#insecurity

[pupisized]

[an-abysma1-0bserver]

can we start over? (part 1)

Pairing: Jack Abbot x GF!Reader

Summary: Jack finally introduced you, his girlfriend, to the Pitt. This is the aftermath.

Warnings: Angst. Hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. Insecure reader. The Pittlings weren’t exactly welcoming. Older man x younger woman trope (unspecified age gap). Reader doesn’t want to cause a scene. No use of Y/N. Whatever else I failed to mention.

Author’s Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I don’t own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.

Should I do a part 2?

Word Count: 3,865 (roughly)

Masterlist

Next Part ->

Jack noticed almost immediately—your silence, the far-off look in your eyes, the way you curled in on yourself as the night wore on. You’d been so excited to meet his friends—Robby, Dana, the others from the Pitt—but somewhere along the line, something shifted.

You spoke less. Drifted to the edges of the group. Nursed your drink like it gave your hands something to do, something to hide behind. You avoided eye contact, and when you did smile, it never quite reached your eyes—thin, strained, a polite facade that didn’t belong to you.

It was nothing like how you’d been at the start of the night.

Maybe it was just nerves, he’d told himself. These were his people—his coworkers, his circle. Anyone would feel out of place at first. That had to be it.

But as the night dragged on, something else settled in.

You weren’t really being included.

Whitaker and Mel made an effort—pulling you in, asking you things—but it never lasted. Not really. If you spoke too much, the rhythm of the group would falter, conversations stalling just long enough for it to be noticeable. There’d be a pause, a flicker of glances exchanged, and then things would pick back up again—just…without you.

Gradually, quietly, you were edged out.

By the time Jack pulled into his driveway, the silence in the car felt heavier than anything said that night. He left the engine running for a moment, his hands still on the wheel as he turned to look at you.

You hadn’t said a word the entire ride home.

You just sat there, staring out the window, absentmindedly worrying the hem of your top between your fingers.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Jack studied you, the way your shoulders were slightly hunched, like you were trying to make yourself smaller in a space that was already empty. His grip on the steering wheel loosened.

“…Hey,” he said quietly.

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

A beat. Too quick to be real.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Jack exhaled softly, glancing away for a second before looking back at you. “You got really quiet back there.”

“I was just tired,” you said, a little too fast, a little too rehearsed. Your fingers kept tugging at the hem of your top, twisting the fabric tighter. “Long day.”

“Mm.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Silence pressed in again, heavier this time. The engine hummed beneath it, steady and indifferent.

Jack shifted in his seat, turning toward you more fully. “Did something happen?”

“No.” Your answer came just as quickly, but it wavered at the edges. “Nothing happened.”

He watched you for a moment, jaw tightening slightly. “It didn’t feel like nothing.”

That got a reaction—subtle, but there. Your hand stilled for half a second before starting up again, more restless than before.

“You’re reading too much into it,” you murmured.

“Am I?”

Finally, you turned your head just enough to look at him, but even then, your gaze didn’t quite meet his. “Jack, it’s fine. Seriously. You don’t have to—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head lightly. “It was your night. Your friends. I didn’t want to make it weird.”

His brow furrowed. “Make what weird?”

You huffed out a small breath, something closer to a humorless laugh. “Exactly.”

That made something in his chest tighten.

“Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “Talk to me.”

You swallowed, eyes dropping to your lap. For a second, it looked like you might brush it off again—another excuse, another deflection—but the words didn’t come as easily this time.

Instead, your shoulders sank, just a little.

“I don’t think they like me,” you said finally, the admission quiet enough it almost got lost in the space between you.

Jack blinked. “What? That’s—no. That’s not—”

“It’s fine,” you cut in quickly, even as your voice started to thin. “I mean, I get it. I was the outsider there. I didn’t know what anyone was talking about half the time, and when I did try to join in it was like—” You hesitated, searching for the right words, your throat tightening around them. “Like I said something wrong without actually saying anything wrong.”

Jack’s expression shifted, something unsettled flickering across his face.

“They just…” You trailed off, shaking your head faintly. “It felt like they were waiting for me to stop talking.”

The confession hung there, raw and uncomfortable.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the seat as if that might steady you. “It’s not a big deal. Really. I probably just overdid it, or—talked too much, or something. I don’t know.”

Jack’s stomach twisted at that.

“Hey,” he said, more firmly now. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Blame yourself for it.” His voice softened again, but there was an edge to it now, something protective. “I saw it too.”

That made you finally look at him properly.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

And then, quieter—almost hesitant—you asked, “You did?”

“Yeah,” Jack admitted, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I just…I thought maybe I was overthinking it. Or that you were just nervous.” He shook his head slightly. “But it didn’t sit right with me either.”

Something in your expression shifted at that—not quite relief, but not the tight, guarded distance from before, either. Just…something softer. More uncertain.

“Okay,” you whispered, like you weren’t sure what else to say.

The silence that followed wasn’t as sharp as before, but it wasn’t easy, either.

Jack glanced toward the house, then back at you. “C’mon,” he said gently. “Let’s go inside.”

This time, when he turned the engine off, you didn’t immediately reach for the door.

You just sat there for a second longer, like you were trying to gather whatever pieces of yourself had come undone—and hoping he wouldn’t let go of them once you did.

The front door clicked shut behind you a little too loudly in the quiet of Jack’s place.

For a second, neither of you moved.

You hovered just inside, slipping your shoes off more out of habit than thought, setting them neatly by the door like you always did. It felt strangely out of place tonight—like you were trying to act normal in a moment that wasn’t.

Jack lingered a step behind you, watching.

“You can, uh—” he started, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can sit down. Or—whatever you need.”

“Mm.” You nodded faintly, though it didn’t look like you’d actually heard him.

You made your way over to the couch, sinking into the corner of it, curling in on yourself again—knees tucked up, arms loosely wrapped around them. Smaller. Quieter.

Jack’s chest tightened at the sight.

