#since i could not hide my love; people would always ask if i was pining for someone || chihaya x taichi

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

hii love! i just read your clingy so u distance yourself fic for the bazillion time and i cried again no surprise🥹 I just wanted to say i love your works so much and would live to request for an angst oneshot with brother bsf chan? basically reader has been pining for chan for a few years but she never got the courage to tell chan cause she thinks she isn’t good enough for chan. Then afterwards basically chan got a girlfriend who hated her and basically influenced chan to stop hanging out with her which he listened to and told the reader which the reader told him that his girlfriend wasn’t loyal but he thought she was sabotaging his relationship and so they ended off on bad terms but turns out a few weeks later he caught his girlfriend cheating and went back to the reader? sorry if it is kinda long but i rlly need a oneshot like this to read when i just need some angst i really live and admire your works so id be elated if you did my request. thank you and lots of love❤️

my first piece since I went on a mini little baby hiatus. and i had a lot of joy writing this. so i hope you enjoy <3!!!

Brothers Bsf Chan x Fem!Reader (angst/fluff)

6.8k words

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You didn’t know when it started. Was it a simple touch? A brush of a hand or an accidental graze of fingers? Or was it one of those lazy Friday nights where Chan would crack jokes to you and his best friend- your older brother Jisung- while you three were watching movies in the house you grew up in. Or did it stem back all the way to those days where you would chase after Chan and Jisung on the playground, down your neighborhood streets- crying out for them to wait for you. Those cries stopped when Chan would reach his hand out to bring you along.

Maybe it was a combination of all of those things, those things you had tried so hard to forget because it could only lead to heartbreak. Falling in love with your brother’s best friend was no easy feat for anyone. Let alone when you were falling for someone like Chan, who was so hard to fall out of love with. Maybe even more so for you since he would always be in your life. Him and Jisung were nearly joined at the hip, which made it even harder to hide your pining for him. You wouldn’t dare love out loud, but it was starting to whisper through the cracks of your resolve.

You were unconditionally in love with everything about Chan. 

That's how it was for years, and how you intended it to be for as long as allowed. You spent countless nights staring at your ceiling, wondering if he could ever see you the way that you saw him. You were sure things were only platonic between the two of you, but you couldn’t help but linger on the memories of certain looks, certain gestures that you couldn’t delude yourself into believing happened between friends. 

Things started to change when Chan began dating someone new. 

Duri. Her name was Duri, and the first time you met her, you knew she was the type to turn heads. She had a smile that could light up a room and a confidence you could only dream of. Standing next to her, you felt small, like a background character in Chan’s life story. A girl who captured Chan’s attention so easily. A girl who wrapped him up in her life so easily that you knew you were to be forgotten. He was smitten and her words flowed like the river of the smoothest molasses. She could easily convince Chan, he didn’t need you. Because she didn’t like you.

You weren’t sure why, but it was obvious. And because she didn’t like you, her feelings towards Jisung weren’t all that different, it seemed. And slowly you felt like Chan was making his way out of your life.

“Ji, why isn’t Chris here?” You loved the way his name sounded when you said it. Not many people around you called him Chris, so it felt special to call him that. He seemed to enjoy it as well, not ever asking you to conform to societal norms.

“He’s probably just busy, Y/N-ie…I’m sure he’ll come back around.” Jisung said one day as you guys sat on the couch, scrolling through movies. It was the first Friday movie Chan had missed. And even if it was the first time he had missed it, you knew it would be a regular occurrence.

In all honesty, at first, you tried to like Duri. She was with Chan, after all, and you thought that maybe you could be friends. That maybe if you could convince yourself to like her then the pain of not being the one that Chan loved would ease.. But the more you saw her, the more you felt her sharp, indirect glances, the way she dismissed you with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She made you feel invisible, as if you were only tolerated because you were Jisung’s sister. Even if she just barely tolerated the latter.

Over time, you saw the changes in Chan too. He became distant, no longer the easygoing guy who’d spend hours with you and your brother. He was still polite, still kind, but he was pulling away, bit by bit. You told yourself it was just a phase, that he’d come around once things settled down with Duri.

But then, one night, things came to a head.

You, Jisung, and Chan had made plans to meet at your favorite café—just a casual hangout, like old times. But when Chan showed up with his girlfriend by his side, something was off. His smile was forced, his laughs hollow. He barely met your eyes, and when you spoke, and even then  it was like he wasn’t really listening. To the point that Jisung even pointed it out. Every time you spoke, Duri happened to speak at the same time. Every time a question was directed at you, Duri somehow changed the conversation. You felt small and insignificant and made your way home early. You couldn’t stand to sit there and see the man you were so down bad for with his significant other. Duri had sat close to him, her hand always somewhere on his arm or shoulder, marking her territory in the subtlest way, in a way that caused an anger that wasn’t so subtle. 

But even then after leaving you couldn’t shake the ache in your chest. You sat down on a bench outside of a convenience store by your home, trying to sort out your feelings. 

You okay? I’ll be heading home soon. We went out to drink. 

You quickly type out a reply to Jisung, your fingers shaking as you realized just how cold it was. Just as you were about to get up to leave a pale hand reached out to you with a warm drink. 

You looked up to see a guy with dark and prominent eyebrows, and a little birthmark on his nose. 

“You seemed cold. Its…” He looked at the can. “Mocha flavored.” He handed it back out to you and smiled softly. 

“Thank you.” You said with a small bow of your head, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtful gesture. 

“You live in the neighborhood right? Your brother…looks like a squirrel?” The man’s voice was soft and shy, like he thought he was talking too much.

“Oh! You’re our new neighbor? I’m Han Y/N.” You said with a flourished bow.

“Park Sunghoon. Nice to meet you…” He shuffled awkwardly. “Would you like me to wait before I walk home…I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No! No! It’s fine, I'm not uncomfortable. You can walk home with me.” You say quietly. “Maybe it’ll be nice to not feel lonely.”

As you made your way back home with Sunghoon you had a weird feeling in your chest. You thought maybe you were just trying to sort your feelings, but it was more of an intuitive sense. 

Then you got a text from your brother.

I’m coming home. Duri tried to make a move on me and I’m not trying to get into it with Chan while she is here.

You blinked at the text, nodding when your voice registered Sunghoon asking if you were okay.

That was that odd feeling…

You didn’t know if it was selfish to feel happy that Duri was a tool, but you did. You didn’t want Chan to get hurt so you decided to go talk to him. Giving a message on behalf of Jisung, who thought maybe Chan would listen better if it was coming from a girl

“Hey, can I talk to you?” you asked, your voice soft but determined, as you walked up to him outside of his job a few days later.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, looking a bit surprised. He followed you to a quieter part of the park, away from prying eyes. “Is everything okay? Jisung hasn’t texted me in a couple of days…"

You took a breath, feeling the words tangle on the tip of your tongue. “Chris…I just…I feel like you’re not around as much anymore. I get that you’re with Duri, but…it’s like you’re pulling away from me and Jisung. My brother is too scared to say anything, but he feels just as bad, if not worse than I do.”

He frowned, looking down at the ground. “I’m sorry if it feels that way,” he said finally, but not much emotion in his voice. “But…I need to be there for Duri. She’s… she doesn’t feel comfortable with me hanging out so much with, you know…” He trailed off, not meeting your eyes.

Your heart sank, a cold dread washing over you. “With me, you mean?”

He hesitated, but the silence was all the confirmation you needed. “She…doesn’t get why I’m so close with you. And I don’t want her to feel insecure, so I…I think it’s best if we… keep some distance. Just for now.”

You stared at him, feeling a surge of hurt and anger. “Chris, she’s manipulating you!” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “She’s making you feel guilty for caring about people who were here long before she was. Because she knows those people will pinpoint, that she’s a manipulative cheater!”

He looked at you, a flash of anger in his eyes at the words. “You don’t know her like I do,” he snapped.

You flinched at the venom in his voice. He had never snapped at you and you could feel tears spring to your eyes.

“She tried to make a move on Ji…” You said quietly. “And don’t try and say my brother is a liar, Chris,  because you know he’s not.”

Chan gave a sarcastic chuckle. “She already told me that Y/N. She was drunk. It was nothing more than that.”

“Drunk actions are sober thought Chris!” You shot back.

“Oh, so the first time you ever got drunk and confessed your feelings for me was a sober thought?”

You felt your body freeze and you blinked at Chan with wide eyes. You blacked out the first time you had ever drank and didn’t touch anything since. You never knew you had admitted to liking Chan.

“So it’s true then? You actually love me?” Chan let out a large sigh. “Frankly, it’s not fair for you to accuse her of things that aren’t true just because you put me on a pedestal. Your feelings for me aren’t my responsibility Y/N. This…this just feels like you’re trying to come between us because of some childish jealousy. She’s my girlfriend, and I trust her more than I trust someone who hasn’t been honest to me for years.”

You felt like you’d been slapped. The words cut deeper than anything you’d expected, leaving you struggling for air. “That’s not…that’s not what I’m doing, Chan. I just…I don’t want to see you get hurt.” You tried to say back. “My feelings have nothing to do with this I’m coming to you as a friend-”

“Friends don’t feel that way about each other Y/N! Once you cross that line friendship can’t be used as a label. Do you ever think that Duri might be acting this way because you absolutely suck at hiding your feelings?!” His voice was sharper than ever and you could feel a sad squeeze in your heart. “So deal with the fact that I’m going to put my girlfriend first- regardless of what I feel for you.” There was the slightest hesitation and falter in his face at his last words, but you were too upset to decipher what exactly that meant. “ I’m done with this conversation. I’ll see you later, Y/N.” He said in a soft yet defeated voice, leaving you standing there, heartbroken and speechless.

The next few weeks were met with silence.  Jisung asked what had happened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. You kept your pain buried, letting it fester in the corners of your mind. Chan had felt terrible for yelling at you, and had come over to apologize with extra snacks for your guys Friday night movie, but to his surprise, it was only Jisung who was there. 

“Where is Y/N?” Chan asked, setting down your favorite candy and chips on the reclining chair you always claimed. He looked around the corner to see if you were in your room. Your door was open and he walked in, looking at the little polaroids littered across your room on various walls and flat surfaces. He looked at your books and plushies with a soft smile. 

“She’s working overtime tonight. Do you want to watch a Marvel or DC movie?” Jisung called from the living room. Chan’s brow furrowed. He knew the company you worked for closed early on Fridays, all employees getting off early. Something he had realized after observing you for so long. 

“Marvel…” Chan called out, closing the door behind himself.

As suspected you weren’t working overtime. 

Rather as time passed, you found comfort in unexpected places. One of those places was the attractive man that one night, your neighbor Sunghoon. Who, much to your surprise, shared your interests and understood your silence without question. He became your confidant, your quiet escape from the heartache Chan had left behind.

“He’s probably over at my house right now with Jisung.” You had mumbled as you cuddled up on his side. Also, much to your surprise, Sunghoon was a great cuddle buddy. What was even better is that he wanted nothing in return, nor were there any ill intentions letting you grow close to him in an emotional and physical way. He had confided in you that a deeper intimacy was something he couldn’t ever see himself liking, which was why he was set on settling down alone, and that he wasn’t much of a physical person to begin with, but with you he found himself not minding the soft physicality much at all. 

“Like we’re twin flames right.” You had joked, that day, holding out your pinky. He had nodded, locking pinkies with yours. 

“You’re right, but I am more than sure he won’t think to come over her-”

The doorbell rang and you sprung up from your position on the couch as Sunghoon made his way to the door. 

“Well speak of the devil…” He mumbled. 

Chan stood at the doorway of Jisung’s new neighbor, delivery food in his hand. He looked at the bag and considered the weight of the bag.

Maybe a couple having date night?

“Hello?” A tall and undeniably attractive man stood at the door. 

Damn…wow uh-

“Oh, hey! I think your delivery was sent to my friend’s house. I just wanted to make sure you knew it was here...” The man looked at Chan with a blank look. 

Are kids these days given supplements or something…why is he so majestic looking…

“Oh, thank you.” He said , bowing and grabbing the food.

Before the door was shut, Chan could’ve sworn he noticed a pair of familiar shoes, but disregarded it, making his way back to Jisung’s.

As more time passed, you found yourself missing Chan rather than getting over him. 

“Is it strange, Sungie?” you asked while you were building a puzzle with him one evening- another Friday. “That I’m absolutely pissed, and heartbroken, but I want nothing more than to see him? And I can’t think of anything other than I miss him?”

Sunghoon thought for a moment and then spoke softly. “No, it’s not strange at all. Rather, it’d be strange if you didn’t. Sometimes, love clings to us hardest when we’re hurting the most. It's like every part of you is aching for the one person who can make it better—even if they’re the one who hurt you. Missing him doesn’t make you weak; it just means he’s still a part of your heart. Sometimes, loving someone means feeling everything all at once—the anger, the heartbreak, and that unstoppable longing. It’s okay to feel it all."

You were at your house, and Sunghoon was over since he had become a regular visitor, after Jisung befriended him and then finally pieced together where you were going every Friday and other odd days of the week when you first heard the news. At first he had assumed you and Sunghoon were a thing until you both quickly shot down that notion by informing Jisung that relationships and love were not Sunghoon’s cup of tea.

But since he now knew that wasn’t the case, and had long since known the truth since your first and last drunk outing he thought you might want to know.

“They broke up. Strange enough, Chan didn’t seem all that upset—I mean, he did seem upset, but you think you’d be more upset when you break up, you know?” Jisung rambled, barely pausing for breath. “Instead, he was, like, really calm, which made no sense to me. I feel like I’d be freaking out, or, like, super sad, or anxious, or angry. How can you just be indifferent to a breakup with someone you thought was going to be the love of your life? It’s like those characters in anime—”

You tuned out Jisung’s voice, the news sinking in like stones in your stomach as you laid your head against Sunghoon’s side as he read the ingredients on an air freshener bottle while he waited for Jisung to finish warming up food. 

Chan and Duri had broken up. Your heart was a tangled mess of relief and pain, of memories you hadn’t let yourself fully process. After all those months, he was free—but what did it mean now? What did any of it mean when he’d already chosen her once?

As Jisung continued his rapid-fire monologue, you watched to the two people who had been a distraction these past few weeks: him and Sunghoon. Sunghoon, in a more practical way since he knew the depths of your doubts and worries, and easily fit into the spot of your platonic soulmate and best friend. It seemed he was more versed on the Chan-sized hole in your heart than even you were, and you were glad you now had him to walk these roads with you.

Eventually Jisung came back to the living room with dinner, and you were soon enough immersed into the activities of the evening. 

You were unaware what was about to go down when the knock at the door came, Jisung springing up to answer it, his laughter echoing down the hall as he let someone in. The air around you shifted, growing thicker, familiar, and before you even turned around, you knew who was standing there. 

You had known him long enough to sense when the man you loved was in the room. His presence filled it quickly enough, his gaze sweeping over the space, lingering a little too long on you and Sunghoon, who seemed to be molded together perfectly, Sunghoon’s arm lazily resting on your leg.

Jisung shot you an awkward glance before mumbling something about getting snacks from the store. He and Sunghoon exchanged a glance, and, with a silent nod Sunghoon got up, and they left, closing the door behind them. You were left alone with Chan in the thick silence that followed, the quiet pressing down around you.

Chan’s expression was tense, guarded, and yet, behind his eyes, you saw a trace of vulnerability. He took a hesitant step toward you, his voice soft. “Y/N…”

You met his gaze, pain simmering just beneath the surface. “What are you doing here?”

He took a deep breath, guilt etched into the lines of his face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice cracking slightly. “I should have listened to you. I didn’t… I couldn’t see it. I was so focused on Duri that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. She wasn’t loyal. I caught her cheating, and I realized just how wrong I was and how right you and Jisung were.”

His words landed between you, each one a mix of relief and ache that clawed at your heart. But you couldn’t ignore the questions tumbling through your mind—the doubts that held you back from even entertaining the hope you’d once felt. You folded your arms, steadying yourself as you looked away.

“Chan, I don’t even know what to say to you. It’s not just about her or your breakup,” you said, voice low.

The older boy flinched at your words. 

“Chan…” He mumbled. You had rarely ever spoken his name aloud like that before. So rarely he couldn’t even remember the last time you did, and he didn’t even recognize your voice when you said it. “I messed up horribly…didn’t I?”

 “You didn’t just choose her.” You started. “You looked me in the eyes and didn’t believe me. You accused me of saying things because of personal feelings. Then went on to accuse me of lying to you because I never confessed my feelings- even though apparently I did and you just omitted the truth of what I said when I blacked out as if that's not also a form of dishonesty. You thought I was trying to ruin your happiness, like I’d sabotage your relationship out of jealousy. Are you serious, Chan?”

He winced again, his hand reaching toward you as if he wanted to touch you but was too afraid. “I know, Y/N, and I hate that I did that to you. I was wrong. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I just… I needed you to know that I truly am am sorry. I didn’t think I had hurt you that badly and it was foolish.”

The hurt that had sat quietly in your heart surged to the surface, and before you could stop yourself, you murmured, “So what? You’re here now because you need a rebound? You want someone to feel close to because she’s gone?”

Chan’s face fell, confusion and hurt flickering across his features. “What? No, Y/N, it’s not like that at all. You’re not some replacement or… or backup. You’ve never been that to me, ever.”

“Then what am I, Chan?” You shook your head, frustration and sorrow mingling together. “Because if I was the first one you come to- not even your best friend-” You said referring to your brother. “Than there has to be reason behind that. Let me guess, you feel something for me?” 

Chan swallowed and you knew his answer when you saw the look in his brown eyes. You let out and exasperated sigh and tried to hold back your tears, but couldn’t so you looked at the ground instead.

“If you really felt this way—if you really cared about me or dare I even say loved me…then why did you pick her? Why now, after you’ve been with her all this time? Am I supposed to believe that just because she’s out of the picture, you’ve suddenly realized what you want?” Your voice was sad and defeated and you let your tears fall. “If so that's really really mean.” You whined sadly.

His eyes widened, and he shook his head emphatically. “No, it’s not because of that. Y/N, I was so stupid. I’ve spent these past few weeks… I didn’t even realize how much I missed you until I lost you. I can’t just go back to how things were, but I know I want you in my life. I don’t want to lose you.”

He paused until you looked up at him, his heart shattering even more at the glossiness behind your sad eyes. “It’s not that Y/N-ie not at all. Sometimes you really just don’t know what you’ve had until you lost it.

But something about his gaze shifted as he glanced back toward the door where Jisung and Sunghoon had left. His mouth pressed into a thin line, his brows drawn together in a dark, unreadable expression. “Guess I’ve already been replaced though, huh?” He said quietly.

You felt your stomach twist at his words, your tears drying almost immediately with the thought of where this was heading. “Replaced? What are you even talking about?”

“Your neighbor,” he said bitterly, albeit soft; the label sharp on his tongue. “You and him. I came here to tell you how much I’ve messed things up, only to see you with him. I guess it didn’t take long for you to move on.”

The accusation in his voice stung, leaving you feeling exposed. You bit back the urge to yell, to let out the anger that had simmered for so long. You knew it brought some validity to his earlier statement, him being jealous of Sunghoon, but God did you sometimes want to smack sense into him.

 “You don’t get to come in here and make assumptions about me, Chan. Sunghoon is my friend. He’s been here because you weren’t. Because you pushed me away. I didn’t have a choice.”

“But you looked happy cuddled with him,” he said, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “It didn’t seem like you missed me at all.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tightness in your chest intensify. “Of course, I missed you. But you don’t get to accuse me of moving on. I waited. I wanted… I thought maybe one day you’d see me. But you chose her. You chose someone who didn’t even care about you, and I was the one left behind. So of course I needed comfort.”

He took a shaky breath, eyes softening as he stepped closer. “I chose wrong. I see that now, Y/N. I know I hurt you, and I don’t expect you to just forget that. But I can’t pretend now that I don’t feel something for you.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of sincerity, but doubt gnawed at you. “We just went over this. How am I supposed to know it’s real? How am I supposed to believe that you actually want me, and not just because it’s convenient? If you loved me before than why not say something.”

“Why didn’t you say something!”

“Because unlike you I don’t go around dating people while I have a crush on someone Chan! If it was ‘oh so obvious’ than you should have said something. Or I don’t know, maybe when I blacked out and confessed you could have done something then-”

“I was petrified!” Chan shouted, causing you to take a step back. “How…how am I supposed to respond when my best friend’s little sister tells me she’s been in love with me since we were kids. And that’s its only growing?” He swallowed. “Am I supposed to take that risk and tell her its mutual, but that I don’t want to do anything in case things get messy? Because I don’t want to ruin things? Relationships are complicated Y/N! People fight and argue but romantic ones are so much heartier. Those arguments and fights hold more weight than friendships. I wasn’t…happy…only being your friend but I was content. Even if it meant I wouldn’t get to hold you or kiss you, or see your face in my children’s faces I was okay with that as long as it meant there was no risk in ruining things between us. And that saved me from the risk of getting on uneasy territory with Jisung. So I left it alone. I didn’t tell you. I asked Jisung to forget about it even if that meant he was upset at me for quote ‘rejecting my wonderful and perfect  little sister’ unquote.”

You stood there, lips trembling, not knowing what to say as he lay his heart in front of you.

He reached out, brushing a thumb over your cheek in a tender, hesitant motion. “But now that I know what it’s like to live without you, Y/N,  I can’t go back to that. I can’t. I don’t want anyone else. I just want a chance to make this right.”

The vulnerability in his eyes was almost too much, the raw honesty in his touch searing against your skin. But your heart still trembled with uncertainty, with a fear that ran deep.

“I’m petrified now.”

A tear slipped down his cheek as he nodded, a small chuckle leaving his lips, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that had fallen from your own eyes. “I’ll spend every day proving to you how much I love you, Y/N, so you won’t have a reason to be scared. I don’t want to lose you, not again. I was blind, but I see it now. And if you’ll let me, I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back. To get you to a point where you won’t be able to deny the fact I only want you.”

You held his gaze, your heart wavering between the hope you’d never fully let go of and the fear that he’d break it all over again. And in that quiet moment, with the ache of the past between you, a fragile, cautious feeling began to bloom once more.

You took a steadying breath, bracing yourself as you met Chan’s eyes. “Chan, I don’t know what assumptions you’ve made about Sunghoon, but he’s just my friend. He’s been there because…” You hesitated, the words delicate on your tongue. “Because I needed someone. Not someone to date, or to replace you, but just…someone who understands. He’s helped me pick up the pieces after everything fell apart. And he’s not even interested in relationships like that. We’re just close in a different way.”

Chan blinked, his gaze softening as he listened, brows knitting in a mixture of relief and confusion. “So… you and Sunghoon… you’re really just friends?”

“Yes,” you replied, hoping he could hear the sincerity in your voice. “And he’s not going to change his mind about that. He doesn’t want anything more with anyone. It’s not in him. But he’s been a good friend—my best friend…my soulmate really.” Your voice trailed off quietly. “He’s someone I could talk to when I felt like I’d lost you.”

Chan let out a slow breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he looked away, processing. “I…I feel so stupid. I was so ready to believe you’d moved on, that you’d replaced me. It was like this nightmare I’d imagined every night, that you’d found someone else who actually deserved you. And when I walked in and saw you both…”

His words faltered, and he rubbed a hand over his face, frustration and regret etched deep. “But I know I can’t blame you for being close to him. You had every right to find support after what I put you through. I just…”

“You just didn’t believe me,” you finished for him, the words raw but necessary. “And then you left, and I didn’t know how to fill that space you’d left behind but Sunghoon found a way. But that doesn’t mean he warrants any jealousy from you, Chris. I’m hoping you can learn to love him like you love Jisung. For me?”

He nodded, his eyes filled with regret.A part of you softened at the earnestness in his expression, the vulnerability that showed he understood, at least on some level, of what all of this meant. You sighed, feeling the weight of everything settling over you, but also immensely light.

But Chan seemed like he was struggling for a moment.

“Whats wrong?”

He bit his lip, his gaze darting away for a second before he finally asked, “Was there ever a point when…when you thought you could move on? That maybe you’d fall for someone else?”

The question struck deeper than you’d expected, and for a moment, you just looked at him, letting yourself process the vulnerability etched into his features. Did he truly think he could simply be replaced? That you’d spent years loving him, only to let him go?

“I thought about it,” you admitted, your voice soft but steady. “I thought maybe it would be easier if I could just let go. Even before all of this I thought about it. But no matter how much I tried, it was always you. It’s always been you.”

You felt the familiar sting of tears, and you blinked them away, not wanting him to see just how deeply his words affected you. “For the record, I don’t want to lose you either. But if we’re going to do this, we have to be honest. No more letting other people’s opinions get in the way. No more letting doubts fester between us.”

He nodded, a fierce determination filling his gaze. “No more doubts. I want us to be real, Y/N. Nothing standing in the way, just you and me.”

The weight of his words, the sincerity in his gaze, was almost overwhelming. You felt the warmth of his hand as he reached for yours, his fingers tentative, as if he wasn’t sure you’d accept him.

You took his hand, squeezing it gently, grounding yourself in the quiet assurance of his touch. It wasn’t the grand gesture you’d once dreamed of, but it was real. And somehow, that made it mean even more.

He looked down at your intertwined fingers, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. “Thank you for giving me this chance, Y/N. I’ll spend every day showing you that I mean it.”

You offered him a small, tentative smile, one that held a flicker of hope. “And I’ll do my best to believe it. But you have to understand—this is going to take time.”

