#this was just a gut reaction ily | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyuswhore · 4 months ago

Text

Grease (the tragedy)

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.”

jeon wonwoo x reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut [minors DNI], fluff, angst, mechanic!wonu, annoyances to lovers, blind date gone wrong but then gone right, kissing, clit stuff, oral (f. rec), thigh fucking (oop), this all happens at a desk LMAO, title is a what I thought was a funny spin on how people say "grease (the musical)"....has nothing to do with the musical though but lots to do with actual grease!!!

synopsis: In which you have to sit through one of the worst dates of your life, followed by the insistent tug of fate and compulsion that lead you straight back to where you'd sworn you'd never go.

[a/n]: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY WIFE CAMOTHY @highvern everyone go say happy birthday to cam or ill appear in your room at night 🔫 anygays HAVE FUN READING THIS I hope this is all the sexy wonu content you wanted, I cant wait for your reaction hehehhehe

and also bigbigbigbig thank you to jessifer @the-boy-meets-evil for proofing this for me!!! ily heh

and and to everyone reading this who is not cam, I hope you enjoy reading mechanic!wonu as much as I liked writing him heheh PLS REMEMBER TO REBLOG AND TELL ME UR THOTS it could be in the tags, replies, an ask literally anything!!!! id love to hear what you guys think!!!!

masterlist

[You]: do you think he died on the way [Liv]: hes still not there??? [You]: what do you think????? [Liv]: let me ask Amelia [You]: dont bother [You]: he can show up whenever he wants im leaving in 5 [Liv]: you promised you’d sit thru this!! [You]: sit thru what? an empty seat across from me???

Liv doesn’t respond immediately, and you immediately know she’s buggered off to ask her cousin why your date still wasn’t here.

It’s not like you couldn’t have asked him yourself, the sparse textbox sitting just under Liv’s contact. You open it to inspect the contents.

[liv’s cousin’s something]: Amelia gave me your number [liv’s cousin’s something]: friday night at the sage&salt at 7 [liv’s cousin’s something]: is that okay [You]: uh hey [You]: yeah that’s fine

Today 7:20 PM

[You]: im here?

The first thread of texts were enough to make you feel like this was some cold business meeting instead of a date, knowing wherever this would lead would be either the city dump or off a cliff. Liv was hearing none of it, taking the guilt tripping route, saying she’d already committed and her cousin was irritating enough even without a scuffle.

So when Friday evening came around you’d pulled on the first dress your fingers could find, took all of ten minutes fighting with your makeup to make it look like you did something and left the house with zero expectations.

Despite that, as you see a man walk into the establishment dressed like he’d gotten into a fight with a squid and a paper shredder, you feel the stone in your chest tank into the abyss. Zero expectations, and he’s somehow managed to strike out anyway.

The jacket looks like he’s put it on as a weak cover for the grime stains on his shirt and trousers, a couple jet black splatters across the outfit to really pull the whole thing together. It’s not like he looked homeless or anything, his face surprisingly handsome with his hair pushed away from his forehead. Although he remains looking like he’d been playing football in some neighbourhood parking lot before remembering he had an adult appointment too.

You’d never seen the man in your life, but your gut told you this was the shit texter who’d kept you waiting for nearly an hour. He seems to notice too, eyes locking from across the restaurant as the waitress leads him to your table.

“Wonwoo,” you greet with a difficult smile, half sure it came out as a grimace. “Right?”

“Yeah,” he huffs as he practically slams back down on the chair, and you wonder for a moment how the legs didn’t give out. He says your name and you nod. “Sorry I’m late, I got a call in the parking lot.”

He’s been in the parking lot this entire time?!

It’s like you’ve been doused in gasoline and lit on fire, yet somehow needing to give him a shaky reply anyway.

“O–oh, I see.”

The waitress saves you from spitting in his face when she asks if you were ready to order.

Dinner was off the table, as you discussed with Liv who forwarded it to her cousin to her–whoever it was that set up this god awful date–and agreed on dessert and perhaps a drink.

“I’ll have the chocolate cake,” you request in an attempt to make this somewhat better. You consider for a moment before asking for a drink as well, ��And a dry gin martini, please.”

“Um,” he staggers as he barely skims the menu, ultimately flipping it closed. “I’ll have the same, I guess.”

Deep voice. You might’ve liked that if you weren’t already so peeved.

The waitress disappears with the menus, leaving you two alone for the first time.

“So,” you start with an exhale. “How do you know Amelia?”

“Her husband.”

“I see.”

Silence.

“How do you know her husband?”

He sighs like this is all inconveniencing him, and it irks you to an irrespective degree. Like you wanted to be here either.

“He brings his car to the workshop alot, became friends somewhere along the line.”

“Workshop?”

He looks a little startled, cocking his head to the side. “I’m a mechanic? Did Olivia–was it–not tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

It’s silent yet again as the man across from you refuses to elaborate. You curse as you ask him a follow up question. If there was anything you hated more than shouldering a dead conversation, it was sitting through an awkward silence.

One hour. You’d sit through this for one more hour and then you’d leave.

“What kind of cars do you work on?”

“Expensive ones,” he answers. You might’ve kicked yourself if he’d ended it at that, but he continues with a purse of his lips. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it. Vintage pieces too.”

“Have I heard of it?”

“The cars?”

“No, I mean,” you let out a breath. “Your workshop.”

“Jeon Motors, just a couple streets down actually.”

You did know what he was talking about, not expecting to recognise it through the empty question, passing by it on multiple occasions in this part of the city.

“Oh, I’ve seen it a few times.”

“Yeah, we’ve been there for a while.”

“Family business?”

“Uh–sort of.”

“Okay,” you sigh in an irritated laugh. This was going to be a very difficult hour. “Keep that to yourself too.”

“Is there a problem?”

Just as you lift your eyes to lock with his, a ready yes, there is actually a problem on your tongue, there’s an intrusion.

“Here are your chocolate cakes,” the waitress places the cakes down, and then the drinks. “And your dry gin martinis. Do you guys need anything else?” By the time the waitress is gone you’ve somewhat forced yourself to put that sudden surge of flames out, to a degree at least.

“Okay,” he sighs, grabbing his glass and downing nearly half the contents. He emerges, wiping a bit of a spill from the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get this out of the way.”

“Hm?” He’s speaking to you with a very weird surge of intensity, and it confuses you.

“Neither of us wanna be here. You’re clearly trying to be hospitable but I’d really rather you not, especially when we’re both doing this to get our respective ticks off our hides.”

There isn’t much you can do but stare at him.

“Have I misjudged your advances?” he asks over his glass, sharp eyes piercing.

“No!” you yelp, reaching for your drink yourself, taking big sips only to emerge sputtering and heaving.

Your date looks like he’s rising out of his chair when you raise a hand to stop him.

“No,” you repeat, less jumpy this time. “I guess we could’ve cleared that out from before.”

Did he…snort?

“Sorry.” Dropping his chin to his chest, he composes himself.

“What?” you ask, remaining annoyed as ever.

“Nothing.”

That does it. You slam your now empty glass down on the table, slipping your fork out of the napkin a little forcefully, the metal glinting in the light of the restaurant. You dig into a corner of the cake and shove it in your mouth.

If he was gonna be rude, you could be too.

“I don’t know about hospitable.” You swallow. “But I assumed not being an ass was kind of an unwritten rule for any situation really. Including the ones you’d rather not be in.”

Wonwoo stares at you with a blank face, his cake untouched. “I’m being an ass. My laugh couldn’t have offended you that much.”

“So you did pick that up,” you comment. “With the way this conversation’s going I would’ve thought it flew right over your engine.”

“I’d argue your laugh was the least offensive thing you’ve done tonight.” You plunge your fork into your cake again. “But clearly we’re in different realms of etiquette.”

Your eyes meet the rough stains on his attire, and then his own that bore into yours like a challenge. The cake isn’t too sweet, rich just the right amount and texturally sound. Maybe something good did come out of this fiasco.

“Okay fine,” he announces, sitting up straighter. “I apologise.”

“For laughing?”

“And for being obscenely late.”

“And?”

“And…” he genuinely looks like he’s struggling to figure it out, but catches your eyes flickering to his tattered and stained outfit. “And for my entirely inappropriate dressing sense. You’ll have to forgive me for that one, oil and grime are my spoils of war.”

“Wear it like a badge, mister mechanic, but perhaps somewhere it’s appreciated.”

Wonwoo has already finished his drink, his cake remaining untouched. “You’re quite adamant on disliking me.”

“And you’re quite adamant on being a horrid conversationalist.”

The corners of his mouth lift the slightest bit. Opening his mouth to respond, you cut him off. “Cars don’t talk? Or perhaps, machines are easier to understand?”

“More like I don’t care to be personable.”

“That can’t be good for business.”

“The cars speak for themselves.”

He’s a weird one. Even more so when he offers to pay the entire bill, promising you he wasn’t lying when he said he was good at what he does, and to “make up for lost personality points.” You manage to pay your half anyway, considering the circumstances.

“Can you at least let me drive you home?” Wonwoo asks as you both step out of the establishment soon after.

“Depends.” You fix the strap of your bag. “Will it fall apart on the highway?”

The blaring white of the restaurant's outdoor lights backlight Wonwoo to make him look like some sad angel. He turns to you, the same slight smirk that seems to be plastered on his face. “Why don’t you find out?”

“What do you mean sell it? I got this thing a year ago!”

There isn’t much you can do but sigh loudly as you listen to Olivia talk about the state of her car, the one that cost too much to justify but she seemed to use and abuse like a very replaceable toy truck.

Leaning against the hood of the darn thing, you talk to her. “The dealership is giving you a shit deal to take it off your hands, you might as well try your luck.”

The look on her face is easy to read as she silences. Not convinced in the slightest, waiting for the conversation to end just so she could figure it out on her own. Sighing loudly, you look back to the dark beauty with a crate of issues that make it spit and sputter to a stop every few weeks.

“How much did you say the repairs cost again?”

“Enough to put me on food stamps,” she whines through her frustration, tears pricking against her eyes as they glisten under the neighbourhood streetlights. “Why are you smirking like that?!”

“It’s just,” you pause as you consider your next words, pressing your lips together. “This is a little bit your fault.”

Lies, it was entirely her fault.

Liv stares like you’ve just offended her, which you’re sure you have.

“Care to share how this possible bankruptcy could be my fault?"

“Because you drive the thing like you have a secret reserve buried somewhere in Tenerife.”

“My apologies for making a habit of not being a public nuisance and going forty on a national highway.”

“Your speed-o-metre is not the issue here.”

“Yes, of course, everything’s my fault.”

“Liv, please!” You groan loudly. “Just…let’s try putting up a listing tomorrow. Consider the prospects and you can decide from there.”

Sagging her shoulders and stretching her neck, Liv decides to simply trudge back indoors in silence. You take it as a begrudging yes, and follow her inside.

That very night, when you were at the very cusp of falling into the dark space of sleep, your brain re-awakens before your eyes do. A jolt as the memory comes back to you of the many months ago, sitting in that restaurant across from a man who was too handsome for the personality he seemed to sire.

“Expensive ones,” he had said. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it.”

How fitting.

“Are you going to explain or should I explode instead?”

You’d mentally prepared for the bombardment of accusations from Liv, her questioning perfectly right as you yourself cringed at the thought of showing your face here of all places. The one last one that’d officially banned her from ever setting you up with an individual of her choosing ever again.

Hearing only silence as her answer, she appeals; “I thought he was the worst date of your life.”

“Nothing to do with his skills as a mechanic,” you mumble, refusing to make eye contact.

“And everything to do with this being a horrible idea anyway!” Liv stares up at the sign on top of the garage. Jeon Motors. “What makes you think this guy can fix my car?”

What did make you think he could fix Liv’s car? If you’d known you might have given her an answer, but as you stare at the giant signboard that you’ve driven past for longer than you can remember, you can’t help but feel this place has been haunting you. Just a little.

You can’t help but feel the tingle of goosebumps rise on your skin, the hairs across the expanse standing up at the thought of walking inside. There was no way you could differentiate the reaction from plain nerves or from the cringing drills that sound all the way outside the establishment. Regardless, you make an attempt to look confident as you make your strides into the pungent of the workshop.

The first thing you note is how…clean everything is. Cleaner than any other workshop you’ve walked into anyway.

The interior is bigger than it looks from the outside, the ginormous hall hosting about a dozen cars within your eyeshot alone. One side of the great hall holds an array of parked cars in different stages of dismantled and deconstructed, while the other side is lined with contraptions that look like stripped and enlarged elevators.

Once you’ve inhaled a beyond recommended amount of smoke fumes and listened past all of the clanging, banging and sparks, you register the people that are elbow deep in the hoods of the vehicle they’re working on, enough to leave you and Liv standing at the entrance of an establishment that you can barely make sense of.

“Can I help you?” A man in stained beige overalls approaches your wide eyed pair, face half covered in his baseball hat and hands occupied with a rag.

To your slightest dismay, it isn’t the man you’re looking for.

“Uh– is Wonwoo here?” you ask.

“He’s in a meeting right now. Are you a friend?”

No, just a failed love interest.

“He,” you falter. If you weren’t a friend…then what were you? “He gave me his card.”

“Do you need help with your car?”

“Mine, actually,” Liv pipes. “It’s outside if you wanna take a look first.”

With one sweeping look across the warehouse, your eyes land on one of the few doors on the left. You register the plain look of it for barely a moment before joining Liv outside.

By the time her car has been rolled and parked inside for a more thorough inspection, it’s taken you every last grain of your willpower to not stalk back out and wait in your car. For whatever reason, you can’t help but feel a very familiar spasm of irritation spark through you. Here you are, left anxiously waiting for the same man for a second time, merely feet away but remaining occupied with more important things.

At the very least, the multiple hands prodding around the car’s engine were being somewhat of use, attempting to survey the same issues that had been looked at about a dozen times before. You silently promise to be a better person if this trip wouldn’t be for vain.

“Am I late for something again?”

Your throat is suddenly clogged as you open your mouth and no sound graces your presence. The face that meets you has his eyebrows raised as he stares at you in expectation, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“W–Wonwoo, hi, um.” You clear your throat loudly, heat cursing your cheeks. “No, of course not.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure after…four months?” he asks, hands on his hips and his back straightened.

“I…my friend’s car needed to be looked at so…”

“Ah, of course!” He turns to where you’ve motioned, looking at the popped hood of the car his employees are working on. “I’ll take a look at it myself, don’t worry about it.”

He’s already walking away, towards the car and leaving you a ways away from the action. You stare at his back; the overalls tied at the waist and the stained white T-shirt that clings to his form from the humidity.

Wonwoo remains a man of a few words, and you remain at wits end about it all.

A loud honk gives you something to do as you jump at the sound so up close, scrambling to move away from the smack centre as another car pulls into the garage.

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.” Wonwoo snickers from his place hunched over the hood as he cranes his neck to look at you.

You walk over to where he is to get out of the way. “Was that meant to sound like an innuendo?”

“I was talking about the occasional running over someone’s foot,” he answers. “Not sure what you were thinking.”

Ignoring the jab, you note that it was now only you and him crowding the car, “Where’s Olivia?”

“Went to look at spare parts.” You watch him as his gloved hands reach further into the enclave and yank at something hard.

“So you can fix it?”

“The car? It’ll take a couple days but it’s not really an issue.”

Furrowing your brows, you press on, “But the dealership—”

“Dealerships are the spawn of the devil,” he grunts as he finally wrenches out a spare nut or bolt or something that’s covered in oil. “Let me guess, they wanted her to sell it back to them?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Yes. They tried fixing it, but it'd just stop again.”

“Because they’ve been fixing the symptoms.” He raises his eyes to meet yours, hands occupied with rubbing the part in his hands relatively clean with a rag. “They haven’t bothered to do anything about the actual problem.”

“Because that’s gonna cost…?”

“Couple hundred, give or take,” he announces nonchalantly, turning his focus back to the engine.

“But—” That’s it?

“Fifty extra for every question I have to answer after this.” You briefly wonder if Wonwoo’s eyes were always this piercing, boring into your soul like he didn’t need words to know what was going on with you.

“Fine,” you huff, moving to drag a chair over, mostly just so you could have reason to break eye contact, and plop down as you watch him work.

The more you think about it, the more you can find yourself unbothered by his strange behaviour. He wasn’t bleak, but nowhere near one of the more interesting people you’ve met. Taking the opportunity to really scan the man head to toe, you can’t say you find anything truly concrete to be this put off by him.

Not much of a talker, but with the times you’ve prayed for a man that knew when to shut up sometimes, you wonder how much you can actually complain about this boon in particular.

Besides, he was a looker, and you were completely content shutting your trap if it meant you got to shamelessly ogle at him from this close.

“You know, this place looks bigger than it does from the outside.”

Wonwoo stares pointedly.

You raise a shoulder in nonchalance, “Wasn’t a question!”

He simply huffs as he mumbles, “More length than breadth I suppose.”

“What are those things called?” you ask as you watch a sedan get lifted into the on some platform on the other end of the row.

Glancing back, he answers, “Post lift, car lift, whatever you wanna call it.”

“What does it do?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Touché.”

Glancing back at him, you catch sight of his stained shirt once again. “Is that the same thing you wore to our date?”

Chin to chest, he registers what he’s wearing, hands still working on pulling bolts and boxes out of the hood. “Have about twenty of the same shirt, I can never be too sure.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirks, “Touché.”

You questioned if this was a mistake.

Olivia could pick up her car herself, so why did you insist to be the one that did it? As you pay the taxi driver, you feel your ankles lock for a moment as you move to slip out of the cab. Frozen, you hear the driver ask you if everything was alright, to which your legs seem to work again, finally foot to gravel in front of the dreaded workshop.

The Jeon Motors sign blares the same as it always has in the afternoon light, glinting as it encourages you to walk in and do one of the stupider things you’ve done in life. Other than the ridiculous outfit you’ve put on, of course.

But alas, as you hand over your slip to one of the many mechanics in the workshop, you find yourself praying he wasn’t here after all, that perhaps you could miss him as you leave and never have to see him again.

Somebody yells out his name, and the dream drifts away like smoke.

Finding the courage, you look up to where the man shouted for him, and immediately wish you hadn’t.

Wonwoo remains in his overalls, the same ones that he had tied to his waist the last time you saw him. His undershirt however…

The tank top is revealing too much for you to pretend you don’t care, his hair remaining pushed back and away from his forehead as he walks over to you in what feels like slow motion. He takes the slip that he does not need, smiling at you as he says his hellos.

“Car’s all fixed up, just need some papers that need signing and you’re all set.”

“Oh, but Liv isn’t here today.”

“That’s alright, you can sign them too,” he reassures, motioning for you to walk with him towards the car. “The car was alright in the test drives, revving hasn’t caused any problems either.”

He halts in front of the now (supposedly) fixed black sedan and pats the hood lightly, “If anything happens tell her to bring it straight here, although it shouldn’t have any more problems.”

“What’s your rate of return on customers?” you ask, a slight smirk on your face.

He thinks for a moment, “Pretty crap. But I guess that means I’m doing something right.”

You consider yourself something of a helicopter parent when it comes to your own car, but perhaps you’d change that if it meant you’d get to come here a little more often.

Goodness, what’s gotten into you.

Wonwoo’s smiling too, and for a brief moment the silence is nearly awkward. A pause before he proposes leaving.

“Shall we go to the office then?”

Nodding eagerly, you trail behind him as he leads you towards the other end of the workshop, passing by even more cars in all their stripped or constructed glory. Glancing in front, you catch sight of Wonwoo’s back, ensnared for a moment before you snap your head away, reciting every curse word you know like a mantra.

“It’s less hot in here too, keep the air on all the time.” Wonwoo stands in front of the plain doors, hands on the handle to wrench it open. You recognise it as the same door you had noted a few days ago. “Would you like anything? Coffee, tea?”

“Um, just water is fine, thanks.”

It’s quite plain, beige and leather against cream walls and unfittingly white lights. There’s a desk on one corner that’s beyond cluttered with more papers than you can register, pens and other office supplies mixed into the disorganised chaos of the large tabletop.

“Sorry about the mess, I can never find time to sort through it.” To your surprise, the light tinge of his cheeks suggest he might actually feel a little embarrassed.

Cute.

There’s cabinets that line on one of the far walls, and you watch him take his gloves off to open it and reach for a cup. The white porcelain emerges stained with an ashy grey as his fingers betray him. He looks flustered, glancing at his hands and back up to the cabinet.

You can’t help but laugh a little, moving forward to help. “It’s alright, let me.”

“Sorry,” he apologised again, with a sheepish look on his face. “I’ll, um, wash this off.”

“Go on, I’m here,” you reassure as you move towards the water dispenser in the corner to fill your clean cup.

He returns with significantly cleaner hands and apologises one last time. “Seems all I do around you is apologise.”

You have the good humour to chuckle, “So I’ve noticed.”

He does well to clear out most of the clutter that’s on his desk, leaving enough room to set down a few pieces of paper as you take a seat on the opposite side.

As you scan through the papers, he attempts to make sober conversation. “You should…bring your car around for inspections if you want.”

“Oh? Even if I ask a million questions?”

“I can make an exception or two,” he grins.

“And if you charge me double?”

“Might not charge you at all.”

“Might?” you question as you lift the pen he’d given you to sign the first space.

“Might.”

“And what’re the conditions for that?”

He doesn’t answer as he ponders and you fill in the second blank. “I’ll have to think about that.”

You snort before you can help it, your last signature coming out a little wonky as your hands shake. Turning the papers over to him, you continue, “Well then, let me know when you figure it out.”

He stares pointedly as he accepts the papers before dropping his eyes again, “Can I?”

“Hm?”

“Can I? Let you know?”

It’s like you’ve been frozen over, the typewriter in your mind jamming as it punches out the implications of what he’s saying.

“It seems, at least to me, that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” he continues.

You hesitate. “I think so too.”

“I…I don’t want to put anything like pressure on you but–”

“Would you like to try the new gelato place downtown this week?” you ask finally as you save him from his misery. “If…you’d like.”

He looks stunned for a moment before he’s scrambling, “Oh–of course! Yes, anytime is fine with me.”

“Great,” you smile, lifting from your seat. “It’s a date.”

“I’ll promise to wash my hands this time…and my shirt. And I won’t be late.”

“Let’s not make promises we can’t keep,” you tease.

You’re nearing the door as he follows behind, and just as you’re about to pull down on the handle, you hear him say your name.

Turning around, almost too eagerly, you look up at him in expectation. He’s close, almost right behind you as he looks like he’s debating whether opening his mouth is a good idea.

“Are you doing anything else today?”

“Um,” you stutter for a moment. “I don’t have to drop off the car till later tonight, that’s all really.”

He swallows. “Do you wanna stay? Just a little while. We can stay in here, nobody comes in anyway.”

You aren’t entirely sure why you said yes, because you did actually have dinner plans with Liv later tonight, but the teeny tiny voice in your mind egged you on anyway. Besides, Liv wouldn’t mind, not if you were cancelling for this.

This entailed the very friendly contact of Wonwoo’s tongue in your mouth, and the extremely cordial way it seemed to caress your insides. If somebody asked you how it led to this, you don’t think you’d have an answer. Not that you care, especially when his hands are grabbing your waist and hips like that.

He’s already locked the door, reassuring you that nobody would find their boss and client in the smack dab middle of the devil’s tango. You take his word for it, relishing in the way his hot breath hits your skin below your ears, his mouth sucking under your earlobes as you whimper ever so quietly.

Your hands are on his exposed biceps, feeling him up all to your heart's content. “Do you–Do you always wear stuff like this?”

He emerges, wet lipped and eyes trained. “So I wasn’t imagining it.”

“Imagining what?” you ask as you let him unbuckle your trousers.

