel I owe for existing, for the fear I feel because of my father leaving. I overcompensate for this fear now, terrified I’ll become mean again.”

Steve stares at your ceiling. “The whole ‘debt’ thing, I understand. Believe me. Rather than being a perfect angel, however, I just try my fucking hardest not to disappoint everyone around me and make them leave.”

Nancy, as she always seems to do, lingers between you and Steve now; you both can feel her presence without him having to say her name. He told you what she did to him, you tried to reassure him that it hadn’t been his fault, but Steve isn’t an idiot.

Nancy never loved him. He knows this, now.

You don’t say anything, you don’t think he’d want you to. Giving him some time, you allow Steve a few minutes to collect his thoughts, sensing he has more to say. Then, softly, he whispers back to you, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Always,” you echo.

“I just want to be loved.”

With just one confession, a string of six words in succession, Steve Harrington crushes you.

The words come crashing upon your chest and you wish you could tell him how easily you see yourself falling for him. How, even if you can’t admit it just yet, you’re already falling for him. You think you have been for some time now.

Somewhere, in between him driving you home last year and the way the summer sun kissed his face months later, you began to fall in love with him.

While you’re thinking this, Steve is laying in the bean bag, absolutely terrified of the words that have come out of his mouth. He’s always had the fear, deep down, that he was unlovable, but to admit the fear out loud… He’s never felt so weak before.

You’re silent and Steve thinks he’s finally done it. His pathetic need to be liked and loved by everyone around him has finally scared you away. How couldn’t it scare you away? You so naturally are loved by everyone while Steve compulsively demands it because he’s still that scared ten year old boy with a father who never showed him love.

Then, because you’re an angel, you give Steve the response he hadn’t even known he needed to hear. “It’s natural to want to be loved. We all do. It’s human.”

He exhales at your words, still staring at the ceiling as if to somehow lessen the impact of what you’re telling him. There’s something there, hanging in the air after your words have disappeared, that Steve can’t quite understand.

It almost sounded like you were trying to reassure yourself, as well.

“What’s the deal with you and Jonathan?” Though Steve’s voice is steady, you can tell that he’s trying not to sound too interested.

The question is a simple one, but it’s the hardest question you’ve ever had to answer. Everyone asks you, sooner or later, if you and Jonathan are together. You never blame them for asking, because ultimately the two of you are closer than the average friends, regardless of gender.

It doesn’t make the question any less painful to answer, though. It doesn’t make hearing Jonathan’s laugh cut any less deeper.

As for Steve, he’s asked this question before, albeit with teasing and disbelief whenever you’ve told him there’s nothing there. Despite the numerous times you’ve corrected him, he’s never quite believed you.

This time, it feels different. There’s a weight behind Steve’s question, and your silence is all the answer that he needs. “You love him.”

The words aren’t a question, and they harbor no malice. He says them as if they are a fact; you suppose that it is. You don’t say anything, but you do nod your head at him. “I do… I think I’ve always loved him, honestly.”

You’ve never, ever said those words out loud. Not to anyone.

And now, you’re confessing them to Steve, who doesn’t have to ask you why your voice now holds melancholy within it. He knows, he’s always somehow known. Jonathan doesn’t love you, a fact in which Steve has never been able to wrap his head around. He’s watched the two of you for years, how easily you love one another, and yet somehow the love never blossomed into something more.

Everything stills between you and Steve, allowing both your confessions to surround the two of you. “I’m sorry.”

Steve’s apology only causes you to shrug. “He’s still mine, at least for now. Is that so bad?”

“I mean, I guess not, but… Doesn’t it get exhausting?”

“God,” you squeeze your eyes shut, finally able to voice all you’ve been feeling to someone who can understand. “It feels like this crushing weight upon me every time I see him smile, like it’s a burden, carrying all this love within me without being able to express it freely. I just… I never thought that love could be so exhausting. ”

As the words start to come out, you find that you’re unable to stop. “I grew up with Jonathan, I learned the way he breathes and the way his hands feel pressed against my skin, but so much has changed and…” Your breath hitches. “He’s not someone I reach out to first anymore. It almost feels like I can’t. I love him, I do, but I also miss how it used to be before I realized everything.”

The pressure of tears builds behind your eyes and forces you to stop talking. If you say anything else, you’re afraid you’ll start crying. While Steve has been so lovely tonight, it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to console you so pathetically.

Steve seems to hear the tears lacing your voice and speaks for you, having finally pieced together everything he’s been unable to articulate since November of last year. “With Nance, it feels like I’m always somehow two steps behind her and her feelings. Constantly playing catch up while the rules keep changing on me… I get the whole ‘love is exhausting’ thing.”

Though you know Steve means well, his words fucking terrify you. If he feels the same way towards Nancy, a girl who never ended up loving him despite how much he poured his heart out for her, what does that mean for you and Jonathan?

For the first time, you question if the exhaustion you feel surrounding your love for the boy is really something else. Something different, disguised as exhaustion.

You wonder, deep down, if you’ve started to fall out of love with Jonathan.

Who are you if you have?

The boy has become so intertwined within your life, the threads and strings and lines have tied you to him indefinitely. He’s the reason behind your everything. If you no longer love Jonathan, then who are you, really?

The realization washes over you like cold rain in the middle of winter. It spills over you and pricks at your skin and you suddenly want the conversation to end. While you’re so relieved to be talking to Steve again, the conversation has left you with more realizations than resolutions.

“It’s late,” you fake a yawn, desperate to cut the conversation short. “We should go to bed. Knowing Dustin, he’ll have us up at the crack of dawn to start looking for Dart.”

Steve sees right through you, he knows he’s somehow crossed a line and that you’re once again retreating. You’re closing yourself off from him again, but he’ll take whatever he can get from you. You’ve told him more than he ever thought you would, so for now he’ll play along.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He says, watching as you reach for your lamp and turn the light off. Then, as soon as you’ve rolled over and closed your eyes, you faintly hear his final words. “Don’t we make a pathetic pair?”

You remember, before drifting off to sleep, feeling relief wash over you that Steve once again considers the two of you a pair.

–

You wake up the next morning to the faint sounds of Dustin getting ready. His shower can be heard from your room, and through the years it's become your morning alarm. Yawning, you roll over and rub your eyes and take a few minutes to let your brain wake up.

Bits of yesterday’s events come back to you.

Dustin confessing about Dart.

Locking the Demodog in your cellar.

Radioing everyone in the party for help and getting no response.

Going to the Wheelers for Mike and coming back with Steve.

Dart going missing.

And, most importantly, your bizarre conversation with Steve last night.

The boy in question lets out a loud snore from the bean bag, blankets haphazardly twisted around his legs, and you stifle a laugh. Even in his sleep, Steve Harrington somehow catches all the attention in the room.

You throw your blanket off and get out of bed, tiptoeing so as to not wake up the sleeping beauty, and head outside to your kitchen. If yesterday was any indication of how long today will be, then you need all the coffee in the world to get through it.

The coffee has just finished brewing when you hear Steve stumble into the kitchen. His eyes are bleary and his hair is the worst it’s ever looked. “I guess even Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington can’t escape bed head, huh?”

Steve acknowledges your quip only by grunting, still stumbling around through your home. So he isn’t a morning person, you think with a smile while bringing your coffee mug to your lips and taking a careful sip.

Eventually Steve makes it to your kitchen table and plops down, letting out a loud yawn and smacking his lips. He looks pathetically endearing, really, especially given his outfit that looks even worse after sleeping in it. The shirt has ridden further up, exposing a bit of his stomach (which you divert your gaze from, feeling yourself blush), and one of his too-short pant legs has ridden up to his knee.

“You really are a natural beauty in the morning, Steve.”

“Ha,” he says boredly, looking around the kitchen. “Do you guys have any food? I’m starving.”

You toss him an apple from the fruit basket on the counter, and Steve only just manages to catch it in time to avoid it hitting his face.

“Christ!” He exclaims, glaring at you when you chuckle at his reaction. Maybe it was a little mean, but you see the small smile he tries to hide.

“Is this all I get? An apple thrown at my face?”

You walk over to the table and set your mug down. “Were you expecting a home cooked meal?”

“You’ll have to earn a Y/N Henderson breakfast,” Dustin says as he enters the kitchen and joins the two of you. His hair is still wet from his shower and he drips onto the counter, which makes you cringe. He’s such a boy, sometimes.

He makes his way over to the fridge and rustles around, looking for something to eat. Truthfully, the reason you threw the apple at Steve is because there’s no food in your house at the moment. Your mom normally goes to the grocery store on Saturdays, and in her frantic rush to find Mews she hadn't left any money for you to go to the store.

“There’s no food,” you inform your brother.

He sighs dejectedly, grabbing a banana and then plopping himself next to Steve at the table. “All right, are you two awake enough to discuss the plan?”

You nod immediately at Dustin’s question while Steve slumps further into his seat, groaning. You run a hand through his hair to try and settle down his theatrics. Dustin sees this and raises an eyebrow at you, but you shake your head and motion for him to keep quiet.

“So,” he takes a bite from his banana and begins speaking with his mouth full, which you make a face at. “I was thinking we lure Dart with bait to a secure area that we can catch him in.”

“Wait,” Steve sits up a bit in his seat, careful to not knock your hand off his head. “That’s all you got? That’s the entire plan?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he begins eating as well, his mouth also full and disgusting to look at, “Do you know how we’ll lure him? Or where? Better yet, how will we even catch him?”

Dustin narrows his eyes. “Okay, so it’s a working idea. You got anything better?”

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He pauses for a second before seemingly drawing a blank and closing his mouth; he sinks back into his seat in defeat.

“That’s what I thought.” Dustin says smugly.

You take another sip of coffee, enjoying the mug’s warmth around your fingers. “Well, we at least know what Dart likes to eat.”

“We do?” Steve questions, looking up at you.

“Oh, just wait until you hear this,” you motion over to Dustin. “Go on, tell Steve what you’ve been feeding Dart.”

Now it’s your brother’s turn to sink into his seat, embarrassed. He mumbles something that Steve can’t quite hear.

“What?”

He mumbles again, only a tiny bit louder this time.

“Little Henderson, I can’t understand you.” Steve says, smirking when he feels you laugh against him.

“I said he eats Musketeers Bars!” Dustin shouts, now incredibly defensive.

In sync, you and Steve share a look. While you have an exasperated fondness on your face, Steve looks like he’s questioning every choice he’s made in his life. It’s cute that he thinks this is the weirdest things will get.

“Okay…” Steve looks over at your brother. “Unless you plan on buying out an entire candy store, we need something else for bait.”

In the corner of your eye you see Mews’ cat bed laying against the window, and an idea pops into your head. “Dustin, did Dart only eat the candy bars before he killed our cat?”

“Yeah, why?”

As you walk over to the kitchen sink to place your mug in it, you begin explaining. “Then clearly he’s outgrown his sugar needs and would probably eat just about anything with flesh on it.”

Steve wrinkles his face with displeasure, not enjoying the thought of going after this monster that craves meat. He’s already done that, and call him crazy, but he really doesn’t want to experience anything like that ever again.

Dustin’s eyes light up, following along with what you’re saying. “Raw meat! You’re a genius, Y/N!”

“And then we can follow the train tracks to that old junkyard, the one that El brought you guys to last year. It’s a straight shot, Dart won’t get lost, and then we catch him.”

