#other projects: heather

[littlegeecko]

ECHO focused Aggie page with @skkortysoup :]]]]

Close ups below

[xmag-piex]

How I feel after completely changing rendering styles since the last time I posted: :p

Also I feel the procrastination getting to me, I can’t finish this the urges to go doomscroll are too big omfg so it’s only half rendered

Might come back to it if I feel like beating the procrastination

So yeah, Michael distortion (drew it more ‘human’ this time)

As Heather Chandler

Props to @sammithryx for the idea!

[thatgirlwithasquid]

Clearly I am holiday obsessed rn 🎄 What do you think the Stranger Things characters favorite holiday songs are?🤔

oooooo fun question!!!

Steve’s is, without a doubt, Last Christmas by Wham! The second I saw this ask it immediately came to mind for him. Nancy angst? Cheesily singing it to Billy despite the fact they’ve been happily together for three years? Take your pick. Either way he belts it out any time it comes on and Dustin HATES IT

Heather and Carol put on an absolute Performance together any time All I Want For Christmas by Mariah Carey comes on. They are personally behind it being blasted nonstop in stores in the run up. Workers hate them, they are having the time of their lives.

Jonathan’s is Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree by Brenda Lee, partially because it is also Joyce’s favourite. There’s a lot of pressure on both their shoulders looking out for each other and Will, but every year they end up pausing their decorating for the holidays to dance to that together cause they both love it and some of that stress falls away. Sometimes Will even joins in and its just the three of them taking turns to twirl each other in their living room. A Byers Christmas isn’t complete without it.

Chrissy likes Baby It’s Cold Outside. She finds it fun and charming. Eddie diligently sings the other half of her duet whenever it comes on to save Chrissy’s lungs (platonically or romantically idc)

Eddie’s is Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow! I cannot articulate why aside from the content has similar vibes to Baby It’s Cold Outside and I think it’d be cute for them to kinda match. They matched each other’s freak, they matched each other’s Christmas energy. All is as it should be.

Jason says that his is something suitably christian like Mary’s Boy Child by Boney M., but it’s actually something poppy like Santa Tell Me by Ariana Grande. He will be teased by his friends when he finally admits it, but it would suspiciously start being played more for him either way.

Argyle’s is Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) by Darlene Love because it’s pretty and chill and vibey and I say so lmao. Idk, I just think he’d like it.

Tommy’s is Santa Baby, but he’s the straight guy who bends the lyrics to be Santa Buddy when he sings it. Depending on how drunk Carol gets, there’s a good chance she’ll yell at him to ‘suck it up and fuck Santa already’

Robin likes Fairytale of New York and makes Steve badly sing it with her. She sings Shane MacGowen’s part and Steve does Kirsty MacColl’s. The drunker they are the more they laugh at getting to insult one another throughout their rendition.

I’m not so sure about Nancy (she’s not exactly my fave so I don’t have a clear idea about anything to do with her 😅). Maybe Happy Xmas (War Is Over)? That just feels like something that would get played in the Wheeler house.

[snorpdawg]

I feel like I owe everyone who sees this post an apology

[sweeterthanmydreams]

Finished Heather's Surprise; the tree is a little rough but it gets the point across so I genuinely don't care; I like the branches, and I like the train, the ornaments were just driving me nuts.

I think I want to at least have a composition sketch for the next two, and maybe a rough sketch for the last one, but it's looking like this will only encompass the first set of her book series. Frankly, that's more than I expected to get done. Really wish I could get the type setting to work on the back covers, though, because I chopped and spliced her story line to make a six book character arc that otherwise would be hard to present.

Clip fix your text tools challenge. =.= This is literally a program geared towards making comics.

[biromanticwritergal]

Reese St. John & Heather Sparrow Mood Board

Reese, a lesbian ambulance driver, falls in love with Heather, a bisexual nurse during WWI. They return to England and live together during the 1920's and beyond.

All pictures were found on Pinterest except the middle one which I drew.

[vague-humanoid]

At the California Institute of the Arts, it all started with a videoconference between the registrar’s office and a nonprofit.

One of the nonprofit’s representatives had enabled an AI note-taking tool from Read AI. At the end of the meeting, it emailed a summary to all attendees, said Allan Chen, the institute’s chief technology officer. They could have a copy of the notes, if they wanted — they just needed to create their own account.

Next thing Chen knew, Read AI’s bot had popped up inabout a dozen of his meetings over a one-week span. It was in one-on-one check-ins. Project meetings. “Everything.”

The spread “was very aggressive,” recalled Chen, who also serves as vice president for institute technology. And it “took us by surprise.”

The scenariounderscores a growing challenge for colleges: Tech adoption and experimentation among students, faculty, and staff — especially as it pertains to AI — are outpacing institutions’ governance of these technologies and may even violate their data-privacy and security policies.

That has been the case with note-taking tools from companies including Read AI, Otter.ai, and Fireflies.ai.They can integrate with platforms like Zoom, Google Meet, and Microsoft Teamsto provide live transcriptions, meeting summaries, audio and video recordings, and other services.

Higher-ed interest in these products isn’t surprising.For those bogged down with virtual rendezvouses, a tool that can ingest long, winding conversations and spit outkey takeaways and action items is alluring. These services can also aid people with disabilities, including those who are deaf.

But the tools can quickly propagate unchecked across a university. They can auto-join any virtual meetings on a user’s calendar — even if that person is not in attendance. And that’s a concern, administrators say, if it means third-party productsthat an institution hasn’t reviewedmay be capturing and analyzing personal information, proprietary material, or confidential communications.

“What keeps me up at night is the ability for individual users to do things that are very powerful, but they don’t realize what they’re doing,” Chen said. “You may not realize you’re opening a can of worms.“

The Chronicle documented both individual and universitywide instances of this trend. At Tidewater Community College, in Virginia, Heather Brown, an instructional designer, unwittingly gave Otter.ai’s tool access to her calendar, and it joined a Faculty Senate meeting she didn’t end up attending. “One of our [associate vice presidents] reached out to inform me,” she wrote in a message. “I was mortified!”

[goldfishontheceiling]

GIVE IT TO HIM

HE WILL CHERISH IT

(i brainrotted so hard in the tags that tumblr just refused to process it so i had to cut the tags down by a lot)

give him one million dollars on a platter right now do it do it now

[felassan]

Jeff Berg, an actor of Rook, on Instagram:

"Hey guys, nice to meet you. I’m Rook. Becoming Rook in Dragon Age: Veilguard has been an epic journey over the last 3.5 years. It’s hands down been the most rewarding project I’ve ever been involved with, and I’m beyond honored to join the Dragon Age family. Big thanks to Heather & Calvin at @/atlas_talent and Guy at @/shushuent for bringing it all together. And now, there’s a few others that I’d like to introduce you to…cause when it comes to guarding the veil, I’ll definitely need a little help from my friends. 🎮⚔️ 🐉 Join the adventure on PC, PS5, and Xbox Series X. I’ve got a feeling that we’re going to be spending a whole lotta time together this fall…Let’s Go! #DragonAge #Veilguard #RPG #GamingCommunity"

[source]

They did mocap and you can see some of it here! :)

[reasonsforhope]

"In west England, a series of hills cloaked in heather and wildflowers are the target of a national restoration project that is already seeing success.

Similar to the story GNN reported on last week about the rewilding along the south coast and South Downs National Park, Sussex, volunteers are seeding old hay fields with native wildflowers and replanting traditional hedgerows to ensure wildlife can move freely through the region.

The region is called the Shropshire Hills, which by British law is designated an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, and is managed and controlled so this beauty can endure. But while the area is indeed beautiful, the valley between the sections of hills known as Long Mynd and Stiperstones has for decades been under heavy hay cultivation, with farmers plowing up meadows and planting fast-growing commodity grasses.

As part of a project by the UK’s National Trust called Stepping Stones, volunteers have been working with landowners and local councils to turn some of these meadows back over to the wildlife, creating corridors of habitat to allow species like the bilberry bumblebee, pine marten, and curlews to move freely from hilltop to valley floor and back to hilltop.

Charlie Bell, project manager for Stepping Stones, told the BBC that the project is one part of an overall mission that aims to restore 97% of meadows that have been lost in the UK over the last 100 years.

“Many old meadows have been plowed up and re-seeded with more productive mixes of grasses,” she told the national broadcaster. “Fertilizers are often added to increase the growth of these dominant productive grasses, at the expense of finer grass species and wildflowers.”

Jinlye Meadows, on the Long Mynd side of the valley, is now thriving with native wildflower species like mountain pansy, and volunteers have recorded the area is thriving with bilberry bumblebees which are rare and in decline.

In particular, the meadows were covered last year in yellow rattle, also known as the “meadowmaker,” a key part of Ms. Bell’s strategy for restoring meadows. This native species attaches itself to the roots of grasses, slowing, but not sabotaging, their growth. This allows not only the flower to grow, but space for all manner of other flowers to grow as the grasses’ growth is [slowed down]."

-Article via Good News Network, July 11, 2024. Video via NT Midlands, June 19, 2023.

[fbfh]

rodrick x hyperfeminine reader hcs

wc: 2.3k

genre: mutual pining, contrasting aesthetics

pairing: rodrick x hyperfeminine reader (fem/she her/referred to as a girl)

summary: you're new at school and it takes a painfully long time for you to find the only hot guy there. he's had a massive painful crush on you since you first set foot through the door.

warnings: reader is a little insecure/anxious and copes through hyperfemininity, rodrick has low self esteem and dyslexia, they both think they have no chance with the other one, jocks keep asking you out, you're friends with Heather and Madison

a/n: obsessed with this dynamic. when you finally date everyone is so fucking confused lmao

@dustyinkpages @the-snake-pit @yesv01

First of fucking all

Match made in heaven

On your first day of school at Crossland you turned a whole lot of heads 

You figure you should make a statement and decide to channel your idol, Elle Woods

You show up to school in a pink mini skirt blazer set, a little halter top with a heart cut out, and matching pink heels

You’re obviously rocking your signature scent, strawberry pound cake body spray and matching strawberry fizz flavored lip gloss

You did a mani pedi and a facial over the weekend to destress 

You walk in quickly to avoid the people that are staring at you for some reason, unintentionally strutting through the halls in a way that appears totally confident 

You reach the office to get your schedule and tuck it into your heart shaped bag along with your sunglasses 

You make sure to smile and be extra friendly with all the teachers and administrative staff, and in every class where you have to introduce yourself over and over, you try to project what you hope is an approachable friendliness 

People were already starting to whisper about the living barbie doll that just showed up out of nowhere, and these whispers reached none other than Heather Hills

She grabs Madison and tries to hunt you down

To confront you for trying to steal her place as the prettiest most popular girl there

Before she can threaten you, you’re asking her where the good boutiques in town are

You have such a unique, sunshiney charm that she totally forgets what she came to talk to you about

Before she knows it, you and her and Madison have plans to go shopping this weekend

You praise yourself for making a couple friends on the first day, not realizing you accidentally waltzed your way into the elusive popular girl clique 

By the end of the day, you have entirely by accident established yourself as queen bee of the school

As time goes on, you’re relieved that at least some of the people at Crossland are so friendly

Sometimes people say hi to you, and you always reply with a smile or wave or hi back

But a lot of the time people just stare at you

You’re somewhat used to it since not a lot of people wear nearly as much pink as you do

Or glitter

Or use a fuzzy pink strawberry scented glitter gel pen for all their homework

So you try to chalk it up to that 

As the days go on, everyone thinks they know exactly what to expect from you

You’re like Heather 2.0, just a little nicer 

Which is almost worse

When Heather is mean to everyone she doesn’t like (which is almost everyone) at least they have a reason to hate her

But you??

You’re so elusive 

You don’t have a ton of friends, you don’t go out of your way to go party unless Heather and Madison drag you there

But what’s weird is that you’ve turned down every guy who’s actually worked up the courage to ask you out

Every single guy at crossland wants to ask you out

But when the captain of the football team 

And the quarterback 

And the hottest guy in your grade all asked you out

And the whole school watched you politely turn them down one after the other

No one else thought they stood a chance

Heather and Madison think you’re crazy for turning them down

“I just… I’m not really into guys like that.” you say dismissively

“Hot jocks?” Heather demands

You would have said the type of guys who’d have bullied you in middle school, but now doesn’t seem like the right time to bring that up

“Yeah.” you agree, and eventually they stop pressing you

Your status of queen bee is even more solidified by the rumors rampantly spreading that not only are you unimaginably hot

But you’re also impossible to date

This becomes common knowledge after a while

Until one day when you’re running late to school

Heather’s still complaining about having to turn around and pick up her sister

“I mean, you were the one who forgot her at your house…” Madison starts, piping down fast when Heather glares at her

As you all get out of her convertible, tires screech behind you

A beat up white van with spray paint writing on the side parks haphazardly next to the curb

Muffled guitar and drums blast out of the car speakers, and as the driver opens the door, you recognize it as green day

Your eyes widen, and you lag behind to try and get a look at the driver

Heather’s ranting about something, and Madison grabs your arm, pulling you along as you watch the driver stumble out and trip on the curb

He has messy black hair, eyeliner, and he’s wearing a well loved ramones shirt

As if that wasn’t enough, he shoves the drumsticks he’s holding into his back pocket, poking out awkwardly 

“Who is that?” you ask

Heather and Madison whip around, ecstatic that you finally found someone at school you think is hot

They scan the scattered crowd of other late students trying to make it inside before first bell

“Who?” Heather demands, looking straight past the guy at the captain of the football team who you’d turned down for the fourth time earlier this week. “Brent? You know Brent.” 

A twinge of jealousy flashing through her voice as she finishes, desperate for more information

“No,” you say, pointing. “The guy who looks like Billie Joe Armstrong.”

“Who?” they both demand, still looking right past him

“Black hair, black shirt…”

Finally they see him

“Heffley??” Heather demands, holding back a gag at his name. “No, no, no. Not him, anyone but him.” 

