#gnc reader

The next day, you wake up to Dustin talking to someone in his room. The low tones of his voice vibrate through the wall separating your rooms. Sighing, you begin to head towards his room to figure out what he's up to now. As you walk out of your door, you walk straight into him coming out of his. "Watch it!" he says. Right as you say, "who were you talking to?" "Myself, it's a smart people thing. Einstein did it," he says it confidently, but you can tell he's lying. You narrow your eyes at him, "Do I want to know what you've got in there?" "You do know - there's nobody," he insists stubbornly, he can be such a child sometimes. "Alright, just let me know when it bites you in the ass," you say. "You're so nice to your little brother," his voice drips with sarcasm, and the triumph of keeping his secret from you for a little longer. You roll your eyes and head for school.

For the rest of the day, you're by yourself. You get a lot of school work done, but it's getting pretty lonely. Jonathan and Nancy have suddenly become attached like glue. You wonder if it matters that Nancy's boyfriends have switched, seeing as whichever boy it is doesn't seem to change how much she values your friendship. Lunchtime finds you sitting outside under a tree. It's a dry but cool day, and a brisk wind causes you to wrap your jacket tighter around you. You're taking a break from studying and reading your book. For Hawkins high school, it's relatively peaceful. Which is, of course, when someone chooses to stand in front of you, casting a long shadow. You shiver as they block the sliver of sunlight. "Where's Nancy?" Steve sounds pissed. "Hello to you too, Harrington." "Where's Nancy? Is she with Jonathan?" "Why do you care, I thought you broke up?" Steve glares at you and squats down to your level. His hair is wet from the gym showers, he had obviously come straight here: his shirt was sticking to his damp skin. "I still care about her. Do you not care that she's up and ditched you?" You blink, not expecting him to take his upset out on you. "Steve, I know you don't care about me, so don't start pretending now." It's his turn to look surprised. Meanwhile, you calmly pack your book into your bag. The peacefulness was gone, now you'd have to find somewhere else to sit. "No, wait, I just want to fix it with her." You can't resist but roll your eyes at him. But a part of you is curious, something must have happened at basketball for him to come straight here. "What happened at basketball practice?" you ask, in spite of yourself. "Billy told m-" Suddenly you don't care anymore. "Oh, well, if Billy told you it must be true! I thought you were done with high school bullies," you couldn't stop the disappointment from creeping into your voice. "He told me Nancy skipped yesterday with Jonathan - and they still aren't back." "Are you worried about her?" His face said everything you needed to know. He was just upset to be the one to lose - typical King Steve. "I don't want to lose her," he says quietly. "Steve, you already lost her. And from an outsider's perspective, it looked like the best thing for both of you?" "Oh, for both of us? That must be why Tommy and Billy are already rubbing it in that I got dumped." You stood up and slung your bag over your shoulder, "Seriously, Steve, I thought you were past paying attention to Tommy." "It's different now." "Now that you aren't King Steve? Now that you've shown you have feelings? Anyone that's not a bully and/or asshole would know that those are just signs that you were becoming a better person. But I guess, really, you never stopped being like them." You start to walk away when he says, "that's not fair." "It's not fair? You lost one girl, Harrington. You know what's not fair? I lost my best friend to you. And then Barb died and I thought just maybe that would be enough to bring Nancy back to me. And now, you come crying to me about something that is not my job to fix. Like we're friends. We're not friends. You only pretended for Nancy's benefit. And you still are. Now that you've lost her, you're ready to go back to your old ways." "We are friends," he says it like he believes it. With a tinge of upset that you almost believe. "If we are friends, why have you never apologised for treating me like shit? Why did you expect me to sympathise with wanting the approval of people like Tommy? People who have only ever wanted to hurt me! No, leave me alone, Harrington. And if you're smart, you'll let Nancy make her own decisions too." You walked to class, it wouldn't hurt to be early. You can feel Steve's eyes watching you; his doleful expression burning into your mind's eye. Your vision is going blurry, and you're not sure if the tears are from anger or sadness.