He nodded, his own smile softening his face. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

For a moment, you both stood there, hands entwined, caught in the delicate balance between past hurt and the fragile possibility of something new. The wounds might still be raw, but you could feel them beginning to heal, slowly, with each beat of your hearts in sync.

As you looked into his eyes, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time—a cautious, budding belief that maybe, just maybe, this time, things would be different.

A few weeks later, things had settled into a comfortable, tentative new rhythm. The past wasn’t forgotten, but it had softened around the edges, allowing something new to bloom between you and Chan—no, Chris. You’d started calling him that again recently, just between the two of you, and every time he heard it, his eyes lit up, as though it was his own quiet assurance that he had your forgiveness, that he wasn’t just “Chan,” your brother’s best friend, but Chris, the man you were falling for all over again.

You weren’t rushing anything, taking each moment as it came. There were stolen glances, shared laughter, and late-night conversations that stretched until dawn, weaving a new kind of trust between you. He was patient and gentle, letting you set the pace, and every step you took forward felt right. It was healing, a slow rekindling that felt like rediscovering a part of yourself that had been missing.

One Saturday afternoon, you and Chris were sitting on the couch, a movie playing in the background as he leaned closer, his arm resting around your shoulders. Sunghoon and Jisung had left to get snacks- Chris listening to your request and giving Sunghoon a chance, finding out that he genuinely enjoyed the company of your best friend. 

“Its like eternal best friend double dates.” Jisung had joked.

But since your brother and best friend had left, Chan had been looking at you with that soft, adoring expression you’d only dreamed of before, and it made you feel like you were the only person in his world.

“You’re staring,” you whispered, smiling as you felt a blush creep up your cheeks.

“Can you blame me?” he murmured back, his voice warm and low. “I’ve missed so much time, I don’t want to miss a single moment now.”

You felt your heart stutter, a nervous excitement bubbling up as you glanced down at his hand, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on the back of it. The space between you felt electric, and when he gently cupped your face, tilting it towards him, your breath caught. Slowly, as if asking permission, he leaned in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and then his lips brushed softly against yours, a delicate kiss that felt like everything you’d waited for. His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing gently as if he were afraid you might disappear. You kissed him back, your hand moving to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your fingertips, strong and steady.

“Chris,” you whispered softly as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, his name slipping out naturally, comfortably. The warmth in his eyes told you he’d heard everything you couldn’t put into words—how he was forgiven, how he was here, truly here, and that was all you’d ever wanted.

The tender moment, though, was cut short by a loud gasp and a stumbling sound near the doorway. You whipped around to see Jisung and Sunghoon standing there, both looking wide-eyed and more than a little surprised.

“Oh… I did not mean to see that,” Jisung said, covering his eyes dramatically, though you could see the smirk threatening to break through. “My best friend and my little sister? Wow, I was not prepared!”

Sunghoon, by contrast, grinned openly, the kind of grin that said he’d known this would happen all along. “Took you both long enough,” he teased, making his way over towards you to whack your head affectionately. “I was starting to think I’d have to do something drastic to get you two together.”

You laughed, face warm with embarrassment, but Chris only chuckled, unfazed even by Sunghoon’s physical touch with you, as he slid his arm around your shoulders again. “You two need to learn how to knock,” he said lightly, squeezing you a little closer.

Sunghoon just shrugged, shooting you a mischievous look. “I’m sure Jisung didn’t feel a need to consider having to knock on the door of his own home.”

Jisung laughed, giving Sunghoon a playful nudge. But then turning to Chan with a serious look. “I might still need to have ‘the talk’ with you, Hyung. I know we’ve known each other forever, but this is new territory.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to scowl at your brother. “Oh, please, Ji. You never said anything before.”

“It’s because you weren’t actually together at the time! But now you are.”

Chris leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, a look of peace and contentment in his eyes. “Yeah, and I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said, looking up at Jisung and Sunghoon, his tone serious yet gentle. “Not ever.”

Jisung nodded, his expression softening as he took in the scene. “Good. Just make sure you’re good to her, alright? Or else I’ll have to do the brotherly duty of fighting you or whatever older brothers are supposed to do…” He mumbled, turning towards Sunghoon for backup.

“Yeah…and I’ll do whatever a best friend does…” He said confused, shrugging as you laughed.

Chris’s grip tightened just slightly around your shoulders. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said, his voice low and steady. “She’s the most important person in my life.”

Jisung scrunched up his nose, pretending to gag. “Ugh, okay, I was prepared for the brother talk, but I did not sign up for the mushy romance stuff. Can you two not be gross for five seconds?”

Chris laughed, glancing down at you with a sparkle in his eyes. “Fine, I’ll spare you… for now,” he said, giving you a playful nudge and a kiss to your nose

Sunghoon, ever the instigator, leaned back with a grin. “Hey, give them a break, Jisung. They’ve got years of this to catch up on. And honestly, I’m enjoying the show.”

Jisung threw a pillow in Sunghoon’s direction. “Well then maybe you should go find yourself someone if you think it’s cute seeing how my best friend and sister act.” He teased, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe they’ll have a sister and then you can join our family.”

Sunghoon shuddered and shook his head. “No thank you. But Y/N’s kids will have an Uncle who spoils them.” He said, grabbing the bottle of Soju from the coffee table.

“Hey! I get the title of favorite Uncle automatically.” Jisung whined. “No fair.”

Sunghoon shrugged. “The favorite Uncle has to be from the maternal side.”

“The hypothetical-” He shot a look at you. “Mom in question is my sister!”

“Logic, doesn’t always logic my dear friend.”

As Sunghoon and Jisung went back and forth you laughed, settling into Chris’s embrace, feeling the warmth of home around you. You felt his smile without even looking and it made your heart leap. This, right here, was everything you’d hoped for and more. And as the teasing and laughter filled the room, you knew that no matter what, you were exactly where you were meant to be. With who you were meant to be with.

<<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>>

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

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@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon

@night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz

[auclairedetoru]

Ahhh I saw you're also open to writing AoT? Especially Eren?? And I love your little headcanon things, they're so cute! So may I request something sweet with eren too? Maybe a college au or something, they could either be strangers to lovers or idk friends/best friends to lovers (with like years of pining, I love that trope but you do you!). Maybe just some headcanons again💙Have a lovely day!

Thank you for requesting, nonnie 🤍 it's a little short and sweet but I'm definitely going to write more about these in the future!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who has a big friend group, from childhood friends to his frat brothers.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who people perceive as a typical college student in a frat house. Parties any chance he gets, drinks, sleeps around, has a new girlfriend every two weeks, is failing his classes...etc.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who laughs when he hears those assumptions despite them being partially true. Yeah, he does love to party and have fun, but he wasn't the type to wake up in a stranger's bed every weekend, mainly because the thought of catching an STD is scary, but because he might have eyes for one specific person. He's not stupid, either. He's the top student in all of his classes.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who Intrigues people when they scroll through his social media. He has a few solo posts and some with friends, but when you swipe through all of them, you'll always find the same person present... His best friend y/n.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who has known y/n since middle school and has been inseparable from her since then. He does everything with her, takes her everywhere he goes, his friends are her friends and vice versa. The day they got accepted into the same college was one of the best days of his life.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who loves his best friend so much and isn't afraid to show it. Giving her a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek when he first sees her in the morning, holds her hands when walking, wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her in a hug, cuddles with her, calls her cute pet names... He just really loves his best friend.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who's actually been in love with y/n since high school but has always been too scared and nervous to confess. Jean - his other best friend - has told him many times that she feels the same because if she didn't she wouldn't allow him to be as affectionate with her but he still refuses to believe him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who starts hearing the whispers when he's seen with her. People are now saying they might be dating, and those rumours spread like wildfire. He's not doing anything to help calm them down either, but he casually posts a picture of her sleeping in his bed, wearing his sweater, hugging his pillow, with "my world" in the caption.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who despite his nonchalant attitude about everything is worried about her being uncomfortable with his actions, so he asks her about it and she simple answers with sitting on his lap and kissing his cheek, “you know it would be visible all over my face if I'm uncomfortable, 'ren.”, and it's true, he can read her like an open book, even when she tries to hide her emotions.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who's now tired of just being friends and wants to take it a step further. All they need to do is kiss at this point because even their parents think they're an item.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who one morning is on his bed sitting across from y/n who spent the night again. She is still a little sleepy, her hair is a little messy on top of her head and he tries to calm it down a little by petting her head gently, she's wearing his hoodie and drinking from his water bottle. He smiles at her, thinking about how absolutely adorable she looks.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who let's go of everything that was holding him back before and cups her cheek, his thumb slowly caressing the soft plush as he moves his face closer to hers. A soft good morning left his lips making her smile and lean her forehead against his forehead, replying back with the cutest and softest sleepy voice.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who stares at her for a few seconds before leaning in fully and placing his lips against her soft ones, sighing in relief when he feels her kissing him back. His unoccupied arm wraps around her waist and pulls her closer to him until she's on his lap and she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who doesn't hesitate to confess, declaring his love against her lips making her giggle softly in happiness and confessing right back. He feels over the moon, everything he's ever wanted is in his arms, kissing him back, loving him back.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren who proudly shows off the promise rings he got them the same day they made it official. Holding their intertwined hands up so their friends can see them with a big grin on his face, “it's our initials! See? That's the first letter of her name on my finger!”.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Eren whose social media is now only filled with pictures of his pretty girlfriend and unapologetically corny captions. He's spent years wishing he could love her the way he's doing now, and he's not going to hold back now that he's got her.

[zepskies]

Hi, how are you?

I was wondering if you could write something like "Dean reads you wrong" but with Sam Please

Hey, lovely!

I'm doing well, thank you. 💜 I hope you are too! Hmm, I'm still working through my current bank of requests, but since "Dean reads you wrong" is so fresh, it got me thinking about how Sam would go about this...

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: It's hard for Sam to admit he wants you...when he thinks you might want his brother.

Song Inspo: "If You're Gone" by Matchbox Twenty

Word Count: 1,600 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, fear of unrequited love, mutual pining

Imagine: Sam reads you wrong.

When Sam falls for someone, he's...well, what he would call self-aware.

But also cautious.

He knows his own track record with women. He knows the life he leads, and has resigned himself to giving up most kinds of normalcy or domesticity.

And maybe, a part deep in the back of his brain has given up on the idea of love.

That's why it's so damn confounding...how you've managed to take him by surprise.

He's always been able to rely on you. Whether it's sharing the brunt of the research with him when Dean loses focus, or staying up with Sam on late nights, sharing mugs of tea and quiet conversation, bonding over familiar tastes in books, and '90s grunge music, of all things.

You also confessed to him, late one night, that you have a growing collection of mugs, fuzzy socks, and vinyl records, despite the fact that your record player has collected more dust than the bunker's old storage room.

You're wonderfully weird.

And you're unfailingly loyal to who you consider "your people." And Sam thinks (knows) he's fortunate enough to be included in that small circle.

Sam also knows, deep in his gut, no matter how much he tries to "rationalize" it away, that you're special. And special to him.

You've managed to do more than just slip under his skin. When he thinks too hard on it, he can admit it (just to himself). You've infiltrated all four corners of his heart so deeply, he doesn't have a prayer of scooping you out.

Some days, it's all he can do not to reach out while you're chatting away, filling the silence.

He can picture it like a scene in his mind: of interrupting your mouth with a gentle hand on your cheek, tilting your face up to his and showing you, with or without words, that he wants you...

And yet.

He can't help but watch how you are with Dean.

You two tease each other, bicker and gripe over coffee grinds left in the coffee pot and who ate the last of the leftovers. You fight with Dean over the remote on movie night (once, damn near smothering him with a pillow).

But you also dote on him, making sure Dean has one of his favorite desserts every time you go out to buy groceries. You swap his beer out for water when he's not looking. (And though Dean frowns and grumbles, he doesn't argue with your raised brow and imploring look.)

It's not quite flirting, but it's not quite platonic either—at least in Sam's eyes. You and Dean seem to have something.

And sometimes, your playful banter with his brother makes Sam sick to his stomach.

Like today, when Sam’s sitting at the kitchen table reading while you're making a cup of tea. The silence between you two is amiable, like usual.

Sam steals a glance at you and has to smile.

"Going with purple polka dots today?" he asks.

You look over with knitted brows of confusion, until you follow his gaze. You laugh sheepishly and wiggle your toes through your fuzzy socks.

"The floor is cold as hell," you defend yourself.

Sam's smile deepens a fraction as he turns back to his book.

"They're cute," he adds.

You turn your face to hide your blush. The mild thunder of heavy boots announces Dean's presence as he pops into the kitchen.

"Oh good, you're cooking. What's for dinner?" he asks. You turn to give him a familiar narrowed look.

"Who says I'm cooking?" you counter.

"Well, you're doing something on the stove..." Dean peers over and catches a whiff of the concoction you're brewing. He grimaces. "Second thought, I'm good. That smells like ass, whatever it is."

You roll your eyes at him. "It's just green tea, Dean. You know, health?"

He levels a deadpan expression at you as he opens up the pantry.

"I see your 'health' and I raise you...Doritos," he says. He digs his hand into the bag he's just pilfered and crunches a mouthful in your face. You can't help but splutter a laugh and push Dean away.

"You're ridiculous. If you catch a heart attack at 50, don't come crying to me."

"Hey, at least I'll die happy."

"Oh, right. A silver lining there. I'd hate to see what your arteries look like," you tease.

"Has anyone told you that you're unsavory?" Dean asks, continuing to crunch with an open mouth.

You smirk. "Is that your way of calling me sweet?"

He snorts. "Sure, sweetheart. We'll call it that."

"You know, I'm not your sweetheart," you point out.

Dean discreetly glances his brother's way with a sly glint in his eyes. Sam doesn't see it; by now he's trying his damndest to keep his eyes in his book and ignore the way his stomach is clenching, chest tightening.

Dean shifts his attention back at you and reaches down to brush your chin with his thumb.

"Not yet, but you could be," he says, in a flirtatious edge that he's never quite taken with you.

You're wide-eyed for a moment. In the end, though, you choose to take it as teasing. You push his hand away and give him an annoyed look.

"God, you're such a clown. Order a pizza if you're that hungry," you rejoin, and you pour two mugs of freshly brewed tea. "I won't even bother offering you one."

"Nope," Dean says, popping the "p." He walks out of the kitchen, giving Sam a firm slap on the back. Sam coughs and shoots his brother a frown.

Dean has the gall to wink at him before he walks out. Like he's having his own little private joke.

Well, Sam isn't laughing. He stares down hard at his book. He tries to ignore everything he just heard and saw out of the corner of his eye.

It becomes too much. He takes up his book and heads out of the kitchen.

He just doesn't see the way you frown as he walks away. There you stand, left holding two mugs of tea for you and him.

Sam returns to his room for a while. He's not hiding. He's...reading.

There's a knock at his door, and if it's Dean, he swears he's going to open his mouth and tell his brother to leave him the hell alone, like he's some kind of moody teen.

But it's you.

"Hey," you greet, after the door creaks open. Sam softens.

"Hey," he says, clearing his throat. "What's up?"

"You," you reply. You bring him his hot mug of tea and set it down on the desk where he sits.

"Thanks," he says.

You nod and place your mug beside his (Lord of the Rings themed, of course), and cross your arms as you lean against his desk.

Sam turns toward you in his chair. His hands rest on his thighs. His gaze travels back up to your face as he tries to keep his neutral, but welcoming to whatever you want to ask him. (He buries his heart deep, as he instinctively does whenever you're near him.)

"You okay?" you ask. Your brows furrow the longer you gaze down at him. Just staring, like you know he's hiding something. Like you can see straight into him, into the shadows where he keeps most of his thoughts of you.

This is perhaps the only area of his life where he's a coward.

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam replies, in a tone that suggests, Why wouldn't I be?

You quirk a smile. "Why don't I believe you?"

Sam swallows. For once, he's not sure what to say to you.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" you say softly. You take a subtle step into his orbit, almost between his open legs. Your demeanor says that you'd gladly listen, do whatever he asked of you. Because you're just that kind.

Sam's mouth twitches upward. "I know. I'm fine, really."

"You're fine, or you're Winchester fine?" you raise a brow.

Sam chuckles then, showing a flash of his smile. It lightens you.

"Maybe a bit of the second one," he admits.

You smile and inch closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah? Tell me," you say. Your voice is soft, but not quite a whisper.

It leads Sam to sigh. He grasps your hand where it lies on his shoulder. For a moment, he debates internally. He realizes then that Dean's antics earlier might've been more than just teasing. Maybe it was a subtle nudge—to stop wasting time.

Damn it, just do something, Sam thinks.

When you squeeze his hand back, it's just the small push he needs. He glances up at you.

Then he takes your hand and holds it between both of his, with care. He tugs you forward, surprising you as you step forward between his legs. Your mouth parts in soft surprise when he reaches a hand up to your cheek.

You still look surprised, blushing up to your ears, but you're not pulling away. In fact, your widened gaze moves from his eyes to his lips.

Sam smiles. He tugs you down to him and enacts a living daydream, finally kissing you with everything he has. Everything he’s had locked inside.

You respond to his mouth in kind; the subtle gasp of breath against his lips sharply cuts off as you sink into his kiss. Your trembling hand comes to his cheek, grazing the dull prickle of stubble. When your fingers dive into his hair next, it’s his turn to take a deep breath.

With each new kiss, he explores more of you. His hands find your waist, and he gathers you against his chest. You find purchase on his strong shoulders and give into the opportunity to straddle his hips, sitting in his lap while he continues to make your heartbeat wild in your chest.

Sam slows the kiss, only because his brain is starting to catch up with his heart. He wants to see your face, to make sure this is what you want.

He finds that and more when he looks up at you.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, tenderly brushing his thumb against your cheek.

"Does that answer your question?" he asks, with a soft laugh. You join him and press your forehead against his.

"I don't know,” you tease. Your eyes are dancing, both with amusement and relief. Because your heart has wanted this for even longer than Sam's.

You lean back in to whisper close to his lips. “Maybe I need a little more clarity."

Sam takes you at your word.

AN: It's been a long time since I've written for Sam! 💜 I got in another request for him a while ago. I may dust that one off soon... Until then, let me know what you think of this!

(And don't worry. I didn't forget about the Soldier Boy imagine I promised. That will come out at the end of this week, most likely!)

Read Dean's version: "Dean reads you wrong."

Sam Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[sdr2lovemail]

Saw your request open for reverse 1999! I not sure what characters you do but could you do smt like troop??idk what it call but basically 'someone ask them if you two are together despite havent establish relationships yet' for medicine pocket, dikke, and tooth fairy? What their reaction and response? If it too much you can cut it down sorry

Oblivious Encounters (GN Reader)

Synopsis: These lovely arcanists are in love and it's obvious to everyone but them.

Notes: I love oblivious pining, a wonderful trope. I'm still trying to get my footing with characters, but I will write for anyone, including NPCs! She/They pronouns are used for Medicine Pocket

Requests are open!

Medicine Pocket:

Parallel play. The act of being alone together. Some people find the best way to spend time with others is to do their own thing. 

Next to you, Medicine Pocket scribbles away in their notebook. Ever since the two of you had entered Vertin’s suitcase, her documenting has gotten way more intense. There wasn’t anyone here to dampen the experiments, so Medi was thriving.

You both sit at a table near the window, the setting sun providing just enough light. It had been a few hours since either of you had spoken, finding peace in the silence. Periodically, Med would slide their notebook over for you to read. They didn’t even want any comments on their work. She just wanted to ensure you were ready for the incoming info dump they would give you. What fun is telling someone about your experiments if they’re just going to be lost the whole time?

Amid the comfortable silence, breaking the serene atmosphere, was a shrill voice.

“No! The great Matilda is never wrong, and I will prove I am correct!” The bright-eyed girl was quick with her pace, making it over to the table in just a few strides. With one hand on the table, she leans in close. “How long has this courtship gone on?”

There’s an almost comedic pause.

“What?” Medicine Pocket cocked their head.

Matilda rests her hands on her hips, tilting her head with a sly smirk. “I know a relationship when I see one. But the question is how long it’s been going on.” 

It’s Medi’s turn to smirk as they respond before you can answer. “What amazing observational skills. Now tell me, just how did you figure us out?”

“Hmhmhm! Matilda always knows! And it was so obvious.” She laughed.

“Ohhh, was it now?” Medi smiled wide, those sharp teeth on display in a wolfish grin. As you are about to correct Matilda on your relationship, the scientist kicks you under the table, itching to see how this plays out.

“The note sharing, for one. You are so stingy when it comes to sharing. Those longing silences the two of you enjoy. The way you’re always together. There is no hiding it from me!” 

You can feel your face grow warmer. Was this romantic? Did people really think that you and Medicine Pocket are together? And was that actually a problem for you?

With a laugh, Medicine Pocket shrugged her shoulders. “Huh, I didn’t think we were that obvious. You figured us out, Matilda. We’ve been courting for a few months now. Obviously, I was the one to start it. They were too flustered even to look my way.” 

“Medicine Pocket!” You chastised, face flushing further.

“See, that’s my beloved, always so embarrassed.” Medi reached over the table to take your hand in her gloved ones.

“I knew it! Vertin owes me money!” The energetic girl ran off to find the others and her new source of cash.

Pulling your hand away from the smirking doctor, you let out a groan. “Why would you tell her that? She’s going to tell everyone.”

“I wanted to see what would happen. We are practically dating anyway.” They shrugged, acting way too nonchalant.

Dikke:

Dikke enjoyed gossip. Well, not just gossiping. She enjoyed listening to others talk about anything. Hearing people engage in idle chatter was an oddly calming pastime for her. However, she couldn’t say it was truthful when the talk of the suitcase was about her. 

“Wouldn’t you like to buy your love some diamonds? I have quite the assortment. Necklaces, rings, anything that is sure to charm your lady.” 

Oh, how that scammer’s voice irked Dikke. She was about to move, wanting to read somewhere quiet, but she heard another voice. One she held dearly.

“Oh, I’m sure the selection of diamonds is… lovely. But I don’t have anyone to give jewelry to.” You answered curiously, unsure of what she was talking about.

Tennant let out a chuckle, brushing her hand against your cheek. “There’s no need to be so coy. I know the judge has stolen your heart.” She knew Dikke was watching. She wanted to rile her up and get a reaction. It would be fun to watch someone so proper get a bit angry.

Dikke rises from her seat, walking over to you and Tennant with quick steps. Her face looks more than displeased. 

“Why hello there, judge. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Tennant smirked, knowing she got what she wanted.

Her gaze practically bore through the blond woman’s body. The grip on her sword unconsciously grows tighter. “Thou should watch what drivel leaves thine mouth.” 

“My, what harsh words. Calling your own relationship drivel.” Tennant runs a single finger down your arm with a borderline mocking frown. “I would never treat you that way, dear.”

It was quick. You barely saw when it happened. Dikke swiped the hand off you in an almost uncharacteristic act of jealousy. “Perhaps thou should mind thy own affairs.” Before there could even be a response, Dikke speaks once more. “Enough of this. Leave us.” 

Figuring there was no point in taunting her further, Tennant leaves. Not without dragging her hand along your back, wanting to give Dikke one last teasing parting gift.

“I’m so sorry about that, Dikke. You know how Tennant can be sometimes.” You apologized with a sheepish smile. While you felt like you were just seeing things, her cheeks seemed slightly pink.

With the pest out of her hair, Dikke’s eyes soften slightly. “Thou shouldn’t let rumors fester. Lest they form into something more sinister.” She bows her head towards you and departs, not to finish her book but to find you a present better than diamonds.

Tooth Fairy:

“There has been an incline of cavities at the Foundation. Perhaps I’ve been handing out too many toffees.” Tooth Fairy sighed as she shuffled through her examination papers. The corners of her lips tugged down in a near-invisible frown.

Walking over to her side of the medical wing, you lean over her shoulder, taking a peek. “I doubt it’s your toffees. The kids probably aren’t brushing as often as they say. I know they lie to me about where they get their scrapes and bruises.” 

“Was that a poor attempt at making me feel better?” If it were anyone else, they probably would’ve been hurt by that comment. However, as the Foundation’s current nurse, you spend a lot of your days with the dentist. You’ve learned to discern when she’s playing around from her usual tone.

You let out a puff of a laugh, lightly shoving her shoulder. “Speaking of toffee, you wouldn’t happen to have any on you, would you?” There’s a soft smile on your face as you hold out your hand.

There was a faint sound of squeaking leather as Tooth Fairy reached into her pocket. “You’ll be the one with cavities if I continue to spoil you with candies.” She hands you a sweet despite her words. Her gloved hand lingers on yours for a second too long, dainty fingers caressing your wrist as she presses the toffee into your palm.

“But you never say no.” You smiled while unwrapping the candy. After popping it into your mouth, you start to walk out of the office. “I have to go meet with Madam Z about some paperwork. I’ll see you at lunch.”

The way Tooth Fairy watched you leave was downright pining. Her gaze locked on the doorframe. Her eyes soon lower, seeing a certain silver-haired young lady.

“Excuse me, is the nurse here?”

“Hello, Ms. Vertin. I’m sorry, they just stepped out. Is there anything I can help you with?” Tooth Fairy asked as the small child sat on one of the medical beds.

Young Vertin casts her eyes to the floor, bringing a hand up to her head. “I’ve got a terrible headache. I wanted to ask for one of their remedies.”

Tooth Fairy smiled. It was the third time Vertin came complaining about a headache this week. She knew she just wanted sweets, but she couldn’t help but humor her once again. “Well, I happen to know where they keep their medicine.”

