#rotate them on a record player | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lupinqs · 19 days ago

Text

CHAPTER NINETEEN ━━ Girls Talk

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 8.9K

❀ ━ warnings: tiny makeout nothing else i dont think

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: only a few more chapters left thank god. also i promise celeste actually is going to serve a purpose lol

JO FEELS THE WEIGHT of everything ahead more in her chest than anywhere else.

It’s not nerves. Not exactly. She’s not nervous heading into the Big East Tournament, not in the way people probably expect her to be. UConn’s handled conference play like a machine, and even when games have been scrappy—when shots haven’t fallen or players have gone down, when the rotation’s been thin and legs have been heavy—there’s never been real doubt. Not about their record, not about their identity. They’ve come out of it undefeated. And even if it’s just the Big East, they’ve done it by work, by belief, by toughness.

Still, Jo doesn’t let herself take anything for granted. It’s not really in her nature to. And it’s definitely not in Geno’s.

He drills it into them constantly—treat every game like it’s the national championship. Doesn’t matter if it’s Xavier on a Wednesday or South Carolina in the tournament. Doesn’t matter if they’re up thirty or down two. They play like it’s for a title. They prepare like it’s for a title. They think like champions. And Jo’s bought into it completely. Maybe even more than she realizes sometimes. But, here’s the thing: she’s doing all this to become a champion. She wants it more than anything.

So today—last practice at Werth before they leave for the tournament—it’s not just another walkthrough. Not to Jo. The gym smells like sweat and floor polish and memory, and everything feels a little more important. She’s locked in from the moment it starts. Not because she’s worried about their chances. Not because this is where it all begins. The push, the run, the stakes.

She loves practice. Loves the rhythm of it, the detail, the way film sessions bleed into reps and everything is purposeful. She loves Geno’s voice barking at them, loves when CD yells to calm down, loves the exhaustion that builds behind her knees after three hours of movement. She loves feeling the shape of her own improvement.

She loves this team.

It’s not just a line, not just some press conference thing to say. It’s real and rooted. She loves these people. The way Nika talks shit and throws no-look passes. The way Aaliyah’s always catches Jo’s dimes, her post work smooth as butter. The way Lou and Dorka have formed this weird, wordless connection like they’ve been playing together their whole lives. The way Aubrey quite literally defies gravity and nobody can box her out no matter how many times opponents try.

And Paige. Of course Paige. Always Paige.

She hasn’t played a second this year and somehow she still feels like the center of everything. That voice. That presence. The way she pulls Jo aside mid or post practice and says something small that can change her perspective on everything. Paige could be the best coach in the country if she wanted to be (well, maybe after Geno), and she’s only twenty-one. Of course, Jo misses the on-court Paige, the one she watched drain dagger threes in clutch time and argue with the refs like no one’s business. But there’s something even scarier—something even more Paige—about the way she’s taken this season and owned it anyway. No self-pity. Just effort. Energy. Leadership.

Her rehab’s going well, too. Jo knows it; she’s with her for a lot of it, actually. Paige moves different now. The bounce is back. The ease. And even if Paige downplays it, Jo watches. She’s always watching. Because she knows next season, Paige is gonna be back out there. And them with that Paige? It’ll be a whole different monster.

But for now, the Big East Tournament is up next, and they’re getting healthy just in time.

Caroline’s back. Everyone’s relieved about it. What she’s been through—the concussion stuff, the weird limbo of recovery, the way she’s had to just sit and wait and not know—it’s brutal. Jo saw it wear on her. The silence in the locker room, the way her laugh dulled, how she’d have to hole herself up in a dark and quiet room because of the pain. But she’s smiling again. Shooting again. And her release looks like it always has—clean and confident.

Azzi’s close, too. Her knee’s held her out for a while now, but the team’s been careful. Not rushing. Playing the long game. Jo’s missed playing with her, missed the gravity she brings, the way defenses panic when Azzi even glances at the arc. Having her back is huge.

And the timing couldn’t be better.

Because after this weekend, the NCAA Tournament is right there. And at UConn, under Geno Auriemma, it’s not about getting there. It’s not even about Final Fours. It’s not about anything less than winning the whole damn thing. Natty or bust. Always. Jo grew up watching that standard. She’s living it now.

They announced the Big East awards this morning. Jo’s still sort of processing it. Not because she doesn’t think she’s earned them. She knows what she’s done. She knows what she’s poured into this season. But to win both Big East Player and Freshman of the Year is rare. Paige was the last to do it.

And she beat out Maddy Siegrist for conference Player of the Year, too, which is slightly insane when she really thinks about it. Siegrist’s been crazy all year. If Jo’s not mistaken she’s actually led the nation in scoring this season. Jo guesses the committee must’ve seen something else in her—something broader. Leadership, maybe. Defense. Playmaking. The little things. The winning. Because UConn’s record is better. The numbers back it up.

First-team All-Big East. That’s her, Aaliyah, and Lou. Dorka and Nika made Second-team, and Nika got Defensive Player of the Year. Aaliyah is Most Improved.

Even with the team being so injured, it’s a sweep. And Jo’s proud of all of it. She really is. But she’s not floating. Not celebrating. Not letting it really settle in her head at all.

Because the job’s not done.

None of the awards matter if they lose in the Big East championship (they won’t). None of it means anything if they flame out in the Sweet Sixteen. No one remembers the accolades of you don’t back them up when it counts. Jo knows that.

Which is why she went so hard in practice today. And then, afterwards, when she stayed with Paige in the gym for extra work like they’ve done for months now. Shooting, handles, that kinda thing.

Which is why Jo is now dying.

Like—not metaphorically, not in the dramatic, attention-seeking way she sometimes jokingly pulls after sprints when Nika’s yelling at her to stop flopping around. No, this feels different. This is the kind of dying where her legs are jelly, her lungs are still catching up from the extra shooting drills, and there’s an honest, sincere moment where she thinks, Okay, maybe I should’ve stopped twenty minutes ago before Paige made me do that third round of one-dribble pull-ups.

But it’s not like she could’ve said no. She never says no. Not when it’s Paige asking. Not when it’s just the two of them, the gum quiet except for sneakers squeaking, rebounding for each other the way they’ve done all season. It doesn’t even feel like extra work anymore. It feels like something else. Just something they do.

But now Jo is laid flat across the locker room bench like a corpse, one arm flopped dramatically over her stomach, the other curled at her side. She’s still sweating through her practice tee, her face damp, chest rising and falling with shallow, almost theatrical breaths. Paige sits next to her, with Jo’s head is pillowed in her lap. Her fingers are dragging gently through Jo’s hair, smoothing it back behind her ears. The locker room is empty but for the two of them.

Jo doesn’t open her eyes, but she knows Paige is staring down at her. She feels it. The weighted, blue gaze that makes the air buzz against her cheekbones. Her whole body feels heavy and sort of floaty at the same time, like her bones are dissolving right into Paige’s lap.

“You did good today,” Paige murmurs, voice quiet and warm and a little scratchy. “Real proud.”

Jo groans immediately, a low, pained sound that comes straight from her gut. “No. It killed me. I’m dying.”

She doesn’t even try to sound tough. What’s the point? Paige saw her gasping for air after the last few shooting sets. Saw her grimacing through the last of the sprints, hands on her knees, dripping sweat. Jo’s not entirely above playing it up a little with Paige, either—just for sympathy, a little attention. It earns her more of Paige’s hand in her hair, fingers dragging down to scratch lightly at her scalp. It feels good.

Paige laughs softly. It’s more of a huff through her nose, but it’s affectionate and Jo hears the smile in it.

“Well,” Paige replies, clearly amused, “at least you look good dying.”

That gets Jo to crack one eye open. Just barely. The locker room is blurry at first, but Paige’s face is sharp and glowing in the center of it. That stupid little grin on her lips. The teasing glint in her eyes. And she’s looking at Jo like she always does—like Jo is hers and Paige is still not sure how it happened but she’s not complaining about it.

Jo swallows and reaches up without thinking, hand curling around the back of Paige’s neck. Her palm is clammy, but Paige doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away.

“C’mere,” Jo mutters, voice hoarse and low, tugging gently.

She means it. She’s trying to pull Paige down for a kiss, make some kind of reward out of this moment, because she’s certainly earned it after all the buckets and the defense and the sprinting and the dying.

Paige leans forward with it but doesn’t get close enough at all. She laughs again. “Baby,” she says, “my back doesn’t bend that way.”

Baby.

It’s such a small word. Barely there. Tossed out like nothing. But it explodes in Jo’s chest like a firework. She doesn’t show it, but she feels it.

Paige doesn’t call her that often. Usually it’s Joey in that fond voice, or the God-awful JoJo nickname in a teasing way. But when she does call her that—when she says it in that low, almost lazy voice, like Jo is some kind of secret she’s been keeping close—it makes Jo feel warm. Claimed. Like they’re more than something without a name.

They haven’t talked about it. Not officially. Not really. They act like a couple. They kiss and fuck like one, too. But they don’t say what it all means. Jo’s been too scared to ask. Paige has never been in an actual relationship and Jo’s last one ended in the worst way they can. So, she’s got no spine about it, and she knows it.

She keeps telling herself she’s fine with it. That it doesn’t matter. That it feels real, and that’s enough.

Instead of thinking anymore about it, Jo just groans again and shifts, using what little strength she has left to sit up slightly, just enough to reach Paige properly this time. Her face is close now. Close enough to kiss.

And so she doesn’t show.

No words, just action. Just Jo leaning in and pressing her mouth against Paige’s like it’s the most obvious next step. Because it is. Because Paige called her baby, and Jo’s brain short-circuited, and now she’s just following instinct.

The kiss deepens, and Jo chases it—leans into it like she’s leaning into a cut to the rim, like there’s no stopping, no pivoting away. Paige opens her mouth a little and Jo takes full advantage, tongue slipping in. There’s this noise that Paige makes then—tiny, caught in the back of her throat—that makes Jo’s stomach flip violently.

Jo’s still sort of half on the bench, half off it, one knee digging into the vinyl cushion. But then Paige shifts, her hands sliding down Jo’s ribs. Jo moves with them, body rearranging in the space. She ends up straddling Paige’s lap, her arms around her neck, their chests pressed together. The sweat cooling on her skin makes her shirt cling awkwardly in places, but she doesn’t care. Doesn’t even notice.

All she notices is Paige’s hands splayed on her back, fingers warm and patient, one curling into the hem of Jo’s shirt, brushing soft over bare skin. She notices the way Paige kisses her like she means it, tongue licking into Jo’s mouth.

Jo tilts her head, parting her lips wider, pushing deeper. Paige tastes like minty gum and the Gatorade she had at the end of practice and something that’s just Paige. It’s addicting. She doesn’t even care if her legs are still trembling or if her heart’s beating like it’s trying to hammer through her ribs.

She lets out a breath against Paige’s cheek, nuzzling into the edge of her jaw for just a second. “Jesus,” she whispers.

“Mm?” Paige murmurs, eyes fluttering half open.

“You trying to kill me?” Jo asks, voice teasing, but not entirely joking.

Paige smirks, pulling her even closer. “Thought you were already dying.”

Jo huffs a breath that turns into a laugh and kisses her again, harder now, hand tangling in Paige’s hoodie collar as if she could disappear into her if she just pulled hard enough.

She settles her weight fully in Paige’s lap, thighs bracketing her hips, breath catching a little when Paige’s hands shift lower, palming at her ass through her basketball shorts.

It’s perfect. It’s theirs. Other than right before bed, they hardly ever get this—not really. Not with time and space and no one around to ruin it. It’s rare, this kind of peace and quiet.

Which is, of course, when the door swings open.

They jump apart like they’ve been tasered.

Jo’s whole body jolts, heart plummeting as her eyes fly to the door. Paige curses under her breath, her hands leaving Jo’s ass like it burned her. Jo scrambles to move, to shift off Paige’s lap and find something approaching decency, even though it’s so fucking obvious what was happening.

And standing in the doorway is Celeste Sinclair. Red hair tied into a low ponytail, camera bag slung over one shoulder, UConn hoodie riding up a little on one side like she’s been rushing. She freezes when she sees them. Her eyebrows lift. Her eyes do this weird, flicking double-take that makes Jo want to crawl out of her skin.

It’s only a second. Maybe two.

But Jo can feel it—feel the calculus happening behind Celeste’s eyes. The math of it. Jo sitting in Paige’s lap. Lips probably still pink and swollen. Paige’s hands still halfway in the air.

“Sorry,” Celeste says, voice clipped and a little too sharp. Then, slower, eyes lingering—just for a second too long—on Paige, “Um. Sorry. I’ll just… go.”

She doesn’t look at Jo again. Just turns and walks back out the door, the sound of it clicking shut behind her deafening.

Jo exhales, breath rattling in her chest. She’s still kneeling on the bench, one foot on the floor, legs shaking a little from effort and adrenaline. Her hands are braces on her thighs like she needs to steady herself.

“Shit,” she mumbles.

There goes that secret.

She shifts off Paige’s lap entirely now, settling next to her on the bench. Not touching. Her skin suddenly feels too warm, like her body hasn’t caught up to the fact that they’re not making out anymore. Her heart won’t slow down.

Paige groans beside her, dragging a hand down her face. “God,” she mutters. “Of all people.”

Jo glances sideways. “You think she’ll say anything?”

Paige’s jaw tenses. She shakes her head like she’s not sure. “I should go—talk to her. Make sure she doesn’t.”

Jo just nods. Because, yeah, that needs to happen. No one knows about them. Not Azzi. Not Ice. Not Aubrey. Not Caroline. Not Geno. Not CD. Not anyone. And they’ve liked it that way. It’s been theirs, in the quiet between games and the sweat between practices. It hasn’t gotten messy because it’s been private.

She’s about to say something when Paige leans in, gentle again, a hand lifting to Jo’s cheek. She kisses her once, quick, a quiet reassurance.

“Be right back,” she murmurs, then stands and walks out, hoodie sleeves pushed up, bun slightly messed up because of Jo’s hands.

Jo stays there, alone on the bench.

And all she can think is: Well, shit. Cover’s blown.

PAIGE WALKS FAST.

Not running, but almost. Her sneakers are too loud against the hallway tile, the slap of rubber echoing in the quiet post-practice stillness of the facility. It’s always like this when they’re the last ones in the gym—quiet in a way that feels peaceful. But not now. Now, her stomach is doing somersaults and her chest is tight like she just did suicides.

She doesn’t even fully know what she’s about to say. She just knows she has to catch Celeste before she leaves, has to do something to shut it down before it becomes a thing. Before anyone else finds out. Because as much as she doesn’t want to hide Jo, it’s not like they’ve really had a conversation about any of this. What they are, what they’re doing. It’s just been… them. In pieces. In stolen time. Quiet. Private. Safe.

So, when she sees that familiar red ponytail swaying down the hallway ahead of her, her voice cuts through before she even decides what to say.

“Celeste.”

The girl stops—slowly. Turns around even slower. There’s something in her eyes, sharp and tired at the same time.

“What?” she asks flatly. Like she’s bored. Like Paige has already wasted her time.

Paige blanches. Her body keeps moving, but her brain just stalls out. She wasn’t expecting that tone. That edge. Celeste has always been a little cocky, yeah, a little smug, but never cold. Never even really annoyed.

Paige stops a few feet away, mouth opening and closing once, then again. Her hands twitch awkwardly at her sides. She doesn’t know if she should smile, be casual, be direct, be defensive. All of it feels wrong.

“Um,” she starts. “I—about what you saw…”

Celeste tilts her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “What, you and Jo Jacobson—your puppy-eyed freshman teammate—about to fuck in the locker room?”

Paige’s brows lift like she’s been physically smacked. “Jesus, bro,” she says automatically, startled and stumbling. “We were not about to fuck in there.”

And that part is true. They weren’t. That wasn’t the point of it. They were just—well, okay, they were definitely making out, but it wasn’t like that. But Celeste is staring her down with something curled and bitter in her bright green eyes, like she doesn’t believe a single word coming out of Paige’s mouth.

“Sure looked like it,” Celeste mutters.

Paige sighs hard and runs a hand down her face, dragging it along her jaw. There’s sweat still crusted under her nails from the extra reps with Jo. Despite hardly practicing, just doing the little things she can, her body is tired. Her heart is loud. Her patience is frayed.

“Okay,” she says, “I just—can you please keep whatever you thought you saw to yourself? Please?”

Celeste stares at her for a beat. Then she laughs—but it’s not a real laugh. It’s short and humorless, more of a bark than anything else. Her eyes flick to the floor, then back up, and she nods slowly. Mockingly.

“Oh, you wanna keep her a secret?” she concludes, mouth twitching at the corners. “Like you kept me a secret?”

Paige’s stomach lurches, because—what?

She blinks, feels her throat close up. That doesn’t even make sense. That’s not even close to how it went. But Celeste’s expression doesn’t shift—she’s still got that sharpness to her face, like she’s trying to see how deep she can twist the knife. Like she means to get under Paige’s skin.

“Bro,” Paige says again, brows pulling together. Her voice is still calm, but there’s disbelief under it now. “It wasn’t even like that with us.”

Because it wasn’t. They were never anything even remotely close to real. They hooked up a good amount, yes. There were a couple times when they were so drunk it would result in a sleepover. And, over the summer, sometimes Paige would flirt with her during her media duties. But they never even went on a date. Never saw each other outside of necessity with basketball or in bed. Celeste flirted all the time, yeah, still sort of does, but Paige never encouraged anything beyond physical. She made that line clear.

Celeste scoffs—loud, exaggerated—and looks away like she’s trying not to roll her eyes straight into the back of her skull. “Right.”

Paige takes a breath. It’s one of those sharp, tight ones that hits her ribs in the way down and doesn’t quite go all the way. Like her body won’t let her breathe easy until she figures out how the fuck this whole thing went from “whoops, we got caught kissing” to blackmail threat from a bitter ex situationship. Which is just great. Wonderful. Just what she needed on top of an aching knee, exhausting rehab, and a tournament she’s not even playing in yet beyond anxious for.

Tentatively, she tries, “Are you mad because I told you to stop texting me?”

It’s not accusatory, just curious. It makes sense—this being less about what Celeste saw and more about how she felt when Paige fully pulled the plug on them (which, for the record, they never even were a them). Last month, the texts had started up again—some related to media shit, yeah( but some that were just… kinda obvious. “What’re you up to tonight?” “Want to come over?” “Miss your face.” Stuff that had I’m still thinking about you naked as the entrée but also with a side order of maybe I want to hang out and talk, too.

And Paige had shut it down. Nicely. But firmly. Because even if she and Jo aren’t official, even if they haven’t labeled anything or had the talk—Paige knows exactly where her head’s at. She doesn’t want anyone else. Not even a little bit. Not ever.

Celeste narrows her eyes. “You are so smart, Paige,” she says sarcastically, before sighing. “I thought we were friends outside of the fucking. You made it seem like you liked me. Like you saw more than just one of the team’s Instagram admins.”

That hits Paige in a way she wasn’t exactly prepared for. Because Celeste sounds genuinely hurt now, not just defensive. It’s different. Real. And, yeah, okay—maybe there was a time where she leaned in too much. Maybe her being nice looks a lot like flirting if you don’t know her well enough. Paige has always been told she gives confusing signals. Too much eye contact. Too much laughing. Too much attention.

But it was never intentional. And it definitely wasn’t a promise.

Still, she softens, just a little. “I’m sorry ’bout that,” Paige says, and she means it.

Celeste scoffs again and repeats, “Right.”

And then she adds, tossing it out like a rock through a window, “I wonder what the coaching staff would think about two of their players fucking around this late in the season. Hm.”

Paige’s stomach drops. She hears her own heartbeat in her ears and her mind immediately starts running worse-case scenarios.

What would Geno say? Or CD? Or Jamelle?

Would they be pissed? Would they make them stop? Would it be a whole thing? Would the narrative become that they’re distractions to each other? Would Jo get blamed for it, even though Jo has literally never done a selfish thing in her life? Would there be whispers about the team dynamic being thrown off, even if it’s not true? Would the postseason get tainted by this?

She doesn’t know the answer to any of those questions. And she doesn’t want to.

“Celeste, c’mon,” Paige says, and there’s an edge of urgency to her voice now. She drops the posture, the tension in her jaw. Just puts it out there, raw and real. “Don’t say anything. Please.”

Celeste takes a step forward. “Why should I do anything for you?” she asks, voice cold. “Or, for that matter,” she adds, gesturing toward the locker room with a flick of her fingers, “your little bitch in there? I don’t owe either of you anything.”

There it is. The moment something shifts in Paige, a snap.

Because Jo is not a bitch.

Jo is all soft t-shirts and messy buns and shy smiles. Jo is late-night ice cream runs and twirling her pen in her mouth while she takes film notes. Jo is bright pink lip gloss and knee pads and unrelenting kindness, even when she’s bone-tired. Jo is the person Paige reaches for without even realizing it. The person who laughs at all her jokes and hums when she’s thinking and flushes when Paige calls her baby.

Jo is everything. Jo is hers. Not exactly in a claiming, possessive way. More in a I’ll protect this girl with my entire fucking chest If I have to way.

And Celeste Sinclair doesn’t get to talk about her like that.

Paige steps forward, looks down at the redhead steadily, showers set. “Don’t,” she says, low and controlled.

The word hangs there between them. It’s not loud, not even really forceful. Just steady. It lands like a stone dropped into water—clean, deep, no ripple.

For a second, something in Celeste’s expression flickers. Her mouth parts just slightly, like maybe she’s going to double down, say something cruel again, make this even messier. Paige holds her ground, doesn’t move a muscle. Her jaw is tight and she kisses her teeth.

Celeste shifts a little on her feet. Her shoulders relax just slightly, eyes sliding down Paige’s frame slowly. Almost like she’s assessing. There’s more behind it than just annoyance. Her lips curve—not all the way into a smile, but something close.

“You know,” she says, voice low now. Different tone entirely, like she flipped a switch. She leans closer. “I gotta say… you’re kinda hot when you’re pissed, Paige.”

Paige blinks. She genuinely almost laughs in the girl’s face at how utterly ridiculous it is. Are they not adults now? Sure, Paige can be childish sometimes but this is insane. There’s no way—no way—Celeste is actually doing this right now. Not after threatening to rat her out. Not after calling Jo a bitch. Not when Paige is standing here one wrong move away from a full-blown crash-out.

“Are you serious?” Paige asks in disbelief. “You just went from threatening me to—what? Hitting on me again?”

Celeste shrugs, all fake nonchalance. “I mean… I can still want you and be mad at you. Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Paige makes a face—is this girl bipolar or something? Sure seems like it.

The blonde shakes her head slowly. “You don’t get to flirt your way outta this.”

“I’m not trying to flirt my way out of anything,” Celeste replies, stepping back half a foot, but her tone still has that same slanted heat to it. “Just saying… maybe if you’d handled things differently, we wouldn’t be out here right now.”

That pisses Paige off in a different way. The insinuation that Celeste is the victim here just because Paige didn’t fall into some situationship she never wanted in the first place.

“I handled it the way I had to,” Paige says, firm. “I wasn’t tryna be a dick, ‘kay? I thought I was clear. I didn’t want more with you. That’s not personal. But I’m not gonna apologize for not wantin’ something I didn’t want.”

Celeste watches her for a long second, fiery green eyes flicking across Paige’s face. Then, her arms drop to her sides, some of the tension leaving her. Like the mask has been peeled off, or at least tilted.

“You really like her, huh?” she asks, quieter now.

“Yeah,” Paige says immediately, simply. Because there’s no question to it. “I do.”

Celeste nods once. Looks away, then back. Her mouth is a tight line now.

“I’m not gonna say anything,” she mutters. “Alright?”

Paige exhales. It’s not fully relief, but it’s close. “Thank you,” she says, cautious but real.

“Don’t thank me,” Celeste mutters, already turning. “I’m not doing it for you.”

She walks away without another word.

Paige watches her go, heart still beating a little too fast. She doesn’t move for a moment. Just stands there, staring at the spot where Celeste disappears around the corner. She doesn’t trust her. Not all the way. Not even mostly. There’s a chance this could still blow up later, or get messy, or turn into a headache down the line. But for now, it’s done. It has to be.

She scrubs a hand down her face. Turns on her heel.

And heads back toward the locker room.

THE ROOM SMELLS like garlic bread and takeout containers and the lingering sharpness of victory, all tangled into one heady mix that buzzes around Paige’s ears. The TV’s on low—some men’s game they’re hardly even watching—and everyone’s talking over each other anyway. The hotel room’s packed, the way it always gets when they congregate after a win, girls half-sitting, half-sprawled across mismatched furniture and the carpet, containers of different pastas balanced on paper plates and knees.

It’s warm. Not from the heat, but from the closeness, the full-body kind that comes after a weekend of playing your heart out and winning, again, like they always do. Big East Tournament champs. Shocker.