As the bell rings for the end of the day, you're just happy to be leaving. The argument with Steve has left you with a strange taste in your mouth. It felt good to finally say aloud how upset his lack of apology and accountability about how he's treated you in the past. But your brain keeps helpfully flashing up images of how he had helped you last year. How he'd spent all night at the hospital waiting for you, just to get your brother to go home and rest. For once, you're looking forward to your work shift. As you're walking to your car you hear, "it's not like that, Billy! We're not even friends." "Good. Then why are you talking to him?" Billy's voice is practically a growl. You can't help but glance over, and see him towering over the ginger girl you now know to be Max. You smile at her as you walk past and hear her say, "you know what, Billy? From now on, I'm skating home." "Fine," Billy slammed the door to his car and drove off. Max eyebrows were raised slightly, in shock. She had actually, successfully, got Billy to back off her turf. "Hey, Max, right? Not that I was totally listening... but you live on Cherry, right? That's kind of far. I can't give you a lift there because I've got work, but the arcade is right next door if you're interested?" Your voice petered out as she gave you a sceptical look. Her eyes flitted over you, giving you a once over. You dug about in your pocket for your keys as you waited for her to make up her mind. "Dustin is your brother, right?" You nodded, "is that a yes?" "If you don't tell him. He'll never shut up about it." "I know the feeling," you said. As you left the car park, you continued, "actually Max I'm glad you moved here, my brother needed some humbling and you getting that high score on Dig-Dug really did the trick." Out of the corner of your eye, you can see her smile slightly, "at least someone's glad we moved here." "You mean you don't love it here? Shocker!" "At least in California there were skate parks where I could practice. Here there is just the arcade. It didn't take me long to beat Dustin's high score." "When he gets particularly annoying, I'll remind myself that." "He can get more annoying? I don't know how you put up with him. I mean - no offence but him and Lucas are so … juvenile!" "Tell me about it," you say thinking back to only that morning, and Dustin's insistence that the secret he was keeping wasn't so very obvious. "They invite me to be in their Party which is nice, but then suddenly there's things I'm not allowed to know about for 'my own safety', or at least, that's what Lucas says," she scrunches her face and puts on a squeaky fake-Lucas voice. Even though you laugh along with Max about her excellent Lucas impression, your hands can't help but clench the steering wheel that little bit harder. If there are really things that she can't know, it means they're about the Upside Down. That it's back. "Lucas says it's not because I'm a girl. But I just know it is," Max is saying. You sigh, choosing your words carefully, "Look last year, I don't know what they've told you. But Will ... went missing. There are some things we are forbidden to talk about, mostly because we don't want to upset Will," the last bit was a small lie, but hopefully enough to tide Max over for now, "but I will do some digging - subtly, I promise - and see what I can find out." Max looked at you silently for a moment, "okay, but don't be obvious about it. I don't want to be the kid who needs an adult to help her make friends." You grinned, "Don't worry, I am not an adult."

A/N

You had cried in front of Data before, and frankly, you’d really never felt embarrassed. You cried at movies and about bad days at work and when people died. It was fine with you. You weren’t shy about your feelings. But crying because you were mad? Because you were worried? That felt different, and it was a little embarrassing, especially with Geordi there. You left the room in a flustered tizzy, and the doors of the turbolift shut behind you just as the first sob hiccupped its way out. 

Would they come after you? Did you want them to? Not really. Not yet. You made an effort to collect yourself in the privacy of the lift as it took you to your quarters. The small humiliation of your outburst was overshadowed by Data’s foolish attitude towards his work. He’d said four percent like it was nothing. 

When Geordi had approached you and asked you to go talk to Data with him, you’d wanted to brush away his suspicions. He was concerned that Data was working hastily, that he wasn’t following safety protocols, that he wasn’t able to concentrate like usual. You didn’t like imagining Data that way- like some mad scientist, trying to alter life at its core- but you knew Geordi was right. Data really hadn’t been himself. The experience had totally overwhelmed him. He was obsessed with his work. And maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly. 

