#Steve: Rob- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seilahdiaries · 26 days ago

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୨ৎ you and everything french. 𝐒. 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒

. . . four times you’ve tried catching Soda’s attention, and the one time you did.

imagine ! જ⁀➴ ⋮ ⌗ 𝓯! reader warnings . . . none

🪽 tysm for the recent likes! i love you all and i hope you guys enjoy thiss, guys i love writing a silly reader. listen to the song while reading! now playing . . . i can see you - taylor swift

you’re not exactly sure when your crush on sodapop curtis started.

maybe eighth grade, the year he got taller and when you started noticing little things— like the way his voice changed when he laughed or the way his pretty eyes sparkled when he did something he wasn’t suppose to.

despite that, you guys never really talked. it was always just mere you dropped this, or do you have a pencil? nothing that would mean he noticed you or thought of you in another way other than just his classmate.

then sandy happened— and you told yourself you were fine with it, ignoring seeing them hold hands and make out in the hallways. and you were respectful, you stopped writing his initial and yours with a heart, you hummed songs instead of romanticizing every word he said, and you waited. waited till it went away.

and it almost did. until it didn’t.

when a few months ago, a spur of events came and they were no longer together anymore. and you— sweet and slightly delusional— felt the tiniest of hope and decided it was the right moment. felt that maybe this would be it.

this year would be it, is what you told yourself. except you were a soc. and he’s a greaser. and your friends— charlotte may and blaire kavinsky weren’t exactly cheering for this relationship.

blaire had even frowned when you brought up, “i’m not saying he’s a bad guy,” she reasoned, “i’m saying greasers can be trouble.”

charlotte just pursued her lips and told her, “when you do this, wear the white ribbon in your hair— the one that makes your eyes look soft.”

people tell you you’re pretty, you wear dainty clothes, people smile at you in the halls and boys even offer to carry your books just so they could smell your perfume. but none of them are him.

and this time you’re gonna try, really try.

and now, while you’re halfway through history and your pencil snaps. the tip sliding into the corner of your desk.

you stare at it for a second, when an idea pops in your pretty mind. then glancing sideways.

he’s right there. one row over, one seat back.

you glance once again. he’s leaning forward on the desk, the curve of his sharp jaw resting on the palm of his hand. he’s not even pretending to take notes, just watching the window like he’s not sat in history class, just somewhere else entirely.

your heart picks up a little, you’re not wearing the white ribbon today. but your hair is blown out, and your sweater is a soft pastel, you feel okay— brave enough.

you turn in your seat slightly, and in a mere whisper, you whisper, “hey.. do you have a pencil?”

he blinks out of his day dream, looks at you. his eyes are warm, and a little sleepy. but without a word, he reaches into his bag and pulls the pencil out.

bitten, stubby and no eraser. the wood at the end splintered like someone got bored and took their frustration out on the poor pencil.

he passes it over without looking twice. you take it, and just as your fingers coated with a milky pink polish brush his, you hear a sound— a pfft from in front of you. charlotte.

you bite the inside of your cheek, offer a quiet, quick “thanks,” and try to act normal. you immediately glance up, her shoulders are shaking.

of course she’s laughing.

it was charlotte’s idea.

“you should absolutely write him a note,” she said, standing in your room the night before with her arms crossed.

blaire, half-asleep on your bed in a lilac silk robe, muttered “this is a bad idea.”

but you did it anyways.

pink stationary and little gold hearts in the corners. you wrote it curled on your fluffy rug at midnight, with vanilla cashmere lotion on your legs and the ronnettes playing softly.

and because you’re you, you lightly sprayed the paper with your perfume.

just a little, so if he opened it, he’d know. and it would smell like sweetness and daydreams.

you, charlotte, and blaire showed up early to “help” your english teacher organize the class library. which really meant the two of them distracted her while you tiptoed over to the shelf, find the copy which you thought was his and slip the note inside.

and when third period came, you sat with the two girls in the front left corner, pretending not to look over at sodapop, who’d sat with his friends in the way back.

he looked tired, you noticed. but your heart was pounding.

while you were in a conversation with the girls, a boy you didn’t even know— skinny, glasses and fluffy hair walked up to the front of the room.

handing her something— something pink. it caught your eyes for a second.

the teacher squinted at it, “oh?”

the boy smiled, “i think someone lost this, i found it in my copy.”

then, without any remorse, she read it aloud.