The dentist kneeled at your desk, opening the drawer to grab from your stash of lollipops.

“Are the two of you married?” Vertin asked, her head titling curiously.

Nearly dropping the lollipop, Tooth Fairy’s eyes widen a bit. It was an innocent question, but it still made her falter. “What makes you ask that?” Quickly regaining her composure, she hands Vertin the candy.

“When I read stories, the parents in the books act the way you do. They always spend time together and give each other gifts.” Vertin explained.

Tooth Fairy sits at her desk, watching the girl unwrap her sweet. “I see. No, we are not married. We are simply work acquaintances, nothing more.” 

Vertin nods before speaking again. “You two should get married. I could be the flower girl.”

“I… will have to discuss that with them. For now, you should be getting to class.” Tooth Fairy turned back towards her papers, hoping to hide her slightly flushed cheeks.

[fuxuannie]

Whaaa i love ur writing style!! Could I ask for Sampo, Gepard and Dan Heng with a very shy reader? 🥺🙏

I just love those three!!

* pairing(s) : various hsr x gender neutral reader ( plus a joke-ish caelus prompt since ppl seem to like him !!!)

* prompt : request ♡

* authors note : thank you all so much for the overwhelming amount of support recently omg ♡ you're all so sweet, and it means the world. feel free to send requests, msgs and the sort my way!

DAN HENG understood your shyness, and was always there for you in situations where it really shone through. Especially in social settings, where you'd just cling onto his arm behind him. All of it, he was used to it, and never pushed you to do things outside your comfort zone.

When you two were just friends, he really appreciated the moments of comforting silence you two would always share. He would be reading on his bed and you'd be doing your own thing on his table. Sometimes you'd catch him just taking those times alone together to stare at you. (Which he'd miserably fail to deny every time he was caught. With his hand covering his mouth, brows furrowed and clear blush on his face.)

And when the confession happened, you were surprisingly the one to tell him. You wanted to prove that Dan Heng was really the only man for your heart, the only one who got to see that smile you'd hide away from people, and the side of you that people rarely know exist.. the one you show to him. A side of you where you're free to laugh without the need to swiftly cover your mouth afterwards, the side of you that's able to talk for hours on end about the little things you're excited about.. Everything he sees of you, its for him alone. And he's happy to know that.

SAMPO was like your voice in situations where you feel shy, it's almost scary how accurate he can read your feelings and convey them to other people.

"Oh don't worry! They're truly greatful, just a little shy." And you'd nod to confirm whatever he was saying.

But Sampo likes to play a little fun, enjoying how quick it was to fluster you. But if ever you asked him to stop, he would in that very moment. He likes to tease, but also knows how to stop.

Before you two dated, things really weren't all too different. Considering how close you two were, with him being your childhood best friend and knowing all about how shy you were.. he really didn't mind. You preferred to be a listener instead of a talker, and boy did he love to talk.

And now that you are now together, it seems not much had changed. He loved to talk, but now you loved to talk with him. You learnt how to open a little and crack out your shell, after the gentle encouragement and patience that Sampo had to help you open up. You owed it all to him.

GEPARD and you were both equally shy, which made such a silly and adorable pair. The mere idea of you two holding hands together had him clearing his throat and you looking down in embarassment.

You were his second in command, many viewed you as a cold leader who rarely ever spoke unless it was needed.. when in reality, you were just really shy. But you're second in command for a reason, your leadership skills and how you'd treat everyone with kindness was something Gepard really admired about you.

But while you two were mutually pining for each other, you two were so painfully awkward that Serval was this close to announcing in her next concert that you two loved each other. She had to listen to Gepard talk for hours on end for the fact you held EYE CONTACT with him.

But those really were signs, Serval thought he was going delusional, but you were genuinely trying to hint you liked him like that. The way your eyes would stare a bit too long into his, how you spoke to him even when you didn't need to and lastly just.. the way you looked at him. You could look him straight in the eyes, when usually you'd turn away at the very second the contact was made.

And now that you two are together, it's like Gepard still hasn't accepted it. Because he acts like you're STILL just a crush. He's just so madly inlove with you that he still gets all flustered and nervous.

You were shy, and your boyfriend was a ticking time bomb that attacked anything at any given moment. Most of the time, people would never really mind you, mostly because of how much of an oddball he was.

"Caelus, please stop scaring the hotel staff.. I really don't wanna speak to them and apologize on your behalf."

You watch Caelus sadly leave the closet, but if you asked him to do anything, he will do it in a heartbeat. "Me and my partner don't argue, they tell me to do something and I listen like a dog" Him, probably, but he knows he just doesn't wanna put you in situations where you're uncomfortable.

However his random obsession with trashcans has been getting concerning and you've started to wonder how the stars in the galaxy guided you to fall for him.

[halfwayhearted]

Arda Güler fic based on Fallingforyou by the 1975… so friends to lovers w a she fell first he fell harder type deal..

Fallingforyou — Arda Güler.

Pairing: Arda Güler x Fem!Reader

Summary: The TWO times you had to hide the fact that you love him + the ONE time you finally don’t have to.

Word Count: 2K+ (Hi, what the fuck.)

Disclaimers/s — Pining, fluff, angst if you squint, and done!

A/N: I love the ‘the _ times you _, the _ time you _’, ykwim. I also didn’t follow through with the song… just realized… hey. ALSO. They’ve been friends for a while, like, a long time btw.

1. The one where he comes over because you couldn’t sleep.

You never expected to call him, of all people, when you were lying awake during the night.

Though, all your doubts seemed to vanish the second he answered your call. Despite it being three in the literal morning, his voice was hoarse as he questioned, “Hey, are you okay?”

Your face reddened, and you swallowed thickly. “You were asleep, sorry, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Arda quickly uttered your name softly, stopping you from hanging up. “I wasn’t sleeping, I was just finishing my laundry. Swear. You can’t sleep, right? I can come over. I’ll be there in ten, yeah?”

He was quite literally offering to come over for your sake because you couldn’t sleep. You found yourself unable to help the small frustration that bubbled up inside you—not at him, but at yourself. If he kept doing things like this, you were sure you would be officially head-over-heels in love with him… well, not that you weren’t already.

Realizing you had yet to respond, you spoke, “Yeah. Yeah, thank you. Really. You really don’t—”

“Don’t do that. I want to, okay? I promise you.”

“I didn’t even get to finish what I was saying!”

His laugh, small but contagious, brought a smile to your lips. “I know you weren’t. But I know you. I want to. I’ll be there soon, alright? Bye.”

“Yeah—bye, Arda.” With that, the call ends.

True to his word, he arrived ten minutes later. You greeted him at the door, helped him with his coat, and led both of you to your bedroom. He picked a movie; it was the least you could let him do.

With the movie flickering in the background, you noticed your gaze kept trailing back to him. You cursed yourself internally, can you get a grip?

It was when he met your gaze that you snapped out of your thoughts. His bottom lip jutted out, making you gulp. “Something on my face?”

You stammered, “Uh, nope! Not at all.”

“Are you lying to me? You’re lying to me.”

Save yourself. “Okay, I am, I’m sorry,” you grinned sheepishly, leaning forward and using your thumb to wipe off the imaginary residue of the chips you both had been eating. You felt your breath hitch in your throat; Arda didn’t notice. The proximity between the two of you was… stop. Just leave it.

But the intensity of his gaze made your heart ache with the urge to spill your feelings:

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love—

“Did you get it?” He asked, making you stiffen.

Quickly, you pull back and nod, “Yup! Got it.”

2. The one where he picks you up from a date-gone-wrong.

It had only been two weeks since your almost, semi… slip-up. You decided you needed to get over this, over him, as soon as possible. Now.

It was so very clear that he didn’t feel the same, though you didn���t know how you arrived to that conclusion. He didn’t exactly show that he didn’t, but he also didn’t show that he did. And that right there was enough to make you tighten your grip on the napkin placed delicately on your lap.

That’s the reason you were even here in the first place. You had agreed to your friend’s blind date setup. She had always believed it would be you and Arda, well, forever. However, after countless hours of listening to you vent about how he doesn’t feel the same, she figured this might be the only way for you to finally... get over him.

You hoped it did. You really did.

Alas, not all hopes are fulfilled.

The guy just droned on about himself for hours, completely ignoring you—what you do, what you like, what you love. You were tired and annoyed.

You concocted an excuse to cut the date short, paid for just your meal, said your goodbyes, and slipped out through the back. Of course, it was raining—just your luck! Exactly what you needed.

Whipping out your phone, you hesitated over your friend’s contact. She was busy. You knew she was. Arda wasn’t. How did you know? Because his last message to you was, ‘Have fun, let me know how it goes. I’ll be watching a movie.’

Have fun? Totally. With a brave resolve, you click ‘call’ and quickly press your phone to your ear, tapping your fingers incessantly on your pants as you wait for him to answer. If he answers.

Please answer.

“Hey, it’s done already?” His voice fills your ears. The question makes you sigh in response. He says your name quietly, “Is it—are you outside?”

“What? Oh. Oh, yes, I am.”

What? Even though you couldn’t see him, Arda’s eyebrows raise almost instantly at that. “It’s raining. Where’s your date? Are you by yourself?”

"Well, I left. God, it was awful," you complained, running a hand over your face. "He just kept going on and on about himself, never once asking how my day was. Is that—it was such a simple thing!”

He says your name, “You could get sick.”

“Yeah, I’m aware. My hair took so long to do too.”

“I know, I know—just, go back inside!”

You ignore him, “Can you come get me, please?”

“I’m already on my way, go back inside,” he echoed. The sound of his air conditioning blowing through the speaker made you let out a breath of relief. “I’ll be right there. Don’t go anywhere.”

As if I could, you muttered to yourself while he hung up the phone, wiping it against your sweater and shoving it back into your pocket.

You didn’t go back inside. One, you didn’t want to. Two, you actually couldn’t. It was locked. Closed.

Instead, you found a bench nearby and sat down, your gaze drawn to the neon signs across the street. It wasn’t even raining that badly, it was a slight sprinkle. It obviously didn’t seem that way when he came, parked, and hurried out with an umbrella. “I thought I told you to go back inside.”

“Hey,” you frowned, “It was closed. It’s all closed.”

Arda huffed, holding the umbrella above you both, his expression softening at the sight of you shivering. It wasn’t that bad, just a little. Gently grasping your arm, he pulled you up and took your hand in his, guiding it to the pocket of his hoodie. You welcomed the warmth, your other hand shoved into your jean pocket. Just as you were about to speak, you felt the subtle rub of his thumb against your knuckles. Oh. My. God.

He was driving you absolutely crazy.

You felt like a mannequin being moved around when he walked you to his car, opened the passenger side door, helped you inside, and even buckled your seatbelt. How could you go on dates when the man you truly wanted was right here?

You were so lost in a daze that you didn’t even realize he was taking off his hoodie and slipping it over your head and onto your torso until you heard him ask, “How’s that?”

Looking up at him, you opened your mouth to respond, “Arda, I—” love you. Don’t. Clamping your mouth shut, you nodded and thanked him.

All he did was nod, smile, and shut your door.

Maybe next time.

3. The one where you can’t hold back anymore and confess.

Even after a week, you still kept his hoodie.

As soon as he dropped you off, you stripped it off and washed it, determined to give it back the next time you saw him... but you didn’t stick to that.

You saw him three times. You never gave it back.

It wasn’t because you didn’t want to, even though you really didn’t want to; it was mostly because you forgot. You lacked the warm clothes you needed, and his hoodie fulfilled that need. So—

Your phone rang, making you quirk a brow.

Picking up your phone, a sense of curiosity washed over you when you saw Arda’s contact name and photo on the screen.

With a bit of hesitation, you answer. “Hey… you.”

“Hey, are you home?”

“Yeah, I am! Are you okay? Do I need to pick you up from a bad date or something?”

He laughs, “You wish.”

No. No, you don’t wish. “Yup… I do.”

“I just wanted to call and tell you that I’m out front, can you let me in? Please?”

Out front? “You’re—why are you here? I mean, I’ll open my door, you’re always welcome, obviously.”

“Am I not allowed to visit my best friend?” The moment those words left his mouth, a bitter tinge rose within you. Best friend. Right, of course.

Swallowing hard, you managed to laugh, “Yeah, yeah, you are. I’m on my way. See you in a bit.”

Entering your living room, you grabbed the doorknob and swung the door open. Even though you expected him, the sight of him made your heart skip a beat. As you allowed him inside, Arda muttered a small, quiet “thank you” while walking in, watching as you smiled and shut the door.

“You cleaned, huh? It looks nice. My hoodie?”

“Your—right. It’s warm! And for your information, I always clean,” you replied, “…every other day. Is there anything you wanted to do? I have snacks, board games—oh! Can we watch a horror movie?”

You notice the way the corners of his lips twitch at your enthusiasm. “It is October, isn’t it?”

A hum, “It is!”

“Then, of course. Anything you want,” he said.

Anything you want. His words reverberated in your mind. Did he like you? Did he not?

Arda murmurs your name, his head tilting, and he steps closer. “Hey, are you okay? You seemed to shut down on me for a second there.”

“No, yeah. I’m okay. Just… deciding on which horror movie we should watch. It’s crucial, really.”

A lie. He knew it. “That’s a lie. You’re lying to me.”

“No, I already thought of about five we could watch and finish by tomorrow,” a pause, “We should probably start now if we want to finish.”

He says your name once again, and the way he’s looking at you makes you want to just tell him how you feel. ‘Maybe next time,’ you had told yourself. Now’s the time. But... was it actually?

His gaze flickers over your features, sending a shiver down your spine. It was concern, worry, and… something else. Something you couldn’t quite grasp, but it practically gnawed at you.

You’d reached your limit. “Don’t do that, Arda.”

His eyebrows knit together. “Do what?”

Like you could actually love me, you had thought. Then, when you saw him stiffen, you realized you hadn’t just thought it—you had said it.

Embarrassed. Completely and utterly sick.

“Okay, I didn’t—sorry, I’m sorry,” you sputtered, shaking your head and stepping away from him. “You should go. Yeah, please go. I—”

His hands cupping your jaw were enough to make you shut your mouth. “Stop. Please, stop.”

“I’m embarrassed! This is so embarrassing.”

“Why? Why’re you embarrassed?” He inquired, eyes narrowing, “Hey, listen, I love you.”

No. No. No. “You’re just saying that.”

The man shakes his head, “It’s always been you.”

You don’t believe that. How could you? “Are you lying? If you are, that is so not funny.”

A shaky laugh escapes his lips. “I love you. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to tell you.”

“I have no idea?” You scoffed playfully, still in disbelief. “You have no idea! I was—how long?”

“It was the second you told me you were going on a date, that was… when I realized,” he explains, his face flushed. He lets out a breath. “All I remember was wishing it was me, me who asked you out, me who got to be by your side all night. Hearing how he didn’t care enough to get to know you, it annoyed me more than it should’ve.”

I remember wishing it was me.

You didn’t even know what to say; the only words capable of leaving your lips were, “Does this mean I’m able to keep your hoodie?”

He nods, his tongue poking the side of his cheek, “Yes, you can keep it. Anything you want.”

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ

[seuonji]

彡 my heart is beating for two. — yoon jeonghan

part 1 ๑ part 2 ๑ part 3

notes ๑ daycare worker yn! x secretary jeonghan — jeonghan becomes fond of the daycare worker he met the other day. they finally exchanged numbers! how does it go on from there?

genre ๑ fluff, new interest, mutual pining.

warnings ๑ profanity, mentions of eating.

word count ๑ 2.4k

from aya: please reblog if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated<3

“beep, the number you have dialled can’t be reached. please try again.”

either you were getting seriously played by this man or he was just seriously dumb.

you shook your head and moved on to call mr.choi. it wasn’t the time to be upset over something like this.

the call connected and surely, yuna’s father picked up.

“yn! i’m so sorry, i’m already nearby.”

you bit your lip thinking about how you wouldn’t be seeing jeonghan later on like you hoped you would. the mild heavy feeling only piled on cause tomorrow would be the weekend and the weekend meant no work. usually that would’ve been great news but that man had you in a chokehold somehow.

you wanted to see him.

“no worries! drive safely, see you soon.”

+

seungcheol hurriedly ran to the front door and you immediately saw him since you were at reception while yuna was napping in one of the rooms.

you quickly clicked the button which opened the doors and seungcheol strutted in, “i deeply apologise.”

you shook your head and reassured him that it wasn’t a problem, “it’s no worries mr.choi, you’re a busy man.”

you were just about to get yuna but seungcheol stopped you in your tracks.

“hey yn, yuna’s birthday is coming soon and i’m not sure if you’d be interested but i’m sure she would love it if you came to her party this weekend,” he smiled as he handed you an envelop which encased an invitation, “it’s on sunday, sorry for the late notice but i hope you can come!”

you had a confound look on your face but you kindly took the letter, “me? are you sure?”

“of course? yuna adores you,” he spoke with genuine words.

“oh, that’s touching,” you looked at the envelope and placed it into your bag, “i’ll see my schedule.”

+

you were free that faithful sunday.

you took slow steps into the large venue and peered around looking for seungcheol who was really the only person you knew there.

the party was royal themed for yuna’s princess dream so people were dressed extravagantly, it was a shock how well organised the place was. ‘so this is what you can get with money,’ you thought. the room was crowded to say the least and the kids running around only added to the chaos.

you felt so out of place.

you were pretty hesitant to attend in the first place. you were only attending to oblige yuna’s wishes but then again what were you gonna do for the rest of the night?

perhaps you should just wish yuna a happy birthday, leave the gift then leave the place altogether, but just as you were trudging into deep thought, you felt someone pat your back. “yn you came!” seungcheol gleefully acknowledged your presence.

“mr.choi! hi, yea i happened to be free.” you tried your best to engage with the same energy.

“oh hey, you two have met right?” seungcheol asked as he pulled his secretary forward giving a pat to his back.

suddenly the crowds noise seemed to have disappeared.

“jeonghan, right?” you nonchalantly said.

his eyes seemed to widen but he stuck his hand out for a handshake before anyone could notice, “it’s nice to see you again yn!”

you smiled as a silent response before returning your attention to seungcheol, “where’s yuna? i want to greet her!”

seungcheol’s hands gripped his secretary’s shoulders as he lightly pushed him towards you, “jeonghan will bring you to her! he’s like a walking gps for my little girl,” he chuckled.

jeonghan seemed to have an equally shocked reaction but he knew how to hide well.

“oh, alright,” you nodded your head and plastered on a smile.

your smile somehow calmed him down yet at the same time, he felt his heart race.

“okay, this way yn,” he gestured with his hand as he lead the way.

he walked with his back straight, he held his hands at is back having an utmost professional posture.

seungcheol who watched discretely, saw jeonghan leading and you just walking a little behind. he thought you two suited each other. also, he’d never seen jeonghan walk so stiffly and properly.

you fidgeted with the gift box trying to find a comfortable way to hold it. it was kind of bulky so you struggled a bit.

“need help?” jeonghan halted and extended his arms reaching for the gift after he heard the rummaging in the back.

“no it’s alright,” you softly said. your throat was closing up from the awkwardness of the situation.

you had a passiveness to you that day and jeonghan couldn’t tell why. but he continued walking and placed his hands in his pockets trying to find yuna.

eventually you reached her. she was playing with the other kids, some you even recognised from daycare and they instantly ran up to you.

“yn you’re here!” yuna excitedly swung your arm. “i am, happy birthday yuna!”

you sat down on the mini couch yuna had pulled you to and shortly conversed. yuna didn’t even question why you’re here, she was just pleased that you were. you showed her the gift you got her and she asked jeonghan to put it on the top of the mountain of gifts the other guests got her. she really treasured you the most.

“yn do you want to play with us?” one of the kids asked.

you felt touched with the kindness and honestly, they were the only ones you could probably stay around with cause it’s not like you knew anyone else here, as sad as that may sound— but you were admittedly famished so you sort of hesitated. before you could even speak, jeonghan squatted down to their height, “best we let the guest eat first right? i’m sure yn can play with you later.”

they understood and went back to doing their own thing.

“care for directions to the buffet?” he stood up and he held out a hand to help you get up.

you looked at his hand then to his eyes. “that would be appreciated,” you held his hand and got up.

jeonghan started leading the way again but he walked at a pace that allowed him to be beside you.

“how’ve you been?” he asked.

you gave him a puzzled look and he understood why you’d be confused. it’s not like you guys were even acquaintances, he just met you like what, twice? now’s the third but why would be be concerned about your whereabouts.

but you answered regardless, “i’ve been good, you?”

“good, seungcheol’s business became not-so-busy quite fast,” he chuckled. he was referring to the way it wasn’t too hectic at work anymore so seungcheol was able to pick up yuna again as per usual.

you giggled softly, “yea i figured, he’d been the one coming to get yuna recently.”

your ‘meet-ups’ with jeonghan had departed as quickly as they came.

by now you both have reached the food service area, “thanks for helping me get around,” you said.

jeonghan looked around the room and back to you, “uhm, i could stay with you tonight? unless you have plans to see someone else.”

if he stayed with you, you wouldn’t be alone tonight.

parts of you, mostly the prideful side wanted to reject. you still had a feeling he was just playing you. but perhaps you could just try and oblige to his offer.

you happened to answer quickly, “no one in particular.”

he smiled then tilted his head to the food, “well get your food, i’ll find us a table.”

+

you two were seated at the table. it was a circular table and it was set in the corner of the room so there wasn’t much attention set on you two. there would occasionally be people coming up to jeonghan and sparking a conversation but he was quick to end it.

“how do you like the celebration?” he asked.

you just took a bite of your food but you covered your mouth and answered, “it’s a new experience actually, i’ve never seen such an extravagant party. it’s amazing what you can do with money.”

jeonghan laughed at the way you described it, “seungcheol loves yuna a lot.”

“he’s a kind man, yuna is lucky,” you said before taking another bite.

there was a silence for a few seconds. jeonghan took a sip from his drink as if it was beer. he sighed biting his lip thinking of things to talk about.

you continued to eat waiting for another conversation starter to come to your head.

but there was something you two wanted to talk about.

and jeonghan happened to beat you to it.

“hey i wanted to talk about that day, i gave you my number but you still called seungcheol first. why’s that? still don’t trust me?” he said with a teasing tone.

you were baffled. “excuse me?” you said clearly confused.

“what?”

you placed your utensils down and faced him, “i called you but the line didn’t work.”

“you sure that wasn’t just an error on your side, like maybe you mistyped it?” he furrowed his eyebrows.

“i tried three times.” you calmly said.

“wow, wanted to see me huh?” he cheekily spoke.

“i was working overtime and someone had to pick up yuna!?” you whisper-screamed.

he scooted his chair closer to you, “maybe you didn’t pay your phone bills.”

“then how did the call to mr.choi connect?” you firmly spoke.

“then you probably typed my phone number incorrectly,” he went back to the first point making you laugh.

he wasn’t being arrogant about it, it was more of a playful banter. but at the same time, was he seriously trying to gaslight you into thinking you entered the number incorrectly?

“come, show me the contact you typed in,” he rested his arm on the back of your chair, getting closer to your vicinity.

you huffed and took the business card from out form your phone case then placed it side by side with the contact typed in your phone.

suddenly it’s as if jeonghan had seen a ghost.

you tilted your head, “so?”

“holy shit the printing company got it wrong.”

“what?” you blurted loudly.

he leaned back into his seat and looked lifelessly to the ceiling, “i’ve given that card to so many people and it has the wrong number printed on it.”

you felt a tad bit guilty and patted his back, “how bad could it be?”

he slowly turned to you with the most helpless look on his face. "i told you so?" you joked trying to lighten up the mood.

he suddenly let out a chuckle. he straightened his back continuing to laugh, "you were right, yn."

you bit your lip holding back a laugh but jeonghan was busy wheezing while looking at the card, was he going manic? yet you couldn't help but laugh as well. you two were getting the attention of people around but you both couldn't care less.

gosh, what were the chances he was just seriously dumb.

"im so sorry yn, honestly, sorry for putting you through that trouble," he said after the laughs.

"its really no big deal, i'm more concerned for the people trying to contact you."

"it's fine, i only cared about your call anyways," he glanced at you with a different look in his eyes.

"what?"

he rested his head on his hand and repeated, "i only cared about your call."

"wow, you must really care about yuna," you acted oblivious.

"i do, i do," he pursed his lips holding back his smile, "but also in general, i was just interested in getting to know you better."

you didn't expect him to be so straghtforward. you knew he was probably the confident type but you thought it would've taken a lot to get his attention.

you leaned into your chair and squinted your eyes, "really? why?"

"don't know, why don't we talk about it over a cup of coffee?" he smugly grinned.

you played with the hem of your clothes, thinking twice before answering. but you already spent a whole evening with him and you couldn't lie, you were enjoying his presence.

"sure, why not."

you couldn't tell but he was mentally cheering, "come, let me give you the right phone number," he pointed to your phone.

you slid your phone to him and continued eating, "if that phone number doesn't go through, be careful, i know where you work."

he silently giggled at your joke, simultaneously, he called the number on your phone, and from his pocket, his phone buzzed, "you trust me now?"

"with you, who knows."

+

a workday again. you were at reception and there you saw jeonghan walk in with yuna hand in hand.

"hi yuna, i'll be in right away, just let me finish some of the work back here," you instructed as per usual.

you two watched yuna descend into the playroom and again, it was just the two of you.