Talking it over with Geordi was one thing. Hearing Data admit to it was totally another. Four percent chance, he’d said flippantly. If there was a four percent chance of dying on an away mission, you’d never send your team down. If there was a four percent chance of dying every time you got in a shuttle, you’d all still be down on Earth. This shouldn’t be any different; you just couldn’t allow it. You couldn’t believe it. 

You wanted to put your hands on his shoulders and give him a good shake, although it would probably be more confusing than helpful for him.

When you got to your quarters, you slumped to the floor beside the doorway and had a proper cry there. You felt angry, helpless, terrified, guilty, and completely overwhelmed. You wanted Data to come and tell you it would be okay, that he would wait, that he would be safe. You wanted him to hold your hand and ask you why you were crying. 

He did that- he asked why you acted the way you did, how it felt in your body, what thoughts accompanied each feeling. There might have been a time in his life when he was unable to make assumptions about human emotion, but you suspected he could now, to a certain extent. He just chose not to. He was intentional. He wanted to understand each person and each moment on their own terms. You loved him for that. And you needed that part of him to return to you now, so that he could see what losing him would do to you.

But he didn’t come. You pulled yourself up off the floor. You replicated a glass of cool water and splashed a little on your face before chugging the rest down. You paced the room. You peeled off your clothes and showered. You got ready for bed. After a while, you got a message from Geordi: I think I convinced him to reconsider, it read. You felt a little relief. You tried to read, then paced some more. Hours went by. You were still upset, and he didn’t come. 

soft clinks emerge just as your fingers touch a bottle’s cap with a bit more force than necessary, cutting into your rebuttal to sevika. your position turns into a kneeling one, hands maneuvering the two bottles from the depths of the fridge.

blinking, sevika’s gaze drifts from you, then back, then away again, sights settling on the cards in their hand. their journey to the living room is halted by your stance returning to a standing one.

“see.” sevika gestures to the clear glass bottles filled with an inky, dark purple liquid. “also putting things behind items that can be moved or seen through doesn’t make them hidden.”

now a proper rebuttal can be made, graced by a face-to-face reunion; you match sevika’s expression, mimicking their stance in the same moment before you say, “see,” you copy their tone. your normal voice returning, you continue, “and i don’t know who invited you into my fridge. snooping is not a good look for you.”

sevika’s prosthetic reaches for the bottle you’re offering as you make your way to their awaiting figure in the middle of the walkway, their free hand rubbing across your back while you both walk back to the living room. they let you in front of them to circle the worn but sturdy coffee table, their touch lingering on your baggy clothing.

“sure was for you. thank you very much for your thorough and successful search.” sevika watches you sit down before their own body comes right beside yours. they open the package holding the cards, sliding them out and into their left hand, tossing the empty container to the edge of the coffee table. “do you know you have more plants and plant food than actual food?”

you put a coaster in front of yourself and sevika, fighting back a smile. “my stuff is in freezer. savin’ up for a second fridge for projects.” taking your bottle, you snap open the cap, a lavender mist escaping as you do. “oooouu.”

this earns chuckle from sevika, their shuffling of the cards a subconscious feat while they look at you. then their gaze goes to the bottle and a brow quirks. “as much as i applaud and appreciate your work with these experiments, i don’t think i like you near the edible intoxication part—you got a lil too much goin’ on.”

“why don’t you jus’ flip the cards and pass ‘em out so i can claim my victory?” a small sip of the concoction is taken by you. “what is this one we’re doin’, smack a jack?”

sevika follows along with your action, settling the cards in their right hand while their left opens their bottle. they subtly move closer, processing your latter statement and laughing when they do. before the tip of the bottle touches their lips, they motion vaguely with it in their grasp. “yeah, smack a jack.”

the simultaneous swig of the herbal elixir brings a hum of delight from you and a suspicious, curious grunt from sevika, alongside a mirroring comment, “sweet.”

scoffing, a lopsided smile grows on sevika’s face. “why the hell are you surprised?” their thoughts wander. “you…tested this before you bottled it, yeah? the reason you even have to save up for another fridge is because the last one exploded. which is…i’m still tryna wrap my head around…because you don’t even sell weapons.”