Still. It’s step toward the real goal, and Paige is proud of her girls.

Paige sits on the bed she’s claimed as hers (her and Aubrey are sharing a room in Uncasville this weekend), her back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of her. Jo’s right beside her, cross-legged, the hem of her shorts brushing Paige’s thigh when she shifts to dig around in her pasta container. Paige can feel the heat of her through the thin cotton of her sweats. She fights the urge to just look over at the brunette and stare.

Their teammates still don’t know. Celeste has been quiet since that day outside the locker room. No threats, no passive-aggressive commentary tossed into conversation. Paige is grateful for it, but the anxiety hasn’t completely dulled. She’s still not convinced the redhead won’t change her mind, especially if something rubs her the wrong way. So for now, Paige is doing her best to act normal. No brushing hands under tables, no lingering glances across shootaround, no reasons for anyone to ask questions.

But then she glances at Jo, and there’s a tiny bit of gold confetti tangled in her hair—caught behind her ear, near the roots. Leftover from the trophy ceremony earlier, when they were throwing confetti all over each other. Paige blinks at it. Doesn’t even think, really. She just reaches.

Her fingers brush against Jo’s hair, slow, tugging the shiny piece free. Jo doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch or ask what she’s doing or turn her head. She just keeps twirling her plastic fork around a bite of pasta, like Paige’s hand in her hair is the most natural thing in the world. She tucks the confetti between her fingers and lets her hand fall back into her lap.

“Try this,” Jo says, out of nowhere, holding her fork up with a twist of unfamiliar pasta on the end “You’re gonna like it.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “That’s what you said about the gnocchi balls last week.”

Jo says, “Those were good.”

“No, they weren’t,” Paige argues, grinning a little.

Jo gives her a look. “C’mon, just take the bite.” She leans over, offers her the fork. Paige’s brain doesn’t even think about—oh, maybe it’s a little incriminating for a teammate to be feeding another teammate food if you’re trying to lay low about said teammate and yours relationship—instead, she just opens her mouth, lets Jo feed her the pasta. Clearly, she’s not very good at acting normal with Jo.

“Oh,” Paige says, chewing. It’s good, like really fucking good. “Yeah, okay.”

Jo grins and goes back to her container, satisfied.

Paige glances at her again—at her cheeks a little flushed from the heat of the crowded room, at the soft curve of her mouth when she bites into her next forkful. Jo’s in her warm-up jacket, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, hair in a messy bun that’s mostly falling out. She smells faintly like hotel soap and that strawberry body spray she keeps in her locker.

Paige swallows hard, looking back down at her own food.

And misses the way Nika and Azzi are both watching her.

Or, well, watching them.

Across the room, Nika leans in close to Azzi and whispers something behind her hand. Azzi raises her eyebrows, very slightly, and then presses her lips together in the world’s most obvious attempt at acting normal. Paige doesn’t notice it. She’s too busy stabbing a piece of chicken parm and pretending her mouth isn’t still warm from the fork Jo fed her with.

Her head buzzes a little. From the food, maybe. From the win. From the feeling of Jo’s knee against her thigh again. From how careful she’s trying to be, and how hard it is to not look at Jo the way she wants to, the way that comes natural to her. It’s always easier when it’s just the two of them. But out here, with the whole team packed into the room, she has to be a little more careful—she’s determined to be.

(She’s not very good at it.)

She bites into a cold breadstick. Forces herself to pay attention to Lili’s rant about the lack of sleep she got last night due to Yanna snoring like a man in their room.

Eventually, Paige finishes the last bite of her chicken parmesan, plastic fork scraping softly against the bottom of the takeout container. She lets out a sigh as she leans over and sets the empty box on the hotel nightstand. She glances to her right, where Jo’s listening to Ines yap about God knows what, her accent sharper than usual. Jo’s not eating anymore, her container of pasta sitting untouched in her lap, her fork abandoned to the side, fully focused on Ines, mouth curled up slightly in the corners in that soft way she gets when she’s genuinely amused.

Paige nudges her with her elbow. “You done?” she asks, nodding toward the food.

Jo doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. She just hands the container over wordlessly, knowing Paige well enough by now to read the question for what it really is: Can I finish it?

Paige grins. This pasta is good—creamy and buttery and wildly overpriced, but still.

At the end of the bed, Ice notices the hand-off and snorts. “Fatass.”

Paige doesn’t even look up. She just stretches her leg out, kicking Ice square in the shin, still grinning as she shovels another bite into her mouth. “Shut up,” she says around a mouthful of pasta, completely unbothered.

Paige keeps eating wordlessly, occasionally listening to the several different conversations around her and thinking about the weekend. Three games in three days. Lili was incredible in the post, Nika her normal defensive menace. Jo, per usual, balled out, dropping three twenty-plus point games easy. She was named MVP.

Paige played her role, too—Coach P, hyping the girls up, arguing with the refs for them, the usual agenda for her bench role.

She’s really proud of the whole team. Back in August, when she tore her ACL, so many people doubted them, thought they wouldn’t be able to get by without her. But they’ve done it, and they’ve done it well. It’s all building toward the real thing they all want. And, tonight, they get to feel it a little. The calm before the madness of March truly hits.

She takes another bite of pasta, leaning back into the headboard, letting herself enjoy it. This is one of those rare little pockets of peace. Warm, crowded hotel room. Her people. Good food. And Jo right beside her.

As Ines tells her story, half the room engaged, half the room sprawled and tired, Paige notices Jo moving. She scoots just a bit closer, like gravity’s pulling her in, her head tilting before dropping right into Paige’s shoulder.

Paige tenses a little, even though it could be passed off as an entirely friendly gesture. Best friends do stuff like this.

She glances down, eyes flicking toward Jo’s face. Jo’s not looking back. She’s just resting there, body soft and still, eyes focused on Ines. But the closer Paige looks, the more she sees the little tells—how her eyelids are lower than usual, her whole body loose in that way that only happens when she’s too tired to keep herself upright. Her hand rests lightly on her stomach, and her breathing’s already slowing. She’s exhausted.

Which makes sense. Paige saw the numbers after the game—Jo led the team in minutes, barely came off the floor all weekend. She was everywhere, doing everything. And Paige is proud. She wants to wrap her arms around her and say it straight into her neck. Wants to say, you were the best player in the building all weekend and I’m sort-of in love with you for it. But, obviously, she can’t here and now.

Quickly, though, the room starts to thin out. Everyone’s full, sleepy, the kind of tired that settles into your bones after a weekend of adrenaline and back-to-back games and nonstop noise. Caroline stands first, stretching with a groan.

“Okay, time for bed,” she says, rubbing at her face and grabbing her phone off the edge of Aubrey’s bed.

“Yup,” Aaliyah immediately says from her spot on the couch, already halfway out of the blanket cocoon she made. “I need my eight hours tonight.”

“Bro, you never get eight hours,” Yanna mumbles as she pulls herself off the floor, and Ines nods in solidarity, reaching for her shoes.

“Facts,” Ice adds, unplugging her phone charger from the wall.

It’s a chorus of tired bodies and half-laughs and sleepy groans as everyone starts collecting their things. Paige’s eyes flick over them out of habit, but mostly they stay locked on Jo. Not even on purpose, really. It’s just automatic at this point, how her gaze always finds her. Like her body notices the space Jo takes up in a room before her brain does.

Jo sits up with a quiet sigh, and Paige watches her rub her eyes with the heel of her palm like a little kid. Her voice comes out low, a little croaky with fatigue. “Yeah, I need sleep.”

Paige doesn’t say anything, just watches her move. Watches the way Jo pulls her sweatshirt over her head, stretching just enough to make her shirt lift up a little. The movement is barely anything, completely unremarkable, but Paige still tracks it—eyes dragging slowly, lazily, like she doesn’t even mean to.

Jo turns toward her. She gives her a smile—tiny, barely-there, soft—and pinches her right on the underside of her arm. Not hard, but not gentle either. Just enough to make her flinch.

“Ow,” Paige says, squinting and rubbing the spot.

Jo grins, standing and reaching down to grab her phone and its charger where they’re laying on the floor. “Night,” she says, before leaning into Azzi’s side hug, wrapping an arm briefly around her shoulders.

And then she’s walking out with the rest of the girls, slipping into the hallway with a quiet goodnight.

And Paige is a little bothered about it. She wants to sleep next to Jo tonight. She’s used to it by now, the nights at home default because they live together, and the schemes for away games when they switch with Dorka and Ice.

But they have new hotel roommates for the post season, random room assignments they didn’t even get to rig. And they’re supposed to be acting lowkey right now, so they didn’t try to switch.

They’re doing a terrible job at it apparently.

Because the door clicks shut behind Ice, and now it’s just Paige and Aubrey—since it’s their room—and Azzi and Nika, who haven’t moved. Paige glances over, confused when she catches the way they’re both looking at her: expectant, suspicious. Like they know something.

“What?” she asks, standing up, stretching slightly before she bends to gather her and Jo’s takeout containers into one stack.

She walks over, tosses them into the little trash can. They watch her the whole time. And then Nika snorts. Paige hears it before she sees the grin. That little smirk of hers always gives her away.

“Bro,” the Croatian girl says, “how long have you and Jo been a thing?”

Paige chokes. Literally. On nothing. Just inhales wrong on pure panic and starts coughing like she swallowed her own tongue.

Aubrey bursts out laughing immediately, leaning over from her bed to smack Paige on the back. “You got it,” she says between giggles, like this is the funniest thing she’s ever seen.

Paige pulls away from her, still coughing, face warm now for a completely different reason. “I—what—what’re you even talking about?” she asks, voice rough.

Nika raises both her eyebrows, unimpressed. Azzi leans forward now, too, arms crossed, expression unreadable in that calm way she gets when she’s not buying your shit.

“Jo and I aren’t a thing,” Paige says, more weakly this time, and she hears it in her own voice—how flimsy it sounds. How not believable. She wants to crawl inside herself and disappear.

Azzi doesn’t blink. “Paige, please. We’re not stupid.”

“We’re your best friends,” Nika adds, like it’s the simplest fact in the world. “We know you.”

“Mhm,” Aubrey hums from her bed, not even looking up from the text she’s typing.

Paige stands there, trying to figure out how the hell she’s supposed to lie her way out of this right now. Because the three of them are looking at her like they already know—not like they’re guessing. Like they’re just waiting for her to stop denying.

She opens her mouth again. “We’re not—” she says. And then stops.

Because, with the way they’re staring at her, she already knows this will be a losing battle. So, what’s the point?

She sinks into the bed like her bones have been replaced with sandbags, back hitting the headboard. Her stomach’s full, but her chest feels like it’s slowly caving in. Like someone cracked it open and left the door swinging.

She’s never been good at hiding things from her friends—or anyone, really—but she thought she was doing better than this. Apparently not.

She stares at the wall across the room for a second, then drops her eyes to her lap, the edge of the blanket twisted in her fingers.

“How’d you know?” she asks finally. “Did Celeste tell you?”

Nika makes a face, wrinkling her nose. “Why would Celeste Sinclair tell us?”

There’s a pause, and then Azzi, always fast, always surgical with her intuition, cuts in, “Does Celeste know?”

Paige’s head snaps up. “I—no,” she denies fast, shaking her head before Azzi can press it. “She doesn’t. Just—just tell me. How’d you figure it out?”

Azzi gives her this look, like she’s almost insulted it wasn’t obvious to Paige herself. Then she says, flatly, “Well, for starters, you literally told Aubrey and I that you liked her in October.”

That makes Paige groan, head titling back against the headboard, eyes closed.

“Can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Nika mutters.

“You weren’t there that night for the crash out,” Paige says, waving a hand at her, like that explains everything—which, to her, it definitely does.

That night is seared into her brain like a tattoo. She remembers everything—the quiet guilt, the post-sex clarity, how fast her chest filled with panic. Celeste’s skin still warm under her hands when she realized she didn’t want this, didn’t want her. That she’d been trying to outrun a feeling that had already caught her. Jo. She’d left quickly, rushing to Aubrey’s apartment at two in the fucking morning, still smelling like Celeste and half-hating herself. Azzi had been there, too. She’d confessed like she was throwing up.

It was a mess. She was a mess.

(She’s better now. Mostly. Not spiraling as much. Not fucking people just to forget she wants someone else.)

“You were so miserable after you realized and told us,” Azzi says now, her tone gentler, doe eyes soft. “Especially when her ex was in town. And then, once they broke up, you, like… stopped being your miserable mopey self you’d been.”

“Exactly,” Nika says, nodding. “So, how long’s it been goin’ on?”

Paige hesitates. She glances between the three of them. Azzi’s sitting across from Paige’s bed on one of the chairs, fingers curls around one of her socks like she’s waiting to pull it off but got distracted by drama. Aubrey’s stretched out on her bed, knees bent, brows raised, very much amused. Nika’s on the floor, leant back against the dresser, legs sprawled out like she’s ready to stay as long as it takes.

They’re her people. They always have been. Even if she wanted to lie, she wouldn’t be able to. They already know.

So, Paige caves.

She exhales hard through her nose, mouth twitching, and says, “Okay, uh—we kissed for the first time when I went on that ski trip with her family for Christmas—”

“Bro, that was, like, right after her and that guy broke up!” Nika exclaims, sitting up straighter like she’s caught a scandal.

“Stop,” Paige says quickly, not even looking at her. “Don’t—don’t bring him up.”

Because it stings. Still. Not in the way it used to, not in that sharp, jealous way that kept her up at night—but in a deeper, quieter way now. Because it makes her wonder sometimes if she was just the warm body next to Asher. If Jo kisses her because she was close and safe and already there. But Jo never made her feel like that. Not once. And that was months ago now.

Paige shakes her head a little and keeps going. “Anyways. We kissed there. And then we talked ’bout it. And then it kinda became a ‘best friends who make out and cuddle but aren’t dating’ typa situation.”

Aubrey’s expression says obviously.

Paige scratches the back of her neck. “And then we fucked for the first time after the Tennessee game.”

Azzi blinks. “Wait—after she hurt her ankle?”

Aubrey makes a noise of disbelief, eyebrows shooting up.

“Her ankle was fine!” Paige defends. “She said it was fine, I didn’t—like—I didn’t pressure her or anything. It was a mutual, fully healed-up, consensual ankle situation.”

The other three start laughing. Paige lets them. Because whatever. It was fine. She’s not explaining the post-game hotel room events. No one needs to know Jo had ice on her ankle while they were fucking. Not relevant.

Azzi recovers first, her tone shifting a little, more curious than teasing now. “So… what are you guys now?”

That stops Paige. She looks down at her hands, fingers curling over the blanket again. It’s the question she’s been dodging in her own head.

“Nothing official,” she finally answers. “But we’re not seein’ anyone else. And it—it feels real.”

The word hangs there. Real.

Because it does. It’s not some high school fling or college situationship. It’s not an impulsive rebound or a secret thing they pretend doesn’t matter. It’s brushing teeth next to each other. It’s cooking together (or, well, usually DoorDashing, actually). It’s wearing each other’s clothes. It’s looking at each other like they’re already theirs.

“And we’re always together,” Paige says, softer now. “And I—I’ve never been in an actual relationship, but it… seems to be goin’ in that direction. If we ever actually talk about it.”

She lets that hang in the air, watching how the three of them take it in.

Azzi nods thoughtfully before locking eyes with Paige. “D’you want her to be your girlfriend?” she asks, voice soft like she’s being careful not to spook her.

With this answer, Paige doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

The word is out of her mouth before she has a chance to second guess it, and the moment it’s hanging in the room, she kind of wants to pull it back, like she’s said too much, like it cracked something open inside her she wasn’t ready for.

Because of course she wants that. Of course she wants Jo. Wants to walk into practice without pretending that she didn’t fall asleep the night before with Jo’s hand under her shirt and her leg slung across Paige’s thigh. Wants to kiss her in public. Wants to hold her hand when she’s anxious. Wants to introduce her to people as her girlfriend and not have to glance at her first, like is that okay? are we okay?

But even saying it—yes—feels like walking a tightrope. Like admitting too much too soon. Like if she gets too close to the truth of how much she feels, it’ll all unravel.

Azzi tilts her head, studying her. “Are you gonna ask her?”

Paige blows out a breath and scrubs a palm down her face. “I—I’mma figure it out, okay?” she says, voice quieter now. “After the tournament.”

And that’s the truth. That’s the only way she can even frame it in her mind without worrying. There’s a wall around this time of year—March is sacred, locked in—and they all know it. It’s tunnel vision now. There’s no space for messiness or what-ifs or fragile beginnings that might fall apart if they get poked too hard.

This is what they’ve worked all season for. This is what everything’s about. And as much as Jo matters—more than anything—Paige can’t risk letting her head drift too far from the game.

Azzi, Nika, and Aubrey all nod at that, agreeing. It’s better to leave the big emotional swings for later. Win first. Figure it out after. Priorities.

But then Nika turns her head, eyes narrowing a little, not harsh—just quiet. Just a little hurt. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Paige’s stomach twists. That question hits lower than the others. It’s not accusing, exactly, but it lands heavily. Because these are her best friends, and she kept it from them.

She sighs again, her body sagging forward slightly as she leans her forearms on her knees, staring at the comforter. She doesn’t know how to make them understand without sounding like she’s trying to justify hiding it. That was never the point.

“It wasn’t about not telling you,” Paige says finally. “It was about us figurin’ things out first—which, we haven’t. Not really.”

She looks up at them, trying to keep her voice even, steady, like she means it all and wants them to believe her.

“We’re in the most important part of the season,” she says. “And we were scared that if something happened, it might mess with the team. Like, the vibe, the chemistry—all of it. And I don’t even wanna know what Coach or CD or the rest of the staff would say or think. We just wanted everyone to focus on March. Focus on what we’re all here for. And figure everything else out after.”

The last word ends with a kind of finality. After. Like there’s a promised world waiting for them just past the edge of April. Where they can breathe. Where they don’t have to hide.

Azzi nods slowly. Aubrey crosses her arms over her stomach and leans her head back against the wall. Nika drops her gaze to the carpet, thoughtful, chewing at the inside of her cheek.

They get it. They don’t have to say they do—Paige can tell. They’re not pushing her anymore. Because, at the end of the way, they’re ball players before anything else. They know what the stakes are.

Paige shifts a little on the bed and looks at them again, voice softer. “Can you guys not tell Jo that you know?” she asks.

Azzi furrows her brows. “Why? Why more secrets?”

Paige shakes her head, quick, already hearing how it sounds—paranoid, dramatic, unnecessary. But it’s not. Not to her.

“Because I think she’ll freak out if she knows,” she says honestly. “At least, right now. You know how anxious she gets. And it’s not like—she’s not ashamed or anything. It’s just… it’s already been hard enough figuring this out, the two of us. She didn’t even know she liked girls before this. I just wanna figure things out forreal between the two of us before she really has to worry. Y’know?”

She pauses, fingers messing with the blanket again. “I don’t want her overthinking it. Or shutting down. I just… I want to keep this safe. Just for us. Until we’re ready.”

There’s silence for a second. And then Nika, in a voice a whole lot gentler than usual, says, “Okay, P. We won’t tell.”

Relief floods her body faster than she expected. Her shoulders drop. Her hands unclench. She nods once, a quiet thank you, and lets her head fall back again.

She’s not used to sharing stuff like this. Because she’s never really had this to share. But, for Jo, she’s gonna try.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wbb #wcbb #wnba #dallas wings #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #wnba x reader #wlw #nobody gets me

283 notes · View notes

stevie-petey · 11 months ago

Text

episode nine: the good

Soon it’s just you and Steve. You work around one another, anticipating each other’s next move, never getting in the way. Soft music plays from the record player that sits in the den. Steve puts on one of his father’s old records, gentle rock and delicate jazz. You hum to yourself, he hums with you, and it’s a peaceful morning. Until Richard and May Harrington walk in. Neither of you notice them at first. Steve is too busy spinning you around, playfully dipping you as the music comes to a grand crescendo. You’re laughing breathlessly, but soon your laughter turns into a yelp when Steve sees his parents standing in the doorway and drops you.

Summary: the party battles the horrors of high school and leave you stranded, tw: applying for college is harder than fighting literal demons (you would know, youve done it), jonathan joins your nightmare blunt rotation, max worries you, and steve solidifies his position of Best Boyfriend in the World as you slowly fall apart (though is anyone really surprised ??).

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: cursing, allusions to previous character death

Words: 11.2k idk how or why i needed to say so much

Before you swing in: we're here !!! FINALLY at the end of season 3 <3333 im so so so excited to present to you the groundwork for what i have planned for season 4 ;) it will be ... a lot. the season is huge, its difficult and scary, and i did my best to try and capture its dread and ominous sense of doom in this chapter. please enjoy and bear with me as i prepare for season 4. unsure when i will be done planning her, but i PROMISE itll be worth it !!

“Are you sure Ms. Bote is nice?”

“Yes.”

“And that Mr. Cune won’t question the hat?”

“Yes, Dustin.”

“And you’re absolutely sure we have lunch together?”

“Yes.” You tighten the straps on your mary janes and give your brother an exasperated look. All morning he’s been freaking out about his first day of high school. You understand his fear, it’s scary starting at a new school, but you’ve answered all his questions a million times by now and Steve is supposed to be here any second. “We need to go, buddy.”

Dustin shoves a pancake into his mouth, wiping his face with the back of his hand in a disgusting manner. “Wait, but what about my backpack–”

“I have it, Dusty!” Your mother walks into the kitchen and hands it to him. She kisses his mess of curls and strokes your cheek. “Are my darlings ready for their first day of school?”

“No.” You and Dustin say at the same time, which your mother frowns at.

Dustin adjusts his backpack and gives you an odd look. “Why are you nervous? It’s not like you’re being blindly thrown into a den of hormonal creatures out for blood. You’re old now, they’ll leave you alone!”

“Trust me, the college admissions process is a worse monster than school bullies.” You grab your own backpack and start heading towards the front door. “I have to start planning what to write, I–I need more clubs, and projects, and–”

The anxiety overwhelms you. It always starts like this: talk about college, you fall down a hole of uncertainty and dread and fear. It’s been like this ever since Jonathan moved away. The minute the Byers moved, you threw yourself into preparing for college. Rationally, you know it’s your poor way of coping with all the sudden change in your life. You don’t need a psychological research journal to tell you that. In a futile attempt to control your future, you’ve become obsessed with college.

New York University, specifically.

Jonathan has always dreamed of attending, and when you met him, it became your dream, too.

“Okay, dear. Settle down, now.” Your mother places a hand on your shoulder and laughs nervously. She has about five seconds before you collapse into a mess of college admissions rambling and despair. “Let’s go outside and find that wonderful Stevie!”

Your body is shoved out the front door alongside Dustin’s. Steve’s car is parked, he stands outside it, arms crossed and a grin on his face. Your body relaxes when you see him, the buzz of anxiety dims. He’s wearing his Family Video vest, the green makes his tanned skin glow.

“She’s doing it again.” Dustin tells him, tossing his backpack into the backseat.

Steve winces. He knows exactly what your brother is referring to. He’s been at the other end of far too many anxious phone calls at three in the morning. “College?”

“Yeah, she almost had a meltdown in the kitchen.”

“I can hear you both, you know.” Though you try to seem fine, keep up the annoyance, you stand next to Steve and rest your head on his shoulder anyways. He wraps an arm around you and kisses your forehead.

Steve rubs your arm and makes a sympathetic noise. Your mother, seeing how he holds you, squeals. “Oh, stay just like that, hold on!”

“Mom, what–” But your mother ignores you and runs back inside the house. You look at Dustin, terrified. “She’s not…”

He shakes his head at you. He leans against the car next to you and crosses his arms, mimicking Steve’s earlier stance. “She’s mom. Of course she is.”

“What are you guys talking about–” A flash of light momentarily blinds Steve, and he flinches. “Woah, alright.”

“Smile, kids!” Another camera flash, and your mother coos as you, Steve, and Dustin awkwardly shuffle into frame. It’s not that the three of you dislike being near the other, it’s the fact that it’s seven in the morning and neither you nor Dustin are ready for the day ahead. Steve smiles, though. “That’s it! Everyone say, ‘happy first day of school’!”

A mess of incoherent mumbling follows your mothers command, but she doesn’t let it bother her. She takes a million pictures, preens when she sees Steve smile even wider, and she has to hold back tears. Her babies are all grown up. Dustin is a freshman now, and you’re a senior.

“Alright, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve has to quickly blink, trying to regain his eyesight. He adores the woman, he knows he’s become her favorite, but he really needs to get you to school before his shift at Family Video starts. “I have no doubt you’ve already taken the best picture ever.”

“Aw, just one more–”

“Mom.” Dustin clears his throat, urging her to stop, and she sighs.