"what's this? i thought mr.choi was becoming not-so-busy, did you actually manipulate his schedule just so that you could see me?" you joked.

you recalled his words from the coffee date you had with him just a few days ago. one of the details he mentioned on ‘why he was interested’ was that he felt the urge to make his boss more busy just so that he'd be asked to get yuna from daycare to see you. you couldn't tell again, if he was just seriously dumb or just passionate.

"not really, just pulled a few strings, told seungcheol i would like to see my crush more often, now he lets me bring yuna to daycare where my crush conveniently works," he innocently explained with an angel-like smile.

your eyes were on the screen of the laptop but you were listening, "poor mr.choi, his father-daughter time is decreasing," you pouted.

"he'll live."

you were trying to finish the work on the computer but you still looked up, entertained by him, “well don’t decrease your boss-secretary time, leave.”

“you’re mean.”

“you’ll live.”

he playfully clicked his tongue as he got a taste of his own medicine. he walked towards you and stepped closer to reception. he leaned over the table and his face was close yours. as he placed a kiss on your forehead, he asked, “wanna get dinner together tonight?”

“sure,” you smiled.

to say the least, the coffee date went well.

[jennifer-jeong]

Okay so first, I really love your LnD fics (patiently waiting for more of your amazing works) 🥹🫶 and hear me out...

Reader who is reincarnated as a Fae being and has been alive since. But the thing is, her wings had been clipped off (with the use of silver chains, meaning she's vulnerable against silver) for a century and is in Linkon city since she feels that part of her (her wings) are somewhere hidden in the city (Think of Maleficent live action ig where her wings were taken from her) and meets the guys and so on :)

HI ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR ASK AND YOUR KIND WORDS FJDSKLAFJSDL;A I APPRECIATE IT SM!! TY FOR INTERACTING!! I’m so glad to hear you like my fics and I promise more are on the way hehehe please do request me again if you have more ideas!!

I hope I did your prompt justice! I definitely did think a lot about maleficent when writing this hehehehe

Fluff + Angst | LADS x Fae!Reader Angel

CONTENT Angst to fluff, gender neutral reader, mentions of violence, blood, trauma, torture, healing alongside them, mutual pining between you and the boys, happy and open ended endings! ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

Your wings were a pretty and pearly milky white. Your wings resembled those of high flying birds. They were thick enough to allow gliding and also strong enough to give you lots of control in the air. They were iridescent in the sun and carried you high in the bright sky. The air was thin but more refreshing up there. You played with clouds and soared through the endless blue. It was freedom. It made you feel alive, warm.

It was your gift, but unfortunately, it was on someone else’s wishlist.

You’d never been a spiteful being, nor had you ever hurt a fly. But when silver chains ripped your flesh and tore your muscle to take your wings, severing your very soul from your body. When they destroyed your forest, your home, your family, your heart. You swore to make them suffer.

You were powerful and hunting these fools down was nothing difficult for you. The problem was hunting without your wings, your best weapon.

The lack of mobility and being forced to fight on the ground made it so that you could maim the weak ones, but you could never reach the ones who profited off the suffering of you and your people.

Linkon city is where they were. You knew this. You could feel your wings there. You also knew that you’d need to hide, figure out who did what and how to get your damn wings back. It would take time, but time was all you had as a fae. You’d do whatever it took to make them pay.

It’d take years, but it was worth it.

2 years later and you’ve already made moves to apprehend (and torture) a few key figures, always leaving them in front of the police station when you were done. You still had so much good in you and it always prevented you from killing. But it made you seethe that they were filthy fucking rich from what they stole from your homeland. They sold your resources and displayed your bodies, your wings, like they were trophies. Life was still cold and depressing for you but you did manage to make some friends in Linkon. They’d even help you with your mission. You only trusted them with the information because they had similar goals.

XAVIER

Xavier was a local policeman you had met a few decades into your plot when you were hired to help with the case. He was coincidentally also investigating illegal hunters and black markets selling goods stolen from other civilizations such as yours. It was a big ring of crime and he was determined to end the atrocities that were being committed in it. Meeting you was just extra motivation on top of his already relentless drive for justice. You became investigative partners since you were both capable in combat and often investigated the same people anyways.

Xavier was kind, gentle, quiet, and stronger than he let on. He always worked without expectation of reward and you appreciated that. You just wanted justice and he wanted the same. It helped that he didn’t seek publicity because it would’ve made your life harder since you were probably wanted as a vigilante from before. Xavier taught you his philosophies and you realized you’d been consumed by your desire for revenge, unable to enjoy life outside of it. You admired him for his morals, so you learned from him, and it made you two grow closer. He was more than happy to help, it was so rewarding to see you slowly become your bubbly self that he guesses you lost a long time ago.

He had his suspicions that you might be fae. The man was smart but he played his cards carefully, he always held them close. He acted aloof with you and pretended to not constantly stare at the back of your shirt, trying to see if you had imprints of missing wings on your shoulder blades. He also figured that your motivation for wanting to crack these cases came from somewhere. If he also managed to figure out that you’d been behind some of the previous mysterious arrests, he’d turn a blind eye. He knew your actions weren’t crimes. He felt glad that you got them back for what they did to you and your people.

After a few years of planned raids and dozens of arrests, one of the recovered items from the warehouse was a beautiful pair of wings. Still buzzing with magic, craving to feel the wind again. You felt them when they were being transported to the police HQ. The surge of energy that continued to approach you made you hold your breath and bounce your leg out of pure anxiety. Xavier put a hand on your shoulder to try to calm you down. He’d already figured out what was going on just by looking at you. You didn’t need to say a word. It was something that slowly came naturally since you two spent so much time together. You smiled and he smiled warmly back. You were in the middle of panicking because Xavier was still touching you when you were presented with your missing soul, your wings. You requested to view the “evidence” privately with Xavier and wasted no time in feeling your delicate wings with your fingertips again.

Xavier stood behind you, his right hand found its way to your upper back. He finally traced the outlines of your cut wings. It made you gasp at first, but you trusted him. As he continued to feel them, you shivered. They were scars, they were more sensitive. He stepped to your side and you turned to partially face him, his hand sliding off of you. You looked into his eyes and your longstanding feelings for Xavier were making their presence known by heating up your face, flushing your cheeks. You swore you saw a slight tinge of red on the tips of his ears too. He spoke to you in his familiar voice that you loved so much. He decided to tease you slightly.

“I think I always knew that you’d have wings, you were too perfect to not be an angel.”

ZAYNE

Zayne was a surgeon you’d met one day when he treated your wounds since you collapsed outside the hospital. He discovered the scars where your wings used to sit on your back. You were high off the morphine when he checked your back for more injuries so you barely even realized.

He questioned you but not in the way you expected. You thought he wouldn’t know what they were or try to take advantage of you. But instead he asked what you knew about the hunters that took your wings. He already knew exactly what happened to you just by looking. He was involved in cracking down on research related to Fae and Lemurians since there were people trying to fuse their genetics with these races to gain their beneficial traits such as immortality.

He knew some things you didn’t know and vice versa. You both began working on this together, investigating research facilities, interrogating suspects, and fighting only when needed. You were unstoppable and the law didn’t plan to ask you to let up. You both hand delivered them collectors and shadowy figures that had hid from the police for so long. When you fought, Zayne could both heal and attack from afar while you rushed them head on. You were unafraid because you believed in your partner, your trust in Zayne only grew as the years went on.

Early on, Zayne encouraged you to let go of the spite, the revenge. You knew he was right when he said that they did not benefit you in this. He saw the rage in you and could see that it was hurting you, mentally and physically. You listened, you knew better. You stopped the relentless tortures and instead, let the collectors rot in jail, but not before you got in a few good punches. Zayne watched you slowly come out of your shell again, actually taking the time to enjoy the little things in life instead of being hyper focused on revenge. He’d be lying if he said you weren’t one of the most rewarding patients he’d ever had.

Working with your partner was definitely quite the rollercoaster. He was always so professional and mature but would also randomly tease you as if you were kids, albeit with a fully deadpan expression. Zayne was reserved and often came off as cold but he made you so warm. You knew he was an extremely compassionate and kind person under his exterior and you admired him for it. Zayne also adored you in the same way. You had gone through so much pain and suffering but you still smiled and shined like the sun.

Over time you adapted to live without your wings but after one specific raid on a collector’s mansion, you knew exactly what the collector’s prized possession was because it belonged to you. You could feel your wings. They still surged with energy and upon seeing them when you went to do follow up investigation, you immediately called to them. They flew towards you and you inspected them, almost not believing the scene in front of you. Zayne stayed close ready to support you, especially if you were to fuse with your wings again, he knew it’d be hard to keep them hidden and it’d just bring up so much previous trauma.

You turned to face him slowly, leaving your wings behind you. You hesitated. Not letting your wings fuse with you yet. Zayne looked into your eyes, trying to comfort you with his presence. After a few seconds, Zayne held out his hand, you took it. His skin was cold but somehow it made yours burn, the heat spreading through your body as your face warmed up. He spoke quietly to you, telling you to take your time. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, your thumb slowly caressing the back of Zayne's hand as he did the same back.

Zayne had always been good at comforting you with his words, maybe it just came naturally since he was a doctor. Regardless, you knew it was exactly what you needed right now. You didn’t know what you’d do after you got your wings back. Would you go home? Would you continue this mission with Zayne? Would having your wings make it harder? Would it make it easier? You confided in Zayne as you spoke your thoughts out loud. Once you were done, you were overwhelmed and he could tell. He started his reply with a sentence that filled you with warmth, hope, and a little bit of giddiness. He speaks, teasing you a bit at the end, his face flushing.

“It doesn’t matter what you are or if you have the wings or not, you’re beautiful and you should follow your heart… especially if it’s here.”

RAFAYEL

Rafayel was a painter “looking for art or inspiration” that you met at an underground event where illegal goods were being sold, but you quickly figured out it was a front. Rafayel was a Lemurian, you sensed it immediately since you weren’t human. As a fae you had the ability to sense certain things, and so did Rafayel. Upon meeting each other at an art exhibition, you quickly exchanged information and agreed to meet up again the next day. You almost simultaneously revealed that you were both after the hunters that destroyed your homes when you finally got to chat alone.

The two of you start to frequent more underground events, both of you being well connected and hiding your true intentions very well. You use the events to gather information and then put your plans into action when your targets are alone. It worked amazingly well, you were both extremely skilled and efficient at what you did. It slowly chipped away at this network that shamelessly destroyed your beautiful homes.

Rafayel was a bit of a loose cannon. The man was so sweet and bashful one second and deadly serious the next. He was so gentle with you but didn’t hesitate when there was business that needed to be done. He could easily switch it on and off too. You were just glad you were on his side of this war.

Both you and Rafayel were out for revenge but something about your partnership changed you two. You both slowly helped each other heal, confiding your worries and traumas in each other. You were still both ruthless when it came to apprehending the people who did you wrong but the tortures stopped and the warmth returned outside of the violence. You two actually started to make good memories and live life instead of just trying to survive. You’d often watch the sunset over the ocean together, it was peaceful and you’d chat about anything and everything.

Eventually, after dozens of raids and missions, Rafayel finds weapons that used to belong to his family at the same time you find your wings again. You kept quiet until the mission was done, knowing you could feel your wings but not wanting to startle Rafayel. You looked at the weapons with him, you put your hand on his back to show your support for him. His eyes stayed glued on the knives and his face was a painful melancholic expression. You rubbed circles into his upper back with your thumb, hoping it could ease some of the pain caused by resurfacing memories.

After ensuring that the weapons would be sent to his personal studio, he continues to explore the mansion with you, following you while you find your wings. You communicated to him about your wings and he knew this would be tough for you too but you were both glad you had each other in this moment.

When you saw your wings in a display case at the end of one of the hallways, you bit back tears. It was a lot to take in. You passed millions of dollars worth of paintings to reach the most priceless thing in this whole building. Rafayel lags slightly behind you, wanting to give you a moment. You turn to face him, telling him that you don’t know if you want the wings back or not. Would they make you complete again? They can’t bring anyone back, can’t take away the pain. You couldn’t hide them like Rafayel could hide his true form, would it be a nuisance?

Rafayel makes his way towards you as you ramble, clearly distressed. He quickly envelopes you in a hug, letting you cry lightly into his chest, a painting of Lucifer on the wall next to you. You stay like that for a while. When he finally pulls back, he cups your face with his hands. You were his fallen angel, he wasn’t always great with his words but he truly spoke from the heart when comforting you like this.

“You never needed these wings to be complete, you’re ethereal with or without them. You’ll always be my angel, no matter what.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

[atlafan]

The Arrangement - Prologue + Part 1

a/n: hiiiiii posting this here and the rest on patreon! in fact, parts 2 and 3 are already live on patreon 🤭 This is heavily influenced by Ali Hazelwood's Bride, but it's not supernatural or anything like that. But we do have the arranged marriage, enemies to lovers trope which are always so fun. Also, if you couldn't tell, I'm obsessed with Bridgerton, so there's some influence of that in there as well. The yearning and pining is strong in this. warnings: a shit ton of backstory and angst :D TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of suicide and minor character deaths words: 11.3K (that's the prologue + part 1)

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Prologue

Margaret

Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon. They’re the norm, actually. Most heads of households make deals with other heads of households and trade their children like cattle. Since I’m a bit more upper class, I never had to worry about being sold to some forty-year-old man in exchange for three of his best cows or pigs.

No, the arrangements in my society are much more about big business, if you can even call it that. We aren’t traded for items, we’re traded for money. Dowries are like nuclei, they’re the powerhouse of our entire economy. It works both ways: a poor man with a title will often try to find a girl with a large dowry. A girl who may not have much of a dowry to offer can still get married, but she needs to marry well. That rules out a lot of men. Then you’re forced to manipulate some foul soul into courting you. It’s rarely a love match.

It’s all business. Not personal.

Dowries make sense in that it ensures that putting a new household together isn’t solely on the husband’s (or his family’s) shoulders. A man of modest means can’t be expected to buy a home, new furniture, or wardrobe all on his own. I certainly would never expect my husband to do all of that on his own.

My husband could, though, if he wanted to.

I have just married a viscount. Below an earl and above a baron, a viscount is a nobleman that holds a lot of power within society. If done right, a viscount can remain quite wealthy. A viscount owns multiple estates that can include fields, pastures, hunting grounds, streams, etcetera. Middle-and lower-class peoples tend to work this land or pay to have access to this land. To put it simply, you’d be a very lucky lady to marry a viscount.

But I don’t feel lucky. I hate to complain because I recognize my privilege. It’s just that I really thought I would be able to choose my own husband. My parents never gave me any indication that I wouldn’t be able to do so. Hell, I’ve turned down three marriage proposals! I suppose it wouldn’t so bad if I actually liked my new husband.

The fact of the matter is, if I had any choice or say in the matter, I never would have chosen to marry Viscount Harry Styles.

“Viscountess?” My lady’s maid, Agnes, peeps into the women’s parlor that I’ve been hiding in. Clearly, I haven’t been hiding well enough. “You and the viscount will need to make your entrance in a moment.”

“Thank you, Agnes. I just need one more second to myself.”

“Of course.” She nods and curtsies before closing the door.

I look in the mirror and sigh. It’s a shame, I look beautiful. I’m not being vain either. I never thought I could look this beautiful. It’s a shame because I would rather be radiating this beauty for a man I love, or, at least, a man I actually like. Some spouses grow to like each other, even love each other if they’re lucky. Many of my friends have married. Some have enjoyed it, and others detest it. Some seem to be good friends with their husbands, but there’s no sexual chemistry. (I’m a married lady, I can say things like that now.)

If the Queen herself wasn’t making an appearance, I would have fled. Oh well, this is my life now.

I take a deep breath and paint a fake smile on my face before leaving the parlor. No tears. No crying. Tonight, when I’m getting ready for bed, after my husband has taken me, then I will give myself the gift of a good cry.

**

Chapter 1

Twenty Years Prior to the Wedding

Harry

Something very strange is happening today. Mother’s told me that a girl will be joining me in the nursery for my schooling. I asked if it would be just for today, but she told me it was for the foreseeable future. I don’t think I would have minded, but I’ve gotten so used to having the governess to myself since Brother went off to school. This girl is a few years younger than me, so she’ll be learning different lessons than I, but she’ll be in the nursery with me. Playing with my old toys, getting attention from Nanny.

I asked Mother if this girl was coming to live with us, if that was why she’d be in the nursery with me, but Mother said no, that the girl and her parents would be moving into one of our family homes close by. When we’d go to the country estate, we’d all be under the same roof, but in London, we’d be in separate homes. But since Mother and the girl’s mother are dear friends, she joked and said it will be like they’re living with us all the time.

“Master Styles.” One of the valet’s comes into the upstairs drawing room where I had been playing the piano. “Your mother has requested your presence downstairs. The Abernathy Family has arrived.”

“Thank you, Carver.” I get up and follow him downstairs. My mother smiles at me and waves me over, putting her hands on my shoulders as I stand in front of her.

“Harry, you were about two the last time you met the Abernathy’s.” She tells me. “So, let’s have a fresh introduction, shall we? This is Lord and Lady Abernathy, and their daughter Miss Margaret Abernathy. She’s three, only three years younger than you.”

“Hello, it is nice to meet all of you.” I bow my head respectfully. The other adults smile warmly. I look at Margaret who is sucking her thumb and cuddling a blanket to her chest. She has absolutely no idea what is going on. I almost envy her.

“What a polite young man.” Lady Abernathy crouches to my level. “You may call me Aunt Catharine if you like. And Lord Abernathy gives you his permission to call him Uncle John.”

“What do you say, Harry?” My mother squeezes my shoulders.

“Thank you.” I bow my head again and receive a pat to the top of my head.

“He looks so different from his brother. Looks more like you, Edith.” Lord Abernathy, er, Uncle John, says to Mother. They know Brother?

“You think so? What a compliment.” She smiles. “Margaret, would you like Harry to show you to the nursery? He has a lot of toys to show you. Nanny will be here to meet you shortly. She’s a lovely woman, Harry adores her.”

Margaret continues to suck her thumb, but her eyes lock on my face. Her blanket hangs on the crook of her used arm. Her free hand reaches out to me. I’m not sure what to do.

“Margaret isn’t, ehm, as verbal as most toddlers.” Aunt Catherine explains. “She talks, she’s not dumb, but when she’s shy, she goes quiet. She wants you to take her hand so you can lead her upstairs.”

I nod and take Margaret’s hand. I grimace when I feel how wet her palm is. She must have been sucking the thumb on this hand before. Brother used to tell me he begged Mother and Father for a younger sibling. He wanted someone to play with. We are far apart in age, so it clearly took some time. I never felt the way he did. I like being the youngest, so I will not treat Miss Margaret as if she were my little sister. As a cousin, maybe, if she is lucky.

She gasps when we walk into the nursery, immediately running to get on the wooden rocking horse. She giggles as she rocks herself back and forth, then gasps when she sees my old blocks. She trips over her blanket on her way, but she doesn’t cry. Just shakes it off and gets back up to get to the blocks. She looks over at me, smiling.

“Wanna pway?” She asks me, and I raise an eyebrow at her.

“I need to get back to my piano lessons.” I mutter. It wasn’t a lie, I genuinely needed to practice to show my governess I was working hard.

“Nooooo.” She whines. “Pway wiff me, pwease?”

“Why are you talking like that?” I cock my head to the side. “Your teeth are in, pronounce things properly. You sound like a commoner.”

She blinks at me, scrunches her face, then says, “You’re mean”, before stacking the blocks on her own.

I am not happy about this girl one bit.

**

Fifteen Years Prior to the Wedding

Margaret

Many of the house workers have children my age, so I play with them a lot. If Harry isn’t with our governess, he usually plays with me. I’m dreading for when he goes off to Eton. He has two more years until then, but still, it will go by quickly. He helps with my Latin and has secretly been teaching me arithmetic. “Girls should know these things too”, he tells me. He’s so smart. He could be a great scholar someday.

George, Harry’s older brother, is back from university. He went to Cambridge a boy and has come back a man. At least, that’s what our mothers say when they gossip. Harry and I usually sneak around the drawing room when people are over. We like to listen in. I do find George to be terribly handsome, but I hardly get to see him. He spends most of his time as his father’s apprentice, learning everything that’s needed to one day become the viscount. When I do get to see George, he pays me a ton of attention, and will play games with Harry and I. If I’m lucky, I will get to marry a man like him someday, and if I’m really lucky, I might even get to marry him. Sure, he would have to wait another ten years or so for me to come out, but I think we would make an extraordinary pair.

When balls are held at Styles House, Harry and I sneak around upstairs and watch everyone dance and drink. I always feel a pang in my chest when I see George dancing with multiple young ladies. Sometimes I wonder if he hasn’t married yet because perhaps Father has made a deal with Uncle Michael to have me married off to George for when I’m older. That would be the greatest thing my father could ever do for me.

One morning, while Harry and I are having breakfast in the informal dining room, as we were so often banished to when we were at Styles Estate in the country, I look at him until he looks at me.

“May I help you?” He asks.

“Are you looking forward to Eton?”

“That is two years away.” He sighs.

“I know, but I am curious. I do not get to go off to school like you. I will remain here with our governess.”

“Your parents could send you to finishing school.”

“Your mother wouldn’t allow that. I overheard her saying finishing school was for the middle class.”

“She’s right.”

“But I am not middle class.” I furrow my eyebrows.

“You are, actually.” He tells me as he wipes his mouth with his napkin. “You just don’t know it because it is hidden from you. Why do you think you stay here with us when we come to the country, and not at a separate home? Why do you think you live in one of my family homes in London? Your family doesn’t even pay mine rent. We pay for all of the servants and maids and cooks, and we pay for the governess. You have what you have because your father has no pride. No Lord would ever accept pity like this unless he were desperate.”

“You’re…you’re lying.”

“Why would I lie to you? What would I have to gain from that?”

“You like to be mean to me.” I grumble.

“Margaret, I am forced to spend all day, every day with you. Unless we have callers that have children, I am forced to be with you. All I want to do is read or go help in the gardens, but I cannot because I am meant to watch after you.”

“Nanny watches after me.”

“Be that as it may, I do not wish to constantly be around a child.”

“You’re still a child.”

“Barely.” He scoffs. “You’re still in leading strings.”

“So?”

“So, you’re a child, a baby. I want to be with children, boys, my own age. I cannot wait to go to Eton.”

“You woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. You are not usually this nasty.” I start grinning. “Have you gotten your mences early?”

“Margaret?!” He nearly chokes on his juice. “How…you…where did you learn such a word?”

“Unlike you, I do not have my nose constantly in the air. When you do not feel like playing with me, I play with the other children in the house, the servants’ children. They know all sorts of things. For example, teasing boys when they have an attitude and blaming it on mences is quite fun, because you cannot have mences.”

“Stop saying mences.” He seethes. “And do not repeat that word again. That word is…not for men’s ears.”

“You are not a man. You are a boy.”

“And you are a girl.” He moves from his seat and stands. “I am meant to see my father today. I will return for supper, and afterwards, I will help you with your schoolwork if you need it.”

“Okay.” I smile. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, Margaret. Enjoy the day.” He bows his head before leaving the room.

Harry and I tease each other a lot. It’s all in good fun. I know he likes me. I’m his Margaret and he’s my Harry. George told me that Harry is starting to go through boyhood changes, so his mood can change quite rapidly. He told me not to take it personally, so I do not. I think I will venture out into the yard today, find a large bug, squish it, and press it into one of Harry’s books. Yes, I think George and I will have a wonderful laugh over that.

**

Ten Years Prior to the Wedding

Harry

Summer is my favorite season. It’s when I get to come home from Eton and spend time with my family. Many of my friend’s families are in the country, which means they can take their carriages to our estate, and we can go shooting. We can do whatever we like. Being sixteen, I am almost seen as a man. I have some authority now. Brother, who is now, twenty-five, is home for a while too. I do not get along with Brother. We are very different people. Luckily, he will be leaving soon to travel India. Why he would ever want to go there, I will never understand, but he’s desperate to go where he can while he can. Apparently, after he eventually marries, he doesn’t see himself traveling much. I suppose it makes sense. He’ll be viscount someday; he will need to remain local.

I’m heading outside when I see Margaret all done up, sitting by the windows in the downstairs drawing room. Out of curiosity, I walk in and sit across from her.

“How come you’re all dressed up?” I ask.

“Mama wants a new portrait painted.” She smiles. “She and Father bought me this new dress to wear for it.”

“When is the painter getting here?”

“I think in two hours, but I was so excited, I wanted to get dressed early. The ruffles are rather in fashion, don’t you think?”

“You certainly look like a young lady.” I smile. “How has the new governess been?”

“She’s dreadful.” She grimaces. “She’s nice, but so boring. I like it better when you teach me things.”

“Are you struggling with any subjects?”

“No, my marks are good.”

“Good.” I nod. “I discovered my new favorite subject at school this year.”

“Oh?”

“Botany. I love plants, Margaret, I simply love them. I am focusing my studies on how to best work land without overworking it. It’s quite fascinating, I must say.”

“It’s good you are enjoying your studies. George tells me all the time about how much he disliked school.”

“He’s a dunderhead.” I mutter, making her gasp.

“Bite your tongue.”

“I will do no such thing.” I see through the windows that a few of my mates are outside. “Ah, I need to be going. I’m going riding with my friends. Have fun sitting for your painting later.” I bow my head before heading outside to greet my mates. “Are we ready?”