He crossed the room a second later, slower this time, like he didn’t want to crowd you. He sat down beside you, leaving just enough space so you wouldn’t feel boxed in.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then, more gently, “Hey.”

You kept your eyes on your hands. “I’m okay.”

Jack let out a quiet breath, not quite a sigh. “You don’t look okay.”

A pause.

“…I will be,” you said instead, softer.

That made something in his expression falter.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees before glancing over at you. “You don’t have to brush it off with me.”

“I’m not brushing it off.”

“You kind of are.”

That earned him a small look—tired, not sharp, but there was something behind it.

“I just don’t want to make it into a bigger thing than it is,” you said. “It was one night. It’s not—” You stopped, swallowing. “It’s not like it matters that much.”

Jack turned toward you more fully now. “It matters if it bothered you.”

You didn’t respond right away.

Your fingers picked at the seam of your sleeve this time, slower, more absent. “I just…” You exhaled shakily. “I really wanted them to like me.”

The honesty of it sat heavy between you.

“I tried, you know?” you went on, voice quieter now. “I wasn’t trying to talk over anyone or—insert myself or whatever. I just…every time I did say something, it felt like I was interrupting something I wasn’t actually a part of.”

Jack’s jaw tightened slightly.

“And then when I stopped trying,” you added, a little more brittle now, “it didn’t really make a difference.”

That one lingered.

He shifted closer before he really thought about it, his hand hovering for a second before settling carefully against your arm—light, giving you space to pull away if you wanted.

You didn’t.

Instead, your shoulders dipped just a fraction, like the contact took some of the weight off.

“They shouldn’t have made you feel like that,” Jack said quietly.

You shook your head. “I don’t think they meant to.”

“Doesn’t really change how it came across.”

Another small silence.

Then, after a beat, he added, a little more firmly, “I’ll talk to them.”

Your head lifted at that, brows pulling together slightly. “Jack—no, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“It’s not a big enough deal to—”

“It is to me,” he cut in, not harsh, but certain.

You hesitated, searching his face like you were trying to figure out if he was just saying it to make you feel better.

“I’m not gonna go in guns blazing or anything,” he added, softer now. “I just…I’ll say something. Make sure they’re aware. That’s it.”

You exhaled, some of the tension in your shoulders loosening—but not completely.

“I don’t want them to feel like I’m…complaining,” you admitted.

“You’re not,” Jack said. “You’re telling me how you felt. That’s different.”

Your gaze dropped again, but this time it wasn’t as guarded.

“…Okay,” you murmured.

The room fell quiet after that, but it wasn’t as sharp as before. Just tired. Heavy.

After a second, Jack shifted, leaning back into the couch and gently tugging you with him—not forcing, just a quiet invitation.

You went, unfolding just enough to lean into his side, your head resting against his shoulder.

He let out a slow breath, one arm coming up to wrap around you, his hand settling warm and steady against your upper arm.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

His thumb traced absent, grounding patterns against your sleeve. The kind of touch that didn’t ask for anything, didn’t try to fix—it just stayed.

Your breathing gradually evened out, though every now and then, he felt the faint hitch of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a while, voice low against your hair.

You shook your head lightly. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I still brought you into that.”

You shifted just enough to look up at him, your expression softer now—worn, but real. “I wanted to go.”

“I know.” His grip on you tightened just slightly. “Doesn’t mean it should’ve gone like that.”

You held his gaze for a second longer, then let yourself settle back against him.

“…Next time might be better,” you said, though it came out more like a quiet hope than a statement.

Jack didn’t answer right away.

But his arm stayed around you, steady and sure, like he wasn’t going anywhere—like, whatever came next, he’d meet it with you.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “We’ll make it better.”

Even then, though, there was still something lingering in the quiet—the kind of hurt that doesn’t disappear all at once.

Just…held a little more gently.

* * *

Jack did talk to them.

You knew he did—not because he said much about it, but because of the way his jaw would tighten whenever their group chat lit up, or how he’d go quiet for a second after checking his phone. The first time you asked, he brushed it off with a simple, “It’s handled.”

You didn’t press.

A few days later, the invitation came again.

Another night out.

You stared at the message longer than you meant to, your thumb hovering over your screen as if that might make the decision for you.

Jack noticed, of course.

“You don’t have to go,” he said from where he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed loosely. His tone was careful—too careful.

“I know.” You glanced up at him, offering a small, uncertain smile. “I just…don’t want to make it a thing.”

“It already is a thing.”

“Only if we let it be,” you countered, softer now.

Jack studied you for a moment, like he was trying to figure out if this was something you actually wanted—or something you felt like you should want.

“…Okay,” he said finally. “But we leave whenever you want. No questions, no arguments.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

The second time was…different.

Not better. Just different.

People made more of an effort this time—at least on the surface. Conversations opened up for you, questions directed your way, smiles that lingered a little longer than before.

But it felt…off.

Like something rehearsed.

Like everyone had been told to include you.

You answered when spoken to, smiled when expected, but you didn’t try to push past that. Didn’t try to wedge yourself into the easy, overlapping rhythm they all seemed to share.

And Jack noticed that, too.

He stayed closer this time, a hand brushing yours, checking in with quiet glances. You leaned into it when you needed to, but even that felt different—more like grounding than comfort.

At one point, Jack stepped away—just for a minute, just to grab drinks—and that’s when you heard it.

“…I’m just saying, man, you didn’t have to make it into a whole thing.”

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. You hadn’t even realized you’d drifted close enough to hear.

Robby’s voice.

Lower than usual, but not enough.

“I didn’t make it a whole thing,” Jack replied, his tone tighter than you’d ever heard it. “I said something because it was a thing.”

“It was one night,” Robby shot back. “People were drinking, talking—shit happens. Now everyone’s walking on eggshells.”

A pause.

“That’s not what I asked for.”

“Feels like it,” Robby muttered. “She barely even talks now.”

That one landed.

You went still, something cold settling in your chest.

Jack exhaled sharply. “Maybe ask yourself why that is.”