Dustin squeals. “That’s perfect!”

He stands up to hug you, which you gladly accept. “Yeah, yeah. We Hendersons are known for our genius,” you gently push your brother away and start exiting the kitchen. “I’m going to go shower and get ready. Steve, you’ll take Dustin to the butcher and see if you can haggle some raw meat out of him.”

“Uh… can I change first?” He asks, running a hand through his hair with displeasure.

Only now does Dustin notice Steve’s appearance and he lets out a loud cackle. “Oh, I think you look great!”

You shoot your brother a warning look, not wanting to upset Steve too much. He’s the only one with a car, and the party still hasn’t responded to Dustin’s calls, so he’s all you have right now. Plus, after last night’s conversation, you’re sure he’s feeling just as wound up and tense as you are.

“We can swing by your place on our way to the train tracks. Your house is right next to it, anyways, and Dustin and I can scout the parameters while you shower and get yourself all pretty. For now, just go to the butcher's shop, please.”

“But–”

“Please, Steve?” You pout, daring him to argue with you again. Steve is only able to stand his ground for about five seconds before he groans and nods his head.

“Fine–” You quickly hug him before running towards the bathroom to get ready.

Once you’re gone, Steve searches for his keys while Dustin stands in the kitchen, shocked. “I so need to know when you two became such good pals.”

“Go wait by the car, Little Henderson.” Steve waves him off, though he’s secretly pleased with how the morning is turning out so far.

–

“C’mon, man. It’s just chunks of raw meat, it doesn’t even matter what, uh, body parts they are, I guess.” Steve argues with the butcher, having no idea why you’ve sent him on this journey with Dustin. Neither of them have any idea about butchers and meat, so they’ve been arguing back and forth for a solid ten minutes with the guy.

“And I already told you, it’ll be $15. Take it or leave it, pretty boy.” Pat, the butcher, says.

Steve scowles at the name, “That’s insane for five pounds, you realize that? It’s just a bunch of meat chunks from god knows where, it’s not like we want prime rib you dirty sack of–”

Dustin cuts him off, snatching the boy’s wallet from his back pocket and pulling out a twenty. “Ignore him, please! Here, thank you so much for your lovely service, good sir.”

Pat narrows his eyes at the boy, and for a split second Dustin is afraid that he’s trying to figure out the best way to skin them alive, before he simply grunts and takes the money.

Relief washes over Dustin and he scrambles to grab the bags of meat, tugging at Steve’s sleeve in urgence until he gives in and begins to help as well. Within a few seconds, they’ve gathered all they need and head towards the car.

“Keep the change!” Dustin calls out behind him.

As soon as they’re in the car, he yells at Steve to step on it. It’s already been twenty minutes since they left the house, and he knows from experience to never keep you waiting.

“Okay, okay, god.” Steve complies, pushing down on the gas and speeding away from the butcher’s shop.

The smell of raw meat immediately infiltrates the car, so Steve rolls down the windows and sighs. This is definitely not the weekend he had in mind. He thought he’d apologize to Nancy, kiss and hopefully make up, and maybe even swing by your place to tell you the good news.

Instead, he has buckets of raw meat in his car and his head is swimming from his conversation with you from last night. While he’s happy it happened, there’s still so much Steve feels like you aren’t telling him. To top it all off, he hadn’t been able to sleep in his own bed, but rather a bean bag that Jonathan apparently has slept in a million times before.

As Steve is moping, he realizes that there actually wasn’t even a real need to spend the night.

“Hey, Little Henderson,” Steve gently hits Dustin’s shoulder to get his attention. “Why did I have to spend the night at your place?”

“Oh, you didn’t.” Dustin says as if it’s no big deal.

Steve turns his head towards him, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d actually spend the night if we’re being honest. I just thought it’d be funny to mess with you.”

“I tried arguing with you, but you shushed me!” Steve exclaims, putting both hands back on the steering wheel aggressively.

The younger boy shrugs, “What are you, seventeen? Eighteen? Why would you listen to a thirteen year old?”

“Well, I–” As much as he wants to, Steve really can’t defend himself on this one. Shit. It’s not like he can tell Dustin that he mostly stayed because his sister is pretty and makes him feel safe.

Dustin smiles, happy to have won the conversation at hand, and decides to really rub it in as they pull up to the house. “I also thought it’d be hilarious to pair you up with my sister. Hope you two made smart choices last night.”

And with those words, Dustin springs out the car, leaving a speechless Steve behind. He turns the car off and sits there for a moment, completely at a loss for words. He’s only spent a total of sixteen hours with the kid, and already he knows he’s in for a world more of trouble.

If you’re Hawkins’ sweetheart, then Dustin is the town’s horribly terrifying weasel.

Meanwhile, you’ve just finished lacing up your shoes when Dustin walks in.

“Where are the rubber gloves that mom likes?” He asks in lieu of greeting you.

“In the closet, second shelf, next to her cat figurines. Where’s Steve?”

Dustin rustles around the closet and pulls out three sets of gloves, “In the car, moping.”

There’s a crash and then he tosses two buckets onto the carpet. You crouch down and grab the buckets, placing them on the table. “Why is he moping?”

“Why is who moping?” The man in question walks in, throwing himself on the couch and narrowly dodging the third bucket that Dustin throws out. “Why do you guys keep throwing shit at me, jesus!”

“Language! There’s kids around,” You snap your fingers at Steve, who quickly cowers in shame. “And if it makes any difference, the bucket wasn’t intentional. The rest were, though.”

Just as Dustin is finishing up in the closet, you spot a can of gasoline and an idea sparks in your head. If you learned anything at Jonathan’s house last year, it’s that these Demogorgon things really hate fire. “Hey, grab the gasoline as well.”

He does as he’s told, no questions asked, and then hands it to you. You add it to the pile on the table, along with two backpacks from your brother and your beloved switchblade.

Steve gets up from the couch to investigate your stash, nodding approvingly. “Not bad, guys. What are we going to put in the backpacks, though?”

Dustin goes into the kitchen and begins grabbing the few items within it. The remaining fruits in the basket, a few pieces of bread, a bag of chips, and some water bottles. “One bag will have our food, the other will have our weapons.”

And with that, you guys are all set to head out. While Dustin is distracted with grabbing his backpack, you run towards Steve’s car and throw yourself into the passenger seat. Every man for himself.

“What– Y/N!” He calls after you, but he’s too late. You’ve already buckled yourself up by the time he and Steve get into the car themselves.

“She beat ya, buddy.” Steve teases, flashing you a proud smile.

Dustin grumbles in the backseat, unamused, and for a moment you think he’ll leave it at that. However, because he’s Dustin, you see from the rearview mirror as his eyes spark with revenge. “So, Steve.”

The tone in his voice terrifies you.

You place your head in your hands and sigh, mentally preparing for whatever your brother is about to say.

“Yes, Dustin?”

“How long have you been friendly with my sister?”

“Dustin!” You whip your head around, lunging towards the back seat to swat at the boy, but he quickly scoots over to Steve’s side and avoids your hands.

Steve, however, surprises you by simply shrugging and taking the question in stride. There’s no embarrassment on his face, no ounce of hesitation in his voice. “About a year now.”

“A year?” Dustin exclaims, having completely not expected such a response. “Y/N, how could you keep this from me?”

“She didn’t hide anything from you, buddy.” Steve defends you, eyes focused on the road. “I convinced her to be my friend after I saved her life–”

“You saved her life?”

“And then bought you boys snacks at the hospital afterwards. Then, because I really wanted to be her friend, I basically stalked her at work every day and annoyed my way into her life. We’ve been pretty close ever since.”

Dustin’s jaw is practically on the ground after Steve’s quick explanation, left speechless for the first time in his life. As for you, you’re admiring the way the early morning sun causes Steve to glow. You’ll never be over how often his beauty distracts you; you wonder how Nancy, or really anyone, could deny him love.

If you didn’t know Steve, if you passed by him on the street one day as complete strangers, you’re sure that a part of you would fall in love with him.

Even with pieces of his hair standing all over the place, his shirt still being too small, he was a delicate kind of handsome that made you feel a certain warmth.

“Did I forget anything, Y/N?” Steve’s voice breaks you from your thoughts, and you quickly divert your eyes away from the way his arms look while holding the steering wheel.

“No, uh.” You clear your throat, still recovering. Steve seems to be in good spirits for once, it’s a breath of fresh air seeing him so content, and yet it also serves as a stark reminder that you made the right choice when you first distanced yourself from him. He’s just too easy to love. “I think you pretty much covered everything. Unless Dustin has any questions?”

“Give me three to five business days to process this, please.” Your brother mumbles from the backseat, which you and Steve laugh at.

The rest of the ride is relatively peaceful after that, and a few minutes later you arrive at Steve’s house. It’s different in the daylight, only ever having seen it late one night driving the boy home from the Halloween party.

It’s a beautiful home, the smell of chlorine fills your nose. The pool, you remember Nancy mentioning his pool when she explained what happened to Barb. You shiver, now aware that you’re in the same place that your friend took her last breaths at, just a year ago.

“The tracks are just over on the other side of the street, and I shouldn’t be too long, so you Hendersons can start figuring out the plan in the meantime.” Steve instructs you and Dustin, getting out of the car and entering his house.

Dustin begins getting out as well, so you unbuckle your seatbelt and follow. Thankfully you decided to wear jeans today with a simple tank top and cardigan with your knit socks; though it was late October, it’s unusually sunny outside and the walk from Steve’s to the junkyard was easily four to five miles.

The two of you walk over to the tracks and you survey the area. You’re not sure what exactly you’re looking for, but you figure it’s best to look focused in case Dustin yells at you.

“We’ll need to go that way,” Dustin points in front of you, and you nod as you follow along. “We can drop the meat chunks every few sleepers so we don’t waste any of it.”

“Sleepers?”

“These.” Dustin’s shoe scrapes against the bottom wooden planks.

“You would know what they’re called.”

“Ha ha, any more quips or can I continue?”

You put your hands up in surrender and Dustin begins to speak again.

“Then once we get to the junkyard, we can dump whatever meat is left in a pile and put the gasoline on it. Once Dart is distracted and eating, we’ll light it on fire.” His words catch a bit at the end, and you suddenly feel bad for him. He clearly still cares about Dart, but you know your brother understands the risks of letting the Demodog live.

Without saying anything, you reach over and pull Dustin in for a hug. He fights it at first, but after a couple seconds he gives in and hugs you back. You aren’t the most affectionate pair of siblings, but you love your younger brother fiercely. Not for the first time, you wish you could’ve done more to prevent him from discovering the Upside Down.

You know it’s irrational to blame yourself and feel guilty, but maybe if you’d been more involved last year, then maybe he wouldn’t have so many nightmares.

“I’m sorry about Dart,” you say softly against his hat.

Dustin breaks away, shrugging his shoulders. “Gotta protect the party, right?”

“Right.” You flick his hat. “C’mon, let’s go back to the car and start putting the meat in the buckets.”

True to his word, Steve is ready to go after about twenty minutes. He walks out of his house, freshly clean and put together, right as you and Dustin finish preparing the bait. He approaches from behind you, and you can smell his cologne. Memories from when he’d have his arms around you and you’d smell the familiar scent now wash over you.

Clearing your throat, you turn to hand him gloves and a bucket, but almost drop it when you see him.