We head to the stables and dress our horses before heading out. We talk about what dormitories we will be in next semester. We talk about alcohol. Then, not surprisingly, we talk about women. At first, we were discussing brothels. I have yet to go to one, but I know that it’s inevitable. The one thing I heeded George’s warning on was sewing my wild oats. Even though there is less pressure for me to marry and have children, I know it is still important for me to know what I am doing. I know love matches are rare, but the sex should still be passionate. I do not think I could be one of those men that does not care about his wife’s pleasure.

“When do you think your father will tell you you’ve been promised to Lady Margaret?” Simon teases.

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “She’s a child.”

“Children get promised to people all the time.” Timothy points out.

“Be that as it may, I am not going to think about even hypothetically marrying her. She’s only ten and three.”

“I don’t know, Harry, we saw you speaking with her before.” Simon grins. “You seemed awfully happy to be home.”

“She’s a child.” I repeat. “And trust me, I’m not the Styles boy she wants to marry. She has a crush on George, she always has.” We bring the horses back to the stables and walk up to the house to go have refreshments. Margaret is now outside playing hopscotch. “Child.” I mutter under my breath.

“Harry, if you do not wish for us to tease you about Margaret anymore, then you need to do something to prove you don’t have a tiny crush on the girl.” Timothy says.

“What are you proposing?”

“Offer to play with her, and then trip her so she falls into the dirt.”

“I can’t do that. That’s a new dress that she needs to wear for a family portrait. Name something else.”

“Sorry.” Timothy shrugs. “Actually…let’s play tag.”

“Timothy, do not go near her.”

It’s too late, he’s already by her side, bowing his head.

“Lady Margaret, would you care for a game of tag?” Timothy asks her.

“Really?” She smiles up at him.

“Sure. We haven’t played with you in ages. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay!”

“Harry’s it!” Simon yells, nudging my shoulder before running off.

“Bastards.” I curse under my breath before running after them. It would be so easy to trip Margaret, to push her down, but I would feel terrible. On the other hand, I don’t want them teasing me about her. I don’t like them saying things about her like she’s out in society already. It’s disrespectful. She’s a child. She’s giggling and running, and I catch up to her. I sigh heavily, then I push her, a little too hard, and she falls into the dirt and grass.

“Ah!” She gasps, having not expected me to push her so roughly. She gets up on her hands and knees before standing all the way up. She looks down at her dress, now covered in grass stains, then looks up at me. Her bottom lip is quivering and her eyes are watering. Damn. “You did that on purpose!”

“Don’t be such a baby, Margaret. It was an accident.”

“No, it wasn’t! You and your friends are always pulling things like this! I told you this dress was new. Mama is going to be so upset with me!” She stamps her foot. “You need to go inside and tell her what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything. You should have known better than to run around outside in a new dress.” Timothy and Simon gather around, both of them smirking. I could kill them. “You need to take responsibility for your actions.”

“But I-“

“Margaret Leigh Abernathy!” Aunt Catherine shrieks and comes storming outside. “Look at your dress!”

“Mama, Harry and his friends-“

“I do not want to hear your excuses, get inside now. The painter is here, and now I have to clean you up. Hopefully he won’t mind waiting with your father.”

“But, Mama-“

“Margaret.”

Margaret glares at me, then goes inside. She doesn’t curtsy, so Aunt Catherine apologies on her behalf before following her daughter. I turn to my friends and cross my arms over my chest.

“Happy now? You’re not tease me about her ever again.”

**

Eight Years Prior to the Wedding

Margaret

I hate Harry with a burning passion. He has just come home from his first year at Cambridge. I have been dreading it. Since he’s been gone, my family moved into Styles House. The viscount said that he wanted to be able to give the home to George so he could live comfortably out of the house. A very upscale home for his bachelor’s lodgings. I do not mind living in Styles House. I’ve spent most of my life in this house. We have our own wing to ourselves.

I knew there were rumors about my family, but no one would dare scandalize the Styles family. They were far too respected in our society. So, it wasn’t a big deal that Harry and I would be living in the same place. Out in the country in the larger estates, the rules are a bit laxer. But in London…well, people like to blow things out of proportion.

I’m sitting out in the backyard reading, enjoying the breeze under the shade when Harry plops down onto the seat next to me and snatches my bowl of grapes. I sigh heavily but ignore him. I essentially stopped speaking to him after he purposefully ruined my dress. We only speak in mixed company as to not embarrass our families. When he continues to bite into the grapes, obnoxiously loud, I put my book down and look at him.

“What do you want?” I snatch the bowl back from him.

“Is that any way to greet me? I’ve just returned from my first year at Cambridge. You could at least fake it.”

“I imagine you say that to a lot of women.” I smirk.

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about.” He rolls his eyes.

“I know plenty.”

“How?”

“I hear things.” I shrug. “I’m still friendly with the children of the servants. I ask questions and they happily answer.”

“For how much money?”

“They do not ask for money. This may surprise you, but some people enjoy the pleasure of my company.”

“There is nothing pleasurable about being in your company.”

“And yet, you sat down here without an invitation.”

“I’m already bored, I thought bugging you would relieve me from that.” He leans back and crosses his arms behind his head. “None of my friends are home. Many of them are traveling. I wanted to come home for a bit. I might participate during the season, dance with some people.”

“Are you going to marry?”

“No, but George is looking for a wife this season, and I want a front row seat to that trainwreck.”

“What do you mean George is looking for a wife this season?” I sit up a bit, frowning.

“I overheard him telling my parents. He’s of age, he’s had plenty of time to enjoy being a bachelor. He probably wants a wife now so that she can learn everything she’ll need to know about being a viscountess. Also, he needs to select someone who is alright with a family of freeloaders living with us.” He looks at me, probably thinking he just got a good jab in, but I stare off into space. “Come on, Margaret, it’s no fun to bash you if you don’t bash back.”

“George is going to marry this season…” I say more so to myself. “But I’m only fifteen…I’m not out yet…how…how could he do this to me?” I look at Harry now. “I thought he was waiting until I came out.”

“To marry you?” His eyebrows fly up. “I do not want to be cruel, but Margaret, George was never going to marry you. He sees you as a little sister.”

“I thought maybe my father made a deal with yours…”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “No deals. I would have told you, I know you like George.”

“What do you mean you know? I’ve never said a word to you about my feelings.”

“You’re not exactly subtle. The way you look at him…ever since you were a kid. I mean, it’s painfully obvious.” He swings his legs over to sit on the edge of the lounger, facing me. “Are you terribly heartbroken? I could take you into town for ice cream.”

“You’re mean.” I stand up with a huff and Harry stands.

“I just offered to take you for ice cream.”

“Like a child!”

“You are a child!”

“And you’re mean!” I do something bold and push on his chest. “I am so sick you, I hate you!” I push him again, causing him to take a few steps back.

“Do not push me again.” He says lowly.

“Or what?”

“I’ll really treat you like a child and push your face into the dirt and make you eat worms.”

“I’d like to see you try. I’m not afraid of you.” I push him again. “In fact, I’d love to wallop you.”

“You should go inside. The heat and sun must be affecting you.”

“I’m perfectly fine in this heat.”

“You sure?” He leans forward, getting in my face. “Perhaps you have your mences, then?”

He’s barely finished smirking when I tackle him to the ground. I’ve clearly taken him by surprise, but it doesn’t take him long to fight back. We roll around in the grass, both of us holding our own, but at the end of the day, Harry is a man, and he is much stronger than me, so I end up with my arms pinned down on either side of my head and him hovering over me, straddling me. We’re both breathing heavily, and our eyes are locked.

“Get off of me.” I say through gritted teeth.

“Not until you’ve calmed down.”

“Harry!” I struggle under him and let out a frustrated sigh.

“I’m sorry that I had to be the bearer of bad news, but it was never going to happen with you and George, ever.”

“Stop it!”

“You need to accept it.” He presses harder on my arms. “Margaret, in a few years, you’ll enter society, and you’ll go to balls and you’ll be courted and the eligible men in this city will be beating down the door, desperate to come inside and call on you. You just need to be patient.”

I take in his words and nod. His grip loosens, but he doesn’t get off of me. He lingers, and for whatever reason, I’m not mad about it. I’m feeling sort of strange, actually. Harry and I haven’t wrestled since we were children. And that was fun wrestling, back when we used to get along. Now I’m all too aware that he, a man, is straddling me. And he’s not moving.

I clear my throat and that seems to get him to snap back into reality, remembering where we are. He gets off of me and lays down next to me in the grass, sighing.

“We should do this at night. Laying in the grass, I mean, not the fighting. I could point out the constellations to you. Have you read any of the books on astronomy I sent to you?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think so far?” He turns his head to look at me.

“I think it’s all very fascinating.”

“Good.” He smiles, then faces up at the sky again. “Still hate me?”

“Yes.”

“For telling you about George?”

“For pushing me into the dirt while wearing a new dress and purposefully getting me in trouble with my mother.”

“Perfect.” He grabs my hand and kisses the back of it before standing up. “Just the way I like it. At least that’s a valid reason for hating me. I respect it, actually. I’m off to the tailor. I have to pick up some new suits for the season. See you at dinner?”

“Yes.” I grumble, and off he goes.

I fucking hate him.

**

Four Years Before the Wedding

Harry

Margaret is coming out today. She will attend her first ball tonight. It’s a long day for a new debutante. She will present herself to the Queen, then come home and prepare for the ball. I’ve been wrestling with all of this. Now that I’ve been a part of multiple seasons, I know about the seedy underbelly.

I’m part of it. I have quite the reputation as a rake, but not the kind that would repulse people. In fact, the mothers can’t wait to flock to me at events to talk up their daughters. I’m a gentleman rake, meaning, the women I bed never leave unsatisfied. Whether I have paid for a French prostitute, or I’ve seduced a middle-class lady, they always leave happy. I’m also quite charming. I can talk myself out of any situation. It pisses my mother off to no end. My father just winks at me.

And George…he still hasn’t married. But I’m not surprised. He’s never going to meet a woman he wants to marry because he doesn’t want a woman. He wants a man. He doesn’t know that I know his little secret. I don’t personally care that he’s a dandy. It’s not something that can be helped, he was born like this. What person would ever choose to be burned at the stake by their society? A masochist, I suppose. But George is no masochist.

So, I’m the Styles son that the women flock to. I don’t mind the attention, I revel in it. But I have a feeling that this season is going to be far different from any other.

I head out to the stables to go for a ride. I don’t care to be around while Margaret gets ready for tonight’s ball. However, when I get to the stables, I hear her voice. I hear her laugh. And I hear another man’s voice. I approach cautiously, the expert eavesdropper that I am.

“And what if you get a marriage proposal tomorrow?” The man says, grinning, and awfully close to Margaret.

“I doubt it will happen that fast.” She smiles up at him, leaning back against the wooden wall. The man places a hand next to her head, slightly caging her in. “Will you be jealous?”

“Terribly.” He twirls his finger into one of her loose curls. “We will have to get more creative with our rendezvous.”

“Perhaps, you should switch chores and start tending to the fires in my bedchamber.”

“You know that’s not allowed.”

“Pretend to be attending to my father’s, then come to me instead.”

“That could work.” He grips her chin and leans in. That’s when I step in and snatch her wrist, pulling her away.

“Harry!” She gasps. “What…what….”

“Be quiet.” I tell her, keeping my grip tight on her. I look at the man, a stableboy who I’ve known for years. “Whatever this is, it is over. If you want to keep your job, which I think you do, you will not speak to Lady Margaret again. And if I hear of anything, I will have you fired and shipped off to mucking shit out of the streets. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy nods, shaking where he stands.

“Good.” I tug Margaret along, and once we have enough distance, I let her go. I place my hands on my hips and tap my foot. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“An explanation.”

“I do not owe you one.”

“You do if you wish for me to keep this a secret.”

“Please, don’t have him fired.”

“I won’t if he heeds my warning.” I take a step closer to her, inspecting her. “Has he compromised you?”

“It’s really unfair. You men get to go off and fuck random women all you want, and get praised for it, but if I do anything, I’m a whore.”

“I’m sorry about the double standard, but I have less to lose. I don’t have to worry about becoming pregnant. Now, answer my question. Has he compromised you?” I get right in her face.

“No.”

“That includes kissing. Has he kissed you?”

“No.”

“It looked like he was about to a moment ago.”

“He was going to kiss my nose. Or my forehead. Or me cheek. It’s all I’ve allowed.”

“Are you telling me the full truth?”

“Yes.” She pushes me away. “I’m not an idiot. I know better than to compromise myself. Everyone in the house thinks he and I are friends. Men and women can be friends, you know.”

“I’m aware of that, but you can’t…you can’t sneak around with a stableboy.”

“You’ve had sex with a ton of the servants!”

“It’s different!”

“How?!”

“Because I am not a beautiful, naïve young lady who has barely been out in society for three hours! I am a man, Margaret.” I place my hands on her shoulders, drawing her nearer. “I know what goes through a man’s head when they see a young lady like you. Stableboy or nobleman, they will do anything to trap someone like you into marriage. Is that what you want? To marry someone because you couldn’t control yourself until your wedding night?”

“Are you going to tell me that you’ve never slept with one of the debutantes?”

“I never have. I’ve slept with widows, I’ve even slept with married women, but I have never slept with an innocent girl that’s trying to find a husband. The risk is too high. I also don’t want to get trapped into marriage. Please, you need to…fucking hell.” I let her go and groan. “I’m going to have to attend every bloody ball this season.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to need to chaperone you. Lord knows your mother will be trying to get you to dance with every moron in the place. I love Aunt Catherine, but she’s still a desperate mama.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Apparently, I do.”

“You always said you’d never treat me like your little sister…why are you starting to now?”

“Margaret, let me make something very clear: I am not looking out for you because I see you as my baby sister. I have never looked at you and felt brotherly fondness. I am looking out for you because it’s the right thing to do. George can be your big brother, but I certainly will not be.”

“Okay, okay.” She blushes. Wait, what? I’m making her blush? I step back another foot and clear my throat.

“You should go inside. You need to get ready for tonight, and apparently, so do I.”

**

Margaret

My first ball as a woman of society. I have never been so excited. I’m on my father’s arm, and my mother is on my other side. I’m really happy with the dress I’m wearing. The modiste tailored my bust perfectly. My mother says the bosom is the first thing a man looks at when speaking to a woman. I was put off at first, but she kept explaining. Men want to see a healthy bust and wide hips. I have both. I am perfect for child baring. I didn’t want that to be my only worth, but at the end of the day, all girls are married off, forced to leave the comforts of home, and grow their own family.

When I see some friends, my father lets me go speak with them. We’re all sipping on lemonade, talking about how excited we are about being here. I look around and raise an eyebrow when I see a gaggle of women surrounding someone.

“Who are they flocking to?” I ask the group.

“As someone who was out last year,” Alice says, “it can only be Harry Styles.”

“You can’t be serious.” I respond flatly. “The rumors are true?”

“Truer than true.” Alice nods. “The mamas surround him first, introducing and pointing out their daughters. Once they fan out, the widows and the lonely wives try their luck. I wonder who the lucky lady of the evening will be.”

“God help whoever it is.” I sip my lemonade, then see Mildred’s jaw drop. “Millie, what is it?”

“He…Lord Styles is coming this way.”

“He is?!” Alice chokes on her drink.

I roll my eyes just as he’s approaching us.

“Ladies.” He bows his head. “Having a nice time thus far?”

“Oh, yes, Lord Styles.” Alice smiles, clearly nervous.

“You all look lovely.” He turns to me. “Even you, Miss Abernathy.” His eyes roam up and down my body. “Turquoise suits you.”

“Mhm.” I grunt and finish off my drink. I catch him looking at my dance card that’s dangling on my wrist. He takes it between his fingers.

“Ah.” He takes a pencil out of his jacket pocket and writes his name in the first slot, then draws a line down through the rest.”

“Harry!” I shriek. “Erase that, this instant.”

“No can do.”

“It’s improper for us to dance more than twice. You just filled up all five of my slots!”

“I am aware of what I have done.” He takes one of my hands and brings his mouth to my ear. “I said I’d be keeping an eye on you tonight, and I am a man of my word.” He pulls back and looks at Alice and Mildred. “Ladies.” He bows his head, then tugs me to the dance floor.

“Mean.” I mutter as he begins to lead me.

“Do you remember when our governess would let us practice dancing together? You liked it when I’d let you step up on my feet and dance you around.”

“Yes, I remember. It was one of the few times you and I got along.”

“I’ve always gotten along with you. I’ve just created boundaries over the years.”

“Right because it would have been horrible to treat me like a member of your family.” I scoff.

“It would be. I’ll never look at you or treat you like someone I’m related to.” He twirls me around, then continues our waltz.

“Mean.”

“Don’t you want to know why?”

“Because you think I, and my parents, are freeloaders.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. You’ve said so several times throughout the years.” I look around. “Where’s your brother? I’d rather dance with him.”

“He’s at the gentleman’s club tonight, having brandy with some mates.”

“You didn’t want to join him?”

“No, I needed to be here.”

“You didn’t need to do anything. Now no one else will be able to dance with me. Everyone is going to think I belong to you.”

“You do.”

“Harry.” I suck my teeth. It’s very undignified, but there’s no need for us to be formal with one another. The rules don’t always necessarily apply to us.

“Margaret, I am the son of a viscount. Do you have any idea how many callers you’ll have tomorrow? Everyone will see us dancing, and then-“

“I didn’t need help.” The music stops and we bow at each other. “Erase your name. If we dance more than two times together, people will think we’re courting.”

“No.”

“Harry.”

“Margaret.”

“Why do you care so much?! Are you out to ruin my life?! I have to take this seriously. This is my future that I’m trying to secure.”

“You’re not getting married this season.”

“Whether it happens or not, I get to decide for myself.” The music picks back up, and he starts leading me again. “I’m going to put a dead fish under your pillow.” I threaten him.

“If you want to come into my bedchamber so badly, you could just ask.”

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t you like me anymore? You used to adore me.”

“You were mean to me one too many times. Now I hate you.”

“This isn’t hate.” He chuckles lowly, shaking his head.

“What is it, then?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

I huff with frustration at him. I’m silent for the rest of the song, then I excuse myself. I head to the women’s parlor room and stop when I see my mother and Aunt Edith chatting. They both see me and smile, so I approach.

“Having fun, dear?” My mother turns my dance card over and gasps.

“What?” Aunt Edith says. Then a gasp leaves her. “Why did he do this?”

“I don’t know.” I frown. “But I’ve already danced with him twice, and I do not wish to flaunt a third.”

“He’s probably using you to avoid the flock of desperate women.” Aunt Edith rolls her eyes. “Luckily, I have a pencil.” She reaches into her bust and pulls out a pencil, then erases the line Harry drew. “There, you’ve just freed up three more spaces.”

“I think there was a young man your father wanted you to meet.” Mother says. “Come, I’ll lead you to him.”

“I’m going to speak with my son.” Aunt Edith says.

Later on, I see Aunt Edith having a few words with Harry. Serves him right.

I end up dancing with three other, very charming, young men. I’m walking on clouds as I make my way up to my bed chamber later that night. Agnes helps me undress, and then I send her on her way. I wanted to write in my diary for a bit before getting into bed. Just as I’m getting into my nightgown, I hear a knock on my door.

“Mama, is that you?” I open it and see Harry. He puts a finger up to his lips before forcing his way inside and closing the door. He paces around my room. He stops to look at me, then blushes. He looks around and tosses my dressing gown at me. Wait…he was blushing because of me? “What do you want?” I whisper. “We haven’t been allowed in each other’s bedchambers since we were old enough to leave the nursery.”

“I’m aware of the rules.” He continues pacing. “Names. I want names.”

“Of whom?”

“The other men you danced with tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because I will need to speak to them about how to be respectful. Some of these men are vultures. Some of them are much older than you. You’re still a child, Margaret. I will not have a forty-year-old man asking for your hand.”

“I’m nineteen, I’m out, I am no child.”

“You’re naïve and innocent and immature. Now, the names.”

“You’ll find out tomorrow when they come to call on me.”

“Margaret, I am not asking.”

“Harry, I am not telling.” I cross my arms over my chest, he plants his hands on his hips. We’re having a classic standoff. He usually wins. “Ugh, fine. Lord Blythe-“

“A rake.”

“It takes one to know one, I suppose.” I shrug. “Lord Howard.”

“Too old for you.”

“And Lord Fairchild.”

“No money.” He shakes his head. “None of them will do.”

“Harry, I think my father and mother will take care of all of this. I am not your ward. It is not your responsibility to make sure I’m married off.”

“You have to marry someone you like, Margaret. You won’t like any of those men.”

“Alright, what about Simon or Timothy?”

“What about them?”

“They’re your friends, you must trust them.”

“Not with you.”

“Tell me who you would have me marry, then?”

“I’m going to bed.” He shakes his head.

“Oh, so I have to answer your questions, but you won’t answer mine?”

“Exactly.” He smirks. “Even you aren’t a match for my charm.”

“Mean.”

“Too bad.”

“Get out of my room.”

“I already said I was going to bed.” He brushes by me. “I will be dancing with you at every ball you attend. I don’t care what my mother says. Your father is a nincompoop. He won’t make sure you’re cared for. My father is too busy focusing on George and pressuring him to settle down. That leaves me, the only other man in your life, to look after you. I will be chaperoning any callers tomorrow.”

“No, you’ll intimidate them.”

“Good. Whoever you marry will have to deal with me. Best for them to learn that now.” He opens the door and looks back at me. “You looked really…pretty tonight.” Then he leaves.

I hate him.

**

Three Years Before the Wedding

Harry

There is nothing more cliché than rain at a funeral. I’m just glad we’re in the country, otherwise all of London would have fought tooth and nail to be at this service. I knew this day would come, I just didn’t think it be before my father could be a grandfather.

It was sudden. I wasn’t there, but I was told that he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. The doctors suspected it was some sort of heart attack.

George is currently giving a eulogy, my mother is sobbing, and I am as frozen as a statue. I feel more angry than sad. I haven’t cried yet. I tried to, but nothing would come. I hear a sniffle beside me and see Margaret dabbing at her eyes. Unexpectedly, I feel a warm hand in mine. It’s hers. I look down in shock. She’s squeezing it and rubbing her thumb along my knuckles. She looks up at me and gives me the most somber smile. That’s when I feel tears streak down my cheeks. I squeeze her hand back, and face forward again.

That’s the thing about Margaret. She can’t always find the words, but somehow, she’s able to say so much without saying anything at all. She’ll never know how much her holding my hand helped me through my father’s death.

**

Two and a Half Years Before the Wedding

Harry

“Sir, we must start making the necessary arrangements.” Peters, my valet, says to me. “How would you like to proceed?” I look at him, then I look back down at my brother’s lifeless body.

“Do what you think is best, Peters. I have more important things to worry about. I’m the viscount now, and I don’t know a single thing about being a viscount. I have a lot of studying to do, I have ledgers to read, I have deeds to go over. I’ll be very busy. You know how to put a funeral together. Send for the coroner, get him embalmed, and get the carriages ready to bring us to the country. He will be buried in a plot by my father. Oh, and have someone collect all of the contents of George’s study. I’ll need to look over any contracts or anything he may have signed off on.”

“My lord…” Peters places his hand on my shoulder, not something most people would allow, but I allow it. “Your brother is dead.”

“I didn’t know him. He never let me know who he really was. That isn’t my brother. That’s just…that’s just a man named George Edward Styles. And he was nothing more than a coward.”

“Do you not even want to read the note?” Peters holds it up.

“No. Burn it.”

**

Margaret

It seems like I’ve been wearing nothing but mourning attire these days. I’m devastated over the loss of George. Styles Estate House isn’t the same without him. I haven’t had romantic feelings for him for years, but George and I grew to be wonderful friends. I miss him dearly.

And Harry…Harry has grown cold. He’s as cold as he was when I first met him. I’d never met a more adult child than him. It fascinated me. I forced him to warm up. Now, I’m not sure what I can do. Aunt Edith is catatonic, I do not blame her. My own mother spends her days doing her best to console my aunt. She even moved her bedroom to Edith’s wing of the home. I’m not sure how my father feels about that.

Harry spends a lot of his time in the study. The good student that he is, he has learned how to be a proper viscount in no time flat. I feel bad he can no longer focus on his agriculture studies or his astronomy studies.

Things with him have been weird even since before George died. Right before we left for the country, I had been proposed to. It was rather awkward because I had been courting with multiple men. When the man proposed, he did it in front of my mother and Harry, my usual chaperones. I looked at Harry, and that was all it took.

“No.” He said. “She doesn’t accept. Please leave now before you embarrass yourself further.”

He wasn’t even viscount yet, but he held so much power in that room that the man who proposed scurried away. Even though Harry is my mortal enemy, I took comfort in knowing that he and I can still communicate nonverbally like we did when we were children.

I come down to the study one evening. He did not come to dinner, so I had Cook plate something up for him and I offered to carry it. The country is much laxer, I love it.

“Harry?” I knock on the door and open it. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“I’m not.” He says, not looking up at me, scribbling in a ledger.

“You need to eat.”

He puts his quill down and slowly and looks up at me. His eyes are red, bloodshot. He’s either been drinking or crying…or both. I set the covered plate down on his desk.

“Why did you bring this to me?”

“You weren’t at dinner.”

“Why would you care?”

“Harry, your-“

“I’m not Harry anymore. I’m the viscount. I own all of this.” He stands up and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you know how fucking terrifying this is? This was never supposed to be me. My father never trained me on any of this because he didn’t think he’d need to! And now my brother is gone! He left on purpose! He didn’t care about what he’d be leaving me with.”

“What do you mean he left on purpose? I thought he died in his sleep.”

“He did, after he poisoned himself.”