Your mother kisses Dustin’s head, then yours, and wishes you a good first day before getting into her own car to drive to work. “Bye, kids!”

You all wave at her, and Steve opens the car door for you. Once you’re seated, he goes to the driver’s side and tells Dustin to get in the back. The engine starts, soft music plays from Steve’s radio, and soon the three of you are driving towards Hawkins high.

“No Robin?” You ask Steve after a few minutes of silence. He’s grown rather close to the girl, working together all summer, so you had expected her to drive with you guys to school. When you and him officially got together, Robin made the two of you promise that you wouldn’t abandon her. It was an irrational fear, you love Robin dearly, but you made sure to spend time with her and Steve equally anyways.

“She has band practice this morning,” Steve responds. “So it’s just me and the Hendersons today.”

Dustin shoves his head in between the two of you. His seatbelt strains against his chest, but he doesn’t care. He’s on a mission to get as much information as he possibly can. He refuses to go into high school blind and pathetic. “Steve, you were once popular.”

“Why the past tense? I mean, I’d consider myself still pretty well liked–”

“I need you to tell me what you did that led to your demise so I can avoid doing the same.”

You snort and Steve sighs. The kid really keeps him humble. He stops at a light, looks at Dustin through the rearview mirror, and shakes his head. “What makes you think it was anything I did?”

“Kid’s got a point,” you say from the passenger seat. Steve gives you an offended look and you raise your hands in surrender. “Hey, all I’m saying is that I also don’t really know what happened. You’ve got a track record of pissing off the wrong people. One minute you were King Steve, the next you were shunned.”

Steve groans. “You people have no faith in me.” He can feel you and Dustin staring at him, unbelieving. He hates when the two of you team up against him; it makes it harder for him to lie. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to tell you what happened. Not because he’s embarrassed, or ashamed, even.

He knows it will only upset you. Reopen wounds.

But you and Dustin keep staring at Steve and there’s still at least ten minutes left of the drive. Weighing his options, Steve figures it’s best if he just tells the truth. Like ripping off a bandaid, knowing the pain will be there regardless of how long you stall. “Okay, fine.” He scratches his nose, clears his throat. “It was, uh. Because of Billy.”

The temperature in the car drops. It’s suddenly ice cold.

Dustin slowly leans back against his seat. Steve faces ahead, eyes on the road, but he watches you from his periphery. No one has mentioned Billy since his death, at least not in front of you or Max.

Especially Max.

They wait for you to react. To tense up, ball your hands into fists and wipe away tears. They expect the guilt you’ve barely kept hidden to resurface, but you don’t do any of that. Instead, you surprise them. “Can’t believe you let a mullet defeat you.”

Steve isn’t sure if he’s allowed to laugh at first, worried it’s some bizarre test of yours. But he sees the smile on your face, albeit forced and terse, but he knows you’re trying. So he plays along, relieved that you’re doing what you can. “I don’t know, I thought the mullet looked pretty good.”

“Get a mullet and see how fast I leave you.”

Dustin nods in agreement, Steve shakes his head with a laugh, and the temperature in the car returns. There’s still a slight chill in the air, there will always be a slight chill, but you pull your jacket tighter around you and ignore it.

When you get to the school, Dustin stares at the hounds of teens all walking through the parking lot. He gulps, tightens his hands around his backpack, and you try to ease his apprehension.

“Hey, look at me.” He does, and you extend your arm, offering a handshake. Dustin eyes you wearily, but reluctantly he shakes your hand. You nod at him, hand firm around his. “It’s just you and me. And Lucas. Max, too. Unfortunately, possibly Mike. Copy?”

“Copy.” Dustin releases your hand and salutes you. He pushes his hat down, takes a deep breath, and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Let’s go.”

“Good luck, little Henderson.” Steve salutes him as well before turning to you. He presses his lips to yours, hums, a soft smile on his face. “And good luck, angel.”

Ignoring Dustin’s dramatic gagging in the back, you squeeze Steve’s hand and smile back at him. “Thanks, honey. Have a good day at work.”

Dustin nearly falls out of the car with how fast he scrambles out of it. He’s about to ban all forms of physical affection between you and Steve. It’s disgusting. No one wants to see any of that. You follow after your brother and exit the car.

You only make it a few feet before Steve rolls down the car window and shouts, “I love you!”

A few students in the parking lot turn, and their faces contort into shock when they see none other than Steve Harrington. He waves at them, cocky as always, and you’re both mortified and so in love. He may have lost his crown, but he will always be the king. While Dustin ducks his head down in embarrassment, you wink at Steve. “I love you, too!”

“You’re going to be the reason I end up getting thrown into a dumpster on my first day.”

“Aw, is Dusty-bun jealous?”

“Go die.”

–

The entire day it feels like you’re missing something.

When you get to homeroom, there isn’t a seat saved for you at the front. When the physics teacher drops his chalk five times within the first five minutes, there isn’t anyone to tease you for your poorly contained snicker. In the library, you’re forced to sit in a corner because there’s no one to share the plush sofa with.

There’s no one who whispers answers to you during calculus. No one who hooks their foot around your desk’s leg. No one who doodles in your notebook just to get you to laugh.

Jonathan’s absence is palpable.

You knew it would feel weird, starting senior year without him, but you didn’t think it’d feel so lonely, either. Empty. Unfinished.

By the time lunch comes, you’re slowly losing your mind. You need someone to talk to. Robin and Nancy don’t share any classes with you, Jonathan had been your only real friend at Hawkins, and now you’re paying the price.

You’re the first one at the lunch table, which you figure is a good thing. Earlier in the week you and the party had all agreed to sit together at lunch, you’d been excited to finally share the same school building as them. However, you hadn’t wanted to hover over them. You wanted them to branch out, meet new people, so lunch was your agreed upon time with them.

The lunch room fills with students and you wait anxiously for the rest of the party. You’re excited to see them, ask how their days are going, maybe even gossip about the freshmen, but when they arrive it’s almost as if a tornado rips right through you.

“There you are!” Dustin finds you first and slides into the seat next to you, nearly causing you to face plant into the ground. “Look, we gotta talk.”

You frown. “Okay, is everything–”

“We can’t stay and eat.” Mike cuts to the chase, not even bothering to sit down. Lucas stands behind him, quiet and nervous.

“What, why?”

“Eddie Munson wants to meet us.” Dustin says the boy’s name as if you should know him. But you don’t, and now you’re really confused. What does he have to do with any of this?

“Eddie…?”

Mike rolls his eyes at you. “Eddie Munson, Hellfire club, DnD?” When he sees that nothing he’s saying makes any sense to you, he huffs. “Seriously, do you not know anything?”

You throw a chip at him, hurt. “I was in choir, not some stupid DnD club.”

“Hellfire club isn’t stupid–”

“Anyways!” Dustin cuts the fight short. There isn’t time for you and Mike to argue right now. “Eddie is the dungeon master, and he’s recruiting us to join his party! We–we gotta go and meet him, Y/N. He doesn’t just let plebe freshmen like us join.”

“He’s legendary.” Mike says, and sadly you know he means it. It’s not often someone has the boy’s full admiration. Mike is hard to impress, and this Eddie guy seems to have him wrapped around his finger already.

Dustin stares up at you, eyes pleading to understand, and you know you can’t ruin this for him. Only hours ago he had been terrified of his first day, and now he’s almost vibrating with excitement over the possibility of joining some club. There will be people there like him, others interested in what he loves, and you can’t let your own loneliness ruin that.

“Well,” you clear your throat, try to appear excited for the boys. “Go see Eddie, then.”

“You sure?” Dustin doesn’t want to just leave, he knows you were looking forward to lunch today. He’ll stay if you need him to, he’s sure Mike can talk his way in with Eddie.

You smile at him, force your voice to be light. They’re growing up. You all are. “I’m sure, it’s your first day. You’re supposed to be joining a bunch of clubs, it’s a good way to make friends. I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

Dustin isn’t entirely convinced, but Mike has already grabbed his arm to go and find Eddie. He turns to Lucas, beckons him to follow. “C’mon, dude.”

“I’ll-uh. Follow in a sec.” Mike gives him an odd look, but Lucas is already sitting down next to you. Seeing this, Mike gives up and leaves with Dustin. As soon as they’re gone, Lucas lowers his voice and leans in close to you. “Hey, do you, uh. Know Jason Carver?”

The scent of chocolate ice cream infiltrates your nose, the sound of it colliding into the teen’s pants rings in your ears. The memory of it is tangible, and you have to hold back a laugh. Yeah, you know Jason Carver. “I mean, we aren’t friends, but we know each other. Why?”

“Do you…” Lucas looks around, making sure Mike and Dustin really are gone, before he continues. “Do you think he’d let me join the basketball team?”

You’re surprised. Sure, Lucas has always shown an interest in the sport. He plays with Steve sometimes, they trade cards, but you didn’t think he’d be interested in the school’s team. “Oh.” Then, you realize why he’s stayed behind. “You don’t want to join Hellfire, do you?”

“I know I’m just a freshman, and–and Mike would probably call me dumb for wanting to even try out, but. I don’t know. I think… I think I could be really good on the team. Might make high school easier.”

“Then you should go for it,” you reassure Lucas. He’s always been so careful to not upset others. He’s loyal, down to his very core, you understand the fear that doing something for yourself brings. “Jason isn’t so bad. A bit much, but kind. He’s a team player, and I think they'd be lucky to have someone like you.”

Lucas smiles shyly at you. “Really?”

“Really. Now, go and find the guy. Ask him when try-outs are, and I’ll talk to Steve about practicing more with you. How’s that sound?”

“You’re the best!” Lucas gives you a quick hug, already getting out of his seat, and runs right into Max. They collide, he manages to save her from falling, and he laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, you okay?”

Max nods, silent, and immediately you and Lucas know that today is one of her bad days. Her eyes are sunken in, it doesn’t look like she got any sleep last night. She sits down next to you, and you nod at Lucas, signaling to him that it’s okay if he leaves. You’ll take care of her.

Lucas hesitates, unsure, but reluctantly leaves when you nod at him once more, urging. If it was anyone else, he would stay, but it’s you. Besides Lucas, you’re the only other person Max talks to. You’ll stay with her, Lucas deserves to go and branch out like Mike and Dustin are.

“So, did you know about Lucas wanting to join the basketball team?” You turn to Max once the boy has left. She shrugs, picks at the food in front of her. It’s the most response you’ll get from her, and you sigh. “You don’t want to be here either, do you?”

She looks up at you, alarmed that you caught on so fast, and you just shake your head at her. You dig into your backpack, take out some cookies you baked the night before. They were supposed to be for all the kids today, but they’ve all left and Max needs them more right now. “Here, take these. Go to the left stairwell, next to the choir room. No one goes there during lunch, it’s quiet.”

“Thank you,” Max exhales with relief, taking the baked goods from you. Tears lump in her throat, she doesn’t know how you always manage to do this. To see through her, always say the right thing.

“Of course, my dear.” You risk touching her face, she’s cold, but she closes her eyes and breathes in at the comfort. “I expect to see you at Bookstrordinary after school today, though.”

Somehow Max laughs, and the action hurts her to do so. It’s becoming harder and harder to bear the sound of her own happiness. But she nods at you, understanding that it’s an order she can’t disobey, and leaves.

Then it’s just you at the lunch table. Alone.

Nancy is at yearbook, she’s told you all about her grand plan of reforming the club into something more than just homecoming polls and gossip panels. Robin is at yet another band practice, preparing for the annual back to school pep rally later this week. Steve is at Family Video, bored out of his mind, both of you wishing he were here instead.

And Jonathan is across the country, at an entirely different school, aching to be near you again.

The thought of him in California only intensifies the loneliness that you feel. The feeling overwhelms you, and before it can swallow you whole, you dig through your backpack once more. Your fingers shake as you rustle through the notebooks and textbooks, and they clutch desperately at your walkman when you finally find it. The mixtape Jonathan made for you before he left sits within it.

You quickly place the headphones over your head, muffling the sounds of the cafeteria around you. Your fingers find the play button with practiced ease, and soon the beginning notes of the Beatles play through the wire and into your headphones.

The song soothes you, it quiets what you don’t want to hear; it makes you smile. The mixtape is all you’ve been listening to ever since Jonathan left. Though it can never replace his presence, it’s enough for now.

You stare at the empty seats around you. John Lennon’s voice floats through your ears.

Welcome to senior year.

–

Miraculously, it’s Nancy you lean on the most as the autumn leaves turn orange and the summer’s heat dies down. She finds you later during your first week, grabbing lunch from your locker, and she stops you.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to spend another lunch alone.” Nancy has never been one to greet someone. She always gets straight to the point, a quality that you normally admire.

However, you feel embarrassment rise within you, slightly off put by the cruel words. Sure, you’re not necessarily thrilled that you’ve spent your first few days of senior year alone, but you didn’t need Nancy reminding you of that. “Hello to you too, Nance.”

“Shit, I didn’t mean to offend you.” She holds her notebook close to her chest and looks down in shame. It’s weird, there’s a distance between you that has only seemed to widen despite how hard the two of you try to bridge it. For a while things were good, great, even. She was genuinely your friend, but sometimes insecurities can hurt the ones people love the most.

“Not really sure how I was meant to take that.” You close your locker and try to excuse yourself. You’re exhausted, you hardly slept the night before. “Look, I should go. I stayed up all night working on stupid college applications and I just… I’m tired.”

Nancy’s posture straightens, eager to grab onto any opportunity to amend things with you. “I can read over whatever you have.” When you raise your eyebrows at her, she quickly backtracks, worried she’s overstepped. “I–I mean, that is, if you want. Not that you need the help! It’s just–”

She forces herself to stop. She’s rushing her words, messing it all up. Her shoulders drop, Nancy takes a deep breath and looks you in the eye. She never apologized for her words earlier this summer. The way she sneered venom at you, but she’s carried the guilt of it ever since. “I’m… trying. I promise I am.”

Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers have never handled vulnerability well. It’s what made you stand out against them, set you apart, and you can’t help but find this quality in them endearing. You know that Nancy is trying to go back to how things were, before one phone call between the two of you revealed the unspoken resentment she held.

You never blamed her for any of it. But you know she blames herself, and Jonathan’s absence doesn’t help; both of you miss him, neither of you can afford to lose anyone else.

So you try as well.

“I’ll let you read over what I have only if you let me read what you’ve written as well.” You nudge her shoulder with yours, getting her to finally smile. “I’m curious to see what that brain of yours has thought of already.”

Nancy laughs, relieved. “Definitely nothing as creative as whatever you’ve written.”

“We’ll see about that, Wheeler.”

Soon you find yourself in the yearbook room. Nancy introduces you to some kid named Fred, who moons over her the entire time you’re there, though she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy reading through your ideas, and you find yourself admiring her side profile. The way her eyelashes kiss her brows, the soft cherry on her lips.

Nancy is beautiful. You understand how Jonathan and Fred and Steve and countless other guys in Hawkins have lost their minds over her.

You read through portions of Nancy’s writing, and the two of you sit quietly side by side editing the essays. She marks some things down, crosses out some lines, and you do the same. It’s lovely, being by her side again. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed her following the events of this summer.

“So, New York University, huh?” Nancy eventually breaks the silence.

You nod, humming as you skim over a line that you particularly like. Circling it, you respond. “Yeah, it’s been my dream school ever since I was young.”

Though you’re applying to other schools as well. A few state schools, some in Virginia, close to your father. But New York is truly where you hope you’ll be next fall.

“Jonathan mentioned that you like psychology, right?”

“Yup,” you cross out an extra word. “Particularly child psychology. Figured that after everything we’ve been through, especially the kids, it’d be useful if at least one of us has any idea what’s going on inside our minds.”

Nancy chuckles. “Fair.”

It falls quiet again, but you don’t want the peace to end. “I heard from Jonathan that you’re looking into Emerson.”

“He tells you everything, doesn’t he?” Though this time Nancy’s question is asked with fondness, slight exasperation and humor mixed in.

“Mhm, we’re a package deal. You tell one of us something, then the other is bound to know eventually.” You look up at Nancy and lightly touch her arm. “Though he still keeps some things from me when it comes to you, don’t worry.”

She laughs again, and finally you allow the silence to settle upon you. It’s a comfortable one. There isn’t a tension underlying it. For the first time in a long time, you’re able to simply sit next to Nancy and feel that she wants you there with her.

After that day, you and Nancy spend almost every lunch period helping each other with your applications.

Steve helps you, too. In his own ways.

While he can’t help you write the essays, he lets you call him at two in the morning to rattle off application ideas so you won’t forget them. He doesn’t complain when you wake him up and he has an early shift the next day. Instead, he listens. Steve offers you his own tired input and indulges in whatever you need to feel that you’ll succeed; he’s the most doting, patient boyfriend you could ever ask for.

And, secretly, Steve adores it. Especially when you call him some nights just to have him come over and hold you.

Those are his favorite nights. Tonight is one of them.

“Why does college exist?” Your cheek is pressed against Steve’s chest as you lay in your bed together. The steady rise and fall of his breathing is melodic.

He plays with a strand of your hair, you feel him shrug. “‘Dunno, but you’re almost done.”

“Yeah, just have one more application to send before I get to spend four agonizing months waiting to find out if I even get in. How fun.” Sarcasm drips from your lips. You’ve spent the last two months obsessing over it all, which words to write in your essays, which clubs to join, which teachers to beg for recommendation letters.

And now you have one application left. Then you’ll be forced to wait, without any control of the inevitable outcome.

You’ve never been someone comfortable with letting go of control.

“Everything will be fine, angel. NYU would be stupid not to let you in.” Steve reassures you with a kiss to your temple, then to your cheek, the tip of your nose, the dip of your brows. As he kisses you, he envisions doing this a year from now, in a small, rundown apartment with sirens wailing outside and a fire escape that creaks in the wind. The song of New York City.

Eventually Steve’s lips will find yours, and the conversation will be long forgotten. It’s how most of your nights end now, lost in the kisses as his breath mixes with yours. Hands will wander. Sighs will leave parted mouths. Quiet, soft, aware of the precariously thin walls.

You haven't slept with Steve, at least not yet. Though you’ve been together a few months now, it still feels too soon. He’s your first boyfriend, your first kiss, your first real love, and Steve doesn’t want to rush you. If all you ever do together is lazily kiss and breathe each other in, then Steve will happily part your lips with his and draw soft sighs out from you.

In the morning you’ll awake with Steve’s lips on your neck, his eyes shining up at you, and in the morning sunlight, before you’ve fully woken up, the air between you is sacred.

–

“I sent in my final application,” you’re whispering, not wanting to wake up your mom who has fallen asleep on the couch. It’s nearly midnight in Indiana, but in California it’s only nine and Jonathan has just finished his school work for the night. “NYU, it’s done.”

On the other end you hear shuffling as Jonathan leans against his kitchen wall. Will sits at the table with El, he sketches the early stages of a painting and she studies grammar. Jonathan watches them, his mom is in bed, and he forgets for a moment that he’s on the phone with you.

“Bee?” You say the childhood name so softly, so tenderly with concern, and it brings Jonathan back to himself.

“I’m here, sorry.” He clears his throat, his head is still slightly muffled. Jonathan met a guy in woodshop this week, his name is Argyle, and somehow during lunch he found himself in the back of the guy’s van with a blunt hanging loosely from his lips. The smoke dulled the ache of missing Nancy, of missing you. Jonathan can’t tell you this, though. You’d kill him, and he hates disappointing you. “What were you saying?”

You frown slightly, he sounds different. There’s something in his voice, it’s raspy and he sounds distant. The sound is lonely, he sounds lonely. Jonathan isn’t really here, despite the fact that he’s talking to you. The last few phone calls have been like this. You don’t know what to do.

When Jonathan left, the two of you promised to call each other every Friday, a compromise. A way to create distance, yet tether you to each other. Jonathan calls you every Friday, Nancy gets him every day the rest of the week, and it works. This is how it’s always been ever since early September.

At first you guys would talk about how your weeks had gone. Jonathan would complain about the California heat and you would tell him about how Mike and Lucas had crashed your date with Steve one night. Laughter would float over the telephone lines. Teasing, whispered “I miss you’s” and spoken goodbyes with the promise of talking again next week.

But last week when you called, the teasing was gone. The laughter was minimal. You had complained about an exam that day and Jonathan had given one word responses that had worried you. It had been odd, but you thought that maybe he’d been tired that day. Everyone has a bad day, you know this.

Yet it’s Friday again and Jonathan couldn’t feel farther away from you.

“I mailed my NYU application in, bee. You send in yours yet?” Voice light, cheery. You do what you can to try and keep him afloat. You try to grasp at the good that’s left between you. Remind Jonathan that you’re right here, still with him, without scaring him away. “You remember our plan, right? Me and you in New York, together.”

Since you were kids the plan has always been to go to college together. Back then, neither of you could fathom a reason to ever be apart. You were invincible, the same way all kids think they are before the world tells them otherwise.

But you and Jonathan aren’t invincible, you never were.

You can hear the way your question suffocates him. The breath that he holds, stilted and torn, suffocates you as well.

Nausea punches Jonathan, the smoke from earlier suddenly fogs his throat. He doesn’t know what to do. Nancy wants him to go to Emerson with her, he promised you NYU when he was twelve, and California has his mother and Will.

“Yeah, yeah. I–I mean, I sent mine in. Last week.”

Jonathan is lying. You’ve known him for almost six years; he always stumbles over his words when he lies.

Part of you wants to ask him why he’s doing this, lying to you and pulling away. Another part of you, the larger, more naive part, doesn’t want to believe it. You clear your throat, swallow down the hurt, and choose naivety. “Oh,” your tone is too pinched, too put together. You clear your throat again. “That’s–that’s great! I, um. Surprised you didn’t read the essays to me. Have me edit them, like we’ve always done.”

Jonathan leans his head against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s never been able to lie to you, he knows you’re desperately trying to overcompensate, as you always do. He hates it. He hates himself. “Yeah, well. Got excited, I guess.”

You hum, words failing you, and the line goes silent.

Dread replaces the laughter that night.

–

Before you know it, it’s Halloween and the party has infiltrated Steve’s house.

The holiday falls on a Saturday, and the party deems itself too old to trick or treat. When they find out that Steve’s parents won’t be home that weekend, they demand to spend the night at his house and watch horror movies.

Steve fights back, complains that he doesn’t want them taking over his living room, but his complaints fall on deaf ears. That, and Dustin ropes Robin into their plans.

“Oh, God. Don’t open the door!” Dustin shrieks, throwing popcorn at Steve’s TV as he covers his eyes with a blanket. He cowers against Lucas, who shoves him off, and Mike snickers. Max sits on the couch, outside of their fort, and watches the boys. None of them try to get her to sit with them. They know they’re lucky that she even showed in the first place.

“I can’t look.” Robin’s voice carries over, you can almost picture her cringing as she holds a pillow to her chest. Mike chose a particularly gory movie, and the kid’s mind frightens her.

A loud crash sounds, then a woman screams. You figure the protagonist did open the door and has now died, though you can’t be sure. You’re in the kitchen with Steve, taking out the final batch of oatmeal raisin cookies from the oven. The smell wafts through the home, bringing warmth to a house that Steve has always found cold, and he places his hands on your hips.

“You spoil the kids too much,” he presses his nose against your cheek and kisses you. “They invade my home and you bake them delicious goods.”

You set the tray of cookies down onto the counter. “As if the cookies aren’t for you, too.”

“That isn’t important. We’re focusing on my hostage house, Y/N.”

“‘Hostage house’, quite the alliteration there.”

Steve now kisses your neck, distracting you as you plate the cookies. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“Don’t make me come in there!” Dustin screams, and Robin echoes him with her own disgusted yelling.

You laugh at their theatrics while Steve rolls his eyes. He really hates that his house has become the party’s source of entertainment. He just wants to compliment his beautiful girlfriend in peace. Who would punish a guy for that?

In his moping Steve almost misses you walking back into the living room. He follows, stumbles over his feet, never wanting to be more than a few inches away from you. You’re magnetic, always pulling him in.

Mike is the first to grab a handful of cookies. Lucas and Dustin follow quickly after. They shove the food into their mouths and you scoff at their lack of manners. They’re such boys, growing taller every day, and they’re just as disgusting as they were when they were kids.

“Want one, Max?” You hold the plate up to her, noticing that she hasn’t moved from her seat. She shakes her head at you, eyes never leaving the screen. Lucas and you share a look, the same concerned expression on your faces.

The moment is broken by Robin, who grabs a cookie and practically melts. “Holy shit, Y/N. You bake these regularly?”

“Usually once a week,” you shrug at her. “Though I once baked six batches during finals week.”

“God, that was a good week.” Dustin hums, lost in the blissful memory.

Robin grabs your arm, eyes wide with enthusiasm. “I will give you my firstborn child in exchange for my own batch of cookies.”