“Please. Like you weren’t stripping me with your eyes.”

If you were warm before you, you're boiling up now. Were you being so obvious?

“It’s alright,” he reassures as you feel his fingers make contact with the crotch of your panties, pushing in to put pressure on your clit. “Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t picked up on it.”

You feel his fingers push the dampening fabric away as his fingers make contact with your hole, coating his fingers in the arousal that’s made itself known. It’s hard to not hiss at the way he begins to circle it, thanking the universe that the loud noises of the workshop outside were masking whatever evidence of the heinous crime you were committing inside.

Back against the couch in his office, you settle into the cushions once you feel him rub at your clit, one hand spreading your lips apart as he continues to massage your own wetness onto your throbbing cunt.

When he retreats you almost cry out, but are smothered when he plunges two fingers into your hole instead, curling them almost immediately inside you. The consistent brush of the tips of his fingers on your walls are making it difficult to keep your eyes open, and absolutely impossible to keep your moans at bay.

“Wonwoo, that’s so good, fuck.”

Through your closed eyes, you don’t note when Wonwoo gets on his knees. But you do feel him yank your trousers off entirely, and you definitely feel him place his wet mouth flush on your lower lips, sucking at your clit as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you mercilessly.

That’s all it takes for your noises to become increasingly high pitched, hands buried in his beautiful hair as he continues to pleasure you beyond imagination.

“I’m so close, keep going, please, it feels so–”

He somehow buries his face in deeper, sucking harder, licking faster, and it’s enough for you to finally feel yourself collapsing on the inside, your composure dissolving as you moan so loud you’re sure they can hear it outside, even through all the clanging and revs of cars.

There’s no way for you to know how long you lay there slumped against the couch cushions, but when you hear Wonwoo speak to you in your ear, you answer.

“Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” you say as you grab his face and pull his lips to yours, tasting the tang in his mouth from your arousal. “Do you have a condom?”

“I–fuck,” he thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I do.”

You try not to feel too disappointed, but you sigh into his mouth anyway.

“Can I fuck your thighs?” you hear him ask, and you might have just orgasmed again, untouched.

“Fuck, yes you can.”

With a yelp, you feel yourself lifted off the couch as you wrap your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, letting him guide you to his desk. “Wonwoo!”

You hear a loud crash of the desk being stripped of all its inhabitants, and your back hitting the cool of the table top.

Wonwoo unties the arms of his overalls around his waist, letting the legs pool to the floor before slipping his hard cock out of his boxers.

You don’t see it as you feel him lock your knees together and lift both your calves to rest on one of his shoulders. But you do feel it as he pushes the head into the seam of your thighs, watching the indent as the pink of his dick appears before you through the skin of your thighs.

Wonwoo’s face is contorted as he pulls back and pushes back through again, this time brushing against your still sensitive clit. You gasp at contact, and immediately feel him thrusting faster.

“Wonwoo,” you grunt. “Lower.”

He obliges, pushing his dick lower so it can rub flush against your clit as he begins to roughen up his pace.

You moan as you feel his free hand that isn’t holding your legs trail to the ends of your shirt, caressing over your stomach to pull it up and reveal your bra clad tits. He pushes his hands under the nearest cup and begins to grope you so wonderfully with his big, warm hands. Rolling the bud between his fingers, you can only grasp onto his wrists as a handheld to keep you down on earth.

The desk beneath you is rattling with noise, the full drawers making themselves known as Wonwoo pounds into your thighs like he would die if he stopped, mouth coming in contact with whatever skin of your legs he could reach, his breath fanning the side of your knees.

You’re close again, and you know he is too with the way his thrusts are beginning to grow sloppy.

“There,” he pants. “Almost.”

You orgasm for the second time, the throb your clit beyond comprehension as the rough of his dick slides across your clit mercilessly.

“Cum like this, Wonwoo please I need to see you cum.”

And he does, shooting the heft of his load to cover your already wet cunt and thighs, landing on your stomach as he continues to ride out his high between your legs.

The back of your head hits the table as you take in gulps of air through the aftermath of it all. Wonwoo is putting his weight on the back of your thighs, holding onto the table for support.

“Oh, Liv is never gonna let me live this down,” you pant, lolling your head to one side as you register him.

He peers up at you through his hair, the stupid smirk on his face, “Do you care?”

You’re smiling a little too when you answer, “Not really.”

And then your legs are off his shoulders as he nestles between them instead, diving in to lift your head and kiss you.

And you let him, although you wouldn’t really call it too much of a kiss—not when the both of you were smiling like idiots through the clash.

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freelancearsonist · 9 months ago

Text

Whole

Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Rated MA for the most long-winded poetic smut i've ever written jfc 🤦‍♀️ slow burn fluff with a couple sprinkles of angst for flavor, reader uses fem pronouns and is described as having female parts, it's dirty y'all but at least they use protection

7,470 Words

A/N: you all know my mo by now i disappear for a year and then come back and lay down some god damned PORN. this fic is no exception to the rule. @shakespeareanwannabe requested this back in july and she literally just asked for a cute moment between steve and dustin, sorry you got 6k words more than you bargained for 😂 but also thank you for betaing and the constant validation you're the best ily 🖤

Steve’s not sure how it even worked.

He can still remember the look on Robin’s face when you agreed, how she was speechless for almost ten minutes because she couldn’t process what had just happened.

Steve’s reaction was about the same as hers, in all honesty. He’s gotten so used to striking out that asking people out has become something of a game to him. He knows he’ll get a no, and he knows Robin will laugh her ass off at him. But what can he say? He likes putting a smile on his best friend’s face.

Needless to say, you’ve shaken him. In the best possible way. Because your answer was three letters instead of two.

And now, he's a little bit in over his head.

Or, to be more accurate, a lot in over his head.

It seems like it’s been ages since he’s gone on a date, even though it’s only been a few months at most. He feels lost, like he’s completely unlearned everything he ever knew about girls.

He hates it, despises it with every fiber of his own being, but he also knows it’s true; he needs advice. And although he’ll never admit it to the little shithead’s face, there’s no one better he can think of going to than his very own protege. Who better to remind him of his own prowess than the person who learned everything they know from him?

One look at Dustin’s smug little face and Steve almost regrets it. Almost.

“Just can’t stay away, can you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes and gives the younger boy a little shove, camouflaging it with an affectionate pat on the back. “This is strictly business, Henderson.”

“Oh, is it now?” The younger boy’s voice takes on a smug tone as he folds his fingers together and leans back in his chair. “Well then, why don’t you have a seat? Step into my office.”

Steve rolls his eyes and slides into the booth, shooting a smile and a “thank you” to the kind waitress who delivers two milkshakes to their table.

Dustin takes his time and makes a meal of unwrapping his straw, feeding off of Steve’s clear impatience Steve’s fingers tap against the table, reminding himself that patience is necessary when you come to someone for a favor. It’s just that it’s Dustin, and Dustin knows exactly how to get under the older boy’s skin in the most annoying-yet-oddly-endearing fashion.

“So…” Dustin finally says after a lengthy sip of strawberry milkshake. “What brings you so humbly to me?”

“I’ve got a date.”

And Dustin, the little bastard–he laughs. A deep, rumbling belly laugh, so pure and unfiltered that the three other occupied tables in the diner pause their conversations to get a look at the boy clutching his sides.

Steve’s a little embarrassed by the attention, but even more embarrassed that Dustin’s reaction is so genuine. The fact that the idea of him having a date is so laughable is a bit of a punch to the gut. It hasn’t really been that long, has it?

When Dustin’s laughter finally dies down he realizes Steve’s face is completely serious, and it makes him giggle even more.

“Wait, you’re actually serious? Who on earth did you manage to pull?”

Steve’s nearly bashful as he says your name, and even more bashful when Dustin’s jaw visibly drops.

“No fucking way. I’d believe anyone else, but her? She’s like… hotter than Phoebe Cates. There’s no way you wouldn’t strike out with her.”

Steve’s immediately on the defensive. Is it really so hard to believe that he, former king of Hawkins High, could pull the most gorgeous girl in town?

But that’s just it. There’s really no one like you, not in his eyes. He’s admired you since freshman year and never once even tried with you because he knew he wasn’t worthy. You were always in the background–a beautiful, kind, smart, funny girl just out of his reach. Part of the reason he even asked you out was because he was so sure he would strike out. In the end, losing his confidence was exactly what he needed to pull the girl of his dreams.

And that’s why there’s so much riding on this. You’ve always been his biggest “what if”, the girl he wonders about when thinking that maybe not trying has been holding him back. And apparently, it has.

“Look, I don’t even know how it happened, okay? But she said yes, and… and I really don’t want to blow it.”

“Well duh. You’ll have to leave town if you blow it with her, you know that, right? If she doesn’t think you’re worth it, no one else in this town ever will again.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of!” Steve groans, slouching down so far in the booth that Dustin can just barely see his poor, overwhelmed face.

“Steve, listen…” Dustin’s voice takes on an almost fatherly quality, an omniscient tone that gives off the illusion of great hidden knowledge. He gets like this sometimes, and Steve’s not always sure that it is just an illusion. “Don’t let this go to your head, but you’re, like, one of the coolest guys I know. If she doesn’t like you… that’s her problem, not yours. Okay?”

Steve straightens in his seat, a little shocked to hear such kind words from a friend that he’s used to being mercilessly teased by.

“No, no, no, it’s going to your head. I take it all back. Forget I said anything.” Dustin’s hearty giggle makes Steve smile as he sets a wad of bills on the table and slides out of the booth.

“You’re not so bad Henderson, you know that?” He gives the younger boy’s full head of curls an affectionate ruffle. “Thanks, kid. I’ll radio later.”

Not that Steve didn’t have total faith in his young protege, but it’s still a relief that the pep talk turned out to be exactly what he needed to hear. Dustin’s right, after all. Steve’s worked hard to become the man he’s always wanted to be. He may not be dripping charisma or sex appeal the way he used to, but he’s much more comfortable in his own skin. That’s what counts, right?

And you really are his dream girl. The opportunity to take you out tonight, even if it ends up being your first and only date together, is an honor. He’s much less focused now on all the ways he could screw up, hyper-fixated on putting the effort in to make this the best night of your life.

That effort comes out in the carefully selected suit jacket he dons over his white button-up, the extra spritz of cologne, the careful touch-up shave to vanquish his five o’clock shadow, the extra ten minutes using the perfect amount of product in his hair so that it stays in place yet is still soft to the touch.

By the time he gets to Enzo’s (half an hour early, mind), he’s practically vibrating with nerves and anticipation. He’s never been much of an overthinker, but he sure is tonight. Is this place too much for the first date? Would you rather do something lowkey, like catch a movie or go for a walk in the park? He has to remind himself a couple of times that you agreed to this, that you wouldn’t have said yes if you weren’t interested in the arrangement.

To say he’s prepared for this is putting it lightly. He’s run through every possible scenario in his mind, gone over conversation starters and questions he wants to ask you over and over again until he knows exactly how he wants to phrase each thing.

And still, nothing could prepare him for when you walk through the door.

He has to physically restrain his jaw from dropping because in the moment he sees you, every well-planned thought and all etiquette is flushed down the proverbial pipes. You’re nothing short of breathtaking in a dress that hugs all the right curves and shows just enough cleavage to have him imagining what else there might be to see. Your hair is pinned back out of your face, eyes framed by just the slightest bit of makeup to make the color of your irises pop. He swears he’s never seen a shade quite like them. It’s like you move in slow motion as you approach him–he sees the entrance of the smoking hot love interest in every romantic comedy, complete with smoke and fireworks, as you move towards the table.

And then some sense of decorum returns to his addled brain, and he quickly shoots up so he can pull out your chair for you like a proper gentleman. He catches just the slightest whiff of your perfume, and he’s a goner. He’s ready to sign his life away to you, to yank his own heart out of his chest to offer to your careful hands.

He has to give his head a shake to compose himself before he goes any further off the deep end. No one’s ever thoroughly shaken him the way you have, and it’s been a matter of thirty seconds. It’s almost intimidating, the effect you have on him.

“You look… incredible,” he fumbles as he takes his seat across from you. “I mean, you always do, but… wow.”

The shy giggle you emit tugs at a heartstring he didn’t even know he had.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a genuine smile. “You clean up very well yourself.”

“I do like to put in some effort every once in a while.” He flashes the most charming smile he can muster, and just like that he’s back. His resolve to impress you is reinforced tenfold. You’ve shaken him, and it’s such an unfamiliar feeling that he’s practically bumbling. He wants to shake you just as badly.

The food’s delicious, and the conversation’s even better. He has a track record for taking out a more–for lack of a better term–bimbo-y type, and that’s definitely not you. You’re smart, you’re witty, but you don’t make him feel like an idiot. He’s so taken with you that he doesn’t even notice that three hours have passed until he looks around the room and notices that every table is now empty and bussed.

The waiter delivers the check, and Steve notices you gnawing on your lip.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, trying not to be too prying.

“I don’t want this to be over yet.”

Steve smiles. He’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. He’s never been so sure of anything, and that surprises him. He’s used to dates who are easy to read and even easier to take home, and those aren’t the impressions you’ve been giving him. To know that you’re feeling exactly what he’s feeling is a huge confidence boost.

“I don’t either.”

Your hand is so small compared to his. That’s all he can think about as he strolls next to you, his fingers intertwined with yours. He’s always considered hand-holding to be child’s play, it’s never excited him before the way it does in this moment with you.

It’s pitch black in the park and he can hear the overlapping chirping of summer cicadas and grasshoppers, the perfect background noise now that the conversation has died down. It’s less about getting to know each other at this point and more just basking in each other’s presence, prolonging the inevitable because neither one of you can bear to call it a night when it’s been such a good few hours.

You’re shocked, to say the very least. Steve certainly has a reputation, and it’s not for being a romantic. Yet everything tonight has flown in the face of all the rumors you’ve been hearing since junior high. You figured he’d be a fun fling, and probably only one night at that–you’d made your peace with the idea. To find that he’s kind, considerate, funny, and can match your intellect and quick wit… it’s a very pleasant surprise. And that’s what has you out well past a decent hour, giddy over simply holding his hand like you’re a damned school girl all over again.

“I should probably let you go home,” Steve sighs wistfully. He hates to be the one to bring it up, but you’re on your fifth lap around the park and about to circle back to where your car is parked so now seems the best time.

You’re chewing your lip again, a thoughtful habit that makes his heart pound just a little bit harder.

Here’s the thing: you’re really not the bold type. You act confident, sure, but in practice it’s a lot more difficult for you. So no one’s more surprised than you are when you say, “You could come home with me. If you want.”

Steve’s definitely shocked, too. Less shocked at your proposition and more at the fact that he’s tempted to decline. Because no matter how much he’s been running through the back of his mind what you might look like under that gorgeous dress, he doesn’t want this to end there. For the first time in his life, he wants to find more meaning than sex out of a relationship. He doesn’t want to take you home and never see you again. He wants to take you out again, and again, and again, and again after that. He sees a future, for once, that doesn’t look dim and hopeless. That fact alone scares the shit out of him.

He realizes he’s waited way too long to reply and fumbles for an answer. “Of course I want to. I’d be an idiot not to. But…”

You chew that cursed bottom lip of yours again, and Steve has to focus on the obvious cue you’re giving him rather than the fact that he wants to be the next set of teeth around that lip.

He stops in his tracks, gently pulling on your hand to face him so he can take your other hand in his free one. “It’s not a bad but. I mean, I’m going to go home kicking myself for saying no because I really honestly do want to… well, y’know. But… I want to do this right with you. I want to take you out again. I want to get to know you and see where this goes. I can’t… I don’t want this to end tonight.”

He’s eternally grateful for how dark it is as he feels a flush consume his face. He can’t remember a time he’s been so honest and open, especially on a first date; but the look on your face tells him he’s done something right.

“Okay,” you tell him, squeezing his hands in yours. “You… honestly have no clue how nice it is to hear that.”

“Of course,” he continues, “if you just want me for my body, no hard feelings.”

You laugh at that, genuinely laugh, and Steve thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

“No,” you reassure him. “No, I… I wanna see where this goes, too.”

You’re stopped only a few paces from your car, and Steve knows with a twist of his gut that this is the end of the night. It makes his gut turn with disappointment, but also with anticipation of when he’ll see you next. Already, his mind is flooding with ideas of where he can take you and what you’ll do together.

You drop one of his hands so you can walk but keep a tight grip on the other until you get to your driver’s side door, hesitating outside because you’re still not ready for this to be over. It takes every ounce of restraint he has not to kiss you, unsure of if that would be moving too fast.

Thankfully, you make the call yourself. Leaning up on your toes, hands against his chest for balance, you press your lips against his and he has to summon every mite of strength not to moan. No one’s ever tasted so sweet, molded against him so perfectly. His hands drift from your shoulders down your arms, coming to rest on your waist as he pulls you just a little bit closer. It’s a fight of will not to overstep, to break off the kiss before it can become too heated. His mind is spinning by the time you break away. He’s aching for more, and he hopes you are too.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Your sweet voice replays in his mind all night, long after you’ve gotten into your car and driven away, long after he’s returned to his own vehicle and pulled the radio out from under the driver’s seat to check in with Dustin, long after he arrives home and soaks in a cold shower for longer than he probably should. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get your voice out of his head, and he couldn’t be any less upset about it.

He practically counts down the minutes until he sees you again. This time, he has a little less restraint. He greets you with a kiss–a sweet peck and a hand on your waist that leaves you aching for even more.

It’s a movie this time, a chance to enjoy each other’s company on a night you’re both too tired from working to engage in heavy conversation and getting to know each other further.

It starts with sharing popcorn, then holding hands, then somewhere along the way the film is completely forgotten in favor of your lips meeting his. His breath grows heavy as his hands hold your face, committing you to memory while resisting the urge to explore further. Your hands, meanwhile, are firmly on his thighs, gripping tightly to keep yourself steady as you do everything you can to keep yourself from crawling into his lap.

He whispers your name, and your grip on him tightens.

“W-we shouldn’t…” he murmurs, then gives up on the futile attempt at finishing his sentence so that he can pull you even deeper into the kiss as his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip.

It takes everything in him not to moan when your lips eagerly part to accept him.

Needless to say, once the credits start rolling you’re both more than a little hot under the collar.

“Let me buy you dinner,” Steve suggests as he woefully unwinds himself from you. Declining doesn’t even flicker through your mind as a possibility.

It’s not Enzo’s this time, but it doesn’t have to be. He could set a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of you at this point and you’d still thank him for it. This time around, you’re not really as interested in the cuisine as you are just simply getting through this meal to what’s next. Because what’s next is all you’ve been thinking about since you walked through the doors the night of that very first date and saw Steve Harrington wearing a blazer for you. It’s a level of effort he’s definitely not known for–in fact, he’s built a reputation for putting in so little effort that it nearly made your jaw drop to see him trying. And it certainly made your heart skip a beat.

But then again, the Steve before you carelessly wolfing down his bacon cheeseburger seems very different from the Steve you knew in high school, even if you didn’t know that iteration as intimately as this one. That one was cool, collected, snarky and pompous and maddeningly desirable.

This Steve, your Steve, is nearly an exact foil. Much less cocky, a little less confident but more self-assured in the ways that actually hold meaning, less worried about what the people around him are observing of him than what you’re observing of him. He seems happier, more carefree, more eager to please others than simply himself. He’s grown so much in such a short amount of time, and you feel proud just for having the honor to witness it. Significantly more proud to be on the receiving end of his affections now that they hold the kind of value you’ve always wished they would.

He looks up and notices you staring at him while lost in thought, a small smile spreading across his lips as your eyes quickly dart away.

“What’s on your mind?” He questions as he licks a stray bit of ketchup from his thumb.

“Just… happy I’m here. With you.” It brings heat to your cheeks to admit it, but you don’t want him to go unappreciated in this moment.

It’s the right thing to say, because his smile grows even wider. “I’m happy too,” he admits. “I… I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while. Could never work up the courage, I guess.”

“Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington was intimidated by me?” You say it with a mock gasp, but your shock is more genuine than you give off. Never in a million years would you have thought that he, the man who could have whoever he wanted, would be worried over you saying no to him. It’s almost comical, especially considering the way you practically threw yourself at him on your first date. Of course then, you had no clue how much he’d developed as a person. You’re almost ashamed of your behavior now, as if you might’ve inadvertently been taking advantage of the new and improved Steve who isn’t just into you for a hookup.

He shrugs, nearly bashful at your teasing. “Never figured I was good enough for you. So I didn’t bother to try.”

You’re genuinely curious now, leaning in a little closer and brushing your fingers against his hand resting atop the diner counter. “What made you change your mind?”

“Honestly? I was so sure you’d say no that I asked just to give Robin a chuckle. She loves watching me get shot down.”

That makes you frown, and he’s quick to backtrack. “I wanted to! I just… I’ve had a bad track record lately. And you’re… you’re you. You’re the last person I should be worthy of.”

His eyes are quick to avert from your gaze, bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he contemplates whether he’s said too much.

“Steve…” you properly grab his hand now in the hopes that it’ll bring his eyes back to you, and it works. “You’re the only person I’ve deemed worthy in a long time, honestly.”

Steve Harrington is scaldingly warm. It’s one of many sensations forcing your mind into overdrive as he lays you delicately across the backseat of his beemer, one hand cushioning the back of your head while simultaneously deepening the already heated kiss and the other balancing his weight to lean over you in the cramped space without completely crushing you.

Your fingers tangle themselves into his soft brown locks, tugging ever-so-slightly as his tongue slips between your parted lips. He’s an eager explorer and you’re more than happy to let him take the lead, to show you all the skill you’ve heard so many whispers about.

You let out an involuntary moan as he wedges himself even closer to you, his body heat soaking through all the layers of clothing between the two of you and warming you all the way to your very bones.

You’re practically aching, ready to beg, and he knows it the second you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to get him even closer. If there’s one thing Steve Harrington’s good at, it’s assessing your needs. He pulls away just the slightest bit to adjust his position so he can get closer, wedging a knee between your legs to press right against your core, and it makes you jolt back against the car door at the same time his head hits the roof just a bit too hard.

You both pause for a moment, the reality of your situation hitting you simultaneously, and then you’re laughing. It’s light and edged with unresolved want, but it’s enough to fracture the tension of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Shouldn’t have gotten so carried away. This isn’t how I want to do this.”

“No?”

“No. You deserve way better than this old beater,” he chuckles, then leans down to kiss you. This kiss is lighter, no longer edged with tension and lust. He kisses you just to kiss you–there’s no end goal to it this time.

“What could be better than a BMW?” You tease lightly, trying to reassure him that you’re less disappointed than you really feel.

“You know. Something romantic. A proper bed, rose petals, maybe a few candles…”

“I don’t need all that,” you try to tell him.

“I think I do,” he admits. And that’s enough to pull you back, to remind you that you need to be patient and grateful that he values you so much as to want to do this whole thing properly. That his affection is something to be cherished, not taken for granted.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to be pushy.”

“Please don’t apologize.” He hesitates to untangle himself from you, even though he knows he needs to. “I want this just as bad. I just… I need it to be right.”

“As long as I have you, it’ll be right,” you reassure. “I hope you know that.”

He presses his lips to yours again, a slow and passionate kiss that he hopes communicates every bit of adoration he feels for you in this moment.