“Why…why would he do that?” My eyes water.

“It’s not for your ears. You should go get ready for bed.”

“Harry, can I help with anything? I’m good at arithmetic because of you, I could-“

“You can help me by leaving me be. I just want to be alone. I have a lot to do.”

“Okay.” I nod. “When you feel like not being alone, I’m here.”

“You’re a distraction. I don’t need any distractions right now.”

“Sometimes you need a distraction to-“

“Margaret!” He slams his hands down on the desk. “What are you even doing in here alone with me? You shouldn’t be alone with me. Not now, not ever.”

“This is absurd. You’ve come to my bedchamber before.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you! Get out!”

“Mean!”

“You’re damn right I’m mean. Now get the fuck out of here before I show you just how mean I can be.”

I fled after that, tears running down my face. I took a reprieve from hating him. I won’t be doing that ever again.

**

One Year Before the Wedding

Margaret

It appears as though every time I receive a marriage proposal, someone dies. I turned down another, and then three days later, my father died. He had been rather ill, he caught a flu a few months ago and never recovered. It was so slow and painful.

Being in mourning means that we can’t attend any functions. We can’t even leave the house. I’m a bit worried about what is to happen to our own estate. Even though we have no land, my father was still a lord. That should count for something. Some distant male cousin may come and tell us we need to live with him now. I’m petrified of that happening. My mother doesn’t seem worried about anything, though. If she isn’t worried, then I suppose I won’t be either.

**

Harry

Lord Abernathy’s funeral was rather well attended. He was buried in London, but since we’ll be in mourning, we have gone out to the country a month or so earlier than we intended. It’s fine by me. I much prefer the solitude of the country.

“Harry?” My mother knocks on my study door, Aunt Catherine is beside her. This conversation was inevitable. “Do you have a moment, there is something we must speak with you about.”

“I know.” I sigh. “Come in, and please close the door.”

“Darling, ehm, years ago, your father, George, and Lord Abernathy wrote up a marriage contract for Margaret.” Mother says.

“I know.” I round my desk and open one of the drawers, pulling out a file. “It was amongst George’s things.”

“You’ve known about this since your brother died and you did not bring it up?” Catherine asks.

“Neither of you brought it up, and Lord Abernathy certainly didn’t bring it up to me. I thought maybe he had secured a different marriage contract for Margaret. In all honesty, I was rather disappointed in all of you. George was much too old for Margaret.”

“He would have made Margaret happy.” Catherine says.

“And George needed to settle down before he got too old. Your father made him a deal: if he could not find a woman to marry, then he would marry Margaret when she was at a more appropriate age. It worked out for everyone. She would make a perfect viscountess, it would secure her family’s finances…”

“Did Lord Abernathy secure a new marriage contract for Margaret or not?” I cut to the chase.

“No.” Catherine answers, her eyes watering. “I do not know what to do now. I do not have any male relatives to turn to for help. My ladyship hangs in the balance, which means Margaret’s ladyship hangs in the balance. My husband does not have any male relatives close to here. Someone I do not even know could come claim Margaret and I…and I’m terrified that she will be taken advantage of.”

“Someone from parliament will be by to discuss the Abernathy lordship.” Mother says. “I know of a few men who might-“

“I will marry Margaret.” I say. They both go silent and wide eyed. “It is the quickest way to write up a new contract. I can forge George’s signature. Aunt Catherine, you must be able to forge Uncle John’s. We can write up a new marriage contract stating that George knew he was sick and wanted to secure a proper match for myself and Margaret. It would honor the original Abernathy agreement, and it would explain why a young lady would be promised to a second son. This would also ensure that you and Margaret will not be taken away by some male cousin. Everything that’s left of your estate will go to me, that will be Margaret’s dowry.”

“We have money set aside for that.”

“I do not want your money. Save it for clothing and jewelry.” I grab a fresh sheet of paper and dip my quill into some ink. “We have to do this quickly. This will need time to dry and I will need to dunk it in some tea and dry it again so it looks older.”

“Harry…Margaret was never told about her arrangement with George. I am worried she will not take this news well.” Catherine says as she forges her husband’s signature.

“She is not ready for marriage yet. Wait for her to actually consider a proposal from a suitor, and then you can tell her of the arrangement.”

“What if she’s in love with the suitor?” Mother asks.

“She won’t be. I know Margaret Leigh very well, like the back of my hand. Believe me when I tell you, she will not fall in love with any man who tries to court her.”

“Harry, are you certain you are alright with this?” Mother asks, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“It is how Father would have handled things. Besides, at least with me, Margaret will actually be able to produce an heir.”

“Why would she not have with George?” Catherine asks. My mother and I make eyes, then look at her. “What?”

“George was a dandy. He may have bedded Margaret on their wedding night, but probably not again after that. And sometimes, an heir is not made during the first go at things.” I explain.

“Oh, goodness. I suppose George wouldn’t have made Margaret happy, then.”

“No, he would have. They were good friends, and that’s how they would have remained. She would have just needed to seek out nightly comfort from someone else.”

“Enough, this is not appropriate.” Mother says. “Do what you need to do to the document. Speak with the representative from Parliament, let them know that there is a plan in place for Margaret. She will be informed of everything when the time is right.”

**

Seven Months Before the Wedding

Margaret

“Give me one good reason that I had to turn down Lord Chesterfield?! It was a perfectly acceptable proposal!” I shout at my mother as we enter the upstairs drawing room.

“Because! Because you have a marriage contract already!”

“What?! Why did you never tell me? When did this happen?”

“Your father arranged for it well before he died. We were just waiting to tell you until you became a bit older, a bit readier for marriage. The man we originally planned for you to marry was much older than you.”

“Why are you speaking of this man in the past tense?”

“Because he is no longer alive.”

“Who was it?”

“George.”

“As in George Styles?”

“Yes.”

“Why wasn’t I ever told about this?!” I’m about ready to rip all my hair out.

“It would take too long to explain.”

“I think I deserve an explanation.”

“I honestly do not have one. Your father kept me in the dark about most of it. I was just happy that he secured a good match for you. He did his job.”

“And now? Who am I to wed now?”

“Harry.”

“Very funny.”

“I am not kidding.”

“Mother.”

“You have been promised to him.”

“I’m not marrying Harry. I refuse!”

“You can’t.”

“What will he be getting out of this?”

“Aunt Catherine, may I have a private word with my betrothed?” Harry stands in the doorway, smirking. He’s like the villain in a children’s story. “I think I will be better able to answer her questions.”

“Of course.” My mother stands up and leaves the room.

Harry closes and locks the door. We stare at each other for a few moments.

“Not excited?” He finally asks.

“Why would I be?”

“You could do worse.” He shrugs.

“Why would you…you just agreed to this so easily?”

“There are many factors at play. You no longer have a male close to you to look out for you. We haven’t heard a thing about any relatives. I think my mother would off herself if you and Catherine were taken from here.”

“That would have happened when I eventually married.”

“No, just you would be taken away. Catherine would have remained here.”

“So, you’re doing this for your mother?”

“And for you. I don’t require a dowry, I have plenty of money and plenty of homes. You’ll be taken care of. You won’t even have to move. You can go on existing as you do now.”

“You don’t want to be married!”

“No, but I need to. I need to produce an heir at some point.”

“You could choose any other woman to marry. Why me?”

“Well, you’re the most suitable option. You can carry on an intelligent conversation. So many of these girls…they just say what they think you want to hear, what their mothers have told them to say to a man like me. I can speak candidly with you. It would take years for me to forge a relationship like that with another woman. You already know how an estate such as mine needs to be run. You’ve been watching my mother be a viscountess for ages. You’ll slip into the role flawlessly, Margaret. You’ll take your place in society. And she’s still here to keep showing you the ropes. You also know every single person who works for us and they all like you. That’s a big deal. Why should I bring a new woman in here? What if none of them like her? Some of these women are witches in disguise. This is convenient for both of us.”

“But…Harry…I hate you.”

“So?”

“So?! So?! I want to marry for love!”

“Margaret, grow up!” His voice booms, and he stalks toward me. I back up until my back hits a bookshelf. “You are an over-privileged little brat who has never been told no. You’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted throughout your entire life! People like us? We don’t get to choose what happens to us! I was never supposed to be viscount, and yet, here I am! I have to produce an heir. I need a wife. I can’t keep going to these events, pretending to care about anything any of these girls have to say! Don’t you think I’d want you to marry for love? That’s typically the exception, not the rule. Most people like us don’t marry for love. They marry for money and stability. Your mother will be well taken care of into her old age now. She and my mother will move into the other family home, the one you grew up in. We will have Styles House to ourselves. You can make it your own.” He takes a step back from me. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair! I lost my father and my brother within a year of each other. I had to grow up in the blink of an eye. I had to put all of my interests and dreams aside to come home and take care of my family. And if you think for a second that I wouldn’t see to it that you weren’t also well taken care of, then you’re a lot dumber than I thought.”

“In order for me to produce an heir for you, that means we will need to…share a bed.”

“I’m aware of how babies are made.” He rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean…you would really…bed me?”

His face is, well, I can’t read it. He’s looking at me like I’m crazy. His hands come up and they look like they’re about to cup my face, but he just grips the bookshelf on either side of my head, caging me in.

“For the last four years, I have had to endure you being out in this society. I have had to watch you be called on, courted, and proposed to. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to wring the neck of every man that thought they were good enough for you? None of those men could have you. None of those men would even know what to do with you.” He’s so close. I can smell the mint on his breath. I can see the sweat forming on his face. My heart is racing.

“Why would you care about any of that? It’s not like…it’s not like…you agreed to push me down into the dirt just so your friends wouldn’t tease you about me, so don’t stand there and tell me you’re more than willing to marry me.”

“You need to let that go.” He growls. “I’m not a boy anymore, and you’re not a girl. I’m a man, and you are a lady.”

“I’m not marrying you.”

“Yes, you are.” He steps back from me. “The contracts have been signed. I went to the bishop to apply for a marriage license. We will marry at the beginning of next season. That leaves you plenty of time to plan the wedding of your dreams. Make it as lavish and extravagant as you like.”

“None of this makes any sense.”

“Let me make it make sense, then. If you don’t marry me, you will be forced to marry someone out of absolute necessity. You know who doesn’t care about dowries? Disgusting old men who will force you to give them an heir.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything with your body that you don’t want to do. But if you want some shit-stained, yellow-teethed, drunken old fuck with lots of cash, be my guest.”

“There are plenty of other gentlemen-“

“You don’t have the time to find one. You and Catherine have been given a grace period, one that I asked Parliament for. That’s why you haven’t been taken by a male relative yet. No one has been contacted. But that grace period is almost up. I looked into who would end up taking over your estate. Would you like to live in the Scottish countryside? Because that’s where you’re going if we don’t get married. This is about survival, on both of our ends.”

“Mean.” Is all I can say, just above a whisper as tears burn at my eyes.

“This is all business, Margaret, try not to take it too personally. I’m not doing anything to you on purpose. I learned my lesson when I did that to you the first time.” My eyes snap to his. “I have a ring for you. I picked out something I think you will like quite a lot.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the small box. He kneels before me on one knee and takes me left hand. I’m shaking. “Miss Margaret Leigh Abernathy, would you do me the great honor of becoming Viscountess Styles and being my wife?”

“Why are you asking if I don’t even have a choice?”

“Because even you deserve a proper proposal.”

I nod and he slips the ring on. It is quite beautiful. Damn him for knowing my taste in jewelry. He stands back up and brushes himself off.

“Good. Now the moving can begin.”

“Moving?”

“Yes, you and Catherine will be moved back to the other London house during our engagement. It wouldn’t be proper for us to live in the same home. People would talk. People don’t talk about my family often, but this is something that would be talked about, and I will not have your reputation ruined. This works out well since Catherine will end up living there after we’re married anyways. Gives her time to become reacquainted.” He places his hands on my shoulders. “Buck up, princess, you’re marrying a viscount.”

**

[noyoyoy]

I figured I’d give SOME oversight on Simon and M/n since my blog will probably focus a lot on him.

If you’d like me to go into detail with the two, I will, just let me know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tw: mentions of abuse, alcohol. infidelity, age gap, blood, and murder.

Additional information:

While growing up, M/n hadn’t experienced love he deemed real. Parents always fighting, cheating on one another and screaming. Siblings never around, old enough and moved out already starting families, I guess it’s safe to say M/n was a mistake in his parents eyes. It caused M/n to hide in his room, isolate and never go out, failing school, no hobbies, just laying in bed all the time on his phone, sleeping, or crying, scared he’d one day act the same as the people he grew up with. You are your parent’s child after all.

M/n’s first ‘real’ relationship lasted more or less 3 years, it’s been so long he doesn’t remember how long he was with her. She was always talking to other guys and girls, arguing with him when she never did anything for him. But he was 13 when they started dating, 16 when they broke up due to her cheating on him. Yeah that didn’t feel good, he was always raised to be a man. Never cry, don’t show emotion, don’t be weak. But he was. M/n was sensitive by nature, growing up in a toxic environment didn’t help either, he couldn’t handle being yelled at, storms, loud noises, or confrontation without getting emotional, he couldn’t help it, he didn’t know why.

M/n and Simon overview:

When he met Simon at 18 after moving out, they bonded fairly quickly for growing up in a similar way (without the murder of his family.) They didn’t talk often, Simon being in the army was the main reason why, he didn’t have his phone often, but one perk is he let M/n stay in his home while he was gone since he had nowhere to go. Simon enjoyed coming home to someone, anyone, a friend he knew felt the same way. Since the incident when he was a teenager, he hadn’t felt any security other than the army. The blood, fighting, not having to care about what other people thought of him because he scared everyone away with his demeanor and stance. M/n made him feel again, he always had a smile on his face when Simon walked through the door, normally cooking or making Simons apartment more cozy and homey. (He asked don’t worry)

When M/n turned 19 Simon started to hang out with him more and more, talking together, cooking together, eating, even reading together in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. They both had to admit, it felt good to be at peace, no screaming, blood, gun fire. Just silence, the sound of pages turning and the smell of Pine in the house, curtesy of the candle M/n bought.

First realization:

M/n knew he liked men more so than women, his mother and last relationship blew that out the water for him. He had a fling with a man at one point during high school but it didn’t last long due to how his father acted when he found out. He was.. angry. He didn’t raise a .. homo as he would say, granted he didn’t raise him at all. M/n would never say that to his face. But with Simon.. he made him feel safe. Was it because he was older? Or the fact that he was capable of killing people as a living. Eh maybe both.

Simon never had a relationship. Growing up with a mother who worked all the time, mostly absent trying to provide for her family, while her husband and his father was a drunk who tormented him in any way possible. All he had was Tommy. Had. When he arrived home to the house disheveled, the tree knocked down, ornaments broken, glass on the floor. He knew something was wrong. And this wasn’t a ‘dad is drunk again’ wrong this was… wrong. Wrong. A wrong that made his heart sink to his feet, a wrong that made him sweat, and lose his breath. Walking through the house as quietly as he could, he stopped in the kitchen and froze at what he saw. His mother, lying on the floor, a hole in her shoulder and what looks like another wound of a knife in her side and chest. He stared at it for what felt like hours. He didn’t even want to go through the rest of the house, scared at what he’d find.

He doesn’t talk about anything else after that. Never going further and into depth about what else happened that night. Only saying that he fled and never looked back.

They might be broken and trying to piece each other together, but at least they are together. Safe, happy, and well, together. He vowed when they started dating that he’d never involve M/n into the affairs of the 141. The 141 would never know about him, no one would ever know about him. Unfortunately that changed when they got married. Having to talk to laswell about not telling price or anyone else about him. It took… much persuasion but she did keep her word. Blanked out the section where M/n’s information would go, before printing and putting it in his file.

He’ll be damned if something were to ever happen to M/n. He was his husband, and just because he doesn’t wear the mask around him, doesn’t mean he won’t bring Ghost into his life if it ment keeping him safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I write fast. I have nothing better to do these days.

[flightlessangelwings]

Waitress in Distress

Tommy Miller x fem!waitress!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count- 1.5k

Warnings- fluff, mutual pining, flirting, protective!Tommy, harassment, minor violence, takes place in season 1 episode 1 before the outbreak, 1 kiss

Notes- After Tommy’s comment in episode 1 that he defended a waitress from getting harassed, this immediately popped into my head and I had to write it! So this is what if you were the waitress that he saved there! I’m sure others had the same idea, but this is my version of things! I love show Tommy so much and I’m definitely gonna write more for him but I had to get this out of my system now!

Reblogs/follows/comments/asks highly appreciated! Reminder that my blog is always 18+ even if this fic isn’t explicit!

To stay up to date on when I post, please also follow my update blog and turn on post notifications @flightlessangelwings-updates​

~

September 26, 2003

The bar was alive with lights and music and crowds of people enjoying their Friday evening drinks. Sweat lined your brow as you worked as fast as you could to serve your tables and keep everyone happy. Some were in a good mood, smiling at you and thanking you for their drinks. Others seemed to be in a foul mood, and snapped at you more than usual. Even some of your regulars who you usually enjoyed seeing seemed off tonight.

But you shrugged it off, perhaps they just had a bad day. The way some of the men twitched and snatched their beer bottles from you did get to you more though.

“Shit, it’s busy tonight!” you exclaimed to the bartender as you stopped at the bar and poured a fresh pitcher of beer.

“Better than being dead,” he replied back as he shook his mixer, “Tips will be great by the end of the night.”

“Fuckin better be,” you quipped back with a smirk before you turned and headed back to your table. 

Before you took more than two steps though, you smacked right into someone. The pitcher crashed to the floor, but before you slipped too, a strong grip kept you upright. 

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” You gasped as you mumbled a string of apologies to whoever you ran into, but your name in a familiar voice sent a jolt of nerves through you.

“Hey there sweetheart,” he cooed, “You alright?”

“Tommy…” you breathed as your face lit up in a smile, “Yeah I’m fine.”

Although you tried to hide it, all your coworkers could tell you harbored a secret longing for the younger Miller brother. From the first time he and Joel visited the bar, Tommy caught your eye. He was handsome and kind, and his gaze always felt like it lingered on you for a few moments longer than necessary. He never made you feel uncomfortable either, and many nights when he was there until close, he walked you to your car to make sure you were safe.

“Thank you,” you tried to sound smooth as you regained your bearings, “It’s been a while since you’ve been in.” You quickly turned back to the bartender and asked for the barback to clean up while you reluctantly broke free from Tommy’s embrace and poured a fresh pitcher of beer.

“Well ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Tommy’s face lit up as he rested a hand on your shoulder, “You look as pretty as a magnolia in May.”

You fought the trembling in your hand from the nerves that shot through your veins, “Always the charmer,” you laughed off the nerves, “Beer?” you offered the other table’s pitcher to him.

“Do I really drink that much?” Tommy joked, “I’ll just take a bottle. You know the kind I like,” he winked at you as you nodded, “Thanks sweetheart.”

You bit your lip as your heart pounded in your chest. Not trusting your voice in front of him, you turned and headed to your table to drop off the pitcher first. Tommy was by far not the only customer to flirt with you, but he was the only one you filtered back with. And he was the only one who made your skin tingle and your heart race. One of these days you would muster up the courage to ask him out, you told yourself. You had the feeling that he was too much of a gentleman to ask you out while you were at work. 

But the blissful state quickly vanished when you arrived at the table with the bitcher that you held onto for way too long, “Sorry for the wait,” you sighed as you set it down in the middle of the table, “We’re slammed tonight.”

At that table sat four men, and they made your skin crawl. You had seen them before, and every time they made you feel like you had to take a shower after you were close to them. Their grins were dark and the look in their eyes told you exactly what they were thinking about you, and you did not like it at all. But, they never tried anything, so you couldn’t do anything about it.

Until tonight.

“Why don’t you make it up to us, huh sweet girl?” one of them reached out and grabbed you before you could walk away, “Damn you smell good,” he stood and leaned in to sniff at the nape of your neck.

“Please let me go,” you tried to sound tough as you pushed him off of you.

He let go, but your freedom was short lived as the other snuck up behind you and grabbed your hips, “Oh come on pretty thing, don’t be like that,” he caged you in from behind as the others surrounded you, “We promise we won’t hurt you.”

“Stop!” you screamed in hopes of getting someone’s attention over the hustle and bustle of the busy bar. Your heart sank when no one seemed to notice your distress, though. 

“It’s a busy night,” one leaned in close enough you could smell his bad breath, “No one can hear over all this noise.”

“Wanna bet?’ a voice called from behind him.

When the man turned around, Tommy punched him right in the face so hard that he fell over, his nose already gushing blood.

Your face relaxed in relief, “Tommy…”

“You asshole!” the other man let you go and lunged for Tommy.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I got you,” Tommy winked at you for a moment before his face twisted into a more serious expression as he kicked the other man hard enough that he fell over as well. The other two leapt up and tried to attack Tommy, but he easily had them on the floor with just a few hits.

Once the threats were down, Tommy ran to you, “Hey,” he murmured your name as he placed his hands on your arms, “You alright?”

You were in a state of shock for a moment that you didn’t register that Tommy said anything to you until he said your name again more urgently, “Yeah,” you breathed as you blinked and looked into his eyes, “I’m fine,” you let go of the breath you didn’t realize you held, “Thank you, Tommy.” This was the second time tonight you thanked him for saving you.

Tommy’s smile lit up his face and it brought those butterflies back into your stomach, “No need to thank me, sweetheart,” he playfully nudged your chin, “Just helping out my favorite waitress in distress.”

“My hero,” you sighed as you laughed softly. It was then that you realized Tommy still held you, and the warmth of his hands brought a comfort that you had only dreamed about until now. As nervous as you were, you decided this was the perfect chance, “Hey Tommy… Why don’t I make it up to you… Tomorrow night?”

“You asking me out, sugar?”

“I am,” your voice was just a whisper as the chatter of the bar seemed to dim away around you and the only thing in focus was Tommy.

“Well shit don’t you know how to make a man feel special?” he felt his face heat up and he was sure you noticed, “But tomorrow sounds wonderful, sweetheart.”

Your face lit up and Tommy swore the whole world stopped for a moment. After months of watching you from afar, waiting for the right time to ask you out, the moment came and you took it before he could. But, he had to admit, other than you being in danger, this was a perfect moment.

But perfect moments don’t last.

From behind, someone grabbed Tommy and yanked him from your grip. He yelled and tried to fight back, thinking it was one of the guys he knocked out, but before he got a swing in, he felt the cold steel of handcuffs on his wrists.

You shouted at the officers, “Wait, it wasn’t him!” you pleaded, “He was deafening me!”

“Sorry ma’am,” he told you in a cold tone, “But he was the one who attacked.”

“That’s bullshit!” both you and Tommy shouted at the same time, overlapping each other. 

“Yeah, yeah,” the officer brushed you off, “Come on, bucko.”

“Tommy!” you shouted at him as he was ripped from your grasp. You lunged forward and grabbed onto his shoulders as you rested your forehead against his for a moment.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he comforted you as best he could with his hands bound behind his back, “I’ll make our date tomorrow night. Promise,” Tommy placed a quick kiss on your lips before the officer dragged him out the bar. The entire time, while everyone else starred, his eyes never felt you. And your eyes never left him until he was through the front door.

“Tomorrow…” you echoed as you felt the tingle of his brief kiss on your lips.

Unfortunately, the world had other plans in store… 

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Timeless - II (Bob Floyd x Reader)

A/N: Hi besties! Lil early birthday treat from me (I'm hoping to write part three on my birthday but we'll see) with part 3!

pairing: Lt. Robert Floyd x reader

warnings/content: no warnings, extra cute Bob. mutual pining, OC's mom meddling but it's cute, Bob swears like once.

word count: 1.8k

one - two -

The Taylor home was practically humming with noise as your family prepared for Thanksgiving festivities together. Your mother was in the kitchen, channeling her inner Food Network tv personality as she made the holiday meal. Your younger brother was home from college, and your teenage sister had brought a friend over for the day to meet everyone and watch the hours-long football marathon that began early in the afternoon that day, following the thanksgiving day parade. Just as the Commanders were taking on the Cowboys, your doorbell rang. Despite there being several other people in the room with you, you appeared to be the only one able to hear it ringing. You sighed and rolled your eyes as you stood up to answer the door. In your doorway stood Bob, in a football jersey and jeans, a casual look that you remembered well from high school. He laughed softly as you answered the door, a warm, friendly smile on his face.

“Hey Krissy, Ma sent me over to see if your folks wanted any pies, she made these apple pie tarts and she made enough to feed the entire naval base, but I don’t think they’d fly back with me very well.” He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head, “Although, I’d love to show Hangman what a real apple pie tastes like. He swears the ones in the store are the same thing. You’d think being from the south, he’d know better.” He laughs again, his cheeks blushing as he speaks about his current life. 

“Hangman? Your friend’s name is…Hangman?”

“No, it’s a callsign, all of us have one. His real name is Jake. Then you have Bradley who goes by Rooster, Natasha is Phoenix-”

“Ok then, what’s yours?” You raise an eyebrow with your arms folded across your chest.

“Bob. I got kinda confused when they asked me when I first started…so I told them my nickname and it stuck. Although now if you ask Hangman, he tells you it stands for “Baby on Board” because I’m the youngest out of the team.” He shakes his head laughing softly before looking up at you, his deep cobalt blue eyes meeting yours. God, you could get lost in those eyes for hours. 