Steve pokes her shoulder. “You already promised your firstborn to me after I agreed to cover your weekend shift.”

“I can have twins.”

You laugh at her. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

Robin sticks her tongue out at you, causing you to laugh even more, and Mike puts the next movie on. Everyone settles back down, you lay with Steve in the lovechair with Robin in front of you. Max has the couch to herself, the boys are sprawled on the floor in a mess of pillows and blankets, and for the first time in months you feel a certain warmth having your family together.

Sometime during the night the clock strikes twelve.

It’s November 1st, 1985.

Steve’s nineteenth birthday.

Robin snores softly on the ground, arm underneath her head as a makeshift pillow. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas are all curled up against one another, their faces young again. Max sleeps softly on the couch, her hand dangles over the edge, grazing Lucas’ outstretched arm and open palm.

Steve lays beneath you, he isn’t quite asleep yet. You’ve come to learn the rhythm of his breaths as he sleeps. The way they slow, the pattern steady. You lift your head up, wanting to admire him, and find that he’s already looking at you.

“Hi, angel.” He whispers, smiling sweetly.

You smile back, you always smile back at him. “Hi, honey.” Doing your best to remain quiet, you crawl up the length of Steve and nuzzle your way into his neck. You kiss the dip just above his collarbone, causing him to shiver. “Happy birthday.”

Arms encase you, pull you deeper into the body you lay on. Steve’s body heat warms your face, warms your bones, and you wish you could stay like this forever. In Steve’s arms, the scent of him overwhelming your mind, his touch calming you.

“Thank you,” he kisses the top of your head. He lingers, his lips soft. The two of you stay like this, his head against yours, your chin tucked into the alcove of his neck. Your breathing syncs with his, his fingers trail up and down your spine. Your fingers splay over his chest, warming his ribs.

In the morning, Max wakes everyone up.

“My mom will be worried,” she kicks Mike, nudges Lucas’ shoulder. “Wake up, idiots.”

Steve groans, squinting his eyes against the morning light. He tries to roll over and block it out and nearly shoves you off the seat in the process. “Steve!” He manages to catch you in his sleepy state, but his movements are slow.

“Sorry!”

You clutch your chest, heart pounding. “You’ve done that way too many times now. I’m starting to think you want to throw me onto the ground.”

“Lucas once promised he could catch me if I jumped into his arms.” Max says, then she points to a scar on her knee. “Turned out he couldn’t.”

“Hey!” Lucas sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I really thought I could do it.”

Mike stretches. “Your fault for trusting him, Max.”

Lucas shoves him and the two start to wrestle on the floor. They’re a tangle of lanky limbs, knocking into Dustin who still hasn’t woken up yet. They roll on top of the boy, and he wakes up to Lucas’ knee in his face. “What the hell?”

Dustin joins the fighting now, and Robin throws a pillow at them. “Guys! It’s too early for this!”

They don’t listen.

It takes a lot of pleading, negotiating, and bribes in order to break the fight up. It takes even longer to wrangle the kids out of Steve’s home, much to his dismay. They leave a mess of strewn popcorn all over the carpet and pillows missing feathers. You stay behind, offering to help clean the mess, and Robin rushes out an apology and happy birthday to Steve as she runs out the door to get to work.

Until Richard and May Harrington walk in.

Neither of you notice them at first. Steve is too busy spinning you around, playfully dipping you as the music comes to a grand crescendo. You’re laughing breathlessly, but soon your laughter turns into a yelp when Steve sees his parents standing in the doorway and drops you.

“Dad!” Steve immediately bends down to pick you up, endlessly apologetic. He ducks his head, eyes on you, though his body doesn’t turn from his father. “I’m sorry, angel. You alright?”

You reassure your boyfriend that you’re fine, more worried about the fact that you’re dressed in clothes from yesterday with horrendous bedhead meeting his parents for the first time. Richard eyes you in Steve’s arms. He has a look of disinterest on his face. “Son.”

“What, uh.” Steve clears his throat, curls a protective arm around your waist. He didn’t mean for this to happen. His parents were supposed to be gone until Tuesday. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“Right.”

Father and son stand in front of one another. Neither speaks. Steve feels like a little boy again, scrutinized underneath his father’s intense gaze. Never good enough. Never worthy of anything other than berating and lectures.

You wring your hands nervously, unsure what to do. The air is thick. Steve looks so much like his father, it’s almost uncanny. They have the same build, the same moles that dot along their handsome faces. Only his father is dressed in a suit, the lines in his face are hard, weathered. He’s who you picture Steve would’ve been, in a different universe where you were never his friend.

May Harrington gave her son all of her delicate features. The soft turn of his nose. The plush, pink lips. His doe eyes, his smile. The only feature that separates her from her son is her honey blonde hair. She’s beautiful, elegant and poised, and when she steps towards you, you can smell lavender perfume. “You must be Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Harrington.” You’re quick to meet her where she stands. You’re nervous, you have to discreetly wipe your hand on your pants before shaking hers. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. Your banana bread is lovely.”

The woman smiles, it’s so much like Steve’s that you want to cry. “Thank you, dear.”

“Of course, and I apologize for meeting like this. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Richard makes a mean, gruff sound. He shakes his head, steps next to his wife. He doesn’t like you, you can feel it by the way he blocks his wife’s view of you. “Oh, no. I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Dad–” Steve steps forward as well, blocking his father’s view of you. He’s angry, his shoulder blades close together. He doesn’t like how the man is treating you; you’re too good for such cruelty.

“What did I tell you about bringing your hookups to the house, son?” Richard sneers, turning his nose up at you. That’s all he sees you as. Just another one of Steve’s flings, one of the girls from his past.

“Y/N is not just some hookup,” Steve clenches his jaw, tries to steady his breathing. He doesn’t want to fight with his dad in front of you. Not when he was having such a good morning, spending his birthday with your hands wrapped around his neck and your giggles singing in his ears. “She’s my girlfriend, and I love her.”

Richard chuckles, he doesn’t believe his son. “Okay, you love her. I’m sure your mother and I will walk in on you with some new girl next week.”

“Dear,” May places a hand on her husband’s shoulder. She sees the way you shrink into yourself at the man’s words. The insecurity that he brings. She sees how her son’s eyes ignite with fury, she watches as he does whatever he can to put the flame out for her sake and yours. “It’s Steve’s birthday today.”

“Is that why you insisted on coming home today?” Richard turns to her, she has his full attention now. His eyebrows are drawn together, annoyance paints his body. “You told me you had a board meeting tonight.”

“Why don’t we talk about this upstairs?” May suggests, relieved that she’s turned her husband’s anger onto herself rather than her son. Richard sighs, but he doesn’t argue as he marches up the stairs without so much as a second glance towards you. When he’s gone, May smiles at you sympathetically. “I apologize for my husband’s behavior. We had a long flight, I’m sure he’s simply jetlagged.”

“Yeah, that’s why he’s such an asshole.” Steve scoffs, tired of his mother’s excuses for her husband. He can be cruel to Steve, he doesn’t care. He’s been cruel to him his entire life. But if his father so much as breathes near you again, Steve will hurt him.

Your hand reaches for Steve’s, sensing what he’s thinking. You return May’s smile, you’re not at all angry with her. “It’s okay, really. I was an unexpected guest, and I should go.”

Steve pulls you into his chest. “What, no–”

“You may leave, if you’d like.” His mother gently interrupts him. “Though I must admit, I really do wish to know you better. If you’d allow me to, that is.”

“I’d love that more than anything.”

“Then I will plan a dinner for the next time my husband and I are in town.” May tells you, admiring your honesty. She can see why Steve has become so infatuated with you. There’s nothing hidden within you; you wear your heart on your sleeve, your sincerity a welcomed rarity. She turns to her son, rests her palm delicately against his face. “Happy birthday, my beautiful boy.”

Steve leans into her touch, weak for his mother as any son is. You turn away, it doesn’t feel right to watch this moment between them.

In the car Steve profusely apologizes for his father’s behavior. Over and over again, he laments how sorry he is and that you’re more than just some fling to him. “You’re everything to me, angel. I love you so, so much.”

“I know, honey.” You grab his hand that rests against the stick shift. His father’s words had hurt, but you knew that they weren’t true. Steve is yours, he has been for longer than either of you realize. Nothing will ever undo the love he has for you, the foundation of trust it was built upon. “You’re everything to me, too.”

When Steve pulls into your driveway, you tell him to park and come inside. His birthday gift is in your room. You had planned to give it to him later tonight, but his parents’ unexpected arrival had soured things. “I know you have to go home, but…”

“I’ll never say no to you.” Steve’s already unbuckling his seatbelt to follow you inside. He greets your mother with a kiss to her cheek, ruffles Dustin’s hair as he sits at the dining table doing homework. His movements are easy, leisurely. You notice now how at home he is in yours, far from the boy who cowered before his father only twenty minutes ago. The realization is bittersweet. He deserves to feel at home in his own house, not just yours.

Inside your room Steve sits on your bed and holds his hand out, eager. “Okay, wow me, Henderson.”

“You really know how to talk to a woman.” You tease him, rustling through your drawer to find the gift you’ve hidden. Steve is nosy, he’s been trying to find his gift for at least two weeks now. When you’ve found it, you clutch the gift in your hand and hold it behind your back. “Alright, you know the drill by now. Close your eyes.”

Steve complies with a smirk, biting back suggestive comments. He loves this tradition with you, making the other close their eyes before their gift. Something light is placed in Steve’s hand. It’s circular, sturdy. He thinks he can smell leather.

“Okay, open.”

In his hand is a bracelet. It’s a simple strip of leather, nothing embellishes it besides a button to secure it. Though it’s plain, Steve can tell that it’s expensive. The leather is supple, its color is dark and polished. The silver button that clasps the two ends together is heavy.

He loves it, he does, but he can’t help feeling like that there must be something more to it.

As if reading his mind, you gently prompt Steve to turn it over in his hands. “Look what’s on the inside, honey.”

He does, and his heart stops.

The leather has been stamped. The word constants is spelled out across the length of the band. It’s a hidden message, only for Steve to know, and while he’s sure you have your own explanation for why you chose the word constants, he loves it already. “Oh.”

You sit next to him and laugh softly. “You’re my constant, Steve. Everything in my life has changed, or will change, but you… You’ve always been there, I know you’ll always be there. With me. My love, my lucky charm, my constant.”

Tears well in Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t bother wiping them away, too busy admiring the bracelet in his hand. He can’t believe you’re real, that you’ve thought of this for him. That you see a future with him… It’s everything he could’ve asked for. A security he’s always longed to have. His entire life he’s been told he’s too much, too overwhelming, and yet you want him to stay anyways.

“And you’re my constant?” He asks you, fingers grazing over the letters again.

You nudge his shoulder with yours. “Well, I’d like to think that I am.”

He laughs, wet and full of love, and he can’t take it anymore. Steve throws his arms over you and you collapse into your bed, laughing together as he presses his lips wherever they can reach.

“You are,” he says in between kisses. Your laughter lights him. “You’re my constant, too.”

–

The autumn leaves fall and the trees are barren as winter arrives.

You spend winter break trying to maintain your promise to Joyce. After finishing the hell that was applying to college, you have so much unexpected free time that at first you don't know what to do. But then her words echo in your mind, the promise to live the life that you deserve, so you start doing things for yourself.

Slowly you read through all the books in your room that you hadn't had time for before. You start running again in the mornings, the winter air crisp in your lungs. You and Dustin do homework together at the kitchen table, making sure neither of you get left behind. You try new recipes to bake, delivering the treats to the ones you love. It’s nice, rediscovering the pleasures you once had long before the Upside Down came into your life.

Christmas comes and you do your annual rounds, delivering everyone’s favorite treats on Christmas Eve. It’s during your run to the Sinclair home that Lucas asks you to come inside to talk.

“What’s up?” You ask him, unwrapping your scarf and warming your hands in your sleeves. Lucas gestures to his kitchen table, silently asking you to sit. When you do, he takes a deep breath and joins you.

Something’s bothering him. You can see it in the way he carries a weight on his shoulders. How they droop as he sits, exhausted. You reach across the table and grab his hand, offering whatever comfort you can give him. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

“It’s…” Lucas purses his lips, his breath shakes. “It’s Max. I’m–I’m worried about her.”

He tells you everything. He tells you how distant she’s been, more than she’s ever been before. He tells you how she’s missed dates he’s planned for her, how she refuses to talk to him anymore. She hasn’t been to any of the party’s hangouts, Mike and Dustin haven’t seen her ever since winter break started.

Max has had bad days, weeks, even months since losing Billy. But she’s never had the bad days without at least one good day following. To break the monotonous cycle of self-loathing and grief and guilt. She would always come back, even if for a moment, alive and bright and reminiscent of the girl had been.

“I can feel her slipping away,” Lucas looks down at the table. He’s afraid that if he looks at you then he’ll start crying. He doesn’t want you to worry, he knows how much you already deal with and do for them, but he’s terrified. “I know… I know that you helped Will, after he was flayed. Do you think you could maybe talk to Max? Just… Remind her that we’re here for her? I can’t–I can’t lose her.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours, trying to stem the stream of tears he fought so hard to force down. Lucas loves Max with everything within him. Anyone can see that. You’d do anything to bring the girl back to him, to bring her back to all of you. “I’ll talk to her.”

I’ll keep an eye on her. Watch her when you can’t.

Lucas hears it. He exhales, nods his head.

You leave. Max was the next one on your list of deliveries anyways.

It’s nearing dusk by the time you get to the trailer park. You haven’t seen Max’s new home, she’s only recently moved. She had been too embarrassed to tell anyone that her mother lost their old house. The only reason you even know she moved in the first place is because Lucas and Dustin stalked her walking home.

A dog barks as you bike past. Snow has started to fall, tomorrow will be a white Christmas.

“Oh, hello, Y/N.” Susan Hargrove’s skin is pale, her eyes sunken in when she answers the door. Her voice is thin, her frame is strained. The death has been hard on her, too. Billy’s father leaving only made everything worse.

“Hi, Mrs. Hargrove.”

The woman winces. “Please, Mayfield will be fine.”

You immediately correct yourself, apologetic and ashamed, when Max’s voice calls from within the home. “Just let Y/N in, mom.”

Susan sighs, and you wish you could do more. Instead, all you can offer her is the container of coconut bites you’ve made for them. Max told you they remind her and her mother of California, and you always make sure to have some ready every week for them. Offer some semblance of joy in the gray of their lives.

Max sits at the kitchen table. Her head is down as she works on something. She has her walkman next to her. Susan leaves the two of you alone, excusing herself to go lay down after a long shift.

You sit next to the girl and take a deep breath. This won’t be easy. Max is prideful, stubbornly independent, and has never accepted sympathy from anyone. You’ve always admired her fiery personality, but the fire has dimmed and the smoke is beginning to choke her. Talking to her will be like pulling teeth out.

“Brought you your favorites.” You shake the container in your hands. It serves as a peace offering, almost a bribe to start the conversation.

“Thanks.” Max doesn’t look up.

You swallow, tuck your hair behind your ears. “Of course. I was doing my usual delivery rounds. I, uh. Stopped at the Sinclair’s.”

The pencil in Max’s hand freezes. Her knuckles tighten, though the shift is subtle. She’s always been too smart for her own good. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Erica likes my brownies. Mrs. Sinclair, too.”

“And Lucas?” She knows why you’re here.

“I made him chocolate chip cookies. You know how much he loves them.” Max doesn’t respond. Of course she knows how much Lucas enjoys chocolate chip cookies. She knows everything about him, but she doesn’t say anything and goes back to writing. Faintly you hear music coming from the walkman. You point at the device. “New song?”

“Kate Bush.”

“Oh.” This is going worse than you imagined. “Look, Max–”

She doesn’t waste any time. “I know Lucas sent you. I don’t care.”

“He’s just worried about you, we all are–”

“I’m fine.” The tip of the pencil snaps. “Shit.”

“Max.” You’re pleading with her to listen. Her skin is fluorescent now, paler than you’ve ever seen. The bags underneath her eyes are swollen, dark and ghostly. She’s lost weight. You can’t remember the last time you saw her eat. “Please.”

“What do you want me to do?” Though there’s anger in her voice, Max’s eyes plead with you, too. Her mask slips for just a moment, but you see it. Underneath her indifferent exterior, she’s just as terrified as everyone else is. She can feel herself fading, the guilt of Billy’s death slowly eats her alive. She doesn’t know what to do, though. How do you continue to live after death has infiltrated your home?

The chair beneath you scraps against the hardwood floor. You stand up, walk over to Max and kneel in front of her. You keep your movements slow, worried you’ll scare her away if you get too close too suddenly. “I think you should talk to someone, honey.”

Max turns away. She can’t. If she told anyone what goes on inside her head, they would never forgive her. You would never forgive her, and it would break her.

Your hand falls to Max’s knee. The warmth from your palm combats the ice in her veins. You’re looking at her as if she’s worth something. As if she didn’t wish for her brother’s death. As if she hadn’t sent a grieving father into a spiral, a desperate mother into a trailer park. But Max allows your touch, so you try to get through to her again.

“You know, I was actually talking to Ms. Kelly a few weeks ago. The school’s guidance counselor.” She had met with you to discuss your grades and college options. When she had seen how you picked your nails until they bled, she suggested seeing her every few weeks. Alleviate some of your never ending stress. You had denied, uncomfortable with the idea. But maybe she could help Max. “She seemed nice enough. I’m sure she would be open to talking with you.”

“I don’t want to see some shrink.”

“Hey, I want to work with kids your age someday. Don’t call future me a shrink.” You poke Max’s leg playfully, and the corners of her mouth twitch. She doesn’t want you to see that it’s working. “C’mon. Have at least one meeting with her. When winter break ends, all I ask is that you try. For me and Lucas. We’re your favorites, after all.”

“If I agree, will it get you to shut up?”

You’re fine with this. It isn’t ideal, you aren’t sure Max will even actually try to open up to Ms. Kelly, but it’s a start. For too long now you’ve stayed silent, allowing Max to grieve on her own. Grief is hard, it takes and it takes and it takes. Yet it’s been almost six months and you’re not sure how much left grief can take from Max. “I think I can be okay with that.”

You’ll take whatever you can get. You’re worried. You got too caught up in your own life, you had gotten lost in your own haze of grief and anxiety. Missing Jonathan, grappling with change and growing up as you applied to college. You weren’t there for Max like you should’ve been.

But you’ll fix this. You always fix things. It’s what you do. It’s what you have to do. It’s how you love; you take care of those around you.

And who are you if you can’t?

–

Jonathan calls you high for the first time in late January.

Though he doesn’t tell you that he’s high, you know. His words are slurred, slowed, incomprehensible. It’s late in California, even later in Indiana, and the stark feeling of guilt slices into your ribcage the same way the Demodog’s claw did. The feeling cuts deep into your skin, nicks your bone.

“Jonathan?” You hope your voice brings him back to you. You try to cut through the smoke that fills his mind, that leaves him stumbling over his words. “Bee, can you hear me?”

“‘M here.” Jonathan sniffs, smacks his lips, yawns. “Where’re you? Can’t find you, bug.”

You close your eyes. He’s looking for you, and you aren’t with him. “I’m in Hawkins.”

“Thas’ far.”

“Yeah,” you choke out a laugh. It constricts in your vocal chords, but you can’t let Jonathan know how much it hurts to hear him so disoriented. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. California sucks.” He hiccups, you’re surprised he’s managed to call you tonight. Even in his drugged up state, he still somehow remembered to call. “Don’t think Nance will like it.”

He’s referring to the spring break trip. Nancy told you about it earlier today, how she and Mike will spend the week in California to see Jonathan and El. She had been a bit hesitant to tell you, afraid you’d be upset for not being invited, but you reassured her that it was okay.

You’ve had a road trip planned with Jonathan ever since you were fifteen. The moment the two of you graduate, you’ll drive all across the country for one final adventure before college.

Nancy can have spring. Summer will be yours.

“She’ll love California because you’re there.” She talked about the trip nonstop today. Her glow had come back, momentarily, her eyes alight. She truly loves Jonathan, she misses him even more than you do.

“Only disappoint her.”

“What do you mean?” You’re not sure where this is coming from. You know Jonathan is high, that his thoughts may not be coherent, but he sounds distressed about Nancy. You thought things had been good between them. They were planning a future together.

“Is’ hard, with her.” Jonathan manages to get out, but his speech is becoming harder and harder to understand.

You frown. “What’s hard, bee?”

The line disconnects. Jonathan doesn’t bring the conversation up again, the next time you call. You don’t ask him what he meant. You don’t think you want to know. There had been something deeper behind his words.

Will calls you a few days later in tears. The kids are meaner in California than they are in Hawkins. They tease El, make her life hell, and he’s upset that he can’t do anything to stop it. He cries to you, his tears soak your face through the landline, and the guilt creeps back in.

It will never truly leave.

You do your best to console him, offer him advice, but that’s all you can do. All you have are your words. Will and El are hours away, hundreds of miles separate them from you. It's nauseating, feeling so useless. For as long as you’ve known Will, you’ve always been able to protect him. To help him, dry his eyes.

You’ve always been there for your boys, for Jonathan and Will. For El. But you can’t get to them, they’re too far away, and it kills you. You’re sixteen again, trapped in Jonathan’s car and frantically trying to keep yourself together as everything around you falls apart.

Steve becomes your lifeline.

He always answers when you call. Every time Jonathan, high and lonely, hangs up your conversations, you call Steve. He answers, he hears the exhaustion in your voice, and he always sneaks in through your window later that night. He knows it’s the only way you’re able to sleep these days.

He sings to you when you wake up from a nightmare. They’ve become about Max, losing her. She’s only met with Ms. Kelly a few times, but you can tell that she already wants to stop. That you’re pushing her too far, pushing her away from you and everyone else.

Steve takes you for drives when you get blisters from pacing your room, anxiously waiting for your college decision letters to come in. Soon your entire life will be decided for you by one single piece of paper.

Two weeks before spring break, Jonathan calls you. He’s sober.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve spoken to him sober. The thought alone depresses you, makes you yearn for childhood again.

“I think Nancy wants me to come to Hawkins,” he tells you. “Would you… would you like that?”

More than anything.

You press the phone against your ear and imagine that it’s Jonathan’s hand instead. Your skin hasn’t forgotten how his felt against it. “Of course I want you to come to Hawkins, bee.” But it can’t be that easy, you know nothing ever comes easily. “Can you afford it, though? I–I mean, God. I miss you, you know that, but I know it’s been hard for your family these last few years.”

Jonathan’s head falls back against the wall behind him. You always understand. He hates it, sometimes. “It’s worth looking into if it means I get to see you and Nance.”

There’s an air of authority in Jonathan’s voice, as if he truly believes what he’s saying, and it surprises you. He’s taking initiative after months of floating away. Hope sparks within you, the cold hand of dread lessens its grip around your neck.

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic.” You say. Jonathan laughs, you’ve missed the sound. It’s been so long since you last heard it.

Conversation drifts after that. You tell him about the latest Spider-Man arc you’re reading, he inserts his own opinions, and it’s lovely. You haven’t had Jonathan like this in months, all to yourself, his smile aligned with yours. Sober, steady.

The phone call with Jonathan reminds you of all the good that is still yet to come.

College decision letters arrive next week. Your best friend might be visiting for spring break. Your boyfriend has planned a picnic for your anniversary tomorrow. You have your first meeting with Ms. Kelly the following day. It was your idea, figuring it was only fair that you see her since Max has agreed to keep going.

And Joyce made you promise that you’d live your own life. You’re trying to get better, you really are.

It just takes time.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #nya #m's writing #im so scared for season 4 bro #also less steve centered chapter i apologize class

472 notes · View notes

maeumi-jng · 1 year ago

Note

Can i request princess treatment from enhypen ❤️😭

princess charm school

pairing: enhypen x gn!reader

synopsis: in which enhypen are enrolled and on the honour list at princess charm school.

warnings: established relationship, endearments, swearing, cringe cringe, fluff, but i'm so soft for all of them 😭, proofread-ish

library: enhypen bookshelf

author's note: i'm not sure when by the princess treatment kinda got mixed in with dating headcannons. but still! hope this was to your likingggg ♡︎ thank you so much for requesting!

heeseung

there's two sides of princess treatment: the emotional part of it and the royalty part of it. heeseung takes great pleasure in putting extra effort in the latter. he's the extra mile type of guy when it comes to princess treatment.

he takes the royalty part so seriously. like that's his job. what else is supposed to do?

heeseung takes you out shopping, more than happy to sit down to watch you try on clothes. he really gets into it, choosing what clothes he thinks you'll look good in.

if he even catching an inkling that you're having somewhat of a bad day, best believe when you return home, a trail of fresh rose petals lie from your front door and lead you to the bathroom, where you find heeseung lighting some of your favourite candles.

you'd raise a brow, "hee, what's going the occasion? the petals, these candles... is that our record player... in the bathroom?"

heeseung would simply smile. "i thought you sounded sad over the phone so i ran you a bath," he said nonchalantly, shrugging as if this required no effort.

you'd also be leaving a dinner party of a close friend's. both of you and heeseung decided to call it a night but got mildly distracted when the thought of late night ice cream.

the closest ice cream store? a twenty minute walk away. an uber would've made it a mere seven minutes.

but you and heeseung were convinced it was more romantic to walk. so were you going to walk those twelve thousand seconds just to fulfil your craving? yes.

about ten minutes into your journey, you found your feet beginning to ache. you couldn't pinpoint the origin of the pain, possibly your new shoes that you haven't broken in yet or the fact you and heeseung danced for way too long.

heeseung, who was walking next to you, hand intertwined with yours, raised a brow when he felt your head slump on his shoulder. "what's wrong, baby?" he asked, mild concern spreading throughout his voice as you both came to a stop in the empty street.