She shudders, pushing past both of you to go inside

You’re stuck in place, watching him greet his friends and laugh loudly as they shove each other hello

Madison leans in close

“That’s Rodrick. His god awful band ruined Heather’s sweet 16 and she’s still pissed about it. Going near him is social suicide.” 

It suddenly makes sense that you haven’t bumped into the only hot guy at school yet

If you’re always with Heather and Heather avoids him like the plague… 

Madison drags you inside, and you’re already trying to figure out a way to talk to him

Just because you didn’t know Rodrick exited before now, doesn’t mean he hasn’t been drooling over you since you showed up at Crossland

“Uh, dude… was she just staring at you?” Ward says once Madison finally drags you inside, forcing you to break your unwavering stare you had locked on Rodrick 

He turns around quickly, looking for a more logical explanation for you looking in his direction as some football players walk past 

“She must have been looking at Brent.” he decides

“No dude,” Ben punches his arm, “she was totally making eyes at you.” 

They all laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement as he drags himself to his first class of the day

He can’t focus even more than usual

Were you staring at him? Making eyes at him like Ben had said?

He stares at the back of your head in all your shared classes, which is a lot of them, just like he always does 

And just like always, his mind starts to wander

Of course he’s down stupid bad for you, he doesn’t know anyone that’s not

He wonders what you smell like, what you look like up close

He wonders what your hands would feel like on his body, if you’d drag your pretty manicured nails across his skin

He imagines kissing you in such vivid detail it feels real for a few moments

Then he starts to wonder what you’d taste like 

Probably bubblegum, you usually chew it between periods when you won’t get in trouble for it

He wonders if your lip gloss is flavored

God, since the first day you showed up in this shithole he’s been thinking about you

He’s had countless dreams about you to

He always goes right back to sleep hoping he can see you again, feel your body against his, feel your lips on his skin one more time

He knows it’s hopeless, knows that even if you’ve seen him around and are vaguely aware of his existence, you don’t know his name

And why would you want to??

He’s such a teenage dirtbag he practically has rights to the song

Plus Brent is still determined to get you to go out with him

He considers himself your boyfriend already and has been threatening anyone who stares at you more than normal

Even if he could get past Brent and his own debilitating self doubt and low self esteem, you’re with Heather and Madison constantly, who still think he’s worse than mold after the incident and Heather’s sweet 16

You’re literally untouchable 

Even still, he doesn’t think he’s ever had a crush this bad

Not even back when he liked Heather

The only way he can get through classes is by spacing out the whole time (his teachers expect nothing less of course) and imagining you marching right up to him and sitting on his lap to make out with him

The only notes he takes anymore are scribbled song lyrics about you until his hand cramps up and he gets one of those nausea headache he gets from trying to write or read too much 

He thinks about you so much

It’s getting to the point where he’s thinking about you all the time

And he has absolutely no idea what to do about it

Because he doesn’t stand a chance

There’s no way in hell he could approach you, much less get you to go out with him

Plus you’ve literally turned down every guy that’s asked you out this year

Why would you want to go out with him???

Heather and Madison are wondering the same thing

You could easily pull anyone in this entire school

And now you’re making eyes at Heffley out of nowhere????

It doesn’t make sense 

They can’t pay attention for the rest of the day

Neither can you

You spend the entire day trying to figure out how to talk to him (you could just walk over to him)

How to get his attention (you already have it)

How to set up the perfect scenario to make him fall for you (he fell hard and fast long before now and has not recovered)

A party

You have to throw a party and get his band to play

Then you can corner him after the show to buy a cd and see if you can get it to go somewhere

It’s perfect

Plus Heather’s been telling you that you should throw at least one party before the school year is over

You tell Heather you want to throw a party this weekend

She’s ecstatic, thinking you’re finally moving on to something better to focus on

She and Madison are so busy helping you get everything ready they don’t notice you staring at Rodrick in the halls every chance you get and never managing to get him to look over at you

You’re so busy throwing an elaborate rager of a party to try and seduce him like Jay Gatsby that you don’t notice him staring at you when you’re not looking too

You can’t let anything ruin your chance with Rodrick 

Nothing can possibly go wrong

So when Brent asks you out again at lunch you turn him down more definitively than you have before

You tell him you’re just not into him like that, and to please stop asking you out

He’s never had someone tell him that they’re not attracted to him and want nothing to do with him 

It was definitely a much needed blow to his self esteem

Rumors that you broke up with Brent (even though you weren’t dating in the first place) spread like wildfire 

So after school when you manage to slip away from Heather and Madison for long enough to approach Rodrick and ask him and his band to play at your party this weekend 

It feels like a fucking dream

Not only do they have a gig

But it’s at your party???? 

It feels fake

It feels like something his touch starved hormonal brain would concoct to distract him from what he should be thinking about

They start trying to figure out sets and extra practice time before your party

And Ben insists the whole time that you were making eyes at him

Except this time Rodrick kind of believes him

There’s no way this means he has a chance with you, right??

He watches you walk away

And as you walk away, you let out an excited suppressed giggle that you actually talked to him

You’re still flustered and blushing under all your makeup, fanning your warm face as you hop into the passenger seat of Heathers convertible 

“What’s up with you?” she asks, noticing your distracted state

“I’m just… really excited for this party.” you smile, biting your lip

You don’t think about a thing other than him for the rest of the day

You decide this party really cannot come soon enough

If you play your cards right

You might even get him to like you back

You ruminate on this as you start picking out an outfit - in your signature pink, of course - completely unaware that Rodrick is already rehearsing for your party

And thinking about you just as much

[kassiekole22]

These just feel so right!!!!

Josh hcs :)

Requested by: @rosettaserves Happy birthday :)

• Half-canadian.

• He has a horrible relationship with his father. He hates that he never considered him his son no matter how hard he tried.

• He wanted to be a film producer, but his father completely crushed his dream by telling him that he wasn't good enough for it. He ended up giving up but making films is still his hobby.

• He's a gifted kid and the one who noticed that was his paternal grandfather. One day, when Josh was like 4 or so, they went to his house and his grandpa had a broken watch that he couldn't repair, so he took it and did it for him. When his grandpa told his father, Bob was like "nah, he's just silly, there's no way he's that smart" and completely ignored it.

• He was really popular in high school and really liked partying, but was a bit of a loner at the same time. There were times when he totally disappeared (even from school) and no one (except the twins) knew abt him for a month or so.

• He has no shame, he has never really cared abt people's opinions and tries to make his loved ones realize that people aren't that important.

• His parents don't believe in mental illnesses and only agreed to take him to a psychiatrist when a teacher from his school realized abt his sh.

• Cuts, and really bad.

• Even with depression, he was an amazing older brother.

• Doesn't believe in God, he used to, but after his parents sent him to a "pastoral well-being center" he started feeling like it was some kind of cult.

• He's really good at drawing and has multiple notebooks with drawings of the people he cares abt the most (Chris, the twins and Sam)

• Sells weed. No explanation for that.

• A few years after he got diagnosed with depression, he started doing boxing so that he would feel less stressed, but ended up liking it.

• He raised his siblings by himself bc their parents were almost never at their house, so he knows how to do a lot of things (cooking, repairing random things, making hairstyles...)

• The only times when the whole family was together was when they went to blackwood.

• Despite being rich, he worked a lot and at a lot of jobs (as a barista, as a warehouse porter...) bc he needs to be constantly doing things.

• Josh relates a lot to Hannah bc when he was little he used to be very sensitive and naive, but his father made him "grew up of it" in a harsh way, so he tries to teach her the same but in a nicer and more comforting way.

• Smokes a lot and has problems with alcohol, but doesn't care abt it bc he says that it's balanced with his healthy lifestyle.

• He's a big gossiper to the point where he made some fake accounts to stalk people.

• He has two cats that weren't actually for him. For his sisters' birthday, their parents bought them (and I mean bought, not adopt) two cats, one of them black and the other ginger. But they ended up liking Josh more and they don't let anyone touch them except Josh.

• He is forever scared of dogs bc one bit him when he was little.

• Whenever he is with another person and they're near to the road, he holds that person's hand bc it is a force of habit (his sisters ran around a lot)

• He spends the whole night googling up some weird shit so he knows a lot of random facts.

• He probably got into the deep web when he was really little bc his parents wouldn't control what he was watching.

• When they we're 16 and 17, he traumatized Sam bc he sent her by accident a gore video related to how meat is made or smth like that. From that moment on, she couldn't even smell meat without feeling dizzy (and she became vegan)

• Speaking of Sam, they never really talked until they were 11-12 (even though they met each other in 1st grade) but ended up being best friends.

• He started liking Sam at 14 but has a way to show it that really confuses her (she can't tell if he likes her or not)

• Josh loves games with a storyline, especially the choice ones bc he likes to see the way that an insignificant thing can change someone's path completely.

• Has made lots of manual things for his sisters (toys, shelves and even a mf wardrobe once) Hannah and Beth just stare while he's doing everything and end up gossiping together.

• Beth and Josh had a friendly rivalry bc the both of them had a crush on Sam, but the both of them would've been happy if the other ended up dating her.

• If someone hurts any of his loved ones (either his sisters or his two best friends) he will always seek the most painful and humiliating revenge that the person can get, and you'll never know when he's gonna do it.

• Makes tapes of everything and he has a huge amount of cameras (all of them with full storage)

I feel like this is a crazy amount of hcs but I hope u liked it :)

[arlana-likes-to-write]

hello!!

tw drugs??

i have no idea if you take request for Natasha and daughter reader, but if you do, would you be willing to write about nat finding out the drugs addiction of reader and like the angst of a mother and then like happy ending where nat obviously helps reader to be clean again?

Leave a Light On

Warning: mention of death, past of abuse in the Red Room, substance abuse (drugs, alcohol), laced, drug buying, hallucinations, fighting, physical injuries,

Relationships: Natasha x reader (platonic), Natasha x Maria

Word Count: 4.1K

“Parker,” the boy jumped almost 10 feet in the air at Natasha’s voice. The Black Widow felt terrible for scaring the teen, but your absence worried her more. “Where’s my kid?” He looked at Ned and MJ, a confused expression on his face. As the seconds ticked by, her heart started to beat rapidly. The sound echoed in her ears.

“She’s not with us, Miss. Romanoff,” Peter said. “She said she couldn’t hang out because she was working on a school project.” MJ nodded.

“We haven’t hung out with her outside of school lately,” she said. The Black nodded, thanked the kids, and left them. There wasn’t much she could get out of them regarding your whereabouts. She needed to find you. The lies were stacking up.

I’ll be with Peter. I’m not hungry; I ate before. I’m sorry I’m late; I had to stay after school. Nat, I’m tired. I’m going to turn in early.

Natasha knew it was going to be difficult. She adopted you when she and her sister brought down the Red Room. You were so young when Natasha found you in a room. You looked so small. At that moment, Natasha wasn’t going to let you go.

The Black Widow found Tony in his lap. She grabbed the table from him and threw it onto the couch. “You know normal people say hello when they enter a room.”

“I need you to find my daughter,” he sat up in his chair. “Trace her phone, hack street cameras, anything. Just find her,” she pleaded. Tony nodded without a second thought. Natasha hated showing any weakness and hated asking for help of any kind, but she would do anything to find you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The bass of the music was rattling your bones. The apartment was loud, sweaty, and overcrowded, but you never felt more alive. It reeked of alcohol, weed, and sex. As you stumbled through the party. People’s hands touched your body. Somehow, you got to the small kitchen and found your friend who brought you to this party. She was a sophomore in college, and right now, she had her tongue down some guy’s throat. You laughed and took the spoon out of the juice to fill your cup. Before you could sip the juice, a small shot glass was pushed into your free hand. “Take the shot, Tiny,” Heather yelled in your ear. You smiled at your friend and took the shot. It went down smoothly, and you chased it with your mixed drink. Everyone called you Tiny, from the Avengers, your friends at school, and the people you got high with. It was due to your small stature that kept you alive in the Red Room.

That place haunted your mind and body. There was no peace from the horrors you faced. The only time you felt at peace was when a strong drink was in your hand or a pill that would dissolve on your tongue.

“Here,” the guy Heather was kissing handed you a pill. It was light blue. “Take it,” he encouraged. There was no need for peer pressure. You took it. It tasted like blueberry as it dissolved on your tongue. You were ready for a fun night.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You were alone. Somehow, you managed to leave the packed apartment and walk down the stairs. You sat there with your head on the wall while others came and went. No one stopped to see if you were okay. You weren’t. Your head was spinning, and there were a few missing memories. You had a shot, the pill you were given, and your first drink. You weren’t sure what you had after that. You were playing with a ring that rested on your right ring finger. It was a gift from Yelena. A ring that acted as a fidget toy. You could still hear the music from the apartment, but you sang your song.

“Poust vzegda boudyit solnse…” your voice slurred. It was the only light in the Red Room. You remembered your biological mother singing it to you as she held you close. Her soft voice covered the sound of gunshots and screams. Fuck the Red Room. Fuck that miserable place that broke you. Fuck Dreykov. Fuck it. Fuck all of it.

“Dorogoy,” you slowly raised your head. Eyes squinting at the person in front of you. Something was wrong. The stairwell you sat on felt too small - the walls were moving closer and closer to you. You tried to focus on the pattern on the wallpaper - a floral print but the flowers were moving, too. No, they weren’t just moving but blooming, stretching, and twisting, and the petals drifted towards you.

“Tiny,” that voice again called out. You knew that vice. That voice called so much pain and suffering. The voice robbed you and so many girls of their childhood. A hand touched your shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you slapped the hand away and rushed to your feet. It took a moment for your feet to figure out what you wanted them to do. You stumbled your way down the last few steps and outside. The clear air helped clear your mind. You put your hood up and walked down the sidewalk. Glancing behind your shoulder, there was a car following you. They were going to bring you back. You could hear footsteps behind you.