He looks good. Like, frustratingly good. His hair is back in its usual style, but he’s wearing a dark blue polo and a gray jacket that fits him criminally well. You almost feel underdressed standing next to him with your ratty old cardigan, which you know is ridiculous to be concerned about. Plus, you’ve always known that Steve was attractive, so it’s stupid to be affected by it suddenly now.

You guys had one emotional conversation.

“Y/N?”

Steve’s staring at you quizzically, and you quickly snap out of your thoughts and hand him the bucket full of bait and instruct him to put the gloves on. He listens, dutifully putting them on and placing the bucket on the ground and starts searching for one of the backpacks in the trunk. He’s seemingly in a much better mood now, which you’re thankful for.

“Dustin! This is Lucas. Do you copy? Dustin?”

Lucas’ voice rings out from Dustin’s walkie, and you perk your head up, relieved that he’s okay. The radio silence from the party was something that unnerved you immensely. With Dart on the loose, Will’s increasing episodes, who knows what else is happening in Hawkins at the moment?

“Well, well, well, look who it is.” Dustin responds, placing his hands on his hips like a disappointed mother. You chuckle at him and continue helping Steve unload the trunk.

You hear Lucas sigh into the walkie. “Sorry, man. My stupid sister turned it off.”

“Tell Erica I say hi!” You call out, knowing Lucas will hear you. He always resented the fact that his sister is so nice to you. You’re the only living person who didn’t receive Erica’s insane insults, which is something you’re very proud of.

“Y/N?”

“Hi, Lucas!”

Dustin shoos you away and continues to speak. “Well, when you were having sister problems, which really aren’t that hard to handle–”

“Says you,” you butt in.

“Dart grew again, he escaped, and I’m pretty sure he’s a baby Demogorgon.” Your brother finishes. By this point, you and Steve have pretty much unpacked everything in the car.

“Wait, what?” You’d kill to see the look on Lucas’ face right now.

“I’ll explain later, just meet me, Y/N, and Steve at the old junkyard.” As Dustin wraps up the conversation, Steve shoves his bat into the bag and you watch him with disappointment. He’s trying really hard to make it fit, and you almost pity the boy. Bless him.

There’s a pause before Lucas asks, “Steve?”

Dustin doesn’t elaborate, instead instructing his friend to bring his binoculars and wrist rocket. You suppose it’s a good idea to add more weapons to your arsenal. Better safe than sorry.

“Steve Harrington?” Lucas asks again, this time even more confused.

“He’s a friend,” you say, shoving your own weapons into the bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

Steve closes the trunk and says, “Damn straight I am. Alright, let’s go.”

You follow after him, saying goodbye to Lucas as Dustin tells him to be at the junkyard stat.

Dustin stashes his walkie in his own bag and then the three of you are off. Your brother and Steve walk a bit ahead of you as you all throw the meat chunks onto the ground, doing as Dustin instructed. It’s slow work, but you’re happy to have some time to yourself while the boys are distracted with each other. Their friendship wasn’t something you’d expect, but you’re incredibly happy about it.

You love the party, you’d do anything for them given all that you’ve been through together. However, as they grow older, you can’t help but notice how much they’re changing. Mike hasn’t been himself since El disappeared, Dustin is now hyper focused on science, Lucas is becoming his own person, and poor Will is just trying to recover from the trauma of last year.

It’s been hard watching them grow apart, in a way. Nothing will ever be the same after the Upside Down, you know that, but watching the party slowly drift makes you sad for your brother. You’re glad he’s seemingly found someone like Steve to bounce jokes off of and feel appreciated by. You know that someday the kids will all come together again, it’d be impossible not to with how strong of a connection they all have, so you try not to worry too much.

You shove the thoughts down, you need to keep focused on Dart and contacting the rest of the party. So, you dutifully place the bait down and follow behind the boys and feel the time pass by. After about an hour of nonsensical conversation between Steve and Dustin, you hear the older boy finally ask the question of why your brother even hid Dart in the first place.

“It’s complicated, okay?” Dustin defects, clearly uncomfortable with the change in conversation.

You keep your distance from them, but you keep an ear out just in case you need to intervene.

“You claim you wanted to get famous off of it or whatever,” Steve drops meat onto the tracks and kicks his foot. “Call me crazy, but you don’t hide something that supposedly makes you famous.”

He has a point, and Dustin scrunches his face up. He casts a glance your way and you do your best to appear distracted by the job at hand. You know Dustin’s guilty face well, so whatever he’s about to tell Steve will be good. When Dustin shuffles closer to Steve and lowers his voice, you get closer as well so you can listen.

You’re his older sister. It’s your damn job to be nosy.

“It was for this girl.”

Simultaneously you and Steve react. He hums in approval, almost proud, while you scoff. “I knew it.”

Dustin turns around, horrified. “You knew?”

“Duh, you’re awful at hiding things from me. After Max was just conveniently outside the AV room when Dart originally escaped, I pieced it together immediately. Also, side note: you’re too young to be impressing girls. I told you to just be yourself, dummy.”

Steve lets out a snort. “Pretty ironic coming from you, Y/N.”

Suddenly you feel uncomfortable with his attention on you.

“I’m sorry?” Your voice is steady, but you can feel your hands shaking as you continue throwing the bait.

“Ya know, your massive crush on Jonathan ever since you were twelve.” He laughs, as if it’s the funniest joke in the world.

Dustin clears his throat aggressively, pointing to your hands. Steve sees the way that they shake, the tension you now carry in your shoulders, and he’s become familiar enough with you to know your anger cues. The teasing smile that had been on his face drops. He runs towards you so he’s now by your side, and Dustin sighs in disappointment.

“I didn’t, like, mean anything by that, you know. I–uh, I was kidding, Y/N.” Steve tries to catch your gaze, but you pointedly stare straight ahead and clench your jaw. He’s stumbling over both his words and the tracks beneath his feet, trying desperately to appease you. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“You’re an asshole, Steve Harrington.”

“Y/N, please, I said I was sorry–”

You finally face him, grabbing his elbow to ensure he doesn’t move. “I told you that stuff about Jonathan in confidence. You don’t get to throw it back in my face, joking or not.”

It doesn’t help that you’re already confused enough as it is about the boy and your feelings towards him. To have Steve tease you about it, especially because he knows how painful jabs about Nancy are… It really fucking hurts.

Steve looks like a kicked puppy as you storm ahead of him and Dustin, putting enough distance between you guys so that you can’t hear their conversion that follows.

“Shit…”

“You’re awful with women.” Dustin says, now continuing to walk. He doesn’t bother to follow after you, knowing that you need your space to cool down. “I wouldn’t follow her, by the way. Let her cool off.”

Steve sighs, now walking as well, “Yeah, I know.”

They walk in silence for a little while, Steve hanging his head in shame and Dustin leading the way, frustrated by being stuck with two overly emotional teens.

After a while the silence eats at Steve, so he decides to continue the conversation from earlier. “So, this girl… is she someone you’ve known a while?”

Dustin shakes his head, “No, she’s new at our school. She’s super cool, though.”

“I remember back when I based my attraction to girls on their coolness.” Steve mumbles.

“And look where basing it off their hotness has gotten you.”

“Ouch,” Steve rubs at his chest, wounded.

Dustin laughs and flings some bait at him. “I thought that if I showed her Dart, she’d think I was cool, too, and like me.”

Steve sidesteps the thrown bait and tries to comprehend what the younger boy is saying. “So, you kept something that you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress a girl who… you just met?”

“Alright, that’s grossly oversimplifying things. And anyways, who are you to give me girl advice? My sister is literally three hundred feet ahead of us because you pissed her off with one singular sentence.” Then, almost as if as an afterthought, Dustin adds, “congrats, by the way. I’ve never seen someone piss her off so quickly.”

“Look, this isn’t about me, okay? Sure, I messed up with Y/N, but it isn’t like I was hitting on her to begin with,” Dustin makes a disgusted face as Steve quickly continues, panicked. “So she doesn’t count. I just feel like you’re trying way too hard, man.”

“Well, not everyone can have your perfect hair, alright?” Dustin grumbles.

Steve shakes his head, slightly amused by the boy’s antics. He’s so much like you, and yet so different, and Steve is realizing it’ll take a lot to keep up with the kid. “It’s not about the hair, dude. Chicks dig more than just a good hairstyle.”

“You’re literally known as Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.”

“Hey, ‘King Steve’ is also there.”

Dustin flings even more bait at Steve, now annoyed with him. “Whatever man, it’s not like you’d be any help anyways.”

“Oh really? Well, Little Henderson, I’m about to blow your mind: the key to girls is just acting like you don’t care.”

“Even if you do?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Steve now brightens up, happy to finally be getting through to the boy. For Steve, he’s long since learned that the best way to avoid getting hurt is to pretend that he doesn’t care. “It drives them nuts.”

“Then what?”

“You just wait,” Steve looks ahead, watching you and feeling like a complete dick. He really hadn’t meant to hurt you, hell the two of you were finally starting to get somewhere and yet… Steve fucked it up. As always.

He can see that your shoulders are still tensed up, you’re walking faster than you need to be. He feels a heavy weight in his stomach, one that he’s never felt before; he doesn’t like it. “You wait… until you feel it.”

Dustin furrows his brows. “Feel what?”

Steve tears his gaze away from you and turns back to Dustin, beginning to explain the electricity between someone you’re interested in. Being the geek that he is, Dustin turns it into a scientific discussion and Steve does his best to steer the conversation back.

“No, like sexual electricity.” He explains.

As soon as the words leave Steve’s lips, you whip around and shout, “Are you seriously talking to my little brother about sexual electricity?”

Both Dustin and Steve freeze in place, dumbfounded. You let out a loud groan and continue stomping away, now even more aggressively throwing the chunks at the train tracks.

“How did she even hear me?” Steve whispers, terrified.

“I don’t know,” Your brother whispers back, also equally frightened. “Sometimes I think she has powers like El.”

Once you’re a safe enough distance away from them, Dustin hesitantly brings the girl conversation back up. “Hypothetically, what do girls like?”

Steve takes a second to answer, carefully rolling the question around in his mind. “It depends on the girl. Some girls want you to be aggressive, ya know? Go in for the kiss, make them feel protected. Strong, hot and heavy. Like a lion.”

Dustin hums to indicate he’s following along, but ‘like a lion’ has him a little worried about the reliability of the conversation. He knows that Steve is a lady’s man, but he’s also never seen him with any girl besides Nancy, and the one time he saw him with you, he had immediately pissed you off.

So for all Dustin knows, it could be lies.

Steve continues his confusing explanation. “But others? You gotta be slow, you gotta be stealthy… like a ninja!”

“Okay, what type is Nancy?” Dustin asks, hoping to get the teen to stop making stupid analogies. Lions, ninjas… maybe it was all lies.

The question catches Steve off guard and he stumbles a bit, feeling the familiar sense of protectiveness, insecurity, over the girl as well as a new sense of loss. What type is Nancy? If he had been asked this a week ago, Steve would’ve told Dustin that she’s a nice girl, a girl he could happily bring home to his parents and proudly wrap around his arms. Now? He’s not so sure.

Not when he can still see the anger and disgust in Nancy’s eyes that night at the party.

“Nancy’s different,” he recalls his conversation with you from last night, how he’d confessed to always feeling two steps behind the girl and how exhausting it all is. “She’s just different. Let’s move on to the next question.”