“Or maybe,” Robby said, a little more pointed now, “this just isn’t her scene.”

Silence.

Heavy. Tense.

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

By the time Jack found you again, you were already by the door, slipping your jacket on.

His expression shifted immediately. “Hey—what happened?”

“I’m ready to go,” you said, not quite meeting his eyes.

He searched your face, something tightening in his chest. “Did someone say something?”

You hesitated.

Just for a second.

“…No. I’m just tired.”

It wasn’t convincing.

But it was enough.

Jack’s jaw set slightly, but he didn’t push—not there, not in front of everyone. “Okay,” he said instead. “Let’s go.”

The ride home felt too much like the last one.

Quieter than it should’ve been. Heavier.

This time, though, you didn’t fidget.

You just sat still, staring out the window, like you’d already checked out before the night had even ended.

Jack’s grip on the wheel tightened.

“You heard something.”

It wasn’t a question.

You closed your eyes briefly. “…It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if it made you leave like that.”

You shook your head faintly. “Jack, please.”

That made him go quiet—but not because he agreed.

After that, things shifted.

Subtly. Quietly.

The next time an invitation came, you didn’t hesitate.

You just said, “I think I’ll sit this one out.”

Jack looked up from his phone. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” You kept your tone light, casual—practiced. “You should still go, though.”

“I don’t have to.”

“I know. I just don’t want you to stop doing your thing because of me.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” you asked, glancing at him.

Jack opened his mouth—then stopped.

Because the answer wasn’t simple.

Because part of it was you.

And part of it was them.

And part of it was the way everything felt just slightly off now, no matter which direction he looked.

“…I just don’t like how they made you feel,” he said finally.

You softened a little at that, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” you said.

But you didn’t reach for your phone again. Didn’t ask who was going. Didn’t ask what the plan was.

Didn’t ask to be included.

And that?

That might’ve been worse than anything that happened that first night.

Jack went without you.

He didn’t say much when he left—just a quiet, “I won’t be late,” and a look that lingered like he wanted to ask you to change your mind.

You didn’t.

The apartment felt different after the door shut behind him. Too still. Too quiet. You told yourself you liked it that way.

You didn’t touch your phone when it buzzed.

The bar was louder than he remembered.

Or maybe it just felt that way without you there.

Jack spotted them easily—Robby, Whitaker, Mel, a couple others already gathered around their usual table. For a second, he just stood there, watching. The way they laughed, the way conversation overlapped so easily.

It had never felt like something he had to think about before.

Now it did.

“Hey,” Whitaker called when he noticed him. “There he is.”

A few greetings followed, casual, familiar. Jack nodded, slid into an open seat—but it didn’t take long before someone asked.

“She coming tonight?”

Jack shook his head. “No.”

A small pause.

Not dramatic. Not obvious.

Just enough.

Robby leaned back slightly, lifting his drink. “Figured.”

Jack’s eyes flicked to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Robby said, but it didn’t quite land like nothing. “Just…doesn’t really seem like her thing.”

Jack set his jaw. “Or maybe it didn’t feel like her thing because of how last time went.”

Mel shifted a little at that, glancing between them. “We tried, Jack.”

“I know,” he said, not harsh, but firm. “I’m not saying you didn’t. I’m saying it still didn’t land right.”

Robby let out a quiet breath through his nose, like he’d already had this conversation in his head. “Man, you’re acting like we iced her out on purpose.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Jack leaned forward slightly, forearms on the table. “I’m saying she walked away feeling like she didn’t belong there. And yeah, that matters to me.”

There it was.

Plain. Uncomplicated.

Robby’s expression shifted—not defensive, exactly, but not backing down either. “Okay. But you gotta look at it from our side too.”

Jack didn’t respond, but he didn’t look away.

Robby shrugged lightly. “It’s a tight group. Has been for a while. People talk over each other, conversations jump—it’s not exactly easy to just drop into.”

“I know that.”

“And she’s—” He hesitated, like he was choosing his words more carefully now. “She’s younger, Jack.”

The word sat there.

Not accusatory. Not quite judgmental.

But not neutral, either.

Jack’s brow tightened. “So?”

“So it changes things,” Robby said. “Different stage, different vibe. That’s not a knock on her—it just is what it is.”

Whitaker shifted again, quieter this time. “I think…some of it just felt off. Not bad—just…off.”

Jack’s gaze moved between them. “Off how?”

Another pause.

Mel spoke this time, more gently. “It felt like she was trying really hard to meet us where we are. And we didn’t really know how to meet her halfway.”

“That’s on you, then.”

“It is,” Mel admitted. “But it also doesn’t fix the fact that maybe this just isn’t her scene.”

Robby nodded slightly. “Yeah. And pushing it isn’t gonna make it feel natural.”

Jack leaned back, running a hand over his face, tension pulling at his shoulders. “So what—you’re just writing her off?”

“No,” Robby said quickly. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Robby replied, more evenly now, “maybe not everything has to overlap. You’ve got your thing with her. You’ve got this. Doesn’t have to be the same space.”

The words landed heavier than Jack expected.

Because they weren’t entirely wrong.

That didn’t make them sit any better.

“And what if I want it to be?” Jack asked.

No one answered right away.

Not because they didn’t have one—but because none of them were sure it would help.

Robby finally shrugged, quieter now. “Then it’s gonna take time. On both sides. Not just one night, not just one fix.”

Jack looked down at the table for a second, jaw tight, thumb dragging absently along the edge of his glass.

“…She thinks you don’t like her,” he said.

That shifted something.

Mel frowned. “That’s not true.”

Whitaker shook his head. “Yeah, no—that’s not—”

“But that’s how it came across,” Jack cut in.

Silence settled again.

This time, it lingered longer.

Not defensive. Not dismissive.

Just…uncomfortable.

Robby exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then we’ll do better.”

It sounded genuine.

But not simple.

* * *

Jack didn’t stay long after that.

The conversation moved on, eventually—work stories, dumb jokes, something familiar—but it didn’t sit the same. Not for him.