"my feet hurt, hee. i think i'm getting a blister on the back of my ankle," you sighed, rotating your foot, wincing at the brush of your shoe against your pained skin.

heeseung pursed his lips, barely thinking for a second when he suddenly lifted you up.

a yelp left your lips. "heeseung! what are you doing?!" you shrieked, feet waddling in the air while his arms were tucked under your waist and knees.

"i'm carrying you to the ice cream store. can't have your feet hurting any more, can we?" he said with the most casual tone you had ever heard in your life.

"heeseung," you hissed out, cheeks burning in the dark. "let me down! this is so embarrassing!" you whispered, hitting his back lightly.

heeseung shook his head. "there's no one even here. now stop worrying and relax," he scolded you, laughing lightly at your reaction.

you quickly realised that any attempt of yours to get out of this was futile. sighing, you tried to calm your body despite your keen awareness of heeseung's warm arms holding you tightly to him.

you hung your hands around his neck, staring at his face quietly. heeseung turned slightly, taking a glance at you. "what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

you smiled, shaking your head in dismissal. you leaned forward, pressing a long kiss to his cheek. "thank you," you said with every ounce of earnestly you had, "i love you, hee."

heeseung smiled in response, thankful that night was so dark, disguising his flustered cheeks. "i love you, sweetheart. more than you'll ever know."

jongseong

the epitome of princess treatment. it's not just secondhand nature to jay. it's innate. genetic, if you will.

before you even began dating, jay was always giving you princess treatment. he's so attentive to everything you do.

before you realised he liked you, you were always catching jay's eyes as he gripped onto to every word that fell from those pretty lips of yours as if your word was his command (it most definitely is). whenever he was making a decision, jay would ask for your opinion, texting you with every passing second if he couldn't be in front of you.

princess treatment, when possible, should be healthy and balanced. but jay can't follow through. not when you're right in front of him.

there's a lot of talk about jay and his black card. not to make it a personality trait, for he is so much more, but when it comes to you, no expense is too big or too little. reminiscent of svt's woozi giving his black card for vernon to buy bubbles, jay would give be taking it out as if he was doing god's work by doing so.

oh you need your nails done? jay's got it.

hair appointment? done.

also, jay thinks 50/50 can go to hell. he is paying for the both of you and that's final. he won't even let you utter a syllable, telling the waiter in advance to take his card.

domestically, jay likes to spoil you by cooking for you, especially if you can't cook to save your life, doing the laundry, making you breakfast before you wake up, taking your chair out for you to sit even if it's just the two of you.

"jay... let me help you," you whined, sitting at the kitchen table and watching him prepare your picnic basket for your outing this morning.

jay hummed, finishing putting his freshly made fruit salad in a container. "you're already helping me, sweetheart. just looking at you makes me feel happy and at ease."

you slumped, pouting as you rested your cheeks on your arm. jay smiled in amusement, his heart doing small little flips. he leaned in across the table, placing a quick peck on your nose. "fine," he relented. "you can help me by taste testing the fruit salad."

you blinked blankly at him before breaking out into a small laugh. "i don't know, jay... that's a really difficult job you got there," you teased.

jay narrowed his eyes at your sarcasm. "keep it up and see how long you have this job for, babe."

you raised your hands in your defence. "whoa... take a chill pill, mister. you're in luck. i happen to be a certified taste tester."

"really?" jay humoured, hands resting on the table as he looked at you with raised brows. "certified by who?"

"the best, most handsome, sweetest, loveliest boyfriend ever?" you suggested, batting your eyelashes coyly.

jay couldn't even suppress the wide smile from breaking out. he nodded in amusement, reaching out to grab your hand. "okay, okay. come on, my certified lover. i do actually need you to taste it."

jaeyun

everything this man does revolves around you.

it's a historical fact.

look it up.

jake is pretty sure he lives for you... that he breathes for you. entirely wrapped up in the belief that you were made for him and he was made for you. in short, a simpleton if you've ever seen one.

his favourite things consist of helping you put your shoes on, especially when you're getting ready for something formal, kissing you at any given time, and constantly holding your hand.

you'll be going to put your shoes on and jake will quickly shove your hands away. "no let me." and as he does them, he'll leave small kisses on your knees or the side of your leg, just as a reminder that he loves you... like a lot.

you could also be in middle of talking to him and jake will suddenly interrupt you by kissing you. when you look at him with furrowed brows and flustered cheeks, he goes: "just because."

you're trying to kill someone... just because?????

jake is also a flower man. it's flower galore up in here. there doesn't need to be an occasion. he just likes giving you flowers. another just because.

you just closed the door to your car and you turned to jake to ask a question, but instead you're greeted with a bouquet of colours. "jake, what the– when did you get those?"

"before we met today. do you like them, baby? they're honeysuckles!"

the eager boba eyes peering at you while he pushes the bouquet towards make you fold an instant. you give him a warm smile, taking them from his hands. "i love them, jake. thank you so much."

later that day you go home and read what honeysuckles symbolise: everlasting love, true happiness, and sweetness and affection.

you smiled so hard that night that your cheeks were hurting the next day.

jake is also very dramatic. if you didn't know before, you know now.

you were both out for a morning walk after being cooped up in the house due to the harsh rain. it was a lot sunnier and brighter this morning, even if the paths were still stained with the rain, it screamed for a walk.

you and jake were both chitchatting, admiring the nature as you walked, when suddenly he brought out his hand over your waist, stopping you. "WAIT!"

now you're standing here baffled, eyes wide with confusion and slight fear because why the fuck is this man screaming so early in the morning? "holy shit– what? what happened, jake?"

jake's brown eyes averted to the path and then you. "there's a puddle."

hold up.

what?

you blinked blankly at him. an awkward laugh slipped past your mouth. "i– okay? and?"

jake sucked in a sharp breath, retracting his hand from your waist and instead holding it out to you. "give me your hand."

you raised a brow, slowly giving him your hand without thinking too much. you watched as jake leaped over the puddle and waited for you to carefully walk over it with your hand in his.

you gave him an incredulous look which only made him give you an impatient one in return. sighing, you stretched out your leg, just avoiding the puddle as jake pulled you into him.

jake wrapped his arms around your waist. "see? you're all dry. isn't that better?" he whispered, briefly kissing your forehead.

you found it difficult to bite back the smile eating away at you. you shook your head, laughing quietly to yourself. "you're a cheeseball, jake. you know that?"

jake grinned at your words, hands tightening around you. "your cheeseball, you mean."

you blinked, peering at him through your lashes. "yes," you agreed. "my cheeseball."

am i... delusional? 🤭🤧 (don't answer that!)

sunghoon

sunghoon's princess treatment is for you and only you. only you see it and only you get to experience it.

whenever, it's just the two of you, the side of sunghoon you see is almost unbelievable. alone in an elevator with all the space in the world, yet sunghoon can only cling to you, hand constantly around your waist. or when you're in the car, his hand rests on your leg because it's only secondhand nature.

sunghoon, however, does have his public moments. he always has an umbrella just in case and it's big enough for the both of you. but every time it suddenly starts to pour down and sunghoon opens the umbrella, he only puts it on you. he doesn't really care if he's soaked in rain one day and sick the next, as long as you're fine and dry, he's a happy guy.

to be honest, sunghoon isn't that talkative of a guy. but for you, if you can't say something or order something, he'll hundred percent do it for you. or if someone says something bad or upsetting, trust, sunghoon is going to be on their ass about it: ice cold glare and a whole lot of things to suddenly say.

sunghoon's favourite form of princess treatment, however, is helping you get ready in the morning. like honestly, you don't need it. you seem to have everything sorted. but sunghoon can't help it. the urge to help you is a need not a want.

you and sunghoon would both wake up, particularly unbothered by everything. after ten minutes of you staring at each other and smiling like idiots, you decide to get out and take a shower. by the time you finish, sunghoon is still lounging in bed, only coming out of the sheets when you were standing in front of your mirror in your selected clothes for the day.

as he does every morning, sunghoon would take off the towel wrapped around your head and put it aside. he'd comb your hair (under the insistence that it was better than brushing your hair), gently taking out any knots before helping you blow dry it.

amongst all of this, you're just smiling at sunghoon through the mirror. he doesn't really see you since he's so focused on helping you get ready.

to be honest, even though he has a younger sister, he didn't really learn anything from her when it came to hairstyles. but this cutie decided to spend his time trying out different hairstyles. he tried them on his sister and you, whenever he had the time. so every morning, sunghoon would ask you what you wanted and he'd be more than happy to serve.

if you thought it ended here... well, you're wrong.

makeup... whether you wanted to go all out or just put some lipbalm on, sunghoon would put himself in harms way just to do it. he loves everything about it. the intimacy, the proximity, your reaction, how pretty you look afterwards... everything.

needless to say, you love being sunghoon's princess.

seonwoo

listen... everyone and their mother knows about seonwoo's princess aka you.

why?

his personal instagram account was practically a fanstagram of you. seonwoo spent a lot of time, posting about you, you and him, and then you again.

for most of your time together, you expect it to be documented in some shape or form. seonwoo liked to take mirror selfies with you or post pictures of you on your dates together. even if your face wasn't in it, he liked to post it.

seonwoo's favourite, however? candid photos.

he can't verbally express how much he loves them. so seonwoo just posts a bunch instead. he's just in awe. because how do you look so pretty all the time? why do you make him suffer in such a sweetly evil way?

seonwoo also throws all of his skepticism and doubt away when he's with you. he will do anything for you and try anything. he always always lets you pick what to watch. he doesn't care what it is as long as you're happy.

another flower guy. but instead, he'd rather border on getting yelled at by a stranger for picking flowers from their garden rather than just going to a florist. seonwoo, by that point, decided to just pick up gardening as a hobby. it's not the cleanest hobby in the world which freaks him out time to time but it's totally worth it in the end when he sees your smile.

seonwoo also never ever ever lets you carry your own bag. he'll carry your for you or he'll put your stuff in his own bag. he doesn't want you to strain yourself, yk? 🤗

another guy who's a tad bit dramatic. if seonwoo's giving you princess treatment, he is going to be so fucking adamant about it.

for example, you're in the car. you and seonwoo both decided you wanted to go grocery shopping because you're cupboards and fridge were looking a bit empty.

upon arriving to the supermarket, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to open the door but seonwoo literally slapped your hand away from the handle.

"what the heck, seonwoo?!" you turned to him with the most baffled expression because seonwoo isn't there anymore. instead, he's fucking running outside of the car to get to your side and open the door for you.

seonwoo would beam down at you as he opened the door, lowkey out of breath from sprinting from one side to another.

you blinked blankly, a small smile creeping onto your face. "you're so whipped," you teased, moving your legs to get out the car,

seonwoo rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand as you got out of the car. closing the car door, he moved his hand, intertwining your fingers together. "you're the one smiling like a kid who woke up on their birthday," he retorted, his own smile teetering on his face.

you pressed your lips together while seonwoo gave you a pointed look, knowing he had caught you. you sighed, resting your head on his shoulder as you walked into the store. "we aren't getting mint chocolate ice cream," you casually said.

seonwoo gaped at you, eyes wide. "okay, okay. i take it back. i'm sorry. you were right," he conceded, pressing a kiss to your cheek. he whispered, "i am so whipped."

jungwon

another epitome of princess treatment guy.

he just likes you so much... how can he not treat you so well?

if jungwon catches you staring at something you like for a while when you both shop together, he'll probably buy it for you when he uses going to the bathroom as an excuse to do so. he enjoys your reaction when you come home from the trip and finish washing up to find the item resting on your bed or dresser.

"what the? wonnie," you gasped, turning your head to the culprit. "how did you know?" you jutted your lip, eyes turning soft at the grinning boy.

jungwon walked towards you, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while his hands naturally found their place around your waist. his chin nestled into your collarbone while he spoke. "you looked like you wanted it, that all."

you were practically speechless. "b-but, that didn't you mean you had to buy it," you said, in complete awe of the kindness of jungwon's heart. you sighed, turning your head to bring him into a long kiss.

unknown fact but acts of service should be jungwon's middle name. if you had any trouble at all with anything, he'd do it for you. freshly done nails and dishes? he had them. the lid on your jam jar sealed a bit too tight?

got a sweet tooth at ten in the evening? jungwon would either take you out or do what he thinks is the best idea: bake you a fresh batch of whatever you wanted. you were the only reason he stocked up on so many ingredients. from brownies and cupcakes to ugly looking macaroons and meringues... anything for you.

another thing jungwon often did was the whole shoe thing. but with a slight change and an addition to go along with it.

you had both just attended a family wedding. you were all having a great time, dancing, chatting, taking pictures, devouring the wedding menu... but all this socialisation took energy and you're social battery was on the brink of dying out.

you were seated at your allocated table when jungwon brought you a glass of water and sat next to you. you gave him a small smile, taking a big gulp of the water.

jungwon raised a brow after eyeing your shoes next to your chair. "sucky shoes?" he guessed.

you sighed, resting your chin in your hand. "sucky shoes," you confirmed by repeating his words. "they're a pain my ass," you mumbled.

jungwon frowned at your misery, soon grabbing your feet to rest them on his lap, capturing your attention. "jungwon, what are you doing?"

"just relax," jungwon whispered softly, bringing his fingers to slowly rub soothing circles into your ankles and feet. you couldn't believe it. he was massaging your feet for you.

you pouted, eyes soft once again. "wonnie," you murmured, unable to follow up with anymore words.

he only smiled gently, continuing. "does that feel better?" jungwon queried after a couple of minutes. you wordlessly nodded, sporting the most thankful expression you could muster for your voice had failed you.

you mended your brows together when you watched jungwon take off his shoes and begin to put them onto your feet. "jungwon-ah, yah, what are you doing? we have to go back out soon." you asked, feeling panicked all of a sudden.

"it's okay," jungwon reassured, "you need shoes that don't suck. besides, i still have socks," he said, wiggling his foot.

your mouth fell open. how on earth did you get so lucky? "jungwon," you called out, making him hum in response as he just finished doing the last shoes. "marry me?" you asked softly.

jungwon blinked, a wide smile sprawling on to his face, dimples popping right out at you. "of course," he responded, "but give me some time and i'll ask you instead, hmm?"

you grinned at his words, nodding. for the rest of the evening, jungwon stood next to you, in his socks, more than happy. as the event came to a close and everyone began to leave, you'd walk out, still in his shoes, as jungwon tangled his fingers with yours, carrying your shoes in the other hand.

👑 -> jungwon 🤧

riki

riki is the definition of princess treatment in combination with young love. you don't know it because he's kind of embarrassed to tell you, but he's always keeping an eye out for you.

riki's already got the basic things covered: opening the door for you at all times, listening to your words with the greatest attention known to mankind, more than willing to hold all the clothes you gathered in the store, covering all the edges of objects so you didn't hurt yourself.

but then there were the moments that made your heart flutter to the point where the both of you had to consider whether you were malfunctioning or not.

you were both walking around town when he'd suddenly stop you. "what's wrong?" you asked.

but riki said nothing. instead he just bent down to the floor after moving in front of you and began tying your shoelaces.

"riki-ah," you chuckled, "you could've told me."

riki shrugged, tying a tight knot. "you should make tight knots," he told you.

"otherwise i'll trip, i know," you teased.

riki shook his head, standing back up, making you furrow your brows. "i can't have you falling for anyone else."

it was so stupid how riki could say the most heart-stopping things so casually. it was infuriating yet it made you flush with embarrassment instead.

but that moment had set in stone that riki always did your laces up when they came undone. something about making sure you were only falling for him.

another day, you were both eating at a cafe. you had ordered some new things to try and you were quite excited, stuffing your face with food. you were about to get riki to try yours when you spotted the frown on his face.

you swallowed your bite, turning your head to him. "riki? what happened? do you not like your food?"

riki remained quite, hand stretching out to pull your chair closer to him. your eyes widened at the sudden proximity. a smile settled down on his face. "that's better."

no because what the fuck? how on earth were you supposed survive this?

and then there was the time it was raining. like pure good rain. not a shower or some light little pelts. rain.

riki isn't as prepared as the others. an umbrella? newsflash! no one is carrying an umbrella all the time. but what riki did have was his cherished leather jacket.

so as the rain pelted down, drenching the both of you and the smell of the earthy hugged you dearly, riki took off of his jacket, raising his arms to cover your head as you both ran together, trying to reach some shade.

"riki!" you squealed, feeling the cold rain stick to your skin. "put it on yourself! you're going to get sick," you scolded.

riki laughed softly, running a hand through his wet hair. he peered down at you, holding the most gentle look in his brown eyes. "it's okay. i just don't want you to get sick."

you both slowed down your run to find any inch of shade. you stared at him while he continued to hold his jacket over your head.

"what?" riki queried, chest rising up and down as the rain continued to trickle down his body.

you stretched out your hands, hanging them around his neck as you pulled him closer to you. you reached up on the tips of your toe and pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling the coldness of your skin melt against his warmth.

you pulled away while riki looked at you with an unreadable expression. you laughed gently. "nothing," you shrugged, hand reaching out to grab his hand. "now come on! we need to get out of the rain!"

riki blinked blankly, watching you take him with you. he thought his heart stopped.

riki thinks knows that he's entirely in love with you.

#maeumi-jng #maeumi jng’s library — enhypen bookshelf ♡︎#enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #jungwon x reader #enhypen reactions #heeseung x reader #jake x reader #jay x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #riki x reader #niki x reader #enhypen headcannons

996 notes · View notes

sugarplumkneecaps · 6 months ago

Text

Memories (Shadow x Reader)

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader (gender neutral) → Can be read as platonic or romantic Word Count: 3.4k T/W: loss, mentions of death (previous to story) Summary: It's New Year's Eve and life has been quite peaceful for the last few months following Dr. Eggman's defeat (again). You work up the courage to invite Shadow over, but he seems to be a bit distracted...

SQUEEE- the marker squealed as another day was crossed off the paper calendar hung on the wall in the hallway. The end of the year had come much sooner than Shadow expected. It felt as though most of his days blurred together, the mundane routine turning his concept of time on its head. At one point in his life, he had longed for the same sense of normalcy that Rouge had mentioned long ago. But this? This was torturous. He replaced the cap of the pen and hung it back up with the calendar before moving into the kitchen of his apartment with a great deal of reluctance. He had yet to go grocery shopping, making his usual routine of finding breakfast somewhat more adventurous than he had the energy for this morning.

Rouge had urged for him to rent the apartment and get his current job following their efforts to put a stop to Robotnik’s world ending plans. “I think you are long overdue for a taste of normal life Shadow,” Rouge had cooed at him.

He scoffed at the memory, taking in the view of his living space as he exited the kitchen with a sad bagel topped with cream cheese (making a mental note to stop by the corner store to grab something to fill him up a bit). His apartment wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t anything grand either. His living room could fit a single, plush couch across from a TV, record player, and his plant. The walls were lined with records that were regularly rotated out every week. He had direct access to his small breakfast nook and kitchen due to the open layout, which he enjoyed. It allowed for him to sit and enjoy his music as he ate or cooked. The hallway led to his room, office, and bathroom, all neat and tidy in their own respective manners. It was comfortable for him, mostly due to never expecting any real company over.

The size of it also meant that rent was cheap, which was good as all of his paycheck from the cafe only had to go towards every day living expenses (at the behest of a certain bat, once again, advising him to save his payout from their more intensive work). Shadow couldn’t deny the merit of her words; the higher paying work had slowed down significantly. Preventing world domination for the upteenth time seemed to discourage others from another attempt too soon.

Shadow finished his breakfast and headed toward the front door, slipping on his shoes before starting his commute to work which was only a short walk from his place. He let out a long sigh as he locked the front door behind him, nearly running into you as he turned toward the stairwell.

“Oh! Uh- Sorry, Shadow. I didn’t see you there,” you stuttered, embarrassment dripping from each word. You had been neighbors for a few months now, excited and yet intimidated by the proximity you had with him. It was simply chance that you two had even met in the first place, what with Infinite sparing you and the events that followed; you had somehow become an integral part of Sonic and his cohorts’ plan to bring Dr. Eggman to a halt. But the fact that Shadow not only worked with you at the local cafe but had also moved in next door to you so soon after felt too good to be true.

“All good. See you at work,” his voice somewhat hushed and low before he continued on his way. Burying his hands in his pockets, his steps covered an impressive distance in only a few minutes, Shadow’s mind wandering. He had also taken note of you - your impressive feats to aid them in their world saving efforts all the way down to your also somewhat mundane ritualistic activities. You both worked behind the counter at the cafe; him focusing more on brewing orders while you handled customers. He was always curious how you managed it with a smile on your face most days; the idea of switching spots with you was enough to make him shudder, shaking his head in effort to rid himself of the idea.

“Oh Shadow, people aren’t all bad!” Maria’s voice echoed. Shadow stopped dead in his tracks, the sudden flashback startling him. Why would he remember that now, of all times and places?

You weren’t too far behind Shadow, but you swore he glided to work effortlessly even without his air shoes. It wasn’t until he paused that you were able to catch up with him, letting out a small chuckle as you bumped shoulders with him lightly. This seemed to pull him out of his daze.

“C’mon, spacey, we don’t want to be late. I still owe you a breakfast sandwich for yesterday!”

“Wait- what? What are you talking about?”

You turned to look at the dark hedgehog, a smile creeping on your lips, “you saved me from that older gentleman, remember? He was making all sorts of comments-“

Shadow let out a “tch-“ sound before furrowing his eyebrows further, “Oh. You don’t owe me anything for that. You seemed uncomfortable.” His pace picked up a bit, causing you to need to start into a light jog to keep pace with him.

“I mean- yeah. He was being a bit creepy.” You huffed out a breath, once again embarrassed only this time by how winded keeping up with Shadow made you. “Hey, could you slow down a bit? We aren’t running that late or anything.”

Shadow eyed you from the side, smirking slightly before slowing his pace, “well, lucky for you, we’re here.” He motioned toward the building in front of you both, windows lining the outside to reveal the dark seating area of the cafe. You let out an exaggerated huff in an effort to make light of your winded state before digging in your bag for the keys to the front door. After wrestling with the key for a moment, you were able to unlock the building and begin setting up to open.

“Hey Shadow, I’ve been meaning to ask, how do you like your coffee?”

Shadow paused for a moment while he removed the chairs from atop their respective tables, pushing them in and moving on to the next methodically, “black, which I’m sure you probably could’ve guessed.”

“Ah- right. My bad. That does seem too fitting to not be obvious, huh?” you laughed shyly, starting the brew and selecting a breakfast sandwich to heat up for your counterpart. Man, you’re really going 3 for 3 this morning, huh? Your head hung low before rolling your shoulders back. This is your last chance to invite him, don’t screw it up!

The oven chimed as an indicator that Shadow’s sandwich was done, encouraging you to work up a bit of courage to not only present the seemingly unnecessary gesture but to also address him. You plated the sandwich and placed it on the table Shadow had just cleared off.

“Your breakfast, my good sir!” you bowed dramatically, getting a strained chuckle in response from Shadow. Clearing your throat, you figured now was as good a time as any, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Shadow sat in the chair in front of the sandwich, thankful that he wouldn’t have to resort to the corner store option, “hmm?”

You waited a moment to see if his gaze would meet yours, only to realize after a few bites in that your gesture maybe wasn’t as unwanted as he made it seem. “Well, see, I am going to be having a few people over later tonight to celebrate New Years. Rouge, Silver, maybe a few others, and uhm-“ you gulped, your mouth dry as your original, short invitation started to take a turn for the worse. “And... you? If you’d like to come?” Your ears drooped a tiny bit, your body subconsciously preparing for the inevitable rejection you were sure you would face.

Much to your surprise though, Shadow paused his chewing to look at you, “Yeah. I could stop by.” He continued to eat, completely unfazed by your shock at his response.