“I’m sure my mom would appreciate them, she’s sort of up to her eyeballs in cooking right now. I think she’s aiming to compete with yours for who can make the most food,” you laugh as you step aside to let Bob in, “Come on in, we’re just watching football, Ma’s banned us all from entering her kitchen.”

Bob laughed and walked inside your family home, the home he was so familiar with as a child, where you’d play hide and seek in the different rooms, sipping lemonade on your mother’s porch swing on the veranda out front, sneaking treats upstairs to your room when you were little, hiding while you devoured them way too close to dinner time. Helping you sneak in through your bedroom window late at night after a party you weren’t supposed to be at, driving you home in his dad’s beat up old pickup truck that had a habit of always getting stuck in the mud. 

Your house hadn’t changed hardly at all since your family moved in all those years ago. A coat of paint here and new furniture there and that was about it - it was almost identical to how it was when Bob was inside it last. The time he’d taken you to prom because your date canceled on you the day before. Bob had seen you crying at school and was comforting you the entire drive home that day, and he had offered to take you, because he hadn’t found a girl he’d like to ask yet. Part of you felt like Bob just felt bad for his best friend and didn’t want to see you upset, but the other part of you had hoped it was because he wanted to ask you.

“Bobby Floyd, how’re you doing? ‘Suppose we should be calling you Lieutenant now, shouldn’t we?” Your dad’s booming voice echoed through the house as he greeted Bob. Bob smiled warmly and nodded his head once as he spoke.

“I’m great, Mr. Taylor, and just Bobby is fine, I don’t really use the rank outside of work. We both know my Mama wasn’t going to be calling me Lieutenant when I got home,” Bob let out a hearty laugh as he turned to greet your younger siblings, “Wow, Megan, haven’t seen you since you were about 5 or 6, you must be like, 16 now? And Nate, Ma said you just graduated college? What did you end up going for?”

As Bob played catch-up with your dad and siblings, you quietly excused yourself to the kitchen where your mother was. You noticed your mother’s sly smirk on her face as she kneaded the pie crust she was working on.

“I hear Robert’s come to see you?” she hummed as she set the crust in the baking dish, trimming the edges as she spoke, “That was awfully sweet of him.”

“Mama, don’t start,” you warned quietly, shaking your head, “I told you, I don’t think Bobby feels that way.”

Your mother sighed and wiped the flour off her hands onto her apron, shaking her head. She gave you a pointed look. “Kristen Taylor, you know that Robert’s had eyes for you since he was six years old - don’t think that he’s changed his mind.” 

“What makes you so sure? What are you, an expert in how he feels now?”

“I may not be, but I’m very good friends with someone who is. And she tells me that Robert specifically asked how you were doing and if his mama had seen you recently. You don’t ask about a girl after 10 years unless you want to see them, Kristen.” Your mother laughed softly as she put the pie in the oven. After a moment of silence while you tried to wrap your head around this new information, your mother shook her head.

“Kristen, his mama and I just want you kids to be happy. But let’s face it, he didn’t come here just to see if we wanted some extra apple pies. And his mama did not “accidentally” make too many.”

“How did you know why he was here?” You laughed and raised an eyebrow as you folded your arms across your chest, watching your mother intently as you awaited a response.

“I can’t reveal all my secrets to you now, can I, Kristen?” Your mother smiled warmly as she looked towards the doorway. You followed her gaze, turning around to face Bobby, his cheeks turning pink as he stood in the entrance to the kitchen, leaning his hip against the door frame. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, a nervous habit of his for as long as you’d known him, and smiled.

“Hi Mrs. Taylor, you look lovely, Mama wanted me to come by and see if you wanted some apple pies…but I’m guessing she called you ahead of time to tell you?” He laughed awkwardly, obviously having heard the last half of your conversation.

“She did, Robert! And congratulations, it sounds like you’ve become quite the accomplished Naval lieutenant while you’ve been gone. Your mama’s been filling me in on what you’ve been up to. She’s very proud of you, but I’m sure you know that already.” Your mother nodded her head as she smiled. 

“I do, m’am, she’s very glad I’ve come home for a few days. I don’t get leave too often now with everything going on back on base, but I try to come home when I can. Last few years we just went to Texas and met halfway at my brother’s house in Austin. This year though my brother and sister have brought all the little ‘uns up here, so poor Ma’s got all 3 of us kids up here, plus my brother’s two and my sister’s two, and their partners. It’s a bit of a full house. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad to escape when she asked me to come by.” He laughed softly, “I love my nieces and nephews but boy, do they know how to tire you out.” 

“I can imagine! Actually, while you’re here, could I steal you to help Kristen for a moment? I need the serving trays brought down from the attic, but I can’t trust Nate to carry them without dropping one, and Megan’s terrified of going up there,” your mother laughed as she discreetly shot you a smirking glance. 

“Oh, I’d be happy to, Mrs. Taylor. Krissy and I’ll get them down for you.” Bob smiled as he took your hand playfully and went off upstairs with you. It felt just like old times, his hand leading you up the stairs to the attic where the two of you used to hide and play in as kids. You’d turned it into a clubhouse of sorts for the two of you growing up, a sanctuary away from the chaos of having a big family and school work and chores - a place for just the two of you. 

Bob sighed happily as he looked around the attic. The two of you had so many memories of being in here together, and for you, it felt like they all came flooding back at once. 

“God, I haven’t been in here in years,” he said as a soft chuckle escaped his lips, “Remember that time you hid up here when we ate all of your mama’s apple pie she’d baked for the school bake sale? She was madder than a wet hen, and we thought hiding up here would be the smartest choice. Then, sure as shit, she found us laughing and covered in apple pie filling.” He laughed again, shaking his head. “We both got grounded for that one, I think that was the first time my mama ever had to ground me, and it was because of you in the first place!”

“Hey, I didn’t make you eat it,” you laughed as you held your hands up innocently. “I just encouraged you to join me. Not my fault that you did.”

Bob shook his head and smiled thoughtfully at you, his eyes meeting yours once again. You hadn’t noticed how closely you two were standing to one another until now, your bodies only a few inches from each other, close enough to feel each other’s body heat radiating. You instinctively bit your lip - your own nervous habit, and Bob gently stroked your cheek with his hand. He pulled you in closer and smiled softly. 

“God, I’ve missed you, Kristen.” He said as he gently wrapped an arm around your waist, his other hand still gently stroking your face, “I really, really missed you.” 

[cacoetheswriting]

Hello! I hope all is well. I had a fluffy request if that’s ok? Eddie x fem!reader where reader is an art nerd that likes to draw for their campaigns. One day, they’re hanging out preparing for the campaign and maybe Eddie had a run in with Jason earlier and was feeling a little down that day so then reader just starts aggressivley complimenting him out if nowhere. I really love your work! ❤️

thank youuu for this request & for your sweet words, makes my heart happy that you like my little fics ❤️ hope i did your vision justice!

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pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.6k content warnings: adult language, use of pet names, a little mutual pining, insecurities / self-doubt, mentions of bullying, mainly just fluff - very much unedited - pls let me know if i missed anything!

Your friendship with Eddie was an odd one — if you could even call it that. More colleagues than friends, to be honest. Or better yet, acquaintances by association.

Freaks. Geeks. Social outcasts.

There was however, one big difference.

Your status at Hawkins High was by design. A strategic decision you put into play long before you even stepped through the building doors. Growing up in a busy house with a younger brother too loud for his own good, solitude was your best friend. Art was your escape. Often you only found time for both at school. So no, you didn’t wanna socialise or try out for the cheerleading team. You were quite content being left alone.

Being neighbours with Nancy Wheeler, and your younger brothers being practically attached at the hip, helped with staying invisible ‘cause who’s gonna bully the girl that sometimes hung out with Nancy and King Steve.

Eddie unfortunately was not as lucky. His label wasn’t his choice — not at first anyway. It followed him through the years from an age arguably too young. No kid deserved to be treated the way he was simply ‘cause of how/where he was brought up. The curly-haired boy couldn’t escape the names, the teasing, the dirty looks. He couldn’t change his fate. So eventually he stopped trying. The Freak.

And perhaps that’s why he’s never fully warmed up to you. You were a fraud, not actually understanding what it’s like to be an outcast.

But it’s not like you cared what Eddie Munson thought of you or if the metalhead liked you in any way. Hanging around him was simply a means to an end. He needed someone to immortalise his D&D campaigns and you needed continuous inspiration as well as material for your portfolio.

Most of your meet-ups were surrounded by quiet.

Thinking back, that was the first mistake since it was in that congenial silence, you noticed how he sucked his lip between his teeth whenever he was deep in thought, and how he’d scrunch his brows together if what he came up with didn’t quite make sense. He was undoubtedly pretty. The faded freckles on his face are reminiscent of a million stars. The dips in his cheeks, appearing whenever he smiled, comparable to picturesque valleys. Those big brown of his eyes were like chocolate buttons and the more time you spent together, the more you thought you caught him glancing in your direction with that cocoa gaze, but that would be insane. Right?

It was also in those moments, as you drew the monsters he described in grave detail, you got to see the Eddie he so desperately tried to hide away from the rest of the world. The real Eddie. He was ridiculously smart. Not many people in Hawkins, if any at all aside from your silly little brother with his band of friends, could come up with such intricate ideas. Funny too, making you snort a laugh one too many times with practically zero effort. And he was kind. Asking you how your day was, seeming genuinely interested in your answer.

The small talk was kept to a minimum in the hours you two spent working on the campaigns, but whenever you did have a short conversation, Eddie always made sure his attention was focused solely on you. The second mistake was letting him, because being his priority, if only in the moment, made your stomach flutter.

But today Eddie hasn't uttered a single word aside from a measly hello when you opened your front door earlier that afternoon to let him in.

Normally the silence doesn’t bother you. If anything, you welcome it as it helps you concentrate on the details of any piece you’re currently working on. There was just something about the way Eddie was sitting that made you feel uneasy. He didn’t seem present. Leaning against your dresser, legs sprawled out in front of him, gaze focused on something out the window as he fidgeted with the pencil in his hand.

At first you thought maybe he was planning the next move in his new campaign and just needed a minute, but then fifteen minutes passed and the metalhead still hadn’t moved. If you didn’t know any better, you’d doubt he was even breathing. As still as a rock.

A sudden wave of concern rushes through you and without taking a second to consider what you were doing, you grab one of the pillows from your bed and throw it in his direction.

“Shit, what the—”

“Are you okay?”

Eddie’s not sure how to answer that question, especially when he looks at you. Eyes wider than normal, accompanied by delicate worry lines that he's never really been on the receiving end of — aside from Wayne's constant frown. Eddie first thinks you're clearly faking the concern 'cause why would you actually care? But the longer his gaze remains connected with yours, the more he wants to believe your sincerity is genuine. And that's fucking scary.

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “Just a lot on my mind. Nothin' you need to worry about.”

But you don't give up as easily as he hoped you would.

“Wanna talk about it?”

His lips twitch though he never actually smiles and you are certain then something definitely happened because it's as if he really wants to offer you a glimpse of happiness, but his body is refusing.

Dropping his gaze to the pencil in his hands, Eddie sighs. “You don't have to do that.”

“Do what?” You ask, stringing your brows together.

“Pretend like you actually give a shit,” he replies with a little more disdain than intended while once again catching your eyes with his own.

You don't mean to scoff, but you do. “Look, Eddie, I know we're not like best of friends or anything,”  you begin, hopping off the bed with an elegant bounce. “But considering lately I spend more time with you than Nancy or Steve, I feel like we can at least talk about shit, no? Like when something is bothering us, we can talk about that.”

He's slightly surprised at your words. The admission that you hang out with him more than your actual friends didn't seem right to him. In his mind, you and Wheeler are inseparable. He sees you two together all the time, sharing a ride to school, having lunch at the same table. And in the evenings or at the weekends, you're always around Harrington and that other girl, Buckley. Not like Eddie seeks you wherever he goes... He's just... observant.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Eddie rolls his eyes, tone full of disbelief. “You don't gotta lie to make me feel better.”

“I'm not,” you defend and sit cross-legged at his feet, knees brushing against the soles of his dirty Converse in the process. You know you don't owe him an explanation or reasoning, but it seems Eddie won't let up about what's on his mind without one. 

“Nancy and I have drifted apart since I kinda took Steve's side in their breakup. Sure we carpool and sit at the same table in the cafeteria, and our idiotic brothers are good friends, but that's pretty much it.”

Eddie starts to feel like a jerk for assuming shit when he clearly had no clue, but you don't give him a chance to interject. 

“And yeah, I see Steve often, but it's not like we're all buddy-buddy. He likes it when I stop by the video store to literally sit on the counter and draw his stupid head of hair just so he can make other girls jealous.”

“Jesus, that's shitty.”

You shrug, a small smile circling your lips. “I don't mind. Free film rental and peaceful sketching time.”

The lighthearted tone of your voice makes the corners of Eddie's mouth curl upwards, matching the expression currently present on your face. There's a semi-second of quiet. He's no longer feeling bad 'cause you've taken those worries away with one simple look. And when you knock your knee against his shoe again, Eddie's completely relaxed.

Lost in the way the sun reflects in your eyes, the metalhead doesn't really think when he asks, “So how come you've never invited me over for movie night, huh?”

You smirk. “Horrors aren't really my thing. I actually like to enjoy what I'm watching,” you tease, “Even if the shit is free. Don't wanna see any decapitations, thank you very much.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. He pulls his legs up before sliding along the carpeted floor of your bedroom until he's about a reach away from you. Closer than he's ever been. His arms make way around his legs, ring-clad fingers hanging low, poking at your calf.

Surprisingly, you don't flinch at Eddie's sudden proximity or the delicate touch.

“Quite presumptuous of you, sweetheart.” He affirms, gaze focused on where his skin brushes against the denim of your jeans.

“So you don't only watch gruesome things?” You challenge, your own fingers hesitantly reaching towards him, stopping before you can actually graze him in any way.

Eddie's smirking. “Not the point.”

“Sounds like I'm right,” you muse, your smile growing wider. “But I'll make you a deal.”

He looks up to meet your eyes then, hiking a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod. “If you tell me what you were thinking about earlier, I'll let you pick a movie we can watch together. Even something horrific.”

This was uncharted territory — (and also your third mistake). The two of you have never hung out outside of working on D&D campaigns, but since Eddie asked a mere minute ago, even if he was just teasing, you figured why the fuck not. What's the worst that could happen? Plus this seemed the only way to get him to open up.

Eddie tugs his bottom lip between his teeth as he mewls over your proposal. On the one hand, talking about feelings or problems isn't something he's necessarily into. And when it comes to spending time with you, part of the allure is congenial silence, unless he's the one fishing for information. On the other hand, his heart rate has increased tenfold at the thought of you hiding in his embrace during a particularly gross scene or before any jump scare.

In the end, the physical urge to be close to you, an unmistakable desire he's been experiencing for far longer than Eddie would care to admit out loud, wins.

“Carver just got in my head.”

The instant frown on your face, and how your fingers are suddenly reaching for his, looping together, make Eddie want to elaborate.

“Called me talentless. Usually the shit that douche and his gang of imbeciles spewer doesn't bother me 'cause I've been called many things throughout my life and whatever they come up with is more idiotic than hurtful, but I dunno, that comment just rubbed me the wrong way.”

He drops his gaze, focusing instead on your hands now perfectly intertwined. He began to rub gentle circles into your soft flesh and although this was completely odd behaviour for the two of you, it felt more than right.

“Because it's not true, Eddie.”

The metalhead's heart flips at your words and the encouraging tone behind them. Although he didn’t let it show, focusing instead on the dips between your knuckles and every single crease in your skin as he squeezed your hand just a little tighter.

“You're not talentless,” you affirm, dipping your head lower in hopes of catching his brown eyes. “If anything, you're one of the most talented people I've ever met.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, still refusing to look up.

“Eddie, you can't let those idiots make you feel worthless. You've got more talent in your left pinky than Carver and his band of bullies have put together.” You declare, rather passionately at that. “These campaigns you come up with, do you know the imagination that takes? I-I also know you play the guitar a-and sing too. Plus those extra curricular activities of yours require a mathematical brain. That's already also more talent than I have.”

He glances up at you then. “Shut up. As if you actually think I'm more talented than you?” he disputes and jerks his head towards some of the drawings covering the walls. “No one I know could do that and I know I never told you, but my campaigns would be nothin' without your art, sweetheart.”

Although heat rushes to your face at the unexpected compliment, you don't let Eddie's kind words steer you off course. This wasn't about what he thought of you, this was about what you thought of him and, as it turns out, how badly you wanted him to know.

“My stupid brother won't shut up about how fucking cool you are,” you reveal, chewing briefly on the inside of your cheek. “He's never said anything remotely as nice about me.”

Eddie lets out an airy chuckle. He drops his hold on you, but he doesn't give you a moment to even register how you instantly miss his touch, how your hands are burning with invisible imprints of where his skin brushed yours. No, because he's pushing your legs apart with little to no effort and sliding in-between them.

“Well, I happen to think you're cooler than me.”

It's your turn to laugh while again choosing not to comment on his closeness and ignoring how it made you feel. Ignoring how your stomach fluttered as he pressed his legs to your sides, hands hovering near your face as if he debated whether he was crossing some sort of line.

“Right. Don't fuck with me, Munson.”

“Cross my heart,” the metalhead promises. “Why do you think I asked you to help me out in the first place? Why do you think I willingly spend most of my afternoons with you? Like, there's no need for us to do this together. I can come up with the campaigns on my own then share the concepts so you can draw them out.”

You swallow 'cause the thought has never crossed your mind.

Before Eddie approached you with the offer, your knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons was definitely limited, only privy to whatever your brother and his friends shared. When Eddie asked you to draw something that very first time, and every time after that, you didn't stop and think if it was really necessary for you two to sit together for hours on end, crafting and creating on opposite ends of the room. Now that he's mentioned it, you really didn't need to.

“I-I don't—”

“There's no cooler chick than you, sweetheart.” Eddie interrupts, hands now cupping your face, no longer hesitant, and you're left wondering when the topic shifted from a conversation about his talents to whatever this was shaping up to be.

“Eddie...”

“How Harrington can use you to make other girls jealous instead of realising he should just ask you out, I-I don't understand.” The sentence fades with each word until his voice is a low muffle and you're not entirely sure you heard him correctly.

But every fibre of your being is screaming, so you know he definitely said it. And the way his doe-eyes are glimmering, your own reflection prominent in the pretty brown, only cinches that feeling.

Your final mistake is not asking then and there what Eddie meant.

He stands shortly after and extends a hand to also help you up.

“Speaking of, is the King of Hawkins working right now?” Eddie asks and when you nod slowly, still recovering from the small bomb he's after dropping, he claps his hands together. “Let's go then. I'm thinking we can start with My Bloody Valentine and because you're providing the entertainment, I'll get us some snacks.”

thank you for reading!

eddie munson masterlist | main masterlist

[scoops-aboy86]

And we're now up to part A of the main events of s4, with an (un?)healthy dose of mutual pining. Bon appétit.

Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6 of the love spell no go au

It’s a panic reflex, really. 

Eddie sees Chrissy start to float and he knows what this is. Not the exact spell, he’s never had the nerve to dig into those kind of grimoires, those fuckers’ll take your fingers right off—but it’s definitely dark magic. And the best way to respond to dark magic is to get as far away from the spellcaster as fucking possible. He doesn’t know where the spellcaster is, so he reaches for the best hiding place he can think of off the top of his head. 

One second he’s in the trailer, screaming and flailing out the spell, and the next he lands on his ass in Reefer Rick’s dank little boathouse where no one or nothing will find him. 

… Okay, maybe not no one. 

“Eddie?!”

With a gasp, Eddie struggles to kick off the tarp and clamber out of the old motorboat. “Steve!” His foot is still tangled in the tarp, though, so he trips, stumbles into the other boy, and sends both of them thumping up against the nearest wall. “Fuck.”

But Steve’s arms wrap around him all the same. “Shit, Eddie, I’m glad you’re okay.”

He’s not, though. He is so not okay. 

Dustin is asking him about dark particles before it really clicks for Eddie—they know. Maybe not that it’s magic, but they’ve seen things before, enough to not question any of what he tells them. 

“How did you get all the way out here without your van?” the redhead, Max, asks shrewdly, and he recognizes her as one of his neighbors across the way. 

“I, uh.” Eddie doesn’t want to lie, because even as freaked out as he is he knows that he might end up having to tell them at this point—sorry Wayne. But that point hasn’t come yet. “I just… ran, I don’t know. I l-left her there.”

Steve still has a hand on his shoulder, at once reassuring and bewildering, and squeezes it now. “What happened to Chrissy wasn’t your fault, Eds. You said she was already gone, so it’s… You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

Eddie is in no way okay. 

God only knows how long later, Eddie matches Steve’s pace through what the younger Hellfire members dubbed the Upside Down back in ‘83. He keeps wondering if he should tell them they don’t need the guns; he knows enough defensive spells and a fire spitting trick that should be protection enough. Most of those involve setting up in a fixed location, though, meaning they’d have to hole up rather than find (or fight) their way back home… and he’s not confident enough to put all of their eggs in his basket. 

It was all he could do to get his battle vest on Steve. Eddie, wary from years of being bullied, had sewn stealth and protection in with every thread he’d added to the garment, slipped healing charms in under the patches and then sewn them in place. 

And then Steve says “I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” which throws Eddie for a loop. 

“Pretty sure it was the dark wizard that dragged me into this, Stevie.” 

Eddie still doesn’t know if his involvement was intentional or not—if he was targeted as collateral damage because of his family and heritage or if it was all about Chrissy and he'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He doesn’t know if his spell to get away was noticed, either, but… it would have been small potatoes compared to this asshole casting from a completely different dimension, so maybe not. Which is not very reassuring, but speculation is all he has right now. 

After an awkward moment of silence, Eddie clears his throat. “So, uh… all this is why you’ve been tense since July? And why you started buying from me?”

Steve doesn’t look up from where he’s putting one foot carefully in front of the other, mindful of the sentient vines. “Yeah.” He gives a halfhearted shrug. “This is different from the last time, but it’s always different. Like, usually I get most of my injuries from getting hit by regular people, but—” he gestures at the red and bruise-mottled marks circling his neck from that demonic bat thing “—this time I guess it’s the monsters’ turn. Never know what to brace for.”

“… Well shit,” Eddie sums up, not knowing what else to say. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with a humorless laugh. “Thanks for jumping in after me though, dude. I know it’s all a lot and you're already kind of stuck with being involved, and with… losing Chrissy like that… but, yeah. It means a lot.”

Eddie doesn’t like the unfamiliar way Steve tenses up as he says this, and is puzzled by the strange phrasing. He didn’t really know Chrissy, they’d had literally two conversations and the second one was in the minutes immediately before her sudden demise. Sure, he’d wanted to help her and feels like throwing up any time he thinks about how she died, but they hadn’t exactly been close. Nothing like how he and Steve are. Why wouldn’t he try to save his… his friend?

“Nancy and Robin went first. I’m a shitty swimmer,” Eddie admits. “That’s the only reason I didn’t jump in sooner… Turned out I was more scared of being alone in that boat than I was of drowning, so yay for me. The girls did most of the heavy lifting, and you ripped that bat in half with your bare hands. That’s fucking metal by the way. A total Ozzy move.”

“Ozzy.” Steve’s forehead wrinkles, actually turning his gaze to Eddie. “Isn’t that the Black Something guy?”

“Sabbath,” he supplies, nodding. And then recounts the legend of Ozzy Osborne biting a bat’s head off on-stage. End of the world or not, he still considers himself morally obligated to lure Steve away from the top 40 pop hits, tempting him towards the dark side with impassioned lyrics and sick guitar riffs. 

He almost feels able to pretend that things are normal and they’re just idly chatting, until a brief earthquake that almost knock both of them down onto the fucking sentient vines and reminds him. 

The night between finding their way back out of the Upside Down and formulating a plan, the older teens take turns guarding the gate in the Munson trailer. Eddie almost breaks down and tries a circle of protection, but he’s not sure how to do that on the ceiling, there isn’t enough salt in the pantry to circle the entire trailer, and even if there were, Max’s place can’t fit all of them. 

Besides, he thinks glumly, he’s not sure it would even help with these kinds of monsters. Isn’t sure what kind of traction his magic will have on things spawned in a different plane.

So he helps Steve drag his shitty mattress back into the bedroom (because Steve refuses to sit out helping even with literal bites taken out of his sides) for the four of them to sleep on during watch shifts. And gets fresh blankets and sheets from Max, at Robin’s insistence. 

“New bandages,” he says to Steve once that’s done, pointing towards the bathroom in a way that he hopes brooks no argument. He’s already got a shirt and pair of sweatpants that pass the sniff test from his closet and a definitely clean pair of boxers from the dresser clutched in his other hand, ready to go.

Steve blinks at him, twice, then looks down at his own torso where Nancy’s ripped sweater is still tied around his wounds, dark from grime and spotting blood, and sighs. “Yeah, fine.”

Eddie shuts the door behind them, which makes the already cramped trailer bathroom feel even smaller. “Okay, so… Fastest way to do this is probably to hop in the shower and rinse off. You’re covered in lake and fuck knows what else from that place, don’t want any of that shit getting in the wounds. Don’t, uh, don’t scrub those, just everything else.” And busies himself with hauling the first aid kit out from under the sink, which is always a pain in the ass whether the door is open or not. The damn thing is too big for the space because of all the extra compartments for healing spell ingredients, quite a few of which he’s already planning to surreptitiously use.

Nothing happens behind him, so after a moment he pauses and looks over his shoulder to see Steve still as dressed as he was when they walked in. 