another sip is taken by sevika, despite their apprehension, an evident coolness coming from the recently refrigerated drink. they wince slightly when the frigidness of the beverage sustains the temperature even in the depths of their stomach. setting the bottle back down on the coaster, sevika returns to shuffling the cards a few more times before passing them out to you and theirself.

you hum, putting a hand on sevika’s knee while you take another swig of the drink. “you know so much, yet so little.” the same hand raises to their chin and nudges it lightly. “baby, you gotta pay attention more.”

sevika absentmindedly follows your touch as your hand departs from their chin, a faint grin on their lips as the warmth rushes to their cheeks. they resume to pass out the cards to the piles in front of you and theirself, finishing quickly. they grab their deck of cards, licking over their bottom lip slightly before lightly gnawing on the inside of it.

"ain't a problem for me. i can give you all the attention you want." they reach for your legs, right hand slipping toward the inside of your thigh before gripping and lifting it, setting it over their lap; the motion is repeated with the other, their touch lingering on your calf.

taking your deck of cards into your hands, your eyes flit to sevika's hand before looking at the side of their face. they cast you a side-eye before turning their head to hold you in focus while their brow quirks. with swiftness, the surface of your dark brown skin is peppered with goosebumps while your lower abdomen churns with desire.

"attemptin' to distract me." you point to sevika with your deck. "with those eyes. i know you."

an airy chuckle leaves sevika, their gaze returning to the coffee table. "then let me focus because i don't want these eyes to be part of the rant later when you lose. you don’t even know the right name of the game—it’s slapjack.”

“nine, ten, a big fat hen. smack slap. i don’t care. watch me work.” you clutch your cards tighter, features showcasing your determination.

their bottle is in their hand again for a quick swig, a soft laugh passing through sevika’s nose as they indulge, suspicion of the beverage still high. now on their fourth swallow of the concoction, sevika’s brown skin prickles, the hairs standing at attention. a prominent pulse echoes through their body and your scent is suddenly amplified. the coolness nestling in their stomach is met with a natural heat that makes them squirm in their seat slightly, their gaze flitting to the apex of your thick thighs and the fabric draping across your pudgy stomach.

“ha!” you smack down the first card on the coffee table.

sevika brings their attention back to the game, movements robotic as they put the next card down. they watch your hand jerk out, anticipating. the tenseness in their body dissipates at your reaction, a couple blinks clearing the fog of desire—or at least attempts to.

another card is put down by you with the same force, your more alert state still no match for sevika’s slightly altered one.

snatching the cards up, sevika tosses a glance your way, your impending response omitted as you take a mighty gulp from your drink. patting a very high point on your thigh lightly, sevika says, “take that in slow, baby.”

you quickly depart the bottle tip from your mouth, eyes widening as an idea comes to your mind. “take a drink if you lose the round.”

sevika raises a brow. “that a challenge or your punishment? you’re already down one.” their eyes dart to your moistened lips, heart thumping with anticipation.

feigning a frown, you hold a laugh back, trying to maintain a leveled demeanor as the brew works its way deeper. your response is put on hold when you see sevika slowly leaning toward you, their hand that remained on your thigh softly kneading the flesh. with a grip still on the neck of your bottle, you raise your fist to sevika’s chest, barring their advances.

“you just called me a loser,” you start playfully, “and think you can start rubbin’ on me?”

sevika’s gaze searches your face, seeing if you’ll put the presumed facade aside but comes to a quick realization and diverts their eyes as they begin to think. they smooth a crinkle in the fabric of your pants, the soft leisurewear running along their palm. “just offerin’ a little encouragement is all.”

you relent a bit, letting sevika close in as you watch a small smirk of victory build on their lips. affectionate irritation builds at the sight, the force of your fist against their chest returning, gently stopping them from advancing just when you can feel the warmth of their skin breathe onto yours.

gray eyes stare into yours with a questioning essence while a silent plea beams through the glimmering sights. sevika’s left hand joins the coaxing, caressing your right calf lightly.