Not tonight.

When he got back, the apartment was quiet.

The lights were still on.

You were curled up on the couch, half-asleep, the TV playing something you clearly hadn’t been watching.

Jack paused in the doorway for a second, taking you in.

The same way you’d been sitting the other night.

Smaller. Folded in.

He stepped inside more quietly this time, setting his keys down without a sound.

You stirred a little at the movement, blinking up at him. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

A beat.

“How was it?” you asked, voice still soft with sleep.

Jack hesitated.

Not because he didn’t have an answer.

Because he had too many.

“It was…fine,” he said finally.

You nodded faintly, like that was enough. Like you weren’t going to ask for more.

“…Good,” you murmured.

Silence settled between you again.

Not sharp.

Not heavy.

Just…uncertain.

Jack moved a little closer, standing at the edge of the couch, his hand resting briefly against the back of it like he wasn’t sure whether to sit or not.

You shifted, making a little space beside you without really thinking about it.

An invitation.

A habit.

Something in between.

He took it, sitting down beside you, close—but not quite pulling you in like he usually would.

Not yet.

“…They don’t hate you,” he said after a moment.

You let out a small, tired huff. “That’s a glowing review.”

“It’s not like that.”

You turned your head slightly, studying him. “Then what is it like?”

Jack met your gaze—and for once, didn’t have a clean, easy answer.

“…It’s complicated,” he admitted.

You held his eyes for a second longer, then nodded slowly, like you’d expected that.

“Okay,” you said.

And that was it.

No argument. No push.

Just acceptance.

Which, somehow, felt heavier than either of those things would’ve.

Jack leaned back into the couch, staring ahead, his shoulder brushing yours.

You didn’t move away.

But you didn’t lean in, either.

And in the quiet that followed, it wasn’t entirely clear where either of you fit anymore—just that something had shifted, and neither of you quite knew yet what to do with it.

[becherdireinen]

why are people so insecure about their looks but not their character?

[djopuppy]

i told you things

steve harrington x female!reader

summary: you began dating steve harrington in freshman year, before he became the king, and you watched as he dismantled your relationship until it was finally over.

word count: 2.9k

contains & warnings: female reader, established relationship, breakups, hurt & eventual comfort, eventual fluff, angst, cheating, manipulation, steves a shitty bf, king steve persona, crying, slow burn, lovers to strangers to lovers, exes. no smut in part one but part two will contain sexual content, part two will contain flashback scenes.

PART ONE

౨⋆ৎ inspired by i told you things by gracie abrams ౨⋆ৎ

you’re the golden boy, and my worst regret.

august 25th 1984

327 days ago

you never really liked to drive with the windows down, your hair constantly got stuck in your pink bubblegum scented lip gloss as the wind moved through your car. today was different though, today you felt free, so you didn’t care if wind was causing your hair to stick to your lips. you only cared that you were now free from steve harrington.

you’ve known steve harrington since you were five years old and your family had just moved to town. hawkins is a small town, and the prominent families tend to stick together, which meant your family was constantly around the harrington’s.

you always had a small crush on steve growing up. he was so sweet, and charismatic. steve was also incredibly goofy. every time you hung out with him you would leave with a slight stomach-ache because of how hard you had been laughing all day. being best friends with steve was a good thing, it was great even, but being his girlfriend was incredible. until it wasn’t.

he first asked you out underneath the bleachers at the start of your freshman year of high school. he was all nervous energy back then, face clammy as he stammered out the words. you said yes instantly, you had been dreaming about it for years. you smiled to yourself as you took your normal walk home that afternoon, making up imaginary scenarios in your head and blushing at your own thoughts.

for your first date he made an entire picnic in his backyard for you. you were both young, unable to drive, and had no money to actually go anywhere or do anything. so this was the best date you could ever imagine. he kissed you that night, and it felt like something in the world shifted together just right. or maybe the stars aligned in the sky, or maybe it was a shooting star. it didn’t matter, really. all you knew was steve harrington’s lips were pressed softly and nervously against yours, and nothing had ever felt so right.

you dated in perfect harmony for just over a year and a half. you spent every single day together, both of you constantly wanting more of the other. steve would bike to your house bright and early every weekend, and you’d walk together to school most days. he’d hold your hand as you walked through the hallways, he’d open your locker for you, carry your books to class, and even go through the lunch line for you. the love you shared was all consuming. he was amazing, and you felt incredibly lucky to love him. your love for him increased everyday, it felt like there was no limit, and that nothing could ever stop the bond you had created. until after winter break of sophomore year.

halfway through your sophomore year, basketball tryouts rolled around. steve was thrilled, and you were so excited for him. though you probably wouldn’t have been if you knew what would come after. steve had been practicing everyday, for hours, with his friends at the community park. it was all he talked about for weeks at a time. three days after tryouts passed, the team announcements were made. steve made varsity, as a sophomore. it wasn’t unheard of, but it was rare, and it meant he was very good. he would play basketball with the juniors and seniors of hawkins high school, while everyone else in our grade would play with freshmen.

it got to his head, and fast. the first few games rolled around, and you attended every single one, never missing a second. but his attention wasn’t focused on his supportive girlfriend, it was the support of everyone else he was focused on. the way people cheered for him, the way people admired his talent, the way people watched. he scored a game winning shot and the next day everybody began to call him “king steve”.

that was the same day you lost your boyfriend. not because he broke up with you, and not because he disappeared. but because your steve was replaced, entirely, by “king” steve. you just didn’t realize it yet, or maybe you did, and chose to ignore every red flag thrown in your direction.

everything changed. everything. hangouts with boys became infinitely more important than spending time with you. he brushed you off every time you would be emotionally vulnerable with him, dismissing you every-time you needed reassurance. he never apologized anytime he hurt you, always assuming you were overreacting. he took you for granted for the next year and a half.