“It’ll be perfect. I swear,” he vows. You’ve never believed anything more whole-heartedly than you do this promise.

~~~

“Wait, you’re telling me that you literally had her under you and you stopped?” Robin’s halfway through chewing a mouthful of popcorn and the absolute carnage inside her agape mouth makes Steve give her a light shove.

“It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full, y’know.”

“It’s not polite to blue-ball either!” She shoots back in utter disbelief.

“How do you think I felt? I was this close,” he holds his thumb and index finger barely millimeters apart, “to sealing the deal.”

She just shakes her head. “You, Steve Harrington, are a genuine, bonafide idiot.”

She’s not telling him anything he doesn’t know. It’s been three days since the aborted fling in the backseat of his car, and he’s barely thought of anything else. Especially since you’ve been away from home both of the past nights when he’s called. He’s starting to worry you’ve gotten the wrong impression, that he’s not interested or that he’s toying with you. It’s the exact opposite. He wants nothing more than to know you in the most intimate way he can know you. But he needs it to be flawless. He needs it to be well thought-out and precisely planned, the most romantic event in the history of copulation. He won’t settle for anything less, not with you. You deserve perfection, and he won’t give you anything less.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he tries to explain. “I want to more than anything. But if you’re gonna go to town on a goddess, you need to do some worshiping, y’know? I don’t feel like I’ve done enough.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you hear this admission. You weren’t sure what to expect–worried that maybe visiting him at work was an overstep–but hearing him call you a goddess certainly wasn’t on your radar.

“You’ve done more than enough, Steve.”

The sound of your voice makes Steve jump and whirl around, oblivious to Robin’s sly smirk and mumbled excuse of needing to attend to something in the back room.

“H-hey!” He squeaks, then clears his throat in an attempt to get his tone back to its normal octave. “What… what’re you doing here?”

“Oh, just came to pick up a tape,” you tease. “But mostly I came to see you.”

“Me?” He takes a moment to ground himself, loosening his too-tight grip on the counter. “I mean… I tried to call you last night. And the night before?”

Your brow furrows. “Really? I didn’t get your message.”

Because he didn’t leave one. He clears his throat and says, “I just figured you were busy.”

“Oh, well, I volunteer at the animal shelter on Wednesdays, and last night was my friend’s 21st birthday. I’m sorry I missed you, though.”

He can tell that you’re really remorseful, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest a little bit. He plays it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No, it’s fine, it’s… are you free tonight?”

You giggle at the abrupt redirect, but he’s played directly into your hand.

“Yeah, actually. I was hoping maybe you could help me pick out something for us to watch tonight? If you’re free too, that is.”

His dark eyes blink slowly, wondering if you’re aware of the implication behind your completely innocent words. You. Him. A movie. Alone. It’s enough to make his head spin.

“I’ve never been freer.”

Conveniently, you’ve come in close enough to the end of his shift that by the time you’re done combing through Family Video’s vast selection for the perfect film to use as background noise, Steve’s ready to clock out. And since you walked over after finishing your own shift at the local dollar store up the street, it works out perfectly that he can give you a ride straight to his place.

You only glance in the backseat once, but it’s enough to get your mind churning. Remembering the feeling of him, of what could’ve been. Anticipating what will be.

“Parents home?” You ask as he pulls into his driveway and parks, trying to sound casual and utterly failing.

“Nope,” he answers easily. “Took a detour to Cabo on their way home from Hawaii.”

“Sounds glamorous. You opted out?”

“I’d rather be here in Hawkins with you than on a beach alone anyday.”

He must know the effect his words have on you. Surely he can hear the way your heart picks up pace as he looks at you with those dark, affectionate eyes.

“So… this is home.” He waves a hand around the entrance hall like it’s a shabby nightmare, not the grandest house you’ve ever been in.

“I’m starting to understand why they used to call you King Steve.”

He’s almost embarrassed at the mention of that old high school nickname. “Trust me, this isn’t why.”

“Well, a palace does befit you,” you tell him with a smirk.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush.” The wink he shoots you makes your gut erupt with butterflies, a sensation that would normally make you a little uncomfortable. With Steve, you’d take the butterflies all day long.

He gives you a cursory and oversimplified tour of the ground floor before leading you upstairs, and suddenly he’s sheepish. It’s been a few moons since he shared his room with a girl, so the nerves are justified. But that’s too simple an explanation. You’re not a girl. You’re his dream, his muse, his–to re-quote himself–goddess. No one he’s ever cared about more has stood where you’re standing, and it terrifies him.

He hides it well, though, busying himself with making a comfortable nest for you in his bed before setting up the television set on the dresser against the far wall. If ever there was a time to regain his confidence, it’s now. He curses whatever god there is that he feels like a fumbling virgin in this moment when nothing is even happening, when just the anticipation is enough to make his hands tremble.

There’s no more stalling once you’re comfortable and the tape is set to play. His heart pounds to the steady and frantic rhythm of one of those heavy rock songs Dustin listens to now as he sits next to you, hands itching to take a hold of you but also eager not to move too fast.

Almost as if you can sense his hesitation, you reach over and take his hand. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, and the second his lips slot to yours all the worry and anxiety is gone. He’s Steve Harrington, and he knows what he’s doing. You’re you, and he’s wanted this for so long. After years of being lost, he deserves to finally find the love he’s been looking for. He’s never been so sure of anything as he is, in this moment of initial clarity, that he’s in love with you.

He can’t say it, not yet. He’s sure it’s too soon, and the last thing he wants is to scare you off. But he’s determined to prove it to you, and the only way besides words is action.

He can handle action.

There’s no more restraint or hesitation behind his touch. This is it, this is what you’ve both been waiting for. There’s no way in hell he’s not going to deliver now. He’s desperate for you, and it shows in the heavy way his hands drag along your curves whilst committing you to memory; the way his tongue languidly swipes across your bottom lip; the way he shifts effortlessly to hover over you even while deepening the kiss.

He’s overwhelming every single sense of yours in such a sudden fashion, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. Especially not when his hips meet yours in a deliciously slow grind and you finally get your first little taste of what’s to come.

He keens at the little breathless whimpers that leave your mouth, reading every single signal you provide him with and accommodating each. Moaning? He continues what he’s doing, intensifying if deemed necessary. Whining? He adds something, because he knows it’s hard to use your words when you’re wanting so badly. Squirming? He pays attention to the direction of your movement and pulls away or presses closer depending on necessity. It’s down to science for him; he only really cared about extracurriculars in school anyway, and this was certainly his favorite.

But then he comes to his senses–while he doesn’t pull away completely, he needs to clear his mind and he does so by letting up a bit, allowing the kiss to become languid and the heat to extinguish a bit. It only makes you whine more, and Steve curses his damned formula. You shouldn’t be part of an equation. You’re everything he’s ever wanted, and every aspect of your relationship so far has been a new experience for him. He needs this particular activity to be different too. No formulas or calculations. Just you and him and whatever happens naturally.

Clearly you can hear the cogs in his mind turning. You pull away with a concerned look on your face and ask, “what’s on your mind?”

Now’s not the time to hide anything from you, he reasons with himself. He wants to be authentic with you, and part of that means telling the truth, even if it’s not something particularly comfortable.

“I’m… falling into a routine. And I don’t want to,” he admits. He sighs and leans back, one hand dragging through his shaggy and disheveled hair, sure that he’s going to ruin the mood if he carries on like this. But he refuses to back away from the truth now. “This… it’s always been like…. Like a series of checkpoints. Boxes to check, y’know? Kiss you, take your clothes off, make you come, fuck you, say goodnight. And I don’t want… I can’t let it be like that with you. I need this to be… real. Not just some list to cross shit off of. I don’t–”

Steve takes a long, shaky breath before he can ramble on anymore. Never has someone so thoroughly gotten under his skin. He’s never felt so insecure, so unsure. It’s terrifying. The most terrifying part of it all, though, is that he likes it. He loves the feeling of the unfamiliarity, of doing this right. In a way, it’s almost like he’s doing all of this for the first time all over again. You’re his first date, first kiss, first time. All because he’s changed so drastically, because he’s not even remotely the same person he was just a year or two ago.

Your hands are so gentle as you cup his face, tenderly forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Steve… we don’t have to do this, not if you’re not ready. I want to be with you, not just for this, but for everything. Everything that comes with you… that’s what I want. There’s no pressure. I would wait a hundred years for you to be ready so long as I could still have you.”

Steve’s breath shakes a little as he comprehends the gravity of your words. There’s nothing he can say that can properly convey the gratitude he holds for your words, so he says nothing at all.

In his silence, you continue. “You’re more than a body, you know that, right? You’re funny, and kind, and smart. Yes, smart, don’t look at me like that. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted to be close to. I just… I want to spend time with you. I want to watch stupid movies and eat diner food until we get sick and laugh at your stupid jokes… and maybe make love with you, sure, but that’s pretty low on the list as long as I just get to be with you.”

He doesn’t notice the tears until it’s too late–by the time you’re wiping them from the apples of his cheeks it’s far too late to take them back or hide them. With anyone else, he would be angry; at himself, for allowing himself to be so vulnerable. For allowing himself to be so emotional. With you, though… with you, his emotions make him feel strong.

For the first time since you walked into his life, he’s not scared of losing you.

“I love you,” he tells you. His voice is firm, as fierce as the kiss he presses to your mouth, as powerful as the waves of emotion vibrating through his very soul. “I love you so much.”

He barely gives you a chance to reply, as keen as he is on physically proving his love to you through myriad passionate kisses that leave you breathless. But when you finally get the chance to use your voice after a barrage of kisses that start to trail down your neck, you whisper, “I love you too.”

Four words, and they’re all he needs to quell every worry or fear he’s had over doing this relationship properly with you. Why should he have to worry, after all, when he’s already succeeded?

“I love you,” he whispers as he trails down your neck and to your chest, leaving tender love bites on the tops of your breasts once he’s properly liberated you from your shirt.

“I love you,” he mumbles through sucking a mark a few inches north of your navel.

“I love you,” he murmurs when his lips meet your waistband. His fingers make quick work of your pants as he scatters kisses over your stomach, unable to part his mouth from your skin for even a moment.

“I love you,” he affirms as his mouth meets your hot and waiting core.

There’s no more checklist. Because this isn’t simply sex, as it always has been for him in the past. This is love-making: the kind of sappy shit they talk about in all those Hallmark movies that he rolls his eyes at the sight of. It’s like losing his virginity all over again.

He understands the old adage of “the other half” now. You’ve ripped him to shreds and sewed him back together with strands of yourself. The end result is better than the original ever could’ve even dreamed to be. He’s sure he couldn’t possibly live without you now, that losing you would be like ripping out fresh and unhealed stitches.

You’re not sure how long he camps out between your trembling thighs, but it’s long enough for you to lose count of the number of times he pulls you apart–first with his languid tongue; then his long, curved fingers; then a combination of the two. It’s like he loses himself completely in your pleasure, not a single thought in his head except what he can do to bring you to the edge again, and again, and again.

You’re trembling with oversensitivity by the time his own needs overtakes his desperation to unravel you. So out of it that you feel drunk, like Steve’s laced you with absolute bliss so pure you can barely stand it.

You’re hardly present enough to appreciate the adonis before you when he finally undoes his own jeans, and that’s a damned shame because he’s so damned pretty. Long and thick, flushed at the girthy tip from his hitherto unacknowledged arousal. His lean thighs are pure muscle, and the dark thatch of hair that trails south from his navel makes your mouth water. He’s everything you dreamed he’d be and so much more.

“Steve…” You don’t know what else you can possibly say. All you can do is vainly hope that one whine of his name can convey all of the heat, frustration, tension, and above all longing, swirling through your head in the moment.

He breaks from his lustful reverie for a moment to smile as he leans in for another heated kiss; you think it’s safe to say you’ve gotten your point across.

He slows from his mania for a few moments, lips tender as they explore against yours once more. These kisses are languid, slow, yet no less heated. Even now, he’s trying to prove his love to you. As if you could somehow not believe him after everything that’s happened, every small moment you’ve spent with him witnessing how hard he’s trying for you.

Somewhere in between kisses he manages to wrestle a condom out of his nightstand, miraculously without ever breaking from your lips.

Now is where you cut in, finally fading out of your over-pleasured fugue and back to reality. You take the little foil packet from his hands and tear it open, eager for this small chance to finally get a hand or two on him.

He lets out the most gorgeous noise you’ve ever heard as you roll the rubber down his length; a deep, earthy, diaphragmatic moan just from the simple touch of your hand. You want to touch him even more, to wrest out more of those sounds from him; to see what other undiscovered responses you can pull from him as you pleasure him. But you know that now, he needs to set the pace. He believes he has something to prove, and you’re more than happy to let him prove it. There will be plenty of other opportunities to have him completely at your mercy, anyway.

There’s no way to describe the feeling as he slides into you. It’s more than bliss, more than euphoria, more than earth-shattering toe-curling mind-altering pleasure. It’s nothing more than feeling whole. Of never knowing you were missing a part of yourself until it’s suddenly returned to you. Of never knowing what home felt like until this exact moment.

Maybe it’s overdramatic. Maybe it’s outlandish and outrageous and a million other adjectives to feel something so overpowering and overwhelming from such a seemingly simple physical act. But in this moment, you know you’ve never felt anything as right as being connected to Steve in this way.

His lips hardly leave yours while he rolls his hips against you, easily finding the perfect angle to make your breath hitch and your hands scrabble for purpose.

It admittedly doesn’t last long, but it doesn’t have to. Once you start to tighten and pulse around him, he’s a goner–deep purposeful thrusts turning to hard, arrhythmic plunges in desperate search of release.

You’re still shaking from your high when he slowly pulls out of you. He keeps you close, arms linked around your waist and dragging you to lay on his chest as he flops back against the pillows.

You’re not sure how long you lay like that, with Steve whispering sweet nothings into your hair and pressing absentminded kisses to your face. All you can really focus on is one all-consuming, life-changing fact.

“I love you, Steve Harrington.”

“I love you too,” he whispers back. He kisses you again, just a simple peck on your lips, and you know that he’s telling the truth. It’s an eternal truth: one that can’t be changed or altered in any way. Steve Harrington loves you with every fibre of his being, and he will for the rest of his life–even if you’re both blissfully unaware of it for now.

THE END

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#cece writes #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things smut

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midmourn · 1 year ago

Text

NCT DREAM

last updated on 04/06/2024 — recent work: we can’t be friends

BOOKSHELF 01. ONE-SHOTS

MARK

there are none under that name. want to request a book?

RENJUN

mune ga hachikire-sōde (my heart seems like it’s going to burst) F

teaser: you speak mandarin, too. but the cute boy doesn’t know that.

JENO

there are none under that name. want to request a book?

HAECHAN

sometimes love isn’t enough A

teaser: there’s rumors about a cure.

my boy A

teaser: your boyfriend doesn’t love you like he says he does.

play the part A ft jaemin

teaser: haechan’s your boyfriend, but jaemin’s your best friend. how could he ever compete?

JAEMIN

there are none under that name. want to request a book?

CHENLE

there are none under that name. want to request a book?

JISUNG

there are none under that name. want to request a book?

BOOKSHELF 02. SMAU

JENO

fwb!jeno A M

JAEMIN

fwb!jaemin A M

CHENLE

soft launch with chenle F

JISUNG

soft launch with jisung F

OT7

best friend!you setting them up on a date G F

hyung line | maknae line

“my bf just left come over” H G F

sassy men apocalypse H

“your mom hasn’t paid me this month” H

lipstick stain trend F

someone sent me a picture of you getting into a girl’s car H

idol!s/o doing a sexy collab G M

“hey shawty, your man at home?” G H

bf texts G

not saying ily back H

“i want a baby” H

jealous bf texts F A

fangirling over riize H

“what are we?” H

girl math H

idol!s/o has dating rumors H

they cheat on you in a dream H F

you storm out after a fight A

strawberry test C

we can’t be friends A F

BOOKSHELF 03. REACTIONS

OT7

accidentally revealing your relationship G

like the movies F A S G

under the mistletoe F

in every universe F A S G

break ups A

BOOKSHELF O4. SERIES

OT7

✶ sour A [ 7/7 ]

teaser: god, it’s brutal out here.

✶ guts A M [ 0/7 ]

teaser: it gets better, but what if i don’t?

navi. rules. ask.

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alastorsfuckassuglyassbob · 3 months ago

Text

Love Lute, but I hope whenever she comes back to exact vengeance or whatever, Vaggie and Charlie, or the rest. SHOW HER HELL. I know they can, cause together they can do it!

After Pentious got killed, Vaggie and Charlie got separated, and they tried SO HARD to reunite again, their reactions when either or was in mortal danger was so visceral, and heart wrenching. They both wanted to protect their loves, but couldn’t, because Adam and Lute were separating the two lovers, imagine how HORRIFIC, and gut wrenching to see the love of their lives in sheer pain?!

I know they were doing their jobs, or whatever delulu ass Lulu land shit Adam and Lute were doing, but I got so pissed, whenever they separated one another, like when Lute pinned down Vaggie with her brute ass strength, before Vaggie could reach, and save her princess. Although…That was kind of a save on Lute’s part, much to Lute’s hatred, she wants her ASS DEAD “Destroy that ass!” Like Lute said. But it was kind of a save, cause of course. Vaggie isn’t stronger than Adam, not by a long shot.

I also got upset when Adam cut the hotel in half before Charlie could help Vaggie in the fight with Lute, like these ladies want each other. PLEASE stop tearing them apart! 😭 They just wanted to help one another.

And then, after the battle (masterless cattle) Nah, wtf am I doing? Shit’s dumb af, but seriously. After the fight, both Charlie and Vaggie couldn’t help but hold one another. They are NOT going to let anyone tear them apart again, not if they can help it. They are both each other’s armors, and they will move Heaven and Hell for one another, and protect each other, fighting for love like Carmilla said.

After the fight, they probably both hugged one another, so tenderly. And looked at each other's wounds, and told one another how much they MEAN to one another, how much they love one another with all their hearts, gave each other, gentle, delicate soft caresses. You know how soft, and kind they are to each other, as they should be treated! 😋👍

So, get fucked Lute. Ily but your next fight isn’t going to go as you think! For the princess and her angel can do ANYTHING, with each other by their sides. They shine brighter, and will do ANYTHING. To protect their home, and family…And most importantly, each other. ❤️🤍

(She ain’t coming back for season 2 though, she literally cannot. She may be scheming shit, because of course she is. She’s in it, without a doubt. But she isn’t going to be the next antagonist, it’s the Vees time to shine! And they better not touch Lucifer’s little girl, cause they are going to get PUMMELED to the CURB!! Like one punch it’s fucking over for them. Like shit’s all black, they GONE GONE. Like, where tf did I go? Double hell, damn…)

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snowyquokka · 7 months ago

Text

HOME

jeongin x fem reader

cw: angst (😈), breakup, kissing, swearing, mutual pining, mentions of cheating, kinda toxic/asshole seungmin (FORGIVE ME), not proof read bc why tf would i do that (im too lazy so my apologies if some of it doesn’t make sense lmfao-)

wc: 3.1k

a.n - so this is not how it was originally supposed to be 😭 it started as a seungmin fic but spiraled into whatever monstrosity this is lmao. everyone thank @solisyeah for the request ily. anywho i hope it’s good <3

❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥

Seungmin furrows his brows as he inspects the photo on his screen. A photo of you with another guy, in his lap with your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

Just like you do with Seungmin.

On the very couch he’s sitting on.

At first he thought it was edited, because there’s no way you’d cheat on him, right? But as he took a closer look he just knew it was real.

He was tired, sore, and downright miserable from a rough day at the studio; he had to take way too many breaks for his liking and this picture was just the thing he needed to send him right off the deep end.

He shot up from his spot on the couch so fast it made his head spin, but that didn’t deter him from storming into your bedroom where you were sitting on the bed, aimlessly scrolling through your phone. Once you see his face you can automatically sense something’s wrong.

“Seung?” You tilt your head as you watch him take your apartment key off of his key ring before placing it on your dresser with a clink.

“Seungmin what are you doing?” You jump off of your bed as he slides his shoes on. He runs his fingers through his hair with a frustrated huff.

“I don’t- I think we just need a break. I need a break.” These words were the last thing you imagined to ever come out of his mouth, in this context especially. Or lack there of.

“Wha- why?” Your eyes glaze over with unshed tears that threaten to spill at any given moment. You don’t want to cry in front of him, you’ve always hated having your raw emotions on display like that, especially in such a powerless situation. “Seungmin, talk to me. What the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I’m not stupid.” Seungmin shakes his head “Did you really think you could hide it from me?”

“Hide what, Seungmin?”

“You should’ve just fucking left me. Spared my feelings, maybe. But I guess you’re just too selfish for that.”

Without another word he rushes out of the room, leaving you in shambles with nothing else to do but slide to the floor, curl into yourself and let the sobs take over your body.

Seungmin can hear you crying before he even walks out of the front door, causing his heart to clench in his chest and his gut to twist. Standing with his hand just brushing the door handle, he has to physically force himself to press on, to let you go, to accept his reality. The door slams shut behind him and the noise only pushes you further towards the realization that this is actually happening. You aren’t hallucinating, this isn’t some fucked up fever dream or an even more fucked up prank.

You just wish you knew why. No matter how much you try to put the pieces together, you’re always missing something. You can’t think of anything that could’ve set him off. Everything was perfectly normal less than an hour ago, yet all it took was five minutes to trigger the downward spiral of what feels like the end of the world- the end of your world.

“What’re you doing back here?” Jeongin slides next to Seungmin - who is still eyeing up the picture on his screen - on the floor. Jeongin nods towards the phone, “What’s that?”

Seungmin huffs and leans his head against the wall behind him, “I honestly don’t fucking know, I don’t even really want to know, actually.”

Jeongin reaches for the phone, pulling it out of Seungmin’s grasp. His lips part in a silent ‘oh’ as he inspects the photo. He’s assuming Seungmin hadn’t even given you a chance to explain solely based on his reaction, in typical Seungmin fashion. Jeongin turns his body to face the other, his face set in an almost disappointed expression.

“I’m going to say this with the utmost respect and I need you to not cause me any bodily harm-” Jeongin sighs before continuing, “You’re a dumbass. Like the dumbest dumbass I think I’ve ever seen. Like paboracha level dumbass. I’m talking-”

“Are you done?” Seungmin groans and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Are you done? God- you just fucked yourself over. If I were you I’d start praying that she’ll still take you back after all this crazy shit.”

“How did I fuck myself over when she’s the one cheating? Or am I supposed to just forget about that and take the blame for it all like usual? She brought another guy into the same place I spend almost all my time at, and probably fucked hi-” Jeongin slaps his hand over Seungmin’s mouth, effectively silencing him before he could carry on with his bullshit.

“Hyung. Shut up.” The maknae slowly pulls his hand away as Seungmin’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Look I get it, you’re tired, you’re upset, you’re angry bu-”