“you put the card down next or it’s me?” the smile is evident in your inquiry.

a slight downturn comes to sevika’s lips, an ever-present hunger for the touch and feel of your skin gnawing at their senses. no help from whatever you cooked up and poured into the bottles, the processing elixir mixes with your natural scents, wafting through the air and heightening their yearning. reluctant with the action, sevika straightens and plucks a card from their deck setting it on the table to resume the game.

nearly ten minutes later, it is a surprise to you both that the deck you carry presents itself with a prominent thickness, indicating your multiple triumphs. pity building for your partner quick after the drinks had to be taken after your wins, you brushed off the challenge, taking the swigs along with sevika.

after returning from a bathroom break, you walk back to the living room, the trek slowing as your gaze travels the lengths of sevika’s body, their large, broad figure relaxed against the couch, head laid back. you creep over, watching their steady breath, a smile growing on your face. you position yourself right in front of them, eyeing their spread out legs with a particular interest.

“tappin’ out?” you murmur, looking down at sevika with your arms crossed, confidence overabundant. you study your nails with fake interest, the gloating continuing, “yeah…i would too. how many you got left in your stack five? seven? ain’t no comin’ back from that.”

sevika opens one eye, looking you up and down before the other opens. silently, they straighten up, a low grunt of effort emitting as they do. they reach out and brush their right palm along the side of your thigh, adjusting theirself to scoot closer to the edge of the couch so their face nearly meets your lower torso.

“c’mere,” sevika mutters, their left hand nearing your other thigh before both circle around and smooth over the underside of your ass. they look up at you, gaze soft.

a protest fails to emerge, your arousal heightening and making your dark brown skin spark with more heat than what is already present. it’s those damn eyes. your mouth parts as you nod slowly, taking a step forward toward sevika.

still focused on your face, sevika speaks low, “you win. i give up.” they guide your legs to settle on either side of them, your straddle earning a sigh of relief as your warmth seeps into their body. they take a moment to adjust your posture, their right hand staying on your thigh with a soft grip while the other circles around your waist, pulling you closer.

pliant, your breaths are slow and heavy, fingertips grazing sevika’s jaw. the wordless command earns their attention, their eyes ceasing their venture of your body before meeting your heated sights.

“now you want me? hm?” sevika’s hips adjust under your weight, angling them to feel your heat more.

“you wanting to take a bite a minute into smackjack is no one’s problem but yours,” you retort, tilting your head.

sevika’s lips press against your bottom lip, their thumb slipping past your waistband and rubbing your hip, the ridges of your stretch marks traced lightly. your eagerness kissing back brings a soft moan from their throat, their hold on you tightening as if they would be able to meld your bodies. the motion in your lower body earns a raspier groan and a stutter of their own hips to meet the movement.

a breath is taken, the taste of the elixir and one another lingering on your tongues. “it definitely is my problem. and trust me, i’ll take care of it.”

just injected u into an oc like them avatar machines dew

He rolled his eyes at that, taking a seat next to you, “Well, don’t just sit there- come on.” He motions you forward and your body moves on its own, scooting closer to him. This whole thing- You and Dean, it was new to you. For years you kept to yourself until a case brought you to the Winchesters. Since then, you’ve been inseparable. It was only recently you started to feel something for Dean..seeing him in a way you’ve never seen before.

It was days like these in the bunker where you two just talked comfortably- that’s how it started. Your talks together..just You and Dean.

You lean forward, lips puckered, ready to kiss him. But he laughs, “Dude- okay come on. We have to set the mood. Loosen up a bit huh?” His hands move forward, grabbing your chin. Your hands shook nervously… His thumb grazed your cheek, his other hand gently coming down on your thigh. “It happens naturally..” He murmured, lips close to yours. “So I’ve heard.” you swallow nervously, eyes looking at his as they fluttered shut.

“Close your eyes.” you hear him groan. your eyes flutter shut, and then you felt it- Dean’s lips pressed against yours. You couldn’t help the small gasp that slipped out of your mouth. His lips move against yours. It felt strange, you felt light but your heart heavy. Your hands grip his shirt, and he pulled back.