Dustin notices Steve’s change in demeanor but doesn’t say anything. He supposes that you and him have a lot in common, then. “Okay, what type would you say Y/N is?”

Once again Steve isn’t expecting the question Dustin asks. “What–” he trips over a twig and just barely manages to catch himself. “Why would you ask me that? She’s your sister, and I don’t even like her–”

“Relax, Romeo. She’s just similar to Nancy and the girl I like, and I figured you’d know Y/N well enough by now considering you guys slept together–”

“I slept on her bean bag–”

“And have been friends for like, a year. Plus, she’s in love with Jonathan, you’re in love with Nancy, and coincidentally they’re in love with each other. Figures that there’s some type intermingling between the four of you.”

How the hell does everyone know about Nancy and Jonathan? Steve thinks bitterly.

He’s silent for multiple seconds, absolutely at a loss for what to say. He doesn’t know where to begin or what to even deny. Technically the boy is right, as much as it hurts Steve to admit. He’s all but lost Nancy to Jonathan, and you’ve lost Jonathan to Nancy.

In an extremely messed up way, you and Nancy do have the same type. On top of that, both you and Nancy are close to Jonathan, so it’s safe to assume there’s similarities to the both of you that Steve doesn’t even want to touch on right now.

Even more importantly, Steve has yet to really decipher why your presence alone can make or break his entire day. Why, after months of not talking, it now feels like he’s finally come home again with you back in his life.

He looks at you again, still angrily throwing your bait, and he supposes that you’re a lot like Nancy in certain aspects, and yet completely different from her. “Y/N is also different, I guess. She’s incredibly intelligent both emotionally and academically. Isn’t she like the top of her class?”

Dustin nods, proud of the Henderson intelligence, and Steve continues.

“Right. I’d say she’s like Nancy, except she’s softer?” Steve cringes at his own words, suddenly uncomfortable with comparing the two of you. In his mind, you’re both your own separate entities that infatuate him in different ways.

You both burn Steve; Nancy is like a shot of whiskey, the thrill that follows the burn. But you? You’re a fireplace after hours of being out in the cold, the burn of it warming his bones.

“Y/N is just… she’s special, but everyone knows that. Your sister is the most caring person I’ve ever met, and I know I’m a lucky son of a bitch to be someone she trusts.”

Dustin snorts. “Yeah you are.”

Up ahead, you finally slow down and face the boys, now waiting for them to catch up and call out, “C’mon, ladies! The sun sets soon, I don’t want Lucas waiting in the cold all alone.”

“Looks like I’ve been forgiven.” Steve says, relief evident in his voice, something that your brother doesn’t miss.

Dustin lets out another loud snort, patting him on the chest, “Oh, my sister may be forgiving, but she never forgets.” With that, he walks away to catch up with you.

“Well, isn’t that ominous.”

You greet the boys with a tired smile, knowing there’s no use holding resentment towards Steve. He couldn’t have known about your mixed feelings towards Jonathan, you know he had only been trying to get along with Dustin.

Things are still weird between you two, despite the conversation from last night, but it’s hard to stay mad at Steve and honestly, you don’t really want to be mad at him. It’s been so lovely having him around again, and your own confusing feelings can wait.

Steve leans in close to you, gently grabbing at your hand so that you don’t walk away. “Hey, we okay?”

His eyes are full of concern and his voice is sickly sweet like honey. With the honey, the remaining bits of anger vanishes. “Of course we’re okay.”

Steve exhales deeply and you giggle at him before remembering that Dustin is quite literally a few feet away from you two. Coughing, you hold up your bucket to point out how it’s almost empty. “I guess in my rage, I flung more than I intended. How are your buckets holding up?”

The two boys hold their buckets up, giving you a mock solute to indicate that all is good. You laugh, impressed by how synched they’ve become in such a short time.

“Alright, then. Let’s get going.” As you all begin to walk in line again, you ask, “What were you guys even talking about, anyways?”

The boys glance at each other in a conspiring way, which causes you to roll your eyes. They’re acting like you asked for their deepest and darkest secrets. They seem to have a silent conversation for a couple seconds before Steve finally speaks up.

“I was just giving Little Henderson some girl advice. Nothing serious.”

You raise your eyebrows, your heart swelling a bit at the idea of Steve giving your brother advice. It’s sweet, really. “Girl advice, huh?”

“Yeah, why do you sound so skeptical?”

“Because you’re terrible with girls.”

Dustin now butts in, “He told me to be aggressive.”

“I did not!”

“He also said that you’re softer than Nancy.”

You make a face. “Thank you? I think?”

Steve tugs at his hair in frustration. “You two are the worst people I’ve ever met. You know that, right?”

In unison, you and Dustin reply, “We get that a lot.”

Steve stares at the two of you with slight horror in his eyes. “Yeah, alright. I’m out.”

You grab at his sleeve, gently stopping him from storming away. You give him an apologetic look and pull him close so that your chest bumps against his. “You’ve gotta get used to the Henderson humor, Steve.”

He looks surprised by your tugging at his sleeve before he lets a smile cross his face. He doesn’t do anything else, but he also doesn’t back away, either, and you find yourself blushing a bit under his gaze.

You clear your throat and let go of his sleeve, stepping back a bit. “Anyways, why don’t you tell me what wise advice you have for my brother.”

The smile that was just on Steve’s face vanishes as he looks away from you. “I was just telling the kid to not fall in love with his little crush. He’s too young for heartbreak and all that other shit.”

“I’m not in love with her!” Dustin exclaims in disgust, but you’re too distracted by Steve’s words to assure your brother that you believe him.

“Well, I believe that love is something beautiful.” You say, your words only meeting Steve’s turned back. He doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know his indifference holds no malice. He’s still hurting, still in love with Nancy Wheeler. “Dustin, you may be too young to be in love, but don’t listen to Steve. To love and be loved is the luckiest thing we can ever do, regardless of how it ends.”

Dustin blanches at your words, grossed out now. “Okay, okay, stop! Love is gross. I get it.”

You softly mumble sorry to him, now suddenly remembering that he’s only thirteen. When you were his age, the idea of love also grossed you out. Now, love is a concept that you’ve found a comforting warmth in, even if it's burned you a few times and has left you more exhausted than exhilarated. One day he’ll understand (in the far off future, hopefully).

For now, you flick your brother’s hat and follow after Steve, finishing the rest of the bait journey in silence.

–

By the time the three of you get to the junkyard, it’s already about midday.

It’s different from how you imagined it, filled with old cars and a giant school bus. It’s more open, too, not as “junkyard” as you assumed.

You, Steve, and Dustin stand at the top of the hill, surveying the area. Your feet ache from the walk and the sun is hurting your eyes. Seeing you squinting, Steve wordlessly hands you his signature Raybans and motions for you to put them on.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, this will do. It’ll do just fine,” He says, satisfied as he begins to walk down the hill. Then, as an afterthought, he says to Dustin, “Good call, dude.”

Dustin beams with pride and you fill with so much happiness, seeing the boy getting along so well with Steve, that you almost regret not having them meet sooner. However, there’s no time to wallow in what-if’s and you put Steve’s sunglasses on to follow after the boys.

Immediately you and Steve get to work, working seamlessly together side by side, months of him joining you in Bookstrordinary finally being put to use. While you and Steve silently scatter more meat and grab supplies, Dustin surveys the area.

Just as you’ve dumped the remaining meat in the middle of the field, you hear Lucas’ voice call from a few yards away, “I said medium well!”

The boy is with Max, who looks slightly displeased, yet curious, to be here. Despite her still obvious hesitation, you still feel excited seeing the girl. You’ve been meaning to talk more to her, she seems like such a lovely girl.

“Who’s that?” Steve asks you.

“Max! She’s great, and–” You start gushing about the girl, eager to go and say hi, before you see the crestfallen look on Dustin’s face when he realizes why she’s with Lucas. You remember, then, the weird tug-of-war between the boys over her. Shit.

You grab at Steve’s hand and pull him aside. “Actually, Steve, why don’t we start finding some panels to cover the bus?”

Steve gives you a questioning look, but when you silently motion towards Dustin and he sees his despair as well, he catches on and just nods, following along. Without having to tell him, he understands that you want to leave Dustin alone so he can talk to Lucas.

As always, you’re forever thankful that he can read you so well.

After guiding Steve away, you and him begin to prep the junkyard alongside Max. While the boys are talking, you take this as an opportunity to get to know the girl better.

“So,” you begin, helping Max carry a large piece of wood over to the bus. “I see you’re back again.”

“Looks like it,” she shrugs, not really feeling like talking. Seems like she’s still mad at you for yesterday, taking Lucas’ side over hers.

You sigh. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

“That’s a first.” Again she deflects, but you know she’s doing it out of hurt rather than maliciousness.

“I know you don’t really like me right now, which I totally understand, I just wanted to let you know that while I don’t like that you’ve been dragged into this mess, I’m happy you’re here.”

Max frowns at you. “You guys act like I’m going to like, die or something.”

A scrap of metal that you’d been carrying slips from your hands. Steve hears this and comes rushing over to help, but you gently wave him away and focus on Max. “I don’t know what Lucas told you, but it’s all true. It’s dangerous, being here, and I just… If you ever get hurt, any of you kids, then it’d be on me and I’d never forgive myself.”

“Way to be a buzzkill, Y/N.” Steve nudges you, trying to get you to smile before your ever-present guilt bears down upon you.

Max bites her lip, still disbelieving, but she recognizes the pained look of protectiveness on your face. It’s not something that someone can easily fake, and from what she’s heard about you, your kindness is one of the few genuine things in Hawkins.

Before she can say anything else, Steve lets out a huff and grabs a chair to bang on the car that Lucas and Dustin are talking behind. “Hey! Dickheads! How come it’s only Y/N and some random girl helping me?”

“Language!” You chastise.

Steve sends you a thumbs up, not really listening. “We lose light in forty minutes. Let’s go!”

Dustin and Lucas reluctantly start helping, both calling Steve an asshole and throwing him dirty looks, which you can’t help but laugh at.

Lucas sees you laughing and points at you. “Are you the reason Harrington is here?”

“Mhm,” you respond, nailing another piece of wood to the bus. “He’s done more to help than you have, so either pick up some metal and help or go sit in a corner and sulk. Up to you.”

Steve high fives you. “Yeah! What she said!”

Lucas’ shoulders sag, completely at a loss as to how any of this has happened. “This is so weird.”

“Dude, I’ve spent all day with them. Imagine how I feel,” Dustin groans. “I think I died a little when I found out they’ve been friends for like, a year.”

“A year?” Lucas gasps.

“Guys!” You throw pebbles at the two boys to break up their little gossip session. “One, I’m incredibly hurt you two didn’t think I had any friends besides Jonathan. Two, start helping before I throw more rocks.”

“Yes ma’am,” both boys grumble in unison, which Max finds pretty impressive.

After that, the five of you get to work. You guys use every item available in the junkyard to secure the bus, hoping that with enough stacked against it, you’ll be safe from Dart once he’s lured. Barrels are rolled, more sheets of metal are placed against the bus, and within the next hour or so you’ve successfully managed to build a decent base.

All that’s left is to pour the gasoline trail, which you help Steve with as the kids watch from inside the bus.