you always stayed. tried everything you could to fix it, no matter what. telling yourself he was just stressed, or busy, or not feeling well. you ran through every excuse in the book a hundred times over. because you had loved him for so long, and you wanted it to be him so badly. you just weren’t sure if the person you loved was even in the room with you anymore. you were looking at your boyfriend- your steve- but he was a stranger. a stranger who wore hideous black sunglasses everywhere, even inside, to look “cool”, and always smelt like some trendy hairspray.

you slowly began to realize how far gone he was, but you didn’t even realize how far gone you were. once steve turned 16 years old in the beginning of summer, heading to your junior year, he got a brand new beautiful bmw. it was gorgeous, and very obviously expensive. it was a statement car, and he knew it. the bmw fed into his ego majorly, if it was even possible for him to gain a larger ego problem.

you noticed all throughout junior year how guys began to latch onto his every word, clinging to everything he said like he was some god, but it wasn’t until the summer that you began to notice how girls began to cling to him. you would watch as carol began to laugh at something he said and put her hand on his arm, he never pushed her away. if anything, he’d lean into it. flashing a grin and running a hand through his hair to mess it up just perfectly. you’d watch and watch, as the number in girls increased every day. he’d charm, and flirt, and encourage it, all while you’d watch. sometimes he’d be actively holding your hand, walking into a loud party, when a girl you’d never even noticed would approach him, murmuring something about needing help with finding a beer. he’d let go of your hand to respond to her, and you’d just keep walking further into the party. further and further away from steve, physically and emotionally.

summer passed in a daze of parties and quarry visits. it was clear how far you two had fallen off from eachother. you were still intimate, and you still had conversations about the future and the present. it was enough, just barely, to keep you around. you assumed he knew that too, that he had to give you something to hold onto, to avoid losing you entirely.

everything fell apart the day the rumor started. it was the fourth day of senior year, today, during first period. you walked into school and you could feel the immediate buzz. the lights felt harsher, the stares more pointed, and the giggles were directed. apparently tina heard it from tammy, and tammy, heard it from carol, and carol heard it from tommy. or something like that. the entire school was whispering about it. steve harrington and nancy wheeler, seen at the movies together. you shook your head as if in denial, trying to clear the thought from ever even entering your brain.

steve had been distant, sure. but there was no way he would cheat on you. he loved you, if not as a girlfriend anymore then at least as a friend. he had to have loved you. he had to have, because you loved him so much, you couldn’t even begin to picture a world where he didn’t love you back.

your feet began to take you on a familiar route, the route that lead straight to steve’s locker as your throat tightened with each stare and giggle from a stranger. you made your way to steve’s locker on autopilot, not even glancing up from the tiled floors as you walked. shoulders occasionally bumping into you as your head stayed down. your heart drummed frantically against your ribs when you looked up to see him leaning against his locker with a few guys from the basketball team surrounding him, while they all talked animatedly. he was holding court as always, just like a king.

as you began to approach him, his head slightly turned towards you then he straightened up. his signature smile faltering slightly. “hey, baby” he said it casually.

you knew your voice would shake before you even opened your mouth to speak. “steve.. i..” you swallowed hard and took a breath, forcing the words out before you brushed it off and dismissed it as nothing. “is it true?”

he stared at you silently for a few seconds then his posture became slightly more guarded, you could see the way he tensed up. “is what true?” he asked so normally. the normalcy and calmness in his statement making you question yourself.

“the.. the thing with nancy. people are talking. is it true?” you asked quietly, as if you were embarrassed to doubt the king in front of the jesters.

steve sighed as if he was confused by your sudden doubt. “c’mon. you can’t seriously be listening to high school gossip.”

you felt pressure build in your eyes as he so casually began to manipulate the situation back on you. you wondered when he got so good at that. the steve who trembled when he first kissed you under the stars on a blanket in his backyard, somehow the same steve who supposedly cheated on you and could now lie about it so easily to your face.

you asked again, pleading. “please don’t lie to me, steve. just.. tell me the truth. did anything happen?”

he let out a long sigh before nodding once. the slow motion of the gesture felt like a gavel coming down on your heart. “yeah, yeah, okay?” is that what you wanted to hear?” he exhaled in exasperation. “it didn’t even mean anything. it doesn’t even matter”

you shook your head and took a step back. everything clicking into horrible place quickly. the months-no-years of delusion and hope finally fading away to this one simple fact, you were in love with a version of steve harrington that simply didn’t exist anymore, and there’s was no use in staying with this version. the version who lies, and cheats.

numbness began to spread throughout you, mixing with the feelings of betrayal, loss, and heartbreak. there was also a weird pang of relief. the relief of it being over. not the relationship, but the not knowing. the wondering. the distance and the worrying. it would all be gone now, and it was replaced by this brutal truth.

the hallway felt like a tunnel that was beginning to close in, so you took a step back, and another, until you were walking away from steve. for good, this time. you weren’t sure if he called after you or not. you couldn’t hear over the sound of your racing heart, but you assumed he didn’t. not because he didn’t want to, but because it would hurt his pride. his ego. his persona. and of course, that was always more important. you’d come to learn at least that simple fact over the last year.

the walk to your car in the student parking lot felt like you were walking through a dream. you barely even remember unlocking the car or sliding into your seat. you just feel the feeling of right now. the wind whipping through your hair, the roar of the wind loud in your ears to muffle the silence in your head. it felt like playing in a scene that belonged to a stranger, but maybe that was the point. maybe you were a stranger, who loved another stranger.

july 18th 1985

327 days later, today.

the year had flown by, maybe it was from how hurt you were for a majority of it, or maybe it was from how alone you were. steve had been everything to you for years, and when you lost him, you had nobody. you’ve learned so much about yourself over the last 300 days, especially when it comes to your boundaries and limits in a relationship.

you’d never allow yourself to be manipulated or belittled in a relationship ever again, you had to learn the hard away. you learned healing isn’t linear. there were days you felt empty, and nights you didn’t sleep. your mind racing, panicking over what steve was doing. who was he with? did he miss you? was he with someone else? the thoughts were a private hell of your own making. you passed each-other in the hallways at school. your eyes would linger on him, his would barely even glance near you. you couldn’t tell if it was shame, guilt, hurt, or if he just genuinely did not care. he was so hard to read these days.