“Can you fucking blame me? I can’t unsee it. I mean, you see how comfortable she looked with him.” he clenches his fists.

“Will you keep your mouth closed already? You’re killing me here, got a massive migraine now.” Jeongin groans and rubs his temples as he speaks “That picture was taken over a year ago. Before you even knew she existed, hyung. Besides, I know her better than anyone ever will, other than you obviously, which is why I suggest that you get your ass up and go apologize for being such a dumb fuck. Beg for her forgiveness if you gotta. Maybe get on your knees while you’re at it.” he sighs and stands, holding his hand out to Seungmin before pulling him up.

“How do you know she isn’t lying to you? How do you know she isn’t lying about anything else?” Seungmin finally says.

“Because she loves you too much to do that to you. God, have you always been this dense? You seriously need to wake up and realize how stupid you sound.” Jeongin mocks, prompting Seungmin to glare at him one last time before walking out of the studio. All the while unbeknownst to the younger standing with a frown threatening to pull at the corners of his mouth.

“He’s a fucking idiot if he let’s her go over this,” he mutters begrudgingly while he listens to the soft pur of Seungmin’s car in the distance.

Almost a week later you’re still waking up with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. The first thing you notice is Seungmin’s apartment key still sitting on the dresser untouched. Well, it used to be his. You were really hoping that it was all just a shitty nightmare and that you’d still be tucked in his side with his soft snores being the only sound to fill the room even though it’s been days.

You realize what had stirred you awake as another knock fills the almost suffocating silence. You’re half tempted to just ignore it, but something in your gut tells you to answer it.

“Oh, uhm- hi Innie.” you wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. Or Seungmins hoodie, rather.

God you need to pull yourself together. How could you not even realize what you were wearing. Fuck.

“Hey,” Jeongin rocks back on his heels somewhat awkwardly, “Can I come in?”

You nod and mumble a soft ‘of course‘ as you move out of the way for him to slip past the threshold and into your apartment while you take a moment to collect yourself, and to put on the most convincing smile you can possibly muster.

“What’s up?” you find a spot on the couch next to him as he scans the room for a second, looking for any signs of whether or not Seungmin actually showed.

“He’s not here, is he?” Jeongin turns to you with sympathetic eyes, finding your own longing for comfort, seemingly pleading him for some sort of consolation.

“N-no but he’ll probably be back so-”

“He’s not coming back, y/n. If he was, it would’ve been days ago.”

Before you can open your mouth to protest, Jeongin has you pulled into his strong chest and tucks your head under his chin gently. “It’s okay, baby. I got you.” he sighs, rubbing small and slow circles on your back just the way he knows you like. He places a small, chaste kiss on the top of your head because he’s learned over the years that the action relaxes you and makes you feel secure.

Jeongin knows you like the back of his hand. Sometimes he thinks he knows you better than he knows himself. He knows your favorite food, your favorite season, your favorite movie. He knows how much you love to read, having periodically skimmed your shelves for books you may have and promptly buying you ones that you haven’t already buried your nose in.

Most importantly, he knows exactly what to say in order to subside your bad moods (he’s well seasoned in this field), and that sometimes you say things you don’t mean yet he never - and will never - hold that against you.

He knows just how much you loved Seungmin, not even wanting to imagine the amount of absolute heartbreak you’re feeling. Despite all this, he can’t help but feel somewhat relieved. You and Seungmin undoubtedly wouldn’t have worked in the long run and that’s exactly what you desire and deserve: a stable, long term relationship where you’d be taken care of and treated like the absolute goddess that Jeongin thinks you are.

He just wishes you give him a chance to treat you like his- more so than he already does now.

“Thank you, In,” you mumble into his chest.

“You don’t need thank me, baby. You know I’m always here.”

You did know that, you’ve always known that. Jeongin doesn’t let you doubt how much he cares for you, he’ll spend every waking moment reminding you if he has to.

You pull back slightly to look into his eyes. “I always end up burdening you with my problems.” Jeongin’s eyes soften at your apology and all he wants to do is hug and kiss and cuddle you until he thinks he’s convinced you enough of his adoration.

But for now all he can do is settle for words, though he can’t help but think it won’t be enough.

“Baby, please don’t be sorry for that. What kind of best friend would I be if I never listened to your complaints or rants?” Calling himself your best friend took more out of him than it should have and he tries to hide his hesitation. Thankfully you hadn’t noticed.

Hearing Jeongin say this makes you realize that he’s treated you better than any boyfriend you’ve ever had. Seungmin never reassured you like Jeongin does. Actually, now that you think about it, Seungmin didn’t do half of the things Jeongin does, even if it was the bare minimum.

He’s always like this, but why does it feel different now?

That’s just his personality, right? There isn’t any hidden meaning behind his words or gestures. Or the way he’s holding you and speaking to you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever had contact with. The sudden urge to reach out and cup his face is unreal. You just want to make sure you aren’t hallucinating. You wonder how you managed to find such a perfect person who thinks the world of you just as much as you do them. Someone who loves you just as deeply and truly as you do.

Wait what?

You’ve singlehandedly scared and confused yourself all at once now. Obviously you love him and he does you, but it feels as though you love him in a different way. A special way, one that you don’t think you’ve ever felt for anyone. Not even Seungmin, who you once thought was hands down your soulmate.

What you failed to realize, however, was that your soulmate has been here the whole time, and he’s holding you in his arms like he never wants to let you go.

You cut off your train of thought because he doesn’t want you like that and you’re making assumptions that could get you hurt.

Too late.

Another wave of sadness that has nothing to do with Seungmin washes over you.

“Baby? Hey, where’d you go?” Baby. Fucking baby. He’s got to stop calling you that. You want to tell him to stop, so why can’t you open your mouth and form those simple words.

“Mhm, ’m okay.” You can’t even bring yourself to put the tiniest bit of distance between your bodies.

You mentally scream at yourself for sounding so noticeably pathetic. He must think you are. How could he not when you’re making it so painfully obvious?

“Don’t hide from me, baby. You know you don’t need to hide anything from me.” How ironic.

“I’m not- I just-” you huff and lean your forehead against Jeongin’s chest. God, when did he get so…buff? Has he always been like this?

He pulls your head back to force your gaze to meet his. “What did I tell you, hm? Talk to me. I’m all ears.” His arms encircling your body is the last straw before the world comes crashing down on you.

Tears flood your vision and you aren’t even sure as to why you’re crying this time.

Pathetic and dramatic. Great.

Jeongin immediately thinks he’s overstepped now, he took it too far and made you uncomfortable. He removes his hands from you immediately though the action kills him inside, when in reality you want the exact opposite. You want him to pull you closer, you want your chest flush against his to the point where you can feel his heart beating.

“I’m sorry, Innie. I’m sorry.” You finally climb out of his grasp and step away from him. He follows you and with every step he takes forward you move backward until you collide with the wall.

“Why are you sorry when you didn’t do anything wrong? I don’t want you apologizing to me for no reason. If anyone should be apologizing it’s Seungmin, but it’s his fault and his loss, you know that.” You wish Jeongin would stop being so supportive, it’s making it ten times harder to ignore your surfacing issues.

“That’s not the problem, Jeongin.”

Since when did you call him by his full name?

“Then what is it? Is it me? Please I- I just want to help you.”

Your tears have finally halted and you couldn’t be more thankful. You need to be able to properly look into his eyes.

“You can’t help me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“Why are you being so difficult all of a sudden?”

“I’m not.” You cross your arms over your chest.

Jeongin blows out a frustrated huff. “Why can’t you tell me? Is it because Seungmin and I are friends becau-”

“I love you.”

“I know you do, which exactly is why you should be talking to me right now instead of bottling it all up-”

“No, Jeongin. I love you. Not in a friend way, not in a platonic way. I want to kiss you and hold you and-” You’ve worked yourself up so much you have cut yourself off in order to calm down.

Jeongin’s mouth stays agape for a solid five seconds before he even processes what you’ve said. “You love me?”

“Is that not what I just said?” Jeongin has to bite back his smile at your remark but quickly frowns again at the expression on your face. You look regretful, like you wish you never spoke. You’re just waiting for his rejection, willing it to come faster so you he’ll leave and you can wallow in self pity by yourself in the comfort of your bed. You disturbed the peace that was your friendship.

“I- the breakup is still fresh and you aren’t thinking straight, baby. Don’t say things you don’t mean.” Jeongin pleads. Is he trying to convince you or himself?

“But I do mean it Jeongin. I really do and I can’t believe it took me this fucking long to figure it out and I wish I’d never caught feelings because this is just a shit show now.”

He goes to speak but you quickly interrupt him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget about it,” you expect him to leave, or to at least move away. But he doesn’t, instead he leans in closer to your ear and whispers in a hushed tone,

“Didn’t I just tell you to stop apologizing, baby?” The way he says ‘baby’ sends shivers down your spine, it’s different than the other times he’s called you that. This time his words actually do have a hidden meaning. His breath ghosts the shell of your ear for a moment before he slowly pulls back to look at you. As if he hasn’t studied your every feature to the point where you’re engraved in his mind.

“You have to promise me that you actually understand what you’re saying and that it isn’t the post breakup neediness talking.” He looks at you sternly and fully expecting a response in words.

You, on the other hand, have absolutely no intention of speaking as you instead grab him by the collar of his hoodie before pressing your lips against his.

Kissing your best friend is much more intimate than you ever expected. He kisses you like it’s not the first time and with more than enough purpose. It starts off aggressive but soon simmers down into a delightfully slow and passionate rhythm and as cliche as it sounds, it’s in this moment that you finally know where you belong, where your home is.

No matter the circumstances, Jeongin always left a space for you in his heart. His subconscious wouldn’t let him fill it with someone else even if he wanted (which he didn’t), forever waiting for you to find the spot with your name written all over it and stay there for as long as you may live.

❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥��❥

tags: @skzstarnet @godslino @myseungsunglove @seungseung-minmin @azuna-sz @chanyeolsrealwife

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obeymematches · 6 months ago

Note

Leviathan reaction when mc confessed they love him when they thought he was a sleep.

Ps. I love your work. \(^^)/

Ohhh that's adorable thank you for requesting 🩷 ily anon ily ❤️‍🔥

Leviathan x you (gn)

The thought of being seperated from him is difficult for your fragile human heart. You've lived with your crush for a year but now you must leave; the chance of meeting him again is slim.

The chance to hear his voice, share a laugh, remind him to brush his teeth, playing for hours without a break might be the last ones today.

Yes, you are aware Leviathan isn't perfect. Why would he have to be??? Loving him came to you so naturally you only noticed when it was already too late; every time he texted you butterflies appeared in your stomach, you were anticipating game nights and talking about animes became one of your favourite parts of the day.

Okay, sure, you did enjoy animes and games before meeting him, however His personality gave everything a new meaning; as you watched your anime you were already thinking of what to talk about with Leviathan. At first he didn't really care about what you had to say but as the weeks turned to months passing by, he started to listen to you. It took a rather long time you have to admit, but you grew a little crush on your demon best friend.

And now you have to go back home. Isn't that great- just when you started to really enjoy being here- It must be a gut feeling but you are sure he is going to be missing you two; it's 4 AM, just a couple of hours are left before you must leave. Your crush is doing his best to stay awake and play your favourite game with you. He doesn't even like this one so much; he likes to pretend he does though.

Maybe to impress you? To prove to you he is worth it?

His charater stopped on the screen.

That was when you heard very quiet snoring coming from next to you. Did he fell asleep???

You couldn't help yourself; you must admit he looked adorable, eyes closed, his controller almost falling off his hands. How could you not smile at such a sight??

"I love you so so much Leviachan... if only you knew how much tonight meant to me...." you murmured oh so quietly, letting out a sigh as you got up to get him a blanket.

If only you knew I love you just as much.

AN: aaaaa what is going to happen now how can he say goodbye like this---- pls Levi be brave you got this---

#obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me shall we date #obey me fluff #obey me drabble #obey me x mc #obey me leviathan x reader #levi obey me #leviathan obey me #obey me levi x mc #obey me levi x reader #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me!

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hawkinsindiana · 1 year ago

Text

i’m not gonna leave you here

ALMOST PARADISE: PART FOUR - CHAPTER NINE OF NINE

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 4.8k

a/n: i have returned from the dead to drop this lil nugget of a final chapter. literally bat shit to think i have been writing this shit for FOUR YEARS! thank you to those of you who have continued to support my writing even through all the droughts. i definitely needed time to step back from tumblr so also a quick kiss to the few that sent me sweet asks checking up on me ily ily!!! writing this story has truly brought me such immense joy i feel ridiculously grateful to the ones that have decided to READ THE WHOLE FRICKING THING!!!! anyways..... thank you thank you thank you and i hope to see you for s5 >:)

masterlist

“What are you thinking about?”

Your voice filters into Steve’s mind, reaching him through the anxious worries he’s been so focused on beneath the reporter’s drawl on the television. The back of your index finger glides gently across the line of his jaw, helping to coax him away from what made him cast his gaze down towards his socks. His skin is smooth under your own, freshly shaved and moisturized to perfection.

Steve’s eyes shift to you, who’s comfortably tucked under the weight of his arm. Your irises are as warm and inviting as ever, quietly beckoning him to divulge. He grins lightly as the answer reaches the tip of his tongue.

“You.”

The only reason he’s so blunt is because he wants to see your reaction — a brilliant smile that fades into awe and pure love. He feels your body melt further against him as you try to play it off with a rather endearing roll of your eyes. Steve’s sure that some joke about him being a sap rattles around inside your pretty head, but it never comes to fruition. It must be the look on his face that keeps words from escaping you because once again, your gentle eyes silently plead with him.

He bites down on his lip before anxiously darting his gaze across the room; this is the last topic of conversation he wants to bring up, but it keeps shouting at him from the depths of his mind. Before Steve gets the chance to speak, you reach over to take his free hand between yours, lightly massaging his tired knuckles. The crease in his brow softens.

“When are you going back to the city? I know you weren’t supposed to leave for another week but…”

Steve pauses like he’s carefully choosing his words. His hand, which you’ve dragged to your lap, shifts to intertwine a few of your fingers together. He swallows harshly, “I don’t know, maybe that’s… changed. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go sooner.”

It was this morning that Steve remembered what the initial plans for Spring Break were. Just over a week ago, you two had been excitedly swapping ideas about what to do with all of your free time. But now, he can barely remember what any of them were. The only thing that crosses his mind is the intense and gut-wrenching desire to keep you close, but simultaneously out of harm’s way.

You blink in surprise as a deep inhale is pulled into your lungs. In the wake of all the destruction your actions have caused, it’s hard to imagine leaving Hawkins without attempting to rectify what you’ve done. In comparison, your education seems like the least important thing in the world right now. But then again, who knows how long it could take to hunt down Vecna once more?

He’s still out there… you can sense it, burrowed deep in your soul. It’s the same feeling that told you the Russian code was more than a transmission — a feeling that’s grown into more than intuition or anxiety, but rather the upsetting truth that you know intimately how the Upside Down works. There’s more to come and soon; when it does, you want it to be the last time.

You’re tired. You want to rest. You feel like every ounce of courage you once had has left your body. You’re terrified to plan anything that could backfire again. But you want your family safe. You want Steve to be safe. These horrors have plagued you long enough. They’ve stolen so much of your life from you.

You’re angry.

It scares you, but you know that there won’t be a sense of closure until you watch the life leave Henry’s eyes — whether by your hand or someone else’s, you don’t particularly care.

Are you willing to see this through to the very end? To do what it takes to get the life you crave?

“I don’t… I don’t think I can go, Steve,” You mutter, “At least not until this is over.”

Confirmation washes over Steve’s face — the slight lift of his brow and the sigh he expels says it all. As he cards his free hand through his hair, he speaks.

“Yeah, I was afraid you were gonna say that.”

Suddenly, you realize his reaction was not one of reassurance and relief, but rather disappointment.

Steve’s arm slides to the back of the couch as you sit up straighter. Your voice is a bit more stern, straddling the line between genuine confusion and vexation, “What, you’d rather have me leave?”

“No, no,” Steve replies immediately as his anger suddenly begins to churn. It’s not directed at you, no, but at the mere thought of having to watch you drive away from him. Selfishly, he wants you by his side at all times. He wants to turn to you for support whenever he needs or offer you his shoulder to cry on at a moment's notice. Whether it’s healthy or not, Steve cannot imagine himself without you. He needs you now.

But hurt is starting to cloud over your irises; the slightly cold and calculating look Steve knows will impale him through the heart if he doesn’t act fast to clear this up. Maybe a different approach would be best considering you both are so high strung at the moment. He shouldn’t have assumed that you’d want to leave right now — that much is clear.

Steve has begged you to leave Hawkins more than once; now it feels more like a matter of life and death.

He sighs and re-adjusts, moving from a laid-back posture to one of thought and concern. He wants to lean in closer even though you’ve shifted away, but decides to reach for one of your hands instead — you don’t recoil from his touch. Your gaze stays locked on his face, analyzing every micro expression so you can attempt to understand.

“God, of course I don’t want you to go, baby. I never want to be away from you ever again,” Steve begins softly, gently holding your hand between both of his, “I just…”

He stops again, recognizing that your face has slightly relaxed due to his tone and touch. Something in him withers knowing that his instinctual reaction and initial question prepared you for a fight he never wanted.

And then that image and sensation flash through his mind again.

Your cold skin. The whites of your eyes. The weight of your limp body in his arms. Overwhelming grief — the kind he’s only read about in your books. Emptiness. Fear. Longing. Pure, unfiltered anger.

All of that was real. Steve didn’t know he could feel something so strongly. He never wants to experience anything as intense as those feelings for the rest of his life, unless it’s his love for you. That’s an exception he’s willing to overlook.

“I can’t do… that again.”

You see it too; the pain in his eyes that’s lingered since returning home. You’ve noticed it every time he looks at you, as if it’s the last time he’ll see your gentle smile. He’s touched your bare skin with such intention it’s addicting and branded kisses onto everywhere he can reach. The most beautiful words have fallen from his lips — how excited he is for all of this to be behind you, how lucky he feels to be a part of your future.

You did this to him. Even if it couldn’t be helped, you still damaged him. For the first time, Steve Harrington has felt truly desired. You want him for more than just his body or his parents’ money. With you, he finally has a life in front of him; one that promises fulfillment and unabashed happiness.

You understand his fear perfectly. You sigh too, your hard exterior cracking instantaneously.

Defeated, you nearly pout as you murmur, “And I’m not gonna leave you here, Stevie. I don’t care how long it takes.”

You don’t have to say anymore for him to accept this fate. If you’re willing to give up your education over this, something you and Steve have been discussing for years, then he knows you’re set in your choice. He understood how much it meant to you to leave Hawkins then, but now you’ve made the decision to stay and fight.

How could he have asked you to leave in the first place? It would hurt you just as much. With the phones still down, there’s no telling when he would get word to you about his or your brother’s safety. If there’s one thing Steve doesn’t want, it’s for you to be living with uncertainty as cruel as that.

“I know, I’m sorry,” He frowns as you shuffle closer again and relish in the warmth of his palm against your cheek, his fingers deftly tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear. How fortunate is he to have someone who’s unwilling to leave his side?

He continues as you turn your head to kiss his wrist, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You tut softly with forgiveness, despising the feeling of a disagreement no matter how small it is, “No, I understand why you did. I mean, all of this has been so…”

No other words come to mind, so you chuckle in disbelief instead; you’re relieved Steve’s frown quirks up at the sound, his hand dropping to clasp both of yours now. He loves the varying texture of your skin; he could get lost for hours exploring it, even though it’s already committed to memory.

“It makes sense why you’d want me to go, even if you don’t want me to.”

You’re glad Steve’s arms open up for you when you worm in closer still, now awkwardly pinned to his side; when you press your cheek to his shoulder, you can practically feel his love for you radiating like his warmth. The soft fabric of his sweater against your skin is an added comfort you can’t quite describe. How lucky are you to have someone as dedicated to your safety as Steve?

A smirk crawls across your lips as all four wandering hands finally settle somewhere in this embrace, “What a shame I feel much safer when I’m with you, hmm?”

It’s half-hearted sarcasm, of course; a playful jest that has Steve’s chest rumbling a bit in soft laughter, “Yeah, what a shame.”

He’s more uneasy than he was before.

—

If it weren’t for the plumes of smoke billowing up into the clouds, this would be the most gorgeous day of the year. Selfishly, a part of you wonders if there’s still a chance you and Steve could sneak off to the lake and drown in sunlight. On second thought, given your previous visit, maybe you aren’t willing to go swimming anytime soon.

It’s hard to confront the consequences of your failure. For many, this cataclysmic event was the final straw — dozens, if not hundreds, of families have continued to flee. As Steve drives through the suburbs, you watch a father frantically loading the trunk while the mother lifts their toddler into the car seat. On your street, there was a home left abandoned with the front door wide open.

Continuing into town, the destruction grows more severe. The flames from a gas station have finally been contained. The diner you and Steve used to frequent has been reduced to crumbles, the neon sign shattered against the pavement. Your eyes linger on it a bit too long, heart aching that you’ll never get to return; Steve’s grip on your hand tightens.

As gut-wrenching and upsetting it is to see the carnage, nothing prepares you for what washes over you upon entering that hospital room.

A different type of guilt pools in your stomach — nausea that you’ve grown used to over the past few months. It’s unmistakable as the sight of sterile white plaster and bruised skin floods your vision.

“The doctors said it’s… pretty much a miracle that she survived,” Lucas says, continuing his explanation of that fateful night as he returns to Max’s side. His hands remove a book from his chair before sitting down — he must have been reading to her. More pain echoes in your chest.

You wish you could’ve visited sooner. When you received his call on the radio this morning, another wave of emotion made itself known. After everything, you didn’t make sure Lucas and Erica were safe. You didn’t bother to check on the others. All that mattered to you was if Steve was okay, if Dustin was. They’re not the only family you have in this fight anymore.

As Lucas goes into more detail about the events at Creel House, your brain grows cloudy from thought. The older they’ve gotten, the similarities between Lucas and Steve have made themselves more apparent; they’re fiercely loyal, unapologetically kind, gentle, and compassionate. But a striking similarity is their willingness to get bloodied and blue to protect the one they love.