“I’m getting major deja-vu right now,” you mumble as Steve pours.

“Gasoline at Jonathan’s?”

“Mhm. God, he wouldn’t believe what we’re doing right now.” You know he would’ve loved this bizarre interaction. You, Steve, and the kids all in a junkyard trying to lure a baby Demogorgon.

You’ve definitely had better babysitting days, and Jonathan would have a field day with this one.

Once you’re done with the gasoline, you and Steve return to the bus. He waits behind you, making sure you’re securely in the car, before he heaves the old bus door closed. As soon as the door is closed, you and Steve exhale together.

You share a look, both in silent agreement to keep the kids safe no matter what. It’s your guys’ job to keep them safe, to fight for and protect them.

Deja-vu again. You’re back in Jonathan’s house, holding a switchblade while Steve wields his bat.

“Ready?” He asks you, extending his hand out for you to grab.

You interlock your fingers through his. “When am I ever?”

Steve laughs, dispelling away any remaining uncertainty and fear. You know, that no matter what, that he’ll be by your side to help. With this in mind, you join the kids further into the bus.

Lucas climbs the ladder up to the top, something you’re not fully okay with, but he’s the one with the binoculars and you the switchblade, so it makes the most sense. As the boy climbs, you sit down next to Steve as he flicks his lighter on and off. You’re pressed shoulder to shoulder, his presence grounding you.

Dustin paces, and all you can do is watch him as you try to settle your own nerves. Max has seated herself at the other end of the bus, her arms crossed as usual.

After a few moments of silence, she finally speaks. “So, you really fought one of these things before?”

Steve nods and you hum in agreement. “Unfortunately.”

“And you’re, like, totally, 100% sure it wasn’t a bear?”

“I mean, to be fair I also had that same thought last year–”

Dustin cuts you off. “Shit, don’t be an idiot, okay? It wasn’t a bear.”

You roughly grab at your brother, yanking him towards you to shut him up. “Dustin–”

“Why are you even here if you don’t believe us?” He sneers at Max, something you’ve never, ever seen your sweet brother do. “Just go home.”

Max clenches her jaw and you send her an apologetic look, but she rolls her eyes at you. “Geesh, someone’s cranky. Past your bedtime?”

“Max, wait–” She ignores you and climbs up the ladder to join Lucas. You groan once she’s gone, now more than ever wanting to strangle your brother. “Dustin, what the hell was that?”

“That was good, Y/N!” Steve says, a proud smirk on his face. “He showed her he didn’t care, just like I told him to.”

“Oh, so it’s your fault my sweet, innocent baby brother is now some woman hating misogynistic piece of–”

“I don’t hate women, Y/N.” Dustin tiredly says, before directing his next words to Steve. “And I don’t care.”

Steve winks at the boy, but immediately flinches back when you raise your hand to smack him. “Yeah, cower away, you idiotic and moronic–”

“Y/N, stop overreacting and Steve, stop winking at me.”

You raise your eyebrows at Dustin’s tone and he quickly clears his throat and steps away from you. Steve puts some distance between you two as well, scooting away a bit so that he’s out of hitting range.

It’s quiet again, both boys now scared of your anger, and you anxiously wait for Dart to show up.

Steve goes back to flicking the lighter, Dustin paces again, and you tap your foot nervously. The silence is killing you, it’s always been your least favorite part of the Upside Down. The waiting, hoping you’re prepared for when all hell inevitably breaks loose.

You flick your own blades out, admiring the way the blades catch in the moonlight, when you hear a loud growl come from outside. Instinctively you raise your blades to your face while Steve and Dusin scramble to peek through the metal sheets to look out the window.

“You guys see him?” Dustin asks as he crouches next to you.

You shake your head. “No,”

There’s nothing outside, only a thick haze of fog that has settled over the junkyard.

“Lucas, what’s going on?” Your brother calls up to his friend.

“Hold on!” The boy responds.

Your heart begins to beat faster, your blades never straying away from your face, poised for a fight. Steve sees the way your knuckles whiten over your weapon and he grabs your spare hand, gently coaxing you to calm down.

Your fingers tighten around Steve’s and you remember his words from last night, promising you that he’ll be there, and you believe him.

From the bus’ roof, you hear Lucas call down, “I’ve got eyes! Ten o’clock–ten o’clock!”

There, in the haze of fog, you see a hunched figure stalk its way towards the bus. Seeing Dart, you’re filled with complete dread. He’s grown again, much bigger than you’ve ever seen him.

He’s practically the size of the Demogorgon from last year, the same one that almost killed you and Steve.

“What’s he doing?” Dustin asks, as if anyone else would have any more information than he does.

“I don’t know,” Steve sighs, his eyes never leaving Dart.

You squeeze his hand again and hold your breath as you watch the Demodog. He slowly approaches the bait, inspects the area, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in it. You send a silent prayer to whatever god is above that your plan will work.

It has to work.

However, Dart starts to back away from the bait and Steve leans even closer to the window. “He’s not taking the bait. Why isn’t he taking the bait?”

“I don’t know,” you want to cry from exhaustion and fear and defeat.

Dustin looks over at you. “Maybe he’s not hungry?”

Something seems to click, then, for Steve. His eyes light up with an idea, and before he can even get his words out, you grasp at Steve’s arm and try to talk him out of it. “No, absolutely not. You’re not going out there.”

“Maybe he’s sick of cow.” Steve tries to make you let go of him, but you quickly tighten your hold on him and fight back. “Y/N, let me go, I can run fast and–”

“You can’t just use yourself as bait!” You plead, but Steve has always been stronger than you and he drags you behind him as he makes his way towards the bus door. “Steve, listen to me!”

“Steve? Steve!” Dustin finally catches on to what’s happening and he grabs at the teen as well. “What are you doing?”

Steve ignores you both and with a quick jerk of his arm, he frees himself from you. As soon as you’ve let go, he runs towards the door and snatches his bat from the ground. You curse, knowing there’s no way in hell he’s going out there alone, so you follow after him.

Dustin sees this and panics. “Y/N, please don’t tell me you’re going–”

“Stay put!” You command, scrambling after Steve, who has now begun to open the door. He tosses you the lighter, which you toss to your brother. “Just get ready, Dustin!”

“Y/N!”

“I love you!”

Dustin continues to shout, his pleas laced with more fear than you’ve ever heard from him, but you force yourself to leave. Just as you’ve stepped outside and re-closed the bus door, Dustin pounds against the glass that you’ve locked, tears in his eyes.

You look away, despite how fucking hard it is, and it takes everythin within you to leave.

Steve saved your life last year.

Now it’s your turn.

It’s tense outside as you and Steve walk back to back, weapons out. He twirls his bat a few times, a move that you find yourself smiling at due to its familiarity. With your back against his, you whisper to Steve, “You look for Dart, I keep an eye for anything else?”

He nods, and together the two of you slowly follow the sound of Dart’s chittering.

“C’mon buddy,” Steve taunts, beginning to whistle.

“I know we named it a Demodog, but I don’t think whistling will help.”

“We could be about to die, and you’re seriously questioning what I’m doing?”

You shrug, eyes now on the skyline as the fog slowly thickens. “Habit.”

Steve chuckles, which brings some comfort to the fucking awful situation at hand. He whistles some more, continuing to taunt Dart. “C’mon. Dinner time.”

“Again with offering Dart meals while we’re near him,” you shake your head, not at all liking where any of this is going.

“What? At least human tastes better than cat.” Steve responds, now at the pile of raw meat.

You both stop here, Steve facing the bait and you facing the bus, still scanning for literally anything else that could possibly go wrong. Because you’re Y/N Henderson and nothing can ever, ever go right for you.

Dart lets out another growl, now having spotted Steve, and the teen swings his bat around. You spare a quick glance behind you and see Dart, who has placed all his focus on you and Steve.

Well, at least the live bait plan is working.

You turn away again, and as soon as you do, you see the other Demodogs now suddenly appear. Your blood runs cold when you see the two up ahead, one directly in front of you and one on top of the cars.

For a moment, your words seem to fail you and no sound comes out when you try to speak. All you can do is stare at them, overcome with fear. You’re back in Jonathan’s once more, the fear strangling you as the memories paralyze you.

From the top of the bus, Lucas yells, “Steve! Y/N! Watch out!”

“We’re a little busy here!” Steve yells back, eyes still on Dart.

The Demodog in front of you starts to approach, which finally seems to break you from your spell. Shakily, you tell Steve, “There’s more.”

“What?” He tries to turn around, but you shove at him to not lose sight of Dart. You can’t distract him now. Another Demodog has joined.

“Three o’clock! Right in front of Y/N!” Lucas screams, his voice cracking with fear.

“Y/N?” Steve fully turns around now when he realizes that you’re also in danger, and when he sees the three other Demodogs, he lets out a curse. “Shit.”

Suddenly, you and Steve are surrounded by Demodogs, more than you ever could’ve imagined. More than the two of you can even fight on your own.

Back at Jonathan’s, it had taken guns, fire, knives, and bats to kill a grown Demogorgon.

You don’t think your knives and Steve’s bat will be enough for Demodogs.

“Steve! Y/N! Abort!” Dustin has flung the bus door open, screeching for the two of you to get out of there.

It’s too late. Dart has opened his mouth and is running towards you two, his friends joining as well.

“I go left, you go right!” Steve has just enough time to direct you before Dart lunges.

You dodge, going right as instructed while Steve flings himself on top of a car to avoid the monsters. As Steve hits Dart with his bat, crouched against the car, you narrowly avoid the other Demodog and drop to the ground as it jumps over your head. “Shit!”

Steve swings his bat again and tries to make his way over to you, but you’re off the ground in a heartbeat and run to him instead. Two of the Demodogs are on him now, and there’s only so much damage his bat can do. Breathless, you run over and stab at their backs, doing everything you can to give Steve an opening to run.

Faintly, you hear the kids in the background cheering you guys on, urging you two to come home.

One of the Demodogs lets out a harsh screech as your blade pierces its skin. It crumbles to the ground, giving Steve just enough of an opening to begin running towards the bus. When he goes to run, you notice one of the Demodogs eying him, and before you can even process what’s happening, you’re throwing yourself in front of him and you feel nails tear at your ribs.

You scream, clutching at your side in agony, feeling blood quickly beginning to spill from your wound. “Fuck!”

“Y/N!” Steve starts to run toward you, pale with fear.

“No!” You shove him back towards the bus; you can’t let him get hurt because of you. “Go, I’ll be fine!”

He tries to argue, but you take a deep breath and grip his jacket tightly, practically flinging him inside the bus just before Dart lunges again. Together, the two of you stumble up the steps and barricade the door.

As soon as it’s closed, Dart begins slamming against it with his entire body.

Steve uses his legs to hold the door closed while you lay sprawled on the ground, trying to steady your breathing as more blood spills from you. The room is spinning and you’re pretty sure you can taste blood in your mouth.

Awesome. Cool.

The kids are screaming and Dart’s body causes the entire bus to rock as his friends now join, throwing their own bodies against the bus as well.

“Are they rabid or something?” Max screams, but everyone ignores her.

Steve, quick as ever, finds a spare piece of metal and wedges it against the door and uses his legs again to hold it in place. He looks over at you on the ground and feels his heart jump to his throat. You’re pale, a sheen of sweat now dotted across your forehead, and there’s now a concerningly large pool of blood where you lay. “Dustin, go help your sister!”