you had to learn how to be you again, not “king steve’s girl”. that was the hardest part. for so long you adjusted your interests and wants to better suit his needs, always putting him first no matter how many times he showed you that he would never do the same for you. you couldn’t let go, the boy from the picnic blanket had a permanent place in your heart, and you just couldn’t let him go. it felt like a betrayal to the ten year old version of you.

there was never a stage of anger for you, not really. it was hard to be angry at steve. every time you began to blame him, you slowly shifted into blaming yourself. finding ways to declare that the cheating and the distance was because you should have done more.

you haven’t thought like that in awhile, thankfully. you know better now. you know who you are, and what you deserve. which is better than any relationship with a partner, because you will always love and care for yourself more than anyone else can.

you stretched out on your bed as you began to get ready for the day, the sunlight from the early morning casting stripes into the room. morning doves chirping softly, a welcome soundtrack. you hadn’t done much this summer, just prepared to head to college at indiana tech in the fall, and leave hawkins and steve harrington behind.

today you planned to head to the mall to find a new outfit for your orientation in august, starcourt opened just a few months ago. it was a nice sized two story shopping mall with a large built-in movie theatre. it seemed out of place in a dreary town like hawkins, but it was packed everyday either way. you hadn’t visited the mall yet, you didn’t have a reason to honestly, and you definitely wanted to avoid as many people from high school as possible.

the warm air and the suns warmth lingered on your skin as you headed towards the mall. humming softly along to summer of 69 playing on the car stereo, drumming your fingers gently against the wheel as you arrived to starcourt. the heat was radiating today, even with the ac on full blast you could still feel the intensity of the sun. the thought of enjoying a freezing cold soft-serve cone is suddenly all consuming, you just hoped the mall at least had an ice cream shop.

you walked inside the mall and your eyes immediately began to scan the storefronts as you search for a place that would sell a cold sweet treat. your gaze locks onto a nautical themed front named “scoops ahoy” with a logo of an ice cream cone, so you begin walking without wasting another second.

the second you entered the shop the smell of the sweet cream filled your senses. you looked up at the counter and noticed a tall and lanky girl with mousy brown hair in a ridiculous sailor uniform. you’d seen her at school a few times. she looked incredibly bored. the uniform consisted of a blue and white collared shirt with a blue vest over it. a red handkerchief tied around the neck. she wore a white hat that said “ahoy” on the front. the bottoms were blue high waisted shorts that had a white stripe on them. it looked less like a uniform for a job, and more like a costume.

“ahoy, sailor! welcome to scoops ahoy, where the ice cream is cold and the employment is... questionable. what can I get for you?” she spoke as if she was reading a terrible script, which i guess she was in a way. her name tag said her name was robin.

you replied quickly “just a vanilla cone, thanks”

she moved without another word to start scooping the vanilla when she sighed in exasperation realizing it was empty. “hey, dingus!” she called out loudly, even though you didn’t see anyone else in the shop.

a loud exasperated and familiar groan made your heart stop, a sound you would know anywhere. a sound you would be able to recognize in a room full of people. the two glass windows behind the girls head began to slide open, and you looked up to see your ex boyfriend in a matching sailor uniform.

his eyes locking onto yours. his eyes were swirling with complicated emotions. it was mix of caution, surprise, and guilt. maybe regret. maybe even longing.

you took a step back as if you were physically struck, and then another, muttering “never-nevermind, i’m okay, thanks” as you began to turn towards the door.

his voice stopped you. it wasn’t anything like the voice of king steve. it wasn’t dripping with confidence or laced with a casual coolness. it was raw, and almost vulnerable. “please don’t go.. just.. just wait a sec-“ he pleaded. he might as well have dropped to his knees and begged at your feet, and by the look in his eyes when you turned around to face him? he just might have if you asked.

FIND PART TWO HERE

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

i hope you enjoyed! i don’t typically write anything angsty but was in the mood to write something with feeling. thank u for reading, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

[just-a-blog-for-polls]

Do you or do you not use makeup and what is the main reason for it?

I do, 'cause I'm not comfortable with my looks without it

I do, 'cause I like the way I look with it (but I'm okay without it too)

I do, 'cause it's a way for me to express myself

I do, 'cause [insert an explanation]

I don't, cause I like my looks just the way I am

I don't, 'cause I would feel uncomfortable to look different than I naturally do

I don't, 'cause I'm allergic / otherwise medically unable to use makeup

I don't, 'cause I don't want to waste money on it

I don't, 'cause [insert an explanation]

This question is not relevant to me

Just show me the results

Voting ended onJan 26, 2024

Edit: sensory issues can be counted under "otherwise medically unable to" if you feel that to be appropriate

[lubambigirl]

[sweetpeaaquarius]

Shadows and Sunlight

Pairing: Azriel x Mate f!reader

Summary: She is a Day Court princess, the light in every room, loud, bright, and adored. He is the Night Court’s spymaster, hidden in shadows, haunted by the knowledge that she deserves better.

Warnings: mating bond, jealousy, possessiveness, emotional insecurity, slow-burn romance, angst, fluff

Word count: 2,500

Author’s Note: Another request completed! I hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

Azriel had waited his whole life for the mating bond to snap, and now, as he watched her from across the room, it was nothing like he had imagined.

It snapped like sunlight searing through every shadow in his soul, filling the darkness with burning light.

His mate stood surrounded by a circle of heirs, nobles, and High Fae who made his skin crawl. Her laughter echoed through the ballroom as her hand rested against a High Fae’s chest.

Azriel’s world narrowed to her, his breath ragged and uneven.

A hand clapped his shoulder, dragging him out of the haze of her.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Cassian’s voice said.

Azriel’s eyes didn’t leave her.