“Really?? That’s great! I mean- that’s, uhm, yeah! The party starts at 8PM!”

Shadow said nothing, which you took in stride, practically twirling as you went to grab him a coffee.

The work day somehow dragged on and yet also was over before either of you knew it. Shadow was appreciative of the routine of brewing the coffee, cleaning the machine, collecting dishware, and starting over as it allowed him to shut his brain off. It seemed to be determined to pull the rug out from under him today considering his flashback earlier. Memories of Maria weren’t unwelcome by any means, but Shadow recognized his emotional responses to them weren’t necessarily appropriate at work. He could have contemplated the reason behind their resurgence, but he simply chalked it up to his recent living situation changes, unwilling to dig deeper than that. Although, he might not have been too far off.

Rouge wasn’t the only one Shadow had heard speak of normalcy longingly; Maria’s illness was better managed whilst in the care of her grandfather, but that didn’t mean she got to experience much of a normal childhood as other kids her age did. She was at the mercy of her grandfather’s schedule and her small living quarters. “I know it seems silly,” she would say softly, “but sometimes I miss going to school. I miss riding the bus. I miss running through flower fields and my parents yelling for me when the street lights came on.” These concepts had meant very little to Shadow at the time, but as life had settled around him, he couldn’t help but wish he could show Maria that he was trying to live each day with her in mind.

The New Year creeping up on him was maybe too much of a reminder that he hadn’t done that great of a job to really appreciate the peace he had recently found. All he could hope for is that the party tonight would not be something he would regret agreeing to. I’ll make a promise to Maria that I will do better in the coming year.

You stared at your reflection for far too long. Clothes were strewn about your bed, all rejected options for tonight’s celebration. “You don’t need to overdo it!” you said to yourself, gripping the jeans in your hands. “Just wear the stupid jeans and find a comfy sweater. This isn’t meant to be some crazy thing.”

A knock on your door indicated that you didn’t have time to continue to bemoan over your lackluster wardrobe any longer. Throwing on the clothes in hand and quickly fluffing your hair, you made your way to the front door to greet your first guest. To your surprise, Shadow greeted you with a bottle of champaign.

“Hope this is okay,” he said, looking you over subtly. He was dressed in a pair of dark slacks, a turtleneck sweater, and a nice blazer. You could feel the dread set in once again before mentally shaking yourself out of it, “yes! This is fine! Thank you, you really didn’t have to bring anything.” You welcomed him inside and placed the champaign on the kitchen counter before turning to pull refreshments from the pantry and fridge.

Shadow stood next to the door as he watched you move about your apartment, removing his blazer and placing it in the crook of his arm. Your own apartment wasn’t much different than his, the layout the same, but flipped. It seemed much more suitable to host guests than his own, he noted, as he moved across the living room to where you were at in the kitchen. He hung his blazer along the back of one of the dining room chairs before holding his hands out to you. By this point, you were struggling to move the punch bowl, having filled it prematurely and realizing you would have to move the full thing to its proper place. Shadow’s outstretched arms took you by surprise but you did not refuse the help. You gingerly placed the bowl into Shadow’s arms, “thanks- uhm, you can set it on the bar counter next to the cups.”

He nodded and placed the bowl with ease, something you were quite jealous of. His otherworldly strength was quite useful while you two worked together, as he did a majority of the heavy lifting when food shipments arrived. Of course the simple task of moving the punch bowl would be easy for him. You laughed at yourself quietly at the thought and quickly turned away to continue setup.

It did not take long for the other fantastic mobians to join you both, the space of your apartment quickly filling with sounds of chatter and laughter. As the festivities kicked off, you began to notice that Shadow wasn’t really interacting with anyone (except for Rouge every now and again when she would seek him out). You had made a mental note to check in with him, but were quickly swept away to host.

You had never quite pulled something like this off, and the constant interaction was quickly draining your own social battery. Chaos, if I’m feeling this way I can only imagine how Shadow is doing. The thought prompted a quick scan of the apartment, but Shadow was nowhere to be seen. Your brows creased with concern, hoping he hadn’t left without saying anything. However, your search would need to wait as you felt an intense need to step outside for a bit of fresh air. You checked in with Tails, asking for him to keep an eye on things while you stepped out, to which he smiled at you and told you not to worry.

One of your favorite parts about this apartment was access to a private balcony. It wasn’t anything impressive but it made for a nice getaway when you needed it. You pulled on the door, struggling as it stuck to the doorway before prying it open and prompting Shadow to turn around to face you.

“Oh- sorry! I didn’t mean to, uhm-“ you gulped, startled by his presence. Why was talking to him always so nerve-wracking? “I just needed some fresh air.”

You watched as Shadow shifted over to allow some space to join him, “be my guest.”

Struggling again to close the door behind you, you moved next to him to rest your arms on the railing. Your eyes gravitated toward the sky, catching sporadic flashes of light from fireworks far off in the distance. The cool night air was a refreshing contrast from the sudden stuffiness in your small apartment and almost immediately your body relaxed. It was only at that point that you were able to take a deep breath and really released the subconscious tension you held in your shoulders since everyone arrived.

“Quite the turnout, huh?” you offered, shifting your gaze to Shadow.

He stood unmoving, his eyes now fixated on the sky above him. The stars lit up their dark backdrop, competing only with the bursts of fireworks every now and again. Shadow hadn’t seen the night sky like this in what felt like a lifetime. He had his own balcony but rarely ever used it, having forgotten it was there for the most part. In his solitude, he had very little reason to occupy the space.

The silence between you two and his unbroken focus on the sky brought you to look up again. This moment was not unwelcome nor awkward like you feared it might be. You felt a wave of comfort wash over you as you listened to the muffled sounds of your friends indoors alongside the chirping of crickets and popping of fireworks.

Shadow finally acknowledged his lack of a response to you, shifting slightly and clearing his throat, “I wonder if Maria had gotten to experience a New Years like this.” Taken aback by this vulnerability, you turned to Shadow again.

Maria. That was a familiar name in regards to the dark hedgehog. You knew she was the only friend he had before he was captured by GUN, having suffered a horrendous fate at the organization’s hand. You contemplated if she was the reason for his more prominent standoffish behavior tonight.

“This place reminds you of her, doesn’t it?” The words came out as hardly anything more than whisper, your effort to come across as tender shining through.

You watched as Shadow winced, moving his hands to interlock his fingers. “Not just this place.” He took a deep breath, as if calculating how much he wanted to divulge to you. “Everything and everywhere does...”

His voice was low and barely audible in comparison to the world around you. Shadow had been carrying the weight of Maria’s death with him through life, a feeling you could only imagine. His ears drooped slightly as his gaze shifted downward to his hands. He studied their shape, taking note of his inhibitor rings and the creases along his fingers, trying to remember what Maria’s felt like. With another small breath, he continued, “memories of her are in everything.”

To say you were stunned would be the understatement of the century. You took in the scene of Shadow, arms resting on the railing in front of him, the fingers of one of his hands tracing the other, his demeanor sad and sincere. You placed your hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. His eyes lifted to meet your own, his gaze years away as tears pooled and fell along his cheek. You smiled at him, pulling him gently toward you.

He hesitated at first before accepting your embrace. You held each other there for a moment, searching for the right words to say in response to his. Everything seemed to come up short, in your mind, sounding way too cheesy and cliche to truly convey your desire to comfort Shadow. Against your better judgment, you pulled away to look at him.

“I think... that’s how you help keep their memory alive. You carry them with you in some capacity. You associate certain things in life to them, and you cherish those things more than you would have otherwise.”

You paused, searching his expression in an effort to ensure you weren’t overstepping. He stared back at you, his usual scowl nowhere to be seen, his expression softer than you had seen before.

“Maybe it also helps us live life to the fullest and not take things for granted.”

He nodded slowly, your words sinking in as he stepped out of your arms to look at the sky again.

“She would have wanted me to enjoy life,” he said thoughtfully. Shadow took a deep breath before looking at you once again, a timid smile playing on his lips. “Thank you.”

You returned his smile in kind, imprinting this moment to memory for you to cherish always. After a brief pause, you offered your hand to him, “what do you say we go back in?”

He looked down at your hand and nodded, wiping the tears from his face and giving the night sky another glance. Shadow would have to remember to spruce up his own balcony to enjoy the stars.

Your fingers intertwined with his as you started to head back inside; the backdoor being of no issue for Shadow (of course) to pull open and close shut with ease. He let go of your hand after giving it a light squeeze and moved through the group to find Rouge of his own accord, smiling back at you. Sonic approached you, taking note of the interaction, “wow, never thought that guy could actually smile! You sure we don’t have a SUPER faker among us?”

Your elbow jabbed into Sonic’s arm playfully as you laughed and shook your head.

As midnight approached, you all gathered around the TV in the living room and counted down the New Year. Shadow closed his eyes, allowing Rouge to shake him as she joined the others in celebrating. His eyes opened and rested their gaze on you, watching as you cheered alongside everyone. It was then that he decided; he was going to make sure he did everything he could to appreciate his newfound friends and peaceful existence, just the way he hoped Maria would have wanted him to.

#tried to write smut #all i have to offer is fluff #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow the hedgehog #shadow x reader #wholesome #✧*̥˚ my fics *̥˚✧

174 notes · View notes

ur-mousey · 1 year ago

Note

If you’re doing requests could you write smth smutty with jeffery from class of 09 x female reader w some dubcon

Benzo-Addict ~

- Yandere!Jeffery x F!Reader -

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Part Two, Part Three

summary Drugs have always been your friend. A source of courage and tonight's no different. Now it's time to fuck a nerd. Hope your BF understands. 1.8k

warning college AU, mature, non-con, heavy drug use, hostage situation, violence.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

** Choice ** Head home, hang in the res quad with the other losers, or hot box it in a classroom with Nicole and Jecka. * click *

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Nicole, what the fuck is a benzosexual exactly?" Your head whipped to the side at record speed. "Sounds..." You wormed your finger into a salty chip bag while pondering something profound to say other than the obvious: "Not good." There goes anything English has taught you about synonyms. You popped a chip in your greedy mouth. The tang of vinegar and salt collided on your tongue. This shit was disgusting.

Yet, you were on the cusp of moaning with each solid crunch. But you held your tongue at bay.

"I feel like we had this conversation before." Nicole hummed around the shared point. Inhale. Exhale. Then, she expelled a puff of smoke into the dust flurries kicked up in their shuffle.

The classroom was barren of decore. Stiff and desolate, a reminder that teachers truly made the space, whereas professors rotate. And this fact was wholly evident. The walls stay bare through decades of season. Autumn is born in beige and Spring arises in that same fate, ending the year in beige.

It's astonishing how this educational prison stood in the glory of its singular doodle of Homer with nothing accompanying it on the wall.

And the desks were neatly arranged, bolted to the ground. Only the chairs beckoned students to sit as they were haphazardly thrown. It seemed as if they patiently waited for the next class's arrival. Lonely in nature until chosen for the hour. But Friday afternoon meant that classes seldom came to these halls

"It's because we had, Nicole." Jecka retorted before gesturing to you, "She just wasn't here for it."

Nicole scoffed, "Sucks for her that she missed all the pedophiles. Now she gets the regular-enough shit, aka standard rapists. I bet even then, they have CP somewhere on their computer."

Jecka puffed her chest up before sighing dramatically. "Remind me again why are you still Hitler? Oh, wait you just did. Grow out of it."

“I’ve grown, obviously~ because I can’t call every man a pedophile in relationship to me. Your whore sister, in 10th grade, she’s surrounded by them by the dozen… See!? Development, bitch.”

** Bzzzz **

"Okay, Nicole is Hitler, but what's a benzosexual?" You urged the pair on. You felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. But you decided to ignore it for now.

"Someone attracted to the unconscious," Jecka twirled her fingers around a singular strand of honey-blonde hair. It almost glowed too brightly in the setting sun. "There was this stupid, insufferable, jock named Kylar at our high school. Who was constantly -and I mean it, constantly- putting weird shit in girls drinks. They'll pass out, and I know he got off to it. A girl that helpless..."

** Bzzzz ** ** Bzzzz **

"Isn't that illegal? Like, shouldn't you guys have reported him?"

"He played lacrosse," Nicole muttered. "Reporting it wouldn't do shit. Sports players get molested all the time by their grimy coaches, and it’s the girl's fault.”

** Bzzzz ** ** Bzzzz ** ** Bzzzz ** ** Bzzzz **

"Truly the Pessimist," You hissed through gritted teeth while reaching for another bite to calm your munchies.

Nicole's stare momentarily flashed to your face, eyes redden and lazy, smoke swirling out her nose, before she leaned further in.

** Bzzzz ** ** Bzzzz ** ** Bzzzz **

"It's Jeffery, huh?"

Your phone was currently blowing itself shitless. The tone of each call or message traveled upwards into the silence. The vibrations climbed your spinal cord like a wooden ladder, propping its feet between your bones, propelling into your eardrums. You cringed. All of this, why? A single moment was swiftly grasped by Jeffery's sudden insistence on a response to whatever you didn't care about. You two were meant to be ex-lab partners, not pen pals of 1000+ messages each.

You retrieved your phone. 20 missed calls and 50+ texts.

"Forget creeps like Kylar when there's Jeffery. God couldn't keep him away from us. It's always the kids like him who don't go missing."

Jecka cackled, and her chin came to rest on the top of your shoulder. She read while you scrolled languidly. "Um, good luck playing into his fetishes. Being his... mommy!? And all. Meow~"

You flushed all red, "Don't read it!"

This isn’t the first time Jecka teased you with the force of a rabid cat caller. She did it unabashedly and the pain of her comments left its marks on your face. You made a simple mistake, and that was defending Jeffery during the first week of classes. To you, he was a sweet, smart and charismatic guy, albeit all, a tad socially awkward. Scratch that -he was a lost cause concerning social interactions. It wasn’t horrendous or anything. It made talking to him before stress-free. Now it’s a different story.

There were times as Jeffery’s lab partner that should’ve had you sprinting out of Environmental Science. But you sucked your tongue tight to the roof of your mouth and smiled without the corners reaching your eyes. He’d crossed the lines of your acquaintanceship too many times to count. You’re the one at fault, aren't you? You were the one that led him on. Why the fuck didn’t you get angry at him but at yourself?

One random Monday, Jeffery gave you a hentai DVD to you with an accompanying notebook that explained his depraved inner thoughts; '@ 1:47, I watched this 40-feet cat woman step on a guy's penis. And I wish that were you doing it to me. The sight made my hand go faster till total completion.'

And frankly, you didn't want to know that. Jeffery, the weird otaku obsessed with NaruParty13, whom you felt bad for, proved to be a complete freak.

With your first semester ending, you closed that chapter of being his lab partner. In came new housing, with your boyfriend and away from the dorms, and less frequent trips to the dining hall, which meant fewer interactions with Jeffery. For literal fucks sake, you shared zero classes together, nor were you a part of the same major. Your paths strayed from one another. You entertained small talk here and there when it felt inevitable. Any sane person would let this lack of relationship go. Not Jeffery.

"I'm not playing into anyone's kinks aside from my own." You stuck your tongue out, shoving Jecka away.

"And sometimes your sleaze boyfriend."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm perfect 10 with a high libido." You mocked, matching your pitch to Jecka's. "And Cody's not a total sleaze."

Nicole tapped your shoulder with the joint in hand, "He's as depraved as any other man. Hence the usage of the word total."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

** Choice ** Snatch the weed, or confront Jeffery. * click *

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You could deal with Jeffery another day.

You were like a kite soaring through the sky. Your mind fell far into a different plane of existence than your own, but you didn't mind. The world was spinning. And, if you were in a room, you couldn't tell. No amount of stable ground could keep your feet stationed. Your vision was decorated in fuzz and pixels. And, in a twist of fate, you thought yourself tumbling forward.

You had taken it. Nicole's shit- that joint was strong as fuck. The first drag knocked your chest back in reverie. Yet you kept ripping. By the time you had left campus, you were inflicted with giggles, and you'd remained starry-eyed throughout dinner.

Then came the Friday night club scene. You downed shots like a bad bitch. Ghandi would be proud.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You stumbled through the shared flat with Cody. Your lips entangled with each other in battle. His hands groped your hips and pinched its flesh with fervent joy. His lips were chapped and his tongue held the remnants of beer. You enjoyed its taste against the mint of your gum.

Your boyfriend pulled away. Your name breached passed moans and whines, sobering your tequila-filled belly slightly. "Babe, please grab the Percocet... In the cabinet." Cody damn near whined. You nodded furiously, and your brain rattled against your skull.

He smacked a sloppy kiss on your forehead before shooing you away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

** Choice ** Sober up with water, or take a dive into prescription pill wonderland. * click *

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And down the hatch, the Percocet goes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You... you little shi- Fuck!"

Cody? Was that you?

His words felt miles away and your head ached. You knew Cody was crying really ugly. Was he talking to you? Were you dying? You were neither here nor there. And faintly, you registered the sound of skin impacting skin. It was unmistakable.

Cody screeched, "That hurts dipshit!"

"You ruined her. People ruined her," A disembodied voice spoke over you. You groaned, head swirling with more things than one. Could it be a dream? Where were you? How were you here? If you opened up your eyes, would you be able to see? "She was absolute... Beauty! A perfect girl rivaling those of the anime girls in Doki Doki Daisuke. It was as if God answered my prayers and brought her to life before me. That's who she is to me -perfect as the day I met her... Before she met mean girls like Nicole. And, before she allowed you to defile her."

"Fuck," Cody screeched. "What the hell are you talking about!? We were dating before that whore, Nicole!" Who are you talking to?

Cody? I'm scared. I can't... get out of my own head.

His voice continued. "Look man, she was never going to be with you. We started going steady in high school. You were some bizarre loser, a complete NEET, who got assigned as her lab partner. For fuck sake, she would've ignored you still without me or her friends. You are just a nuisance who can't take no for an answer! Is this your final attempt to get her to look at you!? Huh... HUH!? Well? Is it working? Does she see you now? Fuck no -she's unconscious! Guess who you're talking to? ME!!!"

Fingers carded over your scalp, itching at your crown. You tingled all over, and the coldest breath ghosted over your cheeks. "I would treat her better. I would put her on a pedestal that rivals Yuno Gasai, whom I believe to be the sluttiest and most desirable anime girl."

Was that voice Jeffery? You managed to whine at that, and you were promptly shushed -consoled like a child.

"She's like this because of you. You're supposed to protect her. What boyfriend allows his girlfriend to get this drugged out."

Silence.

Cody? Are you still there? Like actually, there? I don't understand. Why is this happening? What even is happening to me?

After a while, your boyfriend tsked, "She's a fucking addict, and it is hot as shit. Imagine what a drugged-up slut would do to please you."

Pause.

"Besides, you aren't at all above it. Don't act like you're better than me. Ain't it true that you roofie bitches? Hehe, now you're coming after my druggie girlfriend. Some SHIT!!"

"Y'a know, you talk too much," Jeffery whispered. And you found the strength within yourself to peel your eyes open. You were home. The few nicknacks you displayed glared into your retinas. Once, twice, it felt unbearable to blink. Your gaze started at the carpet, swooping to the left then the right, along the walls, and down to the center.

Your boyfriend's stared back at you. Then came the...

Screams.

You hadn't comprehended the missing beats of Cody's responses until then. In that state of limbo, words tied together rhythmically. Now, each plea and wail came out differently past battered lips. He begged you to run through swollen tongues and lips.

Each pause was a catch of breath. Cody's chest rose and fell in quick succession. His face was bloodied. Swirled vermillion, slathered by a pair of hands. Where the original wound is, you couldn't tell. It was all over the place. Ropes circled his chest, soaking up red, and kept him strapped to a wooden dining chair.

"Co-" You sputtered. You couldn't stop the onslaught of coughs that inched its way up your throat. Before you could say anything more, Jeffery's palm smashed against your mouth. He finally gained your attention, all while waving a knife around.

"My darling sweetheart," Jeffery cooed with adoration. "I'll handle the trash. Go back to sleep. I was just about to silence him."

You wanted to vomit. You hoped that the acidity would transport you to a reality where you were kneeling over a toilet. Or a bush, fuck it. It could be anywhere than this. You'll take on hang-over Central despite any day over this. You'll say fuck drugs and then by next week, you're on it again.

You just couldn't stay away from Percs and Robo.

Jeffery's appearance was disheveled, a stark contrast from what you were accustomed to. His hair was overgrown and unkempt with inky strands that poked from every angle. It was utterly impossible to look away. His crazed eyes darted across your face, searching within you for something you weren't sure you had to offer.

He turned from you, speaking to Cody. "Stop screaming! I'll gut you if you interfere."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

** Choice ** Figure out what's next, or miss part 2, bitch. * click *

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thank you for reading! Request rules are here! Follow my ig = lil.thoughts.xo! Part Two, Part Three

Due to the nature of the game, I tried writing differently than what I consider normal. But I had so much fun writing for this fandom. Can't wait to do it again.

#class of 09 #class of 09 the re up #jeffery class of 09 #nicole class of 09 #jecka class of 09 #jeffery x reader #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere smut #college au #yandere #yandere otaku #tw drugs #tw noncon

431 notes · View notes

wilwheaton · 8 months ago

Note

So, I just bought a Blondie greatest hits album and have been listening to it in the car the last few days. I know most of their biggest hits but I'm curious to know what songs *you* recommend so I can listen to em! You seem like the most logical person to ask at this point, honestly

The Best of Blondie was on heavy rotation in my CD player all through the 80s and 90s. You really can't go wrong, there.

But if you're looking for some cuts that didn't make the radio, I will point you toward I'm on E from Plastic Letters, Fade Away and Radiate, and Pretty Baby, both from Parallel Lines. Accidents Will Never Happen from Eat to the Beat, and X Offender from the self-titled debut are great, too.

In fact, the entire debut album is amazing, It's VERY retro 60s pop influenced, and that's why I love it. They never did another record like this one.

Oh, and dig into the remixes of Rapture and Atomic, if you can find them. There are some really great interpretations out there.

#blondie #debbie harry #music

152 notes · View notes

sunshinehaze1 · 5 months ago

Text

About Last Night…

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Summary: You met The Dieter Bravo last night, but does he remember meeting you?

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. smut, handjob, f!oral, unprotected PiV, mentions of drug use, reader has hair long enough to tug, smoking

a/n: This was written for @jolapeno Dear-uary Challenge and I received this prompt. Thank you to @peepawispunk & @80ssong for their beta reads! 😘 I hope you enjoy!

word count: 1,744

ao3 | ml

Dieter groans, turns onto his side, and opens his eyelids to find two ibuprofen tablets and a glass of water on his bedside table. He's unsure how he even managed to get to his bed. He can't remember much of last night; as usual, he drank too much, smoked too much, and snorted too much. He knows he needs to get his partying under control; he's not keen on another stint in rehab or being the subject of more tabloid fodder. His team would be grateful, too. But he enjoys it too much. He loves hosting parties at his house and having access to beautiful men and women who want to shower him with adoration and attention. Aspiring actors, writers, and producers all want a piece of him. It's not easy to give those perks up—one of the benefits of being an actor in high demand.

The tablets are sitting atop a slip of paper. He picks them up and throws them back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, emptying the glass of water in a couple of gulps. He picks up the slip of paper, his thick thumb and index finger grip the note, and he admires the neat handwriting as he reads:

image text: D- you may not remember much, so let me refresh your memory. This may be where I left you, but we’ll start where we first met. Even with the stroke of a hand and gripping conversation, this place is the pits.

Dieter, confused, rereads the note. Who did he meet last night that would have left this note? As usual, his house was overflowing with people. Most were friends or people he'd worked with in the industry; surely, it wasn't one of them. His friends tend to bring along their friends, and those friends bring their friends, and soon, his Hollywood Hills home is overrun with strangers.

He pulls on his green robe and exits the bedroom, traipsing over the remnants of the night before. Dodging obstacles of empty glasses, discarded clothing, ashtrays filled with cigarette butts and roaches, coffee tables dusted in white powder, and rolled up hundred dollar bills. A record spins around the player, scratching and skipping with each rotation. People in various states of undress are scattered across the floor and couches.

He finally reaches the conversation pit—avocado green cushions accented with cream and mustard yellow pillows. He descends the carpeted stairs, still unsure what kind of wild goose chase he's being led on. As he straightens the pillows, a slip of paper dances through the air when he moves them around. Dieter bends down to pick it up after it floats to the ground. Suddenly, a flash of recollection races across his mind.

A vision of you and him, bodies close together, barely any space between you two. Your arm draped over his shoulders, and your hand in his lap gripped tightly around his cock. Your hands make languid strokes along his length as you purr into his ear, teasing him. He's impossibly hard, and his eyes scan the party to see if anyone has noticed his precarious situation. A rush of heat skates up his chest to his neck as the risk of getting caught arouses him. You coo, "Baby, you're so hard, I can barely wrap my hand around you."