Dustin looks up and finally notices your injury and almost faints at the sight. In a daze, he runs over to you and kneels down, terrified of how much blood there is. “Oh my god.”

“I’m fine,” you wince, trying to clench your teeth and bear through the pain. “Honestly, this is like a paper cut.”

“Y/N–” The sound of glass shattering cuts Dustin off as a Demodog breaks through the window. Everyone screams, and your brother grabs your arms and drags you further towards the back of the bus to avoid any glass getting on you.

Wearily, you watch as Steve does whatever he can with his bat, and a part of you wants to laugh. He looks like he’s playing the hardest game of wack-a-mole ever.

Meanwhile, Lucas and Max have joined you and Dustin. When they see you, Lucas lets out a choked scream while Max covers her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Lucas kneels over you as well, and you find his sincerity endearing. He’s always been the sweetest in the group, the most comforting.

“Never been better,” you wheeze out.

Dustin instructs Lucas to stay with you while he tries to radio for help. “Is anyone there? Mike? Will? God? Anyone!”

“God would be pretty nice to have.” You remark, pain making you even more delirious than usual.

Max looks at Lucas. “She’s losing it.”

“I think I’m doing great, all things considered.”

Dustin continues to scream into his walkie for help while Lucas tries to stop your bleeding. Max is running around, looking for anything to help, and Steve is still stuck at the front of the bus playing wack-a-mole with Demodogs.

The situation is so fucking grim, and you’ve never wanted to laugh more.

Then, to make matters even worse, the ceiling of the bus starts to creak. You see the faint outlines of what suspiciously looks like Demodog footprints on the roof. In slow, agonizing footsteps, Dart makes his way over to the emergency exit on top.

He leers over, and Max, who is at the bottom of the ladder, screams.

Steve shoves the kids back and you try to get up, but Lucas pushes you down and shakes his head at you.

“You want some? Come get this!” Steve places himself between Dart and you and the kids, screaming at the thing and waving his bat around, and you’ve never been more attracted to him.

Dart lets out a blood curdling screech, his mouth full of rows of razor sharp teeth that killed your cat just the other day, and you cling onto Lucas’ hand. Another screech, and just before Dart strikes at Steve, it jumps off the bus and runs away.

Everyone freezes, unsure what to do, as more distant growls and howls can be heard from outside. Steve and the rest stand up, and you notice Lucas holding Max’s hand, and at least something good came out of this hellhole of a day.

“Any help here?” You finally ask after a minute or so, still lying helplessly on the ground as you bleed.

“Shit!” Steve drops his bat. “Where did it get you, where’s the bleeding? Dustin, did we pack any bandages, or–or an EMT stretcher or–”

“Steve,” you grab his hand, urging him to calm down. “It scratched the fuck out of my ribcage, but I’m not dying. I promise.”

“You’re not?” Dustin asks, tears in his eyes.

“I’m not. I just…” you shift, wincing at the pain. “I just really need a bandage and I’ll be good as new.”

Steve swallows, a frenzied look in his eyes, and nods. Without thinking, he tears a piece of your bloodied cardigan off and gently lifts your body up so that he can wrap the shred of cloth around you. He weaves it tight, his movements slow and delicate, his eyes never leave yours.

You can feel his hands shaking as he tends to your wound and ties the cloth with a knot. When he’s done, even though you’re aware of the kids’ eyes on you two, you bring his hands to your lips and kiss them. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” He whispers, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. Dustin coughs, which seems to make Steve remember where he is, and he clears his throat. “Right, well. Try not to lose any more blood, yeah?”

“I’ll try,”

Steve nods and stands back up, knowing Dustin and Lucas will want a moment with you, and makes his way back outside. He knows that they’re all still in danger, even if for some reason the Demdogs seem to have left.

Once Steve is gone, Dustin and Lucas help you stand, and as soon as you’re up, both boys try their best to give you a hug without hurting you.

“Don’t do that ever again,” Dustin sniffs, squeezing your uninjured side tightly.

“What he said,” Lucas sniffs as well, though he tries to hide his tears from you.

You laugh, your own tears evident as you hold the boys tight. “I promise.”

“You saved Steve,” Max notes, though her tone is neutral, you can see she’s impressed.

“I had to even out a debt.”

“Guys,” Steve calls from outside. “The coast is clear.”

Slowly, you and the kids make your way out of the bus. It takes some help from both Dustin and Lucas, but eventually you’re able to walk on your own, holding your side, and walk down the steps.

“You okay?” Steve is by your side as soon as you’ve stepped down, holding you so that he’s not touching your cut. You’re thankful for his support, the pain still making you feel woozy.

“We’ll talk later,” you motion towards the kids, not wanting to worry them any further.

He nods, although he hates that you feel like you can’t focus on your own safety.

“What happened?” Lucas asks the group.

“I don’t know.” Max looks around, and you think she’s finally starting to understand what she’s gotten herself into.

Dustin points to you and Steve. “Maybe they scared ‘em off?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head. It couldn’t have been that easy. “No way.”

“They’re going somewhere.” You finish for him, confirming your worst fears. Suddenly, more pain shoots through you and you wince again, squeezing your eyes shut.

Steve bends his head down, guiding you a bit away from the kids so that they won’t hear. “Hey, we don’t have to follow them. We can go home, you know.”

“We can’t.” You clench your jaw as pain rings throughout your body. The goddamn Demodog got you good. “We have to follow. It’s all connected, Will and his episodes, Nancy and Jonathan with the detective, and I’ll be damned if I back down now.”

“So we follow?” Steve asks, trusting whatever call you make.

You nod, knowing you have to do this. While you guys are safe for now, you know that everyone else has to be in danger; you have to protect them. “Unfortunately.”

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist, just let me know :)

⌑ taglist: @siriuslysmoking @sheisjoeschateau @myeclispedsun @innercreationflower @juhdoche @frostandflamesfanfic @goosy-goose @quinnsadilla @munsons-queen @stefansring @rice-elephant @bex22109 @bitchkeery @bex22109 @officerrrfriendly @kazunish @idkitsem @emilieluckwood @ryoujoking @criesinlies @tagakalat @dcnerd98 @sucker-4-angst @kitdjarin1 @onecojg @innazra @areiofhope @spaghetittied @cultish-corner @g8sstuff @videogamesandpoorlifechoices

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wtlws #m's writing #this chapter almost killed me #but bug and steve FINALLY TALKED !!!!#also ilu lucas ur my baby

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sanguineterrain · 1 year ago

Note

Hii so for the requests if this is too dark please just ignore 💜 how about jason x reader with "[ BACKUP ] sender calls receiver panicking after committing a crime" where maybe reader gets assaulted and in self-defense kills the criminal and is panicking and calling jason because she knows he can help her and is the only one who won't judge her. Thank you for considering 💖

hey anon! i really liked this prompt, not to worry. it reminded me of that scene in the punisher when amy shoots the guy, but frank "kills" him, so i ended up incorporating that here 😅 thanks for requesting!

i also combined this with another request i got for the prompt "hide. hide now." with jason bc i felt they went well together :)

jason todd x gn!reader | tw: gun violence. reader shoots a man whose intention is to harm them. panic attack, blood. you are in charge of the media you consume! | 843 words

prompt lists are here! i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

You don't know how you get back to your apartment. All you can hear is your pounding heartbeat and the footsteps of one of Two Face's men.

You shouldn't have been out this late. You shouldn't have been out alone. So many shouldn'ts run through your mind.

"Run all you want! I know where you live now, snitch! You ain't making it out tonight!"

You take the stairs two at a time, tripping over your feet. Sweat pours down your face. Your chest is tight with fear.

"Yoo-hoo," the goon sing-songs. "Where are ya, birdie?"

You unlock your phone and duck into the laundry room. Quickly, you pull out your phone and tap on your first contact.

"Todd."

"Jason," you whisper. The phone shakes in your grip.

"What's wrong?" he asks, instantly on alert.

"There's a—I was—I'm at home. I-I didn't know where else to go. Two Face's guy saw me, he chased me—"

"I'm on my way. Are you inside?"

"In... in the laundry room... Jay, I'm so scared."

"I know, I know, it's okay. I'll be there in two minutes. Go to your apartment and lock it. There's a gun taped behind the pantry cabinet. Don't hang up."

"I don't remember buying a—"

"I put it there. Go."

You don't even have the thought to be mad; Jason has always been protective of you, and right now, it might be the only thing that'll keep you alive.

"You there?" he asks as you stumble on your feet to your apartment.

"Al-almost—"

"I know you're up here, snitch!" the goon shouts from two floors below.

You gasp and nearly break your key in the lock. But you manage to get it open and lock it behind you, just how Jason ingrained in you to do. You find the gun exactly where he said it is.

"Okay. I have it. Jason, I've never—"

"I know. Listen to me—shit—okay, you see the safety? You remember what I taught you about taking the safety off?"

"Yeah, y-yeah." You take the safety off. The gun is heavy, way heavier than you remember it being when Jason had shown you how to fire it in a field outside of town.

"Alright. Now take the gun and hide. Hide now."

"Where? Jason, he's coming—" You're crying now, face slick with sweat and tears.

"Listen to me. I'm three blocks away. I will be there, okay? I won't let him do shit to you. Go to the bathroom and lock it. Be careful with the gun. Finger off the trigger."

You walk on jellied legs, half-stumbling to the bathroom. You do what he says and press yourself against the tub, gun under your palm. Your phone is on your other side.

"You still there?" he asks. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

"I'm here. I think he's—"

You flinch hard as your apartment door splinters. You cover your mouth to hide your cries. The light is off, but you doubt this is the first time this guy's hunted someone in their apartment.

You hear the squeal of tires through the phone. Jason's close; he'll be here soon, he'll—

The bathroom door tears from its hinges. The doorknob makes a hole in the wall.

You don't think.

The shot is louder than you expect, and your ears ring from the sound. Blood splatters on your bathroom tiles. The goon hits the floor with a shout.

"Oh my God, oh my God," you babble, still squished against the tub.

"You bitch!" the goon shouts, blood bubbling from his mouth.

Jason runs in then. He quickly kicks the goon's gun away and steps on his chest when the goon tries to get up. Jason cocks his gun in warning.

"Stay down, shithead," he snarls.

"I killed him," you say, tears flooding your eyes. "I didn't mean to—I didn't—"

Jason kneels in front of you and gently takes the gun from you. You look at him, stomach rolling.

"I killed him," you say again, cringing as the goon yells in pain.

Jason shakes his head. "No. Hey, you didn't kill him. You defended yourself. You just shot him, okay? See, look—"

He fires a single bullet without looking. The goon is instantly silent. You wince.

"Okay? You didn't kill him. I killed him. Me. Not you."

You whimper, face falling into Jason's chest. He holds you tightly.

"I was so scared, but I didn't want to—I thought he was gonna—"

"Shh, shh. You didn't do anything wrong. Okay? I got you. You did good. You defended yourself. It was you or him and you made the right choice."

"Don't leave," you cry, clinging to Jason's tactical vest.

He squeezes you tighter, shielding you from the body.

"I'm not going anywhere. I got you, sweetheart. Don't worry. Nothing's gonna happen to you."

You sit like that for a long time, Jason whispering gentle reassurances in your ear as you cry into his chest.