It was a bad idea to quicken your pace. The mix of drugs and alcohol messed with your coordination. You stumbled, catching yourself on your palms. The pain moved through your arms. Again, you felt hands on you. “Net, net, otoydi (no, no, get off),” you yelled and tried to fight the hands off you. You couldn’t go back there. It would kill you.

“Hey,” the voice was quiet, and the hands left you. “Stop, you are going to hurt yourself.” The world around you started to spin. You couldn’t figure out which way was up or down. Bile began to form in your throat, and you rolled over to your side, throwing up the alcohol in your stomach. Your limbs felt heavy, and you were too weak to stop the hands carefully picking you up. “Poust vzegda boudyit solnse…” the voice whispered. Your head fell heavily against the person’s shoulder, and you drifted asleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When you came to, there was a pounding in your head. Your mouth was dry, and it tasted like the drinks you had the night before. You groaned, and your stomach flipped. “Sweetheart,” Natasha’s voice echoed. Can you open your eyes for me?”

“No,” you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Why is that?” Her voice was soft and loving.

“I’m going to throw up,” Saliva pooled in your mouth. You heard movement and felt something placed on your lap.

“If you are going to be sick, it’s okay,” she ran her through your hair. You shook your head, which was a mistake as your stomach worsened. Being sick was a weakness. You weren’t weak. You were strong. “Come on, Tiny, if it will make you feel better, it’s okay.” You opened your eyes, grabbed the metal bowl, and threw up the contents of your stomach. Natasha robbed soothing circles on your back as you were sick. You slumped back once you were done, all your energy drained from your body.

“That’s probably not the last time you’ll be sick,” you weren’t sure when Helen opened the door and entered. “Your body is trying to expel the laced drugs in your system,” Laced? No, that was impossible. Heather won’t let you take something that was laced. “Do you want me to go over the damage you caused from what you took?” You’ve never seen her this angry at you. When you were first brought to the Tower, she had to give you a health exam. Her touch was so gentle, something you weren’t used to. “You’ll have to go to a rehab program.” It was like ice was injected into your veins. Going to a rehab program meant you had a problem. You were fine. You could stop if you wanted.

“I don’t need rehab,” you told the doctor. “It was a one-off. I’m fine.”

“Helen,” Natasha cut off the doctor before she could say more. “Can you give us a second?” Helen looked between you and the Black Widow. She nodded and closed the door behind her.

“I’m fine, Nat,” you said, playing with the blanket threads. You used it for movie nights and random hangouts around the Tower, a checked pattern of greens and blues. “It won’t happen again.” You saw her nod out of the corner of your eye.

“I believe you,” you slowly looked at her. She was smiling, a kind and bright smile that reminded you of when she saved you from the Red Room. The sirens were blaring, explosions rocked around you, and you smelt of death, but her smile as she held you close made you feel safe. “But if you lose your way, I’ll leave the light on.” You forced a smile.

When you first arrived at the Tower, you were terrified of everyone and everything. The only source of comfort was a small lighthouse nightlight that Natasha had. She gave it to you, and she learned that when you had it on, you needed her—you needed her to keep you safe. As you got used to living out of the Red Room control, you gave it back to her. She kept the light on, a reminder that she was always there.

“Okay,” you said. But you were okay. You had it under control.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You lasted five days, clean of everything, even coffee, but the withdrawal was killing you. You were exhausted, snapped at everyone, and your body hurt. So, you gave in to the things that you knew would help. You bought a pack of cigarettes from Heather. Those helped to get you to 7 days. Until the nicotine couldn’t stop the shakes, you brought a gram of weed from Tyler, your dealer. That got you to 10 days. On the 11th day, you were desperate for it all to stop. Even when you managed to sleep, your mind created nightmares after nightmares. They made you relive your biological mother’s murder over and over again.

You bought something more substantial from Tyler and took it while you walked around the park. When the high hit and you walked back into the Tower, you saw Yelena going through the fridge. Dammit. You wanted to grab a snack and hide in your room until you were sober enough to be around people. “Tiny,” the blonde said. “I am going to make mac and cheese. Do you want some?” You were starving, but it was a bad idea to stay here. However, if you went to your room, it would look more suspicious. Without a word, you sat down at the kitchen island. “How was your day?” Her back was to you when she asked.

“Good,” you said. “We went for a walk,” Yelena placed a bowl before you. It took everything in you not to start giggling, even when you picked up the fork and mixed the hot sauce in the noodles. As you slowly ate, you felt Yelena’s eyes on you.

“Are you high?” She asked. You shook your head.

“Just high on life,” you laughed at your dumb joke. Yelena narrowed her eyes at you. “Damn tough, crowd,” you mumbled and slid off the chair to bring the rest of your food to your room.

“Tiny, get back here and tell me the truth.”

“You aren’t my mom,” you said.

“Then I’ll tell Natasha.”

“She isn’t my fucking mother either,” you regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. Yelena grabbed your shoulder to stop you. It happened on instinct, you dropped your bowl and spun around. You grabbed onto Yelena’s wrist. You only let her go when she yelped in pain. The sound broke through the drug-induced haze in your mind. You dropped her hand.

With wide eyes and your heart beating, you stared at Yelena, who held onto her wrist. You were a monster, just like Dreykov said, just like your mother called you. “It’s okay, Tiny,” Yelena said. “I should not have grabbed you,” you saw the grimace of pain on her face. So you ran. You ran to your room and ignored the call of your name. The drugs in your system made your head feel fuzzy, and you stumbled a few times, but you made it. Slamming the door closed, you locked it and moved your dresser to block yourself in.

You stumbled onto your bed and heard knocking on the door. “Dorogoy,” it was Natasha. “Can you let me in?” You stayed frozen. “I’m not upset, no one is, but I need to know you are safe.”

“I am,” you managed to call out, wanting to give her some peace of mind. “I can’t open the door, Nat. I need a minute.” You heard her sigh.

“Okay, Yelena is fine, and I’m here for you. The light is always on.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You stayed in your room until you knew everyone was asleep. Your stomach ached with hunger, and you were thirsty. The last time you ate was yesterday. You put your dresser back and carefully unlocked the door. You walked into the kitchen on quiet feet but froze when you heard voices. Someone was softly crying, and the other was trying to soothe them. You peeked around the corner and saw it was Maria and Natasha. The Black Widow was the one crying. You pressed your back against the wall and strained your ears.

“Baby, you have to breathe,” you heard Maria say. The relationship between the two was relatively new. It’s so new that Natasha hadn’t told you about it. You only knew that you caught them one night when you snuck back into the Tower after a party. “I know it hurts, but you will make yourself sick.”

“I don’t know how to help her,” Natasha’s voice shook at each word. “I feel the trouble coursing through her veins, but it’s got a hold on her,” you leaned against the wall and closed your eyes. “I can’t lose her. I don’t know what to do,” Maria sighed, and you waited with batted breath and wondered what she would say.

“You can’t help her if she isn’t willing to accept the help,” Maria softly spoke.

“It’s gonna kill her, Ria,” it felt like a snake wrapped around your lungs and squeezed tight. It was impossible to breathe. Even though you were in such a massive space as the Avenger Tower, you felt small. Once again, you ran back to your room to grab your wallet and took the stairs to the back exit of the Tower.

You weren’t sure where you were going. Each step felt heavy with guilt. “Hey, kid,” you looked at a man standing in an alley’s opening. “Want any?” He had a small baggie of pills. Without much thought, you handed him money and took the pills from him.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, walking with your hands in your pockets. If your mind wasn’t on a downward spiral, you knew buying from a random city corner was a bad idea. The pills looked sketchy, and a nagging feeling formed in the back of your skull. You walked down the sidewalk with the pills in your pocket, not able to take them, and stopped at a pay phone.

Fishing some quarters out of your wallet, you dialed Natasha’s phone number by memory and listened to it ring. “Hello?” She answered on the third ring. You were silent. “Who is this?” Even over the phone, you could tell she was still crying.

“Nat,” you answered.

“Hey Tiny, where are you?” You looked at the street corner and rattled off the closest intersection. “Are you on anything?” You closed your eyes and shook your head.

“Just the stuff from this afternoon,” you admitted. “I uh bought stuff, but I haven’t taken it.”

“What do you need?” It felt like the first person to ask you. Everyone thought they knew what you needed; no one asked what you wanted.

“You,” you answered. “Can you pick me up?” You heard her sigh in relief.

“Of course. I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you,” you whispered and hung up. You put your hood up as you felt the first drop of rain. It felt therapeutic as the rain began to pick up, and you waited at the corner for Natasha. Your mind was your worst enemy. Part of you wondered if she could come from you. Maybe you were more trouble than you were worth. You heavily considered taking the pills in your pocket.

But the rain silenced everything. The rain was steady, creating a soothing white noise that confronted you. The drum-like patter of the droplets hitting the roof calmed your racing mind. The water that hit the windows made a rhythmic beat. You loved the sound of cars splashing through the puddles. Your clothes stuck to your skin, and your hair was a mess. Still, you felt at peace. “Sweetheart,” you opened your eyes and saw Natasha standing before you with an umbrella. “Hi.”

She came when you called, and you pulled her into a hug. The hug was bone-crushing, and Natasha hugged you just as tight.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When Natasha’s clothes were drenched like yours, you got into the passenger side, and the Black Widow ran to the driver’s side. She let out a sigh. “I didn’t expect the rain,” she said. “Or I’d bring towels.” You smiled and watched the rain run down the glass. “Do you want to go back to the tower?” She asked.

“I like the rain,” you answered instead. “For once, my mind was quiet,” Natasha said, starting the car and driving. “Where are we going?”

“Trust me,” you nodded. She drove in silence; the only sounds were the rain and the music on the radio. You leaned your head on the window and watched the rain. You picked some droplets, and they raced down the glass.

Finally, Natasha parked in front of an apartment building. “Why are we here?”

“Maria owns an apartment here,” Natasha unbuckled her seat belt. “She likes to have a place away from the craziness.” She turned off the car. “Follow me,” you exited the car and entered the complex. Natasha waved at the doorman and went straight to the elevator. You entered, and the Black Widow pressed the button on the roof. You began to hum the lullaby that your biological mother used to sing. It helped fill the silence. When the doors opened, Natasha grabbed your hand and pulled you to a small covering.

The metal roof over your head protected you from the rain, but it amplified the sound. It echoed slightly, which made it more intense and filled the space with a rich, immersive sound. You closed your eyes and allowed the sound to engulf you. Without opening your eyes, you put your hand in your pocket and handed the colorful pills to Natasha. You felt her take them. “Is Yelena okay?” you finally asked.

“Yeah, she is. Her wrist is just bruised. She’ll be fine tomorrow,” you nodded and opened your eyes, looking down at your feet. A pool of water started to form. “Tell me what’s happening, what’s been on your mind? Lately, you’ve been searching for a darker place to hide and that’s alright,” you looked at Natasha. “But if you carry on abusing, you’ll be robbed from us,” you licked your lips.

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “I’m so scared, Nat because the drugs silence his voice.” You knew she knew who you were talking to without saying his name.

“I know, baby girl, it’s so hard,” she took a few steps to get close to you. “You’ve been so strong, and you can move forward without that stuff.” You weren’t sure if you could. You relied so heavily on it.

“I need help. I can’t do this alone.”

“You aren’t alone. I’m here. I’m right here,” she said as she pulled you into her arms. Your body shook against hers as tears ran down your cheeks.

“I’m scared, mama. I’m so scared,” you whimpered. You were terrified, but you felt somewhat safe in her arms.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

3 Months

Your entire body hurt. There was a pounding in your head; the metallic taste of your blood filled your mouth, and you rested your head on the cool metal of the elevator. Groaning when the elevator stopped and you had to face the music. Your hood was up, and you stepped onto the floor. Glancing up slightly, you saw Maria in the kitchen. At least it wasn’t Natasha. Quietly, you walked to your room. “Hi, Tiny,” you groaned and stopped.

“Hi, Maria. I’m going to go to my room. I have a ton of homework,” you kept your head down.

“Why don’t you have something to eat before you start?”

“Not hungry” was the wrong answer. “I had a late lunch.” It was a half-life. You ate late because you were working on an assignment and hungry. But you needed to clean your face and put on makeup to cover the bruises.

“You know the rules, kid, you need to eat as soon as you get home from school,” God, you hated that rule right now. Bruce and Helen were worried about your weight while going through rehab. So after school, you had to eat a little snack. “Let me make you something,” you knew you weren’t winning this fight. You sat at the kitchen island with your head down and your bag by your feet. “How was school?”

“Good. I have an essay due at the end of the week,” your lip was aching from the repeated hits to the face. Maria placed a plate in front of you. It was a peanut butter sandwich.

“Kid, can you look at me?” You shook your head. “Come on, Tiny.” Sighing, you put your hood down and looked at her. You knew what she was seeing. Your lip was split. There was swelling around your nose, and the cuts on your cheeks were from the rings on Tyler’s hand.

“Don’t tell, Nat,” you broke the silence.

“FRIDAY inform Natasha she is needed in the med bay,” you groaned as Maria grabbed your hand and dragged you down to see Bruce. It was a blur as you sat on a medical bed, and Bruce cleaned and patched up your face. He determined your nose wasn’t broken, and you refused any pain medication. You were afraid to take any drugs as you were three months clean.

By the time Bruce was done, Natasha ran over to you. “Who did this to you?” she asked, gently cupping your face in her hands.

“You should see the other guy,” it was a poor attempt to joke because you couldn’t fight back. Tyler had some of his guys hold your arms. Maria gave you a pointed look over Natasha’s shoulder. “My old dealer,” you told them. “He’s been upset that I haven’t bought from him.” Natasha’s eyes turned stormy, and the look scared you. Maria took a quiet step closer as she saw the look of fear pass through your eyes.

“Names,” she said. Her voice was cold, and a shiver ran down your spine. It reminded you of orders given in the Red Room. You rattled off Tyler’s name and a few others. “I’ll be back.” Her hands left your face, and you felt cold.