“you probably won’t notice this, but i notice you. everytime you smile i fall in love all over again. i’m not brave, but maybe this is enough.” “—p.s if you ever want to walk me home, just say the word.”

you felt your entire soul drop to your stomach, you froze.

someone let out a howl, others clapped and sodapop? soda laughed. all bright and boyish just like you said in the note and definitely not in love with you.

blaire was wheezing, charlotte looked like she was biting the corner of her lip to keep it from making it worse. you sat there, hand half over your mouth and with the nastiest side eye ever known.

“atleast you made him laugh?” charlotte said with no help.

the smell of your perfume lingered above everyone like a cloud of sweet and feminine. the worst part was he never even looked at you. or did he recognize that perfume?

a pleated white tennis skirt that fluttered with every breeze, a matching sweater draped over your collarbone and your hair loosely pulled back in a soft low ponytail that brushed against the middle of your back.

you were playing doubles at the country club after school, a friendly match between you and spencer— a tall, preppy friend that was definitely not your type, but easy to be around— and blaire and charlotte on the other side.

things were going well and you were about to serve again when you heard a voice— faint, familiar.

you turned and there he was.

sodapop curtis in a black t-shirt and dirty jeans. walking with steve and laughing at something with his head tilted back. he wasn’t looking at you, not yet atleast.

your stomach dropped so fast you almost dropped your racket, but your grip tightened, now or never.

you stepped into position, and tossed the ball up. your form was great, elegant even. you swung—

smack.

a shriek.

blaire dropped her racket and doubled over, hands flying to her face.

you stood frozen for a full second, eyes wide, mouth open.

charlotte burst into laughter. and spencer let out the loudest “OHHHH!” you’d ever heard. followed by a wheezy “what was that?”

your hand slapped over your mouth, “ohmygod— blaire— im— im so sorry!” you cried out, abandoning your racket and running to the net. “i wasn’t—i didn’t mean— i swear i didn’t mean to!”

“you almost sent me into another dimension.” she groaned out from behind her hand.

“do you want ice? a milkshake? i’ll buy you a million. name anything. anything.”

charlotte finally calmed her laughter down and crouched down beside her, gently nudging her shoulder “atleast you’re not knocked out.”

you were kneeling now, right infront of her, frantically brushing hair from her cheek, full of worry and guilt. and sodapop— he was the last thing on your mind now.

until blaire said it, muffled and slightly incoherent.

“he saw.”

you blinked, “what?”

blaire raised a brow. “sodapop. he looked over and laughed. so did steve.”

charlotte nodded, trying to suppress the sudden giggle that threaten to slip. “he definitely saw. probably thinks were insane.”

you sat back on your heels, cheeks flushed.

“great,” you deadpanned, “my reputation is violence now.”

blaire grumbled, “he better fall in love with you. my cheeks already swelling.”

you groaned into your palms, “i’m never showing my face on this court again.”

you had started the day cute, you wore your cable-knit ralph lauren top, your hair soft and loose again, catching sunlight like honey. the iced coffee you sipped on had extra vanilla, just how you liked it.

you, charlotte and blaire had wandered into the boutique on fifth that always smelled like sugared cookies and tulips. fashion magazines sat by the register, racks were stocked with cute and comfy sleep wear sets, frilly tops and baby pink silks.

“ooh, this,” blaire gasped, holding something sheer and ridiculous. “put this on. immediately.”

“you’re kidding,” you replied, already laughing.

but you did— and the next one. and the next.

soon, your dressing room was filled with chiffon and pastel. you did twirls in every outfit, the curtain whipped open dramatically each time and the sounds of charlotte and blaire hollering and laughing filled the time.

you were mid-spin in a soft pink tulle dress that made you practically float, layers of ruffles around your knees and the back only half-zipped because you’d given up trying. when blaire said—

“wait, wait, hair up. you really need to let the neckline breathe.”

“i don’t have a tie.” you whined, staring into the mirror.

blaire immediately spotted a silver clip— meant for closing snack bags but nonetheless grabbed it.

in one messy swoop, your hair was pulled into the worst bun of your life and clipped up with the plastic chip bag clip. loose pieces framed your face at odd angles. “oh yeah, this is totally it.” charlotte declared, legs kicked up on the plush bench and macaron from the sample plate halfway in her mouth.

“pose. right now. give me…” blaire thought for a moment, “bridal ballerina.”

so you did. standing on tiptoe infront of the dressing room mirror, arms raised. laughing and ridiculous, your cheeks were warm from all the twirling.

and just then— the bell above the door chimed.

you didn’t think anything of it, until charlotte froze mid-laugh.