Lucas has come to you many times over the course of the last couple years seeking advice over Max. Not only does he trust you and your opinion, but you and her also share many similarities. You both can be incredibly stand-off-ish and suspicious of others, but those that prove their worth are given a plethora of love and care in return. If Lucas asked you for help with his love life, he knew you’d never steer him wrong because you understand the one he’s tried to woo — whatever you worked worked every time. Well, except for the last time.

Steve knows it’s the reason why Max’s involvement in all of this chaos has been weighing so heavily on your conscience. In your mind, if you had done more to help her, Vecna never would’ve seen her as a viable target. He hates to think of the alternative, that the fourth victim might have been you instead, with guilt loud enough to beckon that monster closer. But one way or another, Steve nearly lost you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to come to terms with that fact.

You can’t help but reflect on how close you were to a similar outcome. If Steve hadn’t reacted as quickly as he did, maybe you’d be in another room in this hospital, your love wrought with worry and fused to your side until you woke. Maybe your body would be enclosed in a wooden box and buried beneath a willow tree, an abundance of flowers curling around your headstone — peonies, probably.

Your love is mirrored in theirs. But made clear is the fact that you and Steve have gotten lucky. You never thought you’d look at your life and consider any part of it to be more fortunate than someone else’s — a flaw you understand to be incredibly selfish and blind. You still have your twin flame, burning brightly in this room with you and a kind of warmth felt even with a lack of touch.

The other pair has dimmed, one of them too weak to fight anymore.

You want to help again. You need to help again.

“Can you…” You whisper, wrapping your fingers around Steve’s arm as you pull yourself closer to him. You glance back to the Sinclair boy, noticing the desperate way he clutches the redhead’s hand.

“Can you gimme a minute alone with him? Please?”

Concern immediately blossoms in Steve’s chest with your request. Knowing that your last attempt to support Lucas was ultimately in vain and a heavy burden on you, he’s not super keen at the idea. But Steve also knows you. You’ll find some way to help the boy either way, and he’d rather it be here in this room than during a moment of danger and desperation. Whatever it was you said to Max seemed to have helped her — maybe this will be different. Steve nods, remaining silent as he answers.

Clearing his throat, Steve turns to Erica and Dustin and gestures to the hall, pulling a couple of loose dollar bills from his pocket. He mutters something about the nearby vending machines and ushers the two of them out of the room, closing the door while flashing you a brief look. You’re not quite sure what he’s feeling, but you can’t imagine you’re particularly easy to read right now either. Between the pair of you, there’s enough compartmentalization happening to last a lifetime. But keeping a straight face in front of the others isn’t quieting the raging thoughts as well as you thought. Instead, you can feel them building — your fault your fault your fault.

As you sit in the chair beside Lucas, you can’t figure out where to begin. He doesn’t seem to blame this on you; if anything, he’s being too hard on himself. There wasn’t much more he could’ve done to try and keep Max safe, but you’re confident that’s not what he needs to hear right now.

“I, um… I almost didn’t make it back the other day.”

It takes a moment for Lucas to register your words. His eyes drift to you upon the realization, but you quiet his concerns before they ever make it out of his mouth, lips parting to speak.

“I’m fine,” You mutter. A lie, of course. The skin of your throat is still tender to the touch and there’s a roughness in your voice that hasn’t faded. If you think too hard, it feels like the tendrils have returned, crushing your esophagus more and more with each second. The fear kicks in again, until the face of your rescuer greets you out of the darkness.

“But Steve, he…” You pause, forcing yourself to avert your gaze from the boy because you see too much of your love in him. A younger version perhaps, a soft reflection in Lucas’ bruised eyes, but enough that your heart grows heavy once more. You shake your head gently, a wobbly breath falling from your lips.

“I’m only here because of him. I wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for Steve. I don’t know what-”

You immediately stop yourself, refusing to consider the alternate outcome any further. You shove it away deep into the recesses of your mind. When you finally look to Lucas again, you don’t have to say anything else for him to understand what it is you’re trying to tell him.

For a while now, Lucas has wanted what you and Steve have. Everything about the two of you… seems perfect. Even though he knows you haven’t always had good times, that doesn’t matter to him. He had hoped maybe Max would want that too.

But now?

Lucas nods silently, fully embracing the support you offer. There’s still hope. The road may be difficult, but he can’t let this be the end for them.

“She said she wasn’t ready.”

“Hm?”

“Max,” He clarifies sadly, his demeanor rapidly shifting to one of sorrow, “She said she wasn’t ready to die.”

Immeasurable grief swarms you. The air is drawn from your lungs as the hefty weight of his words burrows deeply into your soul. It’s the final nail in the coffin that solidifies your shame and remorse. You feel numb.

—

There’s a steady stream of people that filter into the school from the parking lot; it seems that you’re not the only group in Hawkins that felt inclined to help those affected by this disaster. Numerous boxes packed with all manner of clothing, toiletries, and other necessities line the walls and coat the tables. Resources are passed around to those who need them while the rest is organized to be distributed around town to multiple relief sites. Those that were displaced and can’t afford to leave rest on the various cots sprinkled throughout the gymnasium. It’s a bit overwhelming to say the least.

After Steve’s recruited to fold donated clothes, one of the volunteers leads you away.

“How do you feel about being around kids?”

“I think I could handle that, yeah,” You say, forcing a somewhat warm smile to pull at your lips. She gestures towards a young girl, no older than six, fiercely clutching a well-loved stuffed elephant between her soot stained fingers.

“Her house was destroyed, just torn right down the middle. We’re trying to find her parents,” The woman whispers, her hand touching your shoulder gently in gratitude, “But still nothing.”

You sigh, feeling your throat tighten, now able to put a face to all the destruction you and your friends weren’t able to stop. You approach the girl by asking if you can sit with her, to which she eventually nods at you with tired and exhausted eyes. When you introduce yourself and ask her for her name, she shifts a bit, “Erica.”

“Erica, huh?” You smile again, “I have a friend with that name. She’s pretty tough and strong.”

With your comment, the girl turns her head toward you; her skin’s coated with dirt and dust, hair a touch matted up. There’s a bit of blood on her forehead too.

“Is she like She-Ra?”

You can’t help but laugh a little at her reference. You pretend to think about it for a moment, even bringing your finger up to your chin to sell it further, “I think she’s more like Firefly. You know, from My Little Pony?”

Your answer brings a slight grin to her face; it simultaneously warms and breaks your heart. You put your hands down onto your knees, trying to remain as casual and maternal as possible, “What do you say we get you cleaned up? Would you like that?”

Erica nods before she grabs your now extended hand and uncurls herself from the plastic chair. As you start to walk forward, one hand wrapped up in yours and the other still tightly around her stuffed animal, she freezes unexpectedly. Her eyes are darting between the seas of people milling around, anxiously unable to focus on anything. You crouch down, meeting her eye line once again.

“I get nervous around a lot of people sometimes, too. I can hold you… if you want.”

Erica nods quickly, reaching her arms up for you to lift her. It takes a bit of effort ao you don’t anger your back, but you manage to settle her onto your left hip.

The added closeness seems to comfort her as you continue forward, taking a moment to grab a spare plastic bag. She’s a bit harder to carry than you expected, but now’s not the time for you to complain. You wander through the tables, picking out anything that you might need to get her freshened up. The longer you walk, the more she begins to speak, telling you to grab certain items that she likes — a butterfly hair clip, some berry scented chapstick. You even make time to stop by the snacks to grab her something to eat; Vickie makes her a strawberry jam sandwich when Erica tells you she’s allergic to peanuts. She gobbles it up quickly, smearing some of the jelly onto her cheek, which you wipe it off with the back of your sleeve. Your smile grows more genuine the longer you spend with her.

Steve thinks he nearly has a heart attack when you eventually stride up to the clothing table, this small child latched tightly to your side. You look so at ease with her head resting against your chest, whispering little comments that manage to engage her amidst all the chaos. At a quick glance, this child could be your daughter. Her eyes have a similar hue to yours — even your noses are similar. His brain starts to go quite fuzzy the longer he spends watching the two of you together.

“What’s your favorite color?” You ask Erica as Steve hands you the small pair of folded sweatpants, underwear, and socks you point to. The girl hums for a second, adjusting her grip on her elephant, “Green.”

“Good choice. I like green too,” You answer, focused intently on her as you shift your arm to hoist her further up your side. Steve watches you with this kind of dumbly adoring look, lips pulled back in a small but optimistic smile as he gets lost in a daydream.

He sees flashes of you, curled up on the couch wrapped in blankets with your children — your children. Yours and his. He sees the smile that spreads over your face on their birthdays, the sadness in your eyes when one of them gets sick, the anger you feel when they mention they’ve been bullied at school.

He sees the road-trip summers with your baby girl — little Marcie Harrington, maybe a younger sister too. He nearly swoons at the thought of your family taking in the sights at Mount Rushmore, the redwood forests, even the Finger Lakes. He imagines you wrangling your daughters in front of the Moab arches while he tries to figure out the damn timer on the camera; he ends up accidentally taking three pictures of himself before finally getting it to work. Then the two of you are splayed out in the sand on some beach while your children nap in the RV — you’re clad in that stupid red bikini you keep taunting him with, your warm and exposed skin practically irresistible. Steve looks at you fondly before leaning over to give you a big kiss under the Californian sun, so incredibly thankful for the life you’ve been able to build together.

“You got any green, Stevie?”

He blinks once, then once more; the first for snapping him back to reality and the second for the nickname. He clears his throat, trying desperately to forget about the blood that rises in his neck. He looks around for a moment, forcing the dream from his mind as he searches for something small enough to fit the girl in your arms. You watch him almost knowingly, like you could picture the same images behind your eyes.

Eventually, he finds a couple of options and holds them up for the girl to pick from; she’s made up her mind from the first one he shows her. Erica gasps, hand immediately shooting outwards to grab the small tie-dyed tee with wide eyes. The pink and green gradient twists and turns across the fabric, clearly enthralling to a child her age.

Her enthusiasm takes you by surprise but it’s a welcome one; you chuckle a bit before speaking, “Oh, that’s a nice one. Good choice.”

As she puts the clothes into the bag, you smile across the table at Steve, effectively punching the air out of his lungs. You casually address him, “Thanks, baby.”

Trying to regain some of his composure, he winks at you as he starts refolding the other shirts, “Any time, ladies.”

Before you get a chance to reply, Erica’s desperately trying to wiggle free from your grasp. The moment she touches down onto the ground, she takes off in a full sprint and gets scooped up into the arms of a couple — you instantly understand this to be her mother and father. The girl looks like a perfect mixture of her parents, maybe more like her dad. It’s hard not to let their reunion warm your veins, the relief in all of their joyful sobs making your eyes a bit misty. You don’t particularly care that she left without any thanks, knowing that her and her family are back together is more than enough.

“You’re good at that.”

Your gaze moves back to Steve. In this light, his eyes are as soft and warm as liquid caramel. He rests a sweater on his shoulder — a gentle smile curls his lips. A bashful expression washes over your face as you feel blood pool in your cheeks, the underlying meaning of his words bringing back a hint of hope inside your chest. You can see your family too.

A flash of red breaks you from the comfort Steve’s attention brings; both of your faces drastically warp as you glance out the window, a very familiar feeling washing away any source of happiness. You find yourself frozen as you stare up at a rapidly moving cloud of smoke. It spreads, expanding large enough to cover the expanse of blue sky until none of it remains. Crowds begin to flock to windows, watching in awe while you and Steve join them, soon joined by Robin and Vickie. White particles begin to gently fall, earning a few shocked noises from the onlookers. You sigh as Steve’s hand finds yours, a silent solace; you both know what this is.

“An earthquake and snow in two days?” Vickie says in a moment of innocent disbelief.

The worst kind of dread rolls over you, the kind where you know that this is only the beginning. Everything that’s been happening has been building to this. You hate to spoil her childlike wonder, but as another bolt of red lightning cracks through the sky, you can’t help it.

“That’s not snow.”

—

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #almost paradise

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lady-of-tearshed · 6 months ago

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Impactful words

@ruhnweek @cadiawrites

Day four: Free Day

Ruhn Danaan x Lidia Cervos

A/N: *Gasp* That gif is so Ruhn and Lidia. Anyways. I love them. Also, first quote is from the movie Pride and Prejudice. If you do not know that series, respectfully, go watch it right this instant. It's sappy. 💕

A HUGE thanks to @sarawritestories for helping me out with that Pollux part. Ily sweets you're the best. 💕

Summary: Idk. Period comfort.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Period, abusive Pollux, angst, panic, anxiety, self-loathing, vomiting, blood

“You have bewitched me, body and soul. And I love… I love… I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”

Gods, that was sappy. Lidia’s cheeks turn into a bright red at the sight of the handsome actor on the screen, and she cuddles closer to Ruhn. Ruhn isn’t fond of this kind of romantic lovey-dovey movie, but he always caves in to watch it with his mate. Only to see her eyes glimmer as she swore she wasn’t crying, or see her squirm on the seat beside him when a heated scene came up. It was some kind of unspoken rule in their relationship. She watches sunball with him, and he watches her romantic movies. That’s how it works between them.

Well, watch.

He is supposed to be watching the movie right now. But sleep had rushed through him mere minutes after his long fingers had started to thread through Lidia’s silky golden hair. He had traced the length of her blond curls and his eyelids instantly grew heavy. He can’t help it. Lidia’s locks are just so soft. It is nearly impossible for him, or anyone else, to not feel relaxed and sleepy while combing her hair.

Lidia’s peers up at Ruhn in hope to get his insight on her favorite movie scene, her golden eyes still wet from how emotional this scene makes her every damn time. She pouts, a bit disappointed to find Ruhn’s eyes closed and his chest rising and falling slowly, steadily. How can someone fall asleep so quickly? She clicks her tongue, her eyes rolling and she lifts her hand to Ruhn’s face to flick his nose, in hope to wake him up. Her hand freezes, and she feels like she has just been struck by lightning. She grunts, and clutches her stomach tightly, curling into a ball between Ruhn’s legs.

Lidia mentally curses, blaming Cthona for the pulsing pain in her womb. Tears were burning her eyes. The blond-haired Fea female sinks her teeths in her lower lip to choke back her whimpers. She bites it so hard that it pierces open, and she can taste the saltiness of her own blood on her tongue. Silent as a mouse, Lidia unfolds her legs from her fetal position. She can't wake Ruhn up. Then she feels it. What she dreaded the most. That familiar stickiness pooling between her thighs. She needs to get up, to push through the pain, and hurry to the bathroom. Now.

What if… What if... What if…

Unfounded fear settles in her gut as she starts to make up the worst scenarios of Ruhn’s reaction when he would learn that she dirtied his expensive-looking couch. Her legs shake weakly as she rolls to her side, contracting her muscles to stand up. She scolds herself. She should’ve kept track of her menstrual cycle. She should’ve known it was coming. If only she hadn’t been too lost in the frenzy of hers and Ruhn’s love affair… Her stomach churns, it’s her fault, all of it. She feels gross.

You stupid bitch…

"Look at what you did," Pollux gripped Lidia's gold locks and forced her face on the couch. The little breath she was able to get was invaded by the metallic stench of blood that was stained on the couch. It was an accident. Her punishment? Being suffocated into the cushion as if she was a pup having her nose rubbed in for urinating on the furniture. Lidia's oxygen was limited, and spots appeared in her vision. This was how she would die. Before her lungs gave out, Pollux yanked her head back as she gasped for air. "You stupid bitch."

She forces air through her lungs as she tries to stand on her wobbly legs. Sweat is coating her forehead, and her gaze lands on the bathroom door. Five more steps. She can do this. She’s been through worse. Lidia doesn’t dare look behind her, too afraid to see the copper stain she might’ve left there.

You stupid bitch…

Tears blurries her vision, and she can feel them tracing patterns as they slide down her cheeks. She takes a first step, then attempts a second one. Her stomach churns from the overwhelming distress and pain in her body. She sobs, heaves, and with the remaining strength she has left, she collapses on her knees, in the bathroom doorway. She wastes no time, ang crawls to the toilet. Her peripheral vision narrows as bile falls out of her mouth. She had managed to reach for the toilet bowl, at least she didn’t make another mess. Her fingers painfully grips onto the toilet seat, her knuckles turning white. She tries to ground herself, to breathe, to calm down.

“Lidia..?”

Ruhn. Her stomach flips, and she tries to keep her nausea at bay. Her breathing is getting shallow and her heart is beating so fast, so loud, that she can herself hear it. Ruhn wastes no time, and tug on his hair tie in one swift movement, using it to tie Lidia's hair in a ponytail as fast as he can, before they fall into the toilet. He kneels right behind her, caging her between his knees, his left hand rubbing circles on her lower back in an attempt to sooth her tense muscles. His other hand strokes her white knuckles as she holds on for dear life onto the freezing toilet seat.

Oh, Ruhn.

“Look at you,” Pollux growled behind her, and she tried her best not to flinch. She closed her eyes, waiting for her lover's rage to fall onto her. Like the rock that the waves keep crashing over. “On your knees like a good little bitch, cleaning up your,” He paused, and Lidia could imagine him clearly, scrunching his nose in disgust and clenching his fists. “Mess.”

She wanted to apologize, she should've. But the words stayed tucked deep down in her throat. The smell of bleach burnt her nostrils before she could feel it scorch the soft skin of her hands. She jumped back, the towel she was holding fell from her aching hands. She stumbled back against Pollux's chest, and was quickly slammed back down on her knees. She felt her knee pads wobble from the harsh impact. The Hammer held her hair tightly, so tight that she could feel some hair detaching from her burning scalp as he pushed her back down on her aching knees. “Stop whining,” Pollux snarled, shaking the remnants of the chemical onto the couch. Everything burned, her eyes, her nostrils, her hands, her lungs… “Clean,” He spat, his voice held no mercy. And he walked out of the room before she could apologize for something she had no control over.

She should've been more careful. She would be next time. She would track her cycle properly.

What a stupid bitch…

“Fuck, why are your… feminine products so far away,” Ruhn’s hand stays still on her back, as he stretches his arm towards the sink cabinet. His rummaging makes the bottles, and different products bump against one another, some of them landing on the floor. Lidia groans, wiping her mouth as she tries, but fails to move from in front of the toilet to help Ruhn. “Ah, got em’.” Ruhn states, holding the pink envelope of a pad in his hand, smiling proudly.

“Ruhn, it's…” She tears up, and shakes her head. The hormones, she tries to convince herself that it’s the only reason for her emotional turmoil. She swallows, and stands up, wincing. She needs to clean up the couch. To get into clean clothes, and put this pad on. Ruhn stands close to her, his hands on her hips, steading her, the menstrual pad still in hand. “Don’t touch me, I'm gross,” She chokes out, tears clouding her vision. Pathetic. She was acting pathetic. Her cycle, and suffering wasn't Ruhn's problem.

And yet he still cares…

He shouldn't. She doesn't deserve that.

What a stupid bitch…

“Hey…” Ruhn’s frown deepens, and he holds her closer to him, rocking her from side to side as she sobs. Her breathing is incredibly fast. And her eyes… Her beautiful gold eyes look dark, so dark, she seems to be stuck in a bad memory, somewhere so far away… He sways her slowly from side to side, placing soft kisses on the top of her head. “Would a bath sound nice, maybe?” He murmurs against her hairline, his nose humming the delicious scent of her shampoo. She feels gross, so maybe a bath would help her to feel better in her skin, he guesses.

A bath… A bath… No, the couch. She needs to clean her mess first. Gross, she feels so grossed out of herself.

Lidia’s thoughts are reeling, her body so stiff, frozen in shock. She is still unused to such kindness in that type of situation. She snaps back into reality when she hears the water run from the faucet. Ruhn keeps his arms protectively draped around her, his concerned glance fixed on her face. Her rapidly moving chest meets his steady one with every breath she tries to take. She finally manages to copy Ruhn’s breathing, and she can now hear better, see better, and the pain was a bit more bearable too. “Bath?” Ruhn asks again, staring into the honey depths of Lidia’s eyes. She was here, safe, with him, out of these horrific thoughts.

“The couch,” She swallows down, trying to lube her dry and sore throat. She tries to slip away from Run's comforting, and oh so warm arms. “You’d prefer to rest on the couch?” Ruhn asks, trying to figure out what his girlfriend needs from the little glimpse of information she mumbles to him. She bites her cheek at the thought of Ruhn’s couch, her eyes filling with tears again. Ruhn rubs his thumbs on her arms slowly, the worry for his mate is written all over his face. “No, I need to clean the couch.” She blurts out.

The couch. The couch. She made a mess. What a stupid bitch. The couch…

Ruhn stills, and his eyes narrow as he tries to figure out where all this nonsense and panic comes from. He wonders how he could have ever made her believe that he cared more for such material things than her well-being and comfort. “No, I'll just buy a cleaning spell later,” He murmurs, confused at Lidia’s panicked state. Has he done something wrong? He doesn't like it for one bit that his mate looks so terrified around him. He sighs and presses a kiss on the top of her head. “Bathe, Lidia. Or rest. Is it because you'd prefer to just change and rest? I didn't mean to force you into doing anything.”

Lidia sobs, covering her mouth with her hand. Ruhn moves one of his hands to cradle her face against his chest. Lidia feels like if it wasn't from Ruhns's love and tender hold, her heart would have shattered completely from the weight of her guilt and self-disgust.

“Please,” Ruhn pleads, his fingers brushing away her tears. “Tell me what's wrong.”

“I just… I dirtied your couch. I should've kept track of my cycle. I'm such a,” She hiccups, her throat feeling so tight, “Such a,” Such a stupid bitch, she wants to say, but the words refuse to come out. Only sobs and incoherent babbling fall from her lips.

Everything makes sense for Ruhn, then.

Fucking Pollux.

Ruhn cuts her off with a soft caress of his lips against hers. Now is not the time for him to be angry at Pollux. He needs to be calm, and reassuring, for his Lidia. He takes a deep breath. “Hey, no. Gods, Lidia no…” Ruhn holds up her chin so his eyes can dive deep in hers. He doesn't want her to feel bad around him. Especially not over something she has absolutely no control of. He hates it. Hates the one that has carved nonsense into her brain even more. Only time would undo the mental and emotional damage Pollux had caused.

“You are such a strong and beautiful female,” He smiles softly down at her, turning off the faucet, his eyes not leaving her puffy and red ones even for one second. His hands slide under her shirt, tracing her ribs slowly. He looks into her eyes, silently asking for her permission. Lidia nods, her blond curls bouncing on her shoulders as she does, and he lifts her shirt off. “My strong and beautiful mate…” He whispers, kissing away her tears as he helps her out of the rest of her clothes.

Lidia absent-mindedly watches Ruhn as he gently picks her up, and settles her nude body in the tub. Her muscles relax with the heat of the water. Her whole skin welcomed the warmth, too, making it feel like she was receiving a peaceful hug. She closes her eyes and leans back her hand in Ruhn's palms as he starts to rub shampoo through her sweat coated hair. She rubs her stomach, trying to ease the pain of her cramps and the guilt lingering there.

“You've done nothing wrong,” Ruhn's voice breaks through the silence. “It was an accident. I love you. It's not your fault," He adds.

“I'm so–” “Don't.” He says, his tone slightly harsh, and he hated himself for how Lidia flinches. He shakes his head, his fingers still massaging the shampoo on her scalp. He sighs, “Don't be sorry. Please. You have nothing to be sorry about. Not with me.” She nods, tilting her head back a little bit more so Ruhn could rinse her hair. The shampoo tickles her ears as the water falls on her head, and she sinks in the comfort and reassuring presence of her mate.