"I promise you'll never be in this situation again," he whispers when your cries have become sniffles. "I swear."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagine #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb

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court-jobi · 3 months ago

Text

Goldeneye Down

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's characters/stories))

Pairing: Hawks x reader (quirkless!(gn)reader)

Words: 4.6K

Rating: T+ (canon-typical post-mission shenanigans, so it gets raw, kids.)

Warnings: canon-typical violence, description of injuries/blood, mentions of medical trauma, anxiety, so many tears, mutual pining, HURT/COMFORT, angst with a happy ending

Summary:

If a kiss would fix him, he'd sooner never breathe again. If you knew it would work, you'd surrender your lungs and anything else for his comfort. He hardly gets tender treatment after a fight- and that shows by how tightly he's hugging your waist for dear life. Alternatively: three times you've witnessed your dashing Hawks masking his hurt, until he can't anymore. Each time is worse than the last- until you finally learn that you're the only one who truly asks how he feels after nights like this. Not 'how are your wings' or 'is he stable'... but it's you who takes the time to wipe his face gently with a washcloth: not to rid Hawks of the sweat and grit to make him presentable, but gifting Keigo the chance to feel clean for once.

A/N: Yall, this man is one of my favorite characters on this show, and I have so many writing plans for him-- so apologies for starting right out the gate with angst??? I love him I swear

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

The first time you ever saw Hawks shirtless was hardly the stuff fantasies or a perfume advert concocted. He was bandaged across one entire pec, around his middle, and up to his shoulder, after all.

Work as a writer took you to many glamorous locations, but also to the grittiest– recently, hero hospitals when there’s been a close call and you are in for an interview with either a dying hero for their final public wish, or a heartfelt op-ed about a rising sidekick’s latest stand against threat and evil. In either case, you’d wound up at the bedside of a darling rescue agent who’d had an incredible story to share despite their career-ending injuries.

With a genuine word of thanks and a shared pudding packet, you were leaving the hospital wing in fairly good spirits until your stomach turned in shock at what awaited you in the hallway– a gravely bandaged Hawks standing at the nurse’s station in a half state of dress, locking eyes with you in the first instance where you’d ever caught him off his guard.

Those gorgeous eyes flashed in nervous panic which melted into boyish charm awfully quickly- standard practice for the secret object of your affections-

“Well gosh, nurse, I thought you’d give a guy a warning if a guardian angel was going to be visiting today… I’d have been decent enough to put a shirt on~!”

It was a detour of hoarse-voiced flirting on his part and masked heartbreak on yours. Seeing the blonde numbed out and paler than you’d ever witnessed him out on the job, your veil of professionalism slipped enough to really see Hawks in this moment… and catch wind of an unaware attendant who slipped the hero’s last name in front of you.

Said PA immediately recoiled upon seeing you -an extended member of the press- overhear the #2 Pro Hero’s legal name. Though at your insistence that you were here on business that didn’t concern him, Hawks visibly relaxed enough to give you his first name himself the moment the nurse left.

‘Mr. Takami is far too formal to come outta you; don’t even think about calling me that, dove.’

Keigo Takami truly was a man containing multitudes, but for all the tough talk about how ‘you should have seen the other guy’, you worried about that man you’ve seen now without his gold visor that night when you went home, and wondered if he was sleeping ok with his chest bound like that.

The next injury sighting took several months of continued text exchanges, private balcony sidebars, and continued endurance of Hawks’ public displays of blatant sweet talking for you to see him less than chipper again.

Your meeting with the HPSC Press Chair was running painfully long, but necessary given the content you were working on publishing for them as side work. It wasn’t doable for you to take on a full-time job with the Hero Commission, but in your philanthropic effort to unite the civilian world with those of high profile heroes, you took on these winded assignments with the promise of a pay bump… as well as a chance to see your darling flyboy. Not that they’d note or care about your budding affections for him. Thankfully, your tight lipped smiles at him were ironclad and his reputation as a charming star preceded him, even to his higher ups so the true feelings never fully sunk in so long as you were mindful.

Pulling a doubletake at your presence in the conference room from the glass windows led Hawks to hang a left inside to quip at you, fully interrupting your meeting despite the scowls he received from the suits lining the table.

“Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise~ hey there, lovedove. Aren’t you pretty as a peach today?”

“Hey there, yourself,” you turned to acknowledge him politely, but pointedly fixed on his eye that laid nearly completely blackened and the cheek scraped to a raw red. “--aren’t you looking- purple.”

Hawks being sufficiently threatened to report elsewhere didn’t stop him from throwing you a dismissive wink and a smirk at your subtle worry,

“Oh this? Nah, it’ll fade. I could use the blush anyway~ it’ll save me a trip for photos tomorrow!”

That charming show of optimism wasn’t a surprise as you turned back to your grumpily apologetic managers, though you never did quite forget how Keigo stayed in the entryway soaking in even your curt ending of the conversation. He had to be practically ushered out by some fellow training officers for him to go on his merry way. Your inspection of him had been lightning quick, and you were nearly certain he was black and blue in more places than his face judging by how he sidestepped out the door.

Would he ever take his pain seriously? Under all that swagger, you certainly hoped so. Or else you hoped someone would make a fuss over him.

Hawks shows on your patio at 12:30 in the morning one day, knocking silly on your side door. It’s been weeks since you wrote another touching piece for the HPCS’s statement on civic protection, and too long since he’s taken a rooftop stroll with you. Hell, far too long that he's had you close. Keeping you at his side, tucked under his towering wing, shielding you from the night winds, peppering each other with soft-spoken words and some stolen kisses he swears mean more to him than a move ‘just for luck’.

Hawks knocks three times... huffing. He glanced towards the ground, tucking what's left of his wings further in with a wince. He knocks four more times, each more insistent than the last, but mindful of the noise. He even shushes himself in the delirium, canvassing your living room for signs of life.

Your oven light was still on, suggesting you hadn't gone through your full nighttime shutdown yet. That single light bulb in your kitchen appeared to double the more he stared, and tried to blink the unease away. Shit. He's really in no condition to fly. The sidewalk below your floor takes his attention again at the cry he hears. The sound is only cat this time, but still makes him oh-so nervous.

Hawks moans his impatience coupled by the searing pain, begging you to come notice him at the sliding glass. He drops his head damp with sweat to the window (intent to apologize for it later) and just bangs on the window like the desperate man he is.

"Please be up, please be up, please..."

When he opens his eyes briefly, he sees a shadow before him approaching. You'd flicked on more light in your living room and were jogging up to the window with shock brightening your features to total wakefulness. He's never been happier to see you so panicked.

Your confusion is palpable behind the door as you push the blind’s interior locking rod aside and flip up the lock, sliding it-- and Hawks-- along with you.

"Who-ooah!! Hawks??" You whisper-scream.

Stumbling aside, he grips his still bleeding hip and winces at what that move causes for his back. Eyes screwed shut, he can't even quite manage a suave, sweet greeting; he merely sighs your name as an answer to prayer.

You take in this poor, disheveled shell of a hero as he looks every bit like he's come from a dogfight. Not only were his wings sparse and bony from overuse, but his left wing was seizing up and stunted at a poor angle you knew wasn't natural.

oh my God, those poor wings… You collected him up with ready arms- gingerly guiding inside through the center of the patio, wary of bumping either's span of the door.

"carefulcarefulcareful–"

"eh, it’ll-- nnngh!!" Hawks doubled over-thankfully right into you- "I got'kicked in the back-- right under...ahhhh~ "

Not only that, but despite the blackness of his under armour and gloves, you noted now by movement and smell that he was bleeding elsewhere. Besides the hobble, he sports a busted cheekbone and lip– which he likely bit himself.

This was a hard state to see him in and truly frightened you by the blood loss alone. Worse than any other time you’d seen him after a mission by far.

Primal, parental instincts filled you and spilled out before you could stop yourself.

"Honey, we gotta get you to Dagoba General; it's closest--"

"I can't-" Hawks stopped you with a vice grip on your wrist while he hobbled along, "s'too public."

-Not allowed, even in an emergency. This you remembered from his earlier run through of policies about heroes needing medical attention; where in the city he could go, how it should be handled privately, and out of civilian's eyes.

"oh shit-- well, how bout the hero hospital, the one by that high school? Can't you call- or I can call! Let me-"

"No~" hawks moaned miserably. "I jus' gotta sit."

“Aren’t you -uh- supposed to have your legs up? You can lay back, it’s ok,” you try to guide him, but he only wavers- set on sitting up. His still-sure sights canvassing the room tells you he’s in a protective, alert headspace here in new surroundings. He might need more direction from you to break this..

"Hawks-- this is beyond what I can do,” You tried to reason with him, grappling a random throw blanket semi draped on the couch before he could sit down. “I told you I worked in refugee centers, I only know basic first aid- but this is more than I can help you, honey! They can get you fluids, a transfusion if you need it, pain meds stronger than what I have from the corner store if you’d just- where's your phone, I can call for an ambulan-"

Hawks fired up right away-

"NO!!" He begged, "no- they, they can't.. I don't wan'.."

Helping him sit, you knelt carefully trying to hear through his clear pain-rattled rant.

You assume he doesn't want the trouble of an ambulance or worry it wouldn't get here in time- which scares you more is debatable.

"We’re working against time here, hot stuff.." you tried for levity, caressing his hand. While he took it shakily, he bit his groan back.

He looked at you seriously, but pouted back in a way you'd normally giggle at, "No 'wee-woos'."

"I know you don't want ‘wee-woos’, but I think we're past that now."

You cup Hawks’ cheek which successfully transfixes his attention right on your face, while you blindly try his jacket's inner pocket for his phone- closer than yours that’s clear in the back bedroom on your charger,

"Look, I'll even talk for ya, okay? You don’t have to explain a thing about what happened tonight. Let's just get you help-"

"NO!! I can't hav' 'em find you here!"

His outburst startled you so you pulled back from his jacket entirely- at a true loss, "Can’t have who find me?"

"I won' let 'em," Hawks shook his head, pressing into his side, "I-- they don' know I'm here- they can' see only the pinpoint. Not ell'vation. Ahh. Don't wan'em know.. where you live, f’they don’ already."

You fought to keep up. He's clearly distressed- but you're surprised it's by the thought over your residence being found out. Who would be upset at the fact of him being here enough to have him shaken from even emergency services finding out?

Then you realize, he’s on the clock. He’s gotten hurt at work, and he’s not patrolling anymore. ‘The asset is damaged,’ and he’s laying low effectively out of sight.

"Your.. what, your bosses? Is that what you're worried about right now?"

Hawks was fighting for some deeper breaths. Some old instincts finally kicking in, he’s pushing air out forcefully though his lips in a decent try to slow himself down. He knows you know that much– how his work is essentially divvied into two piles: the stuff you hear about on the news, and the stuff you don't. The HPSC handles both, but primarily involves him in one. Thankfully, he knows you're quick enough to know tonight is a night of the latter and one that you know you shouldn't ask too much more of, despite your clear desire for understanding.

But he’s bleeding on your sofa and he is about to damn near break or bleed out and you feel drawn to his heart and feel a selfish urge to know.

"I don't understand- why, ... why come here if you were worried, Kei?"

"I was.. close,” he offered with some huffs again.

That answer felt too loaded, but you were too groggy yourself to reason with such a clammy man dealing with who knows how much blood loss.