“Rhys calls her the Day Court’s princess,” Cassian chuckled. “Apparently, Eris has been trying to wed her for nearly a century.”

Azriel said nothing. 

He couldn’t. 

The word princess didn’t begin to describe what she was.

She was life itself.

Her gaze found his then, and her smile faltered, just slightly, as her hand tightened on another man’s chest.

Azriel felt a pull deep within him, demanding and undeniable, dragging him forward. 

Cassian’s eyes flickered between the princess, whose smile had now vanished completely, and Azriel, whose shadows were now restless, nearly engulfing him whole.

She felt it too.

She knew.

The princess’s hand fell from the man’s chest. Her eyes locked on Azriel as she crossed the ballroom toward them.

“Az,” Cassian hissed in disbelief as the most eligible bachelorette in all of Prythian rushed straight toward them.

She stopped a few feet away, the soft shimmer of her golden gown catching the light.

Up close, she was even more devastatingly beautiful. Every inch of her was warmth, gold, sun, and life.

Suddenly, Azriel felt like his shadows were strangling him.

“You must be from the Night Court,” she said softly, a smile on her lips. “I’m Y/N it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She didn’t seem to notice the way every pair of eyes in the room turned towards her, towards them.

Maybe she just didn’t care. She was used to being the centre of attention.

Azriel, however, felt every gaze.

He wasn’t made for the spotlight.

Still, Azriel didn’t move. He couldn’t.

He just stared at her as she stood before him.

Cassian bumped his shoulder against his, but still, Azriel couldn’t force a word out.

His shadows curled instinctively around her, as if trying to dull her light. 

Instead of flinching like he expected, she laughed softly, a sound that made his mouth go dry, and for a moment, he thought he might faint.

She tilted her head, studying him. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Azriel,” Cassian said, grinning. “And I’m Cassian, General of the Night Court.”

Before Azriel could even react, Cassian stepped and took her hand. He bowed slightly and pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles.

Jealousy burned in Azriel’s chest, his shadows thickening at her ankles. Cassian glanced at him with a smirk before releasing her hand.

“Cassian, the Night Court’s War General,” she said with a smile. “And Azriel, what’s your title?”

The way his name rolled off her tongue made his chest ache.

“Spymaster,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Her smile deepened into something that could have brought kings to their knees.

“Spymaster? That sounds… dangerous.”

Cassian laughed as Azriel’s jaw clenched.

“Most people call him the Shadowsinger,” Cassian added, lifting his glass of amber liquor to his lips.

The bond pulsed in Azriel’s chest, sharp, constant, and it took everything in him to remain still.

Her eyes filled with amusement. 

“Well, Shadowsinger, your shadows seem to like me,” she giggled, hands gliding through the wisps of darkness that danced around her.

The sight made something twist inside him, equal parts awe and dread.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

His mate wasn’t supposed to be someone like her.

Not someone who shone so brightly it hurt to look at her.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a teasing whisper. “Tell me, Shadowsinger, do you dance?”

Azriel’s heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he could hardly breathe.

“I don’t dance,” he said finally.

“A drink, then?” she asked, her smile softening.

Cassian’s smirk turned into a grin, glancing between them, but Azriel was already shaking his head.

“You should enjoy your night,” he said, forcing a polite nod and avoiding her gaze.

“Oh.” Her smile faltered, confusion flickering across her beautiful face.

“I’m on duty tonight,” Azriel added.

He could feel her hurt and rejection through the bond.

“Right,” she said softly.

A practised smile formed on her lips, but her eyes betrayed her, looking at him with hurt, as if she had never been denied a dance or a drink before.

He doubted she ever had.

“Well,” she said after a pause, her voice bright again. “I’ll let you get back to your duties, shadowsinger. I’ll save you a dance.”

His heart twisted as he watched her take a step back, then another. 

The crowd swallowed her whole, courtiers and suitors, drawn to her like moths to a flame. Even as she smiled and laughed, her gaze didn’t leave Azriel’s.

He turned on his heel and pushed through the crowd, away from her, away from the sight of those men leaning too close, offering her company, drinks and dances that should have been his.

Jealousy flared hot, curling low in his stomach. The bond twisted painfully as he forced himself further and further from her. 

“Az!” Cassian called, trying to catch up.

Azriel didn’t stop until they reached the edge of the ballroom. His hands were shaking, his chest rising and falling too fast.

Cassian caught up to him. 

“What the hell was that?” he demanded. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen just walked up to you, asked you to dance and have a drink, and you said no.”

Azriel dragged a hand down his face, shadows curling around him as if shielding him from reality.

“She’s…” 

He couldn’t bring himself to say it, the word catching in his throat.

Cassian exhaled sharply. “She’s what?”

“She’s my mate,” Azriel whispered, his voice cracking on the word.

Silence fell for a moment. 

Cassian froze, eyes widening. “Does she know?”

Azriel’s gaze flicked back toward the crowd surrounding her. Men leaned closer, trying to catch her attention.

“She knows,” he said finally, forcing himself to meet Cassian’s eyes. “I think she’s waiting for me to go to her.”

Cassian’s brow furrowed, confusion written across his face. “Then go to her. Have your dance, have a drink with your mate, speak to her.”

Her laughter echoed in his ears; the bond between them was relentless and aching, a constant pull beneath his ribs.

“She deserves more,” he whispered. “So much more than me.”

Cassian’s expression softened, but Azriel didn’t look at him. He just stood there, shadows curling around his shoulders as her laughter faded into the music.

After that, he kept to the edge of the room, shadows cloaking him in darkness.

She was never alone, always surrounded by admirers, their laughter too loud, their touch too familiar and no matter how deeply he hid in the shadows, her eyes always found him.

Through the crowd.

Through the noise.

Through the dark.

Each time their eyes met, his breath caught, and each time, he was the one to look away first.

He could handle watching her from afar.

Until he saw him.

A flash of red hair, glowing like flames. A sharp smile. Amber eyes locked on one target.

Her.