A moan falls out of Dieter's mouth, his gaze occupied by your grasp on his length. He watches as you continue your lazy strokes, the waistband of his pants resting just below his balls. Your movements are hidden by his fluffy teddy bear coat that he has positioned over his lap but not shielded from his view. He's mesmerized by the lacquer on your nails and the reflection of light that bounces off them with each pass along his cock. He feels arousal roil in his belly, and his balls begin to tighten.

Breathily, he spits out, "I'm going to cum."

Squeezing him tighter before you quickly release him, "Not yet, you aren't." You lean in and kiss him on the cheek, "I need a smoke." you giggle as you tuck his still painfully hard dick back into his pants and pull away.

He hears that sweet sound in his mind, and his cock twitches at the memory. Eager to find out what's next on this salacious tour, he reads the note:

image text: orange and bright, this is the perfect place to get a light.

Dieter was drawn to this home because of the mid-century modern architecture, and he leaned into the aesthetic. Much of the decor is original to the house, including the burnt orange malm fireplace on his back patio.

He heads outside. The sun is now high in the sky, having slept the morning away. Dieter squints to avoid the torture of the sun's rays on his brutal hangover. As he approaches the seating area around the fireplace, he spots a slip of notebook paper under an ashtray littered with discarded butts and blunts on the table.

It prompts his memory. After you left him with blue balls in the conversation pit, you dragged him outside for a smoke. He walked closely behind you with his hands on your hips to conceal his erection as you navigated through the party crowd. His dick was aching, desperate for release. But his curiosity to know more about you was enough of a distraction for now.

He observes you taking a drag from the cigarette between your soft lips. "How long have you lived here?" you inquire as you purse your lips to exhale the smoke up and to the side, away from his face.

"Um, a few years now. I bought it after Cliffs Beasts 6." His eyes rake up and down your body, taking in your curves and the disarming smile that spreads across your face.

"I liked that movie."

Dieter scoffs, unbelieving someone like you would enjoy the movie, let alone see it. It was a flop, an example of a studio trying to milk everything out of a franchise at any expense. There is no way you actually liked the movie.

"No, really, I did." There's that smile again; he knew then that he was done for, his body warmed by the sincerity in your eyes.

Chuckling to himself at the memory, he looks down at the slip of paper, which reads:

image text: I cried out, with your tongue inside, while the Kid sang about Nikki.

Dieter enters his music room, eyeing the wall of his record collection. His fingers dance along the spines of the album covers until he finds Purple Rain. Carefully, he pulls the record out of its sleeve and watches as another slip of paper falls to the ground. He replaces the spinning record and gently places the needle onto the vinyl, A-side up.

The castle started spinning

Or maybe it was my brain

I can't tell you what she did to me

But my body will never be the same

The images of last night in this room flood his mind. You, on your back, laid across the faux fur rug. It was as vivid as if you were there with him right now. Your shapely legs stretched out in front of you, with your perfect pussy glistening in the dim lamplight. His body prone with his face between your thighs, inhaling your scent. He laps into your sweet heat, his tongue teasing through your folds and flicking over your clit. His forearms wrapped around your thighs to hold you in place when you begin to writhe, pushing your core into his face, chasing your orgasm.

Oh, her lovin' will kick your behind

Oh, she'll show you no mercy

But she'll sure enough, sure enough

Show you how to grind

He laps at your release while you cry out his name, unable to control the rutting of his hips against the rug, searching for relief from his aching, throbbing cock. He's been on edge for the last couple of hours, patiently waiting for his release.

At the memory, he realizes he can still taste you on his lips. It's faint, but it's enough to make his cock move. Having sobered up a bit more, he's intrigued to find out where he'll be led next and picks up the piece of paper:

image text: you’ll find this journey come to a close in the place where you like to powder your nose…

Dieter walks down the hall to his bathroom. Vintage aqua blue tiles cover the floor, shower, and halfway up the wall, trimmed in navy blue tiles. The mirror above the matching pedestal sink is covered in writing—a phone number in red lipstick with handwriting that matches the notes—your phone number. Thanks to you and this little scavenger hunt you sent him on, he's slowly pieced together his night with you. He may not remember it all, but his senses help, recalling the feel of your soft, silken skin, your floral perfume, and the way you taste. And he's transported back.

He pictures you bent over the sink as he slides down your panties. Tugging your hair as he slides his cock inside you from behind. Remembering the gasps and moans, you couldn't help but release as he thrust into your warm, wet heat. Rubbing your swollen clit as you approach your second climax, nibbling on your ear, which finally sends you over the edge. Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing his cock so tight he had to pull out quickly to paint his spend across your bare ass. His sweaty brow meets yours, the both of you gasping to catch your breath as he leaves a chaste kiss on the tip of your nose.

His dick was now half hard at the memory.

He pulls his phone out of his robe pocket and opens the camera app. He points it toward the mirror as he takes in his disheveled state: hair tousled and astray, light brown curls pointing in every direction. He notices a stain down the front of his grey tunic and his striped pants slung low on his hips. He does little to improve his appearance before he snaps a picture, tongue wagging, eyes wide, making sure his semi-hard cock is captured in the frame.

He types the number you left on the mirror and attaches the photo.

"I found you."

A couple of minutes later, his phone pings, "It's about damn time; I've been waiting all morning for you. 😉"

Thank you so much for reading! I’d love to know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏼

tagging a few folks who may be interested in reading: @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @ak-vintage @kilamonster (lemme know if you prefer I not clog your notifs)

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo brainrot club #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal #about last night #jolapenosdearuary

99 notes · View notes

gazstations · 3 months ago

Text

Come Home, My Darling

CHAPTER FOUR

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CHAPTER SUMMARY

Kate Laswell tells 141 the full truth of what she knows behind the reason she pushed for John's family to go into protective custody.

♡ Chapter Warnings: None.

◇ Notes: Happy April Fools! This chapter is not a joke

○●○ SERIES MASTERLIST ♡ PREV ♡ NEXT

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

IT WAS THE DAY YOU LEFT THAT JOHN PRICE FOUND OUT THE TRUTH.

The anger gnawed at the edges of his brain like maggots. Slithering around with tiny legs that prickled the ridged flesh just right. It was disappointment in oneself that melded into a chaotic mess. A demon that clawed up from the pits of hell and sunk fire into his stomach. Anger was an old comrade, patting his back and telling him he would never be able to carry on without.

John Price was angry far more than he was civil.

Anger got shit done. You can only take action when your blood is boiling over. Calm cannot take down malice. You have to play the players' game. See the deceit because you are also rigging the system.

Anger was muscle memory. The twitch was a familiar comfort. Told him that some of his humanity was still intact if he still got revolted by what he witnessed.

The captain was a pillar of leadership. He commanded. He was the man who made the tough calls. He had to live with his actions, even when sometimes people ended up caught in the crossfire. No one got through this life without hurting someone. Even good people left someone with scars.

The captain had made far more enemies than he ever had friends. The difference was less than ten to an upwards of fifty. He was the face people plastered on the wall and threw darts at. The one that made their voodoo dolls of him and bent the arms to see if his would break as well.

John Price was a name infamous for getting cursed, damned, and everything in between.

He put away the big dogs. Left them deteriorating behind bars or six feet underground. He was swift. Had a record to prove he was exceptional. That's why he was always on rotation. Hitting the ground running with his trusted men by his side.

But this one bastard was the top of the food chain as well. Put most other terrorists to shame. He made a fool out of John, broke that clean record of getting shit done, and shoved the ripped contents into his mouth. Humiliation was not an emotion John dealt with accordingly. He was so resistant to being wrong that the flames spread with might throughout his body.

Kate had just finished telling the team all that she had in her pocket. She had lied in your presence. John found himself grateful. Detail was still classified, and you were still a civilian. It's just the way things were.

The boys were silent. Gaz eyed John closely, watching the way the stoic captain went rigid. John could feel the weight of his stare, burning his flesh with cautious and questioning intent. He ignored it. Tried to. Even if a bit of him was unraveling inside.

“Vladimir Makarov is after my family?” he questioned with a low timbre, words teetering on collapse.

The name rattled in his head like a loose coin in a bottle, the syllables alone striking the utmost fury without ever physically touching his skin. John’s skin burned, and the hair rose along his arms in anticipation. Back to square one, straight into the lion’s den like a damn puppet.

“Thought we sent his arse tae the Gulag,” Soap remarked. the Sergeant's lips were pouted, disdain on his face.

John knew there was a mutual, burning hatred for the mentioned terrorist. He wanted to wring the bastard's neck. If he had it his way, he’d have Makarov hanging from a flag pole in a town square. Picked apart by vultures and a visual reminder to his supporters that evil had no shelter.

But General Shepard was monitoring them at the time. Got the brass up his ass about military etiquette. John pulled a lot of shit. Dragged his boys through the fire with him. He listened to orders only when he believed they were worthwhile.

Killing Makarov against regulation would've been a swift reason to get 141 disbanded. John was a lot of things, but he wasn’t willing to risk losing his team.

So, he followed rules for once and regretted it a second later.

He knew it was wrong to keep Makarov alive. He was a pure manipulator. His work never stopped when he got put behind bars. No, John knew the gears would keep turning. You had to shoot those bastards in the head twice. Just to ensure the finality of death. Otherwise, they always found a way back.

“You did. There was a full prison break. He was the main retrieval, but hundreds of prisoners also escaped in the process,” Kate informed.

She dropped a small file on the table, the contents inside relayed information about said prison break. A break out of the Gulag was impressive, John had to admit. But he didn't want to give the bastard too much credit.

John gritted his teeth as he glanced at the file. He wouldn't fully read it right now, not while his head was full of cotton.

Makarov was playing games. Going after his family was a sick joke. Helping you and the kids evade the Russian would be like treading through a minefield. While John wouldn't have wished for any of his adversaries to be pursuing you, the last one he wanted was Makarov.

if you were caught, the flesh would be pried off your bone slowly. You were never meant to be a part of that. You were always meant to be separate from the darkness of his job. He got dirty so he could clean his hands at the door and be a simple husband and father. The lines were muddled now. Danger was in your periphery, and John couldn’t be there to block it with his own hand.

No, he had to sit back and let some bodyguard take the reins. Fucking bullshit.

Kate eyed John, and he met her gaze with a steely edge. Her eyes were calculating, thoughtful and he hated when she started analyzing him. She read him almost as well as you did sometimes. He felt stripped down and vulnerable. He loved holding his emotions close to his chest, hiding from anyone else.

Eventually, Kate looked away.

“This is going to get personal,” she didn't outright say it, but John knew well she was mainly addressing him. His jaw clenched.

“Makarov is always going to be personal,” John responded. He crossed his arms against his chest and leaned back against the wall behind him.

Gaz spoke next, “We put Makarov in. We have to take him out.”

Kate sighed, “Maybe. But we all still have jobs. What's happening with John's family is horrible, but we can't let that distract us from everything Makarov can do. He's looking for weak points, and we all know messing with our team won't be the end.”

“My family is my priority, Kate,” John declared.

“And if you were anyone else, I would pull you off the mission,” Kate countered. “I know I can't stop you. But I urge you to at least consider other ways Makarov might try to shake the system.”

John was listening only halfway. Deep down, he knew Kate was right. But his tunnel vision was thick, the walls clearly bordering his family. They were all he saw. He would demolish that cottage he built if he could not return to your soft embrace at the end of the day. He was not losing you.

“We got it, Laswell,” Gaz spoke for John.

“Any pings on Makarov?” Ghost now took the chair.

“No. As of right now, he's in hiding,” Kate said. “We have to wait for a sign. In the meantime, we carry on as normal.”

“Nothin’ normal ‘bout our jobs,” Soap hummed.

That was an obvious fact. Even when John was curled up on the couch with you and the kids, he was still a killer. You and him had created life, and he snuffed other life out the very next day. Normality was a concept they did not know. He could play pretend, but nothing changed the scars he had.

“Is my family settled somewhere?” John asked finally.

“They're still on their flight,” Kate said.

Flight. John's blood ran cold at that. They really were going where he couldn't follow. He wanted to shut the whole thing down, but that would only endanger you. Maybe the universe was finally catching up for all the sins he's committed.

“They'll be okay, Cap,” Gaz said.

“Yeah,” John responded halfheartedly.

Then a thought struck him. How in the bloody hell did Kate know Makarov was the one heading your capture? If he was going dark after a prison break, he wouldn't lay out his cards so fast. That wasn't his style.

“How'd you find out it was Makarov?” John asked. He wasn't accusing. He trusted Kate wholeheartedly, but he was still curious.

Kate didn't waver as she answered. She was clear and poised. “An old friend. Owed me a favor.”

“Old friend,” John repeated with a scoff. “One that knows Makarov's activity?”

“There's a lot you don't know, John,” Kate said.

He nodded, “Sure.”

It was an odd situation. Kate, even as much as John knew about her, was still a mystery. She talked about her wife sometimes, but nothing else about her home or hobbies when she wasn't providing intel to 141. Even then, John considered her his closest ally.

However, he wasn't sure how well he favored this mystery man. He was well acquainted with wolves in sheep's clothing.

“We can trust this friend?” Gaz asked.

“Trust is a tricky word for this situation, Garrick,” Kate remarked.

John almost pulled the plug right then. Yet, even he knew the intricacies of military relationships. They were complicated and had a tendency to be messy.

Hell, John thought of his old friend, Nikolai. The Russian was a loose cannon, but he had been by John's side more than anyone. If there was chaos, there was Nikolai. John trusted him, they were close. But John even wondered if Nikolai was even the man's given name. Though, he still trusted the man enough to also be around his family once or twice. Whenever he came around.

He knew he had to give Kate grace, but it was tough when he never vetted her man himself. John liked control. Which is why he often turned his nose up at official military orders. Got himself in more than enough trouble that way.

“And his intel is viable?” John asked. Enough overthinking, get back on the track.

“Usually is,” Kate offered. “Helped us with the Zakhaev Airport situation.”

John bit his tongue then. He had to accept the situation for right now. Kate wouldn't deliberately lead them astray, but he hoped she wasn't being fooled. They couldn't afford mistakes. Not when his own family was being closed in on. Hopefully, protective custody did its job.

“One wrong move, and I'll put a bullet through your guy's head,” Price said with venom on his tongue.

“I'll give you the gun, sir,” Ghost responded, his eyes said a lot despite the rest of his face being obscured. His second-in-command did not enjoy this either. They both hated following information that they themselves did not partake in collecting.

Ghost and Soap exchanged a glance then while Gaz nodded along in agreement. His men always had his back, and that's why he chose them. They knew they had to get dirty as well. In fact, he was pretty sure they craved the blood. Violence became addicting in a lot of ways, even if it wasn't enjoyable all the time.

They got the job done because one way or another they were fucked up in the head.

“I'm not wrong about this,” Kate stated confidently. “Makarov has been planning this behind bars. Now he's able to act.”

Kate grabbed the file discarded on the table, signaling her part in the conversation was done. She obviously had said everything she wanted to. John just had more questions. He mainly wanted to know where you and the kids were flying. Yet, even if Kate knew, he had to accept she wouldn't tell him. For their safety.

“Get some rest,” Kate suggested. “Shepard has a new mission for you. I'll send you the meeting time.”

With that, she marched out of the room with her shoulders straight and even strides. She was a determined woman on a mission. Admirable, really. Kate Laswell was a force to be reckoned with. She did not take people's shit and always proved why she was at the top with the rest of them.

It was silent for a moment before John sighed and leaned over the table. It was a miracle he wasn't gray yet. The wear and tear just showed more with the lines on his face than anything else.

“I need a bloody drink,” he muttered.

Soap just patted his back, a small hum of agreement.

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

@callsignpxnguin @crystal-freak24 @haneybunny @tenshis-cake @aneternallyexhaustedpigeon @thriving-n-jiving @leon-thot-kennedy

If you would like to be added for future chapters, let me know!

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #john price #kyle gaz garrick #john price x reader #captain price #captain price x reader #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap cod #soap mactavish #john mactavish #simon riley #gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kate laswell

58 notes · View notes

wileys-russo · 1 year ago

Note

hello love, ive been reading your writing recently and i love how you write the players personalities exactly as i imagine them to be!!

ive had an idea that i think you would write perfectly, of alessia adopting a puppy, but as lessi is so clumsy and forgetful, she accidentally leaves out a big bag of crisps and her ‘demon puppy’ as she would call it, eats the whole bag

lessi freaks out and takes it to the nearest vet (aka us) before training and is basically being being a flustered and blushing mess, when she gets to training people pick up on her still tinted cheeks and manage to trick her into gushing about the ‘cute vet’ she met that morning

it could end with lessi returning to awkwardly asking us on a date

thankyou love 🤍

four legged wingwoman II a.russo

"-no you cannot come over for dinner again!" alessia rolled her eyes, pacing around her room with her phone squished in between her shoulder and her ear. "and why not!" vic gasped in offence on the other end of the line.

"because if its not you its one of the other girls. i've had a rotating door of dinner guests almost every single night since i got willow and i want time with my puppy alone!" alessia laughed, her team mates adoring her ten week old puppy just as much as she did, which was making it difficult for her to get any one on one time with her.

"because she is so cute and most of us do not have dogs lessi, you are being selfish!" vic whined, but the blonde held firm in her decision just as she had when lia and leah had tried to invite themselves over tonight too.

"i will literally see you in an hour pavlova, goodbye!" alessia rolled her eyes at the girs insistent begging and ended the call, tossing her phone onto the bed. "now where the hell did i put it?" the striker frowned, hunting around for her spare training top with the other one in the wash.

as adorable as willow was she was the furthest thing from well behaved and was right in the peak of her naughty puppy phase.

if she wasn't chewing things up she was running around with them in her mouth and dropping them all over the house, meaning alessia could barely keep track of anything and as soon as she'd put it down it was being moved.

but the ten week old chocolate lab had the most alluring eyes she'd ever seen so of course alessia could never stay mad at willow as infuriatingly cheeky as she was.

speaking of it was suspiciously quiet as alessia dropped to her knees and sighed in relief finally tugging her training top out from under the bed, huffing at the small teeth holes in the hem of the collar.

"willow!" the blonde called out, frowning when she didn't hear the usual scattering of her nails against the floorboards as she'd bound over. "willow?" alessia called again, quickly changing into her shirt and grabbing her training bag off the bed.

"willow baby where are-" her eyes widened as she hurried into the living room. "oh no no no no!" alessia groaned, grabbing the puppy and tugging her head out of the xl bag of salt and vinegar crisps.

"shit you ate some of the bag too? willow!" alessia gasped realizing there was large bites from the foil as panic set in. "okay um, the vet! we'll go to the vets." alessia spoke to herself, hurrying about like a tornado grabbing what she needed.

"ah willow don't eat that!" alessia huffed, tugging her keychain out of the labs mouth and locking the door up behind them, clipping willow in safely in the passenger seat.

near certain she was breaking more than one road rule alessia sped to the closest vet clinic in record time, sending a hurried half legible voice message to lotte that she would be late to training and why.

grabbing willow out of the car alessia made a beeline inside, wincing as it begun to rain and she did her best to shield the small shivering dog inside her shirt.

finally inside alessia let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in seeing the clinic was almost empty. "can i help you love?" a kind looking middle aged woman asked from the front desk.

"er my puppy ate a full bag of salt and vinegar crisps and most of the bag itself." alessia admitted with flushed cheeks, the receptionist nodding and making a note. "have you been here before?" the blonde shook her head and placed willow down on the floor, tight grip on her leash as the woman handed her a clipboard instructing her to fill it out.

"come on then miss trouble." alessia mumbled, moving to a free seat and maintaining her tight cold on willows leash so she couldn't wander very far. scribbling down her details her eyes would glance to the dog every few moments who didn't seem to be feeling any discomfort.

handing the clipboard back the woman added alessia and willow into the clinic system and gestured for them to sit down, informing there was only one vet in today but it shouldn't be too long a wait.

"oh god willow no!" alessia whispered with wide eyes as the puppy relieved itself right in the middle of the waiting room. "if you've brought her here for bladder control issues im afraid thats just going to need some toilet training." alessias head whipped up at the new voice.

"this must be willow then?" you smiled with amusement, grabbing a roll of paper towel from behind the desk and dropping to your knees. "no please i can do it!" alessia hurried to take it from you though a little too eagerly as she smacked her head into the vets, both of you wincing in pain.

"oh god i am so sorry." alessia apologized with wide eyes, and if her face wasn't red with embarrassment before it must have been the colour of a tomato now.

"its alright, normally its the animals who take a chunk out of me sometimes but i guess its not bad i have a little more contact with humans." you joked, standing up and offering her a hand which she graciously accepted.

"marley do you mind?" you gestured toward the remains of urine on the floor toward the receptionist who nodded, sending alessia a reassuring smile as the girl apologised over and over, dismissing her with a wave.

following after you alessia lifted willow up onto the table as you closed the door behind the pair of you, the blonde seemingly still a little shocked at how young you seemed, you couldn't have been too dissimilar in age to her if she was to go off looks.

"so what brings you here to visit me today willow?" you smiled softly, offering the puppy a treat which she happily accepted. "um well i sort of left a bag of salt and vinegar crisps out and she got into it and ate all of them as well as most of the actual bag." alessia again winced in embarrassment.

"chewer then? they grow out of it." you laughed, scratching behind willows ears and sending alessia a smile which had her stomach flipping. "you have a dog?" alessia asked, wincing yet again at how awkward she sounded.

"i do, and she was once just like miss willow here eating everything and anything she could get her little paws on." you chuckled at the memory, moving to put on a pair of gloves. "has she seemed out of sorts since she ate it? any strange behavior or unusual bowel movements?" you questioned, gently opening willows mouth and inspecting inside as best you could.

"not really? i drove her straight here as soon as i realised." alessia rubbed the back of her neck as you hummed, whistling to gain the puppys attention and quickly checking her pupils with a small torch.

"she seems happy and healthy. did you have somewhere to be?" you asked, nodding to alessia's training kit. "oh just training but i let my team and coach know i'd be late." the striker assured as you rewarded willow with another treat.

"i'd like to keep her here for a few hours in the kennel for observation if thats alright? you're welcome to stay or if you need to go to training i promise you she'll be well looked after. if she's going to pass it or if anything seems a little out of sorts we'll know by midday." you smiled toward the girl who nodded.

"you gave your number when you filled in the patient paperwork right? if anything at all goes wrong or seems remotely off with her we'll call you right away." you assured sensing her hesitation, knowing too well how much owners cared for their pets.

"you should go, really! you'd just be sitting around here twiddling your thumbs. thursdays don't tend to be very busy which is why i'm the only one here, but we have an intern who stays in the kennels to monitor and hang out with the animals so she'll be under constant supervision and i'll check in on her regularly." you continued, willow barking a few times as alessias eyes hovered over here and she gave a nod.

"okay, i trust you."

"-she ate the bag too!?" leah asked with wide eyes, tapping the ball back to alessia who nodded with a sigh. "you gotta get her into puppy school less." the blonde grinned with a shake of her head.

"i know i know, the vet told me the same thing. they actually offer obedience classes there so she said she'd talk me through it when i pick willow up later." alessia shrugged, her phone tucked securely into her pants despite the normal rules, jonas making an exception given the circumstances.

the staff calling it for the morning everyone made their way to over to the coolers, chugging down water and cooling off before they were expected in the gym.

"which vet did you take her to?" steph asked curiously as alessia finished recounting her morning adventures to a few more of the girls. "just the clinic closest to me, green road practice?" alessia tried to remember the name.

"oh! yeah we took calvin there for his vaccinations when he was a puppy and for obedience school, they're really good there." steph nodded which helped melt some of the nerves the striker was feeling about it all.

"i just feel so stupid! imagine if it was like a block of chocolate or something she got into?" alessia groaned as they all started to head inside. "hey its like being a parent lessi, you learn on the job and the best way to learn is mistakes!" beth slung an arm around her waist and squeezed her tightly.

"yeah but-" "no buts! she's okay right? and she's in good hands at the vets yeah?"

"yeah i guess its the best place for her. the vet was actually quite young? well i assume so anyway, not that i asked. but she knew so much? to be fully qualified, again assuming she's round my age, and to know so much is really impressive. plus she was the only vet working so she has to know her stuff!" alessia was so caught up in her rambling she missed the amused knowing smiles exchanged between her teammates.

"so was she cute?" kyra grinned catching alessia off guard. "well she wasn't ugly."

"very nice less, make sure to say exactly that when you ask her out!" leah clapped her on the back with a smirk making the blondes eyes widen. "ask her out! what?"