He forced as much clarity to his vision as he could, while watching you get up to close the patio door up. You shut the blinds for good measure too before debating whether to run back to the bathroom and�� grab what gauze and antiseptics you had. For both the sake of time and to keep the poor man from following you throughout the apartment like you knew he’d try to do, you settled on wetting a few washcloths by the sink and came back to him.

"Your fight was close to here?" You kept him in the moment while attempting to get off his coat. He sat forward to help in this, but his eyes shut hard as it forced his shoulder blades together, to feed the gap over the wings.

Through steeled grunts he manages it, then strangles out the basics for you, "Y-yeah.. small.. weap'n traffic ring. But we had intel they'd.. Had a hit out on’the magistrate."

You set the bloodied jacket to the ground- torn between looking at his pained face and getting a look at the hip he was leaning into.

"They hadda few tough quirk users," Hawks gritted, separating his hand at your insistence. The shirt peeling back sticky was the least of his worries when you laid the wet washcloth at his side, "one had blades for legs, n’the other had a kind of whip-AHH!!"

Only water, but it burned like hell. Burned through the mess he'd made of himself. Proof he'd been sent in there outmatched-- 5 to 1 so he says, but even for the #2 Hero, the odds were stacked against him for a covert attack. You whispered a gentle apology over the sting.

You hated hearing the challenge and clear surprise of the incident that caused this version of your hero to be brought to the surface, knocking on your door like a kid trying to sneak back into the house in the middle of the night.

"So they nicked you here– and your back?" You asked gently, "Anywhere else?"

"They were gonna take out the block--"

You heard the panic rise in him again, the tremor in voice and wings.

"Haw-.. Keigo."

"They were gonna-- they didn't even know you lived up here.. you of all people.. but they were gonna do it. I had- said I hadta stop em, whatever it took.."

You set the first soiled cloth aside, centered between his spread knees, and cupped his face in both hands now. He's trembling all over and pulse is going wild under your fingers. He locked onto your necklace- avoiding your eyes in anger, guilt, and a messy, gnarled ball of exhaustion while you cleaned his face.

It wasn’t clinically necessary, but you wanted to.

"But you stopped them," you reminded, "You said you got 'em, right?"

Something flitted across his face that looked hollow- like a younger side of Keigo Takami was looking for help finishing his thoughts. Like he was reverting to a shadow self that was about to cry just feeling you cool down his neck with the clean side of a washcloth.

"I got em." He barely whispered, new frustrated tears flooding his eyes and forcing his brows together. "I did it. I did-- what they wanted me to."

The way he says it is not a victory. It's guilty, not even proud in a sense of justice. It was forced; not unlike a militant following orders.

"The safety commission, keeping folks safe at all costs," you answered for him, forcing his eyes to blink at the name. What crimson feather remained ebbed and rustled on impulse.

Suddenly, he frowned down at his own hands, suddenly wrenching himself free of his damp, tainted gloves, like they were burning him alive the longer they stayed on his fingers.

"Cost them," Hawks croaked, "Wanted t’take ‘em in, make them pay the way we always do. But then they said they're taking the block out- and I couldn't let em- I couldn't let them get you or anyone else--I shoulda felt like a damn hero they say I am."

Hawks shook his head pathetically, nearly collapsing forward at the feel of you raking his bangs back, before he sobbed,

"but I didn't want to. They begged. Couldn’a run when they knew they couldn't win, so they begged. I don't wanna do it this way, don't want it to come to this. I can't keep ending it all just because I can!! I’m no–"

Hawks wipes harshly at his eyes with the heel of his palm, his anger at a tipping point.

Your heart sobers and breaks altogether. He's confessing to you because he knows this whole ordeal is going to be painted so differently by the media in the morning. Heroes have to make impossible calls- and you know his handlers don't make it easier on him when it comes to completing these covert assignments. They’ve essentially given him a license none others do- allowances that dance in the world of grey.

Hawks and heroes like him have been granted permission to take lethal measures. But it’s a grim, fell thought that when you’re in the moment- the choice to kill or stay in your armed hands. The pressure is bound to weigh anyone, make them crack and doubt their sensibilities.

Any bystander would call Hawks heroic for saving more lives than taking them- but fear is what forces him to kill. Fear of loss, of the catastrophic unknown that he continues to fight for faster and faster.

You leveled with Hawks’ sightline, forcing terrified eyes to yours. While the sight of this confident man worn down grieved you, schooling your face and brows to be strong was an easy ask when he needed you.

"I know you didn't,” you affirmed all he said, “You were so brave, Keigo. You were really brave, no matter what. No matter how these fights end. You always are brave."

Keigo listens and heaves an ungodly sound at your words.

Suddenly, he's pulling you close and crying into your chest and you meet him all the way. You lock your grasp around his shoulders gingerly at first afraid to hold too tight. Cradling his head to you and hushing him seems to work for now, since he’s able to speak again after more schooled breaths.

But this reaction from him is far from assured; he’s afraid. Unheard. And it seems with you, he can finally air these harsh truths without outside ears listening in stopping his tongue.

"They don't care how hard it is. They don't care. They just push and push and push me, and 'm tired and it hurts!!"

All you can do is hold him.

"I know, baby,” you barely speak, “I know it does, I know it hurts..."

“It always hurts,” he sobs, “It does every time. When you saw me and you looked at me, and you asked me if it hurt, I lied because I had to. But shit, this hurts…”

Hawks’ heated hands grasp at you: the contour of your body is the altar he's kneeling at- from this very spot of your couch. He's wailing now- half in pain, half in misery of being failed over and over again and only now -in secret- ever receiving someone to listen in return. The sound barely makes noise as its buried in your middle, but it rocks you where you kneel up straight to keep him close.

You let him grieve and hold space for every bit of it. He's never once been this vulnerable with another soul in his life, you’re convinced, and he sounds just so grateful to have your hands on his. Grounding. Giving him relief he's been starving for since you first paid attention to him across that crime scene where you first met.

Once he began mimicking your pronounced breathing he finally starts to feel more calm.

To give him air, you robbed one hand from around him in order to push back some hair from his face and check his temperature. He could actually feel how cool your hands were once he started getting color into his face from his spot at your chest. Drained and pliant, he mumbles something at your sternum, and you ask him to repeat it gently,

“Hands’re cold,” he whispers.

“Oh, m’sorry.”

“No,” he shuts his eyes. "Feels good. You feel so good. The other docs, they're just so-- clinical.. They don't- they aren't gentle. No one feels as good as you do.”

Softness seeps from the very pit of you. What you won’t give to protect this hero now.

You see a slumped pillow at his side and think to use it as a bolster until his back spasms lessen.

"Here, babe. Let's get one of these behind you. You can lay back a bit-"

Hawks chips his chin up to you, a bat of his eyes pleading, ‘don’t go’.

It’s official: you love him.

"I won't go,” you coo down to him, “I won't make you get up. I'll be here. Right here."

You kiss that hot, flushed forehead, and he wants to crumble again by the way you hear him swallow.

“I-” Hawks tries to recover from his overwhelm, "...I need you..."

Your answer would never deny him, "What do you need, pretty bird."

"Need you– hold on t'me." Hawks nuzzles your neck in relief.

"I've got you. I've got you this time. You always have everyone else; now I have you."

This is the way you’d keep him, if he were all yours. After a day of things he’d rather forget, you’d replace them all with kind words and soothing touches that settle his restlessness. To his nature that never stops moving, you’d make it your mission to bring some stillness and comfort to the forefront of his burdened mind.

While you’d love for reality to keep on pause, a flash of movement at the window gave you hope rather than alarm,

“Hey, Kei. Lookie there. You've got a little pile waiting for you~” you nod back to the patio, catching some blips of red near the unobscured vertical blinds. “Would having them back on you help? Make you feel more steady?"

Interest piqued, Hawks sounds pleasantly surprised seeing them with his own eyes.

"Ah. Yeah."

"Wanna rinse off, too? You can; use my shower, get yourself a lil more fresh?” the offer is true and comes from you easily. Happy to offer whatever healing measures possible to him while you wipe away leftover tears from a set of perfectly golden eyes. “I can’t promise I have something that fits you super well, but let’s see what I got.”

You knew the hot water would likely sting his wound, but would also buy him more time before he's ready to fly again and go get checked out more formally.

Still wilty, Hawks gives a comical grimace in the face. “I’d sure hate t’bleed all over your stuff.”

“Stuff can be washed; there’s only one you.”

And at this, he finally looks back up to you like the Keigo you know and sinks at the idea, giving in to the tempting idea. He nods. Any trace of boiled over bitterness in his aura has faded to a low simmer, and has left a warm, comfortable, gorgeous-looking man to peer up at you.

You help him up, open the door once more, and Hawks is able to stand a bit better on his own now with a wingspan full of settling feathers preening themselves into place. Once face to face, he finds his hands are still seeking out your waist, and his face furrows– unwilling to let go fully of his personal painkiller.

You still his hesitation with a mouth’s warm press to his cheek followed by a gentle kiss on the lips. His palms go lax and a moan leaves him softly.

“I'll hold you all you want when you get out,” you whisper gently to him. “No funny business, I promise. Yeah?"

As if he held any true worries.

"Wouldn’t ever mind if you did, dove. But yeah– I’d like that."

With another lingering kiss, you do your utmost to take things as quickly as he can manage for the sake of getting him to rest quickly… but by the way Hawks eyes you from all your puttering about the apartment, he holds no urgency or rush. To the contrary, he's happy going slow and steady while he’s with you.

His hand catches yours any chance he gets until he’s ultimately able to lay his head to rest on you at the first idle moment of the evening. Its in these, the wee morning hours, that he’s eager now to remember this as the first night you got to help him heal and not just recover.

"You sure you aren't rushing it?" the slight worry tinges your sleepy morning voice in just the next few waking hours. All you both had was a glorified nap given his late arrival.

The song of your concern obviously pleases your loving company, as the edges of Hawks’ eyes crinkle at your worry.

"I gotta report in by six. I'll stop at my place, change before I go in, heat up something to eat. And I’ll text you when I get there."

The checklist of answers is sweet and characteristically Hawks, but you hope Keigo hasn’t checked out of your bubble yet.

"Okay. But.. take some time if you can. Come see me if you still need me."

A noticeable fondness settles across Hawks’ devilishly handsome smile, and comes over to cup your face for another coffee-masked kiss.

"I always need you.” Thank you. For everything. "I'll see you soon." I love you.

"See you soon." I love you too.

Weeks pass with Hawks’ semi-regular visits to the apartment, holding you in the kitchen like the lovesick boy he is at heart. ‘Talking work’ he claims, when his higher ups ask him about the delays, but he’s more inclined to slack and slip into far more personal matters as he guides you over back towards the barstools and sits back on one.

A curious mind makes you question why he's pushing the limits of his absence until he pulls you in to completely become flush with him and realize he wants your attention before anyone else’s. He sinks in how you set your hands on his shoulders, smiling like a sweet dope, looking up at you while you check him over.

You know he’s tired from a day on patrol in full sun, but the faint sunburn across his cheeks doesn’t seem altogether too painful. Just needs a decent aloe blend. Still, you ask as you always do,

“How you feelin’, pretty bird?”

And he truly answers honestly now, no bravado for handlers to scoff at or bystanders to placate:

“Better now.”

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