“Mama,” you whimpered, and she stopped at the door. Can you stay? I need you to stay.” Everything hurt, and you were so scared you would use to stop it. Natasha’s face softened, and she walked back over to you. She sat down, and you slumped against her.

“I’ll handle it,” Maria said. She kissed Natasha’s cheek, then the top of your head. “Make sure you eat,” she teased. You nodded with a smile. Bruce came back in to give you ice, which Natasha held against your nose. She moved your hair and ran her fingers through it.

“I’m proud of you, dorogoy,” you hummed in question. “You needed something, and you asked for it.”

“You told me that you’ll leave the light on if I lose my way.”

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 4

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, mentions of drugs, allusions to homophobia

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler

Summary: Steve finds himself yearning for your attention.

Word count: 7k+

A/N: @nemesis729 I had to put in one of your ideas/suggestions! thank you for the inspiration <3

series masterlist

-

Let go. Just let go. Let her go. He has been repeating those words in his head since, well, since he left you. He can’t understand what it is that just pulls him back to you all the time. Whether it’s all in his head or not. He keeps coming back to you and it irritates him because why does this keep happening? 

He left you because he didn’t love you, he left you because he fell in love with her but why isn’t it enough? Why isn’t his love for the other girl enough for him to finally push you out of his mind and out of his life? You seemingly had no problem doing it with him. You pushed him out of your life already so why can’t he do the same? 

The conversation with Billy only left him feeling more irritated. 

Shouldn’t he feel peace, knowing that you aren’t hurting anymore? Shouldn’t he be content with his life now that he finally got what he wanted? 

He doesn’t feel at peace and he doesn’t feel content and it causes anger to rise up in him because why? 

Why, why, why… 

Maybe it’s a good thing that he couldn’t find you anywhere after the conversation with Billy. He looked for you but you were nowhere to be found. He wanted to talk to you about the essay, despite you telling him that you’d call after school. He most certainly would have talked about something else, something that would make things even worse between the two of you. 

The tiny voice in his head that kept telling him to let go, eventually got to him. He gave up on trying to find you and he went to find his girlfriend instead. He took her out for a late lunch at Benny’s Burgers and then brought her to the book shop she loves so much before he ‘begrudgingly’ canceled their movie night– Nancy didn’t seem to mind it that much, saying that she would rather work on her project anyways. After he had dropped her off at her house, he went home, walked into his empty house and waited for your phone call. 

But you never called. 

-

“Is it just me or does Steve seem different?” 

Heather looks at you through the mirror, annoyance flashing in her eyes in an instant at the mention of your ex boyfriend. She lowers the dress that she was holding against her body and sighs. 

“Different how?” She asks as she hangs it back on the rack before she reaches for the purple one, the one you claimed as your favorite. 

You shrug, “I don’t know, it’s just, he seems less– nevermind.” 

Chrissy raises her eyebrows at you, “no, no.. keep going.” 

You blush a little, regretting bringing him up. You look around the bustling store, Heather isn’t the only one looking for a dress for the winter formal next week, a few girls from school are around as well. In fact, Carol Perkins is here too, currently holding up a baby blue dress, just the sight of her makes you want to throw up. 

You never liked her or her boyfriend. Steve had always been friends with Tommy. Carol only came along when she started dating the unfriendly jock. When you had only been friends with Steve, you never hung out with them, you didn’t like them and you didn’t get along with them, not even when you started dating Steve and you were forced to tag along. You always hated the way Steve behaved when he was with them, he always turned into someone else, he let them influence him into doing things that he normally wouldn’t do. They always laughed behind his back, they used him for money and for popularity. You tried showing him that they weren’t real friends but he didn’t believe you or maybe he just didn’t care about what you thought of them. 

She must’ve changed his mind after only one month of dating, he dropped his friends. She got through to him after only one fucking month. 

“He wants to work on the stupid essay with me– he never did that before, he always convinced me to write them for him, even when I wasn’t part of them and now he wants to write it himself and he started reading Pride and Prejudice, willingly!” 

“That’s because he’s already crawling back to you,” Heather mumbles, “they always do that.”

Chrissy nods.

“Not that I’d ever take him back but I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Then what is the case, y/n?” 

You shrug and look down, “I let go of things so I’m not holding onto him or what we used to have if you think that. I don’t want him anymore, not after what he did. It’s just, I’m starting to realize that he truly never loved me. He never changed for me. It’s not that I asked much of him, I just wanted him to drop his toxic friends and for him to start doing better in school so we could go to college together, I just wanted what’s best for him but he never cared about what I wanted. Yet, he cares about what she wants. He dropped his friends for her right away, he started doing better in school for her. That’s what you do when you love someone, you do better for them,” you pause, looking down, you play with the hem of your cheer skirt, “you are willing to change for the right person… So, I guess she is the right one for him. I never was.”

Heather and Chrissy share a look, one of pity. Both girls know that you have let go of your first love but the pain and the heartbreak is still fresh. Steve had always been there, all your life, he had been by your side. He was your friend and then he was more than that, you were hopelessly in love, blinded by it to see how bad he was treating you or how he never even deserved to have a chance with you. 

Neither of them can imagine the pain you are still going through– he was the one for you. 

“I don’t think that she is the right one for him, I think that he’s a blind fool, that’s what he is,” Chrissy says. 

Heather raises her brows, “he’s a real fucking clown, that’s what he is. He dropped the hottest girl there is because he set his eyes on some shiny new toy that’s no one touched before and now he is already crawling back. Not even two months in and he’s already back in your bedroom.”

You scrunch your face up at her words, raising your head, ��don’t say it like that, makes it sound like we hooked up.”

“You wouldn’t, right?” Chrissy asks as she stares at you with big eyes, “h-hook up with him or, I don’t know.. kiss him?”

You instantly shake your head, “no! It’s bad enough that I have to do this stupid assignment with him. I don’t ever want him near me again, King Steve is dead to me– besides, he has her now so..”

“Yeah and he cheated on you with her,” Heather says with disgust in her eyes, “he’ll do it again– or, she will do it.” 

“Oh and she will.” 

At the sound of her voice, you all share a look of annoyance. Heather rolls her eyes, she throws the dress over her forearm, putting her other hand on her hip as she looks at the redhead.

You and Chrissy turn your heads to look at Carol, who as always, is chewing her gum and twirling her hair as her eyes flicker back and forth between the three of you. 

“I’m sorry but who invited you into this conversation?” You ask, giving her a false smile. 

“Oh, I just thought that you’d be interested in hearing about what I had to say but hey–”

“Tell us,” Chrissy says. 

Carol tilts her head, laughing a little. 

The cashier behind the counter raises her head, finally tearing her eyes away from the magazine she’s been staring at for the past forty minutes, she looks between you all, mumbling something under her breath that you can’t make out, the Christmas music is too loud. 

“Nancy has a new friend– Jonathan Byers.” 

“And?” Heather shrugs. 

“Well, they seem to be getting really cozy with each other. She is canceling date nights just to hang out with him and Steve is an idiot, I mean he always was so he is kinda blind to the whole thing but when Tommy made a comment about it, he blew up on us, he left us stranded on some parking lot–”

“We don’t wanna hear your sob story about why King Steve stopped being your friend, Carol.” 

She looks down at you where you are sitting on the couch, eyes flashing with irritation but the grin remains on her lips. 

“Well, all I’m gonna say is, their relationship isn’t going to last. Weirdly enough, she started being a little distant ever since he deflowered her. Wouldn’t it be funny if that’s all she wanted him for?” She giggles, giving you a pitiful look, “for sex? I mean, getting to have your first time with King Steve must be really special, right?” 

Irritation sparks inside of you but you don’t show it. A smile tugs at your lips and you shrug, “not really, Carol. There is nothing special about a man, ever.”

Your friends chuckle at your words. 

Carol lets a small laugh leave her lips, though it’s more sarcastic. 

“So, who knows, maybe she stole him from you to hop on his dick, maybe she has a thing for wanting things that she can’t have– although, she did get what she wanted,” she snorts, “but Nancy’s eyes are on the little freak and his eyes, well,” she pauses, smirking at you as she eyes you up and down, “they are elsewhere too,” she chuckles. 

Carol walks past you and Chrissy, staring at the dress in Heather’s hands, she touches the silk material with her fingertips before she brushes past her. 

“If I were you, I’d get him back, y/n.” 

You want to scoff and roll your eyes but that’s exactly what she wants from you. You tilt your head and raise your brows at her. 

She glances back at you over her shoulder, “I mean, losing your boyfriend to some loser is pathetic, especially for someone like you, y/n. I mean, the queen of Hawkins High losing to some little nerd?” She laughs.

You lean back against the couch and cross your arms over your chest. You couldn’t care less about your stupid title. 

Heather squints her eyes at Carol and steps closer to her, “you know what’s pathetic?” She asks, not giving her the chance to respond, “drooling over some guy who isn’t your boyfriend and walking around trying to stir shit up.” 

“Yeah, she moved on if you haven’t noticed,” Chrissy mumbles from beside you. 

Carol turns around, she looks at you before she eyes your friend, “with who? You?” She laughs. 

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips. The smugness on her face, the everlasting smirk and the amusement in her eyes is so irritating to you. 

You fail to notice the blush on Chrissy’s cheeks or the embarrassment in her eyes. Carol smirks, she notices the look on her face and so does Heather who narrows her eyes, glaring at Carol and eying Chrissy slowly. 

“I know what you are, Chrissy–”

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Heather interrupts her, “go and find yourself a dress, it’ll take you some time,” she says, eyeing the redhead up and down. 

Chrissy squirms in her seat, she begins to twist the ring on her finger. You frown when you notice it, knowing that it’s a nervous habit of hers. Carol’s words confuse you a little but you don’t think too much into them. She leaves after giving all of you her judgmental looks. 

Heather turns back to you both the moment Carol is out of eyesight. Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head, “I swear to god, she is everywhere– are you okay?” She asks you. 

You nod, “yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, plastering a smile on your face. 

Both of them look at you skeptically but instead of questioning you, they quickly change the topic, knowing that you desperately need the distraction. 

“You know what you should do? You should pick out the hottest dress,” Heather smirks as she looks through all the dresses, “show up at the snowball and make him see what he lost.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. 

“Yeah and make him regret everything,” Chrissy smiles, nudging your shoulder.

You giggle, shaking your head, “I don’t even have a date.” 

Heather laughs, waving you off, “I know a few guys who would be happy to take you to the dance.” 

“Yeah, me too..” Chrissy mumbles. 

You shake your head at them and get up, walking towards Heather, you reach for the dress in her hands, “how about we make you two look hot. I don’t feel like going anyways, so…” 

Heather sighs, her shoulders slump, “come on, we’ve been talking about this since the summer.”

“Yeah. We talked about our matching dresses,” Chrissy says as she gets up as well, “we can still find a pretty one for you, y/n.”

“And a date.”

You truthfully don’t care about the dance anymore, you only wanted to go there because of Steve, the thought of him picking out a tie that matches your dress and him inviting you for a slow dance seemed so perfect and romantic for you back then, now it’s just something that no longer matters to you. You don’t feel like going to the dance with someone who couldn’t care less about you and the thought of sitting at a lone table while your friends have the time of their lives makes you want to slam your head against the wall. 

Shaking your head, “no, there’s no one I’d wanna go with.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Heather mumbles as she squints her eyes at you. 

Furrowing your brows, you chuckle, “uh yeah, I am sure.”

Chrissy eyes Heather with a curious expression, “what do you know?”

“Nothing,” you snort, “she knows nothing, Chris.”

Heather smirks. 

“Is this about Billy Hargrove ‘cause if so, ew?” Chrissy mumbles, clearly not liking the idea of you going out with Billy. 

“Not Billy,” she smirks and turns around, “although he did tell me something very interesting,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

Sighing, you turn away from your friends and chuckle, “you didn’t hear anything, Heather.” 

“Oh yeah?” She asks, “and what about the stoner you’ve been hanging out with?” 

Chrissy gasps, “what stoner!” 

“There is no stoner!”

-

Steve’s back aches when he wakes up, a groan falls from his lips, he opens his eyes, feeling a little disoriented when he looks around the living room. He fell asleep on the loveseat his mom always relaxes in when she reads one of her favorite novels. Rubbing his eyes, he frowns a little. Your book is lying on his chest, he must have fallen asleep while reading it– while he was waiting for your phone call. 

The phone call that never came. 

He waited and waited but you never called. Time wouldn’t pass, no matter what he did, it just didn’t pass while he waited for you to call him. Eventually, he reached for the book in his backpack and continued reading it, though his eyes kept straying away to the telephone. 

His thoughts kept going back to you just like they do now. 

What did you do last night? 

Where were you last night? 

Who were you with last night?

Why didn’t you call? 

Using a bookmark, he puts it in between the pages that he has to reread again. He closes it and puts it down. He feels a little irritated. What is this radio silence? You promised to call, you broke it, the promise. You were never one to break promises. 

He canceled his date with Nancy just for you, so you could both work on the essay, together. 

Frowning in annoyance, he walks towards the telephone, grabbing the receiver, he dials your number, still remembering it. But just like he suspected, you don’t pick up the phone. He calls you once, twice and a third time until he finally gives up. 

Why won’t you pick up? 

Sighing, he slams the receiver back into place. He runs his fingers through his messy hair and shakes his head as he makes his way into the kitchen to brew some coffee. His mind is occupied by you. Not her. You are not the girl he should be thinking about. He should be thinking about her, he should be planning a date or think about the right Christmas present he should get her, instead he thinks about you. It’s always you. 

The morning goes by and so does the afternoon. He takes a shower, he cleans his room, he reads, he starts writing the essay, he even cooks and still no call from you. 

By the time the evening rolls around, he is fuming. What is more important than an essay? You were never one to abandon school work, it was always your first priority. What changed?

He grabs his textbook, his coat and his car keys before he makes his way out of the house. Only as he steps out into the cold, does he notice the blanket of white enveloping the streets of Hawkins. Snowflakes are falling from the sky, the silence is almost eerie. 