Ruhn rubs every surface of her fair skin with a cleaning glove. Lidia almost starts crying again at the look of pure love and adoration shining in the blue eyes she loved so much. He wasn't disgusted, of her, or her femininity. He loves her, and admires her as a person. The deer shifter's heart flutters at this sight.

“I love you, Lidia. Like, a lot,” Ruhn chuckles slightly to ease the atmosphere, lightening Lidia’s heavy heart. “And I want you to be comfortable with me. I know it'll take time. But let's just start with like,” He halts, his eyebrows frowning as he tries to figure out where they could start. He grins when suddenly, an idea pops up in his head. “Keeping your feminine products at easy reach in the cabinet? It would be a good start. Okay?” He winks at her, replacing the things in the cabinet, putting the box of pads and tampons in front of everything, so it’s easy for her, or him, to reach when needed.

The realization feels like a kick in Lidia’s guts. She doesn't have to hide them anymore.

Not with Ruhn.

My strong and beautiful mate.

Ruhn's words thrums in her ears, and the sight of his eyes filled with all the beautiful emotions he feels towards her dances in her mind, replacing all negative thoughts and fear that Pollux had once pushed there.

She smiles, truly smiles, and nods, the water sloshing around her as she brings her knees to her chest. “Okay.”

My strong and beautiful mate...

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe

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the-kr8tor · 7 months ago

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KATYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!

I JUST READ CHAPTER 15 (SPOILER ALERT, SPOILER ALERT, SPOILER ALERT)

AAKSHYAHDINDUDHD THAT WAS A ROLLERCOASTER OF A RIDE. MY FRICKING HAPPY ENDING, AKANSHAJHSJD I LOVE YOU SO MUCH (RESPECTFULLY)

OMG OMG OMG I CRIED. I CRIED REAL TEARS. I CRIED REAL TEARS AND MY EYES ARE WET.

BUT THE ENDING AKAJAHVSISMKDKDJRJ I'M SOBBING WITH JOY AND SADNESS IT'S SO BITTERSWEET

THIS IS MY NEW ADDICTION. WHEN I SAW THE NOTIF I LITERALLY SCREAMED AND MY SISTER TOLD ME TO SHUT UP

AJWJAJJSJDJ GHOSTFLOWER/GWILES MADE ME SOB. AND HOBIE OMG I CAN'T ANYMORE I FEARED FOR HIS LIFE. And MIGUEL OMG I KNEW I COULDN'T HATE HIM THAT MUCH. Lyla my bae AND YURI UGHHHH I LOWKEY ADORE HER. I can't stop squealing and giggling and kicking my feet OMG omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg I'm gonna kms

STOPPPPPP CAPTAIN STACY????? GWEN'S FATHER???? THERE FOR HIS LITTLE GIRL??? I'M GONNA CRY I HOPE SHE RECOVERS. AND MILES' FRICKING REACTION I'M LITERALLY DYING OVER HERE

HOBIE ALMOST GETTING EXECUTED GOD SAVE ME I WANTED TO MURDER SOMEONE. OF COURSE HE'S GOING DOWN WITH SOME SNARKY LITTLE COMMENT LIKE THAT

And I wanted Mathias to be killed in the harshest, painfullest, bloodiest way possible omg you did not disappoint

That queen istg I hated HER GUTS

I am never getting over this fic. Y'know when u read a really really REALLY good book and you get book hangover and you google everything related to it and make Pinterest boards for it (i totally don't already have a board dedicated to ur fics)?? Yeah. That's what I'm gonna do. Literally drunk on this fic. I'm gonna end up writing unpublished fanfic about this fanfic. That's how obsessed I am. Like I need all sorts of stuff I need to see R and Hobie grow old and experience the world together I need to see the twins in the BDAS universe- OMG I NEED TO SEE BILLIE AND RAMONA AS PIRATES OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

Honestly worth the wait, my heart is satisfied ❤😭

I think that just about covers it, if you've read this review all the way through I'm actually so happy 🥺😊

Literally crying real tears rn I can't believe it's over 🥹

Sending loads of love ❤🌾

BDAS SPOILER ⚠️

THANK YOU SO MUCH, ANGEL!!!!

HAHAHHAHA I got u all with the miguel fake out 😂 Yuri is wifey material ngl

Yeeesss captain stacy did a magician move and appeared from nowhere 😂 now they've got an actual adult on the ship

I always knew mathias needed a very painful death! I was debating whether he accidentally gets hanged ala tarzan villain or drowned in shallow waters but I'm still glad I went through with what I wrote bc r gave him a beating lol

ONG YOU HAVE A BOARD FOR THEM?! THANK YOU THAT'S SO CUTE 🥺

They deserve so much happiness 🥺 can you imagine the babies in bdas?!!! Oh Hobie would have his hands full with them onboard

Thank you!!! I cannot express how much I appreciate your love and your thoughts ILY ❤️❤️❤️

Lots of love to you, my love!!!!! (⁠｡⁠♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠｡⁠)

#ask answered #chatting with lovelies #bdas thoughts #🫶🫶🫶#ly #bdas spoiler

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trashlie · 1 year ago

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Rand the Damned

Something that has become really apparent to me about ILY, especially the more I have these deep dives into the characterizations, is that ultimately, ILY explores characters who are trying to survive. Nearly every character in ILY is clearly someone trying to survive their circumstances, and while some are very obvious (Shinae, Nol, Kousuke) others you need to examine differently in order to see they, too, are trying to survive (Alyssa, Rand, Yui). Something I feel that ILY does especially well is the interpersonal relationships based on both context and circumstances, and why certain characters are able to better get along with each other and others continue to butt heads. For instance, Nol and Kousuke have always struggled because Nol was never able to see what Kousuke's real battle is - that his quest for Rand's acceptance has been but a small part of his psyche. Without understanding how Kousuke has been manipulated, gaslit, and literally drugged, how could Nol ever begin to understand why Kousuke treats him that way?

Abuse and trauma alters peoples' brains. It's not something that you just... one day wake up from and move on. We will spend our whole lives trying to unlearn our unhealthy behaviors, our coping mechanisms and that's for those of us who haven't experienced such brain-altering abuse and trauma. A very common theme of ILY remains repeating cycles - that people who never get to heal, or don't heal in a healthy way, will continue to perpetuate their cycles of abuse, of their trauma, of their unhealthy learned behaviors. Someone who grows up feeling like they are not allowed to express emotions, feeling like they must tiptoe around others' emotions is going to struggle to open up about their feelings, to feel like their emotions are valid, that they're allowed to feel and talk about what they feel, and thus, their relationships with others are impacted. What happens when they are close to someone who feels like they are being deliberately locked out and left in the dark? How do you resolve issues when you feel like you have to pack away your feelings and pretend you're fine, everything is okay?

This is something that permeates ILY at all corners, because it's fundamental to every interpersonal relationship - that we unwittingly pass on the hurt that has hurt us, that our experiences alter our perception, alter our behavior, alter the way we handle things. When I talk about Everyone x Therapy, this is what I mean. Nearly everyone in ILY carries some kind of hurt, some more deeply than others. This includes even the characters we as readers perceive as hurtful: Sangchul, Rand, Yui. Perhaps even Gun Kim, but frankly that is something I cannot bring myself to get into and I think we lack enough information to examine (but even in his case we can look at his father and glean how Gun would turn out the way he did).

Perhaps this will eventually become a series, where I sit and examine some of these characters more closely, as I have with Kousuke and Alyssa. But at this time I'm focusing on Rand, because I find him to be an incredibly polarizing character depending on the take you have. How dare you sympathize with someone who has been such a terrible father tends to be the main gut reaction, but as with all parents of ILY, there is no such thing as a good, perfect parent. At the end of the day, parents are people also trying to navigate their lives with the extra responsibility of someone else they're meant to take care of, to look after, to raise, with few resources and no guidebooks. The one thing ILY has taught me is to re-examine my own life, my relationship with my parents and the ways they hurt vs helped me, and their circumstances. Ultimately, we will always be victims of our circumstances, the results of our experiences.

So! Let's talk about Rand!

Firstmost and foremost, I want it to be clear that I'm not writing this in an effort to make people care about Rand or make him into someone's favorite character, but instead just to help people better understand him and his motivations. Too often I think we fall into the trap of believing that we can only like good characters and that liking those who hurt others or cause harm makes us bad people. But ILY is a fictional story. No one is being hurt. What I think ILY provides us, though, is a deeper understanding of real people and the ways that all people are complex, no matter how shallow they seem. This isn't about making Rand into a favorite character, but instead it's about examining Rand's circumstances.

When we examine characters through a lens of survival, it helps us to better understand their motivations and choices, as well as what is at risk and what they stand to lose which heavily factors into their motivations and why they make the choices they do. There's a lot we still don't know about the nature of Rand and Yui's relationship: were they ever lovers; did she ever fool him into thinking she was something else; was it always a business arrangement? This leads us to further questions, like did he meet Nessa before or after he married Yui? Because so much of ILY is about these cycles and parallels, we can look at Rand and assume that maybe, much like Nol has tried to do, Rand denied himself something he wanted in favor of something else, something he thought he needed more. As a businessman, it's easy to see how perhaps he and Yui were an arranged marriage, something not for love but instead for mutual benefit (and this feels even more plausible given how likely it is that Yui herself was not allowed to inherit the company but instead needed someone who would be adopted into the family via marriage and treated like a true Hirahara and needed him in order to have any role in the family business that she coveted). If Rand knew Nessa before, perhaps he told himself that what he felt about Nessa was a thing that would pass, something he could live without. Perhaps he convinced himself that the ends would justify the means, that his life would be better if he made this choice and denied himself something else he wanted. Love? Love can come and go. You can move on from anyone, anything.

But it's clear to us that Rand never moved on from Nessa. Long after he lost her, he carried her with him in that Bible. He may have told Shinae that it didn't hold luck for him anymore, that it hasn't for a long time, but that doesn't mean it stopped mattering to him. In a time when Nol needed it most, Rand gave up something that had brought him comfort in solace, in hopes that it can provide something of comfort for him, too.

What has been something of a safety raft for Rand to cling to as he treads the waters of survival has now been passed to his son, and I think this is as good a time to examine Rand through this lens of survival, and to better understand why he has made the choices he has and further, that I fear no choice Rand could have made would have been the right choice; it never existed, he was always damned if you do, damned if you don't.

A special interest of quimchee's appears to be female-enacted domestic violence. This has come up a couple times before, and is a theme she's talked about before on streams about wanting to explore, but I think we are seeing that quietly explored in ILY as well, though it's not the forefront of the story. Yui as a character very much is one who leads a reign of reign of terror, who so confidently believes that she is the hero of the story and everyone who stands against her opposes her, and thus are an obstacle to be taken out. Now, I still intend to write at great length about how I view Yui and what are her motivations and drivers, but the watered down summary is: I believe Yui was once the victim of abuse in addition to having always felt like she is lesser simply for being born a woman and bears a grudge against men and deeply resents them for what they are so easily afforded that she is not, that she was never given the opportunity or the space to heal and internalized this to believe that people deserve what happens to them, that those who are incapable of fighting back are deserving of what happens to them. This is integral in understanding Yui and how, yes, Rand's hands have always been tied by her.

I think when I say this, people think this immediately excuses Rand from the hurt he's caused, but it is so very important that we examine the ways that Rand's hands are tied, so that we can understand how nothing could really have been different, to understand why (in his eyes) he is doing the best he was able to. Again, an underlying theme is that people very much are often the victims of their circumstances. Yui herself even touches on this, noting that she is aware she is afforded opportunities, privilege, that most aren't. She herself also takes advantage of circumstances, in order to better orchestrate what she wants. For instance, consider the way Kousuke was left isolated - she took advantage of her husband's unhealthy work/life balance and further drove a wedge between him and his son so that Kousuke would forever feel like he is working towards an (unobtainable) goal, so that Rand would always be greatly out of reach, so that they could never become equals, be peers, so that Kousuke would always feel that feeling of inferiority and then she learned to utilize that inferiority as a weapon against Nol as well as to further isolate Kousuke, leave him dependent upon her.

Yui knows what she's doing, and Rand's circumstances are very much the base of this analysis.

What was the nature of their relationship? Was it simply a business arrangement Rand thought stood to benefit him? Or, a possibility I explore a lot more lately, was it possible that Yui tricked him in some way, took advantage of a more sympathetic nature perhaps Rand once possessed? I don't think we necessarily need to know yet what the circumstances are, because what matters is where that left Rand.

The mukoyoshi theory becomes ever more important the more we learn about these characters, and as we view their situations through the lens of this theory, we start to better understand the dynamics it's created. Supposing this theory holds true - and I believe it must, since we have canonical proof now Rand has taken the Hirahara name as his own - it sets the following precedent: through marriage to Yui, Rand has been adopted into the family as though he himself is a true Hirahara born of their blood, and as it appears that men are afforded more rights/opportunities, in some way Rand holds more rights in Yui's family than Yui herself does. She could not inherit the family company herself and instead had to marry someone else in order to carry on the lineage, had to give birth to a son to carry it on from them. I'm not going to get too deeply into this, because I think this is for another post, but again, this precedence is important because we need to understand why Yui would resent Rand for reasons beyond his affair, why from the very moment he married her he was likely trapped in her web, and why his circumstances were always against him.

Truly the greatest "mistake" Rand likely made was marrying Yui, but we're well beyond that now.

Yui very much is a controlling, abusive partner and it's clear to us now how she's been manipulating and abusing far longer than Rand's infidelity existed. We can see in Kousuke's early memories that the agitation between Rand and Yui in their clashing parenting styles had already become a thing that was wearing him down, that she gloated from her throne where she maintained the upper hand. Yui possesses incredible finesse when it comes to how she orchestrates things, how she nudges the truth, how she hardly has to do any heavy lifting for things to fall right into place. There's a whole essay that could be written on Rand's role in both the company and as a father and the crux of it always comes back to: he was damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. As part of the mukoyoshi concept, Rand has a duty to the company he has inherited, to the family he has been adopted by, to oversee things to ensure things run as well as they can. But as a husband and father, he has an obligation to his family. We see it often in businessmen, in people of the corporate world whose entire livelihoods depend on their career that they must make a choice. At this time it appears as though Yui's father regards Rand favorably, but would he have if Rand had chosen to downsize his responsibilities? Had Rand chosen to be around more as Kousuke was being raised? Especially if it's as we think with the Hirahara family, where childrearing is seen as a woman's role, that this is what Yui should be focusing on and that Rand, the mukoyoshi, had a role to fulfill separate of that?

When Yui told Kousuke that they are different from others, she was not wrong. We cannot view Rand through the same lens we would a man of lesser stature than him. We have to view him through his circumstances.

And his circumstances lead us here: to a man whose wife has probably been playing mind games with him from the get go who is trying his best both as an obligation to the family and his company and also to himself. We get enough glimpses into Kousuke's past to know that it's not that Rand had no interest in his son's life. In fact, Rand on many occasions is seen trying to instill something in Kousuke, trying to help him be aware of both his opportunities and privilege as well as the limitlessness of all that he could grow to be. I can only speculate, but with what we know, I have no doubts there was a lot of clever orchestration on Yui's part as to Rand's availability. They're both chairpersons of the company, and yet one of them was far more tied up - the one of them who is seen as more valuable to the family and company.

I want it made clear: what exists between Rand and Yui (and Kousuke) predates the affair and Nol. Yui was never a scorned lover who took things out on her lover's mistress and son. Had Rand never had an affair, he would still have been in this predicament with Yui and Kousuke, would have always struggled to reach his son as Yui continued to drive that wedge, to orchestrate their differences, to run interference. It was always Yui's intention that Rand be someone so completely out of reach of Kousuke that he would always be stuck vying for his attention, always trying to reach and surpass him, always so hungry or that approval that never came through. It just happened to be that Rand’s affair yielded another child, a potential heir (because it’s through Rand’s blood that the company goes), that she married this commoner man and afforded him everything she’d coveted and he embarrassed her, threw it all in her face, and made her look bad, created a threat to Kousuke’s position. But she already resented him, I think. She already had every intention of using Kousuke to take back what she believes is hers.

At some point, Rand must have grown exhausted, and maybe he gave up. Was that right, was that fair, when he had a child? When giving up hurt that child? When it comes to Rand, I think a lot about the safety demonstrations on airplanes, when they tell you not to try to help others (like your children) until you have helped yourself, until you've got your flotation device, your oxygen mask. If Rand himself is drowning, with Yui running laps around him running him ragged, how can he possibly help Kousuke? How can he possibly keep walking out into a hurricane, getting buffeted and thrown backwards by the wind, using all your energy just trying to catch up, much less ever getting where you need to be?

And that's the thing. When I say Rand's hands are tied, I don't mean it to absolve him - I say it to explain him. That Rand was always losing, that Yui has always had the upper hand. Rand has spent all of his time simply trying to catch up, much less ever getting to make an attack, much less ever getting to be a father.

I think a lot about the fact that at one time, Rand and Yui were separated, but they clearly never divorced. Why? What did he stand to lose if they did? I don't even mean just in his livelihood - though he certainly stood to lose a lot, and what happens to a mukoyoshi if they divorce, what assets would he lose? But more importantly: Rand stood to lose Kousuke. Even married to Yui he cannot protect Kousuke, but to be outside her reach? How much worse could it have been? Kousuke is already so incredibly isolated but we also know that Rand has tried to be Kousuke's father, that he has tried to reach out to him in ways that never reached Kousuke because of the interference Yui ran, because of the mindset that she had instilled in him as a young child that became such an inherent belief to him, because his love was commodified so that nothing he did or said to Kousuke could ever get through to this brain-washed child.

Another aspect of Rand's circumstances that are worth exploring is: he grew up an orphan. He was never adopted, he aged out of the system. Rand never had anyone to rely on, anyone to convey that warmth and love to him as a family might. He aged out and then took his life into his hands and became a self-made man with only his own back to rely on. Think about what that does to a person. Think about the way that might warp their perception of people and kindness and love. Maybe this was why it was so easy for him to choose a marriage for convenience. Maybe this was why he could pass up on the opportunity for real love. Maybe from a young age Rand was disillusioned, thought the world had nothing to offer him - the parallels between him and Nol are honestly staggering. Wouldn't it be so easy to make the choices he did, only to come to regret them later? To get a taste for something you thought impossible, or maybe something you thought you could give up, and be haunted by it?

It's not hard to surmise that Nessa must have been his true love, the one he could not quite give up, the one he couldn't let go of no matter how many years it had been since he made his choices, since he lost her, since everything went so wrong. And I think that as a result, it means that no matter what, his relationship with Nol would always, always be complicated. Nol would always be a reminder of what he had and what he lost - both in love and also in himself.

The parallels are truly staggering, and they extend far beyond the Rand Yui Nessa/Nol Alyssa Shinae cycle repeating itself. The kind of man young Nol described Rand as very much sounds like Yeonggi, like the kind of person Nol presented himself as. Yeonggi wasn't a mask just for Nol's friends - this was who everyone saw him as, including his family. Yeonggi was a means of staying off peoples' radars - never being so bad that he is in trouble, never being so great that he's also in trouble (with Yui and Kousuke). He was pleasant, got along with people, never caused trouble if he could help it. Not once was he roped into the family company - for better or for worse. He joked and laughed a lot, he seemed to always be there for friends. He was so much of what Nessa once saw in Rand.

Was it just that Nessa was the only person who drew that out of Rand? Or was it more of a parallel to Nol, that no matter how hard his life, these were integral core parts of him? Was he, at some point, taken advantage of? Did he trust the wrong person, reach out to someone undeserving? Was his kindness and friendship misconstrued by someone with far more nefarious intentions than he expected?

Something I can't help but think about a lot is the way that Rand always says what he means, but in cryptic ways, in ways Nol - and even often readers - cannot see through, that we have to reread again later. He never explains himself, never says what he means, and what is Nol to do with it, when everything Rand says comes off like a criticism of him no matter what? Much like Rand, Nol is damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. Does he please Rand or does he protect himself? Ultimately, they both have Nol's survival in mind, but one looks far less like it.

Consider Rand's words to Nol at the Kim formal - I don't deny that Rand said truly awful things. Does he fully mean what he says? Probably, in more ways than he can explain. When he tells Nol that he should be at Alyssa's side before someone less pathetic than him catches her attention, it feels both like "Do not leave her alone in a place like this with people like this because she will naively trust the wrong person and end up in a dangerous situation" and also "Behaving like this will drive away people like her". Is this the advice Nol needs? From his perspective, no. From his perspective, Rand finds him pathetic, finds him frivolous, thinks he's childish for being so lonely that he seeks out friendship at any opportunity, thinks he acts out just to spite him.

But from Rand's perspective, perhaps he thinks he is preparing Nol for this life - the family, the company, their social circle - the only way he can. He cannot reach out to Nol. He cannot be a father to him, lest Nol get punished more simply for existing. Rand knows all too well. He knows all too well what Yui is capable of - what she has done - and knows that in order to protect Nol, he had to create a buffer, the distance. In a way, it's like he sacrificed his right to be his father in an effort to keep him safe. For better or worse, Nol belongs to this society, too. He, too, needs to be aware of those around him, know who he can trust. In Rand's perspective, maybe Nol DOES look like he's foolish, going around trying to befriend people who might really be someone looking to take advantage of his kindness, who might be in Yui's pocket, who might be someone who doesn't have Nol's well being in mind. In staying with Alyssa, he's also keeping Nol out of harm's way, because he's not getting involved with anything.

Even though what happened to Shinae at the formal was clearly about Kousuke, Gun, and possibly Rand, it did still ultimately involve Nol. It did still ultimately get him involved and hurt - he wound up arrested and blamed for a crime he didn't commit and later took the blame for in court. Rand isn't entirely wrong: when Nol gets involved, it leads to more trouble, because Yui will take any and every opportunity to make his life worse. Even though this wasn't her ultimate goal (and it could be seen that Nol pleading guilty is not what she expected because Nol needs to be around and near Kousuke in order to be effective against him) it still worked to her advantage that it further plays into Nol's image that the public holds against him, that ensures Yui will be believed over Nol.

Rand isn't wrong: Nol underestimates Yui greatly, because he believes everything is about him and doesn't see how much worse it is, how much more of a monster she is, that this isn't about the illegitimate bastard son being a blight against her marriage, that it was always about so much more. And unfortunately we have seen that Rand is correct about other things, too - about how Nol's emotions get the best of him and while the "shove your feelings down and repress them" route is also not correct and healthy, we can see and at least understand why Rand operates the way he does, why he worries the way he does about Nol.