"yeah? you've been going on and on and on about her all morning. you clearly think she's hot so tell her that." kyra shrugged in explanation as alessia scoffed and stuttered out she didn't. "stop it! leave her be." steph warned the younger australian, arm landing on alessia's shoulder.

"she can ask her out anyway she wants to." "steph!"

alessia shook her head with a frown, head swamped with the teasing words of her teammates that she'd endured all day.

trying her best to brush them off she exited the car, locking it after her and hurrying inside grateful that the rain had subsided and she would no longer look like a disheveled drowned rat.

"alessia, welcome back." marley the receptionist smiled kindly, waving for her to take a seat advising you were just with another patient and would be with her shortly.

the striker busied herself with the team groupchat which seemed to be going off nonstop as the girls argued over room arrangements for the upcoming away game.

"-and i'll see the pair of you in two months for the next round of injections." her head snapped up at your voice as you waved off an older woman and her cat, meeting her eyes with a smile.

"welcome back. how was training?" you asked, genuinely seeming interested in her answer as you hummed to show you were listening. "well i'm glad you didn't break your foot, i'm only licensed to treat animals injuries." you teased as alessia finished recounting the story of kyra dropping a dumbbell and missing her foot by about a millimeter.

"oh don't worry i basically have a tab going at the local hospital, i'm cursed to be dreadfully clumsy, always have been." alessia joked back as you lead her out back toward the kennels. "maybe we should be training willow as a service dog then." you grinned over your shoulder, shouldering open the door and waving for her to step inside.

"so she passed the bag around an hour after you left, but besides that her behavior has been completely normal and i can't see any red flags popping up. she's free to go!" you smiled, unlocking the crate where willow was as within seconds she'd sprinted out toward alessia who squatted down.

"hi baby, you been a good girl?" alessia cooed, scooping up the puppy who wiggled and whined and licked all over her face. "i'd try to break her out of that habit, i've seen a lot of dogs eat a lot of poop." you smiled apologetically as alessia paled and immediately placed her back down on the floor wiping her face.

"noted. thank you!"

alessia once again found her head swamped with the words of her friends as you happily explained how the obedience classes worked, the striker humming and nodding to show she was listening when really her head was off with the clouds.

"but of course there isn't any pressure i know theres a whole load of classes and schools, we actually have a bunch of brochures back in the waiting room so please take some and look into whatever option works best for you and willow." you smiled softly, bending down again to play with the small puppy.

some of the best advice alessia had ever been given was by her brother luca, they were incredibly close and as much as he also frustrated her to no end sometimes he had passed on a pearl or two of wisdom over the years.

one of which was that if alessia was ever dreading something to count to three and just do it, because the longer she took to do it the more she'd overthink and the opportunity 9 times out of 10 would be lost.

so now trying to keep that in mind instead of everything else the girl took a deep breath and counted to three as you stood up and brushed off your scrubs.

"look i don't normally do this but i'm trying this new thing where i don't let opportunities pass me by. would you like to grab a coffee or something sometime?" alessia asked nervously, fiddling with the leash in her hand as you looked on in surprise and the striker prepared herself for rejection.

"yeah! i'd love to."

#woso #woso x reader #alessia russo #woso community #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso fanfics #engwnt #alessia russo x reader

538 notes · View notes

nnightskiess · 4 months ago

Text

the dance of death, five

₊° - 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺'𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦...

the dance of death, masterlist

· · ✍︎ · ·

𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

Now, more than ever, every fibre in Wednesday's being called for her to figure out what Nevermore was hiding. She knew her gut feeling had been right from the first night. It hadn't been just a violin player. It hadn't been just a girl. And it definitely hadn't been just a made up story to scare the students. Y/N had been real. She'd existed, or else Wednesday would have never been able to grasp visions and moments of her life by touching her portrait. Though, her dips into visions had never left her so physically exhausted before, nor had she felt like an intruder the second she'd jumped in. Even now, she could feel the prickling humming of the vision's phantom feeling plaguing her. She liked it, though. It kept her focused on the task.

She'd noticed the Nightshades following her wherever she went. They weren't trying to be subtle about it either, that much was clear. She could feel their eyes on her at all times. They'd even started to rotate shifts on who would guard the library entrance for days now, which had irked her immensely at first. There was more information to be found down there, Wednesday knew it, and she knew they knew. What she also knew, was that they couldn't change the password to the entrance. With two simple snaps of a finger, the statue of Edgar Allen Poe would open. So it was only a matter of time until she would be able to slip by them without anyone noticing. But, there was another obstacle— Weems had been on her case as well, and Wednesday wondered if Bianca or any of the others had whispered something in her ear, or if the woman had been looking at her more closely than she'd initially assumed. But Principal Weems couldn't know the truth, obviously, for Wednesday was sure she would have been kicked from school in that case already.

Wednesday walked through the quad, head held high but eyes glued to her peripheral as she glanced at the lurking nook to her right. She'd noticed the pattern— Ajax took the mornings, always having been an early riser; Xavier took the free periods, happy to sketch away on his own; Kent and Divina the breaks, keeping each other company; Bianca would usually take the hours right after dinner, her need to not miss her clubs, classes or social hour during break too high, and Yoko stayed during the night, her lack of need for sleep making it an easy decision. Wednesday had felt their eyes on them each time she left their sight, only for one of them to shadow her wherever she went. But they were forgetting one thing. While they were so heroically guiding the Nightshades library, Wednesday had all the freedom in the world to go where they weren't— their dorms.

Wednesday accepted the paperclip Thing handed her, immediately going to work to unlock the door she sat crouched in front of. The dorm room hallways were quiet right now, all the students either in the classrooms or at the quad... just like Xavier, the unlucky victim of her current mission. She'd half hoped Enid would be useful to her, maybe distract Xavier or get them off her track, but with the girl's track record of blurting things out and her inability to lie, Wednesday rather took her chances to do this alone.

"Remember, it is a black leather bonded map we're looking for," She reminded Thing as soon as the door clicked open.

She spent five alienated seconds taking in the typical teenage boy room of Xavier with a slight scowl of disgust on her face— heaps of clothes, kicked-off trainers, a messy desk and walls filled with posters and drawings. She scrunched up her nose, the teenage boy's pheromones of sweat mixed with cheap aftershave giving her nausea.

"I want to know what else he drew in there, as he's clearly hiding something from me. They all are." Wednesday flitted through the papers on his desk. She bent down to watch all that had fallen out of his backpack, which he'd clearly thrown against the foot of his bed in a rush.

"Eureka." Her eyes lit up ever so slightly, her hands quickly brushing through the pages and skipping through drawings of animals and plants. The patter of Thing's fingers approached. He jumped out from one of the shelves and climbed onto Wednesday's shoulder, just as eager to see if breaking into Xavier's room had paid out.

Xavier had drawn Nevermore's water fountain from the gallery above the quad at night during a full moon.

Another drawing depicted Eugene's beehive. Another one Jericho's town square.

There was nothing interesting about any of them. She flipped the page. Another spider. Then a squirrel on a branch. Then another shadowy blob with eyes. The next one was a mansion in the woods, shadowed by the treetops of the forest it was in.

"It's the mansion from my vision," She muttered quietly, fingers touching the page in the hope of another vision. Nothing happened. She took the drawing in. Xavier had scribbled a family of three on the porch in charcoal, the outline of their garments making it clear that it wasn't a family from this time.

"The vision from the portrait." Wednesday glanced at Thing from over her shoulder when realisation dawned on her. She turned back to look at the sketch and could almost hear the calming rustle of the wind through the leaves, the creaking of the swaying rocking chair in the corner of the porch, the barking of a faraway dog, the crackling of a fire and the tuning of an instrument. She felt the unease, the fear of being kept between four walls, of oppressing, of concealing. But Xavier hadn't drawn any of that.

"I'm telling you, we just need to let her in on what we know."

Wednesday's body froze as she heard the muffled voice on the other side of the door approach. It was Xavier, and he wasn't alone.

"And let her set off another chain of murders? No, thanks." Bianca added.

Quickly she shoved his bundle of drawings back where they'd been and slipped underneath the bed, Thing following her example.

"Wednesday won't do that."

"Are you sure? Because her entire existence seems to be fuelled by getting off on death and horror."

The door clicked open and Wednesday watched from underneath the bed as Bianca and Xavier walked in. The boy walked to his closet, rummaging through the mess.

"We don't even know how it happened that first time. We weren't even around for that. Not even born. Hell, no one here was."

"Yoko was."

"Barely."

"Long enough to know that that girl's not to be messed with! She needs to be left alone! You know the rumours of what happened in the 40s, too. And then in the 80s as well, in case you forgot." Bianca huffed.

"Exactly. Rumours. Stories born from fear and meshed together by whispers." Xavier started cramming stuff in a bag.

"Rumours are always based on some form of truth."

"Then I guess they deserve the benefit of the doubt. Both of them."

"Are you really asking me to give Wednesday the benefit of the doubt when I saw with my own eyes how that portrait was upside down? You mean to tell me it did that out of itself after years of hanging straight, right up until crazy braids appeared on our doorstep?"

Xavier threw his closet door shut and walked into the bathroom, throwing more stuff into his bag.

"Hello?!" Bianca followed him, still frustrated. "There's a reason previous principals took all those measures. Lord knows why Weems is so negligent about them, but we shouldn't be! You know what's written down about her. Don't you believe all those books?!"

Xavier reappeared from the bathroom, "I-I don't know. Maybe I don't."

It was quiet for a beat.

"You know what you draw isn't always true, right?"

"Exactly."

Bianca, exasperated, threw her hands in the air. She walked off but hovered in the doorway,, "Students died, Xavier. Whether she killed them or not, they died." She puffed a breath out of her nose, "Our responsibility as Nightshades is to keep that from happening again, to keep that story buried, to keep her buried. We promised that, and generations before us did. And unless you keep to that promise, we can't trust you anymore."

"Bianca-" Xavier sighed and threw a pile of papers on the ground before running after her, not without ramming the door close.

Wednesday glanced at Thing from under the bed, determination set in her eyes. She was now, all the more, keen on figuring out all she could find out about this girl, this violin player, who had intrigued her since the day she'd stepped foot on Nevermore grounds. Something had happened here, something sinister, and she never liked being kept in the dark when it came to the macabre.

☾ ⋆*·:⋆*·:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

A mere half hour later, Wednesday sat in class, thinking about what she'd secretly discovered.

So, there had been deaths. Of students, no less. And, multiple, apparently.

And other principals had been aware of... what, exactly? Well, aware of it enough to take measures to... save the school or to play dumb and pretend nothing had happened? Because, so far, it seemed only the Nightshades knew of this piece of Nevermore history. And why did they? Had they accidentally found something out? And if it was so deeply buried, where had they found out? And how had anyone been able to keep the truth from coming out? Why did silly teenagers who were part of a silly club with an even sillier kidnapping rite of passage know about this? Wednesday had done her research beforehand, and not even one article had come up when she'd searched Nevermore online. The lack of articles, when she'd put murder, death and accident after Nevermore in the search engine, had quelled her excitement to enrol even further.

And... what had that been about the 40s and the 80s? Had something happened then, too? And why had Weems let her play the cello, encouraged her to, even, if other principals had apparently shuddered at the thought?

Stricken with all these thoughts swirling in her mind, she was thankful that through it all, she had found her next person of interest—Yoko. Apparently, the vampire had already been inhabiting this sad excuse of a planet around that time. So, for now, that made Yoko complicit in her next steps of action.

"Wednesday."

Her train of thought popped in a split second. Irritated, she looked to her right, where the voice had come from, but no one was standing there. She was sitting alone at her desk, no classmate seemingly eager to keep her company, especially not after her glare had warded them off.

She locked her jaw and pursed her lips, hoping whoever had stopped her train of thought wouldn't do it again, when she noticed a small piece of parchment on her desk.

It was written in an esteemed calligraphed handwriting that the average teenager with their modern scribbles or block lettered fonts could learn something from.

Memento Mori, it read.

Memento mori... the inevitability of death. She knew all about the Latin phrase. Of how it symbolised the end of life, of how it was portrayed in paintings like hourglasses or clocks, of how it could be seen as a reason to live each day to the fullest or a morbid reminder that you must die.

Her eyes flashed from left to right again, but no one was looking at her strangely or anticipating a reaction from her. And so, she wouldn't give it to them. She'd just crumple the paper and-

The second her fingers touched the parchment, she felt the air get sucked out of her, constricting her throat as if hands squeezed it shut. It burned. It ached.

Her head fell back and after the welcome feeling of a nagging migraine coming up, she opened her eyes to see she was somewhere else.

The sky was gloomy, even for what seemed to be the middle of the day. The structure of the buildings around her made it clear she'd gone back in time, and quite some years, too. A wooden notice board stood to her right with advertisements— a clipped drawing of a horse on sale, a five hundred dollar reward for the arrest of a train robbery, a request for a housemaid, a newspaper clipping of the public trial and confessions of some Grace Marks and James McDermott.

Wednesday turned around as a flock of people rushed past her, all dressed in the appropriate attire of the mid-1800s. A horse and cart wheeled by, sending dust clouds across the square. People started mumbling amongst one another, retreating from shops and houses or opening wooden shutters from above to watch.

The cart stopped on the other side of the town square and two large men jumped out before a third person appeared. The crowd now went haywire.

Unsure but intrigued, Wednesday walked up to the town square of screaming and chanting people. She cursed at her height, for what was happening on the wooden staging was hard to see.

"Kill her!"

"She's a witch, fire is the only way!"

"Witches don't exist, you medieval vazy!"

"She is one! I've seen it with my own eyes!"

"Only true evil can do such a thing, kill her!"

"She's but a child!"

"I saw her talk with the dead!"

"Hang her! Jericho doesn't need murderers!"

"Save our children from this evil, save Jericho!"

Wednesday walked further, finding a draw-well. She hauled herself atop the edge, holding onto the pole to keep her balance. She could finally see what all the fuzz was about. All the way to the other side of the muddy and filthy town square, a girl stood trembling on the staging, hands tied behind her back, burlap bag atop her head with two men on either side of her, cutting off the blood flow in her arms by how hard they were squeezing. It had to be her, the girl from the portrait. Why else would the vision have taken Wednesday here? But what was she supposed to see? To learn from this?

Another man walked onto the staging, opening one of the nooses enough for the girl's head to fit in. Sobs racked her body, making her shake with the fright in her bones. Things were being announced, but the crowd was too overbearing to make out his words.

Before Wednesday could witness her first public execution, the world turned on an axis. Horizontal became vertical, up became down. Her eyes felt like they zigzagged in their sockets. Suddenly, she fell onto the damp ground. A groan left her as she felt something hard poke into her abdomen.

She was in the middle of a forest.

The entire forest floor was covered in vegetation. She had to be careful not to put her hand in the nettles around her. Though she liked their pain, she'd never been that fond of the itch. The ivy around her feet seemed to have crisscrossed against the earth, but as she moved her feet, it came undone. A small stone plaque, no bigger than her hand, appeared. Anyone would've tripped over it, had it not been covered by layers of greenery. Two words were engraved into it.

Memento Mori.

The same words. On what had to be an unmarked grave. It was clear that whoever had been behind the grave had not felt any importance to respectfully lay this person to rest. The grave came with no name, no date or anything else except for those two Latin words. Wednesday felt for whoever was buried here. Back at the Addams Mansion, their entire backyard was a graveyard. Each Addams that had come before her had a giant, imposing grave to declare their final resting place, to celebrate their death and their journey behind the thin veil of life. It was as if whoever had buried this person here hadn't felt they were deserving enough of a respectful resting place. That or... the lack of information on the grave hadn't been entirely accidental... but rather done with purpose. Keep her buried... Bianca had said. Could this be...?

Wednesday looked around to properly take in her surroundings. She recognised these woods. The eerie but comforting feeling that she was being watched by the trees around her, that the wind would travel further and alert whoever of her presence. She'd been here before, in her first vision, albeit as she'd watched from a distance. Was she still in the 1800s? Or was this place overgrown or built on back in her time?

"Is this where you're buried?" She breathed out, wondering to herself. Before she could investigate further, a force pushed her out again, back into her conscious body, back to the classroom, where her classmates now looked at her with critique, fear, bewilderment and raised eyebrows.

"Everything all right, Miss Addams?"

She gave a curt nod to her teacher and straightened her back. When the class stopped dwelling on her... moment, she fixed her bangs and looked out the window to the treetops of the forest in the distance.

Nevermore was a place for outsiders or gifted kids, depending on who you asked, but there was no denying that there was a common denominator.

Why this town in Vermont to start the school, of all places? Something strange was definitely afoot in Jericho, probably always had been, and Wednesday was going to find out how it all tied to Y/N.

☾ ⋆*·:⋆*·:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Wednesday tossed and turned in her bed, tiny beads of sweat coated her hairline for the first time in her life. Wednesday didn't sweat, on no occasion, ever, but the locks of her bangs clung to her forehead. It disgusted her and made her feel revolted at the lack of control over her body and senses. She hated the warmth that flooded her entire body, the unknown temperature filling her with more loathing. Even if she could feel it, she couldn't do anything about it. Because Wednesday was asleep, and she was awfully aware of that.

Most days, she either vividly dreamed of the most beautifully horrific things, or her mind would be empty entirely during her sleep. What she was feeling right now... it was new. She had no control, and it bothered her.

Her eyes squeezed shut and her brows furrowed even deeper as she let herself get pulled and pushed and plucked at. She only saw darkness... and she felt it too. It wasn't the kind of darkness she was used to. There was something incredibly evil and torturing latching onto her, and if she wasn't so focused on regaining control, she would've revelled at the feeling of being in its dark presence.

"It's all lies. You see what they see."

Rang through her head in a female sing-songy voice, feigning sorrow, hiding a smirk. Wednesday wanted to talk, she wanted answers, but it was as if her mouth had been sown shut with needle and thread.

"Will you be my friend?"

A small child's voice mixed with a deep and dark voice, something inhuman, yelled into her right ear before a string of apologies was heard in her left one.

"Leave. Her."

Wednesday heard the female voice beg before she felt her hair being pulled, as if the only goal behind it was to pluck her bald. It hurt and made her eyes water, even in her dreamlike state. It burned as if she'd ducked her head in boiling water or as if an entire beehive had stung each part of her head. She could feel it all. This was the torture she'd usually love to dream about. Not tonight.

"Hey-" Echoed and echoed through her mind, the same female voice sounding like a choir with its reverb, "Fight it."

"Alone. Cold. Water. Wolf. Hair. Hair. Pretty. Book. Portrait. Book. Alone. Hand. Play. Hand. Hand. Fire. Betrayal. Hurt. Kill. Kill. Nevermore. Let her go. Kill. Kill. End it. Here. Wolf. Girl. End it. Up. Up. Wake. Help."

A string of words followed in a way that made no sense to Wednesday and sounded a lot like the monotone voices from the Ghost Boxes she'd seen some idiots use in one of the paranormal courses she'd taken once in hopes of experiencing an exorcism.

"Wednesday!"

The constant buzzing of messy words and white noise was interrupted by the soft, gentle voice of a young woman speaking her name. Then she saw her— a young woman clad in dated attire and a hairdo to match. It was her. The girl from the portrait. Only, the evil eyes were gone and a panic struck her face instead.

She came to life in Wednesday's mind, now no longer an idle drawing in a frame but a person. A person whose touch she could feel, whose pain and fear she could sense.

"Go now!"

The woman's hands pulled at her arms, then pushed her away, out of the dark, into another abyss as Wednesday could feel herself falling and falling until she opened her eyes.

Wednesday bolted up from her sleep, chest heaving, hair dishevelled as if it had really been pulled and played with. She shot backwards against her headboard as soon as she saw Enid's face hovering just above her own, the girl's hands still on her to shake her awake.

"Wednesday!" Enid's concerned voice rang out, "Are you okay?!"

It was then that she realised the state she was in, with her covers half draped on the ground, her clothes sticking to her skin, her hair mussed and that same awful chilly but warm wetness covering her face, neck and back. She could feel the forming of a plethora of bruises all over her body, and she doubted that Enid was to blame for some of them with her still tight grip on her forearms. Wednesday reared back in shock and disgust at the physical contact, too panicked to notice the flash of hurt across Enid's face.

"I'm going to get Ms. Thornhill."

"Don't." Wednesday immediately muttered, regaining her breath, her chin held up again to not give in to the slip of her facade and the moment of weakness Enid had caught her in.

"You're clearly not okay! You were saying all kinds of weird things in your sleep, and you look... even paler than usual."

"I'm fine. Where's Thing?" Wednesday glanced across their dorm room, the lights Enid had turned on doing nothing to help her find him quicker.

"Oh, I... I don't know... but are you sure?" Enid tried to approach again, but one look from the raven-haired girl, and she stopped herself. "Wednesday, you don't look fine. And you talked in your sleep, you've never done that before."

"You talk in your sleep every night, but I don't go to get someone after all the troubling things I hear you mutter, do I?"

Enid visibly blushed in embarrassment, hands bundled against her chest, wondering if she really did talk in her sleep, and what she'd said exactly. Then, as if a light had been switched on, Enid reared back even further, panic lacing her features and her voice.

"Oh god! It's happening!"

Wednesday looked at her in confusion, the fact Enid was wearing her bunny slippers, pink pajamas and rainbow sleeping mask making the thing entirely more ridiculous.

"The slow descent into your insanity? I can see that." Wednesday muttered, hauling her duvets back onto her bed, eyes still flashing across the room in case Thing showed up. Why wasn't he perched atop her bed already?

"The start of yours, more like!" Enid started freaking out, her breath coming in heaps as she paced by the end of Wednesday's bed, "She'll drive you mad, visit you in your dreams and then come for you. It's exactly like Xavier said! And now she'll come for me too simply by association, oh god, oh god-" She rushed out.

Wednesday was about to shut her up, but a loud thunk sounded not even a second later, making both their heads rear to the large glass-stained window in their room.

"Oh god, there she is, there she is." Enid hurried back to her corner of the room, her colourful side of fairy lights and plushies giving off a warmer and safer ambience than Wednesday's dark nook of death and destruction.

Intrigued, Wednesday got up, walked up to the window and tried to peer through it. But the dead of night was a black canvas against the reflection of the lights inside their dorm. She only saw her reflection staring back at her, the dark shadows of her eyes making her look possessed. She looked over her shoulder, feeling a warmth beside her, but Enid wasn't nearby.

"Turn off the lights."

"Are you crazy?!" Enid wheezed, now hiding underneath her blanket and peeking from through her fingers.

"Kooky," Wednesday corrected, mumbling, as she switched the main lights off herself. The balcony behind the window was more visible with the shine of the remnants of the full moon lighting it up.

"Did you see that?" But Wednesday knew Enid hadn't, for the girl was still hiding in her corner. "There's something on the floor. Right outside."

"Wednesday Addams, if you open that window-"

Enid whimpered when she heard the familiar creak of the glass window and ducked behind her bed, now completely out of view to whoever Wednesday would be inviting inside.

Wednesday stepped one foot onto the balcony, eyes adjusting to the darkness as they took in the balcony. No one was there. The harsh autumn wind was like sandpaper scrubbing against her face, but it was a nice change to the heat she'd felt moments before. There was no light on in any of the other windows of the school. The night seemed quiet, like any other.

Finally, she looked down. Her breath hitched in her throat when she saw it. By her feet, something was trembling and spasming on the floor.

It was Thing.

"Thing!" She rushed to pick him up and glared around the balcony one last time in case someone was watching her, her eyes flashing a silent threat, before closing the window and rushing over to her desk with him.

Enid felt like she could breathe again the second she heard the window click shut with a creak and realised only one pair of feet rushed through the room, but Wednesday's hurried steps didn't ease her nerves.

"Who was out there? You're scaring me, Wednesday. What-" Enid hurried over but halted as soon as she saw what Wednesday was holding in her hands.

Thing. With his fingers bruised and bloodied from a string that had tightly bundled them together. Wednesday was already working on removing the string from his flesh, gently unwrapping it from further digging into the slashes and wounds it had created. She kept silent, brows furrowed and eyes focused as she worked on the task, but her mind could only retreat back to one thing—

It was a violin string. Which could only mean... Wednesday was being warned.

☾ ⋆*·:⋆*·:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

☾ ⋆*·:⋆*·:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

@ghostheartbeat @the-night-owl-blr @engenelxver @screechcat @mary-jinx @mxal24 @novastargalaxydesigns @randomawesomeperson102 @reginassweetheart @mjoiner1136 @rockwyn @lostgirl1415 @rainbow-love4ever @the-lazy-turtle @elduster @queen-bunny @ghostheartbeat @lscvnty @iamnodens @alexkolax @main-queen-bunny @mcnusty @nev-valkyriesdottir @justareader5149

#the dance of death #wednesday addams imagines #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday fanfic #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday imagine #wednesday x reader

83 notes · View notes