“This is going to take me a while, it’ll all go faster if you start washing up now,” he points out, not trying to be brusque but he’s… not the best with blood, and trying to steel himself for what’s coming. “If you’re worried about your modesty, I promise not to look.”

“Don’t care about that,” Steve says, and he sounds tense. 

Eddie tries not to think about how he’s just been handed indirect permission to watch Steve undress and shower. Jesus H. Christ. “Then… are you dragging your heels because you wanna tell me that you do have demon bat rabies, or…?”

“No.” Steve sighs, and runs a dirty hand through his already disheveled and deflated hair. How he still manages to look hot after all they’ve been through, Eddie has no idea. “How, uh. How thin are the walls?”

From outside the bathroom, Robin calls, “Pretty thin, Steve-o.”

No further answer to that question needed, Eddie inclines his head towards the door. “You heard the lady. Turning the water on helps, even though the pressure is shit. It’ll get cold pretty fast, though, so you’ll want to be quick.”

For a moment, it still seems like Steve has something he wants to say. Eddie waits patiently, looking off to the side so he doesn’t have an aneurism while Steve strips down and turns the water on, but once Steve steps under the spray he seems wholly focused on peeling away the makeshift bandages so Eddie returns to wrestling with the first aid kit. They don’t talk; Steve remains eerily silent even through disinfecting the bites on his sides and the road rash on his back, even though all of it must sting like a bitch. And then Eddie wraps him up in clean gauze and medical tape and a few subtle spells to help ease the pain and help speed the healing along, hands Steve the clean clothes to change into, and slips out of the bathroom trying not to think about how Steve’s hair now smells like his bargain bin shampoo. 

“All patched up?” Robin asks, joining Steve on the mattress as they settle in for some sleep before their staggered shifts start. Since he’s injured, Nancy put him last on the rota so he could get more uninterrupted rest up front. 

He nods. Flicks his eyes to the closed bedroom door, remembering from the bathroom that it really only provides the illusion of privacy, and shuffles around to lie down with a dejected sigh. 

Robin follows. They lay down facing each other, cramped on the narrow bed, but they’ve done this before—Steve’s is a full, but Robin’s is a twin-sized just like this one.

In a whisper barely more than a breath, she says, “You wanted to tell him.” It’s not a question.

“Not with Nancy listening,” he whispers back. “And… Chrissy, I shouldn’t…”

Robin’s lips press into a thin line, almost invisible in the darkened room. “There’s no way Eddie Munson was hooking up with Chrissy Cunningham, dingus. Can you even see them together? No way.”

“Can you see Eddie Munson with Steve Harrington?” he hisses back, a little too loud—but though they both freeze to listen, to be sure, there’s no sound. No sign that anyone overheard. 

“Maybe,” Robin retorts softly once they’ve both settled again. “You’re not exactly a bastion of conformity anymore, you know, mister babysitter with a lesbian band nerd for a best friend expert monster killer… guy. He could go for you. And I don’t think… I mean, I don’t know, but… I don’t think he’s into girls, Steve.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Steve whispers.

The eye-roll in response is practically audible. “Because he watches you all the time. And that thing with the vest when Nancy was looking at you.”

“So? I watch him all the time, and I like both!”

“Well, if I’m wrong and he is like you, doesn’t that at least mean—”

“I just don’t want to get in the way if he’s mourning her, Robs. I don’t want to be a, a rebound or for anything to happen just because we might die. Because then what if we don’t, and he doesn’t… want me anymore? I can’t do that again.”

With a rustle of blankets, Robin scoots closer to pull him into a hug. Steve doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t cry—but his hand fists in the back of her shirt and he holds on tight. 

They’re still in that position an hour or so later when Eddie comes to tag Robin in, whispering that all is still quiet on the ceiling-ward front as she extracts herself. Steve remains dead asleep, even when Eddie hesitantly worms his way under the covers while staying as close to the edge of the mattress as possible so as not to disturb him.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

Part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: One day maybe they'd look up and see the musician who's been playing his guitar just for them instead of hopelessly chasing after a love that had long died out. A/N: Yes, it's based off That XX by G-Dragon. Apologies to all Bakugo fans out there for making him the villain... WARNINGS: Quirkless AU where Hitoshi is a street musician and reader has been with Bakugo since high school

I was walking down the street when I saw your man (Yeah, I saw him)

Everyone knew the dark blue-haired street musician who sat by the fountain every day and the person his eyes, outlined by black rings, would always be staring at while some song of longing and life strummed out from his guitar.

I saw that my predictions were right (I told you)

If someone were to ask why he fell in love head over hells for a complete stranger whom he knew nothing about, he’d answer in either two ways: an inability to do so or expound on a very detailed lecture on the fractured glimpses of you he’d caught over time.

Something about the way you clicked with the stray cats who rushed to your side, meowing for attention and you’d give it with no hesitation (would you play with his hair like that one day? he grew extremely flustered at the thought). A fellow cat lover, for one.

Something in that grin you’d send effortlessly to everyone and everything, in the worst of weather, at the most cranky of people, to those pretty flowers turning their head up to the sunshine like you. Everything made you so happy, it seemed. Hitoshi liked that, a stark contrast to his resentful, depressive personality.

Something along the line of how you made him feel seen. Most people just listened to him play and walk on, never bothering to show a little appreciation or acknowledgement, but you’d point him out to whoever you were with, beam at him and toss him some coins. You were the reason he got up some mornings to go there and play.

Or maybe it was simply because humans wanted what they could never have.

He took off the ring you gave him and linked his arm around someone

Hitoshi wondered if you knew him like the people who stopped by to hear him play and toss some spare change did - did you know he was even there, or was he just another struggling nameless talent to you? Did you know how he switches to those pining love songs he used to scoff at whenever he spotted you? Did you know how he's been infatuated with you since the day you threw him a smile and all the cash your wallet had, always trying to figure out a way to convey his need to get to know you through his music?

Did you know how much he wished and prayed and dreamt of being the one to be holding your hand, be able to dedicate his lyrics to you, hold you close next to him and giggle like little kids, flip coins into fountains for meaningless wishes, have you beam that brilliant grin at him like you do to the scowling blond that went almost everywhere with you?

I'll just leave it at that (I don't wanna hurt you)

Whether you knew or not, Hitoshi hadn't a clue, but everyone around him did. It was obvious from his starry eyed gaze boring into you like the celestial beings up in the sky weren’t the center of the universe but you. It was clear from the abrupt changes to the song genres whenever you would walk past his particular street. Hitoshi did a crap job at hiding how he’d glance at you (did you hear him? Were you impressed? Please, please, just stop trying to get his attention, he doesn’t treasure it like Hitoshi would) with adoration and a silent plead for approval, recognition, anything when he’d finish and passersby would clap and tip him.

The old lady sitting at the cafe opposite would quietly chuckle and recall the days of young love. The giggly gaggle of teenage girls would squeal and swoon, rooting for the both of you in the background. Even the parents of the park would smile knowingly seeing him. Between the two of you, there was a definitive, unspoken connection sparking.

But it wouldn’t work out. For as long as Bakugo Katsuki was there Shinsou Hitoshi stood no chance.

But you actually get mad at me (Why?)

He constantly puzzled over how you never noticed how Bakugo didn’t return your affections. How could not see the way his phone was more fascinating to him than you? Maybe you didn’t count the number of dates that got cancelled, but surely at some point it was too much to be considered acceptable? When would you stop interlocking your fingers with him and be sad when he didn’t even return the gesture?

What Hitoshi saw most, however, was how Bakugo would never look at you the way you looked at him. No, he only looked at you with indifference and coldness.

If you only just woke up from the daydream you were clinging onto so hard, you’d see Hitoshi’s eyes were the exact mirrors of yours: full of want and wish and just-

Why? Why not love somebody who’d love you right?

But he’d hurt you if he said anything, pointed out anything, when you oh so pathetically refused to see Bakugo how he saw you, so he said nothing.

Saying that there's no way he'd do that (Sure, you're right)

The first time he met you was about half a year ago - half a year of pining over you pining on someone who clearly didn’t love you as much as you did - when he was trying to tune his guitar and was getting annoyed with the loudmouth who was yelling too loudly into his phone for him to hear what he was doing. Frankly everyone was fed up with the shouter but for whatever reason no one told him to shut up.

Okay, Hitoshi was going to be the first.

He glanced up irritably and immediately spotted him, a spiky blond of average height and piercingly furious red eyes screeching into his phone with language vulgar and noisy enough to have every church in the world plot to wash his mouth out with lye soap. The way he was glaring at everyone as he hung up on the poor wretch gave Hitoshi a rather good idea as to why no one had told him to lower it down - not to mention the way his hand was gripping the phone so tightly.

But he digressed, focus wandering to the figure interlocking arms with the blond, embarrassedly urging him to not get so worked up in public. By the looks of it the both of you were a couple and Hitoshi vaguely felt a little sorry for you.

Especially when he heard how the blond simply brushed you off quite rudely, returning his attention to his phone with a shoulder jerk that shook off your hold.

I became aware of you being upset

So that was how he began to know you, at least at the start, as the submissive puppy of a beau that followed the man around (Bakugo Katsuki, he found out, later on when Hitoshi heard him bellowing it into the phone at some schmuck that had spelled his name wrong), always trying to enjoy the park like any other couple. Hitoshi never paid you much mind at first; to him you were just one of those delusional dream-chasers so high on their convictions of love they never noticed it was never really returned.

Then the day came when he finally watched Bakugo impatiently snap at your light question of whether you’d still be heading to that dinner place tonight. You retracted your hand slowly (he didn’t even notice, but if it was Hitoshi he’d promise to never let go of it) and hesitatingly told him you’d give him some space.

He didn’t expect you to sit by the fountain and absently, miserably play with the spray while glancing hopefully back at your lover, but when it was never returned you gave up. Hitoshi pretended not to notice, pulling at some strings to fill the awkward silence.

And I said I must have seen someone else

“Do you take requests?”

“…not really.” Hitoshi hadn’t expected you to speak either, so the words came out rather rushed and patronizing. He backtracked quickly. “I mean, not usually.”

You hummed in reply.

“But if you want I could.” Hitoshi cleared his throat and like usual his horrible, failing humor would pop up to “lighten” the situation. “Something depressing, I’m guessing?”

“Maybe? I dunno.” You tilt your head and side eye him slyly. “Don’t act dumb, I know you saw everything. You’re not exactly the sneakiest with your staring.”

Hitoshi’s ears turned a shade of red bright enough to rival his sneakers. “…sorry about that, but it’s kinda hard not to hear you guys with someone like him.”

“Katsuki’s always been like that,” you shrug listlessly.

“Why’d you stick around then?” nearly fell out of his mouth, but he swallowed it down. That was too rude, and he’d be lying if he said he’d never seen the affection in your touches and love in your eyes when you were around Bakugo. “So, what’s your request?”

You flashed that angelic, sweet smile at him and it was all over.

Yes, I'll lie for you (I'm sorry)

It started out as a small interest, a tiny crush, the mini blush forming on his cheeks when he’d see you wearing something especially good that day. He held himself back from openly expressing anything or further conversing with you though, not when you were taken and while it was obvious that Bakugo could care less about who you spoke to you yourself certainly wouldn’t look twice at any other man. Hitoshi respected the boundaries and never pushed.

Nothing stopped him from thinking about you 24/7, 365 though.

It really made him feel like a creep. He didn’t even know your name. Or your job. Or your hobbies. Or your interests. Or anything really. All he knew was gathered off staring and hoping you’d look his way (he celebrated internally whenever you did, but it was poorly disguised to other onlookers) every other day and that just intensified his belief he was being a stalker and that made him even more unlikeable. Even the sorry excuse of a boyfriend was the better choice here.

He knew what music you liked though, when you told him the tune you requested came from one of your favorite bands, when he’d observe you brighten when he played a specific genre, when you’d tip him a little extra with something in your eyes that said you were relating very hard to that depressive song of being left behind all too well.

Hitoshi wondered if you knew his too.

Oh, I hate you for not knowing me

Maybe the time when the crush really transformed into a full-blown desire happened about a few months back. He was strolling out of a nearby cafe, guitar strapped to his back and coffee in hand, bending down to pet the fluffy black kitten that had started following him around and of course his morning just had to be ruined when yours was.

You were seated by the window, picking at the cake in front of you while you anxiously glanced out and about, so obviously stood up in the way you were practically begging your phone for a notification (why did you chase after a man who would never appreciate you like Hitoshi?). He paused ins his tracks, wondering whether to go over, talk once more, provide comfort (for you he’d try, although his bedside manner was rather lacking), but just then the bell rang violently, harbinger to Bakugo.

I hate this waiting

Hitoshi turned away in disappointment, content to let you slip away once more until he heard the rushed apologies that didn’t sound as sincere as they should be, the broken, belated assurances of rescheduling your date to another time - for now he had somewhere to be and people to meet. He sees Bakugo leave and he decides, you know what? Fxxk it, it’s his turn.

You look up from wallowing in your misery to see a familiar hand slam down a coffee cup on your table. You look up, but whoever they were had already rushing out the door with an equally familiar guitar on their back. A soft laugh escaped you as you see the sticky note hastily stuck on the cup.

Smile, don’t want your face as bitter as the coffee.

Something long lost and forgotten stirs up in you, new butterflies hatching out of their cocoons and old ones waking from their long sleep as you turn the cup to see a name probably written by the barista during the order.

Shinsou. So that was his name.

Please let go of his hand now

Thinking that was that, Hitoshi let himself exhale and his wingman the cat purred, rubbing itself on his legs as if congratulating him for making a move. What was wrong with him, acting like some silly schoolboy mooning over a new student. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and walked off to his usual perch in the park.

Over the next week Hitoshi continued to see you at the park and the war raging in his head tearing at his heart went on: did you appreciate the drink? Did he accidentally order something you didn’t like? What if you didn’t like him doing this while with Bakugo?

Maybe he was wrong about the last one, for you had started to wave at him. He thought once again that was that, but once again you surprised him when you showed up one day and held out your hand and a breathless “For you”.

When you are sad, I feel like I could die, baby

He blinked and looked down. A guitar pick, blue and purple with a black cat and his name, Shinsou. “Um…what?”

“It’s for you. I mean, you don’t have to take it, I just wanted to thank you for the drink that day, and I noticed you’ve started to play with your fingers instead and that much be painful, so I had a friend who did this sort of customization! And your name was written on the cup, I promise I didn’t stalk it out or whatever, the cat was just because I noticed you petting the stray-”

He cut off your rambling with a brief, genuine smile of his own. “Thanks. I like it a lot.”

(Hitoshi would like anything that came from you, honestly.)

Not a friendship yet, but just a special kind of acquaintance. He’d take it. It was progress, at least.

What does that bastard have that I don't?

Hitoshi had no idea real progress would be coming so soon though.

He’d been trying out a new song that had been trending on social media lately and so far it was bringing him a little extra. The coffee shop had finally brought back his favorite drink and he had finally convinced his dad Aizawa to let him officially adopt the little black kitten, although he and Eri were still arguing over the name. All in all, it was a good day.

But as always if it was a bad day for you, it was a bad day for him.

He spotted you and Bakugo almost immediately as you two came to the park like he did every time, and while it wasn’t uncommon for Bakugo to be frowning it wasn’t normal for you to be. You looked awful, blinking back tears while Bakugo crushed your spirit bit by bit with his blunt words. Hitoshi didn’t mean to listen, he swears, but he couldn’t help it.

Why can't I have you, exactly?

“I just don’t get it, why? Did I do something wrong? I - I know I’m not the best, Katsuki, but if anything - I mean - we’ve been together for so long, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I did really love you at first, but I guess over the years I realized we’re not really suited for each other. You’ll find someone more suited for you and I’ll find someone better for me. This is goodbye.”

“…alright. I’m sorry - I’m sorry we didn’t work out.”

“Me too, but that’s just how things are.”

The song finished and Hitoshi had no heart to continue something anything cheerful anymore, not when Bakugo walked off and you plopped down on a nearby bench to bury your face behind your hands as your shoulders shook. Every part of him strained to go and reach out to you, go get angry at Bakugo for you, tell you everything he’s been wanting to say this past months.

That bastard doesn't love you

But how? What was he even supposed to say? Ask how could you have not seen this coming and saved yourself some heartbreak? Comfort and act sad for you when inside he was simmering with joy and delight that this was his chance, his one and only god damned chance?

Tell you with every day Bakugo fell out of love with you, he fell deeper?

Yet that would just hurt you to know that your pitiful devotion to Bakugo being never returned was apparent to everyone around you, so he said nothing.

…he didn't really have to say anything now, did he? There was another way.

Until when are you going to cry like a fool?

The sudden change of song and strumming startled you enough to look his way with wide eyes.

“Expensive cars, pretty clothes, classy restaurants, they suit you well; but that bastard next to you really isn't it. He smiles falsely next to you, he touches your cheeks and hair - but inside, he is definitely thinking of some other girl.” The words flew out easily, without him really thinking. Sure, it wasn’t the exact truth, but he knew this was the one opportunity he was going to get to tell you how he felt all this time watching Bakugo break you down bit by bit with his vanishing “love”. “How could he do that? It's like a sin. As much as you shed tears, I'll treat you better, baby. The pain you handle by yourself, will you share some with me, baby? Please look at me, why don't you know that your love is me? Why are you the only one who doesn't know?”

The worst thing a musician could hear is silence. Hitoshi stared at the ground, heart thundering away at the lack of response. Did you understand? Did you finally understand who really was the one to eternally be in love with you all this while? Did you know how he was so tired of seeing you being treated like that when he knew you deserved better?

“That's a sad song you're singing.”

Hitoshi nearly fainted right there - thank god he didn't fall into the fountain - as you suddenly appeared to sit down and scoot next to him to smile, slightly dimmed by watery eyes (he'd wipe them away, he'd never make you feel that way, if only you'd choose him). “Sad song for a sad someone from a sad boy.”

Something changed right there and he saw it in your eyes. You used to smile at him so brightly but that spark in your eyes were always directed at Bakugo - now they caught alight at him and he knew, he knew, he knew you finally knew too.

You reach over to rifle through the music sheets on his stand, smile a little more genuine this time. “Well…sad someone wants a happier song now and wants sad boy to duet together.”

Everyone knew the dark blue-haired street musician who sat by the fountain from that day on and the center of his affections his eyes, outlined by black rings, would always be staring at adoringly next to him while some song of a slow burn kind of love strummed out from his guitar.

[niki-phoria]

i would love to see a heeseung x m!reader fic that have an academic rivals to lovers trope when they're both fighting for the valedictorian spot and both realizes their feelings for each other🥰����

he's so AKNENSKLNS sir pls have mercy i beg of you

pairing: student!heeseung x student!male!reader (he/him pronouns) genre: fluff word count: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of internalized homophobia

includes: reader being bad at math (specifically calculus), heeseung being good at math (specifically calculus), pls notice how i tried to reference the beginning at the end of the fic lmao i hope the self insertness of this one isn't too obvious

got a ton of inspo from this prompt list by @urfriendlywriter !!

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i really like the rivals to lovers trope but this is mostly pining oops this idea is really cute :)) i hope you like it <33

requests open !! read my rules first

lee heeseung.

you’ve been competing with him for the acclaimed position as valedictorian since he first arrived at your high school with big brown doe eyes three years ago. despite never really interacting with him, an unspoken rivalry had formed between you over the years. his presence alone seemed to drive you into wanting to be better than him. 

which is exactly why your current situation was less than ideal. 

“i’m sorry, y/n,” mina sighs. she had been your seatmate for the past month. you almost envied her ability to master any subject without studying nearly as much as you did. “i don’t really understand it either.” you can barely hide your disappointment at yet another failed attempt to find a study partner for your upcoming calculus test. math was never your best subject. “maybe you can ask heeseung. i’ve heard he’s really good at it. and he does tutoring on the side!” 

“yeah, maybe.” you glance over your shoulder at said boy. he’s sitting at his desk, flipping through a textbook as you wait for the bell to ring and officially release you from the class. 

you glance down at the set of problems you need to learn before sighing once again. they’re too complex for you to learn in time for your final exam and you can’t risk losing top spot. not when you’re so close to graduation. 

the shrill ring of the bell confirms your decision for you. you quickly shove the textbook into your bag before walking over to heeseung. “hey,” you say. 

he startles, looking up at you with wide eyes. they mirror the nervousness you had first seen in him on the first day of school when he awkwardly stumbled through the various hallways in search of his classes. “hi.” his voice is sweet as he greets you. 

“i’m really sorry to ask but i could use some help on the latest unit,” your hands anxiously play with your backpack straps. “mina said you tutor people on the side and i wasn’t sure who else to ask.” 

“i’d love to help,” to your surprise, heeseung agrees immediately. he smiles at you as he stands up. “when are you free? we can meet up at a coffee shop or something.” 

“i have some time tonight. i’ll meet you by the south doors?” 

“sounds good. i’ll see you there.” 

“great!” you watch as heeseung slips away into the crowd, making his way to his next class among the sea of students. you’re quick to follow his lead, clutching your bag a little tighter as you walk across the school to your own classroom - history. 

after a short introduction, your teacher writes down a group of pages in your textbook to take notes from. as you scan through the various different paragraphs to search for any relevant information to write down your mind drifts. 

your building anxiety about your math final is soon overtaken by heeseung. you’ve always found him handsome - ever since you first saw him when he was accidentally late to your science class because he had gotten lost in the school’s corridors. you had drowned yourself in your studies in a poor attempt to forget about him, soon replacing any concerns about making friends or potential romantic relationships with hours of meticulous notetaking and practice quizzes. 

heeseung had gotten taller over the years you had spent in school together. he had grown his hair out from a blunt bowl cut. the strands framed his face perfectly; even when disheveled after a rough gym class or a long night of studying. his voice had gotten deeper, too. you had slowly watched his interests evolve in the form of rotating keychains hanging off of his backpack. 

despite all of the changes you had noticed, some things remained the same. heeseung had kept the same friend group throughout the years - six other boys you often found yourself jealous of, though you were never fully sure why. he had taken choir and music theory every year. sometimes you passed by him playing basketball while you were walking home. during your brief interactions, he had remained the same quiet, kind, studious boy you shared a few classes with. 

your thoughts are interrupted by the final ring of the bell. you make a mental note to finish taking your notes once you get home as you quickly shove your things into your backpack before making your way to the south entrance. 

heeseung is already standing there by the time you arrive. he shoves his phone into his pocket, greeting you with another sweet smile. “ready to go?” 

“yeah.” you walk side by side in silence as heeseung leads you to a small local coffee shop you hadn’t noticed before. vines crawl along the walls, creating a calming atmosphere as you sit down at a table in the corner. quiet ambient noise plays from unseen speakers. 

heeseung slides a cup over to you before sitting down across from you. you take a small sip from it, pleasantly surprised at the taste. “it’s good,” you say. “thank you.” 

“i’m glad,” he smiles, pulling his own textbook out of his bag. “so, which concept do you want to start with?” 

you quickly find yourself falling into a routine with heeseung. every tuesday and thursday you meet him by the south entrance of school before walking to the same coffee shop and working through a new concept until you’ve mastered it. 

over time, your meetings had become less about studying and slowly turned into time you spending time laughing and joking around with each other. you had memorized his coffee order after your second meeting. by the fourth you had moved to sit next to him. 

you were increasingly aware of your upcoming math exam as the weeks went by. though you’re grateful for the help, a part of you was disappointed at potentially not seeing heeseung as much as you do currently. it had been nearly two months since you had first begun meeting up. 

your hands accidentally brush against each other, causing a spark of electricity to pass through your body. in the corner of your eye you can see a growing flush spread across heeseung’s cheeks. his reaction makes you smile a little. maybe he also gets nervous around you.

“sorry,” he whispers. 

you shake your head. “don’t be.” 

heeseung turns to face you, staring until you turn to look at him as well. he doesn’t look away as you make eye contact. instead, he shifts slightly so he’s a little closer to you. 

something about him makes you nervous. at some point during your meetings your pristine perfect student persona slipped away, exposing you. the real you -. a teenage boy desperate to be the best, even when your social life suffered and after you lost count of the countless amount of nights you had spent staying up far too late to study. 

heeseung’s eyes just barely flicker from yours down to your lips. the flush on his ears deepens when you unconsciously lick them. he leans in a little closer; almost as if he’s testing the limits of your relationship. you don’t pull away. instead, you reciprocate heeseung’s actions, further minimizing the small space between you. 

“heeseung,” you whisper. 

his eyes shift back up to yours for a second. “y/n,” he raises a hand to cup your cheek. “can i kiss you?” 

you don’t trust your mouth to say any of the words running through your mind. your feelings make sense now. the jealousy over heeseung’s friends, why you’re so nervous around him, the sparks when you touch him. 

years of denial and repressed feelings are ignored as you refocus on heeseung’s lips. they’re tinted a light pink. you desperately want to know what it would feel like to love him. to be loved by him. 

finally, you nod, letting your eyes flutter shut as heeseung slowly leans forwards to pull you into a sweet kiss. his lips feel soft as they gently press against your own. the small sparks of electricity you got from touching his hand are amplified. happiness courses through you. it’s a feeling stronger than you ever thought was possible before. 

you’re nearly panting when he finally pulls away, staring at you with a small smile. you can’t help the way your lips quirk upwards into one of your own. “i love you,” he whispers. 

your response comes in the form of another sweet kiss. you’re both smiling into it, though neither of you mind. suddenly it feels like everything makes sense. love. 

you’re in love with lee heeseung.