The snow always reminds him of you, the way he kissed you for the first time after removing the snowflake from your lashes. 

He sighs, shaking the thought of the way your lips felt when they touched his for the very first time. He makes his way towards his car, removing the snow off the windshield before he gets inside. Throwing his textbook on the passenger seat, he rubs his hand together to warm them up a little before he starts his car. 

It’s only a five minute drive to your house, yet, tonight it feels longer than that. He doesn’t know why. 

He parks his car behind yours, which is luckily the only one in your driveway. But the house is dark, no lights are on. He doubts that you are home, he still gets out of his car.  Locking it, he puts the keys in his pocket. The snow crunches beneath his shoes. The cold air stings his cheeks a little. 

He rings your doorbell twice, the way he always used to do. 

You don’t open. 

He knocks and rings the doorbell again. 

Still you don’t open. 

Where are you? 

It’s on Monday when he finally sees you again. You are standing by your car, holding your backpack against your hip, rummaging through it. Your hair keeps falling in front of your face, you are muttering something under your breath. 

Steve approaches you with a frown.

You don’t notice him coming, only as he stops in front of you, accidentally kicking some snow towards you. 

“Where have you been all weekend?!” He asks, throwing his hands up. 

Raising your brows, you stop rummaging through your bag and lift your head to look at him. The stressed expression on his face makes you want to laugh. He has dark circles under his eyes, his hair is a little messy but that might be because of the wind. 

“I’m sorry?” You chuckle. 

His hazel eyes flash with confusion, he shakes his head a little, “where have you been?” 

“How’s that any of your business?” You mumble as you zip your backpack shut and pull the strap over your shoulder, brushing past him, he instantly follows you. 

“I– we were supposed to work together, remember?” He exclaims, staring at you in disbelief, “I waited for you all night on Friday, I showed up on Saturday night and you weren’t there!” 

You notice the curious eyes on you– not his but the ones of the students when you walk into the school with him hot on your heels. 

“I was busy.” 

“With what?” Steve asks, furrowing his brows, “I know school is your first priority, since when do you put anything else before it?” 

You shrug, looking over your shoulder to glance at him, “since I changed my priorities.” 

“And what are those?” 

“Those are none of your business, Steve.”

He follows you to your locker.

“We lost three days, y/n! We could have made some progress!” 

You squint your eyes and turn to look at him, he looks stressed. 

“Do you think I wanna work with you?” You mumble, “I got better things to do.” 

Steve shuts his mouth. Sighing, he leans against the locker next to yours and takes a moment to look at you. You abandoned your cheer uniform yet again. Your hair is open, you are wearing a sweater that looks way too big on you and a plaid skirt. He can smell your perfume, it’s not the same one anymore. 

“Like what? Hanging out with stoners?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“We got five days to work on this stupid essay, I can write it in one day!” You exclaim, not bothering to answer his question that he so desperately wants. 

You don’t look at him directly and you don’t tell him what he wants to hear, yet again. 

“I don’t wanna work on it on the last day!” 

Rolling your eyes, you shut your locker and put your hand on your hip, facing him again. 

“You know what, fine,” you sigh. You narrow your eyes at the redhead who walks past you, already wearing a smug look on her face when she looks between you and Steve. 

“Where do you wanna meet up today?” You ask with a bored expression on your face.

Steve blinks. For a moment, he stays quiet and he looks at you, he looks into your eyes, desperately trying to read them. What happened to you? You don’t seem like yourself, you seem different. He steps closer to you, your perfume isn’t the only thing he smells, there is a hint of smoke and weed lingering. He swallows, concern rushes through him. Your eyes are a little red rimmed, from crying or from smoking weed, he can’t tell. 

A part of him tells him to ask if you are okay, the other part tells him that it’s not his job to ask you this question, not anymore. 

“Hello?” You mumble, waving your hand in front of his face, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Uh, we could meet up at the coffee shop downtown?” He suggests. 

You nod, “yeah, sure. I’ll meet you there after school.” 

You don’t give him the chance to respond, you turn around and walk away before he can even utter a word. Steve frowns as he watches you leave. He might never get used to this, to the cold shoulder you are giving him. It’s been a long time since he had seen a side of you that he used to know, now you just seem like a stranger. You changed, it’s obvious you did. Every smallest thing about you is new to him. 

You used to be on time. Whenever he would pick you up for date nights or for school, you would already sit on your porch steps waiting for him with an excited smile on your face. He was the one who showed up late, now it’s you. 

It’s 5:25 pm when you finally walk into the coffee shop. I’ll meet you after school, you said. School ended two hours ago, he went straight to the coffee shop, he even chose your favorite spot and waited for you as he continually looked down at his watch. 

You look around and he has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes, he is annoyed. When your eyes find him, you take a moment to look at him, he sees the way you look at him, even from afar. You look irritated and annoyed, just like he does, still, you make your way over to him. Pride and Prejudice is lying open on the table, you see the page number; 301. Surprise is what you feel when you stare at the number, you raise your brows. Did he actually read that much? 

“Hi,” you mumble. 

Taking your coat off and scarf off, you throw it on the bench before sliding into the little booth. 

“Yeah, hi,” he mutters angrily, “I waited for you for two hours!” 

Leaning back, you raise your head to look at him. His hazel eyes are filled with anger and annoyance, it’s almost amusing to you. 

“Why?” 

“What do you mean ‘why’?” He exclaims. 

His brows knit together and his cheeks grow red. 

“We didn’t make any plans–”

“You said we’d meet after school, y/n.”

“Yeah but I didn’t say when,” you smile, “I’m here now so relax, Steven.” 

“Where were you?” 

Where were you, Steve? You had asked him this question so many times, yet you never got an answer so why should you give him one? 

“I was busy doing stuff.” 

He opens his mouth to speak but decides against it, he clenches his jaw and turns away from you to look out the window. He deserves it, he knows he does. It had taken him some time to realize some things but ever since Nancy and a couple of kids had stepped into his life, he began to see things a little clearer. He began to realize that he mistreated you, though he is still in denial because the guilt is just too heavy. 

He stood you up. He showed up late. He was awful to you. Now you are doing the same thing to him and he knows he had it coming. Deep down, he knows it. But he feels the ugly burning in his chest, the one he only ever felt when he saw Billy flirting with you or any other guy. 

Where were you? Were you with Billy? With the Stoner?

“Did you actually read it?” 

He turns back to you, you look at him in curiosity. 

“Yeah.” 

“Seriously?” You ask, “301 pages?” 

He nods, “yes.” 

You are genuinely impressed. For someone who always hated reading, he is quick. What did she do to him that you couldn’t?

Giving him a lopsided smile, you raise your brows, “impressive. Do you like it?” 

“Yeah, I mean, there’s some good quotes in there. I just don’t like the slow burn.” 

“Really?” You ask, leaning your elbows on the table, you move closer, “I love the slow burn– what quotes do you like the most?” 

He blinks as he stares at you, this is the first time you talk to him ‘normally’. 

“Uh, I’ve written some down,” he mumbles, squinting his eyes as though he tries to remember, “I think it’s uh – ‘they walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt– a-and… uh–”

“And said, for attention to any other objects.” You mumble, finishing the quote for him. You refuse to look into his eyes but your heart is bleeding in your chest.

“Y-Yeah.” 

“What’s your favorite?” 

“We do not suffer by accident.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath. He can see the way you stare at your hands, awkwardly, avoiding his eyes. The silence between the two of you is loud and awkward. 

“It’s a good one.” 

“Yeah..” 

Steve feels the urge to reach out and take your hands in his, he doesn’t know why. When you look up at him and your eyes lock with his, his heart stops beating for a moment. He can’t read you, not anymore. He knows that you have built up high walls around you, not letting him see you anymore. It bothers him because he wants to see you so badly, he wants to know what you are thinking about, what you are feeling. If you still have feelings for him.. 

“Y/n–”

“I started working on it already!” You interrupt him, “do you wanna read what I have so far?” 

He sighs, shoulder slumping and his expression sinking for a moment. “Y-Yeah, I wanna read it.” 

“Okay,” you whisper as you slide the notebook towards him, “I uh, I’m gonna get myself something to drink.” 

“Yeah sure.”

You push yourself up and smooth down your skirt before you take the first step away from the table. Your emotions are in overdrive, you still feel so much anger for him but deep down, beneath all the layers of anger and pain is the yearning, the longing in your heart that you still feel for him despite the way he treated you.

You preferred the radio silence between you two in those weeks you have pretended that he stopped existing. It was much easier to deal with all of this when you stayed away from him but now you can’t. The thought of spending time with him, every day for the rest of this week makes you want to cry. 

Having to look at him and feel yourself still wanting him, makes you hate yourself. It fuels the anger and worsens the ache in your heart. It makes you want to run away. At one point you even think it’s worth dropping the essay and risking failing the class just because you don’t want to be around him but you would only make things worse for yourself. Steve Harrington isn’t worth the bad grade.  

You make it through the evening, dodging questions that aren’t related to the essay. You continue giving him the cold shoulder, only speaking up when needed. You want this to get over with quickly. 

The next day goes by similarly, Steve asks questions and you stay silent. He tries to find out more about who you spend time with. He asks about Billy and mentions the Stoner, Billy told him about but he gets nothing from you, absolutely nothing. 

Why should you tell him anything?

Why should you tell him who you spend time with? Why should you tell him where you have been all weekend? You don’t owe him anything. He is not a part of your life anymore, yet he keeps acting like he is, he keeps prying and throwing questions at you that he knows he will get no answers to. 

You don’t care how annoyed or frustrated he gets with you, he has no reason to even ask those questions. 

On Wednesday, Steve finds himself in your bedroom again. He is sitting on your carpet, staring at all the chaos in front of him. You kept criticizing his texts, crumbling up all the papers and throwing them on the ground. It’s been hours and hours of writing and rewriting, you barely made any progress. 

Now you are rewriting his part.

The dark denim jacket is still in your room. Maybe it’s just yours. At least he hopes it is. 

“Why don’t you like Mr. Darcy?” You break the silence. 

“He’s arrogant.” 

You snort, “you should meet yourself.” 

A little offended, Steve scrunches his face up, “what is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that you are arrogant and you’re a dick,” you murmur under your breath, thinking that he won’t hear. 

But he did hear, he doesn’t speak up, though. He wants to hear what else you will say about him. After weeks of no reactions, no arguments, no anger directed at him, he is left wondering what you think of him. The past few days you have been calm but the energy surrounding you tonight is tense. 

“You are wealthy and arrogant like Mr. Darcy and you can be condescending sometimes. That’s something I never liked about you, the way you treated people who are less popular and liked than you are. You can be mean.”

“Mean?” He asks. 

You push yourself up on your knees and look down at him, “yeah, you were mean to me.”

He looks up at you, a strand of hair falls in front of his eyes, his lips are set in a frown. He doesn’t look angry or pissed, he looks curious.

“When?” 

You promised yourself that you wouldn’t do this, that you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing him that he got to you, that his actions hurt you. Another part of you doesn’t care, it’s all in the past, you don’t have to show him what you feel now, right? 

“All the time, Steve.” 

His face falls a little, his lips part, he looks like he wants to say something but he can’t form any words, right now. He stares into your eyes, the tugging feeling in his chest returns. The urge to apologize the way he wanted to do two days ago comes back. 

You look at each other for a while. The only sound being the howling wind outside. The music stopped playing a while ago. You watch the way his eyes soften, the way they flash with sadness and regret, it makes your heart hurt. 

Your hand itches to reach out to him, to run your fingers through his hair and smooth it out, to touch his cheek and feel him again. He looks at you differently now. He talks to you differently now and it hurts. 

He is much more gentle and kind. It hurts to know that it’s her whom he changed for.

He grew up with you, he was your friend first, he was your lover first, he was your boyfriend first but you were never good enough for him. You see the way he is with her, even when everyone, including him, thinks that you don’t look at him anymore, you do. You secretly watch him. He touches her gently, he kisses her softly, he stares at her and smiles when she isn’t looking, he kisses her hand and carries her books, he wraps his arms around her waist and he gives her his jacket when she is cold. He loves her, he genuinely loves her.

You wonder if he knows how horrible she is, how cruel her words can be – but then again, his words were just as cruel when he spit them in your face before he shattered your heart into a million pieces. 

Now he looks at you with those eyes that you longed for when he was still yours. Soft eyes. Now, you can’t stand them. You don’t want him to look at you like that. 

You force yourself to look away from him. You stand up and pick up all the papers on your bed, throwing some of them in the trash. 

Steve watches you, not taking his eyes off of you yet. 

“But also, you’re kind of a clown, so you’re very far from being like Mr. Darcy.” 

Steve tilts his head up to look at you with a frown on his face, a laugh tumbles from his lips, “a clown?” 

“Yeah,” you smirk when you notice the offended look on his face, “they call you King Steve but you’re really just a clown who entertains all the girls.” 

“Uh–”

“Really, I know college isn’t on your list of things to do in life but maybe a circus would do for you.” 

“Look who’s being mean now,” he murmurs as he stands up. 

“I’m not being mean, I’m just being honest,” you say, “you’re a clown just like all the other douchebags on the basketball team. Honestly, I don’t know how it just occurred to me that you all look ridiculous running after one ball – but then again, you also do that with everything else in life, you all see one desirable woman and you are all running after her like a hungry pack of wolves.” 

Steve looks a little caught off guard, though he doesn’t look mad, not even in the slightest. If you had said these things to him two months ago, he would have gotten off on you. 

“Yet you still go for clowns like me?” 

You laugh, “oh you admit to being a clown?” 

He rolls his eyes at you. 

“No, I don’t go for clowns like you anymore, Steve. I think I learned my lesson. I’d never do that again.” 

Instantly, his eyes flicker to the denim jacket on your chair. So it certainly isn’t Billy’s. 

“So.. you didn’t sleep with Billy?” 