“Well?” He asks, hands still at your thigh, skidding up.

“Is that it?”

“Oh we haven’t even done french kissing.” He laughs as you catch your breath. Dean lays your body back on the bed, slowly hovering over your body. “Let me know if this is too much okay?”

“..Okay.” you murmur, wanting his lips back on yours. “I’m gonna do something different- and if you don’t like it then-“

“Kiss me already please Dean, god.” That makes him laugh and his lips are back on yours in an instant. Your body felt hot, at the touch of his hand going from your thigh to your hip. His thumb grazing over the bone gently. They ran over the stretch marks, making you gasp. Dean took that opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips.

It made you jump- the feeling strange and new. But he’s gentle…something you didn’t expect from Dean in any way possible. His tongue slips over your own, like a blanket. He damn near swallows your mouth whole. He lets out a small grunt, and you could tell he held back some.

You kissed him back to the best of your ability, even when your teeth bumped against his- he said it was okay- you still kissed. Your body was on fire. You couldn’t help but let out a small noise when he pulled back. His lips red, yours swollen.

“Well?” He asks, looking down at you with a small smile. “How was that for our first lesson?”

“First lesson?” You pant.

You stirred to the feeling of warm breath on your collarbones, neck cricked from sleeping on the couch. You groaned softly, opening your eyes against the morning sunlight, greeted with a sleeping Steven, nestled up on your chest. Being light sleepers, it didn't take long before Steven woke up, your hand in his curls, breathing quietly in the cozy apartment. It seemed the two of you had fallen asleep on the couch after watching some Ancient Egyptian documentary. Marc had been co-con for a while, at least while the gods he knew were involved, but he'd been long gone. Jake? Nowhere to be found. Or just quiet.

"Mmn..." Steven hummed, resting his face in the crook of your neck, hugging your side. You giggled softly, feeling his stubble against your skin, wrapping your arms around his neck. "G'mornin' love..." He mumbled into your skin, eyelids fluttered shut, hand around your waist. You smiled, nestling your face in Steven's hair, kissing the crown of his head, gentle and sweet. "Good morning, Steven."

The two of you stayed like that, legs tangled, hands gently caressing one another, the sound of birds outside coming through the window. You sighed softly. Slow weekend mornings like these were always nice. Khonshu leaving the guys alone, at least for a little while, experiencing peace and quiet.

"We should get up and eat soon." You mumbled, face still in Steven's hair. He groaned softly, shaking his head. "I know... but a lit'le longer couldn't hurt, right?" You nodded with a small chuckle, gently rubbing your hands up and down Steven's back. "I didn't say right now. But yes, we can stay cuddled up for a bit longer." You felt Steven melt under your hands, more than he had already. It made you smile, knowing how comfortable you made Steven and the guys. It made you very aware of how much they trusted you, how much they valued you. And it made you feel nice. They held a spot in your heart, just as much as they held spots in their hearts for you.

You tilted your head to the side, fixing the soft cushion beneath your head, watching your partner as he relaxed. You appreciated every detail, the way his chest expanded with every breath, his pretty eyelashes, his nose, the way his curls framed his face. You loved it all, cherished it all. You pressed a gentle kiss to Steven's forehead, smiling as he playfully scrunched his face in response.

"You're so cute..."

"I'm not cute, you are."

"Nah, you're way cuter."

"Can we agree that you both are cute and eat breakfast?" Marc spoke up, sounding a bit done with your little banter. It made you crack up, your shoulders shaking as you stifled your laughter.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, grumpy." You smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Good morning to you too, Marc. And Jake if you're listening."

"He always is." Steven said after a moment, coming back to full consciousness. "...We really should eat breakfast. I can hear your stomach gurgling."

"Maybe." He wasn't wrong on that front. You were hungry. And you'd be damned if you didn't wanna get up and eat. But... the couch cushions and the cuddles were so cozy... You wanted to get up and stay put simultaneously. Conflicting feelings. "What're we feeling for breakfast, anyways? I think we still have those vegan sausages in the freezer, pretty sure we have pancake mix, cereal, fruits, oatmeal... Lots of options."