Azriel’s stomach dropped, his fingers twitched at his sides, and his shadows coiled around his boots.

Eris Vanserra was heading toward his mate.

The heir of the Autumn Court bowed before her, taking her hand and gently kissing her knuckles. She laughed softly as Eris pulled her into a tight embrace, but her gaze slipped past him to where Azriel stood hidden in the shadows.

In that moment, Azriel’s control fractured.

Eris whispered something that made her laugh, a loud, unrestrained sound that twisted like a knife in Azriel’s chest. His wings flared slightly, and his hands clenched into fists.

“Dance with me,” Eris murmured, already tugging her toward the floor.

She hesitated. Her gaze fixed on the shadows where Azriel stood, almost invisible.

Please don’t, Azriel thought, heart pounding. Don’t.

She nodded once as the music began to swell.

Azriel’s chest tightened painfully as he watched them step onto the dance floor. Her gown shimmered with every turn, golden fabric catching the light.

Eris held her as though she belonged to him, his hand resting far too low at the small of her back.

Every instinct screamed at him to intervene, to pull her from Eris’s grasp and into his own arms where she belonged.

Maybe she did belong here, in the centre of the room, with the heir of a court.

Maybe the Cauldron had made a mistake.

He stood there, cloaked in shadow, and watched his mate dance with another man.

Finally, her eyes found his.

Across the room. 

In the arms of another. 

Azriel’s fragile control finally shattered.

He turned on his heel and left the ballroom, through the winding halls of the Night Court palace. 

The air was too bright, too heavy. 

He needed darkness. 

He needed distance. 

He needed to breathe.

Azriel pushed open the heavy doors of the balcony, the night air cool against his burning skin. His hands gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white. 

The bond pulled at him relentlessly, a constant, searing ache beneath his ribs. It was a pain unlike anything he had ever felt, as if he were being burned from the inside out.

His eyes stung.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Couldn’t remember the last time he allowed himself to feel so much, but now, standing alone, he was seconds away from breaking completely.

He tried to smother it, the bond, the ache, her.

Tried to build the walls back up. 

To breathe through the pain.

His wings flared in frustration. His shadows writhed and coiled around him, whispering her name.

“Stop,” he hissed to them. “Stop.”

The bond tightened in response, strangling him.

He didn’t hear the door open at first, only the sound of heels on stone.

He turned, tears drying instantly as his face settled into its usual mask.

He’d expected Cassian. Maybe Rhys. 

Anyone but her.

“Is there a threat out here?” she teased, her gown glowing in the darkness.

“I’m sorry?” Azriel said, carefully.

She tilted her head. “You said you couldn’t have a drink because you were on duty, but from what I can see—” she glanced around the empty balcony, “—there don’t appear to be any threats.”

He inhaled sharply as she stepped closer.

“You followed me,” he said, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I did.” 

She took another slow step forward. The closer she came, the more his shadows retreated.

“You were hiding,” she continued. “Watching me, watching Eris, and acting as if it didn’t bother you.”

Azriel’s shadows went still.

“You could feel that?” he whispered.

She was so close that he could feel her warmth against his chest.

“I can feel everything you feel, Shadowsinger,” she murmured, her eyes flicking from his to his mouth. “And you, my mate, are jealous. I’m here to tell you that I will always choose my mate, stranger or not.”

Azriel’s voice broke as he said, “You deserve someone like Eris.”

A quiet laugh left her lips as she shook her head.

“If I wanted Eris, I would have chosen him long ago. He knows that, it’s just a game to him, a chase he’ll never win.” Her voice was soft but sure. “I don’t want Eris. I want the man the Mother gifted me. My equal. My mate.”

He couldn’t breathe. The bond burned between them, a living thing.

“I’m not here to rush you,” she whispered. “And I’ll never force the bond, but I couldn’t leave the Night Court knowing my mate thought I’d chosen someone else.”

“You’re leaving,” Azriel said, voice cracking.

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

He shouldn’t have looked at her, because when he did, his heart raced.

All sense, all restraint, left him.

“Stay,” he whispered.

Her breath caught, and then a smile formed on her lips. “As you wish, Shadowsinger.”

She stepped even closer, her gown brushing against his boots. The bond ached between them.

“Eris means nothing,” Azriel murmured, voice low and rough.

“Eris means nothing,” she repeated softly, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Tell me,” she said, her tone teasing. “Do you truly not dance, or were you avoiding me?”

“I don’t know how,” he admitted. “Will you teach me?”

Her smile widened, and the look on her face nearly brought him to his knees. 

“Yes,” she whispered, reaching for him. “I’d love to teach you to dance.”

Her hands slipped into his, and the world tilted. The bond flared in response, and his chest tightened.

“Follow my lead,” she murmured, placing his hands on her waist, while hers rested on his shoulders.

She guided him, the Spymaster, the Shadowsinger, her mate, through the steps of a waltz.

He stumbled, stepped on her toes, tripped her, apologised too much, and his cheeks flushed for the first time in years. She scolded him, louder and fiercer than Cassian ever had during training, but every word, every correction, made his heart ache in growing affection.

After that night, everything changed.

For six months, they practised every evening. 

He learned how to spin her without stumbling, when she wanted to be dipped or lifted, when to turn, and when to pull her close.  

He learned her.

After that night, she never left his side.

She left the Day Court without a second thought. She moved into his home and filled every dark corner with light, colour, and life.

She was loud, spoiled, and everything he never knew he needed. 

She kept every gift he gave her, every letter, every ribbon. 

Every reminder of him.

On the night of their mating ceremony, they danced until their feet ached.

They danced with friends, with family, beneath the glow of the moonlight. He twirled her beneath the stars, her gown shimmering, her laughter echoing through the courtyard.

She glowed, a light so blinding, so pure, that he couldn’t look away.

She was the sun, and he was the shadows.

His princess. 

His mate. 

His everything.

Masterlist

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@fanficscuziranout, @talesofadragon, @kennedy-brooke, @alexof90s