When I say Rand's hands are tied, I mean this: I mean that Rand has never had the opportunity to be a father to his children because Yui has deliberately run interference between him and one and if he shows any sign of affection, any sign of preferential treatment, any indication that he is trying to protect the other, it would make things worse for him.

He knows this.

Rand probably has an inkling about the night Nol was taken away - the first time he lost Nol. More than anyone else, Rand knows who Yui is, but has always been powerless against her. Without any proof of what she does, what can he do? How do you tell people that she is abusive when she doesn't lay a hand on you? When people make jokes of male domestic abuse survivors? How do you get people to see something that barely exists - because Yui doesn't have to get her hands dirty, because she never has to be direct. How do you make people see it?

When I say Rand's hands are tied, I mean whatever choice he makes would never be perfect, would never be right. What if he did it, left Yui and went to be with Nessa and raise Nol. What would change? Kousuke would be left even more alone. At least until now Kousuke felt that he wasn't good enough to receive Rand's care (even as Rand gave it) but what if he was convinced he was abandoned? And anyway, would Yui have stopped had Rand left her? I doubt it. It was never about the infidelity. If anything, it might have been worse. How dare this man, this commoner, come into her family and embarrass her - THEM - this way, to be given everything no one would give her just because he married her and then throw it away for what? Love? For a healthy relationship? To throw away everything she has coveted and worked so hard for? It would be such a slap to the face, an insult to her.

I don't think there was anything Rand could have done that would be "right". Yui would never let him know peace even if he left. If he fought harder, tried harder, maybe she'd have taken him down sooner. Perhaps not - she needed him to get this far so that Kousuke had someone to work towards, so that Kousuke can surpass him - but that doesn't mean she wouldn't have run him more ragged.

Do I agree with every choice he makes? Of course not. But I acknowledge that in his position, his choices are limited. I also acknowledge that in a man like him who has had to repress his emotions (lest Yui have something more to use against him), who has had to deny that he deeply cares (lest Yui continue to use that against him, to leverage it against him), who has been trying his damndest to survive and to help his sons survive when at every opportunity Yui is there to interfere has limited his choices. I understand where his agitation and fear and anger meet and how sometimes they are the same: how he wishes that Nol was never born because none of this would be so bad because if he'd never fathered another child then he wouldn't stand the possibility of being heir there would be no threat - that Nessa might still be alive, that Nol would never have existed to endure the abuse he did. I understand how he can mean and not mean the terrible things because he knows his role in all of this - that this was never about the infidel but it's still about the infidel, that Nol was always in danger no matter where he was. Reading 149 was the first time I really noticed, on a more immediate level - the way Rand speaks in double meanings, and how his fear and anger come out so often in what he says to Nol, because of how much he fears for him, because of how helpless he’s always been to protect him. “Why do you have to be my son?” Because maybe he both regrets that Nol is his son but more than that - what it means for him to be his son, the danger it put him in – that were he anyone else’s son, Yui wouldn’t have cared about him. He wouldn’t be in a position where he ever had to stand before the judge at all, let alone plead guilty for a crime he didn’t commit. “Why am I even trying, all of the effort will just go to waste”. And is he wrong? No matter the outcome, what good is all this effort? Not only that Nol himself can’t read Rand’s mind, but what if it went differently? Yui doesn’t stop - she has no intention and Rand knows it! If not this, it would be something else! “I should have just sent you away to boarding school from the very start.” Again, I don’t deny that a part of Rand probably means what he says, but I think the secondary meaning is still clear - at least if he’d sent Nol away maybe, just maybe, it could have protected him better. Maybe Rand thought keeping him close would be better, where he could see what was going on, maybe he worried he’d be in more danger if he couldn’t monitor him. Maybe a part of him couldn’t help but send away that one tie he had to Nessa - their child - had wanted to protect him for her.

I think that's the difficult thing about Rand. On some level, he acknowledges that thing are worse because Nol exists - but not in a "I hate my child" way but the guilt of a man who knows his child has suffered for his choices, the guilt of a man who knows that two peoples' (three when we include Kousuke, four when we include his own) lives have been ruined because of choices he made. It's not that Rand doesn't love his children - it's that he loves them so incredibly much and he is powerless to help them, that the effort he makes is never good enough that it makes it worse that it can't get through. That's the great tragedy: Rand was always damned if you do, damned if you don't, and it doesn't absolve him of the hurt he's caused Nol, but I also step back and acknowledge: what could he have done differently, that wouldn't have further endangered Nol? On some level, Rand has done what he thought was right. Only in hindsight can you look back and see how your choices were wrong, but even in hindsight you can only speculate, can only suppose. Would it have been better to send Nol away to boarding school, where he could have been away from everything? But that’s the thing with Yui, isn’t it? Her reach seems to extend as far as she wills it and she always gets her way. If she didn’t want Nol to go to a boarding school, she’d still find a way to stop it. And what if Rand had said screw it, stood up to her? Everything Rand did was ultimately to keep Nol and Kousuke alive, even if it was at the detriment of their relationship. He could have more openly defied Yui, but would she have let him get away with it? And who would protect Nol and Kousuke in his absence, if she did away with him sooner rather than later, if he went from being a fun game to an obstacle to be eliminated?

Rand was always doomed to fail. That is the thing about Yui's trap - she was always set to have that advantage, Rand has always been trying to keep up. There was never a route where he succeeds here, because she always has the upperhand. What could Rand do for either of his sons that wouldn't have backfired? In a way, Rand's game has really been about the long haul. At some point, he must've known he'd never get to be their fathers. He tried! He continued to try. His methods aren't good but he tries to protect Nol, he tries to get through to Kousuke, he tries to give them the comfort he never had the opportunity to, but it's too late, it's all too late, but they are alive and that is what matters.

When Rand shows up after that night of absolute concern and worry, concerned about both of his sons, for the second time he runs the risk of losing Nol. He knows that it's too late, that nothing he can do at this point will help. He knows that at this point it's better to walk away, to leave Nol in the hands of those who can openly love him and openly take care of him, in the hands of those who don't endanger his life for caring. But we know that Rand loves him, no matter how much he has let his fear and anger mix up. We know what it has cost him, what he has lost.

The version of Rand that Nessa spoke of has never shown up. I don't think it's not that he never existed - it's that somewhere along the way he lost himself, the price he paid for perhaps the mistakes he made or the greatness he amassed. Maybe it was both. But he lost himself. He lost his sense of self, his identity. He lost both his sons, in more than one way. Rand, like so many others, is a character whose choices are rooted in his efforts at survival - but unlike others who are struggling to survive themselves, Rand's choices have been rooted so heavily in trying to help his children survive, too. He, more than anyone else, knows how dangerous Yui truly is, knows what she is capable of, knows that this is not only about Nol was never about Nol or the infidel, that it was always about more.

And yes, part of the tragedy is that when it comes to these cycles of abuse, sometimes the abused goes on to abuse, too. Rand closed himself off, repressed his feelings, tried to pretend he doesn't care, tried to hide how much he cared, and it still had ramifications. He did this to protect himself but look how it hurt others. And had done the opposite, it would have further hurt him and them. Something we as an audience come to realize is that Yui is so skilled at her manipulation, her execution of abuse, how she uses everything against everyone. Even her own son tries to hide his interests from her, tries to shut her out of his life because he, too, knows all too well what happens when Yui catches wind of any interest. So Rand closes himself off, he becomes an isolated fortress, an impenetrable island of a man that no one can reach and can reach no one. Maybe it's better, in his mind, that he was a cold, terrible father than one who couldn't protect him.

But the unfortunate truth is: there was so little Rand could ever do to protect them. He failed them, and not for lack of trying, but regardless, it was a failure still. And worse, because he was so blinded to what was happening, because so much of it was happening out of his line of sight, not only did he fail to protect Nol, but he drove him to another unforseen danger, one that he had hoped might be a life raft after all.

In the end, a man struggling cannot do much to save others when eh can barely save himself.

In the end, when Yui ties someone's hands, she does so expertly.

#I Love Yoo #ILY Brainrot #Randulph Hirahara #Yui Hiraha #Nolan Oliver T. Lochlainn #Kousuke Hirahara #Nessa Lochlainn #there's a lot going on in this post and it's mostly me exploring my new favorite subject: that in some way everyone is trying to survive #that Rand is such a polarizing character but also in his position what could he have done differently and it been better?#that this doesn't absolve him of the hurt he has caused but that also as a readers i can understand his choices #and that it sucks #everything about ILY is a tragedy the more you look at it #even Yui is a tragedy I think #and it's just so devastating that these tragedies continue to hurt over and over and over #I understand why people hate Rand and that's fine but #i also hope people understand that Rand has very much had his hands tied all along #that i don't think there was ever anything he could have done differently to yield a better outcome #and that is so depressing

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greenerteacups · 1 year ago

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i have two questions for you! the first is: could you tell us more about your decision making process with narcissa, and how you brainstorm and eventually write for her character? for context, she’s one of my favourite female characters, but very few books portray her as authentically and gut-wrenchingly painfully real as you do. my second question is i’d love for you to tell us about how you do your research when you write harry potter fics. you mentioned google sheets upon google sheets of research and i’d love to learn more. i think you’re incredible, and lionheart is one of the best, if not the most excellent, draco and hermione fics i have ever read. the way you ended volume i so poetically lives in my head rent free. i want it on my tombstone. ily so much!

Hello! Delighted to answer both. Talking about writing is my special treat to myself for actually doing it.

1. Narcissa: She's so complex! She's just a spiny mille-feuille of a creature, she's so complex. I wrote the prologue before I'd even outlined Book 1, so I had this idea of Narcissa, as a widow, attempting to somehow manage the legacy of these two enormous wizarding houses without allowing them to suffocate her son, whom she loves intensely and truly — her son, whom she loves enough to lie to the face of an immortal dictator just to know that he's alive. What's she like? And so I started picking through her backstory, like: what makes her tick? What does she believe, why did she marry Lucius, why is she the only Black of her generation that survives? And then, once I had the questions lined up, the answers started coming: she grows up sandwiched between Bellatrix and Andromeda, neither of whom are model pureblood daughters, so as a sort of reaction, she ends up becoming this Model Pureblood Gentlewoman, which is epitomized by her marriage into perhaps the only house as old or important as the Blacks. But she's still an heiress in her own right, which means she doesn't need Lucius either for his money or his connections — so theirs was probably a love marriage, or at least an arrangement she had some say in. And she's the last Black standing after two era-defining wars, despite the fact that she's in very close proximity to power in both of those conflicts, so she obviously has some serious survival skills and an intuitive grasp of how to manage people.

But she's also deeply damaged. She's lost her whole family. Bellatrix joined a cult and went off the deep end, Sirius and Andromeda ran away, and Regulus died. Narcissa is the only one who did exactly what she was supposed to do, and her reward was being abandoned by everyone she ever loved. She has baggage. Her life basically ended at the close of the First Wizarding War, and the only thing she has left to live for is Draco, who she knows that she's losing to influences outside of her control, but she doesn't have the power — or isn't willing to use the power she has — to stop him, because that's how she lost Sirius and Andromeda. Pushing too hard. She doesn't want to be Walburga Black. Her problem is that she remains a Black to her core, and for her, that will always mean certain rules and certain ideas. The possibility that Draco might be moving in the right direction — i.e., that her worldview might be outdated and profoundly misinformed — is incompatible with the fact that for years she has been sacrificing her own happiness on the altar of this Thing, this Idea, of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. If 'pureblood' doesn't mean something, then Narcissa has ruined her life for nothing. She has lost her entire family for nothing. Reform? For what?

2. Research: God bless the fanwikis, because they are my best friend. If I need a date or a timeline check, the fanwiki is my first resource. I have a spreadsheet of important dates ranging from 1971-1991, just because the backstory with the Blacks and Snape and Lucius is somewhat involved (many irons in the fire!) and when I was writing Book 3, I realized that I needed to hash out what happened when and where all these people were at different points in each other's lives. (Like, did Sirius and Snape see each other during the war, or is Book 3 the first time they've crossed paths since the 1977? Surely not, right? But then... when?? And where the fuck has LUPIN been since 1981? That question took about an hour to hammer out.) I make these things sound like chores, but they're not: they're more like fun little writing side-quests that I get to do before coming back to the main story. A lot of it won't even end up in the actual fic, but knowing it helps me keep the text consistent, and it also informs how I write the characters.

I also keep a big list of "miscellaneous Information" at the bottom of my outline document. Yearly quidditch rosters go here; so does stuff like political factions, family trees, and (most recently) a full diagram of who works where in the Ministry of Magic, because I realized I'd invented a passel of bureaucrats and couldn't remember who was allowed to order whom around. I have short character profiles for people like Odin Davis and Prescott Parkinson, especially ones like Pansy's mom who barely appear, because I need to know who they are if I'm going to write Pansy consistently; I also have a reference sheet for hair/eye/skin color for everyone in the cast, because I don't want to get caught up and have to invent a reason that Theo's eyes are blue in one book and brown in the next. (E.g.: they're brown, have always been brown, will always be brown. #browneyedTheo truther.) Finally, I use sites like the HP Lexicon, the conceit of which is basically "odd lists of things you didn't realize you wanted." That link takes you to a list of Harry's Christmas presents for all seven years, which is bonkers helpful if you're trying to write a Christmas scene and you can't remember who gave who what and when.

I also make a point of keeping a copy of the books on-hand while I'm writing, because I want to make sure I'm not neglecting subplots (and, if I am, then I at least want to be neglecting them on purpose). Lionheart is canon divergent, but I want to minimize the divergences to things that I can attribute to a change I've made deliberately, not just because I forgot someone was there.

Finally, if I can't find an answer to something, I might consult Reddit or fan sites to see if someone's dug it out of the books. Names of odd second-cousins, really remote family trees, who's married to whom and why, stuff like that, I'll rely on word-of-mouth. Then, if I can't find something (or find it after a reasonable search) I'll just make something up. I console myself with the knowledge that most people will tolerate you getting Harry Potter's great-grandfather's goldfish's middle name wrong so long as it's in the service of a good story, which is what I hope I can offer.

#much love to you! <3 #greenteacup asks #lionheart #narcissa black

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sparkedblaze · 1 year ago

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PART 3 LET'S GOOOOO

*sigh*

Parts 1 and 2

@raggedy-albert tagging you bc you yelled at me ;-;

T/W cursing, talk of violence

"WHERE DOES IT SAY A GUY CAN'T CATCH A BREAK WHY SHOULD YOU ONLY TAKE WHAT YOU'RE GIVEN WHY SHOULD YOU SPEND YOUR WHOLE LIFE LIVIN' TRAPPED WHERE THERE AIN'T NO FUTURE EVEN AT SEVENTEEN BREAKIN' YOUR BACK FOR SOMEONE ELSE'S SAKE"

THOSE LYRICS HIT SO FUCKING HARD MY DUDES

JEREMY JORDAN'S VOCALS HOLY SHIT

HIS FACIAL EXPRESSIONS

MOVEMENTS

HIS A C T I N G

"I'll be there"

"Just be real is all I'm askin'."

"I GOT NOTHIN IF I AIN'T GOT SAAAAANTAAAAAAAAA FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

That's the end of act 1. I only just finished act 1. I pause it too much to type everything out. And also I napped earlier and it felt g r e a t

Finch laying across the table

"Just ask a fish in the desert"

LES SITTING UNDER THE TABLE

"Why do old people talk?" "To prove they's still alive"

Mush's eyeroll

Squeeze Elmer's shoulder

FRONT PAGE?!

IAIN'S SMILE FUCK HIS SMILE IS SO DAMN CUTE

"WOULD YA LOOKIT THAT'S ME!"

"WHERE'S ME?! WHERE'S ME?!"

"I WON'T BE LAST IN LINE FOR THE TUB TONIIIGHT"

Tommy snatching the pape from Davey

"There's a headline even Elmer could sell"

HENRY'S LAUGH/REACTION TO ^

"JACK DON'T RUN FROM NO FIGHT"

"Take it down shortstop"

"FOR JUMPIN' JACKS SAKE CAN YOU STOW THE SERIOSITY LONG ENOUGH TO JUST DRINK IN THE MOMENT"

HIS LIL PUNCHIES

Albert's look of disgust at being touched without permission

"I'M FAYHMUS"

Henry: So?

"When ya fayhmus tha woild is ya erster."

😕 Wot?

????

"Ya erster"

"What are you saying???"

"EY YAKNOW YA FANCY CLAM WIT THA POIL INSIDE"

"O Y S T E R"

"HOW MUCH DOES BEIN' FAYHMUS P A Y?!"

"U DON'T🚫 NEED MONEY 💲 WHEN UR FAYHMUS😎 THEY GIVES YA WHATEVA YA WANT G R A T I S"

HEARING THE FIRST LIKE CHORDS (?) OF KONY IS THE BEST BC KONY IS THE BEST SONG IF YOU CAN'T TELL BY HOW LONG THIS POST ALREADY IS P MUCH ONLY WITH KONY THINGS

RACE AND KATH DOING THE PLAYFUL HIT THINGS

WHY DID THEY CHANGE RACE'S LINE?! IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE FOR ROMEO TO WANT A PERMANENT BOX AT THE SHEEPSHEAD RACES

"Oh no"

*tucks emotional support stick under arm* "knOBBin WIt AlL DA MuCKeTY MuCks I'M BLowIN MY doUGH AND gOIN dELuxE"

Statue of Liberty

The obscene amount of times Racer sticks his tongue out

Raver ruffling Mush's hair

"AMSCRAY PUNK"

"BUNCHA WET NOODLES" "PULITZER'S POODLES"

Davey and Ike playing dogs even after everyone else drops it

EVERY SINGLE FACE IN THE POODLES SCENE

Lemme just (bad quality but I can’t clip it ;-;)

LIKE ALBERT WTF ARE YOU DOING???

JOJO MY MAIN MAN WHY

RACER THAT SMILE CREEPY AS HELL STOP

DAVEY AND IKE, AS STATED ABOVE

MIKE WTF

ELMER LOOKING ABSOLUTELY DONE

"LET'S GET DRUNK" 😃 Y E A H "NOT WITH LIQUOR" 😧

Clap

Hop

TAPPITY TAPPITY TAPPITY TAP MAKE ME STIM SO HARD ILY

FINCH AND HIS SUSPENDERS

EVERYONE GETTING OFFENDED AT GETTING ONE UPPED

TAPPITY TAP TAPPITY TAP TAPPITY TAP TAPPITY TAP

KICK

SPIN

BUMP BUMP

BUTTONS'S BROOM

EVERYONE GETTING SPOONS

"A L R I G H T RED"

SMALLS

ILY

SPOON FIGHT

EVERYONE JOINING IN

"GOT EM"

CHCHCHCHCHCHCHCHCCCKCKCKCCH

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP

*shoving Kath out of chair*

*cleans off ground with hat*

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THE WAY THEIR LITTLE ARM THING TICKLES MY BRAIN

Albert: Ehhhh Albert: Oh shit that's actually p good

THE CHOREOGRAPHY IS SO GOOD

"LOOK AT ME I'M THE KING OF NEW YORK"

"THIS IS GONNA MAKE BOTH THE DELANCEYS PEE IN THEIR PANTSIES"

ELMER'S FACE

FINCH'S LIL FACE BANDAGE

THE SHOT WHEN THEY SING "GUTS AND GLORY"

SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN

TKTKTKTKTKTKTTKTTKTKTTKTKTKTKT

"OF NEW YORK!!!"

SEEING THEM ALL OUT OF BREATH AND GRINNING AND IK THEY HAD SO MUCH FUN

SMALLS

Point

Clapclap clap

ROMEO AND FINCH HAVING SO MUCH FUN

FUCK WAIT NOW IT'S LETTER FROM THE REFUGE

"Dear Jack..."

I paused it.

I don't wanna watch anymore ;-;

I wanna pretend they're all still happy and tappin' around Jacobi's

"Guess I wasn't much help yest'aday"

"Oh, yeah, Jack This is Crutchie by the way"

Andrew Keenan Bolger is just so fuckin good

"So far they ain't brung us no fooood..." lol

"Maybe though... heh heh... Not tonight..."

"We miiiight just go..."

Definitely NOT Ike sleeping next to him SHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"Damn this place."

"Your friend Your best friend Your brother Crutchiiiieeeee"

Albert Some other redheaded newsie: "Enough already!"

Everyone looking for Jack

MISS MEDDA I FUCKING LOVE YOU

Jack pretending to not be crying

"You're a gem"

"Does it matta?"

"If you're running away, nowhere is ever the right place"

"How about lettin' a pal know you're alive?!" Jack: Ffs 🙄

"Why don't I leave you with your boyfriend?"

"YaevathinkIdidntwannabefound"

"A B O V E THE FOLD"

Bap

Smack

They're so close just lean forward a lil and give him a lil smooch

Poke

"JUST LIKE I SAID"

"We're inevitable"

"Fame is one intoxicating potion"

"Yes he did and then he died :)"

Kath's lil supportive nod

"Smart enough to get you committed to a padded room"

JACK'S ART

"Lighten up, no one died."

LES'S LIL WORRIED FACE WHEN JACK TELLS THEM ABOUT CRUTCHIE

"If I wanted a sermon I would show up for church."😠

"Tell me how quitting does Crutchie any good."

"Exactly."

"Here's how it goes-"

T E E T H

"Jackie think about it"

JACK HOW WERE YOU EXPECTING TO MAKE IT IN SANTA FE WITHOUT KNOWING WHY A SNAKE RATTLES

"poor GUYS head IS SPINNING"

"Whywouldhesendforthegoonsanentirearmydozensofgoonsplusthecopsand-"

Kath’s amazement at Jack admitting being wrong

ETHAN’S DUMB FACE 😭😭😭

“Stay on track”

“AND WEVE GOT JACK”

Spit shake

Davey being disgusted

“And I’ve got a date!!!”

Kath being nervous asf to confront her dad

“The newsies are striking against… me”

Kath trying to melt into her chair

I’m gonna kick Snyder

*WHACK* “WHAT GOOD WOULD QUIET DO ME”

Kath’s panic when Jack shows up

“Ask and ye shall be received”

S i t

“Good aftanoon bois”

“Aaand which Jack Kelly is this? The charismatic union organizer? Or the petty thief, and escaped convict?”

“Which one gives us more in common? Eh?” *wiggles finger*

“Crowwlin”

“Want i should save ya a spot on the bill?”

B o y

“When New York wakes up to-“ 😗🧐 “-front page photos of our rally”

“Even some reporters”

THE BIG REVEAL

JACKS FACE

KATHS FACE

“Yeeeeeessss”

Why does Pulitzer hit his desk so much? Take a Xan and calm down my guy

I’m gonna kick Snyder pt 2

THE DELANCEYS CATCHING AND HOLDING JACK SO HE CANT GET OUT DHSGWHMFKE

Morris looking 100% done with Pulitzers shit

“They know I don’t care” 🙂

“Tossed 🫴🏼➰ to the rats🐀 Will they ever be able to thank you enough?💅🏻”

BOTTOM LINE REPRISE

I like that he calls Jack ‘Cowboy’ in this song as a little homage to the original, but (bc I saw Livesies first) I was so confused when I watched it at first.

So ik they only use the newsies to move sets bc they can go fairly unnoticed by the audience when they’re going on and off stage. But just the idea that even if they aren’t actually there with him, them still do everything for Pulitzer is a statement to me

Morris hopp of stairrrrrrs

*bonk bonk bonk* “That there… is firm”

Jacks lil tantrum

“NEWSIES NEED OUR HELP TODAYYY”

HELLO SPOT LOML

TOMMY BRACCO 😍😍😍 (congrutalions on his engagement 😭😭)

THE LIL GAP IN HIS TEETH IS EVERYTHING TO ME

Reasons I love Brooklyn (from left to right:

Graves

Myron

Spot

Hotshot

Bart

Ty for coming to my Ted Talk

“We’ll getcha payback with some PAY BACK”

Speepy Jack

Spot’s dramatic ass taking his hat off

“BOROUGH WHAT GAVE ME BOITH”

Everyone else hurriedly taking off their hats

“FRIENDLIEST PLACE ON OITH”

“PAYUS A VISIT AND SEE WHAT WE MEANS”

“AND WHEN YA DOOOOOO”

“WE’LL KICK YA HALFWAY TO QUEENS”

Definitely totally Jack Kelly on that printing press and definitely NOT Devin Lewis

The entirety of the boroughs introducing themselves

PFFPTTHHH

“WE IS HEEEEEERRRREEEE”

Davey’s first spit shake without wiping it off 🥹

MISS

MEDDA

LARKIN

Bart’s lil hops 🥺🥺

THE CROWD CONTROL

Eyebrows

Jack Jack Jack Jack

Everyone smacking signs against the ground

“Youwannabetalkedtolikeanadultstartactinlikeone”

Racer’s smile 😭😭😭

“That’s was a lousy thing to do” Everyone else: HELL YEAH IT WAS

Elmer’s Graves’ smile

Pulitzer

S H O V E

“He’s a sellout”

JACK RAISING HIS HAND AT LES

“YOU'RE A TRAITOR JACK”

DAVEY'S DEVASTATION

“HESAIDYOUCOULDGOTHROUGHMYSTUFF?!”

Kath plz be more considerate

THE

FUCKING

PROJECTIONS

"A little different from where you were raised?" s n a t c h

"I DO NOT THINK YOU ARE ONE TO TALK ABOUT TURNIN' ON FOLKS"

"Ya ffffffffADDA"

"a ffffffist in ya mouth"

Finger wiggle

Paper wiggle

"good for you"

"The children's crusade..."

"Oh no"

"Ya just gonna take back lAta"

Gotta be honest, Something to Believe In makes me so irrationally angry. Their whole relationship feels forced and only there for the romance grab :)

I feel like they could've done a lot with Kath's character without making her fall for Jack

Like it makes sense that Jack would feel things for her. She represents this freedom he's never gotten to have. She helped get the newsies a better hand in life. Granted it isn't perfect, but it's a hell of a lot better. Not to mention all the newsies have the emotional range of a speck of dust.