Steven watched as you rambled, supposedly finding the whole thing adorable, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. "Hmm, sausage and pancakes sounds nice... Cut up some strawberries if we have 'em..." His voice was still gravelly from sleep, thinking about food with you was nice. He gently pressed kisses to your jawline and chin, loving and soft with every touch.

"Mmnh...." You smiled, tilting your head back into the armrest, allowing Steven more access to your neck.

"Five more minutes?"

"Of course, Steven."

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masterlist/intro

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i love fluffs (short n sweet <3)

hope you enjoyed!

You hear the exact moment Percival gets home—not because he’s loud, but because you’re sitting in the living room waiting for him. You greet him with a soft smile, pretending the gesture doesn’t take an unreasonable amount of effort. “Hi, Percival,” you remark. 

“Hello,” he remarks, the tension seeping from his shoulders as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. Percival takes his bag off and hangs it on the hook near the entrance, before doing the same with his coat. “How was your day?” he asks.

“Alright,” you remark, pushing past all the self-deprecating thoughts running through your mind. You don’t want to burden Percival with the details. “How about you?”

“It was good,” Percival replies, bending down to remove his shoes. “The department’s starting to get pretty busy—sorry I’ve been home late these past few days.” His lips are pressed in a thin line and there’s an apologetic look on his face. 

“Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault,” you’re quick to reassure him. Percival is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, after all. His work is important. “And don’t forget—we have leftovers from takeout the other night.”

“Oh, right,” he nods, taking a few steps forward. “Thank you.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead before walking to the fridge. You watch him for a moment, before settling back on the couch. The television is on, but you find it hard to focus. A maelstrom of apprehension, dejection, and dysphoria is swirling around you. 

You don’t want to acknowledge your feelings. Unfortunately for you, Percival is rather perceptive. He’s an Auror, after all. Not to mention, the man has high emotional intelligence. You’re not sure why you even bother trying to hide from him in the first place. 

For an immeasurable amount of time, you let the light from the television wash over you. At some point, you hear Percival get up from the table and wash his dishes. Before you can attempt to slip away, he’s standing before you. “Something wrong, love?” Percival asks, moving to sit next to you on the couch. His attentive gaze nearly makes you crumble right then and there. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“It’s nothing,” you murmur, looking down at your clasped hands. You bite the inside of your cheek and keep your thoughts hidden. Somehow, your feelings must show on your face regardless, because Percival frowns. 

The man places a hand on yours, prompting you to look over at him. “If it’s making you feel like this…” he breaks off, concern written all over his face, “it has to be something.” You still can’t find the words. Your tongue feels glued to the roof of your mouth; you can’t even begin to describe the confusing torrent of emotions rushing through you right now. 

Percival is stubborn, though. “What is it?” he implores. 

You inhale slowly, feeling as if a giant spotlight is searing through your skin. Sentiments of inadequacy and wrongness refuse to leave, clinging to your skin uncomfortably. You don’t feel right today. “I don’t like my hair,” you eventually answer. Indeed, you’d spent the better part of the walk home from work looking at the people passing you, wondering why you couldn’t look like them. 

“Why?” Percival asks. He doesn’t look disbelieving or skeptical—he simply wants to understand. 

“I don’t know,” you choke out. In reality, you do know. You love your hair, you really do, but for the past few days, you’ve been perceived as the opposite gender more times than you can count. While you’ve already taken steps to socially transition, it doesn’t feel like enough. Your hair seems like the easiest thing to change, and your dysphoria has narrowed in on it as the source of the problem. If your hair were shorter, you’d look better. If your hair were shorter, you wouldn’t be mistaken as someone you’re not. 

“You sure?” Percival continues. His hand remains on yours, providing a reassuring pressure. His gaze hasn’t wavered since he first sat down next to you. The recognition makes your eyes begin to burn. You stare at him, before silently leaning forward and embracing him. Percival is quick to reciprocate, tugging you closer until your head is nearly buried in his shoulder. 