“um,” blaire said, sharply. “..don’t freak out.” her eyes wide.

you blinked, “what?”

you turned around. and there he was. sodapop curtis.

standing by the front desk with a perfectly neutral expression as he talked to the sweet old lady receptionist, glancing around as if he didn’t just walk into your personal crash scene, until they paused. on you.

you didn’t even think before you dove behind the nearest cardigan rack like your life depended on it.

you crouched there, heart in your throat and frozen among the sweater vests and moist rose air from the humidifier.

you could hear everything— the soft music, the buzz outside, his sweet voice and the girls whispering near the dressing room.

you barely breathed until the bell chimed again and the door closed.

“okay,” blaire said, appearing above. “you can come out now.”

you peeked before standing up slowly, dazed.

charlotte leaned back on the couch, sipping your coffee. “he didn’t laugh.” she said, eyeing you. “didn’t look twice, or look amused.”

you stared at her, “..what do you mean?”

“he just looked,” blaire shrugged, “picked up a skirt. paid. then left.”

you were quiet, staring down at your feet.

“maybe he thinks i’m weird.”

charlotte blinked, “you are weird, you literally froze then threw yourself into the sweaters.”

“not helping,” you groaned.

you layed down on the couch with a dramatic sigh, layers of tulle surrounding you like cotton candy. blaire brought you your chip clip and a macaron, placing it on your stomach solemnly, like a lost possession.

you didn’t even laugh.

the event had finally calmed down. something with fundraising for the clubhouse garden, but when the chocolate fountain came out— no one really remembered.

your once- perfect makeup didnt survive the chocolate, even with charlotte warning you not to lean in so close. but you laughed it off.

it didn’t matter, anyway. you’d stopped caring since the boutique embarrassment. you had spent so long trying— years! not just four times. and not once had he ever seen you, not the way you wanted him to.

and now you found yourself here— barefoot in patchy grass and under a dusky lavender sky. your fingers were sore from picking up tiny foil stars and tissue paper confetti— spencer was suppose to help you while the rest of the club mingled inside.

but he ditched.

at this point, you gave up and collapsed into a patio chair, one leg tucked beneath you, sipping lemonade from a small, flimsy styrofoam cup.

your long white sundress, feminine and romantic blew with the small breeze with delicate straps and a neckline just shy of sweet. your kitten heels sat forgotten a few feet away from the porch steps. and your previous blowout fell flat from the humidity, clinging to the sides of your face.

the porch was quiet now, the crickets sang in the bushes and your eyes unfocused. even when there was a small thud from nearby, your rosy lip caught between your lip blissfully unaware.

“s’nice out,” came a voice from the slight shadows.

you blinked. sodapop.

your guess was he jumped the fence, sneaking in.

he walked up to the porch, hands in his pocket. you had barely seen him since the boutique but yet— you didn’t find yourself sitting straighter, tucking your hair behind your ear or licking your lips. you simply looked at him.

“didn’t know anybody was out here,” he added, glancing sideways at you. “figured everyone was inside playing bingo with the mystery meat.”

you let out a small snort before you could help it.

his smile ticked up, just a little. a subtle one, like as if you blinked you’d miss it. “are you good?”

you helped up your cup, “barely.”

“messy hair. no shoes.” he nodded with mock-seriousness. “brave woman.”

you laughed quietly. there was no butterflies, no trembling fingers. you weren’t trying and it all felt so normal, and maybe that’s why for once— it worked.

he didn’t sit beside you, but leaned against the porch railing a few feet away.

he looked at you again, a little longer this time. then, like it just came to him— “i like your dress.”

you blinked. “oh. thanks.”

a pause came over, you were tired. frizzy. and messy. you glanced at your light pink nails wrapped around the cup.

“i thought you thought i was weird,” you said softly.

soda blinked, taken off guard. “what?”

“never mind.” you shook your head, already regretting it.

but he tilted his head, continuing to just.. look at you. then said, “i don’t.”

you looked up, startled by how his voice genuinely sounded so gentle and sincere. but before you could say anything else, charlotte’s voice came from inside, muffled from the walls and hollering your name.

you exhaled, almost disappointed.

“guess i should—”

“see you tomorrow?” he asked.

you looked up at him again, he didn’t smile. not fully. but there was something in his eyes— and it was the look that you’ve been dreaming of since middle school.

you nodded, “yeah. see you.”

and he simply stepped back into the shadows, on his way to cause some trouble. but what you didn’t see— was the quiet, soft smile you got out of him when he turned away.

and then blaire popped out of nowhere, “charlotte’s been looking everywhere for you!”

there was a quiet, lazy smile on your face with flushed cheeks. did you finally do it?

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