Kath, on the other hand, seems very in tune with her emotions. She knows how she feels about Jack during Watch What Happens, and I personally don't think much changed between them between that and StBI.

I think it would've been far better to have Jack, this emotionally ignorant artist pining after Kath, the 'sure of herself' journalist helping make a better life for his family, despite the repercussions of going against her father, who was originally in it just to further her career but has grown to care for and love all of these kids.

Have I mentioned the projections?

I also haven't mentioned this at all, but I love the newsies that push in Jack's 'penthouse' and just sit at the bottom of the set pieces.

Bump

SHOVE

Also seeing Kath deck Jack right here (bc she doesn't know how to respond to him trying to kiss her) would be so much better than a kiss

Don't ask me why, just trust me

Their hug at the end of it though

IS IT NORMAL TO KNOW WHICH NEWSIE IS GOING UP THE STAIRS BY THEIR SILHOUETTE?

"We could hold a hoedown in here and no one would be the wiser"

"Hey!" "Hm?" "It's good to have you back again"🥰 "Shaddup."

BillDarcy

Y'ALL THEY TRADED VESTS AND THEY WANT US TO BELIEVE EITHER OF THESE BOYS ARE STRAIGHT???

Darcy's disgust

"B B Bill. So I suppose you're the son of William Randolph Hearst." "And proud to be a part of your revolution"😃

Nicholas Masson rolling his sleeves up-

Can we talk about how perfect a Javey first kiss would've been at "we ain't come this far to lose" without Kath being there

"HEEEEERRRREEE THEY COOOOMMMMEEE"

Tommy Bracco

Albert's lil nod

Smalls doing nothing but wiggling that bolt

look look

"BLEED EEEEM"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FREEDOM"

Spot doing nothing but standing and looking intimidating

WHACK

HENRY HELP SMALLS

Ty 🥰

ALL THE ANGLES THROWING PAPES

"TEN THOUSAND FISTS"

LAYERS

LAYERING VOCALS IS MY KRYPTONITE

A;SLDKFHAPSHGPAIUSFGP

BAM "THERE'S CHANGE COMIN ONCE AND FOR ALL"

THE FUCKING KEY CHANGE A;LSDGHPAOUSFGPANS I SCREAM. I CRY. I FOAM AT THE MOUTH. I LOVE THIS SHOW

Stomp

"WELL I'M SORRY-I AM-"

"Sorry"

"Such language"

"MORNIN GENTS"

hat

I didn't know you could throw money in an inherently queer-coded way but here we are

The way Jack sits in the chair and gets confy

"Oh, we're your loyal employees"

"Oooohhhh"

"WHAT'S THAT MAKE YOU"

Ben Fankhauser

The chorus starting up again and Jack just 👀

Spot taking off his hat again

wavey wavey wavey

Race 'cheers'ing with his cigar

"So what's your next move"

MISS

MEDDA

"Joseph Joseph Joseph"

Hummy hummy hummy

"Bully"

Shakes hand "My god"

"I'd do it with a SMILE"

"A soft head"

"He doesn't do happiness does he?"

HANNAH

HANNAH ILY

"I'm young. I ain't stupid"

"I GOT CONTITUENTS WITH A LEGITIMATE GRIPE"

Wiggle finger

"iT's a CoMprOMIse WE cAn All LiVE WiTH"

Spit shake

"andtheWorldwillknow"

TOMMY

FINCH

RACE BUTTONS ALBERT ROMEO I LOVE ALL OF YOU

THEIR SIGNS

HUGS FOR EVERYONE

Why does every actor who plays Roosevelt look exactly the same????

"Ya miss me?!" YES😭

Davey swallowing his laugh when Crutchie calls Roosevelt 'your highness'

"Don't sweat it, gov"

"tarantulas?"

"And we're family" YEAH YOU ARE BABY

"show me that backseat I been hearing so much about"

Albert's gimme gimme gimme motion

"G U Y S"

Race's lil hop

"I been I been BUSY"

smacksmacksmack

"CARRYIN THE BANNER MAN TO MAN"

"HERE'S THE HEADLINE"

Jeremy Jordan counting his steps

"WHOO"

"OF NEW YORK"

*incoherent shouting* "NEWSIES OF NEW YOOOORK AYOOOOO"

Tommy being slightly off

Kick

Spin

Flip

Clap clap

CHAZ WOLCOTT IS SO FKING TALENTED

shrug

BART

slide

I DON'T REMEMBER HIS NAME BUT THE GUY WHO PLAYS DARCY DOING FLIPS WITH NICK MASSON (WHO PLAYS BILL)

Specs falling when they do the lil cartwheels

All their lil hops and bows

THE DELANCEYS HANDSHAKE

AKB

Kara Lindsay being a lil early

JJ almost eating it

HYPEHYPEHYPEHYPE- Race, Mike, Ike, and Spot

JJ boogeyin

Kara and Ethan boogeyin

Kara and Jordan hugging

Nick swinging from the set

Ben and Sky doing a handshake and Ben almost knocking Sky over going for a chest bump when Sky wanted a hug

I DID IT

I FINISHED IT WITH ENOUGH ROOM

I HONESTLY THOUGHT KONY WOULD MAKE ME NEED AT LEAST ONE MORE, BUT I THINK STBI COUNTERED IT

#newsies #livesies #my favorite things about newsies #my favorite livesies things

17 notes · View notes

dollarstoreartsupplies · 1 year ago

Note

I just finished ur werewolf richie fic what the fuck what the fuck it was v good and i love all of them so much but it also spat on me and ripped my heart out and i’m mad at you (i’m not ily for making this masterpiece im sad it’s over but not cause u put my favorite characters through it). you wrote it ages ago but i thought i would lyk anyway🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

AHHHH THANK YOU!! :') this is so nice thank youuuuu and I truly apologize it is truly so brutal hgjklf <3<3<3<3

as both an apology and a thank u here's a like full chapter of the sequel fic I never ended up writing about how each of the Losers find out Richie's a werewolf

(for context Mike DEFINITELY knows something is up with Richie by the end of the original fic, or at least suspects, so she finds out/talks to richie about it first)

(and also also for context this is a big streddie fic in my brain this part is just a Stozier Moment but it's important to me that everyone knows this)

Link to fic for context :)

She doesn’t mean to go to Stan’s.

Like super does not mean to go to Stan’s.

Like, the first thought when she woke up, sick on blood, cold and hurting, was ‘I want Stan but I cannot under any circumstances go to Stan’s right now because I can’t drag her into this’ doesn’t-mean-to-go-to-Stan’s.

She meant to go to Mike’s when it became clear going home and being alone was not going to be an option tonight, not if she wants to feel like a person tomorrow.

It’s not that she really wants to drag Mike into this either, but Mike had quite honestly dragged Richie, teeth and all, to her and she’s working on trying not to feel like it’s selfish to get her involved.

But she didn’t go to Mike’s house, because she is selfish.

She knows it’s stupid but tonight was one of the bad nights and she’s hurt and she’s scared and she’s just so tired and all she wants is Stan. Stan just has this practical, mini-adult, weirdo way of making everything feel, even if it’s just for the moments you're with her, like it might be okay.

She considers coming through the window like she does with Eddie’s, but Stan’s parents (fucking surprisingly) don’t hate her guts and her whole body goddamn aches too bad to feel like risking it.

So she just knocks, as boring as it is and as weird as it feels to be doing it so very early. They’ve got a doorbell but it makes Donald pissy whenever someone uses it, so, normally Richie slams on it as many times as it takes to get a reaction. But not tonight. Tonight she doesn’t want a reaction, she wants a Stan. So she waits.

And waits.

And knocks again.

Stan (god, fuck, thank god, it’s Stan) answers the door, finally, and despite her repeated reassurance to herself that Don and Andrea Uris do, in fact, like her, Richie feels her whole body slump in relief.

No reaction, just a Stan.

She’s got her arms crossed tight over the front buttons of a cardigan she’d definitely stolen from her dad, it's way too big on her, hitting well past the thighs of her rolled up jeans and tangling around her fingers. They aren’t pajamas, but they aren’t anything Stan would ever leave her house in either, and something muddled in Richie’s tired brain goes ‘huh’. There's a red calculator-keys indent on her right cheek.

There’s always been a sort of art form to understanding the complicated language that is Samantha Uris’ startlingly expressive eyebrows, one most don’t bother learning and Richie is fluent in. She can easily translate, from the way her cocked eyebrow droops into something furrowed as she takes in the scene that is Richie, that she’s fucking concerned.

She’s sure she’s what one might call.. a sight, bloody and dirty and wearing whatever mismatched, musty clothing she’d managed to keep stored in the clubhouse before the full moon for situations like this.

(Last night had been one of the blurrier nights, when she couldn’t quite remember how she’d gotten old barbed wire tangled in complicated knots around her ankle or whether or not she’d killed anything. She hated those nights. Fucking hated them so much. She’d had ample amount of time to adjust, she’d was far better at dealing with the idiosyncrasies of being a monster now than she had when it'd all first happened, but she still hated the not knowing of it all, it made her feel useless and dangerous and often left her in dire need of hugs she was too worried to ask for.)

Stan ushers her in, grabbing her upper arm and then recoiling back in something that could either be horror or hurt when Richie flinches away, hands tucking under her armpits in an awkward crossed-arms self hug.

“What the fuck, Rich?” She hisses, unfolding her arms just long enough to close and lock the front door before she leans against it, shoving her hands back into place. She seems entirely lost on what she’s supposed to do, which is fair enough, Richie hasn't said anything yet. She thinks absently that her silence might be more startling than anything else.

She really doesn’t think she can say anything, she hadn’t thought of an excuse for the injuries Stan hadn’t noticed yet but was sure to once they were out of her dimly lit foyer, she hadn’t thought of an excuse to even be here because she shouldn’t be here.

There is also the dangerous, ever present possibility that she will do nothing but sob if she opens her mouth.

She’s already toeing the thin line between holding it together and a complete breakdown, and Stan Uris has a way of making that already fragile line as structurally sound as a strip of cellophane.

They just stand there for a moment in a silence more awkward than they’re used to.

Richie shifts her weight, wincing when she puts too much pressure on her fucked up ankle, if Stan notices she doesn’t give any indication other than a slight raise of her eyebrows (that means she’s noticed, she’s absolutely goddamn notices, but she’s waiting to give Richie a chance to tell her herself).

The door down the hall clicks softly open, breaking through the quiet. Stan’s parent’s room. Her shoulders immediately tense, hands absently fiddling and straightening the buttons down the front of her sweater so suddenly Richie isn’t even sure Stan knows she’s doing it.

“Samantha? Who's there?” Andrea Uris appears, padding halfway down the hall before stopping, pulling her long, silky robe tightly around itself. Stan’s posture slumps to something more comfortable. She always looks more comfortable around her mom.

(Richie had always liked Stan’s mom, for the obvious reason that she didn’t make Stan all rigid and anxious like her dad did, but there was more to it than that: Andrea Uris was almost startlingly like her daughter. It’s a fact Stan would resent if you told her, so Richie keeps quiet about it and appreciates it from a distance.

Except right now she really, desperately wanted her to go away before she noticed something or told Stan’s dad who would most definitely say it was too early and kick her out. Or call her parents. Which is way worse.)

Her eyes catch on Richie’s ankle and one eyebrow raises carefully. Fuck.

“It’s just Richie, Mama, can she stay over?” Something unreadable flicks across Mrs. Uris’ face, hidden by her quickly pursed lips and slow nod.

“Well, I suppose it’s practically morning anyway, as long as you two keep it down.” She gives a final cursory glance to Richie’s ankle, lifts a hand to wipe a smudge of what she desperately hopes is dirt and not blood off her cheek, and spins on her heel, walking back to her bedroom. Before she closes the door all the way, a snippet of conversation, a lie to Stan’s dad about the paperboy coming bright and early, drifts down the hall that Richie knows only she can hear. Stan’s shoulders untense at the same time as hers anyway.

“Come on, let's go upstairs.” Stan holds her hand out, tentative and wavering in the space between them, not quite touching like she's afraid Richie will flinch again. She takes it, lacing their fingers together and trying very hard not to cry not to cry not to cry as Stan guides her up the familiar path to her bedroom.

She falls back into her desk chair, legs extended and arms crossed as she studies Richie up and down. Richie just stands there, shifting nervously under the scrutiny and shaking her head when Stan looks pointedly at her bed. (She’d managed to slice her back up a little, somehow, and can feel the cuts already scabbing over, they weren’t too deep, but the back of her sweatshirt is still damp with blood and her ankle is still somewhat mangled, she doesn’t want to stain any of Stan’s things. Because Stan gets all panicky about stuff like that and she already shouldn’t fucking be here-)

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Whatever do you mean, Staniel?” She asks, going for casual dismissal and stumbling somewhere closer to ‘I am definitely hiding something’.

“You’ve been acting weird. I thought it was… I figured it was everything that happened that summer,” Stan sat up carefully, one hand subconsciously rubbing up the scars that lined her cheek.

They rarely talked about it, ‘that summer’, nobody quite knew how to go about it and Stan especially could never seem to find it within herself to say Pennywise, not that Richie blamed her.

“But that was two years ago. It’s not that I expected you to be over it obviously, but I don’t think that's what's going on here.”

“What are you talking about?” She laughs, sharp and defensive, and Stan furrows her eyebrows together, rocking out of the chair so she’s standing in front of Richie, one hand firmly on her shoulder like she’s worried she’s a flight risk. Maybe she is.

“Richie, I want to help you but I need to know what's wrong.” She tries for a smile, it’s reassuring in the barest sense of the word but only because it’s Stan. The smile doesn’t reach her eyes, she’s worried, Richie is worrying her, that's not what she wanted.

“Nothing is wrong, I’m fine!”

“I’m sorry, but you can't show up on my doorstep at six in the morning, bleeding and covered in dirt, and just expect me to think you’re fine! Why are you acting so weird?” Stan is getting angry, some of her carefully-crafted-Stan-Uris-patented-composure slipping enough that Richie’s instincts are telling her to shut the fuck up or get the fuck out if she doesn’t want a fight. Coming here was stupid.

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid Richie who still can’t bring herself to leave because even as Stan squints at her, all unwanted concern and frustration, Richie feels so much safer than she has all night.

“I’m not acting weird!” She is. She knows she is. It’s a literal wonder she hasn’t had a thorough Stan interrogation yet.

“Yes you are! What the fuck is up with you?” Stan shoves her shoulder a little too hard, prodding her in the chest like she’s trying to force her worry to resonate in Richie with her finger tip.

“Nothing!”

Her and Stan don’t ‘fight’; they bicker and disagree often enough, sure, they playfully argue in a way that makes half their school think they hate each other, but they don’t fight. Not often, at least. It always makes Richie feel constantly overwhelmed and upset and wrong so she tries to avoid it as often as possible, and, despite how easily she gets into arguments, Stan tends to hate confrontation. Especially with Richie.

“Just tell me!”

“I’m a werewolf!”

(Now, to take a step back, the worst fucking possible thing for one to say to their best friend who they most certainly don’t want to know certain things, such as their incredibly traumatically acquired lycanthropy, is “I’m a werewolf!”

Are we clear on that? Good. Because while it rarely comes up for most people’s day to day lives it’s pretty solid advice that in this moment Richie Tozier desperately wishes she’d been given.

In her defense she’s exhausted and achy and just wants a hug from the person whisper-shouting at her so her critical thinking isn’t really powered up to full but, still, it’s an inadvisable tactic that, in her opinion, probably will end with said whisper-shouting should be hugger running for the hills.)

Why the fuck did she say that oh god oh god oh god shes going to hate her now, fucking idiot, why did she just say that-

Stan just lets out a low, angry laugh, startling her out of her panic and into a new, limited edition version of panic that was just sort of confused.

“Fucking fine. Don’t tell me.”

“What?”

“I said don’t tell me. God, fucking… whatever, Rich.

“What?” It comes out all choked and weird the second time. She’s giving her an out and Richie has no clue why she suddenly feels as though she cannot take it under any circumstances.

“Beep fucking beep. I’m not in the mood for a weird, shitty joke, right now.”

“It’s-” (This is where you stop, Richie,) “I wasn’t-” (fucking laugh like your an asshole so she doesn’t know you weren’t lying,) “Stan.”

“What.” She snaps. She’s fucking pissed and Richie is well aware all she’s doing is making it worse.

“I wasn’t kidding.” Well, fuck.

“Sure.”

“Stan.” She’s making it very hard to accidentally expose life changing truths to her tonight. Which is to be expected, she guesses. Stan’s never been into change or mysticism or things that didn’t have concrete scientific evidence backing them up, but she’d figured, with clown shit that at least this would be a little fucking easier.

And then she does something really goddamn stupid.

Stan blinks hard at Richie’s bite-scarred arm, and then down to where she’d yanked off her sweatshirt onto the floor, and then back up to her bite-scarred arm, and Richie just stands there and shivers in her stupid little tank top and thinks that she really goddamned should have taken the out and let Stan be pissed off at her.

She doesn’t look at the scar when she can help it, it’s gross and it’s big and it’s… uncomfortable. She fucking hates it and there's a reason her wardrobe has shifted exclusively to long sleeved button ups and light jackets regardless of the weather. And now here she is. Just letting Stan stare at it over and over and over like she’s got short term memory loss exclusively for big gross bite scars.

Stan’s mouth drops open, a bit fucking belatedly, before she takes a shuddering breath in through her nose and squeezes her eyes shut, “When- what- no. Okay. No.”

“No?” Richie giggles, feeling a little hysterical. Stan does a weird, garbled approximation of a giggle back.

“You… You’re not kidding? I’d like you to be kidding I think.” She just keeps staring.

Richie considers just cutting her arm right off, “Mmm. I’d love to be kidding.”

She finally looks up, makes frantic, slightly insane eye contact with Richie, and offers a sturdy “Well fuck.”

Stan wraps her ankle. Richie tells her she doesn’t need to, that it’ll be fine in like an hour and maybe she should actually just go- but she just rolls her eyes, pushes her onto the bed, and makes some wry comment about Richie needing to pay her dry cleaning that makes Richie a little dizzy from the sudden awareness of the metallic scent of her blood saturating the baby powder clean fabric softener of Stan’s sheets.

She bites down hard on her tongue to keep from wincing as Stan cleans the sloppy puncture wounds. She tastes copper and somewhere in the back of her head Eddie Kaspbrak cries out some probably-wrong-warning about human teeth being able to bite through their tongues or fingers with the same amount of force you would use on a carrot, it’s just that your brain doesn’t let you.

She wonders, if only to distract herself from Stan’s shaky fingers around her leg, where that statistic falls for dogs.

“Am I allowed to ask questions?” Stan asks, eventually, as she messes with the bandages she’s wrapping around Richie’s ankle. Unwrapping and rewrapping and unwrapping and rewrapping the top layer in a way that means she’s probably-definitely a little more nervous about this whole thing then she’s trying to let on.

“I mean it’d kinda be a dick move not to let you, huh?”

“Probably.” She snorts, and god, it’s all so Stan, and so fucking normal, that Richie wants to cry.

“Ask away, Stan-a-rita.” She says instead. Probably a little too choked up for a word like Stan-a-rita.

“Wow. Horrible.”

“Hey, I’m having a day, cut me a break.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile seems supremely forced, which makes Richie nervy. Stan isn’t one to fake smile. If she’s unhappy she’s generally more than fine with making sure you know it.

“When? When did you… y’know?”

“Get bitched?”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, come on do you know how long I’ve been holding off on bitch puns?”

“Richie.” She says, instead of ‘come on, asshole, I know what you're trying to do and I’m not letting you off that easy- answer the question’ but Richie got the message all the same.

“It was fuckinnn’ clown shit, near the end of that school year.”

“Fuck, Rich.”

She lets her head flop back onto the mattress, “Yeah.”

To her surprise, Stan pats her ankle firmly and flops on her back next to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, yeah, course, that'd go well: ‘hey Stan, y’know that fuckinnnn’ monster clown that tried to eat your face and killed Georgie fucking Denborugh?’” Stan flinches and Richie tries to ignore it, even if it leaves her feeling like a complete dick, “‘Yeah, he made me a monster too. SURPRISE! Lets have a fucking sleepover.’”

“Don’t call yourself that.” Stan grumbles, softly, reaching for her hand on the top sheet. Richie yanks it away before she can.

“I mean I am.” She laughs, frantically, “I mean- I mean, god, fuck Stan you shouldn’t even be talking to me anymore, I’m… I’m a fucking monster-”

“Hey! Don’t call yourself that.” Stan snaps, too sharp to leave much room for argument. At any other time Richie may not have even tried, bottled it up and decided later whether to believe what she’d said. But this wasn’t one of those times, this was a matter of Stan’s safety and she didn’t seem to understand.

“No! I’m a fucking- I’m a werewolf and I don’t even know what I’ve killed and I’m… I’m a monster.” She repeats helplessly, shoving herself off the bed. Trying to get Stan away away away but she just scrambles off and sits in front of her. Knees pressing against Richie’s tangled up legs.

“You’re Richie.” Stan says firmly, leaning so close that Richie can feel her breath across her nose, the Stan-specific scent washing over all her senses, eraser rubber and grass and too sweet black English breakfast tea, the kind that costs too much and comes in a fancy little gray-blue can she keeps as storage containers in her desk drawers once she uses the last tea bag-

And then they’re kissing.

Richie Tozier has spent a lot of time picturing her first kiss. She never pictured a face, she had hopes of course, but she wasn’t unrealistic and she didn’t want to let herself down before the kiss had even happened.

In her head it was something prettier, she was prettier somehow, less gangly limbs and tear soaked cheeks and bloody ankles, she never had a werewolf living inside of her, instead it was all some romantic bullshit that Ben would have dreamed up.

This isn’t what she’d pictured, not at all, their noses squished together and her teeth got in the way and Stan pulled back almost immediately, she was filthy and smelled like wet dog and her stupid fucking scar was still on fucking display and Stan hadn’t gotten a good night's sleep and her hands were shaking.

But she was just kissing Stan Uris. Stan Uris kissed her, and that is so much more incredible than anything Richie’s shitty little daydreams could have ever dreamed up (not that she hadn’t pictured kissing Stan, she fucking had, probably an embarrassing amount, but she’d never thought it’d be something that could have ever ever ever actually happened).

“What?” She manages, scrambling back hard against the bed even though there's nowhere to go, blood pounding in her ears.

“I… you were being stupid. I had to shut you up.” Stan chokes, bringing a hand up and tugging hard on a loose curl unraveling from her bun. The whole thing tilts lopsided.

“I’m always stupid! You’ve never shut me up like that before!”

“I’m sorry! I thought- you just- that was… out of line, I shouldn’t have done that.” No. No, no, no that’s not what Richie means, absolutely not. Her heart is hammering so hard in her chest it hurts.

“I didn’t say that! I just… wasn’t expecting it!”

“I should have asked, I’m sorry-” Richie tumbles over her own knees to get back to her, accidentally yanking the edge of Stan’s comforter with her and knocking one of the pillows to the floor. For just a second she thinks about how much Stan would hate that, but then they’re kissing again and pillows aren’t really the first thing on her mind.

Second kisses are supremely better than first kisses apparently, less awkward, she knows how to tilt her head and she is the one who initiates it this time so her teeth don’t get in the way.

Stan breaks away slower this time, keeping their foreheads pressed together, and whispers “Oh fuck… thats why your teeth-”

“Yeah.” She snorts, weakly, “Your bedside manner needs some fucking work, though.”

“Fuck off.”

“I mean, come on, that’s why your teeth-”

“You said I could ask questions.” And then, entirely too delighted, “Bitch.”

“I told you! Bitch puns are fun!”

“We’re talking about this some more.” She warns, but she’s grinning.

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie grumbles, disoriented, a little, by the emotional whiplash of whatever the fuck today is shaping up to be, “Can I take a nap first?”

“If you shower.” She says, flatly, pushing herself up off the floor.

“Together?” She teases, wiggling her eyebrows and Stan presses a flat palm against her face, pushing her farther down to the floor.

“You wish, Tozier. Shower.”

“Come on, seriously?” She whines, “I already got blood on your sheets!”

“Yeah, and I’d like it if you didn’t biohazard up new ones.”

She giggles around the facefull of towel Stan launches into her face, “I’m traumatized!”

“Join the club.”

(Fun fact: Third kisses are even better than first and second ones.

Second fun fact: Richie is really, honestly excited to find out if kissing is just one of those upward trajectory things that never really plateaus out.)

And maybe she’s going to cry a little when she gets into the shower, like Stan’s not gonna be able to hear her right in the en suite. And maybe maybe she’s gonna cry again when she gets out of the shower and sees that Stan’s nicely folded the pair of too-long pajama pants and sweater she always steals for sleepovers.

And maybe maybe maybe she’s going to cry a little when she leaves the bathroom and Stan hands her a neatly-written list of werewolf related questions on a piece of college ruled notebook paper with the ripped-up spiral edges very-precisely torn off so the sides are even.

But Stan just rolls her eyes and calls her a baby in an even, pretending-she’s-not-worried-so-Richie-isn’t-a-repressed-weirdo-about-it way.

She didn’t know it was possible to feel so fucking normal after what the fuck just happened. But she’ll have a subsequent werewolf-and-lesbian related crisis later, maybe tomorrow. Right now she’s bizarrely okay for the first time in maybe two years and it’s time for fucking bed.

(Jesus fuck, going to Stan’s was so the right goddamn call.)

#stozier #fem stozier #fem richie tozier #fem stan uris #werewolf au #fic #im ngl I did not totally proofread this but it think its alright???#I think stan and richie deserve to kiss just a little bit

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