“I’m not sure,” you whisper against his shoulder. It comes out muffled, but Percival seems to understand regardless (as he always does).

“What can I do to help?” he questions. That is just one of the many reasons why you love Percival. Rather than scrutinizing your feelings or trying too hard to understand your experiences, he focuses on assisting you above all. He doesn’t treat you like a puzzle that needs to be solved, doesn’t make you feel irrational or unreasonable for having bad days. 

“My hair,” you choke out. “Can you help me cut it?” 

Percival blinks. “Of course,” he responds without hesitation. He places a hand on your shoulder briefly. “Let’s move to the bathroom,” Percival says, eyes flitting to the door down the hall. You get up from your seat and walk over there, knowing he’ll follow you. 

Moments later, you find yourself sitting on the nearby chair with Percival standing over you. His gaze wanders your face before settling on your hair. “What length are you thinking?” he asks. You’re briefly overwhelmed by appreciation, at the way he immediately moved to help you in whatever way he knew how. You forget that he’s waiting for an answer until he repeats himself.

“Short,” you say, avoiding his eyes. 

“Very helpful,” Percival smiles mirthfully. You huff past the tightness in your chest. “How short?” 

“I don’t know,” you respond helplessly. “Just… really short. Almost a buzzcut.” 

The air is quiet for a few seconds. “Are you sure?” Percival asks. You know he’s not questioning your decision; rather, he’s clarifying that you want him to be the one to do it. 

“Yeah,” you say, your throat feeling tight. There’s no one I trust more than you, you think. 

“Alright,” he says. “Ready?” Percival stills and holds his wand up towards you. You nod silently and he takes a deep breath. “Crinus Muto.” You close your eyes and ignore the strange chilling sensation that runs up your spine, knowing it to be a mere side effect of the spell. It should only take a few seconds, but you keep your eyes closed for a few moments after. For some reason, you’re scared to look. Fear strikes through you as you imagine how horrible you could look. What if you don’t have the right face shape? What if this haircut just makes everything worse? What if—?

“You can look now,” Percival says gently. 

You stand up and slowly open your eyes. For a moment, the light assaults your eyes and you’re squinting. Your vision clears soon enough, leaving you to take in your new haircut. “I—” you break off, feeling your lips pulling at the edges as you stare at yourself in the mirror, “I love it.” You’re smiling now. You bring a hand up to your hair and continue looking in the mirror. Your reflection looks… like you. You look more comfortable, more confident. You can’t hide the grin on your face. For a minute or two, you simply stare at your reflection in awe. As you’re looking in the mirror, you accidentally make eye contact with Percival, who is looking at you with an unreadable expression.  “What?” you ask self-consciously. 

He blinks for a moment, as if waking from a trance. A smile grows on his face. “You look wonderful,” Percival admits, reaching out to run a thumb along your temple and across your new short hair. You don’t say anything, but your skepticism must show on your face, because Percival is quick to continue. 

“I’m serious,” he maintains. Percival brings his hands to your face again, turning your head to the side to get a better look at your new haircut. He brings you back with a delicate hand on your jaw and you feel flames race across your skin as you see the expression on his face. Percival looks absolutely lovestruck. Smitten. Surely that isn’t for you—surely that look isn’t because of you. “You look… incredibly handsome,” he confesses. At first, you suspect that he just said that to make you feel better. But the way he’s looking at you—the way he’s holding you—convinces you that the compliment is entirely genuine. 

“...Thanks,” you remark hesitantly. And you’re sure Percival knows that you’re thanking him for more than just the haircut. You’re thanking him for understanding you, in a way few others have even bothered to. You’re thanking him for his endless compassion, his determination, and his unwavering faith in you. 

Percival smiles, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Any time, love,” he promises. You take comfort in the unshakeable knowledge that he truly means it.

Me: *includes pet names a total of two times in this story* Also me: this feels like too much.

grAHHHHHHHH where is Percival Graves. I need him like SpongeBob needs water.

anyway, thanks for reading! <3

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