A look of disgust that you can’t fight off this time crosses your face and you shake your head, “what ever made you think that I want to fuck Billy Hargrove?” You ask. “In what world would I touch that man?” 

“Well, he told me.” 

You snort and shake your head in disbelief. 

“Billy says a lot of things that aren’t true.” Except for the one time he did tell you the truth. 

He won’t argue with that, he knows you’re right. Still, a part of him believed him. 

You walk towards him and bend down to pick up the crumpled paper balls on the ground. You also throw them in the trash. 

“Who’s the stoner you’ve been seeing?” He blurts out as his eyes stick to the jacket again, “is that his jacket?” 

A part of you wants to laugh in amusement, the other part of you is pissed at him for sounding so jealous. If you wouldn’t have figured it out by the tone in his voice, then you would have known by the look on his face. 

You know Steve like the back of your hand. Right now, he is jealous. Why? You have no idea. He never loved you, he never actually wanted you. He wanted to own you and that’s what he still does in his head. That’s why he keeps asking you all these questions, that’s why he lets Billy’s words get to him. That’s why he hates the thought of you being someone else’s.

You walk towards him with a smirk on your face, “none of your business, Harrington.” 

To know that it troubles him so much to the point that his cheeks glow red makes you feel satisfied. 

“Just tell me, please.”

You snort, “no way.”

He steps closer to you and looks down at you with pleading eyes. What the hell? 

“Why should I tell you?” 

“Because I wanna know,” he mumbles. He pokes at your waist, making you flinch. He knows that you are ticklish. He does it again but this time, you grab his finger. 

“Stop that!” 

He uses his other hand, poking the other side of your waist, hard enough for you to giggle. 

“S-Steve, stop!” You snap at him, trying to keep a straight face but when he does it again, you flinch and try to step back but he pulls his finger out of your grip and wraps his arm around your waist to keep you from escaping. 

“I’ll stop when you tell me,” he says. His eyes light up when you giggle again. You squirm in his arms, trying to push him away. 

You don’t know how it happens but for a minute, you get so lost in the moment. For a minute, you forget about everything that had happened, you forget about the heartbreak and the pain that he had put you through, you forget about how he had cheated on you, how he had lied to you, you forget about the things he spit in your face, you forget about how he never loved you. For a minute, you forget it all. 

What starts off with him poking your waist, ends with him tickling your sides and making you giggle and laugh as you step closer and closer to your bed. Steve is chuckling as he holds your squirming body against his. You try to fight him off but he is much stronger than you, you poke his sides but you don’t get much of a reaction out of him, if anything, it makes him hold you even tighter. 

Tears from laughter well up in your eyes, your stomach begins to hurt from it all. As you near the edge of your bed, you stumble backwards when the back of your knees hit the mattress. Instinctively, you hold onto him and pull him down with you. When your back hits the soft cushions and he lands on top of you and you feel his chest pressed against yours for the first time in a while, you know that this should have been the moment for you to snap out of it and push him away but you are still in the bliss of the moment. Right now, you are in the past where things are still good. 

You are still giggling and he is still chuckling. His nose bumps against yours and it only makes you laugh harder as you look into each other’s eyes. He lets go of your waist but he stays on top of you. His heart is racing, you can feel it. 

Yours is racing too – and then, it flutters when his hand reaches out to cup your cheek. His fingertips graze your skin and his eyes roam your face. His other hand, pushes your hair away from your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. Steve is so lost in the moment, he admires you, your pretty eyes, your beautiful face, the feeling of your body against his, the racing of your heart. He finds himself moving closer to you. It only feels right to do it.

There is this feeling between the two of you. Neither of you can describe it but it only makes you yearn for more. It fills you with false hope knowing that it will crush you again, a moment later. 

While his smile lingers, yours falls quickly when you snap out of it and realize what is happening, right now. Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart stops beating and you freeze when you feel his lips brushing against yours.

Everything comes crumbling down, all the walls that you had built around you, all the strength you had found within yourself to push him out of your life, all the peace you have made with living a life without him. 

It all fell down and one minute is all it took.

next part

-

tagging friends and mutuals only

@mysticmunson @screammunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @hellfire--cult @sherrylyn628 @somethingvicked @take-everything-you-can

[toughtinkcosplay]

Adam and Eve…Galatea. Barbie. Frankenstein’s monster with long yellow hair.

Honey and Heather Photo gave me the most exquisite shots from our Alecto photoshoot, aka AL Couture, aka Saltwater Creature. She has. So many names.

This project was also a stash buster, using up 2 existing costumes that had run their course (including my last Alecto look) and a lot of other materials I had collected over the years. There are also 9 skulls hidden throughout this gown. :3

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

Can u write an enemies to lovers fic of Grayson X reader??? Plsss!!

thank you for your request and I apologise for the delay in writing it, my request list has been mountainous for a little while now and this particular fic actually also had lots of rewrites before the final piece. It began as an academic rivals sort of thing, then became family-feud but finally ended with whatever this is. I’m praying you enjoy this 🤍🤍

title: we’re just project partners

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: you’re partnered with the one person you hate to complete a project you love… but what if he’s not as bad as you thought

warnings: swearing, gray-bae is being a nasty little b-word (BUT ITS FOR THE PLOT OKAY)

a/n: I am alive!! It’s just taken me a week and a bit to post again, I’m writing three fics at once so this one just happened to be done first

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I roll my eyes, eyeing the names on the board.

It just has to be him doesn’t it.

“There must be a mistake,” Grayson says. I turn my head to look at him, for once we can agree on something.

“No there is no mistake,” the professor tusks, “class dismissed.”

Everyone gets up and begins to pack their stuff, chatting about the project and their partners and various other things. It sucks when you have no classes with your friends, but it sucks even more when you get partnered with your rival for a project.

I’m about to walk out of the classroom when I hear my name.

“Y/n l/n, come back a moment!”

I stop myself from rolling my eyes, I just want to go home. I spin around and sluggishly walk back to the teacher’s desk where she stands and beside her is the infamous arrogant prat Grayson Hawthorne.

“You have to change it,” Grayson snaps quickly, his voice so insistent, so sharp. I look up to see he’s gesturing to our names beside one another’s. Classic Hawthorne. Thinks he can command people to do whatever he pleases just because he feels entitled enough to do so.

“What you gonna do, bribe her if she says no?” I scoff, arms folded.

They both ignore me but my lip still quirk upwards, proud of the pathetic joke I’d made, even if I was the only one who found it funny.

“There will be no changes Mr Hawthorne,” our professor replies sincerely.

“You don’t understand,” he shakes his head so vigorously I have to bite back a laugh, “I can’t work with her.”

“Well you’re going to have to,” she says, “this is 30% of your grade for the year.”

His eyes widen and he almost looks panicked. Almost. Nevertheless it amuses me to see the stoic, ironclad blonde crack for mere seconds.

“Professor please,” he says so desperately he’s practically begging, which I’d always thought was too beneath him to do, “she’s impossible.”

“I’m impossible?” I raise my eyebrows.

He rolls his eyes and turns back to our teacher, “anyone but her. I’ll do it by myself if I have to.”

“I’ve told you once and I will only repeat myself one more time, there will be no changes made,” she says too calmly, “I don’t see the problem, you are both excellent students with some of the highest marks I’ve seen in my time. You need to get past whatever this little tiff is and move on. Bounce off of each other, enlighten each other, create a show stopping presentation.”

Such a teacher answer to give. Played off to be inspirational, really just a nice way of saying get on with it or you fail.

“On the contrary Miss, I think Hawthorne here is the only one kicking up a fuss, I haven’t uttered a word,” I point out.

“That may be true but don’t you think I can see the vicious looks aimed at both him and me?” she asks, accusation in her tone.

So maybe the dirty looks weren’t as sly as I’d thought them to be. Still, it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie through my teeth, sweetened smile to sugarcoat it further.

“Perhaps it should be discussed in a detention then, I’m free after school tomorrow,” she proposes, her smile even sweeter than mine.

“No, no, that isn’t necessary,” I say quickly, “I’m suddenly horribly aware of the looks I’ve been giving.”

I’m not the kind of girl who gets detentions, actually I’d never gotten one in my life and I didn’t intend to change that. My record was perfect, it was going to stay perfect. My professor, annoyingly, knew that a bit too well.

“Good, I suppose no detention then,” she says, “and what about you Mr Hawthorne, would you like to discuss your stubborn means to switch partners in a detention with me?”

“No thank you,” he grits through his teeth, his jaw nearly set in stone. I fight back a grin at his irritation.

“Challenges are good for the mind,” she smiles, “and I have a feeling you two will very much challenge one another. You once told me you liked a challenge, no?”

“I do,” Grayson nods slowly, then side glances at me, “but not of this kind.”

I think it was meant to be an insult towards me but it was so poor it didn’t even come close to mildly hurting me so I don’t bother to respond.

“Try something new, branch out a little,” our professor shrugs, “and who knows, you may even enjoy each other’s company.”

“That is very optimistic,” I scoff at the same time as Grayson says, “that will never happen.”

“Only time will tell,” she replies with a whimsical look in her eyes, “good luck.”

We exit the classroom in the coldest of silences. Any colder and we would’ve had an ice palace with an interesting rendition of ‘let it go’. I vote Grayson plays Elsa.

He actually barely spares me a glance, with his jaw all clenched and tightened. I wonder at one point if he’s breathing. He’s so tense, the feeling smothers the air around me, suffocating any sense of relaxation. I turn to leave the building.

“Where are we going?” he questions, too assertive for my liking.

“I’m going home,” I tell him bluntly.

He furrows his brows, “why?”

“To get changed,” I deadpan.

“Why?” he repeats. I try to read his emotions but they’re not clear enough to define. He’s accustomed to hiding them.

I stare at him, “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Fine, we’ll meet here in 15 minutes,” he decides.

I don’t reply as I turn on my heels and walk away.

***

After getting changed and piecing together all of the things I might need to study, all my notes and books and highlighters and pens, I walked back over to our ‘meeting place’. As I approach Grayson is already stood there with a sour expression on his face. Of course he’s already there.

“You’re late,” he tells me, his voice so bitter I wonder how many lemons it would take to rival it.

“No I’m exactly on time,” I sneer, flicking my phone in his face.

“It’s been 15 minutes and 43 seconds, so technically you’re 43 seconds late,” he smirks. I almost feel sorry for him because I can see how proud he feels after saying this, sense the smugness burning in his chest.

“Did you count?” I try extremely hard to suppress my laughter.

“Of course not, I wouldn’t waste my breath on that,” he rolls his eyes, then pauses slightly, “… I set a timer.”

“Of course you did,” I purse my lips with a sigh.

His screws his face up, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean you’re a weird person who would time someone going home to get changed,” I shrug, attempting to walk past him.

Talk about being late, when he was the one stood here chattering on about meaningless subjects. He ignores the comment and briskly stands in front of me to block me from walking any further.

“What are you wearing anyway?” he asks, looking down on me with great distaste with all but his eyes.

“Clothes,” I deadpan, staring down at my much loved and slightly over worn band tee-shirt.

“They’re awful,” he tells me bluntly.

“Was that meant to hurt me?” I raise an eyebrow. I mean sure, it hurt a little, but I didn’t actually care what he thought. Or I shouldn’t at least.

“You could’ve picked something a little nicer to wear in public,” he continues, so cut-throat and cold.

I look directly into his mellowed silver eyes and wonder how someone with such soft, inviting eyes could be so sharp and jagged with the words he uses.

“Worried I’ll ruin your street credit,” I tease, “sully your good name with my sports leggings and band t-shirt?”

“I’m just surprised at your lack of care for your appearance,” he replies, a slight discomfort worming its way through his features. It makes me smile a little.

“I just think I’m not as fixated on it as you, I mean what’s with your outfit, James Bond? Do you own anything that’s not a suit and tie,” I ask.

“Matter-o-factly I do,” he replies bluntly as if to end the conversation.

So of course I continue it, “so do you just stare at those clothes then, hanging in your walk in wardrobe.”

His eyes snap up and his stare is suddenly so piercing it hurts to hold eye contact, “how do you know I have a walk in wardrobe,” he practically spits, in a defensive tongue.

I snort, “that was a joke, but yeesh rich boy you’ve got it all.”

“Rich boy, how original,” Grayson comments.

“I’ve got more,” I shoot back with that smile I know makes his blood boil and skin singe.

“Spare me them,” he responds, “sweetheart.”

A forbidden fluttering occurs in the pit of my stomach, it’s as if eight hundred butterflies have decided to dance a jive there. Some feeling between guilt and shame settles in my chest. The word sweetheart shouldn’t make me feel anything, least of all from the mouth of Grayson Hawthorne.

But it was the way he said it, so softly, so smoothly, the word just rolled off of his tongue like he’d called me it for years. It almost sounded nice. The guilt weighs heavier on my chest and I snap out of it. I don’t feel anything. For anyone. Least of all him.

“Awww you’ve got a nickname for me too Goldilocks,” I reply with a laugh to bury the truth.

“Did you not hear the spare me part?” he tusks, beginning to walk.

I shake my head, walking a little faster than usual to keep up with his strides, “sorry I usually don’t listen when someone irrelevant talks.”

He scowls at me and I wink back.

“Did your face get stuck in a permanent scowl as a child or were you just born unhappy?” I cock my head to the side and narrow my eyes.

“Do you ever shut up?” Grayson asks flatly.

“My therapist told me not to hold back,” I shrug.

“Doesn’t that explain a lot,” he says dryly, shooting me a look that makes me feel inferior. I go to bite my tongue, but ask myself when I’m trying to hold back. I don’t owe him anything.

I stare at him, “don’t look so disgusted blondie, just because you’re too up yourself to admit you need help doesn’t mean all of us are.”

“I don’t need help,” Grayson replies, each word candid and dull.

Something in me almost feels sorry for him. Did he really think he didn’t need help? Did he really feel that alone and isolated? I wanted, in that moment, to reach out and be there for him. Then I remember who he is.

“Whatever you say,” I sigh.

“We’re working at my house,” he responds abruptly, as we get to the end of the street.

I fold my arms and raise my eyebrows, “says who?”

“Me,” he shrugs.

“And who are you to tell me where I’m working?” I ask.

“I’m your partner and I’m making a decision,” he presses on, stubbornly. Little does he know, I’m twice as stubborn and I’m not going to back down.

“I don’t think you really understand how this whole project thing works,” I say.

“I’ve done plenty of projects and I can very much assure you, I understand what I’m doing,” he grumbles back, clearly annoyed that he isn’t getting his way this time. Someone has to teach him I suppose.

“Oh great,” I smile sickeningly sweetly, “then we’re not working at yours.”

“Why on earth not?” he screws up his face as if I’ve just told him I want to skin a cat alive.

“I don’t want to,” I reply simply.

“Well I do,” he argues back.

“That’s a shame,” I shrug softly, leaving him with no option.

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his perfect hair, “you are insufferable.”

“That the worst you got Hawthorne?” I giggle a little, turning left to walk down the pathway.

“And impossible,” he says, following me.

“Oh you wound me,” I say hyperbolically, putting I hand in my head and feigning a dizzy spell.

Grayson rolls his eyes, he’s done it so many times now I’m worried they might get stick here soon, “can we just work?”

“Where?” I shoot him a lopsided grin.

He sighs, most likely suppressing some very colourful language, “why don’t you decide seen as my ideas oppose you.”

“Much like your entire personality,” I let him know.

“My personality is fine,” he replies, probably trying to soothe his rapidly declining pride under that suit of his.

“Mhmmm,” I nod sarcastically, “and I have a unicorn that shits cupcakes called Craig.”

“Really?” he wrinkles his nose, “profanities?”

“Oh no is it too beneath the great Grayson Hawthorne to say fuck every now and then,” I laugh.

He tenses and mutters something under his breath. I don’t quite hear the words but you can see he’s fuming. It ignites something in me, a spark. I like seeing him furious. I really like it.

“Where do you want to work?” he asks me, grey eyes a little too distracting for my liking.

“The library,” I tell him, my answer almost immediate.

He tries to mask his horror but fails miserably, “in public?”

“You’re not going to get cholera,” I snort.

“Can’t we just work somewhere nicer,” he complains.

“The library is nice,” I tell him, “and they have a coffee stand outside and I want coffee so that’s where we’re going.”

“And you call me demanding,” he mutters underneath us breath.

***

We walk to the library bickering about how fast he walks and how slow I apparently walk. In my personal opinion I think he was walking fast on purpose, he obviously disagreed.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” I ask him, it now only just dawning on me that he was leading the way yet he didn’t know where the library was.

“I’m not an idiot,” Grayson spits back, nose in the air, posture upright and powerful.

He always carries himself like that as if he’s saviour of the world and we should all bow down to kiss his presumably pedicured feet.

“Are you sure?” I tease him.

“Certain,” he snaps regimentally.

“We’re here,” I say halting conversation to walk up to the coffee stand.

“I knew that,” he mumbled.

He glances at the cart, looking it up and down like it needs to be judged and inspected to his high standards.

“What is this?” he interrogates me.

“It’s called a coffee cart in english but in rich boy it might be called something else, I haven’t studied the language yet,” I respond coolly.

“Is this even safe to drink?” Grayson says, some variant of worry wavering in his tone.

“It’s coffee,” I deadpan, “not raw chicken.”

He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner.

“I like it and I’m getting some,” I tell him bluntly, “you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“No,” he checks his watch, “I need a coffee, this’ll have to do.”

I don’t bother wasting my breath to respond but make a mental note that maybe the Hawthorne wasn’t so different from me, addicted to coffee.

“Hey Jack,” I wave, walking closer to the cart.

I’d known Jack for a good eight years of my life, he was my rock. The smile in endless clouds of grey, the light at the end of the tunnel and of course, most importantly, the coffee provider to my caffeine deprived being.

“Bonsoir sunshine what can I get you,” he grins his usual grin at me, the witty mischief-ridden grin is known since I was nine years old. His eyes slide over Grayson judgementally though when he realises I’m watching him he immediately flicks back to his job.

“The usual of course,” he makes sure.

“You come here often?” Grayson raises an eyebrow, interrupting my answer.

“Just every day,” Jack says, before I can get a word out. I shoot him a look.

Grayson looks at me, “every day?”

“I really like coffee,” I explain with an exaggerated hand gesture.

“Coffee is bad for your health,” he responds almost immediately.

I suppress the hundreds of colourful words exploding in my mind settling for a more well-mannered reply, “well it’s good for my mental stability.”

“She’s addicted now,” Jack adds, “she’ll get withdrawal symptoms without it.”

“Shaking, sweating, you name it, I get it,” I continue.

“That sounds like a serious health condition,” Grayson says, his eyebrows pinching together. It was so soft I could’ve mistakened the expression for concern. But of course, why would he be concerned for me. I must’ve been reading it wrong.

“Hence me buying this coffee,” I tell him.

“Blueberry muffin, on the house,” Jack offers me, as if he didn’t every Friday.

We had a deal, I was allowed to take a free blueberry muffin that came out of his earnings if he kept up to date with his school work. Jack had always had a problem with handing things in on time and concentrating and school wasn’t his strong point. He hated going and was so close to dropping out too many times. That was until I made him stay. I talked him into it and he promises me he doesn’t regret it. It seems this week, he’s turned in all assignments on time.

I smiled, “you mean on the cart?”

“Sure whatever,” he brushes it off, “anything else?”

His eyes dare to skim over Grayson again though he is quick to come back and meet my gaze, his cheeks flush like he’s a child who’s done something wrong.

I turn to Grayson, “what do you want?”

“I’ll pay for myself,” he says shortly, looking slightly offended at my question.

I screw up my nose at him, “I wasn’t going to offer to pay for you asshole.”

“Play nice, sunshine,” Jack teases.

I glare at him and his smile quickly fades.

“You can’t play nice with that,” I glower.

He shoots me a look, the turns to Grayson, “what can I get you sir?”

“It’s not the evening,” Grayson replies.

Jack’s eyes are lost in a blanket of confusion, “sorry?”

“It’s not the evening it’s the afternoon,” he clarifies, as if it made the meaning of his sentence any clearer.

“You’ve lost me sir,” he shakes his head with furrowed brows.

“You said bonsoir but it isn’t the evening,” he chastises, “it’s afternoon and therefore you should’ve said bon après-midi.”

Jack turns to me, bewildered, “is he on drugs?”

“Probably,” I shrug. I wouldn’t be surprised if the rich kid had private access to that sort of stuff, he probably had the lawyers to cover it up as well.

“Are you…” Jack hesitates, “…you know?”

He makes an odd gesture with two fingers as I confuse to stare at him blankly.

“No I don’t know,” I reply.

“Are you with him,” he asks, “romantically.”

I almost choke on my own spit as I bark out a laugh, “oh god no.”

For a fraction of a second a look of relief passes over Jack’s features. Something uninvited tugs at my insides but I quickly ignore it.

“You’d be lucky,” Grayson scoffs.

“Oh he fancies himself,” Jack grins, clearly amused.

“Yeah it’s an ego thing, his is massive,” I explain.

“No it’s not,” the blonde insists.

“In denial as well,” Jack smirks, folding his arms.

“Always,” I say, then turn to Grayson, “now what do you want to drink because if you don’t tell him now I’m taking mine and ditching you.”

“Black coffee, no cream, no sugar,” the answer was instant, rehearsed.

“Ooo you made a hardcore friend,” Jack snickers, I want to slap him.

“We are not friends,” I make clear.

“Yeesh okay,” he raises his eyebrows, lifting his hands up as if he’d been convicted of a crime.

“And let’s be realistic here, rich boy probably has a massive sweet tooth and is too embarrassed to let people know,” I say with a sly smirk.

“Oh one hundred percent!” Jack nods, handing me my cup and muffin.

“I do not,” Grayson mutters, but loudly enough for us both to hear.

“That’s confirmed then,” Jack winks at me.

I giggle as he hands Grayson his drink. We exchange payment and then comes the dreaded point where I actually have to leave to get work done. Usually coming to the library for me was getting to see Jack and getting my coffee, not the actual going to library part.

“See you tomorrow,” I smiled sadly.

“Hopefully without thunder face here,” Jack says.

“I can hear you,” Grayson says curtly, before taking a sip of his coffee.

“I know,” Jack shrugs.

“I hope so too,” I reply to his previous comment, “bye!”

“Bye,” he salutes me as I turn around and begin to walk.

I’m aware that Grayson is by my side but neither of us speak. The only sounds come from our surroundings and the alternating elongated sips of coffee were taking to avoid talking. I practically inhale my muffin, after skipping lunch as school had booked my time table that way.

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” Grayson says suddenly with a sour expression on his face.

“The way he looked at me was none of your business,” I reply sharply, indicating for him to drop the subject unless me wanted a fight.

“Well I didn’t like it,” he continued. Fine, he wants a fight.

“I don’t really care,” I shrug, “he’s Jack, he’s been a friend since freaking kindergarten, he’s got no dishonourable intentions.”

A slight exaggerated lie on my part, but I wasn’t ashamed. It feels like I’ve known Jack that long anyway, the technicalities don’t matter.

“You don’t know that,” he states.

“I know that better than anyone now back off okay?” I snap, “or you and I will have a real problem.”

He laughs, “you’re almost adorable when you’re angry.”

“Adorable?” I say, fantasising spitting in his face after that comment.

“Almost,” he corrects me.

“I can throw a good hard punch and I’m not afraid to,” I warn him.

“Oh I’m sure you’re not,” he says, a ghost of a smile twitching on his lips, “I can see as much in your eyes.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, raising my voice a little.

He stays quiet and averts his eyes, deciding to ignore me a continue walking.

“Oh ignore the question, real mature,” I roll my eyes, “so glad I’m having a proper adult conversation.”

Silence hits again, like a sonic boom of nothingness. He doesn’t even look at me. It’s as if I don’t exist, as if in the last three seconds I’ve become an irrelevant invisible being.

I stop Grayson in his tracks and force him to meet my eyes, “stay away from Jack,” I practically growl, “or I’ll fail this assignment on purpose.”

“We both know you wouldn’t damage your perfectionist reputation for petty revenge,” he murmurs, our faces only inches away from one another’s.

“I have a talent for getting myself out of things,” I cock my head to the side in an art of competition, my cheeks flushing at the realisation that I could feel his warm breath on my face.

“How funny,” he counters, “me too.”

His eyes are narrowed to challenge me. Okay Hawthorne, game on.

***

We’ve been researching for an hour with no further conversation. Since our previous altercation neither one of us had so much as looked up from our laptops. The only reason I knew he was still sat opposite me was the sound of his keyboard typing. I get out my textbook and begin to highlight the lines I need to use

“Why are you using six different highlighters?”

The first thing he says to me in an hour is that? I don’t bother looking up.

“Why do you care?” I ask, my eyes flicking over to my work, my hands continuing to highlight information.

“It’s annoying me,” he shrugs.

“Okay,” I reply slowly, “it sounds like more of a you problem to me.”

I look up. Grayson is staring right at me, his steel eyes cold looking on my face. He opens his mouth to reply but my surprise gets there first.

“You wear glasses?” I gape.

“Seen as I’ve had them on for the last hour that would make sense,” he teases.

“I never see you wear them at school,” I explain.

“That’s because I don’t,” he pauses, “why were you looking at me in school?”

“It was just generally, like I’d waste my time looking at you,” I roll my eyes.

Then catch his for a moment. My head tilts to the side. Something feels off about him. He looks warmer, softer, calmer.

“What?” he asks, clearly annoyed.

“You look weird,” I blurt out before my brain can filter it.

“How lovely of you to say,” he replies dryly.

“You don’t look like you,” I say, “you look more…”

Human. That’s what I want to say but I trail off instead.

“More what?” he prompts.

“It doesn’t matter,” I shake my head, getting back to my book. I can feel his eyes on me.

He stares me down quizzically, like he’s trying to work me out, “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Highlight my textbook in peace? Yeah,” I scoff, “but that’s not really happening anymore.”

“You’re trying to get under my skin,” he seethes.

“By highlighting my book?” I raise my eyebrows.

“In six different colours,” he reminds me, as if I don’t already know.

I sigh, “I dare say that coffee made you even more of a bitch.”

He rolls his eyes, “you really feel the need to use those words?”

“No but I feel the need to punch you,” I retort.

“Well I’m right here, why don’t you?” he challenges.

“Because I have a level of self control,” I shrug gently.

“Are you quite sure?” he asks me.

He doesn’t realise I’m not the kind of girl to question myself just because a man did first. I’m not that kind of girl at all.

“Are you quite finished?” I reply, just a smoothly to mirror him.

“No.”

Our eyes linger on each others and it feels like we share a million unspoken conversation through the patterns of our irises. I’m fixated on him like I’ve been fixated on no other before. It’s not me but that doesn’t make me pull away. His gaze becomes more concentrated, harder to ignore without unwelcome feelings arising so I look back down to my highlighters and pick up for where I left off, except now I had a thumping heart in my chest.

I slide a sweaty palm on my trousers keeping it hidden under the table. I finish up my highlighting and then begin type up the final few notes I have to get done. After that, it’s over. I get to leave, I get my freedom, I get to breathe.

“I’m finished,” he announces when I’m mid sentence. Why is his tone always so articulated, so definitive?

“Okay I’m nearly there,” I say, frantically typing the last of my notes.

“Bit slow,” he comments.

I roll my eyes with no energy to reply. He’s done me in today. I’m exhausted at the thought of more bickering. With a few more clicks of my keyboard I complete all that I wanted to.

“I’m done,” I exhale, “just send me your work so I can proofread and check the facts.”

“You doubt my skill?” he raises an eyebrow.

I shrug, “I don’t know you well enough to trust it.”

“Then send me yours,” he purses his lips, “and I’ll do the same.”

“Okay then,” I say, sending him over my copy slowly.

He opens it and begins to read as I open his. My eyes are just in the middle of the second paragraph when there’s an untimely interrupted.

“It’s a waste of time,” he says suddenly, irritation thick in his tone.

“Not if I find mistakes,” I sing song, not taking my eyes off of his page, knowing full well I’d have to reread this sentence and other four times.

“You won’t,” he snaps.

“Oh take it out!” I exclaim finally, growing too exasperated to keep my feelings at bay.

He grows suddenly extremely confused, providing a perfect answer, “what?”

“The stick, wedged up your backside!” I whisper-yell, exasperated, “just yank it out already.”

“Excuse me!” he widens his eyes, looking highly disgusted.

“You’re rigid as a board, you never smile, your muscles are literally tensed, chill out a little,” I breathe, “I literally just want to check over the notes, why is it nearly world war three?”

“Your imagination is quite something,” he comments, practically ignoring all that I’d just said.

“So is your expressionless face,” I answer with a small shrug.

Grayson’s lips twist into a smile, “you think my face is quite something?”

“Don’t flatter yourself Hawthorne,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.

“I’ll try not to,” he replies.

“It must be hard for you,” I tease.

“Not as hard it is for you to admit you like my face,” he continues to smirk, annoying twinging through me with each curve of his mouth.

“If liking it means I want to spit in it, then yeah I really like your face,” I reply.

He leans over the table, getting closer, “you’re revolting.”

“Get the dictionary out for the next adjective,” I taunt him, “there’s one behind you.”

He doesn’t respond and I take that as my win. His eyes just become fixated on my notes all of a sudden. My stomach dances a little. I feel nervous, why do I feel nervous? It’s just Grayson, reading my notes… but my leg is bouncing up and down and I’m holding my breath without realising it. The clock has never ticked so loudly.

I focus on his notes and unfortunately realise he’s right. There are no mistakes. How annoying. I wanted to make him feel stupid for being so arrogant but he had a right to be. His work was practically perfect. Of course there are things I would’ve written differently but it didn’t taken away from the fact that his work was masterful.

“There’s a mistake,” he says suddenly.

Damn it.

“What?” I ask.

“In your work,” he smiles, almost proudly.

“Okay?” I say, “that’s why we proof things, hence proving my earlier point of the important of proofreading.”

“You got the date wrong,” he explains.

“Which one?” I furrow my brows, dates were the first thing I checked usually. It wasn’t like me to make mistakes on them unless I was distracted.

“1922 should be 1923,” he counters, showing me on his screen.

“Must’ve been a typo,” I shrug.

“Or poor research,” he replied smugly.

“Well I’ve written down 1923,” I tap my pen on my paper notes, “so it must have been a typo,”

“Well you should proofread more carefully then?” he says.

“Maybe I should’ve,” I nod.

He’s got nothing left to say. He can’t argue with me if I’ve agreed with him. Silence hit us like the dead. You could cut the tension with a knife.

“Just correct it,” I finally breathe.

“I will,” he says, tapping at the keys.

“Done?” I ask once he’s finished.

“Done,” he consolidates.

“Great so now we can leave,” I say, standing up, a little too eager to get out.

“Not yet,” Grayson tells me, his words slow and staccato.

“What is this? Some sort of damnation? I want to go home,” I exclaim.

“Well we need to seal our work with our fingerprints,” he explains.

I stare at him blankly, it feels like he’s just said something to me in a strange foreign language, “what?”

“Put fingerprint recognition onto the data base so only we can open our work,” he clarifies, as if it makes it any easier for me to understand.

“Why?” I ask cluelessly.

“So no one can hack into it,” he replies.

“Why do you say it likes it’s obvious?” I say.

“Because it is obvious,” he shrugs.

“Only you would have a fingerprint recognition for school assignments,” I roll my eyes.

“Well I want them secure,” he says.

“Clearly,” I snort.

He opens his mouth to reply but I interrupt him before he can get there.

“Let’s just get this over with, I want to go home tonight,” I sigh.

“Fine,” he says, “you just have to tap here.”

I place my finger where he directed it but it didn’t work. Huffing, I jab my finger at the screen a few times harshly. I’m surprised I don’t break the screen.

“I said tap, not murder,” Grayson says.

“I’m imagining it’s your face,” I growl back, still tapping relentlessly at the uncooperative piece of technology.

“It’s cute you think you’d even get close to touching my face,” he replies cooly.

I smack his forehead sharply. His reflexes aren’t fast enough to register it until the act is done. He sits there, stunned and blinking.

“Still cute?” I ask, batting my eyelashes.

“Adorable,” he growls, a sarcastic venom dripping from every letter.

I groan, as the fingerprint fails me again, “it’s not working.”

“You’re doing it wrong,” he tusks.

“Come on then genius,” I roll my eyes, “show me how it’s done.”

I’m surprised when he takes my hand gently and guides it to the screen. That familiar jolt in my stomach returns. He’s so delicate with me, as if I’m worthy of being treated fragile. He applies light pressure to the tip of my thumb so the fingerprint recognition goes through, his eyes fixated on the screen. Mine are on him.

“There, that’s how it’s done,” he says, snapping me out of my thoughts. The screen lit up green.

He let go of my hand and a wave of shame rolls over me because I’m disappointed he let go.

“Good then,” I nod, mentally telling myself to stop thinking such nonsense, “I need to get home.”

“It’s 6pm,” he deadpans.

“And I need to get home,” I repeat, remembering what an aggravating human being he could be. It washed away any tentative hand touch in an instant.

“But the assignment-“

“We have three weeks,” I say, “don’t get your kickers in a twist Barbie 2.0.”

“The names keep getting better,” he grits through his teeth.

“Well practice makes perfect,” I tease, enjoying myself a little too much

“Doesn’t it just,” he smiles sarcastically.

I sigh shaking my head, “why did she have to pair me with you?”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining, you got the better end of the bargain,” he says with a laboured laugh.

I pause and stare at him, “how?”

“You were partnered with me,” he states, “I’m coherent, cohesive, co-“

“Too many co words Mr,” I cut in.

“But I got you,” he says.

“You say it as if I’m a piece of shit on your shoe,” I practically spit at him. I hate the way me makes me feel inferior.

“Well you’re not exactly pleasant to be around,” Grayson defends, leaning back in his chair.

“Ditto.”

“You’re annoying, irritating-“

“They’re literally synonyms of each other,” I yell over him, earning myself a stern look from the librarian.

“I mean you’re clearly very argumentative,” he says, gesturing his hands as if I were proving his point, “but I wouldn’t put it past you, after all I’m presuming your background didn’t give you lessons in etiquette.”

I clench my jaw to keep it from dropping. I knew he was nasty but I didn’t know he could be cruel.

“My background?” I question him. I know what he means, I just want to see if he’s brave enough this stick his neck out and explain it

“You’re a scholarship student,” he shrugs.

“How do you know that,” I ask quickly.

No one is meant to know that. The headmaster assured me no one could possibly find out and yet Grayson Hawthorne knew. How funny. He only shrugs in response, he wasn’t going to let up that information. He could see it meant something to me.

“I know you think you’re king of the world and all that but it wouldn’t kill you to take your head out of your ass every once in a while and breath some fresh air,” I raise my voice a little, wildly furious.

“Must you be so creative with your insults,”he asks dryly

“Must you be so blatantly rude with yours,” I shoot back.

“So it’s not true?” he replies.

“You don’t have the right to judge me on what you think you know about my life,” I snap fiercely.

He raises his eyebrows, “sorry, did I hit a nerve?”

“You hit nothing,” I mutter.

He smiles to himself, he knows he hit something.

“I’ll be leaving now then, see you later,” I say, the annoyance too thick in my tone for me to hide. I stand up and grab my bag.

“Wait!” he calls.

I spin around, “what?”

“I need your number,” he says slowly.

“You don’t need to sound so desperate,” I smirk.

“I need it to text you the times to meet up and work on the assignment,” he clarifies with an infamous eye roll.

“You don’t need to use that as an excuse blondie,“ I say.

“How can someone some on so intelligent be so utterly exasperating,” Grayson groans.

My cheeks heat up. He thinks I’m intelligent. He values my mind.

“It’s a talent,” I grinned back.

He rolls his eyes as I write down my number and hand it to him.

“There.”

“Thank you,” he nods at me.

“Wow,” my eye widen in shock, “you can be civil!”

“Every once in a while,” he shrugs delicately.

I almost smile but suppress it. Quickly I stack all of the books I’d borrowed to out them away on my way out. Though as I go to carry the pile his voice stops me.

“You’re never going to able to carry all of those books,” he says.

“You don’t need to underestimate me Hawthorne, you’ve done that too much today,” I tell him.

“Watch me defy your so called fact then,” I retort, lifting all eight volumes on top of one another into my arms.

“I’m not underestimating you,” Grayson replies, “I’m stating a fact.”

It’s heavier than I’d estimated which is the first shock. They sit unstably, wobbling and threatening to come cluttering to the floor. But he could not be right. I wouldn’t buckle. I wouldn’t drop anything. I’m not a failure.

“Need some help there?” he tilts his head to the side.

“No,” I say, my strained voice giving me away.

“You look like you’re struggling,” he comments.

“Well I’m not,” I reply, feeling that my face is rosy from sheer effort.

He looks at me, “are you sure?”

“Very,” I grunt, my arms burning with the weight.

“I’ll save you the stubborn act and the library damage fee and take some,” he rolls his eyes.

“I said I’m fine-“

He takes a large sum of books from the top. My arms relax slightly as I glare at him.

“If you drop them you’ll like an idiot,” he explains.

“I wouldn’t have dropped them,” I state.

“Okay, whatever you say,” he replies.

“Don’t use my saying on me,” I say.

“It’s not yours,” he shrugs, “you didn’t create it.”

“I used it earlier, that’s close enough,” I tell him.

“Sure.”

We come to an abrupt halt in conversation and both turn back to back to put the books back to their respected areas. I see one in my pile that has a page marked. I flick to it and pause to skim over the contents.

“What are you reading?”

He almost makes me jump, I didn’t hear him sneak up behind me.

“An article,” I say, tying to keep my voice from trembling after the shock.

I can feel him now breathing down my neck, his chest almost touches my back. My pulse races, skyrocketing a little too far.

“Who’s it by?“ he asks.

My eyes flick to the bottom of the page where I read aloud my response, “am anonymous writer.”

He scrunches his nose up, “what good an article with an anonymous author?”

“It’s not about who wrote it, it’s about the impact it has,” I say.

“I disagree, if I wrote a life changing article I’d want people to know I’d written it,” he replies.

“Of course you want more,” I scoff, stacking the books a little too aggressively.

Classic Hawthorne. The second I think he might not be so bad he goes ahead and reminds me of exactly why I hate people like him.

“Want more?” he furrows his brows.

“You want the glory of it, your name talked about, your legacy preserved,” I snap.

“So I can’t want anything?” he shoots back with venom on his tongue.

“You’re a rich, stuck up prick, like all the rest of them at that school,” I laugh bitterly, “your grandfather is a billionaire, what could you possibly want that isn’t already at your fingertips?”

“You don’t have the right to judge me on what you think you know about my life,” he quotes me.

“Bite me Hawthorne,” I snarl, spinning around.

He catches my wrist and the corners of his mouth lift to form a smirk. A twinge of hatred shifts in my stomach as I glare at him.

“Any other requests?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t play that game with me,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.

“And what game might that be?” he asks, our faces inching closer by the second. The butterflies madly gnawing on my internal organs.

“You know what you’re doing,” I mutter, as my fingers clasp around his wrist too.

His smiles broadens and his silver eyes ignite, “and what is it that I am doing?”

“Stop,” I snap at him. We’re so close now that our foreheads could touch with the slightest of movements.

“Stop what?” he questions me, his voice so hushed it send a shiver down my spine.

“I’m going to strangle you,” I growl, the sound coming from the back of my throat. An uninvited passion rippling through my tone.

“I’d like to see you try,” he murmurs, snaking a hand around my waist. A soft gasp escapes my lips at the warmth and tenderness of his touch. He holds me like I’m breakable. It makes me vulnerable and I hate it yet I don’t tell him to stop. I come to horrible realisation that maybe I don’t want him to.

“I swear to god Hawthorne-“

“Shhhhh,” he says, eyes pinned to mine.

“What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly. All the oxygen previously in my lungs had been sucked out mercilessly by his tentative being.

“Just shut up for one second,” he snaps.

Fury lights inside of me and the spark of rage burns brighter than ever, “don’t tell me to shut-“

“Shhhhh,” he murmurs, placing a gentle finger to my lips.

My mouth obeys without my brain’s consent and my voice ceases. It’s just him and I and the silence around us. My heart thumps in my chest, so loudly it rattles through my ears. Slowly, almost cautiously, my own hands slide up his back as if some other world force is tugging them that way. I know I don’t want to do this but a familiar aching for deprived feeling was forcing me to.

“What are we doing Grayson?” I say, the words barely heard.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, “all I know is, you drive me insane.”

“Funny,” I smile softly, “you drive me insane too.”

His pupils dilate as we get closer. An entrancing monochrome kaleidoscope, only black and grey. Our foreheads meet, pressing into one another. It feels so natural, so right. His hands tighten slightly around the small of my back, as my eyelash graze his cheek, tickling him lightly. I can feel his breath on my face and his heart beating against my own. Our lips go to meet and-

“We’re closing the library now.”

I jerk backwards to suddenly my back smacks into the shelves of books behind me. Pain surges through my spinal cord and I bite my lip to keep me from crying out. My eyes become glossy as previously stacked books thump to the floor. I look up to see the librarian standing there.

I cough, picking up the books, “thanks, we were just leaving.”

She raises a brow but doesn’t say another word. I feel my cheeks burn a feverish red. I don’t meet Grayson’s eyes as I spin on my heels and charge out.

thanks for reading my loves 🤍🤍

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